{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_56441/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_56441","id":"gutenberg_56441","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56441","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Psychiatry/Psychology","Psychology"],"text":"Produced by Ed Brandon\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nANALYSIS\n\n\n\nOF THE PHENOMENA OF THE\n\n\n\nHUMAN MIND\n\n\n\nBY JAMES MILL\n\n\n\nWITH NOTES ILLUSTRATIVE AND CRITICAL BY\n\nALEXANDER BAIN\n\nANDREW FINDLATER\n\nAND\n\nGEORGE GROTE\n\nEDITED WITH ADDITIONAL NOTES BY\n\nJOHN STUART MILL\n\n\n\nIN TWO VOLUMES\n\nVOL. I.\n\n\n\nSECOND EDITION\n\n\n\nLONDON\n\nLONGMANS, GREEN, READER, AND DYER.\n\n1878\n\n\n\n\n\"In order to prepare the way for a just and comprehensive system of\nLogic, a previous survey of our nature, considered as a great whole,\nis an indispensable requisite.\"--_Philosophical Essays_ (_Prelim.\nDissert._) p. lxvii. _by Dugald Stewart, Esq._\n\n\"Would not Education be necessarily rendered more systematical and\nenlightened, if the powers and faculties on which it operates were\nmore scientifically examined, and better understood?\" _Ibid._ p.\nxlviii.\n\n\n[_Right of Translation reserved._]\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nTO\n\nTHE PRESENT EDITION.\n\n\nIN the study of Nature, either mental or physical, the aim of the\nscientific enquirer is to diminish as much as possible the catalogue\nof ultimate truths. When, without doing violence to facts, he is\nable to bring one phenomenon within the laws of another; when he can\nshew that a fact or agency, which seemed to be original and\ndistinct, could have been produced by other known facts and\nagencies, acting according to their own laws; the enquirer who has\narrived at this result, considers himself to have made an important\nadvance in the knowledge of nature, and to have brought science, in\nthat department, a step nearer to perfection. Other accessions to\nscience, however important practically, are, in a scientific point\nof view, mere additions to the materials: this is something done\ntowards perfecting the structure itself.\n\nThe manner in which this scientific improvement takes place is by\nthe resolution of phenomena which {vi} are special and complex into\nothers more general and simple. Two cases of this sort may be\nroughly distinguished, though the distinction between them will not\nbe found on accurate examination to be fundamental. In one case it\nis the order of the phenomena that is analysed and simplified; in\nthe other it is the phenomena themselves. When the observed facts\nrelating to the weight of terrestrial objects, and those relating to\nthe motion of the heavenly bodies, were found to conform to one and\nthe same law, that of the gravitation of every particle of matter to\nevery other particle with a force varying as the inverse square of\nthe distance, this was an example of the first kind. The order of\nthe phenomena was resolved into a more general law. A great number\nof the successions which take place in the material world were shewn\nto be particular cases of a law of causation pervading all Nature.\nThe other class of investigations are those which deal, not with the\nsuccessions of phenomena, but with the complex phenomena themselves,\nand disclose to us that the very fact which we are studying is made\nup of simpler facts: as when the substance Water was found to be an\nactual compound of two other bodies, hydrogen and oxygen; substances\nvery unlike itself, but both actually present in every one of its\nparticles. By processes like those employed in this case, all the\nvariety of substances which meet our senses and compose the planet\non which we live, have been shewn to be {vii} constituted by the\nintimate union, in a certain number of fixed proportions, of some\ntwo or more of sixty or seventy bodies, called Elements or Simple\nSubstances, by which is only meant that they have not hitherto been\nfound capable of further decomposition. This last process is known\nby the name of chemical analysis: but the first mentioned, of which\nthe Newtonian generalization is the most perfect type, is no less\nanalytical. The difference is, that the one analyses substances into\nsimpler substances; the other, laws into simpler laws. The one is\npartly a physical operation; the other is wholly intellectual.\n\nBoth these processes are as largely applicable, and as much\nrequired, in the investigation of mental phenomena as of material.\nAnd in the one case as in the other, the advance of scientific\nknowledge may be measured by the progress made in resolving complex\nfacts into simpler ones.\n\nThe phenomena of the Mind include multitudes of facts, of an\nextraordinary degree of complexity. By observing them one at a time\nwith sufficient care, it is possible in the mental, as it is in the\nmaterial world, to obtain empirical generalizations of limited\ncompass, but of great value for practice. When, however, we find it\npossible to connect many of these detached generalizations together,\nby discovering the more general laws of which they are cases, and to\nthe operation of which in some particular sets of {viii}\ncircumstances they are due, we gain not only a scientific, but a\npractical advantage; for we then first learn how far we can rely on\nthe more limited generalizations; within what conditions their truth\nis confined; by what changes of circumstances they would be defeated\nor modified.\n\nNot only is the order in which the more complex mental phenomena\nfollow or accompany one another, reducible, by an analysis similar\nin kind to the Newtonian, to a comparatively small number of laws of\nsuccession among simpler facts, connected as cause and effect; but\nthe phenomena themselves can mostly be shewn, by an analysis\nresembling those of chemistry, to be made up of simpler phenomena.\n\"In the mind of man,\" says Dr. Thomas Brown, in one of his\nIntroductory Lectures, \"all is in a state of constant and\never-varying complexity, and a single sentiment may be the slow\nresult of innumerable feelings. There is not a single pleasure, or\npain, or thought, or emotion, that may not, by the influence of that\nassociating principle which is afterwards to come under our\nconsideration, be so connected with other pleasures, or pains, or\nthoughts, or emotions, as to form with them, for ever after, an\nunion the most intimate. The complex, or seemingly complex,\nphenomena of thought, which result from the constant operation of\nthis principle of the mind, it is the labour of the intellectual\ninquirer to analyse, as {ix} it is the labour of the chemist to\nreduce the compound bodies on which he operates, however close and\nintimate their combination may be, to their constituent elements....\nFrom the very instant of its first existence, the mind is constantly\nexhibiting phenomena more and more complex: sensations, thoughts,\nemotions, all mingling together, and almost every feeling modifying,\nin some greater or less degree, the feelings that succeed it; and\nas, in chemistry, it often happens that the qualities of the\nseparate ingredients of a compound body are not recognizable by us in\nthe apparently different qualities of the compound itself,--so in\nthis spontaneous chemistry of the mind, the compound sentiment that\nresults from the association of former feelings has, in many cases,\non first consideration, so little resemblance to these constituents\nof it, as formerly existing in their elementary state, that it\nrequires the most attentive reflection to separate, and evolve\ndistinctly to others, the assemblages which even a few years may\nhave produced. It is, therefore, scarcely possible to advance even a\nsingle step, in intellectual physics, without the necessity of\nperforming some sort of analysis, by which we reduce to simpler\nelements some complex feeling that seems to us virtually to involve\nthem.\"\n\nThese explanations define and characterize the task which was\nproposed to himself by the author of the {x} present treatise, and\nwhich he concisely expressed by naming his work an Analysis of the\nPhenomena of the Human Mind. It is an attempt to reach the simplest\nelements which by their combination generate the manifold complexity\nof our mental states, and to assign the laws of those elements, and\nthe elementary laws of their combination, from which laws, the\nsubordinate ones which govern the compound states are consequences\nand corollaries.\n\nThe conception of the problem did not, of course, originate with the\nauthor; he merely applied to mental science the idea of scientific\ninquiry which had been matured by the successful pursuit, for many\ngenerations, of the knowledge of external nature. Even in the\nparticular path by which he endeavoured to reach the end, he had\neminent precursors. The analytic study of the facts of the human\nmind began with Aristotle; it was first carried to a considerable\nheight by Hobbes and Locke, who are the real founders of that view\nof the Mind which regards the greater part of its intellectual\nstructure as having been built up by Experience. These three\nphilosophers have all left their names identified with the great\nfundamental law of Association of Ideas; yet none of them saw far\nenough to perceive that it is through this law that Experience\noperates in moulding our thoughts and forming our thinking powers.\nDr. Hartley was the man of genius who first clearly {xi} discerned\nthat this is the key to the explanation of the more complex mental\nphenomena, though he, too, was indebted for the original conjecture\nto another wise forgotten thinker, Mr. Gay. Dr. Hartley's treatise\n(\"Observations on Man\") goes over the whole field of the mental\nphenomena, both intellectual and emotional, and points out the way\nin which, as he thinks, sensations, ideas of sensation, and\nassociation, generate and account for the principal complications of\nour mental nature. If this doctrine is destined to be accepted as,\nin the main, the true theory of the Mind, to Hartley will always\nbelong the glory of having originated it. But his book made scarcely\nany impression upon the thought of his age. He incumbered his theory\nof Association with a premature hypothesis respecting the physical\nmechanism of sensation and thought; and even had he not done so, his\nmode of exposition was little calculated to make any converts but\nsuch as were capable of working out the system for themselves from a\nfew hints. His book is made up of hints rather than of proofs. It is\nlike the production of a thinker who has carried his doctrines so\nlong in his mind without communicating them, that he has become\naccustomed to leap over many of the intermediate links necessary for\nenabling other persons to reach his conclusions, and who, when at\nlast he sits down to write, is unable to recover them. It was\nanother great disadvantage to Hartley's theory, that its {xii}\npublication so nearly coincided with the commencement of the\nreaction against the Experience psychology, provoked by the hardy\nscepticism of Hume. From these various causes, though the philosophy\nof Hartley never died out, having been kept alive by Priestley, the\nelder Darwin, and their pupils, it was generally neglected, until at\nlength the author of the present work gave it an importance that it\ncan never again lose. One distinguished thinker, Dr. Thomas Brown,\nregarded some of the mental phenomena from a point of view similar\nto Hartley's, and all that he did for psychology was in this\ndirection; but he had read Hartley's work either very superficially,\nor not at all: he seems to have derived nothing from it, and though\nhe made some successful analyses of mental phenomena by means of the\nlaws of association, he rejected, or ignored, the more searching\napplications of those laws; resting content, when he arrived at the\nmore difficult problems, with mere verbal generalizations, such as\nhis futile explanations by what he termed \"relative suggestion.\"\nBrown's psychology was no outcome of Hartley's; it must be classed\nas an original but feebler effort in a somewhat similar direction.\n\nIt is to the author of the present volumes that the honour belongs\nof being the reviver and second founder of the Association\npsychology. Great as is this merit, it was but one among many\nservices which he rendered to his generation and to mankind. When\n{xiii} the literary and philosophical history of this century comes\nto be written as it deserves to be, very few are the names figuring\nin it to whom as high a place will be awarded as to James Mill. In\nthe vigour and penetration of his intellect he has had few superiors\nin the history of thought: in the wide compass of the human\ninterests which he cared for and served, he was almost equally\nremarkable: and the energy and determination of his character,\ngiving effect to as single-minded an ardour for the improvement of\nmankind and of human life as I believe has ever existed, make his\nlife a memorable example. All his work as a thinker was devoted to\nthe service of mankind, either by the direct improvement of their\nbeliefs and sentiments, or by warring against the various influences\nwhich he regarded as obstacles to their progress: and while he put\nas much conscientious thought and labour into everything he did, as\nif he had never done anything else, the subjects on which he wrote\ntook as wide a range as if he had written without any labour at all.\nThat the same man should have been the author of the History of\nIndia and of the present treatise, is of itself sufficiently\nsignificant. The former of those works, which by most men would have\nbeen thought a sufficient achievement for a whole literary life, may\nbe said without exaggeration to have been the commencement of\nrational thinking on the subject of India: and by that, and his\nsubsequent {xiv} labours as an administrator of Indian interests\nunder the East India Company, he effected a great amount of good,\nand laid the foundation of much more, to the many millions of\nAsiatics for whose bad or good government his country is\nresponsible. The same great work is full of far-reaching ideas on\nthe practical interests of the world; and while forming an important\nchapter in the history and philosophy of civilization (a subject\nwhich had not then been so scientifically studied as it has been\nsince) it is one of the most valuable contributions yet made even to\nthe English history of the period it embraces. If, in addition to\nthe History and to the present treatise, all the author's minor\nwritings were collected; the outline treatises on nearly all the\ngreat branches of moral and political science which he drew up for\nthe Supplement to the Encyclop\u00e6dia Britannica, and his countless\ncontributions to many periodical works; although advanced thinkers\nhave outgrown some of his opinions, and include, on many subjects,\nin their speculations, a wider range of considerations than his,\nevery one would be astonished at the variety of his topics, and the\nabundance of the knowledge he exhibited respecting them all. One of\nhis minor services was, that he was the first to put together in a\ncompact and systematic form, and in a manner, adapted to learners,\nthe principles of Political Economy as renovated by the genius of\nRicardo: whose great {xv} work, it may be mentioned by the way,\nwould probably never have seen the light, if his intimate and\nattached friend Mr. Mill had not encouraged and urged him, first to\ncommit to paper his profound thoughts, and afterwards to send them\nforth to the world. Many other cases might be mentioned in which Mr.\nMill's private and personal influence was a means of doing good,\nhardly inferior to his public exertions. Though, like all who value\ntheir time for higher purposes, he went little into what is called\nsociety, he helped, encouraged, and not seldom prompted, many of the\nmen who were most useful in their generation: from his obscure\nprivacy he was during many years of his life the soul of what is now\ncalled the advanced Liberal party; and such was the effect of his\nconversation, and of the tone of his character, on those who were\nwithin reach of its influence, that many, then young, who have since\nmade themselves honoured in the world by a valuable career, look\nback to their intercourse with him as having had a considerable\nshare in deciding their course through life. The most distinguished\nof them all, Mr. Grote, has put on record, in a recent publication,\nhis sense of these obligations, in terms equally honourable to both.\nAs a converser, Mr. Mill has had few equals; as an argumentative\nconverser, in modern tunes probably none. All his mental resources\nseemed to be at his command at any moment, and were then freely\n{xvi} employed in removing difficulties which in his writings for\nthe public he often did not think it worth while to notice. To a\nlogical acumen which has always been acknowledged, he united a clear\nappreciation of the practical side of things, for which he did not\nalways receive credit from those who had no personal knowledge of\nhim, but which made a deep impression on those who were acquainted\nwith the official correspondence of the East India Company conducted\nby him. The moral qualities which shone in his conversation were, if\npossible, more valuable to those who had the privilege of sharing\nit, than even the intellectual. They were precisely such as young\nmen of cultivated intellect, with good aspirations but a character\nnot yet thoroughly formed, are likely to derive most benefit from. A\ndeeply rooted trust in the general progress of the human race,\njoined with a good sense which made him never build unreasonable or\nexaggerated hopes on any one event or contingency; an habitual\nestimate of men according to their real worth as sources of good to\ntheir fellow-creatures, and an unaffected contempt for the\nweaknesses or temptations that divert them from that object, making\nthose with whom he conversed feel how painful it would be to them to\nbe counted by him among such backsliders; a sustained earnestness,\nin which neither vanity nor personal ambition had any part, and\nwhich spread from him by a sympathetic contagion to those {xvii} who\nhad sufficient moral preparation to value and seek the opportunity;\nthis was the mixture of qualities which made his conversation almost\nunrivalled in its salutary moral effect. He has been accused of\nasperity, and there was asperity in some few of his writings; but no\nparty spirit, personal rivalry, or wounded _amour-propre_ ever\nstirred it up. Even when he had received direct personal offence, he\nwas the most placable of men. The bitterest and ablest attack ever\npublicly made on him was that which was the immediate cause of the\nintroduction of Mr. Macaulay into public life. He felt it keenly at\nthe time, but with a quite impersonal feeling, as he would have felt\nany thing that he thought unjustly said against any opinion or cause\nwhich was dear to him; and within a very few years afterwards he was\non terms of personal friendship with its author, as Lord Macaulay\nhimself, in a very creditable passage of the preface to his\ncollected Essays, has, in feeling terms, commemorated.\n\nAt an early period of Mr. Mill's philosophical life, Hartley's work\nhad taken a strong hold of his mind; and in the maturity of his\npowers he formed and executed the purpose of following up Hartley's\nleading thought, and completing what that thinker had begun. The\nresult was the present work, which is not only an immense advance on\nHartley's in the qualities which facilitate the access of recondite\n{xviii} thoughts to minds to which they are new, but attains an\nelevation far beyond Hartley's in the thoughts themselves. Compared\nwith it, Hartley's is little more than a sketch, though an eminently\nsuggestive one: often rather showing where to seek for the\nexplanation of the more complex mental phenomena, than actually\nexplaining them. The present treatise makes clear, much that Hartley\nleft obscure: it possesses the great secret for clearness, though a\nsecret commonly neglected--it bestows an extra amount of explanation\nand exemplification on the most elementary parts. It analyses many\nimportant mental phenomena which Hartley passed over, and analyses\nmore completely and satisfactorily most of those of which he\ncommenced the analysis. In particular, the author was the first who\nfully understood and expounded (though the germs of this as of all\nthe rest of the theory are in Hartley) the remarkable case of\nInseparable Association: and inasmuch as many of the more difficult\nanalyses of the mental phenomena can only be performed by the aid of\nthat doctrine, much had been left for him to analyse.\n\nI am far from thinking that the more recondite specimens of analysis\nin this work are always successful, or that the author has not left\nsomething to be corrected as well as much to be completed by his\nsuccessors. The completion has been especially the work of two\ndistinguished thinkers in the present {xix} generation, Professor\nBain and Mr. Herbert Spencer; in the writings of both of whom, the\nAssociation Psychology has reached a still higher development. The\nformer of these has favoured me with his invaluable collaboration in\nannotating the present work. In the annotations it has been our\nobject not only to illustrate and enforce, but to criticise, where\ncriticism seemed called for. What there is in the work that seems to\nneed correction, arises chiefly from two causes. First, the\nimperfection of physiological science at the time at which it was\nwritten, and the much greater knowledge since acquired of the\nfunctions of our nervous organism and their relations with the\nmental operations. Secondly, an opening was made for some mistakes,\nand occasional insufficiency of analysis, by a mental quality which\nthe author exhibits not unfrequently in his speculations, though as\na practical thinker both on public and on private matters it was\nquite otherwise; a certain impatience of detail. The bent of his\nmind was towards that, in which also his greatest strength lay; in\nseizing the larger features of a subject--the commanding laws which\ngovern and connect many phenomena. Having reached these, he\nsometimes gives himself up to the current of thoughts which those\ncomprehensive laws suggest, not stopping to guard himself carefully\nin the minuti\u00e6 of their application, nor devoting much of his\nthoughts to anticipating all the objections that {xx} could be made,\nthough the necessity of replying to some of them might have led him\nto detect imperfections in his analyses. From this cause (as it\nappears to me), he has occasionally gone further in the pursuit of\nsimplification, and in the reduction of the more recondite mental\nphenomena to the more elementary, than I am able to follow him; and\nhas left some of his opinions open to objections, which he has not\nafforded the means of answering. When this appeared to Mr. Bain or\nmyself to be the case, we have made such attempts as we were able to\nplace the matter in a clearer light; and one or other, or both, have\nsupplied what our own investigations or those of others have\nprovided, towards correcting any shortcomings in the theory.\n\nMr. Findlater, of Edinburgh, Editor of Chambers' Cyclop\u00e6dia, has\nkindly communicated, from the rich stores of his philological\nknowledge, the corrections required by the somewhat obsolete\nphilology which the author had borrowed from Horne Tooke. For the\nrectification of an erroneous statement respecting the relation of\nthe Aristotelian doctrine of General Ideas to the Platonic, and for\nsome other contributions in which historical is combined with\nphilosophical interest, I am indebted to the illustrious historian\nof Greece and of the Greek philosophy. Mr. Grote's, Mr. Bain's and\nMr. Findlater's notes are distinguished by their initials; my own,\nas those of the Editor. {xxi}\n\nThe question presented itself, whether the annotations would be most\nuseful, collected at the end of the work, or appended to the\nchapters or passages to which they more particularly relate. Either\nplan has its recommendations, but those of the course which I have\nadopted seemed to me on the whole to preponderate. The reader can,\nif he thinks fit, (and, if he is a real student, I venture to\nrecommend that he should do so) combine the advantages of both\nmodes, by giving a first careful reading to the book itself, or at\nall events to every successive chapter of the book, without paying\nany attention to the annotations. No other mode of proceeding will\ngive perfectly fair play to the author, whose thoughts will in this\nmanner have as full an opportunity of impressing themselves on the\nmind, without having their consecutiveness broken in upon by any\nother person's thoughts, as they would have had if simply\nrepublished without comment. When the student has done all he can\nwith the author's own exposition--has possessed himself of the\nideas, and felt, perhaps, some of the difficulties, he will be in a\nbetter position for profiting by any aid that the notes may afford,\nand will be in less danger of accepting, without due examination,\nthe opinion of the last comer as the best.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nOF\n\nTHE FIRST VOLUME.\n\n * * * * *\n\n PAGE\n\nINTRODUCTION 1\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nSensation 2\n\n SECTION 1. Smell 7\n\n 2. Hearing 16\n\n 3. Sight 21\n\n 4. Taste 25\n\n 5. Touch 28\n\n 6. Sensations of Disorganization, or of the Approach to\n Disorganization, in any part of the Body 37\n\n 7. Muscular Sensations, or those Feelings which\n accompany the Action of the Muscles 40\n\n 8. Sensations in the Alimentary Canal 45\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nIdeas 51\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nThe Association of Ideas 70\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nNaming 127\n\n SECTION 1. Nouns Substantive 134\n\n 2. Nouns Adjective 144\n\n 3. Verbs 151\n\n 4. Predication 159\n{xxiv}\n SECTION 5. Pronouns 194\n\n 6. Adverbs 199\n\n 7. Prepositions 201\n\n 8. Conjunctions 212\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nConsciousness 223\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nConception 233\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nImagination 238\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nClassification 247\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nAbstraction 294\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nMemory 318\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nBelief 341\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nRatiocination 424\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nEvidence 428\n\n * * * * *\n\nAPPENDIX 440\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nOF\n\nTHE SECOND VOLUME.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCHAPTER XIV. PAGE\n\nSome Names which require a particular Explanation 1\n\n SECTION 1. Names of Names 3\n\n 2. Relative Terms 6\n\n Abstract Relative Terms 72\n\n 3. Numbers 89\n\n 4. Privative Terms 99\n\n 5. Time 116\n\n 6. Motion 142\n\n 7. Identity 164\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nReflection 176\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nThe Distinction between the Intellectual and Active Powers of\nthe Human Mind 181\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nPleasurable and Painful Sensations 184\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nCauses of the Pleasurable and Painful Sensations 187\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nIdeas of the Pleasurable and Painful Sensations, and of the\nCauses of them 189\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nThe Pleasurable and Painful Sensations, contemplated as passed,\nor future 196\n\n{vi} CHAPTER XXI.\n\nThe Causes of Pleasurable and Painful Sensations, contemplated\nas passed, or future 201\n\n SECTION 1. The immediate Causes of Pleasurable and Painful\n Sensations, contemplated as passed, or as future 201\n\n 2. The Remote Causes of Pleasurable and Painful\n Sensations contemplated as passed, or future 206\n\n SUB-SECT. 1. Wealth, Power, and Dignity, and their\n Contraries, contemplated as Causes of our\n Pleasures and Pains 207\n\n 2. Our Fellow-Creatures contemplated as Causes of\n our Pleasures and Pains 214\n\n 1.--Friendship 216\n\n 2.--Kindness 216\n\n 3.--Family 218\n\n 4.--Country 226\n\n 5.--Party; Class 227\n\n 6.--Mankind 229\n\n 3. The Objects called Sublime and Beautiful, and\n their Contraries, contemplated as Causes of our\n Pleasures and Pains 230\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nMotives 256\n\n SECTION 1. Pleasurable or Painful States, contemplated as the\n Consequents of our own Acts 256\n\n 2. Causes of our Pleasurable and Painful States,\n contemplated as the Consequents of our own Acts 265\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nThe Acts of our Fellow-creatures, which are Causes of our Pains\nand Pleasures, contemplated as Consequents of our own Acts 280\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nThe Will 327\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nIntention *396\n\n\n\n\nANALYSIS\n\n\nETC.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\n\"I shall inquire into the original of those ideas, notions, or\nwhatever else you please to call them, which a man observes and is\nconscious to himself he has in his mind; and the ways whereby the\nunderstanding comes to be furnished with them.\" _Locke_, i. 1, 3.\n\nPHILOSOPHICAL inquiries into the human mind have for their main, and\nultimate object, the exposition of its more complex phenomena.\n\nIt is necessary, however, that the simple should be premised;\nbecause they are the elements of which the complex are formed; and\nbecause a distinct knowledge of the elements is indispensable to an\naccurate conception of that which is compounded of them.\n\nThe feelings which we have through the external senses are the most\nsimple, at least the most familiar, of the mental phenomena. Hence\nthe propriety of commencing with this class of our feelings. {2}\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nSENSATION.\n\n\n\"I shall not at present meddle with the physical consideration of\nthe mind, or trouble myself to examine wherein its essence consists;\nor by what motions of our spirits, or alterations of our bodies, we\ncome to have any Sensation by our organs, or any Ideas in our\nunderstandings; and whether those ideas do in their formation, any\nor all of them, depend on matter or no. These are speculations\nwhich, however curious and entertaining, I shall decline, as lying\nout of my way in the design I am now upon.\"--_Locke_, i. 1, 2.\n\nMY object, in what I shall say respecting the phenomena classed\nunder the head of SENSATION, is, to lead such of my readers as are\nnew to this species of inquiry to conceive the feelings distinctly.\nAll men are familiar with them; but this very familiarity, as the\nmind runs easily from one well known object to another, is a reason\nwhy the boundary between them and other feelings is not always\nobserved. It is necessary, therefore, that the learner should by\npractice acquire the habit of reflecting upon his Sensations, as a\ndistinct class of feelings; and should be hence prepared to mark\nwell the distinction between them and other states of mind, when he\n{3} advances to the analysis of the more mysterious phenomena.\n\nWhat we commonly mean, when we use the terms Sensation or phenomena\nof Sensation, are the feelings which we have by the five\nsenses,--SMELL, TASTE, HEARING, TOUCH, and SIGHT. These are the\nfeelings from which we derive our notions of what we denominate the\nexternal world;--the things by which we are surrounded: that is, the\nantecedents of the most interesting consequents, in the whole series\nof feelings, which constitute our mental train, or existence.\n\nThe feelings, however, which belong to the five external Senses are\nnot a full enumeration of the feelings which it seems proper to rank\nunder the head of Sensations, and which must be considered as\nbearing an important part in those complicated phenomena, which it\nis our principal business, in this inquiry, to separate into their\nprincipal elements, and explain. Of these unnamed, and generally\nunregarded, Sensations, two principal classes may be\ndistinguished:--first, Those which accompany the action of the\nseveral muscles of the body; and, secondly, Those which have their\nplace in the Alimentary Canal.[1]\n\n[Bain's footnote 1: Important points of Psychology are raised in\nclassifying the senses, and in assigning the order of their\nexposition. The author justly animadverts on the insufficiency of\nthe common enumeration of the Five Senses, and indicates two grand\nomissions--the Muscular Sensibilities, and the feelings associated\nwith Digestion.\n\nWith regard to the first omission--the Muscular Feelings,--a further\nadvance has been found requisite. Instead of adding these to the\nlist, as a sixth sense, they are made a genus apart {4} and put in\ncontrast to the Sensations as commonly understood. They are the\nfeelings of our ACTIVITY, of the Active side of our nature, and are\nin relation to the Motor or Outcarrying nerves of the body. The\nSensations proper, such as Smell and Hearing, are the feelings of\nour RECEPTIVITY, or Passivity, and arise in connection with the\nSentient, or Incarrying nerves. In the exercise of the senses,\nhowever, a muscular element is almost always combined. This is\nconspicuous in Touch, which is most frequently accompanied with\nmovements of the hand, or other parts touched; it is also the case\nwith Sight, there being six muscles constantly engaged in moving the\neye-ball. There is least muscularity in Hearing and Smell, but in\nneither is it wholly absent. Thus in Hearing, there are certain\nsmall muscles for adjusting the tightness of the membrane of the\ntympanum; apart from which, there are movements of the head in\nconjunction with hearing. So in Smell; the sniffing action with the\nbreath is muscular. Nevertheless, it is easy to separate, in all the\nsenses, the passive and proper sensibility of the sense, (called by\nHamilton the _idiopathic_ sensibility) from the active\naccompaniment. We can make experiments upon passive touch, or pure\ncontact; we can isolate in our consciousness the optical sensibility\nof the eye; we can eliminate activity from the ear; and we can\nattend to the sensations of smell in their pure passivity.\n\nThe best course of proceeding is to deal with Muscularity apart, in\nthe first instance, and to give it the priority in the order of\nexposition. Chronologically it is an earlier fact of our being; we\nmove before we feel; there is an inborn energy of action in the\nanimal system, which goes out, as it were, and meets the objects of\nsensation. This is one reason of priority. Another is the fact just\nstated that movement accompanies all the senses, or is a common\nfactor in sensation. To discuss its peculiar sensibility is thus a\npreparation for treating of the senses.\n\nThe importance of drawing a broad line between the active and the\npassive branches of our primary sensibilities is seen in various\napplications, but most especially in the problem of {5} External\nPerception. The great distinction that this problem requires us to\ndraw between the external and the internal sides of our being (so\ndescribed by an imperfect metaphor) has its deepest foundation in\nthe distinction between the sense of expended muscular energy and\nthe feelings that are neither energy in themselves, nor vary\ndefinitely according to our energies. The qualities of things\nadmitted on all hands to be qualities of the external (or object)\nworld--called the Primary Qualities, Resistance and Extension,--are\nmodes of our muscular energies; the qualities that do not of\nthemselves suggest externality, or objectivity,--the secondary\nqualities, as Heat, Colour, &c.--are our passive sensibilities, and\ndo not contain muscular energy. When these secondary qualities enter\ninto definite connections with our movements, they are then referred\nto the external, or object world. Light and colour, when varying\ndefinitely with our various movements, as postures and actions, are\nfrom that circumstance referred to the external, or _non-ego_;\nwithout such connections they would be called internal or subjective\nstates.\n\nThe contrasted terms 'Object' and 'Subject' are the least\nexceptionable for expressing the fundamental antithesis of\nconsciousness and of existence. Matter and Mind, External and\nInternal, are the popular synonyms, but are less free from\nmisleading suggestions. Extension is the Object fact by\npre-eminence; Pleasure and Pain are the most marked phases of pure\nSubjectivity. Between the consciousness of extension and the\nconsciousness of a pleasure there is the broadest line that can be\ndrawn within the human experience; the broadest distinction in the\nwhole universe of being. These then are the Object and Subject\nextremes; and, in the final analysis, the object extreme appears to\nbe grounded on the feeling of expended muscular energy.\n\nThe second omission alluded to is the Digestive Sensibility, which\nought undoubtedly to be included among sensations, having all the\nconstituents of a sense; an object--the food; a sensitive organ--the\nstomach; and a characteristic form of sensibility or feeling. The\nauthor farther takes notice of {6} 'Sensations of Disorganization,\nor of the approach to Disorganization, in any part of the body,'\nwhich too deserve to be reckoned among mental facts. He might\nfarther have adverted to the acute and depressing feelings of the\nLungs, in case of partial suffocation, with the exhilaration\nattending the relief from such a state, and the change from a close\nto a fresh atmosphere. Moreover, there are states of purely physical\ncomfort, associated with a vigorous circulation, with healthy\ninnervation, with the proper action of the skin; and feelings of\ndiscomfort and depression from the opposite states. A slight\nallusion to these various feelings occurs in chapter second towards\nthe close.\n\nThese various modes of sensibility seem to be fitly grouped together\nunder the common head of Sensations of Organic Life: their detail\nbeing arranged according to the several organs--viz.--the Alimentary\nCanal, Lungs, Circulation, Nervous System, &c. These would make a\nsixth Sense properly so called, or a department of passive\nsensibility.--_B._] {7}\n\n\nSECTION I.\n\nSMELL.\n\n\nIt is not material to the present purpose in what order we survey\nthe subdivisions of this elementary class of the mental phenomena.\nIt will be convenient to take those first, which can be most easily\nthought of by themselves; that is, of which a conception, free from\nthe mixture of any extraneous ingredient, can be most certainly\nformed. For this reason we begin with SMELL.[2]\n\n[Bain's footnote 2: The order of exposition of the senses is not a\nmatter of indifference. The author, like Condillac, selected Smell\nto begin with, as being a remarkably simple and characteristic\nfeeling; he has found another expository advantage in it, by\ndisturbing our routine mode of regarding the intellect as\nprincipally made up of sensations of sight. It has a startling\neffect on the reader, to suggest a mental life consisting wholly of\nsmells and ideas of smell.\n\nThere are two principles of arrangement of the senses, each good for\nits own purpose; it being understood that the active or muscular\nsensibility is taken apart from, and prior to, sensation proper.\n\nThe first is to take them in the order of Intellectual development.\nSome of the senses are evidently intellectual in a high degree, as\nSight and Hearing, others are intellectual in a much smaller degree,\nas Smell and Taste. The organic sensations are still less connected\nwith the operations of the intellect. Many of the least intellectual\nsensations are remarkably intense, as pleasure and pain; perhaps\nmore so than the intellectually higher class. The organic pains are\nmore unendurable than the worst pains of hearing or of sight, unless\nthese are assimilated to the other class, by injury of the organs.\n\nThe intellectual superiority of the higher senses shows itself in\ntwo ways, the one strictly in the domain of Intellect, the other in\nthe domain of Feeling. As regards Intellect, it is shown in the\npredominance of the ideas of the higher senses. Our intellectual or\nideal trains, the materials of thought and knowledge, are made up\nmost of all of ideas of sight, next of ideas of hearing, to a less\ndegree of ideas of touch or skin contact, and, least of all, of\nideas of stomach and lung sensations or other organic states. The\ntrains of the scientific man, of the man of business, and even of\nthe handicraft worker, are almost entirely made up of ideas of sight\nand of hearing (with active or muscular ideas). Our understanding of\nthe order of nature, our very notion of the material universe, is a\nvast and complex scheme of ideas of sight.\n\nThe intellectual superiority of the higher senses in the domain of\nFeeling is connected with the remembrance or ideal persistence of\npleasures and pains. The pleasures of Digestion are weakly and\nineffectively remembered, in the absence of the actuality. The\npleasures of Smell are remembered better. The pleasures and pains of\nHearing and Sight are remembered best of any. This gives them a\nhigher value in life; the addition made to the actual, by the ideal,\nis, in their case, the greatest of all. They are said, for this\namong other reasons, to be more refined.\n\nThe arrangement dictated by the gradation of intellectuality would\nbe as follows:--1. Sensations of Organic Life. 2. Taste. 3. Smell.\n4. Touch. 5. Hearing. 6. Sight.\n\nThe second principle of arrangement starts with Touch, as the most\nsimple in its mode of action, and the most diffused in its\noperation. Touch consists in mere mechanical pressure on a sensitive\nsurface; this is the most simple and elementary of all stimuli. The\nother senses are regarded as specialised modifications of Touch.\n\nIn Hearing, the mode of action is touch or mechanical contact. In\nthe remaining senses, the contact is accompanied with other forces.\nTaste and Smell involve chemical change, as well as contact. The\naction of Light on the eye is probably some species of molecular\ndisturbance involving chemical action. This mode of viewing the\norder and dependence of the senses belongs more especially to the\ntheory of the development of the organic system, which is made\nprominent in the Psychology of Mr. Herbert Spencer. The arrangement\nmight be variously expressed:--it might be Touch, Hearing, Sight,\nTaste, Smell, Organic Sensibility; or Touch, Hearing, Taste, Smell,\nOrganic Sensibility, Sight.--_B._]\n\n{8} In the Smell three things are commonly distinguished. There is\nthe ORGAN, there is the SENSATION, and there is the antecedent of\nthe Sensation, the {9} external OBJECT, as it is commonly\ndenominated,[1*] to which the Sensation is referred as an effect to\nits cause.\n\n[Mill's footnote 1: It is necessary here to observe, that I use,\nthroughout this Inquiry, the language most commonly in use. This is\nattended with its disadvantages; for on the subject of mind the\nordinary language almost always involves more or less of theory,\nwhich may or may not appear to me to correspond with the true\nexposition of the phenomena. The advantages, however, of not\ndeparting from familiar terms still appeared to me to preponderate;\nand I am willing to hope, that such erroneous suggestions, as are\nsometimes inseparable from the language I have thought it best upon\nthe whole to employ, will be corrected, without any particular\nnotice, by the analysis which I shall present.--(_Author's Note_.)]\n\nThese three distinguishable particulars are common to all the five\nSenses. With regard to the ORGAN, which is a physical rather than a\nmental subject of inquiry, I shall have occasion to say little more\nthan is required to make my reader distinguish, with sufficient\naccuracy, the part of his body to which the {10} separate feelings\nof his five Senses belong. And with regard to the antecedent of the\nSensation, or OBJECT of the Senses, the proper place for explaining\nwhat is capable of being known of it is at a subsequent part of this\ninquiry. My desire at present is, to fix the attention of the reader\nupon the SENSATION; that he may mark it as a mental state of a\nparticular kind, distinct from every other feeling of his nature.\n\nThe ORGAN of Smell, as every body knows, is situated in the mouth\nand nostrils, or in the nerves, appropriated to smelling, which are\nfound in the passage between the mouth and nostrils, and in the\nvicinity of that passage.\n\nThough it appears to be ascertained that the nerves are necessary to\nsensation, it is by no means ascertained in what way they become\nnecessary. It is a mystery how the nerves, similar in all parts of\nthe body, afford us, in one place, the sensation of sound; in\nanother, the sensations of light and colours; in another, those of\nodours, in another those of flavours, and tastes, and so on.\n\nWith respect to the external OBJECT, as it is usually denominated,\nof this particular sense; in other words, the antecedent, of which\nthe Sensation Smell is the consequent; it is, in vulgar\napprehension, the visible, tangible object, from which the odour\nproceeds. Thus, we are said to smell a rose, when we have the\nsensation derived from the odour of the rose. It is more correct\nlanguage, however, to say, that we smell the odorous particles which\nproceed from the visible, tangible object, than that we smell the\nobject itself; for, if any thing prevents the odorous particles,\nwhich the body emits, from reaching the organ of smell, the {11}\nsensation is not obtained. The object of the sense of smelling then\nare odorous particles, which only operate, or produce the sensation,\nwhen they reach the organ of smell.\n\nBut what is meant by odorous particles we are still in ignorance.\nSomething, neither visible nor tangible, is conveyed, through the\nair, to the olfactory nerves; but of this something we know no more\nthan that it is the antecedent of that nervous change, or variety of\nconsciousness, which we denote by the word smell.\n\nStill farther, When we say that the odorous particles, of which we\nare thus ignorant, reach the nerves which constitute the organ of\nsmell, we attach hardly any meaning to the word reach. We know not\nwhether the particles in question produce their effect, by contact,\nor without contact. As the nerves in every part of the body are\ncovered, we know not how any external particles can reach them. We\nknow not whether such particles operate upon the nerves, by their\nown, or by any other influence; the galvanic, for example, or\nelectrical, influence.\n\nThese observations, with regard to the organ of smell, and the\nobject of smell, are of importance, chiefly as they show us how\nimperfect our knowledge still is of all that is merely corporeal in\nsensation, and enable us to fix our attention more exclusively upon\nthat which alone is material to our subsequent inquiries--that point\nof consciousness which we *denominate the sensation of smell, the\nmere feeling, detached from every thing else.\n\nWhen we smell a rose, there is a particular feeling, a particular\nconsciousness, distinct from all others, which we mean to denote,\nwhen we call it the smell {12} of the rose. In like manner we speak\nof the smell of hay, the smell of turpentine, and the smell of a\nfox. We also speak of good smells, and bad smells; meaning by the\none, those which are agreeable to us; by the other, those which are\noffensive. In all these cases what we speak of is a point of\nconsciousness, a thing which we can describe no otherwise than by\ncalling it a feeling; a part of that series, that succession, that\nflow of something, on account of which we call ourselves living or\nsensitive creatures.\n\nWe can distinguish this feeling, this consciousness, the sensation\nof smell, from every other sensation. Smell and Sound are two very\ndifferent things; so are smell and sight. The smell of a rose is\ndifferent from the colour of the rose; it is also different from the\nsmoothness of the rose, or the sensation we have by touching the\nrose.\n\nWe not only distinguish the sensations of smell from those of the\nother senses, but we distinguish the sensations of smell from one\nanother. The smell of a rose is one sensation; the smell of a violet\nis another. The difference we find between one smell and another is\nin some cases very great; between the smell of a rose, for example,\nand that of carrion or assafoetida.\n\nThe number of distinguishable smells is very great. Almost every\nobject in nature has a peculiar smell; every animal, every plant,\nand almost every mineral. Not only have the different classes of\nobjects different smells, but probably different individuals in the\nsame class. The different smells of different individuals are\nperceptible, to a certain extent, even by the human organs, and to a\nmuch greater extent by those of the {13} dog, and other animals,\nwhose sense of smelling is more acute.\n\nWe can conceive ourselves, as endowed with smelling, and not\nenjoying any other faculty. In that case, we should have no idea of\nobjects as seeable, as hearable, as touchable, or tasteable. We\nshould have a train of smells; the smell at one time of the rose, at\nanother of the violet, at another of carrion, and so on. The\nsuccessive points of consciousness, composing our sentient being,\nwould be mere smells. Our life would be a train of smells, and\nnothing more. Smell, and Life, would be two names for the same\nthing.\n\nThe terms which our language supplies, for speaking of this sense,\nare exceedingly imperfect. It would obviously be desirable to have,\nat any rate, distinct names for the ORGAN, for the OBJECT, and for\nthe SENSATION; and that these names should never be confounded. It\nhappens, unfortunately, that the word SMELL is applicable to all the\nthree. That the word smell expresses, both the quality, as we\nvulgarly say, of the object smelt; and also the feeling of him by\nwhom it is smelt, every one is aware. If you ask whether the smell,\nwhen I hold a violet to my nostrils, is in me or in the violet, it\nwould be perfectly proper to say, in both. The same thing, however,\nis not in both, though the two things have the same name. What is in\nme is the sensation, the feeling, the point of consciousness; and\nthat can be in nothing but a sentient being. What is in the rose, is\nwhat I call a quality of the rose; in fact, the antecedent of my\nsensation; of which, beside its being the antecedent of my\nsensation, I know nothing. If I were speaking of a place in which my\nsenses had been {14} variously affected, and should say, that, along\nwith other pleasures, I had enjoyed a succession of the most\ndelightful smells, I should be understood to speak of my\n_sensations_. If I were speaking of a number of unknown objects, and\nshould say of one, that it had a smell like that of honey; of\nanother, that it had a smell like that of garlick; I should be\nunderstood as speaking of the _object_ of each sensation, a quality\nof the thing smelt.\n\nThe word smell, beside denoting the _sensation_ and the _object_,\ndenotes also the _organ_, in such phrases as the following; \"Sight\nand Hearing are two of the inlets of my knowledge, and Smell is a\nthird;\" \"The faculty by which I become sensible of odour is my\nSmell.\"[3]\n\n[Editor's footnote 3: It may be questioned whether, in the phrases\nhere cited, the word Smell stands for the olfactory organ. It would\nperhaps be most correct to say, that in these cases it denotes the\nabstract capacity of smelling, rather than the concrete physical\ninstrument. Even when smell is said to be one of the five senses,\nit may fairly be doubted whether a part of the meaning intended is,\nthat it is one of the five _organs_ of sensation. Nothing more seems\nto be meant, than that it is one of five distinguishable _modes_ of\nhaving sensations, whatever the intrinsic difference between those\nmodes may be.\n\nIn the author's footnote he recognises that the abstract power of\nsmelling enters into this particular application of the word Smell;\nand refers to a subsequent part of the treatise for the meaning of\nPower. But he thinks that along with the power, or as part of the\nconception of Power, the material organ is also signified. It seems\nto me that the organ does not enter in either of these modes, into\nthe signification of the word. We can imagine ourselves ignorant\nthat we possess physical organs; or aware that we possess them, but\nnot aware that our sensations of smell are connected with them. Yet\non either of these suppositions the \"power of smelling\" would be\nperfectly intelligible, and would have the same meaning to us which\nit has now.--_Ed._]\n\n{15} In the phrases in which smell is called a SENSE, as when we\nsay, that smell is one of the five senses, there is considerable\ncomplexity. The term here imports the _organ_, it imports the\n_sensation_, and, in a certain way, it imports also the _object_.\nIt imports the organ as existing continuously, the sensation as\nexisting only under a certain condition, and that condition the\npresence of the object.[2*]\n\n[Mill's footnote 2: It will naturally occur to some of my readers,\nthat, in the term sense of smelling, the idea of power is also\nincluded. They will say, that when we speak of the sense of\nsmelling, we mean not only the organ, but the function of the organ,\nor its power of producing a certain effect. This is undoubtedly\ntrue; but when the real meaning of the language is evolved, it only\namounts to that which is delivered in the text. For what does any\nperson mean when he says that, in the sense of smelling, he has the\npower of smelling? Only this, that he has an organ, and that when\nthe object of that organ is presented to it, sensation is the\nconsequence. In all this, there is nothing but the organ, the\nobject, and the sensation, conceived in a certain order. This will\nmore fully appear when the meaning of the relative terms, cause and\neffect, has been explained.--(_Author's Note_.)]\n\n\n{16} SECTION II.\n\nHEARING.\n\n\nIn Hearing, the same three particulars, the ORGAN, the OBJECT, and\nthe FEELING, require to be distinguished.\n\nThe name of the organ is the Ear; and its nice and complicated\nstructure has been described with minuteness and admiration by\nanatomists and physiologists.\n\nIn vulgar discourse, the object of our Sense of Hearing is a\nsounding body. We say that we hear the bell, the trumpet, the\ncannon. This language, however, is not correct. That which precedes\nthe feeling received through the ear, is the approach of vibrating\nair to the ear. Certain bodies, made to vibrate in a certain way,\ncommunicate vibrations to the air, and the vibrating air, admitted\ninto the ear, is followed by the sensation of hearing. If the air\nwhich the body makes to vibrate does not enter the ear, however the\nbody itself may vibrate, sensation does not follow; hearing does not\ntake place. There is, in fact, no sound. Of the circumstances in\nwhich sound is generated, part only were present. There was the\norgan, and there was the object, but not that juxta-position which\nis needed to make the antecedent of the sensation complete. Air\nvibrating in juxta-position to the organ, is the object of Hearing.\n\nHow air in vibration should produce the {17} remarkable effect,\ncalled hearing, in the nerves of the ear, and no effect in those of\nthe eye, in those of smelling, or those of taste, our knowledge does\nnot enable us to tell.\n\nIt is not very difficult to think of the sensation of hearing, apart\nfrom the organ, and from the object, as well as from every other\nfeeling. I hear the hum of bees. The feeling to which I give this\nname is a point of my own consciousness; it is an elementary part of\nmy sensitive being; of that thread of consciousness, drawn out in\nsuccession, which I call myself. I have the hearing; it is a\nsensation of my own; it is my feeling, and no other man's feeling;\nit is a very different feeling from taste, and a very different\nfeeling from smell, and from all my other feelings.\n\nI hear the song of birds, I hear the lowing of oxen, I hear the\nsighing of the wind, I hear the roaring of the sea. I have a\nfeeling, in each of these cases; a consciousness, which I can\ndistinguish not only from the feelings of my other senses, but from\nthe other feelings of the same sense. If I am asked, what takes\nplace in me, when a trumpet is unexpectedly sounded in the next\nroom, I answer, a sensation, a particular feeling. I become\nconscious in a particular way.\n\nThe number of those feelings which we are able to distinguish is\nvery great. In this respect, the organ of hearing in man, is much\nmore perfect than the organ of smell. The organ of hearing can\ndistinguish, not only the voices of different classes, but of\ndifferent individuals in the same class. There never, probably, {18}\nwas a man whose voice was not distinguishable from that of every\nother man, by those who were familiarly acquainted with it.\n\nThe most simple case of sound is that perhaps of a single note on a\nmusical instrument. This note may be sounded on an endless number of\ninstruments, and by an endless number of human voices, from no two\nof which will the same sound exactly be returned.\n\nWe can think of ourselves as having the feelings of this class, and\nhaving no other. In that case, our whole being would be a series of\nHearings. It would be one sensation of hearing, another sensation of\nhearing, and nothing more. Our thread of consciousness would be the\nsensation, which we denominate sound. Life and sound would be two\nnames for the same thing.\n\nThe language by which we speak of the \"sense of hearing,\" is also\nimperfect. We have, indeed, the term Ear, to express the ORGAN, but\nwe have no appropriate name for the SENSATION, nor for the OBJECT.\nThe term sound is a name both of the sensation and the object. If I\nwere asked, when the bell rings, whether the sound is in me, or in\nthe bell, I might answer, in both; not that the same thing is in\nboth; the things are different; having the same name. The sensation\ncalled a sound is in me, the vibration called a sound is in the\nbell. Hearing is equally ambiguous; a name both of the organ and the\nfeeling. If asked, by which of my organs I have the knowledge of\nsound, I should answer, my hearing. And if asked what feeling it is\nI have by the ear, I still should say, hearing. Hearing is rarely\nmade use of to denote {19} the object of hearing, and hardly at all\nexcept by figure.\n\nNoise is a name which denotes the object, in certain cases. There is\na certain class of sounds, to which we give the name noise. In those\ncases, however, noise is also the name of the sensation. In fact, it\nis the name of the sensation first, and only by transference that of\nthe object.\n\nIn the phrase, sense of hearing, the word has the same complexity of\nmeaning, which we found in the word smelling, in the corresponding\napplication of that term. When I say that I have the sense of\nhearing, I mean to say, that I have an organ, which organ has an\nappropriate object; and that when the organ and the object are in\nthe appropriate position, the sensation of hearing is the\nconsequent. In the term, sense of hearing, then, is included, the\norgan, the object, and the sensation, with the idea of a synchronous\norder of the two first, and a successive order of the third. \"Sense\nof hearing\" is thus seen to be the name of a very complex idea,\nincluding five distinguishable ingredients, the idea of the organ of\nhearing, the idea of the sensation, the idea of the object of\nhearing, the idea of a synchronous order, and the idea of a\nsuccessive order.[4]\n\n[Editor's footnote 4: In the case of hearing, as of smell, one of\nthe ambiguities brought to notice by the author is of questionable\nreality. It is doubtful if \"hearing\" is ever used as a name of the\norgan. To the question supposed in the text, \"by which of my organs\ndo I have the knowledge of sound\" the correct answer would surely\nbe, not \"my hearing\"--an expression which, so {20} applied, could\nonly be accepted as elliptical,--but \"my organ of hearing,\" or\n(still better) \"my ear.\" Again, the phrase \"I have the sense of\nhearing\" signifies that I have a capacity of hearing, and that this\ncapacity is classed as one of sense, or in other words, that the\nfeelings to which it has reference belong to the class Sensations:\nbut the organ, though a necessary condition of my having the\nsensations, does not seem to be implied in the name.--_Ed._]\n\n\n{21} SECTION III.\n\nSIGHT.\n\n\nIn SIGHT, the organ is very conspicuous, and has an appropriate\nname, the Eye.\n\nIn ordinary language, the object of sight is the body which is said\nto be seen. This is a similar error to those which we have detected\nin the vulgar language relating to the senses of smell and hearing.\nIt is Light alone which enters the eye; and Light, with its numerous\nmodifications, is the sole object on sight.\n\nHow the particles of light affect the nerves of the eye, in the\npeculiar manner in which they are affected in sight, without\naffecting the other nerves of the body, in any similar manner, we\ncan render no account.\n\nThat the feeling we have in sight, is very different from the\nfeeling we have in hearing, in smelling, in tasting, or touching,\nevery man knows. It is difficult, however, to detach the feeling we\nhave in sight from every other feeling; because there are other\nfeelings which we are constantly in the habit of connecting with it;\nand the passage in the mind from the one to the other is so rapid,\nthat they run together, and can not easily be distinguished. The\ndifferent modifications of light we call colour. But we cannot think\nof the sensation of colour, without at the same time {22} thinking\nof something coloured, of surface or extension, a notion derived\nfrom another sense.\n\nThat the feelings of sight which we are capable of distinguishing\nfrom one another, are exceedingly numerous, is obvious from this,\nthat it is by them we distinguish the infinite variety of visible\nobjects. We have the sensation; the sensation suggests the object;\nand it is only by the difference of sensation, that the difference\nof object can be indicated.\n\nSome of the things suggested by the sensations of sight, as\nextension and figure, are suggested so instantaneously, that they\nappear to be objects of sight, things actually seen. But this\nimportant law of our nature, by which so many things appear to be\nseen, which are only suggested by the feelings of sight, it requires\nthe knowledge of other elements of the mental phenomena to explain.\n\nThe imperfections of the language, by which we have to speak of the\nphenomena of sight, deserve the greatest attention.\n\nWe have an appropriate name for the organ; it is the Eye. And we\nhave an appropriate name for the Object; it is light. But we have no\nappropriate name for the Sensation. From confusion of names,\nproceeds confusion of ideas. And from misnaming, on this one point,\nnot a little unprofitable discourse on the subject of the human mind\nhas been derived.\n\nThe word sight, in certain phrases, denotes the sensation. If I am\nasked, what is the feeling which I have by the eye? I answer, sight.\nBut sight is also a name of the object. The light of day is said to\nbe a beautiful sight. And sight is sometimes employed as a name of\nthe organ. An old man informs us, {23} that his sight is failing,\nmeaning that his eyes are failing.[5]\n\n[Editor's footnote 5: The example given does not seem to me to prove\nthat sight is ever employed as a name of the organ. When an old man\nsays that his sight is failing, he means only that he is less\ncapable of seeing. His eyes might be failing in some other respect,\nwhen he would not say that his sight was failing. The term \"sense of\nsight,\" like sense of hearing or of smell, stands, as it seems to\nme, for the capability, without reference to the organ.--_Ed._]\n\nColour is a name, as well of the object, as of the sensation. It is\nmost commonly a name of the object. Colour is, properly speaking, a\nmodification of light, though it is never conceived but as something\nspread over a surface; it is, therefore, not the name of light\nsimply, but the name of three things united, light, surface, and a\ncertain position of the two. In many cases, however, we have no\nother name for the sensation. If I am asked, what feeling I have\nwhen a red light is presented to my eyes, I can only say, the colour\nof red; and so of other visual feelings, the colour of green, the\ncolour of white, and so on.\n\nIn the term sense of sight, the same complexity of meaning is\ninvolved which we have observed in the terms sense of smell, and\nsense of hearing. When I speak of my sense of sight, as when I speak\nof the attraction of the load-stone, I mean to denote an antecedent,\nand a consequent; the organ with its object in appropriate position,\nthe antecedent; the sensation, the consequent. This is merely the\nphilosophical statement of the fact, that, when light is received\ninto the eye, the sensation of sight is the consequence.\n\nVision, a word expressive of the phenomena of {24} sight, is\nambiguous in the same manner. It is sometimes used to denote the\nsense of seeing; that is, the antecedent and consequent, as\nexplained in the preceding paragraph. Thus we say, the phenomena of\nvision, with the same propriety as we say the phenomena of sight. It\nis sometimes employed to denote the sensation. If we ask what\nfeeling a blind man is deprived of, it would be perfectly proper to\nsay, vision is the feeling of which he is deprived. It is, also,\nemployed to denote the object. What vision was that? would be a very\nintelligible question, on the sudden appearance and disappearance of\nsomething which attracted the eye.[6]\n\n[Editor's footnote 6: Vision, I believe, is used to denote the\nobject of sight, only when it is supposed that this object is\nsomething unreal, _i.e._, that it has not any extended and resisting\nsubstance behind it: or rhetorically, to signify that the object\nlooks more like a phantom than a reality; as when Burke calls Marie\nAntoinette, as once seen by him, a delightful vision.--_Ed._]\n\n\n{25} SECTION IV.\n\nTASTE.\n\n\nThe ORGAN of TASTE is in the mouth and fauces.\n\nIn ordinary language, the OBJECT of taste is any thing, which, taken\ninto the mouth, and tasted, as it is called, produces the peculiar\nSENSATION of this sense. Nor has philosophy as yet enabled us to\nstate the object of taste more correctly. There are experiments\nwhich show, that galvanism is concerned in the phenomena, but not in\nwhat way.\n\nThe SENSATION, in this case, is distinguished by every body. The\ntaste of sugar, the taste of an apple, are words which immediately\nrecall the ideas of distinct feelings. It is to be observed,\nhowever, that the feelings of this sense are very often united with\nthose of the sense of smell; the two organs being often affected by\nthe same thing, at the same time. In that case, though we have two\nsensations, they are so intimately blended as to seem but one; and\nthe flavour of the apple, the flavour of the wine, appears to be a\nsimple sensation, though compounded of taste and smell.[7]\n\n[Editor's footnote 7: Some physiologists have been of opinion that a\nlarge proportion of what are classed as tastes, including all\nflavours, as distinguished from the generic tastes of sweet, sour,\nbitter, &c., are really affections of the nerves of smell, and are\nmistaken for tastes only because they are experienced along with\ntastes, as a consequence of taking food into the mouth.--_Ed._]\n\n{26} It is not so easy, in the case of this, as of some of the other\nsenses, to conceive ourselves as having this class of feelings and\nno other. Antecedent to the sensation of taste, there is generally\nsome motion of the mouth, by which the object and the organ are\nbrought into the proper position and state. The sensation can hardly\nbe thought of without thinking of this motion, that is, of other\nfeelings. Besides, the organ of taste is also the organ of another\nsense. The organ of taste has the sense of touch, and most objects\nof taste are objects of touch. Sensations of touch, therefore, are\nintimately blended with those of taste.\n\nBy a little pains, however, any one may conceive the sensations of\ntasting, while he conceives his other organs to remain in a\nperfectly inactive state, and himself as nothing but a passive\nrecipient of one taste after another. If he conceives a mere train\nof those sensations, perfectly unmixed with any other feeling, he\nwill have the conception of a being made up of tastes; a thread of\nconsciousness, which maybe called mere taste; a life which is merely\ntaste.\n\nThe language employed about this sense is not less faulty, than that\nemployed about the other senses, which we have already surveyed.\n\nThere is no proper name for the organ. The word Mouth, which we are\noften obliged to employ for that purpose, is the name of this organ\nand a great deal more.\n\nThere is no proper name for the object. We are obliged to call it,\nthat which has taste. The word flavour is used to denote that\nquality, which is more peculiarly the object of taste, in certain\narticles of food; and sometimes we borrow the word sapidity, {27}\nfrom the Latin, to answer the same purpose more extensively.\n\nThe word taste is a name for the sensation. We generally call the\nfeeling, which is the point of consciousness in this case, by the\nname taste. Thus we say one taste is pleasant, another unpleasant;\nand nothing is pleasant or unpleasant but a feeling.\n\nThe word taste is also a name for the object, as when we say, that\nany thing has taste.\n\nIt is further employed as a name of the organ. As we are said to\nperceive qualities by the eye, the ear, and the touch; so we are\nsaid to perceive them by the taste.\n\nIn the phrase, sense of taste, there is the same complexity of\nmeaning as we have observed in the corresponding phrase in the case\nof the other senses. In this phrase, taste expresses all the leading\nparticulars; the organ, the object, and the sensation, together with\nthe order of position in the two first, and the order of constant\nsequence in the last.[8]\n\n[Editor's footnote 8: The statement that \"taste\" is sometimes\nemployed as a name of the organ, seems to me, like the similar\nstatements respecting the names of our other senses,\ndisputable.--_Ed._]\n\n\n{28} SECTION V.\n\nTOUCH.\n\n\nIn discoursing about the ORGAN, the SENSATIONS, and the OBJECTS, of\ntouch, more vagueness has been admitted, than in the case of any of\nthe other senses.\n\nIn fact, every sensation which could not properly be assigned to any\nother of the senses, has been allotted to the touch. The sensations\nclassed, or rather jumbled together, under this head, form a kind of\nmiscellany, wherein are included feelings totally unlike.\n\nThe ORGAN of TOUCH is diffused over the whole surface of the body,\nand reaches a certain way into the alimentary canal. Of food, as\nmerely tangible, there is seldom a distinct sensation in the\nstomach, or any lower part of the channel, except towards the\nextremity. The stomach, however, is sensible to heat, and so is the\nwhole of the alimentary canal, as far at least as any experiment is\ncapable of being made. It may, indeed, be inferred, that we are\ninsensible to the feelings of touch, throughout the intestinal\ncanal, only from the habit of not attending to them.[9]\n\n[Bain's footnote 9: The surface of the sense of Touch properly so\ncalled is the skin, or common integument of the body, the interior\nof the mouth and the tongue, and the interior of the nose. There are\ncommon anatomical peculiarities in these organs; which distinguish\nthem from the alimentary canal and all the other interior surfaces\nof the body. Moreover, although, in the alimentary canal, there is\nsolid or liquid contact with a sensitive surface, the mode of\nexciting the sensitive nerves, and the resulting sensibility, are\npeculiar and distinct. The mode of action in touch is mechanical\ncontact or pressure, mainly of solid and resisting bodies; in\ndigestion, the nerves are affected through chemical and other\nprocesses--solution, absorption, assimilation, &c. In touch, there\nis the peculiar feeling known as hard contact, together with the\nvarying discrimination of plurality of points. In digestion, when\nhealthy, the feeling of contact is entirely absent.--_B._]\n\n{29} We have next to consider the OBJECT of TOUCH. Whatever yields\nresistance, and whatever is extended, figured, hot, or cold, we set\ndown, in ordinary language, as objects of touch.\n\nI shall show, when the necessary explanations have been afforded,\nthat the idea of resistance, the idea of extension, and the idea of\nfigure, include more than can be referred to the touch, as the ideas\nof visible figure and magnitude include more than can be referred to\nthe eye. It has been long known, that many of the things, which the\nfeeling by the eye seems to include, it only suggests. It is not\nless important to know, that the same is the case with the tactual\nfeeling; that this also suggests various particulars which it has\nbeen supposed to comprehend.\n\nIn the present stage of our investigation, it is not expedient to\npush very far the inquiry, what it is, or is not, proper, to class\nas sensations of touch, because that can be settled with much\ngreater advantage hereafter.\n\nThe sensations of heat and cold offer this advantage,--that being\noften felt without the accompaniment of {30} any thing visible or\nextended, which can be called an object, they can be more distinctly\nconceived as simple feelings, than most of our other sensations.[10]\nThey are feelings very different from the ordinary sensations of\ntouch; and possibly the only reason for classing them with those\nsensations was, that the organ of them, like that of touch, is\ndiffused over the whole body. We know not that the nerves\nappropriated to the sensations of heat and cold are the same with\nthose which have the sensation of touch. If they be the same, they\nmust at any rate be affected in a very different manner.\n\n[Bain's footnote 10: The sensations of heat and cold are, of all\nsensations, the most _subjective_. The reason is that they are least\nconnected with definite muscular energies. The rise and fall of the\ntemperature of the surrounding air may induce sensations wholly\nindependent of our own movements; and to whatever extent such\nindependence exists, there is a corresponding absence of\nobjectivity. This independence, however, is still only partial, even\nin the case of heat and cold; in a great number, perhaps a majority,\nof instances, they depend upon our movements; as in changing our\nposition with reference to a fire, in our clothing, and so on. It is\nthe possibility of conceiving them in the pure subject character,\nand apart from object relations, that constitutes them simple\nfeelings, in the acceptation of the text. Although not in an equal\ndegree, the same is true of sensations of hearing, on which the\nauthor made a similar remark.--_B_].\n\nTo whatever class we may refer the sensations of heat and cold, in\ntheir moderate degrees, it seems that good reasons may be given for\nnot ranking them with the sensations of touch, when they rise to the\ndegree of pain. All those acute feelings which attend the\ndisorganization, or tendency toward disorganization, {31} of the\nseveral parts of our frame, seem entirely distinct from the feelings\nof touch. Even in the case of cutting, or laceration, the mere touch\nof the knife or other instrument is one feeling, the pain of the\ncut, or laceration, another feeling, as much as, in the mouth, the\ntouch of the sugar is one feeling, the sweetness of it another.\n\nAs we shall offer reasons hereafter to show, that the feelings of\nresistance, extension, and figure, are not feelings of touch, we\nshould endeavour to conceive what feeling it is which remains when\nthose feelings are taken away.\n\nWhen we detach the feeling of resistance, we, of course, detach\nthose of hardness and softness, roughness and smoothness, which are\nbut different modifications of resistance. And when these, and the\nfeelings of extension and figure, are detached, a very simple\nsensation seems to remain, the feeling which we have when something,\nwithout being seen, comes gently in contact with our skin, in such a\nway, that we cannot say whether it is hard or soft, rough or smooth,\nof what figure it is, or of what size. A sense of something present\non the skin, and perhaps also on the interior parts of the body,\ntaken purely by itself, seems alone the feeling of touch.\n\nThe feelings of this sense are mostly moderate, partaking very\nlittle of either pain or pleasure. This is the reason why the\nstronger feelings, which are connected with them, those of\nresistance, and extension, predominate in the groupe, and prevent\nattention to the sensations of touch. The sensations of touch\noperate as signs to introduce the ideas of resistance and extension,\nand are no more regarded.\n\n{32} The imperfection of the language which we employ, in speaking\nof this sense, deserves not less of our regard, than that of the\nlanguage we employ, in speaking of our other senses.\n\nWe need distinct and appropriate names, for the organ, for the\nobject, and for the sensation. We have no such name for any of them.\n\nThe word touch is made to stand for all the three. I speak of my\ntouch, when I mean to denote my organ of touch. I speak also of my\ntouch, when I mean to denote my sensation. And in some cases,\nspeaking of the object, I call it touch. If I were to call a piece\nof fine and brilliant velvet a fine sight, another person might say,\nit is a fine touch as well as fine sight.[11]\n\n[Editor's footnote 11: It is more true of the word touch, than of\nthe names of our other senses, that it is occasionally employed to\ndenote the organ of touch; because that organ, being the whole\nsurface of the body, has not, like the organs of the special senses,\na compact distinctive name. But it may be doubted if the word touch\never stands for the object of touch. If a person made use of the\nphrase in the text, \"it is a fine touch as well as a fine sight,\" he\nwould probably be regarded as purchasing an epigrammatic turn of\nexpression at the expense of some violence to language.--_Ed._]\n\nIn ordinary language, the word feeling is appropriated to this\nsense; though it has been found convenient, in philosophical\ndiscourse, to make the term generical, so as to include every\nmodification of consciousness.[3*]\n\n[Mill's footnote 3: \"The word _feeling_, though in many cases we use\nit as synonymous to _touching_, has, however, a much more extensive\nsignification, and is frequently employed to denote our internal, as\nwell as our external, affections. We feel hunger and thirst, we feel\njoy and sorrow, we feel love and hatred.\"--_Ad. Smith_, _on the\nExternal Senses_.--(_Author's Note_.)]\n\nWhen I say that I feel the table, there is a considerable complexity\nof meaning. Dr. Reid, and his followers, maintain, that I have not\none point of {33} consciousness only, but two; that I feel the\nsensation, and that I feel the table; that the sensation is one\nthing, the feeling of the table another. Expositions which will be\ngiven hereafter are necessary to the complete elucidation of what\ntakes place. But the explanations which have been already afforded\nwill enable us to state the facts with considerable clearness. In\nwhat is called feeling the table, my organ of touch, and an object\nof touch, in the appropriate position, are the antecedent; of this\nantecedent, sensation is the consequent. The expression, \"I feel the\ntable,\" includes both the antecedent and the consequent. It does not\nmark the sensation alone; it marks the sensation, and, along with\nthe sensation, its antecedent, namely, the organ, and its object in\nconjunction.\n\nThe phrase, sense of touch, or the word feeling, often synonymous,\nhas the same complexity of meaning, which we have observed in the\nphrases, sense of hearing, sense of sight, and the rest of the\nsenses.\n\nWhen I say that I touch, or have the sense of touch, I mean to say,\nthat I have a certain feeling, consequent upon a certain antecedent.\nThe phrase, therefore, _notes_ the sensation, and at the same time\n_connotes_[4*] the following things: 1st, the organ; 2dly, {34} the\nobject of the organ; 3dly, the synchronous order of the organ and\nobject; 4thly, the successive order of the sensation; the\nsynchronous order being, as usual, the antecedent of the successive\norder.[5*] [12]\n\n[Mill's footnote 4: The use, which I shall make, of the term\n_connotation_, needs to be explained. There is a large class of\nwords, which denote two things, both together; but the one perfectly\ndistinguishable from the other. Of these two things, also, it is\nobservable, that such words express the one, _primarily_, as it\nwere; the other, in a way which may be called _secondary_. Thus,\n_white_, in the phrase _white horse_, denotes two things, the\ncolour, and the horse; but it denotes the colour _primarily_, the\nhorse _secondarily_. We shall find it very convenient, to say,\ntherefore, that it _notes_ the primary, _connotes_ the secondary,\nsignification.--(_Author's Note_.) [Reasons will be assigned further\non, why the words _to connote_ and _connotation_ had better be\nemployed, not as here indicated, but in a different and more special\nsense.--ED.]]\n\n[Mill's footnote 5: The terms _synchronous_ order, and _successive_\norder, will be fully explained hereafter, when any obscurity which\nmay now seem to rest upon them will be removed; it may be useful at\npresent to say, that, by synchronous order, is meant order in space,\nby successive order, order in time; the first, or order in space,\nbeing nothing but the placing or position of the objects at any\ngiven time; the second, or order in time, being nothing but the\nantecedence of the one, and the consequence of the\nother.--(_Author's Note_.)]\n\n[Bain's footnote 12: _Additional Observations on the Sense of\nTouch_.--The author is right in drawing a distinction between Touch\nproper and the sensibility to Heat and Cold, which, though\nprincipally found in the skin, extends beyond the seat of tactile\nsensibility, as, for example, to the alimentary canal, and to the\nlungs. It is a debated point, whether the nerves of Touch are also\nthe nerves of Heat and Cold; some persons contending for special\nnerves of Temperature. Such special nerves, however, have not been\nproved to exist.\n\nThe remark is also correct, that the feelings of temperature can be\nmore easily attended to, as simple feelings, than the {35} feelings\nof touch proper. The reason is not precisely stated. It is that\nradiant heat may affect the surface of the body without occasioning\nresistance or movement, and is thus a purely passive sensibility; a\nsubject-state without an object-accompaniment. When the degree of\nthe sensation varies definitely with definite movements, it is\ntreated as an object sensibility, or as pointing to the object\nworld. Thus when we grow warmer as we move in one direction, and\ncolder as we move in another, we no longer think of the feeling as a\npurely subject fact, but as having an object, or external\nembodiment.\n\nIt is also justly remarked in the text, that the severe sensations\nof heat, and cold, as well as those from laceration of the skin, may\nbe properly classed with feelings of disorganization generally. At\nthe same time, these painful feelings have a character varying with\nthe organ affected; the fact of injury of tissue may be the same,\nbut the feeling will not be the same, in the skin, the nostrils, the\near, the eye, the alimentary canal.\n\nThe description above given of the feeling that remains, when the\ndifferent modifications of resistance are deducted, is scarcely\nadequate to represent the reality. Frequently it is true of them,\nthat they 'are mostly moderate, partaking very little of either pain\nor pleasure,' but there are occasions when they rise into prominence\nand power. We may refer to the contact of the bedclothes at night,\nwhen the body is relieved from the tight and deadening embrace of\nthe ordinary clothing. The case of greatest moment, however, is the\ncontact of one human being or animal with another; such contact\nbeing the physical element in the tender as well as in the sexual\naffections. There is a combination of tactile sensibility and warmth\nin this instance, each counting for a part of the pleasure. The\ninfluence is well enough known as experienced among human beings;\nbut the sphere of its operation in animals has been but imperfectly\nexplored.\n\nIf we observe carefully the first movements of a new-born animal, a\nmammal for example, we find that the guiding and {36} controlling\nsensation of its first moments, is the contact with the mother. In\nthat contact, it finds satisfaction and repose; in separation, it is\nin discomfort and disquiet. Its earliest volitions are to retain and\nto recover the soft warm touch of the maternal body. When it\ncommences sucking, and has the sensation of nourishment, a new\ninterest springs up, perhaps still more powerful in its attractions,\nand able to supersede the first, or at least to put it into a second\nplace; yet, during the whole period of maternal dependence, the\nfeeling of touch is a source of powerful sensibility both to the\nmother and to the offspring. Among animals born in litter, as pigs,\nkittens, &c., the embrace is equally acceptable between the\nfellow-progeny themselves. The sensual pleasure of this contact is\nthe essence, the fact, of animal affection, parental and fraternal;\nand it is the germ, or foundation, and concomitant of tender\naffection in human beings. It is the experience of this agreeable\ncontact that prepares the way for a still closer conjunction after\nthe animal reaches puberty. Independent of, and antecedent to, that\nstill more acute sensibility, there is a pleasure in the warm\nembrace of two animals, and they are ready to enter upon it, at all\ntimes when the other interests, as nourishment, exercise and repose,\nare not engrossing. The play of animals with one another clearly\ninvolves the pleasure of the embrace, even without sexuality; and it\nleads to the sexual encounter at the ripe moment.--_B._]\n\n\n{37} SECTION VI.\n\nSENSATIONS OF DISORGANIZATION, OR OF THE APPROACH TO\nDISORGANIZATION, IN ANY PART OF THE BODY.\n\n\nThat we have sensations in parts of the body suffering, or\napproaching to, disorganization, does not require illustration. The\ndisorganizations of which we speak proceed sometimes from external,\nsometimes from internal, causes. Lacerations, cuts, bruises,\nburnings, poisonings, are of the former kind; inflammation, and\nother diseases in the parts, are the latter.\n\nThese sensations are specifically different from those classed under\nthe several heads of sense. The feelings themselves, if attended to,\nare evidence of this. In the next place, they have neither organ,\nnor object, in the sense in which those latter feelings have them.\nWe do not talk of an organ of burning; an organ of pain; nor do we\ntalk of an object of any of them; we do not say the object of a cut,\nthe object of an ache, the object of a sore.\n\nMost of those sensations are of the painful kind; though some are\notherwise. Some slight, or locally minute inflammations, produce a\nsensation called itching, which is far from disagreeable, as appears\nfrom the desire to scratch, which excites it.[13]\n\n[Editor's footnote 13: The author, in this passage, uses the word\nitching out of its ordinary sense; making it denote the pleasant\nsensation accompanying the relief by scratching, instead of the\nslightly painful, and sometimes highly irritating, sensation which\nthe scratching relieves.--_Ed._]\n\n{38} The scratching, which excites the pleasure of itching, is a\nspecies of friction, and friction, in most parts of the body,\nexcites a sensation very different from the mere sense of touching\nor the simple feeling of the object. The tickling of the feather in\nthe nose, for example, is very different from the mere feeling of\nthe feather in touch. In some parts of the body the most intense\nsensations are produced by friction.\n\nThere is difficulty in classing those sensations. They are not the\nsame with those of any of the five senses: and they are not the same\nwith those which rise from any tendency to disorganization in the\nparts of the body to which they are referred. Great accuracy,\nhowever, in the classification of the sensations, is not essential\nto that acquaintance with them, which is requisite for the\nsubsequent parts of this inquiry. It will suffice for our purpose,\nif the reader so far attend to them, as to be secure from the danger\nof overlooking or mistaking them, where a distinct consideration of\nthem is necessary for developing any of the complicated phenomena in\nwhich they are concerned.[14]\n\n[Bain's footnote 14: _Organic Sensibilities_.--The author did well\nto signalize these sensibilities, so powerful in their influence on\nhuman life. They are not confined to the side of pain. The same\norgans whose disorganization is connected with pain, are, in their\nhealthy and vigorous working, more or less connected with pleasure.\nThis is true not merely of the digestive functions, but of the\nrespiration, the circulation, and others.\n\nNor is it difficult in their case to make up the full analogy {39}\nof a sense, as having an Object, an Organ, and a characteristic\nSensation. In digestion, the object is the food, the organ is the\nalimentary canal; in respiration, the object is the air, and the\norgan the lungs. If it be said that the air is an impalpable agent\nand not discovered to the mind by its mode of operating, so is heat,\nthe object of an admitted sense.\n\nThe accurate classification of these feelings may not have much\nspeculative interest, in Psychology, but it has a great practical\ninterest in the diagnosis of disease. For want of subjective\nknowledge on the part of the patient, and of a well understood\nnomenclature of subjective symptoms, the discrimination of disease\nby the feelings is usually very rough.\n\nThe best mode of arranging these sensibilities seems to be to\nconnect them with their organs, or seats--Muscular Tissue, Bones and\nLigaments, Nerves, Heart and Circulation, Lungs, Alimentary Canal.\nThe sensations of itching and tickling are modes of skin\nsensibility. Tickling is an effect not well understood, although\nsome interesting observations have been made upon it.--_B._]\n\n\n{40} SECTION VII.\n\nMUSCULAR SENSATIONS, OR THOSE FEELINGS WHICH ACCOMPANY THE ACTION OF\nTHE MUSCLES.\n\n\nThere is no part of our Consciousness, which deserves greater\nattention than this; though, till lately, it has been miserably\noverlooked. Hartley, Darwin, and Brown, are the only philosophical\ninquirers into Mind, at least in our own country, who seem to have\nbeen aware that it fell within the province of their speculations.\n\nThe muscles are bundles of fibres, which, by their contraction and\nrelaxation, produce all the motions of the body. The nerves, with\nwhich they are supplied, seem to be the immediate instruments of the\nmuscular action.\n\nThat these muscles have the power of acute sensation, we know, by\nwhat happens, when they are diseased, when they suffer any external\ninjury, or even when, the integuments being removed, they can be\ntouched, though ever so gently.\n\nIt has been said,[6*] that if we had but one sensation, {41} and\nthat uninterrupted, it would be as if we had no sensation at all;\nand, to the justice of this observation, some very striking facts\nappear to bear evidence. We know that the air is continually\npressing upon our bodies. But, the sensation being continual,\nwithout any call to attend to it, we lose, from habit, the power of\ndoing so. The sensation is as if it did not exist. We feel the air\nwhen it is in motion, or when it is hotter or colder, to a certain\ndegree, than our bodies; but it is because we have the habit of\nattending to it in those states. As the muscles are always in\ncontact with the same things, the sensations of the muscles must be\nalmost constantly the same. This is one reason why they are very\nlittle attended to, and, amid the crowd of other feelings, are, in\ngeneral, wholly forgotten. They are of that class of feelings which\noccur as antecedents to other more interesting feelings. To these\nthe attention is immediately called off, and those which preceded\nand introduced them are forgotten. In such cases the thought of the\nless interesting sensations is merged in that of the more\ninteresting.\n\n[Mill's footnote 6: Itaque et sensioni adh\u00e6ret, proprie dict\u00e6, ut ei\naliqua insita sit perpetuo phantasmatum varietas, ita ut aliud ab\nalio discerni posset. Si supponeremus, enim, esse hominem, oculis\nquidem claris c\u00e6terisque videndi organis recte se habentibus\ncompositum, nullo autem alio sensu pr\u00e6ditum, eumque ad eandem rem\neodem semper colore et specie sine ulla vel minima varietate\napparentem obversum esse, mihi certe, quicquid dicant alii, non\nmagis videre videretur, quam ego videor mihi per tact\u00fbs organa\nsentire lacertorum meorum ossa. Ea tamen perpetuo et undequaque\nsensibilissima membrana continguntur.--Adeo sentire semper idem, et\nnon sentire, ad idem recidunt. _Hobbes_, _Elem. Philos._ Pars IV. c.\nxxv. \u00a7 5.--(_Author's Note_.)]\n\nIf we had not direct proof, analogy would lead us to conclude, that\nno change could take place, in parts of so much sensibility as the\nmuscles, without a change of feeling; in particular, that a {42}\ndistinguishable feeling must attend every contraction, and\nrelaxation. We have proof that there is such a feeling, because\nintimation is conveyed to the mind that the relaxation or\ncontraction is made. I will, to move my arm; and though I observe\nthe motion by none of my senses, I know that the motion is made. The\nfeeling that attends the motion has existed. Yet so complete is my\nhabit of attending only to the motion, and not to the feeling, that\nno attention can make me distinctly sensible that I have it. Nay,\nthere are some muscles of the body in constant and vehement action,\nas the heart, of the feelings attendant upon the action of which we\nseem to have no cognisance at all. That this is no argument against\nthe existence of those feelings, will be made apparent, by the\nsubsequent explanation of other phenomena, in which the existence of\ncertain feelings, and an acquired incapacity of attending to them,\nare out of dispute.[15]\n\n[Editor's footnote 15: The paradox, of feelings which we have no\ncognisance of--feelings which are not felt--will be discussed at\nlarge in a future note.--_Ed._]\n\nIn most cases of the muscular feelings, there is not only that\nobscurity, of which we have immediately spoken, but great\ncomplexity; as several muscles almost always act together; in many\nof the common actions of the body, a great number.\n\nThe result of these complex feelings is often sufficiently\nperceptible, though the feelings, separately, can hardly be made\nobjects of attention. The unpleasant feeling of fatigue, in part at\nleast a muscular feeling, is one of those results. The pleasure\nwhich almost all the more perfect animals, especially the {43}\nyoung, appear to feel, in even violent exercise, may be regarded as\nanother. The restlessness of a healthy child; the uneasiness in\nconfinement, the delight in the activity of freedom, which so\nstrongly distinguish the vigorous schoolboy; seem to indicate, both\na painful state of the muscular system in rest, and a pleasurable\nstate of it in action. Who has not remarked the playful activity of\nthe kitten and the puppy? The delight of the dog, on being permitted\nto take exercise with his master, extends through the greater part\nof his life.\n\nOne of the cases in which the feeling of muscular action seems the\nmost capable of being attended to, is the pleasure accompanying the\nact of stretching, which most animals perform in drowsiness, or\nafter sleep.\n\nA very slight degree of reflection is sufficient to evince, that we\ncould not have had the idea of resistance, which forms so great a\npart of what we call our idea of matter, without the feelings which\nattend muscular action. Resistance means a force opposed to a force;\nthe force of the object, opposed to the force which we apply to it.\nThe force which we apply is the action of our muscles, which is only\nknown to us by the feelings which accompany it. Our idea of\nresistance, then, is the idea of our own feelings in applying\nmuscular force. It is true, that the mere feeling of the muscles in\naction is not the only feeling concerned in the case. The muscles\nmove in consequence of the Will; and what the Will is, we are not as\nyet prepared to explain. What is necessary at present is, not to\nshew all the simple feelings which enter into the feeling of\nresistance; but to shew {44} that the simple feeling of muscular\naction is one of them.\n\nThe feeling of resistance admits of great varieties. The feeling of\na plate of iron is one thing, the feeling of a blown bladder is\nanother, the feeling of quicksilver is a third, the feeling of water\na fourth, and so on. The feeling of weight, or attraction, is also a\nfeeling of resistance.\n\n\n{45} SECTION VIII.\n\nSENSATIONS IN THE ALIMENTARY CANAL.\n\n\nWhen the sensations in the alimentary canal become acutely painful,\nthey are precise objects of attention to every body.\n\nThere is reason to believe that a perpetual train of sensations is\ngoing on in every part of it. The food stimulates the stomach. It\nundergoes important changes, and, mixed with some very\nstimulating ingredients, passes into the lower intestines; in every\npart of which it is still farther changed. The degree, and even the\nnature, of some of the changes, are different, according as the\npassage through the canal is slower, or quicker; they are different,\naccording to the state of the organs, and according to the nature of\nthe food.\n\nOf the multitude of sensations, which must attend this process, very\nfew become objects of attention; and, in time, an incapacity is\ngenerated, of making them objects of attention. They are not,\nhowever, as we shall afterwards perceive, feeble agents, or\ninsignificant elements, in the trains of thought. They are of that\nclass of feelings, to which we have already been under the necessity\nof alluding; a class, which serve as antecedents, to feelings more\ninteresting than themselves; and from which the attention is so\ninstantaneously drawn, to the more interesting feelings by which\nthey are succeeded, that we are as little sensible of their\nexistence, as we often are of the {46} sound of the clock, which may\nstrike in the room beside us, and of course affect our ear in the\nusual manner, and yet leave no trace of the sensations behind.\n\nThe complicated sensations in the intestinal canal, like those in\nthe muscles, though obscure, and even unknown, as individual\nsensations, often constitute a general state of feeling, which is\nsometimes exhilarating, and sometimes depressing. The effects of\nopium, and of inebriating liquors, in producing exhilaration, are\nwell known; and though much of the pleasure in these states is owing\nto association, as we shall afterwards explain, yet the agreeable\nfeelings in the stomach, are the origin and cause of the joyous\nassociations.[16] The state of feeling in the stomach in\nseasickness, or under the operation of an emetic, is, on the\ncontrary, one of the most distressing within our experience; though\nwe can neither call it a pain, nor have any more distinct conception\nof it, than as a state of general uneasiness.\n\n[Bain's footnote 16: The exact mode of operation of opium and\nalcohol is still unknown; but the part affected is probably the\nnervous substance and not the stomach. It can hardly be said with\npropriety that any part of the pleasure of these stimulants is due\nto association. No doubt the exhilarated tone of the mind is\nfavourable to the flow of joyful ideas, which serve to heighten the\npleasure; but that pleasure could not be arrested or subdued through\nthe absence of any supposable associations.--_B._]\n\nThe general effects of indigestion are well known. When the organs\nof digestion become disordered, and indigestion becomes habitual, a\nsense of wretchedness is the consequence; a general state of feeling\ncomposed of a multitude of minor feelings, none of {47} which\nindividually can be made an object of attention.\n\nIn the sense of wretchedness, which accompanies indigestion, and\nwhich sometimes proceeds to the dreadful state of melancholy\nmadness, it is difficult to say, how much is sensation, and how much\nassociation. One thing is certain; that sensations which are the\norigin of so much misery are of high importance to us; whether they,\nor the associations they introduce, are the principal ingredient in\nthe afflicting state which they contribute to create.\n\nThe effects of indigestion in producing painful associations, is\nstrikingly exemplified by the horrible dreams which it produces in\nsleep; not only in those whose organs are diseased; but in the most\nhealthy state of the stomach, when it has received what, in ordinary\nlanguage, is said, whether from quantity or quality, to have\ndisagreed with it.\n\nThe general states of feeling composed of the multitude of obscure\nand unnoticed feelings in the alimentary canal, though most apt to\nbe noticed when they are of the painful kind, are not less\nfrequently of the pleasurable kind. That particular sorts of foods,\nas well as liquors, have an exhilarating effect, needs hardly to be\nstated. And it is only necessary to revive the recollection of the\nfeeling of general comfort, the elasticity, as it seems, of the\nwhole frame, the feeling of strength, the disposition to activity\nand enjoyment, which every man must have experienced, when his\ndigestion was vigorous and sound.[17]\n\n[Bain's footnote 17: These effects pass beyond the influence of mere\ndigestion. All the viscera contribute to the condition of high\ngeneral {48} vigour and comfort here supposed. If one were to\nventure upon a scale of relative importance of the different organs,\none would place the nervous centres first, and the digestion second.\n\nThe present section is open to several remarks. Some qualification\nmust be given to the author's surmise 'that a perpetual train of\nsensations is going on in every part of the alimentary canal.' It\nis hardly correct to say that there are perpetual sensations in\n_any_ part of it: during a great part of our time we are in a state\nof indifference as to stomachic changes; and not merely because we\nare not disposed to attend to them, but because they scarcely exist.\nThe sensibility of the organ is shown, on anatomical grounds, to be\nmainly in the stomach, and in the rectum; these parts are supplied\nby the nervus vagus; and very few nerves, besides those of the\nsympathetic system, are found in the smaller, or in the larger\nintestine, so that the sensitiveness of those parts is manifested\nonly in case of violent disorganization, as cramp, stoppage, or\ninflammation. Hence the feelings are principally attendant on the\nchanges in the stomach, as when food has just been taken, and after\nlong privation, when the state called hunger shows itself.\n\nIt is not correct to class the sensations of the alimentary canal,\nas a whole, with those that lose their hold of the attention, that\nbecome unheeded in themselves, and are valued only as the\nantecedents of other more pleasurable feelings. The remark is\ninapplicable to the sensations mainly characterized as pleasure or\npain; nothing can be more interesting than a pleasure, except a\nstill greater pleasure. It applies only to those slight irritations\nthat are in themselves nothing, but may be the symptoms or\nprecursors of ill health, or of returning good health.\n\nThe author's doctrine as to our acquiring artificially the habit of\nnot attending to alimentary states, demands a fuller explanation.\nThe usual cause of inattention to impressions is unbroken\ncontinuance; in accordance with the universal law {49} of Relativity\nor Change, we are usually insensible to the contact of our clothing\nwith the skin, except at the moments when we put on or take off any\npart of it. In walking, and in standing, for a length of time, we\nare insensible to the body's weight; on rising from the recumbent\nposition we are rendered in some degree conscious of it. Now as the\nalimentary sensations--Hunger and Repletion--are intermitted and\nalternated with other states, they fulfil the chief condition of\nwakeful consciousness.\n\nThe example of the striking of the clock, adduced in the text,\nbrings into operation a different power of the mind, which may go\nfar to counteract the influence of change. Under a very engrossing\nsensation, or occupation, we become insensible to the stimulation of\nthe senses by other agents. The strain of the mind in some one\ndirection causes a sort of incapacity for going out in any other\ndirection while the strain lasts. This is the explanation of the\nindifference to the striking of the clock. By the farther influence\nof habit, inattention to a certain class of impressions may become\nhabitual; as in the power of carrying on mental work in the midst of\ndistracting noises.\n\nThe same effect may arise in connection with the alimentary\nfeelings. A person very much engrossed with a subject is unconscious\nof hunger, and does not feel the pleasures of eating. Should any one\nbe absorbed habitually with some occupation or pursuit, such an one\nmay contract a settled indifference to the recurring phases of\nalimentary sensation; but this is an extreme and unusual case. Any\nordinary degree of interest in the avocations and pursuits of\nbusiness is compatible with full attention to the feelings of\nhunger, and of repletion, as well as to the occasional pains and\ndiscomforts of indigestion. We do not often choose to contract an\nindifference to pleasures, and we seldom succeed in acquiring an\nindifference to pains, although we may have moments of such\nindifference, under some special engrossment of mind by other\nthings.\n\nIt is over-rating the influence of association to make it a {50}\nchief element in the pleasure of intoxicating stimulants, or in the\nwretched feelings of diseased digestion. These states are direct\nresults of physical agency, and are the same throughout all stages\nof life, with many or with few opportunities of being associated\nwith other feelings. They are not the cases favourable for\nillustrating the power of association, in the important department\nof the feelings.--_B._]\n\n\n\n\n{51} CHAPTER II.\n\nIDEAS.\n\n\n\"H\u00e6c in genere sors esse solet humana, ut quid in quovis genere\nrecte aut cogitari aut effici possit sentiant prius quam\nperspiciant. Laborem autem haud ita levem illum veriti, qui in eo\nimpendendus erat ut, ideas operatione analytica penitus evolventes,\nquid tandem velint, aut qu\u00e6nam res agatur, sibi ipsis rationem\nsufficientem reddant, confusis, aut saltem haud satia explicatis\nrationibus, ratiocinia, et scientiarum adeo systemata superstruere\nsolent communiter, eoque confidentius, quo ejus quam tractant\nscienti\u00e6 fundamentum solidum magis ignorant.\"--_Schmidt-Phiseldek_,\n_Philos. Critic\u00e6 Expositio Systematica_, t. i. p. 561.\n\n\"Pour systematiser une science, c'est-\u00e0-dire, pour ramener une suite\nde ph\u00e9nom\u00e8nes \u00e0 leur principe, \u00e0 un ph\u00e9nom\u00e8ne \u00e9l\u00e9mentaire qui\nengendre successivement tous les autres, il faut saisir leurs\nrapports, le rapport de g\u00e9n\u00e9ration qui les lie; et pour cela, il est\nclair qu'il faut commencer par examiner ces diff\u00e9rens ph\u00e9nom\u00e8nes\ns\u00e9par\u00e9ment.\"--_Cousin_, _Fragm. Philos._, p. 8.\n\nTHE sensations which we have through the medium of the senses exist\nonly by the presence of the object, and cease upon its absence;\nnothing being here meant by the presence of the object, but that\nposition of it with respect to the organ, which is the antecedent of\nthe sensation; or by its absence, but any other position.\n\nIt is a known part of our constitution, that when our sensations\ncease, by the absence of their objects, something remains. After I\nhave seen the sun, and {52} by shutting my eyes see him no longer, I\ncan still think of him. I have still a feeling, the consequence of\nthe sensation, which, though I can distinguish it from the\nsensation, and treat it as not the sensation, but something\ndifferent from the sensation, is yet more like the sensation, than\nanything else can be; so like, that I call it a copy, an image, of\nthe sensation; sometimes, a representation, or trace, of the\nsensation.\n\nAnother name, by which we denote this trace, this copy, of the\nsensation, which remains after the sensation ceases, is IDEA. This\nis a very convenient name, and it is that by which the copies of the\nsensation thus described will be commonly denominated in the present\nwork. The word IDEA, in this sense, will express no theory\nwhatsoever; nothing but the bare fact, which is indisputable. We\nhave two classes of feelings; one, that which exists when the object\nof sense is present; another, that which exists after the object of\nsense has ceased to be present. The one class of feelings I call\nSENSATIONS; the other class of feelings I call IDEAS.\n\nIt is an inconvenience, that the word IDEA is used with great\nlatitude of meaning, both in ordinary, and in philosophical\ndiscourse; and it will not be always expedient that I should avoid\nusing it in senses different from that which I have now assigned. I\ntrust, however, I shall in no case leave it doubtful, in what sense\nit is to be understood.\n\nThe term Sensation has a double meaning. It signifies not only an\nindividual sensation; as when I say, I smell this rose, or I look at\nmy hand: but it also signifies the general faculty of sensation;\nthat is, {53} the complex notion of all the phenomena together, as a\npart of our nature.\n\nThe word Idea has only the meaning which corresponds to the first of\nthose significations; it denotes an individual idea; and we have not\na name for that complex notion which embraces, as one whole, all the\ndifferent phenomena to which the term Idea relates. As we say\nSensation, we might say also, Ideation; it would be a very useful\nword; and there is no objection to it, except the pedantic habit of\ndecrying a new term. Sensation would in that case be the general\nname for one part of our constitution, Ideation for another.\n\nIt is of great importance, before the learner proceeds any farther,\nthat he should not only have an accurate conception of this part of\nhis constitution; but should acquire, by repetition, by complete\nfamiliarity, a ready habit of marking those immediate copies of his\nsensations, and of distinguishing them from every other phenomenon\nof his mind.\n\nIt has been represented, that the sensations of sight and hearing\nleave the most vivid traces; in other words, that the ideas\ncorresponding to those sensations, are clearer than others. But what\nis meant by clearer and more vivid in this case, is not very\napparent.\n\nIf I have a very clear idea of the colour of the trumpet which I\nhave seen, and a very clear idea of its sound which I have heard, I\nhave no less clear ideas of its shape, and of its size; ideas of the\nsensations, neither of the eye, nor of the ear.\n\nIt is not easy, in a subject like this, to determine what degree of\nillustration is needful. To those who are in the habit of\ndistinguishing their mental {54} phenomena, the subject will appear\ntoo simple to require illustration. To those who are new to this\nimportant operation, a greater number of illustrations would be\nuseful, than I shall deem it advisable to present.\n\nIt is necessary to take notice, that, as each of our senses has its\nseparate class of sensations, so each has its separate class of\nideas. We have ideas of Sight, ideas of Touch, ideas of Hearing,\nideas of Taste, and ideas of Smell.\n\n1. By Sight, as we have sensations of red, yellow, blue, &c., and of\nthe innumerable modifications of them, so have we ideas of those\ncolours. We can think of those colours in the dark; that is, we have\na feeling or consciousness, which is not the same with the\nsensation, but which we contemplate as a copy of the sensation, an\nimage of it; something more like it, than any thing else can be;\nsomething which remains with us, after the sensation is gone, and\nwhich, in the train of thought, we can use as its representative.\n\n2. The sensations of Touch, according to the limitation under which\nthey should be understood, are not greatly varied. The gentle\nfeeling, which we derive from the mere contact of an object, when we\nconsider it apart from the feeling of resistance, and apart from the\nsensation of heat or cold, is not very different, as derived from\ndifferent objects. The idea of this tactual feeling, therefore, is\nnot vivid, nor susceptible of many modifications. On the other hand,\nour ideas of heat and cold, the feelings which we call the thought\nof them, existing when the sensations no longer exist, are among the\nmost distinct of the feelings which we distinguish by the name of\nideas.\n\n{55} 3. I hear the Sound of thunder; and I can think of it after it\nis gone. This feeling, the representative of the mere sound, this\nthinking, or having the thought of the sound, this state of\nconsciousness, is the idea. The hearing of the sound is the primary\nstate of consciousness; the idea of the sound is the secondary state\nof consciousness; which exists only when the first has previously\nexisted.\n\nThe number of sounds, of which we can have distinct ideas, as well\nas distinct sensations, is immense. We can distinguish all animals\nby their voices. When I hear the horse neigh, I know it is not the\nvoice of the ox. Why? Because I have the idea of the voice of the\nox, so distinct, that I know the sensation I have, is different from\nthe sensation of which that is the copy or representative. We can\ndistinguish the sounds of a great number of different musical\ninstruments, by the same process. The men, women, and children, of\nour intimate acquaintance, we can distinguish, and name, by their\nvoices; that is, we have an idea of the past sensation, which\nenables us to declare, that the present is the voice of the same\nperson.\n\n4. That the sensations of Taste recur in thought, when the sensation\nno longer exists, is a point of every man's experience. This\nrecurring, in thought, of the feeling which we have by the sense,\nwhen the feeling by the sense is gone, is the idea of that feeling,\nthe secondary state of consciousness, as we named it above.[18] That\nwe can distinguish a very {56} great number of tastes, and\ndistinguish them accurately, is proof that we have a vast number of\ndistinct ideas of taste; because, for the purpose of making such\ndistinction, we have just seen that there must be a sensation and an\nidea; the sensation of the present object, and the idea of the\nsensation of each of the other objects from which we distinguish it.\nYou have tasted port wine, and you have tasted claret; when you\ntaste claret again, you can distinguish it from port wine; that is,\nyou have the idea of the taste of port wine, in conjunction with the\nsensation of claret. You call it bad claret. Why? Because, along\nwith the present taste, you have the idea of another, which, when it\nwas sensation, was more agreeable than the present sensation.\n\n[Bain's footnote 18: Discrimination and Retentiveness (the having of\nIdeas as the produce of Sensations) are different functions,\nalthough mutually involved, and, in all likelihood, developed in\nproportionate degrees in the same organ. We begin by discriminating\nchanges of impression; this process is necessary in order to our\nhaving even a sensation; the more delicate the discriminating power,\nthe greater the number of our primary sensations. He that can\ndiscriminate twenty shades of yellow has twenty sensations of\nyellow; the two statements express the same fact. These various\nsensations being often repeated, acquire at last an ideal\npersistence; they can be maintained as ideas, without the originals.\nThe function or power of the Intellect whereby they are thus\nrendered self-subsisting as ideas, is not the same function as\ndiscrimination; we call it Memory, Retentiveness, Adhesiveness,\nAssociation, and so on. What may be affirmed about it, on the\nevidence of induction, is, that where discrimination is good, memory\nor retentiveness is also good. The discriminative eye for colour is\naccompanied with a good memory for colour; the musical ear is both\ndiscriminative and retentive.--_B._]\n\n5. Since we distinguish smells, as well as tastes, {57} we have the\nsame proof of the number and distinctness of the ideas of this class\nof sensations. There is none of the numerous smells to which we have\nbeen accustomed, which we do not immediately recognise. But for that\nrecognition the idea of the past sensation must be conjoined with\nthe present sensation.\n\n6. Of that class of sensations, which I have called sensations of\ndisorganization, we have also ideas. We are capable of having the\nthought of them when the sensation is gone; and that thought is the\nidea. A spark from the candle flew upon my hand: I had the sensation\nof burning. I at this moment think of that sensation; that is, I\nhave the idea of that sensation; and I can think of it, as different\nfrom ten thousand other painful sensations: that is, I have ideas of\nas many other sensations of this class.\n\n7. The ideas of the sensations which attend the action of the\nmuscles are among the most important of the elements which\nconstitute our being. From these we have the ideas of resistance, of\ncompressibility, of hardness, of softness, of roughness, of\nsmoothness, of solidity, of liquidity, of weight, of levity, of\nextension, of figure, of magnitude, of whole and of parts, of\nmotion, of rest. It is, indeed, to be observed, that these are all\ncomplex ideas, and that other feelings than the mere muscular\nfeeling are concerned in their composition. In almost all the ideas\nreferrible to the muscular feelings, of sufficient importance to\nhave names, the Will is included. The muscular action is the\nconsequent, the Will the antecedent; and the name of the idea,\nincludes both. Thus the idea of resistance is the thought, or idea,\nof {58} the feelings we have, when we will to contract certain\nmuscles, and feel the contraction impeded.[19] [20]\n\n[Editor's footnote 19: Rather, when we will to contract certain\nmuscles, and the contraction takes place, but is not followed by the\naccustomed movement of the limb; what follows, instead, being a\nsensation of pressure, proportioned to the degree of the\ncontraction. It is not the muscular contraction itself which is\nimpeded by the resisting object: that contraction takes place: but\nthe outward effect which it was the tendency, and perhaps the\npurpose, of the muscular contraction to produce, fails to be\nproduced.--_Ed._]\n\n[Bain's footnote 20: It is unnecessary to advert to the operation of\nthe Will, (in the first instance at least,) in considering the\nfeelings of muscular action. The will is the principal, but not the\nonly, source of our activity. The mere spontaneous vigour of the\nsystem may put the muscles in motion. Likewise the muscular pleasure\nitself operates, by the fundamental law of the will, for its own\ncontinuance; a process not commonly called voluntary. In these\ncircumstances, it seems advisable to consider and describe the\nconsciousness of muscular exertion by itself, and without reference\nto the will.--_B._]\n\nThere is no feeling of our nature of more importance to us, than\nthat of resistance. Of all our sensations, it is the most\nunintermitted; for, whether we sit, or lie, or stand, or walk, still\nthe feeling of resistance is present to us. Every thing we touch, at\nthe same time resists; and every thing we hear, see, taste, or\nsmell, suggests the idea of something that resists. It is through\nthe medium of resistance, that every act by which we subject to our\nuse the objects and laws of nature, is performed. And, of the\ncomplex states of consciousness, which the philosophy of mind is\ncalled upon to explain, there is hardly one, in which the feeling or\nidea of resistance is not included.\n\nIt is partly owing to this combination of something {59} else with\nthe muscular feeling, in all the states of consciousness to which we\nhave given names, that it is so difficult to think of the mere\nmuscular feeling by itself; that our notion of the muscular\nsensations is so indistinct and obscure; and that we can rather be\nsaid to have ideas of certain general states of muscular feeling, as\nof fatigue, or activity, composed of a great number of individual\nfeelings, than of the individual feelings themselves.\n\n8. As the feelings, or sensations which we have in the intestinal\ncanal, are almost always mixed up indistinctly with other feelings,\nand, except in the cases of acute pain, are seldom taken notice of\nbut as constituting general states, we hardly have the power of\nthinking of those sensations one by one; and, in consequence, can\nhardly be said to have ideas of them. They are important, as forming\ncomponent parts of many complex ideas, which have great influence on\nour happiness. But to unfold the mystery of complex ideas, other\nparts of our mental process have yet to be explained.\n\nThere is a certain distressful feeling, called the feeling of bad\nhealth, which is considerably different in different cases, but in\nwhich sensations of the intestinal canal are almost always a\nmaterial part.\n\nIndigestion is the name of an idea, in which the feelings of the\nintestinal canal are mainly concerned.\n\nHunger, and thirst, are also names of ideas, which chiefly refer to\nsensations in the same part of our system.[21] [22]\n\n[Bain's footnote 21: Thirst is a sensation of the fauces and of the\nstomach; it is also a feeling of the body generally, due to a\ndeficiency of water in the blood. It is also caused by an excess of\nsaline ingredients in the system. In like manner, a distinction is to\nbe drawn between Inanition, from deficiency of nutritive material in\nthe body, and Hunger, or the state of the stomach preparatory to the\nact of eating. The two states must in a great measure concur: yet\nthey may be distinct.\n\nThe account of the organic states given in this chapter would have\ncome in appropriately under Sensation--_B._]\n\n[Editor's footnote 22: I venture to think that it is not a\nphilosophically correct mode of expression, to speak of indigestion,\nor of hunger and thirst, as names of ideas. Hunger and thirst are\nnames of definite sensations; and indigestion is a name of a large\ngroup of sensations, held together by very complicated laws of\ncausation. If it be objected, that the word indigestion, and even\nthe words hunger and thirst, comprehend in their meaning other\nelements than the immediate sensations; that the meaning, for\ninstance, of hunger, includes a deficiency of food, the meaning of\nindigestion a derangement of the functions of the digestive organs;\nit still remains true that these additional portions of meaning are\nphysical phenomena, and are not our thoughts or ideas of physical\nphenomena; and must, therefore, in the general partition of human\nconsciousness between sensations and ideas, take their place with\nthe former, and not with the latter.--_Ed._]\n\n{60} It is proper to remark, that, beside the internal feelings to\nwhich I have hitherto directed the reader's attention, there are\nothers, which might be classed, and considered apart. The\nblood-vessels, for example, and motion of the blood, constitute an\nimportant part of our System, not without feelings of its own;\nfeelings sometimes amounting to states which seriously command our\nattention. Of the feelings which accompany fever, a portion may\nreasonably be assigned to the change of action in the blood-vessels.\n\nThere are states of feeling, very distinguishable, {61} accompanying\ndiseased states of the heart, and of the nervous and arterial\nsystems.\n\nBeside the blood and its vessels, the glandular system is an\nimportant part of the active organs of the body; not without\nsensibility, and of course, not without habitual sensations. The\nsame may be said of the system of the absorbents, of the lymphatics,\nand of the vascular system in general.\n\nThe state of the nerves and brain, the most wonderful part of our\nsystem, is susceptible of changes, and these changes are accompanied\nwith known changes of feeling. There is a class of diseases which go\nby the name of nervous diseases: and though they are not a very\ndefinite class; though it is not even very well ascertained how far\nany morbid state of the nerves has to do with them; it is not\ndoubtful that in some of those diseases there are peculiar feelings,\nwhich ought to be referred to the nerves. The nerves and brain may\nthus be, not only the organs of sensations, derived from other\nsenses, but organs of sensations, derived from themselves. On this\nsubject we cannot speak otherwise than obscurely, because we have\nnot distinct names for the things which are to be expressed.\n\nIt is not, however, necessary, in tracing the simple feelings which\nenter into the more complex states of consciousness, to dwell upon\nthe obscurer classes of our inward sensations; because it is only in\na very general way that we can make use of them, in expounding the\nmore mysterious phenomena. Having never acquired the habit of\nattending to them, and having, by the habit of inattention, lost the\npower of remarking them, except in their general results, we {62}\ncan do little more than satisfy ourselves of the cases in which they\nenter for more or less of the effect.\n\nWe have now considered what it is to have sensations, in the simple,\nuncompounded cases; and what it is to have the secondary feelings,\nwhich are the consequences of those sensations, and which we\nconsider as their copies, images, or representatives. If the\nillustrations I have employed have enabled my reader to familiarize\nhimself with this part of his constitution, he has made great\nprogress towards the solution of all that appears intricate in the\nphenomena of the human mind. He has acquainted himself with the two\nprimary states of consciousness; the varieties of which are very\nnumerous; and the possible combinations of which are capable of\ncomposing a train of states of consciousness, the diversities of\nwhich transcend the limits of computation.[23] [24]\n\n[Bain's footnote 23: _The Sensation and the Idea compared_.--Great\nimportance, in every way, attaches to the points of agreement and of\ndifference of the Sensation and of the Idea. By the Sensation, we\nmean the whole state of consciousness, under an actual or present\nimpression of sense, as in looking at the moon, in listening to\nmusic, in tasting wine. By the Idea is meant the state of mind that\nremains after the sensible agent is withdrawn, or that may be\nafterwards recovered by the force of recollection.\n\n1. For many purposes the sensation and the idea are identical. They\nare compared to original and copy, which, although not in all\nrespects of equal value, can often answer the same ends. A perfect\nrecollection of a process that we wish to repeat, is as good as\nactually seeing it. For all purposes of knowledge, and of practical\nguidance, a faithful remembrance is equal to the real presence. So,\nas regards the emotional ideas, or the recollection of states of\npleasure and of pain, which {63} prompt our voluntary actions, in\npursuit and in avoidance, the memory operates in the same way as the\noriginal fact, allowance being made for difference of degree. A\npleasing melody induces us to listen to it, and to crave for its\nrepetition; the after recollection of it, also moves us to hear it\nagain. If we find ourselves in the midst of distracting noises, we\nare impelled to escape; the mere remembrance, at an after time, has\nthe same influence on the will.\n\n2. It is highly probable, if not certain, that the same nervous\ntracks of the brain are actuated during the sensation, and during\nthe idea, with difference of degree corresponding to the difference\nof vivacity or intensity of the actual and remembered states.\n\nOf the points wherein the Sensation and the Idea are found to\ndiffer, the most obvious is their degree of intensity. We are able\nto maintain in idea, the state of mind corresponding to the sight of\nthe sun, the sound of a bell, or the smell of a rose, but we are\nconscious of a great inferiority in the degree or vividness of the\nstate. The bright luminosity of the original sun turns into a feeble\neffect, without dazzle or excitement. The thrill of a fine musical\nair cannot be sustained by the mere memory of it, even in the\nfreshness of the immediately succeeding moment. A certain pleasing\nremembrance attaches to a good dinner, but how far below the\noriginal! Moreover, in a complicated object of sense, a great many\nof the parts and lineaments drop entirely out of view. Memory is\nunequal to retaining, without long familiarity and practice, the\nexact picture of a landscape, a building, or an interior. The\ndifference in the fulness of the idea, as compared with the\nsensation, is no less remarkable than the difference of vivacity or\nintensity. This inferiority in the idea as compared with the\nactuality is of very various amount; being in some cases very great,\nand in others very slight. The difference is in proportion to the\nmind's power of retentiveness, a power varying according to several\ncircumstances or conditions, which have to be distinctly enunciated\nby the Psychologist. For example, it is well known, that frequency\nof repetition enables the idea to {64} grow in vivacity and in\nfulness, and to approximate in those respects to the original. It is\nalso known, that some minds are by nature retentive, and, by a small\nnumber of repetitions, gain the point that others reach only by a\ngreater number.\n\nNow, that the vivacity and fulness of a remembered idea should\nconstitute the exact measure of the mind's retentiveness in that\nparticular instance, is a thing of course. There is no other measure\nof retentiveness but the power of reproducing in idea, what has been\nbefore us, in actuality, or as sensation; and the greater the\napproach of the idea to the original sensation, the better is the\nretaining faculty.\n\nThere is an apparent exception to this general principle. The memory\nof the same idea, or the same feeling, in the same person, may be at\none time full and vivid, and at another time meagre and faint. In\nparticular moments, we may recall former experiences with especial\nforce, as if there were something that co-operated with the proper\nforce of retentiveness. What, then, are these additional or\nconcurring forces? Hume recognises the influence of disease in\ngiving preternatural intensity to ideas.\n\nThe answer is that some other recollection concurs with, and adds\nits quota to the support of, the one in question. When, in the view\nof one natural prospect, we recall another with great fulness, the\npresent sensation supplies or fills in the parts of the remembered\nscene; which scene, therefore, does not exist in the mind by memory\nalone, but as a compound of memory and actuality. So while listening\nwith pleasure to a band of music, we remember strongly the pleasure\nof some previous musical performance; yet, the vivid consciousness\nof the past is not dependent upon the memory of the past, but upon\nthe stimulus of the present; we are more properly under sensation,\nthan under idea. In all mental resuscitation, there is a degree of\nvividness and of fulness, due to the proper retentiveness of the\nmind for each particular thing, according to natural power,\nrepetition, &c. Whatever is beyond this, must be ascribed to the\naccidental concurrence of other stimulants, either of present\nsensation, or of remembered impressions.\n\n{65} In recollection, there is an influence designated by the term\n\"excitement,\" which means that portions of the brain are in a state\nof exalted activity. Any ideas embodied in the parts so excited, if\nin operation at all, are more than ordinarily vivid. Thus in fever,\nfaded memories brighten up into vivacity and clearness. To this case\nthe same remark applies; the result is partly memory, or the proper\nretentiveness of the system, and partly an excitation of the brain,\nthrough present influences. The proper power of memory is a constant\nquantity, varying only with repetition, and the strict conditions of\nmemory; the intensity or fulness of a resuscitated idea is a complex\nresult of memory proper and present stimulants, or sensations.\n\nDifference of vividness was the only distinction adverted to by Hume\nin his Psychology, which resolved all our intellectual elements into\nImpressions and Ideas. His opening words are:--\"All the perceptions\nof the human mind resolve themselves into two distinct kinds, which\nI shall call _impressions_ and _ideas_. The difference between these\nconsists in the degrees of force and liveliness, with which they\nstrike upon the mind, and make their way into our thought or\nconsciousness.\" He afterwards allows that in particular\ncircumstances, as in sleep, in fever, or in madness, our ideas may\napproach in vividness to our sensations.\n\nAnother distinction between the Sensation and the Idea, is of the\nmost vital importance. To the Sensation belongs Objective Reality;\nthe Idea is purely Subjective. This distinction lies at the root of\nthe question of an External World; but on every view of that\nquestion, objectivity is connected with the Sensation; in contrast\nto which the Idea is an element exclusively mental or subjective.\n\n_Meanings of Sensation_.--The word Sensation has several meanings,\nnot always clearly distinguished, and causing serious embroilments\nin philosophical controversy.\n\n1. There being, in Sensation, the concurrence of a series of\nphysical or physiological facts with a mental fact, the name may be\ninadvertently employed to express the physical, as well {66} as the\nmental element, or at all events to include the physical part as\nwell as the mental.\n\nThe change made on the retina by light, and the nervous influences\ntraversing the brain, may very readily be considered as entering\ninto the phenomenon of sensation. This, however, is an impropriety.\nThe proper use of \"Sensation\" is to signify the mental fact, to the\nexclusion of all the physical processes essential to its production.\n\n2. In ordinary Sensation, as in looking round a room, there is a\ndouble consciousness,--objective and subjective. In the objective\nconsciousness, we are affected with the qualities named magnitude,\ndistance, form, colour, &c.; these are called object properties,\nproperties of the external and extended universe. In the subject\nconsciousness, we are alive to states of pleasure or of pain, which\nmay go along with the other. We do not usually exist in both modes\nat one instant; we pass out of one into the other. Now the word\nSensation covers both, although, to the object consciousness,\n\"Perception\" is more strictly applicable; and in contrast to\nPerception, Sensation would mean the subjective consciousness, the\nmoments when we relapse from the object attitude and become\nsubjective or self-conscious, or alive to pleasure and pain. When\nthe mind is in the object phase, it is neutral or indifferent as\nrespects enjoyment.\n\n3. In Sensation, a distinction may be drawn between the present\neffect upon the mind, or the impression that would arise if the\noutward agent had operated for the first time, and the total of the\npast impressions of the same agent, which by its repetition are\nrecalled to fuse with the present effect. The present view of the\nmoon reinstates the sum total of the previous views held by memory,\nand is not what we should experience if we saw the moon for the\nfirst time. Now, if the recall of the previous impressions, or of\nthe joint and iterated idea, be considered an addition made by the\nIntellect, being dependent on the retentive power of the mind,\nSensation, as opposed to Intellect, would mean the force of the\npresent impression and nothing more; or the difference between the\n{67} vividness of reality, and the inferior vividness of\nrecollection. What we can retain when we shut our eyes would\nrepresent the force of our intelligence; the additional intensity\nwhen we resume our gaze, would represent the power of sensation or\nthe actual experience.\n\nThis distinction suggests an important remark as to the whole nature\nof Sensation, namely, that there can hardly be such a thing as pure\nSensation, meaning Sensation without any admixture of the Intellect.\nWe may attribute this purity to the earliest impressions made upon\nthe mind, but not to anything known in the experience of the adult.\nThis mixture of Intellect with Sense is not confined to\nRetentiveness; the other intellectual functions, Discrimination and\nperception of Agreement, are inseparable from the exercise of the\nsenses. We cannot have a sensation without a feeling of difference;\nwarmth is a transition from cold, and a conscious discrimination of\nthe two facts. So, whenever we repeat a sensation, we have the\nconsciousness of the repetition, or agreement. Were not these modes\nof consciousness present, we should have no sensation, indeed no\nconsciousness. There is thus no hard line between sense and\nintellect. The question as to the origin of our Ideas in Sense is\nnot a real question, until we explain what we mean by Sense, and\nmake allowance for this unavoidable participation of Intellect in\nsensation.\n\n4. Sensation is commonly used to employ the whole of our primary\nfeelings and susceptibilities, as opposed to the Emotions which are\nsecondary or derived. It thus confounds together two different sides\nof our susceptibility, the active and the passive; the feelings\narising in connection with our exertion of inward force or energy,\nand those arising under impressions from external things. Both are\nprimary states of consciousness; they are alike dependent on\nmodifications of our sensitive tissues. But, between the two, there\nis a contrast, wide, deep, and fundamental, completely missed by the\nolder Psychologists, to the detriment of their handling of such\nvital questions as the origin of knowledge, and the perception of a\nmaterial world. The name Sensation, pointing immediately to {68} the\noperation of the five senses, gave the slip to the feelings of\nenergy, or brought them in partially and inadequately. Yet it is the\nonly name we have for the primary susceptibilities of the organism\nincluding both movement and passive sensibility.--_B._]\n\n[Editor's footnote 24: A question which, as far as I know, has been\npassed over by psychologists, but which ought not to be left\nunanswered, is this: Can we have ideas of ideas? We have sensations,\nand we have copies of these sensations, called ideas of them: can we\nalso have copies of these copies, constituting a second order of\nideas, two removes instead of one from sensation?\n\nEvery one will admit that we can think of a thought. We remember\nourselves remembering, or imagine ourselves remembering, an object\nor an event, just as we remember or imagine ourselves seeing one.\nBut in the case of a simple idea of sensation, _i.e._ the idea or\nremembrance of a single undivided sensation, there seems nothing to\ndistinguish the idea of the idea, from the idea of the sensation\nitself. When I imagine myself thinking of the colour of snow, I am\nnot aware of any difference, even in degree of intensity, between\nthe image then present to my mind of the white colour, and the image\npresent when I imagine myself to be seeing the colour.\n\nThe case, however, is somewhat different with those combinations of\nsimple ideas which have never been presented to my mind otherwise\nthan as ideas. I have an idea of Pericles; but it is derived only\nfrom the testimony of history: the real Pericles never was present\nto my senses. I have an idea of Hamlet, and of Falstaff;\ncombinations which, though made up of ideas of sensation, never\nexisted at all in the world of sense; they never were anything more\nthan ideas in any mind. Yet, having had these combinations of ideas\npresented to me through the words of Shakespeare, I have formed what\nis properly an idea not of an outward object, but of an idea in\nShakespeare's mind; and I may communicate my idea to others, whose\nidea will then be an idea of an idea in my mind. My idea of\nPericles, or my idea of any person now alive whom I have never seen,\ndiffers from these in the circumstance that I {69} am persuaded that\na real object corresponding to the idea does now, or did once, exist\nin the world of sensation: but as I did not derive my idea from the\nobject, but from some other person's words, my idea is not a copy of\nthe original, but a copy (more or less imperfect) of some other\nperson's copy: it is an idea of an idea.\n\nAlthough, however, the complex idea I have of an object which never\nwas presented to my senses, is rightly described as an idea of an\nidea; my remembrance of a complex idea which I have had before, does\nnot seem to me to differ from the remembered idea as an idea differs\nfrom a sensation. There is a distinction between my visual idea of\nMont Blanc and the actual sight of the mountain, which I do not find\nbetween my remembrance of Falstaff and the original impression from\nwhich it was derived. My present thought of Falstaff seems to me not\na copy but a repetition of the original idea; a repetition which may\nbe dimmed by distance, or which may, on the contrary, be heightened\nby intermediate processes of thought; may have lost some of its\nfeatures by lapse of time, and may have acquired others by reference\nto the original sources; but which resembles the first impression\nnot as the thought of an object resembles the sight of it, but as a\nsecond or third sight of an object resembles the first. This\nquestion will meet us again in the psychological examination of\nMemory, the theory of which is in no small degree dependent upon\nit.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{70} CHAPTER III.\n\nTHE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.\n\n\n\"To have a clear view of the phenomena of the mind, as mere\naffections or states of it, existing successively, and in a certain\nseries, which we are able, therefore, to predict, in consequence of\nour knowledge of the past, is, I conceive, to have made the most\nimportant acquisition which the intellectual inquirer can make.\"\n_Brown_, _Lectures_, i. 544.\n\nTHOUGHT succeeds thought; idea follows idea, incessantly. If our\nsenses are awake, we are continually receiving sensations, of the\neye, the ear, the touch, and so forth; but not sensations alone.\nAfter sensations, ideas are perpetually excited of sensations\nformerly received; after those ideas, other ideas: and during the\nwhole of our lives, a series of those two states of consciousness,\ncalled sensations, and ideas, is constantly going on. I see a horse:\nthat is a sensation. Immediately I think of his master: that is an\nidea. The idea of his master makes me think of his office; he is a\nminister of state: that is another idea. The idea of a minister of\nstate makes me think of public affairs; and I am led into a train of\npolitical ideas; when I am summoned to dinner. This is a new\nsensation, followed by the idea of dinner, and of the company with\nwhom I am to partake it. The sight of the company and of the food\nare other {71} sensations; these suggest ideas without end; other\nsensations perpetually intervene, suggesting other ideas: and so the\nprocess goes on.\n\nIn contemplating this train of feelings, of which our lives consist,\nit first of all strikes the contemplator, as of importance to\nascertain, whether they occur casually and irregularly, or according\nto a certain order.\n\nWith respect to the SENSATIONS, it is obvious enough that they\noccur, according to the order established among what we call the\nobjects of nature, whatever those objects are; to ascertain more and\nmore of which order is the business of physical philosophy in all\nits branches.\n\nOf the order established among the objects of nature, by which we\nmean the objects of our senses, two remarkable cases are all which\nhere we are called upon to notice; the SYNCHRONOUS ORDER, and the\nSUCCESSIVE ORDER. The synchronous order, or order of simultaneous\nexistence, is the order in space; the successive order, or order of\nantecedent and consequent existence, is the order in time. Thus the\nvarious objects in my room, the chairs, the tables, the books, have\nthe synchronous order, or order in space. The falling of the spark,\nand the explosion of the gunpowder, have the successive order, or\norder in time.\n\nAccording to this order, in the objects of sense, there is a\nsynchronous, and a successive, order of our sensations. I have\nSYNCHRONICALLY, or at the same instant, the sight of a great variety\nof objects; touch of all the objects with which my body is in\ncontact; hearing of all the sounds which are reaching my ears;\nsmelling of all the smells which are reaching my {72} nostrils; taste\nof the apple which I am eating; the sensation of resistance both\nfrom the apple which is in my mouth, and the ground on which I\nstand; with the sensation of motion from the act of walking. I have\nSUCCESSIVELY the sight of the flash from the mortar fired at a\ndistance, the hearing of the report, the sight of the bomb, and of\nits motion in the air, the sight of its fall, the sight and hearing\nof its explosion, and lastly, the sight of all the effects of that\nexplosion.[25]\n\n[Bain's footnote 25: There is here raised the interesting and\nimportant question, how far are we able to entertain synchronous\nsensations; in other words, whether or not we can be cognisant of a\nplurality of sensations at the same instant of time. There are\nvarious circumstances tending to obscure this point; the chief being\nthe extreme rapidity of our mental transitions.\n\nIt is requisite to view the question from two sides, the side of\nsensation and the side of action. On the first, the appearances are\nmore in favour of plurality; on the second, more in favour of unity.\n\nAs regards Sensation, we are incessantly solicited by a variety of\nagencies, outward and inward. We may be roused into consciousness,\nthrough the eye, through the ear, through the touch, through the\ntaste, through the smell, through the organic sensibilities; and all\nthis at the same time with the rise of emotions or ideas through\npurely mental causes. Nay more; even under a single sense, we may\nhave a plurality of distinguishable impressions. Sight is the\ngreatest example. Hearing is little inferior; witness the complexity\nof a band of music, and the tumult of a stormy sea. In Touch,\nlikewise, we may have a plurality of distinguishable feelings of\ncontact over the body.\n\nThe point to be considered, then, is, how many of these\nmultitudinous effects, strictly synchronous in their occurrence, are\ncapable of operating synchronously, either in directing the\nthoughts, or in impressing the memory. How many of them are able to\nwork the smallest assignable change upon the consciousness? To all\nappearance, more than one at a time.\n\nConsider first the two senses most concerned in developing (out of\nmuscular feeling as the basis) the notion of Space or Extension;\nthat is, Touch and Sight. It will be enough to comment upon Sight.\nThe eye, as is known, takes in a wide prospect; the retinas of the\ntwo eyes combined can embrace a large fraction of the surrounding\nvisible sphere. Now, the attention at any one moment is confined to\na limited portion: the precise limits are not here considered; there\nbeing a complication of action with sensation proper, which will be\nadverted to afterwards. But, notwithstanding this confinement of the\nattention, there is a consciousness of the whole visible expanse; as\nis proved in the case of any sudden change at any part; the\nattention is then instantly diverted to that part. We might say that\nthere is, at every moment, a ramified area of sensibility, at its\nmaximum in the centre--the line of direction of the eyes, and\ndecreasing to the extremity or circumference of the visible expanse.\nTo one gazing at the heavens, the flash of a meteor would be felt\nthroughout the whole area of visibility; while it would be more\ncertain in its effect, the nearer it was to the line of perfect\nvision, which is the place of special attention. A faint\ncorruscation arising near the circumference might pass unheeded.\n\nNext as to the sense of Hearing. Peculiar difficulties attend the\nexplanation of this sense. There is only one main line of access to\nthe inner ear, where the nerves are distributed, namely, the solid\nchain of bones of the middle ear; and that line can hardly be\nsupposed capable of conveying at the same instant a plurality of\ndifferent series of vibrations. Yet we fancy that we hear a\nconcurring plurality of sounds. Of what avail would be a band of a\nhundred performers if there were no power of taking in simultaneous\npulses of sound? There is, however, an absence of accurate\ninvestigation of this point; no one has endeavoured to ascertain how\nmuch of the complex effect is due to the rapid transitions of the\near from one sound to another, how much to the concurrence of\nseveral series of pulses in one augmented series, and how much to\nthe composition of successive effects in the ear into a synchronous\nwhole in the emotional wave, or general excitement of the brain. It\nwill be found, by any careful observer, that in listening to a band,\nwe are really occupied with very few of the sounds at the same\ninstant of time; we perform a number of rapid movements of the\nattention from one to another; while, at each moment, we are under\nan influence remaining from the recently occurring beats, to which\nwe are not now giving our full attention.\n\nTouch is exactly parallel to Sight, and need not be dwelt upon. In\nSmell, and in Taste, we may have a plurality of distinguishable\neffects at one moment: we often experience complex odours and\ntastes. The above remarks will apply to these. The undoubted\ntendency of the mind is to single out, for attention, the separate\nconstituents by turns, and to pass with rapidity from one to\nanother; while it is also true that the individual effects that are\nfor the moment seemingly neglected, still exercise an influence on\nthe consciousness; which would be decisively shown (as in the case\nof sight) on any occasion of their suddenly increasing in force, or\nsuddenly vanishing. Also, in their state of having fallen out of\nattention, they still leave an influence to modify the present\nsensation, the effect of their being attended to in the previous\ninstant. Until we can measure the rapidity of those transitions of\nthe attention, we are not in a position to affirm absolutely the\npower of double, triple, or multiple attention, although to all\npractical intents such a power is possessed.\n\nIt is certain that the mind is every moment actuated and determined\nby a plurality of influences, impressions, considerations, thoughts.\nAlmost every act of the will is a resultant of many motives. Our\nthoughts seldom spring up at the instance of a simple link of\nassociation; although it may happen that some one link is sufficing\nand overpowering, and therefore governs the recall; yet there are\nalmost always others aiding or checking the particular\nresuscitation. Nevertheless, such complication of antecedents is not\ninconsistent with the theory of very rapid transitions of attention,\nthere being a certain persisting influence from each separate act.\nThere would, however, be a greater theoretical simplicity, as well\nas a less appearance of straining a point, if we could suppose that\nthe several conspiring agencies unite in a strictly synchronous\nwhole.\n\nLet us next view the question from the side of Activity. Here the\ncircumstance that would most decisively limit the power of\nattention, and impose an absolute unity (qualified by rapidity of\ntransition) is the singleness of the muscular executive. No one\norgan can perform two movements at the same instant. Plurality can\narise only by the separate organs performing separate actions.\n\nIn such a case as playing on the pianoforte, there is a very\ncomplicated series of muscular exertions. The eyes are occupied with\nthe printed music; both hands are exerted, and every finger performs\na separate note; the foot also may be brought into action. At the\nsame time, the ear has to be on the alert. The plurality is here\nvery great; yet it seems much greater than it is. For, at the stage\nwhen such a performance is possible, there is a great amount of\nacquirement; many synchronous groupings have been made by long\nrepetition, so as to dispense with attending to the several acts in\nseparation. The real attention is concentrated on one, or on a very\nfew acts; so few that it is not impossible for them to be commanded\nby the mere rapidity of transition from one to another. The\nperformer need not attend to the notes of the music, and to the\naction of the fingers at the same absolute instant of time.\n\nIt is in the case of commencing some act entirely new to us, that\nthe limitation of the muscular executive is most apparent. In\nlearning the first elements of any accomplishment by imitating a\nmaster, the whole attention is concentrated on single movements; at\none instant on the master, and the next instant on the act of\nimitating; the only synchronous addition to this last being the\nremaining trace of the impression of the model. If the act is\ncomplicated, and requires concurring movements of different organs,\nthe attention, at the outset, must be given to one at a time; the\nconjunction of independent movements is not a primitive, but an\nacquired power. Previous to acquired groupings, the restriction of\nthe attention to one movement is the rule.\n\nLet us now consider the senses as compounded of passive sensation\nand movement. The eye, for example, is a moving organ under the\ncommand of the will; both eyes being moved in one indivisible\nvolition. Visual attention consists sometimes in moving the eyes to\nand fro, at other times, in fixing them in one immoveable attitude.\nWe have seen that so far as the optical sensibility is concerned,\nthere is at each instant an effective impression of a wide area,\nalthough of very unequal distinctness. The impressions derived from\nthe movements of the eye are much more limited. At the same absolute\ninstant of time, we can scan only a very small portion; say the\noutline of some isolated form, or the trace of an isolated movement.\nWe can run rapidly round the circumference of a round body, or\nalong the edge of a cubical block. In looking at a tree, we perform\na series of muscular sweeps, scarcely including, at one time, more\nthan a single outline course. No doubt our optical sensibility is\nreceiving, in a faint way, a complicated superficies; yet the ocular\nsweep, on which we depend for our ideas of form, can hardly be\nsupposed to take more than one line at the same instant. The\nrapidity of transition is very great; but there is a conscious\ntransition when we wish to combine the impression of a circle\ninscribed in a square.--_B._]\n\n{73} Among the objects which I have thus observed synchronically, or\nsuccessively; that is, from which I {74} have had synchronical or\nsuccessive sensations; there are some which I have so observed\nfrequently; others {75} which I have so observed not frequently: in\nother words, of my sensations some have been frequently {76}\nsynchronical, others not frequently; some frequently successive,\nothers not frequently. Thus, my sight of {77} roast beef, and my\ntaste of roast beef, have been frequently SYNCHRONICAL; my smell of\na rose, and my sight and touch of a rose, have been frequently\nsynchronical; my sight of a stone, and my sensations of its\nhardness, and weight, have been frequently synchronical. Others of\nmy sensations have not been frequently synchronical: my sight of a\nlion, and the hearing of his roar; my sight of a knife, and its\nstabbing a man. My sight of the flash of lightning, and my hearing\nof the thunder, have been often SUCCESSIVE; the pain of cold, and\nthe pleasure of heat, have been often successive; the sight of a\ntrumpet, and the sound of a trumpet, have been often successive. On\nthe other hand, my sight of hemlock, and my taste of hemlock, have\nnot been often successive: and so on.\n\nIt so happens, that, of the objects from which we derive the\ngreatest part of our sensations, most of those which are observed\nsynchronically, are frequently observed synchronically; most of\nthose which are observed successively, are frequently observed\nsuccessively. In other words, most of our synchronical sensations,\nhave been frequently synchronical; most of our successive\nsensations, have been frequently successive. Thus, most of our\nsynchronical sensations are derived from the objects around us, the\nobjects which we have the most frequent occasion to hear and see;\nthe members of our family; the furniture of our houses; our food;\nthe instruments of {78} our occupations or amusements. In like\nmanner, of those sensations which we have had in succession, we have\nhad the greatest number repeatedly in succession; the sight of fire,\nand its warmth; the touch of snow, and its cold; the sight of food,\nand its taste.\n\nThus much with regard to the order of SENSATIONS; next with regard\nto the order of IDEAS.\n\nAs ideas are not derived from objects, we should not expect their\norder to be derived from the order of objects; but as they are\nderived from sensations, we might by analogy expect, that they would\nderive their order from that of the sensations; and this to a great\nextent is the case.\n\nOur ideas spring up, or exist, in the order in which the sensations\nexisted, of which they are the copies.\n\nThis is the general law of the \"Association of Ideas\"; by which\nterm, let it be remembered, nothing is here meant to be expressed,\nbut the order of occurrence.\n\nIn this law, the following things are to be carefully observed.\n\n1. Of those sensations which occurred synchronically, the ideas also\nspring up synchronically. I have seen a violin, and heard the tones\nof the violin, synchronically. If I think of the tones of the\nviolin, the visible appearance of the violin at the same time occurs\nto me. I have seen the sun, and the sky in which it is placed,\nsynchronically. If I think of the one, I think of the other at the\nsame time.\n\nOne of the cases of synchronical sensation, which deserves the most\nparticular attention, is, that of the several sensations derived\nfrom one and the same {79} object; a stone, for example, a flower, a\ntable, a chair, a horse, a man.\n\nFrom a stone I have had, synchronically, the sensation of colour,\nthe sensation of hardness, the sensations of shape, and size, the\nsensation of weight. When the idea of one of these sensations\noccurs, the ideas of all of them occur.[26] They exist in my mind\nsynchronically; and their synchronical existence is called the idea\nof the stone; which, it is thus plain, is not a single idea, but a\nnumber of ideas in a particular state of combination.\n\n[Bain's footnote 26: This must be qualified by the fact that the\nsame individual sensation may be found in many groupings, and\ntherefore may not bring up any one aggregate or concrete object in\nparticular. The colour, white, is seen in conjunction with many\ndifferent shapes, magnitudes, and weight; consequently it does not\nsuggest a specific shape or magnitude. In such a case, the recall\nmay be very various according to circumstances; some individual may\nhave a greater prominence than the rest, and be singled out on that\nground; two or three may be brought to view; or a still greater\nnumber may be revived.\n\nThis is an important limitation of the working of the associating\nprinciple. An individual thing is not restored, as a matter of\ncourse, unless the link of connexion points to it alone; as is often\neffected by a plurality of bonds. Thus a musical air is not\nsuggested until as many notes are heard as to distinguish it from\nevery other known air.--_B._]\n\nThus, again, I have smelt a rose, and looked at, and handled a rose,\nsynchronically; accordingly the name rose suggests to me all those\nideas synchronically; and this combination of those simple ideas is\ncalled my idea of the rose.\n\nMy idea of an animal is still more complex. The {80} word thrush,\nfor example, not only suggests an idea of a particular colour and\nshape, and size, but of song, and flight, and nestling, and eggs,\nand callow young, and others.\n\nMy idea of a man is the most complex of all; including not only\ncolour, and shape, and voice, but the whole class of events in which\nI have observed him either the agent or the patient.\n\n2. As the ideas of the sensations which occurred synchronically,\nrise synchronically, so the ideas of the sensations which occurred\nsuccessively, rise successively.\n\nOf this important case of association, or of the successive order of\nour ideas, many remarkable instances might be adduced. Of these none\nseems better adapted to the learner than the repetition of any\npassage, or words; the Lord's Prayer, for example, committed to\nmemory. In learning the passage, we repeat it; that is, we pronounce\nthe words, in successive order, from the beginning to the end. The\norder of the sensations is successive. When we proceed to repeat the\npassage, the ideas of the words also rise in succession, the\npreceding always suggesting the succeeding, and no other. _Our_\nsuggests _Father_, _Father_ suggests _which_, _which_ suggests\n_art_; and so on, to the end. How remarkably this is the case, any\none may convince himself, by trying to repeat backwards, even a\npassage with which he is as familiar as the Lord's Prayer. The case\nis the same with numbers. A man can go on with the numbers in the\nprogressive order, one, two, three, &c. scarcely thinking of his\nact; and though it is possible for him to repeat them backward,\nbecause he is accustomed {81} to subtraction of numbers, he cannot\ndo so without an effort.\n\nOf witnesses in courts of justice it has been remarked, that\neye-witnesses, and ear-witnesses, always tell their story in the\nchronological order; in other words, the ideas occur to them in the\norder in which the sensations occurred; on the other hand, that\nwitnesses, who are inventing, rarely adhere to the chronological\norder.\n\n3. A far greater number of our sensations are received in the\nsuccessive, than in the synchronical order. Of our ideas, also, the\nnumber is infinitely greater that rise in the successive than the\nsynchronical order.\n\n4. In the successive order of ideas, that which precedes, is\nsometimes called the suggesting, that which succeeds, the suggested\nidea; not that any power is supposed to reside in the antecedent\nover the consequent; suggesting, and suggested, mean only antecedent\nand consequent, with the additional idea, that such order is not\ncasual, but, to a certain degree, permanent.\n\n5. Of the antecedent and consequent feelings, or the suggesting, and\nsuggested; the antecedent may be either sensations or ideas; the\nconsequent are always ideas. An idea may be excited either by a\nsensation or an idea. The sight of the dog of my friend is a\nsensation, and it excites the idea of my friend. The idea of\nProfessor Dugald Stewart delivering a lecture, recals the idea of\nthe delight with which I heard him; that, the idea of the studies in\nwhich it engaged me; that, the trains of thought which succeeded;\nand each epoch of my mental history, the succeeding one, till the\npresent moment; in which I am endeavouring to present to others what\nappears to me valuable among {82} the innumerable ideas of which\nthis lengthened train has been composed.\n\n6. As there are degrees in sensation, and degrees in ideas; for one\nsensation is more vivid than another sensation, one idea more vivid\nthan another idea; so there are degrees in association. One\nassociation, we say, is stronger than another: First, when it is\nmore permanent than another: Secondly, when it is performed with\nmore certainty: Thirdly, when it is performed with more facility.\n\nIt is well known, that some associations are very transient, others\nvery permanent. The case which we formerly mentioned, that of\nrepeating words committed to memory, affords an apt illustration. In\nsome cases, we can perform the repetition, when a few hours, or a\nfew days have elapsed; but not after a longer period. In others, we\ncan perform it after the lapse of many years. There are few children\nin whose minds some association has not been formed between darkness\nand ghosts. In some this association is soon dissolved; in some it\ncontinues for life.[27]\n\n[Bain's footnote 27: The difference between transient and permanent\nrecollections turns entirely upon the strength of the association.\nThere is not one specific mode of association suited to temporary\nrecollection and another to permanent; the permanent contains the\ntemporary, as the greater does the less. The reason why a feebler\nassociation will suffice for temporary purposes, is that a recent\nimpression still retains something of the hold of a present reality.\nThe chords struck during the actual presence have not ceased to\nvibrate. It is difficult to estimate with precision the influence of\nrecency; we know it to be very considerable. A thing distinctly\nremembered for a few hours will be forgotten, or else held as a mere\nfragment, at the end of a month; while anything that persists for\ntwo or three months may be considered as independent of the power of\nrecency, and may last for years.--_B._]\n\nIn some cases the association takes place with less, in some with\ngreater certainty. Thus, in repeating words, I am not sure that I\nshall not commit mistakes, if they are imperfectly got; and I may at\none {83} trial repeat them right, at another wrong: I am sure of\nalways repeating those correctly, which I have got perfectly. Thus,\nin my native language, the association between the name and the\nthing is certain; in a language with which I am imperfectly\nacquainted, not certain. In expressing myself in my own language,\nthe idea of the thing suggests the idea of the name with certainty.\nIn speaking a language with which I am imperfectly acquainted, the\nidea of the thing does not with certainty suggest the idea of the\nname; at one time it may, at another not.\n\nThat ideas are associated in some cases with more, in some with less\nfacility, is strikingly illustrated by the same instance, of a\nlanguage with which we are well, and a language with which we are\nimperfectly, acquainted. In speaking our own language, we are not\nconscious of any effort; the associations between the words and the\nideas appear spontaneous. In endeavouring to speak a language with\nwhich we are imperfectly acquainted, we are sensible of a painful\neffort: the associations between the words and ideas being not\nready, or immediate.\n\n7. The causes of strength in association seem all to be resolvable\ninto two; the vividness of the associated feelings; and the\nfrequency of the association.\n\nIn general, we convey not a very precise meaning, {84} when we speak\nof the vividness of sensations and ideas. We may be understood when\nwe say that, generally speaking, the sensation is more vivid than\nthe idea; or the primary, than the secondary feeling; though in\ndreams, and in delirium, ideas are mistaken for sensations. But when\nwe say that one sensation is more vivid than another, there is much\nmore uncertainty. We can distinguish those sensations which are\npleasurable, and those which are painful, from such as are not so;\nand when we call the pleasurable and painful more vivid, than those\nwhich are not so, we speak intelligibly. We can also distinguish\ndegrees of pleasure, and of pain; and when we call the sensation of\nthe higher degree more vivid than the sensation of the lower degree,\nwe may again be considered as expressing a meaning tolerably\nprecise.\n\nIn calling one IDEA more vivid than another, if we confine the\nappellation to the ideas of such SENSATIONS as may with precision be\ncalled more or less vivid; the sensations of pleasure and pain, in\ntheir various degrees, compared with sensations which we do not call\neither pleasurable or painful; our language will still have a\ncertain degree of precision. But what is the meaning which I annex\nto my words, when I say, that my idea of the taste of the pine-apple\nwhich I tasted yesterday is vivid; my idea of the taste of the\nforeign fruit which I never tasted but once in early life, is not\nvivid? If I mean that I can more certainly distinguish the more\nrecent, than the more distant sensation, there is still some\nprecision in my language; because it seems true of all my senses,\nthat if I compare a distant sensation with a present, I am less sure\nof its being or not being a repetition of the same, than {85} if I\ncompare a recent sensation with a present one. Thus, if I yesterday\nhad a smell of a very peculiar kind, and compare it with a present\nsmell, I can judge more accurately of the agreement or disagreement\nof the two sensations, than if I compared the present with one much\nmore remote. The same is the case with colours, with sounds, with\nfeelings of touch, and of resistance. It is therefore sufficiently\ncertain, that the idea of the more recent sensation affords the\nmeans of a more accurate comparison, generally, than the idea of the\nmore remote sensation. And thus we have three cases of vividness, of\nwhich we can speak with some precision: the case of sensations, as\ncompared with ideas; the case of pleasurable and painful sensations,\nand their ideas, as compared with those which are not pleasurable or\npainful; and the case of the more recent, compared with the more\nremote.[28]\n\n[Editor's footnote 28: If it be admitted that in the three cases\nhere specified the word vividness, as applied to our impressions,\nhas a definite meaning, it seems to follow that this meaning may be\nextended in the way of analogy, to other cases than these. There\nare, for example, sensations which differ from some other sensations\nlike fainter feelings of the same kind, in much the same manner as\nthe idea of a sensation differs from the sensation itself: and we\nmay, by extension, call these sensations less vivid. Again, one idea\nmay differ from another idea in the same sort of way in which the\nidea of a sensation had long ago differs from that of a similar\nsensation received recently: that is, it is a more faded copy--its\ncolours and its outlines are more effaced: this idea may fairly be\nsaid to be less vivid than the other.\n\nThe author himself, a few pages farther on, speaks of some complex\nideas as being more \"obscure\" than others, merely on account of\ntheir greater complexity. Obscurity, indeed, in this case, means a\ndifferent quality from the absence of vividness, but a quality fully\nas indefinite.\n\nMr. Bain, whose view of the subject will be found further on, draws\na fundamental distinction (already indicated in a former note)\nbetween the attributes which belong to a sensation regarded in an\nintellectual point of view, as a portion of our knowledge, and those\nwhich belong to the element of Feeling contained in it; Feeling\nbeing here taken in the narrower acceptation of the word, that in\nwhich Feeling is opposed to Intellect or Thought. To sensations in\ntheir intellectual aspect Mr. Bain considers the term vividness to\nbe inapplicable: they can only be distinct or indistinct. He\nreserves the word vividness to express the degree of intensity of\nthe sensation, considered in what may be called its emotional\naspect, whether of pleasure, of pain, or of mere excitement.\n\nWhether we accept this restriction or not, it is in any case\ncertain, that the property of producing a strong and durable\nassociation without the aid of repetition, belongs principally to\nour pleasures and pains. The more intense the pain or pleasure, the\nmore promptly and powerfully does it associate itself with its\naccompanying circumstances, even with those which are only\naccidentally present. In the cases mentioned in the text, a single\noccurrence of the painful sensation is sufficient to produce an\nassociation, which neither time can wear out nor\ncounter-associations dissolve, between the idea of the pain and the\nideas of the sensations which casually accompanied it in that one\ninstance, however intrinsically indifferent these may be.--_Ed._]\n\n{86} That the association of two ideas, but for once, does, in some\ncases, give them a very strong connection, is within the sphere of\nevery man's experience. The most remarkable cases are probably those\nof pain and pleasure. Some persons who have experienced a very\npainful surgical operation, can never afterwards bear the sight of\nthe operator, however strong the {87} gratitude which they may\nactually feel towards him. The meaning is, that the sight of the\noperator, by a strong association, calls up so vividly the idea of\nthe pain of the operation, that it is itself a pain. The spot on\nwhich a tender maiden parted with her lover, when he embarked on the\nvoyage from which he never returned, cannot afterwards be seen by\nher without an agony of grief.\n\nThese cases, also, furnish an apt illustration of the superiority\nwhich the sensation possesses over the idea, as an associating\ncause. Though the sight of the surgeon, the sight of the place,\nwould awaken the ideas which we have described, the mere thought of\nthem might be attended with no peculiar effect. Those persons who\nhave the association of frightful objects with darkness, and who are\ntransported with terrors when placed in the dark, can still think of\ndarkness without any emotion.\n\nThe same cases furnish an illustration of the effect of recency on\nthe strength of association. The sight, of the affecting spot by the\nmaiden, of the surgeon by the patient, would certainly produce a\nmore intense emotion, after a short, than after a long interval.\nWith most persons, time would weaken, and at last dissolve, the\nassociation.\n\nSo much with regard to vividness, as a cause of strong associations.\nNext, we have to consider frequency or repetition; which is the most\nremarkable and important cause of the strength of our associations.\n\nOf any two sensations, frequently perceived together, the ideas are\nassociated. Thus, at least, in the minds of Englishmen, the idea of\na soldier, and the idea of a red coat are associated; the idea of a\n{88} clergyman, and the idea of a black coat; the idea of a quaker,\nand of a broad-brimmed hat; the idea of a woman and the idea of\npetticoats. A peculiar taste suggests the idea of an apple; a\npeculiar smell the idea of a rose. If I have heard a particular air\nfrequently sung by a particular person, the hearing of the air\nsuggests the idea of the person.\n\nThe most remarkable exemplification of the effect of degrees of\nfrequency, in producing degrees of strength in the associations, is\nto be found in the cases in which the association is purposely and\nstudiously contracted; the cases in which we learn something; the\nuse of words, for example.\n\nEvery child learns the language which is spoken by those around him.\nHe also learns it by degrees. He learns first the names of the most\nfamiliar objects; and among familiar objects, the names of those\nwhich he most frequently has occasion to name; himself, his nurse,\nhis food, his playthings.\n\nA sound heard once in conjunction with another sensation; the word\nmamma, for example, with the sight of a woman, would produce no\ngreater effect on the child, than the conjunction of any other\nsensation, which once exists and is gone for ever. But if the word\nmamma is frequently pronounced, in conjunction with the sight of a\nparticular woman, the sound will by degrees become associated with\nthe sight; and as the pronouncing of the name will call up the idea\nof the woman, so the sight of the woman will call up the idea of the\nname.\n\nThe process becomes very perceptible to us, when, at years of\nreflection, we proceed to learn a dead or foreign language. At the\nfirst lesson, we are told, or {89} we see in the dictionary, the\nmeaning of perhaps twenty words. But it is not joining the word and\nits meaning once, that will make the word suggest its meaning to us\nanother time. We repeat the two in conjunction, till we think the\nmeaning so well associated with the word, that whenever the word\noccurs to us, the meaning will occur along with it. We are often\ndeceived in this anticipation; and finding that the meaning is not\nsuggested by the word, we have to renew the process of repetition,\nand this, perhaps, again, and again. By force of repetition the\nmeaning is associated, at last, with every word of the language, and\nso perfectly, that the one never occurs to us without the other.\n\nLearning to play on a musical instrument is another remarkable\nillustration of the effect of repetition in strengthening\nassociations, in rendering those sequences, which, at first, are\nslow, and difficult, afterwards, rapid, and easy. At first, the\nlearner, after thinking of each successive note, as it stands in his\nbook, has each time to look out with care for the key or the string\nwhich he is to touch, and the finger he is to touch it with, and is\nevery moment committing mistakes. Repetition is well known to be the\nonly means of overcoming these difficulties. As the repetition goes\non, the sight of the note, or even the idea of the note, becomes\nassociated with the place of the key or the string; and that of the\nkey or the string with the proper finger. The association for a time\nis imperfect, but at last becomes so strong, that it is performed\nwith the greatest rapidity, without an effort, and almost without\nconsciousness.\n\nIn few cases is the strength of association, derived {90} from\nrepetition, more worthy of attention, than in performing arithmetic.\nAll men, whose practice is not great, find the addition of a long\ncolumn of numbers, tedious, and the accuracy of the operation, by no\nmeans certain. Till a man has had considerable practice, there are\nfew acts of the mind more toilsome. The reason is, that the names of\nthe numbers, which correspond to the different steps, do not readily\noccur; that is, are not strongly associated with the names which\nprecede them. Thus, 7 added to 5, make 12; but the antecedent, 7\nadded to 5, is not strongly associated with the consequent 12, in\nthe mind of the learner, and he has to wait and search till the name\noccurs. Thus, again, 12 and 7 make 19; 19 and 8 make 27, and so on\nto any amount; but if the practice of the performer has been small,\nthe association in each instance is imperfect, and the process\nirksome and slow. Practice, however; that is, frequency of\nrepetition; makes the association between each of these antecedents\nand its proper consequent so perfect, that no sooner is the one\nconceived than the other is conceived, and an expert arithmetician\ncan tell the amount of a long column of figures, with a rapidity,\nwhich seems almost miraculous to the man whose faculty of numeration\nis of the ordinary standard.\n\n8. Where two or more ideas have been often repeated together, and\nthe association has become very strong, they sometimes spring up in\nsuch close combination as not to be distinguishable. Some cases of\nsensation are analogous. For example; when a wheel, on the seven\nparts of which the seven prismatic colours are respectively painted,\nis made to revolve rapidly, it appears not of seven colours, but of\none {91} uniform colour, white. By the rapidity of the succession,\nthe several sensations cease to be distinguishable; they run, as it\nwere, together, and a new sensation, compounded of all the seven,\nbut apparently a simple one, is the result. Ideas, also, which have\nbeen so often conjoined, that whenever one exists in the mind, the\nothers immediately exist along with it, seem to run into one\nanother, to coalesce, as it were, and out of many to form one idea;\nwhich idea, however in reality complex, appears to be no less\nsimple, than any one of those of which it is compounded.\n\nThe word gold, for example, or the word iron, appears to express as\nsimple an idea, as the word colour, or the word sound. Yet it is\nimmediately seen, that the idea of each of those metals is made up\nof the separate ideas of several sensations; colour, hardness,\nextension, weight. Those ideas, however, present themselves in such\nintimate union, that they are constantly spoken of as one, not many.\nWe say, our idea of iron, our idea of gold; and it is only with an\neffort that reflecting men perform the decomposition.\n\nThe idea expressed by the term weight, appears so perfectly simple,\nthat he is a good metaphysician, who can trace its composition. Yet\nit involves, of course, the idea of resistance, which we have shewn\nabove to be compounded, and to involve the feeling attendant upon\nthe contraction of muscles; and the feeling or feelings, denominated\nWill; it involves the idea, not of resistance simply, but of\nresistance in a particular direction; the idea of direction,\ntherefore, is included in it, and in that are involved the ideas of\nextension, and of place and motion, some of the most complicated\nphenomena of the human mind.\n\n{92} The ideas of hardness and extension have been so uniformly\nregarded as simple, that the greatest metaphysicians have set them\ndown as the copies of simple sensations of touch. Hartley and\nDarwin, were, I believe, the first who thought of assigning to them\na different origin.\n\nWe call a thing hard, because it resists compression, or separation\nof parts; that is, because to compress it, or separate it into\nparts, what we call muscular force is required. The idea, then, of\nmuscular action, and of all the feelings which go to it, are\ninvolved in the idea of hardness.\n\nThe idea of extension is derived from the muscular feelings in what\nwe call the motion of parts of our own bodies; as for example, the\nhands. I move my hand along a line; I have certain sensations; on\naccount of these sensations, I call the line long, or extended. The\nidea of lines in the direction of length, breadth, and thickness,\nconstitutes the general idea of extension. In the idea of extension,\nthere are included three of the most complex of our ideas; motion;\ntime, which is included in motion; and space, which is included in\ndirection. We are not yet prepared to explain the simple ideas which\ncompose the very complex ideas, of motion, space, and time; it is\nenough at present to have shewn, that in the idea of extension,\nwhich appears so very simple, a great number of ideas are\nnevertheless included; and that this is a case of that combination\nof ideas in the higher degrees of association, in which the simple\nideas are so intimately blended, as to have the appearance, not of a\ncomplex, but of a simple idea.\n\nIt is to this great law of association, that we trace {93} the\nformation of our ideas of what we call external objects; that is,\nthe ideas of a certain number of sensations, received together so\nfrequently that they coalesce as it were, and are spoken of under\nthe idea of unity. Hence, what we call the idea of a tree, the idea\nof a stone, the idea of a horse, the idea of a man.\n\nIn using the names, tree, horse, man, the names of what I call\nobjects, I am referring, and can be referring, only to my own\nsensations; in fact, therefore, only naming a certain number of\nsensations, regarded as in a particular state of combination; that\nis, concomitance. Particular sensations of sight, of touch, of the\nmuscles, are the sensations, to the ideas of which, colour,\nextension, roughness, hardness, smoothness, taste, smell, so\ncoalescing as to appear one idea, I give the name, idea of a tree.\n\nTo this case of high association, this blending together of many\nideas, in so close a combination that they appear not many ideas,\nbut one idea, we owe, as I shall afterwards more fully explain, the\npower of classification, and all the advantages of language. It is\nobviously, therefore, of the greatest moment, that this important\nphenomenon should be well understood.\n\n9. Some ideas are by frequency and strength of association so\nclosely combined, that they cannot be separated. If one exists, the\nother exists along with it, in spite of whatever effort we make to\ndisjoin them.\n\nFor example; it is not in our power to think of colour, without\nthinking of extension; or of solidity, without figure. We have seen\ncolour constantly in combination with extension, spread, as it were,\nupon a {94} surface. We have never seen it except in this\nconnection. Colour and extension have been invariably conjoined. The\nidea of colour, therefore, uniformly comes into the mind, bringing\nthat of extension along with it; and so close is the association,\nthat it is not in our power to dissolve it. We cannot, if we will,\nthink of colour, but in combination with extension. The one idea\ncalls up the other, and retains it, so long as the other is\nretained.\n\nThis great law of our nature is illustrated in a manner equally\nstriking, by the connection between the ideas of solidity and\nfigure. We never have the sensations from which the idea of solidity\nis derived, but in conjunction with the sensations whence the idea\nof figure is derived. If we handle any thing solid, it is always\neither round, square, or of some other form. The ideas correspond\nwith the sensations. If the idea of solidity rises, that of figure\nrises along with it. The idea of figure which rises, is, of course,\nmore obscure than that of extension; because, figures being\ninnumerable, the general idea is exceedingly complex, and hence, of\nnecessity, obscure. But, such as it is, the idea of figure is always\npresent when that of solidity is present; nor can we, by any effort,\nthink of the one without thinking of the other at the same time.\n\nOf all the cases of this important law of association, there is none\nmore extraordinary than what some philosophers have called, the\nacquired perceptions of sight.\n\nWhen I lift my eyes from the paper on which I am writing, I see the\nchairs, and tables, and walls of my room, each of its proper shape,\nand at its proper {95} distance. I see, from my window, trees, and\nmeadows, and horses, and oxen, and distant hills. I see each of its\nproper size, of its proper form, and at its proper distance; and\nthese particulars appear as immediate informations of the eye, as\nthe colours which I see by means of it.\n\nYet, philosophy has ascertained, that we derive nothing from the eye\nwhatever, but sensations of colour; that the idea of extension, in\nwhich size, and form, and distance are included, is derived from\nsensations, not in the eye, but in the muscular part of our frame.\nHow, then, is it, that we receive accurate information, by the eye,\nof size, and shape, and distance? By association merely.[29]\n\n[Bain's footnote 29: We derive through the eye (1) sensations of\nlight in its various degrees, and of colours and their shades; (2)\nvisible form and visible magnitude, together with their changes; and\nalso visible movements. The second group of feelings depends on the\nmovements of the eyes; and they are feelings of activity, or of\nmuscular expenditure. We have, besides, a certain internal muscular\nsensibility to the alterations of the eye ball in adjusting for\ndistance--_B._]\n\nThe colours upon a body are different, according to its figure, its\ndistance, and its size. But the sensations of colour, and what we\nmay here, for brevity, call the sensations *of extension, of figure,\nof distance, have been so often united, felt in conjunction, that\nthe sensation of the colour is never experienced without raising the\nideas of the extension, the figure, the distance, in such intimate\nunion with it, that they not only cannot be separated, but are\nactually supposed to be seen. The sight, as it is called, of figure,\nor {96} distance, appearing, as it does, a simple sensation, is in\nreality a complex state of consciousness; a sequence, in which the\nantecedent, a sensation of colour, and the consequent, a number of\nideas, are so closely combined by association, that they appear not\none idea, but one sensation.\n\nSome persons, by the folly of those about them, in early life, have\nformed associations between the sound of thunder, and danger to\ntheir lives. They are accordingly in a state of agitation during a\nthunder storm. The sound of the thunder calls up the idea of danger,\nand no effort they can make, no reasoning they can use with\nthemselves, to show how small the chance that they will be harmed,\nempowers them to dissolve the spell, to break the association, and\ndeliver themselves from the tormenting idea, while the sensation or\nthe expectation of it remains.\n\nAnother very familiar illustration may be adduced. Some persons have\nwhat is called an antipathy to a spider, a toad, or a rat. These\nfeelings generally originate in some early fright. The idea of\ndanger has been on some occasion so intensely excited along with the\ntouch or sight of the animal, and hence the association so strongly\nformed, that it cannot be dissolved. The sensation, in spite of\nthem, excites the idea, and produces the uneasiness which the idea\nimports.\n\nThe following of one idea after another idea, or after a sensation,\nso certainly that we cannot prevent the combination, nor avoid\nhaving the _consequent_ feeling as often as we have the\n_antecedent_, is a law of association, the operation of which we\nshall afterwards find to be extensive, and bearing a principal part\nin {97} some of the most important phenomena of the human mind.\n\nAs there are some ideas so intimately blended by association, that\nit is not in our power to separate them; there seem to be others,\nwhich it is not in our power to combine. Dr. Brown, in exposing some\nerrors of his predecessors, with respect to the acquired perceptions\nof sight, observes: \"I cannot blend my notions of the two surfaces,\na plane, and a convex, as one surface, both plane and convex, more\nthan I can think of a whole which is less than a fraction of itself,\nor a square of which the sides are not equal.\" The case, here,\nappears to be, that a strong association excludes whatever is\nopposite to it. I cannot associate the two ideas of assafoetida,\nand the taste of sugar. Why? Because the idea of assafoetida is so\nstrongly associated with the idea of another taste, that the idea of\nthat other taste rises in combination with the idea of\nassafoetida, and of course the idea of sugar does not rise. I have\none idea associated with the word pain. Why can I not associate\npleasure with the word pain? Because another indissoluble\nassociation springs up, and excludes it. This is, therefore, only a\ncase of indissoluble association; but one of much importance, as we\nshall find when we come to the exposition of some of the more\ncomplicated of our mental phenomena.[30]\n\n[Editor's footnote 30: Some further elucidation seems needful of\nwhat is here said, in so summary a manner, respecting ideas which it\nis not in our power to combine: an inability which it is essential\nto the analysis of some of the more complex phenomena of mind that\nwe should understand the meaning of. The explanation is indicated,\nbut hardly more than indicated, in the text.\n\nIt seems to follow from the universal law of association, that any\nidea could be associated with any other idea, if the corresponding\nsensations, or even the ideas themselves, were presented in\njuxtaposition with sufficient frequency. If, therefore, there are\nideas which cannot be associated with each other, it must be because\nthere is something that prevents this juxtaposition. Two conditions\nhence appear to be required, to render ideas incapable of\ncombination. First, the sensations must be incapable of being had\ntogether. If we cannot associate the taste of assafoetida with the\ntaste of sugar, it is implied, that we cannot have the taste of\nassafoetida along with the taste of sugar. If we could, a\nsufficient experience would enable us to associate the ideas. Here,\ntherefore, is one necessary condition of the impossibility of\nassociating certain ideas with one another. But this condition,\nthough necessary, is not sufficient. We are but too capable of\nassociating ideas together though the corresponding external facts\nare really incompatible. In the case of many errors, prejudices, and\nsuperstitions, two ideas are so closely and obstinately associated,\nthat the man cannot, at least for the time, help believing that the\nassociation represents a real coexistence or sequence between\noutward facts, though such coexistence or sequence may contradict a\npositive law of the physical world. There is therefore a further\ncondition required to render two ideas unassociable, and this is,\nthat one of them shall be already associated with some idea which\nexcludes the other. Thus far the analysis is carried in the author's\ntext. But the question remains, what ideas exclude one another? On\ncareful consideration I can only find one case of such exclusion:\nwhen one of the ideas either contains, or raises up by association,\nthe idea of the absence of the other. I am aware of no case of\nabsolute incompatibility of thought or of imagination, except\nbetween the presence of something and its absence; between an\naffirmative and the corresponding negative. If an idea irresistibly\nraises up the idea of the absence of a certain sensation, it cannot\nbecome associated with the idea of that sensation; for it is\nimpossible to combine together in the same mental representation,\nthe presence of a sensation and its absence.\n\nWe are not yet, however, at the end of the difficulty; for it may be\nobjected, that the idea of the absence of anything is the idea of a\nnegation, of a nullity; and the idea of nothing must itself be\nnothing--no idea at all. This objection has imposed upon more than\none metaphysician; but the solution of the paradox is very simple.\nThe idea of the presence of a sensation is the idea of the sensation\nitself along with certain accompanying circumstances: the idea of\nthe absence of the sensation is the idea of the same accompanying\ncircumstances without the sensation. For example: my idea of a body\nis the idea of a feeling of resistance, accompanying a certain\nmuscular action of my own, say of my hand; my idea of no body, in\nother words, of empty space, is the idea of the same or a similar\nmuscular action of my own, not attended by any feeling of\nresistance. Neither of these is an idea of a mere negation; both are\npositive mental representations: but inasmuch as one of them\nincludes the negation of something positive which is an actual part\nof the other, they are mutually incompatible: and any idea which is\nso associated with one of them as to recall it instantly and\nirresistibly, is incapable of being associated with the other.\n\nThe instance cited by the author from Dr. Brown, is a good\nillustration of the law. We can associate the ideas of a plane and\nof a convex surface as two surfaces side by side; but we cannot fuse\nthe two mental images into one, and represent to ourselves the very\nsame series of points giving us the sensations we receive from a\nplane surface and those we receive from a convex surface both at\nonce. That this cannot but be so, is a corollary from the elementary\nlaw of association. Not only has no instance ever occurred in our\nexperience of a surface which gave us at the same moment both these\nsets of sensations; but whenever in our experience a surface\noriginally plane, came to give us the sensations we receive from a\nconvex surface (as for instance when we bend a flat sheet of paper),\nit, at the very same moment, ceased to be, or to appear, a plane.\nThe commencement of the one set of sensations has always been\nsimultaneous with the cessation of the other set, and this\nexperience, not being affected by any change of circumstances, has\nthe constancy and invariability of a law of nature. It forms a\ncorrespondingly strong association; and we become unable to have an\nidea of either set of sensations, those of planeness or those of\nconvexity, without having the idea of the disappearance of the other\nset, if they existed previously. I believe it will be found that all\nthe mental incompatibilities, the impossibilities of thought, of\nwhich so much is made by a certain class of metaphysicians, can be\naccounted for in a similar manner.--_Ed._]\n\n{98} 10. It not unfrequently happens in our associated feelings,\nthat the antecedent is of no importance {99} farther than as it\nintroduces the consequent. In these cases, the consequent absorbs\nall the attention, {100} and the antecedent is instantly forgotten.\nOf this a very intelligible illustration is afforded by what happens\nin ordinary discourse. A friend arrives from a distant country, and\nbrings me the first intelligence of the last illness, the last\nwords, the last acts, and death of my son. The sound of the voice,\nthe articulation of every word, makes its sensation in my ear; but\nit is to the ideas that my attention flies. It is my son that is\nbefore me, suffering, acting, speaking, dying. The words which have\nintroduced the ideas, and kindled the affections, have been as\nlittle heeded, as the respiration which has been accelerated, while\nthe ideas were received.\n\nIt is important in respect to this case of association {101} to\nremark, that there are large classes of our sensations, such as many\nof those in the alimentary duct, and many in the nervous and\nvascular systems, which serve, as antecedents, to introduce ideas,\nas consequents; but as the consequents are far more interesting than\nthemselves, and immediately absorb the attention, the antecedents\nare habitually overlooked; and though they exercise, by the trains\nwhich they introduce, a great influence on our happiness or misery,\nthey themselves are generally wholly unknown.\n\nThat there are connections between our ideas and certain states of\nthe internal organs, is proved by many familiar instances. Thus,\nanxiety, in most people, disorders the digestion. It is no wonder,\nthen, that the internal feelings which accompany indigestion, should\nexcite the ideas which prevail in a state of anxiety. Fear, in most\npeople, accelerates, in a remarkable manner, the vermicular motion\nof the intestines. There is an association, therefore, between\ncertain states of the intestines, and terrible ideas; and this is\nsufficiently confirmed by the horrible dreams to which men are\nsubject from indigestion; and the hypochondria, more or less\nafflicting, which almost always accompanies certain morbid states of\nthe digestive organs. The grateful food which excites pleasurable\nsensations in the mouth, continues them in the stomach; and, as\npleasures excite ideas of their causes, and these of similar causes,\nand causes excite ideas of their effects, and so on, trains of\npleasurable ideas take their origin from pleasurable sensations in\nthe stomach. Uneasy sensations in the stomach, produce analogous\neffects. Disagreeable sensations are {102} associated with\ndisagreeable circumstances: a train is introduced, in which, one\npainful idea following another, combinations, to the last degree\nafflictive, are sometimes introduced, and the sufferer is\naltogether overwhelmed by dismal associations.[31] [32]\n\n[Bain's footnote 31: There is more than association in the case here\nsupposed. Fear, anxiety, and painful emotions generally, cause\ndisorder in the digestive and other vital functions, as a part of\ntheir nature. Every mental state can be proved to have its\ncounterpart physical state; joy, sorrow, fear, are each embodied in\na distinct group of physical effects in the nervous system, the\nmuscular movements, and the organic processes. The physical side of\nagreeable emotions, as a rule, is a heightened tone of the purely\nanimal functions. The physical side of fear is a complicated series\nof effects, one of them being the depression of the organic\nprocesses, digestion among the rest. In this respect, however, it\nmore or less resembles severe pain, sorrow, shame, remorse, and\nother states, characterised by the general phrase \"depressing\npassions;\" the depression being both mental and physical.\n\nThe reciprocal agency described in the text, whereby the painful\nsensations of indigestion induce fear, is not dependent on the\nassociation of ideas, but on the deep connections of the emotional\nstates with one another, through their physical accompaniments. A\npainful feeling of indigestion has much in common with states of\ndepression due to mental causes, as, for example, the shock of a\nmisfortune, fear, sorrow, and the like. From this alliance it\nfavours the ideas of depressing states. It does more; it directly\nreduces that vigorous tone of the system, which is the support of\nthe courageous and sanguine disposition; and hence, surrenders the\nmind an easy prey to any chance incentive of alarm or\nanxiety.--_B._]\n\n[Editor's footnote 32: The law of association laid down in this\nsection ranks among the principal of what may be termed the laws of\nObliviscence. It is one of the widest in its action, and most\nimportant in its consequences of all the laws of the mind; and the\nmerit of the author, in the large use he makes of it is very great,\nas, though it is the key that unlocks many of the more mysterious\nphenomena of the mind, it is among the least familiar of the mental\nlaws, and is not only overlooked by the great majority of\npsychologists, but some, otherwise of merit, seem unable to see and\nunderstand the law after any quantity of explanation.\n\nThe first, however, of the examples by which the author illustrates\nthis law, is not marked by his usual felicity. Its shortcomings are\npointed out by Mr. Bain in the preceding note. The internal feelings\n(says the author) which accompany indigestion, introduce trains of\nideas (as in the case of horrible dreams, and of hypochondria) which\nare acutely painful, and may embitter the whole existence, while the\nsensations themselves, being comparatively of little interest, are\nunheeded and forgotten. It is true that the sensations in the\nalimentary canal, directly produced by indigestion, though (as every\none knows) in some cases intense, are in others so slight as not to\nfix the attention, and yet may be followed by melancholy trains of\nthought, the connection of which with the state of the digestion may\nbe entirely unobserved: but by far the most probable supposition\nappears to be, that these painful trains are not excited by the\nsensations, but that they and the sensations are joint or successive\neffects of a common organic cause. It is difficult to comprehend how\nthese obscure sensations can excite the distressing trains of ideas\nby the laws of association; for what opportunity have these\nsensations usually had of becoming associated, either synchronously\nor successively, with those ideas? The explanation, in the text, of\nthis difficulty, seems surprisingly insufficient. Anxiety, in most\npeople, disorders the digestion; and consequently, according to the\nauthor, the sensations of indigestion excite the ideas which prevail\nin a state of anxiety. If that were the true explanation, the only\npersons with whom indigestion would depress the spirits, would be\nthose who had suffered previous depression of spirits, sufficient in\nduration and intensity to disorder the digestion, and to keep it\ndisordered long enough to effect a close and inseparable cohesion\nbetween even very slight sensations of indigestion and painful ideas\nexcited by other causes. Surely this is not the fact. The theory has\na true application in the case of the confirmed hypochondriac. When\nthe sensations have been repeatedly experienced along with the\nmelancholy trains of thought, a direct association is likely to grow\nup between the two; and when this has been effected, the first touch\nof the sensations may bring back in full measure the miserable\nmental state which had coexisted with them, thus increasing not only\nthe frequency of its recurrence, but, by the conjunction of two\nexciting causes, the intensity of the misery. But the origin of the\nstate must be looked for elsewhere, and is probably to be sought in\nphysiology.\n\nThe other example in the text seems still less relevant. Fear tends\nto accelerate the peristaltic motion, therefore there is a\nconnection between certain states of the intestines and terrible\nideas. To make this available for the author's purpose, the\nconsequence of the connection ought to be, that acceleration of the\nperistaltic motion excites ideas of terror. But does it? The state\nof indigestion characteristic of hypochondria is not looseness of\nthe bowels, but is commonly attended with the exact opposite. The\nauthor's usual acuteness of discernment seems to have been, in these\ncases, blunted by an unwillingness to admit the possibility that\nideas as well as sensations may be directly affected by material\nconditions. But if, as he admits, ideas have a direct action on our\nbodily organs, a _prima facie_ case is made out for the localization\nof our ideas, equally with our sensations, in some part of our\nbodily system; and there is at least no antecedent presumption\nagainst the supposition that the action may be reciprocal--that as\nideas sometimes derange the organic functions, so derangements of\norganic functions may sometimes modify the trains of our ideas by\ntheir own physical action on the brain and nerves, and not through\nthe associations connected with the sensations they excite.--_Ed._]\n\n{103} In illustration of the fact, that sensations and ideas, which\nare essential to some of the most important {104} operations of our\nminds, serve only as antecedents to more important consequents, and\nare themselves so {105} habitually overlooked, that their existence\nis unknown, we may recur to the remarkable case which we have just\nexplained, of the ideas introduced by the sensations of sight. The\nminute gradations of colour, which accompany varieties of extension,\nfigure, and distance, are insignificant. The figure, the size, the\ndistance, themselves, on the other hand, are matters of the greatest\nimportance. The first having introduced the last, their work is\ndone. The consequents remain the sole objects of attention, the\nantecedents are forgotten; in the present instance, not completely;\nin other instances, so completely, that they cannot be\nrecognised.[33] [34]\n\n[Bain's footnote 33: Perhaps the most remarkable case of sensations\noverlooked on their own account, and considered only as a means of\nsuggesting something else, is the visual, or retinal, magnitude of\nobjects seen by the eye. This is probably the most delicate\nsensibility within the compass of the mind; and yet we habitually\ndisregard it for all things near us, and use it solely for\nperceiving real magnitude as estimated by our locomotive and other\nmembers. The visual magnitude of a table, or other article in a\nroom, is never thought of for itself; although incessantly\nfluctuating we never think of the fluctuations; we pass from these\nto the one constant perception, named the true or real magnitude. It\nis only for remote objects, as the sun and moon, the clouds, the\ndistant hills, that the retinal magnitude abides with us in its own\nproper character. In looking down a vista, we may also be aroused to\nthe feeling of retinal magnitude. For perspective drawing, it is\nnecessary that we should arrest the strong tendency to pass from the\nvisible, to the real, forms and dimensions of things.--_B._]\n\n[Editor's footnote 34: The reader, it may be hoped, is now familiar\nwith the important psychological fact, so powerfully grasped and so\ndiscerningly employed by Hartley and the author of the\nAnalysis,--that when, through the frequent repetition of a series of\nsensations, the corresponding train of ideas rushes through the mind\nwith extreme rapidity, some of the links are apt to disappear from\nconsciousness as completely as if they had never formed part of the\nseries. It has been a subject of dispute among philosophers which of\nthree things takes place in this case. Do the lost ideas pass\nthrough the mind without consciousness? Do they pass consciously\nthrough the mind and are they then instantly forgotten? Or do they\nnever come into the mind at all, being, as it were, overleaped and\npressed out by the rush of the subsequent ideas?\n\nIt would seem, at first sight, that the first and third suppositions\ninvolve impossibilities, and that the second, therefore, is the only\none which we are at liberty to adopt. As regards the first, it may\nbe said--How can we have a feeling without feeling it, in other\nwords, without being conscious of it? With regard to the third, how,\nit may be asked, can any link of the chain have been altogether\nabsent, through the pressure of the subsequent links? The subsequent\nideas are only there because called up by it, and would not have\narisen at all unless it had arisen first, however short a time it\nmay have lasted. These arguments seem strong, but are not so strong\nas they seem.\n\nIn favour of the first supposition, that feelings may be\nunconsciously present, various facts and arguments are adduced by\nSir William Hamilton in his Lectures; but I think I have shewn in\nanother work, that the arguments are inconclusive, and the facts\nequally reconcilable with the second of the three hypotheses. That a\nfeeling should not be felt appears to me a contradiction both in\nwords and in nature. But, though a feeling cannot exist without\nbeing felt, the organic state which is the antecedent of it may\nexist, and the feeling itself not follow. This happens, either if\nthe organic state is not of sufficient duration, or if an organic\nstate stronger than itself, and conflicting with it, is affecting us\nat the same moment. I hope to be excused for quoting what I have\nsaid elsewhere on this subject (Examination of Sir William\nHamilton's Philosophy, ch. 15).\n\n\"In the case, for instance, of a soldier who receives a wound in\nbattle, but in the excitement of the moment is not aware of the\nfact, it is difficult not to believe that if the wound had been\naccompanied by the usual sensation, so vivid a feeling would have\nforced itself to be attended to and remembered. The supposition\nwhich seems most probable is, that the nerves of the particular part\nwere affected as they would have been by the same cause in any other\ncircumstances, but that, the nervous centres being intensely\noccupied with other impressions, the affection of the local nerves\ndid not reach them, and no sensation was excited. In like manner, if\nwe admit (what physiology is rendering more and more probable) that\nour mental feelings, as well as our sensations, have for their\nphysical antecedents particular states of the nerves; it may well be\nbelieved that the apparently suppressed links in a chain of\nassociation, those which Sir William Hamilton considers as latent,\nreally are so; that they are not, even momentarily, felt; the chain\nof causation being continued only physically, by one organic state\nof the nerves succeeding another so rapidly that the state of mental\nconsciousness appropriate to each is not produced. We have only to\nsuppose, either that a nervous modification of too short duration\ndoes not produce any sensation or mental feeling at all, or that the\nrapid succession of different nervous modifications makes the\nfeelings produced by them interfere with each other, and become\nconfounded in one mass. The former of these suppositions is\nextremely probable, while of the truth of the latter we have\npositive proof. An example of it is the experiment which Sir W.\nHamilton quoted from Mr. Mill, and which had been noticed before\neither of them by Hartley. It is known that the seven prismatic\ncolours, combined in certain proportions, produce the white light of\nthe solar ray. Now, if the seven colours are painted on spaces\nbearing the same proportion to one another as in the solar spectrum,\nand the coloured surface so produced is passed rapidly before the\neyes, as by the turning of a wheel, the whole is seen as white. The\nphysiological explanation of this phenomenon may be deduced from\nanother common experiment. If a lighted torch, or a bar heated to\nluminousness, is waved rapidly before the eye, the appearance\nproduced is that of a ribbon of light; which is universally\nunderstood to prove that the visual sensation persists for a certain\nshort time after its cause has ceased. Now, if this happens with a\nsingle colour, it will happen with a series of colours: and if the\nwheel on which the prismatic colours have been painted, is turned\nwith the same rapidity with which the torch was waved, each of the\nseven sensations of colour will last long enough to be\ncontemporaneous with all the others, and they will naturally produce\nby their combination the same colour as if they had, from the\nbeginning, been excited simultaneously. If anything similar to this\nobtains in our consciousness generally (and that it obtains in many\ncases of consciousness there can be no doubt) it will follow that\nwhenever the organic modifications of our nervous fibres succeed one\nanother at an interval shorter than the duration of the sensations\nor other feelings corresponding to them, those sensations or\nfeelings will, so to speak, overlap one another, and becoming\nsimultaneous instead of successive, will blend into a state of\nfeeling, probably as unlike the elements out of which it is\nengendered, as the colour white is unlike the prismatic colours. And\nthis may be the source of many of those states of internal or mental\nfeeling which we cannot distinctly refer to a prototype in\nexperience, our experience only supplying the elements from which,\nby this kind of mental chemistry, they are composed. The elementary\nfeelings may then be said to be latently present, or to be present\nbut not in consciousness. The truth, however, is that the feelings\nthemselves are not present, consciously or latently, but that the\nnervous modifications which are their usual antecedents have been\npresent, while the consequents have been frustrated, and another\nconsequent has been produced instead.\"\n\nIn this modified form, therefore, the first of the three hypotheses\nmay possibly be true. Let us now consider the third, that of the\nentire elision of some of the ideas which form the associated train.\nThis supposition seemed to be inadmissible, because the loss of any\nlink would, it was supposed, cause the chain itself to break off at\nthat point. To make the hypothesis possible, it is only, however,\nnecessary to suppose, that, while the association is acquiring the\npromptitude and rapidity which it ultimately attains, each of the\nsuccessive ideas abides for a brief interval in our consciousness\nafter it has already called up the idea which is to succeed it. Each\nidea in the series, though introduced, not by synchronous, but by\nsuccessive association, is thus, during a part of its continuance,\nsynchronous with the idea which introduced it: and as the rapidity\nof the suggestions increases by still further repetition, an idea\nmay become synchronous with another which was originally not even\ncontiguous to it, but separated from it by an intervening link; or\nmay come into immediate instead of mediate sequence with such an\nidea. When either of these states of things has continued for some\ntime, a direct association of the synchronous or of the successive\nkind will be generated between two ideas which are not proximate\nlinks in the chain; A will acquire a direct power of exciting C,\nindependently of the intervening idea B. If, then, B is much less\ninteresting than C, and especially if B is of no importance at all\nin itself, but only by exciting C, and has therefore nothing to make\nthe mind dwell on it after C has been reached, the association of A\nwith C is likely to become stronger than that of A with B: C will be\nhabitually excited directly by A; as the mind runs off to the\nfurther ideas suggested by C, B will cease to be excited at all; and\nthe train of association, like a stream which breaking though its\nbank cuts off a bend in its course, will thenceforth flow in the\ndirect line AC, omitting B. This supposition accounts more plausibly\nthan either of the others for the truly wonderful rapidity of\nthought, since it does not make so large a demand as the other\ntheories on our ability to believe that a prodigious number of\ndifferent ideas can successively rush through the mind in an instant\ntoo short for measurement.\n\nThe result is, that all the three theories of this mental process\nseem to be quite possible; and it is not unlikely that each of them\nmay be the real process in some cases, either in different persons,\nor in the same persons under different circumstances. I can only\nremit the question to future psychologists, who may be able to\ncontrive crucial experiments for deciding among these various\npossibilities.--_Ed._]\n\n{106} 11. Mr. Hume, and after him other philosophers, have said that\nour ideas are associated according to {107} three principles;\nContiguity in time and place, Causation, and Resemblance. The\nContiguity in time and {108} place, must mean, that of the\nsensations; and so far it is affirmed, that the order of the ideas\nfollows that {109} of the sensations. Contiguity of two sensations\nin time, means the successive order. Contiguity of two {110}\nsensations in place, means the synchronous order. We have explained\nthe mode in which ideas are associated, in the synchronous, as well\nas the successive order, and have traced the principle of contiguity\nto its proper source.\n\nCausation, the second of Mr. Hume's principles, is the same with\ncontiguity in time, or the order of succession. Causation is only a\nname for the order established between an antecedent and a\nconsequent; that is, the established or constant antecedence of the\none, {111} and consequence of the other. Resemblance only remains,\nas an alleged principle of association, and it is necessary to\ninquire whether it is included in the laws which have been above\nexpounded. I believe it will be found that we are accustomed to see\nlike things together. When we see a tree, we generally see more\ntrees than one; when we see an ox, we generally see more oxen than\none; a sheep, more sheep than one; a man, more men than one. From\nthis observation, I think, we may refer resemblance to the law of\nfrequency, of which it seems to form only a particular case.[35]\n\n[Editor's footnote 35: The reason assigned by the author for\nconsidering association by resemblance as a case of association by\ncontiguity, is perhaps the least successful attempt at a\ngeneralisation and simplification of the laws of mental phenomena,\nto be found in the work. It ought to be remembered that the author,\nas the text shows, attached little importance to it. And perhaps,\nnot thinking it important, he passed it over with a less amount of\npatient thought than he usually bestowed on his analyses.\n\nObjects, he thinks, remind us of other objects resembling them,\nbecause we are accustomed to see like things together. But we are\nalso accustomed to see like things separate. When two combinations\nincompatible with one another are both realised in familiar\nexperience, it requires a very great preponderance of experience on\none side to determine the association specially to either. We are\nalso much accustomed to see unlike things together; I do not mean\nthings contrasted, but simply unlike. Unlikeness, therefore, not\namounting to contrast, ought to be as much a cause of association as\nlikeness. Besides, the fact that when we see (for instance) a sheep,\nwe usually see more sheep than one, may cause us, when we think of a\nsheep, to think of an entire flock; but it does not explain why,\nwhen we see a sheep with a black mark on its forehead, we are\nreminded of a sheep with a similar mark, formerly seen, though we\nnever saw two such sheep together. It does not explain why a\nportrait makes us think of the original, or why a stranger whom we\nsee for the first time reminds us of a person of similar appearance\nwhom we saw many years ago. The law by which an object reminds us of\nsimilar objects which we have been used to see along with it, must\nbe a different law from that by which it reminds us of similar\nobjects which we have not been used to see along with it. But it is\nthe same law by which it reminds us of dissimilar objects which we\nhave been used to see along with it. The sight of a sheep, if it\nreminds us of a flock of sheep, probably by the same law of\ncontiguity, reminds us of a meadow; but it must be by some other law\nthat it reminds us of a single sheep previously seen, and of the\noccasion on which we saw that single sheep.\n\nThe attempt to resolve association by resemblance into association\nby contiguity must perforce be unsuccessful, inasmuch as there never\ncould have been association by contiguity without a previous\nassociation by resemblance. Why does a sensation received this\ninstant remind me of sensations which I formerly had (as we commonly\nsay), along with it? I never had them along with this very\nsensation. I never had this sensation until now, and can never have\nit again. I had the former sensations in conjunction not with it,\nbut with a sensation exactly like it. And my present sensation could\nnot remind me of those former sensations unlike itself, unless by\nfirst reminding me of the sensation like itself, which really did\ncoexist with them. There is thus a law of association anterior to,\nand presupposed by, the law of contiguity: namely, that a sensation\ntends to recall what is called the idea of itself, that is, the\nremembrance of a sensation like itself, if such has previously been\nexperienced. This is implied in what we call _recognising_ a\nsensation, as one which has been felt before; more correctly, as\nundistinguishably resembling one which has been felt before. The law\nin question was scientifically enunciated, and included, I believe\nfor the first time, in the list of Laws of Association, by Sir\nWilliam Hamilton, in one of the Dissertations appended to his\nedition of Reid: but the fact itself is recognised by the author of\nthe Analysis, in various passages of his work; more especially in\nthe second section of the fourteenth chapter. There is, therefore, a\nsuggestion by resemblance--a calling up of the idea of a past\nsensation by a present sensation like it--which not only does not\ndepend on association by contiguity, but is itself the foundation\nwhich association by contiguity requires for its support.\n\nWhen it is admitted that simple sensations remind us of one another\nby direct resemblance, many of the complex cases of suggestion by\nresemblance may be analysed into this elementary case of association\nby resemblance, combined with an association by contiguity. A\nflower, for instance, may remind us of a former flower resembling\nit, because the present flower exhibits to us certain qualities,\nthat is, excites in us certain sensations, resembling and recalling\nto our remembrance those we had from the former flower, and these\nrecall the entire image of the flower by the law of association by\ncontiguity. But this explanation, though it serves for many cases of\ncomplex phenomena suggesting one another by resemblance, does not\nsuffice for all. For, the resemblance of complex facts often\nconsists, not solely, or principally, in likeness between the simple\nsensations, but far more in likeness of the manner of their\ncombination, and it is often by this, rather than by the single\nfeatures, that they recall one another. After we had seen, and well\nobserved, a single triangle, when we afterwards saw a second there\ncan be little doubt that it would at once remind us of the first by\nmere resemblance. But the suggestion would not depend on the sides\nor on the angles, any or all of them; for we might have seen such\nsides and such angles uncombined, or combined into some other\nfigure. The resemblance by which one triangle recalls the idea of\nanother is not resemblance in the parts, but principally and\nemphatically in the manner in which the parts are put together. I am\nunable to see any mode in which this case of suggestion can be\naccounted for by contiguity; any mode, at least, which would fit all\ncases of the kind.--_Ed._]\n\n{112} Mr. Hume makes contrast a principle of association, but not a\nseparate one, as he thinks it is compounded {113} of Resemblance and\nCausation. It is not necessary for us to show that this is an\nunsatisfactory account {114} of contrast. It is only necessary to\nobserve, that, as a case of association, it is not distinct from\nthose which we have above explained.\n\nA dwarf suggests the idea of a giant. How? We call a dwarf a dwarf,\nbecause he departs from a certain standard. We call a giant a giant,\nbecause he departs from the same standard. This is a case,\ntherefore, of resemblance, that is, of frequency.\n\nPain is said to make us think of pleasure; and this is considered a\ncase of association by contrast. There is no doubt that pain makes\nus think of relief from it; because they have been conjoined, and\nthe great vividness of the sensations makes the association strong.\nRelief from pain is a species of pleasure; and one pleasure leads to\nthink of another, from the resemblance. This is a compound case,\ntherefore, of vividness and frequency. All other cases of contrast,\nI believe, may be expounded in a similar manner.\n\nI have not thought it necessary to be tedious in expounding the\nobservations which I have thus stated; for whether the reader\nsupposes that resemblance is, or is not, an original principle of\nassociation, will not affect our future investigations.\n\n12. Not only do simple ideas, by strong association, run together,\nand form complex ideas: but a {115} complex idea, when the simple\nideas which compose it have become so consolidated that it always\nappears as one, is capable of entering into combinations with other\nideas, both simple and complex. Thus two complex ideas may be united\ntogether, by a strong association, and coalesce into one, in the\nsame manner as two or more simple ideas coalesce into one. This\nunion of two complex ideas into one, Dr. Hartley has called a duplex\nidea.[37] Two also of these duplex, or doubly compounded ideas, may\nunite into one; and these again into other compounds, without end.\nIt is hardly necessary to mention, that as two complex ideas unite\nto form a duplex one, not only two, but more than two may so unite;\nand what he calls a duplex idea may be compounded of two, three,\nfour, or any number of complex ideas.\n\n[Editor's footnote 37: I have been unable to trace in Hartley the\nexpression here ascribed to him. In every passage that I can\ndiscover, the name he gives to a combination of two or more complex\nideas is that of a _decomplex_ idea.--_Ed._]\n\nSome of the most familiar objects with which we are acquainted\nfurnish instances of these unions of complex and duplex ideas.\n\nBrick is one complex idea, mortar is another complex idea; these\nideas, with ideas of position and quantity, compose my idea of a\nwall. My idea of a plank is a complex idea, my idea of a rafter is a\ncomplex idea, my idea of a nail is a complex idea. These, united\nwith the same ideas of position and quantity, compose my duplex idea\nof a floor. In the same manner my complex idea of glass, and wood,\nand others, compose my duplex idea of a window; and {116} these\nduplex ideas, united together, compose my idea of a house, which is\nmade up of various duplex ideas. How many complex, or duplex ideas,\nare all united in the idea of furniture? How many more in the idea\nof merchandize? How many more in the idea called Every Thing?[38]\n[39]\n\n[Bain's footnote 38: This chapter raises questions of the most\nfundamental kind relating to our intellectual constitution. The\nAssociation of Ideas, comprehensively viewed, involves everything\nconnected with the mental persistence and reproduction of ideas;\nbeing offered as adequate to explain the operations named Memory,\nReason, and Imagination.\n\n_Conditions of the Growth of Association, or of the Retentiveness of\nthe Mind_.--A practical, as well as a theoretical, interest attaches\nto the precise statement of the conditions or circumstances that\nregulate the growth of our associations, in other words our mental\nculture generally. All agree in the efficacy of the two conditions\nmentioned in the text; the vividness of the feelings associated, and\nthe frequency of the association, that is repetition or practice. It\nis well remarked, however, that the phrase \"vividness of the\nsensations or ideas\" does not convey a very precise meaning. The\nproper attribute of a sensation, or an idea, considered as an\n_intellectual_ element, is greater or less distinctness; when an\nobject seen or remembered is seen or remembered distinctly and\nfully, and without any unusual labour or effort, there is nothing\nmore to be desired, so far as concerns our intelligence. If,\nhowever, the object is accompanied with _feeling_--with pleasure or\npain--a new element is introduced, to which other epithets are\napplicable. A feeling is more or less strong or intense; and the\naddition of an intense feeling to an intellectual conception is a\nsum, combining both sets of attributes--distinctness and adequacy in\nthe conception, and intensity in the feeling. An object whose\nperception or conception is thus accompanied with the animation of\nstrong feeling, is called lively, or vivid; {117} in the absence of\nfeeling, these epithets are unsuitable. Hence, the associating\nstimulus expressed by \"vividness\" is better expressed by the\n\"strength of the feelings.\" Any strong feeling impresses on the mind\nwhatever is the object of it, or is in any way mixed up with it. We\nremember by preference the things that have given us either pleasure\nor pain; and the effect may be produced by mere excitement although\nneither pleasurable nor painful; the influence of a surprise being a\ncase in point. Our _interest_ in a thing is but another name for the\npleasure that it gives us; and to inspire interest is to aid the\nmemory. Hamilton's Law of Preference refers to this source; and\nappears to exclude, or not to recognise, the efficacy of feelings\nnot pleasurable, namely, such as are either painful or neutral. The\ncomprehensive law should include all the feelings, although there\nare specific characters attaching to the influence of each of the\nthree modes. Pleasure is the most effectual in stamping the memory,\nas it is the most powerful in detaining the attention and the\nthoughts. Pain has a conflicting operation; as affecting the will,\nit repels the object; but as mere excitement it retains it; we\ncannot forget what is disagreeable, merely because we wish to forget\nit. The stimulant of pain, as applied in education, is an indirect\npleasure. It is not intended to make the subject of the lesson\ndisagreeable, but to render painful all diversions from that towards\nother subjects; so that comparatively the most pleasing course to a\npupil may be to abide by the task prescribed.\n\nThe influence of the Feelings upon Retentiveness is not throughout\nin proportion to their degree, whether they are pleasurable,\npainful, or neutral. We have to introduce a modifying circumstance\ninto the case, namely, that great strength of feeling absorbs the\nforces of the system, and diminishes the power available for\ncementing an intellectual association. A strong feeling once\naroused, while inflaming the attention upon whatever is bound up\nwith it, necessarily engages us with itself. The plastic process of\nfixing a train or aggregate of ideas has but a share of the energies\nawakened under feeling.\n\nIt is possible also to stimulate attention, and thereby to {118}\nquicken memory, without the excitement of the feelings, as in pure\nvoluntary attention. For although the will, in the last resort, is\nstimulated by an end (which must involve the feelings), yet we may\nbe strongly moved without being under the excitement of the feelings\nthat enter into the final end. Our volitions may be energetic,\nwithout the presence of strong emotions, notwithstanding that, apart\nfrom our possessing such emotions, we should not be strongly moved\nto action. Thus, a difference is made between the influence of the\nfeelings and the influence of the will; both being powers to impress\nthe memory.\n\nThe two considerations now advanced, namely, the want of strict\nconcomitance between strength of feeling and the stimulus to memory,\nand the operation of the will in the abeyance of present feeling,\nmake it desirable to find some other mode of stating the element or\ncondition that qualifies the influence of Frequency or Repetition,\nin the growth of memory and association. Perhaps the best mode of\nsingling out the operative circumstance is to describe it as\n\"Concentration of Mind;\" the devotion of the mental forces to the\nthing to be done or remembered--the withdrawal of power from other\nexercises, to expend it on the exercise in hand. Every circumstance\nthat at once rouses the mental and nervous energies, and keeps them\nfixed upon any subject of study or the practice of any art, is a\ncircumstance in aid of acquisition. No fact more comprehensive, more\nexactly in point, can be assigned than the one now stated. What\nremains is to apply it in the detail, or to point out the occasions\nand conditions that favour, and those that obstruct, the\nconcentration of the mental energy. It is under this view that we\ncan best appreciate the efficacy of pleasure (interest in the\nsubject), of pain, of mere excitement, and of voluntary attention.\nWe can also see, as an obvious corollary, the advantage of having\nthe mind unoccupied, or disengaged for the work, and the\ndisadvantage of being diverted, or distracted by other objects.\nFear, care, anxiety, are hostile to culture by lowering the tone or\nenergy of the mind; while what power is left concentrates itself\nupon the subject matter of the anxious feeling. On the other hand,\ngeneral vigour of the {119} system, good health, easy circumstances,\nare all in favour of mental improvement, provided the force thus\nmade available can be reserved and devoted to that end.\n\nThus the two leading conditions of the plastic process are Frequency\nof Repetition, and Mental Concentration. For practical purposes,\nthese are all that we need to consider, at least as regards the same\nindividual. We have no art or device for training either body or\nmind but what is comprised under one or other of these heads. There\nare methods of superseding the labour of new acquirement, by\nadapting existing acquirements to new cases; but no means can be\nassigned for the original construction of adhesive links, apart from\nthese two circumstances.\n\nStill, in a large and exhaustive view of the Retentive power of the\nmind, we should not omit to allow for the differences between one\nmind and another in respect of Natural Aptitude for acquiring. When\ntwo persons engaged in the same lesson, for equal periods of time,\nand with about equal concentration of mind, make very unequal\nprogress, we must admit a difference in natural or constitutional\nplasticity on that particular subject. Sometimes we find\nextraordinary progress made in acquisition generally; the same\nperson excelling in languages, in sciences, in practical arts, and\nin fine arts. More commonly, however, we find an aptitude for some\nsubject in particular, combined with deficiency in other things. One\nperson has great mechanical acquirements, another lingual, and so\non.\n\nThe first case is sufficiently common to justify the assumption of\ndegrees of acquisitive or plastic aptitude on the whole, or a\nvariety in the cerebral endowment corresponding to the adhesion of\ntrains of actions and ideas that have been more or less frequently\nbrought together. If the differences among human beings are not so\nbroad as to make this apparent, we may refer to the differences\nbetween the lower animals and man. The animals have the power of\nacquiring, but so limited is that power in comparison with human\nbeings, that people have often doubted its existence.\n\n{120} The second case, the inequality of the same person's progress\nin different subjects, may be looked at in another way. We may view\nit as incident to the better or worse quality, for all purposes, of\nthe special organs concerned. Thus to take musical acquisition. This\nis commonly attributed to a good ear, meaning a delicate sense of\nmusical notes, as shown in their nice discrimination. Discriminating\nis a different function from remembering; yet, we can only doubt\nthat the fact of being able to discriminate acutely is accompanied\nby the power of remembering or retaining the impressions of the\nsense. The superiority of endowment that shows itself in the one\nfunction, embraces also the other. Hence we are entitled to say that\nthe special retentiveness for any one subject, or department of\ntraining, varies with the local endowment involved: which is not to\nmaintain an identical proposition, for the local endowment may be\nheld as tested by delicacy of discrimination, a distinct fact from\nmemory. Thus, a delicate sense of shades of colour would entail a\ngood visual memory for spectacle; a delicate ear for articulation\nwould indicate a memory for shades and varieties of pronunciation,\nthereby counting as a part of the verbal memory. So, delicate\ndiscrimination in the tactile muscles would be followed by rapid\nacquirements in manipulative or manual art.\n\n_The Ultimate Analysis of the Laws of Association_.--It is easy to\nreduce all the laws ever assigned, as governing the reproduction of\nour ideas, to three, Contiguity, Similarity, and Contrast. It is\nopen to question whether these can be resolved any farther. The\nauthor has endeavoured to reduce Similarity to Contiguity, but his\nreasons show that he had not deeply considered the workings of\nsimilarity. Hamilton's criticisms on the attempt (Reid, p. 914) are\njust and irrefragable. By far the most important examples of the\nworking of similarity are such as, by their very nature, preclude a\nformer contiguity: as, for example, Franklin's identification of\nElectricity and lightning.\n\nThere is, nevertheless, a considerable degree of subtlety in the\nrelationship of the two principles. There may be good reasons {121}\nfor treating them as distinct, but in their working they are\ninextricably combined. There can be no contiguity without\nsimilarity, and no similarity without contiguity. When, looking at a\nriver, we pronounce its name, we are properly said to exemplify\ncontiguity; the river and the name by frequent association are so\nunited that each recalls the other. But mark the steps of the\nrecall. What is strictly present to our view is the impression made\nby the river while we gaze on it. It is necessary that this\nimpression should, by virtue of similarity or identity, re-instate\nthe previous impression of the river, to which the previous\nimpression of the name was contiguous. If one could suppose failure\nin the re-instatement of the former idea of the river, under the new\npresentation, there would be no opportunity given to the contiguous\nbond to come into operation. In that accumulation of the impressions\nof contiguous ideas, ending at last in a firm association, there\nmust be a process of similarity to the extent of reviving the sum of\nthe past at the instance of the present. This is a case of\nsimilarity that we give little heed to, because it is sure and\nunfailing; we concern ourselves more with what is liable to\nuncertainty, the acquired strength of the contiguous adhesion. Yet\nit strictly comes under the case of reproduction through similarity.\n\nConsider again, what may be called a case of Similarity proper, as\nwhen a portrait recalls the original. The sensuous effects possessed\nin common by the portrait and by its subject bring about a\nrestoration of the idea of the subject, in spite of certain\ndifferences or discrepancies. The interest of this case is owing to\nthe fact that a partial likeness, a likeness in unlikeness, will\noften reproduce a past idea; thus enabling us to assemble in the\nmind a number of things differing in some respects because they\nagree in other respects. This is not identifying a thing with\nitself, viewed at a former time, but assimilating one thing with\nother things placed far asunder in nature, and having many features\nof difference.\n\nLet us try and express the consecutive steps of this case of\nreproduction. The thing now present to the mind has certain {122}\npeculiarities in common with one or more things formerly present; as\nwhen, in a portrait, the outline and colouring resembles a subject\noriginal. These sensible effects make alive the previous recurrence\nof them, or put us in the cerebral and mental attitude formerly\nexperienced by the corresponding effects of the resembling object.\nWe are aware, by the liveliness of our impression, that we have gone\nin upon an old track; we have the peculiar consciousness called the\nconsciousness of Identity or Agreement. This is one step, but not\nthe whole. In order that the complete restoration may be effected,\nthe features of community must be in such firm contiguous alliance\nwith the features of difference--the _special_ part of the previous\nsubject that the one shall reinstate the idea of the other. The\npoints common to a present portrait and a past original must be so\nstrongly coherent with the remaining features of the original, that\nthe one cannot be awakened without the other following. Here, then,\nin the very heart of Similarity, is an indispensable bond of\nContiguity; showing that it is not possible for either process to be\naccomplished in separation from the other. The mutual coherence of\nparts, now described as essential to reproduction, may be too weak\nfor the purpose, and the recovering stroke of similarity will in\nthat case fail.\n\nIt might, therefore, be supposed that Similarity is, after all, but\na mode of Contiguity, namely, the contiguity or association of the\ndifferent features or parts of a complex whole. The inference is too\nhasty. Because contiguity is a part of the fact of the restoration\nof similars, it is not the entire fact. There is a distinct and\ncharacteristic step preceding the play of this mutual coherence of\nthe parts of the thing to be recovered. The striking into the former\ntrack of the agreeing part of the new and the old, is a mental\nmovement by itself, which the other follows, but does not do away\nwith. The effect above described, as the consciousness of agreement\nor identity, the flash of a felt similarity, is real and distinct.\nWe are conscious of it by itself; there are occasions when we have\nit without the other, that is to say, without the full\nre-instatement of the former {123} object in its entireness. We\noften aware of an identity without being able to say what is the\nthing identified; as when a portrait gives us the impression that we\nhave seen the original, without enabling us to say who the original\nis. We have been affected by the stroke of identity or similarity;\nbut the restoration fails from the feebleness of the contiguous\nadherence of the parts of the object identified. There is thus a\ngenuine effect of the nature of pure similarity, or resemblance, and\na mode of consciousness accompanying that effect; but there is not\nthe full energy of reproduction without a concurring bond of pure\ncontiguity. A portrait may fail to give us the consciousness of\nhaving ever seen the original. On the supposition that we have seen\nthe original, this would be a failure of pure similarity.\n\nThus in every act of reproducing a past mental experience, there is\na complication, involving both contiguity proper and similarity\nproper. When the similarity amounts to identity, as when a new\nimpression of a thing puts us in the track of the old impressions of\nthe same thing, the effect is so sure, so obvious, so easily arrived\nat, that we do not need to think of it, to make a question of it. It\ndoes not prevent us from regarding the operation of recalling a name\nwhen we see the thing, or recalling a thing when we hear the name,\nas pure contiguity. The strength of the coherence may be deficient,\nand the restoration may fail on this account; it can never fail on\naccount of insufficient similarity. No inconvenience will arise from\nspeaking of this case as if it were Contiguity and nothing else.\n\nThe situation of Similarity in Diversity is quite distinct. The\ndiversity obstructs the operation of similarity; we cannot be sure\nthat the new shall put us on the track of the old. It is always a\nquestion whether such similarities shall be felt at all; whether we\nshall experience the flash, the peculiar consciousness, of agreement\nin difference. It is a farther question, whether the internal\ncoherence of the thing identified is enough to restore it in\ncompleteness. This last step may be allowed to be a case of proper\ncontiguity; while the flash of identity struck between a present and\na past, never coupled in the {124} mind before, is an effect _sui\ngeneris_, and not resolvable into any mode or incident of\ncontiguity.\n\nThe circumstances of this identifying stroke are so numerous and\nfar-reaching as to demand a special exemplification. Some of the\nbroadest distinctions of intellectual character can be grounded on\nthe distinctive aptitudes of the mind for Contiguity and for\nSimilarity.\n\nLearning, Acquisition, Memory, Habit, all designate the plastic\nadherence of contiguous impressions. The processes of\nClassification, Reasoning, Imagination, and the Inventive faculty\ngenerally, depend upon the identifying stroke of likeness in\nunlikeness. Some forms of intellectual strength, as a whole, are\nbest represented by a highly energetic Adhesiveness; distinction as\na learner, a follower of routine, turns upon this power. Other, and\nhigher, forms of intelligence depend upon far-reaching strokes of\nsimilarity; the identification of likeness shrouded in diversity,\nexpresses much of the genius of the poet, the philosopher, the man\nof practice.\n\nThere remains the consideration of Contrast, as a link of\nassociation. It is easy to show that both Contiguity and Similarity\nmay enter into the association of contrasts. All contrasts that we\nare interested in are habitually coupled in language, as light and\ndark, heat and cold, up and down, life and death. Again contrasts\nsuppose a common genus, that is a generic similarity; at least until\nwe ascend to the highest contrast of all, the subject mind, and the\nobject or extended world. Cold and Hot are grades of the common\nattribute called Temperature. As these links of contiguity and\nsimilarity are present, and of considerable strength, they\npractically lead to the mutual suggestion of contrasting things.\n\nStill, we cannot overlook the deeper circumstance that in contrast\nthere is _relation_, and therefore mutual implication, so that the\ntwo members must always be virtually present, although they are not\nequally attended to. Heat has no meaning, no existence, but as a\nchange from cold; the north implicates the south. We have two modes\nof regarding these relationships, which are distinguished by\nlanguage, as if we {125} could abstract the one side from the other;\nthat is, we think of heat apart from cold, and of the north apart\nfrom the south. But if one side is present, both must be present,\nand nothing is wanted but a motive, to make us reverse the\nconception, and bring into prominence the side that was in abeyance,\ncold instead of heat, south instead of north.\n\nThis view of Contrast is variously expressed by Hamilton. (Reid,\nNote D * * *).\n\nContrast, therefore, as an associating link, would draw from three\nsources, Relativity, Contiguity, and Similarity. It would also be\nheightened, in many instances, by the presence of strong feelings or\nemotions, as in the contemplation of startling changes, and the\nvicissitudes of things. Being one of the effects habitually\nintroduced in Art and in Oratory, we are more than ordinarily\nimpressed by the things so made use of--infancy beside old age,\nsqualor following on splendour, abasement succeeding to elevation.\n\nThe associating principle of Contrast cannot be put forward as a\nbasis of distinction in intellectual character. There is no such a\nthing as a special aptitude for Contrasts. There may be, in certain\nminds given to emotion, a fondness for the impressive or emotional\ncontrasts; but there is no intellectual gift, subsisting apart from\nother powers and rising and falling independently, for the mutual\nrecall of contrasting qualities. Whenever we feel a difference we\nmake a contrast; the two differing things, are contrasting things,\nand are both known in one indivisible act of thought. To be unable\nto bring up the contrast of a subject present to the view, is not to\nknow the subject; we cannot possess intelligently the conception of\n\"up,\" and be oblivious to, or incapable of remembering, \"down.\"\nForgetfulness in this department is not the snapping of a link, as\nin Contiguity, or the dulness that cannot reach a similitude; it is\nthe entire blank of conception or knowledge. The north pole of a\nmagnet cannot be in the view, and the south pole in oblivion.--_B._]\n\n[Editor's footnote 39: The author and Mr. Bain agree in rejecting\nContrast as an independent principle of association. I think they\nmight {126} have gone further, and denied it even as a derivative\none. All the cases considered as examples of it seem to me to depend\non something else. I greatly doubt if the sight or thought of a\ndwarf has intrinsically any tendency to recall the idea of a giant.\nThings certainly do remind us of their own absence, because (as\npointed out by Mr. Bain) we are only conscious of their presence by\ncomparison with their absence; and for a further reason, arising out\nof the former, viz. that, in our practical judgments, we are led to\nthink of the case of their presence and the case of their absence by\none and the same act of thought, having commonly to choose between\nthe two. But it does not seem to me that things have any special\ntendency to remind us of their positive opposites. Black does not\nremind us of white more than of red or green. If light reminds us of\ndarkness, it is because darkness is the mere negation, or absence,\nof light. The case of heat and cold is more complex. The sensation\nof heat recalls to us the absence of that sensation: if the\nsensation amounts to pain, it calls up the idea of relief from it;\nthat is, of its absence, associated by contiguity with the pleasant\nfeeling which accompanies the change. But cold is not the mere\nabsence of heat; it is itself a positive sensation. If heat suggests\nto us the idea of the sensation of cold, it is not because of the\ncontrast, but because the close connection which exists between the\noutward conditions of both, and the consequent identity of the means\nwe employ for regulating them, cause the thought of cold and that of\nheat to be frequently presented to us in contiguity.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{127} CHAPTER IV.\n\nNAMING.\n\n\n\"I endeavour, as much as I can, to deliver myself from those\nfallacies which we are apt to put upon ourselves, by taking words\nfor things. It helps not our ignorance to feign a knowledge where we\nhave none, by making a noise with sounds without clear and distinct\nsignifications. Names made at pleasure, neither alter the nature of\nthings, nor make us understand them, but as they are signs of, and\nstand for, determined ideas.\"--_Locke, Hum. Und._ b. ii. ch. 13, \u00a7\n18.\n\nWE have now surveyed the more simple and obvious phenomena of the\nhuman mind. We have seen, first, that we have SENSATIONS; secondly,\nthat we have IDEAS, the copies of those sensations; thirdly, that\nthose ideas are sometimes SIMPLE, the copies of one sensation;\nsometimes COMPLEX, the copies of several sensations so combined as\nto appear not several ideas, but one idea; and, fourthly, that we\nhave TRAINS of those ideas, or one succeeding another without end.\n\nThese are simple facts of our nature, attested by experience; and my\nchief object in fixing upon them the attention of the reader has\nbeen, to convey to him that accurate and steady conception of them,\nwhich is requisite for the successful prosecution of the subsequent\ninquiries.\n\n{128} After delineating the simple and elementary states of\nconsciousness, it follows, in order, that we should endeavour to\nshow what is contained in those that are complex. But in all the\nmore complicated cases of human consciousness something of the\nprocess of Naming is involved. These cases, of course, cannot be\nunfolded, till the artifice of Naming is made known. This,\ntherefore, is necessarily an intermediate inquiry; and one to which\nit is necessary that we should devote a particular degree of\nattention.\n\nThere are two purposes, both of great importance, for which marks of\nour ideas, and sensations; or signs by which they may be denoted;\nare necessary. One of these purposes is, That we maybe able to make\nknown to others what passes within us. The other is, That we may\nsecure to ourselves the knowledge of what at any preceding time has\npassed in our minds.\n\nThe sensations and ideas of one man are hidden from all other men;\nunless they have recourse to some expedient for disclosing them. We\ncannot convey to another man our sensations and ideas directly. Our\nmeans of intercourse with other men are through their senses\nexclusively. We must therefore choose some SENSIBLE OBJECTS, as\nSIGNS of our inward feelings. If two men agree, that each shall use\na certain sensible sign, when one of them means to make known to the\nother that he has a certain sensation, or idea, they, in this, and\nin no other way, can communicate a knowledge of those feelings to\none another.\n\nAlmost all the advantages, which man possesses above the inferior\nanimals, arise from his power of acting in combination with his\nfellows; and of accomplishing, by the united efforts of numbers,\nwhat could {129} not be accomplished by the detached efforts of\nindividuals. Without the power of communicating to one another their\nsensations and ideas, this co-operation would be impossible. The\nimportance, therefore, of the invention of signs, or marks, by which\nalone that communication can be effected, is obvious.\n\nAmong sensible objects, those alone which are addressed to the\nsenses of seeing and hearing have sufficient precision and variety\nto be adapted to this end. The language of Action, as it has been\ncalled, that is, certain gesticulations and motions, has very\ngenerally, especially among rude people, whose spoken language is\nscanty, been found in use to indicate certain states, generally\ncomplicated states, of mind. But, for precision, variety, and\nrapidity, the flexibility of the voice presented such obvious\nadvantages, not to mention that visible signs must be altogether\nuseless in the dark, that sounds, among all the varieties of our\nspecies, have been assumed as the principal medium by which their\nsensations and ideas were made known to one another.\n\nThere can be little doubt that, of the two uses of marks,\nCommunicating our thoughts, and Recording them, the advantage of the\nfirst would be the earliest felt; and that signs for Communicating\nwould be long invented, before any person would see the advantage of\nRecording his thoughts. After the use of signs for Communication had\nbecome familiar, it would not fail, in time, to appear that signs\nmight be employed for Recordation also; and that, from this use of\nthem, the highest advantages might be derived.\n\nIn respect to those advantages, the following particulars are to be\nobserved.\n\n{130} 1. We cannot recall any idea, or train of ideas, at will.\nThoughts come into the mind unbidden. If they did not come unbidden,\nthey must have been in the mind before they came into it; which is a\ncontradiction. You cannot bid a thought come into the mind, without\nknowing that which you bid; but to know a thought is to have the\nthought: the knowledge of the thought, and the thought's being in\nthe mind, are not two things but one and the same thing, under\ndifferent names.\n\nIf we cannot recall at pleasure a single idea, we are not less\nunable to recall a train. Every person knows how evanescent his\nthoughts are, and how impossible it is for him to begin at the\nbeginning of a past train, if it is not a train of the individual\nobjects familiar to his senses, and go on to the end, neither\nleaving out any of the items which composed it, nor allowing any\nwhich did not belong to it, to enter in.\n\n2. It is most obvious that, by ideas alone, the events which are\npassed, are to us any thing. If the objects which we have seen,\nheard, smelt, tasted, and touched, left no traces of themselves; if\nthe immediate sensation were every thing, and a blank ensued when\nthe sensation ended, the past would be to us as if it had never\nbeen. Yesterday would be as unknown as the months we passed in the\nwomb, or the myriads of years before we were born.\n\n3. It is only by our ideas of the past, that we have any power of\nanticipating the future. And if we had no power of anticipating the\nfuture, we should have no principle of action, but the physical\nimpulses, which we have in common with the brutes. This great law of\nour nature, the anticipation of the future from the {131} past, will\nbe fully illustrated in a subsequent part of this inquiry: at\npresent, all that is required is, the admission, which will probably\nnot be refused, of this general truth: That the order, in which\nevents have been observed to take place, is the order in which they\nare expected to take place; that the order in which they have taken\nplace is testified to us only by our ideas; and that upon the\ncorrectness, with which they are so testified, depends the faculty\nwe possess of converting the powers of nature into the instruments\nof our will; and of bringing to pass the events which we desire.\n\n4. But all this power depends upon the order of our ideas. The\nimportance, therefore, is unspeakable, of being able to insure the\norder of our ideas; to make, in other words, the order of a train of\nideas correspond unerringly with a train of past sensations. We have\nnot, however, a direct command over the train of our ideas. A train\nof ideas may have passed in our minds corresponding to events of\ngreat importance; but that train will not pass again, unvaried,\nexcept in very simple cases, without the use of _expedients_.\n\n5. The difference between the occasions of our IDEAS, and the\noccasions of our SENSATIONS, affords a resource for this purpose.\nOver the occasions of our sensations; we have an extensive power. We\ncan command the smell of a rose, the hearing of a bell, the sight of\na tree, the sensation of heat or of cold, and so on. Over the\noccasions of our ideas we have little or no direct power. Our ideas\ncome and go. There is a perpetual train of them, one succeeding\nanother; but we cannot will any link in that chain of ideas; each\nlink is determined by the foregoing; and every man knows, how\nimpossible {132} it is, by mere willing, to make such a train as he\ndesires. Thoughts obtrude themselves without his bidding; and\nthoughts which he is in quest of will not arise.\n\nBy the power, however, which we have over the occasions of our\nsensations, we can make sure of having a train of sensations exactly\nthe same as we have had before. This affords us the means of having\na train of ideas exactly the same as we have had before. If we\nchoose a number of sensible objects, and make use of them as marks\nof our ideas, we can ensure any succession which we please of the\nsensible objects; and, by the association between them and the\nideas, a corresponding succession of the ideas.\n\n6. To one of the two sets of occasions, upon which Signs are thus\nuseful, _evanescent_ Signs are the best adapted; _permanent_ signs\nare absolutely necessary for the other. For the purposes of speech,\nor immediate communication, sounds are the most convenient marks.\nSounds, however, perish in the making. But for the purpose of\nretracing a train of ideas, which we have formerly had, it is\nnecessary we should have marks which do not perish. Marks, addressed\nto the sight, or the touch, have the requisite permanence; and, of\nthe two, those addressed to the eye have the advantage. Of marks\naddressed to the eye, two kinds have been adopted; either marks\nimmediately of the ideas intended to be recalled; such as the\npicture-writing, or hieroglyphics, of some nations: or, visible\nmarks, by letters, of the audible marks employed in oral\ncommunication. This latter kind has been found the most convenient,\nand in use among the largest, and most intelligent portion of our\nspecies.\n\n{133} According to this scheme, spoken language is the use of\nimmediate marks of the ideas; written language, is the use of\nsecondary marks of the ideas. The written marks are only signs of\nthe audible marks; the audible marks, are signs of the ideas.[40]\n\n[Editor's footnote 40: This exposition of Naming in its most general\naspect, needs neither explanation nor comment. It is one of those\nspecimens of clear and vigorous statement, going straight to the\nheart of the matter, and dwelling on it just long enough and no\nlonger than necessary, in which the Analysis abounds.--_Ed._]\n\n\n{134} SECTION I.\n\nNOUNS SUBSTANTIVE.\n\n\nThe power of Language essentially consists, in two things; first, in\nour having marks of our SENSATIONS, and IDEAS: and, secondly, in so\narranging them, that they may correctly denote a TRAIN of those\nmental states or feelings. It is evident, that if we convey to\nothers the ideas which pass in our own minds, and also convey them\nin the order in which they pass, the business of COMMUNICATION is\ncompleted. And, if we establish the means of reviving the ideas\nwhich we have formerly had, and also of reviving them in the order\nin which we formerly had them, the business of RECORDATION is\ncompleted. We now proceed to show, by what contrivances, the\nexpedient of Marking is rendered efficient to those several ends.\n\nThe primary importance to men, of being able to make known to one\nanother their SENSATIONS, made them in all probability begin with\ninventing marks for that purpose; in other words, making Names for\ntheir SENSATIONS. Two modes presented themselves. One was to give a\nname to each single sensation. Another was to bestow a name on a\ncluster of sensations, whenever they were such as occur in a\ncluster. Of this latter class, are all names of what are called\nExternal Objects; rose, water, stone, and so on. Each of these names\nis the mark of as many sensations (sight, touch, smell, taste,\nsound) as we are said to derive from those objects. The name rose,\nis the {135} mark of a sensation of colour, a sensation of shape, a\nsensation of touch, a sensation of smell, all in conjunction. The\nname water, is the mark of a sensation of colour, a sensation of\ntouch, a sensation of taste, and other sensations, regarded not\nseparately, but as a compound.[41]\n\n[Findlater's footnote 41: It is not intended to be understood that\nall this complex meaning entered into the names as originally given.\nThe process of naming seems to have been this: Each object was\ndesignated by a term expressive of some one prominent quality, and\nof that only. Thus _rose_ is referred with every probability to the\nsame root as the adjective _red_ (compare Greek [Greek: r(o/don], a\nrose, [Greek: e(ruthro\\s] red, German _roth_, Latin _rutilus_), and\nthus meant \"the ruddy\" (flower). Other objects would doubtless also\nbe called \"ruddy,\" and would dispute the epithet with the rose; but\nby a process of natural selection, each would settle down in\npossession of the term found best suited to distinguish it; which\nwould thus cease to be an attributive, and become a name substantive\nwith a complex connotation derived from association. All names of\nobjects whose origin can be traced are found to be thus simple in\ntheir primary signification. The stars (Sans. _staras_) were so\ncalled because they were \"strewers\" (of light).--_F._]\n\nThere is a convenience in giving a single mark to any number of\nsensations, which we thus have in clusters; because there is hence a\ngreat saving of marks. The sensations of sight, of touch, of smell,\nand so on, derived from a rose, might have received marks, and have\nbeen enumerated, one by one; but the term rose, performs all this\nmuch more expeditiously, and also more certainly.\n\nThe occasions, however, are perpetual, on which we need marks for\nsensations, not in clusters, but taken separately. And language is\nsupplied with {136} names of this description. We have the terms,\nred, green, hot, cold, sweet, bitter, hard, soft, noise, stench,\ncomposing in the whole a numerous class. For many sensations,\nhowever, we have not names in one word; but make a name out of two\nor more words: thus, for the sensation of hearing, derived from a\ntrumpet, we have only the name, \"sound of a trumpet;\" in the same\nmanner, we have \"smell of a rose,\" \"taste of an apple,\" \"sight of a\ntree,\" \"feeling of velvet.\"\n\nOf those names which denote clusters of sensations, it is obvious\n(but still very necessary) to remark, that some include a greater,\nsome a lesser number of sensations. Thus, stone includes only\nsensations of touch, and sight. Apple, beside sensations of touch\nand sight, includes sensations of smell and taste.\n\nWe not only give names to clusters of sensations, but to clusters of\nclusters; that is, to a number of minor clusters, united into a\ngreater cluster. Thus we give the name wood to a particular cluster\nof sensations, the name canvas to another, the name rope to another.\nTo these clusters, and many others, joined together in one great\ncluster, we give the name ship. To a number of these great clusters\nunited into one, we give the name fleet, and so on. How great a\nnumber of clusters are united in the term House? And how many more\nin the term City?\n\nSensations being infinitely numerous, all cannot receive marks or\nsigns. A selection must be made. Only those which are the most\nimportant are named.\n\nNames, to be useful, cannot exceed a certain number. They could not\notherwise be remembered. It is, therefore, of the greatest\nimportance that each name should accomplish as much as possible. To\nthis end, {137} the greater number of names stand, not for\nindividuals only, but classes. Thus the terms red, sweet, hot, loud,\nare names, not of one sensation only, but of classes of sensations;\nthat is, every sensation of a particular kind. Thus also the term,\nrose, is not the name of one single cluster, but of every cluster\ncoming under a certain description. As rose denotes one class, stone\ndenotes another, iron another, ox another, and so on.[42]\n\n[Editor's footnote 42: Economy in the use of names is a very small\npart of the motive leading to the creation of names of classes. If\nwe had a name for every individual object which exists in the\nuniverse, and could remember all those names, we should still\nrequire names for what those objects or some of them have in common;\nin other words, we should require classification, and class names.\nThis will be obvious if it is considered that had we no names but\nnames of individuals, we should not have the means of making any\naffirmation respecting any object; we could not predicate of it any\nqualities. But of this more largely in a future note.--_Ed._]\n\nAs we need marks for SENSATIONS, we need marks also for IDEAS.\n\nThe Ideas which we have occasion to name, are first, Simple Ideas,\nthe copies of simple sensations; secondly, Complex Ideas, the copies\nof several sensations, combined. Of those complex ideas, also,\nthere is one species, those copied directly from sensations, in the\nformation of which the mind has exercised but little control; as the\nideas of rose, horse, stone, and of what are called the objects of\nsense in general. There is another species of complex ideas which,\nthough derived also from the senses, are put together in a great\ndegree at our discretion, as the ideas of a {138} centaur, a\nmountain of gold, of comfort, of meanness; all that class of ideas\nin short which Mr. Locke has called mixed modes.\n\nWe may thus distinguish three classes of ideas, which we have\noccasion to name: 1, simple ideas, the copies of single sensations:\n2, complex ideas, copied directly from sensations: 3, complex ideas,\nderived indeed from the senses, but put together in arbitrary\ncombinations. The two former classes may be called Sensible, the\nlast Mental Ideas.\n\nWith respect to ideas, of the first two classes, those which are the\ndirect copies of our sensations, either singly, or in groups; it is\nof great importance to observe, and also to remember, that, for the\nmost part, the words, which are employed as marks of the Sensations,\nare made to serve the further purpose of being marks also of the\nIdeas. The same word is at once the name of the sensations, and the\nideas.\n\nIf any person were asked, whether the word BEING is the name of a\nSensation, or of an Idea; he would immediately reply, that it is the\nname of an Idea. In like manner, if he were asked, whether the word\nANIMAL is the mark of a cluster of Sensations, or of a cluster of\nIdeas; he would with equal readiness say, of a cluster of Ideas. But\nif we were to ask, whether the name Sheep is the name of a cluster\nof Sensations, or of a cluster of Ideas; he would probably say, that\nSheep is the name of Sensations; in the same manner as rose, or\napple. Yet, what is the difference? Only this, that ANIMAL is the\nmore general name, and includes sheep along with other species; and\nthat BEING is still more general, and includes animal along with\nvegetable, mineral, and other {139} _genera_. If sheep, therefore,\nor stone, be a name of sensations, so is animal or being; and if\nanimal, or being, be a name of ideas, so is sheep or stone a name of\nideas. The fact is, they are all names of both. They are names of\nthe Sensations, primarily; but are afterwards employed as names also\nof the Ideas or copies of those sensations.\n\nIt thus appears, that the names generally of what are called the\nobjects of sense are equivocal; and whereas it would have been a\nsecurity against confusion to have been provided with appropriate\nnames, one, in each instance, for the Sensation, and one for the\nIdea, the same name has been made to serve as the mark for both. The\nterm horse is not only made to stand for the sensations of sight, of\nhearing, of touch, and even of smell, which give me occasion for the\nuse of the term horse; but it stands also for the ideas of those\nsensations, as often as I have occasion to speak of that cluster of\nideas which compose my notion of a horse. The term tree denotes\nundoubtedly the Idea in my mind, when I mean to convey the idea tree\ninto the mind of another man; but it also stands for the sensations\nwhence I have derived my idea of a tree.\n\nThus, too, if I mean to name my simple ideas; those, for example, of\nsight; I have no other names than red, blue, violet, &c.; but all\nthese are names of the sensations. When forced to distinguish them,\nI must use the awkward expressions, my sensation of red, my idea of\nred. Again; sound of a trumpet, is the name, as well of the\nsensation, as the idea; flight of a bird, the name, as well of the\nsensation, as the idea; light the name as well of the sensation as\nthe idea; pain {140} the name as well of the sensation as the idea;\nheat the name as well of the sensation as the idea.[43]\n\n[Editor's footnote 43: In strict propriety of language all these are\nnames only of sensations, or clusters of sensations; not of ideas. A\nperson studious of precision would not, I think, say heat, meaning\nthe idea of heat, or a tree, when he meant the idea of a tree. He\nwould use heat as the name only of the sensation of heat, and tree\nas the name of the outward object, or cluster of sensations; and if\nhe had occasion to speak of the idea, he would say, my idea (or the\nidea) of heat; my idea (or the idea) of a tree.--_Ed._]\n\nAs we have remarked, in regard to SENSATIONS, singly, or in\nclusters, that they are too numerous to receive names but in\nclasses, that is names common to every individual of a class, the\nsame is obviously true of the IDEAS. The greater number of names of\nSensible Ideas are names of classes: man is the name of a class;\nlion, horse, eagle, serpent, and so on, are names of classes.\n\nIdeas, of the third class, those which the mind forms arbitrarily,\nare innumerable; because the combinations capable of being formed of\nthe numerous elements which compose them, exceed computation. All\nthese combinations cannot receive names. The memory can manage but a\nmoderate number. Of possible combinations, therefore, a small\nproportion must be selected for naming. These, of course, are the\ncombinations which are suggested by the occasions of life, and\nconduce to the ends which we pursue.\n\nWe arrange those ideas, also, in classes; to the end that every name\nmay serve the purpose of marking, as extensively as possible. Thus\nthe term fear is {141} applicable to a state of mind, of which the\ninstances form a class. In like manner, courage is the name of a\nclass; temperance, ignorance, piety, and so on, names of classes.\nRepublic, aristocracy, monarchy, are names, each of them, not of an\nindividual government, a government at one time and place, but of a\nclass, a sort of government, at any time and place.\n\nThe names of the ideas which are thus mentally clustered, are exempt\nfrom that ambiguity which we saw belonged to the names of both\nclasses of sensible ideas. The names of sensible ideas generally\nstand for the sensations as well as the ideas. The names of the\nmental ideas are not transferable to sensations. But they are\nsubject to another uncertainty, still more fertile in confusion, and\nembarrassment.\n\nAs the combinations are formed arbitrarily, or in other words, as\nthe ideas of which they are composed, are more or less numerous,\naccording to pleasure, and each man of necessity forms his own\ncombination, it very often happens, that one man includes something\nmore or something less than another man in the combination to which\nthey both give the same name. Using the same words, they have not\nexactly the same ideas. In the term piety, for example, a good\ncatholic includes many things which are not included in it by a good\nprotestant. In the term good manners, an Englishman of the present\nday does not include the same ideas which were included in it by an\nEnglishman two centuries ago; still less those which are included in\nit by foreigners of habits and usages dissimilar to our own.\nPrudence, in the mind of a man of rank and fortune, has a very\ndifferent meaning from what it bears in the minds of the {142}\nfrugal and industrious poor. Under this uncertainty in language, it\nnot only happens that men are often using the same expressions when\nthey have different ideas; but different, when they have the same\nideas.[44]\n\n[Editor's footnote 44: There is some need for additional elucidation\nof the class of complex ideas distinguished (under the name of Mixed\nModes) by Locke, and recognised by the author of the Analysis, as\n\"put together in a great degree at our discretion;\" as \"those which\nthe mind forms arbitrarily,\" so that \"the ideas of which they are\ncomposed are more or less numerous according to pleasure, and each\nman of necessity forms his own combination.\" From these and similar\nphrases, interpreted literally, it might be supposed that in the\ninstances given, a centaur, a mountain of gold, comfort, meanness,\nfear, courage, temperance, ignorance, republic, aristocracy,\nmonarchy, piety, good manners, prudence--the elements which\nconstitute these several complex ideas are put together\npremeditatedly, by an act of will, which each individual performs\nfor himself, and of which he is conscious. This, however, happens\nonly in cases of invention, or of what is called creative\nimagination. A centaur and a mountain of gold are inventions:\ncombinations intentionally made, at least on the part of the first\ninventor; and are not copies or likenesses of any combination of\nimpressions received by the senses, nor are supposed to have any\nsuch outward phenomena corresponding to them. But the other ideas\nmentioned in the text, those of courage, temperance, aristocracy,\nmonarchy, &c., are supposed to have real originals outside our\nthoughts. These ideas, just as much as those of a horse and a tree,\nare products of generalization and abstraction: they are believed to\nbe ideas of certain points or features in which a number of the\nclusters of sensations which we call real objects agree: and instead\nof being formed by intentionally putting together simple ideas, they\nare formed by stripping off, or rather, by not attending to, such of\nthe simple sensations or ideas entering into the {143} clusters as\nare peculiar to any of them, and establishing an extremely close\nassociation among those which are common to them all. These complex\nideas, therefore, are not, in reality, like the creations of mere\nimagination, put together at discretion, any more than the complex\nideas, compounded of the obvious sensible qualities of objects,\nwhich we call our ideas of the objects. They are formed in the same\nmanner as these, only not so rapidly or so easily, since the\nparticulars of which they are composed do not obtrude themselves\nupon the senses, but suppose a perception of qualities and sequences\nnot immediately obvious. From this circumstance results the\nconsequence noticed by the author, that this class of complex ideas\nare often of different composition in different persons. For, in the\nfirst place, different persons abstract their ideas of this sort\nfrom different individual instances; and secondly, some persons\nabstract much better than others; that is, take more accurate notice\nof the obscurer features of instances, and discern more correctly\nwhat are those in which all the instances agree. This important\nsubject will be more fully entered into when we reach that part of\nthe present work which treats of the ideas connected with General\nTerms.--_Ed._]\n\n\n{144} SECTION II.\n\nNOUNS ADJECTIVE.\n\n\nAs the purpose of language is to denote sensations and ideas; to\nmark them for our own use, or to give indication of them to our\nfellow men; it is obvious that the names of sensations and ideas are\nthe fundamental parts of language. But as ideas are very numerous,\nand the limits of the human memory admit the use of only a limited\nnumber of marks or names, various contrivances are employed to make\none name serve as many purposes as possible.\n\nOf the contrivances for making the use of each word as extensive as\npossible, we have already adverted to one of great importance; that\nof arranging ideas in classes, and making one name stand for each\nindividual of the class. When the classes are large, one word or\nmark serves to name or indicate many individuals.\n\nBut when, for the sake of economizing names, those classes have been\nmade as large as possible, we often find occasion for breaking them\ndown into smaller parcels, or sub-classes, and speaking of these\nsub-classes by themselves.\n\nAn example will render what is here expressed sufficiently plain.\nThe term sound, is the name of a large class of ideas or sensations;\nfor it is equally the name of both; the sound of thunder, the sound\nof a cannon, the whistling of the wind, the voice of a man, the\nhowling of a dog, and so on.\n\n{145} Among these sounds I perceive differences; some affect me in\none way, and I wish to mark them as doing so; some affect me in\nanother way, and I wish to mark them as affecting me in that\nparticular way.\n\nIt is obvious that names might be invented for these subordinate\nclasses, to mark such of them as we have occasion to mark; and the\ncases are numerous, in which this is the expedient adopted. Thus the\nterm animal is the name of a large class. But we have occasion to\nspeak apart of various portions of this class, to all the more\nimportant of which portions, we have given particular names. Horse\nis the name of one portion, man of another, sheep of another, and so\nof the rest.\n\nThere is, however, another mode of naming subordinate classes; a\nmode by which the use of names is greatly economized, and of which\nthe utility is therefore conspicuous.\n\nThe subordinate class is distinguished from they rest of the greater\nclass by some peculiarity, something in which the individuals of it\nagree with one another, and do not agree with the rest. Thus to\nrecur to the example of sound. One set of sounds affect me in a\ncertain way, a way peculiar to that set. Wishing to distinguish\nthese sounds from others by a mark, I call them _loud_. Another set\nof sounds affect me in another way, and I call them _low_; a third\nset in another way, and I call them _harsh_; a fourth in another\nway, and I call them _sweet_. By means of those adjectives applied\nas marks upon the mark of the great class, I have the names of four\nspecies, or sub-classes; 1, loud sounds; 2, low sounds; 3, harsh\nsounds; 4, {146} sweet sounds; and the number might be greatly\nenlarged.\n\nIt thus appears that, as nouns substantive are marks of ideas, or\nsensations, nouns adjective are marks put upon nouns substantive, or\nmarks upon marks; in order to limit the signification of the noun\nsubstantive; and instead of its marking a large class, to make it\nmark a subdivision of that class. Thus the word, rose, is the mark\nof a large class: apply to it the adjective _yellow_, that is, put\nthe mark yellow upon the mark rose, and you have the name, yellow\nrose, which is a sub-division, or species, of the class Rose.\n\nThis peculiarity of naming, this putting of marks upon marks, in\norder to modify the meaning of a certain mark, is a contrivance\nwhich deserves the greatest attention. It is one of the principal\nexpedients for the great purpose of economizing names, and\nperforming the business of marking with the smallest number of\nmarks; but, like the rest of the contrivances for this purpose, it\ncontributes to obscure the simple process of naming; and when not\ndistinctly known and attended to, operates as a source of confusion\nand error.\n\nThe use of adjectives, in economizing names, is most conspicuous, in\nthe case of those subdivisions which apply to the greatest number of\nclasses. There is one distinction which applies to most classes; the\ndistinction between what pleases, and what does not please us, no\nmatter on what account. The first we call good, the second evil.\nThese two terms serve to mark a very great number of subordinate\nclasses, and, of course, save, to a great extent, the multiplication\nof names.\n\n{147} Thus, in the case of the senses, we have the word taste, the\nmark of one great class of sensations. Tastes we divide into\nsub-classes by the words good and evil; good tastes being one class,\nbad tastes another. If we had invented separate marks for each of\nthese two classes, we should have had three names, to mark the class\ntaste with these its two primary subdivisions; and we should have\nhad occasion for the same number of names in the case of each of the\nfive senses; or, fifteen different names. But the adjectives, good,\nand evil, they being applicable to all the senses, save us the\ninvention of names for the sub-classes of the other four senses; as\nwe say good smells, bad smells, in the same manner as good tastes,\nand bad tastes. They save, therefore, eight names out of fifteen, or\nmore than one-half.\n\nThe economizing power of adjectives is still more remarkable, when\nwe depart from simple sensations and ideas, and apply them as marks\nupon the names of the complex, which are far more numerous. Thus,\nthe term horse is the mark of a complex idea, and the name of a\nclass of objects. We say good horse and bad horse, good dog and bad\ndog, good house and bad house, and so in cases without number; in\neach of which, the repetition of the two adjectives, good, and bad,\nsaves us the use and embarrassment of separate names.\n\nIt deserves to be remarked, that the terms good and evil apply much\nmore generally to that class of complex ideas, in the formation of\nwhich the mind has but little control; namely, those of external\nobjects; than they do to the other class of complex ideas which the\nmind makes up in an arbitrary {148} manner to suit its own\nconvenience. Ideas of the latter description are very often made up\naccording to the distinction of good and evil. Thus, the idea glory,\nis composed of ingredients all of which belong to the classes, good;\nand the idea good, is multifariously included in the name. After the\nsame manner, the idea of evil is multifariously included in the\ncomplex idea disgrace. Good is implied in the term virtue, evil in\nthe term vice; good is implied in the term wealth, evil in the term\npoverty; good is implied in the term power, evil in the term\nweakness. In some cases, the ideas of this class are so general,\nthat good and evil are both included; and, in such cases, adjectives\nare necessary to mark the subdivisions or species. Thus, we say good\nmanners, bad manners; good sense, bad sense; good conduct, bad\nconduct; and so on.\n\nNext to the adjectives which form the numerous sub-classes of good\nand evil, those which mark degrees are of the most extensive\napplication, and in the operation of sub-marking save the greatest\nnumber of names. Thus the terms, great, and little, are applicable\nto a great proportion of the marks of complex ideas of both\nformations. We say a great tree, a little tree; a great man, a\nlittle man; a great crime, a small crime; great blame, little blame;\ngreat honour, little honour; great value, little value; great\nweight, little weight; great strength, little strength, and so on.\n\nDifferent adjectives differ in the number of classes to the\nsubdivision of which they are subservient. Thus hot and cold are\nonly applicable where diversities of temperature are included;\nround, square, and {149} so on, where figure is included; white or\nblack, where colour; and so on.\n\nBeside the use of adjectives, in dividing great classes into smaller\nones, without multiplication of names; they sometimes answer another\npurpose. It often happens that, in the cluster of sensations or\nideas which have one name; we have occasion to call attention\nparticularly to some one ingredient of the cluster. Adjectives render\nthis service, as well as that of marking a class. This rose, I say,\nis red; that rose is yellow: this stone is hot, that stone is cold.\nThe term, red rose, or yellow rose, is the name of a class. But when\nI say, this rose is red, where an individual is named, I mark\nemphatically the specific difference; namely, red, or yellow; which\nconstitutes that subdivision of the genus rose, to which the\nindividual belongs.[45]\n\n[Editor's footnote 45: In the concluding paragraph we find the first\nrecognition by the author that class names serve any purpose, or are\nintroduced for any reason, except to save multiplication of names.\nAdjectives, it is here said, answer also the purpose of calling\nattention to some one ingredient of the cluster of sensations\ncombined under one name. That is to say, they enable us to affirm\nthat the cluster contains that ingredient: for they do not merely\ncall attention to the ingredient, or remind the hearer of it: the\nhearer, very often, did not know that the cluster contained\nthe ingredient, until he was apprised by the proposition.\n\nBut surely it is not only adjectives which fulfil either office,\nwhether of giving information of an ingredient, or merely fixing the\nattention upon it. All general names do so, when used as predicates.\nWhen I say that a distant object which I am pointing at is a tree,\nor a building, I just as much call attention to certain ingredients\nin the cluster of sensations constituting the object, as I do when I\nsay, This rose is red. So {150} far is it from being true that\nadjectives are distinguished from substantives by having this\nfunction in addition to that of economizing names, that it is, on\nthe contrary, much more nearly true of adjectives than of the\nclass-names which are nouns substantive, that the economizing of\nnames is the principal motive for their institution. For though\ngeneral names of some sort are indispensable to predication,\nadjectives are not. As is well shewn in the text, the peculiarity,\nwhich really distinguishes adjectives from other general names, is\nthat they mark cross divisions. All nature having first been marked\nout into classes by means of nouns substantive, we might go on by\nthe same means subdividing each class. We might call the large\nindividuals of a class by one noun substantive and the small ones by\nanother, and these substantives would serve all purposes of\npredication; but to do this we should need just twice as many\nadditional nouns substantive as there are classes of objects. Since,\nhowever, the distinction of large and small applies to all classes\nalike, one pair of names will suffice to designate it. Instead\ntherefore of dividing every class into sub-classes, each with its\nown name, we draw a line across all the classes, dividing all nature\ninto large things and small, and by using these two words as\nadjectives, that is, by adding one or other of them as the occasion\nrequires to every noun substantive which is the name of a class, we\nare able to mark universally the distinction of large and small by\ntwo names only, instead of many millions.--_Ed._]\n\n\n{151} SECTION III.\n\nVERBS.\n\n\n1. There is one class of complex ideas, of so particular a nature,\nand of which we have so frequent occasion to speak, that the means\nof sub-dividing them require additional contrivances. Marks put upon\nmarks are still the instrument. But the instrument, to render it\nmore effectual to this particular purpose, is fashioned in a\nparticular way. I allude to the class of words denominated Verbs:\nwhich are, in their essence, adjectives, and applied as marks upon\nmarks; but receive a particular form, in order to render them, at\nthe same time, subservient to other purposes.\n\nThe mode of their marking, and the peculiarity of their marking\npower may easily, I hope, be thus conceived.\n\nA billiard-ball affects my senses, in a particular manner. On\naccount of this, I call it round; and the term round is ever after a\nmark to me of a portion of the sensations which I derive from it. It\naffects me in another manner. I call it on that account white, and\nthe term white is to me a mark of this other mode in which it\naffects me: and in the same manner as I call it white, round, on\naccount of such and such sensations, I call it Moving, on account of\ncertain other sensations, of which the term Moving is to me a\nperpetual mark.\n\n{152} The manner of affecting me on account of which I call it\nmoving, I learn from experience to be peculiarly entitled to my\nregard. I find that it is a mode of affecting me, which belongs to\nalmost all bodies; and I find that upon this attribute of theirs the\ngreatest part of my interesting sensations depend. I am therefore\ndeeply concerned in the knowledge of motions; and have the strongest\ninducement to divide them into such classes as may in the highest\ndegree facilitate that knowledge.\n\nMotions are divided in a great variety of ways for a variety of\npurposes. Sometimes we divide them according to their subjects.\nThus, the motion of a bird is one class of motions; the motion of a\nhorse another; so the motion of a serpent, the motion of an arrow,\nthe motion of a wheel. At other times we form classes of motions\naccording to the manner. Thus we have running, flying, rolling,\nleaping, staggering, throwing, striking, and so on.\n\nOf all the classifications of motions, however, that which deserves\nthe greatest attention is the distinction of them into the motions\nwhich originate within the moving body, and those which originate\nwithout it. Of the motions which originate within the moving body,\nthe principal are the living motions of animals. We find, also, that\nof all the motions of animals, those of men are the most important\nto men. The motions of men are divided into a great number of\nclasses. On account of one set of motions we call a man walking; on\naccount of another sort we call him running; another, writing;\nanother, dancing; another, fencing; another, boxing; another,\nbuilding; and so on. We have also frequent occasion for a name which\nshall {153} embrace all these motions of men. For this purpose the\nword Acting is employed: and the term Action denotes any of the\nmotions, which originate within a man as the moving body. It is no\nobjection to this account of the use of the word action, that it is\nsometimes employed in cases in which the motion is not the principal\nobject of attention; as in the act of singing, or that of speaking.\nHere, though it is not the motion, but the effect of the motion,\nwhich is the object of attention to the hearer, the act of the\nsinger or speaker is not the less truly a motion.\n\nThe word action, when thus invented, and used, is afterwards applied\nmetaphorically to motions which do not originate in the moving body,\nas when we say the action of a sword; and also to certain processes\nof the mind, which, as they are accompanied with the feeling we call\neffort, resembling that which accompanies the voluntary motions, are\nsometimes classed along with them, and, by an extension of the\nmeaning of the word, receive the name of actions. In this manner,\nremembering, computing, comparing, even hearing, and seeing, are\ndenominated actions.\n\n2. In applying the term Acting, or the terms expressive of the\nseveral kinds of acting, the Time the action is a material\ncircumstance. The grand divisions of time are the Past, the Present,\nand the Future. There is great utility in a short method of marking\nthese divisions of time in conjunction with the mark of the action.\nThis is effected by the Tenses of Verbs.\n\n3. When the name of an act is applied to an agent the agent is\neither the person speaking, the person spoken to, or some other\nperson. The word denoting {154} the action is, by what are called\nthe Persons of the verb, made to connote these diversities. Thus\n_amo_ notes the act, and connotes the person speaking as the actor;\n_amas_ notes the act, and connotes the person spoken to, as the\nactor; _amat_ notes the act, and connotes some person, as the actor,\nwho is neither the person speaking, nor the person spoken to.[46]\n\n[Editor's footnote 46: There is here a fresh instance of the\noversight already pointed out, that of not including in the function\nfor which general names are required, their employment in\nPredication. Amo, amas, and amamus, cannot, I conceive, with any\npropriety be called names of actions, or names at all. They are\nentire predications. It is one of the properties of the kind of\ngeneral names called verbs, that they cannot be used except in a\nProposition or Predication, and indeed only as the predicate of it:\n(for the infinitive is not a verb, but the abstract of a verb). What\nelse there is to distinguish verbs from other general names will be\nmore particularly considered further on.--_Ed._]\n\n4. When the names of actions are applied to agents, they are applied\nto one or a greater number. A short method of connoting this grand\ndistinction of numbers is effected by the marks of the Singular and\nPlural number. Thus _amo_ notes the act, and connotes one actor;\n_amamus_ notes the act, and connotes more than one actor.\n\n5. In applying the names of actions to the proper subjects of them,\nthere are three Modes of the action, one or other of which is always\nimplied. The first is, when the action has no reference to any thing\npreviously spoken of. The second is, when it has a reference to\nsomething previously spoken of. The third is, when it has a\nreference to some state of the will of {155} the speaker or person\nspoken of. These diversities of mode are connoted by the Moods of\nthe verb. The Indicative is used when no reference is made to any\nthing which precedes: the Subjunctive, when a reference is made to\nsomething which precedes: and the Optative, and Imperative, when the\nreference is to the state of the will of the speaker or the person\nspoken of.\n\nSuch are the contrivances to make the marks or names of action, by\ntheir connotative powers, a more and more effectual instrument of\nnotation. Accurately speaking, they are adjectives, so fashioned as\nto connote, a threefold distinction of agents, with a twofold\ndistinction of their number, a threefold distinction of the manner\nof the action, and a threefold distinction of its time; and, along\nwith all this another important particular, about to be explained,\nnamely, the COPULA in PREDICATION.[47]\n\n[Editor's footnote 47: The imperfection of this theory of Verbs is\nsufficiently apparent. They are, says the author, a particular kind\nof Adjectives. Adjectives, according to the preceding Section, are\nwords employed to enable us, without inconvenient multiplication of\nnames, to subdivide great classes into smaller ones. Can it be said,\nor would it have been said by the author, that the only, or the\nprincipal reason for having Verbs, is to enable us to subdivide\nclasses of objects with the greatest economy of names?\n\nNeither is it strictly accurate to say that Verbs are always marks\nof motion, or of action, even including, as the author does, by an\nextension of the meaning of those terms, every process which is\nattended with a feeling of effort. Many verbs, of the kind which\ngrammarians call neuter or intransitive verbs, express rest, or\ninaction: as sit, lie, and in some cases, stand. It is true however\nthat the verbs first invented, as far as we know anything of them,\nexpressed forms of motion, and the principal function of verbs still\nis to affirm or deny action. Or, to speak yet more generally, it is\nby means of verbs that we predicate events. Events, or changes, are\nthe most important facts, to us, in the surrounding world. Verbs are\nthe resource which language affords for predicating events. They are\nnot the names of events; all names of events are substantives, as\nsunrise, disaster, or *infinitives, as _to rise_, and infinitives\nare logically substantives. But it is by means of verbs that we\nassert, or give information of, events; as, The sun rises, or,\nDisaster has occurred. There is, however, a class of neuter verbs\nalready referred to, which do not predicate events, but states\nof an unchanging object, as lie, sit, remain, exist. It would be\nincorrect, therefore, to give a definition of Verbs which should\nlimit them to the expression of events. I am inclined to think that\nthe distinction between nouns and verbs is not logical, but merely\ngrammatical, and that every word, whatever be its meaning, must be\nreputed a verb, which is so constructed grammatically that it can\nonly be used as the predicate of a proposition. Any meaning whatever\nis, in strictness, capable of being thrown into this form: but it is\nonly certain meanings, chiefly actions or events, which there is, in\ngeneral, any motive for putting into this particular shape.--_Ed._]\n\n{156} 6. We have, last of all, under this head, to consider the\nmarking power of a very peculiar, and most comprehensive word, the\nSUBSTANTIVE VERB, as it has been called by grammarians, or the word\nexpressive of BEING. The steps, which we have already traced, in the\nprocess of naming, will aid us in obtaining a true conception of\nthis, which is one of the most important steps, in that process.\n\nWe have seen that, beside the names of particular species of\nmotions, as walking, running, flying, there was occasion for a\ngeneral name which might include {157} the whole of those motions.\nFor this purpose, the names Action and Acting were employed. It is\nnow to be remembered, that those sensations which we mark by the\nnames of action, as walking, running, &c., are but part of the\nsensations which we derive from objects; that we have other\nsensations, and clusters of sensations, from them, on account of\nwhich we apply to them other names; as when we call a man tall, on\naccount of certain sensations; dark, on account of certain other\nsensations, and so on. Now, as we had occasion for a name to include\nthe separate clusters, called walking, running, flying, rolling,\nfalling, and so on, and for that purpose adopted the name Acting;\nso, having from objects other sensations than those marked by the\nword acting, we have occasion for a name which shall include both\nthose sensations, and those comprehended in the word acting along\nwith them: in short, a word that shall embrace all sensations, of\nwhatever kind, which any object is capable of exciting in us. This\npurpose is effected by the word affirmative of Existence. When we\naffirm of any thing that it EXISTS, that it IS: what we mean, is,\nthat we may have sensations from it; nothing, without ourselves,\nbeing known to us, or capable of being known, but through the medium\nof our senses.\n\nThere is the same occasion for making the Substantive Verb connote\nthe three distinctions of TIME PAST, TIME PRESENT, and TIME FUTURE,\nas in the case of other verbs; also to connote the distinctions of\nPERSONS and NUMBERS; and, lastly, to connote the THREE MODES, that\nin which there is no reference to any thing preceding, that in which\nthere is a reference to something preceding, and that in which\nreference {158} is made to the will of one of the PERSONS.\nAccordingly the Substantive Verb has TENSES, MOODS, NUMBERS, and\nPERSONS, like any other verb.\n\nSuch is the nature and object of the Substantive Verb. It is the\nmost GENERICAL of all the words, which we have characterized, as\nmarks upon marks. These are the words usually called ATTRIBUTIVES.\nAccording to the view which we have given of them, they may be more\nappropriately denominated, SECONDARY MARKS. The names of the larger\nclasses, as tree, horse, strength, we may call PRIMARY MARKS. The\nsubsidiary names by which smaller classes are marked out of the\nlarger; as when we say, tall tree, great strength, running horse,\nwalking man; that is, all attributives, or marks applied upon marks;\nwe may call SECONDARY MARKS.\n\n\n{159} SECTION IV.\n\nPREDICATION.\n\n\nThe purposes of language are two. We have occasion to mark\nsensations or ideas singly; and we have occasion to mark them in\ntrains; in other words, we have need of contrivances to mark not\nonly sensations and ideas; but also the order of them. The\ncontrivances which are necessary to mark this order are the main\ncause of the complexity of language.\n\nIf all names were names of one sort, there would be no difficulty in\nmarking a train of the feelings which they serve to denote. Thus, if\nall names were names of individuals, as John, James, Peter, we\nshould have no difficulty in marking a train of the ideas of these\nindividuals; all that would be necessary would be to set down the\nmarks, one after another, in the same order in which, one after\nanother, the ideas occurred.\n\nIf all names were names of Species, as man, horse, eagle, the\nfacility of marking the order of the ideas which they represent\nwould be the same. If the idea man occurred first, the idea horse\nsecond, the idea eagle third; all that would be necessary would be\nto put down the name or mark man the first, the name or mark horse\nthe second, and the order of marks would represent the order of\nideas.\n\nBut we have already seen, that the facility of communication\nrequires names of different degrees of {160} comprehensiveness;\nnames of individuals, names of classes, and names both of the larger\nand the smaller classes. For the younger and less instructed part of\nmy readers, it may be necessary to mention, that the names of the\nsmaller classes, are called names of Species, or specific names; the\nnames of the larger classes, names of Genera, or generic names.\nThus, the term animal, denotes a large class; a class which contains\nthe smaller classes, man, horse, dog, &c. The name animal,\ntherefore, is called a Genus, or a generic name; the name man, a\nSpecies, or a specific name.\n\nIn using names of these different kinds; names of individuals when\nthe idea is restricted to one individual; and, for brevity, the\nnames of classes; the names of the less when necessary, of the large\nwhen practicable; there is perpetual need of the substitution of one\nname for another. When I have used the names, James and John, Thomas\nand William, and many more, having to speak of such peculiarities of\neach, as distinguish him from every other, I may proceed to speak of\nthem in general, as included in a class. When this happens, I have\noccasion for the name of the class, and to substitute the name of\nthe class, for the names of the individuals. By what contrivance is\nthis performed? I have the name of the individual, _John_; and the\nname of the class _man_; and I can set down my two names; _John_,\n_man_; in juxta-position. But this is not sufficient to effect the\ncommunication I desire; namely, that the word man is a mark of the\nsame idea of which John is a mark, and a mark of other ideas along\nwith it, those to wit, of which James, Thomas, &c. are marks. To\ncomplete my contrivance, I invent a mark, which, placed between my\nmarks, {161} _John_ and _man_, fixes the idea I mean to convey, that\n_man_, is another mark to that idea of which _John_ is a mark, while\nit is a mark of the other ideas, of which _James_, _Thomas_, &c.,\nare marks. For this purpose, we use in English, the mark \"is.\" By\nhelp of this, my object is immediately attained. I say, _John_ \"is\"\na _man_. I, then, use the word _man_, instead of the word _John_,\nwith many advantages; because every thing which I can affirm of the\nword _man_, is true not only of _John_, but of _James_, and _Peter_,\nand every other individual of the class.\n\nThe joining of two names by this peculiar mark is the act which has\nbeen denominated, PREDICATION; and it is the grand contrivance by\nwhich the marks of sensations and ideas are so ordered in discourse,\nas to mark the order of the trains, which it is our purpose to\ncommunicate, or to record.\n\nThe form of expression, \"John is a man,\" is called a Proposition. It\nconsists of three marks. Of these, \"John,\" is denominated the\nSUBJECT; \"man,\" the PREDICATE; and \"is,\" the COPULA. To speak\ngenerally, and in the language of the grammarians, the nominative of\nthe verb is the _subject_ of the proposition; the substantive, or\nadjective, which agrees with the nominative, is the _predicate_, and\nthe verb is the _copula_.\n\nBy a few simple examples, the reader may render familiar to himself\nthe use of PREDICATION, as the grand expedient, by which language is\nenabled to mark not only sensations and ideas, but also the order of\nthem.[48]\n\n[Editor's footnote 48: The theory of Predication here set forth,\nstands in need of further elucidation, and perhaps of some\ncorrection and addition.\n\nThe account which the author gives of a Predication, or Proposition,\nis, first, that it is a mode of so putting together the marks of\nsensations and ideas, as to mark the order of them. Secondly, that\nit consists in substituting one name for another, so as to signify\nthat a certain name (called the predicate), is a mark of the same\nidea which another name (called the subject) is a mark of.\n\nIt must be allowed that a predication, or proposition, is intended\nto mark some portion of the order either of our sensations or of our\nideas, _i.e._, some part of the coexistences or sequences which take\nplace either in our minds, or in what we term the external world.\nBut what sort of order is it that a predication marks? An order\nsupposed to be believed in. When _John_, or _man_, are said to be\nmarks of an individual object, all there is in the matter is that\nthese words, being associated with the idea of the object, are\nintended to raise that idea in the mind of the person who hears or\nreads them. But when we say, John is a man, or, John is an old man,\nwe intend to do more than call up in the hearer's mind the images of\nJohn, of a man, and of an old man. We intend to do more than inform\nhim that we have thought of, or even seen, John and a man, or John\nand an old man, together. We inform him of a fact respecting John,\nnamely, that he _is_ an old man, or at all events, of our belief\nthat this is a fact. The characteristic difference between a\npredication and any other form of speech, is, that it does not\nmerely bring to mind a certain object (which is the only function of\na mark, merely as such); it asserts something respecting it. Now it\nmay be true, and I think it is true, that every assertion, every\nobject of Belief,--everything that can be true or false--that can be\nan object of assent or dissent--is some order of sensations or of\nideas: some coexistence or succession of sensations or ideas\nactually experienced, or supposed capable of being experienced. And\nthus it may appear in the end that in expressing a belief, we are\nafter all only declaring the order of a group or series of\nsensations or ideas. But the order which we declare is not an\nimaginary order; it is an order believed to be real. Whatever view\nwe adopt of the psychological nature of Belief, it is necessary to\ndistinguish between the mere suggestion, to the mind of a certain\norder among sensations or ideas such as takes place when we think of\nthe alphabet, or the numeration table and the indication that this\norder is an actual fact, which is occurring, or which has occurred\nonce or oftener, or which, in certain definite circumstances, always\noccurs; which are the things indicated as true by an affirmative\npredication, and as false by a negative one.\n\nThat a predication differs from a name in doing more than merely\ncalling up an idea, is admitted in what I have noted as the second\nhalf of the author's theory of Predication. That second half points\nout that every predication is a communication, intended to act, not\non the mere ideas of the listener, but on his persuasion or belief:\nand what he is intended to believe, according to the author, is,\nthat of the two names which are conjoined in the predication, one is\na mark of the same idea (or let me add, of the same sensation or\ncluster of sensations) of which the other is a mark. This is a\ndoctrine of Hobbes, the one which caused him to be termed by\nLeibnitz, in words which have been often quoted, \"plus quam\nnominalis.\" It is quite true that when we predicate B of A--when we\nassert of A that it is a B--B must, if the assertion is true, be a\nname of A, _i.e._, a name applicable to A; one of the innumerable\nnames which, in virtue of their signification, can be used as\ndescriptive of A: but is this the information which we want to\nconvey to the hearer? It is so when we are speaking only of names\nand their meaning, as when we enunciate a definition. In every other\ncase, what we want to convey is a matter of fact, of which this\nrelation between the names is but an incidental consequence. When we\nsay, John walked out this morning, it is not a correct expression of\nthe communication we desire to make, that \"having walked out this\nmorning\" or \"a person who has walked out this morning\" are two of\nthe innumerable names of John. They are only accidentally and\nmomentarily names of John by reason of a certain event, and the\ninformation we mean to give is, that this event has happened. The\nevent is not resolvable into an identity of meaning between names,\nbut into an actual series of sensations that occurred to John, and a\nbelief that any one who had been present and using his eyes would\nhave had another series of sensations, which we call seeing John in\nthe act of walking out. Again, when we say, Negroes are\nwoolly-haired, we mean to make known to the hearer, not that\nwoolly-haired is a name of every negro, but that wherever the\ncluster of sensations signified by the word negro, are experienced,\nthe sensations signified by the word woolly-haired will be found\neither among them or conjoined with them. This is an order of\nsensations: and it is only in consequence of it that the name\nwoolly-haired comes to be applicable to every individual of whom the\nterm negro is a name.\n\nThere is nothing positively opposed to all this in the author's\ntext: indeed he must be considered to have meant this, when he said,\nthat by means of substituting one name for another, a predication\nmarks the order of our sensations and ideas. The omission consists\nin not remarking that what is distinctively signified by a\npredication, as such, is Belief in a certain order of sensations or\nideas. And when this has been said, the Hobbian addition, that it\ndoes so by declaring the predicate to be a name of everything of\nwhich the subject is a name, may be omitted as surplusage, and as\ndiverting the mind from the essential features of the case.\nPredication may thus be defined, a form of speech which expresses a\nbelief that a certain coexistence or sequence of sensations or\nideas, did, does, or, under certain conditions, would take place:\nand the reverse of this when the predication is negative.--_Ed._]\n\n{162} For the more complete elucidation of this important part of\nthe business of Naming, it is necessary to {163} remark, that\nLogicians have classed Predications, under five heads; 1st, when the\n_Genus_ is predicated, {164} of any subject; 2dly, when the\n_Species_ is predicated; 3dly, when the _Specific Difference_ is\npredicated; 4thly, {165} when a _Property_ is predicated; 5thly,\nwhen an _Accident_ is predicated. These five classes of names, the\nthings capable of being predicated, are named PREDICABLES. The five\nPredicables, in Latin, the language in which they are commonly\nexpressed, are named _Genus_, _Species_, _Differentia_, _Proprium_,\n_Accidens_.\n\nWe have already seen, perhaps at sufficient length, the manner in\nwhich, and the end for which, the Genus, and the Species are\npredicated of any subject. It is, that the more comprehensive name,\nmay be substituted for the less comprehensive; so that each of our\nmarks may answer the purpose of marking, to as great an extent as\npossible. In this manner we substitute the word _man_, for example,\nfor the word _Thomas_, when we predicate the Species of the\nindividual, in the proposition, \"Thomas is a man;\" the word\n_animal_, for the word _man_, when we predicate the Genus of the\nSpecies, in the proposition, \"man, is an animal.\"[49]\n\n[Editor's footnote 49: If what has been said in the preceding note\nis correct, it is a very inadequate view of the purpose for which a\ngeneric or specific name is predicated of any subject, to say that\nit is in order that \"the more comprehensive name may be substituted\nfor the less comprehensive, so that each of our marks may answer the\npurpose of marking to as great an extent as possible.\" The more\ncomprehensive and the less comprehensive name have each their uses,\nand the function of each not only could not be discharged with equal\nconvenience by the other, but could not be discharged by it at all.\nThe purpose, in predicating of anything the name of a class to which\nit belongs, is not to obtain a better or more commodious name for\nit, but to make known the fact of its possessing the attributes\nwhich constitute the class, and which are therefore signified by the\nclass-name. It is evident that the name of one class cannot possibly\nperform this office vicariously for the name of another.--_Ed._]\n\n{166} We have already, also, taken notice of the artifice, by which\nsmaller classes are formed out of larger, by the help of secondary\nmarks. Of these secondary marks, the principal classes are\ndesignated by the terms _Differentia_, _Proprium_, _Accidens_. No\nvery distinct boundaries, are, indeed, marked by these terms; nor do\nthey effect a scientific division; but, for the present purpose, the\nelucidation of the end to which Predication is subservient, they are\nsufficient.\n\n_Differentia_ is always an Attributive, applicable to a Genus, and\nwhich, when combined with it, marks out a Species; as the word\n_rational_, which is applicable to the Genus _animal_, and when\napplied to it, in the phrase \"rational animal,\" marks out a Species,\nand is synonymous with the word _man_. In a similar manner the word\n_sensitive_ is applicable to _body_, and marks out the subordinate\nGenus, _animal_.\n\n_Proprium_ is also an Attributive, and the Attributives classed\nunder this title differ from those classed under the title\n_differentia_, chiefly in this; That those classed under\n_differentia_, are regarded as more expressly involved in the\ndefinition of the Species which they seem to cut out from the Genus.\nThus, both _rational_, and _risible_, when applied to _animal_, cut\nout of it the class Man; but _rational_ is called DIFFERENTIA,\n_risible_ PROPRIUM, because _rational_, is strictly involved in the\ndefinition of _man_; _risible_ is not. Some Attributives are classed\nunder the title _proprium_, which, when applied to the genus, do not\nconstitute the same Species, constituted by the _differentia_, but a\ndifferent Species; as _bipes_, two-footed animal, is the name of a\nclass including at least the two classes of men, and birds;\n_hot-blooded animal_, is the name of a class so {167} large as to\ninclude man, horse, lion, dog, and the greater part of the more\nperfectly organized Species. There are some Attributives, classed\nunder the title _proprium_, which cut out of the Genus a class even\nless than that which is cut by the _differentia_; as, for example,\nthe word _grammatical_. This word grammatical, applied to the word\nanimal, in the term \"grammatical animal,\" separates a class so\nsmall, as to include only part of the Species man, those who are\ncalled Grammarians. Such Attributives, for an obvious reason, are\napplicable, as well to the name of the Species, as to that of the\nGenus. Thus, we say, \"a grammatical man,\" as well as \"a grammatical\nanimal,\" and that with greater propriety, as cutting out the\nsub-species from the Species more immediately.\n\nThe Attributives, classed under the title _accidens_, are regarded,\nlike those classed under _differentia_, and _proprium_, as\napplicable to the class cut out by the _differentia_, but applicable\nto it rather fortuitously than by any fixed connection. The term\n_lame_ is an example of such Attributives. The term _lame_, however,\napplied to the name of the Species, does not the less take out of it\na sub-species, as \"lame man,\" \"lame horse.\"\n\nWith respect to these classes of Attributives (_Differentia_,\n_Proprium_, _Accidens_) this is necessary to be observed, and\nremembered; that they differ from one another only by the accident\nof their application. Thus, when _rational_, applied to the Genus\n_animal_, constitutes the Species man, all other Attributives\napplied to that Species are either _accidens_, or _proprium_; but\nthese Attributives themselves may be the _differentia_ in the case\nof other classes. Thus, _warm-blooded_, applied to _man_, stands\nunder the class _proprium_; but {168} when applied to the animals\nwhich stand distinguished from the cold-blooded, as constituting a\nclass, it becomes the _differentia_, and _rational_, with respect to\nthis comprehensive class, is only an _accidens_.[50]\n\n[Editor's footnote 50: The author says, that no very distinct\nboundaries are marked by the three terms, Differentia, Proprium, and\nAccidens, nor do they effect a scientific division. As used,\nhowever, by the more accurate of the school logicians, they do mark\nout distinct boundaries, and do effect a scientific division.\n\nOf the attributes common to a class, some have been taken into\nconsideration in forming the class, and are included in the\nsignification of its name. Such, in the case of man, are\nrationality, and the outward form which we call the human. These\nattributes are its Differenti\u00e6; the fundamental differences which\ndistinguish that class from the others most nearly allied to it. The\nschool logicians were contented with one Differentia, whenever one\nwas sufficient completely to circumscribe the class. But this was an\nerror, because one attribute may be sufficient for distinction, and\nyet may not exhaust the signification of the class-name. All\nattributes, then, which are part of that signification, are set\napart as Differenti\u00e6. Other attributes, though not included among\nthose which constitute the class, and which are directly signified\nby its name, are consequences of some of those which constitute the\nclass, and always found along with them. These attributes of the\nclass are its Propria. Thus, to be bounded by three straight lines\nis the Differentia of a triangle: to have the sum of its three\nangles equal to two right angles, being a consequence of its\nDifferentia, is a Proprium of it. Rationality is a Differentia of\nthe class Man: to be able to build cities is a Proprium, being a\nconsequence of rationality, but not, as that is, included in the\nmeaning of the word Man. All other attributes of the class, which\nare neither included in the meaning of the name, nor are\nconsequences of any which are included, are Accidents, however\nuniversally and constantly they may be true of the class; as\nblackness, of crows.\n\nThe author's remark, that these three classes of Attributives differ\nfrom one another only in the accident of their application, is most\njust. There are not some attributes which are always Differenti\u00e6,\nand others which are always Propria, or always Accidents. The same\nattribute which is a Differentia of one genus or species, may be,\nand often is, a Proprium or an Accidens of others, and so\non.--_Ed._]\n\n{169} We now arrive at a very important conclusion; for it thus\nappears, that all Predication, is Predication of Genus or Species,\nsince the Attributives classed under the titles of _Differentia_,\n_Proprium_, _Accidens_, cannot be used but as part of the name of a\nSpecies. But we have seen, above, that Predication by Genus and\nSpecies is merely the substitution of one name for another, the more\ngeneral for the less general; the fact of the substitution being\nmarked by the _Copula_. It follows, if all Predication is by Genus\nand Species, that all Predication is the substitution of one name\nfor another, the more for the less general.\n\nIt will be easy for the learner to make this material fact familiar\nto himself, by attending to a few instances. Thus, when it is said\nthat man is rational, the term rational is evidently elliptical, and\nthe word animal is understood. The word rational, according to\ngrammatical language, is an adjective, and is significant only in\nconjunction with a substantive. According to logical language, it is\na connotative term, and is without a meaning when disjoined from the\nobject, the property or properties of which it connotes.[51]\n\n[Editor's footnote 51: I am unable to feel the force of this remark.\nEvery predication ascribes an attribute to a subject. Differentiae,\nPropria, and Accidents, agree with generic and specific names in\nexpressing attributes, and the attributes they express are the whole\nof their meaning. I therefore cannot see why there should not be\nPredication of any of these, as well as of Genus and Species. These\nthree Predicables, the author says, cannot be used but as part of\nthe name of a genus or species: they are adjectives, and cannot be\nemployed without a substantive understood. Allowing this to be\nlogically, as it is grammatically, true, still the comprehensive and\nalmost insignificant substantive, \"thing\" or \"being,\" fully answers\nthe purpose; and the entire meaning of the predication is contained\nin the adjective. These adjectives, as the author remarks, are\nconnotative terms; but so, on his own shewing elsewhere, are all\nconcrete substantives, except proper names. Why, when it is said\nthat man is rational, must \"the word animal\" be \"understood?\"\nNothing is understood but that the being, Man, has the attribute of\nreason. If we say, God is rational, is animal understood? It was\nonly the Greeks who classed their gods as [Greek: z\u00f4=a a)tha/nata].\n\nThe exclusion of the three latter Predicables from predication\nprobably recommended itself to the author as a support to his\ndoctrine that all Predication is the substitution of one name for\nanother, which he considered himself to have already demonstrated so\nfar as regards Genus and Species. But proofs have just been given\nthat in the predication of Genus and Species no more than in that of\nDifferentia, Proprium, or Accidens, is anything which turns upon\nnames the main consideration. Except in the case of definitions, and\nother merely verbal propositions, every proposition is intended to\ncommunicate a matter of fact: This subject has that attribute--This\ncluster of sensations is always accompanied by that sensation.\n\nLet me remark by the way, that the word _connote_ is here used by\nthe author in what I consider its legitimate sense--that in which a\nname is said to connote a property or properties belonging to the\nobject it is predicated of. He afterwards casts off this use of the\nterm, and introduces one the exact reverse: but of this\nhereafter.--_Ed._]\n\n{170} With respect, however, to such examples as this last, namely,\nall those in which the predicate consists {171} of the genus and\ndifferentia, the proposition is a mere definition; and the\npredicate, and the subject, are precisely equivalent. Thus,\n\"rational animal\" is precisely the same class as \"man;\" and they are\nonly two names for the same thing; the one a simple, or\nsingle-worded name; the other a complex, or double-worded, name.\nSuch propositions therefore are, properly speaking, not Predications\nat all. When they are used for any other purpose than to make known,\nor to fix, the meaning of a term, they are useless, and are\ndenominated identical propositions.[52]\n\n[Editor's footnote 52: In this passage the author virtually gives up\nthe part of his theory of Predication which is borrowed from Hobbes.\nAccording to his doctrine in this place, whenever the predicate and\nthe subject are exactly equivalent, and \"are only two names for the\nsame thing,\" the predication serves only \"to make known, or to fix,\nthe meaning of a term,\" and \"such propositions are, properly\nspeaking, not Predications at all.\"--_Ed._]\n\nThe preceding expositions have shown the peculiar use of the\n_Copula_. The Predication consists, essentially, of two marks,\nwhereof the first is called the Subject, the latter the Predicate;\nthe Predicate being set down as a name to be used for every thing of\nwhich the Subject is a name; and the _Copula_ is merely a mark\nnecessary to shew that the Predicate is to be taken and used as a\nsubstitute for the Subject.\n\nThere is a great convenience in giving to the _Copula_ the same\npowers of connotation, in respect of Time, {172} Manner, Person, and\nNumber, as we have seen to be usefully annexed to the Verb.\n\nIt is necessary to explain a little this convenience; and the\nexplanation will have another advantage, that it will still farther\nillustrate the manner in which Predication serves the great purpose\nof marking the Order of ideas in a Train.\n\nIf the sensations or ideas in a train were to be marked as merely so\nmany independent items, the mode of marking the order of them would\nbe simple; the order of the marks itself might suffice. If this, for\nexample, were the train; smell of a rose, sight of a rat, sound of a\ntrumpet, touch of velvet, prick of a pin, these names placed in\norder might denote the order of the sensations.\n\nIn the greater number of instances, however, it is necessary to mark\nthe train as the train of somebody; and for this purpose additional\nmachinery is required. Suppose that the train I have to mark is the\ntrain of John, a train of the sensations of John; what are the marks\nfor which I shall have occasion? It is first of all evident that I\nmust have a mark for John, and a mark for each of the sensations.\nSuppose it is my purpose to represent John as having a sensation by\neach of his senses, sight, smell, &c., how must I proceed? I have\nfirst the word John, for the mark of the person; and I have the word\nseeing, for the mark of the sensation. But beside the marks, \"John,\"\n\"seeing,\" I have occasion for a mark to show that I mean the mark\n\"seeing\" to be applied to the mark \"John,\" and not to any other. For\nthat purpose I use the word \"is.\" I say \"John is seeing,\" and the\nfirst sensation of John's train is now sufficiently {173} denoted.\nIn the same manner I proceed with the rest; John is smelling, John\nis tasting, John is hearing, John is touching.\n\nBut I have often occasion to speak not only of John's present\nsensations, but of his past or his future sensations; not of John as\nmerely now seeing, hearing, &c., but as having been, or as going to\nbe, the subject of these sensations. The _Copula_ may be so\ncontrived as most commodiously to connote the main distinctions of\nTime: not merely to mark the connection between the two marks which\nform the subject and the predicate of the proposition, but to mark,\nalong with this, either past, or present, or future, Time. Thus, if\nI say John is seeing, the copula marks present time along with the\npeculiar connection between the predicate and the subject; if I say\nJohn was seeing, it connotes past time; if I say John will be\nseeing, it connotes future time.\n\nAs, in explaining the functions of verbs, there appeared a\nconvenience in the contrivance by which they were made to connote\nthree Manners; first, when no reference is made to any thing which\nis previously spoken of; secondly, when a reference is made to\nsomething which is previously spoken of; thirdly, when a reference\nis made to the will of one of the PERSONS; it will now be seen that\nthere is the same convenience in making the _Copula_ connote these\nreferences by a similar contrivance. Thus, when we speak of a man\nhaving sensations, we may speak of him as having them or as not\nhaving them, in consequence of something previously spoken of; or we\nmay speak of him as having them in consequence of our will. It is,\ntherefore, useful, that the _Copula_ should {174} have moods as well\nas tenses. The same thing may be said of persons and numbers; of\nwhich no illustration seems to be required.\n\nWe come next to an observation respecting the _Copula_, to which the\ngreatest attention is due. In all Languages, the Verb which denotes\nEXISTENCE has been employed to answer the additional purpose of the\n_Copula_ in Predication. The consequences of this have been most\nlamentable. There is thus a double meaning in the _Copula_, which\nhas produced a most unfortunate mixture and confusion of ideas. It\nhas involved in mystery the whole business of Predication; the grand\ncontrivance by which language is rendered competent to its end. By\ndarkening Predication, it has spread such a veil over the phenomena\nof mind, as concealed them from ordinary eyes, and allowed them to\nbe but imperfectly seen by those which were the most discerning.\n\nIn our own language, the verb, TO BE, is the important word which is\nemployed to connote, along with its Subject, whatever it be, the\ngrand idea of EXISTENCE. Thus, if I use the first person singular of\nits indicative mood, and say, \"I am,\" I affirm EXISTENCE of myself.\n\"I am,\" is the equivalent of \"I am EXISTING.\" In the first of these\nexpressions, \"I am,\" the mark \"am\" involves in it the force of two\nmarks; it involves the meaning of the word \"existing,\" and the\nmarking power or meaning of the _Copula_. In the second expression\n\"I am existing,\" the word \"am\" ought to serve the purpose of the\n_Copula_ only. But in reality its connotation of EXISTENCE still\nadheres to it; and whereas the expression ought to consist of the\nthree established parts of a Predication; 1, the _subject_ {175}\n\"I;\" 2, the _predicate_ EXISTING; and 3, the _copula_; it in reality\nconsists of, 1, the subject \"I;\" 2, the predicate EXISTING; 3, the\n_Copula_; which signifies, 4, EXISTING, over again.\n\nLet us take, as another case, that in which the subject and\npredicate of my intended proposition are, the word \"I\" and\n\"reading.\" I want for the purpose of predication only a _Copula_ to\nsignify nakedly that the mark \"reading\" is applied to the mark \"I;\"\nbut instead of this I am obliged to use a word which connotes\nEXISTENCE, along with the force of the _Copula_; and when I say\n\"I am reading,\" not only _reading_ is predicated of me, but EXISTING\nalso. Suppose, again, my subject is \"John,\" my predicate \"dead,\"\nI am obliged to use for my _Copula_ the word \"is,\" which connotes\nEXISTENCE, and I thus predicate of John both _existence_ and\n_death_.\n\nIt may be easily collected, from this one example, what\nheterogeneous and inconsistent ideas may be forced into connection\nby the use of the Substantive Verb as the _Copula_ in Predication;\nand what confusion in the mental processes it tends to produce. It\nis in the case, however, of the higher abstractions, and the various\ncombinations of ideas which the mind, in the processes of enquiring\nand marking, forms for its own convenience, to obtain a greater\ncommand over its stores and greater facility in communicating them,\nthat the use of the verb which conjoins the Predication of EXISTENCE\nwith every other Predication, has produced the wildest confusion,\nand been the most deeply injurious. Is it any wonder, for example,\nthat _Chance_, and _Fate_, and _Nature_, have been personified, and\nhave had an EXISTENCE ascribed {176} to them, as objects, when we\nhave no means of predicating anything whatsoever of them, without\npredicating such EXISTENCE at the same time. If we say that \"chance\nis nothing;\" we predicate of it, by the word \"is,\" both _existence_\nand _nothingness_.\n\nWhen this is the case, it is by no means to be wondered at, that\nphilosophers should so long have inquired what those EXISTENCES are\nwhich abstract terms were employed to express; and should have lost\nthemselves in fruitless speculations about the nature of entity, and\nquiddity, substance, and quality, space, time, necessity, eternity,\nand so on.\n\nIt is necessary here to take notice of a part of the marking power\nof Verbs, which could not be explained till the nature of the\n_copula_ was understood.\n\nEvery Verb involves in it the force of the _copula_. It combines the\nmarking powers of an _adjective_, and of the _copula_; and all Verbs\nmay be resolved into those elements. Thus, \"John walks,\" is the same\nwith \"John is walking.\" Verbs, therefore, are attributives, of the\nsame nature as adjectives, only with additional connotative powers;\nand they cut smaller classes out of larger, in the manner of\nadjectives. Thus \"John walks,\" is an expression, the same in import\nas the Predication \"John is a walking man;\" and, walking men,\nstanding men, running men, lying men, are all sub-species of the\nSpecies Man.\n\nThe same unhappy duplicity of meaning, which is incurred by using\nthe _Substantive_ Verb as the _copula_ in Predication, is inflicted\non _other_ Verbs, in that part of their marking power by which they\nexhibit the connection between the two terms of a Predication.\n\nThe _copula_, included in Verbs, is not the PURE _copula_, {177} but\nthe ACTUAL _copula_; the _copula_ familiar and in constant use;\nnamely, the Substantive Verb. From this it results, that whatever\nthe peculiar attribute, which is predicated by means of any verb,\nEXISTENCE is always predicated along with it. Thus, when I say \"John\nwalks,\" which is equivalent to \"John is walking,\" I predicate both\nexistence, and walking, of John. When I say, \"Caliban existed not,\"\nwhich is the same as \"Caliban was not existing,\" I predicate both\nexistence, and non-existence, of the imaginary being Caliban. By the\ntwo first words of the Predication, \"Caliban was,\" existence is\npredicated of him; by the addition of the compound term \"not\nexisting,\" the opposite is predicated of him.\n\nThe instances, in which the more complicated formations of the mind\nare the subjects of this double Predication, are those which, from\nthe importance of their consequences, deserve the greatest degree of\nattention. Thus, when we say \"virtue exalts,\" both _existing_, and\n_exalting_, are predicated of virtue. When we say that \"passion\nimpels,\" both _existence_, and _impulsion_, are predicated of\npassion. When we say that \"Time generates,\" and \"Space contains all\nthings,\" we affirm _existence_ of space and time, by the same\nexpression by which we affirm of the one, that it generates; of the\nother, that it contains. This constancy of Predication, forcing the\nsame constancy in the junction of the ideas, furnishes a remarkable\ninstance of that important case of association, of which we took\nnotice above, where, by frequency of association, two ideas become\nso joined, that the one constantly rises, and cannot be prevented\nfrom rising, in combination with the other. Thus it is, {178} that\nTime forces itself upon us as an _object_. So it is with Space. We\ncannot think of Space, we cannot think of Time, without thinking of\nthem as existent. With the ideas of space and time, the idea of\nEXISTENCE, as it is predicated of objects, is so associated, by the\nuse of the Substantive Verb as the _copula_ in predication, that we\ncannot disjoin them. The same would have been the case with Chance,\nand Fate, and Nature; if our religious education did not counteract\nthe association. It was precisely the same, among the Greeks and\nRomans, whose religious education had not that effect.[53] [54]\n\n[Findlater's footnote 53: The account of predication above given is\nin conformity with the phenomena of the family of languages known as\nthe Indo-European. Logicians, in fact, in treating of this subject\nhave had almost exclusive regard to Greek and Latin and the literary\nlanguages of modern Europe, which are all of one type. It might\ntherefore be presumed that the theory thus formed would be found not\nto fit in all its parts when applied to languages of an altogether\ndifferent structure. The mental process must doubtless be the same\nin all; but the words that express the several parts may be used in\nnew and unprecedented ways. Were naturalists to construct a scheme\nof the animal organism without ever having seen any other animals\nthan those of the vertebrate type, the theory would certainly fail\nin generality; certain organs or functions would be set down as\nessential to animal existence which acquaintance with other classes\nof creatures shows can be quite well dispensed with. Similarly, the\ncurrent theory of predication, when viewed in the light of a wider\nand deeper knowledge of the organism of speech, seems to attach an\nexaggerated importance to the peculiar predicative power presumed to\nbe inherent in verbs, and especially in the verb of existence. It is\nnow a well known fact that in the monosyllabic class of languages,\nin which a third part of the human race express their thoughts,\nthere is no distinction among the parts of speech. In Chinese, for\nexample, the word _ta_ expresses indifferently great, greatness, to\nbe great, to make great or magnify, greatly. It is only position\nthat determines in each case how the word is to be understood; thus\ntraditional convention assigns to _ta fu_ the meaning of \"a great\nman,\" and to _fu ta_ that of \"the man is great.\" Being habituated to\nthe constant use of the verb _is_ in such a case as the latter, we\nare apt to suppose that the expression derives its predicative force\nfrom its suggesting the verb of existence, which the mind\ninstinctively and necessarily supplies for itself. How little ground\nthere is for this presumed necessity, has been conclusively shown by\nthe late Mr. Garnett, in his profound and exhaustive essay on the\nNature and Analysis of the Verb. Speaking of the theory that makes\nthe essential difference between the verb and other parts of speech\nto reside in the verb substantive, which is to be supplied by the\nmind in all cases where the functions of the verb proper are to be\ncalled into requisition, he observes: \"This theory presupposes the\nexistence of a verb substantive in the languages in question, and\nconsciousness of that existence and of the force and capabilities of\nthe element in those who speak them. Unfortunately the Spanish\ngrammarians, to whom we are indebted for what knowledge we possess\nof the Philippine dialects, unanimously concur in stating that there\nis no verb substantive either in Tagal\u00e1, Pampanga, or Bisaya, nor\nany means of supplying the place of one, except the employment of\npronouns and particles. Mariner makes a similar remark respecting\nthe Tonga language; and we may venture to affirm that there is not\nsuch a thing as a true verb substantive in any one member of the\ngreat Polynesian family.\n\n\"It is true that the Malayan, Javanese and Malagassy grammarians\ntalk of words signifying _to be_; but an attentive comparison of the\nelements which they profess to give as such, shows clearly that they\nare no verbs at all, but simply pronouns or indeclinable particles,\ncommonly indicating the time, place or manner of the specified\naction or relation. It is not therefore easy to conceive how the\nmind of a Philippine islander, or of any other person, can supply a\nword totally unknown to it, and which there is not a particle of\nevidence to show that it ever thought of.\"\n\nOf the substitutes put in place of the substantive verb, by far the\nmost common are pronouns, and particles indicating position. Thus in\nCoptic, the descendant of the ancient Egyptian, the demonstrative\n_pe_, \"this,\" after a noun singular masculine, or _te_ when the noun\nis feminine, is equivalent to _is_; and _ne_, \"these,\" after a\nplural, to _are_. In the ancient hieroglyphic monuments the function\nof the substantive verb is performed by the same means. Even in the\nSemitic languages, which have substantive verbs, pronouns are\nhabitually used instead of them; so that _I I_, or _I he_, stands\nfor _I am_, and _we we_ or _we they_, for _we are_. \"Thou art my\nKing\" (Ps. 44, 5) is in the Hebrew \"Thou _he_ my King;\" \"We are the\nservants of the God of heaven\" (Ezra 5, 11) is in Chaldee \"We _they_\nservants of the God of heaven;\" \"I am the light of the world,\" is in\nArabic \"I _he_ the light of the world.\"\n\nAlthough such modes of expression are foreign to the Indo-European\nlanguages, even they furnish abundant evidence of the predicative\npower of pronouns and particles. If any word required to have\ninherent in it the peculiar affirmative power attributed to verbs,\nit is the word _yes_. Accordingly Tooke derives it from the French\nimperative _a-yez_: forgetting, or not knowing, that the Anglo-Saxon\n_gese_ or _yea_ (cognate with the Sanscrit pronoun _ya_) was in\nexistence long before the French _ayez_. The fact is that Eng.\n_yes_, Ger. _ja_, and the corresponding words in the other European\nlanguages are oblique cases of demonstrative pronouns, and mean\nsimply \"in this (manner),\" or \"thus.\" The Italian _si_ (yes) is from\nLat. _sic_, (thus); the Proven\u00e7al _oc_ is from Lat. _hoc_; and the\nmodern Fr. _oui_ was originally a combination of _hoc illo_, and\npassed through the stages of _ocil_ and _oil_ into its present form.\n\nThe consideration of these and a multitude of similar phenomena\nsuggests, that the Sanscrit _as-mi_, Gr. _ei-mi_, Lat. _s-um_ (for\n_es-um_), Eng. _a-m_, may have had for its root the demonstrative\npronoun _sa_, and meant primarily \"that (or there) as to me.\" Be\nthat as it may, all philologists are agreed that the verbs now used\nto express _being_ in the abstract, expressed originally something\nphysical and palpable. Thus Ital. _stato_, Fr. _\u00e9t\u00e9_, _been_, are\nfrom the Lat. _statum_, the participle of _sto_, \"to stand;\" and\n_exist_ itself meant \"to stand out or be prominent.\" Eng. _be_, Lat.\n_fu-_ is identical with Gr. _phy-_ \"to grow;\" and, according to Max\nM\u00fcller, as the root of _as-mi_ meant \"breath\" or \"breathing.\" It may\nthen be safely affirmed that no word had for its primary function to\nexpress mere existence; it seems enough for the purpose of\npredication that existence be implied.\n\nWith regard to ordinary verbs, the analytic processes of comparative\ngrammar show no traces of a substantive verb entering into their\nstructure. It is now an accepted doctrine of philology that, as a\nrule, the root of a verb is of the nature of an abstract noun; and\nthat it became a verb simply by the addition of a pronominal\naffix--as in the Greek [Greek: di/-d\u00f4-mi, di/-d\u00f4-s, di/-d\u00f4-si], in\nwhich the terminations were originally [Greek: -mi, -si, -ti]. The\nhabits of thought arising out of the present analytic state of the\nIndo-European languages naturally lead us to conceive these\npronominal affixes as nominatives. But _gift I_ does not seem a very\nnatural way of getting at the meaning \"I give;\" and therefore Mr.\nGarnett maintains that the affixes were originally in an oblique\ncase--the genitive or the instrumental--so that the literal meaning\nwas \"gift of me,\" or \"giving by me.\" That this is the nature of the\nverb in the agglutinate languages--by far the most numerous\nclass--it seems hardly possible to dispute; for in these the affixes\nremain rigidly distinct and little disguised. Thus, according to\nGarnett, the Wotiak, in order to express \"my son,\" \"thy son,\" &c.,\njoins oblique cases of the personal pronouns to the noun _pi_ in the\nfollowing way:--\n\n pi-[)i] .... son of me\n pi-ed . . . son of thee\n pi-ez . . . son of him\n pi-mi . . . son of us\n pi-dy . . . son of you\n pi-zy . . . son of them\n\nIn an exactly similar way the preterite of the verb to speak stands\nthus--\n\n bera-i . . . speech of me == I spoke\n bera-d . . . speech of thee\n bera-z . . . speech of him\n bera-my . . speech of us\n bera-dy . . speech of you\n bera-zy . . speech of them\n\nIn the Fiji language _loma_ means \"heart\" or \"will;\" and _loma-qu_\n(heart of me) may, according to the connection, signify either \"my\nheart or will,\" or \"I will.\"\n\nIn the inflected languages the affixes are so amalgamated with the\nroot and otherwise obliterated that there is no such direct evidence\nof their nature; but a great many facts tend to show that the\nstructure of the verb was originally the same as in the agglutinate\nfamily.\n\nIf this analysis of the verb is correct, the affirmation of\nexistence found no expression in the early stages of language; _the\nreal copula connecting the subject with the predicate was the\nproposition contained in the oblique case of the pronominal\naffix_.--_F._]\n\n[Editor's footnote 54: The interesting and important philological\nfacts adduced by Mr. Findlater, confirm and illustrate in a very\nstriking manner the doctrine in the text, of the radical distinction\nbetween the functions of the copula in predication, and those of the\nsubstantive verb; by shewing that many languages have no substantive\nverb, no verb expressive of mere *existence, and yet signify their\npredications by other means; and that probably all languages began\nwithout a substantive verb, though they must always have had\npredications.\n\nThe confusion between these two different functions in the European\nlanguages, and the ambiguity of the verb To Be, which fulfils them\nboth, are among the most important of the minor philosophical truths\nto which attention has been called by the author of the Analysis. As\nin the case of many other luminous thoughts, an approach is found to\nhave been made to it by previous thinkers. Hobbes, though he did not\nreach it, came very close to it, and it was still more distinctly\nanticipated by Laromigui\u00e8re, though without any sufficient\nperception of its value. It occurs in a criticism on a passage of\nPascal, and in the following words. \"Quand on dit, l'\u00eatre est,\n_etc._ le mot _est_, ou le verbe, n'exprime pas la m\u00eame chose que le\nmot \u00eatre, sujet de la d\u00e9finition. Si j'\u00e9nonce la proposition\nsuivante: Dieu est existant, je ne voudrais pas dire assur\u00e9ment,\nDieu existe existant: cela ne ferait pas un sens; de m\u00eame, si je\ndis que Virgile est po\u00ebte, je ne veux pas donner \u00e0 entendre que\nVirgile existe. Le verbe _est_, dans la proposition, n'exprime donc\npas l'existence r\u00e9elle; il n'exprime qu'un rapport sp\u00e9cial entre le\nsujet et l'attribut, le rapport du contenant au contenu,\" &c.\n(Le\u00e7ons de Philosophie, 7^{me} ed. vol. i. p. 307.) Having thus hit\nupon an unobvious truth in the course of an argument directed to\nanother purpose, he passes on and takes no further notice of it.\n\nIt may seem strange that the verb which signifies existence should\nhave been employed in so many different languages as the sign of\npredication, if there is no real connection between the two\nmeanings. But languages have been built up by the extension of an\noriginally small number of words, with or without alterations of\nform, to express new meanings, the choice of the word being often\ndetermined by very distant analogies. In the present case, the\nanalogy is not distant. All our predications are intended to declare\nthe manner in which something affects, or would affect, ourselves or\nothers. Our idea of existence is simply the idea of something which\naffects or would affect us somehow, without distinction of mode.\nEverything, therefore, which we can have occasion to assert of an\nexisting thing, may be looked upon as a particular mode of its\nexistence. Since snow is white, and since snow exists, it may be\nsaid to exist white; and if a sign was wanted by which to predicate\nwhite of snow, the word exists would be very likely to present\nitself. But most of our predications do relate to existing things:\nand this being so, it is in the ordinary course of the human mind\nthat the same sign should be adhered to when we are predicating\nsomething of a merely imaginary thing (an abstraction, for instance)\nand that, being so used, it should create an association between the\nabstraction and the notion of real existence.--_Ed._]\n\n{179} We have now observed, wherein Predication consists, and the\ninstruments by which it is performed. {180} We have also, in part,\ncontemplated the End which it is destined to fulfil; that is, to\nmark the order in which sensations and ideas follow one another in a\n{181} train. On this last part of the subject, however, the\nfollowing observations are still required.\n\nThe trains, the order of which we have occasion to {182} mark, may\nfor the elucidation of the present subject, be divided into two\nclasses. We have occasion to {183} mark, either, first, The series\nof the objects we have seen, heard, or otherwise perceived by our\nsenses; or, {184} secondly, A train of thoughts which may have\npassed in our minds.\n\n1. When we come to record a train of the objects we have perceived,\nthat is, a train of sensations, the sensations have become ideas;\nfor the objects are not now acting on our senses, and the sensations\nare at an end.\n\nThe order of the objects of our senses, is either the order of time,\nor the order of place. The first is the order of SUCCESSION; when\none object comes first, another next, and so on. The second is the\norder of POSITION; when the objects are considered as simultaneous,\nbut different in distance and direction from a particular point.\n\nLet us observe in what manner the artifice of {185} Predication is\nadapted to the marking of a train in either of those orders: and\nfirst, with respect to a train in the order of Time.\n\nOf this the following may be taken as a simple example. \"The sun\nrises; clouds form; clouds cover the sky; lightning flashes; thunder\nroars.\" It is easy in these expressions to observe, what were the\nsensations, and in what order they succeeded one another. It is also\nobservable, that the order is denoted by so many Predications; and\nthat Predication is our only expedient for denoting their order.\nFirst sensation, \"sight of the sun;\" second sensation, \"rising of\nthe sun;\" these two denoted shortly and in their order by the\nPredication, \"the sun rises.\" Third sensation, \"sight of clouds;\"\nfourth sensation, \"forming of clouds;\" these two again shortly\ndenoted in their order by the Predication, \"clouds form.\" The next,\n\"clouds cover the sky,\" needs no further explanation; but there is a\npeculiar artifice of language in the two following Predications;\n\"lightning flashes,\" \"thunder roars,\" which deserves to be well\nunderstood. \"Lightning flashes;\" here there is but one sensation,\nthe sensation of sight, which we call a flash. But there are various\nkinds of flashes; this is a peculiar one, and I want to mark\npeculiarly what it is. It is not a flash on the earth, but a flash\nin the sky; it will not, however, sufficiently distinguish the flash\nin question, to say, the sky flashes, because other flashes come\nfrom the sky. What then is my contrivance? I form the fancy of a\ncause of this particular flash, though I know nothing concerning it,\nand for this unknown cause I invent a name, and call it lightning. I\nhave then an expression which always accurately {186} marks the\nsensation I mean to denote: I say, \"the lightning flashes,\" \"a flash\nof lightning,\" and so on. \"Thunder roars,\" is another case of the\nsame artifice. The noise here is the only sensation; but in order to\ndistinguish it from all other noises, I invent a name for its\nunknown cause, and by its means can mark the sensation with perfect\nprecision.\n\nThe Fictions, after this manner resorted to, for the purpose of\nmarking; though important among the artifices of naming; have\ncontributed largely to the misdirection of thought.\n\nBy the unfortunate ambiguity of the _Copula_, EXISTENCE is affirmed\nof them in every Predication into which they enter. The idea of\nEXISTENCE becomes, by this means, inseparable from them; and their\ntrue nature, as Creatures of the mind, and nothing more, is rarely,\nand not without difficulty, perceived.\n\nThe mode in which a train, in the order of place, is marked by the\nartifice of Predication, may be thus exemplified: \"The house is on a\nhill; a lawn is in front; a stable is on the left hand; a garden is\non the right; a wood is behind.\" It is not necessary, after the\nexposition of the preceding example, to exhibit the detail of the\nmarking performed by these Predications. The reader can trace the\nsensations, the order of them, and the mode of the marking,\naccording to the specimen which has just been exhibited.\n\n2. The trains of thought which pass in our minds, are sequences, the\nitems of which are connected in three principal ways: 1st, as cause\nand effect; 2dly, as resembling; 3dly, as included under the same\nname. A short illustration of each of these cases will {187}\ncomplete the account of predication, as a contrivance for marking\nthe order of ideas.\n\nTo illustrate a sequence, connected as Cause and Effect, let me\nsuppose that I have a flint and steel in my hand, which I am about\nto strike, one against the other, but at that instant perceive a\nbarrel of gunpowder open, close before me. I withhold the stroke in\nconsequence of the train of thought which suggests to me the\nultimate effect. If I have occasion to mark the train, I can only do\nit by a series of Predications, each of which marks a sequence in\nthe train of causes and effects. \"I strike the flint on the steel,\"\nfirst sequence. \"The stroke produces a spark,\" second sequence. \"The\nspark falls on gunpowder,\" third sequence. \"The spark ignites the\ngunpowder,\" fourth sequence. \"The gunpowder ignited makes an\nexplosion,\" fifth sequence. The ideas contained in these\npropositions must all have passed through my mind, and this is the\nonly mode in which language enables me to mark them in their\norder.[55]\n\n[Editor's footnote 55: It is necessary again to notice the\nconsistent omission, throughout the author's theory of Predication,\nof the element Belief. In the case supposed, the ideas contained in\nall the propositions might have passed through the mind, without our\nbeing led to assert the propositions. I might have thought of every\nstep in the series of phenomena mentioned, might have pictured all\nof them in my imagination, and have come to the conclusion that they\nwould not happen. I therefore should not have made, either in words\nor in thought, the predication, This gunpowder will explode if I\nstrike the flint against the steel. Yet the same ideas would have\npassed through my mind in the same order, in which they stand in the\ntext. The only deficient link would have been the final one, the\nBelief.--_Ed._]\n\n{188} The sequences of which the items are connected by Resemblance\nwill not require much illustration. I see A, who suggests B to me by\nhis stature. B suggests C by the length of his nose. C suggests D by\nthe similarity of their profession, and so on. The series of my\nthoughts is sufficiently obvious. How do I proceed when I have\noccasion to mark it? I use a series of predications. \"I see A;\" this\npredication marks the first item, my sight of A. \"A is tall,\" the\nsecond. \"A man of like tallness is B,\" the third; and so on.\n\nThe mode in which thoughts are united in a Syllogism, is the leading\nexample of the third case. Let us consider the following very\nfamiliar instance. \"Every tree is a vegetable: every oak is a tree:\ntherefore, every oak is a vegetable.\" This is evidently a process of\nnaming. The primary idea is that of the object called an oak; from\nthe name oak, I proceed to the name tree, finding that the name oak,\nis included in the name tree; and from the name tree, I proceed to\nthe name vegetable, finding that the name tree is included in the\nname vegetable, and by consequence the name oak. This is the series\nof thoughts, which is marked in order, by the three propositions or\npredications of the syllogism.[56]\n\n[Editor's footnote 56: For the present I shall only remark on this\ntheory of the syllogism, that it must stand or fall with the theory\nof Predication of which it is the sequel. If, as I have maintained,\nthe propositions which are the premises of the syllogism are not\ncorrectly described as mere processes of naming, neither is the\nformula by which a third proposition is elicited from these two a\nprocess of mere naming. What it is, will be considered\nhereafter.--_Ed._]\n\n{189} The Predications of Arithmetic are another instance of the\nsame thing. \"One and one are two.\" This again is a mere process of\nnaming. What I call one and one, in numbering things, are objects,\nsensations, or clusters of sensations; suppose, the striking of the\nclock. The same sounds which I call one and one, I call also two; I\nhave for these sensations, therefore, two names which are exactly\nequivalent: so when I say, one and one and one are three: or when I\nsay, two and two are four: ten and ten are twenty: and the same when\nI put together any two numbers whatsoever. The series of thoughts in\nthese instances is merely a series of names applicable to the same\nthing, and meaning the same thing.\n\nBeside the two purposes of language, of which I took notice at the\nbeginning of this inquiry; the recording of a man's thoughts for his\nown use, and the communication of them to others; there is a use, to\nwhich language is subservient, of which some account is yet to be\ngiven. There are complex sensations, and complex ideas, made up of\nso many items, that one is not distinguishable from another. Thus, a\nfigure of one hundred sides, is not distinguishable from one of\nninety-nine sides. A thousand men in a crowd are not distinguishable\nfrom nine hundred and ninety-nine. But in all cases, in which the\ncomplexity of the idea arises from the repetition of the same idea,\nnames can be invented upon a plan, which shall render them distinct,\nup to the very highest degree of complication. Numbers are a set of\nnames contrived upon this plan, and for this very purpose. Ten and\nthe numbers below ten, are the repetition of so many ones: twenty,\nthirty, forty, &c., up to a hundred, are {190} the repetition of so\nmany tens: two hundred, three hundred, &c., the repetition of so\nmany hundreds; and so on. These are names, which afford an immediate\nreference to the ones or units, of which they are composed; and the\nhighest numbers are as easily distinguished by the difference of a\nunit as the lowest. All the processes of Arithmetic are only so many\ncontrivances to substitute a distinct name for an indistinct one.\nWhat, for example, is the purpose of addition? Suppose I have six\nnumbers, of which I desire to take the sum, 18, 14, 9, 25, 19, 15;\nthese names, eighteen, and fourteen, and nine, &c., form a compound\nname; but a name which is not distinct. By summing them up, I get\nanother name, exactly equivalent, one hundred, which is in the\nhighest degree distinct, and gives me an immediate reference to the\nunits or items of which it is composed; and this is of the highest\nutility.\n\nThat the Predications of Geometry are of the same nature with those\nof Arithmetic, is a truth of the greatest importance, and capable of\nbeing established by very obvious reasoning. It is well known, that\nall reasoning about quantity can be expressed in the form of\nalgebraic equations. But the two sides of an algebraic equation are\nof necessity two marks or two names for the same thing; of which the\none on the right-hand side is more distinct, at least to the present\npurpose of the inquirer, than the one on the left-hand side; and the\nwhole purpose of an algebraic investigation, which is a mere series\nof changes of names, is to obtain, at last, a distinct name, a name\nthe marking power of which is perfectly known to us, on the\nright-hand side of the equation. The language of geometry {191}\nitself, in the more simple cases, makes manifest the same\nobservation. The amount of the three angles of a triangle, is twice\na right angle. I arrive at this conclusion, as it is called, by a\nprocess of reasoning: that is to say, I find out a name \"twice a\nright angle,\" which much more distinctly points out to me a certain\nquantity, than my first name, \"amount of the three angles of a\ntriangle;\" and the process by which I arrive at this name is a\nsuccessive change of names, and nothing more; as any one may prove\nto himself by merely observing the steps of the demonstration.[57]\n\n[Editor's footnote 57: I cannot see any propriety in the expression\nthat when we infer the sum of the three angles of a triangle to be\ntwice a right angle, the operation consists in finding a second name\nwhich more distinctly points out the quantity than the first name.\nWhen we assent to the proof of this theorem, we do much more than\nobtain a new and more expressive name for a known fact; we learn a\nfact previously unknown. It is true that one result of our knowledge\nof this theorem is to give us a name for the sum of the three\nangles, \"the marking power of which is perfectly known to us:\" but\nit was not for want of knowing the marking power of the phrase \"sum\nof the three angles of a triangle\" that we did not know what that\nsum amounted to. We knew perfectly what the expression \"sum of the\nthree angles\" was appointed to mark. What we have obtained, that we\ndid not previously possess, is not a better mark for the same thing,\nbut an additional fact to mark the fact which is marked by\npredicating of that sum, the phrase \"twice a right angle.\"--_Ed._]\n\nThere is one important class of words, the NAMES of NAMES; of which\nwe shall have occasion to take account more particularly hereafter,\nand of which it is necessary here to speak only as they form a\nvariety of Predication. A few examples will make the case {192}\nintelligible. WORD is a generical name for all Names. It is not the\nname of a Thing, as chair is the name of a thing, or watch, or\npicture. But word is a _name_ for these several _names_; chair is a\nword, watch is a word, picture is a word, and so of all other names.\nThus grammatical and logical terms are names of names. The word\n_noun_, is the name of one class of words, _verb_ of another,\n_preposition_ of another, and so on. The word _sentence_, is the\nname of a series of words put together for a certain purpose; the\nword _paragraph_ the same; and so _oration_, _discourse_, _essay_,\n_treatise_, &c. The words _genus_ and _species_, are not names of\nthings, but of names. Genus is not the name of any thing called\nanimal or any thing called body; it is a name of the _names_ animal,\nbody, and so on; the _name_ animal is a _genus_, the name _body_ is\na _genus_; and in like manner is the _name_ man a _species_, the\n_name_ horse, the name crow, and so on. The name _proposition_, the\nname _syllogism_, are names of a series of words put together for a\nparticular purpose; and so is the term _definition_; and the term\n_argument_. It will be easily seen that these words enter into\nPredication precisely on the same principles as other words. Either\nthe more distinct is predicated of the less distinct, its\nequivalent; or the more comprehensive of the less comprehensive.\nThus we say, that nouns and verbs are declinables; preposition and\nadverb indeclinables; where the more comprehensive terms are\npredicated of the less. Thus we say, that adjectives and verbs are\nattributes; where the more distinct is predicated of the less.[58]\n\n[Editor's footnote 58: This exposition of the class of words which\nare properly names of names, belongs originally to Hobbes, and is\nhighly {193} important. They are a kind of names, the signification\nof which is very often misunderstood, and has given occasion to much\nhazy speculation. It should however be remarked that the words genus\nand species are not solely names of names; they are ambiguous. A\ngenus never indeed means (as many of the schoolmen supposed) an\nabstract entity, distinct from all the individuals composing the\nclass; but it often means the sum of those individuals taken\ncollectively; the class as a whole, distinguished on the one hand\nfrom the single objects comprising it, and on the other hand from\nthe class name.--_Ed._]\n\n\n{194} SECTION V.\n\nPRONOUNS.\n\n\nThe principal part of the artifice of Naming is now explained. We\nhave considered the nature of the more necessary marks, and the\nmanner in which they are combined so as to represent the order of a\ntrain. Beside those marks, which are the fundamental part of\nlanguage, there are several classes of auxiliary words or marks, the\nuse of which is, to abbreviate expression, and to render it, what is\nof great importance, a more rapid vehicle of thought. These are\nusually comprehended under the titles of pronoun, adverb,\npreposition, and conjunction; a classification which, for our\npresent purpose, has the best recommendation, that of being\nfamiliarly known.\n\nIt is to be distinctly understood, that in the account which is here\nto be given of the subsidiary parts of speech, it is but one part of\nthe explanation of them which will be attempted. The ideas, which\nmany of them stand for, are of the most complicated kind, and have\nnot yet been expounded. We are, therefore, not yet prepared to point\nout the items which they mark. Our present business is only to\nindicate the mode in which they are used in Predication, as part of\nthe great contrivance for marking the order of a train of ideas, and\nfor economizing the number of words.\n\nIt is also necessary to observe, that I have limited myself, in this\npart, to brief indications, without {195} going into minute\ndevelopment, the length of which, it appeared to me, would not be\ncompensated by the advantage.\n\nIn all speech *there is a _speaker_; there is some _person spoken\nto_; and there is some _person_ or _thing spoken of_. These\nobjects constitute three Classes, marks of which are perpetually\nrequired. Any artifice, therefore, to abridge the use of marks, of\nsuch frequent recurrence, was highly to be desired. One expedient\noffered itself obviously, as likely to prove of the highest utility.\nSpeakers constituted one class, with numerous names; persons spoken\nto, a second class; persons and things spoken of, a third. A\ngenerical name might be invented for each class; a name, which would\ninclude all of a class, and which singly might be used as the\nsubstitute of many. For this end were the Personal Pronouns invented\nand such is their character and office. \"I,\" is the generical mark\nwhich includes all marks of the class, _speakers_. \"Thou,\" is a\ngenerical mark, which includes all marks of the class, _persons\nspoken to_. \"He,\" \"she,\" \"it,\" are marks, which include all marks of\nthe class, _persons_ or _things spoken of_.\n\nBy forming Adjectives from certain kinds of Nouns we obtain a useful\nclass of specific names. From wool we make woollen; and woollen,\nattached to various generic names, furnishes us with specific names;\nthus we say woollen cloth, which is a species of cloth; woollen\nyarn, which is a species of yarn; woollen garment, which is a\nspecies of garment. So, from the word gold we make golden, which\nfurnishes us with a greater number of specific names; from wood\nwooden, which furnishes us with a still greater number. Adjectives\nare {196} formed in like manner from the personal pronouns: from I,\nmy or mine; from Thou, thy or thine; from He, She, It, his, hers,\nits; also from the plurals of them, ours, yours, theirs. These\nadjectives answer a purpose of very frequent recurrence; that of\nsingling out, from any class of objects, a sub-class, or an\nindividual, bearing a peculiar relation, to the _person speaking_,\nthe _person spoken to_, or the _person_ or _thing spoken of_. Thus,\nwhen I say, my sheep or my oxen, I denote a sub-class of those\nanimals, those which stand in the relation of property to the\nspeaker; when I say thy sheep or oxen, I denote a sub-class in the\nsame relation to the person spoken to; and when I say his sheep or\noxen, a sub-class, standing in that relation to the person spoken\nof. When I say my son, thy wife, his father, I single out\nindividuals having that relation.\n\nThe Demonstrative Pronouns, This and That, are of great utility.\nThey serve to individualize any thing in a class. One of these marks\nput upon a specific mark, makes it an individual mark. Thus, the\nmark \"man,\" is the name of a class: put upon it the mark this, or\nthat; this man, and that man, are marks, signs, or names, of\nindividuals. In this manner innumerable individual names can be\nmade, without adding a single word to the cumbrous materials of\nlanguage.\n\nThe nature of the Relative Pronoun is not difficult to understand.\nIt supplies the place of a personal pronoun and a conjunction, in\nconnecting a Predication with the subject, or predicate of another\nproposition. Thus, \"John received a wound, which occasioned his\ndeath,\" is of the same import as \"John received a wound, _and it_\noccasioned his death.\" This {197} is a case in which the Relative\nconnects a subsequent predication with the _predicate_ of an\nantecedent predication. The following are cases in which it connects\na subordinate predication with the _subject_ of the principal one:\n\"Erasmus, _who_ was a lover of truth, but of a timid character,\nhesitated between the new and the old religion.\" Erasmus, _and he_\nwas a lover of truth, &c. \"The man _who_ spoke to you is my father.\"\n\"The man spoke to you, _and he_ is my father.\"[59]\n\n[Findlater's footnote 59: There is really no well marked distinction\nbetween relative pronouns and demonstrative pronouns, either in\ntheir origin or in their use. Of the demonstrative roots _ka_, _sa_,\n_ta_, _ja_, derivatives from the *guttural _ka_ prevail as relatives\nin Latin and its modern descendants (Lat. _qui_, It. _che_, Fr.\n_qui_), and in the Teutonic languages (Goth. _hva_, Eng. _who_, Ger.\n_wer_, _welch_), but by no means exclusively. In Greek the relative\ndiffers little from the article, which is also used as a\ndemonstrative and a personal pronoun. Modern Italian uses as a\ndemonstrative a compound of the Latin _qui_ with _iste_ and\n_illa_--_questo_, _quella_. In German the relative proper, viz.\n_welch_, is comparatively little used, its place being supplied by\nthe article _der_, which is merely an unemphatic demonstrative; and\nin English _that_ is perhaps as often used as who or which.\n\nThe relative serves for two purposes, which it is useful to\ndistinguish. (1) It may add on either a clause containing an\nindependent proposition, as in the example in the text, \"John\nreceived a wound, which occasioned his death;\" or a clause dependent\nin some way upon the preceding--_e.g._ assigning the reason of it,\nas, \"It was unjust to punish the servant, who only did what he was\nordered.\" (2) The clause introduced by the relative may serve simply\nto limit or define a noun, in the way that an adjective or another\nnoun in apposition does, as \"The man who spoke to you is my father.\"\nIt is in this latter use of the relative, and in no other, that it\nis permissible in English to use _that_; to substitute _that_ for\n_which_ in the first of the other two sentences, or for _who_ in the\nsecond, would give a different meaning. Now it is only in the cases\nin which _that_ could not be substituted for who or which that the\nrelative involves the force of a conjunction; and it is not always\n_and_ that is the conjunction involved. The conjunction has no\nverbal expression, and never had; it is only suggested, and the mind\nsupplies that which best suits the logical connection. When the\npredication of the relative clause is co-ordinate with the\npreceding, as in the first example, _and_ is the proper conjunction\nto supply. In the sentence about the punishment of the servant,\n_who_ is equivalent to _for he_; and in that about Erasmus, in the\ntext, to _inasmuch as he_. When the relative clause merely defines,\nno conjunction of any kind is even implied. In such a sentence as\n\"He rewarded the man that rescued him,\" the relative clause is the\nanswer to a question naturally suggested by \"He rewarded the\nman\"--what man? \"The or that (man) rescued him;\" which is equivalent\nto, \"his rescuer.\" To resolve it into \"And that man rescued him,\"\ngives quite a different meaning; namely, that he rewarded some man\n(otherwise known to the hearers) for something (likewise known to\nthem), and that this man now rescued him.--_F._]\n\n{198} The Interrogative is easily explained. It is merely the\nRelative, in a very elliptical form of expression. The interrogative\nsentence, \"_Who_ gave you that book?\" when the subaudition is\nsupplied, is thus expressed: The person gave you the book, _and him_\nI will you to name to me. \"_What_ is the hour of the day?\" is an\nelliptical form of,--It is an hour of the day, _and it_ I will you\nto tell me.\n\n\n{199} SECTION VI.\n\nADVERBS.\n\n\nThe power of this class of words, in the great business of marking,\nand the extent of the service rendered by them, will be so easily\nseen, that a few words will suffice to explain them. Adverbs may be\nreduced under five heads; 1, Adverbs of Time; 2, Adverbs of Place;\n3, Adverbs of Quantity; 4, Adverbs of Quality; 5, Adverbs of\nRelation. They are mostly abridgments, capable of being substituted\nfor longer marks. And they are always employed for the purpose of\nputting a modification upon the Subject, or the Predicate, of a\nProposition. A few examples will suffice for the further elucidation\nof this subject. \"Anciently,\" is an adverb of time. It is of the\nsame import as the expression, \"In distant past time.\" It is applied\nto modify the subject, or predicate, of a proposition, as in the\nfollowing example: \"A number of men anciently in England had wives\nin common.\" \"Had wives in common,\" is the predicate of the above\nproposition, and it is modified, or limited, in respect to time, by\nthe word \"anciently.\" Adverbs of place it is easy to exemplify in\nthe same manner. Under adverbs of quantity all those which mark\ndegrees may be included; as greatly, minutely: Thus, \"He enlarged\ngreatly upon patriotism:\" \"Greatly\" here means \"in many words;\" and\nit modifies the predicate, \"enlarged,\" &c. Adverbs of {200} quality\nand relation are exceedingly numerous, because they are easily made\nfrom the words which connote the quality or relation: thus, from\nhard, hardly; from loud, loudly; from sweet, sweetly; from warm,\nwarmly: again, from father, paternally; from son, filially; from\nmagistrate, magisterially; from high, highly; from expensive,\nexpensively; and so on. In all this no difficulty is presented which\nrequires removing.[60]\n\n[Editor's footnote 60: In many cases, and even in some of the\nexamples given, the adverb does not modify either the subject or the\npredicate, but the application of the one to the other. \"Anciently,\"\nin the proposition cited, is intended to limit and qualify not men,\nnor community of wives, but the practice by men of community of\nwives: it is a circumstance affecting not the subject or the\npredicate, but the predication. The qualification of past and\ndistant time attaches to the fact asserted, and to the copula, which\nis the mark of assertion. The reason of its seeming to attach to the\npredicate is because, as the author remarked in a previous section,\nthe predicate, when a verb, includes the copula.--_Ed._]\n\n\n{201} SECTION VII.\n\nPREPOSITIONS.\n\n\nIt is easy to see in what manner Prepositions are employed to\nabridge the process of discourse. They render us the same service\nwhich, we have seen, is rendered by adjectives, in affording the\nmeans of naming minor classes, taken out of larger, with a great\neconomy of names. Thus, when we say, \"a man with a black skin,\" this\ncompound name, \"a man with a black skin;\" is the name of a\nsub-class, taken out of the class man; and when we say, \"a black man\nwith a flat nose and woolly hair;\" this still more compound name is\nthe name of a minor class, taken out of the sub-class, \"men with a\nblack skin.\"\n\nPrepositions always stand before some word of the class called by\ngrammarians nouns substantive. And these nouns substantive they\nconnect with other nouns substantive, with adjectives, or with\nverbs. We shall consider the use of them, in each of those cases.\n\n1. Substantives are united to Substantives by prepositions, on\npurpose to mark something added, something taken away, something\npossessed or owned. Thus, a man with a dog, a horse without a\nsaddle, a man of wealth, a man of pleasure, and so on.\n\nIt was first shewn by Mr. Horne Tooke, that prepositions, in their\norigin, are verbs, or nouns. Thus the prepositions in English, which\nnote the modifications effected by adding to, or taking from, were\n{202} originally concrete words, which, beside something connoted by\nthem, marked particularly _junction_, or _disjunction_. In the use\nof them as prepositions, that part of their signification, which we\nhave called the connotation, has been dropped; and the notation\nalone remains. Prepositions, therefore, are a sort of abstract\nterms, to answer a particular purpose. To express my idea of a man\nwith a dog (a very complex idea, consisting of two clusters; one,\nthat which is marked by the term man; the other, that which is\nmarked by the term dog); it is not enough that I set down the term\nMan, and the term Dog; it is necessary, besides, that I have a mark\nfor that particular _junction_ of them, which my mind is making. For\nthat mark I use the preposition \"with.\" \"Without\" denotes\ndisjunction in a similar manner, and requires no further\nexplanation. The preposition \"of,\" by which possession or ownership\nis denoted, (formerly, as remarked by Mr. Gilchrist, written _og_,\n_oc_, _ac_, &c.), is _eke_, or add. If we suppose that our verb\n_have_ is of the same origin, _of_ is merely the verb, which\nsignifies possessing; and the learner may thus conceive the nature\nof its different applications.[7*] \"A man of wealth,\" a man hav(ing)\nwealth; \"a field of ten acres,\" a field hav(ing) ten acres; so, \"a\nhouse of splendour;\" \"a woman of gallantry;\" in all of which cases,\nbeside the two clusters of ideas, marked by the two names which the\npreposition connects, there is an idea of possession coming between.\n\n[*Mill's footnote 7: See note at p. 209.]\n\nHere, however, a peculiarity is to be noted. When there is a\npossessor, there is something possessed. {203} The preposition,\ntherefore, which marks the relation between the possessor and the\npossessed, stands ambiguously between the active and the passive\npower. It, therefore, partakes more of the active or the passive\nsignification, according to the position of the words which it is\nemployed to connect. In the instances previously given, we have seen\nthat it had clearly an active signification. In the following it has\nclearly a passive. \"The book of John;\" the book _of_, hav(ed) John.\n\"The Creator of the world;\" Creator hav(ed). \"The wealth of\nCroesus;\" wealth hav(ed).\n\nOf is employed in a partitive sense, when one of the words denotes a\npart of the other; as \"half of the army;\" \"many of the people;\"\n\"much of the loss.\" In this case the idea of possession is\nsufficiently obvious to support the analogy. The parts are\npossessed, had, by the whole. \"Part of the debt,\" part hav(ed) the\ndebt.\n\nIt is easy to see how the preposition with a substantive, serves the\npurpose of a new adjective. Thus, in the expression, \"a man with one\neye,\" the words, \"with one eye,\" might have been supplied by an\nadjective, having the same meaning or marking power; and the French\nlanguage actually has such an adjective, in the mark _borgne_. We\nsay, a man with red hair, and we have the adjective, red-haired; a\nman of wealth, and we have the adjective, wealthy; a man of\nstrength, and we have the adjective, strong; cases which distinctly\nexemplify our observation.\n\n2. We come now to shew in what manner, and with what advantage,\nprepositions are employed to connect Substantives with Adjectives.\nThe following {204} classes of adjectives will furnish sufficient\nillustration of this part of the subject: 1, Adjectives of place or\nposition; *2, Adjectives of time or succession; 3, Adjectives\nsignifying profit or disprofit; 4, Adjectives of plenty or want; 5,\nAdjectives signifying an affection or state of the mind.\n\nAdjectives of position, such as near, distant, high, low, have the\nordinary power of adjectives, as marks upon marks; and an additional\npower, which will best be explained by examples. When we say \"a\ndistant house,\" \"a neighbouring town;\" the words \"distant,\" and\n\"neighbouring,\" are not only marks upon \"house,\" and \"town,\" but\nrefer to something else: \"a _distant_ house,\" is a house distant\nfrom _something_; \"a _neighbouring_ town,\" is a town neighbouring\n_something_: it may mean \"a house distant from my house,\" \"a town\nneighbouring my house:\" in these cases, we should say that the\nadjective has both a notation, and a connotation. The adjective\n_distant_, for example, notes _house_, and connotes _my house_;\nneighbouring, notes _town_, connotes _my house_. It is next,\nhowever, to be observed, that the connotation, in such cases, would\nbe vague without a mark to determine it. The expression would be\nvery imperfect, if, after the word high, we were merely to put the\nword \"hill;\" and say, \"the house is high the hill;\" or, \"the house\nis distant the post-town.\" Prepositions supply this defect. We say,\n\"the house is high _on_ the hill;\" \"the house is distant _from_ the\npost-town.\" In the case of some adjectives, their juxta-position\nmakes the reference sufficiently precise; and in that case, the\npreposition may be dispensed with; as, near the town, near the road,\n&c.\n\n{205} It is observable, that the adjectives of position are not\nnumerous. Some very general ones are used; and the sub-species are\nformed out of them by the aid of prepositions. Thus we have the word\nplaced, which includes all positions; and this, joined with a\nsubstantive and a preposition, marks positions of all kinds: thus we\ncan say, placed on the right hand, placed on the left hand, placed\nbehind the house, placed before the house, placed above it, placed\nbelow it, placed in it, and so on.\n\nIt is not my intention to inquire into the precise meaning of each\nof the prepositions. It is sufficient to have given a sample of the\ninquiry, as in the case of the prepositions which connect\nsubstantives with substantives; and to have shewn the mode of their\nsignification, as a kind of abstract terms, either active or\npassive.\n\nThe varieties of time or succession are not many, and the words to\ndenote them, proportionally few. Previous, simultaneous, posterior,\nare the principal adjectives; and the terms to which these words of\nreference point, are marked by prepositions: thus we say, previous\nto, simultaneous to, and also with; \"with,\" as we have seen,\ndenoting junction, sameness of time.\n\nAdjectives of profit or disprofit, need prepositions to mark their\nconnexion with the things benefited or hurt; as, hurtful to the\ncrop; good for the health. These adjectives afford a good example of\nthe manner in which generical adjectives are divided into numerous\nsub-species, without the inconvenience of new names, by the aid of\nthe prepositions: thus, hurtful, which notes all kinds of\nhurtfulness, is made to note {206} its various species, in the\nfollowing manner: hurtful to the health, hurtful to the eyes,\nhurtful to the stomach, hurtful to the crops, hurtful to the\nreputation: all different species of hurtfulness, which might be\nnoted by adjectives severally appropriated to them.\n\nThere is nothing particular to be remarked of the manner in which\nadjectives of plenty, or want, or those signifying an affection of\nthe mind, are connected with the objects they connote, by\nprepositions; we shall, therefore, proceed to shew the manner in\nwhich verbs are connected with substantives, by their means.\n\n3. All verbs are adjectives, either active or passive, put into a\nparticular form, for the sake of a particular connotation. All\nactions, saving those which begin and end in the actor, have a\nreference to a patient, or something acted on; and the being acted\non; the passion as it is called; has a reference to the actor.\nAction, therefore, and passion, are relative terms, standing in the\norder of cause and effect; agent and patient, are the names of the\nsubjects of the action and the passion, the cause and the effect.\n\nMost actions are motions, or named by analogy to motions. In\napplying terms denoting motion, there is particular occasion for\nmarking the two points of termination; the point at which it began,\nand the point at which it ended. This is effected by the name of the\ntwo places, and a preposition. The contrivance will be sufficiently\nillustrated by an obvious example: \"John travelled from London to\nDover:\" \"Travelled,\" the name of the motion; London, the point of\ncommencement; Dover, the point of termination: from, a word denoting\ncommencement, {207} connecting London with travelled; to, a word\nsignifying completion, connecting the word Dover, with the word\ntravelled.\n\nSome verbs, which imply motion, have their main, or only reference,\nto the point of its termination. Thus, he stopped at Dover: he\nstruck him on the head: he stabbed him in the side. These\nprepositions, whatever their precise import, which we shall not now\nstop to inquire, mark, when thus applied to the name of the place at\nwhich the respective motions terminated, the connexion of the two\nnames, that of the motion, and that of its point of termination.\n\nWith respect to motions, we have occasion to mark, not only the\npoints of their commencement and termination, but also their\ndirection. The direction of a motion, by which we mean the position\nof the moving body, at the several points of its course, can only be\nmarked by a reference to other bodies, whose position is known.\nThus, \"He walked through the field.\" The direction of the walk, or\nthe position of the walking man, at the several moments of it, is\nmarked by a reference to the field whose position is known to me,\nand a word which means from side to side. The expression, \"It flew\nin a straight line,\" is less full and particular in its marking, but\nclear and distinct, as far as it goes, by reference to a\nmodification of position; namely, a line, with which I am perfectly\nfamiliar.\n\nIn using verbs of action and passion, that is, words which mark a\ncertain cluster of ideas, we have occasion to modify such clusters,\nby adding to, or taking from them, not only ideas of Position, as\nabove, but various other ideas; of which the idea of {208} the\nCause, or End, of the action, the idea of the Instrument with which\nit was performed, and the idea of the Manner of the performance, are\namong the principal. \"John worked;\" to this, a mark of a certain\ncluster of ideas, I want to make an addition, that of the Cause or\nEnd of his working. That End is, Bread. To mark this as the cause of\nhis working, it is not enough to set down the name bread; I need a\nmark to fix its connexion with the working, and the kind of its\nconnexion. I say, \"John worked for (cause) bread.\" \"John was robbed\nfor (cause of the robbery) his money.\" The ideas of manner and\ninstrument are commonly annexed by one preposition; \"John worked\nwith (joining) diligence,\" the manner; \"John worked with a spade,\"\nthe same idea, as \"John with (joined) a spade worked;\" spade, the\ninstrument. \"John worked by the job, worked by the day;\" manner:\n\"John worked by machinery,\" the instrument. \"He was killed with\nbarbarity, with a cudgel.\"\n\nWe say, done with hurry, or in a hurry, done in haste. \"In,\" which\nseems to mark a modification of position, is here applied to that\nwhich does not admit of position. Hurry and haste seem in such\nexpressions to be personified; to be things which surround an\naction, and in the midst of which it is done.\n\nWe have compound names for many actions. Thus we may say, \"he hurt\nJohn,\" or \"he did hurt to John,\" \"he gave a lecture to John,\" or,\n\"he lectured John.\" The reason why a preposition is required before\nthe patient, in the case of the compound name of the action, and not\nof the single name, is, that the word which stands with respect to\nthe verb in the {209} immediate relation of the recipient or patient\nof the action, is not the man, but the thing done. Thus, in the\nphrase, \"he did hurt to John,\" it is not John which is done, but\nhurt: in the phrase, \"he gave a lecture to John,\" it is not John who\nis given, but a lecture. There are here as it were, two patients,\nlecture, the primary, John, the secondary; juxta-position marks the\nconnexion of the primary; but a preposition is necessary, to mark\nthat of the secondary.\n\nThe following phrases seem to admit of a similar explanation. \"He\nreminded him of his promise;\" \"he accused him of perjury;\" \"he\ndeprived him of his wife:\" the secondary patients being \"promise,\"\n\"perjury,\" \"wife.\" He reminded him of his promise (hav(ed) his\npromise); the promise being the thing had or conceived in the\nreminding: accused him of perjury; perjury being the thing had in\nthe accusation, the matter of the accusation: deprived him of his\nwife; his wife being the matter of the deprivation; the thing\nhav(ed) in it.[61]\n\n[Findlater's footnote 61: The ingenious speculations of Mr. Tooke\ndid great service to the cause of philology in England, by awakening\na very general interest in the subject. But his knowledge of the\ncognate languages was far too circumscribed to warrant his sweeping\ninductions. In his day, in fact, the accesses had not yet been\nopened up to this new mine, nor the right veins struck that have\nsince yielded such rich results. Accordingly nearly all Tooke's\nderivations are now discredited, and among others his account of\nprepositions. One or two English prepositions, of comparatively\nrecent formation, seem to be formed from nouns; as _among_ Ang. Sax.\n_gemang_ or _ongemang_, _gemang_ meaning \"mixture;\" and _against_,\nAng. Sax. _on-gegen_ in which _gegen_, from its use in cognate\ndialects, appears to be {210} a noun, though its primary meaning is\nnot very clear. These however still involve a preposition which has\nto be accounted for. _Between_, again, is _by twain_, \"near two;\"\nand _except_, _save_, _during_ were originally participles in the\ncase absolute; \"except this\" was originally \"this excepted,\" Lat.\nhoc excepto. But the simple prepositions _in_, _of_, _by_ belong to\nthe radical elements of language, and are more independent of nouns\nand verbs than nouns and verbs are of them. Comparative philology,\nwhich did not exist in Tooke's days, has shewn, that, besides\npredicative roots, as they are called--that is syllables expressive\nof some action or property, such as \"to go,\" \"to eat,\" \"to be\nbright,\" \"to speak,\" &c., which form the bases of nouns, adjectives,\nand verbs--there was a class of roots denoting simply relations in\nspace, that is, place or direction (here or this, there or that, up,\ndown, away, &c.). It is easy to see how the audible marks of such\nnotions, at first, doubtless, vague enough, would be rendered\nprecise and intelligible by gesticulations; or perhaps the\ngesticulations were the original signs, and the words mere\ninvoluntary exclamations accompanying them, and in time taking their\nplace. These syllables have been called local, demonstrative, or\npronominal roots, and play a most important part in language. They\nare joined to other roots to form derivatives of various kinds; and\nit is of them that the inflexional endings of nouns and verbs are\nbuilt up. Singly or in combination, they constitute the pronouns,\npersonal as well as demonstrative. Abstract as are now the meanings\nof _I_, _he_, they were once patent to the senses; _ma_ was an\nemphatic \"here,\" calling attention to the speaker; _sa_ or _ta_,\n\"there, that,\" something different from both speaker and hearer.\nMost of the prepositions originated in roots of this class. The\nroots of some of them, at least, are identical with those of\npronouns; others express direction, and thus imply motion. Thus _up_\nmeans, \"(motion) from below to above;\" in the root FR (as in _for_,\n_from_), which is represented in Sans. Gr. and Lat. by PR (pro), the\nground idea is, motion or removal from the speaker, in the front\ndirection. _Of_ is the Gothic _af_, Old Ger. _aba_ or _apa_, Sans.\n_apa_, Gr. [Greek: a)po\\] {211} Lat. _a_ or _ab_. It is not easy to\ndetermine the precise physical relation primarily expressed by this\nparticle; probably \"proceeding from,\" or \"descending or depending\nfrom.\" If there is any connection between _of_ and _have_, it is\nmore likely that _have_ is derived from _of_ than the reverse. That\nnot a few verbs have this kind of origin, is now recognised; the\nEnglish _utter_ from _out_ is a signal example.\n\nThe primary relations expressed by prepositions were always physical\nor sensible; but the transition to the abstruse mental relations\nwhich they now serve to mark (cause instrumentality, superiority,\n&c.) is, as a rule, sufficiently obvious. For example, \"issuing or\nproceeding from\" passes insensibly into \"being part of,\" \"belonging\nto,\" \"in the possession of.\"--_F._]\n\n\n{212} SECTION VIII.\n\nCONJUNCTIONS.\n\n\nThe Conjunctions are distinguished from the Prepositions, by\nconnecting Predications; while the Prepositions connect only Words.\n\nThere are seeming exceptions, however, to this description, the\nnature of which ought to be understood. They are all of one kind;\nthey all belong to those cases of Predication, in which either the\nsubject or the predicate consists of enumerated particulars; and in\nwhich the Conjunction is employed to mark the enumeration. Thus we\nsay, \"Four, and four, and two, are ten.\" Here the _subject_ of the\npredication consists of three enumerated particulars, and the\nconjunction seems to connect words, and not predications. In like\nmanner, we say, \"His bag was full of hares, and pheasants, and\npartridges.\" In this last case, the _predicate_ is composed of\nenumerated particulars. In these instances, the words called\nconjunctions, appear to perform the business of prepositions, in\njoining _words_: and in fact, they may be supplied by prepositions.\nThus, instead of \"four, and four, and two, are ten,\" we may say\n\"four, with four, with two, are ten:\" and, in the same way, \"His bag\nwas full of hares, and pheasants, and partridges,\" may be put \"full\nof hares, with pheasants, with partridges.\" And nothing can be more\nsimple than such a variety in the use of such words.\n\n{213} _With_ means _join_; _and_ means _add_.[62] These are words of\nthe same kind, and the same import; and nothing but use has\nappropriated the one to the joining of words rather than\npredications, the other to the joining of predications rather than\nwords.\n\n[Findlater's footnote 62: This is according to Tooke's etymology,\nwho traces _and_ to an Ang. Sax. verb _anan_, to add. Unfortunately,\nAnglo-Saxon scholars deny that there is such a verb. The nearest to\nit is _unnan_, which means, however, merely \"to wish well to,\" \"to\nfavour.\" No satisfactory account has been given of _and_, but the\nanalogy of other conjunctions would connect it with a demonstrative\nroot. J. Grimm is inclined to consider it as a nasalised form of the\nLat. _et_; which in its turn may be an inversion of Greek [Greek:\nti\\], just as _ac_, is of [Greek: kai\\].\n\nAll conjunctions are essentially adverbs, and derive their\nconnective power from their adverbial meaning. This is well seen in\n_also_, the radical meaning of which is \"all (quite) in that (the\nsame) way.\" Most of the adverbs used as conjunctions are obviously\noblique cases of pronouns; so, as, than, when, where, tum, ubi,\nquam, quum. In Gothic, _jah_, (Old Ger. _ja_, Finnish _ja_; of the\nsame origin as Eng. _yes_) takes the place of _and_, and means \"in\nthat or the same (manner).\" The Gr. [Greek: kai\\] and the Lat. que,\n\"and,\" are similarly oblique cases from the root _ka_, and\nequivalent to \"in which or that (manner).\" The identity of manner or\ncircumstance constitutes the mental bond. It is easy to see how a\npreposition used adverbially and expressing proximity, distance, or\nother relative position, would connect predications or ideas; _e.g._\n\"_After_ he had rested a little, he began again.\"--_F._]\n\nOur object, however, on the present occasion, is distinct, both from\nthat of the grammarian, and that of the etymologist. We have shewn,\nthat a set of marks are exceedingly useful to connect single words,\nand by what contrivances this end is accomplished; it remains for us\nto shew, what use there is of marks {214} to connect Predications;\nand by what contrivances that object is attained.\n\nThe occasions for the use of marks to connect Predications, seem to\nbe of two kinds.\n\nFirst, When two Predications are to be marked, as following one\nanother.\n\nSecondly, When they are to be marked, as modified, the one by the\nother.\n\n1. Those of the first kind need but few words for their explanation.\n\nI may say, \"Newton was a mathematician,\" \"Locke was a\nmetaphysician,\" \"Milton was a poet.\" So stated, these Predications\ndo not mark any particular order in my thoughts. I desire, however,\nto show, that the ideas thereby expressed, were proximate parts of\nthe train in my mind. The word _and_, which means _add_, placed\nbetween every pair, affords the requisite indication.\n\nLike _and_, the conjunction _nor_ marks predications in sequence. It\ndiffers from _and_ only in uniting negative predications. \"The act\nis not honourable, _nor_ is the man honest.\" In this case, it is\nobvious that _nor_, whatever its origin, has the meaning of _and\nnot_. The predications then are two negative predications, the\nsequence of which, is marked by the word _and_.\n\n_But_, though it has been otherwise classed, and called adversative,\nis of the same kind, and simply marks the sequence. Thus we say,\n\"Catiline was a brave man, but Catiline was a wicked man.\" The\nmeaning of _but_ is scarcely different from that of _and_, addition\nbeing the fundamental idea signified by both of them. The\n_opposition_ between the two predications is signified by the\npredications themselves, not by the {215} connective.[63] In fact,\nthe sense would not be changed, if we substituted _and_ for _but_.\nIt is only because, in use, _but_ has been commonly confined to the\nsequence of two _opposing_ predications, that the word _but_ is no\nsooner expressed, than an _opposing_ predication is anticipated.\nThis is a simple case of association.\n\n[Findlater's footnote 63: This is not strictly correct. _But_ is\ncompounded of the two prepositions or local particles _by_ and _out_\n(Ang. Sax. _bi utan_); and the force of it, in the example given in\nthe text, may be thus paraphrased: \"Catiline was a brave man; _but_\n(_by_, near or beside that fact, put another fact, which is _out_,\naway, or different from it, namely) Catiline was a wicked man.\" This\nis something more than a simple case of association; the opposition\nis expressed as well as the addition.--_F._]\n\n2. It is not necessary for us to do more than exemplify the\nprincipal cases in which one Predication is modified by another.\n\n\"The space is triangular, _if_ it is bounded by three straight\nlines.\"\n\n\"The space is triangular, _because_ it is bounded by three straight\nlines.\"\n\n\"The space is bounded by three straight lines, _therefore_ it is\ntriangular.\"\n\nIn each of these three propositions, there are two predications; the\none of which is dependent on the other. The dependence is that of\nnecessary consequence. The triangularity is the consequence of being\nbounded by three straight lines.\n\nIn order to have names for two Predications thus related, we may\ncall the one the _conditioning_, the other the _conditioned_. In the\nabove instances, \"The space is bounded by three straight lines,\" is\nthe _conditioning_ {216} predication; \"The space is triangular,\" is\nthe _conditioned_.\n\nThere are two states of the conditioning predication; one, in which\nit is contingent; another, in which it is positive. Observe, now,\nthe simple contrivance for marking the dependence of the\n_conditioned_ upon the _conditioning_ predication, in all the above\ncases.\n\nIn the first of the examples, \"The space is triangular, _if_ it is\nbounded by three straight lines,\" the _conditioning_ predication is\ncontingent. The word _if_, which is equivalent to _give_,[64]\nprefixed to the conditioning predication, marks it both as the\nconditioning predication, and as contingent.\n\n[Findlater's footnote 64: That _if_ has no connection with _give_,\nis manifest from the cognate forms; Goth. _jabai_, Frisic _jef_,\nAng. Sax. _gif_, Old Ger. _ibu_, Lettish _ja_, all meaning primarily\n\"in which or in that case, or supposition.\" \"_Jabai_--from which the\nother Germanic forms are descended--appears to have originally been\na dative or instrumental case of _ja_, analogous to _tubya_ = Latin\n_tibi_: compare _ibi_, _ubi_, Gr. [Greek: bi/\u00ea|phi], Slavonic\n_tebje_ = tibi.\"--Garnett.--_F._]\n\nIn the second of the examples, \"The space is triangular, because it\nis bounded by three straight lines,\" the _conditioning_ predication\nis positive; the word _because_ (having the meaning of, _cause be_,\nor _cause is_)[65] prefixed to it, marks it as at once the\nconditioning predication, and also positive. If _for_ had been the\n{217} mark instead of because, the artifice would have been still\nthe same, as _for_ has the meaning of _cause_.\n\n[Findlater's footnote 65: The syllable _be_, in \"because,\" \"before,\"\n&c., is the simple preposition _by_, Sans. _abhi_, Gr. [Greek:\nepi\\], \"near,\" \"close to.\" _Therefore_ is _for that_; in which _for_\nis a preposition, meaning primarily \"position in front,\" and thence,\nby metaphor, the relation of motive or cause.--_F._]\n\nIn the third of the examples, \"The space is bounded by three\nstraight lines, _therefore_ it is triangular;\" the order of the\npredications is inverted, the _conditioning_ being put first. In\nthis case, therefore, we need a mark to show that the last\npredication is conditioned, and conditioned by the preceding. This\nis done by prefixing to it the compound word, _therefore_, of which\nthe first part _there_ is equivalent to _that_, and _fore_ or _for_\nmeans _cause_. The expression in its elementary form being, \"The\nspace is bounded by three straight lines; for that, or cause that,\nthe space is triangular.\"\n\nIn these cases we have examples of what are called, the Suppositive,\nthe Causal, and the Illative conjunctions.\n\nThe following are examples of what are called the Disjunctive.\n\n\"The ship was well manned; _else_ it would have been lost.\"\n\n\"_Unless_ the ship had been well manned, it would have been lost.\"\n\nIn these two examples, the conditioning *predications are, \"The\nship was well manned;\" \"The ship had been well manned:\" the\n_conditioned_ is, \"it would have been lost,\" in both instances.\n\nThe dependence here, between the _conditioning_ and _conditioned_,\nis that of physical consequence. The ship's not being lost, was the\nconsequence of its being well manned. The contrivance for marking\nthis dependence is akin to that which we have traced in the former\ninstance.\n\nIn the first of the two examples, the _conditioning_ {218}\npredication stands first. How do I mark that the next is\n_conditioned_, and conditioned as a physical consequent? I interpose\nthe word _else_. This is part of an obsolete verb, signifying, _to\ndismiss_, _to turn out_, _to take away_.[66] And the sentence is\nthus resolved: \"The ship was well manned,\" _take away that_ (take\naway the cause, the effect is taken away also) \"she would have been\nlost.\"\n\n[Findlater's footnote 66: _Else_ is the genitive of an obsolete\nadjective, in Gothic _alis_, corresponding to Lat. _alius_; and is\nanalogous with Lat. _alias_.--_F._]\n\nOther conjunctions of the disjunctive kind, as they are called,\nwould here have answered the same purpose with _else_. \"The ship was\nwell manned, _otherwise_, she would have been lost.\" _Otherwise_\nhere is precisely of the same import as _else_. \"The ship was well\nmanned;\" that being dismissed, that being _other_ than it was; \"it\nwould have been lost.\"\n\n\"The ship was well manned, _or_ it would have been lost.\" _Or_, in\nGerman _oder_, is _other_. The resolution of this sentence,\ntherefore, is the same as the former.\n\nIn the second of the two examples, \"_Unless_ the ship had been well\nmanned, it would have been lost,\" the contrivance is the same, with\na mere change of position. _Unless_, is a word of the same import,\nrather the same word, as _else_. _Unless_ is PREFIXED to the\n_conditioning_ predication, whereas _else_ is SUFFIXED; and that is\nthe difference.[67] The word _except_, which signifies _take_ {219}\n_away_, may be substituted for _unless_. A peculiar application of\n_if_ (_give_) may here also be exemplified. _If_ with the negative,\n(_if not_,) has a similar signification with unless, except; \"_If_\nthe ship had not been well manned, &c.\"\n\n[Findlater's footnote 67: _Unless_ is simply _on less_,\ncorresponding to Fr. _\u00e0 moins_, and is equivalent to _if\nnot_.--_F._]\n\nLet us now pass to another case.\n\n\"_Although_ the ship was well manned, it was lost.\" The two\npredications may change places, without change of meaning. \"The ship\nwas lost, _although_ it was well manned.\"\n\nWhat (as above) was to be marked by _else_, _unless_, _if not_,\n_except_, and so on, was the connexion between a cause and its usual\neffect; that is, the manning of a ship, and the safety of the ship.\nWhat is to be marked in this case is the want of connexion between a\ncause and its usual effect. It is done by similar means.\n\n_Although_ is part of an obsolete verb, _to allow_, _to grant_.[68]\nThe two predications are: \"The ship was well manned,\" \"The ship was\nlost.\" I want to mark between my two predications not only a\nconnexion, that of the antecedence and consequence of the predicated\nevents, but the existence of a consequent differing from that by\nwhich the antecedent is usually followed. _Although_, prefixed to\nthe predication of the antecedent event, gives notice of another\npredication, that of the consequent, and of a consequent differing\nfrom that by which the antecedent might have been {220} followed:\n_Grant_ such an antecedent, such and not such was the consequent.\n\n[Findlater's footnote 68: _Although_ is a compound pronominal adverb\nresembling Lat. _tamen_, and means \"(the case being) quite thus\n(yet).\"--_F._]\n\nThe same connection is marked by other conjunctions. \"The ship was\nwell manned, _nevertheless_ it was lost.\" _Nevertheless_, means _not\nless for that_.[69] \"_Notwithstanding_ the ship was well manned, it\nwas lost.\" _Notwithstanding_, is, _not being able to prevent_,\n_maugre_, _in spite of_. The resolution of the above sentences is\nobvious. \"The ship was well manned, _yet_ it was lost.\" _Yet_ is the\nverb _get_, and has here the force of _although_, _grant_. \"The ship\nwas well manned, _yet_ (or got, that being got, had, granted) it was\nlost.\"[70] \"The ship was well manned, _still_, it was lost.\" _Still_\nis part of an obsolete verb, _to put_, _to fix_, _to establish_.\n\"The ship was well manned, _still_ (that put, that supposed) it was\nlost.\"[71]\n\n[Findlater's footnote 69: _Nevertheless_ means literally, \"not less\nby (or for) that.\" In this compound _the_ is not the article, but an\nadverb, in Ang. Sax. _thy_, \"by that much,\" and corresponds to Lat.\n_eo_ in the expression _eo minus_.--_F._]\n\n[Findlater's footnote 70: _Yet_ is of pronominal origin like Gr.\n[Greek: i)/ti], Ger. _jetzt_, and has no connection with the verb\n_get_.--_F._]\n\n[Findlater's footnote 71: _Still_ seems to be the adjective _still_,\nquiet, used adverbially, and having the force of \"undisturbed,\nuninterrupted by that.\"--_F._]\n\nA few more cases will exemplify all that is material in the marking\npower of the conjunctions.\n\n\"We study, _that_, we may be learned.\" The connexion here, again, is\nthat of cause and effect. \"We study:\" \"We may be learned,\" are the\ntwo predications, between which the connexion in question is to\n{221} be marked. The demonstrative pronoun performs the service. \"We\nmay be learned, _that_ we study:\" we study; what? to be learned.\n\n\"John is more learned than James is eloquent.\" The conjunction here\nis a relative term, and consists of the two words, _more than_. The\ntwo predications are, \"John is learned,\" \"James is eloquent.\" The\nconnexion between them is, that they are the two parts of a\ncomparison turning upon the point of greatness in degree. The two\nwords _more than_, suffice to mark that connexion. _Than_ is but a\nmode of spelling and pronouncing _that_, which use has appropriated\nto this particular case. \"John is learned, more that (that being the\nmore, the other of course is the less), James is eloquent.\"[72]\n\n[Findlater's footnote 72: _Than_ is only another form of _then_, and\nmarks that the one comes after the other, and is therefore\ninferior.--_F._]\n\n_As_, obsolete as a pronoun, only exists as a conjunction. It is a\nword of the same import with _that_. The following will suffice in\nexemplification of the marking property which it retains. \"Virgil\nwas _as_ great a poet as Cicero an orator.\" The two predications\nare, \"Virgil was a great poet,\" \"Cicero was a great orator.\" They\nalso are connected as the two parts of a comparison, turning upon\nthe point of equality in degree. _As_, or _that_, suffices to mark\nthat connexion. \"Virgil was a great poet,\" _that_ (namely great)\nCicero was an orator. We shall see afterwards, in the composition of\nRELATIVE TERMS, that every such term consists of two words, or the\nsame word taken twice. The conjunction here is a relative term, and\nconsists {222} of two words, namely, _as_, or _that_, taken twice.\n\"Virgil was a poet great, that that, an orator was Cicero;\" the\nfirst _that_ marking _great as poet_; the second _that_, marking\n_great as orator_.[73]\n\n[Findlater's footnote 73: _As_ is an oblique case of the\ndemonstrative root _sa_, and is equivalent to \"in this (degree);\"\nand the nature of the connection is this: Virgil was a poet great in\nthis degree; Cicero was an orator great in this degree; that is, the\ndegree of greatness was the same in both.--_F._]\n\n\n\n\n{223} CHAPTER V.\n\nCONSCIOUSNESS.\n\n\n\"It is not easy for the mind to put off those confused notions and\nprejudices it has imbibed from custom, inadvertency, and common\nconversation. It requires pains and assiduity to examine its ideas,\ntill it resolves them into those clear and distinct simple ones out\nof which they are compounded; and to see which, amongst its simple\nones, have or have not a necessary connexion and dependence one upon\nanother. Till a man doth this in the primary and original notions of\nthings, he builds upon floating and uncertain principles, and will\noften find himself at a loss.\"--_Locke_, _Hum. Und._ b. ii. c. 13.\ns. 28.\n\nIT will now be instructive to retrace our steps, to look back upon\nthe space we have passed, and contemplate the progress we have made\ntoward our journey's end.\n\nWe have become acquainted with the elementary feelings of our\nnature; _first_, those derived immediately from our bodies, whether\nby impressions made on the surface of them, or unseen causes\noperating on them within; _secondly_, the feelings which, after the\nabove mentioned feelings have ceased, are capable of existing as\ncopies or representatives of them.\n\nWe have also observed the manner in which those _secondary_\nFeelings, to which we have given the name of IDEAS, flow, either\ninto _groups_, or into _trains_. And {224} we have explored the\nsystem of contrivances, to which mankind have had recourse, for\nMARKING those feelings, and the trains of them; so as either to fix\nthe knowledge of them for one's own use, or to make communication of\nthem to others.\n\nIn what has been thus already presented, it will be seen that\nseveral expositions of considerable importance are included.\n\nSensations, and Ideas, are both feelings. When we have a sensation\nwe feel, or have a feeling; when we have an idea we feel, or have a\nfeeling.\n\nHaving a SENSATION, and having a feeling, are not two things. The\nthing is one, the names only are two. I am pricked by a pin. The\nsensation is one; but I may call it sensation, or a feeling, or a\npain, as I please. Now, when, having the sensation, I say I feel the\nsensation, I only use a tautological expression: the sensation is\nnot one thing, the feeling another; the sensation is the feeling.\nWhen, instead of the word feeling, I use the word conscious, I do\nexactly the same thing, I merely use a tautological expression. To\nsay I feel a sensation, is merely to say I feel a feeling; which is\nan impropriety of speech. And to say I am conscious of a feeling, is\nmerely to say that I feel it. To have a feeling is to be conscious;\nand to be conscious is to have a feeling. To be conscious of the\nprick of the pin, is merely to have the sensation. And though I have\nthese various modes of naming my sensation, by saying, I feel the\nprick of a pin, I feel the pain of a prick, I have the sensation of\na prick, I have the feeling of a prick, I am conscious of the\nfeeling; the thing named in all these various ways is one and the\nsame.\n\n{225} The same explanation will easily be seen to apply to IDEAS.\nThough, at present, I have not the sensation, called the prick of a\npin, I have a distinct idea of it. The having an idea, and the not\nhaving it, are distinguished by the existence or non-existence of a\ncertain feeling. To have an idea, and the feeling of that idea, are\nnot two things; they are one and the same thing. To feel an idea,\nand to be conscious of that feeling, are not two things; the feeling\nand the consciousness are but two names for the same thing. In the\nvery word feeling all that is implied in the word Consciousness is\ninvolved.\n\nThose philosophers, therefore, who have spoken of Consciousness as a\nfeeling, distinct from all other feelings, committed a mistake, and\none, the evil consequences of which have been most important; for,\nby combining a chimerical ingredient with the elements of thought,\nthey involved their inquiries in confusion and mystery, from the\nvery commencement.\n\nIt is easy to see what is the nature of the terms CONSCIOUS, and\nCONSCIOUSNESS, and what is the marking function which they are\ndestined to perform. It was of great importance, for the purpose of\nnaming, that we should not only have names to distinguish the\ndifferent classes of our feelings, but also a name applicable\nequally to all those classes. This purpose is answered by the\nconcrete term Conscious; and the abstract of it, Consciousness.\nThus, if we are in any way sentient; that is, have any of the\nfeelings whatsoever of a living creature; the word Conscious is\napplicable to the feeler, and Consciousness to the feeling: that is\nto say, the words are GENERICAL marks, under which all the names of\nthe subordinate classes {226} of the feelings of a sentient creature\nare included. When I smell a rose, I am conscious; when I have the\nidea of a fire, I am conscious; when I remember, I am conscious;\nwhen I reason, and when I believe, I am conscious; but believing,\nand being conscious of belief, are not two things, they are the same\nthing; though this same thing I can name, at one time without the\naid of the generical mark, while at another time it suits me to\nemploy the generical mark.[74] [75]\n\n[Bain's footnote 74: The mistake of Reid in raising Consciousness to\na separate faculty has been commented on by Brown, Hamilton, and\nothers. It must be allowed that to feel and to be conscious are not\ntwo things but the same thing: that is to say, the use of the term\nconsciousness, whether in common life or in philosophical\ndiscussion, does not point to knowing, and exclude feeling.\n\nConsciousness is the widest word in our vocabulary. By common\nconsent it embraces everything that \"mind\" embraces; while one mode\nof extricating the great problem of Perception from\nself-contradictions, makes it mean more than mind strictly means. We\nspeak of the _object-consciousness_ as our attitude in being\ncognisant of the extended universe; while our attitude under\nfeeling, and thought, we call _subject-consciousness_, or mind.\n\nThe object-consciousness follows one set of laws, the laws of matter\nand space, as propounded in Mathematics, Natural Philosophy, and so\non. The subject-consciousness follows a different set of laws, such\nas the laws of pleasure and pain, and the association of ideas,\ntreated of in Psychology. We are conscious objectively, in counting\nthe stars, we are conscious subjectively, in feeling oppressed by\ntheir number.\n\nThe subject-consciousness comprises all our feelings and thoughts;\nit enters into volition; and it makes a part of sensation, in which\nboth attitudes are conjoined. This {227} consciousness may be faint\nand limited, or it may be intense and variegated. We may be in a\nstate of pleasure with little or nothing of thought accompanying; we\nare still properly said to be conscious or under consciousness. But\nwe may add to the mere fact of pleasure, the _cognition of the\nstate_, as a state of pleasure, and as a state belonging to us at\nthe time. This is not the same thing as before: it is something new\nsuperposed upon the previous consciousness. When we take note of the\nfact that we are pleased, we proceed beyond the bare experience of\nthe present pleasure, to an intellectual act of comparison,\nassimilation, or classification with past pleasures; we probably\nintroduce the machinery of language to express ourselves as pleased;\nall this is so much _extra_ consciousness. These knowing operations\nare not involved in mere feeling; we may feel without them. Indeed,\nif the cognitive powers are brought into very active exercise upon\nour feelings, as in the self-dissection of the Psychologist, the\nfeelings themselves are apt to subside.\n\nIt is thus correct to draw a line between feeling, and knowing that\nwe feel; although there is great delicacy in the operation. It may\nbe said, in one sense, that we cannot feel without knowing that we\nfeel, but the assertion is verging on error; for feeling may be\naccompanied with a minimum of cognitive energy, or as good as none\nat all; or it may be accompanied with an express application of our\nknowing powers, which is purely optional on our part, and even\nhostile to the full development of the feeling as feeling, as\npleasure or pain.\n\nReid wanted a name to express the act of scrutinizing or examining\nthe mind, and to correspond with such names as Perception,\nObservation, for the study of the extended or object universe. He\nused Consciousness for this purpose; a word that had been probably\nmore applied to our cognitive energies than to our experience of\nmere feeling in its simplest manifestation. It is not often that\n\"consciousness\" is employed as the popular designation of states of\nfeeling as such, states of marked enjoyment or suffering. On the\nother hand, the word is frequently made use of to designate the act\nof cognizing or {228} thinking of our states of feeling; for which,\nhowever, self-consciousness is undoubtedly the more proper\nappellative.\n\nHamilton terms \"consciousness\" a \"condition\" of our feelings and\nmental operations; more correctly it is the operations themselves;\nthe consciousness is not the condition of the feeling, but the\nfeeling itself. More material is the opinion, held by Hamilton in\ncommon with most of the German philosophers, that the foundation of\nall consciousness is knowing; that we feel, only as we know that we\nfeel. He says, \"It is evident that every mental phenomenon is either\nan act of knowledge, or only possible through an act of knowledge:\nfor _consciousness is a knowledge--a phenomenon of cognition_.\"\n(\"Metaphysics,\" Lect xi.) Now although we may not be able to rebut\nthis singular assertion by pointing to a state of feeling such as to\nentirely exclude knowledge, we may ask, do the two properties, said\nto be thus implicated, rise and fall in steady concomitance; the\nmore the knowledge, the greater the feeling? The answer must be\nnegative. A favourite doctrine of Hamilton, containing a certain\namount of truth, affirms an inverse ratio between knowing and\nfeeling; which it is difficult to reconcile with the present\ndoctrine. A new distinction must be laid down between the kind of\nknowing that constitutes \"feeling,\" and the kind of knowing that\nconstitutes \"knowing\" in the strict sense of knowledge. We may\nconcede to Hamilton that feeling must always be within reach of a\ncognitive exertion, but it cannot be conceded that an actual\ncognitive exertion is essential to the manifestation of the feeling.\nSuch exertion unless kept within narrow limits of intensity cools\ndown instead of promoting the emotional state.\n\nThe facts of the case appear to be best represented, by allowing the\nstate of Feeling to stand on its own independent foundation as a\nmode of the subject-consciousness, or of mind. There may, and almost\nalways does, go along with it a certain degree of cognitive effort.\nWe can scarcely be under feeling, without performing some function\nof an intellectual kind; the divisions of the mental energies do not\nimply that they can exist in absolute separation. The act of\ndiscriminating the {229} degree of feeling,--of pronouncing a\npleasure to be greater than, or equal to, some other pleasure,--is\nproperly an intellectual, or cognitive exercise; but this\ndiscrimination does not make the feeling. So a feeling cannot exist\nwithout impressing the memory in some degree, which is an\nintellectual function; one may truly affirm that we do not feel\nunless, immediately afterwards, we remember that we felt. It is an\nincident or concomitant of feeling to leave an impression behind,\nbut this does not characterize or define the state of feeling. Being\nan accompaniment or concomitant of an emotional excitement, we may\npoint to memory as a proof of its existence and a criterion of its\ndegree, but we should confuse all the boundaries of mental\nphenomena, if we treated memory or retentiveness otherwise than as\nan intellectual property, a property whose sphere is intellect and\nnot feeling.--_B._]\n\n[Editor's footnote 75: Those psychologists who think that being\nconscious of a feeling is something different from merely having the\nfeeling, generally give the name Consciousness to the mental act by\nwhich we refer the feeling to ourself; or, in other words, regard it\nin its relation to the series of many feelings, which constitutes\nour sentient life. Many philosophers have thought that this\nreference is necessarily involved in the fact of sensation: we\ncannot, they think, have a feeling, without having the knowledge\nawakened in us at the same moment, of a Self who feels it. But of\nthis as a primordial fact of our nature, it is impossible to have\ndirect evidence; and a supposition may be made which renders its\ntruth at least questionable. Suppose a being, gifted with sensation\nbut devoid of memory; whose sensations follow one after another, but\nleave no trace of their existence when they cease. Could this being\nhave any knowledge or notion of a Self? Would he ever say to\nhimself, _I_ feel; this sensation is _mine_? I think not. The notion\nof a Self is, I apprehend, a consequence of Memory. There is no\nmeaning in the word Ego or I, unless the I of to-day is also the I\nof yesterday; a permanent element which abides through a succession\nof feelings, and connects the feeling of each moment with the\nremembrance of previous feelings. We have, no {230} doubt, a\nconsiderable difficulty in believing that a sentient being can exist\nwithout the consciousness of Itself. But this difficulty arises from\nthe irresistible association which we, who possess Memory, form in\nour early infancy between every one of our feelings and our\nremembrance of the entire series of feelings of which it forms a\npart, and consequently between every one of our feelings and our\nSelf. A slight correction, therefore, seems requisite to the\ndoctrine of the author laid down in the present chapter. There is a\nmental process, over and above the mere having a feeling, to which\nthe word Consciousness is sometimes, and it can hardly be said\nimproperly, applied, viz. the reference of the feeling to our Self.\nBut this process, though separable in thought from the actual\nfeeling, and in all probability not accompanying it in the\nbeginning, is, from a very early period of our existence,\ninseparably attendant on it, though, like many other mental\nprocesses, it often takes place too rapidly to be remembered at the\nnext instant.\n\nOther thinkers, or perhaps the same thinkers on other occasions,\nemploy the word Consciousness as almost a synonyme of Attention. We\nall know that we have a power, partly voluntary, though often acting\nindependently of our will, of _attending_ (as it is called) to a\nparticular sensation or thought. The essence of Attention is that\nthe sensation or thought is, as it were, magnified, or strengthened:\nit becomes more intense as a whole, and at the same time more\ndistinct and definite in its various parts, like a visible object\nwhen a stronger light is thrown upon it: while all other sensations\nor thoughts which do or which might present themselves at the same\nmoment are blunted and dimmed, or altogether excluded. This\nheightening of the feeling we may call, if we please, heightening\nthe consciousness of the feeling; and it may be said that we are\nmade more conscious of the feeling than we were before: but the\nexpression is scarcely correct, for we are not more conscious of the\nfeeling, but are conscious of more feeling.\n\nIn some cases we are even said to be, by an act of attention, made\nconscious of a feeling of which we should otherwise have {231} been\nunconscious: and there is much difference of opinion as to what it\nis which really occurs in this case. The point has received some\nconsideration in a former Note, but there may be advantage in again\nrecalling it to remembrance. It frequently happens (examples of it\nare abundant in the Analysis) that certain of our sensations, or\ncertain parts of the series of our thoughts, not being sufficiently\npleasurable or painful to compel attention, and there being no\nmotive for attending to them voluntarily, pass off without having\nbeen attended to; and, not having received that artificial\nintensification, they are too slight and too fugitive to be\nremembered. We often have evidence that these sensations or ideas\nhave been in the mind; because, during their short passage, they\nhave called up other ideas by association. A good example is the\ncase of reading from a book, when we must have perceived and\nrecognized the visible letters and syllables, yet we retain a\nremembrance only of the sense which they conveyed. In such cases\nmany psychologists think that the impressions have passed through\nthe mind without our being conscious of them. But to have feelings\nunconsciously, to have had them without being aware, is something\nlike a contradiction. All we really know is that we do not remember\nhaving had them; whence we reasonably conclude that if we had them,\nwe did not attend to them; and this inattention to our feelings is\nwhat seems to be here meant by being unconscious of them. Either we\nhad the sensations or other feelings without attending to them, and\ntherefore immediately forgot them, or we never, in reality, had\nthem. This last has been the opinion of some of the profoundest\npsychologists. Even in cases in which it is certain that we once had\nthese feelings, and had them with a lively consciousness (as of the\nletters and syllables when we were only learning to read) yet when\nthrough numberless repetitions the process has become so rapid that\nwe no longer remember having those visual sensations, these\nphilosophers think that they are elided,--that we cease to have them\nat all. The usual impressions are made on our organs by the written\ncharacters, and are transmitted to the brain, but these organic\nstates, {232} they think, pass away without having had time to\nexcite the sensations corresponding to them, the chain of\nassociation being kept up by the organic states without need of the\nsensations. This was apparently the opinion of Hartley; and is\ndistinctly that of Mr. Herbert Spencer. The conflicting suppositions\nare both consistent with the known facts of our mental nature. Which\nof them is the true, our present knowledge does not, I think, enable\nus to decide.\n\nThe author of the Analysis often insists on the important doctrine\nthat we have many feelings, both of the physical and of the mental\nclass, which, either because they are permanent and unchangeable, or\nfor the contrary reason, that they are extremely fugitive and\nevanescent, and are at the same time uninteresting to us except for\nthe mental processes they originate, we form the habit of not\nattending to; and this habit, after a time, grows into an\nincapacity; we become unable to attend to them, even if we wish. In\nsuch cases we are usually not aware that we have had the feelings;\nyet the author seems to be of opinion that we really have them. He\nsays, for example, in the section on Muscular Sensations (ch. i.\nsect. vii.) \"We know that the air is continually pressing upon our\nbodies. But the sensation being continual, without any call to\nattend to it, we lose from habit, the power of doing so. The\nsensation is as if it did not exist.\" Is it not the most reasonable\nsupposition that the sensation does not exist; that the necessary\ncondition of sensation is change; that an unchanging sensation,\ninstead of becoming latent, dwindles in intensity, until it dies\naway, and ceases to be a sensation? Mr. Bain expresses this mental\nlaw by saying, that a necessary condition of Consciousness is\nchange; that we are conscious only of changes of state. I apprehend\nthat change is necessary to consciousness of feeling, only because\nit is necessary to feeling: when there is no change, there is, not a\npermanent feeling of which we are unconscious, but no feeling at\nall.\n\nIn the concluding chapter of Mr. Bain's great work, there is an\nenumeration of the various senses in which the word Consciousness is\nused. He finds them no fewer than thirteen.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{233} CHAPTER VI.\n\nCONCEPTION.\n\n\n\"The generalizations of language are already made for us, before we\nhave ourselves begun to generalize; and our mind receives the\nabstract phrases without any definite analysis, almost as readily as\nit receives and adopts the simple names of persons and things. The\nseparate co-existing phenomena, and the separate sequences of a long\nsuccession of words, which it has been found convenient to\ncomprehend in a single word, are hence, from the constant use of\nthat single word, regarded by the mind almost in the same manner, as\nif they were only one phenomenon, or one event.\"--_Inquiry into the\nRelation of Cause and Effect_. _By Thomas Brown, M.D._ Note M, p.\n567.\n\nTHE philosophers, who erected CONSCIOUSNESS into what they called a\nPower of the mind, have bestowed the same rank upon CONCEPTION.\n\nWhen we have a Sensation, we are not said, in the ordinary use of\nthe word, to Conceive. If burned with the candle, I do not say, \"I\nconceive the pain;\" I do not say, if I smelt putrescence, that \"I\nconceive the stench.\" It even seems to be not without a sort of\nimpropriety, if the term is ever applied to mark a simple Idea. We\nshould not, in ordinary language, say, \"I conceive red,\" \"I conceive\ngreen.\" We say, however, \"I conceive a horse,\" \"I conceive a tree,\";\nI conceive a ship;\" we say also, \"I conceive an {234} argument,\" \"I\nconceive a plan.\" In these examples, which may be taken as a\nsufficient specimen of the manner in which the term Conception is\nused, we see that it is applied exclusively to cases of the\nsecondary feelings; to the Idea, not the Sensation; and to the case\nof compound, not of single ideas. With this use, the etymology of\nthe word very accurately corresponds: I conceive, that is, _I take\ntogether_, a horse; that is, the several ideas, combined under the\nname horse, and constituting a compound idea. The term conception,\nwe have seen, applies not only to those combinations of ideas, which\nwe call the ideas of external objects, but to those combinations\nwhich the mind makes for its own purposes.\n\nIt thus appears, that the word CONCEPTION is a _generical_ name,\nlike CONSCIOUSNESS; but less comprehensive. We call ourselves\nconscious, when we have any sensation, or any idea. We say that we\nconceive, only when we have some complex idea. It remains to be\ninquired, whether by saying we conceive, or have a conception, we\nmean any thing whatsoever beside having an idea.\n\nIf I say, I have the idea of a horse, I can explain distinctly what\nI mean. I have the ideas of the sensations of sight, of touch, of\nhearing, of smelling, with which the body and actions of a horse\nhave impressed me; these ideas, all combined, and so closely, that\ntheir existence appears simultaneous, and one. This is my IDEA of a\nhorse. If I say, I have a CONCEPTION of a horse, and am asked to\nexplain what I mean, I give the same account exactly, and I can give\nno other. My CONCEPTION of the horse, is merely my taking together,\nin one, the simple ideas of the {235} sensations which constitute my\nknowledge of the horse; and my IDEA of the horse is the same thing.\n\nWe may notice here, however, one of those curious illusions, which\nthe intimate associations of ideas with words, so often, and\nsometimes so inconveniently, occasion. The term \"I conceive,\" has\nthe form of an active verb; and with _the form of an active verb_\nTHE IDEA OF ACTION is so frequently conjoined, that we are rarely\nable to separate them. By this means, the idea of activeness is\noften mixed up with other ideas, when it is wholly misplaced and\nillusive. I use the same form of expression when I say, I dream; as\nwhen I say, I study, I argue, I imagine. In these cases the idea of\nwhat I call activity is properly included: in the expression I\ndream, it is not properly included; though the active form of the\nverb so invariably calls up a certain idea of activity, and so\nstrongly tends to mix it with the other ideas, that in using the\nterm, \"I dream,\" we seem to consider ourselves as, somehow, agents.\nEven in using the term, \"I die,\" we cannot escape the illusion;\nthough the ideas are so highly incongruous. It would be obviously\nabsurd to affirm that we are less active when we say we have an\nidea, than when we say we have a conception, yet there is constantly\na feeling, when we use the phrase \"I conceive,\" as if we were in\nsome manner active; and no such feeling, when we use the phrase\n\"I have an idea.\" The terms, therefore, the concrete \"conceive,\"\nand its abstract \"conception,\" are somewhat inconvenient, and\nmisguiding, as they infuse into the complex ideas to which they are\napplied, an ingredient which does not belong to them.\n\nThe relation which the words, CONSCIOUSNESS, and {236} CONCEPTION,\nbear to one another, is now, therefore, apparent. Consciousness is\nthe more _generical_ of the two names. Conception is the name of a\nclass _included under_ the name Consciousness. Consciousness applies\nto sensations, and to ideas, whether simple or complex; to all the\nfeelings, whatsoever they may be, of our sentient nature. Conception\napplies only to ideas; and to ideas, only in a state of combination.\nIt is a generical name including the several classes of complex\nideas.[76]\n\n[Editor's footnote 76: The doctrine of this chapter is as just as it\nis admirably stated. A conception is nothing whatever but a complex\nidea, and to conceive is to have a complex idea. But as there must\nalways have been some cause why a second name is used when there is\nalready a first, there is generally some difference in the occasions\nof their employment: and a recognition of this difference is\nnecessary to the completeness of the exposition. It seems to me that\nconception and to conceive are phrases appropriated to the case in\nwhich the thing conceived is supposed to be something external to my\nown mind. I am not said to conceive my own thoughts; unless it be in\nthe ease of an invention, or mental creation; and even then, to\nconceive it, means to imagine it realized, so that it may be\npresented to myself or others as an external object. To conceive\nsomething is to understand what it is; to adapt my complex idea to\nsomething presented to me objectively. I am asked to conceive an\niceberg: it is not enough that I form to myself some complex idea;\nit must be a complex idea which shall really resemble an iceberg,\n_i.e._, what is called an iceberg by other people. My complex idea\nmust be made up of the elements in my mind which correspond to the\nelements making up the idea of an iceberg in theirs.\n\nThis is connected with one of the most powerful and misleading of\nthe illusions of general language. The purposes of general names\nwould not be answered, unless the complex idea {237} connected with\na general name in one person's mind were composed of essentially the\nsame elements as the idea connected with it in the mind of another.\nThere hence arises a natural illusion, making us feel as if, instead\nof ideas as numerous as minds, and merely resembling one another,\nthere were one idea, independent of individual minds, and to which\nit is the business of each to learn to make his private idea\ncorrespond. This is the Platonic doctrine of Ideas in all its\npurity: and as half the speculative world are Platonists without\nknowing it, hence it also is that in the writings of so many\npsychologists we read of the conception or the concept of so and so;\nas if there was a concept of a thing or of a class of things, other\nthan the ideas in individual minds--a concept belonging to\neverybody, the common inheritance of the human race, but independent\nof any of the particular minds which conceive it. In reality,\nhowever, this common concept is but the sum of the elements which it\nis requisite for the purposes of discourse that people should agree\nwith one another in including in the complex idea which they\nassociate with a class name. As we shall presently see, these are\nonly a part, and often but a small part, of each person's complex\nidea, but they are the part which it is necessary should be the same\nin all.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{238} CHAPTER VII.\n\nIMAGINATION.\n\n\nTHE IMAGINATION is another term, the explanation of which will be\nfound to be included in the expositions which have previously been\ngiven.\n\nThe phenomena classed under this title are explained, by modern\nPhilosophers, on the principles of Association. Their accounts of\nthe mental process, to which the name Imagination is applied,\ninclude their explanation of the laws of Association, or the manner\nin which ideas succeed one another in a train, with little else,\nexcept remarks on the causes to which diversity in the several kinds\nof Imagination may be traced.\n\nIt is not to be overlooked that the term IMAGINATION is here used in\nthe sense which is given to it by philosophers when they rank it as\na particular power of the mind; for it is no doubt true, that it is\noften used, in vulgar speech, as synonymous with Conception, and\nwith Supposition, and with Conjecture; as the verb, to imagine, is,\nwith the verbs, to discover, to suppose, conjecture, believe, and\nperhaps others.\n\nWe have seen that Consciousness, and Conception, are names of\nfeelings, _taken one by one_: Consciousness {239} of _any_ of our\nfeelings so taken; Conception of a _particular class_ of them,\nnamely, complex ideas. IMAGINATION is not a name of any one idea. I\nam not said to imagine, unless I combine ideas successively in a\nless or greater number. An imagination, therefore, is the name of a\n_train_. I am said to have an imagination when I have a train of\nideas; and when I am said to imagine, I have the same thing; nor is\nthere any train of ideas, to which the term imagination may not be\napplied.\n\nIn this comprehensive meaning of the word Imagination, there is no\nman who has not Imagination, and no man who has it not in an equal\ndegree with any other. Every man imagines, nay, is constantly, and\nunavoidably, imagining. He cannot help imagining. He can no more\nstop the current of his ideas, than he can stop the current of his\nblood.\n\nIn the phrase we have just employed, \"there is no man who has not\nimagination,\" it is meant, that there is no man who now has not, who\nhas not always had, and who will not always have a train of ideas.\nImagination, therefore, is a word connoting _indefinite time_; it\nis, to use the language of the Greek grammarians, aoristical. When\nit connotes, which by the strain of the passage it may be made to\ndo, a _particular time_, it marks a _particular train_. When it\nconnotes _time indefinitely_, it marks _trains indefinitely_, any\ntrain at any time.\n\nThe having or doing a thing at any time, means the potentiality of\nhaving or doing it. Imagination, then, has two meanings. It means\neither some one train, or the potentiality of a train. These are two\nmeanings which it is very necessary not to confound.\n\n{240} There is great diversity of trains. Not only has the same\nindividual an endless variety of trains; but a different character\nbelongs to the whole series of trains which pass through the minds\nof different individuals or classes of individuals. The different\npursuits in which the several classes of men are engaged, render\nparticular trains of ideas more common to them than other trains.\nOne man is a merchant; and trains respecting the goods in which he\ndeals, the markets in which he buys, and those in which he sells,\nare habitual in his mind. Another man is a lawyer, and ideas of\nclients, and fees, and judges, and witnesses, and legal instruments,\nand points of contestation, and the practice of his court, are\nhabitually passing in his mind. Ideas of another kind occupy the\nmind of the physician; of another kind still, the mind of the\nwarrior. The statesman is occupied with a train different from that\nof any of the classes that have been mentioned; and one statesman\nwith a very different train from another, according as his mind is\nrunning upon expedients which may serve the purpose of the day, or\narrangements which may secure the happiness of the population from\ngeneration to generation. A peculiar character belongs to the train\nwhich habitually occupies the mind of the mathematician. The mind of\nthe metaphysician is also occupied by a train distinguished from\nthat of other classes. And there is one man, yet to be mentioned,\nthe poet, the peculiarity of whose trains has been a subject of\nparticular observation. To such a degree, indeed, have the trains of\nthe poet been singled out for distinction, that the word\nImagination, in a more restricted sense, is appropriated to them. We\ndo not {241} call the trains of the lawyer, or the trains of the\nmerchant, imagination. We do not speak of them as imagining, when\nthey are revolving, each, the ideas which belong to his peculiar\noccupation; it is only to the poet, that the epithet of imagining is\napplied. His trains, or trains analogous to his, are those which\nreceive the name of Imagination.\n\nIt is then a question, to which we should find an answer, whether,\nin that by which the trains of the poet differ from the trains of\nother men, there be any thing which, being wholly absent from that\nby which the trains of other classes are distinguished, lays a\nfoundation for this peculiarity of naming.\n\nThe trains of one class differ from those of another, the trains of\nthe merchant, for example, from those of the lawyer, not in this,\nthat the ideas follow one an other by any other law, in the mind of\nthe one, and the mind of the other; they follow by the same laws\nexactly; and are equally composed of ideas, mixed indeed with\nsensations, in the minds of both. The difference consists in this,\nthat the ideas which flow in their minds, and compose their trains,\nare ideas of different things. The ideas of the lawyer are ideas of\nthe legal provisions, forms, and distinctions, and of the actions,\nbodily, and mental, about which he is conversant. The ideas of the\nmerchant are equally ideas of the objects and operations, about\nwhich he is concerned, and the ends toward which his actions are\ndirected; but the objects and operations themselves, are remarkably\ndifferent. The trains of poets, also, do not differ from the trains\nof other men, but perfectly agree with them, in this, that they are\ncomposed of ideas, and that those ideas succeed one another, {242}\naccording to the same laws, in their, and in other minds. They are\nideas, however, of very different things. The ideas of the poet are\nideas of all that is most lovely and striking in the visible\nappearances of nature, and of all that is most interesting in the\nactions and affections of human beings. It thus, however, appears\nmost manifestly, that the trains of poets differ from those of other\nmen in no other way, than those of other men differ from one\nanother; that they differ from them by this only, that the ideas of\nwhich they are composed, are ideas of different things. There is\nalso nothing surprising in this, that, being trains of pleasurable\nideas, they should have attracted a peculiar degree of attention;\nand in an early age, when poetry was the only literature, should\nhave been thought worthy of a more particular naming, than the\ntrains of any other class. These reasons seem to account for a sort\nof appropriation of the name Imagination, to the trains of the poet.\nAn additional reason may be seen in another circumstance, which also\naffords an interesting illustration of a law of association already\npropounded; namely, the obscuration of the antecedent part of a\ntrain, which leads to a subsequent, more interesting than itself. In\nthe case of the lawyer, the train leads to a decision favourable to\nthe side which he advocates. The train has nothing pleasurable in\nitself. The pleasure is all derived from the end. The same is the\ncase with the merchant. His trains are directed to a particular end.\nAnd it is the end alone, which gives a value to the train. The end\nof the metaphysical, and the end of the mathematical inquirer, is\nthe discovery of truth: {243} their trains are directed to that\nobject; and are, or are not, a source of pleasure, as that end is or\nis not attained. But the case is perfectly different with the poet.\nHis train is its own end. It is all delightful, or the purpose is\nfrustrate. From the established laws of association, this\nconsequence unavoidably followed; that, in the case of the trains of\nthose other classes, the interest of which was concentrated in the\nend, attention was withdrawn from the train by being fixed upon the\nend; that in the case of the poet, on the other hand, the train\nitself being the only object, and that pleasurable, the attention\nwas wholly fixed upon the train; that hence the train of the poet\nwas provided with a name; that in the cases of the trains of other\nmen, where the end only was interesting, it was thought enough that\nthe end itself should be named, the train was neglected.\n\nIn conformity with this observation, we find, that wherever there is\na train which leads to nothing beyond itself, and has any pretension\nto the character of pleasurable (the various kinds of reverie, for\nexample), it is allowed the name of Imagination. Thus we say that\nRousseau indulged his imagination, when, as he himself describes it,\nlying on his back, in his boat, on the little lake of Bienne, he\ndelivered himself up for hours to trains, of which, he says, the\npleasure surpassed every other enjoyment.\n\nProfessor Dugald Stewart has given to the word Imagination, a\ntechnical meaning; without, as it appears to me, any corresponding\nadvantage. He confines it to the cases in which the mind forms new\ncombinations; or, as he calls them, creations; that is, {244} to\ncases in which the ideas which compose the train do not come\ntogether in the same combinations in which sensations had ever been\nreceived. But this is no specific difference. This happens, in every\ntrain of any considerable length, whether directed to any end, or\nnot so directed. It is implied in every wish of the child to fly, or\nto jump over the house; in a large proportion of all his playful\nexpressions, as puss in boots, a hog in armour, a monkey preaching,\nand so on. It is manifested in perfection in every dream. It is well\nknown that, for the discovery of truths in philosophy, there is a\ndemand for new trains of thought, multitudes of which pass in review\nbefore the mind, are contemplated, and rejected, before the happy\ncombination is attained, in which the discovery is involved. If\nimagination consists in bringing trains before the mind involving a\nnumber of new combinations, imagination is probably more the\noccupation of the philosopher than of the poet.\n\nMr. Stewart appears not to have understood the real distinction\nbetween the use of the words Conception, and Imagination; that the\none is the name of a single idea, the other that of a train. He also\ninvolves, without seeming to be wholly aware of it, the idea of a\ntrain destined to a particular end in the meaning which he bestows\non the word Imagination. Imagination is with him, not the name of a\ntrain having merely new combinations, but of a train having new\ncombinations, and those destined to some end. But this is not more\nthe character of the trains which belong to the painter and the\npoet, as his language appears to imply, than it is of the lawyer, or\nthe metaphysician; or, indeed, the professors of many {245} of the\nvulgar arts; the tailor, for example, and the mantua-maker.[77]\n\n[Bain's footnote 77: The foregoing analysis of the Imagination\nbrings to view some of the important points of distinction between\nit and the other faculties; for example, the circumstance that the\ntrains and constructions of the Imagination are their own ends, and\nnot a means to farther ends, as in the constructions of science and\nof the industrial arts. All creative originality is not imagination;\nthe steam-engine was not a product of this faculty.\n\nThe main features that distinguish the Imagination seem to be these\nthree:--\n\n1. It is a faculty of the CONCRETE, like Perception and Memory, and\nnot of the Abstract, as the scientific faculties. When we imagine a\nthing, we picture it to the mind, as far as we are able, in its full\nconcrete reality. Our imagination of a scene in the tropics is of\nthe character of an actual perception; it embraces, or should\nembrace, whatever would strike the view of any one surveying the\nreality.\n\n2. Imagination rises above Perception and Memory, in being a\nCONSTRUCTIVE faculty. It alters, re-arranges, puts together the\nmaterials of perception and memory to satisfy certain demands of the\nmind. In this respect, it is more than Conception, which as viewed\nby the author, is also a faculty of the concrete, but introduces no\nnovelty of combination. Conception may involve a great constructive\neffort, as when we try to picture to ourselves a poet's creation by\nthe help of his language; nevertheless, the term imagination loses\nits characteristic force, and leaves an important meaning without a\nname, if applied to this conceiving or realizing effort. The\nimaginative stretch belongs to the poet or artist; the power of\nconceiving is what the reader of a poem brings into exercise.\n\n3. Imagination is swayed by some PRESENT EMOTION. This is another\nway of expressing the author's view that it is an end in itself. If\nwe were to use the general word \"feeling,\" we should encounter the\ndifficulty of separating imagination {246} from common industry,\nwhich is all intended to gain pleasures or ward off pains.\n\nThe brief designation \"present emotion\" approximates to, but does\nnot fully bring out, the precise operation of the feelings in the\nconstructions of Imagination. When, actuated by the love of the\nmarvellous, any one invents a fabulous story, or highly exaggerates\na real occurrence, the process is a typical instance of the\nimaginative workings.\n\nThe Fine Arts are the domain of Imagination; the one goes far to\nspecify the other. If the coincidence were exact, Imagination would\nbe defined by a definition of the \u00c6sthetic emotions. Now, although\nany original construction, selected and put together to gratify an\n\u00c6sthetic emotion, is a work of Imagination, yet imagination is not\nexhausted by fine art. The picture that an angry man draws of his\nenemy would be called an effort of imagination, but not a work of\nfine art. All our emotions,--Wonder, Fear, Love, Anger,\nVanity--determine the constructions of the intellect, when called\ninto active exercise; and for these constructions we have no other\nname but imagination, whether they may, or may not give pleasure as\nworks of art.\n\nPerhaps this exceptional region may be marked out by a statement of\nthe perverting influence, or bias, of the feelings in matters of\ntruth and falsehood, or in works of utility. When the true and the\nuseful, instead of being determined by their own ends, or their\nproper criteria, are swayed by extraneous emotions--giving birth to\nmythical or fictitious creations--we have the corrupting\nsubstitution of Imagination for Reason in men's judgments and\nopinions.\n\nThus, Fear is a potent spur to Imagination; its creations may not be\n\u00e6sthetically agreeable, and therefore may not come under the\ndefinition of Fine Art; yet they are fairly to be described as\nperverting the judgment of true and false.--_B._]\n\n\n\n\n{247} CHAPTER VIII.\n\nCLASSIFICATION.\n\n\n\"Dans l'ordre historique, la philosophie transcendante a devanc\u00e9 la\nphilosophie \u00e9l\u00e9mentaire. Il ne faut point s'en \u00e9tonner; les grands\nprobl\u00e8mes de la m\u00e9taphysique et de la morale se pr\u00e9sentent \u00e0\nl'homme, dans l'enfance m\u00eame de son intelligence, avec une grandeur\net une obscurit\u00e9 qui le s\u00e9duisent et qui l'attirent. L'homme, qui se\nsent fait pour conno\u00eetre, court d'abord \u00e0 la v\u00e9rit\u00e9 avec plus\nd'ardeur que de sagesse; il cherche \u00e0 deviner ce qu'il ne peut\ncomprendre, et se perd dans des conjectures absurdes ou t\u00e9m\u00e9raires.\nLes th\u00e9ogonies et les cosmogonies sont ant\u00e9rieures \u00e0 la saine\nphysique, et l'esprit humain a pass\u00e9 \u00e0 travers toutes les agitations\net les d\u00e9lires de la m\u00e9taphysique transcendante avant d'arriver \u00e0 la\npsychologie.\"--_Cousin_, _Frag. Philos._ p. 75.\n\nTHE process by which we connect what we call the objects of our\nsenses, and also our ideas, into certain aggregates called classes,\nis of too much importance not to have attracted the attention of\nthose who have engaged in the study of mind. Yet it is doubtful,\nwhether metaphysicians have regarded CLASSIFICATION as an original\npower of the mind, or have allowed that what is included under that\nname might be resolved into simpler elements. The term Abstraction,\nI think, they have generally taken as the name of a distinct, and\noriginal, power, not susceptible of further analysis. But, in doing\nso, it seems (for the language of writers {248} is too loose on this\nsubject, to allow us the use of more affirmative terms), they have\nrestricted the name to the power of forming such ideas as are\nrepresented by the terms, hardness, softness, length, breadth,\nspace, and so on. And this operation they rather consider as\nsubservient to classification, than as that operation itself. The\nprocess, however, of grouping individuals into classes, has been\nregarded as sufficiently mysterious. The nature of it has been the\nobject of deep curiosity; and the erroneous opinions which were\nentertained of it bewildered, for many ages, the most eminent\nphilosophers; and enfeebled the human mind.\n\nWhat (it was inquired) is that which is really done by the mind,\nwhen it forms individuals into classes; separates such and such\nthings from others, and regards them, under a certain idea of unity,\nas some thing by themselves? Why is the segregation thought of? And\nfor what end is it made? These questions all received answers; but\nit was many ages before they received an answer approaching the\ntruth; and it is only necessary to read with care the writings of\nPlato and of Aristotle, and of all philosophers, with very few\nexceptions, from theirs to the present time, to see, that a\nmisunderstanding of the nature of General Terms is that which\nchiefly perplexed them in their inquiries, and involved them in a\nconfusion, which was inextricable, so long as those terms were\nunexplained.\n\nThe process in forming those classes was said to be this. The Mind\nleaves out of its view this, and that, and the other thing, in which\nindividuals differ from one another; and retaining only those in\nwhich they all agree, it forms them into a class. But what is {249}\nthis forming of a class? What does it mean? When I form a material\naggregate; when I collect a library; when I build a house; when I\neven raise a heap of stones; I move the things, whatever they may\nbe, and place them, either regularly or irregularly, in a mass\ntogether. But when I form a class, I perform no operation of this\nsort. I touch not, nor do I in any way whatsoever act upon the\nindividuals which I class. The proceeding is all mental. Forming a\nclass of individuals, is a mode of regarding them. But what is meant\nby a mode of regarding things? This is mysterious; and is as\nmysteriously explained, when it is said to be the taking into view\nthe particulars in which individuals agree. For what is there, which\nit is possible for the mind to take into view, in that in which\nindividuals agree? Every colour is an individual colour, every size\nis an individual size, every shape is an individual shape. But\nthings have no individual colour in common, no individual shape in\ncommon, no individual size in common; that is to say, they have\nneither shape, colour, nor size in common. What, then, is it which\nthey have in common, which the mind can take into view? Those who\naffirmed that it was something, could by no means tell. They\nsubstituted words for things; using vague and mystical phrases,\nwhich, when examined, meant nothing. Plato called it [Greek:\ni)de/a], Aristotle, [Greek: ei)=dos], both, words taken from the\nverb to see; intimating, something as it were seen, or viewed, as we\ncall it. At bottom, Aristotle's [Greek: ei)=dos], is the same with\nPlato's [Greek: i)de/a], though Aristotle makes a great affair of\nsome very trifling differences, which he creates and sets up between\nthem. The Latins, translated both [Greek: i)de/a], and {250} [Greek:\nei)=dos], by the same words, and were very much at a loss for one to\nanswer the purpose; they used _species_, derived in like manner from\na verb to see, but which, having other meanings, was ill adapted for\na scientific word; they brought, therefore, another word in aid,\n_forma_, the same with [Greek: o(/rama], derived equally from a verb\nsignifying to see, which suited the purpose just as imperfectly as\n_species_; and as writers used both terms, according as the one or\nthe other appeared best to correspond with their meaning, they\nthickened by this means the confusion.\n\nAfter a time, unfortunately a long time, it began to be perceived,\nthat what was thus represented as the object of the mind in the\nformation of classes, was chimerical and absurd; when a set of\ninquirers appeared, who denied the existence of all such objects,\naffirmed that ideas were all individual, and that nothing was\ngeneral but names. The question rose to the dignity of a\ncontroversy; and to the hateful violence of a religious controversy.\nThey who affirmed the existence of general ideas were called\nRealists, they who denied their existence Nominalists. There can be\nno doubt, that of the two the Nominalists approached, by far, the\nnearest to the truth; and their speculations tended strongly to\nremove from mental science the confusion in which the total\nmisapprehension of abstract terms had involved it. But the clergy\nbrought religion into the quarrel, and as usual on the wrong side.\nRealism was preached as the doctrine which alone was consistent with\northodoxy; the Nominalists were hunted down; and persecution, well\nknowing her object, clung to the books as well as the men; so that\nthe books of the Nominalists, {251} though the art of printing\ntended strongly to preserve them, were suppressed and destroyed, to\nsuch a degree, that it is now exceedingly difficult to collect them;\nand not easy to obtain copies even of the most remarkable.\n\nThe opinion, that the particulars in which the individuals of a\nclass agree were distinct Objects of the Mind, soon made them\ndistinct EXISTENCES; they were the Essence of things; the Eternal\nExemplars, according to which individual things were made; they were\ncalled UNIVERSALS, and regarded as alone the Objects of the\nIntellect. They were invariable, always the same; individuals, not\nthe objects of intellect but only the low objects of sense, were in\nperpetual flux, and never, for any considerable period, the same.\nUniversals alone have Unity; they alone were the subject of science;\nIndividuals were innumerable, every one different from another; and\ncognoscible only by the lower, the sensitive part of our nature.\n\nEndless were the subtleties into which ingenious men were misled, in\nthe contemplation of those Fictions; and wonderful were the\nattributes which they bestowed upon them. \"It is, then, on these\n_permanent_ Phantasms,\" says Mr. Harris, copying the ancient\nPhilosophers, \"that the human mind first works, and by an energy as\nspontaneous and familiar to its nature, as the seeing of colour is\nfamiliar to the eye, it discerns at once what in MANY is ONE; what\nin things DISSIMILAR and DIFFERENT is SIMILAR and the SAME. By this\nit comes to behold a kind of _superior_ Objects; a new Race of\nPerceptions, more comprehensive than those of sense; a Race of\nPerceptions, _each one of which, may be found entire and whole in\nthe separate_ {252} _individuals of an infinite and fleeting\nmultitude, without departing from the unity and permanence of its\nown nature_.\"[8*] Here we have something sufficiently mystical; a\nthing which is, at once, ONE, and MANY; which is ONE, it seems, by\nits very nature, and yet may exist, entire and whole, in the\nseparate individuals of an infinite MULTITUDE. This is a specimen of\ntheir Doctrine; a specimen of what they call THE SUBLIME in\nIntellection.\n\n[Mill's footnote 8: Hermes, b. iii. ch. 4.]\n\nBut this is not all. For as, when we form a minor class, as _man_,\nthere is a certain ONE, the object of intellect, complete in every\nindividual; MANY, therefore, and at the same time, ONE; so when we\nform a larger class, _animal_, there is a certain ONE, the object of\nintellect, complete in every one of those individuals. And when we\ngo still higher, as to the grand class, BODY, there is always a ONE,\nthe object of intellect, complete in every one of those more\nnumerous individuals. When we mount up to the very summit, and\nembrace all things in one class, BEING, there is in like manner a\nONE, the object of intellect, complete in every individual that\nexists. This is the grand ONE; the ONE pre-eminently. This is _the_\nONE; [Greek: to/ e(/n]; ONENESS; ONE in the abstract. This was a\nconception deemed truly SUBLIME. The loftiest epithets were\nbestowed upon [Greek: to/ e(/n], _the_ ONE. It was DIVINE; it was\nmore than that; for being not concrete, but abstract, it was\nDIVINITY. All things were contained in _the_ ONE; and _the_ ONE\nwas in all things. _The_ ONE was the source and principle of Being.\nIt was immutable, eternal.\n\n{253} These ONES they also called by the names of _Internal Forms_,\nand _Intelligible Forms_. Thus Harris: \"Let us suppose any man to\nlook for the first time upon _some Work of Art_; as, for example,\nupon a Clock; and, having sufficiently viewed it, at length to\ndepart. Would he not retain, when absent, an Idea of what he had\nseen? And what is it, _to retain such Idea_? _It is to have_ A FORM\nINTERNAL _correspondent to_ THE EXTERNAL; only with this difference,\nthat the _Internal Form is devoid of the Matter; the External is\nunited with it_, being seen in the metal, the wood, and the like.\nNow, if we suppose this Spectator to view _many such Machines_, and\nnot simply to view, but to consider every part of them, so as to\ncomprehend how those parts all operate to one End, he might be then\nsaid to possess a kind of INTELLIGIBLE FORM, by which he would not\nonly understand and know the clocks, which he had seen _already_,\nbut every Work, also, of like Sort, which he might see _hereafter_.\"\n\nWe might here remark upon the mystical jargon, which is thus\nemployed to obscure the simple fact, that after a man has seen an\nindividual of a particular kind he has the idea of that individual;\nand after he has seen various individuals of the same kind, he has\nideas of the various individuals, and has them combined by\nassociation. But we must hear Mr. Harris a little further.\n\nAfter telling us that there are two orders of these _immutable_\nINTELLIGIBLE FORMS; _one_ belonging to the Contemplator of objects,\nand subsequent to their existence; _another_ belonging to the Maker\nof them, being the archetype, according to which they were formed;\nhe thus proceeds: \"The WHOLE VISIBLE {254} WORLD, exhibits nothing\nmore than so many passing pictures of these IMMUTABLE ARCHETYPES.\nNay, through these it attains even a Semblance of Immortality, and\ncontinues throughout ages to be SPECIFICALLY ONE, amid those\ninfinite particular changes, that befall it every moment. May we be\nallowed then to credit those speculative men, who tell us, _it is in\nthese permanent and comprehensive_ FORMS _that the_ DEITY _views at\nonce, without looking abroad, all possible productions both present,\npast, and future; that this great and stupendous view is but a view\nof himself, where all things lie enveloped in their Principles and\nExemplars, as being essential to the fulness of this universal\nIntellection_?\"\n\nI shall exhibit but one other specimen of the mode of speculating\nabout these imaginary Beings, from another great master of the\nancient philosophy, Cudworth. Both Aristotle and Plato, he says,\n\"acknowledged two sorts of Entities, the one mutable, or subject to\nflux and motion, such as are especially individual corporeal things;\nthe other immutable, that always rest or stand still, which are the\nproper objects of certain, constant, and immutable knowledge, that\ntherefore cannot be mere nothings, non-entities.\n\n\"Which latter kind of being, that is, the immutable essence, as a\ndistinct thing from individual sensibles, Aristotle plainly asserts\nagainst Heraclitus, and those other flowing philosophers in these\nwords: 'We would have these philosophers to know, that besides\nsensible things that are always mutable, there is another kind of\nbeing or entity of such things as are neither subject to motion,\ncorruption, nor generation.' And elsewhere he tells us, that this\nimmovable essence {255} is the object of theoretical knowledge, of\nthe first philosophy, and of the pure mathematics.\n\n\"Now these immutable entities are the universal _rationes_, or\nintelligible natures and essences of all things, which some compare\nto unities, but Aristotle to numbers; which formally considered, are\nindivisible: saith he, 'The essences of things are like to numbers;'\nbecause if but the least thing be added to any number, or subtracted\nfrom it, the number is destroyed.\n\n\"And these are the objects of all certain knowledge. As for example,\nthe objects of geometry are not any individual material triangles,\nsquares, circles, pyramids, cubes, spheres, and the like; which\nbecause they are always mutable, nothing can be immutably affirmed\nof them; but they are those indivisible and unchangeable _rationes_\nof a triangle, square, circle; which are ever the same to all\ngeometricians, in all ages and places, of which such immutable\ntheorems as these are demonstrated, as that a triangle has\nnecessarily three angles equal to two right angles.\n\n\"But if any one demand here, where this [Greek: a)ki/n\u00eatos ou)si/a],\nthese immutable entities do exist? I answer, first, that as they are\nconsidered formally, they do not properly exist in the individuals\nwithout us, as if they were from them imprinted upon the\nunderstanding, which some have taken to be Aristotle's opinion;\nbecause no individual material thing is either universal or\nimmutable. And if these things were only lodged in the individual\nsensibles, then they would be unavoidably obnoxious to the\nfluctuating waves of the same reciprocating Euripus, in which all\nindividual material things are perpetually whirled. But because\n{256} they perish not together with them, it is a certain argument\nthat they exist independently upon them. Neither in the next place,\ndo they exist somewhere else apart from the individual sensibles,\nand without the mind, which is that opinion that Aristotle justly\ncondemns, but either unjustly or unskilfully attributes to Plato.\nFor if the mind looked abroad for its objects wholly without itself,\nthen all its knowledge would be nothing but sense and passion. For\nto know a thing is nothing else but to comprehend it by some inward\nideas that are domestic to the mind, and actively exerted from it.\nWherefore these intelligible ideas or essences of things, those\nforms by which we understand all things, exist no where but in the\nmind itself; for it was very well determined long ago by Socrates,\nin Plato's Parmenides, that these things are nothing but _no\u00ebmata_:\nthese species or ideas are all of them nothing but _no\u00ebmata_, or\nnotions that exist no where but in the soul itself.' Wherefore, to\nsay that there are immutable natures and essences, and *_rationes_ of\nthings, distinct from the individuals that exist without us, is all\none as if one should say, that there is in the universe above the\norb of matter and body, another superior orb of intellectual being,\nthat comprehends its own immediate objects, that is, the immutable\n_rationes_ and ideas of things within itself, by which it\nunderstands and knows all things without itself.\n\n\"And yet notwithstanding though these things exist only in the mind,\nthey are not therefore mere figments of the understanding: for if\nthe subjects of all scientifical theorems were nothing but figments,\nthen all truth and knowledge that is built upon them would {257} be\na mere fictitious thing; and if truth itself, and the intellectual\nnature be fictitious things, then what can be real or solid in the\nworld? But it is evident, that though the mind thinks of these\nthings at pleasure, yet they are not arbitrarily framed by the mind,\nbut have certain, determinate, and immutable natures of their own,\nwhich are independent upon the mind, and which are not blown away\ninto nothing at the pleasure of the same being that arbitrarily made\nthem.\n\n\"But we all naturally conceive that those things have not only an\neternal, but also a necessary existence, so that they could not ever\nbut be, such and so many as they are, and can never possibly perish\nor cease to be, but are absolutely undestroyable.\n\n\"Which is a thing frequently acknowledged in the writings of both\nthose famous philosophers, Plato and Aristotle. The former of them\ncalling those things, 'things that were never made, but always are,'\nand 'things that were never made, nor can be destroyed.' 'Things\ningenerable and unperishable;' _Qu\u00e6_ Plato _negat gigni sed semper\nesse_ (as Tully expresseth it) _et ratione et intelligentia\ncontineri_. And Philo the Platonical Jew, calls the [Greek: ta\\\nNo\u00eata\\], which are the same things we speak of, [Greek:\na)nagkaio/tatai ou)si/ai], the most necessary essences, that is,\nsuch things as could not but be, and cannot possibly not be. And\nAristotle himself calls the _rationes_ of things in his metaphysics,\nnot only [Greek: ch\u00f4rista\\] and [Greek: a)ki/n\u00eata], things separate\nfrom matter and immutable, but also [Greek: a)\u00ef/dia], or eternal;\nand in his ethics likewise, he calls geometrical truths [Greek:\na)\u00ef/dia], eternal things, 1. 3, c. 5; 'where he makes the\ngeometrical truth concerning the incommensurability betwixt the\n{258} diameter and the side of a square, to be an eternal thing.'\nElsewhere he tells us, that 'Science, properly so called, is not of\nthings corruptible and contingent,' but of things necessary,\nincorruptible and eternal. Which immutable and eternal objects of\nscience, in the place before quoted, he described thus: 'Such a kind\nof entity of things has neither motion nor generation, nor\ncorruption,' that is, such things as were never made, and can never\nbe destroyed. To which, he saith, the mind is necessarily\ndetermined. For science or knowledge has nothing either of fiction\nor of arbitrariness in it, but is 'the comprehension of that which\nimmutably is.'\n\n\"Moreover, these things have a constant being, when our particular\ncreated minds do not actually think of them, and therefore they are\nimmutable in another sense likewise, not only because they are\nindivisibly the same when we think of them, but also because they\nhave a constant and never-failing entity; and always are, whether\nour particular minds think of them or not. For the intelligible\nnatures and essences of a triangle, square, circle, pyramid, cube,\nsphere, &c., and all the necessary geometrical verities belonging to\nthese several figures, were not the creatures of Archimedes, Euclid,\nor Pythagoras, or any other inventors of Geometry; nor did then\nfirst begin to be; but all these _rationes_ and verities had a real\nand actual entity before, and would continue still, though all the\ngeometricians in the world were quite extinct, and no man knew them\nor thought of them. Nay, though all the material world were quite\nswept away, and also all particular created minds annihilated\ntogether with it; yet there is no doubt but the {259} intelligible\nnatures or essences of all geometrical figures, and the necessary\nverities belonging to them, would notwithstanding remain safe and\nsound. Wherefore these things had a being also before the material\nworld and all particular intellects were created. For it is not at\nall conceivable, that ever there was a time when there was no\nintelligible nature of a triangle, nor any such thing cogitable at\nall, and when it was not yet actually true that a triangle has three\nangles equal to two right angles, but that these things were\nafterward arbitrarily made and brought into being out of an\nantecedent nothing or non-entity; so that the being of them bore\nsome certain date, and had a youngness in them, and so by the same\nreason might wax old, and decay again; which notion he often harps\nupon, when he speaks of the [Greek: Ei)/d\u00ea], or forms of things, as\nwhen he says, 'there is no generation of the essence of a sphere,'\nthat is, it is a thing that is not made; but always is: and\nelsewhere he pronounces universally of the [Greek: Ei)/d\u00ea], 'The\nforms of material things are without generation and corruption,' and\n'that none makes the form of any thing, for it is never generated.'\nDivers have censured Aristotle in some of such passages too much to\nconfound physics and metaphysics together; for indeed these things\nare not true in a physical, but only in a metaphysical sense. That\nis, the immediate objects of intellection and science, are eternal,\nnecessarily existent, and incorruptible.\"[9*]\n\n[Mill's footnote 9: \"A Treatise concerning Eternal and Immutable\nMorality. By Ralph Cudworth, D.D.\"--pp. 241--250.]\n\nUnder the influence of such notions as these, men {260} were led\naway from the real object of Classification; which remained, till a\nlate period in metaphysical inquiry, not at all understood. Yet the\ntruth appears by no means difficult to find, if we only observe the\nsteps, by which the mind acquires its knowledge, and the exigencies\nwhich give occasion to the contrivances to which it resorts.\n\nMan first becomes acquainted with individuals. He first names\nindividuals. But individuals are innumerable, and he cannot have\ninnumerable names. He must make one name serve for many individuals.\nIt is thus obvious, and certain, that men were led to class solely\nfor the purpose of economizing in the use of names. Could the\nprocesses of naming and discourse have been as conveniently managed\nby a name for every individual, the names of classes, and the idea\nof classification, would never have existed. But as the limits of\nthe human memory did not enable men to retain beyond a very limited\nnumber of names; and even if it had, as it would have required a\nmost inconvenient portion of time, to run over in discourse, as many\nnames of individuals, and of individual qualities, as there is\noccasion to refer to in discourse, it was necessary to have\ncontrivances of abridgment; that is, to employ names which marked\nequally a number of individuals, with all their separate properties;\nand enabled us to speak of multitudes at once.[78]\n\n[Editor's footnote 78: The doctrine that \"men were led to class\nsolely for the purpose of economizing in the use of names,\" is here\nreasserted in the most unqualified terms. The author plainly says\nthat if our memory had been sufficiently vast to contain a name for\nevery individual, the names of classes and the idea of\nclassification would never have existed. Yet how (I am obliged to\nask) could we have done without them? We could not have dispensed\nwith names to mark the points in which different individuals\nresemble one another: and these are class-names. The fact that we\nrequire names for the purpose of making affirmations--of predicating\nqualities--is in some measure recognised by the author, when he says\n\"it would have required a most inconvenient portion of time to run\nover in discourse as many names of individuals _and of individual\nqualities_ as there is occasion to refer to in discourse.\" But what\nis meant by an individual quality? It is not _individual_ qualities\nthat we ever have occasion to predicate. It is true that the\nqualities of an object are only the various ways in which we or\nother minds are affected by it, and these affections are not the\nsame in different objects, except in the sense in which the word\nsame stands for exact similarity. But we never have occasion to\npredicate of an object the individual and instantaneous impressions\nwhich it produces in us. The only meaning of predicating a quality\nat all, is to affirm a resemblance. When we ascribe a quality to an\nobject, we intend to assert that the object affects us in a manner\nsimilar to that in which we are affected by a known class of\nobjects. A quality, indeed, in the custom of language, does not\nadmit of individuality: it is supposed to be one thing common to\nmany; which, being explained, means that it is the name of a\nresemblance among our sensations, and not a name of the individual\nsensations which resemble. Qualities, therefore, cannot be\npredicated without general names; nor, consequently, without\nclassification. Wherever there is a general name there is a class:\nclassification, and general names, are things exactly coextensive.\nIt thus appears that, without classification, language would not\nfulfil its most important function. Had we no names but those of\nindividuals, the names might serve as marks to bring those\nindividuals to mind, but would not enable us to make a single\nassertion respecting them, except that one individual is not\nanother. Not a particle of the knowledge we have of them could be\nexpressed in words.--_Ed._]\n\n{261} It was impossible that this process should not be involved in\nobscurity, and liable to great {262} misapprehension, so long as the\nmanner, in which words become significant, was unexplained. After\nthis knowledge was imparted, and pretty generally diffused, the\nvalue of it seemed for a long time to be little understood.\n\nWords become significant purely by association. A word is pronounced\nin conjunction with an idea; it is pronounced again and again; and,\nby degrees, the idea and the word become so associated, that the one\ncan never occur without the other. To take first the example of an\nindividual object. The word, St. Paul's, has been so often named in\nconjunction with the idea of a particular building, that the word,\nSt. Paul's, never occurs without calling up the idea of the\nbuilding, nor the idea of the building without calling up the name,\nSt. Paul's. The effect of association is similarly exemplified in\nconnecting the visible mark with the audible. Children learn first\nto speak. They learn next to read. In learning to speak, they\nassociate the audible mark with their sensations and ideas; the\nsound tree is associated with the sight of the tree, or the idea of\nthe tree. In learning to read, a new association has to be formed.\nThe _written word_ is a _visible_ sign of the _audible_ sign. What\nreading accomplishes, by degrees, is, to associate the visible sign\nso closely with the audible, that at the same instant with the sight\nof the word the sound of it, and with the sound of it the sense,\noccurs.\n\nAfter the explanations which have been already {263} given, no\ndifficulty can remain about the manner in which names come to\nsignify the _individuals_ of which they are appointed to be the\nmarks.\n\nLet us now, proceeding to the simplest cases first, and by them\nexpounding such as are more complicated, suppose that our name of\none individual is applied to another individual. Let us suppose that\nthe word, foot, has been first associated in the mind of the child\nwith one foot only; it will in that case call up the idea of that\none, and not of the other. Here is one name, and one thing named.\nSuppose next, that the same name, foot, begins to be applied to the\nchild's other foot. The sound is now associated not constantly with\none thing, but sometimes with one thing, and sometimes with another.\nThe consequence is, that it calls up sometimes the one, and\nsometimes the other. Here two things, the two feet, are both of them\nassociated with one thing, the name. The one thing, the name, has\nthe power of calling up both, and in rapid succession. The word foot\nsuggests the idea of one of the feet; this foot with its name, is a\ncomplex idea; and this complex idea suggests its like, the other\nfoot with its name.\n\nThis is a peculiar and a highly important case of association; but\nnot the less simple and indisputable. We have already sufficiently\nexemplified the two grand cases of the formation of complex ideas by\nassociation;--that in which the ideas of synchronous sensations are\nso concreted by constant conjunction as to appear, though numerous,\nonly one; of which the ideas of sensible objects, a rose, a plough,\na house, a ship, are examples;--and that in which the ideas of\nsuccessive sensations are so concreted; of which, the idea of a\n{264} tune in music, the idea of the revolution of a wheel, of a\nwalk, a hunt, a horse-race, are instances.\n\nIt is easy to see wherein the present case agrees with, and wherein\nit differs from, those familiar cases. The word, man, we shall say,\nis first applied to an individual; it is first associated with the\nidea of that individual, and acquires the power of calling up the\nidea of him; it is next applied to another individual, and acquires\nthe power of calling up the idea of him; so of another, and another,\ntill it has become associated with an indefinite number, and has\nacquired the power of calling up an indefinite number of those ideas\nindifferently. What happens? It does call up an indefinite number of\nthe ideas of individuals, as often as it occurs; and calling them up\nin close connexion, it forms them into a species of complex idea.\n\nThere can be no difficulty in admitting that association does form\nthe ideas of an indefinite number of individuals into one complex\nidea; because it is an acknowledged fact. Have we not the idea of an\narmy? And is not that precisely the ideas of an indefinite number of\nmen formed into one idea? Have we not the idea of a wood, or a\nforest; and is not that the idea of an indefinite number of trees\nformed into one idea? These are instances of the concretion of\nsynchronous ideas. Of the concretion of successive ideas indefinite\nin number, the idea of a concert is one instance, the idea of a\ndiscourse is another, the idea of the life of a man is another, the\nidea of a year, or of a century, is another, and so on. The idea,\nwhich is marked by the term \"race of man,\" is complex in both ways,\nfor it is not only the idea of the present generation, but of all\nsuccessive generations.\n\n{265} It is also a fact, that when an idea becomes to a certain\ndegree complex, from the multiplicity of the ideas it comprehends,\nit is of necessity indistinct. Thus the idea of a figure of one\nthousand sides is incurably indistinct; the idea of an army is also\nindistinct; the idea of a forest, or the idea of a mob. And one of\nthe uses of language, is, to enable us, by distinct marks, to speak\nwith distinctness of those combinations of ideas, which, in\nthemselves, are too numerous for distinctness. Thus, by our marks of\nnumbers, we can speak, with the most perfect precision, of a figure\nnot only of a thousand, but of ten thousand sides, and deduce its\npeculiar properties; though it is as impossible, by the idea, as by\nthe sensations, to distinguish one of a thousand, from one of a\nthousand and one, sides.\n\nThus, when the word man calls up the ideas of an indefinite number\nof individuals, not only of all those to whom I have individually\ngiven the name, but of all those to whom I have in imagination given\nit or imagine it will ever be given, and forms all those ideas into\none,--it is evidently a very complex idea, and, therefore,\nindistinct; and this indistinctness has, doubtless, been the main\ncause of the mystery, which has appeared to belong to it. That this,\nhowever, is the process, is an inevitable result of the laws of\nassociation.\n\nIt thus appears, that the word, _man_, is not a word having a very\nsimple idea, as was the opinion of the Realists; nor a word having\nno idea at all, as was that of the Nominalists; but a word calling\nup an indefinite number of ideas, by the irresistible laws of\nassociation, and forming them into one very {266} complex, and\nindistinct, but not therefore unintelligible, idea.\n\nIt is thus to be seen, that appellatives, or general names, are\nsignificant, in two modes. We have frequently had occasion to recur\nto the mode in which the simple ideas of sensation are associated or\nconcreted, so as to form what we call the complex ideas of objects.\nThus, I have the complex ideas of this pen, this desk, this room,\nthis man, this handwriting. The simple ideas, so concreted into a\ncomplex idea in the case of each individual, are one thing signified\nby each appellative; and this complex idea of the individual,\nconcreted with another, and another of the same kind, and so on\nwithout end, is the other of the things which are signified by it.\nThus, the word rose, signifies, first of all, a certain odour, a\ncertain colour, a certain shape, a certain consistence, so\nassociated as to form one idea, that of the individual; next, it\nsignifies this individual associated with another, and another, and\nanother, and so on; in other words, it signifies the class.\n\nThe complexity of the idea, in the latter of the two cases, is\ndistinguished by a peculiarity from that of the former. In applying\nthe name to the odour, and colour, and so on, of the rose, concreted\ninto one idea, the name is not the name of each of the sensations\ntaken singly, only of all taken together. In applying the name to\nrose, and rose, and rose, without end, the name is at once a name of\neach of the individuals, and also the name of the complex\nassociation which is formed of them. This too, is itself a peculiar\nassociation. It is not the association of a name with a number of\nparticulars clustered together {267} as one; but the association of\na name with each of an indefinite number of particulars, and all\nthose particulars associated back again with the name.\n\nThis peculiarity may require a little further explanation. It is\nwell known, that between an idea, and the name which stands for it,\nthere is a double association. The name calls up the idea in close\nassociation, and the idea calls up the name in equally close\nassociation; and this they have a tendency to do in a series of\nrepetitions; the name bringing up the idea, the idea the name, and\nthen the name the idea again, and so on, for any number of times.\nThis is, in great part, the way in which language is learned, as we\nobserve by the repetitions to which children are prone. And this,\nindeed, is what, in many cases, we mean when we speak of dwelling\nupon an idea. It is a familiar observation, that no idea dwells in\nthe mind, or can; for it has innumerable associations, and whatever\nassociation occurs, of course, displaces that by which it is\nintroduced. But if the idea which thus displaces it, again calls it\nup, and these two go on calling up one another, that which is the\nmore interesting of the two appears to be that which alone is\noccupying the attention. This alternation is frequent between the\nname and the idea.\n\nNow, then, let the word, man, be supposed, first of all, the name of\nan individual; it becomes associated with the idea of the\nindividual, and acquires the power of calling up that idea. Let us\nnext suppose it applied to one other individual, and no more: it\nbecomes associated with this other idea; and it now has the power of\ncalling up either. The following is, then, a very natural train:--\n1, The name occurs; 2, the name {268} suggests the idea of one of the\nindividuals; 3, that idea suggests the name back again; 4, the name\nsuggests the idea of the second individual. All this may pass, and,\nafter sufficient repetition, does pass, with the rapidity of\nlightning. Suppose, now, that the name is associated, with the ideas\nnot of two individuals, but of many; the same train may go on; the\nname exciting the idea of one individual, that idea the name, the\nname another individual, and so on, to an indefinite extent; all in\nthat small portion of time of which the mind takes no account. The\ncombination thus formed stands in need of a name. And the name, man,\nwhile it is the name of every individual included in the process, is\nalso the name of the whole combination; that is, of a very complex\nidea.\n\nOne other question, respecting classification, may still seem to\nrequire solution; namely, what it is by which we are determined in\nplacing such and such things together in a class in preference to\nothers; what, in other words, is the principle of Classification?\nI answer, that, as it is for the purpose of naming, of naming with\ngreater facility, that we form classes at all; so it is in\nfurtherance of that same facility that such and such things only are\nincluded in one class, such and such in another. Experience teaches\nwhat sort of grouping answers the purposes of naming best; under the\nsuggestions of that experience, the application of a general word is\ntacitly and without much of reflection regulated; and by this\nprocess, and no other, it is, that Classification is performed. It\nis the aggregation of an indefinite number of individuals, by their\nassociation with a particular name.\n\nIt may seem that this answer is still very general {269} and that to\nmake the explanation sufficient, the suggestions by which experience\nrecommends this or that classification should be particularized. For\nthe purpose of the present chapter, however, namely, to shew that\nthe business of Classification is merely a process of naming, and is\nall resolvable into association, the observation, though general, is\nfull and satisfactory. The detail of the purposes to be answered by\ngeneral terms belongs more properly to the next head of Discourse,\nand as far as the development of the mental phenomena seems to\nrequire it, will there be presented.\n\nIt may still be useful to advert to the three principal cases into\nwhich Classification may be resolved; 1, that of objects considered\nas synchronical; 2, that of objects considered as successive;\n3, that of feelings. The first is exemplified in the common classes\nof sensible objects, as men, horses, trees, and so on; and requires\nno further explanation. The second is exemplified in the classes of\nevents, denoted by such words, as Birth, Death, Snowing, Thundering,\nFreezing, Flying, Creeping. By these words there is always denoted\none antecedent and one consequent, generally more, sometimes a long\ntrain of them. And it is obvious that each of them is, at once, the\nname of each instance individually, and of all taken generally\ntogether. Thus, Freezing, is not the name of an individual instance\nof freezing only, but of that and of all other instances of\nFreezing. The same is the case with other words of a still more\ngeneral, and thence more obscure signification, as Gravitation,\nAttraction, Motion, Force, &c.; which words have this additional\nsource of confusion, that they are {270} ambiguous, being both\nabstract and concrete. When we say that there is a third case of\nclassification, relating to Feelings, it does not mean that the two\nformer do not relate to feelings: for when we say, that we classify\nobjects, as men, horses, &c.;--or events, as the sequences named\nbirths, deaths, and so on;--it is obvious that our operation is\nabout our own feelings, and nothing else; as the objects, and their\nsuccessions, are, to us, the feelings merely which we thus\ndesignate. But as there are feelings which we do thus designate; and\nfeelings which we do not; it is convenient, for the purpose of\nteaching, to treat of them apart. The Feelings, of this latter kind,\nwhich we classify, are either single feelings, or trains. Thus, Pain\nis the name of a single feeling, and the name both of an individual\ninstance, and of indefinite instances, forming a most extensive\nclass. Memory is the name not of a single feeling or idea, but of a\ntrain; and it is the name not only of a single instance, but of all\ninstances of such a train, that is, of a class. The same is the case\nwith Belief. It is the name of a train consisting of a certain\nnumber of links; and it is the name not only of an individual\ninstance of such trains, but of all instances, forming an extensive\nclass. Imagination is another instance of the same sort of\nclassification. So also is Judgment, and Reasoning, and Doubting,\nand we might name many more.\n\nIt is easy to see, among the principles of Association, what\nparticular principle it is, which is mainly concerned in\nClassification, and by which we are rendered capable of that mighty\noperation; on which, as its basis, the whole of our intellectual\nstructure is reared. That principle is Resemblance. It seems to\n{271} be similarity or resemblance which, when we have applied a\nname to one individual, leads us to apply it to another, and\nanother, till the whole forms an aggregate, connected together by\nthe common relation of every part of the aggregate to one and the\nsame name. Similarity, or Resemblance, we must regard as an Idea\nfamiliar and sufficiently understood for the illustration at present\nrequired. It will itself be strictly analysed, at a subsequent part\nof this Inquiry.\n\nSo deeply was the sagacious mind of Plato, far more philosophical\nthan that of any who succeeded him, during many ages, struck with\nthe importance of Classification, that he seems to have regarded it\nas the sum of all philosophy; which he described, as being the\nfaculty of seeing \"the ONE in the MANY, and the MANY in the ONE;\" a\nphrase which, when stripped from the subtleties of the sophists whom\nhe exposed, and from the mystical visions of his successors, of\nwhich he never dreamed, is really a striking expression of what in\nclassification is the matter of fact. His error lay, in\nmisconceiving the ONE; which he took, not for the aggregate, but\nsomething pervading the aggregate.[79] [80]\n\n[Grote's footnote 79: The two chapters (VII. and VIII.) of Mr. James\nMill's Analysis are highly instructive, and exhibit all his\ncustomary force and perspicuity. But in respect to Classification\nand Abstraction, I think that the ancient philosophers of the\nSokratic school generally, are entitled to more credit than he\nallows them; and moreover that in respect to the difference of\nopinion between Plato and Aristotle, he has assigned an undue\nsuperiority to the former at the expense of the latter.\n\nThe reader would take very inadequate measure of these {272} ancient\nphilosophers, if he judged them from the two citations out of Harris\nand Cudworth, produced by Mr. James Mill as setting forth the most\nsuccessful speculations of the ancient world. Both these passages\nare brought to illustrate \"the mystical jargon\" (p. 253) with which\nthe ancients are said to have obscured a clear and simple subject.\nThe mysticism in both citations is to a certain extent real; but it\ndepends also in part on the use of a terminology now obsolete,\nrather than on confusion of ideas. In regard to the citation from\nHarris, it is a passage in which that author passes into theology,\nand includes God and Immortality: topics upon which mystical\nlanguage can seldom be avoided: moreover, if we compare the remarks\non Harris (p. 251) with p. 271, we shall find Mr. James Mill\nridiculing as mystical, when used by Harris, the same language\n(about \"the One in the Many\") which, when employed by Plato, he\neulogises as follows--\"a phrase which, when stripped from the\nsubtleties of the sophists whom he (Plato) exposed, and from the\nmystical visions of his successors, of which he never dreamed, is\nreally a striking expression of what in classification is the matter\nof fact.\"\n\nI wish I could concur with Mr. James Mill in exonerating Plato from\nthese mystical visions, and imputing them exclusively to his\nsuccessors. But I find them too manifestly proclaimed in the Tim\u00e6us,\nPh\u00e6don, Ph\u00e6drus, Symposion, Republic, and other dialogues, to admit\nof such an acquittal: I also find subtleties quite as perplexing as\nthose of any sophist whom he exposed. Along with these elements, the\ndialogues undoubtedly present others entirely disparate, much\nsounder and nobler. I have in another work endeavoured to render a\nfaithful account of the multifarious Platonic aggregate, stamped in\nall its parts,--whether of negative dialectic, poetical fancy, or\nethical dogmatism,--with the unrivalled genius of expression\nbelonging to the author. The misfortune is that his Neo-Platonic\nsuccessors selected by preference his dreams and visions for their\namplifying comment and eulogy, leaving comparatively unnoticed the\ninstructive lessons of philosophy {273} accompanying them. To this\nextent the Neo-Platonists fully deserve the criticism here bestowed\non them.\n\nThe long passage, extracted in the Analysis from Cudworth, contains\ntwo grave mis-statements, respecting both Plato and Aristotle; which\ndeserve the more attention because they seem to have misled Mr.\nJames Mill himself. Respecting Universals, Cudworth, after saying\nthat they do not exist in the individual sensibles, proceeds as\nfollows (p. 255-256)--\n\n1. \"Neither, in the next place, do they exist somewhere else apart\nfrom the individual sensibles, and without the mind: which is that\nopinion that Aristotle justly condemns, but either unjustly or\nunskilfully attributes to Plato.\n\n2. \"Wherefore these intelligible ideas or essences of things, those\nforms by which we understand all things, exist nowhere but in the\nmind itself: for it was very well determined long ago by Socrates,\nin Plato's Parmenides, that these things are nothing but _no\u00ebmata_:\nthese species or ideas are all of them nothing but _no\u00ebmata_, or\nnotions that exist nowhere but in the soul itself.\"\n\nNow, neither of these assertions of Cudworth will be found accurate:\nneither the \"determination\" which he ascribes to the Platonic\nSokrates--nor the censure of \"unjust or unskilful\" which he attaches\nto Aristotle. It is indeed true that the opinion here mentioned is\nenunciated by Sokrates in Plato's Parmenides. But far from being\ngiven as a \"determination,\" it is enunciated only to be refuted and\ndropt.[a] In that dialogue, Sokrates is introduced as a youthful and\nardent aspirant in philosophy, maintaining the genuine Platonic\ntheory of self-existent and separate Ideas. He finds himself unable\nto repel several acute objections tendered against the theory by the\nveteran Parmenides: he is driven from position to position: and one\namong them, not more tenable than the rest, is the suggestion cited\nby Cudworth. Yet Parmenides, though his objections remain unanswered\nand though he alludes to others {274} not specified,--concludes by\ndeclaring[b] that nevertheless the Platonic theory of Ideas cannot\nbe abandoned: it must be upheld as a postulate essential to the\npossibility of general reasoning and philosophy.\n\n[Footnote a: Plato Parmenid. p. 132, C, D.]\n\n[Footnote b: Plato Parmenid. p. 135, B, C.\n\nI have given an account of this acute but perplexing dialogue, in\nthe twenty-fifth chapter of my work on Plato and the other\nCompanions of Sokrates.]\n\nEven in the Parmenides itself, therefore, where Plato accumulates\nobjections against the theory of separate and self-existent Ideas,\nwe still find him reiterating his adherence to it. And when we turn\nto his other dialogues, Ph\u00e6drus, Ph\u00e6don, Symposion, Republic,\nKratylus, &c., we see that theory so emphatically proclaimed and so\nlargely illustrated, that I wonder how Cudworth can blame Aristotle\nfor imputing it to him.\n\nIt is by Cudworth, probably, that Mr. James Mill has been misled,\nwhen he says--p. 249--\"At bottom, Aristotle's [Greek: ei)=dos] is\nthe same as with Plato's [Greek: i)de/a], though Aristotle makes a\ngreat affair of some very trifling differences, which he creates and\nsets up between them.\"--I have pointed out Cudworth's mistake, and I\nmaintain that the difference between Plato and Aristotle on this\nsubject was grave and material. The latter denied, what the former\naffirmed, self-existence and substantiality of the Universal Ideas,\napart from and independent of particulars.\n\nHaving cited with some comments the extracts from Cudworth and\nHarris, Mr. James Mill observes, \"Under the influence of such\nnotions as these, men were led away from the real object of\nClassification, which remained, till a late period of metaphysical\nenquiry, not at all understood. Yet the truth appears by no means\ndifficult to find, if we only observe the steps by which the mind\nacquires its knowledge, and the exigencies which give occasion to\nthe contrivances to which it resorts\" (p. 259).--He then proceeds,\nclearly and forcibly, to announce his own theory of classification,\nintended to dispel the mystery with which others have surrounded\n{275} it (p. 264). \"The word _man_ is first applied to an\nindividual: it is first associated with the idea of that individual,\nand acquires the power of calling up the idea of him: it is next\napplied to another individual, and acquires the power of calling up\nthe idea of him: so of another and another, till it has acquired the\npower of calling up an indefinite number of those ideas\nindifferently. What happens? It does call up an indefinite number of\nthe ideas of individuals, as often as it occurs: and calling them up\nin close combination, it forms them into a species of complex idea.\"\n\"It thus appears that the word _man_ is not a word having a very\nsimple idea, as was the opinion of the Realists: nor a word having\nno idea at all, as was that of the Nominalists: but a word calling\nup an indefinite number of ideas, by the irresistible laws of\nassociation, and forming them into one very complex and indistinct,\nbut not therefore unintelligible, idea\" (p. 265).--\"As it is for the\npurpose of naming, and of naming with greater facility, that we form\nclasses at all; so it is in furtherance of that same facility that\nsuch and such things only are included in one class, such and such\nthings in another. Experience teaches us what sort of grouping\nanswers this purpose best: under the suggestions of that experience,\nthe application of a general word is tacitly and without much of\nreflection regulated: and by this process and no other, it is, that\nClassification is performed. It is the aggregation of an indefinite\nnumber of individuals, by their association with a particular name\"\n(p. 268).--\"It is Similarity or Resemblance, which, when we have\napplied a name to one individual, leads us to apply it to another\nand another till the whole forms an aggregate, connected together by\nthe common relation of the aggregate to one and the same name\" (p.\n271).\n\nSuch is the theory of Mr. James Mill. Its great peculiarity is that\nit neither includes nor alludes to Abstraction. It admits in\nClassification nothing more than the one common name associated with\nan aggregate indefinite and indistinct, of similar concrete\nindividuals. I shall now consider the manner {276} in which the\nGreek philosophers of the fourth century B.C. dealt with the same\nsubject, and how far they merit the censure of having imported\nunnecessary mystery into it.\n\nIt is impossible to understand Plato unless we take our departure\nfrom his master Sokrates. Now it is precisely in regard to\nClassification, and the meaning and comprehension of general terms,\nthat the originality and dialectical acuteness of Sokrates were most\nconspicuously manifested. He was the first philosopher (as\nAristotle[c] tells us) who set before himself the Universal as an\nexpress object of investigation,--and who applied himself to find\nout and test the definition of universal terms. He wrote nothing;\nbut he passed most part of his long life in public, and in talking\nindiscriminately with every one. Oral colloquy, and cross-examining\ninterrogation, were carried by him to a pitch of excellence never\nequalled. Not only did he disclaim all power of teaching, but he\nexplicitly avowed his own ignorance; professing to be a mere seeker\nof truth from others who knew better, and to be anxious only for\nanswers such as would stand an accurate scrutiny. To this peculiar\nscheme--the topics on which he talked were adapted: for he avoided\nall recondite themes, and discussed only matters relating to man and\nsociety: such as What is the Holy? What is the Unholy? What are the\nBeautiful and the Mean the Just and Unjust? Temperance? Madness?\nCourage? Cowardice? A City? A man fit for citizenship? Command of\nMen? A man fit for commanding men? Such is the specimen-list given\nby Xenophon[d] of the themes chosen by Sokrates. We see that they\nare all general, and embodied in universal terms. But the terms as\nwell as the themes were familiar to all: every man believed himself\nthoroughly to understand the meaning of the former--every one had\nconvictions ready-made and decided on the latter. When Sokrates\nfirst opened the colloquy, respondents were surprised to be\nquestioned about such subjects, upon which they presumed {277} that\nevery one must know as well as themselves. But this confidence\nspeedily vanished when they came to be tested by inductive[e]\ninterrogatories: citation of appropriate particulars, included or\nnot included in the generalities which they laid down. The result\nproved that they could not answer the questions without speedily\ncontradicting themselves: that they did not understand the\ncomprehension of their own universal terms: and that upon all these\nmatters, on which they talked so confidently, they had never applied\nthemselves deliberately to learn, nor could they say how their\njudgments had been acquired or certified.[f]\n\n[Footnote c: Aristot. Metaphys. A. p. 987, b. 1, M. p. 1078, b. 30.]\n\n[Footnote d: Xenophon, Memorab. I., 1--16.]\n\n[Footnote e: So Aristotle calls them--[Greek: lo/gous\ne(paktikou/s].--Metaph. M. p. 1078, b. 28.]\n\n[Footnote f: Xenophon, Memorab. IV. 2--13--30--36.]\n\nThe conviction formed in the mind of Sokrates, after long\npersistence in such colloquial cross-examination, is consigned in\nhis defence before the Athenian judicature, pronounced a month\nbefore his death. He declared that what he found every where was\nreal ignorance, combined with false persuasion of knowledge: that\nthis was the chronic malady of the human mind, which it had been his\nmission to expose: that no man was willing to learn, because no man\nbelieved that he stood in need of learning: that, accordingly, the\nfirst step indispensable to all effective teaching, was to make the\npupil a willing learner, by disabusing his mind of the false\npersuasion of knowledge, and by imparting to him the stimulus\narising from a painful consciousness of ignorance.\n\nSuch was the remarkable psychological scrutiny instituted by\nSokrates on his countrymen, and the verdict which it suggested to\nhim. I have already observed that his great intellectual bent was to\nascertain the definition of general terms, and to follow these out\nto a comprehensive and consistent classification.[g] It must be\nadded that no man was ever less inclined to mysticism than Sokrates:\nand that he was thus {278} exempt from those misleading influences\nwhich (according to Mr. James Mill, p. 260) \"have led men away from\nthe real object of Classification, and prevented them from\nunderstanding it till a late period in metaphysical enquiry.\"\nSokrates did not come before his countrymen with classifications of\nhis own, originated or improved--nor did he teach them how the\nprocess ought to be conducted. His purpose was, to test and\nappreciate that Classification which he found ready-made and current\namong them. He pronounced it to be worthless and illusory.\n\n[Footnote g: Xenophon. Memor. IV. 5, 12; IV. *6. 1--7--10--15.\n[Greek: \u00f4(=n e(/neka skop\u00f4=n su\\n toi=s sunou=sin, ti/ e(/kaston\nei)/\u00ea t\u00f4=n o)/nt\u00f4n, ou)de/pote e)/l\u00eage].]\n\nNow I wish to point out that what Sokrates thus depreciated, is\nexactly that which this Chapter of the Analysis lays before us as\nClassification generally. I agree with the Analysis that\nClassification, up to a certain point, grows out of the principle of\nAssociation and the exigencies of the human mind, by steps\ninstructively set forth in that work. But such natural growth\nreaches no higher standard than that which Sokrates tested and found\nso lamentably deficient, even among a public of unusual\nintelligence. It does not deserve the name of a \"mighty operation\"\n(bestowed upon it by Mr. James Mill, p. 270). It is a rudimentary\nprocedure, indispensable as a basis on which to build, and sufficing\nin the main for social communication, when no science or reasoned\ntruth is required: but failing altogether to realise what has been\nunderstood by philosophers, from Sokrates downward, as the true and\nfull purpose of Classification. So long as the Class is conceived to\nbe only what the Analysis describes, an indistinct aggregate of\nresembling individuals denoted by the same name, without clearly\nunderstanding wherein the resemblance consists, or what facts and\nattributes are _connoted_ by the name[h] (I use the word _connote_,\n{279} not in the sense of the Analysis, but in the sense of Mr. John\nStuart Mill)--so long will Classification continue to be, as\nSokrates entitled it, a large persuasion of knowledge with little\nreality to sustain it.\n\n[Footnote h: The necessity of determining the _connotation_ of the\nClass-term is distinctly put forward by Sokrates--Xenophon, Memorab.\nIII. 14, 2. [Greek: lo/g\u00f4| o)/ntos peri\\ o)noma/t\u00f4n, iph' oi(\u00f4=|\ne)/rg\u00f4| e(/kaston ei)/\u00ea--E)/choimen a)\\n (e)\\ph\u00ea) ei)pei=n, e)pi\\\npoi\u00f4=| pote\\ e)/rg\u00f4| a)/nthr\u00f4pos o)pso/phagos kalei=tai?] &c., also\nthe remarkable passage IV., 6. 13--15, Plato, Sophistes, p. 218 B.\n[Greek: tou)/noma mo/non e)/chomen koin\u00ea=| to\\ de\\ e)/rgon, e)ph'\n\u00f4(=| kalou=men], &c.]\n\nI pass now from Sokrates to Plato. It is true, as we read in the\nAnalysis, (p. 271) that Plato \"was so deeply struck with the\nimportance of Classification, that he seems to have regarded it as\nthe sum of all philosophy.\" But what Plato thus admired was not the\nClassification that he found prevalent around him, such as this\nchapter of the Analysis depicts. Here Plato perfectly agreed with\nSokrates. Among his immortal dialogues, several of the very best are\ndevoted to the illustration of the Sokratic point of view: to the\ncross-examination and exposure of the minds around him, instructed\nas well as vulgar, in respect to the general terms familiarly used\nin speech. The Platonic questions and answers are framed to shew how\nlittle the respondents understand beneath those current generalities\non which every one talks with confidence and fluency--and how little\nthey can avoid contradiction or inconsistency, when their\nclass-terms are confronted with particulars. In fact, Plato goes so\nfar as to intimate that these uncertified classifications,--\ngenerated in each man's mind by merely learning the application of\nwords, and imbibed unconsciously, without special teaching, through\nthe contagion of ordinary society--are rather worse than ignorance:\ninasmuch as they are accompanied by a false persuasion of knowledge.\nIt would be (in the opinion of Plato) a comparative improvement,\nif this state of mental confusion, creating a false persuasion of\nknowledge, were broken up; and if there were substituted in place\nthereof positive ignorance, together with the naked and painful\nconsciousness of being really ignorant. Only in this way could the\nmind of the learner be stimulated to active effort in the acquisition\nof genuine knowledge.[i]\n\n[Footnote i: Plato, Sophistes, p. 230--231. Symposion, p. 204 A,\nMenon p. 84, A. D.]\n\nAccordingly, when it is said that Plato was \"deeply struck {280}\nwith the importance of Classification,\" we must understand the\nphrase as applying to Classification, not as he found it prevalent,\nbut as he idealized it. And the scheme that he imagined was not\nmerely different from that which he found, but in direct repugnance\nto it. He denounced altogether the aggregate of individuals; he\ndeclared the class-constituent to reside in a reality apart from\nthem, separate and self-existent--the Idea or Form. He enjoined the\nstudent of philosophy to fix his contemplation on these Class-Ideas,\nthe real Realities, in their own luminous region: and for that\npurpose, to turn his back upon the phenomenal particulars, which\nwere mere transitory, shadowy, incoherent projections of these\nIdeas[j]--and from the study of which no true knowledge could be\nobtained. Of the two statements in the Analysis--(p. 271) that\n\"Plato never dreamed of the mystical visions of his successors,\" and\nthat \"his error (respecting Classification) lay in misconceiving the\nOne; which he took, not for the aggregate, but something pervading\nthe aggregate\"--neither one nor the other appears to me accurate. In\nregard to the second of the two, indeed, you may find various\npassages of Plato which, if construed separately, would countenance\nit: for Plato does not always talk Realism--nor always consistently\nwith himself. But still his capital and peculiar theory was,\nRealism. The Platonic One was not something pervading the aggregate\nof particulars, but an independent and immutable reality, apart from\nthe aggregate: and Plato, when he thus conceived {281} the One,\nillustrating it by the vast hypotheses embodied in the Republic,\nPh\u00e6don, Ph\u00e6drus, Symposion, Menon, &c., is the true originator of\nthose \"mystical visions\" against which the Analysis justly protests.\nSuch visions were doubtless suggested to Plato by \"his deep sense of\nthe importance of Classification:\" but they are his own, though\ncontinued and amplified, without his decorative genius, by\nNeo-Platonic successors. His theory of classification was the first\never propounded; and that theory was Realism. The doctrine here\nascribed to him by Mr. James Mill is much more Aristotelian than\nPlatonic. The main issue raised by Aristotle against Plato was, upon\nthe essential separation, and separate objective existence, of the\nAbstract and Universal: Plato affirmed it, Aristotle denied it.[k]\nAristotle recognised no reality apart from the Particular, to which\nthe Universal was attached as a predicate, either essential or\naccidental to its subject. The Aristotelian Universal may thus be\ncalled, in relation to a body of similar particulars, not the\naggregate but something pervading the aggregate. But this is not\nPlato's view: it is the negation of the Platonic Realism.\n\n[Footnote j: This is what we read in the memorable simile of the\nCave, in Plato, Republic, VII., p. 514--519. The language used\nthroughout this simile is [Greek: peria/gein, periakti/on,\nperiag\u00f4g\u00ea/], &c. He supposes that the natural state of man is to\nhave his face and vision towards the particular phenomena, and his\nback towards the universal realities: the great problem is, how to\nmake the man face about, turn his back towards phenomena, and his\neyes towards Universals--[Greek: ta\\ o)/nta--ta\\ no\u00eata/]. Nothing\ncan be learnt from observation however *acute, of the phenomena.\nThe same point is enforced with all the charm of Platonic expression\nin Republ. V. 478, 479, VI., 493, 494. Symposion, p. 210--211,\nPh\u00e6don, p. 74--75.]\n\n[Footnote k: According to Plato, it is [Greek: to\\ e(\\n\n_para\\ ta\\ polla/_]. According to Aristotle, it is [Greek: e(\\n\n_kata\\ poll\u00f4=n_--e(\\n kai\\ to\\ au)to\\ e)pi\\ _pleio/n\u00f4n_\nm\u00ea\\ o(m\u00f4/numon e(\\n _e)pi\\_ poll\u00f4=n]. Analyt. Poster. I. 11, p.\n77, a. 6. Metaphys. I. 9, p. 990, b. 7--13.\n\nWhoever reads the portions of Plato's dialogues indicated in my last\npreceding foot note, will see how material this difference is\nbetween the two philosophers.\n\nIn the remarkable passage of the Analyt. Post. I. 24, p. 85, a. 30,\nb. 20, Aristotle notices the Platonic hypothesis that the Universal\nhas real objective, separate, existence apart from its particulars\n([Greek: to\\ katho/lou e)pi\\ ti para\\ ta\\ kath' e(/kasta]) as an\nillusion, mischievous and misleading--frequent, but not unavoidable.\n\nSee the antithesis between Plato and Aristotle, on the subject of\nUniversals, more copiously explained in the recent work of Professor\nBain, Mental and Moral Science, Appendix, pp. 6--20.]\n\nWhen we read in the Analysis (p. 265) that \"the word _man_ is not a\nword having a very simple idea, as was the opinion of the Realists;\nnor a word having no idea at all, as was that of the Nominalists\"\nthis language seems to me not well-chosen. {282} As to the\nRealists--the Platonic Ideas are conceived as eternal, immutable,\ngrand, dignified, &c., but Aristotle[l] contends that they cannot\nall be simple: for the Idea of Man (e.g.) can hardly be simple, when\nthere exists distinct Ideas of Animal and of Biped. As to the\nNominalists--we cannot surely say that they conceived the universal\nterm as \"having no idea at all.\" A doctrine something like this is\nascribed (on no certain testimony) to Stilpon, in the generation\nsucceeding Aristotle: the word Man (Stilpon is said to have\naffirmed[m]) did not mean John more than William or Thomas or\nRichard, &c., therefore it did not mean either one of them:\ntherefore it had no meaning at all. So also William of Ockham is\nsaid to have declared that Universal Terms were mere \"flatus vocis:\"\nbut this (as Prantl has shewn[n]) was a phrase fastened upon him by\nhis opponents, not employed by himself. Still less can it be\nadmitted that Hobbes and Berkeley conceived the Universal Term as\n\"having no idea at all.\" They denied indeed Universal Ideas in the\nRealistic sense: they also denied what Berkeley calls \"determinate\nabstract Ideas:\" but both of them explained (Berkeley especially)\nthat the Universal term meant, any particular idea, considered as\nrepresenting or standing for all other particular ideas of the same\nsort.[o] Whether this be the best and most complete explanation or\nnot, it can hardly have been present to Mr. James Mill's mind, when\nhe said that the Universal term had no idea at all in the opinion of\nthe Nominalists.\n\n[Footnote l: Aristot. Metaphys. Z. 1039, a. 27, 1040, a. 23.]\n\n[Footnote m: See Grote, Plato and the other Companions of Sokrates,\nVol. III., ch. 38, p. 523.]\n\n[Footnote n: Prantl, Geschichte der Logik, Vol. III., Sect. 19, p.\n327.]\n\n[Footnote o: Berkeley, Principles of Human Knowledge, Introduction,\nSect. 12, 15, 16.]\n\nThere is one other remark to be made, respecting the view of\nClassification presented in the eighth Chapter of the Analysis. We\nread in the beginning of that Chapter--p. 249--\"Forming a class of\nthings is a mode of regarding them. But what is meant by a mode of\nregarding things? This is mysterious: {283} and is as mysteriously\nexplained, when it is said to be the taking into view the\nparticulars in which individuals agree. For what is there which it\nis possible for the mind to take into view, in that in which\nindividuals agree? Every colour is an individual colour, every size\nis an individual size, every shape is an individual shape. But\nthings have no individual colour in common, no individual shape in\ncommon, no individual size in common: that is to say, they have\nneither shape, colour, nor size in common. What then is it which\nthey have in common which the mind can take into view? Those who\naffirmed that it was something, could by no means tell. They\nsubstituted words for things: using vague and mystical phrases,\nwhich when examined meant nothing.\"\n\nHere we find certain phrases, often used both in common speech and\nin philosophy, condemned us mystical and obscure. In the next or\nninth Chapter (on Abstraction, p. 295 seq.), we shall see the\nlanguage substituted for them, and the theory by which the mystery\nis supposed to be removed. I cannot but think that the theory of Mr.\nJames Mill himself is open to quite as many objections as that which\nhe impugns. He finds fault with those who affirm that the word\n_cube_ or _sphere_ is applied to a great many different objects by\nreason of the shape which they have in common; and that they may be\nregarded so far forth as _cube_ or _sphere_. But surely this would\nnot have been considered as either incorrect or mysterious by any\nphilosopher, from Aristotle downward. When I am told that it is\nincorrect, because the shape of each object is an _individual_\nshape, I dissent from the reason given. In my judgment, the term\n_individual_ is a term applicable, properly and specially, to a\nconcrete object--to that which Aristotle would have called a Hoc\nAliquid. The term is not applicable to a quality or attribute. The\nsame quality that belongs to one object, may also belong to an\nindefinite number of others. It is this common quality that is\n_connoted_ (in the sense of that word employed by Mr. John Stuart\nMill) by the class-term: and if there were no common quality, the\nclass-term would have no connotation. In other words, there would be\nno class: nor {284} would it be correct to apply to any two objects\nthe same concrete appellative name.\n\nBut when we come to the following Chapter of the Analysis (ch. ix.\non Abstraction, p. 296), we read as follows--\"Let us suppose that\nwe apply the adjective _black_ first to the word Man. We say 'black\nman.' But we speedily see that _for the same reason_ for which we\nsay black man, we may say black horse, black cow, black coat, and so\non. The word _black_ is thus associated with innumerable\nmodifications of the sensation black. By frequent repetition, and\nthe gradual strengthening of the association, these modifications\nare at last called up in such rapid succession that they appear\ncommingled, and no longer many ideas, but one. _Black_ is therefore\nno longer an individual, but a general name. It marks not the\nparticular black of a particular individual, but the black of every\nindividual and of all individuals.\"\n\nTo say that we apply the word _black_ to the horse _for the same\nreason_ as we applied it to the man, is surely equivalent to saying\nthat the colour of the horse is the same as that of the man: that\nblackness is the colour which they have in common. It is quite true\nthat we begin by applying the name to one individual object, then\napply it to another, and another, &c.; but always for the same\nreason--to designate (or _connote_, in the phraseology of Mr. John\nStuart Mill) the same colour in them all, and to denote the objects\nconsidered under one and the same point of view. It may be that in\nfact there are differences in shade of colour: but the class-name\nleaves these out of sight. When we desire to call attention to them,\nwe employ other words in addition to it. Every attribute is\nconsidered and named as One, which is or may be common to many\nindividual objects: the objects only are individual.\n\nIt is to be regretted, I think, that Mr. James Mill disconnected\nClassification so pointedly from Abstraction, and insisted on\nexplaining the former without taking account of the latter. Such\ndisconnection is a novelty, as he himself states (p. 294): previous\nexpositors thought that \"abstraction was included in\nclassification\"--and, in my judgment, they were {285} right in\nthinking so, if (with Mr. James Mill) we are to consider\nClassification as a \"great operation.\" An aggregate of concretes is\nnot sufficient to constitute a Class, in any scientific sense, or as\navailable in the march of reasoned truth. You must have, besides,\nthe peculiar mode of regarding the aggregate: (a phrase which Mr.\nJames Mill deprecates as mysterious, but which it is difficult to\nexchange for any other words more intelligible) you must have \"that\nseparating one or more of the ingredients of a complex idea from the\nrest, which has received the name of Abstraction\"--to repeat the\nvery just explanation given by him, p. 295--though that too, if we\nlook at p. 249, he seems to consider as tainted with mystery.\n\nWe proceed afterwards to some clear and good additional remarks--p.\n298. A class-term, as _black_, \"is associated with two\ndistinguishable things, but with the one much more than with the\nother: the clusters, with which it is associated, are variable: the\npeculiar sensation with which it is associated, is invariable. It is\nconstantly, and therefore much more strongly, associated with the\nsensation, than with any of the clusters. It is at once a name of\nthe clusters and a name of the sensation: but it is more peculiarly\na name of the sensation.\" Again shortly afterwards, the abstract\nterm is justly described as \"marking exclusively one part (of the\ncluster), upon which such and such effects depend, no alteration\nbeing supposed in any other part of it.\"[p]\n\n[Footnote p: The abstract term is coined for the express purpose of\nmarking one part of a cluster simultaneously present to the mind,\nand fixing attention upon it without the other parts--but the\nconcrete term is often made to serve the same purpose, by means of\nthe adverb quatenus, [Greek: ka/thoson, \u00ea(=|] &c. These phrases are\nfrequent both in Plato and Aristotle: the stock of abstract terms\nwas in their day comparatively small. It is needless to multiply\nillustrations of that which pervades the compositions of both: a\nvery good one appears in Plato, Republ. I., p. 340 D, 341 C, 342.]\n\nThis process of marking exclusively, and attending to, one constant\nportion of a complex state of consciousness, amidst a {286} great\nvariety of variable adjuncts--is doubtless one fundamental\ncharacteristic in Abstraction and Classification. A mystery was\nspread around it by Plato--first through his ascribing to the\nConstant a separate self-existence, apart from the Variables--still\nmore by his hyperbolical predicates respecting these self-existent\ntranscendental Entia. Plato[q] however in other passages gives many\njust opinions, respecting Classification, which are no way founded\non Realism, and are equally admissible by Nominalists: and portions\nof Aristotle may be indicated, which describe the process of\nabstraction as clearly as any thing in Hobbes or Berkeley.[r]\n\n[Footnote q: The two Platonic dialogues, Sophistes and Politikus,\n(in which processes of Classification are worked out,) give\nprecepts, for correct and pertinent classification, not necessarily\ninvolving the theory of Realism, but rather putting it out of sight;\nthough in one special part of the Sophistes, the debate is made to\nturn upon it. The main purpose of Plato is to fix upon some fact or\nphenomenon, clear and appropriate, as the groundwork for\ndistinguishing each class or sub-class--and to define thereby each\nclass-term (_i.e._, to determine its _connotation_, in the sense of\nMr. John Stuart Mill). Plato deprecates the mere following out of\nresemblances as a most slippery proceeding ([Greek: o)listh\u00earo/taton\nge/nos]--Sophist. 231 A). The commonly received classes carry with\nthem in his opinion, no real knowledge, but only the false\npersuasion of knowledge: he wants to break them up and remodel\nthem.]\n\n[Footnote r: See especially Aristot. De Memori\u00e2 et Reminiscenti\u00e2, c.\n1, p. 449, b. 13. De Sensu et Sensili, c. 6, p. 445, b. 17. De Anim\u00e2\nIII. 8, p. 432, a. 9.]\n\nOne farther remark may be made upon these two Chapters of the\nAnalysis. Mr. James Mill seems to take little or no thought of\nClassification and Abstraction, except as performed by Adjectives.\nBut the adjective presupposes a substantive, which is alike an\nappellative; and which has already performed its duty in the way of\nabstracting and classifying. This fact seems to be overlooked in the\nlanguage of some sentences in the present Chapter: for\nexample--\"Some successions are found to depend upon the clusters\ncalled _objects_, all taken together. Thus a tree, a man, a stone,\nare the {287} antecedents of certain consequents, as such: and not\non account of any particular part of the cluster. Other consequents\ndepend not upon the whole cluster, but upon some particular part:\nthus a tall tree produces certain effects which a tree not tall\ncannot produce,\" &c.\n\nI think that the phraseology of this passage is not quite clear.\n\"The whole cluster all taken together\" is not a tree as such--a man\nas such--a stone as such--but this particular man, tree, or stone,\nas it stands: John, Thomas, Caius or Titius, clothed with all his\npredicates, acting or suffering in some given manner. When we speak\nof a man _as such_ or _quatenus man_--we do not include the whole\ncluster, but only those attributes _connoted_ (in Mr. John Stuart\nMill's sense of the word) by the name _man_: we speak of him as a\nmember of the class _Man_. What I wish to point out is--That Man is\na class-term, just as much as _tall_ or _short_: only it is the\nname of a larger class, while tall man is a smaller class under it.\nThe school-logicians did not consider substantives as connotative,\nbut only adjectives: Mr. James Mill has followed them as to this\nextent of the word, though he has inverted their meaning of it (see\np. 299). Mr. John Stuart Mill, while declining to adopt the same\ninversion, has enlarged the meaning of the word _connotative_, so as\nto include appellative substantives as well as adjectives.--_G._]\n\n[Editor's footnote 80: Rejecting the notion that classes and\nclassification would not have existed but for the necessity of\neconomizing names, we may say that objects are formed into classes\non account of their resemblance. It is natural to think of like\nobjects together; which is, indeed, one of the two fundamental laws\nof association. But the resembling objects which are spontaneously\nthought of together, are those which resemble each other obviously,\nin their superficial aspect. These are the only classes which we\nshould form unpremeditatedly, and without the use of expedients. But\nthere are other resemblances which are not superficially obvious;\nand many are not brought to light except by long experience, or\nobservation carefully directed to the purpose; being mostly\nresemblances in the {288} manner in which the objects act on, or are\nacted on by, other things. These more recondite resemblances are\noften those which are of greatest importance to our interests. It is\nimportant to us that we should think of those things together, which\nagree in any particular that materially concerns us. For this\npurpose, besides the classes which form themselves in our minds\nspontaneously by the general law of association, we form other\nclasses artificially, that is, we take pains to associate mentally\ntogether things which we wish to think of together, but which are\nnot sufficiently associated by the spontaneous action of association\nby resemblance. The grand instrument we employ in forming these\nartificial associations, is general names. We give a common name to\nall the objects, we associate each of the objects with the name, and\nby their common association with the name they are knit together in\nclose association with one another.\n\nBut in what manner does the name effect this purpose, of uniting\ninto one complex class-idea all the objects which agree with one\nanother in certain definite particulars? We effect this by\nassociating the name in a peculiarly strong and close manner with\nthose particulars. It is, of course, associated with the objects\nalso; and the name seldom or never calls up the ideas of the\nclass-characteristics unaccompanied by any other qualities of the\nobjects. All our ideas are of individuals, or of numbers of\nindividuals, and are clothed with more or fewer of the attributes\nwhich are peculiar to the individuals thought of. Still, a\nclass-name stands in a very different relation to the definite\nresemblances which it is intended to mark, from that in which it\nstands to the various accessory circumstances which may form part of\nthe image it calls up. There are certain attributes common to the\nentire class, which the class-name was either deliberately selected\nas a mark of, or, at all events, which guide us in the application\nof it. These attributes are the real meaning of the class-name--are\nwhat we intend to ascribe to an object when we call it by that name.\nWith these the association of the name is close and strong: and the\nemployment of the same name by different {289} persons, provided\nthey employ it with a precise adherence to the meaning, ensures that\nthey shall all include these attributes in the complex idea which\nthey associate with the name. This is not the case with any of the\nother qualities of the individual objects, even if they happen to be\ncommon to all the objects, still less if they belong only to some of\nthem. The class-name calls up, in every mind that hears or uses it,\nthe idea of one or more individual objects, clothed more or less\ncopiously with other qualities than those marked by the name; but\nthese other qualities may, consistently with the purposes for which\nthe class is formed and the name given, be different with different\npersons, and with the same person at different times. What images of\nindividual horses the word horse shall call up, depends on such\naccidents as the person's taste in horses, the particular horses he\nmay happen to possess, the descriptions he last read, or the casual\npeculiarities of the horses he recently saw. In general, therefore,\nno very strong or permanent association, and especially no\nassociation common to all who use the language, will be formed\nbetween the word horse and any of the qualities of horses but those\nexpressly or tacitly recognised as the foundations of the class. The\ncomplex ideas thus formed consisting of an inner nucleus of definite\nelements always the same, imbedded in a generally much greater\nnumber of elements indefinitely variable, are our ideas of classes;\nthe ideas connected with general names; what are called General\nNotions: which are neither real objective entities, as the Realists\nheld, nor mere names, as supposed to be maintained by the\nNominalists, nor abstract ideas excluding all properties not common\nto the class, such as Locke's famous Idea of a triangle that is\nneither equilateral nor isosceles nor scalene. We cannot represent\nto ourselves a triangle with no properties but those common to all\ntriangles: but we may represent it to ourselves sometimes in one of\nthose three forms, sometimes in another, being aware all the while\nthat all of them are equally consistent with its being a triangle.\n\nOne important consequence of these considerations is, that {290} the\nmeaning of a class-name is not the same thing with the complex idea\nassociated with it. The complex idea associated with the name man,\nincludes, in the mind of every one, innumerable simple ideas besides\nthose which the name is intended to mark, and in the absence of\nwhich it would not be predicated. But this multitude of simple ideas\nwhich help to swell the complex idea are infinitely variable, and\nnever exactly the same in any two persons, depending in each upon\nthe amount of his knowledge, and the nature, variety, and recent\ndate of his experience. They are therefore no part of the meaning of\nthe name. They are not the association common to all, which it was\nintended to form, and which enables the name to be used by all in\nthe same manner, to be understood in a common sense by all, and to\nserve, therefore, as a vehicle for the communication, between one\nand another, of the same thoughts. What does this, is the nucleus of\nmore closely associated ideas, which is the constant element in the\ncomplex idea of the class, both in the same mind at different times,\nand in different minds.\n\nIt is proper to add, that the class-name is not solely a mark of the\ndistinguishing class-attributes, it is a mark also of the objects.\nThe name man does not merely signify the qualities of animal life,\nrationality, and the human form, it signifies all individual men. It\neven signifies these in a more direct way than it signifies the\nattributes, for it is predicated of the men, but not predicated of\nthe attributes; just as the proper name of an individual man is\npredicated of him. We say, This is a man, just as we say, This is\nJohn Thompson: and if John Thompson is the name of one man, Man is,\nin the same manner, a name of all men. A class name, being thus a\nname of the various objects composing the class, signifies two\ndistinct things, in two different modes of signification. It\nsignifies the individual objects which are the class, and it\nsignifies the common attributes which constitute the class. It is\npredicated only of the objects; but when predicated, it conveys the\ninformation that these objects possess those attributes. Every\nconcrete class-name is thus a connotative name. It marks {291} both\nthe objects and their common attributes, or rather, that portion of\ntheir common attributes in virtue of which they have been made into\na class. It _denotes_ the objects, and, in a mode of speech lately\nrevived from the old logicians, it _connotes_ the attributes. The\nauthor of the Analysis employs the word connote in a different\nmanner; we shall presently examine which of the two is best.\n\nWe are now ready to consider whether the author's account of the\nideas connected with General Names is a true and sufficient one. It\nis best expressed in his own words. \"The word Man, we shall say, is\nfirst applied to an individual; it is first associated with the idea\nof that individual, and acquires the power of calling up the idea of\nhim; it is next applied to another individual, and acquires the\npower of calling up the idea of him; so of another, and another,\ntill it has become associated with an indefinite number, and has\nacquired the power of calling up an indefinite number of those ideas\nindifferently. What happens? It does call up an indefinite number of\nthe ideas of individuals, as often as it occurs, and calling them up\nin close connexion, it forms them into a species of complex idea. .\n. . When the word man calls up the ideas of an indefinite number of\nindividuals, not only of all those to whom I have individually given\nthe name, but of all those to whom I have in imagination given it,\nor imagine it will ever be given, and forms all those ideas into\none,--it is evidently a very complex idea, and therefore indistinct;\nand this indistinctness has doubtless been the main cause of the\nmystery which has appeared to belong to it. That this however is the\nprocess, is an inevitable result of the laws of association.\"\n\nIn brief, my idea of a Man is a complex idea compounded of the ideas\nof all the men I have ever known and of all those I have ever\nimagined, knit together into a kind of unit by a close association.\n\nThe author's description of the manner in which the\nclass-association begins to be formed, is true and instructive; but\ndoes any one's idea of a man actually include all that the author\n{292} finds in it? By an inevitable result of the laws of\nassociation, it is impossible to form an idea of a man in the\nabstract; the class-attributes are always represented in the mind as\npart of an image of an individual, either remembered or imagined;\nthis individual may vary from time to time, and several images of\nindividuals may present themselves either alternatively or in\nsuccession: but is it necessary that the name should recal images of\nall the men I ever knew or imagined, or even all of whom I retain a\nremembrance? In no person who has seen or known many men, can this\nbe the case. Apart from the ideas of the common attributes, the\nother ideas whether of attributes or of individual men, which enter\ninto the complex idea, are indefinitely variable not only in kind\nbut in quantity. Some people's complex idea of the class is\nextremely meagre, that of others very ample. Sometimes we know a\nclass only from its definition, i.e. from an enumeration of its\nclass-attributes, as in the case of an object which we have only\nread of in scientific books: in such a case the idea raised by the\nclass-name will not be limited to the class-attributes, for we are\nunable to conceive any object otherwise than clothed with\nmiscellaneous attributes: but these, not being derived from\nexperience of the objects, may be such as the objects never had, nor\ncould have; while nevertheless the class, and the class-name, answer\ntheir proper purpose; they cause us to group together all the things\npossessing the class-attributes, and they inform us that we may\nexpect those attributes in anything of which that name is\npredicated.\n\nThe defect, as it seems to me, of the view taken of General Names in\nthe text, is that it ignores this distinction between the meaning of\na general name, and the remainder of the idea which the general name\ncalls up. That remainder is uncertain, variable, scanty in some\ncases, copious in others, and connected with the name by a very\nslight tie of association, continually overcome by\ncounter-associations. The only part of the complex idea that is\npermanent in the same mind, or common to several minds, consists of\nthe distinctive attributes marked by the class-name. Nothing else is\nuniversally present, though {293} something else is always present:\nbut whatever else be present, it is through these only that the\nclass-name does its work, and effects the end of its existence. We\nneed not therefore be surprised that these attributes, being all\nthat is of importance in the complex idea, should for a long time\nhave been supposed to be all that is contained in it. The truest\ndoctrine which can be laid down on the subject seems to be\nthis--that the idea corresponding to a class-name is the idea of a\ncertain constant combination of class attributes, accompanied by a\nmiscellaneous and indefinitely variable collection of ideas of\nindividual objects belonging to the class.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{294} CHAPTER IX.\n\nABSTRACTION.\n\n\n\"I think, too, that he (Mr. Locke) would have seen the advantage of\n'thoroughly weighing,' not only (as he says) 'the imperfections of\nLanguage;' but its _perfections_ also: For the perfections of\nLanguage, not properly understood, have been one of the chief causes\nof the imperfections of our knowledge.\"--_Diversions of Purley_, _by\nJohn Horne Tooke, A.M._, i. 37.\n\nTHE two cases of Consciousness, CLASSIFICATION, and ABSTRACTION,\nhave not, generally, been well distinguished.\n\nAccording to the common accounts of Classification, ABSTRACTION was\nincluded in it. When it is said, that, in order to classify, we\nleave out of view all the circumstances in which individuals differ,\nand retain only those in which they agree; this separating one\nportion of what is contained in a complex idea, and making it an\nobject of consideration by itself, is the process which is named\nAbstraction, at least a main part of that process.\n\nIt is necessary now to inquire what are the purposes to which this\nseparating of the parts of a complex idea, and considering and\nnaming the separated parts by themselves, is subservient.\n\n{295} We have already observed the following remarkable things in\nthe process of naming: 1, Assigning names of those clusters of ideas\ncalled objects; as man, fish; 2, Generalizing those names, so as to\nmake them represent a class; 3, Framing adjectives by which minor\nclasses are cut out of larger.\n\nThose adjectives are all names, of some separate portion of a\ncluster, and are, therefore, all instruments of abstraction, or of\nthat separating one or more of the ingredients of a complex idea\nfrom the rest, which has received the name of Abstraction. One\npurpose of Abstraction, therefore, is the formation of those\n_sub-species_, the formation of which is required for certain\npurposes of speech.\n\nThese observations will be rendered familiar by examples. We say,\ntall man, red flower, race horse. In my complex idea of a man, or\nthe cluster of ideas of sense to which I affix that mark, are\nincluded, certain ideas of colour, of figure, size, and so on. By\nthe word tall, I single out a portion of those ideas, namely, the\npart relating to size, or rather size in one direction, and mark the\nseparation by the sign or name. In my complex idea of a flower,\ncolour is always one of the ingredients. By applying the adjective\nred, I single out this one from the rest, and point it out for\npeculiar consideration. The explanation is obvious, and need not be\npursued in a greater number of instances.\n\nWords of this description all denote differences; either such as\nmark out species from genera, or such as mark out individuals from\nspecies. Of this latter sort the number is very small; of which the\nreason is obvious; individual differences are too numerous to {296}\nreceive names, and are marked by contrivances of abridgment which\nwill be spoken of hereafter.\n\nTo explain this notation of differences; the same examples will\nsuffice. In the phrase \"tall man,\" the adjective \"tall\" marks the\ndifference between such a man, and \"short man,\" or \"middle-sized\nman.\" Of the genus man, tall men are one species; and the difference\nbetween them and the rest of the genus is marked by the word tall.\nOf the genus flower, red flowers form a species, and the difference\nbetween them and the rest of the genus is marked by the adjective\nred. Of the genus horse, race horse forms a species, and the\ndifference between this species and the rest of the genus is marked\nby the word race.\n\nIt is of importance further to observe, that adjectives singling out\nideas which are not differences, that is, ideas common to the whole\nclass, are useless: as, tangible wood; coloured man; sentient\nanimal. Such epithets express no more than what is expressed by the\nname without them.\n\nAnother thing requiring the attention of the student is the mode in\nwhich these differential adjectives are generalized. As the word\nman, applied first to one individual, then to another, becomes\nassociated with every individual, and every variety of the species,\nand calls them all up in one very complex idea; so are these\nadjectives applied to one class after another, and by that means at\nlast call up a very complicated idea. Let us take the word \"black\"\nfor an example; and let us suppose that we apply this adjective\nfirst to the word man. We say \"black man.\" But we speedily see that\nfor the same reason for which we say black man we may say black\nhorse, black cow, {297} black coat, and so on. The word black is\nthus associated with innumerable modifications of the sensation\nblack. By frequent repetition, and the gradual strengthening of the\nassociation, these modifications are at last called up in such rapid\nsuccession that they appear commingled, and no longer many ideas,\nbut one. Black is therefore no longer an individual but a general\nname. It marks not the particular black of a particular individual;\nbut the black of every individual, and of all individuals.[81] The\nsame is the case {298} with all other words of the same class. Thus\nI apply the word sweet, first to the lump of sugar in my mouth, next\nto honey, next to grapes, and so on. It thus becomes associated with\nnumerous modifications of the sensation sweet; and when the\nassociation is sufficiently strengthened by repetition, calls them\nup in such close succession, that they are converted into one\ncomplex idea. We are also to remember, that the idea and the name\nhave a mutual power over one another. As the word black calls up the\ncomplex idea, so every modification of black calls up the name; and\nin this, as in other cases, the name actually forms a part of the\ncomplex idea.\n\n[Editor's footnote 81: The example which the author has here\nselected of a general name, sets in a strong light the imperfection\nof the theory of general names, laid down by him in the preceding\nchapter. A name like \"black,\" which marks a simple sensation, is an\nextreme case of the inapplicability of the theory. Can it be\nmaintained that the idea called up in our minds by the word black,\nis an idea compounded of ideas of black men, black horses, black\ncows, black coats, and the like? If I can trust my own\nconsciousness, the word need not, and generally does not, call up\nany idea but that of a single black surface. It is still not an\nabstract idea, but the idea of an individual object. It is not a\nmere idea of colour; it is that, combined with ideas of extension\nand figure, always present but extremely vague, because varying,\neven from one moment to the next. These vague ideas of an uncertain\nextension and figure, combined with the perfectly definite idea of a\nsingle sensation of colour, are, to my consciousness, the sole\ncomponents of the complex idea associated with the word black. I am\nunable to find in that complex idea the ideas of black men, horses,\nor other definite things, though such ideas may of course be\nrecalled by it.\n\nIn such a case as this, the idea of a black colour fills by itself\nthe place of the inner nucleus of ideas knit together by a closer\nassociation, which I have described as forming the permanent part of\nour ideas of classes of objects, and the meaning of the\nclass-names.--_Ed._]\n\nThe next thing, which I shall observe, deserves in a high degree,\nthe attention of the learner. In the various applications of that\nspecies of marks which we are now considering, they are associated\nwith two distinguishable things; but with the one much more than the\nother. Thus, when we say black man, black horse, black coat, and so\nof all other black things, the word black is associated with the\ncluster, man, as often as black man is the expression; with the\ncluster horse, as often as black horse is the expression, and so on\nwith infinite variety: but at the same time that it is associated\nwith each of those various clusters, it is also associated with the\npeculiar sensation of colour which it is intended to mark. The\nCLUSTERS, therefore, with which it is associated, are variable; the\nPECULIAR SENSATION with which it is associated is invariable. It is\nmuch more constantly, and therefore much more strongly associated\nwith the SENSATION than with any of the CLUSTERS. It is at once a\nname of the clusters, and a name of the {299} sensation; but it is\nmore peculiarly a name of the SENSATION.\n\nWe have, in a preceding note, observed, that such words have been\ncalled _connotative_; and I shall find much convenience in using the\nterm NOTATION to point out the sensation or sensations which are\npeculiarly marked by such words, the term CONNOTATION to point out\nthe clusters which they mark along with this their principal meaning.\n\nThus the word, black, NOTES that of which black is more peculiarly\nthe name, a particular colour; it CONNOTES the clusters with the\nnames of which it is joined: in the expression, black man, it\nconnotes man; black horse, it connotes horse; and so of all other\ncases. The ancient Logicians used these terms, in the inverse order;\nvery absurdly, in my opinion.[82]\n\n[Editor's footnote 82: The word Connote, with its substantive\nConnotation, was used by the old logicians in two senses; a wider,\nand a narrower sense. The wider is that in which, up to this place,\nthe author of the Analysis has almost invariably used it; and is the\nsense in which he defined it, in a note to section *5 of his first\nchapter. \"There is a large class of words which denote two things\nboth together; but the one perfectly distinguishable from the other.\nOf these two things, also, it is observable, that such words express\nthe one primarily as it were; the other in a way which may be called\nsecondary. Thus white, in the phrase white horse, denotes two\nthings, the colour and the horse; but it denotes the colour\nprimarily, the horse secondarily. We shall find it very convenient\nto say, therefore, that it _notes_ the primary, _connotes_ the\nsecondary signification.\"\n\nThis use of terms is attended with the difficulty, that it may often\nbe disputed which of the significations is primary and which\nsecondary. In the example given, most people would agree with the\nauthor that the colour is the primary signification; the word being\nassociated with the objects, only through its previous association\nwith the colour. But take the other of the two words, horse. That\ntoo is connotative, and in the same manner. It signifies any and\nevery individual horse, and it also signifies those attributes\ncommon to horses, which led to their being classed together and\nreceiving that common name. Which, in this case, is the primary, and\nwhich the secondary signification? The author would probably say,\nthat in this case, unlike the other, horse is the primary\nsignification, the attributes the secondary. Yet in this equally\nwith the former case, the attributes are the foundation of the\nmeaning: a thing is called a horse to express its resemblance to\nother horses; and the resemblance consists of the common attributes.\nThe question might be discussed, pro and con, by many arguments,\nwithout any conclusive result. The difference between primary and\nsecondary acceptations is too uncertain, and at best too\nsuperficial, to be adopted as the logical foundation of the\ndistinction between the two modes of signification.\n\nThe author, however, has, throughout the preceding chapters,\nregarded words as _connoting_ any number of things which though\nincluded in their signification, are not, in his judgment, what they\nprimarily signify. He said, for example, that a verb notes an\naction, and connotes the agent (as either me, thee, or some third\nperson), the number of agents (as one or more), the time (as past,\npresent, or future), and three modes, \"that in which there is no\nreference to anything preceding, that in which there is a reference\nto something preceding, and that in which reference is made to the\nwill of one of the Persons.\" I cite this complicated case, to shew\nby a striking example the great latitude with which the author uses\nthe word Connote.\n\nBut in the present chapter he follows the example of some of the old\nlogicians in adopting a second and more restricted meaning,\nexpressive of the peculiar connotation which belongs to all concrete\ngeneral names; viz. that twofold manner of signification, by which\nevery name of a class signifies, on the one hand, all and each of\nthe individual things composing the class, and on the other hand the\ncommon attributes, in consideration of which the class is formed and\nthe name given, and which we intend to affirm of every object to\nwhich we apply the name. It is difficult to overrate the importance\nof keeping in view this distinction, or the danger of overlooking it\nwhen not made prominent by an appropriate phrase. The word Connote,\nwhich had been employed for this purpose, had fallen into disuse.\nBut, though agreeing with the old logicians in using the word\nConnote to express this distinction, the author exactly reverses\ntheir employment of it. In their phraseology, the class-name\nconnotes the attributes: in his, it notes the attributes, and\nconnotes the objects. And he declares that in his opinion, their\nmode of employing the term is very absurd.\n\nWe have now to consider which of these two modes of employing it is\nreally the most appropriate.\n\nA concrete general name may be correctly said to be a mark, in a\ncertain way, both for the objects and for their common attributes.\nBut which of the two is it conformable to usage to say that it is\nthe name of? Assuredly, the objects. It is they that are called by\nthe name. I am asked, what is this object called? and I answer, a\nhorse. I should not make this answer if I were asked what are these\nattributes called. Again, I am asked, what is it that is called a\nhorse? and I answer, the object which you see; not the qualities\nwhich you see. Let us now suppose that I am asked, what is it that\nis called black; I answer, all _things_ that have this particular\ncolour. Black is a name of all black things. The name of the colour\nis not black, but blackness. The name of a thing must be the name\nwhich is predicated of the thing, as a proper name is predicated of\nthe person or place it belongs to. It is scarcely possible to speak\nwith precision, and adhere consistently to the same mode of speech,\nif we call a word the name of any thing but that which it is\npredicated of. Accordingly the old logicians, who had not yet\ndeparted widely from the custom of common speech, considered all\nconcrete names as the names of objects, and called nothing the name\nof an attribute but abstract names.\n\nNow there is considerable incongruity in saying that a word\nconnotes, that is, signifies secondarily, the very thing which it is\na name of. To connote, is to mark something along with, or in\naddition to, something else. A name can hardly be said to mark the\nthing which it is a name of in addition to some other thing. If it\nmarks any other thing it marks it in addition to the thing of which\nit is itself the name. In the present case, what is marked in\naddition, is that which is the cause of giving the name; the\nattributes, the possession of which by a thing entitles it to that\nname. It therefore seems more conformable to the original\nacceptation of the word Connote, that we should say of names like\nman or black that they connote humanity or blackness, and denote, or\nare names of, men and black objects; rather than, with the author of\nthe Analysis, that they note the attributes, and connote the things\nwhich possess the attributes.\n\nIf this mode of using the terms is more consonant to propriety of\nlanguage, so also is it more scientifically convenient. It is of\nextreme importance to have a technical expression exclusively\nconsecrated to signify the peculiar mode in which the name of a\nclass marks the attributes in virtue of which it is a class, and is\ncalled by the name. The verb \"to note,\" employed by the author of\nthe Analysis as the correlative of \"to connote,\" is far too general\nto be confined to so specific a use, nor does the author intend so\nto confine it. \"To connote,\" on the contrary, is a phrase which has\nbeen handed down to us in this restricted acceptation, and is\nperfectly fitted to be used as a technical term. There is no more\nimportant use of a term than that of fixing attention upon something\nwhich is in danger of not being sufficiently taken notice of. This\nis emphatically the case with the attribute-signification of the\nnames of objects. That signification has not been seen clearly, and\nwhat has been seen of it confusedly has bewildered or misled some of\nthe most distinguished philosophers. From Hobbes to Hamilton, those\nwho have attempted to penetrate the secret of the higher logical\noperations of the intellect have continually missed the mark for\nwant of the light which a clear conception of the connotation of\ngeneral names spreads over the subject. There is no fact in\npsychology which more requires a technical name; and it seems\neminently desirable that the words Connote and Connotative should be\nexclusively employed for this purpose; and it is for this purpose\nthat I have myself invariably employed them.\n\nIn studying the Analysis, it is of course necessary to bear in mind\nthat the author does not use the words in this sense, but sometimes\nin a sense much more vague and indefinite, and, when definite, in a\nsense the reverse of this. It may seem an almost desperate\nundertaking, in the case of an unfamiliar term, to attempt to\nrectify the usage introduced by the actual reviver of the word: and\nnothing could have induced me to attempt it, but a deliberate\nconviction that such a technical expression is indispensable to\nphilosophy, and that the author's mode of employing these words\nunfits them for the purpose for which they are needed, and for which\nthey are well adapted. I fear, however, that I have rarely succeeded\nin associating the words with their precise meaning, anywhere but in\nmy own writings. The word Connote, not unfrequently meets us of late\nin philosophical speculations, but almost always in a sense more lax\nthan the laxest in which it is employed in the Analysis, meaning no\nmore than to imply. To such an extent is this the case, that able\nthinkers and writers do not always even confine the expression to\nnames, but actually speak of Things as connoting whatever, in their\nopinion, the existence of the Things implies or presupposes.--_Ed._]\n\n{300} In using these connotative names, it is often highly\nconvenient to drop the connotation; that is, to leave out the\nconnoted cluster.\n\n{301} A mark is needed, to show when it is meant that the\nconnotation is dropped. A slight mark put upon the connotative term\nanswers the purpose; and shews {302} when it is not meant that\nanything should be connoted. In regard to the word black, for\nexample, we merely annex to it the syllable _ness_; and it is\nimmediately {303} indicated that all connotation is dropped: so, in\nsweetness; hardness; dryness; lightness. The new words, so formed,\nare the words which have been denominated {304} ABSTRACT; as the\nconnotative terms from which they are formed have been denominated\nCONCRETE; and, as these terms are in frequent use, it is necessary\nthat the meaning of them should be well remembered.\n\nIt is now also manifest what is the real nature of ABSTRACT terms; a\nsubject which has in general presented such an appearance of\nmystery. They are simply the CONCRETE terms, with the connotation\ndropped. And this has in it, surely, no mystery at all.[83]\n\n[Editor's footnote 83: After having said that a concrete general\nname notes an attribute, that this, one of the sensations in a\ncluster, and connotes the objects which have the attribute, i.e. the\nclusters of which that sensation forms a part; the author proceeds\nto say that an abstract name is the concrete name with the\nconnotation dropped.\n\nThis seems a very indirect and circuitous mode of making us\nunderstand what an abstract name signifies. Instead of aiming\ndirectly at the mark, it goes round it. It tells us that one name\nsignifies a part of what another name signifies, leaving us to infer\nwhat part. A connotative name with the connotation dropped, is a\nphrase requiring to be completed by specifying what is the portion\nof signification left. The concrete name with its connotation\nsignifies an attribute, and also the objects which have the\nattribute. We are now instructed to drop the latter half of the\nsignification, the objects. What then remains? The attribute. Why\nnot then say at once that the abstract name is the name of the\nattribute? Why tell us that _x_ is _a_ plus _b_ with _b_ dropped,\nwhen it was as easy to tell us that _x_ is _a_?\n\nThe noticeable thing however is that if _a_ stands merely for the\nsensation, _x_ really is a little more than _a_: the connotation (in\nthe author's sense of the term) of the concrete name is not _wholly_\ndropped in the abstract name. The term blackness, and every other\nabstract term, includes in its signification the existence of a\nblack object, though without declaring what it is. That is indeed\nthe distinction between the name of an attribute, and the name of a\nkind or type of sensation. Names of sensations by themselves are not\nabstract but concrete names. They mark the type of the sensation,\nbut they do not mark it as emanating from any object. \"The sensation\nof black\" is a concrete name, which expresses the sensation apart\nfrom all reference to an object. \"Blackness\" expresses the same\nsensation with reference to an object, by which the sensation is\nsupposed to be excited. Abstract names thus still retain a limited\namount of connotation in both the author's senses of the term--the\nvaguer and the more specific sense. It is only in the sense to which\nI am anxious to restrict the term, that any abstract name is without\nconnotation.\n\nAn abstract name, then, may be defined as the name of an attribute;\nand, in the ultimate analysis, as the name of one or more of the\nsensations of a cluster; not by themselves, but considered as part\nof any or all of the various clusters, into which that type of\nsensations enters as a component part.--_Ed._]\n\n{305} It hence, also, appears that there can be no ABSTRACT term\nwithout an implied CONCRETE, though cases are not wanting, in which\nthere is much occasion for the ABSTRACT term but not much for the\nCONCRETE; in which, therefore, the concrete is not in use, or is\nsupplied by another form of expression.\n\n{306} In regular and capricious languages, as our own, the dropping\nof the connotation of the concrete terms is not marked in a uniform\nmanner; and this requires some illustration. Thus, heavy is a\nconcrete term, and we shew the dropping of the connotation, by the\nsame mark as in the instances above, saying heaviness; but we have\nanother term which is exactly the equivalent of heaviness, and\nfrequently used as the abstract of heavy; that is, weight. Friend is\na concrete, connotative term, in the substantive form. Its\nconnotation is dropped by another mark, the syllable ship; thus,\nfriendship; in like manner, generalship; brothership; cousinship.\nThe syllable age is another of the marks we use for the same\npurpose; pilotage, parsonage, stowage.\n\nAmong concrete connotative words, we have already had full\nopportunity of observing that verbs constitute a principal class.\nThose words all NOTE some _motion_ or _action_ and CONNOTE an\n_actor_. There is the same frequency of occasion to leave out the\nconnotation in the case of this class of connotative words, as in\nother classes. Accordingly ABSTRACT terms are formed from them, as\nfrom the connotative adjectives and substantives. The infinitive\nmood is such an abstract term; with this peculiarity, that, though\nit leaves out the connotation of the _actor_, it retains the\nconnotation of _time_.[84] {307} It is convenient, however, to have\nabstract terms from the verbs, which leave out also the connotation\nof time; such are the substantive _amor_ from _amo_, _timor_ from\n_timeo_, and so on.\n\n[Editor's footnote 84: The infinitive mood does not always express\ntime. At least, it often expresses it aoristically, without\ndistinction of tense. \"To love\" is as abstract a name as \"love,\" \"to\nfear,\" as \"fear\": they are applied equally to past, present, and\nfuture. The infinitives of the past and future, as _amavisse_,\n_amaturus esse_, do, however, include in their signification a\nparticular time.--_Ed._]\n\nVerbs have not only an active but a passive form. In the passive\nform, it is not the _action_, but the _bearing_ of the action, which\nis NOTED; and not the _actor_, but the _bearer_ of the action, that\nis CONNOTED. In this case, also, there is not less frequent occasion\nto drop the connotation. By the simple contrivance of a slight\nalteration in the connotative term, the important circumstance of\ndropping the connotation is marked. In the case of the passive as\nthe active form of verbs, the infinitive mood drops the connotation\nof the person, but retains that of the time. Other abstract terms,\nformed from the passive voice, leave out the connotation both of\nperson and time. Thus from _legor_, there is _lectio_; from _optor_,\n_optatio_; from _dicor_, _dictio_; and so on.\n\nIt is to be remarked that the Latin mode of forming abstract terms\nfrom verbs, by the termination \"tio,\" has been adopted to a great\nextent in English. A large proportion of our abstract terms are thus\ndistinguished; as action, association, imagination, navigation,\nmensuration, friction, motion, station, faction, legislation,\ncorruption, and many others.\n\nIt is also of extreme importance to mark a great defect and\nimperfection, in this respect, of the Latin language. Such words as\n_lectio_, _dictio_, _actio_, are derived with equal readiness either\nfrom the supine, _lectum_, _dictum_, _actum_; or from the\nparticiple, _lectus_, _dictus_, _actus_. The supine is _active_, the\nparticiple, _passive_. From this circumstance probably it is, that\n{308} these abstract terms in the Latin language possess both the\nactive and passive signification; and by this most unfortunate\nambiguity have proved a fertile source of obscurity and confusion.\nThis defect of the Latin language is the more to be lamented by us,\nthat it has infected our own language; for as we have borrowed from\nthe Latin language a great proportion of our abstract terms, we have\ntransplanted the mischievous equivocation along with them. This\nambiguity the Greek language happily avoided: thus it had [Greek:\npra=xis] and [Greek: pra=gma] the first for the active\nsignification of _actio_, the latter the passive.[85]\n\n[Editor's footnote 85: I apprehend that [Greek: pra=gma] is not an\nabstract but a concrete term, and does not express the attribute of\nbeing done, but the thing done--the effect which results from the\ncompleted action.--_Ed._]\n\nOf the abstract terms, of genuine English growth, derived from the\nconcrete names of action, or verbs, the participle of the past tense\nsupplied a great number, merely dropping the adjective, and assuming\nthe substantive form. Thus, weight, a word which we had occasion to\nnotice before, is the participle weighed, with the connotation\ndropped: stroke is merely struck; the _thing_ struck, the\nconnotation, being left out: thought is the past participle passive\nof the verb to think, and differs from the participle in nothing,\nbut that the participle, the adjective, has the connotation; the\nabstract, the substantive, has it not. Whether the concrete, or the\nabstract, is the term employed, is in such cases always indicated by\nthe context; and, therefore, no particular mark to distinguish them\nis required.\n\n{309} In our non-inflected language, a facility is afforded in\nforming a non-connotative from the connotative, in the active voice\nof verbs; because the connotative word is always distinguished by\nthe presence of the persons of the verb, or that of some part of the\nauxiliary verb. The same word, therefore, answers for the abstract,\nas for the concrete; it being of course the abstract, when none of\nthe marks of the concrete are present. Thus the word love, is both\nthe verb or the connotative, and the substantive or the\nnon-connotative; thus also fear, walk, ride, stand, fight, smell,\ntaste, sleep, dream, drink, work, breath, and many others.\n\nWe have in English, formed from verbs, a great many abstracts or\nnon-connotatives, which terminate in \"th,\" as truth, health, dearth,\nstealth, death, strength. It may be disputed whether these words are\nderived from one part of the verb or another; but, in all other\nrespects, the nature of them is not doubtful. The third person\nsingular of the present, indicative active, ends in \"th;\" and,\ntherefore, they may be said to be that part of the verb with the\nconnotation dropped. The termination, however, of the past\nparticiple is \"d,\" and we know that \"th\" and \"d,\" are the same\nletter under a slight difference of articulation; and, therefore,\nthey may just as well be derived from the past participle, and as\noften at least as they have a passive signification, no doubt are.\nThus the verb trow, to think, has either troweth, or trowed; from\none of which, but more likely from the last, we have truth: the verb\nto heal, has either healeth, or healed; from one of which, but more\nlikely the last, we have health: the verb to string has stringeth,\nor stringed; {310} from one of which we have strength; thus from\ndieth, or died, death; from stealeth, or stealed, stealth; mirth in\nthe same manner, from a verb now out of use; so heighth, length,\nbreadth.[86]\n\n[Findlater's footnote 86: The abstracts in _-th_ belong to a very\nearly stage of the language. We cannot now form words like _health_,\n_truth_, as we can abstracts in _-ness_. As in the case of\nadjectives in _-en_ (_wooden_), and of preterites and participles\nlike _fell_, _fallen_, that particular part of the vital energy of\nthe language that produced them, is dead--ossified, as it were; and\nwe cannot exemplify their formation by any process now going on. To\naccount for many of them, we must suppose them formed from roots\ndifferent from any now existing as separate words--roots from which\nthe corresponding verbs and adjectives that we are acquainted with\nhave been themselves derived by augmentation or other change. This\nbeing the case, it is impossible to say with certainty whether the\nimmediate root of any particular abstract in _-th_ was a verb, a\nnoun, or an adjective; and, indeed, the question need hardly be\nraised, since a primitive root was of the nature of all three.\n\nThe structure of these derivatives is better seen in some of the\nother Teutonic dialects than in the English or the Anglo-Saxon,\nin which the affix is reduced to a mere consonant. Thus, for Eng.\n_depth_ the Gothic has _diupi-tha_; for _heigh-th_, _hauhi-tha_.\nIn Old High German the affix _-tha_ becomes _-da_, and we have\n_heili-da_ corresponding to Eng. _heal-th_; _strenki-da_, to\n_streng-th_; besides a great number of analogous forms, such as\n_evi-da_, \"eternity\" (from the same root as _ever_; compare Lat.\n_aetas_ for _aevitas_). In modern German comparatively few of these\nderivatives survive; and in those that do; the _-da_ of the Old\nGerman has passed into _-de_, as in _ge-baer-de_, the way of\n'bearing' oneself, behaviour; equivalent to Latin _habi-tus_. The\nmodern German equivalents of _bread-th_, _leng-th_, are _breit-e_,\n_l\u00e4ng-e_; but in some of the popular dialects the older forms\n_breite de_, _l\u00e4ng-de_ are still retained; and in Dutch _warm-te_\ncorresponds to _warm-th_, and _gr\u00f4t-te_ is _great-ness_. When we\nrecollect that _th_ or _d_ in the Germanic languages represents in\nsuch cases the _t_ of the Greek and Latin (compare Gr. [Greek:\nme/lit (os)], honey with Goth. _milith_; Lat. _alter_ with Eng.\n_other_), we cannot help seeing how analogous is the formation of\nthe class of words we are now considering to that of Latin past\nparticiples (ama-tus, dic-tus, audi-tus). In the case of those\nabstracts that seem to come more naturally from an adjective root\nthan from a verb, we can conceive the adjective formed on the\nanalogy of the past participle; just as there are in English\nadjectives having no possible verbal root, yet simulating past\nparticiples; as _able-bodi-ed_, _three-corner-ed_. The abstract noun\nwould appear to have been originally distinguished from the\nparticiple, or participial adjective, by some additional affix, as\nin lec-t-io. In Greek and Latin this additional affix very often\nconsisted in a reduplication of the formative element _t_, as if for\nthe purpose of denoting multitude, generality; as in Greek ([Greek:\nneo/-t\u00eat-os]), Latin _juven-tut-is_, _sani-tat-is_. It is not\nimpossible that Goth. _diupi-tha_, O.H.G. _heili-da_ are\nabbreviations of _diupi-tha-th_, _heili-da-d_, just as Lat.\n_sani-tat_ has dwindled down in modern Ital. to _sani-t\u00e0_.\n\nIn a great many words essentially belonging to the same class both\nin meaning and in mode of formation, the _-th_ has, for the sake of\neuphony or from other causes, given place to _t_ or _d_. Thus _mood_\ncorresponds to Goth. _mo-th_, and means a motion (Lat. _motus_) or\naffection (of the mind); _blood_, to Goth. _blo-th_; _theft_, is in\nAng. Sax. _theof-th_. _Mur-ther_, from a root akin to Lat. _mori_;\n_burthen_, from the root of to _bear_, are of similar formation,\nwith additional affixes.\n\nAll these considerations would seem to put Horne Tooke's proposed\nderivation of these abstracts from the third person singular of the\npresent indicative of the verb, completely out of court. The famous\ncase of _truth_ from _troweth_ is especially absurd. For one thing\nthe Ang. Sax. verb _treowan_ does not mean \"to think,\" but \"to\ntrust,\" \"rely on,\" \"believe.\" This implies a ground for the trust,\nand that ground lies in the quality expressed by the adjective,\ntrue. _Truth_ has the same relation, logically and etymologically,\nto _true_, that _dearth_ has to _dear_, _health_ to _hale_.\nRemarking on the identity in form between the Ang. Sax. _treow_,\n\"trust,\" \"a treaty,\" and _treow_, \"a tree,\" Jacob Grimm suggests\nthat they are radically related, and that the idea common to _tree_\nand _true_ is firmness, fixedness. Thus the \"true\" would be the\n\"firm\" the \"fixed\"--what may be relied on. This view is supported by\nthe analogy of the Lat. _robur_, which means both an oak and\nstrength.--_F._]\n\n{311} It would be interesting to give a systematic account of the\nnon-connotatives, derived from English {312} verbs; and this ought\nto be done; but for the present inquiry it would be an operation\nmisplaced. The nature of the words, and the mode of their\nsignification, is all which here is necessary to be understood.\n\nOne grand class of connotative terms is composed of such words as\nthe following: walking, running, flying, reading, striking; and we\nhave seen that, for a very obvious utility, a generical name was\ninvented, the word ACTING, which includes the whole of these\nspecific names; and to which the non-connotative, or abstract term\nACTION corresponds. There was equal occasion for a generical name to\ninclude all the specific names belonging to the other class of\nconnotative terms; such as coloured, sapid, hard, soft, hot, cold,\nand so on. But language has by no means been so happy in a general\nname for this, as for the other class. The word SUCH, is a\nconnotative term, which includes them all, and indeed the other\nclass along with them; for when we apply the word SUCH to any thing,\nwe comprehend under it all the ideas of which the cluster {313} is\ncomposed. But this is not all which is included under the word such.\nIt is a relative term, and always connotes so much of the meaning of\nsome other term. When we call a thing _such_, it is always\nunderstood that it is such _as_ some other thing. Thus we say, John\nis such as James. Corresponding with our \"such as,\" the Latins had\n_talis qualis_. If we could suppose _qualis_ to have been used\nwithout any connotation of _talis_, _qualis_ would have been such a\nword as the occasion which we are now considering would have\nrequired. The Latins did not use _qualis_, in this sense, as a\ngeneral concrete, including all the other names of the properties of\nobjects other than actions. But they made from it, as if used in\nthat very sense, a non-connotative or abstract term, the word\nQUALITY, which answers the same purpose with regard to both classes,\nas action does to one of them. That is to say; it is a very general\nnon-connotative term, including under it the non-connotatives or\nabstracts of hot, cold, hard, soft, long, short; and not only of all\nother words of that description, but of acting, and its subordinates\nalso.\n\n_Quantus_, is another concrete which has a double connotation like\n_qualis_. It connotes not only the substantive with which it agrees,\nbut also, being a relative, the term _tantus_, which is its\ncorrelate. By dropping both connotations, the abstract QUANTITY is\nmade; a general term, including under it the abstracts of all the\nnames by which the modifications of greater and less are\ndenominated; as large, small, a mile long, an inch thick, a handful,\na ton, and so on.\n\nMuch remains, beside what is here stated, of the full explanation of\nthe mode in which _talis qualis_, {314} _tantus quantus_, are made\nconducive to the great purposes of marking. But this must be\nreserved till we come to treat of RELATIVE TERMS, in general.\n\nWe have previously observed, that one of the purposes for which we\nabstract, or sunder the parts of a complex idea, marked by a general\nname, is, to form those adjectives, or connotative terms, which,\ndenoting differences, enable us to form, and to name, subordinate\nclasses. We now come to the next of the great purposes to which\nabstraction is subservient, and it is one to which the whole of our\nattention is due.\n\nOf all the things in which we are interested, that is, on which our\nhappiness and misery depend, meaning here by things, both objects\nand events, the most important by far are the successions of\nobjects; in other words, the effects which they produce. In reality,\nobjects are interesting to us, solely on account of the effects\nwhich they produce, either on ourselves, or on other objects.\n\nBut an observation of the greatest importance readily occurs; that\nof any cluster, composing our idea of an object, the effects or\nconsequents depend, in general, more upon one part of it than\nanother. If a stone is hot, it has certain effects or consequences;\nif heavy, it has others, and so on. It is of great importance to us,\nin respect to those successions, to be able to mark discriminately\nthe real antecedent; not the antecedent combined with a number of\nthings with which the consequent has nothing to do. I observe, that\nother objects, as iron, lead, gold, produce similar effects with\nstone; as often as the name _hot_ can, in like manner, be predicated\nof them. In the several clusters therefore, hot stone, hot iron, hot\ngold, {315} hot lead, there is a portion, the same in all, with\nwhich, and not with the rest, the effects which I am contemplating\nare connected. This part is marked by the word _hot_; which word,\nhowever, in the case of each cluster, connotes also the other parts\nof the cluster. It appears at once, how much convenience there must\nbe in dropping the connotation, and obtaining a word which, in each\nof those cases, shall mark exclusively that part of the cluster on\nwhich the effect depends. This is accomplished by the abstract or\nnon-connotative terms, heat, and weight.\n\nCertain alterations, also, are observed in those parts of clusters\non which such and such effects depend; which alterations make\ncorresponding alterations in the effects, though no other alteration\nis observable, in the cluster, to which such parts belong. Thus, if\na stone is more or less hot, the effects or successions are not the\nsame; so of iron, so of lead; but the same alteration in the same\npart of each of those clusters, is followed by the same effects. It\nis true, that we know nothing of the alteration in the cause, but by\nthe alteration in the effects; for we only say that a stone is\nhotter, because it produces such other effects, either in our\nsensations immediately, or in the sensations we receive from other\nobjects. It is, however, obvious that we have urgent use for the\nmeans of marking, not only the alterations in the effects, but the\nalterations in the antecedents. This we do, by supposing the\nalterations to be those of increase and diminution, and marking them\nby the distinction of lower and higher degrees. But, for this\npurpose, it is obvious that we must have a term which is not\nconnotative; because we suppose no alteration in any {316} part of\nthe cluster but that which is not connoted; thus we can say, with\nsufficient precision, that a greater or less degree of heat produces\nsuch and such effects; but we cannot say, that a greater or less\ndegree of hot stone, of hot iron, of hot any thing else, produces\nthese effects.\n\nThis then, is another use, and evidently a most important use, of\nabstract, non-connotative terms. They enable us to mark, with more\nprecision, those successions, in which our good and evil is wholly\ncontained.\n\nThis also enables us to understand, what it is which recommends such\nand such aggregates, and not others, for classification. Those\nsuccessions of objects, in which we are interested, determine the\nclassifications which we form of them.\n\nSome successions are found to depend upon the clusters, called\nobjects, all taken together. Thus a tree, a man, a stone, are the\nantecedents of certain consequents, as such; and not on account of\nany particular part of the cluster.\n\nOther consequents depend not upon the whole of the cluster, but upon\nsome particular part: thus a tall tree, produces certain effects,\nwhich a tree not tall, cannot produce; a strong man, produces\ncertain effects, which a man not strong cannot produce. When these\nconsequents are so important, as to deserve particular attention,\nthey and their antecedents must be marked. For this purpose, are\nemployed the connotative terms marking differences. These terms\nenable us to group the clusters containing those antecedents into a\nsub-class; and NON-CONNOTATIVE or ABSTRACT terms, derived from them,\nenable {317} us to speak separately of that part of the cluster\nwhich we have to mark as the precise antecedent of the consequent\nwhich is engaging our attention.\n\nIt is presumed, that these illustrations will suffice, to enable the\nreader to discern the real marking power of abstract terms, and also\nto perceive the mode of their formation.\n\n\n\n\n{318} CHAPTER X.\n\nMEMORY.\n\n\n\"The science of metaphysics, as it regards the mind, is, in its most\nimportant respects, a science of analysis; and we carry on our\nanalysis, only when we suspect that what is regarded by others as an\nultimate principle, admits of still finer evolution into principles\nstill more elementary.\"--_Inquiry into the Relation of Cause and\nEffect_, _by Thomas Brown, M.D._ P. iv. s. i. p. 331.\n\nIT has been already observed that if we had no other state of\nconsciousness than sensation, we never could have any knowledge,\nexcepting that of the present instant. The moment each of our\nsensations ceased, it would be gone, for ever; and we should be as\nif we had never been.\n\nThe same would be the case if we had only ideas in addition to\nsensations. The sensation would be one state of consciousness, the\nidea another state of consciousness. But if they were perfectly\ninsulated; the one having no connexion with the other; the idea,\nafter the sensation, would give me no more information, than one\nsensation after another. We should still have the consciousness of\nthe present instant, and nothing more. We should be wholly incapable\nof acquiring experience, and accommodating our actions {319} to the\nlaws of nature. Of course we could not continue to exist.\n\nEven if our ideas were associated in trains, but only as they are in\nImagination, we should still be without the capacity of acquiring\nknowledge. One idea, upon this supposition, would follow another.\nBut that would be all. Each of our successive states of\nconsciousness, the moment it ceased, would be gone for ever. Each of\nthose momentary states would be our whole being.\n\nSuch, however, is not the nature of man. We have states of\nconsciousness, which are connected with past states. I hear a\nmusical air; I recognise it as the air which was sung to me in my\ninfancy. I have an idea of a ghost; I recognise the terror with\nwhich, when I was alone in the dark, that idea, in my childish\nyears, was accompanied. Uniting in this manner the present with the\npast, and not otherwise, I am susceptible of knowledge; I am capable\nof ascertaining the qualities of things; that is, their power of\naffecting me; and of knowing in what circumstances what other\ncircumstances will take place. Suppose that my present state of\nconsciousness is the idea of putting my finger in the flame of the\ncandle. I recognise the act as a former act;[87] and this\nrecognition is followed {320} by another, namely, that of the pain\nwhich I felt immediately after. This part of my constitution, which\nis of so much importance to me, I find it useful to name. And the\nname I give to it is MEMORY. When the memory of the past is\ntransferred into an anticipation of the future, by a process which\nwill be explained hereafter, it gets the name of experience; and all\nour power of avoiding evil, and obtaining good, is derived from it.\nUnless I remembered that my finger had been in the flame of the\ncandle; and unless I anticipated a similar consequent, from a\nsimilar antecedent, I should touch the flame of the candle, after\nbeing burned by it a hundred times, just as I should have done, if\nneither burning nor any of its causes had ever formed part of my\nconsciousness.\n\n[Bain's footnote 87: The recognition of an act as a former act, or\nof a present sensation as having formerly occurred, is a\n*phase of the intellectual power named consciousness of Agreement,\nor Similarity, which is both an essential of our Knowledge, and a\nmeans of mental Reproduction. The defectiveness of the author's\nview of this function of the intellect has been elsewhere commented\non.--_B._]\n\nOur inquiry is, what this part of our constitution, so highly\nimportant to us, is composed of. All inquirers are agreed, that it\nis complex; but what the elements are into which it may be resolved,\nhas not been very successfully made out.\n\nIt is proper to begin with the elements which are universally\nacknowledged. Among them, it is certain, that IDEAS are the\nfundamental part. Nothing is remembered but through its IDEA. The\nmemory, however, of a thing, and the idea of it, are not the same.\nThe idea may be without the memory; but the memory cannot be without\nthe idea. The idea of an elephant may occur to me, without the\nthought of its having been an object of my senses. But I cannot have\nthe thought of its having been an object of my senses, without\nhaving the idea of the animal at the {321} same time. The\nconsciousness, therefore, which I call memory, is an idea, but not\nan idea alone; it is an idea and something more. So far is our\ninquiry narrowed. What is that which, combined with an idea,\nconstitutes memory?\n\nThat memory may be, the idea must be. In what manner is the idea\nproduced?\n\nWe have already seen in what manner an idea is called into existence\nby association. It is easy to prove that the idea which forms part\nof memory is called up in the same way, and no other. If I think of\nany case of memory, I shall always find that the idea, or the\nsensation which preceded the memory, was one of those which are\ncalculated, according to the laws of association, to call up the\nidea involved in that case of memory; and that it was by the\npreceding idea, or sensation, that the idea of memory was in reality\nbrought into the mind. I have not seen a person with whom I was\nformerly intimate for a number of years; nor have I, during all that\ninterval, had occasion to think of him. Some object which had been\nfrequently presented to my senses along with him, or the idea of\nsomething with which I have strongly associated the idea of him,\noccurs to me; instantly the memory of him exists. The friend with\nwhom I had often seen him in company, accidentally meets me; a\nletter of his which had been long unobserved, falls under my eye; or\nan observation which he was fond of producing, is repeated in my\nhearing; these are circumstances all associated with the idea of the\nindividual in question; the idea of him is excited by them, and with\nthe mere idea of the {322} man, all the other circumstances which\nconstitute memory.\n\nThe necessary dependence of memory upon association, may be proved\nstill more rigidly in this way. It has been already observed, that\nwe cannot call up any idea by willing it. When we are said to will,\nthere must be in the mind, the idea of what is willed. \"Will,\nwithout an idea,\" are incongruous terms; as if one should say, \"I\ncan will, and will nothing.\" But if the idea of the thing willed,\nmust be in the mind, as a condition of willing, to will to have an\nidea in the mind, is to will to have that in it, which, by the\nsupposition, is in it already.\n\nThere is a state of mind familiar to all men, in which we are said\nto try to remember. In this state, it is certain that we have not in\nthe mind the idea which we are trying to have in it. How then is it,\nthat we proceed in the course of our endeavour to procure its\nintroduction into the mind? If we have not the idea itself, we have\ncertain ideas connected with it. We run over those ideas, one after\nanother, in hopes that some one of them will suggest the idea we are\nin quest of; and if any of them does, it is always one so connected\nwith it, as to call it up in the way of association. I meet an old\nacquaintance, whose name I do not remember, and wish to recollect.\nI run over a number of names, in hopes that some of them may be\nassociated with the idea of the individual. I think of all the\ncircumstances in which I have seen him engaged; the time when I knew\nhim, the place in which I knew him, the persons along with whom\nI knew him, the things he did, or the things he suffered; and,\nif I chance upon any idea with which the name is {323} associated,\nthen immediately I have the recollection; if not, my pursuit of it\nis in vain.[88]\n\n[Bain's footnote 88: This process seems best expressed by laying\ndown a law of Compound or Composite Association; under which a\nplurality of feeble links of connexion may be a substitute for one\npowerful and self-sufficing link.--_B._\n\n[The laws of compound association are the subject of one of the most\noriginal and profound chapters of Mr. Bain's treatise (The Senses\nand the Intellect. Part ii. Chap. 3.).--_Ed._]]\n\nThere is another set of cases, very familiar, but affording very\nimportant evidence on the subject. It frequently happens, that there\nare matters which we desire not to forget. What is the contrivance\nto which we have recourse for preserving the memory; that is, for\nmaking sure that it will be called into existence, when it is our\nwish that it should. All men, invariably employ the same expedient.\nThey endeavour to form an association between the idea of the thing\nto be remembered, and some sensation, or some idea, which they know\nbeforehand will occur at or near the time when they wish the\nremembrance to be in their minds. If this association is formed, and\nthe sensation or the idea, with which it has been formed, occurs;\nthe sensation, or idea, calls up the remembrance; and the object of\nhim who formed the association is attained. To use a vulgar\ninstance; a man receives a commission from his friend, and, that he\nmay not forget it, ties a knot on his handkerchief. How is this fact\nto be explained? First of all, the idea of the commission is\nassociated with the making of the knot. Next, the handkerchief is a\nthing which it is known beforehand will be frequently seen, and of\n{324} course at no great distance of time from the occasion on which\nthe memory is desired. The handkerchief being seen, the knot is\nseen, and this sensation recalls the idea of the commission, between\nwhich and itself, the association had been purposely formed.\n\nWhat is thus effected through association with a sensation, may be\neffected through association with an idea. If there is any idea,\nwhich I know will occur to me at a particular time, I may render\nmyself as sure of recalling any thing which I wish to remember at\nthat time, by associating it with this idea, as if I associated it\nwith a sensation. Suppose I know that the idea of Socrates will be\npresent to my mind at twelve o'clock this day week: if I wish to\nremember at that time something which I have to do, my purpose will\nbe gained, if I establish between the idea of Socrates, and the\ncircumstance which I wish to remember, such an association that the\none will call up the other.\n\nA very remarkable application of this principle offers itself to our\ncontemplation, in the artificial memory which was invented by the\nancient orators and rhetoricians. The orator made choice of a set of\nobjects, sufficient in number to answer his purpose. The ideas of\nthose objects he taught himself, by frequent repetition, to pass\nthrough his mind in one constant order. The objects which he chose\nwere commonly such as aided him in fixing them according to a\ncertain order in his memory; the parts, for example, of some public\nbuilding, or other remarkable assemblage. Having so prepared\nhimself, the mode in which he made use of his machinery was as\nfollows. The topics or sentiments of his speech were {325} to follow\nin a certain order. The parts of the building he had chosen as his\ninstrument had previously been taught to follow by association, in a\ncertain order. With the first of these, then, he associated the\nfirst topic of his discourse; with the second, the second, and so\non. The first part of the building suggested the first topic; the\nsecond, the second; and each another, to the end of his\ndiscourse.[89]\n\n[Bain's footnote 89: The conditions of the success of this expedient\nare interesting to study as illustrations of the working of\nassociation. The supposition is that the parts of the building are\nperfectly coherent in the mind, that they can recall each other\neasily and rapidly. The advantage gained will depend entirely upon\nthe superior facility of attaching a head of discourse to the\nvisible appearance of a room, as compared with the facility of\nattaching it to a previous head. If we can form an enduring bond\nbetween a topic and the picture of an interior, by a smaller mental\neffort than is necessary to conjoin two successive topics, there is\na gain by the employment of the device; the difference of the two\nefforts is the measure of the gain. Probably the result would depend\nupon the relative force of the pictorial and the verbal memory in\nthe individual mind. In minds where the pictorial element prevails,\nthere might be a positive advantage; in cases where the pictorial\npower is feeble and the verbal power strong, there would almost\ncertainly be a dead loss.--_B._]\n\nWe not only have ideas of memory, individually taken; that is,\nseparately, each by itself; as in the instances which we have just\nbeen considering: we have also trains of such ideas. All narratives\nof events which ourselves have witnessed are composed of such\ntrains. The ideas forming those trains do not follow one another in\na fortuitous manner. Each succeeding idea is called up by the one\nwhich {326} precedes it; and every one of these successions takes\nplace according to a law of association. After a lapse of many\nyears, I see the house in which my father died. Instantly a long\ntrain of the circumstances connected with him rise in my mind: the\nsight of him on his death-bed; his pale and emaciated countenance;\nthe calm contentment with which he looked forward to his end; his\nstrong solicitude, terminating only with life, for the happiness of\nhis son; my own sympathetic emotions when I saw him expire; the mode\nand guiding principles of his life; the thread of his history; and\nso on. In this succession of ideas, each of which is an idea of\nmemory, there is not a single link which is not formed by\nassociation; not an idea which is not brought into existence by that\nwhich precedes it.\n\nWhensoever there is a desire to fix any train in the memory, all men\nhave recourse to one and the same expedient. They practise what is\ncalculated to create a strong association. The grand cause of strong\nassociations is repetition. This, accordingly, is the common\nresource. If any man, for example, wishes to remember a passage of a\nbook, he repeats it a sufficient number of times. To the man\npractised in applying the principle of association to the phenomena\nin which it is concerned, the explication of this process presents\nitself immediately. The repetition of one word after another, and of\none idea after another, gives the antecedent the power of calling up\nthe consequent from the beginning to the end of that portion of\ndiscourse, which it is the purpose of the learner to remember.\n\nThat the remembrance is produced in no other way, {327} is proved by\na decisive experiment. For, after a passage has been committed to\nmemory in the most perfect manner, if the learner attempts to repeat\nit in any other order than that, according to which the association\nwas formed, he will fail. A man who has been accustomed to repeat\nthe Lord's Prayer, for example, from his infancy, will, if he has\nnever tried it, find the impossibility of repeating it backwards,\nsmall as the number is of the words of which it consists. That words\nalone, without ideas, suggest one another in a train, is proved by\nour power of repeating a number of words of an unknown language.[90]\nAnd, it is worth observing, that the power of arithmetical\ncomputation is dependent upon the same process. Thus, for example,\nwhen a child learns the multiplication table, and says, 11 times 11\nis 121, or 12 times 12 is 144, he annexes no ideas to those words;\nbut, by force of repetition, the expression 12 times 12 instantly\ncalls up the expression 144, or 11 times 11 the expression 121, and\nso upwards from twice 2, with which he begins. In illustrating the\nmode in which repetition makes association more and more easy, I\nused the process of arithmetical addition as a striking example.\nPersons little accustomed to the process perform it with great\ndifficulty; persons {328} much accustomed to it, with astonishing\nfacility. In men of the first class, the association is imperfectly\nformed, and the several antecedent expressions slowly suggest the\nproper consequent ones; in those of the latter class the association\nis very perfectly formed, and the expressions suggest one another\nwith the greatest expedition and ease.\n\n[Editor's footnote 90: There is here a lapse, of mere expression.\nThe meaning is not that words suggest one another without ideas;\nwords do not suggest words, but the ideas of words. The author\nintended to say that words, or the ideas of them, often suggest the\nideas of other words (forming a series) without suggesting along\nwith them any ideas of the things which those words signify.--_Ed._]\n\nThus far we have proceeded with facility. In Memory there are ideas,\nand those ideas both rise up singly, and are connected in trains by\nassociation. The same occurs in Imagination. Imagination consists of\nideas, both suggested singly, and connected in trains, by\nassociation. This is the whole account of Imagination. But Memory is\nnot the same with Imagination. We all know, when we say, we imagine\na thing, that we have not the same meaning, as when we say, we\nremember it. Memory, therefore, has in it all that Imagination has;\nbut it must also have something more. We are now, then, to inquire\nwhat that additional something is.\n\nThere are two cases of Memory. One is, when we remember sensations.\nThe other is, when we remember ideas. The first is, when we remember\nwhat we have seen, felt, heard, tasted, or smelt. The second is,\nwhen we remember what we have thought, without the intervention of\nthe senses. I remember to have seen and heard George III, when\nmaking a speech at the opening of his Parliament. This is a case of\nsensation. I remember my conceptions of the Emperor Napoleon and his\naudience, when I read the account of his first address to the French\nChambers. This is a case of ideas.\n\n{329} We shall consider the case of sensations first. What is it to\nremember any thing I have seen?\n\nFirst, there is the idea of it; and that idea brought into existence\nby association.\n\nBut, in Memory, there is not only the idea of the thing remembered;\nthere is also the idea of my having seen it. Now these two, 1, the\nidea of the thing, 2, the idea of my having seen it, combined, make\nup, it will not be doubted, the whole of that state of consciousness\nwhich we call memory.[91]\n\n[Editor's footnote 91: The doctrine which the author thinks \"will\nnot be doubted\" is more than doubted by most people, and in my\njudgment rightly. To complete the memory of seeing the thing, I must\nhave not only the idea of the thing, and the idea of my having seen\nit, but the belief of my having seen it; and even this is not always\nenough; for I may believe on the authority of others that I have\nseen a thing which I have no remembrance of seeing.--_Ed._]\n\nBut what is it we are to understand by what I have called \"the idea\nof my having seen the object?\" This is a very complex idea; and, in\nexpounding, clearly, to the comprehension of persons, not familiar\nwith these solutions, the import and force of a very complex idea,\nlies all the difficulty of the case.\n\nIt will be necessary for such persons to call to mind the\nillustrations they have already contemplated of the remarkable case\nof association, in which a long train of ideas is called up so\nrapidly as to appear but one idea; and also the other remarkable\ncase, in which one idea is so strongly associated with another, that\nit is out of our power to separate them. Thus, when we use the word\nbattle, the mind runs over the {330} train of countless acts, from\nthe beginning of that operation to the end; and it does this so\nrapidly, that the ideas are all clustered into one, which it calls a\nbattle. In like manner, it clusters a series of battles, and all the\nintermediate operations, into one idea, and calls it a campaign;\nalso several campaigns into one idea, and calls it a war. Of the\nsame nature is the compound idea, which we denote by the word year;\nand the still more compound idea, which we denote by the word\ncentury. The mind runs over a long train of ideas, and combines them\nso closely together, that they assume the appearance of a single\nidea; to which, in the one case, we assign the name year, in the\nother, the name century.\n\nIn my remembrance of George III., addressing the two Houses of\nParliament, there is, first of all, the mere idea, or simple\napprehension; the conception as it is sometimes called, of the\nobjects. There is combined with this, to make it memory, my idea of\nmy having seen and heard those objects. And this combination is so\nclose, that it is not in my power to separate them. I cannot have\nthe idea of George III.; his person and attitude, the paper he held\nin his hand, the sound of his voice while reading from it, the\nthrone, the apartment, the audience; without having the other idea\nalong with it, that of my having been a witness of the scene.\n\nNow, in this last-mentioned part of the compound, it is easy to\nperceive two important elements; _the idea of my present self_, the\nremembering self; and _the idea of my past self_, the remembered or\nwitnessing self. These two ideas stand at the two ends of a portion\nof my being; that is, of a series of my states {331} of\nconsciousness. That series consists of the successive states of my\nconsciousness, intervening between the moment of perception, or the\npast moment, and the moment of memory, or the present moment. What\nhappens at the moment of memory? The mind runs back from that moment\nto the moment of perception. That is to say, it runs over the\nintervening states of consciousness, called up by association. But\n\"to run over a number of states of consciousness, called up by\nassociation,\" is but another mode of saying, that \"we associate\nthem;\" and in this case we associate them so rapidly and closely,\nthat they run, as it were, into a single point of consciousness, to\nwhich the name MEMORY is assigned.\n\nIf this explanation of the case in which we remember sensations is\nunderstood, the explanation of the case in which we remember ideas\ncannot occasion much of difficulty. I have a lively recollection of\nPolyphemus's cave, and the actions of Ulysses and the Cyclops, as\ndescribed by Homer. In this recollection there is, first of all, the\nideas, or simple conceptions of the objects and acts; and along with\nthese ideas, and so closely combined as not to be separable, the\nidea of my having formerly had those same ideas. And this idea of my\nhaving formerly had those ideas, is a very complicated idea;\nincluding the idea of myself of the present moment remembering, and\nthat of myself of the past moment conceiving; and the whole series\nof the states of consciousness, which intervened between myself\nremembering, and myself conceiving.\n\nIf we contemplate forgetfulness, not memory, we shall see how\ncompletely the account of it confirms the account we have just\nrendered of memory. Every {332} case of forgetfulness, is a case of\nweakened, or extinct, association. Some years ago, I could repeat a\ncertain discourse with accuracy and ease, from beginning to end;\nattempting it, the other day, I was unable to repeat more than a few\nsentences. The reason is obvious. The last of the words and ideas\nwhich occurred to me failed to suggest the following; that is to\nsay, the association which formerly existed between them was\ndissolved.\n\nA remarkable piece of natural scenery, composed of mountains, woods,\nrivers, lakes, ocean, flocks, herds, cultivated fields, gay\ncottages, and splendid palaces, of which I had a lively recollection\nmany years ago, presents itself to me now very much faded: in other\nwords, a great variety of the circumstances, which make up the\ndetail and minute features of the scene, were formerly remembered by\nme, but are now forgotten. And how forgotten? The manner is obvious.\nThe greater features, which I still remember, had formerly the power\nof calling up the smaller along with them, and the whole scene was\nrevived; the association gradually declining, the great objects have\nno longer the power to excite the idea of the small; and they are\ntherefore gone from me for ever.\n\nThere are things of which I have so entirely lost the recollection,\nthat it never can be revived. The meaning is, that the associations\nwhich were formed between the ideas of them, and other ideas, are so\ncompletely dissolved, that none of my present ideas has the power of\nexciting them.\n\nIt is observable, that sensations have a stronger power to excite\nrecollections than is possessed by {333} ideas.[92] A man, after an\nabsence of many years, revisits the scenes of his infancy: a variety\nof circumstances crowd into his memory, which, but for the scene\nbefore him, would never have been remembered again. These are the\ncircumstances between which, and the perception of the pristine\nobjects, the association is not yet dissolved. There are other\ncircumstances, without number, which (the association being\ncompletely dissolved) not even that perception can revive, and which\nnever can be remembered more.\n\n[Bain's footnote 92: This is for no other reason than the superior\nintensity or impressiveness of the actual as compared with the\nideal. Although as a rule, the sensation has a greater hold of the\nmind, than the corresponding idea, there are exceptions. An idea may\nsometimes be accompanied with an intensity of mental occupation and\nexcitement, surpassing the reality: what we have looked at with\nindifference when it occurred, may take on an extraordinary\nimportance in the retrospect; in which case its power of\nresuscitating collateral circumstances will be far greater than the\npower of the original sensation.--_B._]\n\nWe have seen that there are two cases of memory; that in which\nsensations are remembered, and that in which ideas.\n\nIt is said, that there are men, who, by often telling a mendacious\nstory as true, come at last to believe it to be true. When this\nhappens, the fact is, that a case of the memory of _ideas_, comes to\nbe mistaken for a case of the memory of _sensations_.\n\nHow did the man know at first that it was a fictitious story; and\nhow did he afterwards lose that knowledge?\n\nHe knew, at first, by certain associations; he lost his knowledge,\nby losing those associations, and {334} acquiring others in their\nstead. When he first told the story, the circumstances related\ncalled up to turn the idea of himself fabricating the story. This\nwas the memory of the fabrication. In repeating the story as real,\nthe idea of himself fabricating the story is hurried over rapidly;\nthe idea of himself as actor in the story is dwelt upon with great\nemphasis. In continued repetitions, the first circumstance being\nattended to as little as possible, the association of it grows\nweaker and weaker; the other circumstance engrossing the attention,\nthe association of it grows stronger and stronger; till the weaker\nis at last wholly overpowered by the stronger, and ceases to have\nany effect.\n\nIn delirium, madness, and dreams, men believe that what they only\nimagine, they hear, see, and do. This so far agrees with the case of\nforgetfulness, just explained, that, in both, there is a mistake of\nideas for sensations; but, in the case of memory, it is a mistake of\npast ideas for past sensations; in delirium, madness, and dreaming,\nit is a mistake of present ideas for present sensations.\n\nHow men in sound memory distinguish the ideas remembered, from\nsensations remembered, and know that the one is not the other, seems\nto be accounted for by the difference of the things themselves. A\nsensation is different from an idea, only because it is felt to be\ndifferent; and being felt to be different, and known to be\ndifferent, are not two things, but one and the same thing. I have a\nsensation; I have an idea: if these two are distinguishable in the\nhaving, it is likely that the copy of the sensation should be\ndistinguishable from the revival of the idea, when they are both\nbrought up by association; just as when I {335} have two\ndistinguishable sensations, one, for example, of red, and another of\nblack, the copies of them, when brought up by association, are\ndistinguishable. Besides, the accompaniments of a sensation are\nalways generically different from those of an idea; of course, the\nassociations are generically different. The accompaniments of a\nsensation, are all the simultaneous objects of sensation, together\nwith all those which, to a certain extent, both preceded and\nfollowed it. The accompaniments of an idea are not the simultaneous\nobjects of sensation, but other ideas; namely, the neighbouring\nparts, antecedent and consequent, of the mental train. A sensation,\ntherefore, called up by association, and an idea called up by\nassociation, are distinguished both by the difference of the two\nfeelings, and the difference of the associated circumstances.\n\nIt is observable, that the idea of a sensation called up by\nassociation, and recognised as the idea of a sensation, is of course\na remembrance. The recognition consists in that highly complex idea,\nconsisting of three principal ingredients: 1, the point of\nconsciousness called the remembering self; 2, the point of\nconsciousness called the percipient self; 3, the successive states\nof consciousness which filled up the interval, between these two\npoints.\n\nAn _idea_ called up by association is not necessarily a remembrance;\nit is only a remembrance when recognised as having been an idea\nbefore. And it is recognised as having been an idea before, by the\nassociation of that idea, which connects the self of the present\nmoment with the self of the past moment, the remembering self with\nthe conceiving self: in other {336} words, the complex idea is made\nup of those two selfs and the intermediate states of consciousness.\n\nAnother distinction is here suggested between the memory of a\nsensation and the memory of an idea. The complex idea, which needs\nto be associated with a mere simple idea, to make it memory, is not\nthe same in the two cases. There is a specific difference. The self\nwhich is at the antecedent end of the associated train, (in the case\nof sensation,) is the sentient self; that is, seeing or hearing; the\nself at the antecedent end of the associated train, (in the case of\nideas,) is not the sentient self, but the conceptive self, self\nhaving an idea. But myself percipient, and my self imagining or\nconceiving, are two very different states of consciousness: of\ncourse the ideas of these states of consciousness, or these states\nrevived by association, are very different ideas.\n\nThe simplest of all cases of memory is that of a sensation\nimmediately past. I have one sensation, and another sensation; call\nthem A and B; and I recognise them as successive. Every man has\nexperience of the fact, and is familiar with it. But not every man\ncan tell what it involves.\n\nWhen a sensation ceases, it is as completely gone, as if it had\nnever existed.[93] It is, in a certain sense, {337} revived again in\nits idea. But that idea must be called into existence by something\nwith which it is associated. In my two sensations, supposed above,\nthe one antecedent, the other consequent, how do I recognise the\nsuccession; if the first is gone, before the coming of the second?\nIt is evident that it must be by memory. And how by memory? The\npreceding developments seem to make the process clear. The\nconsciousness of the present moment calls up the idea of the\nconsciousness of the preceding moment. The consciousness of the\npresent moment is not absolutely simple; for, whether I have a\nsensation or idea, the idea of what I call Myself is always\ninseparably combined with it. The consciousness, then, of the second\nof the two moments in the case supposed, is the sensation combined\nwith the idea of Myself, which compound I call \"Myself Sentient.\"\nThis \"Self Sentient,\" in other words sensation B, combined with the\nidea of self, calls up the idea of sensation A combined with the\nidea of self. This we call MEMORY; and, there being no intermediate\nlink, _immediate_ MEMORY. Suppose that, instead of two sensations,\nthere had been three, A, B, C. In order {338} to remember A, it is\nnecessary to step over B. The consciousness of the third moment,\nnamely, \"sensation C, united with the idea of self,\" calls up the\nidea of \"sensation A, united with the idea of self,\" and along with\nthis the intermediate state of consciousness, \"B, with the constant\nconcomitant self.\" If the intermediate state, B, were not included,\nthe sensation A would appear to have immediately preceded sensation\nC, and the memory would be inaccurate.\n\n[Bain's footnote 93: This is a statement that should be qualified.\nLooking to the change of outward situation, we may say that the\ndifference between the present reality, and the idea of it when\npast, is total and vast: the wide prospect before the eyes at one\nmoment is gone, annihilated, non-existent. But looking at the mental\nprocess, we must use more moderate language. The mind does not adapt\nitself to the new situation with the same rapidity. If one is very\nmuch impressed with a picture, one maintains the rapt attitude for a\nlittle time, after the picture is withdrawn, and only by degrees\nloses the hold in favour of the next thing presented to the view. It\nis possible for us to resist the solicitation of the actual scene,\nand to be absorbed to the full measure of actuality by something no\nlonger actual. The immediate past may still divide the empire with\nthe present. The psychological transition follows a different law\nfrom the objective transition: a circumstance in no small degree\ninvolved in the subtle question of our mental continuity or personal\nidentity.--_B._]\n\nWe have thus carried the analysis of Memory to a certain point. We\nhave found the association to consist of three parts; the\nremembering self; the remembered self; and the train which\nintervened. Of these three parts, the last has been fully expounded.\nThe recalling of the successive states of consciousness, which\ncomposed the intervening train, is an ordinary case of association.\nThe other parts, _the two selfs_, at the two extremities of this\ntrain, require further consideration. The self, at the first end, is\nthe remembered self; the _self which had a sensation, or an idea_.\nThe idea of this self, therefore, consists of two parts: of self,\nand a sensation, or an idea. The last-mentioned part of this\ncombination, the sensation or idea, needs no explanation; the first,\nthat which is called self, does. The self at the other extremity of\nthe chain of consciousness, is the _remembering self_. Remembering\nis associating. The idea of this self, then, is the combination of\nself with the idea of associating. And here, too, associating needs\nno explanation; it is the other part of the combination that does.\nThe analysis, then, of SELF, or the account of what is included in\nthat state of consciousness commonly {339} called the _idea of\npersonal identity_, is still wanting to the complete developement of\nMemory.\n\nPhilosophers tell us also, that the idea of _Time_ is included in\nevery act of MEMORY; and again, that it is from MEMORY we obtain our\nidea of _Time_: thus asserting that the idea of _Time_ must precede\nMEMORY, and that MEMORY must precede the idea of _Time_. These\ncontradicting propositions imply that the idea of Time in the minds\nof those who make them, is a very confused idea. Nevertheless, as\nthere can be no memory without the idea called Time, the exposition\nof that idea, likewise, is necessary to the full understanding of\nMemory.\n\nThe idea of personal IDENTITY, and the idea of TIME, two very\nremarkable states of consciousness, will be very carefully examined\nhereafter. But for the more ready understanding of what is necessary\nto be adduced in expounding those complicated cases of association,\nsome other phenomena of the mind will first be explained.\n\nWhat is to be understood by that BELIEF which is said to accompany\nMEMORY, will be seen in the next chapter, where all the different\ncases of belief will be resolved into their elements.[94]\n\n[Editor's footnote 94: The only difficulty about Memory, when once\nthe laws of Association are understood, is the difference between it\nand Imagination; but this is a difference which will probably long\ncontinue to perplex philosophers. The author finds in Memory,\nbesides the idea of the fact remembered, two other ideas: \"the idea\nof my present self, the remembering self, and the idea of my past\nself, the remembered or witnessing self:\" and a supposed rapid\nrepetition in thought, of the whole of the impressions which I\nreceived between the time remembered and the {340} time of\nremembering. But (apart from the question whether we really do\nrepeat in thought, however summarily, all this series) explaining\nmemory by Self seems very like explaining a thing by the thing. For\nwhat notion of Self can we have, apart from Memory? The fact of\nremembering, i.e. of having an idea combined with the belief that\nthe corresponding sensation was actually felt by me, seems to be the\nvery elementary fact of Self, the origin and foundation of the idea;\npresupposed in our having the very complex notion of a Self, which\nis here introduced to explain it. As, however, the author admits\nthat the phenomenon of Belief, and the notions of Time and of\nPersonal Identity, must be taken into account in order to give a\ncomplete explanation of Memory, any further remarks had better be\ndeferred until these subjects have been regularly brought under our\nconsideration.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{341} CHAPTER XI.\n\nBELIEF.\n\n\n\"Cette recherche peut infiniment contribuer aux progr\u00e8s de l'art de\nraisonner; elle le peut seule d\u00e9velopper jusques dans ses premiers\nprincipes. En effet, nous ne d\u00e9couvrirons pas une mani\u00e8re s\u00fbre de\nconduire constamment nos pens\u00e9es; si nous ne savons pas comment\nelles se sont form\u00e9es.\"--_Condillac_, _Trait\u00e9 des Sensations_, p.\n460.\n\nIT is not easy to treat of MEMORY, BELIEF, and JUDGMENT, separately.\nFor, in the rude and unskilful manner in which naming has been\nperformed, the states of consciousness, marked by those terms, are\nnot separate and distinct.\n\nPart of that which is named by MEMORY is included under the term\nBELIEF; and part of that which is named by JUDGMENT, is also\nincluded under the name BELIEF. BELIEF, therefore, instead of having\na distinct province to itself, encroaches on the provinces both of\nMEMORY, and JUDGMENT; from which great confusion has arisen.\n\nI take MEMORY first, and JUDGMENT last, from no other principle of\narrangement, than facility of {342} exposition; and I have in this\nway found it convenient to treat of JUDGMENT as a case of\nBELIEF.[95]\n\n[Editor's footnote 95: How is it possible to treat of Belief without\nincluding in it Memory and Judgment? Memory is a case of belief. In\nwhat does Memory differ from Imagination, except in the belief that\nwhat it represents did really take place? Judgment, in its popular\nacceptation, is Belief resulting from deliberate examination, in\nother words, Belief grounded on evidence: while in its philosophical\nsense it is coextensive, if not synonymous, with Belief itself. I do\nnot know how it is possible to distinguish a judgment from any other\nprocess of the mind, except by its being an act of belief.--_Ed._]\n\nWe begin as usual with the simplest cases. These are, the case of a\nsimple sensation, and the case of a simple idea. When we have a\nsensation, we BELIEVE that we have it; when we have an idea, we\nBELIEVE that we have it.\n\nBut, to have a sensation, and to believe that we have it, are not\ndistinguishable things. When I say \"I have a sensation,\" and say,\n\"I believe that I have it,\" I do not express two states of\nconsciousness, but one and the same state. A sensation is a feeling;\nbut a feeling, and the belief of it are the same thing. The\nobservation applies equally to ideas. When I say I have the idea of\nthe sun, I express the same thing exactly, as when I say, that I\nbelieve I have it. The feeling is one, the names, only, are two.[96]\n[97]\n\n[Bain's footnote 96: In the case of a present reality, belief has no\nplace; it can be introduced only by a fiction or a figure. The\nbelieving state comes into operation when something thought of is\nstill remote, and attainable by an intermediate exertion. The fact\n\"I see the sun\" is full fruition: the fact that I can see the sun by\ngoing out of doors affords scope for belief or disbelief.--_B._]\n\n[Editor's footnote 97: The difference between Mr. Bain and the\nauthor is but in language and classification. It is necessary for\nthe reader of the Analysis to remember, that the author uses the\nword Belief as the most general term for every species of conviction\nor assurance; the assurance of what is before our eyes, as well as\nof that which we only remember or expect; of what we know by direct\nperception, as well as of what we accept on the evidence of\ntestimony or of reasoning: all this we are convinced or persuaded\nof; all this, in the author's language, we believe. Mr. Bain, on the\nother hand, like Sir William Hamilton and many others, restricts the\nterm to those cases of conviction which are short of direct\nintuition.--_Ed._]\n\n{343} It may be alleged that, when I say \"I have a sensation,\"\nI express the simple feeling, as derived from the outward sense;\nbut that when I say \"I believe I have a sensation,\" I express two\nthings, the simple sensation, and the association with it, of that\nremarkable idea, the idea of myself. The association, however, is\nthe same in both cases. As I never have the sensation of an object,\nthe sight, for example, of a rose, without associating with it, the\nidea of position, and also that of unity; nor the _idea_ of such an\nobject, without the same association; so I never have a sensation,\nnor the idea of that sensation, without associating with it, the\nidea of myself. And in both cases, the associations are of that\nremarkable class, which we have denominated inseparable. It is not\nin our power to prevent them. Whensoever the perception of the\nobject exists, the idea of its position is sure to exist along with\nit; whensoever one of my sensations exists, the idea of myself\nexists along with {344} it; whensoever one of my _ideas_ exists, the\nidea of myself is sure to exist along with it.\n\nIn the case, then, of a present sensation, and that of a present\nidea; the sensation, and the belief of the sensation; the idea, and\nthe belief of the idea, are not two things; they are, in each case,\none and the same thing; a single thing, with a double name.\n\nThe several cases of Belief may be considered under three heads:\nI., Belief in events, real existences; II., Belief in testimony; and\nIII., Belief in the truth of propositions. We shall consider them in\ntheir order; and first, Belief in events, real existences.\n\nI. This is subdivided into three distinct cases: 1, Belief in\npresent events; 2, Belief in past events; 3, Belief in future\nevents.\n\n1. Belief in present events, again, is divided into two cases:\n1, Belief in immediate existences present to my senses; 2, Belief in\nimmediate existences not present to my senses.\n\nBelief in existences present to my senses, includes, for one\nelement, belief in my sensations; and belief in my sensations, as we\nhave just observed, is only another name for having the sensations.\n\nBut belief in the external objects, is not simply belief in my\npresent sensations; it is this, and something more. The something\nmore, is now the object of our inquiry. I see, for example, a rose:\nmy sensation is a sensation of sight: that of a certain modification\nof light; but my belief of the rose is not this; it is this, and\nmuch more.\n\nBesides the sensation of colour, I have, for one thing, the belief\nof a certain distance, at which I see {345} the rose; and that of a\ncertain figure, consisting of leaves disposed in a certain form.\nI believe that I see this distance and form; in other words, perceive\nit by the eye, as immediately as I perceive the colour. Now this\nlast part of the process has been explained by various philosophers.\nThere is no dispute, or uncertainty, about the matter. All men\nadmit, that this, one of the most remarkable of all cases of belief,\nis wholly resolvable into association.[98] It is acknowledged, that,\nby the sense of sight, we receive no sensation but that of a certain\nmodification of light. It is equally proved, that the sensations\nfrom which our ideas of distance and figure are derived, are\nsensations of the muscular actions and touch. How, then, is the\nBelief generated, that we see extension and figure, as well as\ncolour? After the experience the learner has now had in tracing the\nrapid combinations of the mind, this presents but little difficulty.\nHe knows, that when we are receiving through the muscles and the\ntouch, the sensations which yield us the idea of extension and\nfigure, we are receiving the sensations of sight at the same time,\nfrom the same objects. The sensations of sight, therefore, are {346}\nassociated with the ideas of these tactile and muscular sensations;\nand associated in the most perfect possible manner; because the\nconjunction is almost invariable, and of incessant occurrence,\nduring the whole period of life. We are perpetually feeling, and\nseeing, the same objects, at the same time; so much so, that our\nlives may be said to consist of those sensations in union; to\nconsist, at least to a far greater degree, of this, than of any one\nother state of consciousness.\n\n[Editor's footnote 98: \"All men admit.\" Certainly not all men;\nthough, at the time when the author wrote, it might be said, with\nsome plausibility, all psychologists. Unfortunately this can no\nlonger be said: Mr. Samuel Bailey has demanded a rehearing of the\nquestion, and has pronounced a strong and reasoned opinion on the\ncontrary side; and his example has been followed by several other\nwriters: but without, in my opinion, at all weakening the position\nwhich since the publication of Berkeley's Essay on Vision, had been\nalmost unanimously maintained by philosophers.--_Ed._]\n\nThis intensity of association, we know, produces two effects. One,\nis to blend the associated feelings so intimately together, that\nthey no longer appear many, but one feeling. The other is, to render\nthe combination inseparable; so that if one of the feelings exist,\nthe others necessarily exist along with it.\n\nThe case of association which we are now considering, brings to view\nanother circumstance, of some importance in tracing the effects of\nthis great law of our nature. It is this: that in any associated\ncluster, the idea of sight is almost always the prevalent part. The\nvisible idea is that which takes the lead, as it were; and serves as\nthe suggesting principle to the rest. So it happens in the\ncombination of the sensations of colour, with those of extension and\nfigure: the visible idea stands foremost; and calls up the rest. It\ncalls them up also with such intensity, that both the remarkable\ncases of association are exemplified. Whenever we have the sensation\nof colour, we cannot avoid having the ideas of distance, of\nextension, and figure, along with it; nor can we avoid having them\nin such intimate union with the ocular sensation, that they appear\nto be that sensation itself. {347} This is the whole of what is ever\nsupposed to be in the case. Of no phenomenon of the human mind is\nthe developement more complete or more important. Our belief that we\nsee the shape, and size, and distance of the object we look at, is\nas perfect as belief in any instance can be. But this belief is\nnothing more than a case of very close association.\n\nThe case of belief by association, any one may illustrate further,\nfor himself, by recollecting some of the commonest cases of optical\ndeception. If we look at a landscape with the naked eye, we believe\nthe several objects before us, the men, the animals, the trees, the\nhouses, the hills, to be at certain distances. If we next look at\nthem through a telescope, they seem as if they were brought near; we\nhave the distinct belief of their proximity, and though a belief\nimmediately corrected by accompanying reflection, it is not only\nbelief, but a belief that we can by no means shake off. We can,\nafter this, invert the telescope, and then we cannot help believing,\nthat the nearest objects are removed to a distance. Now what is it\nthat the telescope performs in these two instances? It modifies in a\ncertain manner the rays of light to the eye. The rays, proceeding\nfrom the objects, are so distributed on the eye, as they would be if\nthe distance of the objects was less, or greater. Instantly we have\nthe belief that it is less or greater; because, the sensation of the\neye, by means of the glass, is made to resemble that which it\nreceives, when objects are seen at a smaller or greater distance;\nand each of the sensations calls up that idea of distance which is\nhabitually associated with it.\n\nWe have thus far proceeded, with some certainty, {348} in detecting\nthe component parts of that which we call our \"belief in the\nexistence of external objects.\" We have taken account of the\nsensation from which is derived the visible idea, of the sensations\nfrom which are derived the ideas of position, extension, and figure;\nand we have explained the intimate combination of those two sets of\nideas by association. But these, though the leading sensations and\nideas, are not the only ones. There are, besides, the sensations\nfrom which we derive the idea of resistance, in all its\nmodifications, from that of air, to that of adamant. There are also\nsensations which are not common to all objects, but peculiar to\nsome; as smell, peculiar to odorous bodies; taste, to sapid; and\nsound, to sonorous ones.\n\nNow, though the most remarkable case of the associations among those\nfeelings, is that between colour, and extension and figure, they are\nall blended by association into one idea; which, though in reality a\ncluster of ideas, affects us in the same manner as if it were a\nsingle idea; an idea, the parts of which we detect by an analysis,\nwhich it requires some training to be able to make.\n\nWith the colour of the rose, the size and figure of the rose,--which\nare the predominant ideas,--I associate the idea of that\nmodification of hardness and softness, which belongs to the rose;\nits degree of resistance, in short; also its smell, and its taste.\nThese associations have been formed, as other associations are, by\nrepetition. I have had so uniformly the sight, along with the\nhandling, these, along with the smell, and the taste--of the rose,\nthat they are always called up together, and in the closest\ncombination.\n\n{349} Now then let us ask, what we mean, when we affirm, that the\nrose exists. In this meaning are undoubtedly included the above\nsensations, in a certain order. I see the rose on the garden wall,\nand I affirm that it exists: that is, along with my present\nsensation, the sight of the rose, I have the ideas of a certain\norder of other sensations. These are, first, the idea of distance,\nthat is, the idea of the feelings involved in the act of going to\nthe rose: after this, the idea of the feelings in handling it; then\nin smelling, then in tasting it; all springing up by association\nwith the sight of the rose. It is said, we believe we should have\nthese sensations. That is, we have the idea of these sensations\ninseparably united one with the other, and inseparably united with\nthe idea of ourselves as having them. That this alone constitutes\nbelief, in the remarkable case of the association of extension and\nfigure with the sensations of sight, has already been seen; that\nthis alone constitutes it, in many other remarkable cases, will be\nseen as we proceed; and in no case can it be shewn, that any thing\nmore is included in it.\n\nIn my belief, then, of the existence of an object, there is included\nthe belief, that, in such and such circumstances, I should have such\nand such sensations. Is there any thing more? It will be answered\nimmediately, yes: for that, along with belief in my sensations as\nthe _effect_, there is belief of something as the _cause_; and that\nto the _cause_, not to the _effect_, the name object is\nappropriated.\n\nThis is a case of Belief, which deserves the greatest possible\nattention. It is acknowledged, on all hands, that we know nothing of\nobjects; but the sensations {350} we have from them. There is a\ncause, however, of those sensations, and to that we give the name\nobject: or, rather, there is a cluster of causes, corresponding with\nthe cluster of sensations. Thus, when I see, and handle, and smell,\nand taste the rose, there is a cause of the sensation red, a cause\nof the sensation soft, a cause of the sensation round, a cause of\nthe smell, and a cause of the taste; and all these causes are united\nin the rose. But what is the rose, beside the colour, the form, and\nso on? Not knowing what it is, but supposing it to be something, we\ninvent a name to stand for it. We call it a _substratum_. This\nsubstratum, when closely examined, is not distinguishable from\nCause. It is the cause of the qualities; that is, the cause of the\ncauses of our sensations. The association, then, is this. To each of\nthe sensations we have from a particular object, we annex in our\nimagination, a cause; and to these several causes we annex a cause,\ncommon to all, and mark it with the name substratum.\n\nThis curious case of association we now proceed to develop. The word\ncause, means the antecedent of a consequent, where the connection is\nconstant. This has been established on such perfect evidence, that\nit is a received principle of philosophy. More of the evidence of\nthis important principle will appear as we go on. Here we shall take\nthe proposition for granted.\n\nNot only are we, during the whole period of our lives, witnesses of\nan incessant train of events; that is, of antecedents and\nconsequents, between which, for the greater part, the order is\nconstant; but these constant conjunctions are, of all things in the\nworld, what we are {351} the most deeply interested in observing;\nfor, on the knowledge of them, all our power of obtaining good and\navoiding evil depends. From this, it necessarily follows, that\nbetween none of our ideas is the association more intimate and\nintense, than between antecedent and consequent, in the order of\nevents. Whenever we perceive an event, the mind instantly flies to\nits antecedent. I hear words in the street; _event_: some one, of\ncourse, is making them; _antecedent_. My house is broken, and my\ngoods are gone; _event_: a thief has taken them; _antecedent_. This\nis that remarkable case of association, in which the combination is\n_inseparable_; a case of so much importance in explaining some of\nthe more mysterious phenomena of thought. Other instances of this\nremarkable phenomenon, to which we have already had occasion to\nadvert, are, the sight of an object, and the ideas of its distance,\nits extension, and figure; the idea of colour, and the idea of\nextension; the idea of an object, and the idea of position and\nunity; the idea of one of my sensations, and the idea of myself. In\nno instance is this inseparable association more perfect, or its\nconsequences more important, than in that between an event, and its\nantecedent. We cannot think of the one without thinking of the\nother. The two ideas are forced upon us at the same time; and by no\neffort of ours can they be disjoined. So necessarily, from the first\nmoment of experience, are we employed in observing the constant\nconjunctions of events; and so deeply are we interested, in looking\nout for, and knowing the constant antecedent of every event, that\nthe association becomes part of our being. The perception, or the\nidea, of an event, instantly brings up {352} the idea of its\nconstant antecedent; definite and clear, if the antecedent is known;\nand indefinite and obscure, if it is unknown. Still, the idea of an\nevent, of a change, without the idea of its cause, is impossible.\nThat a cause means, and can mean nothing to the human mind, but\nconstant antecedent, is no longer a point in dispute.[99]\n\n[Editor's footnote 99: Here again the author takes too sanguine a\nview of the amount of agreement hitherto attained among metaphysical\nphilosophers. \"That a cause means, and can mean, nothing to the\nhuman mind but constant antecedent\" is so far from being \"no longer\na point in dispute\" that it is denied with vehemence by a large\nnumerical majority of philosophers; and its denial is perhaps the\nprincipal badge of one of the two schools which at this, as at most\nother times, bisect the philosophical world--the intuitional school\nand the experiential--_Ed._]\n\nOf this remarkable case of association, that which we call \"Our\nBelief in External Objects\" is one of the most remarkable instances.\nOf the sensations, of sight, of handling, of smell, of taste, which\nI have from a rose, each is an event; with each of those events, I\nassociate the idea of a constant antecedent, a cause; that cause\nunknown, but furnished with a name, by which it may be spoken of,\nnamely, quality; the quality of red, the cause of the sensation red;\nthe qualities of consistence, extension and figure, the causes of\nthe sensations of handling; the qualities of smell and taste, the\ncauses of the sensations of smell and taste. Such is one part of the\nprocess of association in this case. Another is that by which the\nideas of those sensations are so intimately united, as to appear not\nseveral ideas, but one idea, the idea of a rose. We have now two\nsteps of association; that {353} of the several sensations into one\nidea; that of the several sensations each with a separate cause. But\nwe do not stop here; for, as in a train of events, consisting of\nseveral links, A, B, C, D, and so on, though C is the antecedent or\ncause of D, it is itself the consequent or effect of B; and in all\ncases, when we have found the cause of any particular event, we have\nstill to find out what was the cause of that cause. In this manner,\nwhen our habit of association has carried us from our sensations to\nthe causes of them, the same habit carries us still farther.\n\nAs each of our sensations must have a cause, to which, as unknown,\nwe give the name quality; so each of those qualities must have a\ncause. And as the ideas of a number of sensations, concomitant in a\ncertain way, are combined into a single idea; as that of rose, that\nof apple; the unity, which is thus given to the effects, is of\ncourse transferred to the supposed causes, called qualities: they\nare referred to a common cause. To this supposed cause of supposed\ncauses, we give a name; and that name is the word _Substratum_.\n\nIt is obvious, that there is no reason for stopping at this\n_Substratum_; for, as the sensation suggested the quality, the\nquality the substratum, the substratum as properly leads to another\nantecedent, another substratum, and so on, from substratum to\nsubstratum, without end. These inseparable associations, however,\nrarely go beyond a single step, hardly ever beyond two. The\nBarbarian, in accounting for the support of the earth, placed it on\nthe back of a great elephant, and the great elephant on the back of\na great tortoise; but neither himself, nor those whom he {354}\ninstructed, were carried by their habits of association any\nfarther.[100]\n\n[Editor's footnote 100: It is a question worth considering, why that\ndemand for a cause of everything, which has led to the invention of\nso many fabulous or fictitious causes, so generally stops short at\nthe first step, without going on to imagine a cause of the cause.\nBut this is quite in the ordinary course of human proceedings. It is\nno more than we should expect, that these frivolous speculations\nshould be subject to the same limitations as reasonable ones. Even\nin the region of positive facts in the explaining of phenomena by\nreal, not imaginary, causes--the first semblance of an explanation\ngenerally suffices to satisfy the curiosity which prompts the\ninquiry. The things men first care to inquire about are those which\nmeet their senses, and among which they live; of these they feel\ncurious as to the origin, and look out for a cause, even if it be\nbut an abstraction. But the cause once found, or imagined, and the\nfamiliar fact no longer perplexing them with the feeling of an\nunsolved enigma, they do not, unless unusually possessed by the\nspeculative spirit, occupy their minds with the unfamiliar\nantecedent sufficiently to be troubled respecting it with any of the\ncorresponding perplexity.--_Ed._]\n\nSuch appear to be the elements included in our belief of the\nexistence of objects acting on our senses. We have next to unfold\nthe case of belief in the present existence of objects not acting on\nour senses.\n\nOf this Belief, there are two cases: 1, Belief in the existence of\nobjects, which we have not perceived; 2, Belief in the existence of\nobjects, which we have perceived.\n\nThe first of these, is a case of the Belief in testimony; which is\nto be explained hereafter. What we are to examine at the present\nmoment, then, is, our Belief in the existence of objects, which,\nthough not {355} now present to our senses, have been so at a\nprevious time. Thus, I believe in the present existence of St.\nPaul's, which I saw this morning.\n\nIn tracing the elements of this Belief, it is obvious in the first\nplace, that in so far as it is founded on my past sensations, memory\nis concerned in it. But Memory relates to _past_ events, Belief in\nwhich, is to be considered under a following head. This part of the\ndevelopment, therefore, we postpone.\n\nBut, beside Memory, what other element is concerned in it? There is\nevidently an anticipation of the future. In believing that St.\nPaul's exists, I believe, that whenever I am in the same situation,\nin which I had perception of it before, I shall have perception of\nit again. But this Belief in future events, is also a case, which\nremains to be considered under a subsequent head. This, therefore,\nis another part of the development, which must be postponed.\n\nI not only believe, that I shall see St. Paul's, when I am again in\nSt. Paul's Churchyard; but I believe, I should see it if I were in\nSt. Paul's Churchyard this instant. This, too, is also a case, of\nthe anticipation of the future from the past, and will come to be\nconsidered under the subsequent head already referred to.\n\nBesides these cases, the only one which remains to be considered,\nis, my Belief that, if any creature whose senses are analogous to my\nown, is now in St. Paul's Churchyard, it has the present sensation\nof that edifice.\n\nMy belief in the sensations of other creatures, is wholly derived\nfrom my experience of my own sensations. The question is, How it is\nderived. That {356} it is an inference from similitude, will not be\ndenied. But what is an inference from similitude?\n\nI have no direct knowledge of any feelings but my own. How is it,\nthen, that I proceed?\n\nThere are certain things which I consider as marks or signs of\nsensations in other creatures. The Belief follows the signs, and\nwith a force, not exceeded in my other instance. But the\ninterpretation of signs is wholly a case of association, as the\nextraordinary phenomena of language abundantly testify.[101] And\nwhenever the association, between the sign and the {357} thing\nsignified, is sufficiently strong to become inseparable, it is\nbelief. Thus, rude and ignorant people, to whom the existence of but\none language is known, believe the name by which they have always\ncalled an object to belong to it naturally, as much as its shape,\nits colour, or its smell.[10*] Thus the perceptions of sight, mere\nsigns of distance, magnitude, and figure, are followed by belief of\nthe sight of them. And it is remarked, with philosophical accuracy,\nby Condillac, that if our constitution had been such, as to give us,\ninstead of a different modification of sight, a different\nmodification of smell, with each variety of distance, extension, and\nfigure, we should have smelt distance, extension and figure, in the\nsame manner as, by the actual conformation of our organs, we see\nthem. Nor can we doubt the truth of the ingenious observation of\nDiderot, that if we had seen, and heard, and tasted, and smelt, at\nthe ends of our fingers, in the same manner as we feel, we should\nhave believed our mind to be in the fingers, as we now believe it to\nbe in the head.\n\n[Bain's footnote 101: This is true in by far the greater number of\ninstances. Nevertheless, there are some of the signs of feeling that\nhave an intrinsic efficacy, on very manifest grounds. While the\nmeanings of the smile and the frown could have been reversed, if the\nassociation had been the other way, there is an obvious suitability\nin the harsh stunning tones of the voice to signify anger and to\ninspire dread, and a like suitability in the gentle tones to convey\naffection and kindly feeling. We might have contracted the opposing\nassociations, had the facts been so arranged, just as in times of\npeace, we associate joy with deafening salvos of artillery; and as\nloud, sharp-pealing laughter serves in the expression of agreeable\nfeeling. But there is a gain of effect when the signs employed are\nsuch as to chime in, by intrinsic efficacy, with the associated\nmeanings. On this coincidence depend the refinements of elocution,\noratory, and stage display.--_B._\n\n[The fact here brought to notice by Mr. Bain is, that certain of the\nnatural expressions of emotion have a kind of analogy to the\nemotions they express, which makes an opening for an instinctive\ninterpretation of them, independently of experience. But if this be\nso (and there can be little doubt that it is so) the suggestion\ntakes place by resemblance, and therefore still by\nassociation.--_Ed._]]\n\n[Mill's footnote 10: \"It has been very justly remarked, that if all\nmen had uniformly spoken the same language, in every part of the\nworld, it would be difficult for us not to think [believe] that\nthere is a natural connexion of our ideas, and the words which we\nuse to denote them.\"--_Brown_, _Lectures_, ii. p. 80. 2d ed.]\n\nThe process of our Belief in this case, then, is evidently, as\nfollows. Our sensations are inseparably associated with the idea of\nour bodies. A man cannot think of his body without thinking of it as\nsensitive. As he cannot think of his own body without thinking of it\nas sensitive, so he cannot think of another man's {358} body, which\nis like it, without thinking of it as sensitive. It is evident that\nthe association of sensitiveness is more close with certain parts of\nthe complex idea, our bodies, than with other parts; because the\nassociation equally follows the idea of horse, of dog, of fowl, and\neven of fish, and insect: and it will be found, I think, that there\nis nothing with which it is so peculiarly united as the idea of\nspontaneous motion. What is the reason we do not believe there is\nany sensation in the most curiously-organized vegetable; while we\nuniformly believe there is in the polypus, and the microscopic\ninsect? Nothing whatsoever can be discovered, but a strong\nassociation which exists in the one case, and is wanting in the\nother. And this is one of the most decisive of all experiments to\nprove the real nature of Belief.\n\nAs, then, our belief in the sensations of other creatures is derived\nwholly from the inseparable association between our own sensations\nand the idea of our own bodies, it is apparent that the case in\nwhich I believe other creatures to be immediately percipient of\nobjects, of which I believe that I myself should be percipient if I\nwere so situated as they are, resolves itself ultimately into this\nparticular case of my belief in certain conditional sensations of my\nown. This, again, as we have seen above, resolves itself into that\nother important law of Belief, which we are shortly to consider, the\nanticipation of the future from the past.\n\n2. It comes next in order, that we notice our Belief in past\nexistences; that is, our present belief, that something had a\npresent existence at a previous time.\n\nMuch of the development of this case is included in the expositions\nalready afforded. Our present {359} belief, means, for one thing, a\npresent idea; our present belief of an existence, the idea of\nsomething existing. Of what associations the idea of something\nexisting consists, we have just ascertained. Our present belief of a\npast existence, then, consists of our present idea of something\nexisting, and the assignment of it to a previous time.\n\nThere are two cases of this assignment; one, in which the thing in\nquestion had been the object of our senses; another, in which it had\nnot been the object of our senses.\n\nWhen the thing, the existence of which we assign to a previous time,\nhad been the object of our senses, and when the time to which we\nassign it is the time when it had so been the object of our senses,\nthe whole is Memory. In this case, Memory, and Belief, are but two\nnames for the same thing. Memory is, in fact, a case of Belief.\nBelief is a general word. Memory is one of the species included\nunder it. Memory is the belief of a past existence, as Sensation is\nthe belief of a present existence. When I say, that I remember the\nburning of Drury-Lane Theatre; the _remembering_ the event, and\n_believing_ the event, are not distinguishable feelings, they are\none and the same feeling, which we have two ways of naming. The\nassociations included in Memory we have already endeavoured to\ntrace. It is a case of that indissoluble connexion of ideas which we\nhave found in the preceding article to constitute belief in present\nexistences. When I remember the burning of Drury-Lane Theatre, what\nhappens? We can mark the following parts of the process. First, the\nidea of that event is called up by association; in other words, the\ncopies of the {360} sensations I then had, closely combined by\nassociation. Next, the idea of the sensations calls up the idea of\nmyself as sentient; and that, so instantly and forcibly, that it is\naltogether out of my power to separate them. But when the idea of a\nsensation forces upon me, whether I will or no, the idea of myself\nas that of which it was the sensation, I remember the sensation. It\nis in this process that memory consists; and the memory is the\nBelief. No obscurity rests on any part of this process, except the\nidea of _self_, which is reserved for future analysis. The fact, in\nthe mean time, is indisputable; that, when the idea of a sensation,\nwhich I have formerly had, is revived in me by association, if it\ncalls up in close association the idea of myself, there is memory;\nif it does not call up that idea, there is not memory; if it calls\nup the idea of myself, it calls up the idea of that train of states\nof consciousness which constitutes the thread of my existence; if it\ndoes not call up the idea of myself, it does not call up the idea of\nthat train, but some other idea. A sensation remembered, then, is a\nsensation placed, by association, as the consequent of one feeling\nand the antecedent of another, in that train of feelings which\nconstitute the existence of a conscious being. All this will be more\nevident, when what is included in the notion of Personal Identity is\nfully evolved.\n\nThe case of Belief in past existences which have not been the object\nof our senses, resolves itself into the belief, either of testimony,\nor of the uniformity of the laws of nature; both of which will,\nafter a few intervening expositions, be fully explained.\n\n3. The process which we denote by the words, {361} \"Belief in future\nevents,\" deserves, on account of its importance, to be very\ncarefully considered. That it is a complex process, will very\nspeedily appear. Our endeavour shall be to resolve it into its\nelements; in doing which, we shall see whether it consists wholly of\nthe elements with which we have now become familiar, or whether it\nis necessary to admit the existence of something else.\n\nI believe that, to-morrow, the light of day will be spread over\nEngland; that the tide will ebb and flow at London-bridge; that men,\nand houses, and waggons, and carriages, will be seen in the streets\nof this metropolis; that ships will sail, and coaches arrive; that\nshops will be opened for their customers, manufactories for their\nworkmen, and that the Exchange will, at a certain hour, be crowded\nwith merchants. Now, in all this, what is involved?\n\nFirst of all, in the Belief of any future event, there is, of\ncourse, involved the idea of the event. It will be immediately\nunderstood, from what has been already adduced, that there can be\nno Belief in any existence, without an idea of that existence. If\nI believe in the light of day to-morrow, I must have an idea of it;\nif I believe in the flux and reflux of the water at London-bridge,\nI must have ideas of those several objects; and so of all other\nthings.\n\nIn the next place; as it has already been shewn, that we cannot call\nup any idea by willing it; and that none of our ideas comes into\nexistence but by association; the idea which forms the fundamental\npart of Belief is produced by association. Ideas and association,\nthen, are necessary parts of belief.\n\n{362} But there can be no idea of the future; because, strictly\nspeaking, the future is a nonentity. Of nothing there can be no\nidea. It is true we can have an idea of that which never existed,\nand which we do not suppose ever will exist, as of a centaur; but\nthis is a composition of the ideas of things which have existed. We\ncan conceive a sea of milk, because we have seen a sea, and milk; a\nmountain of gold, because we have seen a mountain, and gold. In the\nsame manner we proceed with what we call the future. The ideas which\nI have recently enumerated as parts of my belief of to-morrow; the\nlight of day, the throng in the streets, the motion of the tide at\nLondon-bridge, are all ideas of the past. The general fact, indeed,\nis not a matter of dispute. Our idea of the future, and our idea of\nthe past, is the same; with this difference, that it is accompanied\nwith retrospection in the one case, anticipation in the other. What\nretrospection is, we have already examined. It is Memory. What\nAnticipation is, we are now to inquire; and to that end it is\nnecessary to recall, distinctly, some important facts which we have\nalready established.\n\nThe fundamental law of association is, that when two things have\nbeen frequently found together, we never perceive or think of the\none without thinking of the other. If the visible idea of a rose\noccurs to me, the idea of its smell occurs along with it; if the\nidea of the sound of a drum occurs to me, the visible idea of that\ninstrument occurs along with it.\n\nOf these habitual conjunctions, there is none with which we are more\nincessantly occupied, from the {363} first moment of our existence\nto the last, and in which we are more deeply interested, than that\nof antecedent and consequent. Of course there is none between the\nideas of which the association is more intimate and intense.\n\nIn fact, our whole lives are but a series of changes; that is, of\nantecedents and consequents. The conjunction, therefore, is\nincessant; and, of course, the union of the ideas perfectly\ninseparable. We can no more have the idea of an event without having\nthe ideas of its antecedent and *its consequents, than we can have\nthe idea and not have it at the same time. It is utterly impossible\nfor me to have the visible idea of a rose, without the idea of its\nhaving grown from the ground, which is its antecedent; it is utterly\nimpossible for me to have the idea of it without the ideas of its\nconsistence, its smell, its gravity, and so on, which are its\nconsequents.\n\nOf the numerous antecedents and consequents, forming the matter of\nour experience, some are constant, some are not. Of course the\nstrength of the association follows the frequency. The crow is seen\nflying as frequently from east to west, as from west to east; from\nnorth to south, as from south to north; there is, therefore, no\nassociation between the flight of the crow and any particular\ndirection. Not so with the motion of a stone let go in the air: that\ntakes one direction constantly. The order of antecedent and\nconsequent is here invariable. The association of the ideas,\ntherefore, is fixed and inseparable. I can no more have the idea of\na stone let go in the air, and not have the idea of its dropping to\nthe {364} ground, than I can have the idea of the stone, and not\nhave it, at the same time.[102]\n\n[Editor's footnote 102: The theory maintained so powerfully and with\nsuch high intellectual resources by the author, that Belief is but\nan inseparable association, will be examined at length in a note at\nthe end of the chapter. Meanwhile let it be remarked, that the case\nof supposed inseparable association given in this passage, requires\nto be qualified in the statement. We cannot, indeed, think of a\nstone let go in the air, without having the idea of its falling; but\nthis association is not so strictly inseparable as to disable us\nfrom having the contrary idea. There are analogies in our experience\nwhich enable us without difficulty to form the imagination of a\nstone suspended in the air. The case appears to be one in which we\ncan conceive both opposites, falling and not falling; the\nincompatible images not, of course, combining, but alternating in\nthe mind. Which of the two carries belief with it, depends on what\nis termed Evidence.--_Ed._]\n\nWhere the sequence of two events is merely casual, it passes\nspeedily away from the mind; because it is not associated with the\nidea of any thing in which we are interested. The things in which we\nare interested, are the immediate antecedents of our pleasures and\npains, and the ideas of them are all inseparably associated with\nconstant conjunctions. The association of the ideas of a constant\nantecedent and consequent, therefore, has both causes of strength,\nthe interesting nature of the ideas, and the frequency of\nconjunction, both at their greatest height. It follows, that it\nshould be the most potent and inseparable of all the combinations in\nthe mind of man.\n\nAs we are thus incessantly, and thus intensely, occupied with cases\nof constant conjunction, while cases of casual conjunction pass\nslightly over the mind, and {365} quickly vanish from our\nconsciousness, every event calls up the idea of a constant\nantecedent. The association is so strong, that the combination is\nnecessary and irresistible. It often enough, indeed, happens, that\nwe do not know the constant antecedent of an event. But never does\nit fail to call up the idea of such an antecedent; and so\ninseparably, that we can as little have and not have the idea of an\nevent, as we can have the idea of it, and not have the idea of an\ninseparable antecedent along with it.--Ignorant, sometimes, of the\nconstant antecedents of such and such events, we find them out by\nsubsequent inquiry. Those cases of successful investigation still\nfurther strengthen the association. All that we call good, and all\nthat we call evil, depend so entirely upon those constant\nconjunctions, that we are necessarily under the strongest stimulus\nto find them out, and to trace them with greater and greater\naccuracy. Thus we very often find a constancy of sequence, in which\nwe acquiesce for a while; but after a time discover, that though\nconstant, indeed, it is not immediate; for, that between the event\nand supposed antecedent, several antecedents intervene. At first we\nregard the ignition of the gunpowder, as the immediate antecedent of\nthe motion of the ball. Better instructed, we find that a curious\nprocess intervenes. The constancy of the sequence is always more\ncertain, the more nearly immediate the antecedent is. And so\nfrequent is our detection of antecedents, more immediate than those\nwhich we have just observed, that an association is formed between\nthe idea of every antecedent, and that of another antecedent, as yet\nunknown, intermediate between it and the consequent which we {366}\nknow. In no sequence do we ever feel satisfied that we have\ndiscovered all. We see a spark ignite the gunpowder, we see one\nbilliard-ball impel another. Though we consider these as constant\nantecedents and consequents, the idea of something intermediate is\nirresistibly conjoined. To this, though wholly unknown, we annex a\nname, that we may be able to speak of it. The name we have invented\nfor this purpose is POWER. Thus, we conceive that it is not the\nspark which ignites the gunpowder, but the _power_ of the spark; it\nis not one billiard-ball that moves the other, but the _power_ of\nthe ball. The Power, in this case, is a _supposed_ consequent of the\nmoving ball, and antecedent of the moved; and so in all other cases.\n\nBut the idea of an event does not call up the idea of its constant\nantecedent in closer and more intense association, than it calls up\nthat of its consequent or consequents. I cannot have the idea of\nwater, without the idea of its mobility, its weight, and other\nobvious properties. I cannot have the idea of rhubarb, without the\nidea of its nauseous taste, and other familiar properties. I cannot\nhave the idea of the stroke of a sword upon the head of a man,\nwithout the idea of a wound inflicted on his head. I cannot have the\nidea of my falling from a ship into the middle of the sea, without\nthe idea of my being drowned. I cannot have the idea of my falling\nfrom the top of a high tower, without having the idea of my being\nkilled by the fall. If I have the first idea, the second forces\nitself upon me. The union has in it all that I mark by the word\nnecessity; a sequence, constant, immediate, and inevitable.\n\nThis great law of our nature shews to us {367} immediately in what\nmanner our idea of the future is generated. Night has regularly been\nfollowed by morning. The idea of night is followed by that of\nmorning; the idea of morning is followed by that of the events of\nthe morning, the gradual increase of light, the occupations of men,\nthe movements of animals and objects, and all their several\nsuccessions from morning till night. This is the idea of to-morrow;\nto this succeeds another to-morrow; and an indefinite number of\nthese to-morrows makes up the complex idea of futurity.\n\nBut I am told, that we have not only the idea of to-morrow, but the\nbelief of to-morrow; and I am asked what that belief is. I answer,\nthat you have not only the idea of to-morrow, but have it\n_inseparably_. It will also appear, that wherever the name belief is\napplied, there is a case of the indissoluble association of ideas.\nIt will further appear, that, in instances without number, the name\nbelief is applied to a mere case of indissoluble association; and no\ninstance can be adduced in which any thing besides an indissoluble\nassociation can be shewn in belief.[103] It would seem {368} to\nfollow from this, with abundant evidence, that the whole of my\nnotion of to-morrow, belief included, is nothing but a case of the\ninevitable sequence of ideas.\n\n[Bain's footnote 103: The case that is most thoroughly opposed to\nthe theory of indissoluble association is our belief in the\nUniformity of Nature. Our overweening tendency to anticipate the\nfuture from the past is shown prior to all association; the first\neffect of experience is to abridge and modify a strong primitive\nurgency. There is, no doubt, a certain stage when association\nco-operates to justify the believing state. After our headlong\ninstinct has, by a series of reverses, been humbled and toned down,\nand after we have discovered that the uniformity, at first imposed\nby the mind upon everything, applies to some things and not to\nothers, we are confirmed by our experience in the cases where the\nuniformity prevails; and the intellectual growth of association\ncounts for a small part of the believing impetus. Still, the\nefficacy of experience is perhaps negative rather than positive; it\nsaves, in certain cases, the primitive force of anticipation from\nthe attacks made upon it in the other cases where it is contradicted\nby the facts. It does not make belief, it conserves a pre-existing\nbelief. (See Note at the end of the chapter.)--_B._]\n\nThis, however, is a part of our constitution, of so much importance,\nthat it must be scrutinized with more than ordinary minuteness.\n\nOur first assertion was, that in every instance of belief, there is\nindissoluble association of the ideas. We shall confine our\nexamples, for the present, to that case of belief which is more\nimmediately under our examination; belief in the future. I believe,\nthat if I put my finger in the flame of the candle, I shall feel the\npain of burning. I believe, that if a stone is dropped in the air,\nit will fall to the ground. It is evident that in these cases, the\nbelief consists in uniting two events, the antecedent, and the\nconsequent. There are in it, therefore, two ideas, that of the\nantecedent, and that of the consequent, and the union of those\nideas. The previous illustrations have abundantly shewn us, in what\nmanner the two ideas are united by association, and _indissolubly_\nunited. _These_ ingredients in the belief are all indisputable. That\nthere is any _other_ cannot be shewn.\n\n{369} Our second assertion was, that cases of indissoluble\nassociation, admitted by all men to be this, and nothing more, are\nacknowledged as Belief. The facts (which any one may call to\nrecollection), in proof of this assertion, deserve the greatest\nattention; they shew the mode of investigating some of the most\nlatent combinations of the human mind.\n\nNo fact is more instructive, in this respect, than one, which more\nthan once we have had occasion to make use of; the association of\nthe ideas of distance, extension, and figure, with the sensations of\nsight. I open my eyes; I see the tables, and chairs, the floor, the\ndoor, the walls of my room, and the books ranged upon the walls;\nsome of these things at one distance, some at another; some of one\nshape and size, some of another. My belief is, that I see all those\nparticulars. Yet the fact is, that I see nothing but certain\nmodifications of light;[104] and that all my belief of seeing the\ndistance, the size, and figure of those several objects, is nothing\nbut the close and _inseparable_ association of the ideas of other\nsenses. There is no room for even a surmise that there is any thing\nin this case but the immediate blending of the ideas of one sense\nwith the sensations of another, derived from the constant\nconcomitance of the sensations themselves.\n\n[Bain's footnote 104: More guardedly--'I am affected by certain\nmodifications of light.' The word 'see' carries with it too much\nmeaning for the case put. There is also the omission, previously\nremarked on, to take into account the mental elements due to the\nmovements of the eye--visible forms, magnitudes, and\nmovements.--_B._]\n\nThe case of hearing is perfectly analogous, though {370} not so\nexact. I am in the dark; I hear the voice of one man, and say he is\nbehind me; of another, and say he is before me; of another, he is on\nmy right hand; another, on my left. I hear the sound of a carriage,\nand say, it is at one distance; the sound of a trumpet, and say, it\nis at another. In these cases I believe, not only that I hear a\nsound, but the sound of a man's voice, the sound of a carriage, the\nsound of a trumpet. Yet no one imagines that my belief is any thing,\nin these cases, but the close association of the sounds with the\nideas of the objects. I believe, not only that I hear the sound of a\nman's voice, but that I hear it behind me, or before me; on my right\nhand, or on my left; at this distance, or at that. The indisputable\nfact, in the mean time, is, that I hear only a modification of\nsound, and that the position and distance, which I believe I hear,\nare nothing but ideas of other senses, closely associated with those\nmodifications of sound. That this state of consciousness, the result\nof an immediate irresistible association, is identical with the\nstate which we name belief, is proved by a very remarkable\nexperiment, the deception produced by ventriloquism. A man acquires\nthe art of forming that peculiar modification of sound, which would\ncome from this or that position, different from the position he is\nin; in other words, the sound which is associated, not with the idea\nof the position he is in, but that of another position. The sound is\nheard; the association takes place; we cannot help believing that\nthe sound proceeds from a certain place, though we know, that is,\nimmediately recognize, that it proceeds from another.\n\nWe must not be afraid of tediousness, while we {371} adduce\ninstances in superabundance, to prove that in dissoluble association\n(in one remarkable class of its cases, which, on account of their\nvast importance, it is found expedient to distinguish by a\nparticular name) is that state of consciousness, to which we have\ngiven the name of BELIEF.\n\nWe are all of us familiar with that particular feeling, which is\nproduced, when we have turned ourselves round with velocity several\ntimes. We BELIEVE that the world is turning round.\n\nThe sound of bells, opposed by the wind, appears to be farther off.\nA person speaking through a trumpet appears to be nearer. Our\nexperience is, that sounds decrease by distance. A sound is\ndecreased by opposition of the wind; the idea of distance is\nassociated; and the association being inseparable, it is belief. A\nsound is increased by issuing from a trumpet, the idea of proximity\nis associated, and the association being indissoluble, it is belief.\n\nIn passing, on board of ship, another ship at sea, we believe that\nshe has all the motion, we none: though we may be sailing rapidly\nbefore the wind, she making hardly any progress against it.\n\nWhen we have been making a journey in a stage coach, or a voyage in\na ship, we believe, for some time after leaving the vehicle, that\nstill we are feeling its motion; more especially just as we are\nfalling asleep.\n\nNobody doubts, that these, and similar cases of belief, which are\nvery numerous, are all to be resolved into pure association. What\nthe associations are, we leave to be traced by the learner; so many\nrepetitions of the same process, though a useful exercise to him,\nwould be very tedious here.\n\n{372} The Belief which takes place in Dreaming merits great\nattention in this part of our inquiry. No belief is stronger than\nthat which we experience in dreaming. Our belief of some of the\nfrightful objects, which occur to us, is such, as to extort from us\nloud cries; and to throw us into such tremors and bodily agitations,\nas the greatest real dangers would fail in producing. Not less\nintense is our belief in the pleasurable objects which occur to us\nin dreams; nor are the agitations which they produce in our bodies\nmuch less surprising. Yet there is hardly any difference of opinion\nabout the real nature of the phenomena which occur in dreaming. That\nour dreams are mere currents of ideas, following one another by\nassociation; not controlled, as in our waking hours, by sensations\nand will; is the substance of every theory of dreaming. The belief,\ntherefore, which occurs in dreaming, is merely a case of\nassociation; and hence it follows that nothing more is necessary to\naccount for Belief.\n\nThere is not a more decisive instance of the identity of Belief and\nAssociation, than the dread of ghosts, felt in the dark, by persons\nwho possess, in its greatest strength, the habitual disbelief of\ntheir existence. That dread implies belief, and an uncontrollable\nbelief, we need not stay to prove. When the persons of whom we speak\nfeel the dread of ghosts in the dark, the meaning is, that the idea\nof ghost is irresistibly called up by the sensation of darkness.\nThere is here, indisputably, a case of indissoluble association; nor\ncan it be shewn that there is anything else. In the dark, when this\nstrong association is produced, there {373} is the belief; not in\nthe dark, when the association is not produced, there is no\nbelief.[105]\n\n[Bain's footnote 105: The efficacy of association is not correctly\nexplained in this instance. The influence of Terror on belief is\nunquestionably great; but the operation is more complicated than the\ndescription given of it in the text. Terror, in the first place, is\na depressing passion, and as such impairs the tone of mind suited to\nthe anticipation of coming good, or in the obverse, increases the\ntendency to anticipate coming evil. In the next place, it is the\nstate most liable to a morbid fixed idea of evil, calamity, or\ndanger. Thirdly, we have learned in the course of our lives to\nexpect numerous possible calamities; and are maintained in serenity\nonly by seeing clearly a good way before us, so as to be sure that\nnone of these possible evils are approaching. Darkness extinguishes\nfor the time our assuring fore-sight, and thus, by removing a\ncounteractive, leaves us a prey to all the demons of mischief.\nFourthly, the emotion of Terror has its corresponding imaginations,\ninto which are taken up with avidity all the suggestions of danger\nthat have ever been made to us, including ghosts, hobgoblins, and\nother agents of calamity, when we have not natural vigour or express\ntraining to set them at nought.\n\nThe mere fact communicated to us, on a few occasions, that ghosts\nappear in the dark, and sometimes perform dreadful deeds, would not\nby force of association alone produce all that un-nerving effect\nwhich children and weak or superstitious persons are liable to when,\nat night, exposed in a lonely place, or passing a churchyard.--_B._]\n\nFew men, except those who are accustomed to it, could walk on the\nridge of a high house without falling down. Yet the same men could\nwalk with perfect security, on similar footing, placed on the\nground. What is the interpretation of this contrariety? Fear, we are\ntold, is that which makes the {374} inexperienced person fall. But\nfear implies belief. There is nothing, however, in the case, but the\nintense association of the idea of his falling, with his sight of\nthe position in which he is placed. In some persons this idea is so\neasily excited, that they cannot look down from even a very moderate\nheight, without feeling giddy, as they call it; that is, without\nhaving the apprehension; in other words, the belief, of\nfalling.[11*]\n\n[Mill's footnote 11: The same account, in substance, of some of the\nlast of these phenomena, is given by Dr. Brown; and it may aid the\nconceptions of the learner, to observe the different modes of\nexposition used by two different writers.\n\n\"There can be no question, that he who travels in the same carriage,\nwith the same external appearances of every kind by which a robber\ncould be tempted or terrified, will be in equal danger of attack,\nwhether he carry with him little of which he can be plundered, or\nsuch a booty as would impoverish him if it were lost. But there can\nbe no question also, that though the probabilities of danger be the\nsame, the fear of attack would, in these two cases, be very\ndifferent; that, in the one case, he would laugh at the ridiculous\nterror of any one who journeyed with him, and expressed much alarm\nat the approach of evening; and that, in the other case, his own eye\nwould watch suspiciously every horseman who approached, and would\nfeel a sort of relief when he observed him pass carelessly and\nquietly along at a considerable distance behind.\n\n\"That the fear, as a mere emotion, should be more intense, according\nto the greatness of the object, might indeed be expected; and if\nthis were all, there would be nothing wonderful in the state of mind\nwhich I have now described. But there is not merely a greater\nintensity of fear, there is, in spite of reflection, a greater\nbelief of probability of attack. There is fear, in short, and fear\nto which we readily yield, when otherwise all fear would have seemed\nabsurd. The reason of this it will perhaps not be difficult for you\nto discover, if you remember the explanations formerly given by me,\nof some analogous phenomena. The loss of what is valuable in itself,\nis of course a great affliction. The slightest possibility of such\nan evil makes the evil itself occur to us, as an object of\nconception, though not at first, perhaps, as an object of what can\nbe termed fear. Its very greatness, however, makes it, when thus\nconceived, dwell longer in the mind; and it cannot dwell long, even\nas a mere conception, without exciting, by the common influence of\nsuggestion, the different states of mind, associated with the\nconception of any great evil; of which associate or resulting\nstates, in such circumstances, fear is one of the most constant and\nprominent. The fear is thus readily excited as an associate feeling;\nand when the fear has once been excited, as a mere associate\nfeeling, it continues to be still more readily suggested again, at\nevery moment, by the objects that suggested it, and with the\nperception or conception of which it has recently co-existed. There\nis a remarkable analogy to this process, in the phenomena of\ngiddiness, to which I have before more than once alluded. Whether\nthe height on which we stand, be elevated only a few feet, or have\nbeneath it a precipitous abyss of a thousand fathoms, our footing,\nif all other circumstances be the same, is in itself equally sure.\nYet though we look down, without any fear, on the gentle slope, in\nthe one case, we shrink back in the other case with painful dismay.\nThe lively conception of the evil which we should suffer in a fall\ndown the dreadful descent, which is very naturally suggested by the\nmere sight of the precipice, suggests and keeps before us the images\nof horror in such a fall, and thus indirectly the emotions of fear,\nthat are the natural accompaniments of such images, and that but for\nthose images never would have arisen. We know well, on reflection,\nthat it is a footing of the firmest rock, perhaps, on which we\nstand, but in spite of reflection, we feel, at least, at every other\nmoment, as if this very rock itself were crumbling or sinking\nbeneath us. In this case, as in the case of the traveller, the\nliveliness of the mere conception of evil that may be suffered,\ngives a sort of temporary probability to that which would seem to\nhave little likelihood in itself, and which derives thus from mere\nimagination all the terror that is falsely embodied by the mind in\nthings that exist around.\n\n\"It is not, then, any simple ratio of probabilities which regulates\nthe rise of our hopes and fears, but of these combined with the\nmagnitude or insignificance of the objects.\"--_Lectures on the\nPhilosophy of the Human Mind_. Lecture LXV., vol. iii., p. 345--347.\n2d ed.\n\nNotwithstanding this, the ideas of Dr. Brown were so far from being\nclear and settled on the subject, that in the same work, Lecture\nVI., v. i., p. 115, he seems to affirm, that belief cannot be\naccounted for by association, but must be referred to instinct;\nthough it is necessary to use the word _seems_, for it is not\nabsolutely certain that he does not by _instinct_ mean\nassociation.--(_Author's Note_.)]\n\n{375} From these illustrations, then, it does not appear that the\nanticipation of the future from the past, contains in it any thing\npeculiar. So far from standing by itself, a phenomenon _sui generis_\nit is included in one of the most general of the laws of the human\nmind. When Professor Stewart, therefore, and other writers, erect it\ninto an object of wonder, a prodigy, a thing falling within no\ngeneral rule; and tell us they can refer it to nothing but instinct;\nwhich is as much {376} as to say, to nothing at all; the term\ninstinct, in all cases, being a name for nothing but our own\nignorance; they only confess their failure in tracing the phenomena\nof the mind to the grand comprehensive law of association; to the\nadmission of which, in its full extent, they seem to have had a most\nunaccountable, and a most unphilosophical aversion;--as if that\nsimplicity, according to which one law is found {377} included in a\nhigher, and that in a yet higher, till we arrive at a few which seem\nto include the whole, were not as much to be expected in the world\nof mind, as in the world of matter.[12*]\n\n[Mill's footnote 12: Locke, at a period subsequent to the\npublication of his Essay, seems to have become more sensible of the\nimportance of association. These are his words:--\"I think I shall\nmake some other additions to be put into your Latin translation, and\nparticularly concerning the connexion of ideas, which has not, that\nI know, been hitherto considered, and has, I guess, a greater\ninfluence upon our minds, than is usually taken notice\nof.\"--_Locke_, _Lett. to Molineux_, _April_ 26_th_,\n1695.--(_Author's Note_.)\n\n[When Locke wrote the letter here quoted, he had not yet written the\nchapter of his Essay which treats of the Association of Ideas. That\nchapter did not appear in the original edition, but was first\ninserted in the fourth, published in 1690. The intention, therefore,\nwhich he expressed to Molineux, has received its fulfilment; and the\npassage quoted further on in the text, is part of the \"addition\"\nwhich he contemplated.--_Ed._]]\n\nWe have now then explored those states of Consciousness which we\ncall Belief in existences;--Belief in present existences; Belief in\npast existences; and Belief in future existences. We have seen that,\nin the most simple cases, Belief consists in sensation alone, or\nideas alone; in the more complicated cases, in sensation, ideas, and\nassociation, combined; and in no case of belief has any other\ningredient been found.\n\nIn accounting for belief in present objects not acting on the\nsenses,--it appeared, that a certain anticipation of the future\nentered, for so much, into this compound phenomenon; the explanation\nof which part we were obliged to leave, till the {378} anticipation\nof the future had undergone investigation. We have now seen that\nthis part, as well as the rest, consists of association. The whole,\ntherefore, of this case of belief, is now resolved into association.\n\nMr. Locke, whose expositions of any of our mental phenomena are\nalmost always instructive, even when they stop short of being\ncomplete, has given the above account of belief precisely, in one\nremarkable and very extensive class of cases; those in which the\nbelief is unfounded; which he denominates prejudices.\n\n\"There is,\" he says,[13*] \"scarce any one that does not observe\nsomething that seems odd to him, and is in itself really extravagant\nin the opinions, reasonings, and actions, of other men.\n\n[Mill's footnote 13: Essay on the Human Understanding, B. II., Ch.\n33.]\n\n\"This sort of unreasonableness is usually imputed to education and\nprejudice; and for the most part truly enough; though that reaches\nnot the bottom of the disease, nor shews distinctly enough whence it\nrises, or wherein it lies.\n\n\"Education is often rightly assigned for the cause; and prejudice is\na good general name for the thing itself; but yet, I think, he ought\nto look a little farther, who would trace this sort of madness to\nthe root it springs from, and so explain it, as to shew whence this\nflaw has its original in very sober and rational minds, and wherein\nit consists.\"\n\nMr. Locke affords the explanation, which he thought necessary to be\ngiven, and proceeds as follows.\n\n\"Some of our ideas have a natural correspondence and connexion one\nwith another. It is the office, and {379} excellence, of our reason,\nto trace these; and hold them together in that union and\ncorrespondence, which is founded in their peculiar beings.\n\n\"Besides this, there is another connexion of ideas, wholly owing to\nchance or custom. Ideas, that in themselves are not at all of kin,\ncome to be so united in some men's minds, that it is very hard to\nseparate them. They always keep in company; and the one no sooner at\nany time comes into the understanding, but its associate appears\nwith it. And if they are more than two which are thus united, the\nwhole gang, always inseparable, shew themselves together.\n\n\"This wrong connexion, in our minds, of ideas in themselves loose\nand independent of one another, has such an influence, and is of so\ngreat force, to set us awry in our actions, as well moral as\nnatural, passions, reasonings, and notions themselves; that perhaps\nthere is not any one thing that deserves more to be looked after.\n\n\"The ideas of goblins and sprights have really no more to do with\ndarkness than light. Yet let but a foolish maid inculcate these\noften in the mind of a child, and raise them there together,\npossibly he shall never be able to separate them again so long as he\nlives; but darkness shall ever afterwards bring with it those\nfrightful ideas, and they shall be so joined, that he can no more\nbear the one than the other.\n\n\"A man receives a sensible injury from another; thinks on the man\nand that action over and over; and by ruminating on them strongly,\nor much in his mind, so cements those two ideas together, that he\nmakes them almost one.\"\n\n\"When this combination is settled, and while it {380} lasts, it is\nnot in the power of reason to help us and relieve us from the\neffects of it. Ideas in our minds, when they are there, will operate\naccording to their nature and circumstances. And, here, we see the\ncause why Time cures certain affections, which reason, though in the\nright, has not power over, nor is able, against them, to prevail\nwith those who are apt to hearken to it in other cases.\"\n\nAfter adducing various examples, to illustrate the effect of these\nassociations, in producing both vicious affections, and absurd\nopinions, he thus concludes:\n\n\"That which thus captivates our reasons, and leads men blindfold\nfrom common sense, will, when examined, be found to be what we are\nspeaking of. Some independent ideas of no alliance to one another,\nare, by education, custom, and the constant din of their party, so\ncoupled in their minds, that they always appear there together; and\nthey can no more separate them in their thoughts, than if there were\nbut one idea; and they operate as if they were so. This gives sense\nto jargon, demonstration to absurdity, and consistency to nonsense;\nand is the foundation of the greatest, I had almost said, of all,\nthe errors in the world.\"\n\nSuch is Mr. Locke's account of wrong belief, or error. But wrong\nbelief is belief, no less than right belief. Wrong belief, according\nto Locke, arises from a bad association of ideas. Right belief,\nthen, arises from a right association of ideas; and this also was\nevidently Locke's opinion. It is, thus, association, in both cases;\nonly, in the case of wrong belief, the association is between ideas\nwhich ought not to {381} be associated; in the case of right belief,\nit is between ideas which ought to be associated. In the case of\nright belief, the association is between ideas which, in the\nlanguage of Locke, \"have a natural correspondence and connexion one\nwith another:\" in the case of wrong belief, it is between ideas,\nwhich \"in themselves are not at all of kin, and are joined only by\nchance or custom.\" The ideas of the colour, shape, and smell of the\nrose; the ideas of the spark falling on the gunpowder, and the\nexplosion,--are the sorts of ideas which are understood, by Mr.\nLocke, as having \"a natural correspondence and connexion.\" Ideas,\nsuch as those of darkness, with those of ghosts; of the miseries\nsuffered at school, with the reading of books,--are the kind which\nhe describes as \"not of kin, and united in the mind only by chance\nor custom.\" This, put into accurate language, means, that when the\nideas are connected in conformity with the connexions of things, the\nbelief is right belief; when the ideas are connected not in\nconformity with the connexions of things, the belief is wrong\nbelief. The ideas, however, which are connected in conformity with\nthe connexions among things, are connected by custom, as much as\nthose which are connected not in conformity with those connexions.\nAnd the custom which unites them in conformity, is by far the most\ncommon of the two. It is, in fact, the regular, the ordinary, the\nstandard custom, the other only constitutes the exceptions.\n\nII. We have divided Belief into, 1, Belief in events, real\nexistences; 2, Belief in testimony; 3, Belief in the truth of\npropositions.\n\nThough this division, suggested by the ordinary {382} forms of\nlanguage, appeared to me didactically convenient, it is not\nlogically correct. The expression, \"Belief in testimony,\" is\nelliptical. When completed, it becomes \"Belief in events upon the\nevidence of testimony.\" There are then, in reality, only two kinds\nof Belief; 1. Belief in events or real existences; and 2. Belief in\nthe truth of Propositions. But Belief in events or real existences\nhas two foundations; 1. our own experience; 2. the testimony of\nothers. The first of these we have examined, the consideration of\nthe second remains.\n\nWhen we begin, however, to look at the second of these foundations\nmore closely, it soon appears, that it is not in reality distinct\nfrom the first. For what is testimony? It is itself an event. When\nwe believe any thing, therefore, in consequence of testimony, we\nonly believe one event in consequence of another. But this is the\ngeneral account of our belief in events. It is the union of the\nideas, of an antecedent, and a consequent, by a strong association.\nI believe it is one o'clock. Why? I have just heard the clock\nstrike. _Striking of the clock_, antecedent; _one o'clock_,\nconsequent; the _second_ closely associated with the _first_. The\nstriking of the clock is in fact a species of testimony. What does\nit testify? Not one event, but an infinite number of events, of\nwhich the term \"one o'clock\" is the name. At every instant in the\ncourse of the day, a number of events are taking place, some known\nto us, some unknown. The term one o'clock, is the name of those\nwhich take place at a particular point of the diurnal revolution. I\nbelieve in them all upon the testimony of the clock. Why? From\nexperience;--every one would directly and {383} truly reply. I have\nfound the events constantly, or at least very regularly, conjoined.\nFrom junction of the events, junction of the ideas; in other words,\nbelief.\n\nIf proof, only, were wanted, this would suffice. For the purpose,\nhowever, of instruction, tuition, training, a more minute\ndevelopement of this important case of belief seems too useful to be\ndispensed with, notwithstanding the tediousness which so many\nrepetitions of the same process are too likely to produce.\n\nThe watchman calling the hour, is a case of human testimony. That\nthe account of our belief, in this case, is precisely the same as\nthat in the case of the striking of the clock, it is wholly\nunnecessary to prove. But if our reliance on testimony in one case\nis pure experience, it may reasonably be inferred that it is so in\nall.\n\nThe forms of expression, which we apply to this case of belief, are\nvery misleading. We say, \"we believe a man,\" or, \"we believe his\ntestimony.\" \"We attach belief to the man,\" or, \"to his testimony.\"\nIn these expressions, the name belief is applied to the wrong event;\nto the antecedent, instead of the consequent. What we mean to say\nis, that we believe the consequent, the thing testified, not the\nantecedent, the speaking of the words. The words the man uses, are,\nto us, sensations: belief that he uses the words, is not what is\nmeant by belief in his testimony. The same form of expression is\nperfectly absurd, when applied to other cases. We never say that we\nbelieve the flame of the candle, or we attach belief to the flame of\nthe candle, when we mean to state the belief, that a finger will be\nburnt if it is put into the flame; {384} we never say we believe the\nspark, when we mean to express our belief of an explosion when the\nspark falls upon the gunpowder.\n\nThe only question, then, is, in what manner the words of the\ntestifier, the antecedent, come to be so united with the idea of the\nthing testified, as to constitute belief. And surely there is no\ndifficulty here, either in conceiving, or admitting the process.\nWords call up ideas by association, solely. There is no natural\nconnexion between them. The manner in which words are applied to\nevents, I know most intimately by my own experience. I am\nconstantly, and, from the first moment I could use them, have\nconstantly been, employing words in exact conformity with events.\nCases occur in which I do not, but they are few in comparison with\nthose in which I do. It has been justly remarked, that the greatest\nof liars speak truth a thousand times for once that they utter\nfalsehood. The connexion between the use of words, and the idea of\nconformable existence, is, of course, established into one of the\nstrongest associations of the human mind. In other words, belief, in\nconsequence of testimony, is, strictly, a case of association. That\nwe interpret other men's actions by our own, no one doubts; and that\nwe do so entirely by association has already been proved.\n\nIn accounting for belief in past existences where it is not memory,\nwe have found that it is resolvable into belief in testimony, and in\nthe uniformity of the laws of nature; and the explanation of this we\npostponed till the cases of belief in testimony, and in the\nuniformity of the laws of nature, should be expounded. A few words\nwill now suffice to connect the {385} explanations formerly given\nwith those which have now been presented.\n\nThe two cases, as we have seen, resolve themselves into one; as\nbelief in testimony is but a case of the anticipation of the future\nfrom the past; and belief in the uniformity of the laws of nature is\nbut another name for the same thing.\n\nI believe the event called the fire of London, upon testimony.\nI believe that the stranger who now passes before my window, had a\nfather and mother, was once an infant, then a boy, next a youth,\nthen a man, and that he has been nourished by food from his birth;\nall this, from my belief in the uniformity of the laws of nature.\n\nAfter the preceding developments, it is surely unnecessary to be\nminute in the analysis of these instances. I have had experience, of\na constant series of antecedents and consequents, in the life of\nman; generation, birth, childhood, and so on; as I have had of pain\nfrom putting my finger in the flame. A corresponding association is\nformed. If the sight of a stranger calls up the idea of his origin\nand progress to manhood, the ordinary train of antecedents and\nconsequents is called up; nor is it possible for me to prevent it.\nThe association is indissoluble, and is one of the cases classed\nunder the name of Belief.\n\nThe explanation is still more simple of my belief in the fire of\nLondon. The testimony in this case is of that sort which I have\nalways experienced to be conformable to the event. Between such\ntestimony, and the idea of the event testified, I have, therefore,\nan indissoluble association. The testimony uniformly calls up the\nidea of the reality of the event, so closely, {386} that I cannot\ndisjoin them. But the idea, irresistibly forced upon me, of a real\nevent, is Belief.[106]\n\n[Bain's footnote 106: The belief in Testimony is derived from the\nprimary credulity of the mind, in certain instances left intact\nunder the wear and tear of adverse experience. Hardly any fact of\nthe human mind is better attested than the primitive disposition to\nreceive all testimony with unflinching credence. It never occurs to\nthe child to question any statement made to it, until some positive\nforce on the side of scepticism has been developed. Gradually we\nfind that certain testimonies are inconsistent with fact; we have,\ntherefore, to go through a long education in discriminating the good\ntestimonies from the bad. To the one class, we adhere with the\nprimitive force of conviction that in the other class has been\nshaken and worn away by the shocks of repeated\ncontradictions.--_B._]\n\nIt is in this way that belief in History is to be explained. It is\nbecause I cannot resist the evidence; in other words, because the\ntestimony calls up irresistibly the idea, that I believe in the\nbattle of Marathon, in the existence of the Thirty Tyrants of\nAthens, in that of Socrates, Plato, and so on.\n\nIII. We come now to what we set out with stating as the third case\nof Belief; but which, as there are in reality but two kinds of\nbelief, is, strictly speaking, the second,--I mean Belief in the\nTruth of Propositions; in other words, verbal truths.\n\nThe process by which this Belief is generated, or rather the\ncombination wherein it consists, has, by the writers on Logic, at\nleast those in the Latin and modern languages, been called JUDGMENT.\nThis, however, is a restricted sense. In general, the word Judgment\nis used with more latitude. Sometimes it is nearly co-extensive with\nBelief, excluding hardly {387} any but the sudden and momentary\ncases. We should hardly say, A man _judges_ there are ghosts, who is\nafraid of them in the dark, but firmly believes his fear is\nunfounded; or _judges_ the surgeon to be noxious, whom he shudders\nat the sight of, from recollection of the terrible operation which\nhe underwent at his hands. In all cases, however, either of\ndeliberate or well-founded belief, we seem to apply the word\njudgment without impropriety. I judge that I see the light, that\nI hear the drum, that my friend speaks the truth, that water is\nflowing in the Ganges.\n\nAll Belief of events, except that of our present sensations, and\nideas, consists, as we have seen, in the combination of the ideas of\nan antecedent and a consequent. The antecedent is sometimes simple,\nsometimes compound, being not one event, but various events taken\ntogether. These varieties in the antecedent constitute two\ndistinguishable cases of belief. The last of them, that in which the\nantecedent is complex, is that in which the term judgment is most\ncommonly applied. Again, there are two cases of complex antecedent,\none, in which all the events are concordant; another, in which they\nare not all concordant. It is to this last case that the term\njudgment is most peculiarly applied. Thus, it is not usual to say,\nthat we judge we shall feel pain if we put a finger in the flame of\nthe candle. But if we saw two armies ready to engage, one of which\nhad considerable superiority, both in numbers and discipline, we\nshould say we judge that it would gain the victory. This case,\nhowever, of belief, where the antecedent is complex, will receive\nadditional illustration farther on. {388} We have now to consider\nthe case of Belief in the truth of propositions.\n\nPROPOSITION is a name for that form of words which makes a\npredication. What Predication is, of what parts it consists, what\nend it serves, and into how many kinds it is divided, we have\nalready explained. It remains to inquire what is meant by the TRUTH\nof a Predication, and what state of consciousness it is which is\ncalled the recognition or BELIEF of that truth.\n\nPredication consists essentially in the application of two marks to\nthe same thing. Of this there are two remarkable cases; one, That in\nwhich two names of equal extent are applied to the same thing;\nanother, That in which two names, one of less, another of greater\nextent, are applied to the same thing. The questions we have to\nresolve are, What is meant by truth in these cases; and, What is the\nprocess, or complex state of consciousness, which is called assent\nto the proposition, or belief of it.\n\nAnd, first, as to the case of two names of equal extent, as when we\nsay, \"Man is a rational animal;\" here the two names are, \"Man,\" and\n\"Rational animal,\" exactly equivalent; so that \"man\" is the name of\nwhatever \"rational animal\" is the name of; and \"rational animal\" is\nthe name of whatever \"man\" is the name of. This coincidence of the\nnames is all that is meant by the truth of the proposition; and my\nrecognition of that coincidence is another name for my belief in its\ntruth.\n\nNow, how is it that I recognise two names as equivalent? About this,\nthere will not be any dispute. I recognise the meaning of names\nsolely by {389} association. I recognise that such a name is of such\na meaning, by association. I recognise that another name is of the\nsame signification, by the same means. That I recognise the meaning\nof the last, whatever it is, by association, cannot be doubted,\nbecause it is by this that the meaning of every word is established.\nThere is, however, another fact; that I recognise the meaning in the\nsecond case, as the same with the meaning in the first case. What is\nthe process of this recognition? The word \"Man\" is the mark or name\nof a certain cluster of ideas. A certain cluster of ideas I know to\nbe what it is, by having it. Having it, and knowing it, are two\nnames for the same thing. Having it, and having it again, is knowing\nit, and knowing it again; and that is the recognition of its\nsameness. It is a single name for the two states of consciousness.\nThis, then, is all that is meant by our belief in the truth of a\nproposition, the terms of which are convertible, or of equal extent.\n\nWhen of two names, applied to the same thing, one is of less,\nanother of greater extent, the association is more complex; but in\nthat is all the difference. Thus, when I believe the truth of the\nproposition, \"Man is an animal,\" the meaning of the name \"man\" is\ncalled up by association, and the meaning of the name \"animal\" is\ncalled up by association. Thus far is certain. But there is\nsomething further. I recognise, that \"animal\" is a name of whatever\n\"man\" is a name of, and also of more. In having the meaning of the\nname \"man\" called up by association, that is, in having the ideas,\nI recognise that \"man\" is a name of James, and John, and Homer, and\nSocrates, and all the individuals of the class. {390} This is pure\nassociation. In having the meaning of the name \"animal\" called up by\nassociation, I recognise that it is a name of James, and John, and\nall the individuals of the same class, as well as of all the\nindividuals of other classes; and this is all that is meant by my\nBelief in the truth of the proposition. Man is the name of one\ncluster of ideas; animal is the name of a cluster, including both\nthis and other clusters. The latter cluster is partly the same with,\nand partly different from, the former. But having two clusters, and\nknowing them to be two, is not two things, but one and the same\nthing; knowing them in the case in which I call them same, and\nknowing them in the case in which I call them different, is still\nhaving them, having them such as they are, and nothing besides. In\nthis second case also, of the belief of a proposition, there is,\ntherefore, nothing but ideas, and association.\n\nWe have already shewn, under the head NAMING, when explaining the\npurpose to which Predication is subservient, that all Predication\nmay be strictly considered as of one kind, the application to the\nsame thing of another name of greater extent; in other words, that\nPredication by what Logicians call the Difference, Property, or\nAccident of a thing, may be reduced to Predication by the Genus or\nSpecies; but as there is a seeming difference in these latter cases,\na short illustration of them will probably be useful.\n\nThus, suppose I say, \"Man is rational,\" and that I choose to expound\nit, without the aid of the word animal, understood; what is there in\nthe case? The word \"man,\" marks a certain cluster of ideas.\n\"Rational\" marks a portion of that cluster. In the {391} cluster\nmarked \"man,\" the cluster marked \"rational\" is included. To\nrecognise this, is also called believing the proposition. But to\nhave one cluster of ideas, and know what it is; then another, and\nknow what it is, is merely to have the two clusters. To have a\nsecond cluster, part of a first, and to know that it is a part of\nthe first, is the same thing.\n\nThe peculiar property of that class of words to which \"Rational\"\nbelongs, must here be recollected. They are the _connotative_ class.\nBeside marking some thing peculiarly, they mark something else in\nconjunction; and this last, they are said to _connote_. Thus the\nword \"rational,\" beside the part of the cluster, man, which it\npeculiarly marks, connotes, or marks in conjunction with it, the\npart included under the word animal\n\nIt will be easy to apply the same explanation to all other cases.\nI say, the rose is red. Red is a connotative term, distinctively\nmarking the idea of red. The idea of red is part of the cluster\nI mark by the word rose.\n\nTake a more obscure expression; Fire burns. It is very obvious, that\nin the cluster of ideas I mark by the word fire, the idea of burning\nis included. To have the idea, \"fire,\" therefore, and the idea\n\"burning,\" called up by the names standing in predication, is to\nbelieve the proposition.\n\nThe Predications, \"Virtue is lovely,\" \"Vice is hateful,\" and the\nlike, all admit of a similar exposition. In the cluster \"virtue,\"\nthe idea of loveliness is included; in the cluster \"vice,\" that of\nhatefulness is included. Such propositions, therefore, merely say,\nthat what is a part of a thing, is a part of it. The {392} two words\ncall up the two ideas; and to have two ideas, one a part of another,\nand know that one is part of another, is not two things, but one and\nthe same thing. To have the idea of rose, and the idea of red, and\nto know that red makes part of rose, is not two things, but one and\nthe same thing.\n\nLittle more is necessary to explain this case of Belief in the truth\nof Propositions. Propositions are formed, either of general names,\nor particular names, that is, names of individuals. Propositions\nconsisting of general names are by far the most numerous class, and\nby far the most important. The preceding exposition embraces them\nall. They are all merely verbal; and the Belief is nothing more than\nrecognition of the coincidence, entire or partial, of two general\nnames.\n\nThe case of Propositions formed of particular names, is different,\nand yet remains to be explained. \"Mr. Brougham made a speech in the\nHouse of Commons on such a day.\" The Predicate, \"making a speech in\nthe House of Commons,\" is neither general, so as to include the\nsubject, \"Mr. Brougham,\" as in a species; nor is the cluster of\nideas, marked by the predicate, included in the cluster marked by\nthe subject, as a part in its whole. The proposition marks a case\neither of experience, or of testimony. If I heard the speech, the\nproposition is an expression of the Memory of an event; Mr.\nBrougham, antecedent, and making a speech, consequent; and the\nBelief of the Proposition, is another name for the Memory of the\nEvent. If I did not hear it, Belief of the proposition, is belief in\nthe testimony of those who say they heard it.\n\n{393} As all propositions relating to individual objects are, after\nthis manner, marks either of other men's testimony, or of our own\nexperience, what belief, in these cases, is, has already been\nexplained.\n\nPropositions relating to individuals may be expressions either of\npast, or of future events. Belief in past events, upon our own\nexperience, is memory; upon other men's experience, is Belief in\ntestimony; both of them resolved into association. Belief in future\nevents, is the inseparable association of like consequents with like\nantecedents.\n\nIt is not deemed necessary to unfold these associations. It has been\nalready done. It seems enough, if they are indicated here.[107]\n[108]\n\n[Bain's footnote 107: The author has treated in different places\nseveral questions intimately allied. These are:--\n\n1. The essential nature of the state of mind called Belief, the\nmental region whence it springs, or the phenomena that it is to be\nclassed with--whether Intellect, Feeling, or Will.\n\n2. The belief in the Past, and the belief in the Future; in what\nrespect they differ from belief in the present. Inseparably\nimplicated with this, if not prior to it and preparatory to it, is\nthe difference between ideas of Memory and ideas of Imagination.\n\n3. The nature of our continuous Mental Life, or Identity; or what is\nmeant by the Permanent Existence of Mind.\n\nThe chapters on Memory, and on Belief, and the section on Identity\n(Chap. XIV.), all treat of these questions, and contain profound\noriginal views on them all.\n\nAs regards the nature of Belief, he errs (in common with\nphilosophers generally) in calling it a purely intellectual state.\nThe consequence is to mar the explanations of the other points.\n\nHe displays a remarkably just and penetrating insight into the\ndifferences between Memory and Imagination, and between {394} our\nown self or Personality, and the personality of others; whereby he\nfully accounts for what is involved in Personal Identity.\n\nTo resolve the difficult phenomenon of Belief in Memory, of which\nthe belief in the Permanent Existence of Mind is merely another\nexpression, we must clear up the foundations of the state of Belief\nin general.\n\nThe prevailing error on this subject consists in regarding Belief as\nmainly a fact of the Intellect, with a certain participation of the\nfeelings. The usual assumption is, that if a thing is conceived in a\nsufficiently vivid manner, or if two things are strongly associated\nin the mind, the state of belief is thereby induced.\n\nA better clue to the real character of belief is found in the\nconnexion between faith and works. The practical test applied to a\nman's belief in a certain matter, is his acting upon it. A\ncapitalist's trust in the soundness of a project, is shown by his\ninvesting his money.\n\nIn its essential character, Belief is a phase of our active\nnature,--otherwise called the Will. Our tendency to action, under\nspecial circumstances, assumes the aspect called belief; as in other\ncircumstances, it takes the form of Desire, and in a third\nsituation, appears as Intention; none of all which are essential to\nvoluntary action in its typical form.\n\nThe state of belief or of disbelief is manifested when we are\npursuing an Intermediate End. In masticating something sweet, the\nfruition of the sweetness sustains the energy of the will; there is\nno case for the believing function properly so called, any more than\nthere is for Desire, Deliberation, or Resolution. In going to a shop\nto purchase sweets, there is wanting this immediate support of the\nvoluntary energies; the support grows out of an ideal state, the\nanticipation of the pleasure of sweetness; this state is called\nBelief. We are said to believe that what we are going to purchase\nwill impart an agreeable sensation. The state is one of degree; we\nmay have a strong belief or a weak belief; the strength having no\nother measure than the energy of pursuit inspired by it. If we {395}\nfollow the intermediate end with all the avidity shown when we are\nrealizing the full actuality, we have the perfect belief that what\nwe aim at will bring the actuality. If, as often happens, we are\nless strongly moved than this, our belief is said to be so much\nweaker. Or, the comparison may be expressed in a different form. If\ntwo things are connected together as means and end; and, if on\nattaining the means, we feel as much elated (the end being something\ngood) as if we had attained the end, then our belief is at the\nmaximum; if less so, our belief is less. The promise made to us by\none man gives all the satisfaction of the performance; the promise\nof another man gives a very inferior satisfaction; the comparison\nmeasures our comparative trust in the two men.\n\nSo far the matter seems plain. The real difficulty lies in assigning\nthe mental origin or seat of the believing attitude. The view to be\nmaintained in this note is, that the state of belief is identical\nwith the activity or active disposition of the system, at the\nmoment, and with reference to the thing believed. Now as there are\nvarious sources of activity, so there are various sources of belief.\nThese are:--First, Spontaneous Activity, or the mere overflow of\nenergy growing out of the nourishment of the system. Secondly,\nVoluntary Action, in the strictest signification, or the pursuit of\npleasure and the avoidance of pain, under the stimulus of one or\nother of those states. Thirdly, the tendency of an Idea to become an\nActuality, the degree of which tendency accords with the mental\nexcitement attending the idea. Fourthly, the addition of Habit to\nall the others. Under every one of these four influences, we are\nprompted to act, and in the same degree disposed to believe. Not one\nof the tendencies is any guarantee for the truth of the thing\nbelieved; which is a somewhat grave consequence of the theory\ncontended for.\n\nIt will now be asked, in what acceptation, or under what\ncircumstances, does mere activity, no matter how arising,\nconstitute, or amount to, the state of belief. There are certain\nsituations where the two states are on the surface the same; the\nfact of going along a certain road implicates the belief that {396}\na certain destination will be reached. Nay, farther, a great amount\nof natural energy would sustain a vigorous pace, irrespective of the\ncertainty of the goal; while physical feebleness would make one\nlanguid, however strong the evidence of the distant good. All this\nshows that the mental state called believing is of little use\nwithout the active power, and that the active power readily\nsimulates the believing state, and makes it seem greater or less\nthan it really is.\n\nLet us now look at the question in another light. Having a natural\nfund of activity, with or without the addition of proper volitional\nimpulses, we commence moving in a certain direction, no matter what.\nWe are not necessarily urged to move by any prospect of what we are\nto find. We act somehow, because action comes upon us; and we take\nthe consequences. Suppose, however, that we encounter a check, in\nthe form of obstruction or pain: this stops our activity in that\ndirection, but does not prevent it from taking another direction.\nNow, not only does the actual pain arrest our steps, but also the\nmemory of it (if the circumstances are such as to give it a certain\ndegree of strength) is deterring. We avoid that track in the future.\nWith reference to it there is generated a voluntary activity and\ndetermination, containing the whole essence of belief; namely, the\navoidance of a certain course, before the point of actual pain. This\nis, to all intents, belief on the side of prospective harm. Equally\nimportant is it to remark, that wherever we have not experienced any\npositive harm, check, or obstruction, we go on as readily and as\nenergetically as ever. Our natural state of mind, our primitive\nstart is tantamount to full confidence or belief; which is broken in\nupon, only after hostile experiences; by these, the original\ncondition of implicit confidence is impaired; and in certain\ndirections, a positive anticipation or determining volition and\nbelief of evil is substituted. An animal born on a summer morning,\nand able to move about from the first, would not anticipate\ndarkness; it would behave exactly as if light were never\nintermitted. A few days experience makes an {397} in-road on this\nprimitive confidence, and modifies it to suit the facts.\n\nLet us add another circumstance to the foregoing example. Instead of\nthe individual moving blindly on, by mere exuberance or spontaneity,\nlet the movement be favoured by bringing pleasure at every step. In\nthis situation, the whole force of the spontaneity at the time, and\nthe whole force of the will (proportioned to the stimulating\npleasure), sustain the movements at a more energetic pace; and there\nis nothing to counter-work them. The mental disposition is now\nequivalent to the highest confidence; there is no hesitation, no\ndistrust, nothing but exuberant unrestrained activity. Neither\nscepticism as to the unknown future, nor a demand for assurance that\nthe present condition is to last, is entertained by the mind. The\nindividual does not inquire whether a precipice, or the lair of a\ndevouring beast be on the track. The ignorance is at once bliss and\nbelief.\n\nHere, then, we may discern the original tendency of the mind as\nregards belief. To have gone a certain way with safety and with\nfruition, is an ample inducement to continue in that particular\npath. The situation contains all that is meant by full and unbounded\nconfidence that the future and the distant will be exactly what the\npresent is. The primary impulse of every creature is at the farthest\nremove from a procedure according to Logic. In the beginning,\nconfidence is at its maximum; the course of education is towards\nabating, and narrowing it, so as to adapt it to the fact of things.\nEvery check is a lesson, destroying to a certain extent the\nover-vaulting assurance of the natural mind, and planting a belief\nin evil, at points where originally flourished only the illimitable\nbelief in good.\n\nThere is thus wrapped up, in the active impulses of our nature, a\npower of credulity leading us habitually to overstep the experience\nof the present. We believe in the uniformity of nature with a\nvengeance. We have to be schooled by adverse encounters, before we\nare brought within the limits of the real uniformity. Our natural\ncredulity is equally excessive {398} on the side of evil and on the\nside of good; where we have once suffered we expect always to\nsuffer. In short, whereas to the logician, there is a great gulf\nbetween the present and future, the known and the unknown, to the\nnatural man there is not even a break. The early mind laughs the\nlogician's gulf to scorn. All that science or logic has been able to\ndo is to show that at certain points the assumed uniformity is\nbroken in upon; tractable and docile minds learn to respect these\nexceptions; but wherever an outlet exists, with no barrier, or\nexpress prohibition, not only is that outlet followed, it is\nfollowed with all the pristine impetuosity of our active nature. The\nordinary logician, over-awed by this force of determination, seldom\nasserts the principle that the present can by no logical implication\ncontain the future, that a present reality holds in itself no\nwarrant for the unknown past, the distant or the future. The barrier\nthat this principle would interpose to our inferences has been\ncarried by assault; the gordian knot is always cut with the sword.\n\nFrom the point of view of the logician, a serious difficulty\nattaches to our belief in the Memory of the Past; the psychologist\ncan refer it to the incontinence of the mind, in moving freely away\nfrom the present in any direction, in accounting the step next to be\nentered upon in the absence of impediment, as secure as the one\nactually taken.\n\nLet us consider the process first by reverting to the anticipation\nof the Future. That a state of things now begun will continue\nindefinitely is what the mind not only assumes but proceeds upon\nwith a vehemence proportioned to its active endowments and\ndispositions, until admonished to the contrary by the experience of\nbeing checked. All instruction, or corroborating information, is\ndispensed with at the outset: the burden is always laid upon the\ndenier. Of this tendency of the mind the examples are innumerable,\nand need only to be indicated. In the default of evidence, on one\nside, and against what ought to be considered evidence on the other\nside, we believe that, as we feel now, so we shall feel always. And\nour belief is not simply giving the benefit of any doubt there may\n{399} be to the opinion we incline to; it is a powerful impulse,\ncounteracted only by a severe and protracted discipline. Also, we\nbelieve that our own feelings exactly measure and correspond to the\nfeelings of every one else. Very few are ever brought within the\nlimits of the actual truth on this point; the primitive tendency is\nnot met by a sufficient force of the requisite education.\n\nIt is the belief in the future that offers the simplest and clearest\nexample of the mind's tendency to overleap the actual, to see no\nhard line between the present and the remote. The belief in nature's\ncontinuance and uniformity has always been in excess. From the very\nsame tendency springs whatever belief we have of our own continued\nexistence and identity. We make light of the difference between the\nconceived future and the real present.\n\nMuch more subtlety attends the Belief in Memory: the meaning of\nwhich is, that, whereas certain ideas recalled by memory are, _de\nfacto_, ideas, or mental elements of a kind that imagination might\nfurnish, they yet carry with them the belief that they represent\nwhat was once actuality, like any sensation of the present moment.\n\nLet us first apply to the case the overweening instinct now fully\nset forth. To the logician, the past, however recent, is divided by\na deep gulf from the present: the idea and the actuality can never\nbe interchanged. It is not so with the mind following its native\ndisposition. I have a present sensation of thirst; in that present\nconsciousness, I have the highest attainable assurance; my action\nupon it is unhesitating and complete. Let that sensation, however,\npass away for one minute, and there remains only the idea which, as\na mere idea, by virtue of its recency, may be at its maximum\nstrength. The point now to be explained is, why I believe not merely\nthat I have the idea, which as a fact of present consciousness I am\nentitled to believe to the utmost, but that the idea was lately a\nfull actuality as much as is my present state of satisfied\nsensation. The explanation seems to be, that we really make no\nradical difference between a present and a proximate past; {400} the\nmarch of the mind is to and fro, into the past and the future, with\nthe same tendency to act out both, as to act out the present,\nassuming always the absence of a positive check or break. Such is\nthe inveterate persistence of the natural activity, that the belief\nin the thirst when present (shown by action in accordance therewith)\nhas a continuing efficacy second only to the belief in a still\npresent state. At the moment of actual thirst, I, in the absence of\ncorrective influences, (and to some degree in spite of these), would\nbe disposed to believe that I always was, and always would be\nthirsty. The satisfaction that has followed reduces that belief to a\nfraction of its former state; and my utmost licence of assumption\nwould be, (in the absence of contradictory beliefs) that all my past\nhas been one thirst. The fact is, that, in these moments, when I\ngive full licence to the sway of the idea, by voluntarily remitting\nattention to my new experience, that idea may swell out into a pitch\nof mental occupation hardly distinguishable from the real presence;\nin which case, my past self and my present self are, as it were, one\nand indivisible; they are freely interchanged; the actual\nconsciousness compounds and contains them both.\n\nGoing another step backward, let us consider the state prior to the\nthirst; say a consciousness of heat and muscular fatigue. What proof\nhave I that these penultimate states were present in continuity of\ntime and in immediate precedence to the thirst, and are not vagaries\nof imagination, nor drawn from a remote past, accidentally revived?\nThere seems no other evidence than that already given regarding the\nproximate state. In surrendering our mind to the idea still\nremaining, and so imparting a momentary quasi-reality to the state,\nwe have an experience possessing the characteristic features of\npresent reality.\n\nAnother consideration has to be mentioned. The state of transition\nfrom reality to reality is a distinct and unmistakeable experience.\nThe transition from a present sensation of thirst to a present\nsensation of satisfied thirst is a march of its own kind--unique and\nexplicit. There are in it attendant {401} circumstances, not to be\nconfounded with the transition from a present to a past across a\nbreak. The recent and proximate state of thirst has a mode of\ncontinuity, a setting in contact with the present, such as did not\nbelong to the thirst of yesterday, and still less belongs to the\nidea of the narrated thirst of another person. No sensation ever\ncomes to us alone, or without a group of collaterals; and the\ncollaterals of the formerly actual, and of the ideal never an\nactual, are wholly different. (This point has been well illustrated\nin the text, Chap. X. on Memory). The peculiar link whereby a\npresent actual passes out of actuality into proximate actuality,\nwhen it is barely deprived of existence in the real, is a fact that\nremains and attaches to everything that has been actual; and the\nunbroken sequence of these is our past life of actuality, clearly\nmarked out from every aggregate of ideas indiscriminately culled and\nunited in a whole of imagination. This last process has its own\ndistinctive collaterals; it is accompanied by numerous shocks of\nagreement in difference, under the law of similarity; but we do not\nconfound these or other accompaniments with the gliding movement of\nthe mind over the chronological past. Thus to take the extreme\ninstance. We can assume another person's mental state (to a certain\ndegree); and yet we do not fuse that with our own identity. There is\na broad line of demarcation between each one's experience that they\nterm their actual, and the assumption of a second person's\nexperience, say of thirst, of fear, of curiosity. Our own past has\ncontinuity and fusion, in itself, and a peculiar set of\ncircumstantial surroundings; in general, too, it is easy to\nremember. The other person's experience is received through a\nmachinery of objective signs, laboriously interpreted, and not\nrealized with the collaterals of an experience of our own; it is\nshorn of all the beams of our own personality, whether in the\npresent or in the recollected past.\n\nThe distinction now drawn, (substantially what is exemplified at\nlength in the chapter referred to,) is confirmed by what happens on\noccasions when memory and imagination are confounded. When a fact is\nlong past, and all but forgotten, {402} the oblivion overtakes the\nevidentiary collaterals, the marks of continuity that link together\nwhat has been one actual state to what has been another actual\nstate. I remember having had the idea or purpose to say or to do\nsomething on a certain occasion; but I do not remember whether\nI actually did or said the thing. The memory of the occasion is\nincomplete; the links are snapped that connect that idea with my\nremembered acting at the time referred to; it is not in its place in\nthat authenticated series; and it is not associated with the\ncollateral circumstances that always attend an actual transaction.\nOn the other hand, as is well remarked in the chapter quoted,\nimagination may simulate remembered reality, when there is wanting\nthe real memory that would people the occasion with authentic\ncircumstances, and when the imagination has been excited and\nexercised so as to include in its compass the collaterals that go\nwith an experience in the actual.--_B._]\n\n[Editor's footnote 108: The analysis of Belief presented in this\nchapter, brings out the conclusion that all cases of Belief are\nsimply cases of indissoluble association: that there is no generic\ndistinction, but only a difference in the strength of the\nassociation, between a case of belief and a case of mere\nimagination: that to believe a succession or coexistence between two\nfacts is only to have the ideas of the two facts so strongly and\nclosely associated, that we cannot help having the one idea when we\nhave the other.\n\nIf this can be proved, it is the greatest of all the triumphs of the\nAssociation Psychology. To first appearance, no two things can be\nmore distinct than thinking of two things together, and believing\nthat they are joined together in the outward world. Nevertheless,\nthat the latter state of mind is only an extreme case of the former,\nis, as we see, the deliberate doctrine of the author of the\nAnalysis; and it has also in its favour the high psychological\nauthority of Mr. Herbert Spencer. Mr. Bain, in the preceding note,\nas well as in his systematic work, looks at the phenomenon from\nanother side, and pronounces that what constitutes Belief is the\npower which an {403} idea has obtained over the Will. It is well\nknown and understood that a mere idea may take such possession of\nthe mind as to exercise an irresistible control over the active\nfaculties, even independently of Volition, and sometimes in\nopposition to it. This, which Mr. Bain calls the power of a Fixed\nIdea, is exemplified in the cases of what is called fascination: the\nimpulse which a person looking from a precipice sometimes feels to\nthrow himself down it; and the cases of crimes said to have been\ncommitted by persons who abhor them, because that very horror has\nfilled their minds with an intense and irrepressible idea of the\nact. Since an idea is sometimes able to overpower volition, it is no\nwonder that an idea should determine volition; as it does whenever\nwe, under the influence of the idea of a pleasure or of a pain, will\nthat which obtains for us the pleasure or averts the pain. In this\nvoluntary action, our conduct is grounded upon a relation between\nmeans and an end; (that is, upon a constant conjunction of facts in\nthe way of causation, ultimately resolvable into a case of\nresemblance and contiguity): in common and unanalytical language,\nupon certain laws of nature on which we rely. Our reliance is the\nconsequence of an association formed in our minds between the\nsupposed cause and its effect, resulting either from personal\nexperience of their conjunction, from the teachings of other people,\nor from accidental appearances. Now, according to Mr. Bain, when\nthis association between the means and the end, the end calling up\nthe idea of the means, arrives at the point of giving to the idea\nthus called up a command over the Will, it constitutes Belief. We\nbelieve a thing, when we are ready to act on the faith of it; to\nface the practical consequences of taking it for granted: and\ntherein lies the distinction between believing two facts to be\nconjoined, and merely thinking of them together. Thus far Mr. Bain:\nand with this I fully agree. But something is still wanting to the\ncompleteness of the analysis. The theory as stated, distinguishes\ntwo antecedents, by a difference not between themselves, but between\ntheir consequents. But when the consequents differ, the antecedents\ncannot be the same. An association {404} of ideas is or is not a\nBelief, according as it has or has not the power of leading us to\nvoluntary action: this is undeniable: but when there is a difference\nin the effects there must be a difference in the cause: the\nassociation which leads to action must be, in some respect or other,\ndifferent from that which stops at thought. The question, therefore,\nraised, and, as they think, resolved, by the author of the Analysis\nand by Mr. Spencer, still demands an answer. Does the difference\nbetween the two cases consist in this, that in the one case the\nassociation is dissoluble, in the other it is so much more closely\nriveted, by repetition, or by the intensity of the associated\nfeelings, as to be no longer dissoluble? This is the question we are\ncompelled to face.\n\nI.\n\nIn the first place, then, it may be said--If Belief consisted in an\nindissoluble association, Belief itself would be indissoluble. An\nopinion once formed could never afterwards be destroyed or changed.\nThis objection is good against the _word_ indissoluble. But those\nwho maintain the theory do not mean by an indissoluble association,\none which nothing that can be conceived to happen could possibly\ndissolve. All our associations of ideas would probably be\ndissoluble, if experience presented to us the associated facts\nseparate from one another. If we have any associations which are, in\npractice, indissoluble, it can only be because the conditions of our\nexistence deny to us the experiences which would be capable of\ndissolving them. What the author of the Analysis means by\nindissoluble associations, are those which we cannot, by any mental\neffort, at present overcome. If two ideas are, at the present time,\nso closely associated in our minds, that neither any effort of our\nown, nor anything else which can happen, can enable us now to have\nthe one without its instantly raising up the other, the association\nis, in the author's sense of the term, indissoluble. There would be\nless risk of misunderstanding if we were to discard the word\nindissoluble, and confine ourselves to the expression which the\nauthor employs as its equivalent, inseparable. This I will\nhenceforth do, and {405} we will now enquire whether Belief is\nnothing but an inseparable association.\n\nIn favour of this supposition there is the striking fact, that an\ninseparable association very often suffices to command belief. There\nare innumerable cases of Belief for which no cause can be assigned,\nexcept that something has created so strong an association between\ntwo ideas that the person cannot separate them in thought. The\nauthor has given a large assortment of such cases, and has made them\ntell with great force in support of his theory. Locke, as the author\nmentions, had already seen, that this is one of the commonest and\nmost fertile sources of erroneous thought; deserving to be placed\nhigh in any enumeration of Fallacies. When two things have long been\nhabitually thought of together, and never apart, until the\nassociation between the ideas has become so strong that we have\ngreat difficulty, or cannot succeed at all, in separating them,\nthere is a strong tendency to believe that the facts are conjoined\nin reality; and when the association is closer still, that their\nconjunction is what is called Necessary. Most of the schools of\nphilosophy, both past and present, are so much under the influence\nof this tendency, as not only to justify it in principle, but to\nelect it into a Law of Things. The majority of metaphysicians have\nmaintained, and even now maintain, that there are things which, by\nthe laws of intelligence, cannot be separated in thought, and that\nthese things are not only always united in fact, but united by\nnecessity: and, again, other things, which cannot be united in\nthought--which cannot be thought of together, and that these not\nonly never do, but it is impossible they ever should, coexist in\nfact. These supposed necessities are the very foundation of the\nTranscendental schools of metaphysics, of the Common Sense school,\nand many others which have not received distinctive names. These are\nfacts in human nature and human history very favourable to the\nsupposition that Belief is but an inseparable association, or at all\nevents that an inseparable association suffices to create Belief.\n\nOn the contrary side of the question it may be urged, that {406} the\ninseparable associations which are so often found to generate\nBeliefs, do not generate them in everybody. Analytical and\nphilosophical minds often escape from them, and resist the tendency\nto believe in an objective conjunction between facts merely because\nthey are unable to separate the ideas. The author's typical example\nof an inseparable association, (and there can be none more suited to\nthe purpose,) is the association between sensations of colour and\nthe tangible magnitudes, figures, and distances, of which they are\nsigns, and which are so completely merged with them into one single\nimpression, that we believe we see distance, extension, and figure,\nthough all we really see is the optical effects which accompany\nthem, all the rest being a rapid interpretation of natural signs.\nThe generality of mankind, no doubt, and all men before they have\nstudied the subject, believe what the author says they do; but a\ngreat majority of those who have studied the subject believe\notherwise: they believe that a large portion of the facts which we\nseem to see, we do not really see, but instantaneously infer. Yet\nthe association remains inseparable in these scientific thinkers as\nin others: the retinal picture suggests to them the real magnitude,\nin the same irresistible manner as it does to other people. To take\nanother of the author's examples: when we look at a distant\nterrestrial object through a telescope, it appears nearer; if we\nreverse the telescope it appears further off. The signs by which we\njudge of distance from us, here mislead, because those signs are\nfound in conjunction with real distances widely different from those\nwith which they coexist in our ordinary experience. The association,\nhowever, persists, and is irresistible, in one person as much as in\nanother; for every one recognises that the object, thus looked at,\n_seems_ nearer, or farther off, than we know it to be. But does this\never make any of us, except perhaps an inexperienced child,\n_believe_ that the object is at the distance at which we seem to see\nit? The inseparable association, though so persistent and powerful\nas to create in everybody an optical illusion, creates no\n_de_lusion, but leaves our belief as conformable to the realities of\nfact as if no such illusive appearance had presented {407} itself.\nCases similar to this are so frequent, that cautious and thoughtful\nminds, enlightened by experience on the misleading character of\ninseparable associations, learn to distrust them, and do not, even\nby a first impulse, believe a connexion in fact because there is one\nin thought, but wait for evidence.\n\nFollowing up the same objection, it may be said that if belief is\nonly an inseparable association, belief is a matter of habit and\naccident, and not of reason. Assuredly an association, however\nclose, between two ideas, is not a sufficient _ground_ of belief; is\nnot _evidence_ that the corresponding facts are united in external\nnature. The theory seems to annihilate all distinction between the\nbelief of the wise, which is regulated by evidence, and conforms to\nthe real successions and coexistences of the facts of the universe,\nand the belief of fools, which is mechanically produced by any\naccidental association that suggests the idea of a succession or\ncoexistence to the mind: a belief aptly characterized by the popular\nexpression, believing a thing because they have taken it into their\nheads.\n\nIndeed, the author of the Analysis is compelled by his theory to\naffirm that we actually believe in accordance with the misleading\nassociations which generate what are commonly called illusions of\nsense. He not only says that we believe we see figure and\ndistance--which the great majority of psychologists since Berkeley\ndo not believe; but he says, that in the case of ventriloquy \"we\ncannot help believing\" that the sound proceeds from the place, of\nwhich the ventriloquist imitates the effect; that the sound of bells\nopposed by the wind, not only appears farther off, but is believed\nto come from farther off, although we may know the exact distance\nfrom which it comes; that \"in passing on board ship, another ship at\nsea, we _believe_ that she has all the motion, we none:\" nay even,\nthat when we have turned ourselves round with velocity several\ntimes, \"we believe that the world is turning round.\" Surely it is\nmore true to say, as people generally do say, \"the world _seems_ to\nus to turn round.\" To me these cases appear so many experimental\nproofs, that the tendency of an inseparable association to generate\nbelief, even when that {408} tendency is fully effectual in creating\nthe irresistible appearance of a state of things that does not\nreally exist, may yet be impotent against reason, that is, against\npreponderant evidence.\n\nIn defence of these paradoxes, let us now consider what the author\nof the Analysis might say. One thing he would certainly say: that\nthe belief he affirms to exist in these cases of illusion, is but a\nmomentary one; with which the belief entertained at all other times\nmay be at variance. In the case, for instance, of those who, from an\nearly association formed between darkness and ghosts, feel terror in\nthe dark though they have a confirmed disbelief in ghosts, the\nauthor's opinion is that there is a temporary belief, at the moment\nwhen the terror is felt. This was also the opinion of Dugald\nStewart: and the agreement (by no means a solitary one) between two\nthinkers of such opposite tendencies, reminds one of the saying\n\"Quand un Fran\u00e7ais et un Anglais sont d'accord, il faut bien qu'ils\naient raison.\" Yet the author seems to adopt this notion not from\nobservation of the case, but from an antecedent opinion that \"dread\nimplies belief, and an uncontrollable belief,\" which, he says, \"we\nneed not stay to prove.\" It is to be wished, in this case, that he\nhad stayed to prove it: for it is harder to prove than he thought.\nThe emotion of fear, the physical effect on the nervous system known\nby that name, may be excited, and I believe often is excited, simply\nby terrific imaginations. That these imaginations are, even for a\nmoment, mistaken for menacing realities, may be true, but ought not\nto be assumed without proof. The circumstance most in its favour\n(one not forgotten by the author) is that in dreams, to which may be\nadded hallucinations, frightful ideas are really mistaken for\nterrible facts. But dreams are states in which all other sensible\nideas are mistaken for outward facts. Yet sensations and ideas are\nintrinsically different, and it is not the normal state of the human\nmind to confound the one with the other.\n\nBesides, this supposition of a momentary belief in ghosts breaking\nin upon and interrupting an habitual and permanent belief that there\nare no ghosts, jars considerably with the {409} doctrine it is\nbrought to support, that belief is an inseparable association.\nAccording to that doctrine, here are two inseparable associations,\nwhich yet are so far from exclusively possessing the mind, that they\nalternate with one another, each Inseparable implying the separation\nof the other Inseparable. The association of darkness with the\nabsence of ghosts must be anything but inseparable, if there only\nneeds the presence of darkness to revive the contrary association.\nYet an association so very much short of inseparable, is\naccompanied, at least in the absence of darkness, by a full belief.\nDarkness is in this case associated with two incompatible ideas, the\nidea of ghosts and that of their absence, but with neither of them\ninseparably, and in consequence the two associations alternately\nprevail, as the surrounding circumstances favour the one or the\nother; agreeably to the laws of Compound Association laid down with\ngreat perspicuity and reach of thought by Mr. Bain in his systematic\ntreatise.\n\nTo the argument, that the inseparable associations which create\noptical and other illusions, do not, when opposed by reason,\ngenerate the false belief, the author's answer would probably be\nsome such as the following. When the rational thinker succeeds in\nresisting the belief, he does so by more or less completely\novercoming the inseparableness of the association. Associations may\nbe conquered by the formation of counter-associations. Mankind had\nformerly an inseparable association between sunset and the motion of\nthe sun, and this in separable association compelled them to believe\nthat in the phenomenon of sunset the sun moves and the earth is at\nrest. But Copernicus, Galileo, and after them, all astronomers,\nfound evidence, that the earth moves and the sun is at rest: in\nother words, certain experiences, and certain reasonings from those\nexperiences, took place in their minds, the tendency of which was to\nassociate sunset with the ideas of the earth in motion and the sun\nat rest. This was a counter-association, which could not coexist, at\nleast at the same instant, with the previous association connecting\nsunset with the sun in motion and the earth at rest. But for a long\ntime the new {410} associating influences could not be powerful\nenough to get the better of the old association, and change the\nbelief which it implied. A belief which has become habitual, is\nseldom overcome but by a slow process. However, the experiences and\nmental processes that tended to form the new association still went\non; there was a conflict between the old association and the causes\nwhich tended to produce a new one; until, by the long continuance\nand frequent repetition of those causes, the old association,\ngradually undermined, ceased to be inseparable, and it became\npossible to associate the idea of sunset with that of the earth\nmoving and the sun at rest; whereby the previous idea of the sun\nmoving and the earth at rest was excluded for the time, and as the\nnew association grew in strength, was at last thrown out altogether.\nThe argument should go on to say that after a still further\nprolongation of the new experiences and reasonings, the old\nassociation became impossible and the new one inseparable; for,\nuntil it became inseparable, there could, according to the theory,\nbe no belief. And this, in truth, does sometimes happen. There are\ninstances in the history of science, even down to the present day,\nin which something which was once believed to be impossible, and its\nopposite to be necessary, was first seen to be possible, next to be\ntrue, and finally came to be considered as necessarily true, and its\nopposite (once deemed necessary) as impossible, and even\ninconceivable; insomuch that it is thought by some that what was\nreputed an impossibility, might have been known to be a necessity.\nIn such cases, the quality of inseparableness has passed, in those\nminds at least, from the old association to the new one. But in much\nthe greatest number of cases the change does not proceed so far, and\nboth associations remain equally possible. The case which furnished\nour last instance is an example. Astronomers, and all educated\npersons, now associate sunset with motion confined to the earth, and\nfirmly believe this to be what really takes place; but they have not\nformed this association with such exclusiveness and intensity as to\nhave become unable to associate sunset with motion of the sun. On\nthe contrary, the visible appearance still suggests {411} motion of\nthe sun, and many people, though aware of the truth, find that they\ncannot by any effort make themselves see sunset any otherwise than\nas the sinking of the sun below the earth. My own experience is\ndifferent: I find that I can represent the phenomenon to myself in\neither light; I can, according to the manner in which I direct my\nthoughts, see sunset either as the earth tilting above the sun, or\nas the sun dipping below the earth: in the same manner as when a\nrailway train in motion passes another at rest, we are able, if we\nprevent our eyes from resting on any third object, to imagine the\nmotion as being either in the one train or in the other. How, then,\ncan it be said that there is an inseparable association of sunset\nwith the one mode of representation, and a consequent inability to\nassociate it with the other? It is associated with both, and the one\nof the two associations which is nearest to being inseparable is\nthat which belief does not accompany. The difference between\ndifferent people in the ability to represent to themselves the\nphenomenon under either aspect, depends rather on the degree of\nexercise which they have given to their imagination in trying to\nframe mental pictures conformable to the two hypotheses, than upon\nthose considerations of reason and evidence which yet may determine\ntheir belief.\n\nThe question still remains, what is there which exists in the\nhypothesis believed, and does not exist in the hypothesis rejected,\nwhen we have associations which enable our imagination to represent\nthe facts agreeably to either hypothesis? In other words, what is\nBelief?\n\nI think it must be admitted, that when we can represent to ourselves\nin imagination either of two conflicting suppositions, one of which\nwe believe, and disbelieve the other, neither of the associations\ncan be inseparable; and there must therefore be in the fact of\nBelief, which exists in only one of the two cases, something for\nwhich inseparable association does not account. We seem to have\nagain come up, on a different side, to the difficulty which we felt\nin the discussion of Memory, in accounting for the distinction\nbetween a fact remembered, and the same fact imagined. There is a\nclose parallelism between {412} the two problems. In both, we have\nthe difference between a fact and a representation in imagination;\nbetween a sensation, or combination of sensations, and an idea, or\ncombination of ideas. This difference we all accept as an ultimate\nfact. But the difficulty is this. Let me first state it as it\npresents itself in the case of Memory. Having in our mind a certain\ncombination of ideas, in a group or a train, accompanying or\nsucceeding one another; what is it which, in one case, makes us\nrecognize this group or train as representing a group or train of\nthe corresponding sensations, remembered as having been actually\nfelt by us, while in another case we are aware that the sensations\nhave never occurred to us in a group or train corresponding to that\nin which we are now having the ideas? This is the problem of Memory.\nLet me now state the problem of Belief, when the belief is not a\ncase of memory. Here also we have ideas connected in a certain order\nin our own mind, which makes us think of a corresponding order among\nthe sensations, and we believe that this similar combination of the\nsensations is a real fact: _i.e._, whether we ever felt it or not,\nwe confidently expect that we should feel it under certain given\nconditions. In Memory, we believe that the realities in Nature, the\nsensations and combinations of sensations presented to us from\nwithout, _have_ occurred to us in an order which agrees with that in\nwhich we are representing them to ourselves in thought: in those\ncases of Belief which are not cases of Memory, we believe, not that\nthey have occurred, but that they would have occurred, or would\noccur, in that order.\n\nWhat is it that takes place in us, when we recognize that there is\nthis agreement between the order of our ideas and the order in which\nwe either had or might have had the sensations which correspond to\nthem--that the order of the ideas represents a similar order either\nin our actual sensations, or in those which, under some given\ncircumstances, we should have reason to expect? What, in short, is\nthe difference _to our minds_ between thinking of a reality, and\nrepresenting to ourselves an imaginary picture? I confess that I can\nperceive no escape from the opinion that the distinction is ultimate\nand primordial. {413} There is no more difficulty in holding it to\nbe so, than in holding the difference between a sensation and an\nidea to be primordial. It seems almost another aspect of the same\ndifference. The author himself says, in the chapter on Memory, that,\na sensation and an idea being different, it is to be expected that\nthe remembrance of having had a sensation should be different from\nthe remembrance of having had an idea, and that this is a sufficient\nexplanation of our distinguishing them. If this, then, is an\noriginal distinction, why should not the distinction be original\nbetween the remembrance of having had a sensation, and the actually\nhaving an idea (which is the difference between Memory and\nImagination); and between the expectation of having a sensation, and\nthe actually having an idea (which is the difference between\nBelief and Imagination)? Grant these differences, and there is\nnothing further to explain in the phenomenon of Belief. For every\nbelief is either the memory of having had a sensation (or other\nfeeling), or the expectation that we should have the sensation or\nfeeling in some given state of circumstances, if that state of\ncircumstances could come to be realized.\n\nII.\n\nThat all belief is either Memory or Expectation, will be clearly\nseen if we run over all the different objects of Belief. The author\nhas already done so, in order to establish his theory; and it is now\nnecessary that we should do the same.\n\nThe objects of Belief are enumerated by the author in the following\nterms:--1. Events, real existences. 2. Testimony. 3. The truth of\npropositions. He intended this merely as a rough grouping,\nsufficient for the purpose if it includes everything: for it is\nevident that the divisions overlap one another, and it will be seen\npresently that the last two are but cases of the first.\n\nBelief in events he further divides into belief in present events,\nin past events, and in future events. Belief in present events he\nsubdivides into belief in immediate existences present to my senses,\nand belief in immediate existences not present {414} to my senses.\nWe see by this that he recognises no difference, in a metaphysical\nsense, between existences and events, because he regards, with\nreason, objects as merely the supposed antecedents of events. The\ndistinction, however, requires to be kept up, being no other than\nthe fundamental difference between simultaneousness, and succession\nor change.\n\nBelief in immediate existences present to my senses, is either\nbelief in my sensations, or belief in external objects. Believing\nthat I feel what I am at this moment feeling, is, as the author\nsays, only another name for having the feeling; with the idea,\nhowever, of Myself, associated with it; of which hereafter.\n\nThe author goes on to analyse Belief in external objects present to\nour senses; and he resolves it into a present sensation, united by\nan irresistible association with the numerous other sensations which\nwe are accustomed to receive in conjunction with it. The Object is\nthus to be understood as a complex idea, compounded of the ideas of\nvarious sensations which we have, and of a far greater number of\nsensations which we should expect to have if certain contingencies\nwere realized. In other words, our idea of an object is an idea of a\ngroup of possibilities of sensation, some of which we believe we can\nrealize at pleasure, while the remainder would be realized if\ncertain conditions took place, on which, by the laws of nature, they\nare dependent. As thus explained, belief in the existence of a\nphysical object, is belief in the occurrence of certain sensations,\ncontingently on certain previous conditions. This is a state of mind\nclosely allied to Expectation of sensations. For--though we use the\nname Expectation only with reference to the future, and even to the\nprobable future--our state of mind in respect to what _may_ be\nfuture, and even to what _might have been_ future, is of the same\ngeneral nature, and depends on the same principles, as Expectation.\nI believe that a certain event will positively happen, because the\nknown conditions which always accompany it in experience have\nalready taken place. I believe that another event will certainly\nhappen _if_ the known conditions which always accompany it take\nplace, and those conditions I can produce when I please. I believe\n{415} that a third event will happen if its conditions take place,\nbut I must wait for those conditions; I cannot realize them at\npleasure, and may never realize them at all. The first of these\nthree cases is positive expectation, the other two are conditional\nexpectation. A fourth case is my belief that the event would have\nhappened at any former time if the conditions had taken place at\nthat time. It is not consonant to usage to call this Expectation,\nbut, considered as a case of belief, there is no essential\ndifference between it and the third case. My belief that I should\nhave heard Cicero had I been present in the Forum, and my belief\nthat I shall hear Mr. Gladstone if I am present in the House of\nCommons, can nowise be regarded as essentially different phenomena.\nThe one we call Expectation, the other not, but the mental principle\noperative in both these cases of belief is the same.\n\nThe author goes on to say, that the belief that we should have the\nsensations if certain conditions were realized, that is, if we had\ncertain other sensations, is merely an inseparable association of\nthe two sets of sensations with one another, and their inseparable\nunion with the idea of ourselves as having them. But I confess it\nseems to me that all this may exist in a case of simple imagination.\nThe author would himself admit that the complex idea of the object,\nin all its fulness, may be in the mind without belief. What remains\nis its association with the idea of ourselves as percipients. But\nthis also, I cannot but think, we may have in the case of an\nimaginary scene, when we by no means believe that any corresponding\nreality exists. Does the idea of our own personality never enter\ninto the pictures in our imagination? Are we not ourselves present\nin the scenes which we conjure up in our minds? I apprehend we are\nas constantly present in them, and as conscious of our presence, as\nwe are in contemplating a real prospect. In either case the vivacity\nof the other impressions eclipses, for the most part, the thought of\nourselves as spectators, but not more so in the imaginary, than in\nthe real, spectacle.\n\nIt appears to me, then, that to account for belief in external {416}\nobjects, we must postulate Expectation; and since all our\nexpectations, whether positive or contingent, are a consequence of\nour Memory of the past (as distinguished from a representation in\nfancy), we must also postulate Memory. The distinction between a\nmere combination of ideas in thought, and one which recals to us a\ncombination of sensations as actually experienced, always returns on\nour hands as an ultimate postulate.\n\nThe author proceeds to shew how this idea of a mere group of\nsensations, actual or contingent, becomes knit up with an idea of a\npermanent Something, lying, as it were, under these sensations, and\ncausing them; this further enlargement of the complex idea taking\nplace through the intimate, or, as he calls it, inseparable\nassociation, generated by experience, which makes us unable to\nimagine any phenomenon as beginning to exist without something\nanterior to it which causes it. This explanation, seems to me quite\ncorrect as far as it goes; but, while it accounts for the difficulty\nwe have in not ascribing our sensations to some cause or other, it\ndoes not explain why we accept, as in fact we do, the group itself\nas the cause. I have endeavoured to clear up this difficulty\nelsewhere (Examination of Sir William Hamilton's Philosophy), and in\npreference to going over the ground a second time, I subjoin, at the\nend of the volume, the chapter containing the explanation. That\nchapter supplies all that appears to me to be further necessary on\nthe subject of belief in outward objects; which is thus shewn to be\na case of Conditional Expectation.\n\nIt is unnecessary to follow the author into the minute consideration\nof Belief in the existence of objects not present since the\nexplanation already given equally applies to them. My belief in the\npresent existence of St. Paul's is correctly set forth by the author\nas consisting of the following elements: I believe that I have seen\nSt. Paul's: I believe that I shall see St. Paul's, when I am again\nin St. Paul's Churchyard: I believe that I should see St. Paul's, if\nI were in St. Paul's Churchyard at this instant. All this, as he\njustly remarks, is Memory or Expectation. And this, or some part of\nthis, is {417} the whole of what is in any case meant by belief in\nthe real existence of an external object. The author adds, I also\nbelieve that if any creature whose senses are analogous to my own,\nis now in St. Paul's Churchyard, it has the present sensation of\nthat edifice. But this belief is not necessary to my belief in the\ncontinued existence of St. Paul's. For that, it suffices that\nI believe I should myself see it. My belief that other creatures\nwould do so, is part of my belief in the real existence of other\ncreatures like myself; which is no more mysterious, than our belief\nin the real existence of any other objects some of whose properties\nrest not on direct sensation, but on inference.\n\nBelief in past existences, when those existences have been perceived\nby ourselves, is Memory. When the past existences are inferred from\nevidence, the belief of them is not Memory, but a fact of the same\nnature as Expectation; being a belief that we _should have had_ the\nsensations if we had been cotemporary with the objects, and had\nbeen in the local position necessary for receiving sensible\nimpressions from them.\n\nWe now come to the case of Belief in testimony. But testimony is not\nitself an object of belief. The object of belief is what the\ntestimony asserts. And so in the last of the author's three cases,\nthat of assent to a proposition. The object of belief, in both these\ncases, is an assertion. But an assertion is something asserted, and\nwhat is asserted must be a fact, similar to some of those of which\nwe have already treated. According to the author, belief in an\nassertion is belief that two names are both of them names of the\nsame thing: but this we have felt ourselves obliged to discard, as\nan inadequate explanation of the import of any assertions, except\nthose which are classed as merely verbal. Every assertion concerning\nThings, whether in concrete or in abstract language, is an assertion\nthat some fact, or group of facts, has been, is, or may be expected\nto be, found, wherever a certain other fact, or group of facts, is\nfound. Belief in this, is therefore either remembrance that we did\nhave, or expectation that we shall have, or a belief of the same\nnature with expectation that in {418} some given circumstances we\nshould have, or should have had, direct perception of a particular\nfact. Belief, therefore, is always a case either of Memory or of\nExpectation; including under the latter name conditional as well as\npositive expectation, and the state of mind similar to expectation\nwhich affects us in regard to what _would_ have been a subject of\nexpectation, if the conditions of its realization had still been\npossible.\n\nIt may be objected, that we may believe in the real existence of\nthings which are not objects of sense at all. We may. But we cannot\nbelieve in the real existence of anything which we do not conceive\nas capable of acting in some way upon our own or some other being's\nconsciousness; though the state of consciousness it produces may not\nbe called a sensation. The existence of a thing means, to us, merely\nits capacity of producing an impression of some sort upon some mind,\nthat is, of producing some state of consciousness. The belief,\ntherefore, in its existence, is still a conditional expectation of\nsomething which we should, under some supposed circumstances, be\ncapable of feeling.\n\nTo resume: Belief, as I conceive, is more than an inseparable\nassociation, for inseparable associations do not always generate\nbelief, nor does belief always require, as one of its conditions, an\ninseparable association: we can believe that to be true which we are\ncapable of conceiving or representing to ourselves as false, and\nfalse what we are capable of representing to ourselves as true. The\ndifference between belief and mere imagination, is the difference\nbetween recognising something as a reality in nature, and regarding\nit as a mere thought of our own. This is the difference which\npresents itself when Memory has to be distinguished from\nImagination; and again when Expectation, whether positive or\ncontingent (i.e. whether it be expectation that we shall, or only\npersuasion that in certain definable circumstances we should, have a\ncertain experience) has to be distinguished from the mere mental\nconception of that experience.\n\nIII.\n\nLet us examine, once more, whether the speculations in the text\nafford us any means of further analysing this difference.\n\n{419} The difference presents itself in its most elementary form in\nthe distinction between a sensation and an idea. The author admits\nthis distinction to be ultimate and primordial. \"A sensation is\ndifferent from an idea, only because it is felt to be different.\"\nBut, after having admitted that these two states or consciousness\nare distinguishable from each other in and by themselves, he adds,\nthat they are also distinguishable by their accompaniments. \"The\naccompaniments of a sensation are always generically different from\nthose of an idea. . . . . The accompaniments of a sensation, are all\nthe simultaneous _objects of sensation_, together with all those\nwhich, to a certain extent, both preceded and followed it. The\naccompaniments of an idea are not the simultaneous objects of\nsensation, but _other ideas_; namely, the neighbouring facts,\nantecedent and consequent, of the mental train.\" There can be no\ndoubt that in those individual cases in which ideas and sensations\nmight be confounded, namely, when an idea reaches or approaches the\nvivacity of a sensation, the indication here pointed out helps to\nassure us that what we are conscious of is, nevertheless, only an\nidea. When, for instance, we awake from a dream, and open our eyes\nto the outward world, what makes us so promptly recognise that this\nand not the other is the real world, is that we find its phenomena\nconnected in the accustomed order of our objects of sensation. But\nthough this circumstance enables us, in particular instances, to\nrefer our impression more instantaneously to one or the other class,\nit cannot be by this that we distinguish ideas at first from\nsensations; for the criterion supposes the distinction to be already\nmade. If we judge a sensation to be a sensation because its\naccompaniments are other sensations, and an idea to be an idea\nbecause its accompaniments are other ideas, we must already be able\nto distinguish those other sensations from those other ideas.\n\nA similar remark is applicable to a criterion between sensations and\nideas, incidentally laid down by Mr. Bain in the First Part of his\nsystematic treatise. \"A mere picture or _idea_ remains the same\nwhatever be our bodily position or {420} bodily exertions; the\nsensation that we call the actual is entirely at the mercy of our\nmovements, shifting in every possible way according to the varieties\nof action that we go through.\" (_The Senses and the Intellect_, 2nd\ned. p. 381.) This test, like the author's, may serve in cases of\nmomentary doubt; but sensations in general must have been already\ndistinguished from ideas, before we could have hit upon this\ncriterion between them. If we had not already known the difference\nbetween a sensation and an idea, we never could have discovered that\none of them is \"at the mercy of our movements,\" and that the other\nis not.\n\nIt being granted that a sensation and an idea are _ipso facto_\ndistinguishable, the author thinks it no more than natural that \"the\ncopy of the sensation should be distinguishable from the revival of\nthe idea, when they are both brought up by association.\" But he\nadds, that there is another distinction between the memory of a\nsensation, and the memory of an idea, and it is this. In all Memory\nthe idea of self forms part of the complex idea; but in the memory\nof sensation, the self which enters into the remembrance is \"the\nsentient self, that is, seeing and hearing:\" in the memory of an\nidea, it is \"not the sentient self, but the conceptive self, self\nhaving an idea. But\" (he adds) \"myself percipient, and myself\nimagining, or conceiving, are two very different states of\nconsciousness: of course the ideas of these states of consciousness,\nor these states revived by association, are very different ideas.\"\n\nConcerning the fact there is no dispute. Myself percipient, and\nmyself imagining or conceiving, are different states, because\nperceiving is a different thing from imagining; and being different\nstates, the remembrance of them is, as might be expected, different.\nBut the question is, in what does the difference between the\nremembrances consist? The author calls one of them the _idea_ of\nmyself perceiving, and the other the _idea_ of myself imagining, and\nthinks there is no other difference. But how do the idea of myself\nhaving a sensation, and the idea of myself having an idea of that\nsensation, differ from one another? since in either case an idea of\nthe sensation is all {421} that I am having now. The thought of\nmyself perceiving a thing at a former time, and the thought of\nmyself imagining the thing at that former time, are both at the\npresent moment facts of imagination--are now merely ideas. In each\ncase I have an ideal representation of myself, as conscious in a\nmanner very similar in the two cases; though not exactly the same,\nsince in the one case I remember to have been conscious of a\nsensation, in the other, to have been conscious only of an idea of\nthat sensation: but, in either case, that past consciousness enters\nonly as an idea, into the consciousness I now have by recollection.\nIn what, then, as far as mere ideas are concerned, do my present\nmental representations of the two cases differ? Will it be said,\nthat the idea of the sensation is one thing, the idea of the idea of\nthe sensation another thing? Or are they both the same idea, namely,\nthe idea of the sensation; and is the element that is present in the\none case, but absent in the other, not an idea but something else? A\ndifference there is admitted to be between the remembrance of having\nhad a sensation, and the remembrance of having merely thought of the\nsensation, i.e. had the idea of it: is this difference a difference\nin the ideas I have in the two cases, or is the idea the same, but\naccompanied in the one case by something not an idea, which does not\nexist in the other? for if so, this something is a Belief.\n\nI have touched upon this question in a former note, and expressed my\ninability to recognise, in the idea of an idea, anything but the\nidea itself; in the thought of a thought, anything but a repetition\nof the thought. My thought of Falstaff, as far as I can perceive, is\nnot a copy but a repetition of the thought I had of him when I first\nread Shakespeare: not indeed an exact repetition, because all\ncomplex ideas undergo modification by time, some elements fading\naway, and new ones being added by reverting to the original sources\nor by subsequent associations; but my first mental image of\nFalstaff, and my present one, do not differ as the thought of a rose\ndiffers from the sight of one; as an idea of sensation differs from\nthe sensation. On this point the author was perhaps of {422} the\nsame opinion, since we find him contrasting the \"copy\" of the\nsensation with the \"revival\" of the idea, as if the latter was a\ncase of simple repetition, the former not. It would have been well\nif he had made this point a subject of express discussion; for if\nhis opinion upon it was what, from this passage, we may suppose it\nto have been, it involves a serious difficulty. If (he says) a\nsensation and an idea \"are distinguishable in the having, it is\nlikely that the copy of the sensation should be distinguishable from\nthe revival of the idea.\" But the copy of the sensation is the idea;\nso that, on this shewing, the idea is distinguishable from its own\nrevival, that is, from the same idea when it occurs again. The\nauthor's theory would thus require him to maintain that an idea\nrevived is a specifically different idea, and not the same idea\nrepeated: since otherwise the two states of mind, so far as regards\nthe ideas contained in them, are undistinguishable, and it is\nnecessary to admit the presence in Memory of some other element.\n\nLet us put another case. Instead of Falstaff, suppose a real person\nwhom I have seen: for example General Lafayette. My idea of\nLafayette is almost wholly, what my idea of Falstaff is entirely, a\ncreation of thought: only a very small portion of it is derived from\nmy brief experience of seeing and conversing with him. But I have a\nremembrance of having seen Lafayette, and no remembrance of having\nseen Falstaff, but only of having thought of him. Is it a sufficient\nexplanation of this difference to say, that I have an idea of myself\nseeing and hearing Lafayette, and only an idea of myself thinking of\nFalstaff? But I can form a vivid idea of myself seeing and hearing\nFalstaff. I can without difficulty imagine myself in the field of\nShrewsbury, listening to his characteristic soliloquy over the body\nof Hotspur; or in the tavern in the midst of his associates, hearing\nhis story of his encounter with the men in buckram. When I recal the\nscene, I can as little detach it from the idea of myself as present,\nas I can in the case of most things of which I was really an\neye-witness. The spontaneous presence of the idea of Myself in the\n{423} conception, is always that of myself as percipient. The idea\nof myself as in a state of mere imagination, only substitutes itself\nfor the other when something reminds me that the scene is merely\nimaginary.\n\nI cannot help thinking, therefore, that there is in the remembrance\nof a real fact, as distinguished from that of a thought, an element\nwhich does not consist, as the author supposes, in a difference\nbetween the mere ideas which are present to the mind in the two\ncases. This element, howsoever we define it, constitutes Belief, and\nis the difference between Memory and Imagination. From whatever\ndirection we approach, this difference seems to close our path. When\nwe arrive at it, we seem to have reached, as it were, the central\npoint of our intellectual nature, presupposed and built upon in\nevery attempt we make to explain the more recondite phenomena of our\nmental being.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{424} CHAPTER XII.\n\nRATIOCINATION.\n\n\n\"It would afford great light and clearness to the art of Logic, to\ndetermine the precise nature and composition of the ideas affixed to\nthose words which have complex ideas; _i.e._, which excite any\ncombinations of simple ideas, united intimately by\nassociation.\"--_Hartley_. _Prop._ 12, _Corol._ 3.\n\nRATIOCINATION is one of the most complicated of all the mental\nphenomena. And it is worthy of notice, that more was accomplished\ntowards the analysis of it, at an early period in the history of\nintellectual improvement, than of any other of the complex cases of\nhuman consciousness.\n\nIt was fully explained by Aristotle, that the simplest case of\nRatiocination consists of three propositions, which he called a\nsyllogism. A piece of ratiocination may consist of one, or more\nsyllogisms, to any extent; but every single step is a syllogism.\n\nA ratiocination, then, or syllogism, is first resolved into three\npropositions. The following may be taken as one of the simplest of\nall examples. \"All men are animals: kings are men: therefore kings\nare animals.\"\n\nNext, the Proposition is resolved into its proximate elements. These\nare three; two Terms, one called the Subject, the other the\nPredicate, and the _Copula_. {425} What is the particular nature of\neach of these elements we have already seen, and here, therefore,\nneed not stay to inquire.\n\nThe ancient writers on Logic proceeded in their analysis, no farther\nthan Terms. After this, they only endeavoured to enumerate and\nclassify terms; to enumerate and classify propositions; to enumerate\nand classify syllogisms; and to give the rules for making correct\nsyllogisms, and detecting incorrect ones. And this, as taught by\nthem, constituted the whole science and art of Logic.\n\nWhat, under this head, we propose to explain, is--the process of\nassociation involved in the syllogism, and in the belief which is\npart of it.\n\nThat part of the process which is involved in the two antecedent\npropositions, called the premises, has been already explained. It is\nonly, therefore, the third proposition, called the conclusion, which\nfurther requires exposition.\n\nWe have seen, that in the proposition, \"All men are animals,\" Belief\nis merely the recognition that the meaning of the term, \"all men,\"\nis included in that of the term \"animals,\" and that the recognition\nis a case of association. In the proposition also, \"kings are men,\"\nthe belief is merely the recognition, that the individuals named\n\"kings,\" are part of the many, of whom \"men,\" is the common name.\nThis has already been more than once explained. And now, therefore,\nremains only to be shewn what further is involved in the third\nproposition, or conclusion, \"kings are animals.\"\n\nIn each of the two preceding propositions, two terms or names are\ncompared. In the last {426} proposition, a third name is compared\nwith both the other two; immediately with the one, and, through\nthat, with the other; the whole, obviously, a complicated case of\nassociation.\n\nIn the first proposition, \"all men are animals,\" the term, \"all\nmen,\" is compared with the term animals; in other words, a certain\nassociation, already expounded, takes place. In the second\nproposition, \"kings are men,\" the term \"kings,\" is compared with the\nterm \"all men;\" comparison here, again, being only a name for a\nparticular case of association. In the third proposition, \"kings are\nanimals,\" the name \"kings,\" is compared with the name \"animals,\" but\nmediately through the name, \"all men.\" Thus, \"kings,\" is associated\nwith \"all men,\" \"all men,\" with \"animals;\" \"kings,\" therefore, with\n\"animals,\" by a complicated, and, at the same time, a rapid, and\nalmost imperceptible process. It would be easy to mark the steps of\nthe association. But this would be tedious, and after so much\npractice, the reader will be at no loss to set them down for\nhimself.[109]\n\n[Editor's footnote 109: This chapter, which is of a very summary\ncharacter, is a prolongation of the portion of the chapter on\nBelief, which examines the case of belief in the truth of a\nproposition; and must stand or fall with it. The question considered\nis, how, from belief in the truth of the two premises of a\nsyllogism, we pass into belief in the conclusion. The exposition\nproceeds on the untenable theory of the import of propositions, on\nwhich I have so often had occasion to comment. That theory, however,\nwas not necessary to the author for shewing how two ideas may become\ninseparably associated through the inseparable association of each\nof them with a third idea: and inasmuch as an inseparable\nassociation between the subject and {427} predicate, in the author's\nopinion, constitutes belief, an explanation of ratiocination\nconformable to that given of belief follows as a matter of course.\n\nAlthough I am unable to admit that there is nothing in belief but an\ninseparable association, and although I maintain that there may be\nbelief without an inseparable association, I can still accept this\nexplanation of the formation of an association between the subject\nand predicate of the conclusion, which, when close and intense, has,\nas we have seen, a strong tendency to generate belief. But to shew\nwhat it is that gives the belief its validity, we must fall back on\nlogical laws, the laws of evidence. And independently of the\nquestion of validity, we shall find in the reliance on those laws,\nso far as they are understood, the source and origin of all beliefs,\nwhether well or ill-founded, which are not the almost mechanical or\nautomatic products of a strong association--of the lively suggestion\nof an idea. We may therefore pass at once to the nature of Evidence,\nwhich is the subject of the next chapter.\n\nI venture to refer, in passing, to those chapters in my System of\nLogic, in which I have maintained, contrary to what is laid down in\nthis chapter, that Ratiocination does not _consist_ of Syllogisms;\nthat the Syllogism is not the analysis of what the mind does in\nreasoning, but merely a useful formula into which it can translate\nits reasonings, gaining thereby a great increase in the security for\ntheir correctness.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{428} CHAPTER XIII.\n\nEVIDENCE.\n\n\n\"In consequence of some very wonderful laws, which regulate the\nsuccessions of our mental phenomena, the science of mind is, in all\nits most important respects, a science of analysis.\" _Brown's\nLect._, i., 108.\n\nBEFORE leaving the subject of Belief, it will be proper to shew, in\na few words, what is included, under the name Evidence. Evidence, is\neither the same thing with Belief, or it is the antecedent, of which\nBelief is the consequent.\n\nBelief we have seen to be of two sorts: Belief of events; Belief of\npropositions.\n\nOf events, believed on our own experience, the evidence of the\npresent is sense; of the past, memory; and in these cases, the\nevidence and the belief are not two things, but one and the same\nthing. The lamp, which at this moment lights me, I say that I see\nburning, and that I believe it burning. These are two names of one\nand the same state of consciousness.--\"I remember it was burning at\nthe same hour last night,\" and \"I believe it was burning at the same\nhour last night,\" are also two expressions for the same thing.--In\nthe simple anticipation of the future, from the past, also, the\nevidence, and the belief, are {429} not two things, but one and the\nsame thing. There is a close and inseparable association of the idea\nof a like antecedent, with the idea of a like consequent. This has\nnot a single name, like memory; but, like memory, it is both\nevidence and belief.\n\nThe case of testimony is different. The Testimony is one thing, the\nBelief is another. The name Evidence is given to the testimony. The\nassociation of the testimony, with the event testified, is the\nbelief.\n\nBeside the belief of events which are the immediate objects of\nsense, of memory, and of anticipation (the consequence of sense and\nmemory), and of those which are the immediate objects of testimony;\nthere is a belief of events which are not the immediate objects of\nany of those operations. The sailor, who is shipwrecked on an\nunknown coast, sees the prints of a man's foot on the sand. The\nprint of the foot is here called the evidence; the association of\nthe print, as consequent, with a man, as antecedent, is called the\nbelief. In this case, the sensation of one event, the print of a\nfoot on the sand, induces the belief of another event, the existence\nof a man. The sailor who has seen the mark, reports it to his\ncompanions who have not quitted the wreck. Instantly they have the\nsame belief; but it is a remove farther off, and there is an\nadditional link of evidence. The first event to them, is the\naffirmation of their companion; the second, the existence of the\nprint; the third, that of the man. There is here evidence of\nevidence; the testimony, evidence of the print; the print, evidence\nof the man.\n\nThe companions of the sailor, having themselves gone on shore,\nperceive, indeed, no man, but see a {430} large monkey, which leaves\nprints on the sand very much resembling those which had first been\nperceived by their companion. What is now the state of their minds?\nDoubt. But doubt is a name; what do we call by that name? A\nphenomenon of some complexity, but of which the elements are not\nvery difficult to trace. There is, here, a double association with\nthe print of the foot. There is the association of a man, and there\nis the association of a monkey. First, the print raises the idea of\na man, but the instant it does so, it raises also the idea of a\nmonkey. The idea of the monkey, displacing that of the man, hinders\nthe first association from the fixity which makes it belief; and the\nidea of man, displacing that of monkey, hinders the second\nassociation from that fixity which constitutes belief.\n\nWhen evidence is complex; that is, consists of more than one event;\nthe events may be all on the same side, or not all on the same side;\nthat is, they may all tend to prove the same event; or some of them\nmay tend to prove it, some may have an opposite tendency.\n\nThus, if after discovering the print on the sand, the sailors had\nseen near it a stick, which had any appearance of having been\nfashioned into a club, or a spear, this would have been another\nevent, tending, as well as the print on the sand, to the belief of\nthe presence of men. The evidence would have been complex, but all\non one side. The process is easy to trace. There is now a double\nassociation with the existence of men. The print of the foot excites\nthat idea, the existence of the club excites that idea. This double\nexcitement gives greater permanence to the {431} idea. By\nrepetition, the two exciting causes coalesce, and, by their united\nstrength, call up the associated idea with greater force.\n\nIn the case of the appearance of the monkey, in which one of the\nevents tended to one belief, the other to another, we have just seen\nthat the effect is precisely contrary; to lessen the strength of the\nassociation with the existence of a man, and to hinder its becoming\nbelief.\n\nThese expositions may be applied with ease to the other cases of\ncomplex evidence, which can only consist of a greater or less number\nof events, either all tending to the belief of the same event, or\nsome tending that way, some another; but all operating in the manner\nwhich has just been pointed out. Thus we may complicate the present\ncase still further, by the supposition of additional events. After\nthe appearance of the monkey, the sailors may discover, in the\nneighbourhood, the vestiges of a recent fire, and of the victuals\nwhich had been cooked by it. The association of human beings with\nthese appearances is so strong, that, combined with the association\nbetween the print and the same idea, it quite obscures the\nassociation between the print and the monkey; and the belief that\nthe place has inhabitants becomes complete. But suppose, further;\nthat after a little observation, they discover an English knife, and\nfork, and a piece of English earthenware near the same place. The\nidea of an English ship having touched at the place, is immediately\nexcited, and all the evidence of local inhabitants, derived from the\nmarks of fire and cookery, is immediately destroyed. In other words,\na new association, that with an English ship, {432} is created,\nwhich completely supersedes the idea, formerly associated, that of\ninhabitants existing on the spot.\n\nThe whole of the events, which go in this manner to form a case of\nbelief, or of doubt, or of disbelief, are called Evidence. And the\nassociation, which binds them together into a sort of whole, as\nantecedent, and connects with them the event to which they apply as\nconsequent, and which constitutes the belief, doubt, or disbelief,\nvery often goes by the names of \"judgment,\" \"judging of the\nevidence,\" \"weighing the evidence,\" and so on.\n\nIn these cases of the belief of Events upon complicated evidence,\nthere is an antecedent and a consequent; the antecedent consisting\nof all the events which are called evidence, the consequent of the\nevent, or events evidenced; and lastly, there is that close\nassociation of the antecedent and the consequent, which we have seen\nalready, in so many instances, constitutes belief.\n\nWe have now to consider, what we call evidence in the case of the\nBelief of Propositions.\n\nThere are two cases of the Belief of propositions. There is belief\nin the case of the single proposition; and there is belief of the\nconclusion of a syllogism, which is the result of a combination of\nPropositions.\n\nWe have seen what the process of belief in Propositions is. The\nsubject and predicate, two names for the same thing, of which the\npredicate is either of the same extent with the subject, or of a\ngreater extent, suggests, each of them, its meaning; that is, call\nup, by association, each of them, its peculiar cluster of ideas. Two\nclusters of ideas are called up in {433} connexion, and that a\npeculiar connexion, marked by the copula. To have two clusters of\nideas, to know that they are two, and to believe that they are two,\nthis is nothing more than three expressions for the same thing. To\nknow that two clusters are two clusters, and to know that they are\neither the same, or different, is the same with having them. In this\ncase, then, as in that of the belief of events, in sense and memory,\nthe belief and the evidence are the same thing.\n\nBelief of the conclusion of a syllogism, is preceded by two other\nbeliefs. There is belief of the major proposition; belief of the\nminor proposition; by the process immediately above explained, in\nwhich the evidence and the belief are the same thing. These are the\nantecedent. There is, thirdly, belief of the conclusion, this is the\nconsequent. The process of this belief has been so recently\nexplained, that I do not think we need to repeat it. In this case,\nit is sometimes said, that the two premises are the evidence;\nsometimes it is said, that the ratiocination is the evidence; in the\nformer of these applications of the word evidence, the belief of the\nconcluding proposition of the syllogism is not included; in the\nlast, it is. The ratiocination is the belief of all the three\npropositions; and, in this acceptation of the word, the evidence and\nthe belief are not considered as two things, but one and the same\nthing. This, however, is only a difference of naming. About the\nparticulars named, there is no room for dispute.[110]\n\n[Editor's footnote 110: This chapter on Evidence is supplementary to\nthe chapter on Belief, and is intended to analyse the process of\nweighing and balancing opposing grounds for believing.\n\n{434} Evidence is either of individual facts (not actually perceived\nby oneself), or of general truths. The former is the only case to\nwhich much attention is paid in the present chapter; which very\nhappily illustrates it, by the case of navigators having to decide\non the existence or non-existence of inhabitants in a newly\ndiscovered island. The process of balancing the evidence for and\nagainst, is depicted in a very lively manner. Let us see whether the\nmental facts set down in the exposition, are precisely those which\ntake place.\n\nWhen the sailors have seen prints of a foot, resembling those of a\nman, the idea is raised of a man making the print. When they\nafterwards see a monkey, whose feet leave traces almost similar, the\nidea is also raised of a monkey making the print, and the state of\ntheir minds, the author says, is doubt. Of this state he gives the\nfollowing analysis: \"There is here a double association with the\nprint of the foot. There is the association of a man, and there is\nthe association of a monkey. First, the print raises the idea of a\nman, but the instant it does so, it raises also the idea of a\nmonkey. The idea of the monkey, displacing that of the man, hinders\nthe first association from the fixity which makes it belief; and the\nidea of man, displacing that of monkey, hinders the second\nassociation from that fixity which constitutes belief.\"\n\nThis passage deserves to be studied; for without having carefully\nweighed it, we cannot be certain that we are in complete possession\nof the author's theory of Belief.\n\nThere are two conflicting associations with the print of the foot.\nThe picture of a man making it, cannot co-exist with that of a\nmonkey making it. But the two may alternate with one another. Had\nthe association with a man been the only association, it would, or\nmight (for on this point the author is not explicit) have amounted\nto belief. But the idea of the monkey and that of the man\nalternately displacing one another, hinder either association from\nhaving the fixity which would make it belief.\n\nThis alternation, however, between the two ideas, of a monkey making\nthe footprint and of a man making it, may {435} very well take place\nwithout hindering one of the two from being accompanied by belief.\nSuppose the sailors to obtain conclusive evidence, testimonial or\ncircumstantial, that the prints were made by a monkey. It may\nhappen, nevertheless, that the remarkable resemblance of the foot\nprints to those of a man, does not cease to force itself upon their\nnotice: in other words, they continue to associate the idea of a man\nwith the footsteps; they are reminded of a man, and of a man making\nthe footsteps, every time they see or think of them. The double\nassociation, therefore, may subsist, and the one which does not\ncorrespond with the fact may even be the most obtrusive of the two,\nwhile yet the other conception may be the one with which the men\nbelieve the real facts to have corresponded.\n\nAll the rest of the exposition is open to the same criticism. The\nauthor accounts very accurately for the presence of all the ideas\nwhich the successive appearance of the various articles of evidence\narouses in the mind. But he does not shew that the belief, which is\nultimately arrived at, is constituted by the expulsion from the mind\nof one set of these ideas, and the exclusive possession of it by the\nother set. It is quite possible that neither of the associations may\nacquire the \"fixity\" which, according to the apparent meaning of the\nauthor, would defeat the other association altogether, and drive\naway the conception which it suggests; and yet, one of the\nsuppositions may be believed and the other disbelieved, according to\nthe balance of evidence, as estimated by the investigator. Belief,\nthen, which has been already shewn not to require an inseparable\nassociation, appears not to require even \"fixity\"--such fixity as to\nexclude the idea of the conflicting supposition, as it does exclude\nthe belief.\n\nThe problem of Evidence divides itself into two distinguishable\nenquiries: what effect evidence ought to produce, and what\ndetermines the effect that it does produce: how our belief ought to\nbe regulated, and how, in point of fact, it is regulated. The first\nenquiry--that into the nature and probative force of evidence: the\ndiscussion of what proves what, and {436} of the precautions needed\nin admitting one thing as proof of another--are the province of\nLogic, understood in its widest sense: and for its treatment we must\nrefer to treatises on Logic, either inductive or ratiocinative. All\nthat would be in place here, reduces itself to a single principle:\nIn all cases, except the case of what we are directly conscious of\n(in which case, as the author justly observes, the evidence and the\nbelief are one and the same thing)--in all cases, therefore, in\nwhich belief is really grounded on evidence, it is grounded, in the\nultimate result, on the constancy of the course of nature. Whether\nthe belief be of facts or of laws, and whether of past facts or of\nthose which are present or future, this is the basis on which it\nrests. Whatever it is that we believe, the justification of the\nbelief must be, that unless it were true, the uniformity of the\ncourse of nature would not be maintained. A cause would have\noccurred, not followed by its invariable effect; an effect would\nhave occurred, not preceded by any of its invariable causes;\nwitnesses would have lied, who have always been known to speak the\ntruth; signs would have proved deceptive, which in human experience\nhave always given true indication. This is obvious, whatever case of\nbelief on evidence we examine. Belief in testimony is grounded on\nprevious experience that testimony is usually conformable to fact:\ntestimony in general (for even this may with truth be affirmed); or\nthe testimony of the particular witness, or the testimony of persons\nsimilar to him. Belief that the sun will rise and set to-morrow, or\nthat a stone thrown up into the air will fall back, rests on\nexperience that this has been invariably the case, and reliance that\nwhat has hitherto occurred will continue to occur hereafter. Belief\nin a fact vouched for by circumstantial evidence, rests on\nexperience that such circumstances as are ascertained to exist in\nthe case, never exist unaccompanied by the given fact. What we call\nevidence, whether complete or incomplete, always consists of facts\nor events tending to convince us that some ascertained general\ntruths or laws of nature must have proved false, if the conclusion\nwhich the evidence points to is not true.\n\n{437} Belief on evidence is therefore always a case of the\ngeneralizing process; of the assumption that what we have not\ndirectly experienced resembles, or will resemble, our experience.\nAnd, properly understood, this assumption is true; for the whole\ncourse of nature consists of a concurrence of causes, producing\ntheir effects in a uniform manner; but the uniformity which exists\nis often not that which our first impressions lead us to expect. Mr.\nBain has well pointed out, that the generalizing propensity, in a\nmind not disciplined by thought, nor as yet warned by its own\nfailures, far outruns the evidence, or rather, precedes any\nconscious consideration of evidence; and that what the consideration\nof evidence has to do when it comes, is not so much to make us\ngeneralize, as to limit our spontaneous impulse of generalization,\nand restrain within just bounds our readiness to believe that the\nunknown will resemble the known. When Mr. Bain occasionally speaks\nof this propensity as if it were instinctive, I understand him to\nmean, that by an original law of our nature, the mere suggestion of\nan idea, so long as the idea keeps possession of the mind, suffices\nto give it a command over our active energies. It is to this\nprimitive mental state that the author's theory of Belief most\nnearly applies. In a mind which is as yet untutored, either by the\nteachings of others or by its own mistakes, an idea so strongly\nexcited as for the time to keep out all ideas by which it would\nitself be excluded, possesses that power over the voluntary\nactivities which is Mr. Bain's criterion of Belief; and any\nassociation that compels the person to have the idea of a certain\nconsequence as following his act, generates, or becomes, a real\nexpectation of that consequence. But these expectations often\nturning out to have been ill grounded, the unduly prompt suggestion\ncomes to be associated, by repetition, with the shock of\ndisappointed expectation; and the idea of the desired consequent is\nnow raised together with the idea not of its realization, but of its\nfrustration: thus neutralizing the effect of the first association\non the belief and on the active impulses. It is in this stage that\nthe mind learns the habit of looking out for, and weighing,\nevidence. It presently discovers {438} that the expectations which\nare least often disappointed are those which correspond to the\ngreatest and most varied amount of antecedent experience. It\ngradually comes to associate the feeling of disappointed expectation\nwith all those promptings to expect, which, being the result of\naccidental associations, have no, or but little, previous experience\nconformable to them: and by degrees the expectation only arises when\nmemory represents a considerable amount of such previous experience;\nand is strong in proportion to the quantity of the experience. At a\nstill later period, as disappointment nevertheless not unfrequently\nhappens notwithstanding a considerable amount of past experience on\nthe side of the expectation, the mind is put upon making\ndistinctions in the kind of past experiences, and finding out what\nqualities, besides mere frequency, experience must have, in order\nnot to be followed by disappointment. In other words, it considers\nthe conditions of right inference from experience; and by degrees\narrives at principles or rules, more or less accurate, for inductive\nreasoning. This is substantially the doctrine of the author of the\nAnalysis. It must be conceded to him, that an association,\nsufficiently strong to exclude all ideas that would exclude itself,\nproduces a kind of mechanical belief; and that the processes by\nwhich this belief is corrected, or reduced to rational bounds, all\nconsist in the growth of a counter-association, tending to raise the\nidea of a disappointment of the first expectation: and as the one or\nthe other prevails in the particular case, the belief, or\nexpectation, exists or does not exist, exactly as if the belief were\nthe same thing with the association. It must also be admitted that\nthe process by which the belief is overcome, takes effect by\nweakening the association; which can only be effected by raising up\nanother association that conflicts with it. There are two ways in\nwhich this counter-association may be generated. One is, by\ncounter-evidence; by contrary experience in the specific case,\nwhich, by associating the circumstances of the case with a contrary\nbelief, destroys their association with the original belief. But\nthere is also another mode of weakening, or altogether {439}\ndestroying, the belief, without adducing contrary experience:\nnamely, by merely recognising the insufficiency of the existing\nexperience; by reflecting on other instances in which the same\namount and kind of experience have existed, but were not followed by\nthe expected result. In the one mode as in the other, the process of\ndissolving a belief is identical with that of dissolving an\nassociation; and to this extent--and it is a very large extent--the\nauthor's theory of Belief must be received as true.\n\nI cannot, however, go beyond this, and maintain with the author that\nBelief is identical with a strong association; on account of the\nreason already stated, viz. that in many cases--indeed in almost all\ncases in which the evidence has been such as required to be\ninvestigated and weighed--a final belief is arrived at without any\nsuch clinging together of ideas as the author supposes to constitute\nit; and we remain able to represent to ourselves in imagination,\noften with perfect facility, both the conflicting suppositions, of\nwhich we nevertheless believe one and reject the other.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{440} APPENDIX.\n\n(_From \"An Examination of Sir William Hamilton's Philosophy.\"_)\n\nTHE PSYCHOLOGICAL THEORY OF THE BELIEF IN AN EXTERNAL WORLD.\n\n\nWE have seen Sir. W. Hamilton at work on the question of the reality\nof Matter, by the introspective method, and, as it seems, with\nlittle result. Let us now approach the same subject by the\npsychological. I proceed, therefore, to state the case of those who\nhold that the belief in an external world is not intuitive, but an\nacquired product.\n\nThis theory postulates the following psychological truths, all of\nwhich are proved by experience, and are not contested, though their\nforce is seldom adequately felt, by Sir W. Hamilton and the other\nthinkers of the introspective school.\n\nIt postulates, first, that the human mind is capable of Expectation.\nIn other words, that after having had actual sensations, we are\ncapable of forming the conception of Possible sensations; sensations\nwhich we are not feeling at the present moment, but which we might\nfeel, and should feel if certain conditions were present, the nature\nof which conditions we have, in many cases, learnt by experience.\n\nIt postulates, secondly, the laws of the Association of Ideas. So\nfar as we are here concerned, these laws are the following: 1st.\nSimilar ph\u00e6nomena tend to be thought of together. 2nd. Ph\u00e6nomena\nwhich have either been experienced or conceived {441} in close\ncontiguity to one another, tend to be thought of together. The\ncontiguity is of two kinds; simultaneity, and immediate succession.\nFacts which have been experienced or thought of simultaneously,\nrecall the thought of one another. Of facts which have been\nexperienced or thought of in immediate succession, the antecedent,\nor the thought of it, recalls the thought of the consequent, but not\nconversely. 3rd. Associations produced by contiguity become more\ncertain and rapid by repetition. When two ph\u00e6nomena have been very\noften experienced in conjunction, and have not, in any single\ninstance, occurred separately either in experience or in thought,\nthere is produced between them what has been called Inseparable, or\nless correctly, Indissoluble Association: by which is not meant that\nthe association must inevitably last to the end of life--that no\nsubsequent experience or process of thought can possibly avail to\ndissolve it; but only that as long as no such experience or process\nof thought has taken place, the association is irresistible; it is\nimpossible for us to think the one thing disjoined from the other.\n4th. When an association has acquired this character of\ninseparability--when the bond between the two ideas has been thus\nfirmly riveted, not only does the idea called up by association\nbecome, in our consciousness, inseparable from the idea which\nsuggested it, but the facts or ph\u00e6nomena answering to those ideas\ncome at last to seem inseparable in existence: things which we are\nunable to conceive apart, appear incapable of existing apart; and\nthe belief we have in their coexistence, though really a product of\nexperience, seems intuitive. Innumerable examples might be given of\nthis law. One of the most familiar, as well as the most striking, is\nthat of our acquired perceptions of sight. Even those who, with Mr.\nBailey, consider the perception of distance by the eye as not\nacquired, but intuitive, admit that there are many perceptions of\nsight which, though instantaneous and unhesitating, are not\nintuitive. What we see is a very minute fragment of what we think we\nsee. We see artificially that one thing is hard, another soft. We\nsee artificially that one thing is hot, another cold. We see\nartificially that {442} what we see is a book, or a stone, each of\nthese being not merely an inference, but a heap of inferences, from\nthe signs which we see, to things not visible. We see, and cannot\nhelp seeing, what we have learnt to infer, even when we know that\nthe inference is erroneous, and that the apparent perception is\ndeceptive. We cannot help seeing the moon larger when near the\nhorizon, though we know that she is of precisely her usual size. We\ncannot help seeing a mountain as nearer to us and of less height,\nwhen we see it through a more than ordinarily transparent\natmosphere.\n\nSetting out from these premises, the Psychological Theory maintains,\nthat there are associations naturally and even necessarily generated\nby the order of our sensations and of our reminiscences of\nsensation, which, supposing no intuition of an external world to\nhave existed in consciousness, would inevitably generate the belief,\nand would cause it to be regarded as an intuition.\n\nWhat is it we mean, or what is it which leads us to say, that the\nobjects we perceive are external to us, and not a part of our own\nthoughts? We mean, that there is concerned in our perceptions\nsomething which exists when we are not thinking of it; which existed\nbefore we had ever thought of it, and would exist if we were\nannihilated; and further, that there exist things which we never\nsaw, touched, or otherwise perceived, and things which never have\nbeen perceived by man. This idea of something which is distinguished\nfrom our fleeting impressions by what, in Kantian language, is\ncalled Perdurability; something which is fixed and the same, while\nour impressions vary; something which exists whether we are aware of\nit or not, and which is always square (or of some other given\nfigure) whether it appears to us square or round--constitutes\naltogether our idea of external substance. Whoever can assign an\norigin to this complex conception, has accounted for what we mean by\nthe belief in matter. Now all this, according to the Psychological\nTheory, is but the form impressed by the known laws of association,\nupon the conception or notion, obtained by experience, of Contingent\nSensations; {443} by which are meant, sensations that are not in our\npresent consciousness, and individually never were in our\nconsciousness at all, but which in virtue of the laws to which we\nhave learnt by experience that our sensations are subject, we know\nthat we should have felt under given supposable circumstances, and\nunder these same circumstances, might still feel.\n\nI see a piece of white paper on a table. I go into another room. If\nthe ph\u00e6nomenon always followed me, or if, when it did not follow me,\nI believed it to disappear _\u00e8 rerum natur\u00e2_, I should not believe it\nto be an external object. I should consider it as a phantom--a mere\naffection of my senses: I should not believe that there had been any\nBody there. But, though I have ceased to see it, I am persuaded that\nthe paper is still there. I no longer have the sensations which it\ngave me; but I believe that when I again place myself in the\ncircumstances in which I had those sensations, that is, when I go\nagain into the room, I shall again have them; and further, that\nthere has been no intervening moment at which this would not have\nbeen the case. Owing to this property of my mind, my conception of\nthe world at any given instant consists, in only a small proportion,\nof present sensations. Of these I may at the time have none at all,\nand they are in any case a most insignificant portion of the whole\nwhich I apprehend. The conception I form of the world existing at\nany moment, comprises, along with the sensations I am feeling, a\ncountless variety of possibilities of sensation: namely, the whole\nof those which past observation tells me that I could, under any\nsupposable circumstances, experience at this moment, together with\nan indefinite and illimitable multitude of others which though I do\nnot know that I could, yet it is possible that I might, experience\nin circumstances not known to me. These various possibilities are\nthe important thing to me in the world. My present sensations are\ngenerally of little importance, and are moreover fugitive: the\npossibilities, on the contrary, are permanent, which is the\ncharacter that mainly distinguishes our idea of Substance or Matter\nfrom our notion of sensation. These possibilities, which are\nconditional {444} certainties, need a special name to distinguish\nthem from mere vague possibilities, which experience gives no\nwarrant for reckoning upon. Now, as soon as a distinguishing name is\ngiven, though it be only to the same thing regarded in a different\naspect, one of the most familiar experiences of our mental nature\nteaches us, that the different name comes to be considered as the\nname of a different thing.\n\nThere is another important peculiarity of these certified or\nguaranteed possibilities of sensation; namely, that they have\nreference, not to single sensations, but to sensations joined\ntogether in groups. When we think of anything as a material\nsubstance, or body, we either have had, or we think that on some\ngiven supposition we should have, not some one sensation, but a\ngreat and even an indefinite number and variety of sensations,\ngenerally belonging to different senses, but so linked together,\nthat the presence of one announces the possible presence at the very\nsame instant of any or all of the rest. In our mind, therefore, not\nonly is this particular Possibility of sensation invested with the\nquality of permanence when we are not actually feeling any of the\nsensations at all; but when we are feeling some of them, the\nremaining sensations of the group are conceived by us in the form of\nPresent Possibilities, which might be realized at the very moment.\nAnd as this happens in turn to all of them, the group as a whole\npresents itself to the mind as permanent, in contrast not solely\nwith the temporariness of my bodily presence, but also with the\ntemporary character of each of the sensations composing the group;\nin other words, as a kind of permanent substratum, under a set of\npassing experiences or manifestations: which is another leading\ncharacter of our idea of substance or matter, as distinguished from\nsensation.\n\nLet us now take into consideration another of the general characters\nof our experience, namely, that in addition to fixed groups, we also\nrecognise a fixed Order in our sensations; an Order of succession,\nwhich, when ascertained by observation, gives rise to the ideas of\nCause and Effect, according to what I hold to be the true theory of\nthat relation, and is on any {445} theory the source of all our\nknowledge what causes produce what effects. Now, of what nature is\nthis fixed order among our sensations? It is a constancy of\nantecedence and sequence. But the constant antecedence and sequence\ndo not generally exist between one actual sensation and another.\nVery few such sequences are presented to us by experience. In almost\nall the constant sequences which occur in Nature, the antecedence\nand consequence do not obtain between sensations, but between the\ngroups we have been speaking about, of which a very small portion is\nactual sensation, the greater part being permanent possibilities of\nsensation, evidenced to us by a small and variable number of\nsensations actually present. Hence, our ideas of causation, power,\nactivity, do not become connected in thought with our sensations as\nactual at all, save in the few physiological cases where these\nfigure by themselves as the antecedents in some uniform sequence.\nThose ideas become connected, not with sensations, but with groups\nof possibilities of sensation. The sensations conceived do not, to\nour habitual thoughts, present themselves as sensations actually\nexperienced, inasmuch as not only any one or any number of them may\nbe supposed absent, but none of them need be present. We find that\nthe modifications which are taking place more or less regularly in\nour possibilities of sensation, are mostly quite independent of our\nconsciousness, and of our presence or absence. Whether we are asleep\nor awake the fire goes out, and puts an end to one particular\npossibility of warmth and light. Whether we are present or absent\nthe corn ripens, and brings a new possibility of food. Hence we\nspeedily learn to think of Nature as made up solely of these groups\nof possibilities, and the active force in Nature as manifested in\nthe modification of some of these by others. The sensations, though\nthe original foundation of the whole, come to be looked upon as a\nsort of accident depending on us, and the possibilities as much more\nreal than the actual sensations, nay, as the very realities of which\nthese are only the representations, appearances, or effects. When\nthis state of mind has been arrived at, then, and from that time\nforward, we are never {446} conscious of a present sensation without\ninstantaneously referring it to some one of the groups of\npossibilities into which a sensation of that particular description\nenters; and if we do not yet know to what group to refer it, we at\nleast feel an irresistible conviction that it must belong to some\ngroup or other; _i.e._ that its presence proves the existence, here\nand now, of a great number and variety of possibilities of\nsensation, without which it would not have been. The whole set of\nsensations as possible, form a permanent background to any one or\nmore of them that are, at a given moment, actual; and the\npossibilities are conceived as standing to the actual sensations in\nthe relation of a cause to its effects, or of canvas to the figures\npainted on it, or of a root to the trunk, leaves, and flowers, or of\na substratum to that which is spread over it, or, in transcendental\nlanguage, of Matter to Form.\n\nWhen this point has been reached, the Permanent Possibilities in\nquestion have assumed such unlikeness of aspect, and such difference\nof apparent relation to us, from any sensations, that it would be\ncontrary to all we know of the constitution of human nature that\nthey should not be conceived as, and believed to be, at least as\ndifferent from sensations as sensations are from one another. Their\ngroundwork in sensation is forgotten, and they are supposed to be\nsomething intrinsically distinct from it. We can withdraw ourselves\nfrom any of our (external) sensations, or we can be withdrawn from\nthem by some other agency. But though the sensations cease, the\npossibilities remain in existence; they are independent of our will,\nour presence, and everything which belongs to us. We find, too, that\nthey belong as much to other human or sentient beings as to\nourselves. We find other people grounding their expectations and\nconduct upon the same permanent possibilities on which we ground\nours. But we do not find them experiencing the same actual\nsensations. Other people do not have our sensations exactly when and\nas we have them: but they have our possibilities of sensation;\nwhatever indicates a present possibility of sensations to ourselves,\nindicates a present possibility of similar sensations to them,\nexcept so far as {447} their organs of sensation may vary from the\ntype of ours. This puts the final seal to our conception of the\ngroups of possibilities as the fundamental reality in Nature. The\npermanent possibilities are common to us and to our\nfellow-creatures; the actual sensations are not. That which other\npeople become aware of when, and on the same grounds, as I do, seems\nmore real to me than that which they do not know of unless I tell\nthem. The world of Possible Sensations succeeding one another\naccording to laws, is as much in other beings as it is in me; it has\ntherefore an existence outside me; it is an External World.\n\nIf this explanation of the origin and growth of the idea of Matter,\nor External Nature, contains nothing at variance with natural laws,\nit is at least an admissible supposition, that the element of\nNon-ego which Sir W. Hamilton regards as an original datum of\nconsciousness, and which we certainly do find in our present\nconsciousness, may not be one of its primitive elements--may not\nhave existed at all in its first manifestations. But if this\nsupposition be admissible, it ought, on Sir W. Hamilton's\nprinciples, to be received as true. The first of the laws laid down\nby him for the interpretation of Consciousness, the law (as he terms\nit) of Parcimony, forbids to suppose an original principle of our\nnature in order to account for ph\u00e6nomena which admit of possible\nexplanation from known causes. If the supposed ingredient of\nconsciousness be one which might grow up (though we cannot prove\nthat it did grow up) through later experience; and if, when it had\nso grown up, it would, by known laws of our nature, appear as\ncompletely intuitive as our sensations themselves; we are bound,\naccording to Sir W. Hamilton's and all sound philosophy, to assign\nto it that origin. Where there is a known cause adequate to account\nfor a ph\u00e6nomenon, there is no justification for ascribing it to an\nunknown one. And what evidence does Consciousness furnish of the\nintuitiveness of an impression, except instantaneousness, apparent\nsimplicity, and *unconsciousness on our part of how the impression\ncame into our minds? These features can only prove the impression to\nbe {448} intuitive, on the hypothesis that there are no means of\naccounting for them otherwise. If they not only might, but naturally\nwould, exist, even on the supposition that it is not intuitive, we\nmust accept the conclusion to which we are led by the Psychological\nMethod, and which the Introspective Method furnishes absolutely\nnothing to contradict.\n\nMatter, then, may be defined, a Permanent Possibility of Sensation.\nIf I am asked, whether I believe in matter, I ask whether the\nquestioner accepts this definition of it. If he does, I believe in\nmatter: and so do all Berkeleians. In any other sense than this, I\ndo not. But I affirm with confidence, that this conception of Matter\nincludes the whole meaning attached to it by the common world, apart\nfrom philosophical, and sometimes from theological, theories. The\nreliance of mankind on the real existence of visible and tangible\nobjects, means reliance on the reality and permanence of\nPossibilities of visual and tactual sensations, when no such\nsensations are actually experienced. We are warranted in believing\nthat this is the meaning of Matter in the minds of many of its most\nesteemed metaphysical champions, though they themselves would not\nadmit as much: for example, of Reid, Stewart, and Brown. For these\nthree philosophers alleged that all mankind, including Berkeley and\nHume, really believed in Matter, inasmuch as unless they did, they\nwould not have turned aside to save themselves from running against\na post. Now all which this manoeuvre really proved is, that they\nbelieved in Permanent Possibilities of Sensation. We have therefore\nthe unintentional sanction of these three eminent defenders of the\nexistence of matter, for affirming, that to believe in Permanent\nPossibilities of Sensation is believing in Matter. It is hardly\nnecessary, after such authorities, to mention Dr. Johnson, or any\none else who resorts to the _argumentum baculinum_ of knocking a\nstick against the ground. Sir W. Hamilton, a far subtler thinker\nthan any of these, never reasons in this manner. He never supposes\nthat a disbeliever in what he means by Matter, ought in consistency\nto act in any different mode from those who believe in it. He knew\n{449} that the belief on which all the practical consequences\ndepend, is the belief in Permanent Possibilities of Sensation, and\nthat if nobody believed in a material universe in any other sense,\nlife would go on exactly as it now does. He, however, did believe in\nmore than this, but, I think, only because it had never occurred to\nhim that mere Possibilities of Sensation could, to our\nartificialized consciousness, present the character of objectivity\nwhich, as we have now shown, they not only can, but unless the known\nlaws of the human mind were suspended, must necessarily, present.\n\nPerhaps it may be objected, that the very possibility of framing\nsuch a notion of Matter as Sir W. Hamilton's--the capacity in the\nhuman mind of imagining an external world which is anything more\nthan what the Psychological Theory makes it--amounts to a disproof\nof the theory. If (it may be said) we had no revelation in\nconsciousness, of a world which is not in some way or other\nidentified with sensation, we should be unable to have the notion of\nsuch a world. If the only ideas we had of external objects were\nideas of our sensations, supplemented by an acquired notion of\npermanent possibilities of sensation, we must (it is thought) be\nincapable of conceiving, and therefore still more incapable of\nfancying that we perceive, things which are not sensations at all.\nIt being evident however that some philosophers believe this, and it\nbeing maintainable that the mass of mankind do so, the existence of\na perdurable basis of sensations, distinct from sensations\nthemselves, is proved, it might be said, by the possibility of\nbelieving it.\n\nLet me first restate what I apprehend the belief to be. We believe\nthat we perceive a something closely related to all our sensations,\nbut different from those which we are feeling at any particular\nminute; and distinguished from sensations altogether, by being\npermanent and always the same, while these are fugitive, variable,\nand alternately displace one another. But these attributes of the\nobject of perception are properties belonging to all the\npossibilities of sensation which experience guarantees. The belief\nin such permanent possibilities seems {450} to me to include all\nthat is essential or characteristic in the belief in substance. I\nbelieve that Calcutta exists, though I do not perceive it, and that\nit would still exist if every percipient inhabitant were suddenly to\nleave the place, or be struck dead. But when I analyse the belief,\nall I find in it is, that were these events to take place, the\nPermanent Possibility of Sensation which I call Calcutta would still\nremain; that if I were suddenly transported to the banks of the\nHoogly, I should still have the sensations which, if now present,\nwould lead me to affirm that Calcutta exists here and now. We may\ninfer, therefore, that both philosophers and the world at large,\nwhen they think of matter, conceive it really as a Permanent\nPossibility of Sensation. But the majority of philosophers fancy\nthat it is something more; and the world at large, though they have\nreally, as I conceive, nothing in their minds but a Permanent\nPossibility of Sensation, would, if asked the question, undoubtedly\nagree with the philosophers: and though this is sufficiently\nexplained by the tendency of the human mind to infer difference of\nthings from difference of names, I acknowledge the obligation of\nshowing how it can be possible to believe in an existence\ntranscending all possibilities of sensation, unless on the\nhypothesis that such an existence actually is, and that we actually\nperceive it.\n\nThe explanation, however, is not difficult. It is an admitted fact,\nthat we are capable of all conceptions which can be formed by\ngeneralizing from the observed laws of our sensations. Whatever\nrelation we find to exist between any one of our sensations and\nsomething different from _it_, that same relation we have no\ndifficulty in conceiving to exist between the sum of all our\nsensations and something different from _them_. The differences\nwhich our consciousness recognises between one sensation and\nanother, give us the general notion of difference, and inseparably\nassociate with every sensation we have, the feeling of its being\ndifferent from other things: and when once this association has been\nformed, we can no longer conceive anything, without being able, and\neven being compelled, to form also the conception of something\ndifferent from it. {451} This familiarity with the idea of something\ndifferent from each thing we know, makes it natural and easy to form\nthe notion of something different from all things that we know,\ncollectively as well as individually. It is true we can form no\nconception of what such a thing can be; our notion of it is merely\nnegative; but the idea of a substance, apart from its relation to\nthe impressions which we conceive it as making on our senses, is a\nmerely negative one. There is thus no psychological obstacle to our\nforming the notion of a something which is neither a sensation nor a\npossibility of sensation, even if our consciousness does not testify\nto it; and nothing is more likely than that the Permanent\nPossibilities of sensation, to which our consciousness does testify,\nshould be confounded in our minds with this imaginary conception.\nAll experience attests the strength of the tendency to mistake\nmental abstractions, even negative ones, for substantive realities;\nand the Permanent Possibilities of sensation which experience\nguarantees, are so extremely unlike in many of their properties to\nactual sensations, that since we are capable of imagining something\nwhich transcends sensations, there is a great natural probability\nthat we should suppose these to be it.\n\nBut this natural probability is converted into certainty, when we\ntake into consideration that universal law of our experience which\nis termed the law of Causation, and which makes us mentally connect\nwith the beginning of everything, some antecedent condition, or\nCause. The case of Causation is one of the most marked of all the\ncases in which we extend to the sum total of our consciousness, a\nnotion derived from its parts. It is a striking example of our power\nto conceive, and our tendency to believe, that a relation which\nsubsists between every individual item of our experience and some\nother item, subsists also between our experience as a whole, and\nsomething not within the sphere of experience. By this extension to\nthe sum of all our experiences, of the internal relations obtaining\nbetween its several parts, we are led to consider sensation itself\nthe aggregate whole of our sensations as deriving its origin from\nantecedent existences {452} transcending sensation. That we should\ndo this, is a consequence of the particular character of the uniform\nsequences, which experience discloses to us among our sensations. As\nalready remarked, the constant antecedent of a sensation is seldom\nanother sensation, or set of sensations, actually felt. It is much\noftener the existence of a group of possibilities, not necessarily\nincluding any actual sensations, except such as are required to show\nthat the possibilities are really present. Nor are actual sensations\nindispensable even for this purpose; for the presence of the object\n(which is nothing more than the immediate presence of the\npossibilities) may be made known to us by the very sensation which\nwe refer to as its effect. Thus, the real antecedent of an\neffect--the only antecedent which, being invariable and\nunconditional, we consider to be the cause--may be, not any\nsensation really felt, but solely the presence, at that or the\nimmediately preceding moment, of a group of possibilities of\nsensation. Hence it is not with sensations as actually experienced,\nbut with their Permanent Possibilities, that the idea of Cause comes\nto be identified: and we, by one and the same process, acquire the\nhabit of regarding Sensation in general, like all our individual\nsensations, as an Effect, and also that of conceiving as the causes\nof most of our individual sensations, not other sensations, but\ngeneral possibilities of sensation. If all these considerations put\ntogether do not completely explain and account for our conceiving\nthese Possibilities as a class of independent and substantive\nentities, I know not what psychological analysis can be conclusive.\n\nIt may perhaps be said, that the preceding theory gives, indeed,\nsome account of the idea of Permanent Existence which forms part of\nour conception of matter, but gives no explanation of our believing\nthese permanent objects to be external, or out of ourselves. I\napprehend, on the contrary, that the very idea of anything out of\nourselves is derived solely from the knowledge experience gives us\nof the Permanent Possibilities. Our sensations we carry with us\nwherever we go, and they never exist where we are not; but when we\nchange {453} our place we do not carry away with us the Permanent\nPossibilities of Sensation: they remain until we return, or arise\nand cease under conditions with which our presence has in general\nnothing to do. And more than all--they are, and will be after we\nhave ceased to feel, Permanent Possibilities of sensation to other\nbeings than ourselves. Thus our actual sensations, and the Permanent\nPossibilities of sensation, stand out in obtrusive contrast to one\nanother: and when the idea of Cause has been acquired, and extended\nby generalization from the parts of our experience to its aggregate\nwhole, nothing can be more natural than that the Permanent\nPossibilities should be classed by us as existences generically\ndistinct from our sensations, but of which our sensations are the\neffect.\n\nThe same theory which accounts for our ascribing to an aggregate of\npossibilities of sensation, a permanent existence which our\nsensations themselves do not possess, and consequently a greater\nreality than belongs to our sensations, also explains our\nattributing greater objectivity to the Primary Qualities of bodies\nthan to the Secondary. For the sensations which correspond to what\nare called the Primary Qualities (as soon at least as we come to\napprehend them by two senses, the eye as well as the touch) are\nalways present when any part of the group is so. But colours,\ntastes, smells, and the like, being, in comparison, fugacious, are\nnot, in the same degree, conceived as being always there, even when\nnobody is present to perceive them. The sensations answering to the\nSecondary Qualities are only occasional, those to the Primary,\nconstant. The Secondary, moreover, vary with different persons, and\nwith the temporary sensibility of our organs; the Primary, when\nperceived at all, are, as far as we know, the same to all persons\nand at all times.\n\n\n\n\nEND OF VOL. I.\n\n\n\nLONDON:\n\nSAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,\n\nCOVENT GARDEN.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nANALYSIS\n\n\nOF THE PHENOMENA OF THE\n\n\nHUMAN MIND.\n\n\n\nANALYSIS\n\nOF THE PHENOMENA OF THE\n\nHUMAN MIND\n\nBY JAMES MILL\n\nWITH NOTES ILLUSTRATIVE AND CRITICAL BY\n\nALEXANDER BAIN\n\nANDREW FINDLATER\n\nAND\n\nGEORGE GROTE\n\nEDITED WITH ADDITIONAL NOTES BY\n\nJOHN STUART MILL\n\n\n\nIN TWO VOLUMES\n\nVOL. II.\n\n\n\nSECOND EDITION\n\n\n\nLONDON\n\nLONGMANS, GREEN, READER, AND DYER.\n\n1878\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nOF\n\nTHE SECOND VOLUME.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCHAPTER XIV. PAGE\n\nSome Names which require a particular Explanation 1\n\n SECTION 1. Names of Names 3\n\n 2. Relative Terms 6\n\n Abstract Relative Terms 72\n\n 3. Numbers 89\n\n 4. Privative Terms 99\n\n 5. Time 116\n\n 6. Motion 142\n\n 7. Identity 164\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nReflection 176\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nThe Distinction between the Intellectual and Active Powers of\nthe Human Mind 181\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nPleasurable and Painful Sensations 184\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nCauses of the Pleasurable and Painful Sensations 187\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nIdeas of the Pleasurable and Painful Sensations, and of the\nCauses of them 189\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nThe Pleasurable and Painful Sensations, contemplated as passed,\nor future 196\n\n{vi} CHAPTER XXI.\n\nThe Causes of Pleasurable and Painful Sensations, contemplated\nas passed, or future 201\n\n SECTION 1. The immediate Causes of Pleasurable and Painful\n Sensations, contemplated as passed, or as future 201\n\n 2. The Remote Causes of Pleasurable and Painful\n Sensations contemplated as passed, or future 206\n\n SUB-SECT. 1. Wealth, Power, and Dignity, and their\n Contraries, contemplated as Causes of our\n Pleasures and Pains 207\n\n 2. Our Fellow-Creatures contemplated as Causes of\n our Pleasures and Pains 214\n\n 1.--Friendship 216\n\n 2.--Kindness 216\n\n 3.--Family 218\n\n 4.--Country 226\n\n 5.--Party; Class 227\n\n 6.--Mankind 229\n\n 3. The Objects called Sublime and Beautiful, and\n their Contraries, contemplated as Causes of our\n Pleasures and Pains 230\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nMotives 256\n\n SECTION 1. Pleasurable or Painful States, contemplated as the\n Consequents of our own Acts 256\n\n 2. Causes of our Pleasurable and Painful States,\n contemplated as the Consequents of our own Acts 265\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nThe Acts of our Fellow-creatures, which are Causes of our Pains\nand Pleasures, contemplated as Consequents of our own Acts 280\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nThe Will 327\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nIntention *396\n\n\n\n\nANALYSIS,\n\n\nETC.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nSOME NAMES WHICH REQUIRE A PARTICULAR EXPLANATION.\n\n\n\"Quam difficile sit inveteratas, eloquentissimorumque scriptorum\nauthoritate confirmatas, opiniones, mentibus hominum excutere, non\nignoro. Pr\u00e6sertim cum philosophia vera (id est accurata) orationis\nnon modo fucum, sed etiam omnia fere ornamenta ex professo rejiciat:\ncumque scienti\u00e6 omnis fundamenta prima non modo speciosa non sint,\nsed etiam humilia, arida, et pene deformia videantur.\"--_Hobbes\nComput. sive Logica_, cap. i. s. I.\n\nWE have now seen that, in what we call the mental world,\nConsciousness, there are three grand classes of phenomena, the most\nfamiliar of all the facts with which we are acquainted,--SENSATIONS,\nIDEAS, and the TRAIN OF IDEAS. We have examined a number of the more\ncomplicated cases of Consciousness; and have found that they all\nresolve themselves into the three simple elements, thus enumerated.\nWe also found it necessary to shew, for what ends, and in what\nmanner, marks were contrived of sensations and ideas, and by what\ncombinations they were made to represent, {2} expeditiously, trains\nof those states of consciousness. Some marks or names, however,\ncould not be explained, till some of the more complicated states of\nconsciousness were unfolded; these also are names so important, and\nso peculiar in their mode of signification, that a very complete\nunderstanding of them is required. It is to the consideration of\nthese remarkable cases of Naming that we now proceed.[1]\n\n[Editor's footnote 1: Under the modest title of an explanation of\nthe meaning of several names, this chapter presents us with a series\nof discussions of some of the deepest and most intricate questions\nin all metaphysics. Like Plato, the author introduces his analysis\nof the most obscure among the complex general conceptions of the\nhuman mind, in the form of an enquiry into the meaning of their\nnames. The title of the chapter gives a very inadequate notion of\nthe difficulty and importance of the speculations contained in it,\nand which make it, perhaps, the profoundest chapter of the book. It\nis almost as if a treatise on chemistry were described as an\nexplanation of the names air, water, potass, sulphuric acid,\n&c.--_Ed._]\n\n\nSECTION I.\n\nNAMES OF NAMES.\n\n\nIt is of great importance to distinguish this class of terms; to\nunderstand well the function which they perform, and to mark the\nsubdivisions into which they are formed. There is not, however, such\ndifficulty in the subject as to require great minuteness in the\nexposition.\n\nAs we have occasion to speak of _things_; animals, vegetables,\nminerals; so we have occasion to speak of the _marks_, which we are\nunder the necessity of using, in order to record or to communicate\nour thoughts respecting them. We cannot record or communicate our\nthoughts respecting names, as man, tree, horse, to walk, to fly, to\neat, to converse, without marks for them. We proceed in the case of\nnames, as we do in other cases. We form them into classes, some\nmore, some less, comprehensive, and give a name to each.\n\nWe have one name, so general as to include them all; Word. That is\nnot a name of any _thing_. It is a name of the marks which we employ\nfor discourse; and a name of them all. _John_ is a word, _mountain_\nis a word, _to run_ is a word, _above_ is a word, and so on.\n\nThey are divided into classes, differently for different purposes.\nThe grammarian, who regards chiefly the concatenation of words in\nsentences, divides them into _noun_, _adjective_, _pronoun_, _verb_,\n_adverb_, _preposition_, {4} _conjunction_; these words are none of\nthem names of things. _Noun_ is not a name of a \"thing;\" it is a\nname of a \"class of words,\" as John, James, man, ox, tree, water,\nlove, hatred; the same is the case with adjective, verb, and so of\nthe rest.\n\nThe philosopher makes another division of them, adapted to his\npurposes, which has a more particular reference to their mode of\nsignification. Thus, he divides them into universal, and particular;\nconcrete, and abstract; positive, and negative; equivocal, and\nunivocal; relative, and absolute; and so on.\n\nIt is very easy to see that the word \"universal,\" for example, is\nnot a name of a _thing_. Things are all individual, not general. The\n_name_, \"man,\" is a \"universal,\" because it applies to every\nindividual of a class; for the same reason the _name_ \"ox,\" the\n_name_ \"horse,\" the _name_ \"dog,\" and so on, are universals. The\nwords, \"genus\" and \"species\" are synonymous with \"universal;\" of\ncourse they also are names of names. Such is the word \"number.\"\n\"One,\" \"two,\" \"one hundred,\" \"one thousand,\" are \"numbers;\" in other\nwords, \"number\" is a general name for each and all of those other\nnames.\n\nBeside our names for names singly, we have occasion to name\ncombinations of names. Thus we have the name \"predication.\" This is\na name for the combination of three words, \"subject,\" \"predicate,\"\nand \"copula.\" We have the name \"sentence,\" which never can be less,\nimplicitly or explicitly, than a predication, but is often more. The\nsame is the account of the word \"definition.\" We have the names\n\"speech,\" \"oration,\" \"sermon,\" \"conversation,\" all of them names for\na series of sentences. We have {5} also names of written discourse,\nsuch as a \"volume,\" a \"book,\" a \"chapter,\" a \"section,\" a\n\"paragraph.\"[2]\n\n[Editor's footnote 2: A right understanding of the words which are\nnames of names, is of great importance in philosophy. The tendency\nwas always strong to believe that whatever receives a name must be\nan entity or being, having an independent existence of its own; and\nif no real entity answering to the name could be found, men did not\nfor that reason suppose that none existed, but imagined that it was\nsomething peculiarly abstruse and mysterious, too high to be an\nobject of sense. The meaning of all general, and especially of all\nabstract terms, became in this way enveloped in a mystical haze; and\nnone of these have been more generally misunderstood, or have been a\nmore copious source of futile and bewildering speculation, than some\nof the words which are names of names. Genus, Species, Universal,\nwere long supposed to be designations of sublime hyperphysical\nrealities; number, instead of a general name of all numerals, was\nsupposed to be the name, if not of a concrete thing, at least of a\nsingle property or attribute.\n\nThis class of names was well understood and correctly characterized\nby Hobbes, of whose philosophy the distinction between names of\nnames and of things was a cardinal point.--_Ed._]\n\n\n{6} SECTION II.\n\nRELATIVE TERMS.\n\n\nThe explanation of Relative Terms will run to a considerable length.\nThe mode in which they are employed as marks is peculiar; and has\nsuggested the belief of something very mysterious in that which is\nmarked by them. It is therefore necessary to be minute in exhibiting\nthe combinations of ideas of which they are the names.\n\nOne peculiarity of Relative Terms, which it is necessary for us to\nbegin with noticing, is, that they always exist in pairs. There is\nno relative without its correlate, either actual or implied. Thus,\nwe have _Father_ and _Son_; _Husband_ and _Wife_; _Master_ and_\nServant_; _Subject_ and _King_; also _High_ and _Low_; _Right_ and\n_Left_; _Antecedent_ and _Consequent_.\n\nIn these cases of relative pairs, the two names are two different\nwords; in other cases, one word serves for both names. Of this sort\nare the words _Brother_, _Sister_, _Cousin_, _Friend_, _Like_,\n_Equal_, and so on. When we say that John is brother, we always mean\nof some one else, as James, whom we also call brother. We call Jane\nthe sister of Ann, as we call Ann the sister of Jane. When we say\nthat A is equal to B, we signify, by the same expression, that B is\nequal to A; and so on.\n\nIt is always to be remembered, that, in speaking, we are only\nindicating our own trains; and that of {7} course every word in a\nmark of some part of a train. The parts of our trains to which we\ngive relative names, are either simple, or complex. The simple, are\neither the simple sensations, or the ideas of those sensations. The\ncomplex, are either those clusters of simple ideas which we call the\nideas of objects, because they correspond with clustered sensations;\nor they are the clusters which the mind puts together arbitrarily\nfor its own purposes.\n\nIf it is asked, why we give names in pairs? The general answer\nimmediately suggests itself; it is because the things named present\nthemselves in pairs; that is, are joined by association. But as many\nthings are joined in pairs by association, which do not receive\nrelative names, the cause may still be inquired of the\nclassification. What is the reason that some pairs do, while many\nmore do not, receive relative names? The cause is the same by which\nwe are guided in imposing other names. As the various combinations\nof ideas are far too numerous for naming, and we are obliged to make\na selection, we name those which we find it of most importance to\nhave named, omitting the rest. It is a question of convenience,\nsolved by experience. It will be seen more distinctly hereafter that\nrelative names are one of the contrivances for epitomising; and that\nthey enable us to express ourselves with fewer words than we should\nbe able to do without them.[3]\n\n[Editor's footnote 3: No part of the Analysis is more valuable than\nthe simple explanation here given of a subject which has seemed so\nmysterious to some of the most enlightened and penetrating\nphilosophers, down even to the present time. The only difference\nbetween relative names and any others consist in their being given\nin pairs; and the reason of their being given in pairs is not the\nexistence between two things, of a mystical bond called a Relation,\nand supposed to have a kind of shadowy and abstract reality, but a\nvery simple peculiarity in the concrete fact which the two names are\nintended to mark.\n\nIn order to make quite clear the nature of this peculiarity, it will\nbe desirable to advert once more to the double mode of signification\nof concrete general names, viz. that while they denote (or are names\nof) objects, they connote some fact relating to those objects. The\nfact connoted by any name, relative or not, is always of the same\nnature; it is some bodily or mental feeling, or some set of bodily\nor mental feelings, accompanying or produced by the object. But in\nthe case of the ordinary names of objects, this fact concerns one\nobject only, or rather only that one object and the sentient mind.\nThe peculiarity in the case of relative names is, that the fact\nconnoted concerns two objects, and cannot be understood without\nthinking of them both. It is a phenomenon in which two objects play\na part. There is no greater mystery in a phenomenon which concerns\ntwo objects, than in a phenomenon which concerns only one. For\nexample; the fact connoted by the word cause, is a fact in which the\nthing which is the cause, is implicated along with another thing\nwhich is the effect. The facts connoted by the word parent, and also\nby the word son or daughter, are a long series of phenomena of which\nboth the parent and the child are parts; and the series of phenomena\nwould not be that which the name parent expresses, unless the child\nformed a part of it, nor would it be that which the name son or\ndaughter expresses, unless the parent formed a part of it. Now, when\nin a series of phenomena of any interest to us two objects are\nimplicated, we naturally give names expressive of it to both the\nobjects, and these are relative names. The two correlative names\ndenote two different objects, the cause and the effect, or the\nparent and son; but though what they denote is different, what they\nconnote is in a certain sense the same: both names connote the same\nset of facts, considered as giving one name to the one object,\nanother name to the other. This set of facts, which is connoted by\nboth the correlative names, was called by the old logicians the\nground of the relation, _fundamentum relationis_. The _fundamentum_\nof any relation is the facts, fully set out, which are the reason of\ngiving to two objects two correlative names. In some cases both\nobjects seem to receive the same name; in the relation of likeness,\nboth objects are said to be like; in the relation of equality, both\nare said to be equal. But even here the duality holds, on a stricter\nexamination: for the first object (A) is not said to be like,\nabsolutely, but to be like the second object (B); the second is not\nsaid to be like absolutely, but to be like the first. Now though\n\"like\" is only one name, \"like A\" is not the same name as \"like B,\"\nso that there is really, in this case also, a pair of names.\n\nFrom these considerations we see that objects are said to be\nrelated, when there is any fact, simple or complex, either\napprehended by the senses or otherwise, in which they both figure.\nAny objects, whether physical or mental, are related, or are in a\nrelation, to one another, in virtue of any complex state of\nconsciousness into which they both enter; even if it be a no more\ncomplex state of consciousness than that of merely thinking of them\ntogether. And they are related to each other in as many different\nways, or in other words, they stand in as many distinct relations to\none another, as there are specifically distinct states of\nconsciousness of which they both form parts. As these may be\ninnumerable, the possible relations not only of any one thing with\nothers, but of any one thing with the same other, are infinitely\nnumerous and various. But they may all be reduced to a certain\nnumber of general heads of classification, constituting the\ndifferent kinds of Relation: each of which requires examination\napart, to ascertain what, in each case, the state of consciousness,\nthe cluster or train of sensations or thoughts, really is, in which\nthe two objects figure, and which is connoted by the correlative\nnames. This examination the author accordingly undertakes: and thus,\nunder the guise of explaining names, he analyses all the principal\ncases which the world and the human mind present, of what are called\nRelations between things.--_Ed._]\n\n{8} I. The only, or at least the principal, occasions, for naming\nsimple sensations, or simple ideas, in pairs, seem to be these:\n\n1 When we take them into simultaneous view, as such and such;\n\n2. When we take them into simultaneous view, as antecedent and\nconsequent.\n\nII. The principal occasions on which we name the complex ideas,\ncalled objects, in pairs, are these four:\n\n{9} 1. When we speak of them as having an order in space;\n\n2. When we speak of them as having an order in time;\n\n3. When we speak of them as agreeing or disagreeing in quantity;\n\n4. As agreeing or disagreeing in quality.\n\nIII. The occasions on which we name the complex ideas of our own\nformation in pairs, are,\n\n{10} 1. When we speak of them as composed of the same or different\nsimple ideas;\n\n2. When we speak of them as antecedent and consequent.\n\nWhatever it may be necessary to remark, respecting relative terms,\nwill occur in the consideration of these several cases.\n\nI. 1. We speak of two sensations, as _Same_ or _Different_, _Like_\nor _Unlike_.\n\nThese words are Relatives of the double signification; each\nindividual of the pair has the same name. When we say that sensation\nA is the \"same\" with {11} sensation B, we mean that B also is the\n\"same\" with A; \"different,\" \"like,\" and \"unlike,\" have the same\ndouble application.\n\nAnother ambiguity needs to be noted in the word \"same.\" When there\nare _two_ things, they are not the _same_ thing; for \"same,\" in the\nstrict sense of the word, means one thing, and that only. Here it\nmeans a great degree of likeness, a sense in which, with respect to\nsensations and ideas, it is very frequently used.\n\nOf two sensations, or two ideas, we, in truth, can only say, that\nthey are like or unlike; or, that the one comes first, the other\nafter it.\n\nIt is now necessary to attend very carefully to what happens, when\nwe say that two sensations are like, or that they are unlike.\n\nFirst of all, we have the two sensations. But what is it to have two\nsensations? It is merely to be conscious of a change. But to be\nconscious of a change in sensation, is sensation. It is an essential\npart of the process. Without it we should not be sentient beings. To\nhave sensation, and not to be conscious of any change, is to have\nbut one sensation continued. We have already seen that this is a\nstate which seems incapable of being distinguished from that of\nhaving no sensation. At any rate, what we mean by a sentient being,\nis not a being with one unvaried sensation, but a being with\nsensations continually varied; the varying being a necessary part of\nthe having more sensations than one; and the varying, and the being\nconscious of the variation, being not two things, but one and the\nsame thing. Having _two_ sensations, therefore, is not only having\nsensation, but the only {12} thing which can, in strictness, be\ncalled having sensation; and the having two, and knowing they are\ntwo, which are not two things, but one and the same thing, is not\nonly sensation, and nothing else than sensation, but the only thing\nwhich can, in strictness, be called sensation. The having a new\nsensation, and knowing that it is new, are not two things, but one\nand the same thing.[4]\n\n[Bain's footnote 4: The author is here endeavouring to express the\nmost fundamental fact of the consciousness--the necessity of change,\nor transition from one state to another in order to our being\nconscious. He approaches very near to, without exactly touching, the\ninference that all consciousness, all sensation, all knowledge must\nbe of doubles; the state passed from and the state passed to, are\nequally recognised by us. Opening the eyes to the light, for the\nfirst time, we know a contrast,--a present light, a past\nprivation--but for the one we should not have known the other. Any\nsingle thing is unknowable by us; its relative opposite is a part of\nits very existence.\n\nIn a former page it is stated that relative names are one of the\nconveniences of epitomising. This is a narrow view to take of them.\nThey are an essential part of language; they are demanded by the\nintrinsic relativity of all nameable things. If we have a thing\ncalled \"light,\" we have also another thing but for which light could\nnot be known by us, \"dark.\" It is expedient to have names for both\nelements of the mutually dependent couple. And so everywhere.\nLanguage would be insufficient for its purposes if it did not\nprovide the means of expressing the correlative (called also the\nnegative) of every thing named.--_B._]\n\nThe case between sensation and sensation, resembles that between\nsensation and idea. How do I know that an idea is not a sensation?\nWho ever thought of asking the question? Is not the having an idea,\n{13} and the knowing it as an idea, the same thing? The having\nwithout the knowing is repugnant. The misfortune is, that the word,\nknow, has associations linked with it, which have nothing to do with\nthis case, but which intrude themselves along with the word, and\nmake a complexity, where otherwise there would be none.\n\nThis is a matter which deserves the greatest attention. One of the\nmost unfortunate cases of the illusions, which the close association\nof ideas with words has produced, is created by ideas clinging to\nwords when they ought to be disjoined from them, and mixing\nthemselves by that means with the ideas under consideration, when\nthey ought to be considered wholly distinct from them. Nothing was\nof more importance, than that the phenomenon, to which we are just\nnow directing our attention, the very first ingredient in the great\nmental composition, should be accurately understood, and nothing\nmixed up with it which did not truly belong to it.\n\nThere is no doubt that in one of its senses, knowledge is synonymous\nwith sensation. If I am asked what is my knowledge of pain? I\nanswer, the feeling of it, the having it. The blind man has not the\nknowledge of colours; the meaning is, he has not the sensations: if\ndeaf also, he is without the knowledge, that is, the sensations, of\nsounds: suppose him void of all other sensations, you suppose him\nvoid of knowledge. In many cases, however, we arrive at knowledge,\nby certain steps; by something of a process. The word, know, is most\nfrequently applied to those cases. When we know, by mere sensation,\nwe say we see, we hear, and so on; when we know by mere ideas, {14}\nor rather ideation, if we could use such a word, we say we conceive,\nwe think. The word know, therefore, being almost constantly joined\nwith the idea of a process, it is exceedingly difficult, when we\napply it to sensation, not to have the idea of a process at the same\ntime; and thus exceedingly difficult to conceive that sensation, and\nknowing, in this case, are purely synonymous.\n\nAs the knowing I have an idea, is merely having the idea; as the\nhaving a sensation, and knowing I have a sensation; the knowing, for\nexample, that I have the pain of the toothache, and the having that\npain; are not two things, but one and the same thing; so the having\na change of sensation, and knowing I have it, are not two things but\none and the same thing.\n\nHaving a change, I have occasion to mark that change. The change has\ntaken place in a train of feelings. I call the first part by one\nname, the last by another, and the marking of the change is\neffected. Suppose that, without any organ of sense but the eye, my\nfirst sensation is red, my next green. The whole process is\nsensation. Yet the green is not the red. What we call making the\ndistinction, therefore, has taken place, and it is involved in the\nsensation.\n\nMy names, green, and red, thus applied, are absolute names. The one\nhas no reference to the other. Suppose that after green, I have the\nsensations, blue, yellow, violet, white, black; and that I mark them\nrespectively by these names. These are still absolute names. Each\nmarks a particular sensation, and does nothing more. But, now,\nsuppose that, after my sensations red, green, blue, &c., I have the\nsensation {15} red again; that I recognise it as like the sensation\nI had first, and that I have a desire to mark that recognition; it\nremains to explain what are the steps of this process.\n\nHaving the sensation a second time needs no explanation; it is the\nsame thing as having it the first. But what happens in recognising\nthat it is similar to a former sensation?\n\nBeside the _Sensation_, in this case, there is an _Idea_. The idea\nof the former sensation is called up by, that is, associated with,\nthe new sensation. As having a sensation, and a sensation, and\nknowing them, that is, distinguishing them, are the same thing; and\nhaving an idea, and an idea, is knowing them; so, having an idea and\na sensation, and distinguishing the one from the other, are the same\nthing. But, to know that I have the idea and the sensation, in this\ncase, is not all; I observe, that the sensation is like the idea.\nWhat is this observation of likeness? Is it any thing but that\ndistinguishing of one feeling from another, which we have recognised\nto be the same thing as having two feelings? As change of sensation\nis sensation; as change, from a sensation to an idea, differs from\nchange to a sensation, in nothing but this, that the second feeling\nin the latter change is an idea, not a sensation; and as the passing\nfrom one feeling to another is distinguishing; the whole difficulty\nseems to be resolved; for undoubtedly the distinguishing differences\nand similarities, is the same thing; a similarity being nothing but\na slight difference.[5] As {16} change from red to green, and\nknowing the change, or from a sensation of sight, to one of any\nother of the senses, the most different, is all sensation; so change\nfrom one shade of red to another, is assuredly sensation. Its being\na different shade consists in my feeling of it, that is, in my\nsensation.\n\n[Bain's footnote 5: More properly Similarity is \"agreement in\ndifference.\" Difference or discrimination is one thing, one element\nof knowledge or cognition; Similarity or agreement in difference is\nanother thing, the second or completing element of knowledge. The\ntwo work together in closest intimacy, but they should neither be\nlooked upon as the same fact, nor as merely a various shading of the\nsame fact. Without difference there would be no similarity; but\nsimilarity is difference and something more. At their roots or first\norigins, the two processes lie in almost undistinguishable\ncloseness; but in their developments they run wide apart. No fact or\nattribute is known, or mentally possessed, without the union of many\nshocks of difference with many shocks of identity, or agreement in\ndifference.--_B._]\n\nPassing from red to red, red, red, through a succession of\ndistinguishable shades, is one train of pure sensation: passing from\nred to green, blue, tasting, smelling, hearing, touching, is another\ntrain of pure sensation; that these are not the same trains, but\ndifferent trains, consists in their being felt to be so; they would\nnot be different, but for the feeling: and that a feeling is\ndifferent, and known to be so, are not two things, but one and the\nsame thing. Having two such trains, I want marks to distinguish\nthem. For this purpose, I invent the words \"same,\" \"similar,\" and\ntheir contraries; by means of which, my object is attained. I call\nthe parts of a train, such as the first, \"same,\" or \"similar;\" those\nof a train like the last, \"different,\" \"dissimilar.\"\n\nBy these relative terms, we name the sensations in pairs. When we\nsay, same, we mean that sensations {17} A, and B, are the same;\ndifferent, that A, and B, are different; like and unlike, the same.\nBy these words we have four pairs of relative terms.\n\n A. B.\n same same\n different different\n like like\n unlike unlike.\n\nThe feeling is perfectly analogous in the case of the _ideas_ of\nthose sensations; and the naming is the same. Thus the idea of red,\ngreen, and so on, and the ideas of the different shades of red are\ndistinguished from one another by the ideas themselves. To have\nideas different and ideas distinguished, are synonymous expressions;\ndifferent and distinguished, meaning exactly the same thing.\n\nThe sensations above mentioned, and their ideas, have the same\nabsolute names: thus, red is at once the name of the sensation, and\nthe name of the idea; green, at once the name of the sensation and\nthe idea; sweet, at once the name of the sensation and the idea. The\nrelative terms, it is obvious, have the same extent of application.\nSame, different, like, and unlike, are names of pairs of ideas, as\nwell as pairs of sensations.\n\nIt seems, therefore, to be made clear, that, in applying to the\nsimple sensations and ideas their absolute names, which are names of\nclasses, as red, green, sweet, bitter; and also applying to them\nnames which denote them in pairs, as such and such; there is nothing\nwhatsoever but having the sensations, having the ideas, and making\nmarks for them.[6]\n\n[Editor's footnote 6: The author commences his survey of Relations\nwith the most universal of them all. Likeness and Unlikeness; and he\nexamines these as subsisting between simple sensations or ideas; for\nwhatever be the true theory of likeness or unlikeness as between the\nsimple elements, the same, in essentials, will serve for the\nlikenesses or unlikenesses of the wholes compounded of them.\n\nExamining, then, what constitutes likeness between two sensations\n(meaning two exactly similar sensations experienced at different\ntimes); he says, that to feel the two sensations to be alike, is one\nand the same thing with having the two sensations. Their being alike\nis nothing but their being felt to be alike; their being unlike is\nnothing but their being felt to be unlike. The feeling of unlikeness\nis merely that feeling of change, in passing from the one to the\nother, which makes them two, and without which we should not be\nconscious of them at all. The feeling of likeness, is the being\nreminded of the former sensation by the present, that is, having the\nidea of the former sensation called up by the present, and\ndistinguishing them as sensation and idea.\n\nIt does not seem to me that this mode of describing the matter\nexplains anything, or leaves the likenesses and unlikenesses of our\nsimple feelings less an ultimate fact than they were before. All it\namounts to is, that likeness and unlikeness are themselves only a\nmatter of feeling: and that when we have two feelings, the feeling\nof their likeness or unlikeness is inextricably interwoven with the\nfact of having the feelings. One of the conditions, under which we\nhave feelings, is that they are like and unlike: and in the case of\nsimple feelings, we cannot separate the likeness or unlikeness from\nthe feelings themselves. It is by no means certain, however, that\nwhen we have two feelings in immediate succession, the feeling of\ntheir likeness is not a third feeling which follows instead of being\ninvolved in the two. This question is expressly left open by Mr.\nHerbert Spencer, in his \"Principles of Psychology;\" and I am not\naware that any philosopher has conclusively resolved it. We do not\nget rid of any difficulty by calling the feeling of likeness the\nsame thing with the two feelings that are alike: we have equally to\npostulate likeness and unlikeness as primitive facts--as an inherent\ndistinction among our sensations; and whichever form of phraseology\nwe employ makes no difference in the ulterior developments of\npsychology. It is of no practical consequence whether we say that a\nphenomenon is resolved into sensations and ideas, or into\nsensations, ideas, and their resemblances, since under the one\nexpression as under the other the resemblance must be recognised as\nan indispensable element in the compound.\n\nWhen we pass from resemblance between simple sensations and ideas,\nto resemblance between complex wholes, the process, though not\nessentially different, is more complicated, for it involves a\ncomparison of part with part, element with element, and therefore a\nprevious discrimination of the elements. When we judge that an\nexternal object, compounded of a number of attributes, is like\nanother external object; since they are not, usually, alike in all\ntheir attributes, we have to take the two objects into simultaneous\nconsideration in respect to each of their various attributes one\nafter another: their colour, to observe whether that is similar;\ntheir size, whether that is similar; their figure, their weight, and\nso on. It comes at last to a perception of likeness or unlikeness\nbetween simple sensations: but we reduce it to this by _attending_\nseparately to one of the simple sensations forming the one cluster,\nand to one of those forming the other cluster, and if possible\nadjusting our organs of sense so as to have these two sensations in\nimmediate juxtaposition: as when we put two objects, of which we\nwish to compare the colour, side by side, so that our sense of sight\nmay pass directly from one of the two sensations of colour to the\nother. This act of attention directed successively to single\nattributes, blunts our feeling of the other attributes of the\nobjects, and enables us to feel the likeness of the single\nsensations almost as vividly as if we had nothing but these in our\nmind. Having felt this likeness, we say that the sensations are\nlike, and that the two objects are like in respect of those\nsensations: and continuing the process we pronounce them to be\neither like or unlike in each of the other sensations which we\nreceive from them.--_Ed._]\n\n{18} 2. The only other relative terms applicable to simple\nsensations and ideas, are those which denote them as _Antecedent_\nand _Consequent_.\n\n{19} I have sensation red, sensation green. Why I mark them red, and\ngreen, or as \"different,\" has already been seen. What happens in\nmarking them {20} as \"antecedent\" and \"consequent\" comes next to be\nconsidered.\n\nA sensation, the moment it ceases, is gone for ever. When I have two\nsensations, therefore, A, and B, one first, the other following,\nsensation A is gone, before sensation B exists. But though\n_sensation_ A is gone, its idea is not gone. Its idea, called up by\nassociation, exists along with sensation B, or the idea of sensation\nB. My knowing that the idea of sensation A is the idea of sensation\nA, is my having the idea. Having it, and knowing it, are not two\nthings, but one and the same thing. _Having_ the idea of sensation\nA, that is, having the idea of the immediate antecedent of sensation\nB, seems, also, to be the same thing with knowing it as the idea of\nthat antecedent. Having sensation A, and after it sensation B, is\nmere sensation; and having the idea of sensation A, the immediate\nantecedent, called up by sensation B, the immediate consequent, is\nknowing it for that antecedent. The links of the train are three;\n1, sensation A; 2, sensation B; 3, the idea of sensation A, in a\ncertain order with B, called up by sensation B; and after this,\nNAMING.\n\nThe case appears mysterious, solely, from the want of words to\nexpress it clearly; and our confirmed habit of inattention to the\nprocess. Suppose, that {21} instead of two sensations, A and B, we\nhave three, A, B, and C, in immediate succession. I recognise A, as\nthe antecedent of B; B, as the antecedent of C. What is the process?\nThe idea of sensation A, is associated with sensation B; and the\nidea of sensation B, is associated with sensation C. But sensation\nC, is not associated with the idea of sensation B solely, it is\nassociated also with the idea of sensation A. It is associated,\nhowever, differently with the one and the other. It is associated\nwith B immediately; it is associated with A, only through the medium\nof B; it calls up the idea of B, by its own associating power, and\nthe idea of B, calls up the idea of A. This second state of\nconsciousness is different from the first. The first is that in\nconsequence of which B receives the name \"Antecedent,\" and C the\nname \"Consequent.\" When two sensations in a train are such, that,\nif one exists, it has the idea of the other along with it, by its\nimmediate exciting power, and not through any intermediate idea; the\nsensation, the idea of which is thus excited, is called the\nantecedent, the sensation which thus excites that idea, is called\nthe consequent.\n\nIt is evident that the terms, \"antecedent,\" and \"consequent,\" are\nnot applied in consequence of sensation merely, but in consequence\nof sensation joined with ideas. The antecedent sensation, which is\npast, must be revived by the consequent sensation, which is present.\nIt is the peculiarity of this revival which procures it the name.\nIf revived by any other sensation, it would not have that name.\n\nThe Clock strikes three. My feelings are, three sensations of\nhearing, in succession. How do I know {22} them to be three\nsuccessive sensations? The process in this instance does not seem to\nbe very difficult to trace. The clock strikes one; this is pure\nsensation. It strikes two; this is a sensation, joined with the idea\nof the preceding sensation, and the idea of the feeling (also\nsensation), called change of sensation, or passage from one\nsensation to another. After two, the clock strikes three; there is,\nhere, sensation, and a double association; the third stroke is\nsensation; that is associated immediately with the idea of the\nsecond, and through the idea of the second, with the idea of the\nfirst. It is observable, that these successive associations soon\ncease to afford distinct ideas; they hardly do so beyond the second\nstage. When the clock strikes, we may have distinct ideas of the\nstrokes, as far as three, hardly farther; we must then have recourse\nto NAMING, and call the strokes, four, five, six, and so on:\notherwise we should be wholly unable to tell how often the clock had\nstruck.\n\nIn the preceding pairs of relative terms, we have found only one\nname for each pair. Thus, when we say of A and B, that A is similar\nto B, we say also, that B is similar to A. We have now an instance\nof a pair of relative terms, consisting not of the same, but of\ndifferent names. If we call A antecedent, we call B consequent. The\nfirst class were called by the ancient logicians, synonymous, the\nsecond heteronymous; we may call them more intelligibly,\nsingle-worded, and double-worded, relatives.[7]\n\n[Editor's footnote 7: The next relation which the author examines is\nthat of succession, or Antecedent and Consequent. And here again we\nhave one of the universal conditions to which all our feelings or\nstates of consciousness are subject. Whenever we have more feelings\nthan one, we must have them either simultaneously or in succession;\nand when we are conscious of having them in succession, we cannot in\nany way separate or isolate the succession from the feelings\nthemselves. The author attempts to carry the analysis somewhat\nfarther. He says that when we have two sensations in the order of\nantecedent and consequent, the consequent calls up the idea of the\nantecedent; and that this fact, that a sensation calls up the idea\nof another sensation directly, and not through an intermediate idea,\n_constitutes_ that other sensation the antecedent of the sensation\nwhich reminds us of it--is not a _consequence_ of the one\nsensation's having preceded the other, but is literally all we mean\nby the one sensation's having preceded the other. There seem to be\ngrave objections to this doctrine. In the first place, there is no\nlaw of association by which a consequent calls up the idea of its\nantecedent. The law of successive association is that the antecedent\ncalls up the idea of the consequent, but not conversely; as is seen\nin the difficulty of repeating backwards even a form of words with\nwhich we are very familiar. We get round from the consequent to the\nantecedent by an indirect process, through the medium of other\nideas; or by going back, at each step, to the beginning of the\ntrain, and repeating it downwards until we reach that particular\nlink. When a consequent directly recalls its antecedent, it is by\nsynchronous association, when the antecedent happens to have been so\nprolonged as to coexist with, instead of merely preceding, the\nconsequent.\n\nThe next difficulty is, that although the direct recalling of the\nidea of a past sensation by a present, without any intermediate\nlink, does not take place from consequent to antecedent, it does\ntake place from like to like: a sensation recalls the idea of a past\nsensation resembling itself, without the intervention of any other\nidea. The author, however, says, that \"when two sensations in a\ntrain are such that if one exists, it has the idea of the other\nalong with it by its immediate exciting power, and not through any\nintermediate idea; the sensation, the idea of which is thus excited,\nis called the antecedent, the sensation which thus excites that idea\nis called the consequent.\" If this therefore were correct, we should\ngive the names of antecedent and consequent not to the sensations\nwhich really are so, but to those which recall one another by\nresemblance.\n\nThirdly and lastly, to explain antecedence, _i.e._ the succession\nbetween two feelings, by saying that one of the two calls up the\nidea of the other, that is to say, is followed by it, is to explain\nsuccession by succession, and antecedence by antecedence. Every\nexplanation of anything by states of our consciousness, includes as\npart of the explanation a succession between those states; and it is\nuseless attempting to analyse that which comes out as an element in\nevery analysis we are able to make. Antecedence and consequence, as\nwell as likeness and unlikeness, must be postulated as universal\nconditions of Nature, inherent in all our feelings whether of\nexternal or of internal consciousness.--_Ed._]\n\n{23} II. Having shewn what takes place in naming simple SENSATIONS,\nand simple IDEAS, in pairs, both as {24} such and such, and as\nantecedent and consequent, we come to the second case of relative\nterms, that of naming the clusters, called EXTERNAL OBJECTS, in\npairs. The principal occasions of doing so we have said are four.\n\n1. When we speak of them, as they exist in the synchronous order,\nthat is, the order in space, we use such relative terms as the\nfollowing: high, low; east, west; right, left; hind, fore; and so\non.\n\nIt is necessary to carry along with us a correct idea of what is\nmeant by synchronous order, that is, the order of simultaneous, in\ncontradistinction to that of successive, existence. The synchronous\norder is much more complex than the successive. The successive {25}\norder is all, as it were, in one direction. The synchronous is in\nevery possible direction. The following seems to be the best mode of\nconceiving it.\n\nTake a single particle of matter as a centre. Other particles may be\naggregated to it, in the line of every possible radius; and as the\nradii diverge, and other lines, tending to the centre, may be\ncontinually interposed, to any number, particles may be aggregated\nin those numberless directions. They may also be aggregated in those\ndirections to a less or a greater extent. And they may be aggregated\nto an equal extent in every direction; or to a greater extent in\nsome of the directions, a less extent in others. In the first case\nof aggregation they compose a globe; in the last, any other shape.\n\nEvery one of the particles in this aggregate, has a certain order;\nfirst with respect to the centre particle; next with respect to\nevery other particle. This order is also called, the Position of the\nparticle. In such an aggregate, therefore, the positions are\ninnumerable. It is thence observable, that position is an\nexceedingly complex idea; for the position of each of those\nparticles is its order with respect to every one of the other\ninnumerable particles; it includes, therefore, innumerable\ningredients. Hence it is not wonderful that, while viewed in the\nlump, it should seem obscure and mysterious.\n\nOf positions, thus numberless, it is a small portion, only that have\nnames. Bulk is a name for an aggregate of particles, greater, or\nless. Figure is only a modification, or case, of bulk; it is more or\nfewer particles in such and such directions.\n\nThese things being explained, it now remains to {26} shew, of what\ncopies of sensations, peculiarly combined, the complex ideas in\nquestion are composed.\n\nThe simplest case of position, or synchronous order, is that of two\nor more particles in one direction. Let us take the particle,\nconceived as the centre particle, in a preceding supposition, and\nlet us aggregate to it a number of particles, all in the direction\nof a single radius, one by one. We have first the centre particle,\nand one other, in juxta-position. This is the simplest case of\nsynchronous order, and this is the simplest of all positions. Let us\nnext aggregate a second particle; we have now the centre particle,\nand two more. The position of the first of the aggregated particles\nwith respect to the centre particle is contact, or juxta-position;\nthat of the second is not juxta-position, but position at the\ndistance of a particle; the next which is aggregated, is at the\ndistance of two; the next of three particles, and so on, to any\nextent.\n\nParticles thus aggregated, all in the direction of a single radius\nfrom the first, constitute a line of less or greater length,\naccording to the number of aggregated particles.\n\nLine is a word of great importance; because it is by that, chiefly,\nwe express ourselves concerning synchronous order; or frame names\nfor positions. Now it happens, that Line has a duplicity of meaning,\nmost unfortunate, because it has confounded two meanings, which it\nis of the highest importance to preserve distinct.\n\nWe have already remarked the distinction between concrete, and\nabstract, terms; and explained wherein the difference of their\nsignification consists. We have {27} also observed, that though in\nvery many cases, the concrete term, and the abstract term, are\ndifferent words, as good and goodness, true and truth, there are\nmany others in which the concrete and abstract terms are the same;\nand this is the case, unhappily, with the word Truth itself, which\nis used in the concrete sense, as well as the abstract. Thus we call\na proposition, a Truth; in which phrase, the word Truth, means \"True\nProposition;\" and in this sense we talk of eternal truths, meaning,\nPropositions, always true. \"Property,\" is another word, which is\nsometimes concrete, sometimes abstract. Thus, a man calls his horse,\nhis field, his house, his property. In such phrases the word is\nconcrete. He also says, he has a property in such and such things.\nIn these phrases, it is abstract.\n\nOf this ambiguity, the word Line is an instance. It is applied as\nwell to what we call a physical line, as to what we call a\nmathematical line. In the first case, it is a concrete, or\nconnotative term; in the second case, it is an abstract or\nnon-connotative term. Let us then conceive clearly the two meanings.\nThe purest idea of a physical line, is that which we have already\nformed; the aggregate of particle after particle, in the direction\nof a radius. When this aggregate of particles in this order is\ncalled a line, the word, line, is connotative; it marks or notes the\n_direction_, but it also marks or connotes the _particles_; it means\nthe particles and the direction both; it is, in short, the\n_concrete_ term. When it is used as the _abstract_ term, the\nconnotation is left out. It marks the direction without marking the\nparticles.\n\nIt is here necessary to call to mind, that abstract {28} terms\nderive their meaning wholly from their concretes; and that by\nthemselves they have absolutely no meaning at all. I know a green\ntree, a sweet apple, a hard stone, but greenness without something\ngreen, hardness without something hard, are just nothing at all.\n\nThe same, in its abstract sense, is the case with line, though we\nhave not words by which we can convey the conception with equal\nclearness. If we had an abstract term, separate from the concrete,\nthe troublesome association in question would have been less\nindissoluble, and less deceptive. If we had such a word as Lineness,\nor Linth, for example, we should have much more easily seen, that\nour idea is the idea of the physical line; and that linth without a\nline, as breadth without something broad, length without something\nlong, are just nothing at all.[8]\n\n[Editor's footnote 8: This conception of a geometrical line, as the\nabstract, of which a physical line is the corresponding concrete, is\nscarcely satisfactory. An abstract name is the name of an attribute,\nor property, of the things of which the concrete name is predicated.\nIt is, no doubt, the name of some part, some one or more, of the\nsensations composing the concrete group, but not of those sensations\nsimply and in themselves; it is the name of those sensations\nregarded as belonging to some group. Whiteness, the abstract name,\nis the name of the colour white, considered as the colour of some\nphysical object. Now I do not see that a geometrical line is\nconceived as an attribute of a physical object. The attribute of\nobjects which comes nearest to the signification of a geometrical\nline, is their length: but length does not need any name but its\nown; and the author does not seem to mean that a geometrical line is\nthe same thing as length. He seems to have fallen into the mistake\nof confounding an abstract with an ideal. The line which is meant in\nall the theorems of geometry I take to be as truly concrete as a\nphysical line; it denotes an object, but one purely imaginary; a\nsupposititious object, agreeing in all else with a physical line,\nbut differing from it in having no breadth. The properties of this\nimaginary line of course agree with those of a physical line, except\nso far as these depend on, or are affected by, breadth. The lines,\nsurfaces, and figures contemplated by geometry are abstract, only in\nthe improper sense of the term, in which it is applied to whatever\nresults from the mental process called Abstraction. They ought to be\ncalled ideal. They are physical lines, surfaces, and figures,\nidealized, that is, supposed hypothetically to be perfectly what\nthey are only imperfectly, and not to be at all what they are in a\nvery slight, and for most purposes wholly unimportant,\ndegree.--_Ed._]\n\n{29} What are, then, the sensations, the ideas of which, in close\nassociation, we mark by the word line?\n\nThough it appears to all men that they see position, length,\nbreadth, distance, figure; it is nevertheless true, that what\nappear, in this manner, to be sensations of the eye, are Ideas,\ncalled up by association. This is an important phenomenon, which\nthrows much light upon the darker involutions of human thought.\n\nThe sensations, whence are generated our ideas of synchronous order,\nare from two sources; they are partly the sensations of touch, and\npartly those of which we have spoken under the name of muscular\nsensations, the feelings involved in muscular action.[9]\n\n[Bain's footnote 9: In attaining the ideas of synchronous order,\nwhich is another name for Space, or the Extended World, sight is a\nleading instrumentality. It is by sight more than by any other sense\nthat we get somewhat beyond the strict limits of the law of the\nsuccessiveness of all our perceptions. Although we can _distinctly_\nsee only a limited spot at one instant, we can couple with this a\nvague perception of an adjoining superficies. This is an important\nsign of co-existence, as contrasted with succession, and enters with\nvarious other signs into the very complex notion of the author's\nsynchronous order, otherwise called the Simultaneous or Co-existing\nin Space.--_B._]\n\n{30} A line, we have said, is an order of particles, contiguous one\nto another, in the direction of a radius from one particle. Let us\nbegin from this one particle, and trace our sensations. One particle\nmay be an object of touch; it may be felt, as we call it, and\nnothing more; it may, at the same time, give the sensation of\nresistance, which we have already described as a feeling seated in\nthe muscles, just as sound is a feeling in the ear. Resistance, is\nforce applied to force. What we feel, is the act of the muscle.\nWithout that, no resistance. This state of consciousness is, in\nreality, what we mark by the name. It is, at the same time, a state\nof consciousness not a little obscure; because we habitually\noverlook many of the sensations of which it is composed; because it\nis, in itself, very complex; and because it is entangled with a\nnumber of extraneous associations.\n\nWe have already remarked the habit we acquire of not attending to\nthe sensations which are seated in the muscles, of attending only to\nthe occasions of them, and the effects of them; that is, their\nantecedents, and consequents; overlooking the intermediate\nsensations. In marking, therefore, or assigning our names, it seems\nto be rather the occasions and effects, the antecedents and\nconsequents, than the sensations themselves, which are named. The\nword resistance is thus the name of a very complex {31} idea.[10] It\nis the name; first, of the feelings which we have when we say we\nfeel resistance; secondly, of the occasions, or antecedents, of\nthose feelings; and, thirdly, of their consequents. The feelings\nintermediate between the antecedents and consequents, are themselves\ncomplex. There are two kinds of sensations included in them; the\nsensation of touch, and the muscular sensations; and there is\nsomething more. When we move a muscle, we Will to move it. This\nstate of consciousness, the Will to move it, is part of the feeling\nof the motion. What that state of consciousness, called the Will,\nis, we have not yet explained. At present we speak of it merely as\nan element in the compound. Of what elements it is itself compounded\nwe shall see hereafter. In the idea of resistance, then, there is\nthe will to move the muscles, the sensations in the muscles, the\noccasion or antecedent of those feelings, and the effects or\nconsequents of them. And there is the common complexity attending\nall generical terms, that of their including all possible varieties.\n\n[Bain's footnote 10: Still, when we apply an analysis to the complex\nfacts indicated by the name, we come to a simple as well as ultimate\nexperience, which is correctly signified by the name Resistance. The\nfeeling of muscular energy expended is in all likelihood an\nabsolutely elementary feeling of the mind; and the form of this\nfeeling that is least complicated or mixed up with other\nsensibilities is what the word Resistance most usually expresses,\nnamely, the dead strain, that is energy without leading to movement,\nor causing movement in such a slight degree as not to depart from\nthe essential peculiarity of expended force.--_B._]\n\nThese things being explained, the learner will now be able to trace,\nwithout error, the formation of one of the most important of all our\nideas, that of {32} resistance, or pressure. We touch one thing,\nbutter, for instance; it yields to the finger, after a slight\npressure; that is, a certain feeling of ours. The will to move the\nmuscles, and the sensations in the muscles, are both included in\nthat feeling; but, for shortness, we shall speak of them, through\nthe present exposition, under one name, as the feelings or\nsensations in the muscles. As we call the butter yellow, on account\nof a feeling of sight; odorous, on account of a feeling of smell;\nsapid, on account of a feeling of taste; so we call it soft, on\naccount of a feeling in our muscles. We touch a stone, as we touched\nthe butter, and it yields not, after the strongest pressure we can\napply. As we called the butter soft, on account of one muscular\nfeeling, we call the stone hard, on account of another. The\nvarieties of these feelings are innumerable. Only a small portion of\nthem have received names. The feeling upon pressure of butter, is\none thing; of honey, another; of water, another; of air, another; of\nflesh, one thing; of bone, another. We mark them as we can, by the\nterms soft, more soft, less soft; hard, more hard, less hard, and so\non. We have great occasion, however, for a word which shall include\nall these different words. As we have \"coloured\" to include all the\nnames of sensations of sight; \"touch\" all the names of sensations of\ntouch, and so on; we invent the word \"resisting,\" which includes all\nthe words, soft, hard, and so on, by which any of the sensations of\npressure are denoted.\n\nSuch, then, are the feelings which we are capable of receiving from\nthe particle with which we may suppose a line of particles to\ncommence. These feelings, in passing along the line, we should\nreceive in {33} succession from each, if the tactual sense were\nsufficiently fine to distinguish particles in contact from one\nanother. It has not, however, this perfection. Even sight cannot\ndistinguish minute intervals. If a red-hot coal is whirled rapidly\nround, though the coal is present at only one part of the circle at\neach instant, the whole is one continuous red. If the seven\nprismatic colours are made to pass rapidly in order before the eye,\nthey appear not distinct colours, but one uniform white. In like\nmanner, in passing from one to another, in a line of particles,\nthere is no feeling of interval; there is the feeling we call\ncontinuity; that is, absence of interval.\n\nThe sensations, then, the ideas of which combined compose the idea\nwhich we mark by the word line, may thus be traced. The tactual\nfeeling, and the feeling of resistance, derivable from every\nparticle, attend the finger in every part of its progress along the\nline. What is there besides? To produce the progress of the finger,\nthere is muscular action; that is to say, there are the feelings\ncombined in muscular action. That we may exclude extraneous ideas as\nmuch as possible, let us suppose, that, when a person first makes\nhimself acquainted with a line, he has the sense of touch, and the\nmuscular sensations, without any other sense. He has one state of\nfeeling, when the finger, which touches the line, is still; another,\nwhen it moves. He has also one state of feeling from one degree of\nmotion, another from another. If he has one state of feeling from\nthe finger carried along, as far as it can extend, he has another\nfeeling when it is only carried half as far, and so on.\n\nIt is extremely difficult to speak of these feelings {34} precisely,\nor to draw by language those who are not accustomed to the minute\nanalysis of their thoughts, to conceive them distinctly; because\nthey are among the feelings, as we have before remarked, which we\nhave acquired the habit of not attending to, or rather, have lost\nthe power of attending to.\n\nIt is certain, however, that by sensation alone we become acquainted\nwith lines; that in every different contraction of the muscles there\nis a difference of sensation; and that of the tactual feeling, and\nthe feelings of the contracted muscles, all the feelings which\nconstitute our knowledge of a line are composed.\n\nAs, after certain repetitions of a particular sensation of sight, a\nparticular sensation of smell, a particular sensation of sight, and\nso on, received in a certain order, I give to the combined ideas of\nthem, the name rose, the name apple, the name fire, and the like; in\nthe same manner, after certain repetitions of particular tactual\nsensations, and particular muscular sensations, received in a\ncertain order, I give to the combined ideas of them, the name Line.\nBut when I have got my idea of a line, I have also got my idea of\nextension. For what is extension, but lines in every direction?\nphysical lines, if real, tactual extension; mathematical lines, if\nmathematical, that is, abstract, extension.\n\nIt would be tedious to pursue the analysis of extension farther. And\nI trust it is not necessary; because the application of the same\nmethod to the remaining cases, appears completely obvious. Take\nplane surface for example. It is composed of all the lines which can\nbe drawn in a particular plane; the idea of it, therefore, is\nderived from the tactual feeling, and the feeling of resistance,\ncombined with the {35} muscular feelings involved in the motion of\nthe finger in every direction which it can receive on a plane.\n\nLet us now take some of the words which, along with the synchronous\norder, connote objects in pairs. The names of this sort are not very\nnumerous. High, and low, right, and left, hind, and fore, are\nexamples. These, it is obvious, are names of the principal\ndirections from the human body as a centre. The order of objects,\nthe most frequently interesting to human beings, is, of course,\ntheir order with respect to their own bodies. What is over the head,\ngets the name of high; what is below the feet, gets the name of low;\nand so on. Of the pairs which are connoted by those words, the human\nbody is always one. The words, right, left, hind, fore, when they\ndenote the object so called, always connote the body in respect to\nwhich they are right, left, hind, fore. We have already noticed the\ncases in which the objects, thus named in pairs, have each a\nseparate name, as father, son; also those in which both have the\nsame name, as sister, brother. We have here another case, which\ndeserves also to be particularly marked, that in which only one of\nthem has a name. The human body, which is always one of the objects\nnamed, when we call things right, left, hind, fore, and so on, has\nno corresponding relative name. The reason is sufficiently obvious;\nthis, being always one of the pair, cannot, the other being named,\nbe misunderstood.\n\nFor the complete understanding of these words, it does not appear\nthat any thing remains to be explained. If one line, proceeding from\na central particle, be understood, every line, which can proceed\nfrom it, is also understood. If that central point be a part {36} of\nthe human body, it is plain that as the hand, passing along a line\nin a certain direction from that centre, has certain muscular\nactions, passing along in another direction, it has muscular actions\nsomewhat different. When we say muscular actions somewhat different,\nwe say muscular feelings somewhat different. Difference of feeling,\nwhen important, needs difference of naming.\n\nA particular case of association is here to be remarked; and it is\none which it is important for the learner to fix steadfastly in his\nmemory.\n\nWe never perceive, what we call an object, except in the synchronous\norder. Whatever other sensations we receive, the sensations of the\nsynchronous order, are always received along with them. When we\nperceive a chair, a tree, a man, a house, they are always situated\nso and so, with respect to other objects. As the sensations of\npositions are thus always received with the other sensations of an\nobject, the idea of Position is so closely associated with the idea\nof the object, that it is wholly impossible for us to have the one\nidea without the other. It is one of the most remarkable cases of\nindissoluble association; and is that feeling which men describe,\nwhen they say that the idea of space forces itself upon their\nunderstandings, and is necessary.[11]\n\n[Editor's footnote 11: Under the head, as before, of Relative Terms,\nwe find here an analysis of the important and intricate complex\nideas of Extension and Position. It will be convenient to defer any\nremarks on this analysis, until it can be considered in conjunction\nwith the author's exposition of the closely allied subjects of\nMotion and Space.--_Ed._]\n\n{37} 2. We come now to the case of naming OBJECTS in pairs, on\naccount of the Successive Order.\n\nWe have had occasion to observe that there is nothing in which human\nbeings are so deeply interested, as the Successive Order of objects.\nIt is the successive order upon which all their happiness and misery\ndepends; and the synchronous order is interesting to them, chiefly\non account of its connection with the successive.\n\nWhen we speak of objects, it is necessary to remember, that it is\nsensations, not ideas, to which we are then directing our attention.\nAll our sensations, we say, are derived from objects; in other\nwords, object is the name we give to the antecedents of our\nsensations. And, reciprocally, all our knowledge of objects is the\nsensations themselves. We have the sensations, and that is all.\nA knowledge, therefore, of the successive order of objects, is a\nknowledge of the successive order of our sensations; of all the\npleasures, and all the pains, and all the feelings intermediate\nbetween pleasure and pain, of which the body is susceptible.\n\nOf successions, that is, the order of objects as antecedent and\nconsequent, some are constant, some not constant. Thus, a stone\ndropped in the air always falls to the ground. This is a case of\nconstancy of sequence. Heavy clouds drop rain, but not always. This\nis a case of casual sequence.[12] Human life is {38} deeply\ninterested in ascertaining the constant sequences of all the objects\nfrom which human sensations are derived. The great business of\nphilosophy is to find them out; and to record them, in the form most\nconvenient for acquiring the knowledge of them, and for applying it.\n\n[Editor's footnote 12: This is surely an improper use of the word\nCasual. Sequences cannot be exhaustively divided into invariable and\ncasual, or (as by the author a few pages further on) into constant\nand fortuitous. Heavy clouds, though they do not always drop rain,\nare not connected with it by mere accident, as the passing of a\nwaggon might be. They are connected with it through causation: they\nare one of the conditions on which, when united, rain is invariably\nconsequent, though it is not invariably consequent on that single\ncondition. This distinction is essential to any system of Inductive\nLogic, in which it recurs at every step.--_Ed._]\n\nIn the successions of objects, it very often happens, that what\nappear to us to be the immediate antecedent and consequent, are not\nimmediately successive, but are separated by several intermediate\nsuccessions. Thus, the falling of a spark on gunpowder, and the\nexplosion of the gunpowder, appear antecedent and consequent; but\nseveral successions in reality intervene; various decompositions,\nand compositions, in which, indeed, all the sequences cannot as yet\nbe traced. Most of the successions, which we are called upon to\nnotice and to name, are in the same situation. We fix upon two\nconspicuous points in a chain of successions, and the intermediate\nones are either overlooked, or unknown.\n\nThus, we name Doctor and Patient, the two extremities of a pretty\nlong succession of objects. The Doctor is not the immediate\nantecedent of any change in the patient. He is the immediate\nantecedent of a certain conception, of which the consequent is,\nwriting a prescription; the consequent of this, is the sending {39}\nit to the apothecary; the consequent of that, is the apothecary's\nreading it, and so on; the whole composing a multitudinous train.\nDoctor and Patient, therefore, are not only two paired names of two\npaired objects, but names of all the successions between the one and\nthe other. Doctor and Patient, therefore, properly speaking, are to\nbe considered one name, though made up of two parts. Taken together,\nthey are the name of the complex idea of a considerable train of\nsequences, of which a particular man is one extremity, a particular\nman another; just as navigation is the single-worded name of the\ncomplex idea of a very long train, of which the extremities are not\nparticularly marked. If you say, navigation from the Thames to the\nGanges, you have a many-worded name, by which the extremities of\nthis long train are particularly marked.\n\nThe relative terms, Father and Son, are obviously included in this\nexplanation. They are the two extremities of a train of great length\nand intricacy, very imperfectly understood. They also, both\ntogether, compose, as may easily be seen, but one name. Father is a\nword which connotes Son, and whether Son is expressed or not, the\nmeaning of it is implied. In like manner Son connotes Father; and,\nstripped of that connotation, is without a meaning. Taken together,\ntherefore, they are one name, the name of the complex idea of that\ntrain of which father is the one extremity, son the other.[13]\n\n[Editor's footnote 13: It seems hardly a proper expression to say\nthat Physician and Patient, or that Father and Son, are one name\nmade up of two parts. When one of the parts is a name of one person\nand the other part is the name of another, it is difficult to see\nhow the two together can be but one name. Father and Son are two\nnames, denoting different persons: but what the author had it in his\nmind to say, was that they connote the same series of facts, which\nseries, as the two persons are both indispensable parts of it, gives\nnames to them both, and is made the foundation or _fundamentum_ of\nan attribute ascribed to each.\n\nWith the exception of this questionable use of language, which the\nauthor had recourse to because he had not left himself the precise\nword Connote, to express what there is of real identity in the\nsignification of the two names; the analysis which follows of the\nvarious complicated cases of relation seems philosophically\nunexceptionable. The complexity of a relation consists in the\ncomplex composition of the series of facts or phenomena which the\nnames connote, and which is the _fundamentum relationis_. The names\nsignify that the person or thing, of which they are predicated,\nforms part of a group or succession of phenomena along with the\nother person or thing which is its correlate: and the special nature\nof that group or series, which may be of extreme complexity,\nconstitutes the speciality of the relation predicated.--_Ed._]\n\n{40} Brother and Brother are a pair of relative terms marking a\nstill more complex idea. Two brothers are two sons of the same\nFather; taken together, they are, therefore, marks of all that Son,\ntaken twice, is capable of marking. Son, as we have just seen,\nalways implies Father; and, taken together, they are the name of a\ntrain. The relatives, therefore, brother and brother, are the\ncompound name; two brothers, are the name of the train marked by the\nterm, Father and Son, taken twice, the prior extremity of the train\nbeing the same in both cases, the latter different.\n\nThe above terms. Father and Son, Brother and {41} Brother, are\nimposed on account of sequences which are passed. I do not at this\nmoment recollect any relative terms imposed on account of sequences\npurely future. The terms, Buyer and Seller, are sometimes, indeed,\nused in a sense wholly future; when they mean persons having\nsomething to buy and something to sell: but they are also used in a\nsense wholly passed, when they signify persons who have effected\npurchase and sale. We have, however, many relative terms on account\nof trains which are partly passed and partly future. Thus, Lender\nand Borrower, are imposed partly on account of the passed train\nincluded in the contract of lending and borrowing; partly on account\nof the future train implied in the repayment of the money. The words\nDebtor and Creditor are names of the same train, partly passed and\npartly future.\n\nThe relative terms, Husband and Wife, are of the same class; the\nname of a train partly passed, to wit, that implied in entering into\nthe nuptial contract; and partly future, to wit, all the events\nexpected to flow out of that contract. Master and Servant are\nimposed, on account of a train partly passed and partly future; the\ntrain of entering into the compact of master and servant, and the\ntrain of acts which flow out of it. King and Subject are the name of\na train similarly divided; first, the train which led to the will of\nobeying on the part of the people, the will of commanding on the\npart of the king; secondly, the trains which grow out of these\nwills.\n\nOwner and Property are relative terms, or terms which connote one\nanother. They also are imposed on account of a train partly passed\nand partly future. The part which is passed is the train implied in\nthe {42} circumstances of the acquisition, whether inheritance,\ngift, labour, or purchase. The part which is future is the train\nimplied in the use which the owner may make of the property.\n\nOf the terms which denote objects in successive pairs, several are\nvery general. Thus we have antecedent and consequent, which are\napplicable to any parts of any train. Prior and Posterior, are\nnearly of the same import. First and Last, are applicable to the two\nextremities of any train. Second, third, fourth, and so on, are\napplicable to the contiguous parts of any train.\n\nWe have remarked, above, that successions of objects are to be\ndistinguished into two remarkable kinds; that of the successions\nwhich are fortuitous, and that of the successions which are\nconstant. Names to mark the antecedent and consequent in all\nconstant successions, which are things of such importance to us,\nwere found of course indispensable. Cause and Effect, are the names\nwe employ. In all constant successions. Cause is the name of the\nantecedent. Effect the name of the consequent. And, beside this,\nit has been proved by philosophers,[1*] that these names denote\nabsolutely nothing.\n\n[Mill's footnote 1: Chiefly by Dr. Brown, of Edinburgh, in a work\nentitled \"Inquiry into the Relation of Cause and Effect;\" one of the\nmost valuable contributions to science for which we are indebted to\nthe last generation.--(_Author's Note_.)]\n\nIt is highly necessary to be apprized, that each of the two names.\nCause and Effect, has a double meaning. They are used, sometimes in\nthe concrete sense, sometimes in the abstract. By this ambiguity,\n{43} ideas are confounded, which it is of the greatest importance to\npreserve distinct. When we say, the sun is the Cause of light, cause\nis concrete; the meaning is, that the sun always causes light. When\nwe say that ice is the Effect of cold air, effect is concrete; the\nmeaning is, that ice is effected by cold air. \"Cause,\" in these\ncases, is merely a short name for \"causing object,\" \"Effect,\" a\nshort name for \"caused object.\" In abstract discourse, on the other\nhand, Cause and Effect are often used in the abstract sense, in\nwhich cases Cause means the same thing as would be meant by\ncausingness; Effect, the same as would be meant by causedness. They\nare merely the connotative or concrete terms, with the connotation\ndropped.\n\nAs the abstract terms have no meaning, except as they refer to the\nconcrete, it is in the concrete sense I shall always use the words\nCause and Effect, unless when I give notice to the contrary.\n\nOther terms, pairing the parts of a train, take parts more or less\ndistant; first and last, take the most distant; father and son, take\nparts at a considerable distance; cause and effect, on the other\nhand, mean always the proximate parts. It does not, indeed, happen,\nthat we always apply them to the proximate parts; because the\nintermediate sequences are often unknown, at other times overlooked.\nThey are always, however, applied to the parts regarded as\nproximate. For we do not, strictly speaking, say, that any thing is\nthe cause of a thing, when it is only the cause of another thing,\nwhich is the cause of that thing; still less, when there is a series\nof causes and effects, before you arrive at that which you have\nmarked as _the_ effect, because the ultimate one. In {44} all the\ninquiries of philosophers into causes, it is the antecedent and\nconsequent, really proximate, which is the object of their pursuit.\n\nWe have observed, in the case of the relative terms, applied to\nobjects as successive, that the words, properly speaking, form but\none name,--that of the complex idea of a train of less or greater\nlength: thus, Doctor and Patient is a name; Father and Son is a\nname; each denoting a train of which two individuals are the\nprincipal parts. In like manner, the relative terms Cause and\nEffect, taken together, are but one name, the name of a short train,\nthat of one antecedent and one consequent, regarded as proximate,\nand constant.\n\n3. We have now shewn, in what manner the principal Relative Terms\nare applied, when we have to speak of objects as having order in\nSpace, and when we have to speak of them as having order in Time. We\nproceed to shew in what manner they are applied, when we have to\nspeak of objects as differing in Quantity, or differing in Quality;\nand first, as differing in Quantity.\n\nWe apply the word Quantity, in a very general manner; to things,\nwhich have the greatest diversity. Thus, we use the word quantity,\nwhen we speak of extension; we use the word quantity, when we speak\nof weight; we use it, when we speak of motion; we use it, when we\nspeak of heat; we use it, in short, on almost every occasion, on\nwhich we can use the word degree. Of course, it represents not one\nidea, but many ideas, some of which have the greatest diversity.\n\nThe relative terms, which we co-apply with {45} quantity, are equal,\nunequal, or some particular case included under these more general\nterms; as, more heavy, less heavy*; more strong, less strong; whole,\npart; and so on.\n\nWhen quantity is applied to extent, it may be extent either in one,\nor more, or every direction; it may mean either quantity in line,\nquantity in surface, or quantity in bulk. Accordingly, we can say,\nequal, or unequal, lines; equal, or unequal, surfaces; equal, or\nunequal, bulks.\n\nLine is the simplest case; the explanation of it will, therefore,\nfacilitate the rest. We have already traced the sensations, which\nconstitute our knowledge of a line. We have seen that they are\ncertain sensations of touch, combined with the muscular sensations\ninvolved in extending the arm.\n\nAs the sensations, involved in extending the arm so far, are not the\nsame with those which are involved in extending it farther; and as\nthe having different sensations, and distinguishing them, are not\ntwo things, but one and the same thing;--as often as I have those\ntwo cases of sensation, I distinguish them from one another; and,\ndistinguishing them from one another, I require names to mark them.\nThe first I mark, by the word, short; the other, by the word, long.\nAs I call a line long, from extending my arm so far; that is, from\nthe sensations involved in extending it; I call it longer from\nextending it farther. After experience of a number of lines, there\nare some which I call long, long, long, one after another, to any\namount; others which I call longer, longer, longer; others which\nI call short, short, short; and so on.\n\nWhen we have perceived the sensations, on account {46} of which we\ncall lines long, longer, short, shorter, we can be at no loss for\nthe knowledge of those, on account of which we call them equal, and\nunequal. It is to be observed, that in applying the words long,\nlonger, short, shorter, minute differences are not named. They\ncannot be named. The names would be too numerous. A general mark,\nhowever, may be invented, to shew when there is even a minute\ndifference, and when there is not. When there is not, we call the\ntwo lines equal; when there is, we call them unequal.\n\nWe shall presently see, when we come to trace the ideas, which the\nclass of words, called numbers, are employed to mark, what\ndistinction of sensation it is which is marked by the words, one,\nand two. In the mean time, it is easy to see, that the case of\nsensation, when we trace one line, with the hand, and then another,\nis different from the case of sensation when we trace one line only,\nor even the same line twice; and this diversity needs marks to\ndistinguish it. It is true, that in tracing one line, and then\nanother, and marking the distinction, there is something more than\nsensation, there is also memory. But to this ingredient in the\ncompound, after the explanation which has already been given of\nmemory, it is not, at present, necessary particularly to advert.\n\nWhen it is seen, what are the sensations which are marked by the\nterms longer and shorter, applied to a line, it will not be\ndifficult to see what are the sensations, which are marked by the\nterms, part, and whole.\n\nThe terms, a part, and whole, imply division. Of course, the thing\nprecedes the name. Men divided, before they named the act, or the\nconsequences of the {47} act. In the act of division, or in the\nresults of it, no mystery has ever been understood to reside. It is\nof importance to remark, that the word division, in its ordinary\nacceptation, includes, and thence confounds, things which very much\nneed to be distinguished. It includes the will, which is the\nantecedent of the act; the act itself; and the results of the act.\nAt present we may leave the will aside; it will be explained\nhereafter; and, as it is not the act, but the antecedent of the act,\nthe consideration of it is not required, for the present purpose.\n\nThe act of dividing, like all the other acts of our body, consists\nin the contraction and relaxation of certain muscles. These are\nknown to us, like every thing else, by the feelings. The act, as\nact, is the feelings; and only when confounded with its results, is\nit conceived to be any thing else. If it be said, that the\ncontraction of the muscles of my arm, is something more in me than\nfeelings, because I see the motion of my arm; it is to be observed,\nthat this seeing, this sensation of sight, is not the act, but one\nof its results; the feelings of the act are the antecedent; this\nsensation of sight one of the consequents.\n\nIn the act of dividing a line, as in the act, already analysed, of\ntracing a line, there is a feeling of touch, and there is also a\nmuscular feeling. There may be more or less of cohesion in the parts\nof the line; and thence, more or less of what we call muscular\nforce, required to disunite them. Of course, what we call more or\nless of force, are only names for different states of feeling. The\nstates of feeling which we mark by the term, force, being\nantecedent, all the rest {48} are consequents of this antecedent.\nThe disunion of the parts of one line is attended with a certain\nmuscular feeling; I call the feeling a small force. That of another\nline is attended with a muscular feeling somewhat different; I call\nit a greater force; and so on. This muscular feeling, however, has\nvarious accompaniments; which are closely associated with the idea\nof the act, and with its name. Thus there is the sight of the line,\nthere is the sight of the hands in the act of disruption, and there\nis the sight of the line after it is divided. The term division, as\nwe have mentioned before, includes all; the muscular feeling, the\nsight of the line before division, and the sight of it after. I need\na pair of names for the line before division, and the line after.\nI call the one whole, the other parts. Like other relative terms,\nthe one of these connotes the other; whole has no meaning, but when\nassociated with parts; parts have no meaning, but when associated\nwith whole. Taken together; that is, whole and parts, used as one\nname; they mark a complex idea, consisting of three principal parts;\nan undivided line, the act of division, and the consequent of that\nantecedent, the line after division.\n\nIn the preceding exposition, it is actual division, the actual\nmaking of parts, which has been spoken of. It is observable,\nhowever, that the same language, by which we name actual division,\nand actual parts, is applied to conceived division, and conceived\nparts. Thus we talk of the parts of a line, when it is not divided,\nnor meant to be divided. The exposition of this, however, is easy;\nand there is obscurity only when the double use of the terms\nconfounds the two {49} cases, the division which is actual, with\nthat which is conceived.\n\nThe division of the line may consist of one act, or of more acts\nthan one. By the first act, it is divided into two parts; by the\nsecond into three; by the third into four, and so on. The parts of\na line are so many lines. These may be equal, or unequal. But the\nsensations, on account of which we denominate lines equal, or\nunequal, have been already shewn; the equality, and inequality,\ntherefore, of the parts of a line, need no further explanation.\n\nWhen the learner conceives distinctly the sensations on account of\nwhich we apply the terms whole and parts to a line, he will not find\nit difficult to understand, on what account we apply them to all the\nmodifications of extension; seeing that all these modifications are\nlines combined.\n\nThus, a plane surface is a number of straight lines, in contact,\nin the direction called a plane. It is of greater or less extent,\naccording as these lines are longer or shorter from a central point;\nit is of one shape or another shape, according as the lines are of\nthe same length, or of different lengths. When they are all of one\nlength, the surface is called a circle. As they may be of different\nlengths in endless variety, the surface may have an endless variety\nof shapes, of which only a few have received names. The square is\none of these names, the triangle another, the parallelogram another,\nand so on.\n\nBulk, which is the other great modification of extension, is lines\nfrom a central point in every direction. This bulk is greater or\nless, according as these lines are longer or shorter. The figure or\nshape of this {50} bulk is different, according as the lines are of\nthe same or different lengths. If they are of the same length, the\nbulk is called round, or, in one word, a sphere; sphere meaning\nexactly round bulk. As the lines, when they differ in length, may\ndiffer in endless ways; figures, or the shapes of bulk, are also\nendless, as our senses abundantly testify. Of these but a small\nnumber have received names. In this number are the cube, the\ncylinder, the cone. We name some shapes by referring to known\nobjects; thus we speak of the shape of an egg, the shape of a pear,\nand so on.\n\nIt seems that nothing, therefore, is now wanting, to shew in what\nmanner the relative terms, expressive of Quantity, are applied to\nall the modifications of extension.\n\nAfter what has been said, it will not be difficult to ascertain the\nsensations on account of which we apply the same relative terms to\ncases of Weight.\n\nWeight is the name of a particular species of pressure; pressure\ntowards the centre of the earth. Pressure, as we have already fully\nseen, is the name we apply, when we have certain sensations in the\nmuscles, just as green is the name we apply when we have a certain\nsensation in the eye. As green is the name of the sensation in the\neye, pressure is the name of the sensation in the muscles. Pressure\nupwards, is one thing; pressure downwards, is another; pressure of a\nbody, when that body is urged by another body, is one thing;\npressure of a body, when it is not urged by another body, is a\ndifferent thing: pressure of a body in altering the position of its\nparts is one thing; pressure, when there is no alteration of the\nposition of its parts, is another thing. Of this last sort is\nweight, {51} the pressure downwards, or towards the centre of the\nearth, of a body not urged by another body, and not altering the\nposition of its parts.\n\nIn supporting in my hand a stone, I resist a certain pressure; in\nother words, have certain muscular feelings, on account of which I\ncall the stone heavy. I support other stones, and in doing so have\nmuscular feelings, in one case similar, in another dissimilar. In\nthe case of similarity, I call two stones equal, meaning in weight;\nin the case of dissimilarity, unequal; and so I apply all the other\nrelative terms by which quantity is expressed.\n\nIt seems unnecessary to carry this analysis into further detail. The\nwords equal, unequal: greater, less; applied to Motion, to Heat, and\nother modifications of sensation, have a meaning, which in following\nthe course so fully exemplified it cannot be difficult to ascertain.\n\nIt seems still necessary that I should say something of the word\n_Quantus_, from which the word Quantity is derived. _Quantus_ is the\ncorrelate of _Tantus_. _Tantus_, _Quantus_, are relative terms,\napplicable to all the objects to which we apply the terms, Great, or\nLittle; they are applicable, therefore, to all the modifications of\nextension, of weight, of heat; in short, to all modifications which\nwe can mark as degrees.\n\nOf two lines, we call the one _tantus_, the other _quantus_. The\noccasions on which we do so are, when the one is as long as the\nother. _Tantus_, and _Quantus_, then, in this case, mean the same\nthing as equal, equal. They will be found to have the same import as\nequal, equal, when applied also to surface, and bulk; and so in all\nother compatible cases.\n\n{52} What then, it may be asked, is the use of them? If it should\nappear that they were of no use, it would not be very surprising;\nconsidering by whom languages have been made; and that redundancy is\nfrequent in them as well as defect. In the present case, however, a\nuse is not wanting.\n\nIt is necessary to observe the artifice, to which we are obliged to\nhave recourse, to name, and even to distinguish, the different\nmodifications, not of kind but of degree, included under the word\nquantity. We are obliged to take some one object, with which we are\nfamiliar, and to distinguish other objects, as differing or agreeing\nwith that object. Thus, we take some well-known line, the length of\nthe foot, or the length of the arm, and distinguish and name all\nother lengths by that length; which can be divided or multiplied so\nas to correspond with them. In like manner, we take some well-known\nobject as a standard weight, which we call, for example, a pound,\nand distinguish and name all other weights, as parts or multiples of\nthat known weight.\n\nNow it will be recognised, that, in applying the relative terms\nequal, equal, or in calling two objects equal, no one of them is\nmarked as the standard. Both are taken on the same footing. The one\nis equal to the other; and the other is equal to that. But when we\nsay that one thing is _tantus_, _quantus_ another; or one so great,\nas the other is great; the first is referred to the last, the\n_tantus_ to the _quantus_; the first is distinguished and named by\nthe last. The _quantus_ is the standard.\n\nIt is this which gives its peculiar meaning to the word Quantity,\nand has recommended it for that very {53} comprehensive and\ngenerical acceptation, in which it is now received.\n\nOur word Quantity, is the Latin word _Quantitas_; and _Quantitas_ is\nthe abstract of the concrete _Quantus_. We have no English words,\ncorresponding to _Tantus_, _Quantus_. We form an equivalent, by aid\nof the relative conjunctions; we say, So Great, As Great. But these\nconcrete terms do not furnish abstracts; we do not say,\nAs-greatness; in the first place, because it is an awkward\nexpression; and in the next place, because the relative, \"as,\" is\nnot steady in its application, since we use \"as great\" not for\n_quantus_ only, but frequently also for _tantus_. As greatness,\ntherefore, does not readily suggest the idea of the abstract of\n_Quantus_.\n\nOn what account, then, is it we give to any thing the name\n_Quantus_? As a standard by which to name another thing _Tantus_.\nThe thing called _Quantus_, is the previously known thing, the\nascertained amount, by which we can mark and define the other\namount. Leaving out the connotation of _Quantus_, which is some one\nindividual body, _Quantitas_ merely denotes such and such an amount\nof body. _Quantitas_, if it was kept to its original meaning, would\nstill connote _Tantitas_; just as paternity connotes filiality. But\nin the case of Quantity, even this connotation is dropped; it is\nused not as a relative abstract term, but an absolute abstract term;\nand is employed as a generical name for any portion of extension,\nany portion of weight, of heat, or any thing else, which can be\nmeasured by a part of itself.[14]\n\n[Editor's footnote 14: After analysing Position and Extension under\nthe head of Relative Terms, the author now, under the same head,\ngives the analysis of Quantity and Quality. To what he says on the\nsubject of Quantity it does not appear necessary to add anything. He\nseems to have correctly analysed the phenomenon down to a primitive\nelement, beyond which we have no power to investigate. As Likeness\nand Unlikeness appeared to be properties of our simple feelings,\nwhich must be postulated as ultimate, and which are inseparable from\nthe feelings themselves, so may this also be said of More and Less.\nAs some of our feelings are like, some unlike, so there is a mode of\nlikeness or unlikeness which we call Degree: some feelings otherwise\nlike are unlike in degree, that is one is unlike another in\nintensity, or one is unlike another in duration; in either case one\nis distinguished as more, or greater, the other as less. And the\nfact of being more or less only means that we feel them as more or\nless. The author says in this case, as he had said in the other\nelementary cases of relation, that the more and the less being\ndifferent sensations, to trace them and to distinguish their\ndifference are not two things but one and the same thing. It matters\nnot, since there the difference still is, unsusceptible of further\nanalysis. The author's apparent simplification amounts only to this,\nthat differences of quantity, like all other differences of which we\ntake cognizance, are differences merely in our feelings; they exist\nonly as they are felt. But (as we have already said of resemblance,\nand of antecedence and consequence) they must be postulated as\nelements. The distinction of more and less is one of the ultimate\nconditions under which we have all our states of\nconsciousness.--_Ed._]\n\n{54} 4. After tracing the sensations and ideas, which are marked\nwhen we apply relative terms to objects, as agreeing or disagreeing\nin _quantity_; we have now to trace the sensations and ideas, which\nare marked, when we apply relative terms to objects, on account of\ntheir agreeing or disagreeing in _quality_.\n\nFirst of all, the learner must take note of what he {55} means by\nQuality. We ascribe qualities to an object on account of our\nsensations. We call an object green, on account of the sensation\ngreen; hard, on account of the sensation hard; sounding, on account\nof the sensation sounding. The names of all qualities of objects,\nthen, are names of sensations. Are they any thing else? Yes; they\nare the names of our sensations, with connotation of a supposed\nunknown cause of those sensations. As far, however, as our knowledge\ngoes, they are names of sensations, and nothing else. The supposed\ncause is never known; the effects alone are known to us.\n\nWe ascribe qualities to objects, in two cases, which require to be\ndistinguished: on account of the sensations which we have from them\nprimarily; on account of those which we have from them secondarily.\nThe first we call their sensible qualities; as green, hot, hard,\nsweet, scented, and so on: the second we more frequently call their\npowers; as the power of the loadstone to draw iron, the power of\nwater to melt sugar. In this latter case, the sensations marked are\nnot those which are derived from the loadstone, or from water; but\nthose which are derived from the changes in the iron, and the sugar;\nof which changes, we call the loadstone, and the water, the cause.\nIn the latter case, the train of antecedents and consequents is\nlonger than it is in the former. When I see an object green; there\nis the object, the antecedent; and myself sentient of green, the\nconsequent. When I see a loadstone draw iron, there is the following\ntrain; the loadstone, antecedent; iron drawn, first consequent;\nmyself seeing it drawn, second consequent. When I see water melt\nsugar, there is the {56} antecedent water; sugar melting, first\nconsequent; myself seeing it, second consequent. What I call the\npowers of an object, then, are its order in respect to certain of my\nsensations, the order of antecedence, not proximate, but more or\nless remote.\n\nWhen I say that grass is green, I trace my sensation green, no\nfarther than to the grass. When I say, the sugar is melting, I trace\nmy sensations (for they are several) called sugar melting, first to\nthe sugar, and then to the water. My word green, therefore, is the\nnotation of a sensation, and connotation of an unknown cause; my\nname melting, is the notation of a compound of sensations, and\nconnotation of two causes, an antecedent and a consequent: the\nfirst, an unknown cause in the sugar; the second, the cause of that\nunknown cause, namely, the water.\n\nIn speaking of the qualities of an object, it is necessary to take\nnotice of an inaccuracy of language; which, not only, as Dr. Brown\nhas well observed, lies at the bottom of many philosophical errors,\nbut induces men to mistake the very business of the philosopher.\n\nThe term, \"quality\" or \"qualities of an object,\" seems to imply,\nthat the qualities are one thing, the object another. And this, in\nsome indistinct way, is, no doubt, the opinion of the great majority\nof mankind. Yet, the absurdity of it strikes the understanding, the\nmoment it is mentioned. The qualities of an object are the whole of\nthe object. What is there beside the qualities? In fact, they are\nconvertible terms: the qualities are the object; and the object is\nthe qualities. But, then, what are the qualities? Why, sensations,\nwith the association of {57} the object as the cause. And what is\nthe association of the object as the cause? Why, the association of\nother sensations as antecedent. What, for example, are the smell,\nand colour, and other qualities of the rose? Is not each of the\nnames of these qualities, that of the smell, for example, a\nconnotative name, not only noting the sensation, of which it is\nproperly the name, but connoting all the sensations of colour, of\nconsistence, of figure, of position; to which, all combined by\nassociation, so as to form one complex idea, we give the specific\nname, rose, the more general name, vegetable, and the still more\ngeneral name, object? When the smell of a rose is perceived by me,\nor the idea suggested to me, immediately all the other ideas\nincluded under the term rose, are suggested along with it, and their\nindissoluble union presupposed. But this belief of the previous\nindissoluble union of each of those sensations with all the other\nsensations, is all which I really mean when I refer each sensation\nto the rose as its cause.\n\nIf the learner has fully apprehended the ideas here premised, it\nwill be easy for him to trace to the bottom the relative terms,\nwhich we apply to objects on account of their agreeing or\ndisagreeing in _Quality_.\n\nWe say, that objects agree or disagree, on account of one quality,\nor more than one quality, that is, on account of single sensations,\nor combined sensations.\n\nLet us first observe the case of one quality. We say, that a blade\nof grass is like the leaf of an oak, meaning, that in the quality of\ncolour both are green; we say that the leaf of the rose tree, is\nunlike the petal of the flower, meaning in colour. By these {58}\nwords, we name the objects in pairs; first, the pair of leaves, to\neach of which, we give the name, like; secondly, the leaf and the\npetal, to each of which, we give the name, unlike. We name the first\ntwo objects, \"like,\" on account of the two sensations, green, and\ngreen, one of each object; we name the next two objects unlike, on\naccount of the two sensations, green of the one, red of the other.\nWhat is done, or rather what is felt, when we give the same, or a\ndifferent name, to each of two sensations, has been already so fully\nexplained, that a bare suggestion of what has been premised, is here\nall that will be required.\n\nWe have two sensations. A, B. Having two sensations, and knowing\nthem to be two sensations, that is, not one sensation, is having the\nsensations, and nothing more.\n\nWhy do I call one sequence of sensations, green, green; another\nsequence, green, red? Clearly on account of the sensations. No other\nexplanation can be given of it, nor can be required. For the same\nreason for which I called the sensations of the first sequence\nindividually, green, green, I call them both, like; and for the same\nreason for which I called those of the second sequence, not green,\ngreen, but green, red, I call them, unlike.\n\nLet us next put the case of several sensations. We say, that one\nrose is like another. We have only to take the sensations combined\nunder the name rose, one by one, to see that this, and the former,\ncase, are in reality the same. The two roses are like in colour,\nlike in smell, like in consistence, like in form, like in position.\nThe likeness of the two roses, is a likeness {59} not in one\nsensation, but in several. But the likeness of two sensations of\nsmell, is of the same nature as the likeness of the two sensations\nof sight. When I call the smell, therefore, of the two roses like,\nit is for the same reason as I call the colour of them like, that\nis, the sensations. When I call the shape and consistence, and\nposition, like, it is for the same reason still; the tactual and\nmuscular sensations, whence the ideas are derived to which these\nnames are annexed. In this case, however, the reason is by no means\nso clearly seen, first, because the sensations are complex, and\nsecondly, because they are of that class of sensations which we\nhabitually overlook.\n\nThe Latin words, _Talis_, _Qualis_, are applied to objects in the\nsame way, on one account, as _Tantus_, _Quantus_, on another; and\nthe explanation we gave of _Tantus_, _Quantus_, may be applied\n_mutatis mutandis_, to the pair of relatives we have now named.\n_Tantus_, _Quantus_, are names applied to objects on account of\ndimension. _Talis_, _Qualis_, are names applied to objects on\naccount of all other sensations. We apply _Tantus_, _Quantus_, to a\npair of objects when they are equal; we apply _Talis_, _Qualis_, to\na pair of objects, when they are like.\n\n_Talis_, _Qualis_, however, express the likeness of two objects in a\nmanner somewhat different from the other pair of nearly equivalent\nrelatives, \"Like,\" and \"Like.\" When we call two objects Like, the\none is placed on the same footing as the other. No one of them is\ntaken as the standard. When we apply, _Talis_, _Qualis_, the case is\ndifferent. One of the objects is then the standard. The object\n_Qualis_, is that to which the reference is made.\n\n{60} This being understood, the extensive meaning which came to be\ngiven to the word Quality, may be easily explained. Quality is the\nLatin _Qualitas_, and _Qualitas_ is the abstract of _Qualis_. The\nmeaning of the abstract is the same with that of the concrete, the\nconnotation being dropped. When the word _Qualis_, is applied to an\nobject, it notes something about it in particular, but connotes the\nwhole object. The _Qualitas_ of that object, is the something noted\nin particular, the connotation being dropped. As _Qualis_ is applied\nto objects, sometimes on account of one thing belonging to them,\nsometimes on account of another, _Qualitas_ comes in turn to be\napplied to every thing in them, requiring at any time a separate\nnotation. _Qualitas_, when first formed from _Qualis_, has the force\nof a relative, and connotes the abstract of _Talis_; but in its\nfrequent use, in marking every thing in objects, which requires\nseparate notation, this connotation, also, comes to be dropped; and\nQuality is finally used as an absolute term, the generical name of\nevery thing in objects, for which a separate notation is\nrequired.[15]\n\n[Editor's footnote 15: As in the case of Quantity, so in that of\nQuality, it is needless to add anything to the author's very\nsufficient elucidation. I merely make the usual reserves with\nrespect to the use of the word Connotation. The concrete names which\npredicate qualities (for of abstract relative names the author is\nnot yet speaking) are said by him to be the names of our sensations;\ngreen, for instance, and red. But it is the abstract names alone\nwhich are this: the names greenness, and redness. And even the\nabstract names signify something more than only the sensations: they\nare names of the sensations considered as derived from an object\nwhich produces them. The concrete name is a name not of the\nsensation, but of the object, of which alone it is predicable: we\ntalk of green objects, but not of green sensations. It however\nconnotes the quality greenness, that is, it connotes that particular\nsensation as produced by, or proceeding from, the object; as forming\none of the group of sensations which constitutes the object. This,\nhowever, is but a difference, though a very important one, in\nterminology. It is strictly true, that the real meaning of the word\nis the sensations; as, in all cases, the meaning of a connotative\nword resides in the connotation (the attributes signified by it),\nthough it is the name of, or is predicable of, only the objects\nwhich it denotes.--_Ed._]\n\n{61} III. It was remarked at the beginning of this investigation of\nrelative terms or names applied in pairs, that we name in pairs--\n1, single sensations or ideas; 2, the clusters we call objects;\n3, the complex ideas we form arbitrarily for our own purposes. Having\nfinished the consideration of the two former cases, we shall not\nfind occasion to speak much at length upon the last.\n\nThe clusters, formed by arbitrary association, receive names in\npairs, on two occasions; either,\n\n1. When they consist of the same or different simple ideas; or,\n\n2. When they succeed one another in a train.\n\n1. The ideas which we put together arbitrarily are sometimes less,\nsometimes more, complex, for the most part, they are exceedingly\ncomplex.\n\nOf the less complicated kinds, are such ideas as that of the\nunicorn, which is a horse with one straight horn growing from the\nmiddle of its forehead; the Cyclops, a gigantic man, with a single\neye in the middle of his forehead; a mermaid, of which the upper\npart is a woman, the lower a fish; the Brobdignagian {62} and\nLilliputian of Swift, which are men of greatly reduced, or greatly\nenlarged dimensions.\n\nOf the more complicated kinds, are such ideas as those which are\nmarked by the word Science, by the word Trade, by the word Law, by\nthe word Religion, by the word Faith, by the words God and Devil, by\nthe word Value, by the words Virtue, Honour, Vice, Beauty,\nDeformity, Space, Time, and so on.\n\nLanguage has not many relative terms, applicable to ideas of this\nclass. We speak of pairs of them as like or unlike, same or\ndifferent, greater or less; and except when their order in time is\nto be noted, we hardly apply to them any other marks in pairs.\n\nWe say the Cyclops in Homer, and the Brobdignagian of Swift, are\nunlike. We do so precisely in the same way, as we say, the rose and\nthe lily are unlike; and the explanation which we have given of that\nwhich is distinctively marked by those terms, when applied to\nobjects, is precisely applicable here. In the case of objects, that\nwhich is named, is, clusters of ideas;[16] in the present case, that\nwhich is named, is clusters of ideas. That one cluster has been\nformed in one way, another in another, makes no difference in\nannexing marks to the clusters when they are formed.\n\n[Editor's footnote 16: Say rather, in the case of objects, what is\nnamed is clusters of sensations, supplemented by possibilities of\nsensation. If an object is but a cluster of ideas, what is there to\ndistinguish it from a mere thought?--_Ed._]\n\nThere is as little difficulty in tracing what is marked by the\nrelatives, different, and same, when applied to ideas of this class.\nWe say, the unicorn is different {63} from the horse; because, to\nthe idea of the horse it adds that of a horn growing in the middle\nof the forehead. In the case of very complex ideas, it is much more\ndifficult to say, with precision, what are the added and subtracted\nideas, on account of which, we apply the term, different; as when we\nsay, the courage of Ajax was different from that of Achilles; but it\nis not the less certain, that it is wholly on account of ideas added\nand subtracted, that we so denominate the courage of the two men.\n\nRather more explanation is needed, to shew what is peculiarly marked\nby the relatives equal, unequal, greater, less, when applied to the\nclass of arbitrarily formed complex ideas.\n\nWe have already seen, that those terms are primarily applied to what\nwe call objects, on account of their extension; objects are equal or\nunequal, greater or less, in extension.\n\nWe have also seen, that in marking the extension of different\nobjects, we are under the necessity of taking some known object as a\nstandard, and by that object naming others. Thus, we take the foot,\nand say that other objects are two feet, three feet, or the half or\nquarter of a foot, and so on.\n\nHaving become familiar with what we call degrees of extension, we\nare led to employ the same mode of notation, when we come to mark\nanalogous differences in other cases of sensation. Thus, when we\nperceive the weight of different heavy bodies; as the terms equal,\nunequal, greater, less, are applied with convenience to certain\ncases of extension, it appears they may be applied with equal\nconvenience, and even precision, to cases of weight. All other\nsensations, {64} having distinguishable differences, may be marked\nin the same way: thus sounds are more or less loud, and we speak of\nequal, or unequal, less or greater loudness of sound; less or\ngreater sweetness in objects of the palate; less or greater\nresistance; less or greater pain; less or greater pleasure.\n\nWhen the terms equal, unequal, less, greater, had been applied to\nsimple sensations of the pleasurable kind, and their ideas; the\ntransference of them to complex ideas, of the pleasurable or painful\nkind, was easy. If the less or greater sweetness of the rose and the\nwoodbine, was a convenient notation, so was the less or greater\nbeauty of those two flowers, the less or greater beauty of two\nwomen, the less or greater wisdom or folly, vice or virtue, of two\nmen.\n\nIt thus appears, that, as we apply the term unlike to our complex\nideas, on account of the addition and subtraction of ideas of\n_different_ kinds, so we apply to them the term unequal, on account\nof the addition and subtraction of ideas of the _same_ kind. Like\nand equal we apply, when we neither add, nor subtract.[17]\n\n[Editor's footnote 17: In this passage the author has got as near as\nit is perhaps possible to get, to an analysis of the ideas of More\nand Less. We say there is more of something, when, to what there\nalready was, there has been superadded other matter of the same\nkind. And when there is no actual superadding, but merely two\nindependent masses of the same substance, we call that one the\ngreater which produces the same impression on our senses which the\nother would produce if an addition were made to it. So with\ndifferences of intensity. One sweet taste is called sweeter than\nanother because it resembles the taste which would be produced by\nadding more sugar: and so forth. In all these cases there is\npresupposed an original difference in the sensations produced in us\nby the greater mass and by the smaller: but according to the\nexplanation now offered, the idea which guides the application of\nthe terms is that of physical juxtaposition.--_Ed._]\n\n{65} 2. We apply the same relative terms to successive ideas of this\nclass, which we apply to simple ideas, or the clusters called\nobjects, when successive. We call them antecedent and consequent, or\nnames equivalent; as prior, posterior; first, second; or even\nsuccessive, which is a name including both antecedent and\nconsequent.\n\nIn speaking of the relative terms applied to objects as successive,\nwe had occasion to explain the two important terms, Cause and\nEffect. We found that Cause and Effect, were only other names for\nantecedent and consequent, in a certain set of cases. We do not use\nthe terms, Cause and Effect, as synonymous with antecedent and\nconsequent, in those cases in which, though the objects may be\nantecedent and consequent to our perception, we know not whether\nthey are parts of the same series, or parts of two different series.\nWithin the sphere of our observation, innumerable series of events\nare going on; and we are observing, first a part of one series, and\nthen a part of another, continually. It is thus constantly\nhappening, that those things, which are immediately antecedent and\nconsequent to our observation, are not parts of the same series, but\nparts of different series; and, of course, in those antecedents and\nconsequents, there is no constancy; they are accidental, as the\ncourse of each man's attention. This may be illustrated by many\nfamiliar instances. There may be {66} immediately before me, a man\nplaying on the violin, one series; another man filing a saw, a\nsecond series. My attention may pass immediately from the sight of\nthe man playing on the violin, to the sound produced by the filing\nof the saw. Playing on the violin, and the disagreeable sound of the\nfile on the saw, are thus antecedent and consequent to my attention.\nBut, as we recognise such antecedents and consequents, as parts of\ndifferent series of events, we do not call them cause and effect.\n\nThere are two cases of antecedents and consequents, even when they\nare parts of the same series. They may be proximate; or they may be\nremote; that is, parts of the series, more or fewer, may come\nbetween them. It is only to the case of the proximate parts of the\nsame series, that the relatives, cause and effect, are properly and\nstrictly applied. When the series, however, is the same, the\nintermediate links between any two remote parts are constant.\nSuppose a series, A, B, C, D; as B is the immediate consequent of A,\nC the immediate consequent of B, and D the immediate consequent of\nC; when I know A and D as antecedent and consequent, without knowing\nthe intermediate parts B, and C, there is little inaccuracy in\nnaming A and D cause and effect; because B and C are surely\nintermediate, and the succession of A and D, though not immediate,\nis constant. We accordingly do name cause and effect parts of a\nseries thus removed from one another, in all those cases in which\nthe intermediate parts are either unknown to us, or habitually\noverlooked.\n\nThe terms Cause and Effect, thus applied to Objects as antecedent\nand consequent, are applied also to {67} Thoughts as antecedent and\nconsequent. Thus we say, that Evidence is the cause of Belief;\nVillany is the cause of Indignation, and so on.\n\nOf objects, antecedent and consequent, we have observed, that\ninnumerable series are existing at the same time; a separate series,\nof vegetation, for example, in every plant, of animalization in\nevery animal, of composition and decomposition in objects without\nnumber. In the mind, however, there is but one train, not various\ntrains at the same time; and therefore, according to the sense above\napplied to the terms Cause and Effect, each thought in a train is\nthe cause of that which follows it, and each succeeding thought is\nthe effect of that which precedes it.\n\nBut if thoughts are reciprocally Cause and Effect; that is to say,\nif, in trains of thought, the same antecedent is regularly followed\nby the same consequent, how happens it that all trains of thought\nare not the same? For if the ideas A, B, C, D, &c., constantly\nfollow one another, every mind into which A may enter, goes on with\nB, C, D, &c., and hence all such minds should consist of the same\ntrains, that is, should be the same.\n\nSupposing the succession of two thoughts to have that constancy to\nwhich we apply the terms cause and effect, trains would still have\nthat variety which we experience. Our trains consist of two\ndistinguishable ingredients; sensations and ideas. Sensations depend\nupon the innumerable series of objects. They are, therefore, liable\nto all that variety which attends the perception of those objects. A\nperpetual variety in sensations produces a perpetual variety in the\nthoughts which are consequent upon them. The {68} variety of\nsensation, is even much greater than is commonly supposed. The most\nactive of all our sensations is the sight. But in most objects of\nsight there are numerous parts. Some of these are more seen, some\nare less seen; some not seen at all. Of these, the parts that are\nmore seen by one man, are less seen by another; whence it is\nprobable, that from an object of any complexity no two men ever\nreceive precisely the same sensations. There is a striking\nexemplification of this, in the fact, so constantly observed, of the\ndifferent manner in which different men are affected by the\ncomparison of two countenances. To one man there appears a strong\nlikeness, where another man cannot discover any. Of the minute\nparticulars, on which the likeness depends, none, or an insufficient\nnumber, is embraced by the vision of the one, while the contrary is\nthe case with that of the other.\n\nThe variety in the sensations, which mix in the trains of men, is\none grand cause of the variety in the ideas, which make up or\ncomplete those trains. The variety in the order of those sensations\nis another cause. We have seen that ideas follow one another, in the\norder in which the sensations have followed. Thus, a man may be a\nkind father to his child. The sight of him to the child is\nhabitually accompanied with agreeable sensations. The same man may\nbe a severe master to his slaves. The sight of him to the slaves is\nhabitually accompanied with painful sensations. A corresponding\ndifference exists in the case of the ideas. When his image presents\nitself to the mind of the child, it is followed by a train of\npleasurable ideas, corresponding to the {69} pleasurable sensations\nwhich the child has habitually enjoyed in his presence. When his\nimage rises to the mind of the slave, it is followed, from the\ncontrary cause, by ideas of the contrary description.[18]\n\n[Editor's footnote 18: The author may seem to be anticipating a\ndifficulty which few will feel, when he asks how it happens that all\ntrains of thought are not the same. But what he is enquiring into is\nnot why this happens, but how its happening is consistent with the\ndoctrine he has just laid down. He is guarding against a possible\nobjection to his proposition, that \"the succession of two thoughts\"\nhas \"that constancy to which we apply the terms Cause and Effect.\"\nIf (he says) it is by direct causation that an idea raises up\nanother idea with which it is associated; and if it be the nature\nand the very meaning of a cause, to be invariably followed by its\neffect; how is it, he asks, that any two minds, which have once had\nthe same idea, do not coincide in their whole subsequent history?\nAnd how is it that the same mind, when it gets back to an idea it\nhas had before, does not go on revolving in an eternal round?\n\nOf this difficulty he gives a solution, good as far as it goes--that\nit is because the train of ideas is interrupted by sensations, which\nare not the same in different minds, nor in the same mind at every\nrepetition, and which even when they are the same, are connected in\ndifferent minds with different associations. This is true, but is\nnot the whole truth, and a still more complete explanation of the\ndifficulty might have been given. The author has overlooked a part\nof the laws of association, of which he was perfectly aware, but to\nwhich he does not seem to have been always sufficiently alive. The\nfirst point overlooked is, that one idea seldom, perhaps never,\nentirely fills and engrosses the mind. We have almost always a\nconsiderable number of ideas in the mind at once; and it must be a\nvery rare occurrence for any two persons, or for the same person\ntwice over, to have exactly the same collection of ideas present,\neach in the same relative intensity. For this reason, were there no\nother, the ideas which the mental state excites by association are\nalmost always more or less different.\n\nA second point overlooked is, that every sensation or idea is far\nfrom recalling, whenever it occurs, all the ideas with which it is\nassociated. It never recalls more than a portion of them, and a\nportion different at different times. The author has not, in any\npart of the Analysis, laid down any law that determines which among\nthe many ideas associated with an idea or sensation, shall be\nactually called up by it in a given case. The selection which it\nmakes among them depends on the truth already stated, that we seldom\nor never have only one idea at a time. When we have several\ntogether, they all exercise their suggesting power, and each of them\naids, impedes, or modifies the suggesting power of the others. This\nimportant case of Association has been treated in a masterly manner\nby Mr. Bain, both in his larger treatise and in his Compendium,\nunder the name of Compound Association, and he lays down the\nfollowing as its most general law. \"Past actions, sensations,\nthoughts, or emotions, are recalled more easily when associated\neither through contiguity or similarity, with more than one present\nobject or impression.\" (Compendium of Psychology and Ethics, p.\n151.) It follows that when we have several ideas in our mind, none\nof which is able to call up all the ideas associated with it, those\nideas will usually have the preference which are associated with\nmore than one of the ideas already present. An idea A, coexisting in\nthe mind with an idea B, will not select the same idea from among\nthose associated with it, that it would it it occurred alone or with\na different accompaniment. If there be any one of the ideas\nassociated with A which is also associated with B, this will\nprobably be one of those called up by their joint action. If there\nbe any idea associated with A which not only is not associated with\nB, but whose negation is associated with B, this idea will probably\nbe prevented from arising. If there are any sensations which have\nusually been presented in conjunction, not with A alone or with B\nalone, but with the combination A B, still more likely is it that\nthe ideas of these will be recalled when A and B are thought of\ntogether, even though A or B by themselves might in preference have\nrecalled some other.\n\nThese considerations will be found of primary importance in\nexplaining and accounting for the course of human thought. They\nenable us, for example, to understand what it is that keeps a train\nof thought coherent, _i.e._ that maintains it of a given quality, or\ndirects it to a given purpose. The ideas which succeed one another\nin the mind of a person who is writing a treatise on some subject,\nor striving to persuade or conciliate a tribunal or a deliberative\nassembly, are suggested one by another according to the general laws\nof association. Yet the ideas recalled are not those which would be\ncalled up on any common occasion by the same antecedents, but are\nthose only which connect themselves in the writer's or speaker's\nmind with the end which he is aiming at. The reason is, that the\nvarious ideas of the train are not solitary in his mind, but there\ncoexists with all of them (in a greater or less degree of constancy\naccording to the quality of the mind) the highly interesting idea of\nthe end in view: and the presence of this idea causes each of the\nideas which pass through his mind while so engaged, to suggest such\nof the ideas associated with them as are also associated with the\nidea of the end, and not to suggest those which have no association\nwith it. The ideas all follow one another in an associated train,\neach calling up by association the one which immediately follows it;\nbut the perpetual presence or continual recurrence of the idea of\nthe end, determines, within certain limits, which of the ideas\nassociated with each link of the chain shall be aroused and form the\nnext link. When we come to the author's analysis of the power of the\nWill over our ideas, we shall find him taking exactly this view of\nit.\n\nConcerning the simultaneous existence of many ideas in the mind, and\nthe manner in which they modify each other's exercise of the\nsuggesting power, there is an able and instructive passage in\nCardaillac's Etudes El\u00e9mentaires de Philosophie, which has been\ntranslated and quoted by Sir William Hamilton in his Lectures, and\nwhich, being highly illustrative of the preceding remarks, I think\nit useful to subjoin.\n\n\"Among psychologists, those who have written on Memory and\nReproduction with the greatest detail and precision, have still\nfailed in giving more than a meagre outline of these operations.\nThey have taken account only of the notions which suggest each other\nwith a distinct and palpable notoriety. They have viewed the\nassociations only in the order in which language is competent to\nexpress them; and as language, which renders them still more\npalpable and distinct, can only express them in a consecutive order,\ncan only express them one after another, they have been led to\nsuppose that thoughts only awaken in succession. Thus, a series of\nideas mutually associated, resembles, on the doctrine of\nphilosophers, a chain in which every link draws up that which\nfollows; and it is by means of these links that intelligence labours\nthrough, in the act of reminiscence, to the end which it proposes to\nattain.\n\n\"There are some, indeed, among them, who are ready to acknowledge,\nthat every actual circumstance is associated to several fundamental\nnotions, and consequently to several chains, between which the mind\nmay choose; they admit even that every link is attached to several\nothers, so that the whole forms a kind of trellis,--a kind of\nnetwork, which the mind may traverse in every direction, but still\nalways in a single direction at once,--always in a succession\nsimilar to that of speech. This manner of explaining reminiscence is\nfounded solely on this,--that, content to have observed all that is\ndistinctly manifest in the phenomenon, they have paid no attention\nto the under-play of the latescent activities,--paid no attention to\nall that custom conceals, and conceals the more effectually in\nproportion as it is more completely blended with the natural\nagencies of mind.\n\n\"Thus their theory, true in itself, and setting out from a\nwell-established principle, the Association of Ideas, explains in a\nsatisfactory manner a portion of the phenomena of Reminiscence; but\nit is incomplete, for it is unable to account for the prompt, easy,\nand varied operations of this faculty, or for all the marvels it\nperforms. On the doctrine of the philosophers, we can explain how a\nscholar repeats, without hesitation, a lesson he has learned, for\nall the words are associated in his mind according to the order in\nwhich he has studied them; how he demonstrates a geometrical\ntheorem, the parts of which are connected together in the same\nmanner: these and similar reminiscences of simple successions\npresent no difficulties which the common doctrine cannot resolve.\nBut it is impossible, on this doctrine, to explain the rapid and\ncertain movement of thought, which, with a marvellous facility,\npasses from one order of subjects to another, only to return again\nto the first; which advances, retrogrades, deviates, and reverts,\nsometimes marking all the points on its route, again clearing, as if\nin play, immense intervals; which runs over, now in a manifest\norder, now in a seeming irregularity, all the notions relative to an\nobject, often relative to several, between which no connection could\nbe suspected; and this without hesitation, without uncertainty,\nwithout error, as the hand of a skilful musician expatiates over the\nkeys of the most complex organ. All this is inexplicable on the\nmeagre and contracted theory on which the phenomena of reproduction\nhave been thought explained. . . . . . .\n\n\"To form a correct notion of the phenomena of Reminiscence, it is\nrequisite that we consider under what conditions it is determined to\nexertion. In the first place it is to be noted that, at every crisis\nof our existence, momentary circumstances are the causes which\nawaken our activity, and set our recollection at work to supply the\nnecessaries of thought. In the second place, it is as constituting a\nwant, (and by want I mean the result either of an act of desire or\nof volition) that the determining circumstance tends principally to\nawaken the thoughts with which it is associated. This being the\ncase, we should expect, that each circumstance which constitutes a\nwant, should suggest, likewise, the notion of the object, or\nobjects, proper to satisfy it; and this is what actually happens. It\nis, however, further to be observed, that it is not enough that the\nwant suggests the idea of the object; for if that idea were alone,\nit would remain without effect, since it could not guide me in the\nprocedure I should follow. It is necessary, at the same time, that\nto the idea of this object there should be associated the notion of\nthe relation of this object to the want, of the place where I may\nfind it, of the means by which I may procure it, and turn it to\naccount, &c. For instance, I wish to make a quotation:--This want\nawakens in me the idea of the author in whom the passage is to be\nfound which I am desirous of citing; but this idea would be\nfruitless, unless there were conjoined, at the same time, the\nrepresentation of the volume, of the place where I may obtain it, of\nthe means I must employ, &c.\n\n\"Hence I infer, in the first place, that a want does not awaken an\nidea of its object alone, but that it awakens it accompanied with a\nnumber, more or less considerable, of accessory notions, which form,\nas it were, its train or attendance. This train may vary according\nto the nature of the want which suggests the notion of an object;\nbut the train can never fall wholly off, and it becomes more\nindissolubly attached to the object, in proportion as it has been\nmore frequently called up in attendance.\n\n\"I infer, in the second place, that this accompaniment of accessory\nnotions, simultaneously suggested with the principal idea, is far\nfrom being as vividly and distinctly represented in consciousness as\nthat idea itself; and when these accessories have once been\ncompletely blended with the habits of the mind, and its reproductive\nagency, they at length finally disappear, becoming fused, as it\nwere, in the consciousness of the idea to which they are attached.\nExperience proves this double effect of the habits of reminiscence.\nIf we observe our operations relative to the gratification of a\nwant, we shall perceive that we are far from having a clear\nconsciousness of the accessory notions; the consciousness of them\nis, as it were, obscured, and yet we cannot doubt that they are\npresent to the mind, for it is they that direct our procedure in all\nits details.\n\n\"We must, therefore, I think, admit that the thought of an object\nimmediately suggested by a desire, is always accompanied by an\nescort more or less numerous of accessory thoughts, equally present\nto the mind, though, in general, unknown in themselves to\nconsciousness; that these accessories are not without their\ninfluence in guiding the operations elicited by the principal\nnotion; and it may even be added that they are so much the more\ncalculated to exert an effect in the conduct of our procedure, in\nproportion as, having become more part and parcel of our habits of\nreproduction, the influences they exert are further withdrawn, in\nordinary, from the ken of consciousness. . . . The same thing may be\nillustrated by what happens to us in the case of reading. Originally\neach word, each letter, was a separate object of consciousness. At\nlength, the knowledge of letters and words and lines being, as it\nwere, fused into our habits, we no longer have any distinct\nconsciousness of them, as severally concurring to the result, of\nwhich alone we are conscious. But that each word and letter has its\neffect,--an effect which can at any moment become an object of\nconsciousness,--is shewn by the following experiment. If we look\nover a book for the occurrence of a particular name or word, we\nglance our eye over a page from top to bottom, and ascertain, almost\nin a moment, that it is or is not to be found therein. Here the mind\nis hardly conscious of a single word, but that of which it is in\nquest; but yet it is evident, that each other word and letter must\nhave produced an obscure effect, which effect the mind was ready to\ndiscriminate and strengthen, so as to call it into clear\nconsciousness, whenever the effect was found to be that which the\nletters of the word sought for could determine. But if the mind be\nnot unaffected by the multitude of letters and words which it\nsurveys, if it be able to ascertain whether the combination of\nletters constituting the word it seeks, be or be not actually among\nthem, and all this without any distinct consciousness of all it\ntries and finds defective; why may we not suppose,--why are we not\nbound to suppose, that the mind may, in like manner, overlook its\nbook of memory, and search among its magazines of latescent\ncognitions for the notions of which it is in want, awakening these\ninto consciousness, and allowing the others to remain in their\nobscurity?\n\n\"A more attentive consideration of the subject will show, that we\nhave not yet divined the faculty of Reminiscence in its whole\nextent. Let us make a single reflection. Continually struck by\nrelations of every kind, continually assailed by a crowd of\nperceptions and sensations of every variety, and, at the same time,\noccupied by a complement of thoughts; we experience at once, and we\nare more or less distinctly conscious of, a considerable number of\nwants,--wants, sometimes real, sometimes factitious or\nimaginary,--phenomena, however, all stamped with the same\ncharacters, and all stimulating us to act with more or less energy.\nAnd as we choose among the different wants which we would satisfy,\nas well as among the different means of satisfying that want which\nwe determine to prefer; and as the motives of this preference are\ntaken either from among the principal ideas relative to each of\nthese several wants, or from among the accessory ideas which habit\nhas established into their necessary escorts;--in all these cases it\nis requisite, that all the circumstances should at once, and from\nthe moment they have taken the character of wants, produce an\neffect, correspondent to that which, we have seen, is caused by each\nin particular. Hence we are compelled to conclude, that the\ncomplement of the circumstances by which we are thus affected, has\nthe effect of rendering always present to us, and consequently of\nplacing at our disposal, an immense number of thoughts; some of\nwhich certainly are distinctly recognised, being accompanied by a\nvivid consciousness, but the greater number of which, although\nremaining latent, are not the less effective in continually\nexercising their peculiar influence on our modes of judging and\nacting.\n\n\"We might say, that each of these momentary circumstances is a kind\nof electric shock which is communicated to a certain portion, to a\ncertain limited sphere, of intelligence; and the sum of all these\ncircumstances is equal to so many shocks which, given at once at so\nmany different points, produce a general agitation. We may form some\nrude conception of this phenomenon by an analogy. We may compare it,\nin the former case, to those concentric circles which are presented\nto our observation on a smooth sheet of water, when its surface is\nagitated by throwing in a pebble; and, in the latter case, to the\nsame surface when agitated by a number of pebbles thrown\nsimultaneously at different points.\n\n\"To obtain a clearer notion of this phenomenon, I may add some\nobservations on the relation of our thoughts among themselves, and\nwith the determining circumstances of the moment.\n\n\"1\u00b0. Among the thoughts, notions, or ideas which belong to the\ndifferent groups attached to the principal representations\nsimultaneously awakened, there are some reciprocally connected by\nrelations proper to themselves; so that, in this whole complement of\ncoexistent activities, these tend to excite each other to higher\nvigour, and consequently to obtain for themselves a kind of\npre-eminence in the group or particular circle of activity to which\nthey belong.\n\n\"2\u00b0. There are thoughts associated, whether as principals or\naccessories, to a greater number of determining circumstances, or to\ncircumstances which recur more frequently. Hence they present\nthemselves oftener than the others, they enter more completely into\nour habits, and take, in a more absolute manner, the character of\ncustomary or habitual notions. It hence results, that they are less\nobtrusive, though more energetic, in their influence, enacting, as\nthey do, a principal part in almost all our deliberations; and\nexercising a stronger influence on our determinations.\n\n\"3\u00b0. Among this great crowd of thoughts, simultaneously excited,\nthose which are connected with circumstances which more vividly\naffect us, assume not only the ascendant over others of the same\ndescription with themselves, but likewise predominate over all those\nwhich are dependent on circumstances of a feebler determining\ninfluence.\n\n\"From these three considerations we ought, therefore, to infer, that\nthe thoughts connected with circumstances on which our attention is\nmore specially concentrated, are those which prevail over the\nothers; for the effect of attention is to render dominant and\nexclusive the object on which it is directed, and during the moment\nof attention it is the circumstance to which we attend that\nnecessarily obtains the ascendant.\n\n\"Thus, if we appreciate correctly the phenomena of Reproduction or\nReminiscence, we shall recognise, as an incontestable fact, that our\nthoughts suggest each other not one by one successively, as the\norder to which language is astricted might lead us to infer; but\nthat the complement of circumstances under which we at every moment\nexist, awakens simultaneously a great number of thoughts; these it\ncalls into the presence of the mind, either to place them at our\ndisposal, if we find it requisite to employ them, or to make them\nco-operate in our deliberations by giving them, according to their\nnature and our habits, an influence, more or less active, on our\njudgments and consequent acts.\n\n\"It is also to be observed, that in this great crowd of thoughts\nalways present to the mind, there is only a small number of which we\nare distinctly conscious: and that in this small number we ought to\ndistinguish those which, being clothed in language, oral or mental,\nbecome the objects of a more fixed attention; those which hold a\ncloser relation to circumstances more impressive than others; or\nwhich receive a predominant character by the more vigorous attention\nwe bestow on them. As to the others, although not the objects of\nclear consciousness, they are nevertheless present to the mind,\nthere to perform a very important part as motive principles of\ndetermination; and the influence which they exert in this capacity\nis even the more powerful in proportion as it is less apparent,\nbeing more disguised by habit.\" (Sir William Hamilton's Lectures on\nMetaphysics, vol. ii. Lecture xxxii.)--_Ed._]\n\n{70} This, then, is all which seems necessary to be said respecting\nthe occasions on which we apply Relative {71} Terms, and to show\nwhat it is which they distinctively mark, in the trains of our\nsensations and ideas.\n\n{72} ABSTRACT RELATIVE TERMS.\n\nFrom the _Concrete relative_ terms, _Abstract_ terms are formed, in\nthe same manner as Abstract terms are {73} *formed from other\nConcrete terms. Thus from equal, we have equally; from unequal,\nunequally; from {74} like, likeness; from unlike, unlikeness; from\nfriend, friendship; and so on.\n\n{75} After what has been said about abstract terms in general, it\nwill not be very difficult to mark what is {76} peculiar in the\nnature of this species of them. We have seen that concrete, are\nconnotative, terms; and {77} that their corresponding abstracts have\nthe same meaning with the concretes, that which is connoted {78}\nbeing left out. White, for example, has a notation, and a\nconnotation. It notes a quality, and it connotes {79} something\nelse, that which is white. The abstract whiteness marks what is\n_noted_ by the concrete, but not what is _connoted_.\n\nWe are now to see, in what manner this applies to relative terms.\nI call two things like: two sensations, for example; let us say,\nsensations of red. I call sensation A, like sensation B; and, of\ncourse, sensation B, like sensation A. It is here more easy to\nobserve distinctly what is connoted, than what is noted. What is\nconnoted are the two sensations. They are clear and simple. What is\nnoted is what we call their likeness. What is that? We have\nremarked, that, in having two sensations, the _distinguishing_ them\none {80} from another is included; it is part of the compound\nprocess: And that in having two sensations--red, red, and two\nsensations red, green, the distinguishing the succession red, red,\nfrom the succession red, green, is included; it being part of the\nprocess, which, though in this case compound, and on that account\nobscure, is not the less wholly sensation. In the process of\nsensation, then, that part which consists in distinguishing one as\none, another as another, and in distinguishing one succession from\nanother; red, red, for example, from red, green,--is the part which\nis noted by the words like and unlike. The thing noted is not a\ndistinct sensation, it is part of a process of sensation, and a part\nwhich, being never experienced separate by itself, it is very\ndifficult to make a distinct subject of attention. Even that part of\nthe process which consists in distinguishing, is to be distinguished\ninto two parts. There is that part which consists in distinguishing\nthe sensations from one another, as one, and one; and there is that\npart which consists in distinguishing the two, red, and red, from\nthe two, red, and green. It is this _latter part_ which is _noted_\nby the terms like and unlike. What is _connoted_ is all _the rest of\nthe process_. When, therefore, we make abstracts, from the terms\nlike and unlike; that is, cut off the connotative part of their\nmeaning, retaining the notative only; it is the part of the process\nwhich consists in distinguishing, not one and one, but two and two,\nwhich the terms distinctively mark.\n\nWe have also seen, and remarked, that having two sensations, one\nafter another, and knowing them to be first one and then another, is\na process of sensation and association. The pair of relatives, prior\nand {81} posterior, or antecedent and consequent, taken together,\nnames the whole of the process; each pair is in reality a compound\nname of a complex idea, that of a certain process, the process of\nhaving two ideas in succession, in which process the being sensible\nof the successiveness is part. By all concrete relatives, something\nis noted, something connoted. In the process which is marked by the\nrelatives prior and posterior, part is noted, part connoted; and the\npart which is noted, is the part which it is difficult to make a\nseparate object of attention,--the part which consists in being\nsensible of the successiveness, for which we have not a name. By its\nnotation and connotation, taken together, each of the terms, prior,\nand posterior, is a name of something, and that something is very\ndistinct; prior is a name of the first sensation and something else;\nposterior is a name of the second sensation, and something else. It\nis by connotation, however, that each is the name of its respective\nsensation. Their notative power relates to the something else, and\nnot to the whole of that; because prior and posterior, beside\nconnoting, each its own sensation, connote one another. The notation\nand connotation, therefore, are divided between them, in a manner\nwhich renders it difficult to shew what belongs to each. We have not\nnames adapted to the purpose.\n\nThe word prior notes something, and connotes something. When we make\nfrom it the abstract term priority; what was connoted by the\nconcrete, prior, is dropped; what was noted by it is retained. In\nthe succession of ideas A, and B, priority is not the name of A, it\nis the name of that part of the compound process, which consists in\nknowing A, as the {82} first of the two; posteriority is not the\nname of B, but of that part of the compound process, which consists\nin knowing B, as the last of the two.\n\nThere is a peculiarity, however, in the abstract terms formed from\nthe relative concrete terms. These abstract terms are not, as\nwhiteness, hardness, wholly void of connotation. They have a\nconnotation of their own. The abstract of one relative of a pair,\nalways connotes the abstract of the other; thus, priority always\nconnotes posteriority, and posteriority priority.\n\nThis constitutes a distinction, worth observing, between the force\nof the abstracts formed from the pairs of relatives which consist of\ndifferent names, as prior, posterior; cause, effect; father, son;\nhusband, wife;--and those which consist of the same name, as equal,\nequal; like, like; brother, brother; friend, friend; and so on.\nPriority and Posteriority make together a compound name of\nsomething, of which, taken separately, each is not a name;\nCausingness and Causedness, the abstracts of cause and effect, make\nup between them the name of something, of which each by itself is\nnot a name, and so of the rest. The case is different with such\nabstracts as likeness, equality, friendship, formed from pairs which\nconsist of the same name. When we call A like, and B like; the\nabstract, likeness, formed from the one, connotes merely the\nabstract, likeness, formed from the other. Thus, as priority and\nposteriority make a compound name, so, likeness and likeness, make a\ncompound name. But as likeness and likeness are merely a\nreduplication of the same word, likeness taken once very often\nsignifies the same as likeness taken twice. Priority never signifies\nas much as priority and {83} posteriority taken together; but\nlikeness taken alone very often signifies as much as likeness,\nlikeness, taken both together. Likeness has thus a sort of a double\nmeaning. Sometimes it signifies only what is marked by the abstract\nof one of the pair, \"like, like;\" sometimes it signifies what is\nmarked by the abstracts of both taken together. The same observation\napplies to the abstracts equality, inequality; sameness, difference;\nbrotherhood, sisterhood; friendship, hostility; and so on.[19]\n\n[Editor's footnote 19: The exposition here given of the meaning of\nabstract relative names is in substance unexceptionable; but in\nlanguage it remains open to the criticism I have, several times,\nmade. Instead of saying, with the author, that the abstract name\ndrops the connotation of the corresponding concrete, it would, in\nthe language I prefer, be said to drop the denotation, and to be a\nname directly denoting what the concrete name connotes, namely, the\ncommon property or properties that it predicates: the likeness, the\nunlikeness, the fact of preceding, the fact of following, &c.\n\nWhen the author says that abstract relative names differ from other\nabstract names in not being wholly void of connotation, inasmuch as\nthey connote their correlatives, priority connoting posteriority,\nand posteriority priority, he deserts the specific meaning which he\nhas sought to attach to the word connote, and falls back upon the\nloose and general sense in which everything implied by a term is\nsaid to be connoted by it. But in this large sense of the word (as\nI have more than once remarked) it is not true that non-relative\nabstract names have no connotation. Every abstract name--every name\nof the character which is given by the terminations _ness_,\n_tion_, and the like--carries with it a uniform implication that\nwhat it is predicated of is an attribute of something else; not a\nsensation or a thought in and by itself, but a sensation or thought\nregarded as one of, or as accompanying or following, some permanent\ncluster of sensations or thoughts.--_Ed._]\n\n{84} Among the abstract terms corresponding to relative concretes,\nthose corresponding to cause and effect, are the only ones which, on\naccount of their importance, require to be somewhat more\nparticularly expounded.\n\nCause and Effect have not abstract terms formed immediately from\nthemselves. One of the grand causes of their obscurity is, that they\nare not constant in their meaning, but are sometimes used as\nconcretes, sometimes as their own abstracts.\n\nCause means \"something _causing_;\" effect, \"something _caused_.\"\nCausingness, therefore, is the proper abstract of cause; and\ncausedness, the proper abstract of effect. Of two objects, A, and B,\nwe call the one causing, the other caused, when they are not only\nprior and posterior, but parts of the same series; and, if we speak\nstrictly, proximate parts. Of proximate parts of the same series, we\ncall the antecedent, causing; the consequent, caused. Causingness,\nand causedness, therefore, mean antecedence and consequence, and\nsomething more. The ideas are more complex. Causingness and\ncausedness, mean, not only antecedence and consequence, but also\nsameness of series, and proximity of parts.\n\nAs we have seen, that priority and posteriority, taken together,\nform a compound name of a certain complex idea, so causingness and\ncausedness, taken together, form the compound name of a still more\ncomplex idea. Having frequent occasion to express that idea, a\nseparate name for it was found necessary. Accordingly, we have the\nterm Power, which means precisely what is meant by causingness and\ncausedness taken together. Causation has the same {85} meaning with\nPower, except that it connotes present time; Power connotes\nindefinite time.[20]\n\n[Editor's footnote 20: The term Causation, as the author observes,\nsignifies causingness and causedness taken together, but I do not\nsee on what ground he asserts that it connotes present time. To my\nthinking, it is as completely aoristic as Power. Power, again, seems\nto me to express, not causingness and causedness taken together, but\ncausingness only. Some of the older philosophers certainly talked of\npassive power, but neither in the precise language of modern\nphilosophy nor in common speech is an effect said to have the power\nof being produced, but only the capacity or capability. The power is\nalways conceived as belonging to the cause only. When any\nco-operating power is supposed to reside in the thing said to be\nacted upon, it is because some active property in that thing is\ncounted as a con-cause--as a part of the total cause.--_Ed._]\n\nThe connotation of _Time_, by abstract terms, is a circumstance\nalmost always overlooked, but of which the observation is of the\nutmost importance to accuracy of thought.\n\nWhen we have invented a number of marks to be taken in pairs, as\nlike, like; equal, equal; antecedent, consequent; master, servant;\nhusband, wife; father, son; owner, property; author, book; cause,\neffect; and so on; we have occasion for a name by which to speak of\nthat class of names. We have invented such a name. We call those\nterms \"Relative Terms.\"\n\nThe word \"Relative,\" thus belongs to that class of names, which have\nbeen called \"Names of Names.\" As man, tree, stone, are names of\nthings, of those clusters which we call objects; as red, green,\nhard, soft, are names of sensations; as courage, wisdom, {86} anger,\nlove, are names of complex ideas arbitrarily composed; so adjective\nis the name of one class of names, verb the name of another class of\nnames; syllable, is the name of one part of a word, letter of\nanother; and so, also, relative is the name of the class of words\nwhich have this peculiarity, that they are taken in pairs. Thus,\nfather and son, are relative terms; prior and posterior, are\nrelative terms; like and like, are relative terms; so equal, equal;\nunequal, unequal; brother, brother; friend, friend; and so on.\n\nRelative itself corresponds with the names which it marks, in its\nbeing one of a pair; of that species of pairs, which are formed by a\ndouble use of the same word, as like, like. When we say of father\nand son, that they are relative terms, we mean that father is\nrelative to son, and son relative to father.\n\nAs _relative_ is the name of all concrete names, taken in pairs,\nsuch as like, like; friend, friend; causing, caused; so the abstract\nrelation, formed from relative, is the name given to all the\nabstract terms formed from the concrete relatives: thus, equality,\ninequality, friendship, power, are abstract terms, which we call by\na general name, relation. As Noun is the name of a certain class of\nwords, so \"Relation,\" is the name of a certain class of words.\n\nIt is not, however, meant to be affirmed, that relative and\nrelation, are not names which are also applied to things. In a\ncertain vague, and indistinct way, they are very frequently so\napplied. This, however, is strictly speaking, an abuse of the terms,\nand an abuse which has been a great cause of confusion of ideas. In\nthis way, it is said, of two brothers, that {87} they are relative;\nof father and son, that they are relative; of two objects, that they\nare relative in position, relative in time; we speak of the relation\nbetween two men, when they are father and son, master and servant;\nbetween two objects, when they are greater, less, like, unlike,\nnear, distant, and so on.\n\nWhat, however, we really mean, when we call two objects relative\n(and that is a thing which it is of great importance to mark) is,\nthat these objects have, or may have, relative names. On what\naccounts we give them relative names, has just been explained, and\nthe explanation need not be repeated. When we say that Socrates and\nthe Emperor Napoleon are unlike, the men are, each, a man, distinct,\nseparate, absolute. We only give them a pair of related names, for\nthe convenience of discourse. In like manner, Charles I. and George\nIV. are separate, distinct, absolute individuals. We only give them\nthe relative names Predecessor, Successor, for the convenience of\ndiscourse, to mark the place which they occupied in a certain series\nof events. From this appears also what is meant, when we say of two\nobjects, that they have a relation to one another. The meaning is,\nthat the objects may have relative names, and that these names may\nhave abstracts which we call relation. Thus we say that two brothers\nhave a relation to one another. That relation is brotherhood. But\nbrotherhood is merely the abstract of the relative names. We say\nthat father and son have a relation. That relation is fathership and\nsonship. These are merely the abstracts of the two relative names.\nWe say of two events, a stab with a sword, and death of the person\nstabbed, that they have a relation to one another. That relation is\n{88} causingness and causedness, the abstract of cause and effect,\nor, in one word, power.[21]\n\n[Editor's footnote 21: The application of the word Relative to\nThings is not only an offence against philosophy, but against\npropriety of language. The correct designation for Things which are\ncalled by relative names, is not Relative, but Related. A Thing may,\nwith perfect propriety both of thought and of language, be said to\nbe related to another thing, or to have a relation with it--indeed\nto be related to all things, and to have a prodigious variety of\nrelations with all; because every fact that takes place, either in\nnature or in human thought, which includes or involves a plurality\nof Things, is the _fundamentum_ of a special relation of those\nThings with one another: not to mention the relations of likeness or\nunlikeness, of priority or posteriority, which exist between each\nThing and all other Things whatever. It is in this sense that it is\nsaid, with truth, that Relations exhaust all phenomena, and that all\nwe know, or can know, of anything, is some of its relations to other\nthings or to us.--_Ed._]\n\n\n{89} SECTION III.\n\nNUMBERS.\n\n\nWe have already observed, that objects exist, with respect to us, in\ntwo orders; in the synchronous order, and the successive order; and\nthat we have great occasion for marks to represent them to us as\nthey exist in both orders. We have also to observe, that the\nsynchronous order, the order in which things exist together; that\nis, as we otherwise name it, the order of position, or the order in\nplace; is interesting to us chiefly on account of the successive\norder. The order in which objects *succeed one another, that is, the\norder of the changes which take place, the order of events, depends\nalmost entirely upon the synchronous order. In other words, the\nsynchronous order is part of every successive order; it is the\nantecedent of every consequent; or as we otherwise express it, the\ncause of every effect. Thus the synchronous order, or the order in\nplace, of the spark and the gunpowder, is the antecedent of the\nexplosion; the synchronous order of my finger and the candle, is the\nantecedent or the cause of the pain which I feel.\n\nIn regard to the explosion, also, it is less or greater, according\nas the quantity of the gunpowder is less or greater. Of the\nsynchronous order, therefore, one part which I am particularly\ninterested in knowing correctly is, the amount of the things. A\ncertain amount of gunpowder produces one set of effects, another\n{90} another: a certain amount of men produce one set of effects,\nanother another; and so of all other things.\n\nIt is of the last importance to me not only to be able to ascertain,\nand know, these amounts, with accuracy, but to be able to mark them.\n\nFor ascertaining and knowing amounts, some contrivance is requisite.\nIt is necessary to conceive some small amount, by the addition or\nsubtraction of which, another becomes larger or smaller. This forms\nthe instrument of ascertainment. Where one thing, taken separately,\nis of sufficient importance to form this instrument, it is taken.\nThus, for ascertaining and knowing different amounts of men, one\nindividual is of sufficient importance. Amounts of men are\nconsidered as increased or diminished by the addition or subtraction\nof individuals. A grain of gunpowder might also be taken; but it is\nnot of sufficient importance; the quantity, taken as the instrument\nof measurement, must have an ascertainable influence upon the\neffect, for the sake of which, the ascertaining of the amount is of\nimportance. In their simple state, men use principally the hand for\ntheir elementary ascertainments. A pinch, or as much as could be\nheld between the finger and the thumb, was a small amount distinctly\nconceived, and formed the principle of measurement where small\nadditions were important; a handful was not less distinctively\nconceived, and was the instrument, where only larger additions were\nof importance.\n\nWhen one addition was made, or needed to be made, after another, and\nanother after that, and so on, the next point of importance was to\nconceive exactly how often the addition was made. A few {91}\nadditions are distinct to sense. Place one billiard-ball by another,\nthe sight of the two is distinct. Place three or four, it is still\ndistinct. Soon, however, it ceases to be so. Place a dozen, and you\nwill not probably be able to distinguish them from eleven. You must\ncount them, or divide them. If you divide them by the eye, into two\nparcels, you may see that one is six and another six; but to benefit\nby this, you must know the art of putting six and six together.\n\nThe next step, therefore, necessary in the process of ascertaining\namounts, was, to mark these additions, one after another, in such a\nmanner, as to make known to what extent they had gone. When men were\nfamiliar with the operation of assigning names as marks of their\nideas, the course which would suggest itself to them is obvious;\nthey would employ a name as the mark of each addition. They would\nsay, one, for the first, two, for the second, three, for the third,\nand so on. These marks it was very useful to make connotative, that\nthe other important ingredient of the process, the thing added,\nmight be made known at the same time. Thus we say, one man, two men;\none horse, two horses; and so of all other things, the enumeration\nof which we are performing.\n\nNumbers, therefore, are not names of objects. They are names of a\ncertain process; the process of addition; of putting one\nbilliard-ball to another; not more mysterious than any other\nprocess, as walking, writing, reading, to which names are assigned.\nOne, is the name of this once performed, or of the aggregation\nbegun; two, the name of it once more performed; three, of it once\nmore performed; and so on. The words, however, in these concrete\nforms, beside {92} their power in noting this process, connote\nsomething else, namely, the things, whatever they are, the\nenumeration of which is required.\n\nIn the case of these connotative, as of other connotative marks, it\nwas of great use to have the means of dropping the connotation; and\nin this case, it would have been conducive to clearness of ideas, if\nthe non-connotative terms had received a mark to distinguish them\nfrom the connotative. This advantage, however, the framers of\nnumbers were not sufficiently philosophical to provide. The same\nnames are used both as connotative, and non-connotative; that is,\nboth as abstract, and concrete; and it is far from being obvious, on\nall occasions, in which of the two senses they are used. They are\nused in the connotative sense, when joined as adjectives with a\nsubstantive; as when we say two men, three women; but it is not so\nobvious that they are used in the abstract sense, when we say three\nand two make five; or when we say fifty is a great number, five is a\nsmall number. Yet it must, upon consideration, appear, that in these\ncases they are abstract terms merely; in place of which, the words\noneness, twoness, threeness, might be substituted. Thus we might\nsay, twoness and threeness are fiveness.[22] [23]\n\n[Editor's footnote 22: The vague manner in which the author uses the\nphrase \"to be a name of\" (a vagueness common to almost all thinkers\nwho have not precise terms expressing the two modes of signification\nwhich I call denotation and connotation, and employed for nothing\nelse) has led him, in the present case, into a serious misuse of\nterms. Numbers _are_, in the strictest propriety, names of objects.\n_Two_ is surely a name of the things which are two, the two balls,\nthe two fingers, &c. The process of adding one to one which forms\ntwo is connoted, not denoted, by the name two. Numerals, in short,\nare concrete, not abstract names: they denote the actual collections\nof things, and connote the mental process of counting them. It is\nnot twoness and threeness that are fiveness: the twoness of my two\nhands and the threeness of the feet of the table cannot be added\ntogether to form another abstraction. It is two balls added to three\nballs that make, in the concrete, five balls. Numerals are a class\nof concrete general names predicable of all things whatever, but\nconnoting, in each case, the quantitative relation of the thing to\nsome fixed standard, as previously explained by the author.--_Ed._]\n\n[Grote's footnote 23: Here the process of numeration generally,\ntogether with the function of numbers carrying their separate names,\nare clearly set forth; after which we find the remark, that no\ndistinction is made in the name of the number, when used as an\nabstract and when used as a concrete. Mr. James Mill thinks that it\nwould have been conducive to clearness if such distinction had been\nmarked by an inflexion of the name. \"The names of numbers are used\nin the connotative (concrete) sense, when joined as adjectives with\na substantive, as when we say, two men, three men: but it is not so\nobvious that they are used in the abstract sense, when we say three\nand two make five: or when we say fifty is a great number, five is a\nsmall number. Yet it must upon consideration appear, that in these\ncases they are abstract terms merely: in place of which, the words\noneness, twoness, threeness, might be substituted. Thus we might\nsay, twoness and threeness are fiveness.\"\n\nThe last part of what is here affirmed cannot, in my judgment, be\nsustained. Connecting itself with one among the many arguments\nbetween Aristotle and Plato, it lays down a position from which both\nof them would have dissented. In the last book but one (Book M) of\nAristotle's \"Metaphysica,\" this argument will be found set forth at\nlength; though with much obscurity, which is cleared up by the lucid\ncommentary of Bonitz. Plato distinguished two classes of\nnumbers--the mathematical, and the ideal. The first class were the\nQuanta of equal and homogeneous units (One, Two, Three, &c.), any or\nall of which might be added so as to coalesce into one total sum.\nThe second class were, the ideal or abstract numbers, Two _quatenus_\nTwo, &c., represented by Dyad, Triad, Tetrad, Pentad, Dekad, &c.,\nthe characteristic property of which was, that they could not be\nadded together nor coalesce into one sum. These were uncombinable\nnumbers, \"[Greek a)rithmoi\\ a)su/mbl\u00eatoi]--numeri inconsociabiles.\"--\nSee Aristot. Metaph. M. 6. 1080. b. 12. Bonitz Comment. p. 540,\n541, seq.\n\nPlato regarded these uncombinable numbers as the highest\nrepresentative specimens or coryph\u00e6i of the Platonic Ideas. In this\ncharacter Aristotle reasoned against them, contending that they did\nnothing to remove the many objections against Plato's ideal theory.\nWith the question thus opened, I have no present concern: all that\nI wish to point out is the view which Plato originated and upon which\nAristotle reasoned, viz.: That these ideal or abstract numbers could\nnot be added together, or fused into one sum total. The abstract\nterm Twoness means Two _so far forth as two_: so also Threeness and\nFiveness. You cannot truly predicate anything of Twoness which would\nbe inconsistent with this fundamental characteristic: you cannot add\nit to Threeness so as to make Fiveness, nor can you subdivide\nFiveness into Twoness and Threeness, without suppressing the\nfundamental characteristic of each. Neither of them admit of\nincrease or diminution. In like manner, a Triangle, or every\nparticular Triangle, may have one of its sides taken away, or two\nmore sides added to it: on each of which suppositions it ceases to\nbe a triangle. But if we speak of a Triangle _so far forth as\nTriangle_, neither of these suppositions is admissible. We may say\nthat its three angles are equal to two right angles, but we cannot\nsubtract from it one of its sides, nor add to it one or two other\nsides. The subject of predication is so limited and specialised,\nthat no predicate can be allowed which would efface its\ncharacteristic feature--Triangularity.\n\nBonitz remarks truly that the class of numbers set forth by\nPlato--the ideal or uncombinable numbers which could not be either\nadded or subtracted--were divested of all the useful aptitudes and\nfunctions of numbers, and passed out of the category of Quantity\ninto that of Quality. The Triad was one quality; the Pentad was\nanother: there was no common measure into which both could be\nresolved (Bonitz, Comment. p. 540--553). _Two_, _three_, _five_, are\nquantifying names, designating each so many numerable units: and the\nunits counted in each list may be added to, or subtracted from, the\nunits counted in the others. But when we say, Twoness or the\nDyad--Threeness or the Triad--Fiveness or the Pentad--we then\nrecognise a peculiar quality, founded upon each separate variety of\naggregation or quantification: so that these separate varieties are\nno longer resolvable into any common measure of constituent units.\nEach quality stands apart from the others, and has its own\npredicates. In the view of Plato and the Pythagoreans, the Dekad\nespecially was invested with magnificent predicates.\n\nI cannot therefore agree with Mr. James Mill in his opinion that,\n\"when we say three and two make five, we use these numbers in the\nabstract sense.\" We clearly do not mean that three, _so far forth as\nthree_, and two, _so far forth as two_, make five. But this would be\nwhat we should mean, if we used these names of numbers in the\nabstract sense. What we do mean is, that the units constituting\nthree may be added to those constituting two, so as to make five:\nand that this is equally true, whether the units are men, horses,\nstones, or any other objects. Two, three, five, &c., are general or\nuniversal terms, capable of being joined with units of indefinite\nvariety: but they do not become abstract terms, until we limit them\nby _qu\u00e2tenus_, [Greek: katho/son, \u00ea(=|], _so far forth as_, &c., or\nby a suffix such as _ness_. Such abstracts would have been of little\nuse as to the ordinary functions of numbers; and accordingly they\nhave never got footing in familiar speech, though they are\noccasionally employed in metaphysical discussions.--_G._]\n\n{93} It is necessary to observe, that the process, marked by the\nnames called numbers, though used for the {94} purpose of\nascertaining synchronous order, is in the mind successive; one\naddition follows another. {95} Numbers, therefore, in reality, name\nsuccessions; and are easily applied to mark certain particulars of\nthe {96} successive order, when the marking of those particulars is\nof importance.\n\nIt is of importance, when successions take place all of one kind;\nand when consequences of importance depend upon the less or greater\nlength of the train. It is then of importance, to mark the degrees\nof that length, which is correctly done by the enumeration of the\nlinks.\n\nTo take a simple and familiar instance, that of the human steps.\nThey are successions all of one kind. Consequences of importance\nmay, and often do result from a knowledge of the length of any\nparticular series of steps. The ascertainment of an aggregate, in\nthis order, is made in the same way, as that which we have traced in\nthe synchronous order. An element of aggregation is taken; by its\nsuccessive aggregations, the amount of the aggregate is correctly\nconceived; and, by a proper mark for each successive aggregation, it\nis also correctly denoted. The continued successions of day and\nnight are all of one kind; and it is of the greatest importance for\nus to know accurately the length of a series of those successions;\nof the series between such and such events; between the sowing of\nthe seed in the ground, for example, and the maturity of the crop.\nThis is done, accurately, by putting a several mark upon each {97}\nseveral succession, one for the first, two for the one after that,\nthree for the one after that, and so on.\n\nIf there be no mystery in one sensation after another, or one idea\nafter another; and, if having them in that order and associating the\nidea of the antecedent with the sensation of the consequent be to\nknow that they are in that order; then there is no mystery in\nNumbers, for they are only marks to shew that one is after another.\n\nThat there is no mystery in the ideas of priority and posteriority,\nwhich are relative terms, has been shewn under the preceding head of\ndiscourse.\n\nThe word Number itself, which is only a name of the names, one, two,\n&c., nothing being a number but some one of those names, has also\nbeen explained, when the class of words which are distinguished as\nNames of Names was under consideration.\n\nIn using the terms, one, two, three, four, and so on, the object is\nto ascertain with precision, the amount of the aggregate in\nquestion. In some cases, however, it is of importance to ascertain\nthe order of aggregation, as well as the amount; and that, whether a\nsynchronous, or a successive, aggregate be the object in view. This\npurpose is answered by a set of names, called the ordinal numbers,\nwhich, applied to the units of aggregation in the order in which\nthey are taken, mark precisely the order of each. Thus, when we say,\nfirst, second, third, fourth, and so on; each of these concrete, or\nconnotative names, notes a certain position, if in the synchronous\norder; a certain link, if {98} in the successive; and connotes the\nprecise object which holds that position, or forms that link.\n\nAs there is no difficulty whatsoever in tracing the ideas, which, on\neach occasion, receive those marks, there is no need of multiplying\nwords in their illustration.\n\n\n{99} SECTION IV.\n\nPRIVATIVE TERMS.\n\n\nPrivative terms are distinguished from other terms, by this; that\nother terms are marks for objects, as present or existent; privative\nterms are marks for objects, as not present or not existent.[24]\n\n[Editor's footnote 24: The author gives the name of Privative terms\nto all those which are more commonly known by the designation of\nNegative; to all which signify non-existence or absence. It is usual\nto reserve the term Privative for names which signify not simple\nabsence, but the absence of something usually present, or of which\nthe presence might have been expected. Thus blind is classed as a\nprivative term, when applied to human beings. When applied to stocks\nand stones, which are not expected to see, it is an admitted\nmetaphor.\n\nThis, however, being understood, there is no difficulty in following\nthe author's exposition by means of his own language.--_Ed._]\n\nThus the word Light, is the mark of a certain well-known object, as\nexistent or present.\n\nThe word Darkness, on the contrary, is the mark of the same object,\nas not existent or not present. Ask any man, what he means by\ndarkness; he says the absence of light. But the absence of light, is\nonly another name for light absent; and light absent, is only\nanother name for light not present. Darkness, therefore, is another\nname for light not present.\n\nIt thus appears, that the idea called up by the {100} word light, is\nthat of a certain object associated with its presence; the idea\ncalled up by the word darkness, is that of the same object\nassociated with its absence.\n\nAfter the explanations which have been so often given, what I mean,\nwhen I speak of the idea of an object, as one thing; the idea of its\npresence, as another thing; ought not to be obscure. Its presence,\nis its existence; its absence, is its non-existence; at least, at a\nparticular time and place. What ideas and sensations I mark by the\nword existent, has already been explained. The word non-existent is\nthe mere negation of the same sensations and ideas.\n\nWe have repeatedly seen, that what we call existence, is an\ninference from our sensations. We have clusters of sensations; these\ncall up the ideas of antecedents, which we call qualities; these the\nidea of an antecedent common to all the qualities, which we call\n_Substratum_; and the _Substratum_, with its qualities, we call the\nObject.\n\nWhen we speak, then, of this _Substratum_ and its qualities, as\npresent, at a particular time and place: which is what we mean by\nits existence; what we affirm is this; that if there be sentient\norgans at such a time and place, there will be such and such\nsensations. When we speak of it as absent, we affirm, that though\nthere be sentient organs at such a time and place, there will not be\nthose sensations. These ideas, then, forming in combination a very\ncomplex idea, are what, in the respective cases, we call the\npresence, and the absence of an object. Any further analysis would\nbe superfluous in this place.\n\n{101} A law of some importance, which has been already explained,\nis, that in complex ideas there is very often some one part, so\nprominent, as to throw the rest into the shade, and confine the\nattention almost wholly to itself. There is a curious\nexemplification of this law, in the pair of cases before us. Thus,\nin the complex idea of \"the object and its presence,\" marked by the\nword Light, the object is the prominent part, and the presence is so\nhabitually neglected, that it is with some trouble it is recognised.\nThe case is reversed in the complex idea of \"the object and its\nabsence,\" marked by the word Darkness. In this, the absence is the\nprominent part, and it so completely engrosses the attention, that\nit requires reflection, to discover, that the idea of the object is\nnecessarily combined.\n\nThere is something more in these two cases, which it is of great\nimportance to remember. We have two sets of indissoluble\nassociations, both exceedingly numerous, the one with the idea of\nthe object as present, the other with the idea of it as absent; that\nis, the one set with light, the other set with darkness. Whenever we\nhave the perception of light, we habitually have, along with it, the\nperception of objects; that is, of all sorts of colours, all sorts\nof shapes, all sorts of magnitudes, all sorts of distances, and so\non. With the idea of light, then, are indissolubly associated the\nideas of all sorts of objects; of extension in all its\nmodifications, colour in all its modifications, motion in all its\nmodifications; the word light, therefore, serves as a name, not\nmerely of the fluid which acts upon the eye, but of that along with\nits innumerable associations. Such are the perceptions and {102}\nideas, which, when we have the perception of light, we have along\nwith it. What are the perceptions and ideas, which, when we have not\nthe perception of light, we have along with that state of privation?\nThere is, first, the want of all the perceptions, which we have\nalong with that of light. There is, next, the disagreeable\nsensations we experience from not knowing what objects are\napproaching us, either by our motions, or by theirs; hence the idea\nof dangerous objects approaching; hence, also, the inability to\nperform many of the acts which are conducive either to our being, or\nwell-being. With the idea of darkness, then, are indissolubly\nassociated a multitude of ideas, of pain, of privation, of weakness;\nall disagreeable; with little or no mixture of any of an opposite\nkind. And the word darkness, therefore, stands as a name not merely\nof light absent, but of that along with all the accompanying\nsensations and ideas.\n\nThe reader will observe, and it is necessary he should well observe,\nthat all terms might have corresponding privative terms. We have\nalready stated, that the ordinary names of objects are names both of\nthe object, and of its presence or existence, combined in one\ncomplex idea. Thus, rose, horse, are names of the objects as\npresent or existent. We might have had names of them as absent or\nnot existent. It is only, however, in a few cases, that the absence\nof an object is a matter of first-rate importance. It is only in\nthose cases that it has been found requisite to have for it a\nparticular name. The absence of light is obviously a case of the\ngreatest importance. Consequences of the very first order, and\ninfinite in number, {103} depend upon it. An appropriate name,\ntherefore, was of the highest utility.\n\nThis explanation will enable us to see, without a minute analysis,\nthe composition of the clusters marked by other Privative Terms.\n\nLet us take Silence, as the next example. Silence is the absence of\nsound, either all sound, which is sometimes its meaning; or of some\nparticular sound, which at other times is its meaning. Sound is the\nname of a well-known something, as present. Silence is the name of\nthe same well-known something, as absent. The first word, is the\nname of the thing, and its presence. The second, is the name of the\nthing, and its absence. In the case of the combination marked by the\nfirst, namely, the thing and its presence, the thing is the\nprominent part, and the presence generally escapes attention. In the\ncase of the second, the thing and its absence, the absence is the\nimportant part, and the thing is feebly, if at all, attended to.\n\nIgnorance is easily explained, in the same manner. Knowledge is the\nname of a certain well-known something, as present or existent.\nIgnorance is the name of the same well-known something, as absent or\nnonexistent.\n\nHaving a sensation, or an idea, is one state of consciousness; not\nhaving it is another state of consciousness.[2*] The state of\nconsciousness called \"not having\" {104} it is no doubt very various;\nfor it is any sensation or idea different from the one in question.\nThe \"Having\" one sensation and another sensation, or one idea and\nanother idea; and the \"Knowing\" that the one is not the other; we\nhave often observed to be the same thing. The great majority of\nnames are invented, to mark sensations and ideas as \"had;\" there\nare, however, cases, in which it is necessary to mark them as \"not\nhad.\" In what manner, in the more remarkable cases, this marking is\nperformed by privative names, has now been shewn. But, beside the\nmarks for particular cases, it was necessary to have a comprehensive\nor _general_ mark; which should include all cases, as well those\nprovided with particular names, as those not so provided. \"Absent\"\nwas such a word. \"Absent,\" standing by itself, and unrestricted by\nconnection with any other word, is a name of any thing, joined with\nthe idea of its not being _then_ and _there_. What is included in\nthat Idea has already been shewn in explaining Belief in Existence.\nThe mark \"Absent,\" joined with any particular name, becomes a\nparticular Privative Term. We have observed, that the word rose, is\na mark not merely of the thing, but the thing with the idea of its\npresence; we have also observed, that such Presence-affirming Terms,\nexcept {105} in remarkable cases, have not corresponding Privative,\nor Absence-affirming Terms. But if we say \"absent\" rose, we have a\nPrivative Term, double worded, indeed, instead of single worded,\nexactly corresponding to the Presence-affirming Term, rose. And, by\nthe use of the same word, we can form Privative Terms of this\ndescription, in all cases in which they can be wanted; thus we can\nsay, absent man, absent horse, absence of food, &c.\n\n[Mill's footnote 2: Mr. Locke recognised the fact, but gave an\nerroneous account of it: \"I should offer this as a reason why a\nprivative cause might produce a positive idea; _viz._, that, all\nsensation being produced in us, only by different degrees and modes\nof motion in our animal spirits, variously agitated by external\nobjects, the abatement of any former motion, must as necessarily\nproduce a new sensation, [for \"abatement of any former motion,\"\nread, ceasing of a particular sensation; and for \"new sensation,\"\nread, new feeling, or, new state of consciousness,] as the variation\nor increase of it: and so introduce a new idea. B. II. ch. viii. s.\n4.--(_Author's Note_.)]\n\nThe word Nothing, _Nihil_, is another _generical_ Privative Term.\nThat this word has a very important marking power, every man is\nsensible in the use which he makes of it. But if it marks, it names;\nthat is, names something. Yet it seems to remove every thing; that\nis, not to leave anything to be named.\n\nThe preceding explanations, however, have already cleared up this\nmystery. The word Nothing is the Privative Term which corresponds to\nEvery Thing. Every Thing is a name of all possible objects,\nincluding their existence. Nothing is a name of all possible\nobjects, including their non-existence.[25]\n\n[Editor's footnote 25: The analysis of the facts, in all these\ncases, is admirable, but I still demur to the language. I object to\nsaying, for instance, that silence is \"the name of sound and its\nabsence.\" It is not the name of sound, since we cannot say Sound is\nsilence. It is the name of our state of sensation when there is no\nsound. The author is quite right in saying that this state of\nsensation recalls the idea of sound; to be conscious of silence as\nsilence, implies that we are thinking of sound, and have the idea of\nit without the belief in its presence. In another of its uses,\nSilence is the abstract of Silent; which is a name of all things\nthat make no sound, and of everything so long as it makes no sound;\nand which connotes the attribute of not sounding. So of all the\nother terms mentioned. \"Nothing\" is not a name of all possible\nobjects, including their non-existence. If Nothing were a name of\nobjects, we should be able to predicate of those objects that they\nare Nothing. Nothing is a name of the state of our consciousness\nwhen we are not aware of any object, or of any sensation.--_Ed._]\n\n{106} \"Absent,\" in its unrestricted sense, above explained, comes\nnear to this marking power of the word Nothing, but differs from it\nin one respect. Absent is the Privative name of all possible\nobjects, taken one by one. Nothing is the privative name of them,\ntaken altogether. This distinction, I presume, is sufficiently\nobvious, and intelligible, thus expressed; and stands in no need of\na more wordy explanation.[3*]\n\n[Mill's footnote 3: The account of Privative Terms which is given by\nLocke, is the same with that which is presented in the text. The\ndifference is, that Locke, who has stated the case correctly, has\nnot attempted its analysis. He says (B. II. ch. viii.), \"We have\nnegative names, such as insipid, silence, _nihil_, &c., which words\ndenote positive ideas; _v.g._, taste, sound, being; with a\nsignification of their absence.\"--(_Author's Note_.)]\n\nWe shall now take notice of the Privative Term EMPTY, which is a\nword of great importance.\n\nEmpty is a name applicable to all the things to which the name,\nfull, is applicable; in other words, to all the things which are\ncalculated to contain other things in position, or in the\nsynchronous order, that is, in the order of particle adjoining\nparticle. It is necessary to mark this limitation of the word\ncontain; because, in another sense, a complex idea is said to\ncontain the simple ideas of which it consists; and a chemical\ncompound is said to contain the simple {107} substances into which\nit can be decomposed. Empty, and Full, are names of those things\nonly which contain, or are adapted to contain, things in position,\nor in the order of particle adjoining particle.\n\nThings adapted to contain other things in position, are, themselves,\na peculiar combination of positions, to which we must very\nattentively advert. To understand this combination, it will be\nnecessary to remember exactly the analysis of position; of lines,\nsurfaces, and bulks; as it has been already given in our explanation\nof Relative Terms.\n\nThe word \"containing,\" applied to anything, as when we speak of a\nbox containing books, a cask containing liquor, a room containing\nfurniture, generally includes the idea of limitation. That which\ncontains, has certain boundaries within which the things contained\nare placed, or have their position. This idea of things having their\nposition within another thing, is a very complex idea, the\ncomposition of which we must be at some pains to understand.\n\nIt consists, first, of the thing containing; secondly, of the things\ncontained.\n\nThe thing containing, again, consists of two parts; first, its\nboundaries; and, secondly, its containing capacity within its\nboundaries.\n\nIts boundaries are surfaces. How we become acquainted with surfaces;\nin other words, what are the sensations, the copies of which form\nour complex idea of surface, has been already explained. They are\ncertain sensations of touch, and certain sensations of muscular\naction. This complex idea is easily distinguished into two parts;\nfirst, a certain idea of resistance; secondly, the idea of\nextension. The sides {108} of a box I call resisting, and I call\nthem extended; and I call them by both names on account of certain\nsensations. Let us conceive the box without a lid; each of the sides\nis extended and resisting. What is the top without a lid? Extended,\nand non-resisting. The idea of the top is that of extension without\nresistance; extension, in a particular direction, that of a plane\nsurface. What is the idea of the inside of the box without its\ncontents? That of extension in all directions without resistance.\nThis is emptiness.\n\nSo far is plain, and not doubtful. There are still, however, some\nthings which require explanation. What are we distinctly to\nunderstand by extension without resistance? Whenever we use the\nconcrete extended, we mean something extended; and by that something\nwe always mean something that resists. What do we mean when we use\nthe abstract extension? It will be easily recollected that all this\nis a case of association, which has been already fully explained.\n\nConcrete Terms are Connotative Terms; Abstract Terms are\nNon-connotative Terms. Concrete terms, along with a certain quality\nor qualities, which is their principal meaning, or notation, connote\nthe object to which the quality belongs. Thus the concrete red,\nalways means, that is, connotes, something red, as a rose. We have\nalready, by sufficient examples, seen, that the Abstract, formed\nfrom the Concrete, notes precisely that which is noted by the\nConcrete, leaving out the connotation. Thus, take away the\nconnotation from red, and you have redness; from hot, take away the\nconnotation, and you have heat.\n\n{109} The very same is the distinction between the concrete\nextended, and the abstract extension. What extended is with its\nconnotation, extension is without that connotation. We have then to\nexplain, wherein the connotation consists.\n\nWhen we say extended, meaning something extended, we mean one or\nother of three things, a line, a surface, or bulk. We have already\nexplained sufficiently in what manner we come by the ideas of line,\nsurface, and bulk. We have certain sensations of touch, and of\nmuscular action, conjoined, and the ideas of those sensations, in\nconjunction, form our ideas of line, surface, and bulk. The\nsensation, or sensations, which we mark by the word resisting, seem\nto be those alone which are connoted by the word extending; for it\nis most important to observe, that what we call extending in the\nparts of our own body, by the operation of its own muscles, is that\nwhich we call extended in all other things; and thus the essential\nconnotation of the concrete, extended, is, resisting, and nothing\nelse. In other concrete terms the connotation is greater. Thus red,\nconnotes a surface, that is, something extended; and extended\nconnotes resisting. And thus red connotes both extended and\nresisting, while extended connotes resisting alone. It is true, that\npersons enjoying the faculty of seeing cannot conceive any thing\nextended, without conceiving it coloured; because in them the idea\nof something extended includes, by association, the visual, as well\nas the tactual, and muscular, ideas; and the visual being accustomed\nto predominate, the tactual, and muscular, are faintly observed.\nThis, however, cannot be the case in persons born blind, {110} who\nhave the tactual, and muscular, feelings, and not the visual at all.\n\nNow, then, we can easily understand what extension is in all its\ncases. Linear extension is the idea of a line, the connotation\ndropped, that is, the idea of resisting, dropped; superficial\nextension is the idea of a surface, the same connotation dropped;\nand solid extension, or bulk, is merely the idea of bulk, the\nconnotation, or resisting, dropped. But bulk, the connotation\n(_i.e._ resistance) dropped, is what? The place for bulk: Position.\nBut place is, what? A portion of SPACE; or, more correctly speaking.\nSPACE itself, with limitation.\n\nWe thus seem to have arrived, without any difficulty, at an exact\nknowledge of what is noted or marked by the word SPACE; a phenomenon\nof the human mind hitherto regarded as singularly mysterious. The\ndifficulty which has been found in explaining the term, even, by\nthose philosophers who have approached the nearest to its meaning,\nseems to have arisen, from their not perceiving the mode of\nsignification of Abstract Terms; and from the obscurity of that\nclass of sensations, a portion of which we employ the word\n\"extended\" to mark. The word \"space\" is an abstract, differing from\nits concrete, like other abstracts, by dropping the connotation.\nMuch of the mystery, in which the idea has seemed to be involved, is\nowing to this single circumstance, that the abstract term, space,\nhas not had an appropriate concrete. We have observed, that, in all\ncases, abstract terms can be explained only through their concretes;\nbecause they note or name a part of what the concrete names, leaving\nout the rest. If we were {111} to make a concrete term,\ncorresponding to the abstract term space, it must be a word\nequivalent to the terms \"infinitely extended.\" From the ideas\nincluded under the name \"infinitely extended,\" leave out resisting,\nand you have all that is marked by the abstract Space.[26]\n\n[Editor's footnote 26: There is great originality as well as\nperspicacity in the explanation here given of Space, as a privative\nterm, expressing when analysed, the absence of the feeling of\nresistance in the circumstances in which resistance is frequently\nfelt, namely, after the sensations of muscular action and motion.\nThe only part of the exposition to which I demur is the classing of\nSpace among abstract terms. I have already objected to calling the\nword line, when used in the geometrical sense, an abstract term.\nI hold it to be the concrete name of an ideal object possessing\nlength but not breadth. In like manner a Space may be said to be the\nconcrete name of an ideal object, extended but not resisting. The\nsensations connoted by this concrete name, are those which accompany\nthe motion of our limbs or of our body in all directions: and along\nwith these sensations is connoted the absence of certain others,\nviz. of the muscular sensations which accompany the arrest of that\nmotion by a resisting substance. This being the meaning of a Space,\nSpace in general must be a name equally concrete. It denotes the\naggregate of all Space.--_Ed._]\n\nIn the idea of SPACE, the idea of Infinity is included. What the\nidea of Infinity is, needs therefore to be explained. When the word\nInfinite is not used metaphorically, as it is when we speak of the\ninfinite perfections of God, in which case it is not a name for\nideas, but for the want of them, it is applied only to Number,\nExtension, and Duration.\n\nWe increase numbers by adding one to one, one to two, and so on,\nwithout limit, giving a name to {112} each aggregate. The\nassociation of ideas which constitutes the process has been already\nexplained. With each number, one, two, three, four, as we go on, the\nidea of one more is so strongly associated, that we cannot help its\nexisting in immediate conjunction. However high, therefore, we go in\nnumbering, the idea of one more always forces itself upon us; and\nhence we say that number is infinite. That this, literally, is not\ntrue; that, indeed, it is a verbal contradiction, is obvious.\nNumber, is something numbered; but if numbered, limited; that is,\nnot infinite. Number is the negation of infinite; as black is the\nnegation of white. The name infinite, in this case, is, in reality,\nnothing but a mark for that state of consciousness, in which the\nidea of one more is closely associated with every succeeding number.\nAnd Infinity, the abstract term, is the peculiar idea, without the\nconnotation.\n\nWhen we apply \"infinite\" to extension, we do so equally to all its\nthree modifications, to lines, surfaces, and bulk. How we do so is\nobvious. We know no infinite line, but we know a longer, and a\nlonger. A line is lengthened, as number is increased, by continual\nadditions; a line of any length, say of an inch, is increased by the\ncontinual addition of other lengths, say of an inch. In the process,\nthen, by which we conceive the increase of a line, the idea of one\nportion more, is continually associated with the preceding length;\nand to what extent soever it is carried, the association of one\nportion more, is equally close and irresistible. This is what we\ncall the idea of infinite extension; and what some people call the\n_necessary_ idea; which only means, that the idea of a {113} portion\nmore, rises necessarily, that is, by indissoluble association, so\nthat we cannot help its rising. Infinite is the concrete term, here\nconnoting Line; drop the connotation, you have Infinity, the\nabstract.\n\nIf such be the whole of what is involved in the idea of Infinity, in\nthe case of a line; call it necessary idea, if you will; the idea of\nit, in the case of surface, and of bulk, is also explained; for\nsurface, and bulk, are only lines, in such and such, or in all\ndirections. The idea of a portion more, adhering, by indissoluble\nassociation, to the idea of every increase, in any or in all\ndirections, is the idea of \"infinitely extended,\" and the idea of\n\"infinitely extended,\" the connotation dropped, is the idea of\nInfinite Space. It has been called a simple idea (so little has the\nreal nature of it been understood); while it is thus distinctly\nseen, to be one of the most complex ideas, which the whole train of\nour conscious being presents. Extreme complexity, with great\ncloseness of association, has this effect--that every particular\npart in the composition is overpowered by the multitude of all the\nother parts, and no one in particular stands marked from the rest;\nbut all, together, assume the appearance of ONE. Something perfectly\nanalogous occurs, even in sensation. If two or three ingredients are\nmixed, as wine and honey, we can distinguish the taste of each, and\nsay it is compound. But if a great many are mixed, we can\ndistinguish no one in particular, and the taste of the whole appears\na simple peculiar taste.[27]\n\n[Editor's footnote 27: This explanation of the feeling of Infinity\nwhich attaches itself to Space, is one of the most important\nthoughts in the whole treatise; and, obvious as its truth is to a\nmind prepared by the previous exposition, it has great difficulty in\nfinding entrance into other minds.\n\nEvery object is associated with some position: not always with the\nsame position, but we have never perceived any object, and therefore\nnever think of one, but in some position or other, relative to some\nother objects. As, from every position. Space extends in every\ndirection (i.e. the unimpeded arm or body can move in any\ndirection), and since we never were in any place which did not admit\nof motion in every direction from it, when such motion was not\narrested by a resistance; every idea of position is irresistibly\nassociated with extension, beyond the position: and we can conceive\nno end to extension, because the place which we try to conceive as\nits end, raises irresistibly the idea of other places beyond it.\nThis is one of the many so-called Necessities of Thought which are\nnecessities only in consequence of the inseparableness of an\nassociation: but which, from unwillingness to admit this\nexplanation, men mistake for original laws of the human mind, and\neven regard them as the effect and proof of a corresponding\nnecessary connexion between facts existing in Nature.--_Ed._]\n\n{114} This, indeed, is one great cause of the mistakes, which have\nbeen committed, in the examination of abstract ideas. We have shewn\nthat they are all complex, and in the highest degree. Yet the\ngreater number of them have always been treated as simple. Mr. Locke\nshewed that some of them, which he calls mixed modes, were\nundoubtedly compounded, as obligation, crime, &c. But they are no\notherwise complex, than as power, quality, chance, fate, position,\nand space, are complex.\n\nIt is truly remarkable, how many of the cases of indissoluble\nassociation are all united in the idea of SPACE. First of all, with\nthe idea of every object, the idea of _position_ or _place_, is\nindissolubly united. {115} Secondly, with the idea of position or\nplace, the idea of _extension_ is indissolubly united. Thirdly, with\nthe idea of extension the idea of _infinity_ is indissolubly united.\nFourthly, by the unfortunate ambiguity of the _Copula_, the idea of\n_existence_ is indissolubly united with SPACE, as with other\nabstract terms. What these several ingredients, the ideas of\nPosition, Extension, Infinity, Existence, are composed of, we have\nalready seen. All these, forced into combination, by irresistible\nassociation, constitute the idea of SPACE.\n\n\n{116} SECTION V.\n\nTIME.\n\n\nAs SPACE is a comprehensive word, including all Positions, or the\nwhole of synchronous order; so TIME is a comprehensive word,\nincluding all Successions, or the whole of successive order.\n\nThe difficulty of the exposition, in this case, consists not in the\nideas; for they are clear and certain enough; but in finding\nexpressions which will have even a chance of conveying to readers,\nwho are not familiar with the analysis of mental phenomena, the\nideas which it is my object to impart.\n\nAs all objects, considered as existing together, are said to exist\nin SPACE, so all objects considered as existing one after another,\nare said to exist in TIME.\n\nObjects, however, are said to exist in Time, in two distinguishable\ncases; either when they are in constant flow; or, when they have,\nwhat we call, stability or duration. The constant passage of men,\nhorses, vehicles, &c., in a busy and crowded street, is in Time; the\npermanence of St. Paul's, in its well-known position, is also in\nTime. If Time mean the succession of the objects in the one case, it\nmust mean something else in the other. It cannot mean the succession\nof St. Paul's. But it may mean the idea of St. Paul's, associated\nwith the idea of other successions.\n\nOf TIME itself we conceive, that it is never still. It is a\nperpetual flow of instants, of which only one can ever be present.\nThe very idea of Time, therefore, is {117} an idea of successions.\nIt consists of this, and of nothing else.\n\nBut there are no real successions, save successions of objects, that\nis of feelings in our minds.[28] What, then, are the successions of\nTIME, which are the successions of nothing? To those who have\nthoroughly familiarized themselves with the account which we have\ngiven of abstract terms, and who can promptly and steadily conceive\nthe mode of their signification, we can render an answer, which will\nbe understood at once, and will be felt to be complete and\nsatisfactory.\n\n[Editor's footnote 28: There is an unusual employment of language\nhere, which if attention is not formally drawn to it, may embarrass\nthe reader. By objects are commonly meant, those groups or clusters\nof sensations and possibilities of sensation, that compose what we\ncall the external world. A single sensation, even external, and\nstill less if internal, is not called an object. In a somewhat\nlarger sense, whatever we think of, as distinguished from the\nthought itself and from ourselves as thinking it, is called an\nobject; this is the common antithesis of Object and Subject. But in\nthis place, the author designates as objects, all things which have\nreal existence, as distinguished from the instants of mere Time,\nwhich, as he is pointing out, have not; and a puzzling effect is\nproduced by his applying the name Object, in even an especial\nmanner, to sensations: to the tickings of a watch, or the beatings\nof a patient's pulse.--_Ed._]\n\nWe have shewn, how we form the abstracts, redness, from red;\nsweetness, from sweet; hardness, from hard; by simply dropping the\nconnotation of the concrete term. Thus red, always means something\nred; redness, is the red without the something; so of sweetness,\nhardness, and so forth. When the ideas are more {118} complicated,\nthe case is still the same. When we use the concrete, living, it\nalways connotes something living; a living man, a living quadruped,\na living bird, fish, insect, and so forth. When we use the abstract,\nlife, we convey all that we convey by the term living, except the\nconnotation. We say that John is healthy, James is healthy, on\naccount of circumstances the idea of which forms a very complex\nidea. The concrete healthy always connotes an individual. Use the\nabstract, health, you have the idea without the connotation.\n\nIn applying this doctrine to the case of successions, we are ill\nsupplied with appropriate names; and hence the difficulty of the\ncase, both to the teacher, and the learner.\n\nWe have said that there are no real successions, but successions of\nobjects. The tickings of my watch are successive sounds, that is,\nsensations. The beatings which are felt by the physician, in the\nartery of his patient, are successive feelings or sensations of\ntouch.\n\nWhen the different particulars of a scene in which a man has been\nengaged, of a battle, for example, in which he has commanded, pass\nthrough his mind, there is a succession of ideas. In all these cases\nof the successions of sensations, or ideas, there is always one\npresent, others past, and others to come, that is, future. Drop the\nconnotation of \"something past,\" \"something present,\" \"something\nfuture.\" You have pastness, presentness, and futureness. But\npastness, presentness, and futureness, are TIME. TIME can neither be\nshewn, nor conceived, to be any thing else. It is a single-worded\nabstract, involving the meaning {119} of these three several\nabstracts. The true meaning of these abstracts is clearly made out\nfrom their concretes. The precise idea, therefore, marked by the\nword TIME; if the meaning of these abstracts is sufficiently\napprehended; is at last apparent. Nor is there any mysteriousness in\nit whatsoever, but that which has arisen from misapprehension of\nthat grand department of Naming, which belongs to abstract terms;\nand from inattention to that class of words, which are invented to\nsupply the place, each of them singly, of several other words.\n\nTo our conclusion, that TIME is the equivalent of Pastness,\nPresentness, and Futureness, combined, it may be objected, that the\nword Time is applicable to all the three cases; as we can say, past\ntime, present time, and future time, all with equal propriety. This,\nhowever, is so far from being any presumption against the\nconclusion, that it is a clear confirmation of it; since Time,\nstanding by itself, marks no particular case, and, in order to do\nso, must have another mark applied to it to limit its signification.\nIt is only because Time marks all the cases of pastness,\npresentness, and futureness, that it needs the marks past, present,\nor future, to confine its meaning; present time being merely another\nname for presentness, future time, for futureness, and past time,\nfor pastness. The same thing is seen in the case of all other\nabstracts. Redness is the name of a certain colour, in all its\nmodifications, and to whatever object belonging. But by the addition\nof an appropriate mark, we confine its meaning to any particular\ncase; as when we say, the redness of a rose, the redness of scarlet,\nand so on.\n\n{120} The accounts, which have been rendered of Time by different\nphilosophers, so far as they have in them any acknowledged accuracy,\nare, all of them, parts, and but parts, of the analysis which we\nhave thus been presenting. Dr. Reid says, Memory gives us the\nconception and belief of finite intervals of duration; and these we\nenlarge by our mental processes to infinity.[4*] We have already\nseen what Memory is. It is not a faculty, as Dr. Reid supposes,\nwhich \"gives\" any thing; it is an idea, formed by association of the\nparticulars of a certain train; a train of antecedents and\nconsequents, of which the present feeling is one extremity. Pastness\nis included under the term Memory. Memory is the name of a certain\nwhole, and Pastness is the name of a part of that whole. Memory is a\nconnotative term; what it notes, is the antecedence and consequence\nof the several parts of that which forms the chain of the\nremembrance; what it connotes, are the feelings themselves, the\nobjects remembered. When what it connotes is left out, and what it\nnotes is retained, we have the idea which is expressed by pastness.\n\n[Mill's footnote 4: Intellect. Powers. Essay III. ch. v. p. 583.]\n\nIn the chain of memory, consisting of antecedent, antecedent,\nantecedent, traced back to any length from the present feeling, we\ncall that which immediately precedes the present, the nearest; the\nnext, we call more distant; the next, more distant still; and that,\nbetween which and the present feeling the greatest number of\nsuccessions intervenes, we call the most distant, also the farthest\nback; but the farthest back of a series of successions, is the\noldest, that between {121} which and the present time the greatest\nlength of time has intervened. Greatest length of time, therefore,\nin this case, is only another name for greatest number of\nsuccessions.\n\nIt has been already seen, that there is nothing in which we are so\ndeeply interested, as an accurate knowledge of the antecedents and\nconsequents, in the midst of which we exist. Of the different\ninnumerable trains of antecedents and consequents which it is\nimportant for us carefully to mark, it is observed, that some\nsucceed more quickly, some less. While the long pendulum of an\neight-day clock is performing one oscillation, the short pendulum of\na table-clock performs two or three.\n\nWhat that is, to which we give the name of quickness, or slowness,\nin those successions; in other words, what is the state of\nconsciousness which we have thus occasion to mark; has already been\nseen. Every succession, observed by us, is a case of sensation and\nmemory; sensation of the consequent, memory of the antecedent. If we\nhave observed simultaneously the oscillations of the two pendulums,\nmentioned above, we remember two or three antecedent oscillations of\nthe short pendulum, before we get back to one of the long. It is a\nmere case, therefore, of the greater or less number of antecedents\nin a chain of memory, expounded in a preceding chapter.\n\nIn the knowledge, so important to us, of antecedents and\nconsequents, it is not enough that we know what antecedents are\nfollowed by what consequents; much depends upon the quickness or\nslowness of the successions. It is, therefore, of the highest\nimportance that we should have the means of marking them.\n\n{122} What we do is, to take some well-known case of successions,\nand to make that a standard, by which to ascertain the rest. We\ntake, for example, the oscillations of a pendulum. So many of these\nwe call a minute. So many minutes we call an hour. These minutes and\nhours, then, are so many oscillations, that is successions. We call\nthem measures of time. But things are measurable only by parts of\nthemselves; extension by extension, weight by weight, and so on.\nWhat is *measured by succession, therefore, is itself nothing but\nsuccession.\n\nHaving assumed a certain case of successions as a standard, and\nmarked it into quantities, by distinctive names, we mark or name all\nother successions, by the names applied to the standard case. Thus,\nthat grand succession, on which so much of what we are interested in\ndepends, a revolution of the earth upon its own axis, we\ndistinguish, by the term, twenty-four hours; which we also call by\nthe name, day; and afterwards make use of, as a standard, to mark\nstill slower successions, such as a revolution of the moon about the\nearth, a revolution of the earth about the sun. In all these\nmeasurements, and expressions, of time, it is still seen, that there\nis nothing in reality conceived but successions.\n\nBeside the standards, more distinctly conceived and expressed, there\nis always, in these estimates of time, a tacit reference to another\nstandard, which is regarded as the unit, or minimum of time. The\ncase here is precisely analogous to that of the unit, or minimum, of\nextension, which we have already observed. Our tactual, and\nmuscular, senses are not sufficiently fine to discern objects of\nless than a certain magnitude. {123} The least which they can\ndiscern is tacitly assumed as the unit of extension. Nor are any of\nour senses fine enough to discern successions which have more than a\ncertain degree of rapidity. Thus, if the seven primitive colours are\nmade to pass with a certain velocity before the eye, they do not\nappear separate, but blended into one continuous white. In like\nmanner, if sounds are made to succeed one another, at first, slowly,\nafterwards, with greater and greater rapidity, they cannot, at last,\nbe distinguished as different sounds, but appear as one continuous\nsound. In fact, this is probably the account of all sounds, which\nare merely effects of the vibrations in the air, and therefore\npulses; but often so quick, in succession, that no interval is\ndistinguishable, and the perception is that of a continuous sound.\n\nThe close resemblance, in this respect, between sensations and\nideas, is remarkable. When sensations are brought into close\nconjunction they become blended, and appear, not several, but one.\nWe have seen, in a most important case of association, that when\nideas are called up together in close conjunction, they, too, cease\nto be distinguishable, and, being blended together, assume, even\nwhere there is the greatest complexity, the appearance, not of many\nideas, but of one. Of this we have very remarkable examples, in the\ntwo cases of SPACE, and TIME.\n\nThere is a certain succession, then, of sensations and ideas, in\nwhich the antecedent and consequent can be distinguished: another,\nin which the antecedent and consequent, on account of quickness,\ncannot be distinguished. The quickest that can be distinguished, is\nthat to which, as the unit or minimum, a tacit {124} reference is\nmade, in our several estimates of time.\n\nHaving thus shewn how far the account of TIME, presented by one of\nthe most recent Philosophers of high name, goes in expounding the\nphenomenon, and how far it leaves it unexpounded; it will be\ninstructive next to observe, how far the genius of the ancient Greek\nPhilosophers carried them, in this important inquiry. It is\nsatisfactory, that we can refer the unlearned reader to a very clear\nand accurate exposition of their doctrines, in a well known work in\nour own language, the \"Hermes\" of Mr. Harris; from which, for the\nsake of this convenience, the present account of those ancient\ndoctrines shall be drawn.\n\n\"Time and Space,\" says that author,[5*] \"have this in common, that\nthey are both of them by nature _continuous_. But in this they\ndiffer, that all the parts of Space exist _at once_ and _together_,\nwhile those of Time only exist in _Transition_ or Succession.\" This\nis only transcribing the common language. What remained was, to shew\nwhat are the real facts couched under this language.[6*]\n\n[Mill's footnote 5: Hermes, B. I. ch. vii.]\n\n[Mill's footnote 6: The expression of Ammonius, here quoted by\nHarris, comes nearer the fact than his own--[Greek: o( chro/nos\nu(phi/sta/tai kata/ mo/non to\\ NUN, e)n ga/r t\u00f4=| gi/nesthai kai/\nphthei/resthai to/ ei=nai e)/chei]. Time subsists only in a single\nNOW or INSTANT, for it hath its being in beginning and ceasing to\nbe. In other words, Time never is; all you can say of it is only\nthis, it has been, or it is about to be.--(_Author's Note_.)]\n\n\"In every given time we may assume anywhere a _Now_ or _Instant_,\nand therefore, in every given _Time_, there may be assumed infinite\n_Nows_ or _Instants_.\n\n{125} \"A NOW or INSTANT is the _Bound_ of every finite _Time_. But\nalthough a _Bound_, it is not a _Part of Time_. If this appear\nstrange, we may remember, that if a _Now_ or _Instant_ were a _Part\nof Time_ it being essential to the character of Parts, that they\nshould measure the _Whole_, it would contain within itself infinite\nother nows; and this, it is evident, would be absurd and\nimpossible.\"\n\n\"_The same Now_ or _Instant_, may be the end of one _Time_, and the\n_Beginning_ of another; the first, necessarily Past Time, as being\nprevious to _the Now_ or _Instant_, which both Times include; the\nother necessarily FUTURE, as being _subsequent_. As, therefore,\nevery NOW or INSTANT always exists in Time, and without being Time,\nis _Time's Bound_; the Bound of _Completion_ to the _Past_, and the\nBound of _Commencement_ to the Future: from hence we may conceive\nits nature or end, which is _to be the Medium of Continuity between\nthe Past and the Future, so as to render Time, through all its\nparts, one Intire and Perfect Whole_.\"\n\nIt must be obvious to every one, who has correctly followed me\nthrough the preceding deductions, that this mysterious language, if\napplied to actual successions, has a distinct meaning; if not so\napplied, it is jargon merely, without one idea annexed. This NOW,\nwhich is not _Time_, and, not being _Time_, is of course nothing\nelse; this NOTHING, then, which, though nothing is the medium of\ncontinuity between Somethings, namely, time past, and time future,\nseems to be only a mysterious name for that link which is supposed\nto be between every antecedent and its consequent; which supposition\nof a link, or medium of continuity, we have already shewn to be a\nmere case {126} of association, involving a prejudice; the\nantecedent and consequent, and nothing else, being really included\nin a case of succession. Thus understood, however, it is a medium of\ncontinuity, forming the \"_Bound of Completion_\" to the previous\ntrain of successions, the \"_Bound of Commencement_\" to the\nfollowing.\n\nMr. Harris proceeds to shew some of the conclusions, resulting from\nthe account which he had thus rendered of Time. \"_In the first\nplace_,\" he says, \"_there cannot_ (strictly speaking) _be any such\nthing as time present_.\" We will draw from this a conclusion, which\nMr. Harris appears not to have seen, or does not choose to\nacknowledge; That, if there be no such thing as Time present,\nneither can there be any such thing as Time past. For what is the\npast, but that which has been present? But if there be no such thing\nas time present, or time past, there can be no such thing as time\nfuture. Time, therefore, is an impossibility.\n\nMr. Harris himself, indeed, goes a certain way toward this\nconclusion. \"If _no Portion_ of time,\" he says, \"be the object of\n_any Sensation_; further, if the Present _never_ exist; if the past\nbe _no more_; if the Future be not as yet; and if these are all the\nparts, out of which _Time_ is compounded: how strange and shadowy a\nBeing do we find it? How nearly approaching to a perfect\nnon-entity?\"[7*]\n\n[Mill's footnote 7: It is but justice to Aristotle, to say, that he\nexpressed the right conclusion much more distinctly than Harris\nthought proper to do. His mode of inferring, as translated by\nHarris, is as follows: That, therefore, _Time_ exists not at all, or\nat least, has but a faint and obscure existence, one may suspect\nfrom hence. A part of it has been, and is no more; a part of it is\ncoming, and is not as yet; and out of these is made that Time, which\nis without end, and ever to be assumed farther and farther. Now,\nthat which is made up of nothing but non-entities, it should seem\nwas incapable ever to participate of Entity.--(_Author's Note_.)]\n\n{127} Mr. Harris then says, \"Let us try, however, since the senses\nfail us, if we have not faculties of higher power, to seize this\nfleeting Being.\" What then is it he does in the search of those\n\"faculties of higher power?\" It will be seen, from the following\nquotation, that he merely describes a few cases of actual\nsuccession; and says, that from them, by the help of memory, and\nimagination, we come by the idea of Time. But the Memory and\nImagination of successions present to us nothing but the successions\nthemselves. If then the Memory and Imagination of successions, give\nus the idea of Time, the idea of Time can only be some part or the\nwhole of the idea of the successions.\n\n\"The World has been likened to a variety of Things, but it appears\nto resemble no one more than some moving spectacle (such as a\nprocession or a triumph) that abounds in every part with splendid\nobjects, some of which are still departing, as fast as others make\ntheir appearance. The Senses look on, while the sight passes,\nperceiving as much as is immediately present, which they report with\ntolerable accuracy to the Soul's superior powers. Having done this,\nthey have done their duty, being concerned with nothing, save what\nis present and instantaneous. But to the _Memory_, to the\n_Imagination_, and above all, to {128} the _Intellect_, the several\n_Nows_ or _Instants_, are not lost, as to the _Senses_, but are\npresented and made objects of _steady_ comprehension, however, in\ntheir own nature, they may be _transitory_ and _passing_.\n\n\"Now it is from contemplating two or more of these Instants under\none view, together with that Interval of Continuity, which subsists\nbetween them, that we acquire insensibly the Idea of TIME. For\nexample: _The Sun rises_: this I remember: _it rises again_: this\ntoo, I remember. These Events are not together; there is an\n_Extension_ between them--not however of _Space_, for we may suppose\nthe place of rising the same, or at least, to exhibit no sensible\ndifference. Yet still we recognise some Extension between them. Now\nwhat is this Extension, _but a natural day_? And what is that, but\npure _Time_? It is after the same manner, by recognising two new\nMoons, and the Extension between these; two several Equinoxes, and\nthe extension between these; that we gain Ideas of other Times, such\nas _Months_ and _Years_, which are all so many Intervals, described\nas above; that is to say, _passing Intervals of Continuity between\ntwo Instants viewed together_.\n\n\"And thus it is THE MIND acquires the Idea of TIME. But this Time it\nmust be remembered is PAST TIME ONLY, which is always the _first\nSpecies_, that occurs to the human Intellect. How then do we acquire\nthe Idea of TIME FUTURE? The answer is, we acquire it by\n_Anticipation_. Should it be demanded still further, _And what is\nAnticipation_? We answer, that, in this case, it is a kind of\nreasoning by analogy from similar to similar; from successions of\nevents, that are past already, to similar successions, {129} that\nare presumed hereafter. For example: I observe, as far back as my\nmemory can carry me, how every day has been succeeded by a night;\nthat night, by another day; that day, by another night; and so\ndownwards in order to the Day that is now. Hence, then, I\n_anticipate a similar succession_ from the present Day, and thus\ngain the Idea of days and nights in _futurity_. After the same\nmanner, by attending to the periodical returns of New and Full\nMoons; of Springs, Summers, Autumns, and Winters, all of which, in\nTime past, I find never to have failed, I anticipate a like orderly\nand diversified succession, which makes Months, and Seasons, and\nYears, _in Time future_.\"\n\nIt is to be observed, that, in the above passage, Harris, beside\nMemory and Imagination, introduces the name of _Intellect_, as\nconcerned in generating the idea of Time. But it will be seen that\nhe makes no use of it, whatsoever, in giving his explanation, nor\nmentions any other operations than those of, memory for the past,\nand anticipation for the future. Indeed, it appears from a passage\nof his work, immediately following, that when Mr. Harris, in this\ninquiry, uses the word Intellect, he means nothing but Anticipation\nand Memory. \"There is nothing,\" he says, \"appears so clearly an\nobject of the MIND or INTELLECT only, as _the Future_ does, since we\ncan find no place for its existence any where else. Not but the\nsame, if we consider, is equally true of _the Past_.*\"[8*] Here we\nsee, that {130} both _the Future_, and _the Past_, are said to be\nobjects of the INTELLECT only. But the future is the object of\nanticipation, the past of memory; and both memory, and anticipation,\nas we have seen, are cases of association.\n\n[Mill's footnote 8: _Ibid_. He goes on to say, that, from this same\ndoctrine, that Time exists only in the mind, some philosophers\ninferred, that if mind did not exist, neither could Time. [Greek:\nPo/teron de\\ m\u00ea\\ ou)/s\u00eas psuch\u00ea=s ei)/\u00ea| a)\\n o( chro/nos,\na)por\u00ea/seien a)/n tis]. (_Aristot. Nat. Auscult._ 1. iv. c. 20.)\nThemistius, who comments the above passage, expresses himself more\npositively. [Greek: Ei) toi/nun dich\u00f4=s le/getai, to/ te\na)rithm\u00eato\\n, kai\\ to\\ a)rithmou/menon, to\\ me\\n, to\\ a)rithm\u00eato\\n\nd\u00ealad\u00ea\\, duna/mei, to\\ de\\ e)nergei/a|, tau=ta de\\ ou)k a)\\n\nu(postai/\u00ea|, m\u00ea\\ o)/ntos tou= a)rithm\u00ea/sontos, m\u00ea/te duna/mei m\u00ea/t'\ne)nergei/a|,--phanero\\n \u00f4(s ou)k a)\\n o( chro/nos ei)/\u00ea|, m\u00ea\\\nou)/s\u00eas psuch\u00ea=s]. (_Them._ p. 48. Edit. Aldi.)--(_Author's\nNote_.)]\n\nIn the cases of succession which he adduces, as examples, to shew,\nin what manner we acquire, he says, \"insensibly,\" the idea of time,\nhe tells us, there is sensation of the consequent, memory of the\nantecedent, and beside these, \"contemplation of two or more instants\nunder one view, together with that Interval of continuity, which\nsubsists between them.\" But the contemplation of two instants, one\nprior, another posterior, in one view, with the interval between\nthem, is a circumlocution for memory. It denotes obscurely, and\nimperfectly, that union, in one idea, of all the parts of a train,\nto which the name memory is affixed. From this contemplation, he\nsays it is, \"that we acquire the idea of Time.\" The real meaning is\nthus shewn to be, that we acquire it from memory. Mr. Harris,\ntherefore, at the bottom, agrees with Dr. Reid; and the same\nobservations by which we shewed {131} the imperfection of Dr. Reid's\naccount, are equally applicable to that, of Mr. Harris. The case, in\ntruth, is, that neither of them does any thing more than merely\nstate the fact, without an attempt to explain it. That we cannot\nhave the idea of time, without the observation of successions; and\nthat memory is joined with sense in the observation of\nsuccessions,--is the matter of fact. What TIME is, distinct from the\nmemory and the sensations, they ought to have told us, but have not.\nThey would not have found it difficult, had they been familiar with\nthe distinction (of such infinite importance, in all accurate\ninquiries into the human mind) between the mode of signification of\nconcrete words, and the mode of signification of abstract ones; the\nlatter, in its more complicated cases, of not very easy\ncomprehension. Unfortunately, we have no concrete term,\ncorresponding with Time. Hence a great part of the difficulty of\nconceiving distinctly the meaning of the abstract. Time, also, is\nnot the abstract name of any one train, but of all trains; as\nredness is not the name of one red, but of all reds. And there is\nthis further complication, that the word \"time\" is never applied to\nany train, in particular; as time of a race, time of a battle, and\nso on; without the predominating association of that particular\ntrain, whatever it be, minutes, hours, or days, which we are\naccustomed to employ, as the measure of other successions. Without\nmuch and accurate practice, therefore, in conceiving the meaning of\nabstract terms, especially in the more complex and intricate cases;\nit is extremely difficult steadily to contemplate either TIME, as\nthe {132} abstract name of all successive, or SPACE, as the abstract\nname of all simultaneous order.[9*]\n\n[Mill's footnote 9: \"Multos autem in errorem ducit, quod voces\ngenerales et abstractas in disserendo utiles esse videant, nec tamen\nearum vim satis capiant. Partim vero \u00e0 consuetudine vulgari invent\u00e6\nsunt ill\u00e6 ad sermonem abbreviandum, partim \u00e0 philosophis ad\ndocendum excogitat\u00e6, non quod ad naturas rerum accommodat\u00e6 sint, qu\u00e6\nquidem singulares et concret\u00e6 existunt, sed quod idone\u00e6 ad tradendas\ndisciplinas, propterea quod faciant notiones, vel saltem\npropositiones, universales.\"--_Berkeley de Motu_, s. 7. No\npredecessor of Berkeley was so fully aware, as he was, of the\ndeceptions practised on the human mind by abstract\nterms.--(_Author's Note_.)]\n\nIt will be instructive, to recapitulate the indissoluble\nassociations which are contained in the idea of Time. With every\npresent event, is indissolubly associated the idea of an antecedent;\nwith that antecedent, the idea of another antecedent; and so on\nwithout end. These are the ideas of Succession, and of Infinity;\nforced upon us by indissoluble association. The events of the\npresent moment, are innumerable. With every one of these we\nassociate the ideas of antecedents without end. This is the Past; an\nInfinity of simultaneous successions, each having antecedents,\nrunning back without end. These are successions in the concrete;\nsuccessions of objects. Drop the connotation, to form the abstract,\nas is done in other cases; you have then successions without the\nobjects; which is precisely the meaning of the word TIME.\n\nAs with every present event, and those infinite in number, is\nindissolubly associated the idea of a series of antecedents, without\nend, which, in the abstract, is {133} TIME PAST, so with every such\nevent, is indissolubly associated the idea of a consequent, with\nthat the idea of another consequent, and so on, without end; which,\nin the abstract, is TIME FUTURE.\n\nThe synchronous Line, or Line of _Extension_, and the successive\nLine, or Line of _Time_, bear a pretty close analogy. As, in the\nLine of _Extension_, we have the concrete line, and the abstract\nline; the concrete line being the positions with the objects; the\nabstract or mathematical line, the positions without the objects;\nso, in the line of _Time_, we have the concrete line, and the\nabstract line; the concrete line being the successions with the\nobjects; the abstract line, the successions without the objects; to\nwhich abstract line, we give the name TIME.\n\nWe have before remarked, as an important case of indissoluble\nassociation, that the idea of Position, that is, of a modification\nof Space, is indissolubly associated with the idea of every sensible\nobject. It is now to be remarked, as a not less important case, that\nthe idea of succession or of antecedent and consequent, that is, a\nmodification of Time, is indissolubly associated with the idea of\nevery object. The idea of a modification of Space, and the idea of a\nmodification of Time, form parts of our complex idea of every\nobject. It is no wonder that they appear to be necessary, seeing\nthat they force themselves upon us, by irresistible association,\nwith the idea of every object.[29] [30]\n\n[Editor's footnote 29: As is shewn in the text. Time is a name for\nthe aggregate of the successions of our feelings, apart from the\nfeelings themselves. I object, however, in the case of time, as\nI did in the {134} case of Space, to considering it as an abstract\nterm. Time does not seem to me to be a name (as the author says) for\nthe pastness, the presentness, and the futureness of our successive\nfeelings. It is rather, I think, a collective name for our feeling\nof their succession--for what the author called, in a previous\nsection, the part of the process \"which consists in being sensible\nof their successiveness,\" for which part, he then said, \"we have not\na name.\" This taking notice of the successiveness of our feelings,\nwhether we prefer to call it a part of the feelings themselves, or\nanother feeling superadded to them, is yet something which, in the\nentire mass of feeling which the successive impressions give us, we\nare able to discriminate, and to name apart from the rest.\nA perception of succession between two feelings is a state of\nconsciousness _per se_, which though we cannot think of it\nseparately from the feelings, we can yet think of as a completed\nthing in itself, and not as an attribute of either or both of the\ntwo feelings. Its name, if it had one, would be a concrete name. But\nthe entire series of these perceptions of succession has a name,\nTime; which I therefore hold to be a concrete name.\n\nHowever inextricably these feelings of succession are mixed up with\nthe feelings perceived as successive, we are so perfectly able to\nattend to them, and make them a distinct object of thought, that we\ncan compare them with one another, without comparing the successive\nfeelings in any other respect. We can judge two or more successions\nto be of equal, or of unequal, rapidity. And if we find any series\nof feelings of which the successive links follow each other with\nuniform rapidity, such as the tickings of a clock, we can make this\na standard of comparison for all other successions, and measure them\nas equal to one, two, three, or some other number of links of this\nseries: whereby the aggregate Time is said to be divided into equal\nportions, and every event is located in some one of those portions.\nThe succession of our sensations, therefore, however closely\nimplicated with the sensations themselves, may be abstracted from\nthem in thought, as completely {135} as any quality of a thing can\nbe abstracted from the thing.\n\nThe apparent infinity of Time the author, very rightly, explains in\nthe same manner as that of Space.--_Ed._]\n\n[Grote's footnote 30: In this section Mr. James Mill explains Time.\nHe tells us that \"it is a comprehensive word including all\nsuccessions, or the whole of successive order\" (p. 116)--\"a\nperpetual flow of instants, of which only one can ever be present.\nThe very idea of Time is an idea of successions. It consists of this\nand of nothing else\" (pp. 116--117)--\"it is the single worded\nabstract, involving the meaning of the three several abstracts,\npastness, presentness, futureness\" (p. 118). In the line of \"Time,\nwe have the concrete line, and the abstract line: the concrete line\nbeing the successions with the objects: the abstract line, the\nsuccessions without the objects: to which abstract line, we give the\nname Time\" (p. 133).\n\nIn p. 120 he gives us in a few words Dr. Reid's explanation of\nTime:--and in pp. 124--130 he cites at greater length Aristotle's\nexplanation, as reproduced by Harris in the Hermes.\n\nBoth Aristotle and Reid include in their meaning of Time, not merely\nsuccession, but duration or continuity. Mr. James Mill includes only\nsuccession--antecedents and consequents. He thinks that continuity\nis nothing else than an illusion or prejudice, arising from extreme\nrapidity of succession (pp. 123--125).\n\n\"Time and Space (says Harris, cited p. 124) have this in common,\nthat they are both of them by nature continuous. But in this they\ndiffer--that all the parts of space exist at once and together;\nwhile those of Time only exist in Transition or Succession.\" Mr.\nJames Mill proceeds to say--\"This is only transcribing the common\nlanguage. What remained was, to show what are the real facts couched\nunder this language.\"\n\nUndoubtedly these facts ought to be shewn, and shewn fully. But I\ncannot think that they are shewn fully in the {136} present Chapter\nof the Analysis. On the contrary, a most important part of the case\nis omitted--Duration or Continuity--which Aristotle has put in the\nfront of his exposition, and after him *Reid as well as Harris.\n\nIf it were true that the word Time is the abstract, having for its\nconcrete succeeding objects and nothing more, we should not need the\nterm at all. The abstract term \"Succession\" already answers this\npurpose, much more perspicuously and obviously. But Time includes\nsomething more than succession. It comprehends not merely\npotentiality for succeeding objects or events, but also potentiality\nfor continuous motions or sensations: it embraces duration as well\nas succession.\n\nThe exposition of Aristotle is adapted to readers and debates so\ndifferent from those of the present day, that it often appears\nstrange, and even mystical, when ever so well translated. In the\npresent case, however, we derive satisfaction from knowing, that his\ndoctrine is, with a very small reserve, adopted by Hobbes, the most\nanti-mystical of all philosophers. (Hobbes' First Grounds of\nPhilosophy--Part II., Sect. 7. 3). Aristotle has given a theory of\nTime at great length, perfectly clear as to its main features,\nthough in several of its details, obscure and difficult to follow.\nI will add that throughout nearly the whole exposition, he keeps the\nabstract in close implication with the concrete: the neglect of\nwhich precaution, by many philosophers, is so justly censured by the\nAuthor of the Analysis.\n\nAristotle, according to a practice frequent with him, begins by\nenumerating various puzzles and difficulties which stand in the way\nof any theory ([Greek: diapor\u00ea=sai] Physic. IV. 10. p. 217. 6. 30).\nIn doing this, here as elsewhere, he states the difficulties in a\nmanner somewhat paradoxical. The citation of page 126, (together\nwith note, page 127,) are all taken from this preliminary excursion,\nthe beginning and end of which Aristotle distinctly marks (Physica\nIV. c. 10. p. 217 b. 30. p. 218 a. 30). He then proceeds to\nexposition; and after remarking that Time is one and alike every\nwhere, amidst the greatest {137} diversity of events succeeding each\nother--he says that it is not indeed identical with Motion, (as some\ntheorists considered it), but that it is nevertheless inseparable\nfrom Motion being one of the aspects or appurtenances of Motion.\nMagnitude or Body moved--Motion--Time--all go together in\nAristotle's conception. Magnitude is continuous: Motion is\ncontinuous: Time is continuous (Physica IV. 11. p. 219. a. 12. 223.\na. 10): Line is continuous. On the other hand, the Point is separate\nand indivisible; no two Points have any common term: a Line is not\nmade up of Points, but of smaller Lines; and every Line has Points\nfor its bounds or limits. What the Point is to a Line, the Now or\nInstant is to Time: the Instant is not a portion of Time, but the\nboundary of each portion, and the conjoining boundary between Time\npast and Time future. (Physica IV. 11. p. 220. a. 5-25--VI. 3. 234.\na. 1-24).\n\nAristotle defines Time as the Number of Motion according to Former\nand Later: _i.e._, Continuous Motion, considered as numerable and\nsuccessive. To take the words of Harris, from Aristotle (cited p.\n128 of the Analysis)--\"It is from contemplating two or more Instants\nunder one view, together with that Interval of Continuity which\nsubsists between them, that we acquire insensibly the Idea of\nTime.\"--\"Months and Years are all so many Intervals described as\nabove; that is to say, passing Intervals of Continuity between two\nInstants viewed together.\"\n\nMr. James Mill hardly does justice to this exposition, when he\nobserves (p. 131)--\"Neither Harris *nor Reid does anything more than\nmerely state the fact, without an attempt to explain it. That we\ncannot have the idea of time, without the observation of succession;\nand that memory is joined with sense in the observation of\nsuccessions,--is the matter of fact. What Time is, distinct from the\nmemory and the sensations, they ought to have told us, but have\nnot.\"--In this passage, the word \"sensations\" is evidently used by\nMr. James Mill as equivalent to \"successions\" or successive {138}\nsensations: and the observation appears to me not well founded.\nI think that Aristotle has told us, and Harris after him, what Time\nis, distinct from the successive sensations. It includes Motion and\nthe Continuity of Motion. These are elements of which Mr. James Mill\ntakes no notice: and they supply the deficiency of which he\ncomplains.\n\nIt is one of the many merits of Mr. James Mill's Analysis that he\nhas paid more attention to movements and muscular sensibility, as\nelements of our consciousness, than philosophers had done before\nhim. But in this chapter unfortunately, he has left them out, and\nhas confined himself to successions. The explanation of Time, given\nin the main by Aristotle, is completed and elucidated by Professor\nBain in his work on the Senses and the Intellect (chapter on the\nMuscular Feelings, sect. 20--23, pp. 95, 96; compare also p. 183, in\ned. 3rd). The feeling of continuance in our muscular exertions, of\nlonger or shorter duration in the sweep of our limbs, is one of the\nprimordial varieties of sensibility. A longer expenditure of our\nenergy affects the consciousness differently from a shorter.\nIn a full sweep of the arm, we are conscious of the instant of\ncommencement as antecedent,--the interval of continued effort,--and\nthe instant of termination as following. This is the clearest\nillustration of that which Aristotle and Harris describe as Time:\ntwo instants former and later, with continuous interval between\nthem. Motion is the most striking and obvious example of Continuity,\nand is therefore employed by Aristotle as the basis for his\nexposition of Time. The eternal and uniform motions of the celestial\nbodies were to him the most impressive of all phenomena; the great\nstandard by which all other motions were to be measured. Hobbes also\ntakes the Line as the proper exponent of time. But though motion\naffords the best and amplest illustrations of Continuity, it is not\nmotion only that is felt as continuous. The sense of continuance is\nfelt in regard to other impressions also. Professor Bain\nobserves--\"All impressions made on the mind, whether those of\nmuscular energy, or those of the ordinary senses, are felt\ndifferently according as they endure {139} for a longer or a shorter\ntime. This is true of the higher emotions also. The continuance of a\nmental state must be discriminated by us from the very dawn of\nconsciousness; and hence our estimate of time is one of our earliest\nmental aptitudes. It attaches to every feeling that we possess\"--(p.\n93).\n\nWe thus perceive that the sense of continuance is just as much an\noriginal presentation to our consciousness, as the sense of\nsuccession. This is an important fact, which has not been\nsufficiently adverted to in the exposition of complex ideas such as\nTime and Space. The _fundamentum_ of Continual Quantity is an\nimmediate manifestation of our sensitive discriminations not less\nthan that of Discrete Quantity. The complex Idea of Time embodies\nboth.[a] Mr. James Mill insists everywhere, with laudable emphasis,\nupon the necessity of seeking the meaning of every abstract term in\nthe concrete particulars out of which it grows. But in explaining\nTime, he has not set before himself all the concrete particulars in\ntheir full variety and amplitude. Confining himself to Succession,\nand scarcely touching Continuance, he has not been led to follow out\nthe facts of motion in all their diversified aspects, nor the many\nabstractions and generalisations which {140} spring from comparison\nof motions with each other, under some one of these aspects.\n\n[Footnote a: Aristotle's definition of Time was much discussed by\nhis contemporaries and successors. Both his pupils, Theophrastus and\nEudemus, accepted it: but there were many objectors, and the\nearliest of them notified to us is, Straton of Lampsakus, pupil and\nsuccessor of Theophrastus. Straton objected on the ground that the\ndefinition combined Number and Motion--Discrete Quantity and\nContinual Quantity--which combination he held to be inadmissible.\nBut this seems no valid objection. Aristotle very properly\nrecognises the two as distinct varieties of Quanta--(see Categor.\np. 4, b. 20): but that is no reason why both of them may not be\ncombined in the same complex idea--especially when we see that each\nof them has its distinct root in different original presentations of\nour discriminative consciousness.\n\nSee Simplikius ad Aristot. Physic. IV. Scholia, p. 394, b. 27--47.\nBrandis.]\n\nIn a note to this chapter of the Analysis (p. 129) attention is\ncalled by Mr. James Mill to another important doctrine cited by\nHarris out of Aristotle--to the relative nature of Time. Can there\nbe any time, apart from the percipient mind? asks Aristotle--since\ntime is the numerable element in motion, and there can be no\nnumeration without a rational mind to number.[b] He does not affirm\npositively, but he speaks as conceiving number and the numbering\nmind to be Relatum and Correlatum, so that the former cannot exist\nwithout the latter.[c] Both Alexander of Aphrodisias and Themistius\nthought so likewise after him: though Bo\u00ebthius and other\ncommentators dissented from the opinion.[d] Upon this general\nquestion of relativity, Aristotle is not always consistent with\nhimself. Though he declares explicitly, that Relata reciprocate in\npredication, and are implicated each with the other--and though he\nsays that \"the Soul is in a certain sense all things\" (_i.e._ is the\nimplied correlate of all our beliefs and disbeliefs, affirmations\nand negations)--yet in other places, he limits this {141} universal\nprincipal by exceptions, which some of his commentators deprecate as\ninadmissible.[e]--_G._\n\n[Footnote b: Aristot. Physica. IV. 14, p. 223, a. 26.]\n\n[Footnote c: So also Hobbes' First Philosophy, Part II. 7, 3,\n5:--\"Seeing all men confess a year to be time, and yet do not think\na year to be the accident or affection of any body, they must needs\nconfess it to be, not in the things without us, but only in the\nthought of the mind.\" (Here Hobbes goes too far, divesting time of\nall objective character; instead of considering it as relative to\nthe mind, which implies a subjective and an objective aspect\ncombined. The next passage exhibits this.) \"Time is the phantasm of\nbefore and after in motion: which agrees with the definition of\nAristotle. Time is the number of motion according to former and\nlatter--for that numbering is an act of the mind. To divide Space or\nTime, is nothing else but to consider one and another within the\nsame--division is not made by the operation of the hands, but of the\nmind.\"]\n\n[Footnote d: Themistius ad Aristot. Physic. IV. p. 337, in Spengel's\nedition of Themistius--partly extracted by Brandis in Scholia to\nAristotle, p. 393, b. 27.]\n\n[Footnote e: Aristot. Categor., c. 7, p. 6, a. 37, b. 28; p. 7,\nb. 23. Scholia ad Categor., p. 65, b. 10--20. Brandis.\n\nAristot. de Anim\u00e2, III., 8, 431, b. 21, [Greek: \u00ea( psuch\u00ea\\ ta\\\no)/nta p\u00f4/s e)sti pa/nta; \u00ea)\\ ga\\r ai)sth\u00eata\\ ta\\ o)/nta \u00ea)\\ no\u00eata\\,\ne)/sti d' \u00ea( e)pist\u00ea/m\u00ea me\\n ta\\ e)pist\u00eata/ p\u00f4s, \u00ea( d' ai)/sth\u00easis\nta\\ ai)sth\u00eata/].]]\n\n\n{142} SECTION VI.\n\nMOTION.\n\n\nIt is necessary to take notice of this term, because the idea which\nis named by it is apt to present the appearance of something\nmysterious, though, after the expositions with which we are now\nfamiliar, the materials of which it is compounded, will not be\ndifficult to find.\n\nThe word Motion, is the abstract of Moving. What we have to\ninvestigate, therefore, are the sensations, on account of which, we\ncall a body \"moving;\" motion being merely moving, the connotation\ndropped.\n\nAll motion is in a Line, either a straight line, or some other line.\nThe idea of \"moving,\" therefore, contains, for one ingredient, the\nidea of a line.\n\nA body \"moving,\" is a body which is successively at every point of a\nline. Every point of a line, as we have seen, is a particular\nposition. A body \"moving,\" therefore, is a body first in one\nposition, then in another, then in another, through a certain\nseries.\n\nIn the idea of a Body moving, then, we can enumerate the following\nparticulars: the idea of a body, the idea of a position, the idea of\na line, the idea of succession. These are all complex ideas; some of\nthem highly complex; united into one idea, motion, they compose one\nof the most complex of all our {143} ideas. The ingredients,\nhowever, being already explained, there can be no great difficulty\nin understanding the compound.\n\nIt is commonly said, that motion includes the idea both of Space,\nand of Time. As it includes the idea of Succession, it includes the\nidea of Time, successions in the abstract (otherwise called\ninstants), without end, receiving the name of Time. As it includes\nthe idea of a Line, it includes the idea of extension in one\ndirection. As it includes the idea of Position, which is that of\nlines, in every direction, it includes the idea of extension in\nevery direction; but extension in every direction, taken abstractly,\nis Space.\n\nIt is important to observe, that, though we receive, and that the\nmost frequently, information of motions by the eye, it is not from\nthe sensations of sight, that the idea of motion is derived. It is\nby association of ideas alone, that we fancy we see motion, as it is\nthence we fancy that we see figure, and distance. The classes of\nsensations, from which we derive the idea of motion, and the idea of\nextension, are the same; they are the muscular and tactual\nsensations. The man born blind, is not without the idea of motion,\nas he is without that of colour; on the contrary, he has the idea\nprobably much more precise, than we who have entangled it\ninextricably with the perceptions of sight.\n\nTo recur to the exposition which we have already given; we may\nremember, that the sensations (taking the simplest case), on account\nof which we apply the name Line, are partly sensations of Touch,\npartly sensations of Muscular Action. If we touch a line at one\npoint with any part of our bodies, say the finger; so long as the\nfinger is still, we have merely the {144} sensations, on account of\nwhich we call the line tangible. As soon as we move the finger along\nthe line, we have the sensations and ideas, on account of which we\ncall it extended. But these new feelings, on account of which we\ncall the line extended, are also the feelings, on account of which\nwe call the finger moved. The sensations, therefore, whence we\nderive our ideas of extension, and of motion, exist simultaneously.\nWe have a certain compound of feelings, partly sensations, and\npartly ideas; for we have already seen, that the perception of\nsuccession consists in a present sensation, associated with the idea\nof a past one; and we assign to this compound, not one name, as on\nother occasions, but two names, after a very peculiar and remarkable\nmanner. These two names are, Line Extended, Finger Moved. The\ncomplication of the feelings here, and of course the obscurity of\nthem, is very remarkable; though the naming, as in certain other\ncases of obscure ideas, is very distinct. We are never misled in the\napplication of the terms, Line Extended, Finger moved; though we may\nbe very much puzzled to shew, of the compound of feelings which are\nthus named, and which, in the compound, are easily, and infallibly\ntraced, how much is included under the one term, and how much under\nthe other. A certain portion of the sensations in the compound is\npeculiar to what is called the Line, another portion is peculiar to\nwhat is called the Finger. The rest is common to both. The common\npart, united to what is peculiar to line, is called line extended;\nthe same common part, united with what is peculiar to finger, is\ncalled Finger moved.\n\nOur ideas of extension and motion, are, no doubt, {145} originally\nderived from the action of our own bodies. I touch something, and\nhave the sensation of resistance. The idea of resistance is the\nfundamental part in every combination to which I give the name of\nobject. In this case, there is the object touched, and there is the\nfinger touching. A certain action is given to my finger, still\ntouching the object. That action involves certain feelings; these\nI combine both with the object, and with the finger, and to these\ntwo combinations I give the two names, Object Extended, Finger Moved.\n\nIf any one shut his eyes, excluding as much as possible, the ideas\nof sight, and conceiving, without admixture, the feelings in the\nfinger and the arm, while the finger passes along a line, he will\nget some notion of the series of antecedents and consequents, whence\nthe idea of Motion is derived. They are feelings, which language\ndoes not enable us to communicate by words; but it does not seem\nvery difficult for any man to raise the ideas of them in himself.\n\nLet any one suppose, that the line commences opposite to the centre\nof his body. He begins by touching it at that point with the finger\nof his right hand; and in this there is one state of feeling. He\ngives the finger the smallest perceptible motion towards the right:\nthis is another state of feeling. He gives it a further motion, the\nsmallest perceptible, in the same direction: this is another state\nof feeling; and so on, as far as the arm can reach. The antecedent\nstates are in each instance united with the present by memory, and\nby the amount of the states, thus united, the amount of the motion\nis computed.\n\nConceiving the case of a man born blind, the more {146} easily to\nexclude the illusions of association; it is obvious, that such a man\ncan obtain the idea of another body in motion, only by accompanying\nit with his hand; or by associating the ideas, on account of which\nhe calls the hand, moved, with the body in question. By frequent\noperations of the hand, such as that described above, he becomes\nfamiliar with the idea of the hand moved. The ideas of the\nsensations, on account of which, he calls it moved, are easily\nraised, easily form themselves into combination, and easily\nassociate themselves with the object, Hand. The idea of Hand, and\nthe idea of Hand moved, having become very familiar, it is an easy\ncase of association to transfer the term _moved_ to other things, as\nthe foot moved, the body moved, the stone moved. When he has become\nfamiliar with the application of Moved, as a connotative term, to\nvarious objects, it is easy, in this, as in other cases, to drop the\nconnotation; and then he has the abstract, MOTION.[31] [32]\n\n[Bain's footnote 31: The author correctly, in my opinion, refers to\nour muscular sensibility (aided by Touch), the fundamental notions\nof Resistance, Motion, Extension, Space. He also remarks properly,\nthat the idea of motion and the idea of extension are the same; they\nare merely different modes of viewing one experience. In a mutually\ninvolved series of properties such as these, the Analysis may\nproceed in several different arrangements, no one being apparently\nvery decisive. The following mode is suggested as on the whole, the\nmost consecutive.\n\nThe feeling of Resistance expresses what is probably the most\nfundamental state of all, the consciousness of muscular energy or\nexpended force. Taking the case of a dead strain, or a pressure\nwithout movement, we have mere muscular energy and nothing else. We\nhave an indivisible, unanalysable, mode {147} of consciousness,\ndistinct from all modes of passive sensation, and from all forms of\nemotion. It is a kind of consciousness remarkably constant in its\ncharacter; it varies in degree, but with this peculiarity that\nbecause a man is physically weaker than usual, he does not on that\naccount exaggerate or misrepresent the degree of his muscular\nexpenditure; the feeling of lifting two pounds is not made the same\nas the feeling of lifting four pounds, although in some of the\nincidents of exertion, as in the organic state of exhaustion, the\nsmaller expenditure in one state is held to be equal to the greater\nexpenditure in another state. The consciousness of putting forth\npower is the most uniform, the least variable, of all our\nsensibilities; the same amount of actual force expended is estimated\nas nearly the same under all circumstances.\n\nIn being conscious of expended energy, we discriminate its degrees,\nwithin certain limits; we know when we increase or diminish the\namount; and our sensibility is measured by the smallness of the\ndifference that makes a change in our consciousness. This\ndiscrimination is the basis of our estimate of the property termed\nForce, Resistance, Momentum, in moving bodies. Our idea of force is\na muscular idea, an idea of muscular force of a certain amount.\nForce may be viewed in other ways, or from other aspects, but its\ndirect and simple estimate is muscular energy in the dead strain.\n\n2. We are farther conscious of muscular energy as more or less\nenduring or continuing. Our consciousness varies according as a\nstrain is protracted; a weight supported half a minute gives a\nfeeling different from a weight supported a quarter of a minute.\n\nFarther, it is important to remark that increase of continuance is\nnot confounded with increase of force in the same time. Mechanically\nspeaking, it is the same to us, whether we support two pounds one\nminute, or one pound two minutes; the energy gone out of us, the\noxidation, or consumption of material, must be the same for both.\nBut the consciousness is not the same for both; each has a character\nof its own, and we recognise the distinction in clear consciousness.\nIf we {148} confounded all modes of expended energy that are\ndynamically equal, we should be disqualified from attaining the\nideas of motion and extension.\n\nWhen energy is accompanied by _movement_, there is a new and\ncharacteristic mode of consciousness, of vital importance. Energy in\nthe dead strain and energy with motion may be equal as regard\nexpended force, but they are not the same to our feelings.\nContinuance in the one is a different fact from continuance in the\nother. The feeling of continuance in moving energy is the fact that\nwe call motion; and also the fundamental property, the starting\npoint, with reference to Extension; although much more is wanted to\ncomplete that cognition. Mere dead strain would not amount to\nextension; and the discriminating of dead strain from moving strain\nis thus of essential moment. From the sense of this distinction, and\nthe estimate of degree of continuance in movement, we begin at once\nthe experience of motion and the ground-work of extension.\n\nThe consciousness of continuance whether of dead strain or of\nmovement is also a consciousness of duration, but not the only mode\nof becoming versed in this property. All our mental states,--whether\nmuscular feelings, sensations, emotions, thoughts, volitions,--are\ndifferent as they are more or less continued, and this consciousness\nof difference is a consciousness of Duration or Time. Hence the\nusual saying that Time is a property common to the Object and to the\nsubject. The object experiences of motion and extension are the most\nconvenient modes of measuring time, they are the most accurate and\ndiscriminative, but they are not the only nor the chief concrete\nembodiments of it. We often measure time by the duration and\nsuccession of our feelings and thoughts.\n\n3. Another mode of discrimination inhering in our muscular\nconsciousness is the degree of movement, as slow or quick. We are\ndifferently affected according to the rapidity of our movements; an\naccelerated pace in the arm, or in the whole body, sensibly alters\nour feelings. Farther, we do not compound this alteration with its\ndynamical equivalents in the {149} other modes--with increase in the\namount of the dead strain, in the continuance of the dead strain, or\nin the continuance of movement. A characteristic mode of feeling\nattends this special form of augmenting or reducing our expenditure\nof force. The consequence is, a feeling of velocity or speed of\nmovement. But this feeling of speed is not all. We gain another\nequivalent of degrees of extension; more speed in the same time\nbeing equal to more time with the same speed. It is proper to\nremark, however, that we are premature in speaking of extension, or\nin regarding it as arrived at, at once by our primary experiences of\nmovement; much has to be gone through before this is fully formed or\ndeveloped. Motion is the fundamental fact, but motion is a fact of\nsuccession, and can do nothing to suggest a group of contemporaneous\nphenomena, an outspread universe of the co-existing in time. Our\nprimary sensibility is a mere thread of succession, duration, or\ncontinuance; we have to acquire by a process of aggregation and\nassociation, the highly artificial experience of things permanently\nsituated in a relationship of co-existence in space or extension.\n\nIt is at this point that Sensation comes to our aid. Passive\nsensation by itself is incompetent to give us the foundations of\nextension; through it, we have neither resistance nor movement, nor\nany fact partaking in what is essential to the extended or object\nuniverse. Mere warmth, odour, relish, touch, sound, colour, contain\nno elements of extension. The co-operation with moving energy is\nwhat introduces us to the object world.\n\nHow then does Sensation aid muscularity in evolving Extension? In\nvarious ways, but chiefly thus. Our movements are not performed in\nvacuo, but in conjunction with sensation. The movements of the hand\nand arm, are usually conjoined with sensations of touch. We draw the\nhand across a table; there is an arm sensibility, purely motor or\nenergetic, which is distinct from every mode of passive sensation.\nThere accompanies it, however, a series of tactile sensations,\nmaking a united experience, active and passive. If this conjunction\n{150} were to happen but once, nothing would be thought of it\nfarther than as a mere experience of succession. Again, in another\nsituation the sweep of the movement ends in a contact or sensation\nof touch, or begins in the loss of such a contact. So far, these are\nmere casual conjunctions, unions of moving energy and passive\nsensibility. But in the course of many trials, there arise uniform\nconjunctions of movement with passive sensibility: the same movement\nbeing associated with the same tactile series, or with the same\nbeginning or ending of tactile sensation. Take the case of the\nmovement of the hand over the surface of our own body. A certain\ndefinite start, and definite amount of exertion brings with it a\nuniform tactile sensation, as in drawing the hand over the face.\nThis uniformity generates an expectation that the same sensation\nwill follow on the same definite energy. Many such conjunctions are\nformed in this manner. There is an interesting variety of the\nexperience of such concurrences; namely, when we reverse a movement,\nand find a series of sensations identified as the same in an\ninverted order. The hand passed along the side of a knife,\nexperiences movement coupled with sensations, as often as the\nmovement is made; the inverted movement inverts the sensations.\n\nThe supposition, hitherto, has been confined to Touch. When we take\nin sight, the scope for the operation is greatly enlarged. Almost\nall our movements are conjoined with optical changes--sensations of\ncolour and of visible form in a certain sequence. We speedily detect\na number of uniform occurrences of movement and visible sensation.\nThe same movement gives the same series of appearances at all times;\nand an inverted movement corresponds with an inverted order. Here\ntoo we attain to a number of uniformities of coincidence, with the\nexpectation of future occurrence. A certain movement of the eyes is\naccompanied with an optical series, as scanning the starry heavens;\nas often as the movement is repeated from the same stand-point, the\noptical series is repeated; the inverted movement gives the inverted\nseries. We {151} contract an expectation, that such a coincidence\nwill occur in the future, and this expectation is our idea of the\nstarry space.\n\nOur idea of extended things is thus completed by sensation. It is a\nseries of conjunctions, or associations, of movements and\nsensations, in a fixed order. We do not in our idea of space,\ncommand an entire view at one glance; the successive perception of\npoints or limited portions is what we begin with, and is the\ncharacter of the mind's working even after we are educated to the\nutmost. The co-existing in space, is the mind's potentiality of\nfinding definite sensations by means of definite movements; and it\nseems impossible to assign any other meaning or import to the\nphenomena. The genesis of the idea of space determines our mode of\nsettling the great question of the Perception of a material\nworld.--_B._]\n\n[Editor's footnote 32: It will be both useful and interesting to the\ninquiring reader, if I add to the analysis of these very complex\nideas by the author of the present treatise, and to that by Mr.\nBain, the analysis given of them by the other great living master of\nthe Association psychology, Mr. Herbert Spencer. The following\npassages are from his \"Principles of Psychology.\" First, of\nResistance:\n\n\"On raising the arm to a horizontal position and keeping it so, and\nstill more on dealing similarly with the leg, a sensation is felt,\nwhich, tolerably strong as it is at the outset, presently becomes\nunbearable. If the limb be uncovered, and be not brought against\nanything, this sensation is associated with no other, either of\ntouch or pressure.\" This is the sensation of Muscular Tension.\n\n\"Allied to the sensation accompanying tension of the muscles, is\nthat accompanying the act of contracting them--the sensation of\nmuscular motion. . . . While, from the muscles of a limb at rest, no\nsensation rises; while, from the muscles of a limb in a state of\ncontinuous strain, there arises a continuous sensation which remains\nuniform for a considerable time; from the muscle of a limb in\nmotion, there arises a sensation which is {152} ever undergoing\nincrease or decrease, or change of composition.\n\n\"When we express our immediate experiences of a body by saying that\nit is _hard_, what are the experiences implied? First, a sensation\nof pressure, of considerable intensity, is implied; and if, as in\nmost cases, this sensation of pressure is given to a finger\nvoluntarily thrust against the object, then there is simultaneously\nfelt a correspondingly strong sensation of muscular tension. But\nthis is not all: for feelings of pressure and muscular tension may\nbe given by bodies which we call soft, provided the compressing\nfinger follows the surface as fast as it gives way. In what then\nconsists the difference between the perceptions? In this; that\nwhereas when a soft body is pressed with increasing force, the\nsynchronous sensations of increasing pressure and increasing\nmuscular tension are accompanied by sensations of muscular movement;\nwhen a hard body is pressed with increasing force these sensations\nof increasing pressure and tension are not accompanied by sensations\nof muscular movement. Considered by itself, then, the perception of\nsoftness may be defined as the establishment in consciousness of a\nrelation of simultaneity between three series of sensations--a\nseries of increasing sensations of pressure; a series of increasing\nsensations of tension; and a series of sensations of motion. And the\nperception of hardness is the same, with omission of the last\nseries.\" (pp. 212, 218.)\n\nOf Extension; and first, of Form or Figure:\n\n\"It is an anciently established doctrine that Form or Figure, which\nwe may call the most complex mode of extension, is resolvable into\nrelative magnitude of parts. An equilateral triangle is one of which\nthe three sides are alike in magnitude. An ellipse is a symmetrical\nclosed curve, of which the transverse and conjugate diameters are\none greater than the other. A cube is a solid, having all its\nsurfaces of the same magnitude, and all its angles of the same\nmagnitude. A cone is a solid, successive sections of which, made at\nright angles to the axis, are circles regularly decreasing in {153}\nmagnitude as we progress from base to apex. Any object described as\nnarrow is one whoso breadth is of small magnitude when compared with\nits length. A symmetrical figure is a figure in which the homologous\nparts on opposite sides are equal in magnitude. Figures which we\nclass as similar to each other, are such that the relation of\nmagnitude between any two parts of the one, is equal to the relation\nof magnitude between the corresponding parts of the other. Add to\nwhich, that an alteration in the form of anything, is an alteration\nin the comparative sizes of some of its parts--a change in the\nrelations of magnitude subsisting between them and the other parts,\nand that by continuously altering the relative magnitudes of its\nparts, any figure may be changed indefinitely. Hence, figure being\nwholly resolvable into relations of magnitude we may go on to\nanalyze that out of which these relations are formed--magnitude\nitself.\" (pp. 224, 225.)\n\nNext therefore, of Magnitude:\n\n\"What is a magnitude, considered analytically? The reply is, It\nconsists of one or more relations of position. When we conceive\nanything as having a certain bulk, we conceive its opposite limiting\nsurfaces as more or less removed from each other; that is, as\nrelated in position. When we imagine a line of definite length, we\nimagine its termini as occupying points in space having some\npositive distance from each other; that is, as related in position.\nAs a solid is decomposable into planes; a plane into lines; lines\ninto points; and as adjacent points can neither be known nor\nconceived as distinct from each other, except as occupying different\nplaces in space--that is, as occupying not the same position, but\nrelative positions--it follows that every cognition of magnitude, is\na cognition of one or more relations of position, which are\npresented to consciousness as like or unlike one or more other\nrelations of position.\" (p. 226.)\n\nAnd finally, of Position:\n\n\"This analysis of itself brings us to the remaining space-attribute\nof body--Position. Like magnitude, Position cannot be known\nabsolutely; but can be known only relatively. {154} The notion of\nposition is, in itself, the notion of relative position. The\nposition of a thing is inconceivable, save by thinking of that thing\nas at some distance from one or more other things. The essential\nelement of the idea will be best seen, on observing under what\nconditions only, it can come into existence. Imagine a solitary\npoint A, in infinite space; and suppose it possible for that point\nto be known by a being having no locality, what now can be\npredicated respecting its place? Absolutely nothing. Imagine another\npoint B to be added. What can now be predicated respecting the two?\nStill nothing. The points having no attributes save position, are\nnot comparable in themselves; and nothing can be said of their\nrelative position, from lack of anything with which to compare it.\nThe distance between them may be either infinite or infinitesimal,\naccording to the measure used; and as, by the hypothesis, there\nexists no measure--as space contains nothing save these two points;\nthe distance between them is unthinkable. But now imagine that a\nthird point C is added. Immediately it becomes possible to frame a\nproposition respecting their positions. The two distances, A to B,\nand A to C, serve as measures to each other. The space between A and\nB may be compared with the space between A and C; and the relation\nof position in which A stands to B becomes thinkable, as like or\nunlike the relation in which A stands to C. Thus, then, it is\nmanifest that position is not an attribute of body in itself, but\nonly in its connection with the other contents of the universe.\n\n\"It remains to add, that relations of position are of two kinds:\nthose which subsist between subject and object; and those which\nsubsist between either different objects, or different parts of the\nsame object. Of these the last are resolvable into the first. It\nneeds but to remember, on the one hand, that in the dark a man can\ndiscover the relative positions of two objects only by touching\nfirst one and then the other, and so inferring their relative\npositions from his own position towards each; and on the other hand,\nthat by vision no knowledge of their relative positions can be {155}\nreached save through a perception of the distance of each from the\neye; to see that ultimately all relative positions may be decomposed\ninto relative positions of subject and object.\n\n\"These conclusions--that Figure is resolvable into relative\nmagnitudes; that magnitude is resolvable into relative positions;\nand that all relative positions may finally be reduced to positions\nof subject and object--will be fully confirmed on considering the\nprocess by which the space-attributes of body become known to a\nblind man. He puts out his hand and touching something, thereby\nbecomes cognizant of its position with respect to himself. He puts\nout his other hand, and meeting no resistance above or on one side\nof the position already found, gains some negative knowledge of the\nthing's magnitude--a knowledge which three or four touches on\ndifferent sides of it serve to render positive. And then, by\ncontinuing to move his hands over its surface, he acquires a notion\nof its figure. What, then, are the elements out of which, by\nsynthesis, his perceptions of magnitude and figure are framed? He\nhas received nothing but simultaneous and successive touches. Each\ntouch established a relation of position between his centre of\nconsciousness and the point touched. And all he can know respecting\nmagnitude and figure--that is, respecting the relative position of\nthese points to each other--is necessarily known through the\nrelative positions in which they severally stand to himself.\n\n\"Our perceptions of all the space-attributes of body being thus\ndecomposable into perceptions of position like that gained by a\nsingle act of touch; we have next to inquire what is contained in a\nperception of this kind. A little thought will make it clear that to\nperceive the position of anything touched, is really to perceive the\nposition of that part of the body in which the sensation of touch is\nlocated. Whence it follows that our knowledge of the positions of\nobjects, is built upon our knowledge of the positions of our members\ntowards each other--knowledge both of their fixed relations, and of\nthose temporary relations they are placed in by every change of\nmuscular adjustment. That {156} this knowledge is gained by a mutual\nexploration of the parts--by a bringing of each in contact with the\nothers--by a moving over each other in all possible ways; and that\nthe motions involved in these explorations, are known by their\nreactions upon consciousness; are propositions that scarcely need\nstating. But it is manifestly impossible to carry the analysis\nfurther without analysing our perception of motion. Relative\nposition and motion are two ideas of the same experience. We can\nneither conceive motion without conceiving relative position, nor\ndiscover relative position without motion. In the present,\ntherefore, we must be content with the conclusion that, whether\nvisual or tactual, the perception of every statical attribute of\nbody is resolvable into perceptions of relative position which are\ngained through motion.\" (pp. 226--229.)\n\nIn further prosecution of the analysis:\n\n\"How do we become cognizant of the relative positions of two points\non the surface of the body? Such two points, considered as\ncoexistent, involve the germinal idea of Space. Such two points\ndisclosed to consciousness by two successive tactual sensations\nproceeding from them, involve the germinal idea of Time. And the\nseries of muscular sensations by which, when self-produced, these\ntwo tactual sensations are separated, involve the germinal idea of\nMotion. The questions to be considered then are--In what order do\nthese germinal ideas arise? and--How are they developed?\n\n\"... Taking for our subject a newly-born infant, let us call the two\npoints on its body between which a relation is to be established, A\nand Z. Let us assume these points to be anywhere within reach of the\nhands--say upon the cheek. By the hypothesis, nothing is at present\nknown of these points; either as coexisting in Space, as giving\nsuccessive sensations in Time, or as being brought into relation by\nMotion. If, now, the infant moves its arm in such a way as to touch\nnothing, there is a certain vague reaction upon its consciousness--a\nsensation of muscular tension. This {157} sensation has the\npeculiarity of being indefinite in all its commencement; indefinite\nin its termination; and indefinite in all its intermediate changes.\nIts strength is proportionate to the degree of muscular contraction.\nWhence it follows that as the limb starts from a state of rest, in\nwhich there is no contraction; and as it can reach a position\nrequiring extreme contraction only by passing through positions\nrequiring intermediate degrees of contraction; and as the degrees of\ncontraction must therefore form a series ascending by infinitesimal\nincrements from zero; the sensations of tension must also form such\na series. And the like must be the case with all subsequent\nmovements and their accompanying sensations; seeing that, be it at\nrest or in action, a muscle cannot pass from any one state to any\nother without going through all the intermediate states. Thus, then,\nthe infant, on moving its arm backwards and forwards without\ntouching anything, is brought to what we may distinguish as a\nnascent consciousness--a consciousness not definitely divisible into\nstates; but a consciousness the variations of which pass insensibly\ninto each other, like undulations of greater or less magnitude. And\nwhile the states of consciousness are thus incipient--thus\nindistinctly separated, there can be no clear comparison of them; no\nthought, properly so called; and consequently no ideas of Motion,\nTime, or Space, as we understand them. Suppose, now, that the hand\ntouches something. A sudden change in consciousness is produced--a\nchange that is incisive in its commencement, and, when the hand is\nremoved, equally incisive in its termination. In the midst of the\ncontinuous feeling of muscular tension, vaguely rising and falling\nin intensity, there all at once occurs a distinct feeling of another\nkind. This feeling, beginning and ending abruptly, constitutes a\ndefinite state of consciousness; becomes, as it were, a mark in\nconsciousness. By similar experiences other such marks are produced;\nand in proportion as they are multiplied, there arises a possibility\nof comparing them, both in respect to their degrees and their\nrelative positions; while at the same {158} time, the feelings of\nmuscular tension being, as it were, divided out into lengths by\nthese superposed marks, become similarly comparable; and so there\nare acquired materials for a simple order of thought. Observe, also,\nthat while these tactual sensations may, when several things are\ntouched in succession, produce successive marks in consciousness,\nseparated by intervening muscular sensations, they may also become\ncontinually coexistent with these muscular sensations; as when the\nfinger is drawn along a surface. And observe further, that when the\nsurface over which the finger is drawn is not a foreign body, but\nsome part of the subject's body, these muscular sensations, and the\ncontinuous tactual sensation joined with them, are accompanied by a\nseries of tactual sensations proceeding from that part of the skin\nover which the finger is drawn. Thus, then, when the infant moves\nits finger along the surface of its body from A to Z, there are\nsimultaneously impressed upon consciousness three sets of\nsensations--the varying series of sensations proceeding from the\nmuscles in action; the series of tactual sensations proceeding from\nthe points of the skin successively touched between A and Z; and the\ncontinuous sensation of touch from the finger-end.... As subsequent\nmotions of the finger over the surface from A to Z always result in\nthe like simultaneous sets of sensations, these, in course of time,\nbecome indissolubly associated. Though the series of tactual\nsensations, A to Z, being producible by a foreign body moving over\nthe same surface, can be dissociated from the others; and though, if\nthe cheek be withdrawn by a movement of the head, the same motion of\nthe hand, with its accompanying muscular sensations, may occur\nwithout any sensation of touch; yet, when these two series are\nlinked by the tactual sensation proceeding from the finger-end, they\nnecessarily proceed together; and become inseparably connected in\nthought. Whence it obviously results that the series of tactual\nsensations A to Z, and the series of muscular sensations which\ninvariably accompanies it when self-produced, serve as mutual\nequivalents; and being {159} two sides of the same experience,\nsuggest each other in consciousness.\n\n\"Due attention having been paid to this fact, let us go on to\nconsider what must happen when something touches, at the same\nmoment, the entire surface between A and Z. This surface is supplied\nby a series of independent nerve-fibres, each of which at its\nperipheral termination becomes fused into, or continuous with, the\nsurrounding tissue; each of which is affected by impressions falling\nwithin a specific area of the skin; and each of which produces a\nseparate state of consciousness. When the finger is drawn along this\nsurface these nerve-fibres A, B, C, D . . . Z, are excited in\nsuccession; that is--produce successive states of consciousness. And\nwhen something covers, at the same moment, the whole surface between\nA and Z, they are excited simultaneously; and produce what tends to\nbecome a single state of consciousness. Already I have endeavoured\nto shew in a parallel case, how, when impressions first known as\nhaving sequent positions in consciousness are afterwards\nsimultaneously presented to consciousness, the sequent positions are\ntransformed into coexistent positions, which, when consolidated by\nfrequent presentations, are used in thought as equivalent to the\nsequent positions.[f] ... As the series of tactual {160} impressions\nA to Z, known as having sequent positions in consciousness, are, on\nthe one hand, found to be equivalent to the accompanying series of\nmuscular impressions; and on the other hand, to the simultaneous\ntactual impressions A to Z, which, as presented together, are\nnecessarily presented in coexistent positions; it follows that these\ntwo last are found to be the equivalents of each other. A series of\nmuscular sensations becomes known as equivalent to a series of\ncoexistent positions; and being habitually joined with it, becomes\nat last unthinkable without it. Thus, the relation of coexistent\npositions between the points A and Z (and by implication all\nintermediate points) is necessarily disclosed by a comparison of\nexperiences: the ideas of Space, Time, and Motion, are evolved\ntogether. When the successive states of consciousness A to Z, are\nthought of as having relative positions, the notion of Time becomes\nnascent. When these states of consciousness, instead of occurring\nserially, occur simultaneously, their relative positions, which were\nbefore sequent, necessarily become coexistent; and there arises a\nnascent consciousness of space. And when these two relations of\ncoexistent and sequent positions are both presented to consciousness\nalong with a series of sensations of muscular tension, a nascent\nidea of Motion results.\n\n[Footnote f: \"Objects laid upon the surface will come to be\ndistinguished from each other by the relative lengths of the series\nthey cover; or, when broad as well as long, by the groups of series\nwhich they cover. . . . By habit these simultaneous excitations,\nfrom being at first known indirectly by translation into the serial\nones, will come to be known directly, and the serial ones will be\nforgotten: just as in childhood the words of a new language, at\nfirst understood by means of their equivalents in the mother tongue,\nare presently understood by themselves; and if used to the exclusion\nof the mother tongue, lead to the ultimate loss of it.\" We see that\n\"a set of [nervous] elements may be excited simultaneously as well\nas serially; that so, a _quasi_ single state of consciousness\nbecomes the equivalent of a series of states; that a relation\nbetween what we call coexistent positions thus represents a relation\nof successive positions, and that this symbolic relation being far\nbriefer, is habitually thought of in place of that it symbolizes;\nand that, by the continued use of such symbols, and the union of\nthem with more complex ones, are generated our ideas of . . .\nextension--ideas which, like those of the algebraist working out an\nequation, are wholly unlike the ideas symbolized, and which yet,\nlike his, occupy the mind to the entire exclusion of the ideas\nsymbolized.\"--(pp. 222--224.)]\n\n\"The development of these nascent ideas, arising as it does from a\nstill further accumulation and comparison of experiences, will be\nreadily understood. What has been above described as taking place\nwith respect to one relation of coexistent positions upon the\nsurface of the skin--or rather, one {161} linear series of such\ncoexisting positions, is, during the same period, taking place, with\nrespect to endless other such linear series, in all directions over\nthe body. The like equivalence between a series of coexistent\nimpressions of touch, a series of successive impressions of touch,\nand series of successive muscular impressions, is being established\nbetween every pair of points that can readily be brought into\nrelation by movement of the hands. Let us glance at the chief\nconsequences that must ultimately arise from this organization of\nexperiences.\n\n\"Not only must there gradually be established a connection in\nthought between each particular muscular series, and the particular\ntactual series, both successive and simultaneous, with which it is\nassociated; and not only must there, by implication, arise a\nknowledge of the special muscular adjustments required to touch each\nspecial part, but, by the same experiences, there must be\nestablished an indissoluble connection between muscular series in\ngeneral and series of sequent and coexistent positions in general,\nseeing that this connection is repeated in every one of the\nparticular experiences. And when we consider the infinite repetition\nof these experiences, we shall have no difficulty in understanding\nhow their components become so consolidated, that even when the hand\nis moved through empty space, it is impossible to become conscious\nof the muscular sensations, without becoming conscious of the\nsequent and coexistent positions--the Time and Space, in which it\nhas moved.\n\n\"Observe again, that as, by this continuous exploration of the\nsurface of the body, each point is put in relation not only with\npoints in some directions around it, but with points in all\ndirections--becomes, as it were, a centre from which radiate lines\nof points known first in their serial positions before\nconsciousness, and afterwards in their coexistent positions--it\nfollows, that when an object of some size, as the hand, is placed\nupon the skin, the impressions from all parts of the area covered\nbeing simultaneously presented to consciousness, are placed in\ncoexistent positions before {162} consciousness: whence results an\nidea of the superficial extension of that part of the body. The idea\nof this extension is really nothing more than a simultaneous\npresentation of all the impressions proceeding from the various\npoints it includes, which have previously had their several relative\npositions measured by means of the series of impressions separating\nthem. Any one who hesitates respecting this conclusion, will,\nI think, adopt it, on critically considering the perception he has\nwhen placing his open hand against his cheek--on observing that the\nperception is by no means single, but is made up of many elements\nwhich he cannot think of altogether--on observing that there is\nalways one particular part of the whole surface touched, of which he\nis more distinctly conscious than of any other--and on observing\nthat to become distinctly conscious of any other part, he has to\ntraverse in thought the intervening parts; that is, he has to think\nof the relative positions of these parts by vaguely recalling the\nseries of states of consciousness which a motion over the skin from\none to the other would involve.\" (pp. 257--263).\n\nThese three different expositions of the origin of our ideas of\nMotion and Extension, by three eminent thinkers, agreeing in\nessentials, and differing chiefly in the comparative degrees of\ndevelopment which they give to different portions of the detail,\nwill enable any competent reader of such a work as the present to\nfill up any gaps by his own thoughts. Many pages of additional\ncommentary might easily be written; but they would not add any\nimportant thought to those of which the reader is now in possession;\nand belonging rather to the polemics of the subject than to its\nstrictly scientific exposition, they would jar somewhat with the\npurely expository character of the present treatise.\n\nI will only further recommend to particular attention, the opinion\nof Mr. Spencer, also adopted by Mr. Bain, that our ascribing\nsimultaneous existence to things which excite successive sensations,\nis greatly owing to our being able to vary or reverse the order of\nthe succession. When we pass our hands {163} over an object, we can\nhave the tactual and muscular sensations in many different orders,\nand after having them in one order, can have them in another exactly\nthe reverse. They do not, therefore, become associated with each\nother in a fixed order of succession, but are called up in any order\nwith such extreme rapidity, that the impression they leave is that\nof simultaneousness, and we therefore hold the parts of tangible\nobjects to be simultaneous.--_Ed._]\n\n\n{164} SECTION VII.\n\nIDENTITY.\n\n\nThere is one other term, which still requires explanation; and that\nis, IDENTITY, about which there would not have appeared any\ndifficulty, had it not been for Personal Identity; which is, indeed,\na complicated case, and, of course, involves the obscurity which\ngreat complexity implies.\n\nWe have already seen, on what account we use the marks, same, and\ndifferent, when we apply them to two simple sensations, or when we\napply them to two ideas, simple, or complex. In these cases, the\nterms are relative terms, and name the objects in pairs.\n\nThere is another case, that which now it is our business to explain,\nin which the name is not applied to two objects, but to the same\nobject, at two different times. Thus it is, that I say, The bridge\nat Westminster, by which I crossed the Thames thirty years ago, is\nthe same by which I crossed it yesterday. The crown which was placed\non the head of George IV. at his coronation, is the same by which\nthe kings of England have been crowned for many centuries. The words\nwhich we read in the Gospel of Matthew, are the same which were\nwritten by that evangelist. The words which we read in the poem\ncalled the \u00c6neid are the same which were written by the poet Virgil.\nThe church which is now at Loretto, is the same with that which\nbelonged to the Virgin Mary at Nazareth, which in the month of May,\nin the year 1291, was {165} carried through the air by Angels, from\nGalilee to Tersato, in Dalmatia; and again on the 10th of December,\n1294, about midnight, by what conveyance is not known, was set down\nin a wood in Italy, in the district of Ricanati, about a thousand\npaces from the sea.\n\nIt is evident, from the contemplation of these instances, which\nmight be multiplied to any extent, that the word SAME, in this mode\nof applying it, is merely the name of a certain case of Belief: a\nbelief which, in some of the instances, is, memory; in some, is\ngrounded upon testimony; in some, upon circumstantial evidence; and,\nin some, upon both testimony and circumstances. Thus, the case of\nbelief respecting Westminster-bridge, which I mark by the word,\nsame, is Memory. The cases of belief respecting the crown of\nEngland, respecting the words of the gospel, respecting the church\nof Loretto, marked respectively by the word same, are founded on\ntestimony, joined with circumstances.\n\nAs we have already shewn wherein Belief, in all its cases, consists,\nwe have implicitly afforded the exposition of Identity. From same,\nthe concrete, comes, in the usual way, sameness, the abstract,\ndropping only the connotation of the concrete. And Identity and\nSameness are equivalent terms.\n\nFrom the importance, however, which has been attached to these\nwords, it seems necessary to shew to the learner, somewhat more\nparticularly, the mode of tracing the simple ideas composing the\nclusters which they are employed to mark.\n\nThe Lily, when it produces its brilliant flower in summer, I call\nthe same, with the plant which began {166} to shew itself above the\nsurface of the ground, in spring, from a bulb, which I had planted\nin a particular spot of my garden. I also called it the same, from\none day to another, though changing every day in its size, and other\nappearances, from its germination to the present time. For what\nreason have I done so? On account of certain circumstances, which\nevery body can enumerate; its rising from a certain root; the\nuninterrupted continuity, by means of the stalk, between the root\nand the other parts of the plant; its being always found in the same\nplace, that is, in the same synchronous order with certain other\nthings; its corresponding with other plants, the growth of which\nI have observed, and so on. If it had grown in a flower pot, and\nbeen transferred from one to another, the enumeration of the\ncircumstances would have been different; the evidence of its having\ngrown from the same root would have been drawn from other\ncircumstances. When I say, then, that the Lily I see, with its\nflowers in July, is the same with the Lily just emerging from the\nground in April, I only express my belief of its having sprung from\na certain root, and of its having vegetated, in connexion with that\nroot, in the way of the plants grouped in the class called Lily.\n\nI have a male Calf, of singular beauty, produced from my cow.\nI observe him from day to day. From day to day I call him the Same;\nand I do so when he has grown a bull of the greatest size. When I do\nso, I merely express my belief in a certain train of antecedents and\nconsequents, with which experience has rendered me familiar. There\nis a certain train of antecedents and consequents, known to me by\n{167} observation, which I call the birth, growth, maturity; and, in\none word, the Life, of the animal. The birth, growth, and maturity\nof one animal, is one series of successions; the birth, growth, and\nmaturity of another animal, is another series of successions. When\nI apply the name Same, then, to any animal, I merely express my\nbelief, that my present sight of the animal is part of a particular\nseries, of which that perception is the last link.\n\nThe case, it will not be doubted, is perfectly analogous, when\nI transfer the term from one of the lower animals to one of my fellow\nmen. The birth, infancy, childhood, youth, manhood, of a human\nbeing, are names for different parts of a certain series of\nantecedents and consequents. This series is known to me by\nexperience; that is, by sensation, by memory, and other cases of\nassociation. The life of one man is one series. The life of another\nman is another series. When I say, then, that a man is the same,\nI merely express my belief in one of those series; belief that the\nparticular man, of the present instant, is the last link of such and\nsuch a chain, and not of any other.\n\nIt is, however, to be observed, that the chain, thus believed, and\nthe evidence upon which it is believed, are different things; and\nthat this evidence is different in different cases. In the case of a\nperson whom I have lived with from his birth, and seen every day,\nthe evidence, to a great degree, is sense and memory. Sometimes the\nsameness of an individual is proved in a court of justice, by\nevidence, such as is applicable to any other matters of fact; by\nwritten documents, marks on the body, articles of property found\n{168} with the child, and the testimony of those whose knowledge has\nbeen uninterrupted from one time to another.\n\nIt is not to be doubted, that when I transfer the word Same, from\nanother man to myself, all that I do is to express my belief in one\nof those series; and the only difference in the case is, that it is\na series of which I have evidence of a very particular kind, and of\nwhich many parts are known to me, which can be known to nobody else.\n\nAs far as memory reaches, the evidence, in regard to myself, is\nmemory and sensation. In the case of Evidence by memory and\nsensation, we have observed a peculiarity, necessary to be\nremembered, that the Evidence, and the Belief, are not different\nthings, but the same thing. The memory which I have of my own\nexistence, that is, the memory of a certain train of antecedents and\nconsequents, is the Belief of them; on account of which belief,\nI apply to myself the term same, in the same way as I apply it to any\nother of my fellow men.\n\nBut I apply the term same to myself beyond the point to which memory\nreaches; as far back, in short, as to other men. This is true:\nI believe, that a train of antecedents and consequents, corresponding\nto that which forms the existence of other men, has also formed my\nexistence. Part of this train I believe, by consciousness, memory.\nPart, namely, that which precedes memory, I believe on other\nevidence. What that evidence is, it is not difficult to see. We\nhave, in the first place, the evidence of testimony; namely, that of\nall the persons who knew us from our birth, to the time to which\nmemory extends. We have next {169} the evidence of what happens in\nthe existence of all other men; or that case of association which\nunites inseparably the idea of like antecedents with like\nconsequents.\n\nIt may be said, however, that my belief in the Identity of other\nmen, is a very different thing from belief in my own Identity; and\nthat the foregoing exposition does not sufficiently account for the\ndifference which every one remarks between them.\n\nThe foregoing exposition, when duly attended to, will be found to\naccount completely for the difference. We have remarked, that the\nevidence which I have for a great part of the series, in the case of\nother men, and of myself, is remarkably different. In the case of\nother men, it consists of observation and memory; in the case of\nmyself, it consists of consciousness and memory. In these several\nand respective circumstances, Observation, and Consciousness, the\ndistinction wholly consists. The memory of a chain of facts\nobserved, is the evidence in the one case. The memory of a chain of\nstates of Consciousness, is the evidence in the other.\n\nI doubt not that this, without further analysis, will be seen by\nmany of my readers to be a complete solution of the question. It\nmay, however, be still objected, that we resolve observation itself\ninto states of consciousness; and, if so, that the memory of a chain\nof states of Consciousness, is the evidence in both cases.\n\nThis brings us to the very bottom of the matter. Every body\nrecognises, at once, that the memory of a state of consciousness,\nand the memory of something {170} observed, are two distinct things;\nthat the memory, for example, of one of my own sensations, and the\nmemory of an outward fact, as of the death of my father, are\nspecifically different: or, to take two cases still easier perhaps\nto distinguish; no one will say, that the memory of one's own pain\nis any thing like the same state of consciousness with the memory of\nseeing another man in pain. In the one case, the state of\nconsciousness remembered is the pain itself; in the other it is the\nsensations of sight or hearing, which indicated to me the pain of\nthe other man, or called up the idea of his pain by association. In\nthe one case, the memory is memory of my own sensations purely; in\nthe other case, it is the memory of my sensations, as the evidence\nonly of outward things.\n\nEach of the terms, therefore, I, Thou, He, marks a particular chain\nof antecedents and consequents, terminating with the I, the Thou,\nthe He, of the present moment. The I, the Thou, the He, of the\npresent moment, is marked, by these terms, _primarily_; the\npreceding links are marked, _secondarily_, that is, connoted. When\nI say, \"I, Thou, or He, did any thing,\" it is the I, the Thou, the\nHe, of the moment spoken of, that is specially noted. The rest of\nthe chain is not particularly adverted to, except when there is\nparticular occasion for it.\n\nSince the I, the Thou, the He, stand for the names of three men, and\nequally denote the antecedents and consequents, forming what is\nfamiliarly called the thread of life, of each of those individuals;\nhow does it happen, that the idea, which is called up by the term I,\nappears to be so different, from that which is {171} called up by\nthe term Thou, or any term denoting the vital chain of any other\nman?\n\nIn what has been already stated, is found the answer. In that chain\nof antecedents and consequents which I mark by the term \"same man,\"\ntwo species of things are included; 1. The antecedents and\nconsequents which form the successive states of his body;\n2. The successive states of his consciousness.\n\nIn knowing the antecedents and consequents, which form the\nsuccessive states of my own body and of that of another man, the\nmode, though in some respects different, is, in so many respects,\nthe same, that it does not here require explanation. But the mode of\nknowing the successive states of my own consciousness, and of those\nof other men, is totally different; and in this consists the\npeculiarity which appears to belong to the idea which I annex to the\nterm I, or myself. The knowledge of my own states of consciousness\nis consciousness itself, for the present moment, and memory of that\nconsciousness for all the past. Of the states of consciousness of\nother men, I have no direct knowledge. I draw my belief of them only\nfrom signs. These signs, too, are significant only by reference to\nmy own states of consciousness. Certain things cognizable by my\nsenses, are accompanied in myself by certain states of\nconsciousness, single, or in trains. These objects of sense (sights,\nsounds, &c.) are closely associated with the ideas of those states\nof consciousness. When presented to me, therefore, as objects of\nsense to other men, they excite the ideas of those states of\nconsciousness; and hence what I call my knowledge and belief of the\nmental trains of other men. It is not necessary to go further in the\n{172} analysis. It is very obvious, that two complex ideas must be\ndifferent, which are formed in these different ways; nor is any\nthing more necessary to account for the difference between the idea\nannexed to the pronoun I, and that annexed to the pronoun Thou.[33]\n\n[Editor's footnote 33: The author has avoided an error in the mode\nand order of the enquiry, which has greatly contributed to make the\nexplanations given by psychologists of Personal Identity, so\neminently unsatisfactory as they are. Psychologists have almost\nalways begun with the most intricate part of the question. They have\nset out by enquiring, what makes me the same person to myself? when\nthey should first have enquired what makes me the same person to\nother people? or, what makes another person the same person to me?\nThe author of the Analysis has done this, and he easily perceived,\nthat what makes me the same person to others, is precisely what\nmakes a house, or a mountain, the same house or mountain to them\nto-day which they saw yesterday. It is the belief of an\nuninterrupted continuity in the series of sensations derivable from\nthe house, or mountain, or man. There is not this continuity in the\nactual sensations of a single observer: he has not been watching the\nmountain unintermittedly since yesterday, or from a still more\ndistant time. But he believes, on such evidence as the case affords,\nthat if he had been watching, he should have seen the mountain\ncontinuously and unchanged during the whole intervening time\n(provided the other requisites of vision were present--light to see\nit by, and no cloud or mist intervening): and he further believes\nthat any being, with organs like his own, who had looked in that\ndirection at any moment of the interval during which he himself was\nnot looking, would have seen it in the same manner as he sees it.\nAll this applies equally to a human object. I call the man I see\nto-day the same man whom I saw yesterday, for the very reason which\nmakes me call the house or the mountain the same, viz., my\nconviction that if my organs had been in the {173} same position\ntowards him all the time as they are now, and the other conditions\nnecessary for seeing had been present, my perception of the man\nwould have continued all the time without interruption.\n\nIf we now change the point of view, and ask, what makes me always\nthe same person to myself, we introduce, in addition to what there\nwas in the other case, the entire series of my own past states of\nconsciousness. As the author truly says, the evidence on which\nI accept my own identity is that of memory. But memory reaches only a\ncertain way back, and for all before that period, as well as for all\nsubsequent to it of which I have lost the remembrance, the belief\nrests on other evidence. As an example of the errors and\ndifficulties in which psychologists have involved themselves by\nbeginning with the more complex question without having considered\nthe simpler one, it is worth remembering that Locke makes personal\nidentity consist in Consciousness, which in this case means Memory;\nand has been justly criticised by later thinkers for this doctrine,\nas leading to the corollary, that whatever of my past actions I have\nforgotten, I never performed--that my forgotten feelings were not my\nfeelings, but were (it must therefore be supposed) the feelings of\nsomebody else. Locke, however, had seen one part of the true state\nof the case; which is, that to _myself_ I am only, properly\nspeaking, the same person, in respect of those facts of my past life\nwhich I remember; but that I nevertheless consider myself as having\nbeen, at the times of which I retain no remembrance, the same person\nI now am, because I have satisfactory evidence that I was the same\nto other people; that an uninterrupted continuity in the sensations\nof sight and touch caused or which could have been caused to other\npeople, existed between my present self and the infant who I am told\nI was, and between my present self and the person who is proved to\nme to have done the acts I have myself forgotten.\n\nThese considerations remove the outer veil, or husk, as it were,\nwhich wraps up the idea of the Ego. But after this is removed, there\nremains an inner covering, which, as far as I can perceive, is\nimpenetrable. My personal identity consists {174} in my being the\nsame Ego who did, or who felt, some specific fact recalled to me by\nmemory. So be it: but what is Memory? It is not merely having the\nidea of that fact recalled: that is but thought, or conception, or\nimagination. It is, having the idea recalled along with the Belief\nthat the fact which it is the idea of, really happened, and moreover\nhappened to myself. Memory, therefore, by the very fact of its being\ndifferent from Imagination, implies an Ego who formerly experienced\nthe facts remembered, and who was the same Ego then as now. The\nphenomenon of Self and that of Memory are merely two sides of the\nsame fact, or two different modes of viewing the same fact We may,\nas psychologists, set out from either of them, and refer the other\nto it. We may, in treating of Memory, say (as the author says) that\nit is the idea of a past sensation associated with the idea of\nmyself as having it. Or we may say, in treating of Identity, (as the\nauthor also says), that the meaning of Self is the memory of certain\npast sensations. But it is hardly allowable to do both. At least it\nmust be said, that by doing so we explain neither. We only show that\nthe two things are essentially the same; that my memory of having\nascended Skiddaw on a given day, and my consciousness of being the\nsame person who ascended Skiddaw on that day, are two modes of\nstating the same fact: a fact which psychology has as yet failed to\nresolve into anything more elementary.\n\nIn analysing the complex phenomena of consciousness, we must come to\nsomething ultimate; and we seem to have reached two elements which\nhave a good prima facie claim to that title. There is, first, the\ncommon element in all cases of Belief, namely, the difference\nbetween a fact, and the thought of that fact: a distinction which we\nare able to cognize in the past, and which then constitutes Memory,\nand in the future, when it constitutes Expectation; but in neither\ncase can we give any account of it except that it exists; an\ninability which is admitted in the most elementary case of the\ndistinction, viz. the difference between a present sensation and an\nidea. Secondly, in addition to this, and setting out from the belief\n{175} in the reality of a past event, or in other words, the belief\nthat the idea I now have was derived from a previous sensation, or\ncombination of sensations, corresponding to it, there is the further\nconviction that this sensation or combination of sensations was my\nown; that it happened to myself. In other words, I am aware of a\nlong and uninterrupted succession of past feelings going as far back\nas memory reaches, and terminating with the sensations I have at the\npresent moment, all of which are connected by an inexplicable tie,\nthat distinguishes them not only from any succession or combination\nin mere thought, but also from the parallel successions of feelings\nwhich I believe, on satisfactory evidence, to have happened to each\nof the other beings, shaped like myself, whom I perceive around me.\nThis succession of feelings, which I call my memory of the past, is\nthat by which I distinguish my Self. Myself is the person who had\nthat series of feelings, and I know nothing of myself, by direct\nknowledge, except that I had them. But there is a bond of some sort\namong all the parts of the series, which makes me say that they were\nfeelings of a person who was the same person throughout, and a\ndifferent person from those who had any of the parallel successions\nof feelings; and this bond, to me, constitutes my Ego. Here,\nI think, the question must rest, until some psychologist succeeds\nbetter than any one has yet done in shewing a mode in which the\nanalysis can be carried further.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{176} CHAPTER XV.\n\nREFLECTION.\n\n\nSO much use has been made of the word REFLECTION, and results of so\nmuch importance have been referred to it, that it is necessary to\nshew what state of Consciousness it denotes, in all the possible\nacceptations of it.\n\nMr. Locke defines it, \"That notice which the mind takes of its own\noperations.\"\n\nWhen we have a sensation, we have already seen, on various\noccasions, that the having the state of consciousness, and taking\nnotice of it, are not two things, but one and the same thing. When\nwe say that one sensation is more attended to than another, this, as\nwe shall see hereafter, is really tantamount to saying, that the one\nis more a sensation than the other.\n\nIn like manner, when we have an idea; the having the idea, the being\nconscious of the idea, knowing the idea, observing the idea, are\nonly different names for the same thing. They mean the being\nconscious in a particular way. But the being conscious is to take\nnotice of the consciousness. To be conscious, and not to take\nnotice, is the same thing as to be {177} conscious, and not\nconscious. The notice is the consciousness, and the consciousness is\nthe notice.\n\nThus far, therefore, it appears, with abundant evidence that\nReflection is nothing but Consciousness; and Consciousness is the\nhaving the sensations and ideas. But what will be objected is, that\nwe not only have Ideas; but we are capable of forming the idea of\nthat particular state of mind which exists when we have an idea. It\nrequires a close examination, to discover what is really meant by\nthe language in which this objection is conveyed. The thing,\nhowever, to which it imperfectly points, can be made out; though,\nfrom the imperfection of the language which we must employ, it is\nnot easy to explain it, with a certainty of being understood.\n\nWhen it is said, that we can not only have a particular idea, but\ncan form an idea of that state of mind, generally, which is called\nhaving an idea; this can mean nothing but the distinction between\nthe particular and the general idea. It is affirmed, that we can not\nonly have this idea, and that idea, but we can have the general idea\nof all ideas. This is true. But we know, by previous elucidations,\nwhat all this means. We can have the idea not only of this man, or\nthat man, but we can have the idea of men in general. That is to\nsay, we can group all individuals of a certain description into one\nclass, to which class we give a name, equally applicable to every\nindividual; which name, accordingly, being associated equally with\nindividuals indefinite in number, calls up the ideas of individuals,\nindefinite in number, on every application of it.\n\nThis points out a double meaning of the word Idea; from which all\nthe confusion of the language {178} about REFLECTION seems to have\nbeen derived. The same word, Idea, is both the _particular_, and the\n_general_ name. It cannot be disputed, that so far as regards\nindividual Ideas, the having an idea, and knowing it, the being in\nthe state of consciousness, and knowing the state of consciousness,\nare one and the same thing. And, if the being in a state of\nconsciousness, and knowing it, does not express all that is meant by\nreflecting upon it (where reflecting is not used in another sense,\nas equivalent with remembering), it will remain for those who\nbelieve there is anything more, to shew what it is.\n\nThat the general is derived from the particular, there will be no\nhesitation in allowing. The fact, therefore, so imperfectly stated,\nis, that, from individual states of consciousness, we rise, by\ngeneralization, as in other cases, to the general idea which\nembraces a class. General Ideas, on account of their complexity, are\nall apt to appear, to persons little accustomed to examine them\nclosely, more or less mysterious. But general ideas, not of the\nsteady objects of sense, but the fleeting states of consciousness,\nwhich we have so little under command, and for the naming of which\nwe are so ill provided with terms, cannot fail to appear mysterious\nin a much greater degree. What we are now, therefore, contemplating\nis a case of generalization, which, how certainly soever, from the\ncommon laws of the human mind, we know that it is made, it is far\nfrom easy distinctly to conceive. And those of my readers, who have\nfollowed me easily in this deduction, may be satisfied they have\nmade no slight progress in metaphysical science.\n\n{179} It is evident, when all this is clearly understood, that what\nhas been mysteriously set forth, under the name of an Idea of\nREFLECTION, is simply the generalization of particular states of\nconsciousness; which particular states of consciousness are our\nsensations and ideas.\n\nThere are various cases of this generalization, some more, some\nless, extensive.\n\nIn the same manner as we generalize the having of a single idea; and\nconceive, not the having of this idea, or that idea, but the having\nof any idea, and all ideas; we also generalize the having two\nassociated ideas, and, from particulars, mount up to the general\nidea of the association, or train, of ideas.\n\nIt is needless to be particular in referring to the specific cases.\nWe have seen what combination of ideas constitutes the case of\nmemory. Individual instances of memory are generalized; these\npeculiar combinations are viewed as a class; hence the general idea,\nand general name of the class.\n\nThe explanation is obviously the same, in other cases, as Judgment,\nReasoning, Belief, Willing. We know what is the particular case of\nassociation on which each of these names is bestowed. We know what\nis the state of consciousness, on each individual occasion of\nJudging, Reasoning, and so forth. Generalization is performed. The\nparticular instances are viewed as composing a class. The Idea of\nthe class is the Idea of Reflection.[34]\n\n[Editor's footnote 34: To reflect on any of our feelings or mental\nacts is more properly identified with _attending_ to the feeling,\nthan, (as stated in the text) with merely having it. The author\nscarcely {180} recognises this as a difference. He sometimes indeed\nseems to consider attention as mental repetition; but in his chapter\non the Will, we shall find that he there identifies attending to a\nfeeling with merely having the feeling. I conceive, on the contrary,\n(with the great majority of psychologists) that there is an\nimportant distinction between the two things; the ignoring of which\nhas led the author into errors. What the distinction is, I have\nendeavoured to shew in my note to the chapter on Consciousness; and\nthe subject will return upon us hereafter.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{181} CHAPTER XVI.\n\nTHE DISTINCTION BETWEEN THE INTELLECTUAL AND ACTIVE POWERS OF THE\nHUMAN MIND.\n\n\n\"It is the greatest triumph of philosophy to refer many, and\nseemingly very various, phenomena, to one, or a very few, simple\nprinciples: and the more simple and evident such a principle is,\nprovided it be truly applicable to all the cases in question, the\ngreater is its value and scientific beauty.\"--_Elements of Logic_,\n_by Dr. Whately_, p. 32.\n\nTHE Phenomena of Thought have long appeared to be divisible into two\ngreat classes; which were distinguished by the names, the one of the\nIntellectual, the other of the Active, Powers of the Human Mind. In\nthe phenomena which compose the first of those classes, and which we\nhave now pretty completely surveyed, the sensations and ideas are\nconsidered merely as existing. In the phenomena which compose the\nsecond of the two classes, the sensations and ideas are to be\nconsidered as not merely existing, but also as exciting to\naction.[35]\n\n[Bain's footnote 35: Instead of \"The phenomena of _Thought_,\"\nsubstitute the phenomena of Mind, the Subject, or the Subject\nConsciousness. The use of the word \"Thought\" seems to justify an\nopinion held by Hamilton and by the German philosophers, that\nthought, or the cognitive function is the basis of mind, instead of\nbeing co-ordinate with the other leading functions (Feeling and\nWill.) There is no evidence elsewhere that the author shares this\nopinion.\n\nThe defectiveness of the two-fold classification of the mind, which\nseems to have descended from Aristotle, and is only in the present\ngeneration supplanted by an explicitly worked-out triple division,\nis especially apparent in the handling of all the succeeding\nchapters of the present work. The Will, or the activity of the\nsystem, is spoken of as set on indiscriminately by \"sensations and\nideas;\" which, as will be seen, is to mix together a number of\nentirely distinct processes.\n\nThere is no adequate separation of the emotional part of a\nSensation, from its intellectual or knowledge-giving part. The same\nconfusion extends to the word \"idea,\" which, without premonition, is\nemployed for the memory of pleasures and pains, and for the memory\nof sensations of the intellectual or knowledge-giving kind. There\nis, as might be expected, an insufficient treatment of the special\nforms of Emotion; there being no basis laid for their exhaustive or\nnatural classification.--_B._]\n\n{182} With respect to the sensations and ideas which compose the\nphenomena of the first class, we have observed, that they are apt to\nbe formed into clusters of more or less complexity; and that they\nfollow one another, in trains, according to certain laws.\n\nThe sensations and ideas, which compose the phenomena of the second\nclass, are equally formed into clusters, with those composing the\nphenomena of the former class; and follow one another, in trains,\naccording to the same laws.\n\nSo far, the two classes of phenomena agree; and so far, the\nanalysis, which we have endeavoured to effect of the former class,\nis to be taken as the analysis also of the latter. Our object, now,\nis, to trace to their {183} source the differences which constitute\nthis a separate class; to mark the subdivisions into which it can be\nmost conveniently distributed; and to demonstrate the simple laws,\ninto which the whole phenomena of human life, so numerous, and\napparently so diversified, may all be easily resolved.\n\n\n\n\n{184} CHAPTER XVII.\n\nPLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS.\n\n\nTHERE is a remarkable difference of sensations, which has been\nmentioned before, but which must now be more particularly attended\nto.\n\nSome sensations, probably the greater number, are what we call\nindifferent. They are not considered as either painful, or\npleasurable. There are sensations, however, and of frequent\nrecurrence, some of which are painful, some pleasurable. The\ndifference is, that which is felt. A man knows it, by feeling it;\nand this is the whole account of the phenomenon. I have one\nsensation, and then another, and then another. The first is of such\na kind, that I care not whether it is long or short; the second is\nof such a kind that I would put an end to it instantly if I could;\nthe third is of such a kind, that I like it prolonged. To\ndistinguish those feelings, I give them names. I call the first\nIndifferent; the second, Painful; the third. Pleasurable; very\noften, for shortness, I call the second, Pain, the third, Pleasure.\n\nWe formerly shewed, that having a sensation and {185} knowing it,\nare not two things, but one and the same thing; that having two\nsensations and knowing them, are not two things, but one and the\nsame thing. It is obvious, therefore, that having three sensations,\nan Indifferent, a Pleasurable, and a Painful, and knowing them for\nwhat they are, are not different things, but one and the same thing.\n\nThe pleasurable and painful sensations are common to all the senses.\nWe have pleasures and pains of the eye, of the ear, of the touch,\nthe taste, the smell, and also of many internal parts of the body,\nfor which, though, as we shall presently see, they hold a great\nshare in composing the springs of human action, we have not names,\nnor any means of accurate estimation.[36]\n\n[Editor's footnote 36: In the case of many pleasurable or painful\nsensations, it is open to question whether the pleasure or pain,\nespecially the pleasure, is not something added to the sensation,\nand capable of being detached from it, rather than merely a\nparticular aspect or quality of the sensation. It is often\nobservable that a sensation is much less pleasurable at one time\nthan at another, though to our consciousness it appears exactly the\nsame sensation in all except the pleasure. This is emphatically the\nfact in cases of satiety, or of loss of taste for a sensation by\nloss of novelty. It is probable that in such cases the pleasure may\ndepend on different nerves, or on a different action of the same\nnerves, from the remaining part of the sensation. However this may\nbe, the pleasure or pain attending a sensation is (like the feelings\nof Likeness, Succession, &c.) capable of being mentally abstracted\nfrom the sensation, or, in other words, capable of being attended to\nby itself. And in any case Mr. Bain's distinction holds good,\nbetween the emotional part or property of a sensation (in which he\nincludes the {186} pleasure or pain belonging to it) and its\nintellectual or knowledge-giving part. It must be remembered,\nhowever, that these are not exclusive of one another; the\nknowledge-giving part is not necessarily emotional, but the\nemotional part is and must be knowledge-giving. The pleasure or pain\nof the feeling are subjects of intellectual apprehension; they give\nthe knowledge of themselves and of their varieties.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{187} CHAPTER XVIII.\n\nCAUSES OF THE PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS.\n\n\nNEXT in order to the Pleasurable and Painful Sensations, it is\nnecessary to take notice of the causes of them. We can generally\ntrace them to certain constant antecedents; and it is evidently of\nthe greatest importance to us to be able to do so; as it is by those\nmeans only, we can lessen the number of the painful sensations,\nincrease the number of the pleasurable.\n\nOf the causes of our Pleasurable and Painful Sensations, it is\nnecessary to distinguish two classes; first, the immediate causes;\nsecondly, the remote causes; a remote, being not, strictly speaking,\nthe cause of the sensation, but the cause of that cause. Thus, the\nlash of the executioner is the immediate cause of the pain of the\ncriminal. The sentence of the Judge, is the cause of that cause. The\nsound of the violin is the immediate cause of the pleasure of my\near; the performance of the musician, the cause of that sound; the\nmoney with which I have hired the musician, the cause of that\nperformance. The money is, in this case, the cause of the cause of\nthe cause of the sensation; or the cause, at two removes.\n\n{188} It is necessary to be remarked, respecting the causes of our\npleasurable and painful sensations, that, they are apt to become\ngreater objects of concern to us, to rank higher in importance, than\nthe sensations themselves. It is a vulgar observation, with respect\nto money, for example, that, though useful only for obtaining\npleasure, or saving from pain, it is often employed for neither\npurpose, but hugged as a good in itself.\n\nThe importance attached to the cause of the sensation, is a case of\nassociation easy to be traced. The pleasurable and painful\nsensations themselves are, specifically, not numerous. The causes of\nthem, on the other hand, are exceedingly numerous, and diversified.\nAgain; the mind is not much interested in attending to the\nsensation. The sensation provides for itself. The mind, however, is\ndeeply interested in attending to the cause; that we may prevent, or\nremove it, if the sensation is painful; provide, or detain it, if\nthe sensation is pleasurable. This creates a habit of passing\nrapidly from the sensation, to fix our attention upon its cause.\n\n\n\n\n{189} CHAPTER XIX.\n\nIDEAS OF THE PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS, AND OF THE CAUSES\nOF THEM.\n\n\nWE have already seen, that all sensations are capable of being\nrevived, without that action on the organs of sense which originally\nproduced them; and that, when so revived, we call them ideas or\ncopies of the sensations.\n\nThe sensations which are pleasurable and painful, are revived in the\nsame manner as those which are indifferent; but, as the sensations\nwhich are pleasurable and painful form a class of sensations\nremarkably distinguished from sensations of the indifferent class,\nthe ideas of the pleasurable and painful sensations form a class of\nideas, no less remarkably distinguished from the ideas of the\nindifferent sensations.\n\nIt is necessary to endeavour by a particular effort to distinguish\naccurately from all other feelings that peculiar state of\nconsciousness, which we call the idea of a pleasurable or painful\nsensation; in other words, that sensation revived, after the\noperation upon the senses has ceased.\n\nThis state of consciousness, like other states, is known only by\nhaving it. What it is felt to be, it is. {190} We can afford,\ntherefore, no aid to the reader in distinguishing it, otherwise than\nby using such expressions as seem calculated to fix his attention\nupon it. It is his own inward, invisible state, which only he can\nmark for himself.\n\nThe idea of a pain or pleasure, is not a pain or pleasure. We do not\nsay that the idea of the hand scalded is a pain, or the idea of a\nsweet smell is a pleasure. But this is not very satisfactory\nlanguage; for it, in reality, means little more, than that the idea\nof a pleasurable or painful sensation, is not a sensation. That\nthere are some trains of ideas, however, which it is agreeable to\nhave, others which it is disagreeable, is one among the most\nfamiliar facts of our nature. There is, therefore, a distinction\namong ideas, analogous to that of pleasurable and painful among\nsensations.\n\nIt is difficult to think of any one sensation by itself; because\neach is so combined with others, that the idea of one can never\npresent itself, but in company with more. This is peculiarly the\ncase with sensations of the pleasurable and painful kinds: and hence\nthe cause of the indistinctness, which seems to accompany the idea\nof any of those sensations, when we endeavour to take it apart, and\nconsider what it is in itself.\n\nAn idea is the revival of a former state of feeling. The first thing\nwhich I have to consider is, what is my precise state of\nconsciousness, when I receive a pleasurable or painful sensation.\n\nWhen the sensation was present, suppose a painful one, it was a\nstate of consciousness, so interesting to me, that it was important\nto find a mark for it. I {191} called it Pain. It is a state of\nconsciousness known to every man by his having had it, and it can be\nknown by no other means. We call it by various names; an odious\nstate, a disagreeable state, and so on; but these are only several\nmodes of marking what is felt, and tell to no man anything more than\nhis feeling has told. Except for his own knowledge of his own\nfeeling, the words would be utterly without a meaning.\n\nSuch is the state of consciousness under the sensation. I revive the\nsensation.\n\nMy state of consciousness under the sensation I called a pain. My\nstate of consciousness under the idea of the pain, I call, not a\npain, but an aversion. An aversion is the idea of a pain. Whatever\nis included under the term idea of pain, is included precisely under\nthe term aversion. They are not two things, but two names for the\nsame thing.\n\nThe same explanation applies to the case of a pleasurable sensation.\nThe state of consciousness under the sensation, that is, the\nsensation itself, differed from other sensations, in that it was\nagreeable. A name was wanted to denote this peculiarity; to mark, as\na class, the sensations which possess it. The term, Pleasure, was\nadopted. I revive the sensation; in other words, have the idea; and\nas I had occasion for a name to class the sensations, I have\noccasion for a name to class the ideas. My state of consciousness\nunder the sensation, I call a Pleasure: my state of consciousness\nunder the idea, that is, the idea itself, I call a Desire. The term\n\"Idea of a pleasure,\" expresses precisely the same thing as the\nterm, Desire. It does so by the very import of the words. The {192}\nidea of a pleasure, is the idea of something as good to have. But\nwhat is a desire, other than the idea of something as good to have;\ngood to have, being really nothing but desirable to have? The terms,\ntherefore, \"idea of pleasure,\" and \"desire,\" are but two names; the\nthing named, the state of consciousness, is one and the same.\n\nThere is an ambiguity, however, in the terms Aversion, and Desire,\nwhich contributes not a little to cast darkness upon this part of\nour inquiry.\n\nThey are applied to the ideas of the Causes of our Pleasurable and\nPainful Sensations, as well as to the ideas of those Sensations;\nand, of course, in a different sense. We say we have an aversion to\ncertain kinds of food, or certain drugs; we have a desire for water\nto drink, for fire to warm us, and so on.\n\nWhen we examine these phrases narrowly, we find that it is not\nliterally, but by a sort of figure of speech, that the terms\n\"Aversion,\" and \"Desire,\" are applied to the Causes of Pains and\nPleasures. Properly speaking, it is not to the food, or the drug,\nthat we have the aversion, but to the disagreeable taste. The food\nis a substance of a certain colour, and consistence; so is the drug.\nThere is nothing in these qualities which is offensive to us; only\nthe taste. In like manner, it is not the water we desire, but the\npleasure of drinking; not the fire we desire, but the pleasure of\nwarmth.\n\nThe illusion is merely that of a very close association. There is no\ncase, indeed, of association, in which the union is more intimate,\nthan that between the idea of a pungent sensation, and its customary\ncause; and hence, there is no wonder that the name {193} which\nproperly belongs to the one, should be bestowed upon the other, or\nrather, that the name which belongs properly to one, should be given\nto the two, formed into a complex idea, in conjunction.\n\nThere is another source of perplexity, which arises from the\nconnotative power of the terms Desire, and Aversion. They are Nouns,\nin the future tense; that is, they connote futurity; just as Verbs,\nin the future tense, connote futurity. Though the feeling, called\nthe idea of a pleasurable sensation, is precisely the feeling called\ndesirableness; desirableness, and the idea of something pleasurable,\nbeing convertible terms, the word Desire, whenever it is applied to\na particular case, carries with it a tacit reference to future time.\nWhen the idea of a sensation is present, the sensation itself is not\npresent. The sensation has been, or is to be. It is difficult,\ntherefore, to have the idea of a pleasurable sensation, without the\nassociation of the past, or the future. The idea of a pleasurable\nsensation with the association of the Past, is never called Desire.\nThe word Desire, is commonly used to mark the idea of a pleasurable\nsensation, when the Future is associated with it. The idea of a\npleasurable sensation, to come, is what is commonly meant by Desire.\nWe have, however, no other name to mark the idea, when it is\nconsidered by itself, and without reference to the past, or the\nfuture. In these cases, Desire, and the idea of a pleasurable\nsensation; Aversion, and the idea of a painful sensation, are\nconvertible terms.\n\nFrom this exposition, it follows, that the number of our desires is\nthe same with that of our pleasurable sensations; the number of our\naversions, the same {194} with that of our painful sensations; just\nas the number of our simple ideas of sight, is the same with that of\nour sensations of sight; the number of our simple ideas of sound,\ntaste, or smell, the same with that of our sensations of sound,\ntaste, or smell.[37]\n\n[Editor's footnote 37: The principal doctrine of this chapter is,\nthat Desire, and Aversion, are nothing but the idea of a pleasurable\nsensation, and the Idea of a painful sensation: which doctrine is\nthen qualified by saying, that a desire is the idea of a pleasure\nassociated with the future, an aversion the idea of a pain\nassociated with the future.\n\nBut according to the whole spirit of the author's speculations, and\nto his express affirmation in the beginning of the next chapter, the\nidea of any sensation associated with the future, constitutes the\nExpectation of it: and if so, it rested with him to prove that the\nexpectation of a pleasure, or of a pain, is the same thing with the\ndesire, or aversion. This is certainly not conformable to common\nobservation. For, on the one hand, it is commonly understood that\nthere may be desire or aversion without expectation; and on the\nother, expectation of a pleasure without any actual feeling of\ndesire: one may expect, and even look forward with satisfaction to,\nthe pleasure of a meal, although one is not, but only expects to be,\nhungry. So perfectly is it assumed that expectation, and desire or\naversion, are not necessarily combined, that the case in which they\nare combined is signified by a special pair of names. Desire\ncombined with expectation, is called by the name of Hope; Aversion\ncombined with expectation, is known by the name of Fear.\n\nI believe the fact to be that desire is not Expectation, but is more\nthan the idea of the pleasure desired, being, in truth, the\ninitiatory stage of Will. In what we call Desire there is, I think,\nalways included a positive stimulation to action; either to the\ndefinite course of action which would lead to our {195} obtaining\nthe pleasure, or to a general restlessness and vague seeking after\nit. The stimulation may fall short of actually producing action:\neven when it prompts to a definite act, it may be repressed by a\nstronger motive, or by knowledge that the pleasure is not within\npresent reach, nor can be brought nearer to us by any present action\nof our own. Still, there is, I think, always, the sense of a\ntendency to action, in the direction of pursuit of the pleasure,\nthough the tendency may be overpowered by an external or an internal\nrestraint. So also, in aversion, there is always a tendency to\naction of the kind which repels or avoids the painful sensation. But\nof these things more fully under the head of Will.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{196} CHAPTER XX.\n\nTHE PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS, CONTEMPLATED AS PASSED OR AS\nFUTURE.\n\n\nWE have considered, what the pleasurable and painful sensations are\nwhen present; what the ideas of them, considered as present, are;\nand what the ideas of their causes.\n\nThose sensations, however, together with their causes, we may\ncontemplate, either as passed, or as future: and so contemplated,\nthey give rise to some of the most interesting states of the human\nmind.\n\nTo contemplate any feeling as Passed, is to remember it; and the\nexplanation of Memory we need not repeat. To contemplate any feeling\nas Future, is merely a case of that Anticipation of the future from\nthe passed, of which, also, we have already given the explanation.\n\nWhen my finger was in the flame of the candle and burned, the\npainful sensation was present. The state of consciousness, however,\nwas complex, and consisted of several ingredients; the sight of the\nburning candle, the sight of my finger, the sense of a certain\nposition or locality, namely, that of my {197} finger and the\ncandle, the painful sensation, and the belief that it was my\nsensation; in other words, the association of that thread of\nconsciousness in which, to me, my being consists, with the present\nsensation. The painful feeling was thus a feeling deeply imbedded\namong others.\n\nWhen I remember this state of consciousness, the idea of it, which\nmakes part of the memory, is by no means a simple idea. It is\ncomposed of the ideas of all the above-mentioned sensations,\ntogether with that of the train of consciousness, which I call\nmyself. This last is necessary to constitute it _my_ idea. This\nidea, thus existing as my idea, and my present idea, is associated\nwith that part of my train or thread of consciousness which has\nintervened, between the present state and the remembered state; and\nby this last association the idea becomes memory.\n\nThe anticipation of the Future is the same series of association;\nwith this difference, that, in memory, the association of the train\nof consciousness, which converts the idea into memory, is from\nconsequent to antecedent, that is, backwards; the association in the\ncase of anticipation is from antecedent to consequent, forwards.\n\nIn anticipation, as in memory, there is, first, the complex idea, as\nabove; next, the passage of the mind forwards from the present state\nof consciousness, the antecedent, to one consequent after another,\ntill it comes to the anticipated sensation. Suppose, that, as a\npunishment, a man is condemned to put his finger after two days in\nthe flame of a candle; wherein consists his anticipation? The\ncomplex idea, as described above, of the painful sensation, with all\nits {198} concomitant sensations and ideas, is the first part of the\nprocess. The remainder is the association with this idea of the\nevents, one after another, which are to fill up the intermediate\ntime, and terminate with his finger placed in the flame of the\ncandle. The whole of this association, taken together, comprises the\nidea of the pain as his pain, after a train of antecedents.\n\nThe process of anticipation is so precisely the same, when the\nsensation is of the pleasurable kind, that I deem it unnecessary to\nrepeat it.[38]\n\n[Editor's footnote 38: This is the first place in which the author\ngives his analysis of Expectation; and his theory of it is, as all\ntheories of it must be, the exact counterpart of the same person's\ntheory of Memory. He resolves it into the mere Idea of the expected\nevent, accompanied by the \"idea of the events, one after another,\"\nwhich are to begin with the present moment, and end with the\nexpected event. But in this case, as in that of Memory, the\nobjection recurs, that all this may exist in the case of mere\nImagination. A man may conceive himself being hanged, or elevated to\na throne, and may construct in his mind a series of possible or\nconceivable events, through which he can fancy each of these results\nto be brought about. If he is a man of lively imagination, this idea\nof the events \"which are to fill up the intermediate time\" may be at\nleast as copious, as the idea of the series of coming events for a\nyear from the present time, which according to the author's theory\nI have in my mind when I look forward to commencing a journey twelve\nmonths hence. Yet he neither expects to be hanged, nor to be made a\nking, still less both, which, to bear out the theory, it would seem\nthat he ought.\n\nThe difference between Expectation and mere Imagination, as well as\nbetween Memory and Imagination, consists in the presence or absence\nof Belief; and though this is no explanation of either phenomenon,\nit brings us back to one and the same real problem, which I have so\noften referred to, and which neither the author nor any other\nthinker has yet solved--the difference between knowing something as\na Reality, and as a mere Thought; a distinction similar and parallel\nto that between a Sensation and an Idea.--_Ed._]\n\n{199} In contemplating a painful or pleasurable sensation as past,\nthat is, remembering it, the mind is in general tranquil. The state\nis not, perhaps, a state of indifference; but it is not so far\nremoved from it, as to call attention to itself, or require a name\nto mark it.\n\nThe case is different, when the sensation is contemplated as future,\nor anticipated. The state of consciousness is then far removed from\na state of indifference. It admits of two cases. One is, when the\nsensation is contemplated as certainly future; the other is, when it\nis contemplated as not certainly future.\n\nWhen a pleasurable sensation is contemplated as future, but not\ncertainly, the state of consciousness is called Hope. When a painful\nsensation is contemplated as future, but not certainly, the state of\nconsciousness is called Fear.[39]\n\n[Editor's footnote 39: The author's definitions of Hope and Fear\ndiffer from those offered in my note (p. 194). He considers these\nwords to signify that the pleasure or the pain is contemplated as\nfuture, but without certainty. It must be admitted that the words\nare often applied to very faint degrees of anticipation, far short\nof those which in popular language would be spoken of as\nExpectation: but I think the terms are not inconsistent with the\nfullest assurance. A man is about to undergo a painful surgical\noperation. He has no doubt whatever about the event; he fully\nintends it; there are no other means, perhaps, of saving his life.\nYet the feeling with which he looks forward to it, and with which he\ncontemplates the preparations for it, are such as would, I think, by\nthe custom of language, be designated as fear. Death, again, is the\nmost certain of all future events, yet we speak of the fear of\ndeath. It is perhaps more doubtful whether the fully assured\nanticipation of a desired enjoyment would receive, in ordinary\nparlance, the name of Hope; yet some common phrases seem to imply\nthat it would. We read even on tombstones \"the sure hope of a joyful\nimmortality.\"\n\nA still more restricted application of the word Fear, also justified\nby usage, is to the case in which the feeling amounts to a\ndisturbing passion; and to this meaning Mr Bain, as will be seen in\na future note, thinks it desirable to confine it.--_Ed._]\n\n{200} Again: When a pleasurable sensation is anticipated with\ncertainty, we call the state of consciousness Joy. When a painful\nsensation is thus anticipated, we call it Sorrow. Neither of the two\nterms is good; because not confined to this signification. Both are\napplied to name other things, also, which we shall presently have\noccasion to notice. They are, therefore, a source of confusion.\n\n\n\n\n{201} CHAPTER XXI.\n\nTHE CAUSES OF PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS, CONTEMPLATED AS\nPASSED, OR AS FUTURE.\n\n\nSECTION I.\n\nTHE IMMEDIATE CAUSES OF PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS,\nCONTEMPLATED AS PASSED, OR AS FUTURE.\n\n\nBESIDE the Sensations, the Causes of them are capable of being\ncontemplated, both as passed, and as future.\n\nIt may be regarded as remarkable, that though the idea or thought of\na disagreeable sensation, as passed, is nearly indifferent, the\nthought of the cause of a painful passed sensation is often a very\ninteresting state of consciousness. This state of consciousness we\nsometimes call Antipathy, sometimes Hatred; though hatred, as we\nshall afterwards see, is more frequently the name of the Motive to\nwhich it gives birth. We have, however, but one concrete term for\nboth of these abstracts, the verb \"to hate,\" which, of course,\nperforms its business ill. From this, however, it no doubt comes,\nthat the word Hatred is often used as synonymous with Antipathy.\n\n{202} This is a case of association, which deserves a little\nattention. The idea of the cause of a painful sensation is so\nclosely associated with that of the sensation, that the one never\nexists without the other. But this is not all. The anticipation of\nthe future from the passed, is so strong an association, that, in\ninteresting cases, it is indissoluble. The thought of the Cause of a\npassed painful sensation, is the idea of an antecedent and a\nconsequent. The idea of the passed antecedent and consequent is\ninstantly followed by that of a future antecedent and consequent;\nand thus the feeling partakes of the nature of the anticipation of a\nfuture painful sensation. The association may be but momentary, as\nit may instantly be checked by other associations. But, being\nmomentary, it existed, and its existence is sufficient to account\nfor the difference, which is often observable, between the state of\nconsciousness when the sensation is remembered, and the state of\nconsciousness when the cause of the sensation is remembered. When\nthe sensation is remembered singly, there is not that association of\na passed antecedent and consequent, which is instantly followed by\nthat of a future antecedent and consequent of the same kind. That\nassociation takes place in the case of the remembered cause; and\nhence the difference, with which every man is acquainted.[40]\n\n[Editor's footnote 40: The difference here brought to notice between\nthe very slight emotion excited in most cases by the idea of a past\npain, and the strong feeling excited by the idea of the cause of a\npast pain, will be confirmed by every one's experience; and is\nrightly explained by the author, as arising from the fact that what\nhas caused a past pain has an interest affecting the future, since\nit may cause future pains. It is noticeable that the author nowhere\nexplains why the thought of a pain as future is so much more\npainful, than the thought of a past pain when detached from all\napprehension for the future; why the expectation of an evil is\ngenerally so much worse than the remembrance of one. This fact might\nhave made him doubt the sufficiency of his theory of Memory and\nExpectation; since, according to his analysis, neither of them is\nanything but the idea of the pain itself, associated in each case\nwith a series of events which may be intrinsically indifferent; and\nif there were no elements in the case but those which he has pointed\nout, no sufficient reason is apparent why there should be any\ninequality of painfulness between the remembrance and the\nexpectation.--_Ed._]\n\n{203} The thought of the cause of a passed agreeable sensation or\nsensations, is also very often an interesting state of\nconsciousness. It is called by the names both of Sympathy, and Love.\nNeither of the terms is confined to this signification; they are\nboth, therefore, bad names, and a great cause of confusion of ideas;\nas we shall see in other instances hereafter.\n\nThe pleasurable sensations not being so pungent as the painful, it\nbut rarely happens that the immediate cause of a single passed\npleasurable sensation is an object of interest: the cause of the\ncessation, however, of a painful sensation is so, not unfrequently.\nThe traveller, who was ready to perish with thirst in the desert,\ncan never afterwards think of the well which relieved him, without\nemotion.\n\nThe states of consciousness which exist when we contemplate the\ncauses of our painful and pleasurable sensations as _Future_, are\neasily analysed, after what has been shewn. It is a case of the\nanticipation of the future from the passed; with this peculiarity,\nthat {204} the final antecedent and consequent are interesting, the\none as a pleasurable or painful Feeling, the other as the cause of\nit.\n\nIf the anticipated sensation is painful, and contemplated as\ncertain, the associated ideas of the cause and effect constitute a\nstate of consciousness, which we mark by various forms of\nexpression, but for which we have no appropriate name. We call it\nHatred, we call it Aversion, we call it Horror. We call the object\nhateful, or disgusting, or loathsome, according to the nature of the\nanticipated sensation. When the sensation is contemplated as not\ncertainly future, the state of mind is what we call Dread, in some\none or other of its numerous modifications.\n\nWhen the cause of a pleasure is contemplated as certainly future,\nsuch object is associated with the feeling called Joy; when it is\ncontemplated as not certainly future, it is associated with the\nfeeling called Hope. What the feelings, Joy, and Hope, are, we have\nso recently seen, that it cannot be forgotten. In the association of\nthe cause of a pleasure with both, the state of consciousness has no\nmore appropriate name than that of Love. An object contemplated as a\nfuture cause of future pleasure, is an object _loved_, whether the\nanticipation is certain or uncertain.[41]\n\n[Bain's footnote 41: A distinction should be drawn between Aversion\nand Fear. We may be very much averse to a thing, and yet not fear\nit. A courageous person is not necessarily wanting in aversions or\ndislikes, or in labours for warding off what is disagreeable.\nAnything that gives us pain, when approaching or imminent, is viewed\nwith aversion, and stimulates efforts of counteraction, or escape;\nand yet it may not inspire the state properly named Fear. The\ndistinguishing characteristic of fear is an unhinging {205}\nexcitement, a disturbance of the serenity and balance of the mind,\ninducing exaggerated, disproportioned or misplaced exertions. One of\nthe causes of fear is approaching evil, but the effect does not\nalways happen. The evil may work its proper effect upon the will,\nnamely to prevent or evade it, without any of the perturbing\naccessories called being terrified or afraid.--_B._]\n\n\n{206} SECTION II.\n\nTHE REMOTE CAUSES OF PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS,\nCONTEMPLATED AS PAST, OR FUTURE.\n\n\nBefore entering into the detail of this part of the subject, one\nimportant observation is to be made; that the remote causes of our\nPains and Pleasures are apt to be objects, far more deeply\ninteresting, than those which are immediate. This at first sight\nappears paradoxical. It is the necessary result, however, of the\ngeneral Law of our nature.\n\nThe immediate causes of our pleasurable and painful sensations have\nnever any very extensive operation. The idea of any one is rarely\nassociated with more than a limited number of pains or pleasures.\nFood, for example, the cause of the pleasures of eating; pleasures,\nperhaps, from the frequency with which they are repeated, and the\nportion of life over which they are spread, more valuable, as a\nclass, than any other which we enjoy; has never appeared an object\nof sufficient interest, to make the affection with which it is\nregarded be thought worthy of a name. The idea of Food, though\nassociated with pleasures which constitute so important a class, is\nassociated with the pleasures but of one class: some of the remote\ncauses are associated with the pleasures of almost every class.\nMoney, for example, instrumental in procuring the causes of almost\nall our pleasures, and removing the {207} causes of a large\nproportion of our pains, is associated with the ideas of most of the\npleasurable states of our nature. The idea of an object associated\nwith a hundred times as many pleasures as another, is of course a\nhundred times more interesting.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSUB-SECTION I.\n\n_Wealth_, _Power_, _and Dignity_, _and their Contraries_,\n_Contemplated as Causes of our Pleasures and Pains_.\n\n\nAs among the remote causes of our pleasures and pains may be\nreckoned everything which in any way contributes to them, it follows\nthat the number of such causes is exceedingly great. Of course it is\nonly the principal cases which have been attended to, and classed\nunder Titles. They are mostly comprehended under the\nfollowing:--Wealth, Power, Dignity, as regards the pleasurable\nsensations;--Poverty, Impotence, Contemptibility, as regards the\npainful sensations. What our states of consciousness are, when we\nare said to contemplate these causes of pains and pleasures, with\nreference to ourselves, or as causes of our own pleasures and pains,\nwe now proceed to inquire.\n\nOne remarkable thing is first of all to be noticed: the three, above\nnamed, grand causes of our pleasures agree in this, that they all\nare the means of procuring for us the Services of our\nfellow-creatures, and themselves contribute to our pleasures in\nhardly any other way. It is obvious from this remark, that the grand\n{208} cause of all our pleasures are the services of our\nfellow-creatures; since Wealth, Power, and Dignity, which appear to\nmost people to sum up the means of human happiness, are nothing more\nthan means of procuring those services. This is a fact of the\nhighest possible importance, both in Morals, and in Philosophy.\n\nThat Wealth, Power, and Dignity do procure for us pleasurable\nsensations only by procuring for us the services of our\nfellow-creatures, a short illustration will suffice to shew.\n\nWealth enables us either to purchase directly the services of other\nmen, as of those whom we desire to have in attendance about us; or\nto purchase commodities; or, it adds to our Power and Dignity. As\nfar as it purchases the services of others directly, the truth of\nwhat we have advanced is obvious. It is hardly less obvious, that\nwhen we purchase commodities, which are the fruit of other men's\nlabour, we, in reality, do nothing but purchase the services of\nthose men, who, in fact, were working for us, when working at the\ngoods which we ultimately consume. In as far as Wealth adds to\nPower, and Dignity, it is included under those several heads.\n\nA man's Power means the readiness of other men to obey him. Now one\nman obeys another, from the prospect, either of good if he obeys, or\nof evil if he does not obey. Wealth is the great means of procuring\nobedience, through the medium of good. All hire of services, is\nthrough that medium. The power of inflicting evil, in case of\ndisobedience, and of procuring services by fear, is what in the more\npeculiar sense, is meant by the term Power. It is to be {209}\nobserved, that the range of obedience, obtained by fear, is capable\nof much greater enlargement, than that which is obtained by hope.\nThe means any man has of paying for the services of others, extends\nat most to some thousands; the means which some men have had of\nimposing their commands on other men, through fear, has extended to\nmany millions.\n\nDignity is a word of much more vague signification, than Wealth, or\nPower. It is, therefore, much more difficult, to describe clearly\nits mode of operation.\n\nDignity, is commonly said to be that which procures us the respect\nof other men. But what is this respect? It is not a mere barren\nfeeling in the mind of another man, regarded as wholly unconnected\nwith his actions. It is regarded as a sentiment in his breast, from\nwhich actions favourable to us may proceed. It derives its whole\nvalue to us from the actions which it is likely to produce.\n\nFor the present purpose, therefore, we consider the word Dignity, as\nexpressing all that, in, and about, a man, which is calculated to\nprocure him the services of others, without the immediate\napplication either of reward, or of fear.\n\nWealth, and Power, are the grand constituents of Dignity; and\nprocure a man services beyond the immediate sphere, either of the\ngood, or the evil, he can dispense. This is a remarkable case of\nassociation; and a source of very important consequences in human\nlife.\n\nOur proneness to sympathize with the Rich and Great, has often been\ntaken notice of, as a remarkable phenomenon in human nature. This\nhas been described {210} as a readiness to go along with them in\ntheir affections; to desire the accomplishment of their ends; and to\nlend ourselves for the attainment of them.\n\nI believe it will be sufficient, if I barely indicate the mode of\nanalysing the complicated sentiment, which is thus described. With\ncommand over the means of all sorts of pleasures, we associate\nstrongly the idea of happiness; the idea of happiness, is an\nagreeable idea; and the idea of whatever disturbs it, painful. The\nfirst idea is a desire; the second, an aversion.\n\nBeside this; with the Power of dispensing a great deal of good, or\nevil, we associate strongly the idea of the actual dispensation;\nthat is, the idea of a great number of individuals benefited, or\nhurt. But no association of good or evil to individuals is so\nconstant and inseparable with the causes of them, as that of good or\nevil to ourselves. This association takes place in the case which we\nare now considering. It may have been but momentary. It may have\nbeen instantly overpowered by other associations, by association of\nthe circumstances which exclude the Belief. Still it had a momentary\nexistence; and, in its consequences, presents a remarkable instance\nof those two very important facts, first pointed out distinctly to\nthe attention of philosophers by Professor Stewart; First, that\nfeelings, so momentary as not to be recognised the moment after they\nhave passed, may not only have existed, but have given its whole\ncharacter to some important phenomenon of the human mind; and,\nSecondly, that there is no conception, that is, idea, without the\nmomentary belief of the existence {211} of its object.[42] The\nmomentary conception and belief of good and evil to ourselves, in\nthe association constituting the idea of a man of wealth and power,\nhas a great share in the character which that association bears.\n\n[Editor's footnote 42: This is the place where the author most\nclearly enunciates the doctrine which is the indispensable basis of\nhis theory of Belief, viz. that there is no idea \"without the\nmomentary belief of the existence of its object.\" This opinion, as\nthe author observes, is maintained also by Dugald Stewart; but I\nhave never seen any positive evidence in its favour. All which has\nbeen established is, that the belief _may_ have momentarily existed,\nalthough immediately afterwards forgotten, and replaced by\ndisbelief. But no proof of this momentary existence has been given,\nexcept that it is supposed that what is not believed to be real\ncannot cause strong emotion (terror, for instance), nor prompt to\noutward action. Yet nothing can be more certain than that a mere\nidea can exercise direct power over our nerves of motion, and\nthrough them, over the muscles; as the author shows by examples\nfurther on. It is true that, as Mr. Bain has pointed out, this power\nof an idea over the active energies is the only germ of belief which\nexists originally, and the foundation of the power of Belief in\nafter life; but it is not the less true that the power of Belief as\nit exists in after life, stands broadly distinguished from the power\nof the Fixed Idea, and that this last may operate not only without,\nbut in defiance of, a positive Belief. That a contrary belief has\nmomentarily intervened is a mere conjecture, which can neither be\nrefuted nor proved.--_Ed._]\n\nThe Power of doing good or evil, though the foundation of our idea\nof Dignity, is not the only ingredient in it; the Disposition to\nmake use of it enters for a great share. The disposition to make use\nof it only for evil, if carried, to a certain pitch, would {212}\nsink the idea of dignity, and leave dread and abhorrence in its\nplace.\n\nBeside the disposition to make a good use of wealth and power, which\nis virtue; Knowledge, and Wisdom enter as an important ingredient in\nDignity. In the possessor of wealth and power, they are necessary to\ngive effect to his good disposition; in all men they are an\ninstrument of power; and they are intimately associated, in\nwell-educated minds, with the idea of the great benefits to mankind,\nwhich have been, and will be, derived from them. In such minds,\nthey, therefore, inspire a very lively sympathy.\n\nI do not think it necessary to lengthen this exposition, by offering\nany analysis of the corresponding causes of pain,--Poverty,\nWeakness, and Contemptibility. The reader, after what he has\nlearned, will, without difficulty, perform it for himself\n\nWhat we have now to consider, is the affection or state of mind,\nwhich is formed, when we contemplate each of those causes, first, as\nthe past cause of past sensations, and secondly, as the future cause\nof future sensations.\n\nWe are singularly ill-provided with names, to mark those several\nstates of our consciousness. It is very obvious, that we ought to\nhave two names for each cause; for example, one, to mark the state\nof mind, when Wealth is contemplated as the _past_ cause, of _past_\nsensations, and one to mark the state of mind, when it is\ncontemplated as the _future_ cause of _future_ sensations. We have\nbut one name for both. We call by the single name, \"Love of Wealth,\"\nboth the pleasurable state when we associate with the idea of our\npast wealth the past pleasures we have derived from it, and {213}\nwhen we anticipate the future, and associate with the idea of future\nwealth, the idea of the pleasures to be derived from it. There is no\nwonder that the two states should be confounded; and that the love\nof wealth should be a vague, indefinite term.\n\nThe imperfection of our language is the same in regard to the two\nother causes of our pleasures. The Love of Power, and the Love of\nDignity, are names for both states of mind, both the contemplation\nof the past, and the contemplation of the future. The indistinctness\nof our language here, too, prevents the distinctness of our ideas.\n\nThe word Hatred, renders the same service in regard to the causes of\nevil. Hatred of poverty, is the name for both states of mind, both\nthat in which the future, and that in which the past, is the object\nof contemplation. Hatred of imbecility, hatred of contemptibility,\nare not common expressions, but we have for the states in question\nno other names.\n\nIt is to be observed, that Wealth, Power, and Dignity, derive a\ngreat portion of their efficacy, from their comparative amount; that\nis, from their being possessed in greater quantity than most other\npeople possess them. In contemplating them with the satisfaction\nwith which powerful causes of pleasure are contemplated, we seldom\nfail to include the comparison. And the state of consciousness,\nformed by the contemplation and comparison taken together, is called\nPride.\n\nWe are said to be proud of our Wealth, proud of our Power, proud of\nour Dignity; and also, of any of the ingredients of which our powder\nor dignity is {214} composed; of our knowledge, of our eloquence, of\nour family, of our personal beauty.\n\nOf course the name has a very different meaning in each of these\napplications; a difference, however, which in ordinary minds, the\nuse of the same term, almost completely confounds.\n\nIt is obvious, that, in the contemplation of our own Wealth, Power,\nand Dignity, as greater, we include the contemplation of another\nman's Wealth, Power, and Dignity, as less. As the state of\nconsciousness, thus formed, is called Pride when the reference is to\nourselves, it is called Contempt when the reference is to others.\n\nWhen the case is reversed, and a man contemplates his Wealth, Power,\nand Dignity as less than those of other men, the state of\nconsciousness is called Humility. As towards the other member of the\ncomparison, the men who possess the greater amount of those\nadvantages, it has the name of Respect, or Admiration.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSUB-SECTION II.\n\n_Our Fellow-Creatures contemplated as Causes of our Pleasures and\nPains_.\n\n\nWealth, Power, and Dignity, being the origin of such powerful\naffections as we find them to be, though the causes of Pleasure to\nus only by being the causes of the actions of our Fellow-creatures;\nit would be wonderful, if our Fellow-creatures themselves, the {215}\nmore immediate causes of those actions, should not be the origin of\naffections.\n\nThis is not the case. Our Fellow-creatures are the origin of\naffections of the greatest influence in human life; to the\nexamination of which it is now our business to proceed. It is, in\nthe first place, however, to be observed, that Wealth, Power, and\nDignity, afford perhaps the most remarkable of all examples of that\nextraordinary case of association, where the means to an end, means\nvaluable to us solely on account of their end, not only engross more\nof our attention than the end itself, but actually supplant it in\nour affections. What the associating process is by which this effect\nis produced, we need not stay to inquire. That it is produced, to a\nremarkable degree, in the case of Wealth, Power, and Dignity, is\nfamiliar to every man's observation. How few men seem to be at all\nconcerned about their fellow-creatures! How completely are the lives\nof most men absorbed, in the pursuits of wealth, and ambition! With\nhow many men does the love of Family, of Friend, of Country, of\nMankind, appear completely impotent, when opposed to their love of\nWealth, or of Power! This is an effect of misguided association,\nwhich requires the greatest attention in Education, and Morals.\n\nWe contemplate our Fellow-creatures as causes of our Pleasures,\neither Individually, or in Groups. We shall consider the several\ncases, which have attracted sufficient attention to be distinguished\nby names: 1st, That of Friendship; 2dly, That of Kindness; 3dly,\nThat of Family; 4thly, That of Country; 5thly, That of Party; and\n6thly, That of Mankind.\n\n{216} 1.--_Friendship_.\n\nIn what manner the associations are formed constituting that feeling\ntowards another man which we call friendship, it seems not very\ndifficult to trace. The states of circumstances in which the Feeling\noriginates are very numerous. But they are all, without exception,\nof one kind. They are all states of circumstances, in which a\ngreater proportion than usual of our own pleasures, come to be\nassociated with the idea of the Individual. It often originates in\ncompanionship, between men who for some time have indulged their\nTastes, and prosecuted their pleasures in company. It is perfectly\nobvious how the idea of such men will occur to one another, not\nsimply as the idea of a man, but so enveloped by the trains of\npleasurable ideas associated with the man, that the idea of him is\nupon the whole a highly pleasurable idea. When to this is added, the\nexpectation of future pleasures, not merely the continuation of the\ncompanionship, but services of importance; when the wisdom of the\nman promises light and guidance from his counsels; when his fidelity\nmakes it safe to trust him; when his benevolence towards us makes us\ncount upon his services, whenever they are required, and his\nreputation and influence in the world are such as to give weight to\nhis endeavours, there is a sufficient accumulation of pleasurable\nideas with that of the individual to account for the affection\ndenominated Friendship.\n\n2.--_Kindness_.\n\nThere is nothing which more instantly associates with itself the\nideas of our own Pleasures, and Pains, {217} than the idea of the\nPleasures and Pains of another of our Fellow-creatures. The\nexpositions already afforded sufficiently indicate the source of\nthis association, which exerts a powerful and salutary influence in\nhuman life.\n\nThe idea of a man enjoying a train of pleasures, or happiness, is\nfelt by every body to be a pleasurable idea. The idea of a man under\na train of sufferings or pains, is equally felt to be a painful\nidea. This can arise from nothing but the association of our own\npleasures with the first idea, and of our own pains with the second.\nWe never feel any pains and pleasures but our own. The fact, indeed,\nis, that our very idea of the pains or pleasures of another man is\nonly the idea of our own pains, or our own pleasures, associated\nwith the idea of another man. This is one not of the least\nimportant, and curious, of all cases of association, and instantly\nshews how powerfully associated trains of ideas of our pains and\npleasures must be with a feeling so compounded.[43]\n\n[Editor's footnote 43: That the pleasures or pains of another person\ncan only be pleasurable or painful to us through the association of\nour own pleasures or pains with them, is true in one sense, which is\nprobably that intended by the author, but not true in another,\nagainst which he has not sufficiently guarded his mode of\nexpression. It is evident, that the only pleasures or pains of which\nwe have direct experience being those felt by ourselves, it is from\nthem that our very notions of pleasure and pain are derived. It is\nalso obvious that the pleasure or pain with which we contemplate the\npleasure or pain felt by somebody else, is itself a pleasure or pain\nof our own. But if it be meant that in such cases the pleasure or\npain is consciously referred to self, I take this to be a mistake.\nBy the acts or other signs exhibited by another person, the idea of\na pleasure (which is a pleasurable idea) or the idea of a pain\n(which is a painful idea) are recalled, sometimes with considerable\nintensity, but in association with the other person as feeling them,\nnot with one's self as feeling them. The idea of one's Self is, no\ndoubt, closely associated with all our experiences, pleasurable,\npainful, or indifferent; but this association does not necessarily\nact in all cases because it exists in all cases. If the mind, when\npleasurably or painfully affected by the evidences of pleasure or\npain in another person, goes off on a different thread of\nassociation, as for instance, to the idea of the means of giving the\npleasure or relieving the pain, or even if it dismisses the subject\nand relapses into the ordinary course of its thoughts, the\nassociation with its own self may be, at the time, defeated, or\nreduced to something so evanescent that we cannot tell whether it\nwas momentarily present or not.--_Ed._]\n\n{218} The Pleasurable association composed of the ideas of a man and\nhis pleasures, and the painful association composed of the ideas of\na man and his pains, are both Affections, which have so much of the\nsame tendency that they are included under one name, Kindness;\nthough the latter affection has a name appropriate to itself,\nCompassion.\n\n3.--_Family_.\n\nThe Group, which consists of a Father, Mother, and Children, is\ncalled a Family. The associations which each member of this group\nhas of his pains and pleasures, with the pains and pleasures of the\nother members, constitute some of the most interesting states of\nhuman consciousness.\n\nThe affection of the husband and wife is, in its origin, that of two\npersons of different sex, and need {219} not be further analysed. To\nthis source of pleasurable association is added, when the union is\nhappy, all those other associations, just enumerated, which\nconstitute the affection of Friendship. To this another addition is\nmade by the union of interests; or that necessity, under which both\nare placed, of receiving pain and pleasure from the same causes. As,\nin too many instances, these pleasurable associations are\nextinguished, by the generation of others of an opposite\ndescription; in other cases, they are carried to such a height, as\nto afford an exemplification of that remarkable state of mind, in\nwhich a greater value is set upon the means, than upon the end.\nPersons have been found, the one of whom could not endure to live\nwithout the other.\n\nThe Parental affection requires to be somewhat more minutely\nanalysed.\n\nFirst of all, there can be no doubt, that all that power of exciting\ntrains of ideas of our own pains and pleasures, which belongs to the\npains and pleasures of any of our fellow-creatures, is possessed by\nthe pains and pleasures of a man's child.\n\nIn the next place, it is well known that the pains and pleasures of\nanother person affect us; that is, associate with themselves the\nideas of our own pains and pleasures, with more or less intensity,\naccording to the attention which we bestow upon his pains or\npleasures. A parent is commonly either led or impelled to bestow an\nunusual degree of attention upon the pains and pleasures of his\nchild; and hence a habit is contracted of sympathizing with him, as\nit is commonly, and not insignificantly named; in other words, a\nfacility of associating the ideas of {220} his own pains and\npleasures, with those of the child.\n\nAgain, a man looks upon his child as a cause to him of future pains\nor pleasures, much more certain, than any other person. The father\nregards the son somewhat in the light of another self, a great\nproportion of the effects of whose acts, whether good or evil, will\nredound to himself. An object regarded as a great future cause to us\nof future pains or pleasures, we call an object of intense interest;\nin other words, a train of interesting ideas, that is, of ideas of\npains or pleasures, is associated with it.\n\nThe vivacity and simplicity of the expressions of the pains and\npleasures of children, in their looks, and tones, and attitudes, as\nwell as words, give them a peculiar power of exciting sympathy, that\nis, of associating with them trains of the analogous feelings of\nourselves. The frequency with which a parent is called upon to\nattend to those expressions in his child, gives him a habit of\nforming the associations to which they lead.\n\nThe perfect dependence of the child upon the parent is a source of\ndeep interest. The whole of its pleasures being the fruit of his\nacts, he more easily associates with them the trains of his own\npleasures, than with those of any person not so connected with him.\nHis acts, too, being required to save it from the worst of pains,\nand from destruction, the idea of its pains, arising from any\nrelaxation of his care, calls up, in strong association, both the\nanalogous pains of himself, and also the opposite pleasurable\nfeelings arising from the continuance of the acts by which the\npleasures of the child are produced. And to all these {221} sources\nof association is added, that which is always agreeable, the train\nmaking up the idea of our own power; no case of power being so\nperfect as that of the parent over his helpless offspring.\n\nAnother important source of agreeable association is yet to be\nmentioned. Man becomes fond (it is a matter of daily observation) of\nthat on which he has frequently conferred benefits. This is a fact\nof considerable importance in human nature; for, under the little\ncare which hitherto has been bestowed in generating, by education,\nthe associations on which Beneficence depends, a considerable part\nof the beneficence existing in the world has been produced by this\ncause. It is also a case of association, which strongly illustrates\nthe fact, that pleasures, produced by our own acts, have a peculiar\npower in associating with them trains of the ideas of our own\npleasures. Not only a Fellow-creature, but even one of the lower\nanimals, by having been the object of repeated acts of kindness,\nbecomes an object of affection. Trains of our own pleasures are so\noften united with the idea of such an object of our kindness, that\nthe idea of the object becomes at last an idea made up of the\noriginal idea of the individual and of trains of our own pleasures:\na compound idea, made up, in great part, of pleasurable ideas; that\nis, an Affection.\n\nThat the whole of the parental affection is derived from these and\nsimilar associations, is proved by some decisive facts.\n\nWhenever it happens that a man is placed in circumstances which\nproduce those associations, he feels the parental affection, without\nparentage. Facts of this description are so frequent, and so\nnotorious, that {222} it is hardly necessary to produce an instance\nof them. How else does it happen, that a man who does not suspect\nthe infidelity of his wife, rears as his own, and without any\ndifference of affection, the offspring of the man who has injured\nhim? Cases, for the credit of our nature, are not wanting, and when\neducation is better, they will be less rare, in which a family of\norphans is taken under the protection of a man of virtue. By acting\ntowards them the part of a parent, he never fails to acquire for\nthem the affection of a parent.\n\nThere are equally notorious and decisive facts to prove, that\nwhenever the parent is placed in circumstances which either wholly,\nor to a great degree, prevent the formation of the associations with\nthe child to which we ascribe the parental affection, there is a\ncorresponding want of the affection. The case of illegitimate\nchildren is pregnant with evidence to this point. In the great\nmajority of cases of this description, no affection exists. The\nparent may feel the obligation of maintaining the child, because\npublic opinion, or perhaps the law, requires it: but this is the\nextent of the bond.\n\nThe circumstances of Families, in the two opposite states, of great\npoverty, and great opulence, are unfavourable to the formation of\nthose associations of which the parental affection consists.\n\nIn cases of extreme poverty, which alone are the cases here\nunderstood; because, in the more moderate cases of poverty, the\nparental affection exists in considerable strength; the\ncircumstances which lead to the formation of agreeable associations\nwith the child, are either wanting, or counteracted by circumstances\n{223} of an opposite tendency. The parent has little the means of\nbestowing pleasures on his child; he has not the means of saving it\nfrom an almost constant series of pains. The means which he employs\nin saving the child from pains, are taken from the means of saving\nhimself from pains. Constantly occupied in the labours which yield\nhim a scanty means of subsistence, he spends but little time in the\ncompany of his child, and has therefore little opportunity of\nattending to the engaging expressions of its pains and pleasures. It\nis needless to carry the enumeration of particulars farther. The\ncircumstances which tend to generate agreeable associations with the\nchild are few. The circumstances which tend to generate painful\nassociations with it are many.\n\nIn Families of great opulence, the attention of the parent, averted\neither by the calls of pleasure, or the avocations which his\nposition in society creates, is but little bestowed upon his\nchildren. Where the pains and pleasures of others are not attended\nto, no association with those pains and pleasures exists; where\nthere is not a habit of forming the associations, the Affection does\nnot exist.\n\nThe mode in which the child of the man of opulence is maintained and\neducated, proceeds so remotely from the acts of the parent, that the\nagreeable associations, which we have with our own acts of\nbeneficence, are, in the case of such a parent, very imperfectly\nformed.\n\nThe man of opulence naturally regards his children as part of his\nstate; as the inheritors of his fortune; or as belonging to the same\nline of ancestors with himself; and with both those constituents of\nhis {224} dignity he has many agreeable associations. But these are\nan imperfect substitute for the habits of agreeable association\nwhich are generated in more favourable circumstances.\n\nHitherto, we have considered only the parental affection of the\nFather. The parental affection of the Mother differs from that of\nthe Father in the associations which she forms with her child in her\nown peculiar situations of gestation and nursing. That these are\nsuch as to create intense associations every one will admit. Every\nmovement of the child during the period of gestation is to her a\nsensation. Every thought of it is connected with that flood of hopes\nand fears attached to the awful hour, never absent from her\nthoughts, which, through a series of cruel pains, will either\nstretch her a lifeless corpse, or render her a rejoicing mother. As\na nurse, the child is to her a source, both of agreeable sensations,\nand agreeable ideas. On the sensations we need not dilate. They are\nknown only to those who have experienced them. But it is not\npossible to conceive a case more calculated to associate strongly\nthe ideas of our own pleasures, with the ideas of the pleasures we\nbestow, than that of the mother, when she presses her infant to her\nbosom, and communicates to him the means of life, and the only\npleasures he is capable of enjoying, not only by her own acts, but\nfrom her own substance; and when she perceives how soon in the mind\nof the child, the idea of herself is associated with the existence\nof all his pleasures, and the removal of all his pains; in other\nwords, how quickly she becomes not only the object of his\naffections, but the one and only object.\n\n{225} Having explained at so much length the grand case of the\nDomestic Affections, we may pass over the rest with a very cursory\nnotice.\n\nEven the Filial affection has in it nothing peculiar. In the child,\nthe idea of his parent, as a being with power almost unlimited over\nhim, creates the associations which constitute reverence, and\nrespect; and the perpetual use of that power on the part of the\nparent to give him pleasures, or the command of pleasures, to remove\nfrom him pains, or give him the means of removing them, naturally\ncreates the associations which constitute affection.\n\nThe affection which exists among Brothers and Sisters, has in it\nmost of the ingredients which go to the formation of Friendship.\nThere is first of all Companionship; the habit of enjoying\npleasures, in common, and also of suffering pains: hence a great\nreadiness in sympathizing with one another; that is, in associating\ntrains of their own pains and pleasures, with the pains and\npleasures of one another. There is next, when the Education is good,\na constant reciprocation, to the extent of their power, of\nbeneficent acts. And lastly there is their common relation to the\ngrand source of all their pleasures, the Parent.\n\nWhen the affections of the domestic class exist in perfection (in\nsuch a state of Education and Morals as ours this rarely can\nhappen), they afford so constant a succession of agreeable trains,\nthat they form, perhaps, the most valuable portion of human\nhappiness. Acts of beneficence to larger masses of mankind, afford\nstill more interesting trains to those who perform them. But they\nare the small number. The happiness of the Domestic affections is\nopen to all.\n\n{226} 4.--_Country_.\n\nThe word country is the name of an idea of great complexity. In that\nidea are included all the multitudes of persons, and all the\nmultitudes of things, and all the multitudes of positions, in a\ncertain portion of the Globe of the Earth. Nor are these present\nexistences alone included in that idea: the HISTORY of the country\nis included, that is, the whole series of prior existences; and not\nthe PAST HISTORY only, but the FUTURE HISTORY also, or series of\nfuture existences, as far as our power of anticipation reaches. This\nis a remarkable example of the power of association, to unite ideas\nwithout number in such closeness, that their individuality is\nunperceived, and the cluster, however large, resembles a single\nuncompounded idea.\n\nThis cluster is not wholly made up of indifferent ideas. There is\nincluded in it the sources of all our pleasures, and almost all the\nobjects with which we have been accustomed to associate trains of\nagreeable ideas. The plains, the mountains, the valleys, the rivers,\nwith which we have formed agreeable associations, are all there; the\nindividual objects with which we have formed similar associations,\nthe trees, the houses; the house, for example, in which we were\nborn, the tree under which we have sat to enjoy the affections of\nour parents, or indulge our sympathies with other objects of our\nlove, the paths in which we have strayed, the fields through which\nwe have roamed, the riches wherewith we have seen them periodically\nclothed, the labours of those fields, the labourers, their manners,\nappearance, and character, {227} the flocks and herds, the cities\nand towns, with all their inhabitants, and all their operations, the\nwonderful proceedings of the manufacturers, the arrival and\ndeparture of ships, loaded with the precious commodities of the\ndifferent regions of the Earth.\n\nTo these sources of Interest is to be added, all that portion of our\nfellow-creatures with whom we have been accustomed to associate our\nPains and Pleasures. Here are our Parents, our Brothers and Sisters,\nour Sons and Daughters. Here are the men, and here the women, who\nhave engaged our affections. Here are our Benefactors, here are our\nInstructors, here are the manners which alone from habit are\nagreeable to us. And here are the Institutions from which we have\nderived Protection, and to which, in their usual state of\nimperfection, we are apt to lend a reverence, such is the strength\nof the association, far beyond the measure of their worth.\n\nSufficient sources have now been pointed out, to shew whence it is\nthat the Idea of country, as it involves a great number of agreeable\nassociations, becomes, or more properly speaking is, an Affection,\n\n5.--_Party; Class_.\n\nThat which constitutes a Party, or class, is always some community\nof Interest: in other words, some thing or things, to be obtained,\nsecured, or augmented, by the common endeavours of the class, and\noperating as a cause of pleasure to all of them.\n\nThe People, that is, the Mass of the community, are sometimes called\na class; but that is only to distinguish them, like the term Lower\nOrders, from the {228} Aristocratical class. In the proper meaning\nof the term class, it is not applicable to the People. No interest\nis in common to them, which is not in common to the rest of the\ncommunity. There is nothing which can operate as a cause of benefit\nto them exclusively. Whatever operates as a cause of benefit to them\nin common, operates equally as a cause of benefit to every part of\nthe community, saving and excepting those who are in possession of\nsome mischievous power over a portion, greater or less, of the\ncommunity. It may no doubt very easily happen, that what is a\nbenefit to the rest of the community, is an evil to the possessors\nof such power; as what is an evil, and the greatest of all Evils, to\nthe Community, is a Benefit to them.\n\nThere is no Love of Class, therefore, but in a Privileged Order. The\nPatricians, in ancient Rome, were a Class of this sort. And in\nmodern Europe there are two such classes: the Nobility, in each\nCountry: and the Incorporated Clergy; calling themselves the Church,\nin Catholic countries, the Established Church, in Non-catholic\ncountries.\n\nThe associations which the members of a governing class have with\none another, individually, as fathers, sons, companions, friends,\nare not here to be taken into account. The associations connected\nwith the privileges which constitute any body of men a class, are\nalone concerned in forming the states of mind which we now are\nexplaining.\n\nSuch privileges consist of Wealth, Power, Dignity, one, or all,\nconferred by Legislative act: that is, not the result of natural\nacquisition, but of a sort of force, or compulsion, put upon other\npeople.\n\n{229} We need not again enter into an explanation of the agreeable\nassociations which every man has with his own Wealth, Power, and\ndignity, and with the causes, either of their existence, or of their\nincrease, or of their security. When these causes to one man, are\ncauses also to a circle of other men, the whole Body has both\nindividually and collectively the associations with those causes,\nwhich constitute Affection.\n\n6.--_Mankind_.\n\nThe word Mankind is the name of another of those remarkable\nassociations, by which countless ideas are so combined, that their\nindividuality is sunk, and the aggregate is, to appearance, one\nidea.\n\nThe Idea Mankind, like the Idea Country, is not made up wholly of\nindifferent ideas. It has in it all the trains of pleasurable ideas\nwhich we associate, either with individuals, or with subdivisions,\nof the whole mass.\n\nWe have interesting associations with the idea of a man, as a man.\nThe idea of his pains, and his pleasures, call up, unavoidably,\ntrains of the ideas of our own pains and pleasures. The Idea of a\nman, therefore, naturally includes, the love of his pleasures,\nhatred of his pains.\n\nFrom our earliest Infancy, we have had experience of nothing more\nconstantly than this; that a great proportion of our pleasures\nproceeded from a certain disposition towards us, on the part of\nthose of our fellow-creatures who were near us; and a great\nproportion of our Pains from a certain other disposition on their\npart. Those Dispositions, taken in the most {230} general sense, are\nKindness, which we have already explained; and its opposite,\nUnkindness. We have, therefore, very intense associations of\nPleasure, with the idea of the Disposition towards us, called\nKindness, in other men; and very intense associations of Pain with\nthat of the Disposition in them called Unkindness towards us.\n\nIn our Idea of each individual man, therefore, is included not only\nthe Love of his Pleasures and Aversion to his Pains; but, in\naddition to this, the Love of his Disposition of Kindness towards\nus, and Aversion to his Disposition of Unkindness towards us.\n\nNow, as our complex Idea of Mankind, is made up of the aggregate of\nthe ideas of Individuals, including the interesting trains called\nLove of their Pleasures, Hatred of their Pains; Love of their\nKindness, Aversion to their Unkindness; the generation of the\naffection, called Love of Mankind, is, for our present purpose,\nsufficiently shewn.[44] [45]\n\n[Bain's footnote 44: As carrying out the principle of association,\nin the domain of the Feelings, the foregoing chapters, from XIX.\nonwards, are unexceptionable and cogent. As furnishing the complete\naccount of the Benevolent and Malevolent Affections, and of the\nSympathies or disinterested impulses, they are defective. Indeed,\nthe whole subject of the Emotions is placed by the author upon a too\nnarrow basis. Any theory that looks solely to the circumstance of\npleasure and pain, (important as that is) fails to grapple with all\nthe facts. For example, there is no account rendered of the very\nfamiliar emotion of Wonder.\n\nThat the Emotions are all compounded of elements of Sense (in the\nwidest comprehension, that is, with Muscularity included) may be\nmaintained on good grounds. Nevertheless, in order to a satisfactory\nanalysis of even the commoner emotions, such as Tenderness, there is\nwanted a more exhaustive detail of the pleasures and pains of sense\nthan is furnished in the present work.\n\nA few remarks on the generic example of the Tender Feeling, on which\nthe author has expended the greatest part of his illustration, will\nshow the method to be pursued. It is a case where certain primary\nsensibilities, correctly ranked under Sensation, together with the\nassociating principle, seem to account for the whole of the\nphenomenon. In such a case as Wonder, the explanation involves an\nadditional element.\n\nThe pleasures of Tender Feeling, or Love and the Affections, are no\ndoubt, as remarked in the text, in a considerable part associations\nwith other pleasures, such as nourishment. An animal and a child\nwould contract a pleasurable association with the person that brings\nthem their food, or ministers to their bodily wants. Still, there is\nsomething different from this in Tenderness or Love. The fact\nessential to the state is the gratification from the acts of\ncaressing, fondling, and embracing; a pleasure that has its\nindependent sources in the human and animal sensibilities, and does\nnot need the association with being fed and cared for, although\nenhanced and stimulated by that association. Even apart from the\npowerful element of sexuality, there is a great mass of pleasurable\nanimal feeling awakened in the loving embrace of two individuals of\nthe warm-blooded species. We may instance, among these, the\npleasures of Touch in the soft warm contact; the muscular pleasures\nco-operating; the organic feelings connected with secretions\nstimulated in the act, of which the lachrymal is the prominent but\nnot the solitary case; the peculiar sensibility of the pharynx,\nwhich is probably the sign of a less acute but more extended\ninfluence in the alimentary canal generally; to all which, is to be\nadded, in women, the genial secretion of the breasts, going on\nincessantly, although more profuse in nursing mothers. The coalition\nof these tactile, muscular, and organic sensibilities, is the\npleasure of love by itself, or as it might be felt between two\nliving sentient creatures, in no other way the givers or receivers\nof benefits. Nor does this exhaust the circle. The eye, and the ear,\nand even the smell, may be also included. The visible aspects of\nliving beings are often highly agreeable from the first, and become\nso to a farther extent by association with the tactile and organic\npleasures. Similarly, the ear may be charmed with the sounds emitted\nby another human being or animal, and may also form associations\nwith the still more potent pleasures above named. Once more, the\nodour of one animal may be intrinsically sweet to another animal;\nwhile here too, associations may be added.\n\nThe pleasure of Tender feeling must therefore be pronounced to have\nan independent standing in the sentient framework, although\nsusceptible of being analysed into the primary pleasures of the\nsenses, together with the influence of association. All the\naffections derive the chief part of their strength from this complex\nsource. For, although the acts of fondling and caressing are not\nuniversally practised between every two persons that have a mutual\naffection, or are so only in the very limited form of the shake of\nthe hand, yet there is an echo of these, and a stimulus to the\norganic accompaniments, in the sight of each other, in the sounds of\nthe voice, and in the more intellectual forms of indicating\nattachment. It can be proved that the two higher senses enter deeply\ninto the tender emotion, (as they do into the Beautiful). The\nwell-known Dr. Kitto, who was stone-deaf, in describing his\nexperience, states that, as regarded his pleasures, the loss that\naffected him most was his inability to hear the voices of his\nchildren. It is evident that the same remark, as to the mutilation\nof an organ of tender feeling, is applicable to the blind. The\npathos of the lines in Paradise Lost contains this\nimplication.--_B._]\n\n[Editor's footnote 45: The two preceding subsections are almost\nperfect as expositions and exemplifications of the mode in which, by\nthe natural course of life, we acquire attachments to persons,\nthings, and positions, which are the causes or habitual concomitants\nof pleasurable sensations to us, or of relief from pains: in other\nwords, those persons, things, and positions become in themselves\npleasant to us by association; and, through the multitude and\nvariety of the pleasurable ideas associated with them, become\npleasures of greater constancy and even intensity, and altogether\nmore valuable to us, than any of the primitive pleasures of our\nconstitution. This portion of the laws of human nature is the more\nimportant to psychology, as they show how it is possible that the\nmoral sentiments, the feelings of duty, and of moral approbation and\ndisapprobation, may be no original elements of our nature, and may\nyet be capable of being not only more intense and powerful than any\nof the elements out of which they may have been formed, but may\nalso, in their maturity, be perfectly disinterested: nothing more\nbeing necessary for this, than that the acquired pleasure and pain\nshould have become as independent of the native elements from which\nthey are formed, as the love of wealth and of power not only often\nbut generally become, of the bodily pleasures, and relief from\nbodily pains, for the sake of which, and of which alone, power and\nwealth must have been originally valued. No one thinks it necessary\nto suppose an original and inherent love of money or of power; yet\nthese are the objects of two of the strongest, most general, and\nmost persistent passions of human nature; passions which often have\nquite as little reference to pleasure or pain, beyond the mere\nconsciousness of possession, and are in that sense of the word quite\nas disinterested, as the moral feelings of the most virtuous human\nbeing.\n\nThe author, then, has furnished a most satisfactory and most\nvaluable explanation of certain of the laws of our affections and\npassions, and has traced the origin and generation of a great number\nof them. But it must be remarked of the whole exposition, that it\naccounts truly, but only partially, for this part of human nature.\nIt affords a sufficient theory of what we may call the mental, or\nintellectual element of the feelings in question. But it does not\nfurnish, nor does the author anywhere furnish, any theory of what\nmay be called the animal element in them. Yet this is no unimportant\ningredient in the emotional and active part of human nature: and it\nis one greatly demanding analysis. Let us take the case of any of\nthe passions: and as one of the simplest as well as one of the most\npowerful of them, let us take the emotion of Fear. The author gives\nno account of Fear but that it is the idea of a painful sensation,\nassociated with the idea of its being (more or less uncertainly)\nfuture. Undoubtedly these elements are present in it; but do they\naccount for the peculiar emotional character of the passion, and for\nits physiological effect, such as pallor, trembling, faltering of\nthe voice, coldness of the skin, loss of control over the\nsecretions, and general depression of the vital powers? The case\nwould be simpler if these great disturbances of the animal functions\nby the expectation of a pain were the same in kind as the smaller\nmodifications produced by the mere idea. This, however, is by no\nmeans the case; Ideas do produce effects on the animal economy, but\nnot those particular effects. The idea of a pain, if it acts on the\nbodily functions at all, has an action the same in kind (though much\nless in degree) as the pain itself would have. But the passion of\nfear has a totally different action. Suppose the fear to be that of\na flogging. The flogging itself, if it produced any physical\ndemonstrations, would produce cries, shrinkings, possibly muscular\nstruggles, and might by its remoter effects disturb the action of\nthe brain or of the circulation; and if the fear of a flogging\nproduced these same effects, in a mitigated degree, the power of\nfear might be merely the power of the idea of the pain. But none of\nthese are at all like the characteristic symptoms of fear: while\nthose characteristic symptoms are much the same whatever be the\nparticular pain apprehended, and whether it be a bodily or a purely\nmental pain, provided it be sufficiently intense and sufficiently\nproximate. No one has ever accounted for this remarkable difference,\nand the author of the Analysis does not even mention it. The\nexplanation of it is one of those problems, partly psychological and\npartly physiological, which our knowledge of the laws of animal\nsensibility does not yet enable us to resolve. In whatever manner\nthe phenomena are produced, they are a case of the quasi-chemistry\nof the nervous functions, whereby the junction of certain elements\ngenerates a compound whose properties are very different from the\nsum of the properties of the elements themselves.\n\nThis is the point which the author's explanations of the emotional\npart of human nature do not reach, and, it may even be said, do not\nattempt to reach. Until, however, it is reached, there is no\nguarantee for the completeness of his analysis of even the mental\nelement in the passions: for when the effect exhibits so much which\nhas not, in the known properties of the assigned cause, anything to\naccount for it, there is always room for a doubt whether some part\nof the cause has not been left out of the reckoning. This doubt,\nhowever, does not seriously affect the most important of the\nauthor's analyses, viz. those which, without resolving the emotions\nthemselves into anything more elementary, expound their transfer by\nassociation from their natural objects to others; with the great\nincrease of intensity and persistency which so often accompanies the\ntransfer, and which is in general quite sufficiently accounted for\nby the causes to which the author refers it.--_Ed._]\n\n * * * * *\n\nSUB-SECTION III.\n\n_The Objects called Sublime and Beautiful, and their Contraries,\ncontemplated as Causes of our Pleasures and Pains_.\n\n\nThese objects have received much of the attention of Philosophers;\nand great progress has been made in {231} analysing the associations\nwhich form the complicated feelings, ranged under the name of\nEmotions of the Sublime and Beautiful.\n\n{232} It does not belong to the present purpose to go into the\ndetails of this subject, which, for obvious reasons, have been\npursued to great length. It is necessary, {233} however, for that\npurpose, to shew, into what general laws the phenomena are capable\nof being resolved.\n\nThe feelings which are marked under the name of {234} Emotions of\nthe Sublime and Beautiful, are so much alike, that the distinction\nof them into two species is somewhat arbitrary. Though the Romans\ndid apply {235} the word _sublimis_, and its abstract, _sublimitas_,\nin a certain rhetorical way, to objects of Taste, their word\n_Pulchrum_, properly denoted all that is expressed by {236} our\nSublime and Beautiful, taken together. The Greek word, [Greek:\nkalo/n], also clearly included every thing which we rank under the\nname of Sublime. Longinus, indeed, who lived at a very late and\ndegenerate period of Grecian literature, wrote a treatise to which\nhe gave the affected Title, [Greek: Pe/ri U(psou=s], or \"About\nHeight;\" and as that has been a very popular treatise in modern\ntimes, it is not improbable, that the use of the word Sublime, which\nhas become so prevalent in the discourse of the moderns, derives its\norigin from no higher source.\n\nMr. Alison, who wrote a very pleasing, and, to a certain degree, a\nPhilosophical Book, on the Emotions of Taste, has shewn by an\nabundance of well-chosen illustrations, that it is not the immediate\nsensations, received by us from the objects of Taste, which\nconstitute them a cause of our pleasures. The immediate sensations\nare commonly indifferent, or approaching the indifferent. It is only\nwhen they introduce, by association, a train of pleasurable ideas,\nthat the feelings called the pleasures of Taste, are ever enjoyed.\n\nI believe that I may assume this as an established {237} fact in our\nnature; and I shall only adduce as much of the evidence as may teach\nthose of my readers, to whom these inquiries may be new, the mode in\nwhich the truth of the proposition becomes apparent. I also think it\nuseful to avail myself, not only of the illustrations, but as much\nas possible of the words, of Mr. Alison, as exhibiting the clear\nconviction of the wonderful effects of association, in one instance,\non the part of a writer, who seems to have had no idea of its\naffording an equally satisfactory solution of the other complex\nphenomena of mind.\n\nWhat are called the external objects of Taste, are mostly objects of\nHearing, objects of Sight, or objects of that Muscular Sense, from\nwhich we derive the idea of extension.\n\nThat the feelings we have by these senses are generically distinct\nfrom the emotions of Sublimity and Beauty, might, I imagine, be\ntrusted to an appeal to each man's consciousness. There are\ninnumerable cases, however, which may be regarded as decisive\nexperiments upon the subject.\n\nOf the sounds which can be adduced as Sublime or Beautiful, there\nis, perhaps, not one, which is not often heard in circumstances,\nwherein no tendency to Emotion is felt. The circumstances in which\nthe Emotion is felt, and those in which it is not felt, are those in\nwhich a train of pleasurable ideas is, or is not, introduced by\nassociation.\n\n\"All sounds,\" says Mr. Alison, \"are in general SUBLIME, which are\nassociated with Ideas of great Power or Might: the Noise of a\nTorrent,--the Fall of a Cataract,--the Uproar of a Tempest,--the\nExplosion of Gunpowder,--the Dashing of the Waves, &c.\n\n{238} \"All sounds, in the same manner, are sublime, which are\nassociated with Ideas of Majesty, or Solemnity, or deep Melancholy,\nor any other strong Emotion: the Sound of the Trumpet, and all other\nwarlike instruments,--the Note of the Organ,--the Sound of the\nCurfew,--the Tolling of the Passing bell, &c.\n\n\"There is a great variety of sounds also, that occur in the scenes\nof Nature, which are productive of the Emotion of BEAUTY: the Sound\nof a Waterfall,--the Murmuring of a Rivulet,--the Whispering of the\nWind,--the Sheepfold-bell,--the sound of the Curfew, &c.\n\n\"That the Notes or Cries of some Animals, are Sublime, every one\nknows: the Roar of the Lion, the Growling of Bears, the Howling of\nWolves, the Scream of the Eagle, &c. In all those cases, those are\nthe notes of animals remarkable for their strength, and formidable\nfor their ferocity. It would seem very natural, therefore, that the\nsublimity of such sounds should arise from the qualities of which\nthey are expressive.\n\n\"The Bleating of a Lamb, is beautiful in a fine day in spring: the\nLowing of a Cow at a distance, amid the scenery of a pastoral\nlandscape in summer. The Call of a Goat among rocks is strikingly\nbeautiful, as expressing wildness and independence. The Hum of the\nBeetle is beautiful in a fine summer evening, as appearing to suit\nthe stillness and repose of that pleasing season. The Twitter of the\nSwallow is beautiful in the morning, and seems to be expressive of\nthe cheerfulness of that time.\"\n\nThis enumeration of cases, which is only a selection from those of\nMr. Alison, is far more than {239} sufficient for the purpose, as\nindeed it is one defect of his book that his propositions are\noverlaid with evidence.\n\nThat these sounds, as sensations, do not constitute the pleasures\nenjoyed, he demonstrates, by shewing that on many occasions, on\nwhich the sensations exist as perfectly as on any other occasion, no\npleasure is felt. He also shews, that when the pleasures are felt,\na train of pleasurable ideas is introduced by association.\n\n\"The sound of Thunder, he says, is perhaps of all others in Nature,\nthe most Sublime.\" Yet the rolling of stones from a cart, produces a\nsound so exactly the same, that it is often mistaken for thunder.\nWhile the mistake lasts, the feeling of sublimity lasts. When the\nmistake is corrected, it instantly vanishes; that is, the\nassociation is dissolved.\n\n\"There is scarcely in nature,\" says Mr. Alison, \"a more trifling\nsound than the buzz of Flies; yet, I believe, there is no man of\ncommon Taste, who, in the deep silence of a summer's noon, has not\nfound something strikingly sublime, in this inconsiderable sound.\nThe falling of a drop of water, produces in general a very\ninsignificant and unexpressive sound; yet sometimes in Vaults, and\nin large Cathedrals, a single drop is heard to fall, at distant\nintervals, from the roof; than which, I know not if there is a\nsingle sound more strikingly sublime.\"\n\nMr. Alison further remarks, that to those who have no trains of\npleasurable ideas associated with sounds, \"or who consider them\nsimply as sounds, they have no beauty. It is long before children\nshew any sensibility to the beauty of sounds. To the greater {240}\nnumber of the sounds which we denominate beautiful, the common\npeople, in the same manner, are altogether indifferent. To the\npeasant, the Curfew is only the mark of the hour of the\nevening,--the Sheep-bell, the sign of the neighbourhood of the\nflock,--the sound of a Cascade, the sign of the falling of water,\n&c. Give him the associations which men of cultivated imagination\nhave with such sounds, and he will infallibly feel their beauty.\"\n\nMr. Alison shews, that when the notes or cries of animals are\nstripped of certain associations, they are unproductive of Emotions\nof sublimity or beauty. \"There is not one of these sounds,\" he says,\n\"which may not be imitated in some manner or other; and which, while\nwe are ignorant of the deception, does not produce the same Emotion\nwith the real sound: when we are undeceived, however, we are\nconscious of no other Emotion, but that, perhaps, of simple pain\nfrom its loudness. The howl of the Wolf is little distinguished from\nthe howl of the Dog, either in its tone or in its strength, but\nthere is no comparison between their sublimity. Few, if any, of the\nsounds felt as sublime are so loud as the most common of all sounds,\nthe lowing of a Cow; yet this is the very reverse of sublimity.\nImagine this sound, on the contrary, expressive of Fierceness and\nStrength, and there can be no doubt, that it would become sublime.\nThe scream of the Eagle is simply disagreeable, when the bird is\neither tamed or confined; it is Sublime, only when it is heard amid\nRocks and Deserts, and when it is expressive to us, of Liberty and\nIndependence, and savage Majesty. The noise of the Rattlesnake (that\nmost dangerous animal of all his tribe) {241} is very little\ndifferent from the noise of a child's play-thing; yet who will deny\nits sublimity? The growl of the Tiger, resembles the purring of a\nCat; the one is sublime, the other insignificant.\"\n\nMr. Alison, with great propriety, adds, \"Upon the principle of the\nabsolute and independent Sublimity or Beauty of Sounds, it is very\ndifficult to account for the different sounds which have been\nmentioned as productive of these Emotions. There is certainly no\nresemblance, as sounds, between the noise of Thunder, and the\nhissing of a Serpent,--between the growling of a Tiger, and the\nexplosion of Gunpowder,--between the scream of an Eagle, and the\nshouting of a multitude; yet all of these are sublime. In the same\nmanner, there is as little resemblance, between the tinkling of the\nSheepfold-bell, and the murmuring of the Breeze; between the hum of\nthe Beetle and the song of the Lark; between the twitter of the\nSwallow, and the sound of the Curfew; yet all of these are\nbeautiful. Upon the principle of association, they are all perfectly\naccountable.\"\n\nI shall not follow Mr. Alison in his illustrations of the beauty and\nsublimity felt in the tones of the human voice, or in the\ncomposition of sounds, called Music; because I have no doubt but it\nwill be allowed that they derive the whole of what is called their\nexpression,--in other words, their power of pleasing,--from the\nassociations connected with them.[46] I {242} shall also produce a\nvery few specimens of the illustrations which he adduces to show\nthat what is called the Beauty and Sublimity of objects of sight, is\nderived wholly from association.\n\n[Editor's footnote 46: What the author thinks himself dispensed from\neither proving or illustrating because he has no doubt that it will\nbe allowed, is, on the contrary, one of the most disputable parts of\nhis theory. That very much of the pleasure afforded by Music is the\neffect of its expression, i.e. of the associations connected with\nsound, most people will admit: but it can scarcely be doubted that\nthere is also an element of direct physical and sensual pleasure. In\nthe first place, the quality of some single sounds is physically\nagreeable, as that of others is disagreeable. Next, the concord or\nharmony of pleasant sounds adds a further element of purely physical\nenjoyment. And thirdly, certain successions of sounds, constituting\nmelody or tune, are delightful, as it seems to me, to the mere\nsense. With these pleasures those of the associated ideas and\nfeelings are intimately blended, but may, to a certain extent, be\ndiscriminated by a critical ear. It is possible to say, of different\ncomposers, that one (as Beethoven) excels most in that part of the\neffect of music which depends on expression, and another (as Mozart)\nin the physical part.\n\nThat the full physical pleasure of tune is often not experienced at\nthe first hearing, is a consequence of the fact, that the pleasure\ndepends on succession, and therefore on the coexistence of each note\nwith the remembrance of a sufficient number of the previous notes to\nconstitute melody: a remembrance which, of course, is not possessed\nin perfection, until after a number of repetitions proportioned to\nthe complexity and to the unfamiliar character of the\ncombination.--_Ed._]\n\nThe following observations are general, and very instructive.\n\n\"The greatest part of colours are connected with a kind of\nestablished Imagery in our minds, and are considered as expressive\nof many very pleasing and affecting Qualities.\n\n\"These Associations may perhaps be included in the following\nEnumeration: 1st, Such as arise from {243} the nature of the objects\nthus permanently coloured: 2ndly, Such as arise from some analogy\nbetween certain Colours, and certain Dispositions of mind: and,\n3rdly, Such as arise from accidental connexions, whether national or\nparticular.\n\n\"1. When we have been accustomed to see any object capable of\nexciting Emotion, distinguished by some fixed or permanent colour,\nwe are apt to extend to the Colour the Qualities of the object thus\ncoloured, and to feel from it, when separated, some degree of the\nsame emotion which is properly excited by the object itself.\nInstances of this kind are within every person's observation. White,\nas it is the colour of Day, is expressive to us of the cheerfulness\nor gaiety which the return of day brings. Black, as the colour of\nDarkness, is expressive of gloom and melancholy. The colour of the\nheavens, in serene weather, is Blue: Blue, is therefore expressive\nto us of somewhat of the same pleasing and temperate character.\nGreen, is the colour of the Earth, in Spring: it is, consequently,\nexpressive to us of some of those delightful Images which we\nassociate with that season. The expressions of those colours, which\nare the signs of particular passions in the Human countenance, and\nwhich, from this connexion, derive their effect, every one is\nacquainted with.\n\n\"2. There are many colours which derive expression from some analogy\nwe discover between them and certain affections of the Human Mind.\nSoft or Strong, Mild or Bold, Gay or Gloomy, Cheerful or Solemn,\n&c., are terms, in all languages, applied to colours; terms\nobviously metaphorical, and the use of which indicates their\nconnexion with particular {244} qualities of Mind. In the same\nmanner, different degrees or shades of the same colour have similar\ncharacters, as Strong, or Temperate, or Gentle, &c. In consequence\nof this Association,--which is, in truth, so strong, that it is to\nbe found in all mankind,--such colours derive a character from this\nresemblance, and produce in our mind some faint degree of the same\nEmotion, which the qualities they express are fitted to produce.\n\n\"3. Many colours acquire character from accidental Association.\nPurple, for instance, has acquired a character of Dignity, from its\naccidental connexion with the Dress of Kings. The colours of Ermine\nhave a similar character, from the same cause. The colours, in every\ncountry, which distinguish the Dress of Magistrates, &c., acquire\ndignity in the same manner. Every person will, in the same manner,\nprobably, recollect the particular colours which are pleasing to\nhim, from their having been worn by people whom he loved, or from\nsome other accidental association.\"\n\nThat it is not from the sensation, but from those trains of\nassociated Ideas, that the feeling of Beauty in colours, whenever we\nhave it, is derived, he demonstrates, by adducing some well-chosen\ninstances to shew that the sensation may exist as well without the\nassociation as with it; and that, as often as it is unaccompanied\nwith the association, it is unaccompanied with any feeling of\nBeauty. When it has the association. Beauty is felt: when it has not\nthe association, Beauty is not felt. The association, therefore, is\nthe cause of the Beauty.\n\n{245} \"Black,\" says Mr. Alison, \"is to us an unpleasant colour,\nbecause it is the colour appropriated to mourning. In Venice and\nSpain, it is agreeable, because it is the colour which distinguishes\nthe dress of the Great. White is beautiful to us, in a supreme\ndegree, as emblematical both of Innocence and Cheerfulness. In\nChina, on the other hand, it is the colour appropriated to\nMourning, and, consequently, very far from being generally\nbeautiful.\n\n\"The common colours of the indifferent things which surround us,--of\nthe Earth, of Stone, of Wood, &c.,--have no kind of Beauty. The\nthings themselves are so indifferent to us, that they excite no kind\nof emotion; and, of consequence, their colours produce no greater\nemotion as the signs of such qualities, than the qualities\nthemselves. The colours, in the same manner, which distinguish the\nordinary Dress of the Common People, are never considered as\nbeautiful. It is the colours only of the Dress of the Great, of the\nOpulent, or of Distinguished Professions, which are ever considered\nin this light.\n\n\"No new colour is ever beautiful, until we have acquired some\npleasing associations with it. This is peculiarly observable in the\narticle of Dress; and indeed it is the best instance of it, because\nno other circumstance intervenes by which the experiment can be\ninfluenced. Every man must have observed, that, in the great variety\nof new colours, which the caprice of Fashion is perpetually\nintroducing, no new colour appears at first sight as beautiful.\nA few weeks, even a few days alter our opinion; as soon as it is\ngenerally adopted by those who lead {246} the public Taste, and has\nbecome in consequence the mark of Rank and Elegance, it immediately\nbecomes beautiful.\n\n\"When the particular associations we have with such colours, are\ndestroyed, their beauty is destroyed at the same time.\n\n\"The different machines, instruments, &c., which minister to the\nconvenience of Life, have, in general, from the materials of which\nthey are composed, or from the uses to which they are applied, a\nfixed and determinate colour. This colour becomes accordingly in\nsome degree beautiful, from its being the sign of such qualities;\nchange the accustomed colour of such objects, and every man feels a\nkind of disappointment. This is so strong, that, even if a colour\nmore generally beautiful is substituted, yet still our\ndissatisfaction is the same; and the new colour, instead of being\nbeautiful, becomes the reverse. Rose-colour, for instance, is a more\nbeautiful colour than that of Mahogany: yet, if any man were to\npaint his doors and windows with Rose-colour, he would certainly not\nadd to their beauty. The colour of a polished steel grate is\nagreeable, but is not in itself very beautiful. Suppose it painted\ngreen, or violet, or crimson, all of them colours much more\nbeautiful, and the beauty of it is altogether destroyed. Instances\nof this kind are innumerable.\"[47]\n\n[Editor's footnote 47: The elements contributed by association are\ncertainly more predominant in the pleasure of colours than in that\nof musical sounds; yet I am convinced that there is a direct element\nof physical pleasure in colours, anterior to association. My own\nmemory recals to me the intense and mysterious delight which in\nearly childhood I had in the colours of certain flowers; a delight\nfar exceeding any I am now capable of receiving from colour of any\ndescription, with all its acquired associations. And this was the\ncase at far too early an age, and with habits of observation far too\nlittle developed, to make any of the subtler combinations of form\nand proportion a source of much pleasure to me. This last pleasure\nwas acquired very gradually, and did not, until after the\ncommencement of manhood, attain any considerable height. The\nexamples quoted from Alison do not prove that there is no original\nbeauty in colours, but only that the feeling of it is capable, as no\none doubts that it is capable, of being overpowered by extraneous\nassociations.\n\nWhether there is any similar organic basis of the pleasure derived\nfrom form, so far at least as this depends on proportion, I would\nnot undertake to decide.\n\nThe susceptibility to the physical pleasures produced by colours and\nmusical sounds, (and by forms if any part of the pleasure they\nafford is physical), is probably extremely different in different\norganisations. In natures in which any one of these susceptibilities\nis originally faint, more will depend on association. The extreme\nsensibility of this part of our constitution to small and unobvious\ninfluences, makes it certain that the sources of the feelings of\nbeauty and deformity must be, to a material extent, different in\ndifferent individuals.--_Ed._]\n\n{247} Mr. Alison produces a very long line of illustrations to show\nthat the Beauty of FORMS is not the mere sensation of Form, but\nconsists, as in the case of sounds and colours, in the train of\npleasurable ideas associated with the sensation. Mr. Alison is less\nhappy, and more tedious, in the illustration of this than the\npreceding parts of his subject. We shall make little use of his\nproofs; because we can arrive, by a short process, at a very\nsatisfactory conclusion.\n\nMr. Alison seems not to have been aware of the {248} origin of our\nideas of Form; and thence in expounding them has found many\ndifficulties which do not in reality belong to the subject. He\nsupposes that Form is altogether a sensation of sight. In a former\npart of this Inquiry, we ascertained the sensations: we saw that\nForm, in all its cases, is merely a modification of extension; that\nit is made known to us, by those feelings, which accompany the\nmotion of certain of our members, as that of a finger, or a hand.\nThose feelings are in no danger of being confounded with the emotion\nof Beauty. They are feelings so completely indifferent, that in most\nof the associations into which the ideas of them enter as essential\ningredients they are overlooked, and the very existence of them is\ncommonly unknown.\n\nIf the sensation is no cause of the Pleasure derived from Forms, it\nwill not be questioned that association is the cause.\n\nForms are either Animate or Inanimate. The associations with the\nAnimate only differ from those with the Inanimate, in holding some\nadditional ingredients. Some Forms affect us, by their magnitude,\nnaturally associated with the idea of Power; some, by the uses to\nwhich they are applied, as the more powerful instruments of war;\nsome, by the extent of their duration, with which we have obvious\nassociations; some, by the splendour or magnificence, with the ideas\nof which they are associated,--the Throne, the Diadem, the Triumphal\nCar.\n\nThe natural movements of the arm, from its turning in its socket as\nround a centre, are all waving; circles, or portions of circles,\nrunning into one another. All other movements are forced upon it,\n{249} and the effect of constraint. Hence the beauty of waving\nlines, because associated with the agreeable ideas of Ease, and\nabsence of Restraint.\n\nAs nothing is more agreeable to us than to trace the operation of\ndesign, of successful contrivance, some Forms affect us strongly by\nthe idea of their Fitness, of their adaptation to an End.\n\nOthers affect us not only by the idea of their adaptation to an end,\nbut by the value which we attach to the end. In this case it is by\ntheir utility that they are said to please us.\n\nWe associate with the idea of certain states of the Human Body, or\nat least of the Bodies of Animals in general, certain inward\nDispositions; with great strength we associate great Wilfulness, and\nlittle regard of others; with frailness, we associate Delicacy, the\nideas of gentleness, compliance, and regard for others. The forms of\ninanimate objects sometimes bear such an analogy to the Delicate and\nFrail in human Forms, that the ideas associated with the animate,\nare called up by the inanimate, and produce the emotion of Beauty.\n\nThis emotion, however, is altogether prevented, when the more potent\nidea of Fitness intervenes. Any thing analogous to the slender form,\nwhich is so exquisitely beautiful in the more elegant grasses, would\nbe a real deformity in the oak.\n\nMore than one of those sources of agreeable association are often\nunited in the same subject, and increase the emotion produced by it.\n\nMr. Alison goes on to the exposition of the associations which\nconstitute the Beauty of Motion, and the Beauty of the Human Form\nand Countenance. {250} But after what has been said, these\nassociations are not difficult to trace; and I have already carried\nthe illustration of this subject farther than I should have done, if\nI had not regarded this case of Association as affording most\nimportant aid toward the developement of all the more mysterious\nphenomena of the Human Mind.\n\nWe have here a class of Pleasures; the Feeling of Beauty, the\nFeeling of Sublimity; exercising a great influence over all\ncultivated minds. These Feelings, when taken as objects of general\ncontemplation, appear perfectly simple. To such a degree have they\nassumed the appearance of simple and original feelings of our\nnature, even to Philosophers of eminence, that a particular sense\nhas been supposed necessary to account for their existence. Yet all\nthis apparent simplicity is only an exemplification of that\nassociation, by which a multitude of ideas are so intimately, and\ninstantaneously blended together, that they appear to be not many\nideas, but one idea.\n\nOf this highly important fact, we have had occasion to take notice\nof various leading cases, before. In the present case, however,\nthere is a peculiarity; which it has in common with the various\ncases called Affection, which we have recently been engaged in\nconsidering. In the cases which occurred for examination, in the\nearlier part of this Inquiry, where we found long trains of Ideas so\nblended together, by association, as to appear not many ideas, but\none; that of Motion, that of Space, that of Time, that of Personal\nIdentity; the ideas associated were those of _indifferent_\nsensations. The ideas, on the other hand, which are associated under\nthe terms {251} Beauty and Sublimity, are ideas of _pleasurable_\nsensations. The difference is that which is testified by every man's\nconsciousness.\n\nThat there should be a remarkable difference between a train\ncomposed of ideas of the indifferent class, and a train composed of\nideas of the pleasurable class, can be easily supposed. It is\nnecessary further to observe, that between two trains, both of the\npleasurable class, there are such important differences, as to have\nsuggested the use of marking them by different names. Thus, even in\nthe class which we have been now considering, one train is composed\nof pleasurable ideas, of such a kind, that we call it sublime;\nanother, of pleasurable ideas of such a kind, that we call it\nBeautiful. From the train of ideas associated with the form of the\nstatue called the Venus de Medicis, we call it beautiful. We have a\ntrain of ideas, also pleasurable, associated with the bust of\nSocrates. But this is a train not reckoned to belong to the class\neither of the beautiful or the sublime; it is a train including all\nthe grand associations connected with the ideas of intellectual, and\nmoral, worth.\n\nA particular description of the sort of ideas which constitute each\nof the more remarkable cases of our pleasurable trains (that they\nare of one kind in one train, of another kind in another train,--of\none kind, for example, in the trains called Sublimity, another in\nthe trains called Beauty, another in the trains for which we have no\nbetter name than moral approbation, no one can doubt) would be\nhighly necessary in a detailed account of Human Nature. It is not\nnecessary for the Analysis which is the object of this {252} Work;\nand would engage us in too tedious an exposition.[48]\n\n[Editor's footnote 48: The objection commonly made to the\npsychological analyses which resolve Beauty into association, is\nthat they confound the Beautiful with the merely agreeable. This\nobjection is urged, for example, by Coleridge, in his Biographia\nLiteraria. He admits, with every one else, that things not in\nthemselves agreeable, are often made agreeable by association; that\nis, the pleasantness which belongs to the ideas with which they are\nassociated, adheres to themselves: but this cannot, it is asserted,\nbe the cause of their producing the particular emotion to which we\nattach the name of Beauty; because, as no feeling of beauty belongs\nto the ideas that are supposed to generate the emotion, no such\nfeeling can be transferred from them to what they are associated\nwith.\n\nAny one who has studied the Analysis up to this point, is aware of\nthe inconclusiveness of this last argument. That a complex feeling\ngenerated out of a number of single ones, should be as unlike to any\nof those from which it is generated, as the sensation of white is\nunlike the sensations of the seven prismatic colours, is no\nunexampled or rare fact in our sensitive nature.\n\nBut it will also, I think, be found, in the case of our feelings of\nBeauty, and still more, of Sublimity, that the theory which refers\ntheir origin mainly to association, is not only not contradictory to\nfacts, but is not even paradoxical. For if our perceptions of beauty\nand sublimity are of a more imposing character than the feelings\nordinarily excited in us by the contemplation of objects, it will be\nfound that the associations which form those impressions are\nthemselves of a peculiarly imposing nature. This is apparent even\nfrom Alison; and if the Author of the Analysis had written later, he\nmight have referred to a deeper thinker than Alison, and a more\nvaluable because an unconscious witness to the truth of the\nAssociation theory. Mr. Ruskin, with profounder and more thoughtful\nviews respecting the beauties both of Nature and of Art than any\n{253} psychologist I could name, undertakes, in the second volume of\n\"Modern Painters,\" to investigate the conditions of Beauty. The\nresult he brings out is, that every thing which gives us the emotion\nof the Beautiful, is expressive and emblematic of one or other of\ncertain lofty or lovely ideas, which are, in his apprehension,\nembodied in the universe, and correspond to the various perfections\nof its Creator. He holds these ideas to be, Infinity, Unity, Repose,\nSymmetry, Purity, Moderation, and Adaptation to Ends. And he is, in\nmy judgment, to a very considerable degree successful in making out\nhis case. Mr. Ruskin, it is true, never thinks of inferring that our\nfeelings of Beauty are the actual consequence of our having those\nelevating or cheering ideas recalled to us through manifold channels\nof association. He deems the emotion to be arbitrarily attached to\nthese ideas by a pre-established harmony. But the evidence which he\nadduces goes far to prove the other point. If he succeeds, as I\nthink he does, in showing that the things which excite the emotions\nof beauty or sublimity are always things which have a natural\nassociation with certain highly impressive and affecting ideas\n(whether the catalogue which he has made of those ideas is correct\nand complete or not), we need no other mode of accounting for the\npeculiar character of the emotions, than by the actual, though vague\nand confused, recal of the ideas. It cannot be deemed surprising\nthat a state of consciousness made up of reminiscences of such ideas\nas Mr. Ruskin specifies, and of the grand and interesting objects\nand thoughts connected with ideas like those, must be of a more\nelevated character, and must stir our nature to a greater depth,\nthan those associations of commonplace and every-day pleasures,\nwhich often combine with them as parts of the mass of pleasurable\nfeeling set up in us by the objects of Nature and Art. In a windy\ncountry, a screen of trees so placed as to be a barrier against the\nprevailing winds, excites ideas of warmth, comfort, and shelter,\nwhich belong to the \"agreeable,\" as distinguished by Coleridge from\nthe Beautiful; and these enter largely into the pleasurable feeling\nwith which we contemplate the trees, without contributing to give\n{254} them the peculiar character distinctive of \u00e6sthetic feelings.\nBut besides these there are other elements constituting the beauty,\nproperly speaking, of the trees, which appeal to other, and what we\nare accustomed, not without meaning, to call higher, parts of our\nnature; which give a stronger stimulus and a deeper delight to the\nimagination, because the ideas they call up are such as in\nthemselves act on the imagination with greater force.\n\nAs is observed by the author of the Analysis, the exposition in\ndetail of the associations which enter into our various feelings of\nthe sublime and beautiful, would require the examination of the\nsubject on a scale not suited to the character nor proportioned to\nthe dimensions of this Treatise. Of all our feelings, our acquired\npleasures and pains, especially our pleasures, are the most complex;\nresulting from the whole of our nature and of our past lives, and\ninvolving, consequently, a greater multitude and variety of\nassociations than almost any other phenomena of the mind. And among\nour various pleasures, the \u00e6sthetic are without doubt the most\ncomplex. It may also be remarked, and is a considerable confirmation\nof the association theory, that the feelings of beauty or sublimity\nwith which different people are affected by the contemplation of the\nsame object, are evidently as different, as the pleasurable\nassociations of different persons with the same object are likely to\nbe. But there are some ingredients which are universally, or almost\nuniversally, present, when the emotions have their characteristic\npeculiarity; and to which they seem to be mainly indebted for the\nextraordinary power with which they act on the minds which have the\ngreatest susceptibility to them. These ingredients are probably more\nnumerous and various than is commonly suspected; but some of the\nmost important and powerful of them are undoubtedly pointed to, and\nillustrated with great force, in the discussion which I have\nmentioned, by Mr. Ruskin; to whose work I willingly refer the\npsychological student, as a copious source of at least far-reaching\nsuggestions, and often of much more.\n\nSupposing that all Beauty had been successfully analysed {255} into\na lively suggestion of one or more of the ideas to which it is\nreferred by Mr. Ruskin, the question would still remain for\npsychologists, why the suggestion of those ideas is so impressive\nand so delightful. But this question may, in general, be answered\nwith little difficulty. It is no mystery, for example, why anything\nwhich suggests vividly the idea of infinity, that is, of magnitude\nor power without limit, acquires an otherwise strange impressiveness\nto the feelings and imagination. The remaining ideas in Mr. Ruskin's\nlist (at least if we except those which, like Moderation, are\nchiefly ancillary to the others, by excluding what would jar with\ntheir effect) all represent to us some valuable or delightful\nattribute, in a completeness and perfection of which our experience\npresents us with no example, and which therefore stimulates the\nactive power of the imagination to rise above known reality, into a\nmore attractive or a more majestic world. This does not happen with\nwhat we call our lower pleasures. To them there is a fixed limit at\nwhich they stop: or if, in any particular case, they do acquire, by\nassociation, a power of stirring up ideas greater than themselves,\nand stimulate the imagination to enlarge its conceptions to the\ndimensions of those ideas, we then feel that the lower pleasure has,\nexceptionally, risen into the region of the \u00e6sthetic, and has\nsuperadded to itself an element of pleasure of a character and\nquality not belonging to its own nature.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{256} CHAPTER XXII.\n\n\nMOTIVES.\n\nSECTION I.\n\nPLEASURABLE OR PAINFUL STATES, CONTEMPLATED AS CONSEQUENTS OF OUR\nOWN ACTS.\n\n\nIN contemplating pains and pleasures as future; in other words,\nanticipating them, or believing in their future existence; we\nobserve, that, in certain cases, they are independent of our\nactions; in other cases, that they are consequent upon something\nwhich may be done, or left undone by us.\n\nThus, in certain cases, we foresee that a painful sensation or\nsensations will be given us, but that something may be done by us\nwhich will prevent it: Again, that a pleasurable sensation, or\nsensations will be given us, but not unless something be done by us,\nof which the sensations are the consequence.\n\nIt is necessary that those two cases, a pain to be prevented, and a\npleasure to be obtained, by our own actions, should be distinguished\nfrom one another; but as they both rank under the title of a good,\nand, as it will shorten our phraseology to name them {257} together,\nwe shall speak of the removal of pain, in the present section, at\nleast, under the denominations of a pleasure.\n\nWe have seen what is the state of consciousness, produced by the\ncontemplation of a pleasurable sensation as future; that it is\ncalled Joy, if the pleasure is contemplated as certainly future, in\nother words, believed; that it is called Hope, if the sensation is\ncontemplated as not certainly future, that is, if the anticipation\ndoes not amount to belief.\n\nWe have also seen what is our state of consciousness, when we\ncontemplate the cause of a future pleasure, and the pleasure,\ntogether. It is a mixture of Love, and Joy; Love as regards the\ncause; Joy as regards the sensation.\n\nThe association which constitutes those States of Mind (AFFECTIONS,\nas they are commonly called) it is hardly necessary to repeat. The\nanticipation of a future sensation, is merely the association, the\nresult of prior sensations, of a certain number of antecedents and\nconsequents. I anticipate, for example, the pleasing sensation of\nlight, at a certain hour to-morrow morning. The meaning is, that\nwith my sensations of the present moment, are associated those of\nthe next; with those of the next those of the following; and so on,\ntill sleep; after sleep, waking, and then the anticipated sensation.\n\nWhen the cause is contemplated along with the sensation, the\nassociation which constitutes the process of anticipation is the\nsame, till we arrive at the link which immediately precedes the\nsensation. Thus, if instead of the pleasurable sensation of light,\nthe pleasure of breakfast, is my anticipation of to-morrow {258}\nmorning; in that case, the idea of the pleasure of eating is\nassociated with the idea of the food, not as with an ordinary\nantecedent, but that peculiar antecedent which is called a cause.\n\nWhen the idea of the Pleasure is associated with an action of our\nown as its cause; that is, contemplated as the consequent of a\ncertain action of ours, and incapable of otherwise existing; or when\nthe cause of a Pleasure is contemplated as the consequent of an\naction of ours, and not capable of otherwise existing; a peculiar\nstate of mind is generated which, as it is a tendency to action, is\nproperly denominated MOTIVE.\n\nThe word MOTIVE is by no means steadily applied to its proper\nobject. The pleasure, for example, which is the consequent of the\nact, is apt to be regarded as alone the impelling principle, and\nproperly entitled to the name of _Motive_. It is obvious, however,\nthat the idea of the pleasure does not constitute the motive to\naction without the idea of the action as the cause; that it is the\nassociation, therefore, to which alone the name belongs.\n\nAs every pleasure is worth having; for otherwise it would not be a\npleasure; the idea of every pleasure associated with that of an\naction of ours as the cause, is a motive; that is, leads to the\naction. But every motive does not produce the action. The reason is,\nthe existence of other motives which prevent it. A man is tempted to\ncommit adultery with the wife of his friend; the composition of the\nmotive obvious. He does not obey the motive. Why? He obeys other\nmotives which are stronger. Though pleasures are associated with the\nimmoral act, pains are {259} associated with it also; the pains of\nthe injured husband; the pains of the injured wife; the moral\nindignation of mankind; the future reproaches of his own mind. Some\nmen obey the first, rather than the second motive. The reason is\nobvious. In them, the association of the act with the pleasure, is,\nfrom habit, unduly strong; the association of the act with the\npains, is, from want of habit, unduly weak. This is a case of bad\nEducation; and one highly unfortunate, for the value of the\npleasures in question is infinitely outweighed by the value of the\npains. The business of a good education is to make the associations\nand the values correspond.\n\nIn the preceding paragraph, I have spoken of the abstaining from an\nact, as an act. Though this language is not rigidly correct, yet as\nit will lead to no confusion, and will often permit the use of\nabridged expressions, I shall not scruple, as often as I find\noccasion, to adopt it.\n\nIn the cases adduced above, of one man who obeys the motive to\ncommit a crime, of another who obeys the motive to abstain from it,\nwe have an example of an important fact; that, among the different\nclasses of motives, there are men who are more easily and strongly\noperated upon by some, others by others. We have also seen, that\nthis is entirely owing to habits of association. This facility of\nbeing acted upon, by motives of a particular description, is that\nwhich we call DISPOSITION. And it is necessary to take notice of the\nname and its meaning here; because we shall find that many of the\nnames of _Motives_ are names also of the corresponding\n_Dispositions_; and we should not, therefore, be able to exhibit\ndistinctly the {260} marking power of such names, without an\naccurate conception of what it is which, in this mode of using them,\nthey are employed to mark.\n\nEach of the senses affords sensations, which, associated with the\nact which is its proper antecedent, may be considered as forming a\nclass of motives.\n\nIn most of its cases, this association, taking place uniformly and\nhabitually, is, like the motion of the eyelids, unnoticed, and not\nprovided with a name.\n\nTwo cases, however; one, the pleasures of the palate; the other,\nthose of sex; act so important a part in human life, that the\nmotives they constitute by association with their antecedents, have\nnot been left without names; though very defective ones have been\napplied to them.\n\nThus, for the motive of Eating, we have the name Gluttony: but\ngluttony is applied to it only when it is unduly strong. In like\nmanner, we have the name Lust for the motive of sex; but that, too,\nonly when the motive is unduly strong, or in some other respect\nfaulty.\n\nWe have here an instance of that confusion of names which was\nnoticed above; the same word employed as the mark of two different\nthings; first, the Motive; secondly, the readiness to be acted upon,\nand strongly acted upon, by it. The name Gluttony is not only the\nname of a certain _Motive_; it is also the name of the corresponding\n_Disposition_; a readiness to obey that motive. The name Lust is not\nonly the name of the _Motive_; but also of the _Disposition_, or a\nreadiness to obey the motive.\n\nDrunkenness is a name used in the same way exactly as the preceding\ntwo. It is the name of a motive, {261} only in the case of excess.\nAnd it is a name with a double meaning, being applied both to the\nMotive, and the Disposition.\n\nFor these several motives, in the cases which are not considered as\nin excess, we have none but circumlocutory names; as, love of\neating; love of drinking; love of sex. It is to be observed, also,\nthat the circumlocutory names have the same double meaning, as the\npreceding single name; they are the names both of the _Motive_, and\nthe _Disposition_.\n\nThe motives, arising from the pleasures of the palate, and from the\npleasures of sex, are sometimes spoken of as two species of one\ngenus. To this the name _Sensuality_ is applied. The fact, however,\nrather is, that the cases of excess, named Gluttony, Drunkenness,\nLust, are considered as the species of a certain genus. Sensuality\nis rather a generical name of the cases of excess, than of those of\nmoderation.\n\n_Sensuality_ has the same duplicity of meaning, with all the other\nnames, just enumerated; it is the name, both of the _Motive_ and of\nthe _Disposition_.\n\n_Temperance_, and _Intemperance_, are names of Dispositions, which\nhave a reference to pleasures generally.\n\nWe have seen, from a previous illustration, that when the motive\nresulting from the association of a pleasure is not obeyed, it is\nowing to the association of a pain. When the association of the pain\nresulting from any act so balances that of the pleasure, that when\nthe value of the pain exceeds that of the pleasure, the pleasure\nnever prevails,--the {262} Disposition called _Temperance_ exists;\nthat is, an equal facility of associating with any act both its\npleasures and its pains.\n\nWhen the association in the two cases is not in this manner equally\nbalanced; that is, when the association of the pleasures is an\novermatch for the pains, the Disposition called _Intemperance_\nexists.[49]\n\n[Editor's footnote 49: A Motive is that which influences the will;\nand the Will is a subject we have not yet arrived at the\nconsideration of. Meanwhile, it is here shewn that a motive to an\nact consists in the association of pleasure with the act; that a\nmotive to abstain from an act, is the association of pain with it;\nand we are prepared to admit the truth deduced therefrom, that the\none or the other motive will prevail, according as the pleasurable\nor the painful association is the more powerful. What makes the one\nor the other more powerful, is (conformably to the general laws of\nassociation) partly the intensity of the pleasurable or painful\nideas in themselves, and partly the frequency of repetition of their\npast conjunction with the act, either in experience or in thought.\nIn the latter of these two consists the efficacy of education in\ngiving a good or a bad direction to the active powers.\n\nIn further elucidation of Motives, I cite the following passages\nfrom the First Appendix to the author's \"Fragment on Mackintosh\"\n(pp. 389, 390):--\n\n\"A motive is something which moves--moves to what? To action. But\nall action, as Aristotle says, (and all mankind agree with him) is\nfor an end. Actions are essentially means. The question, then, is,\nwhat is the end of action? Actions, taken in detail, have ends in\ndetail. But actions, taken in classes, have ends which may be taken\nin classes. Thus the ends of the actions which are subservient to\nthe pleasures of sense, are combined in a class, to which, in\nabstract, we give the name sensuality. The class of actions which\ntend to the {263} increase of power, have a class of ends to which\nwe give the name ambition, and so on. When we put all these classes\ntogether, and make a _genus_; that is, actions in general; can we in\nlike manner make a genus of the ends; and name ends in general?\n\n\"If we could find what the several classes of ends; sensuality for\nexample; ambition; avarice; glory; sociality, &c.; have in common,\nwe could.\n\n\"Now, they have certainly this in common, that they are all\nagreeable to the agents. A man acts for the sake of something\nagreeable to him, either proximately or remotely. But agreeable to,\nand pleasant to; agreeableness, and pleasantness, are only different\nnames for the same thing; the pleasantness of a thing is the\npleasure it gives. So that pleasure, in a general way, or speaking\ngenerically; that is, in a way to include all the species of\npleasures, and also the abatement of pains; is the end of action.\n\n\"A motive is that which moves to action. But that which moves to\naction is the end of the action, that which is sought by it; that\nfor the sake of which it is performed. Now that, generically\nspeaking, is the pleasure of the agent. Motive, then, taken\ngenerically is pleasure. The pleasure may be in company or\nconnection with things infinite in variety. But these are the\naccessaries; the essence, is the pleasure. Thus, in one case, the\npleasure may be connected with the form, and other qualities of a\nparticular woman; in another, with a certain arrangement of colours\nin a picture; in another, with the circumstances of some\nfellow-creature. But in all these cases, what is generical, that is\nthe essence, is the pleasure, or relief from pain.\n\n\"A motive, then, is the idea of a pleasure; a particular motive, is\nthe idea of a particular pleasure; and these are infinite in\nvariety.\n\n\"Another question is, in what circumstances does the idea of a\npleasure become a motive? For it is evident, that it does not so in\nall. It is only necessary here to illustrate, not to resolve the\nquestion. First, the pleasure must be {264} regarded as attainable.\nNo man wills an act, which he knows he cannot perform, or which he\nknows cannot effect the end. In the next place, the idea of the\nparticular pleasure must be more present to the mind, than any other\nof equal potency. That which makes the idea of one pleasure more\npotent than another; or that which makes one idea more present to\nthe mind than another, is the proximate cause of the motive, and a\nremote cause of the volition. The cause of that superior potency, or\nof that presence to the mind, is a cause of the volition, still more\nremote, and so on.--_Ed._]\n\n\n{265} SECTION II.\n\nCAUSES OF OUR PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL STATES, CONTEMPLATED AS THE\nCONSEQUENTS OF OUR OWN ACTS.\n\n\nThe motives which are formed by the association of our actions, not\nwith our pleasures immediately, but the causes of them, are much\nmore numerous than those which are formed by the association of them\nwith the pleasures themselves; and give birth to a much greater\nnumber of actions.\n\nThe cause of this we have already explained, and need not explain it\nagain.\n\nThe causes of our Pleasures, including as well the remote as the\nproximate, are so numerous, that it is necessary to speak of them in\nclasses.\n\nWe have surveyed them under the following Heads; Wealth, Power,\nDignity, our Fellow-creatures, the objects called Sublime and\nBeautiful; and having fully explained the associations by which they\nbecome AFFECTIONS, we have now only to shew, by what additament\nthese Affections are converted into MOTIVES.\n\nIt is not difficult to trace the course of association. The idea of\nthe pleasure carries us to the idea of the cause; the idea of that\ncause, to the idea of its cause; and so on till we arrive at that\naction of ours which is the commencing cause, and gives birth to all\nthe {266} rest. This association forms a complex state of\nconsciousness, which receives the name of MOTIVE.\n\nIt is also to be observed, that when a grand cause of pleasures has\nbeen associated with a great many pleasures, and a great many times,\nthe association acquires a peculiar character and strength. The idea\nof the cause, as cause, is so lost among the innumerable ideas of\nthe pleasures combined with it, that it seems to become the idea of\npleasure itself. An instance commonly adduced to illustrate the\nimportant class of associations to which this belongs, is that of\n_Money_; and a remarkable instance it is. Many are the instances in\nwhich the association of pleasures with money constitutes so\nvehement an affection that it is an overmatch for all others.\n\nIn those cases the association which constitutes the motive seems to\nconsist of a single link. The money is the passion; the idea of the\naction which is to add to it, or prevent its diminution, associated\nwith the passion, constitutes the Motive.\n\nThe Motive which leads to the acquisition of wealth, great as is the\npart which it plays in human life, has no appropriate name. Avarice,\nRapacity, like the words Gluttony, and Lust, are only names for\ncases of excess. It is observable, however, that they have the\nabove-noticed duplicity of meaning; that they are names both of the\nMotive, and of the Disposition.\n\nWe have noticed three states of consciousness into which the idea of\na cause of our pleasures enters as a main ingredient: 1. The mere\ncontemplation of it as a cause, past or future; which is called the\nAFFECTION: 2. The association of an act of ours, as the {267} cause\nof the cause; which is called the MOTIVE: 3. A readiness to obey\nthis motive, which is called the DISPOSITION.\n\nWe have seen, that in regard to Wealth, we had no other name for the\nfirst of those states of Consciousness, or the AFFECTION, than the\nterm \"Love of Wealth.\" It is here of importance to observe, that for\nthe Motive also, or the second of those states, unless in its cases\nof excess, we have no other name than the name of the affection. We\ncall the _Motive_ also, \"love of wealth.\" Nor have we any other name\nfor the _Disposition_. This, therefore, is a case of great\nconfusion. We have but one name for the _Affection_, for the\n_Motive_, and for the _Disposition_. They are states of\nconsciousness, therefore, perpetually confounded.\n\nPower, as a cause of pleasure, is rather a less distinct and\ndefinite idea, than Wealth. The associations formed with it partake\nof this indistinctness. The _Motive_ which is formed by association\nof the idea of Power, with that of an act of ours, which is to add\nto it, is a more vague idea than that formed of the idea of Wealth\nassociated with the ideas of the acts which are to add to it. Our\npresent purpose, however, does not require a minute analysis. The\nacts by which, in the different degrees in which it is possessed,\nmen are commonly enabled to add to their power, are vulgarly known.\nPower, like wealth, becomes itself a sort of primary affection. The\nassociation with it of acts of ours as causes of its increase,\nconstitutes the state of mind called the Motive.\n\nThis Motive receives the name of Ambition; and that name is so\napplied pretty generally; though its {268} original and more\nappropriate application seems to be, to great acquisitions of power,\nor additions made to great acquisitions.\n\nThe same duplicity of meaning, which we have so often remarked,\nmeets us here. In whatever sense Ambition is the name of the\n_Motive_, it is also a name of the _Disposition_.\n\nThe term \"Love of Power,\" which we have found to be the name of the\n_Affection_, is also applied to the two other states of mind, the\n_Motive_, and the _Disposition_. The three, therefore, _Affection_,\n_Motive_, _Disposition_, are commonly confounded.\n\nDignity is a more vague term than even Power; including a still\ngreater number of undefined particulars. But to understand\nsufficiently the three states of mind which it contributes to form,\nno further enumeration of those particulars is necessary. The idea\nof Dignity, as cause, associated with the idea of pleasures as\neffect, constitutes the state of mind called _Affection_. The state\nof mind called affection associated with the idea of an act of ours\nas cause of the cause, is the state of mind called the _Motive_. And\na facility of being acted upon by the motive, is the _Disposition_.\n\nWe have only one name, \"Love of Dignity,\" for all the three.\n\nWe have seen that the value of Wealth, Power, and Dignity, is\ngreatly enhanced, by their comparative amount; that is, the degree\nin which they are possessed by us, compared with the degree in which\nthey are possessed by others.\n\nWe have seen in what manner this comparison generates certain\naffections, which have received the {269} names of Pride, on the one\nhand, Contempt, on the other; Humility, on the one hand, Respect,\nAdmiration, on the other. We have now to shew in what manner this\ncomparison generates both _Motives_, and _Dispositions_.\n\nAs it is not only of value to me to have more Wealth, Power, and\nDignity; but of additional value to have more than other men; the\nsurpassing of other men becomes, thus, a cause of Pleasure; and\nhence the idea of this surpassing, associated with the ideas of my\nown acts, as the cause, becomes a _Motive_.\n\nWe may endeavour to surpass other men, by either of two ways; by\nadding to our own Wealth, Power, Dignity; or, by abstracting from\ntheirs.\n\nWhen only the acts which add to our advantages enter into the\nMotive, it is called Emulation. When those which abstract from the\nadvantages of another enter into it, it is called Envy.\n\nEmulation is sometimes the name of the _Disposition_, as well as of\nthe _Motive_. Ambition, however, is very often used as the name of\nthe Disposition corresponding to the _Motive_, Emulation.\n\nEnvy, is the name both of the _Disposition_ and the _Motive_. It has\nthe appearance also of being the name of the corresponding\n_Affection_; or of the state of consciousness arising from the\ncomparison of another man's greater, with our own less advantages.\nThis, however, is only Humility. It is never Envy, but when the\nMotive to reduce them is felt. It may be a Motive without effect,\nbeing counteracted by other motives. And it is this state in which\nit assumes the appearance of an _Affection_.\n\nIn these instances, the same end is attainable by {270} two sets of\nmeans; the one virtuous; the other vicious. The man who takes the\nvirtuous course, that is, obeys the virtuous motive, is the man who\nhas formed the habit of associating his idea of the good to be\nderived from surpassing others, with the acts which lead to the\nincrease of his own advantages. The man who takes the vicious\ncourse, is the man who has formed the habit of associating with his\nidea of the benefit of surpassing others, the acts, by which their\nadvantages are diminished.\n\nThis a case of the greatest importance, in Education, and Ethics.\n\nWe now come to the explanation of that important class of Motives\nwhich arise from the contemplation of our FELLOW-CREATURES, as the\ncause of our Pleasures, and Pains.\n\nWith respect to our Fellow-creatures, a distinction must be\ncarefully observed. They are sources to us of Pleasure or Pain, in\ntwo ways; either by their STATES; or, by their Actions. Their\nACTIONS give birth to a set of Associations of the greatest\nimportance, which remain to be considered under a Head by\nthemselves. What the _Affections_ are, which are generated by the\nassociation of our pains and pleasures, with the STATES of our\nFellow-creatures, taken individually, or in groups, we have recently\nexamined. We have now only to shew, and for this a few words will\nsuffice, what are the _Motives_, generated by the association of\nacts of ours with those STATES; acts contemplated as causes of such\nalterations in the States as render them to a greater or less degree\ncauses of our pleasures or pains.\n\n1. What the state of my _Friend_ is, as respects both {271} his\noutward circumstances and his inward disposition, which renders him,\nmore or less, a source, to me, of pleasure on the one hand, or pain\non the other, it is not necessary, after what has been said, any\nfurther to illustrate. When alterations can be effected in that\nstate by my actions, of a kind to render my Friend more a cause of\nPleasure to me, or less a cause of Pain, the association takes place\nof my pleasures as effect with such alterations as cause of those\npleasures, and with my own acts, as cause of those alterations.\n\nThe MOTIVE, therefore, exists. And when a facility of forming this\nassociation, in other words, a readiness of obeying the MOTIVE, is\ncontracted, the Disposition exists.\n\nIt is important to observe, that the word, _Friendship_, has all\nthat equivocation, or variety of meaning, which we have detected in\nother words expressing our states of mind towards the causes of our\npleasures or pains. It is, at once, the name of the AFFECTION, the\nname of the MOTIVE, and the name of the DISPOSITION.\n\n2. We have seen what the State of any one of our fellow-creatures\nis, which so associates with it the ideas of our own pains and\npleasures, as to make him an object of _Kindness_. It is easy to see\nin what manner the ideas of our own acts are so joined to those\nassociations, as to constitute _Motives_. When the idea of additions\nto the pleasures of a man, calls up the idea of additions to our\npleasures; the idea of a diminution of his pains, the idea of a\ndiminution of our pains; and when to this is added the idea of our\nown acts as cause of those additions and diminutions, the\nassociation exists which we call MOTIVE.\n\n{272} The motive, which we are now considering, though in most men,\nowing to a bad education, in which so important an association has\nbeen neglected, it is too feeble, not to give way to any of the\nstronger propensities of our nature, is, nevertheless, from the\nconstancy of its action, a powerful agent in human life, and the\ncause of no small portion of all the happiness which exists in the\nworld.\n\nA readiness to be acted upon by this MOTIVE; a main object of good\nEducation; constitutes the DISPOSITION.\n\nThe AFFECTION, the MOTIVE, the DISPOSITION, have all but one name.\nEach is denominated _Kindness_. When the more immediate effect is\nthe removal of pain, we use the term _Compassion_; which is, in like\nmanner, a name of the affection, the motive, and the disposition.\n\n3. The State of the group, denominated a Family, is a copious source\nof pain, or pleasure, to the members of it. We have explained,\nabove, the associations which constitute the Family _Affections_.\nThe formation of the _Motives_ it is now easy to trace.\n\nTo take the principal case, that of the Parent; The pleasurable\nassociations which he has with the pleasures, and removal of the\npains, of his child, joined with the idea of his own acts, as cause\nof those pleasures and removals, constitute a MOTIVE, the importance\nof which we daily observe. Notwithstanding the defects of the\nparental associations, under such a state of Education and Morals as\nours, no other source of generosity in Human Nature produces\nuniformly so large a portion of its proper effects.\n\nIt is not necessary to explain in what manner the affections, either\nof the child towards the parent, or of {273} brothers and sisters\ntowards each other, become motives. That such motives often exist,\nand in great strength; and that no small portion of human happiness\nis derived from them, is matter of experience.\n\nWe have no appropriate name for either the AFFECTION, or the MOTIVE,\nor the DISPOSITION, in the case, either of the parent toward the\nchild, or of the child toward the Parent, or of the children among\nthemselves. We are under the necessity of forming circumlocutory\nnames, by aid of the general term Love. We say the Love of Family;\nthe Love of a Parent toward his offspring; the Love to one another\nof brothers and sisters. And these are names, at once, of the\nAFFECTION, the MOTIVE, and the DISPOSITION. So imperfectly have some\nof the most interesting and important of our states of consciousness\nbeen distinguished.\n\n4. The idea of our _Country_ is associated, as in some sort their\ncause, with a great portion of all the pleasures which we enjoy. And\nthe difference of the states, in which it may be placed, makes a\nprodigious difference in the amount of pleasures, which we derive\nfrom it. When actions of ours, therefore, can influence the state of\nour country, we associate the idea of those acts as causes, with the\npleasurable results as effects, and hence the MOTIVE exists.\n\nTo individuals of the great body of the people, wholly in most\ncountries deprived of power, their country can seldom present itself\nin the light of a motive, because with few acts of theirs as cause,\ncan they associate a benefit to their country as the Effect. Their\nexertions in repelling from it the invasion of a destructive enemy,\nor freeing it from the power of a {274} mischievous government, are\nthe principal exceptions to this general rule.\n\nThe way in which the idea of Country becomes a _Motive_ to a man\nwhose actions are more widely operative, may thus be conceived. In\nthe prosperity of his country, is included a portion of his own\nprosperity, and of that of all the individuals who are objects of\nhis affection. Such actions of his, therefore, as are calculated to\nadd to the prosperity of his country, are associated with all the\nagreeable trains, which additions to the prosperity of himself, and\nof all those with whom he has any sympathies, imply.\n\nThere are cases, though rare, in which this motive has existed in\nextraordinary force; in which men have been found capable of\nsacrificing every thing for their country. This happens most readily\nin times of great excitement; that is, when public opinion holds out\na great reward; and when the object rather is, to ward off some\ngreat calamity, than to obtain an accession of good.[50]\n\n[Editor's footnote 50: It is too limited a view of the effect of\n\"times of great excitement\" in intensifying the patriotic feelings,\nto identify it with the influence of a more than usual reward held\nout by public opinion. That fact often contributes its share, but\nthere are other causes fully as effectual. In times of excitement,\nthe idea of Country, the ideas of all the interests involved in it,\nand of the manner in which those interests will be affected by our\naction or by our forbearance to act, exist in the mind in greater\nintensity, and are recalled with far greater frequency, than in\nordinary times. Moreover, the fact that a feeling is shared by all\nor many of those with whom we are in frequent intercourse,\nstrengthens, by an obvious consequence, all the associations, both\nof resemblance and of contiguity, which give that feeling its force.\nThis is the well-known influence of sympathy, so strikingly evinced\nby the vehement feelings of a crowd. To these might be added another\ninfluence, belonging rather to physiology than to psychology. When\nthe nervous system has been highly strung up by the influence of any\nstrong feeling, it seems to become more acutely sensible to feeling\nof any sort, those feelings excepted which jar with, and are\ncounteracted by, the prevailing tone of the system.--_Ed._]\n\n{275} It is important to observe, that this motive tends different\nways, according to the different positions of the individual. Where\nthe inhabitants of a country are divided into classes, a Ruling\nClass, and a Subject Class, the members of the Ruling Class have\nhardly any sympathies, except with one another; in other words, have\nagreeable associations with the pleasures, and removal of the pains,\nof hardly any persons, but those who belong to the same class. In\nthis class are contained, their Parents, their Brothers and Sisters,\ntheir Sons and Daughters, their Companions, whether Male or Female,\nand their Friends: the manners of this class, are to them the only\nagreeable manners; the morals of this class the only virtue. It\nhence appears, that the principal part of the associations, which\nmake the idea of country an AFFECTION, are, in their case, connected\nexclusively with the good of their own class. When their own acts,\nas causes, are associated with accessions to this good, as effects,\nthe _Motive_ created is that of benefit to the class. Patriotism, in\ntheir case, means, literally, 1st, Affection for their own class;\n2ndly, The Motive to benefit that class; and 3rdly, A readiness to\nobey that Motive.\n\nIt is to be observed, that Patriotism is the only {276} name\nprovided for all the three states of the agreeable trains connected\nwith the idea of country, the AFFECTION, the MOTIVE, and the\nDISPOSITION,--and that it is commonly used in a laudatory sense; to\nmark an unusual degree of the Affection, the Motive, or the\nDisposition.\n\nIt follows, from what has been said, that there can be no real\nPatriotism, no pointing of the _Affection_, the _Motive_, and\n_Disposition_, steadily to the good of the whole, without preference\nof any particular part; except, either in men of elevated minds and\naffections, in whom the larger associations, generated by a good\nEducation, control the narrow associations, growing out of a\nparticular position; or, in men whose position is such as to give\nthem pleasurable associations chiefly with individuals of the\ngeneral mass, whose good has this happy quality, that it is always\nidentified with that of the community at large.\n\n5. The group, called a _Party_, or _Class_, generates associations,\nwhich have produced great, we may say terrible, effects, in human\nlife; and which thence deserve a great degree of attention. The\nassociations, of which the AFFECTION consists, and by which the\ninterest of the class comes to be identified, as it were, with the\ninterest of the individual, have been already pointed out. From this\nthe generation of the MOTIVE is easily traced.\n\nWhen the interests of the class are contemplated as capable, either\nof receiving increase, or of being preserved from diminution, by the\nacts of the class, collectively, or individually; that is, when the\nincrease, or the preservation from diminution, is associated, as\n{277} effect, with acts of the class, collectively, or individually,\nas cause, the MOTIVE exists.\n\nWhen a readiness to obey this MOTIVE; that is, a facility of forming\nthe associations which constitute the MOTIVE exists, the\ncorresponding DISPOSITION exists.\n\nThere are no appropriate names for these states of consciousness. We\nmake, by the usual forced service of the word Love, a name for\nnecessary occasions. A nobleman says, he has a Love for his Order;\nand that term, Love of his Order, is the name for all the three\nstates, the AFFECTION, the MOTIVE, and the DISPOSITION.\n\nThe Clergy have invented a name for their own case. It is Love of\nthe Church. This means, the love of the interests of the class; of\nthe Wealth, Power, and Dignity, of the Clergy. The term Love of the\nChurch has the usual variety of meaning. It is the name not only of\nthe AFFECTION, but also of the MOTIVE, and the DISPOSITION.\n\nIt is moreover a name well contrived for the purposes of the class;\nbecause it is calculated to keep the real character of the\nassociations out of sight.\n\n6. The aggregate, included under the comprehensive term _Mankind_,\nis in so many ways associated with our pains and pleasures, that the\ninterest of each individual appears, in some degree, bound up in the\ninterest of the race. Any act of ours, then, by which the interest\nof the race can be promoted, is associated in our minds with our own\ninterest; and becomes a motive. A readiness to act upon this MOTIVE,\nis the DISPOSITION and the AFFECTION, the {278} MOTIVE, and the\nDISPOSITION, have but one name, Love of Mankind.\n\nThis motive operates feebly, and is easily overruled by other\nmotives, in the great majority of men. A very general idea, such as\nthat of _Mankind_, is an indistinct idea; and no strong association\nis formed with it, except by the means of Education. In the common\nrun of men, the narrow sympathies, alone, act with any considerable\nforce. Such men can sympathize with this individual, and the other\nindividual, with their own Family, or their own class. But to\nsympathize with mankind at large, or even with the body of the\npeople in their own country, exceeds the bounds of their contracted\naffections.\n\nLarge Classes, which cannot be the object of our Senses, become\nsteady subjects of contemplation, only through the medium of General\nTerms. Applied, in comprehensive, and important Propositions,\nGeneral Terms call forth associations of the most interesting\nnature; and to men, who are in the habit of so applying them, become\nthe source of an affection, powerful enough to control every other\npropensity of their nature. It is only by a Philosophical Education,\nthat men are early trained to the use of General Terms, and\ncomprehensive Propositions; and have the means of forming those\nassociations, on which the most ennobling of all the states of Human\nConsciousness depends.[51]\n\n[Editor's footnote 51: This Section is devoted to an exposition of\nthe manner in which facts which are not pleasures or pains, but\ncauses of pleasures or of pains, become so closely associated in\nthought {279} with the pains and pleasures of which they are causes,\nas not only to become themselves pleasurable or painful, but to\nbecome also, by their association with acts of our own by which they\nmay be brought about, motives of the greatest strength. The value of\na due understanding of this fact, both for the purposes of\npsychological science and for those of practical education, is\nevidently very great: and the author, to whose mind the bearings of\nspeculative philosophy on the practical interests of the human race\nwere ever present, has not failed to make some ethical and political\napplications of the psychological truth which he has here so\nexcellently illustrated.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{280} CHAPTER XXIII.\n\nTHE ACTS OF OUR FELLOW-CREATURES, WHICH ARE CAUSES OF OUR PAINS AND\nPLEASURES, CONTEMPLATED AS CONSEQUENTS OF OUR OWN ACTS.\n\n\nWE are now in a condition to explain the Phenomena, which have been\nclassed under the titles of Moral Sense, Moral Faculty, Sense of\nRight and Wrong, Moral Affection, Love of Virtue, and so on, which\nare all names of similar import.\n\nWe have already remarked, that, of all the Causes of our Pleasures\nand Pains, none are to be compared in point of magnitude, with the\nactions of ourselves, and our Fellow-creatures. From this class of\ncauses, a far greater amount of Pleasures and Pains proceed, than\nfrom all other causes taken together. It follows, that these causes\nare objects of intense affection to us; either favourable, if they\nare the cause of Pleasure; or unfavourable, if they are the cause of\nPain.\n\nThe actions from which men derive advantage have all been classed\nunder four Titles; Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, Beneficence.\n\nWe apply the names Prudent, Brave, Just, {281} Beneficent, both to\nour own acts, and to the acts of other men.\n\nWhen those names are applied to our own acts, the first two, Prudent\nand Brave, express acts which are useful to _ourselves_, in the\nfirst instance; the latter two, Just, and Beneficent, express acts,\nwhich are useful to _others_, in the first instance.\n\nWhen we apply the same names, not to our own acts, but to the acts\nof other men, the first two, Prudent and Brave, express acts which\nare useful to them in the first instance; the latter two, Just and\nBeneficent, express acts which are useful to others, in the first\ninstance.\n\nIt is further to be remarked, that those acts of ours, which are\nprimarily useful to ourselves, are secondarily useful to others; and\nthose which are primarily useful to others, are secondarily useful\nto ourselves. Thus, it is by our own Prudence and Fortitude, that we\nare best enabled to do acts of Justice and Beneficence to others.\nAnd it is by acts of Justice and Beneficence to others, that we best\ndispose them to do similar acts to us.\n\nAgain, in the case of other men, the acts which are primarily useful\nto themselves, their Prudence, their Fortitude, are secondarily\nuseful to others, as by them they are the better enabled to be\nalways just and beneficent; and the acts by which they are primarily\nuseful to others, their Justice, their Beneficence, are secondarily\nuseful to themselves, as disposing others the more to be just and\nbeneficent toward them.\n\nWe have two sets of associations, therefore, with the acts which are\nthus named; one set of associations {282} with them, when they are\nconsidered as our own acts; another set of associations with them,\nwhen they are considered as the acts of other men.\n\n1. When they are considered as our own acts; in other words, when we\nconsider our own Prudence, Bravery, Justice, and Beneficence, we\nhave associations with them of the following kind. With our own acts\nof Prudence and Bravery, we associate good to ourselves; that is,\neither Pleasure, or the cause of Pleasure, as the immediate\nconsequent. Acts of PRUDENCE, for example, are divided into two\nsorts; the sort productive of good, and the sort preventive of evil.\nAll acts which add to our Wealth, Power, and Dignity, or any one of\nthem, so far as they produce this effect without counterbalancing\nevil, may be called acts of Prudence. Thus, incessant Labour, by all\nthose to whom it is necessary for subsistence, or for reputation, is\na course of Prudence. Prudence, however, in its common acceptation,\nis more employed to denote the acts by which we avoid evils, than\nthose by which we obtain good; those by which we reject present\npleasures when followed by pains which overbalance them, and by\nwhich we endure present pains when they prevent the following of\ngreater pains, or secure the following of pleasures which\noverbalance them.\n\nIt thus appears, that, for the most perfect performance of acts of\nprudence, the greatest measure of knowledge is required. It is the\nchoice made, among all the innumerable acts within our power, of\nthose, the consequences of which, when the pleasurable and painful\nare balanced against one another, constitute the greatest amount of\ngood. To this is requisite a {283} knowledge of all the train of\nconsequences, which each act can produce; that is, a knowledge of\nthe qualities of almost every thing, animate and inanimate, with\nwhich we are surrounded; and a judgment, constantly upon the alert,\nto draw correct conclusions from what we know.\n\nWhen we perform acts of COURAGE or FORTITUDE, the chance of Evil,\nthat is, danger, is incurred for the sake of a preponderant good. If\nthe good were not something more than a balance for the chance of\nEvil, the consequences of the act would not be a balance of good,\nbut of evil. It would, therefore, be an immoral, not a moral, act;\nand would have no title to the name of Courage.[52]\n\n[Bain's footnote 52: The virtue of Prudence might apparently have\nincluded Courage or Fortitude; we cannot be said to be prudent, if\nwe are unable to face a certain amount of evil or danger, for the\nsake of a greater good. Doubtless, however, the author felt that\nPrudence does not suggest the full scope of so eminent a quality as\nCourage. The reasons of this are interesting to explore.\n\nOf various considerations that might be adduced, by far the most\npertinent is the following. Courage, as a virtue esteemed and\nextolled in all ages, involves a certain amount of self-sacrifice.\nIf it were limited to the control of the state of fear, so as to\nenable one never to fail in the pursuit of one's own interest, by\ngiving way to unreasonable alarms, it would be respected as a\nmanifestation of strength, but it would not receive the warm\nadmiration that we usually bestow upon courageous men. The nobility\nof courage is its devotedness. The courageous soldier is not he that\nmaintains a post of apparent danger unmoved, knowing there is no\nreal danger; which would be the prudent man's courage. Something\nvery different is exacted in return for the epithet \"a brave\nman.\"--_B._]\n\nKnowledge is, therefore, as necessary to the exercise of this virtue\nas to that of Prudence. Courage, in fact, is but a species of the\nacts of Prudence: a class selected for distinction by a particular\nname; that class, in which evils, of great magnitude, or rather of a\nparticular description, are to be hazarded, for the sake of a\npreponderant good. But how is the {284} amount of the good, or of\nthe evil, to be ascertained, but by that power of tracing the\nconsequences of acts, for which the greatest knowledge, and the most\naccurate judgment, are required?\n\nWhen, with the ideas of our acts of Prudence, and acts of Courage,\npast, and future, have been associated, sufficiently often, the\nclasses of benefits which are the consequences of them, the Ideas of\nthose acts are no longer SIMPLE IDEAS, INDIFFERENT IDEAS; they are\nPLEASURABLE IDEAS; that is, AFFECTIONS.\n\nThe MOTIVE, in this case, presents a peculiarity, which requires\nattention. In the case of the Love of Wealth, Power, or Dignity, the\nLove of Individuals, the Love of Family, and all other causes of our\nPleasures, we have uniformly found the _Affection_ to be one thing,\nthe _Motive_ another. The _Affection_ consisted of the association\nof the idea of the object as Cause, with that of our Pleasures as\nEffect. The _Motive_ consisted of the association of the idea of the\nobject, as cause, with that of our pleasures, as effect, and the\nidea of an act of ours, as cause of that cause. When it is an act of\nour own, however, which is the cause of our Pleasure, there is no\nact of ours to be associated as cause of that cause. The {285} ideas\nof the act, and its consequences, are the Motive. The MOTIVE,\ntherefore, and the AFFECTION, are in this case the same.\n\nThe next two classes of acts are those to which the names, Justice,\nand Beneficence, have been applied. Taken together, they are the\nnames of all those acts of a man, by which he does good to others.\nOut of these, the name Justice selects a particular class, and all\nthe rest are Beneficence.\n\nMen, in society, have found it essential, for mutual benefit, that\nthe powers of Individuals, over the general causes of good, should\nbe fixed by certain rules; that is, Laws. Acts done in conformity\nwith those rules are called Just Acts; and, when duly considered,\nthey are seen to include the main portion of acts of beneficence in\ngeneral; of those acts of ours, the immediate object of which is the\ngood of others. To the performance of a certain portion of the acts\nof Justice, our Fellow-creatures compel us, by annexing penalties to\nthe non-performance of them. A large portion, however, remain to be\nperformed without compulsion.\n\nOur Beneficent acts are either causes of pleasure to others\nimmediately, or causes of the causes of their pleasures. The act of\nhim who gives a cup of water to the thirsty traveller in the Desert,\nmay be said to be cause of the pleasure of the Traveller. The act of\nhim who instructs the Traveller, before he proceeds on his journey,\nwhere in the Desert water is to be found, is the cause of the cause\nof his Pleasure. To speak generally, all acts of ours, by which\nincrease is imparted to the Wealth, Power, and Dignity of another\nperson, and to the favourable disposition of {286} other persons\ntowards him; or by which diminution of those advantages is\nprevented, are acts of Beneficence towards him.\n\nIt is easy to trace in what manner the ideas of those acts become\n_Affections_. In the first place, we have associations of pleasure\nwith all the pleasurable feelings of a Fellow-creature. We have\nassociations of pleasure, therefore, with those acts of ours which\nyield him pleasure. In the second place, those are the acts which\nprocure to us one of the most highly valued of all the sources of\nour pleasures, the favourable Disposition of our Fellow-men. With\nour acts of Justice and Beneficence, therefore, we have associations\nof all the pleasures which the favourable disposition of other men\ntowards us is calculated to produce. By those associations, the Idea\nof our own beneficent acts is no longer an INDIFFERENT IDEA; it\nbecomes a PLEASURABLE IDEA, that is, an AFFECTION.[53]\n\n[Bain's footnote 53: The affirmations in this paragraph require to\nbe tested in the detail, in order to find out their limitations.\n\nThat \"we have associations of pleasure with all the pleasurable\nfeelings of a Fellow-creature\" is true in a great many instances. By\nthe law of association, the signs of happiness tend to suggest the\nhappy feelings themselves, and even to induce these to some extent\nupon the beholder. The sight of happy beings is a positive\ncontribution to our own happiness; the obverse fact being equally\nwell marked. We are delighted with the playful gambols of animals,\nand of children, and with the pleased expression of our\nfellow-creatures generally. On this ground, we have an interest in\nconferring happiness upon all our associates, and upon every one\nwhose signs of pleasure and of displeasure come under our notice.\nHence, in the absence of other motives, we are disposed to be the\nauthors of pleasure, rather than of pain, wherever we go. Our first\nimpulse towards a stranger would always be, from this consideration,\nto confer some benefit or perform some agreeable act. From this\norigin, there flows a considerable fraction of the generosity and\nthe courtesy of human beings.\n\nBut the tendency is thwarted, and often extinguished, by other\npowerful impulses of the mind. There are two principal\ncounteractives,--Rivalry in interests generally, and the Love of\nPower.\n\nIf the expression of pleasure manifested by any sentient being, is\nprocured at our expense, we fail to realise the happy feelings; we\nare, on the contrary, pained and embittered by the display. Now this\nis a fact of very frequent occurrence in all conditions of human\nbeings; and, to the extent of its occurrence, it mars the strength\nand purity of the association.\n\nThe Love of Power works in the same direction. It not only\nreconciles the mind to displays of pain, but it may render these a\ndelight and luxury. Being an emotion little checked in ordinary\nhuman beings, it provides a considerable share of gratification,\nthrough the infliction of pain. This, therefore, is a second\ninterference with the law that would connect the signs of happiness\nwith a thrill of pleasure in the beholder. One can easily suppose,\nand one frequently finds, the emotion of power in such a pitch of\ndevelopment as to make the pleasure of seeing happy beings the\nexception, and not the rule.\n\nSo much for the first of the two motives in the text. The\nsecond,--the procuring of reciprocal benefits by benefits\nconferred,--is everything that a motive can be. We are all our lives\nengaged in working out good for ourselves, and if, by doing good to\nothers, we obtain a corresponding measure of our own advantage, we\nemploy that instrumentality. But then the prospect must be clear;\nthe instrument must be a promising one. Now there are some\nsituations wherein we have a reasonable security of a return. When\nthere is a legal guarantee, as in bargains, and in covenanted\nservices, we are (as a rule) ready to fulfil our own share. Also, in\nvery little things, such as the courtesies of civilised society, we\ncontribute our part willingly; we are nearly sure of a full return\nfor the trifling nature of the service. But there are multitudes of\ncases where (as we suppose) there would be no adequate return, or no\nreturn at all; all of which interfere with the growth of the\nassociation between benefits conferred and pleasure to ourselves.\n\nIt is not necessary, in order to the pleasure of benevolence, that\nthe return should be either in kind, or in flattery. If we can only\nobtain love for our benefits, we think them well bestowed. A great\nmany benefits are conferred with no other view; and the appreciation\nof the extent of this motive is necessary to do justice to the\nauthor's theory of the derivation of Benevolence from Prudence.\n\nIt does not admit of question, that if all the services that each\nperson is disposed to bestow, were fairly requited in kind, in\npraise, or in love, the motive to seek the good of others would have\nan overpowering strength of association, such as the author assigns\nto it. The finishing stroke, in all cases of strong and unremitted\nassociation,--the transfer to the means of the feeling originally\ndue to the end, and even the sinking of the end out of view,--would\nbe a sure result of the operation. But so partial, as human beings\nare now constituted, is the operation of the principle; so seldom\nare people satisfied, that they have the full equivalent of benefits\nimparted;--that, unless in select instances, there is as much of\nmistrust as of confidence and hope, in the reciprocation of services\nof any great magnitude. Of course, people will differ greatly in\ntheir estimate of this fact; but on no reasonable and candid\ncalculation, is the association strong enough to account for the\nintensity and diffusion of disinterested impulses as actually found\namong mankind.--_B._]\n\n{287} Pleasurable ideas, as effects, associated with acts of our own\nas the cause, constitute the MOTIVE, as well as the AFFECTION. The\nreason of this, we have just stated, and need not repeat.\n\nWe have now seen by what associations both AFFECTION, and MOTIVE are\ncreated, in the case of our own acts of Prudence, Fortitude,\nJustice, and Beneficence. The DISPOSITION, as in all other cases,\nconsists in a facility, from habit, of performing the associations;\nin other words, a readiness of obeying the Motive.\n\nIn each of the cases, the Affection, the Motive, and the\nDisposition, have the same name. Thus, Prudence is the name of the\nAffection, and Motive, and also of the Disposition, to acts of\nPrudence; so is Fortitude, Justice, and Beneficence, each in regard\nto its own class of acts.\n\nBeside the four specific names, Prudence, Fortitude, {288} Justice,\nand Beneficence, we have a Generical Name, which includes them all.\nVIRTUE is the name of Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, and Beneficence,\nall taken together. It is also, like the name of each of the species\nincluded under it, at once the name of the Affection, the Motive,\nand the Disposition. The man who has the Disposition toward all the\nfour, Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, Beneficence, in full strength;\nthat is, who has acquired, from habit, the facility of {289}\nassociating with those acts the pleasures which result from them, in\nother words, a habit of obeying the motives, is perfectly virtuous.\n\nIt requires the most perfect education to create those associations\nadequately, in other words, to give the motives such power within\nus, that, when counteracted by other motives, they may always\nprevail. Under the present imperfect state of education, it is\nrather by their constant action, than their force, that they produce\nthe very considerable effects, of which we see that they are the\ncauses. In few men, are they a {290} match for any of the more\npotent motives; and, in most men, they give way, habitually,\nwhenever they are opposed by any other motive even of moderate\nstrength. There are so many occasions, however, in every part of our\nlives, for acts of virtue, when other motives do not intervene, that\nwe may still ascribe to the motives of virtue, feeble as they\ngenerally are, a large portion of the happiness which we observe in\nthe world.\n\n2. Having considered the associations which each of us has with the\nideas of his own acts of Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, and\nBeneficence, it remains that we consider the associations which each\nof us has with other men's acts of Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, and\nBeneficence.\n\nWe have already observed, that the Prudence of other men is\nprimarily useful to themselves, secondarily useful to others. A man\nwho is to a certain degree imprudent, deprives himself of the power\nof being useful either to himself or to others. As we have agreeable\nassociations with acts which produce pleasure to others, so we have\nagreeable associations with the cause of such acts, the power of\nproducing them; and, of course, disagreeable associations with the\nacts which deprive a man of the means of doing good to others, and\nwarding off evil from himself. It is not necessary to enter into a\nmore minute analysis to show in what manner our Idea of another\nman's Prudence becomes a Pleasurable Idea, in other words, an\nAFFECTION.\n\nWe next proceed to the case of Fortitude, Courage. We have seen that\nFortitude is the name of that class of acts, in which a good is\naimed at by the risk of a {291} great evil. There is a grand class\nof cases in which the good aimed at is not the peculiar good of the\nIndividual or Individuals by whom the act, or series of acts, is\nperformed, but a good common to others, to a whole People; as, for\nexample, when another hostile People is encountered and overcome. Of\ncourse, in such a case, we have a strong association of our own\npleasures, or exemption from pains, with other men's courage,\nwhether we are sharing with them in the danger, or exempted from it\nby their acts. This association is such as to constitute, and we\nknow by experience does constitute, a very strong AFFECTION. Even\nwhen the good sought by the act of courage is only the good of the\nindividual, we have a sufficient association with it of pleasurable\nideas to constitute it an AFFECTION. We have, first of all, an\nagreeable association with the balance of good which the act is\ncalculated to produce to the actor. And next we have a very powerful\nassociation of pleasure with the state of mind in which the Idea of\na great evil is controlled by the Idea of a greater good. When the\nmotive exists to do us good in a man who has such a mind, he will\nnot be deterred by the prospect of an inadequate evil. When we\nencounter danger in company with such a man, we shall not be exposed\nto greater danger by his deserting us.\n\nAs other men's acts of Justice and Beneficence are directly\nbeneficial to them who are the objects of them, it is impossible\nthat every man should not have pleasurable associations, first with\nthe acts of Justice and Beneficence of the men, whose sphere of\naction extends to himself, and then with the acts of Justice and\nBeneficence of all men. And as the benefits which {292} spring from\nsuch actions are very great, the AFFECTION, generated by association\nof the Ideas of those Benefits, is proportionally strong.\n\nOf all the MOTIVES, competent to our nature, those belonging to this\nclass are by far the most important. As there is nothing in which\nI am so deeply interested, as that the acts of men, which regard\nmyself immediately, should be acts of Justice and Beneficence, and\nthose which regard themselves immediately, should be acts of\nPrudence and Fortitude, it follows, that I have an interest,\nproportionally deep, in all those acts of my own, which operate as\ncauses of those acts in other people.\n\nOf acts of other men, which are useful to us, a great number can be\nbought by wealth, or commanded by power, or elicited by dignity. The\nmode of the operation of those causes has already been explained,\nand the motives into the composition of which they enter, form a\ndifferent class. The acts of beneficence, of justice, of fortitude,\nand of prudence, performed by other men in our behalf, are, to a\nvast extent, such as can neither be bought, nor commanded. What\nmeans have we of increasing to the utmost, the number of those acts;\ndiminishing to the utmost, the number of those of an opposite\ntendency?\n\nThose means are of two sorts: 1st, Similar actions on our part;\n2dly, The manifestation on our part, of the disposition to perform\nsimilar actions.\n\n1. It is interesting here to observe, by what a potent call we are\nsummoned to Virtue. Of all that we enjoy, more is derived from those\nacts of other men, on which we bestow the name VIRTUE, than from any\nother cause. Our own virtue is the principal {293} cause why other\nmen reciprocate the acts of virtue towards us. With the idea of our\nown acts of virtue, there are naturally associated the ideas of all\nthe immense advantages we derive from the virtuous acts of our\nFellow-creatures. When this association is formed in due strength,\nwhich it is the main business of a good education to effect, the\nmotive of virtue becomes paramount in the human breast.\n\n2. We strongly act upon other men, when we manifest on our parts, a\ndisposition to perform acts in their favour, in consequence of the\nacts performed by them in favour of others. This disposition we\nmanifest, when we praise those acts; or, as we otherwise phrase it,\nwhen we declare our approbation, or admiration, of them.\n\nIt is to be observed, that all our names for those acts;--Prudence,\nFortitude, Justice, Beneficence, Virtue; are names of Praise. They\nare names, not merely of the acts, but of the acts associated with\nthe ideas of the benefits resulting from them; and further\nassociated with the idea of those acts of ours, which are the causes\nof such acts; acts of similar utility on our part to the Authors of\nthe acts which are useful to us.\n\nPraise, also, is extensive in its operation. The acts of any\nindividual can afford a retribution for the virtuous acts of a very\nsmall number of men. His _Praise_ can extend to all men; and its\neffects are most important. Not only does it indicate the affection\nof him who is the author of it, toward him who is the object; but it\npoints out him who is the object of it, to all other men, as the\nproper object of a similar affection in them. This indication has\nsome tendency {294} to propagate the favourable affection or\ndisposition towards the object of the applause; but it has a much\ngreater tendency to propagate the praise; and when praise is sounded\nfrom many lips, that is, when a disposition is expressed by many\npersons favourable to the man who has been the author of the\napplauded acts, a number of acts in his favour are the natural\nconsequence.\n\nThat we have pleasurable associations of great potency, with this\nmanifestation of the favourable disposition of others towards us, is\nmatter of common and constant experience. It is called, in its more\nremarkable states, the LOVE OF FAME, and is known to operate as one\nof the most powerful motives in our nature. One of its cases is a\nremarkable exemplification of that high degree of association, which\nhas been already explained, and to which we have frequently had\noccasion to advert, in explaining other phenomena; the degree which\nconstitutes belief, and which gives to that belief, even when\nmomentary, and instantly overruled by other associations, a powerful\neffect on our actions.\n\nNot only that Praise of us, which is diffused in our lives, and from\nwhich agreeable consequences may arise to us, is delightful, by the\nassociated ideas of the pleasures resulting from it; but that\nPraise, which we are never to hear, which will be diffused only when\nwe are dead, and from which no actual effects can ever accrue to us,\nis often an object of intense affection, and acts as one of the most\npowerful motives in our nature.\n\nThe habit which we form, in the case of immediate praise, of\nassociating the idea of the praise with the {295} idea of\npleasurable consequences to ourselves, is so strong, that the idea\nof pleasurable consequences to ourselves becomes altogether\ninseparable from the idea of our Praise. It is one of those cases in\nwhich the one Idea never can exist without the other. The belief,\nthus engendered, is of course encountered immediately by other\nbelief, that we shall be incapable of profiting by any consequences,\nwhich posthumous fame can produce: as the fear, that is, the belief\nof ghosts, in a man passing through a churchyard at midnight, may be\nimmediately encountered by his settled, habitual belief that ghosts\nhave no existence; and yet his terror, not only remains for a time,\nbut is constantly renewed, as often as he is placed in circumstances\nwith which he has been accustomed to associate the existence of\nghosts.[54]\n\n[Editor's footnote 54: The case here put, that of the desire of\nposthumous fame, affords no real support to the author's doctrines,\nthat a high degree of association constitutes belief, and that\nbelief is always present when we are determined to action. The case\nis merely one of many others, in which something not originally\npleasurable (the praise and admiration of our fellow-creatures) has\nbecome so closely associated with pleasure as to be at last\npleasurable in itself. When it has become a pleasure in itself, it\nis desired for itself, and not for its consequences; and the most\nconfirmed knowledge that it can produce no ulterior pleasurable\nconsequences to ourselves will not interfere with the pleasure given\nby the mere consciousness of possessing it, nor hinder that pleasure\nfrom becoming, by its association with the acts which produce it, a\npowerful motive. It is a frequent mode of talking, to speak of the\ndesire of posthumous fame in a kind of pitying way, as grounded on a\ndelusion; as a desire which implies a certain infirmity of the\nunderstanding. Those who thus speak must be prepared to apply the\nsame disparaging phrases to the interest taken in the welfare of\nothers after our own death; for in that case also, no beneficial\nconsequences to ourselves personally can ever follow from the\nrealization of the object of our desire. But there is nothing at\nvariance with reason in the associations which make us value for\nthemselves, things which we at first cared for only as means to\nother ends; associations to which we are indebted for nearly the\nwhole both of our virtues, and of our enjoyments. That he who acts\nwith a view to posthumous fame has a belief, however momentary, that\nthis fame will produce to him some extraneous good, or that he shall\nbe conscious of it after he is dead, I shall not admit without\nbetter evidence than I have ever seen or heard of.--_Ed._]\n\n{296} The operation of Dispraise is similar, to prevent the\nperformance of acts contrary to Justice, Beneficence, Fortitude, and\nPrudence. Dispraise is the manifestation of a Disposition,\nunfavourable to the object of it, a disposition to abstain from acts\nuseful to him, not to abstain from acts hurtful to him. It is not\nnecessary to point out the associations formed in this case. It is a\nmatter of common and constant experience, that we have associations\nof painful consequences, with the idea of the unfavourable\ndisposition of our fellow-creatures, associations which constitute\nsome of the most painful feelings of our nature. This it is, which\nis commonly expressed by the terms loss of reputation, loss of\ncharacter, disgrace, infamy. In some instances, the Association\nrises to that remarkable case, which we have had frequent occasions\nof observing; when the means become a more important object than the\nend, the cause, than the effect. It not unfrequently happens, that\nthe idea of the unfavourable sentiments of mankind, becomes more\nintolerable than all the consequences which could result from {297}\nthem; and men make their escape from life, in order to escape from\nthe tormenting idea of certain consequences, which, at most, would\nonly diminish the advantages of living.[55] Nor is the Idea of\nposthumous Disgrace, less operative than that of posthumous Fame,\nand from the same species of association. In men, in whom the\nassociations which constitute the pain of disgrace are strong;\nthough not sufficiently strong to restrain them from deeds which\nincur the execration of mankind, the thought of what they have done\nis agonizing. Along with it, constantly rises up, before them, the\nidea of the condemnatory countenance, the condemnatory sentiment,\nthe retributive acts, of every human being the idea of whom is\npresented to them. They are never at rest. The Idea of the horrid\nDeed or Deeds becomes associated with almost every point of their\nconsciousness. At every moment, it rises up in their minds, and\nalong with it the {298} overwhelming train of ideas, with which it\nis connected. In its more awful cases, this state of mind is called\nRemorse; and is generally regarded as the most perfect state of\nsuffering to which a human Being is exposed.\n\n[Editor's footnote 55: They do not seek death to escape from the\nidea of any consequences of the unfavourable sentiments of mankind.\nThe mere fact of having incurred those unfavourable sentiments has\nbecome, by the adhesive force of association, so painful in itself,\nthat death is sometimes preferred to it. There is often no thought\nof the consequences that may arise from the unfavourable sentiments;\nand when consequences are thought of, they are usually rather those\nwhich are mere demonstrations of feeling, and owe their painfulness\nto the sentiment of which they are demonstrations, than those which\ndirectly grate upon our senses or are injurious to our interests. It\nis true that a vague conception of the many unpleasant consequences\nliable to arise from the evil opinion of others, was the crude\nmatter out of which the horror of the thing itself was primitively\nformed: but, once formed, it loses its connexion with its original\nsource.--_Ed._]\n\nThe same considerations account for that remarkable phenomenon of\nour nature, eloquently described, but not explained, by Adam Smith,\nthat, in minds happily trained, the love of Praiseworthiness, the\ndread of Blameworthiness, is a stronger feeling, than the love of\nactual Praise, the Dread of actual Blame. It is one of those cases,\nin which, by the power of the association, the secondary feeling\nbecomes more powerful than the primary. In all men, the idea of\npraise, as consequent, is associated with the idea of certain acts\nof theirs, as antecedent; the idea of blame, as consequent, with the\nidea of certain acts of theirs, as antecedent. This association\nconstitutes what we call the feeling, or notion, or sentiment, or\nidea (for it goes by all those names), of Praiseworthiness, and\nBlameworthiness.[56] The anticipation, in the one case, is\ndelightful; in the other painful. The association {299} exists in\ndifferent men, in all possible degrees of strength. In some men it\nexists in so great a degree of strength, that not only, the pleasure\nof immediate praise, the pain of immediate blame, but every other\nfeeling of their nature, is subdued by it.\n\n[Editor's footnote 56: This paragraph, unexplained, might give the\nidea that the author regarded praiseworthiness and blameworthiness\nas having the meaning not of deserving praise or blame, but merely\nof being likely to obtain it. But what he meant is, that the idea of\ndeserving praise is but a more complex form of the association\nbetween our own or another person's acts or character, and the idea\nof praise. To deserve praise, is, in the great majority of the cases\nwhich occur in life, the principal mode of obtaining it; though the\npraise is seldom accurately proportioned to the desert. And the same\nmay be said of blame. A powerful association is thus, if\ncircumstances are favourable, generated between deserving praise and\nobtaining it; and hence between deserving praise, and all the\npleasurable influences on our lives, of other people's good opinion.\nAnd this association may become sufficiently strong to overcome the\ndirect motive of obtaining praise, where it is to be obtained by\nother means than desert; the rather, as the desire of undeserved\npraise is greatly counteracted by the thought that people would not\nbestow the praise if they knew all. That what has now been stated\nwas really the author's meaning, is proved by his going on to say,\nthat praiseworthiness and blameworthiness, as motives to action,\nhave reference \"not to what is, or to what shall be, but to what\nought to be, the sentiments of mankind.\"--_Ed._]\n\nThe case is perfectly analogous to that of the love of posthumous\npraise, the dread of posthumous blame, and is a still more important\nprinciple of action, as it has reference, not to what is, or to what\nshall be, but to what ought to be, the sentiments of mankind.\n\nSuch, then, are the AFFECTIONS which we bear toward the just, the\nbeneficent, the courageous, the prudent acts of other men, and the\ncontrary; that is, such are the associations we have with them of\npleasurable or painful consequences. Such also are the MOTIVES; that\nis, the feelings generated by the association of certain acts of\nours, as cause, with the virtuous acts of other men, as their\neffects.\n\nOf those MOTIVES, that which involves the acts of praising and\nblaming, is in constant and strong {300} operation. It is from the\ngreat use made of those acts in the Education of children, and even\nin the rude management of them in the nursery, that praise and blame\nacquire the influence in most cases, the ascendancy in some, which\nthey are seen to exercise over us. It is this sensibility to praise\nand blame, in other words, the associations we have with them, which\ngives its effect to what is called POPULAR OPINION, or the POPULAR\nSANCTION, and, when the acts of Justice, Beneficence, Fortitude, and\nPrudence of other men are the objects of it, the MORAL SANCTION;\n_Popular Opinion_, being a phrase which expresses the Praise or\nBlame which the people bestow; and the _Sanction_ being the good or\nevil consequences which men are accustomed to associate with that\npraise or blame.\n\nIn the present state of Education, the Praise and Blame of most men\nare very erroneously bestowed, with great precipitation, commonly in\nexcess upon small occasions, with little regard to its justice;\nblame being very often inflicted where applause is due, and applause\nlavished where blame ought to be bestowed. When Education is good,\nno point of morality will be reckoned of more importance than the\ndistribution of Praise and Blame; no act will be considered more\nimmoral than the misapplication of them. They are the great\ninstruments we possess for ensuring moral acts on the part of our\nFellow-creatures; and when we squander away, or prostitute those\ngreat causes of virtue, and thereby deprive them of a great part of\ntheir useful tendency, we do what in us lies to lessen the quantity\nof Virtue, and thence of Felicity, in the world.\n\nThe MOTIVES, which are generated by the {301} association of our own\nacts of Justice and Beneficence as cause with other men's acts of\nJustice and Beneficence as effects, are subject, unhappily, to\nstrong counteraction; because it rarely happens that we can perform\nacts of Justice and Beneficence without more or less sacrifice to\nourselves. The association, at the same time, is strong, in all\nmen. All men have the daily experience, that their own acts of\nJustice, and Beneficence, dispose other men to be Beneficent to\nthem; their own acts of injustice and malevolence, dispose other men\nto bring evil (which in this case they call punishment) upon them;\nand to abstain from doing them good. This experience is of course\nfollowed by the usual association between cause and effect. The man\nwho does acts of Justice and Beneficence, anticipates the favourable\ndisposition of mankind, as their natural effect; and this\nassociation is his belief, or conviction, or sense (he calls it by\nall those names), of deserving the favourable sentiments of mankind.\nThe man, on the other hand, who performs acts which are unjust and\nhurtful to others, anticipates the unfavourable and hostile\nsentiments of mankind, as the natural consequents of his acts; in\nother words, has the belief, or conviction, or sense (for the\nassociation in this case also has these various names), of\ndeserving, not well, but ill, at the hands of other men.\n\nThere are no men, however vicious, in whom those associations do not\nproduce constant and numerous effects. When they have not been\nhappily cultivated, and when the counteracting associations, of\nwhich we just now made mention, have been allowed to acquire a\nmischievous strength; acts in opposition to them {302} are,\noccasionally, but, even in the worst men, no more than occasionally,\nproduced.\n\nThis anticipation of the hostile, or benevolent sentiments of\nmankind, as the natural effects of actions of a certain description\non our part, is the foundation of that remarkable association of\nwhich we had very recently occasion to make mention, the association\nwhich Dr. Smith has called the love of Praiseworthiness, and which\nis sometimes found to be much more powerful than the love of actual\nPraise.\n\nThe DISPOSITION which corresponds to those MOTIVES, or the facility\nof forming the associations which constitute them, is the result of\nhabit in this as in all other cases.\n\nThe AFFECTION, in this case, has the name of _Moral approbation_ and\n_Disapprobation_. The same is the only name we have for the MOTIVE.\nIt is also the only name we have for the DISPOSITION. The terms\nMoral Sense; Sense of Right and Wrong; Love of Virtue, and Hatred of\nVice, are sometimes used as synonymous terms; but they are not\nequally appropriate. Virtue, as we have seen, is a name which is\ngiven to each of the three, the Affection, the Motive, the\nDisposition; Morality is a name which is applied with similar\nlatitude.[57] [58]\n\n[Bain's footnote 57: The foregoing analysis of the Moral Sentiment\nproceeds upon a number of unquestionable psychological data. That we\nhave a strong personal interest in the virtues of Prudence,\nFortitude, Justice and Beneficence, in the manner stated, is most\ncertain; and that this personal interest will incline us to practise\nthose virtues ourselves, and to encourage them in {303} others, is\nalso certain. The only doubt is, as to whether the motives to\nrectitude of action are exhausted in this analysis.\n\nThe sufficiency of an analysis is less easily tested in mental\nphenomena, than in physical phenomena. The chief reason is that, in\nthe mind, we cannot make exact numerical estimates; and, therefore,\ncannot show, by castings up a sum, that the assigned constituents of\na compound exactly amount to the total. The several constituents put\ndown may be actually present, without our being sure whether they\nare the whole. Hence the Deductive verification, so valuable in\nphysical science, does not carry with it the same precision, in\nmental science.\n\nTo evade this source of uncertainty we are thrown back upon the\nExperimental Canons, or the Four Methods. We know by these, that if\nan analysis is good, there must be present in each instance of the\nphenomenon the causes assigned, one or more; and should one exist in\na low degree, or be entirely wanting, the others must have a\ncompensating intensity. If, on the other hand, the whole of the\ncauses have not been assigned, there will, almost inevitably, occur\ninstances, either without the causes stated, or with these in an\nobviously insufficient amount.\n\nThe following facts and considerations render doubtful the\ncompleteness of the author's explanation of the Moral Sentiment.\n\nThe affirmation in the text is that not merely the self-regarding\nvirtue--Prudence, but also the two great social virtues--Justice and\nBeneficence, are developed from associations with our own personal\ninterest. In other words, they grow up exactly by the same course as\nthe virtue of Prudence; they are strong as that happens to be\nstrong, and weak as that happens to be weak; the most prudent man\nbeing the most just and beneficent man. This inference can be\navoided only by drawing some distinction between the interested\nassociations entering into prudence, and the interested associations\nentering into justice and beneficence; but no such distinction {304}\nis drawn in the foregoing chapter, at least in such a way as to meet\nthe difficulty thus suggested.\n\nNow, on an appeal to the facts, we find that the virtue of prudence\nis not uniformly concomitant with the virtues of justice and\nbeneficence; that, on the contrary, except in the more highly\ncultivated moral natures, they are frequently manifested in the\ninverse proportion. A human being, by cherishing interested\nassociations, does not as a matter of course attain to either\njustice or beneficence. Even the most far-sighted prudence, as\nregards self, would not develop the whole virtue of justice, nor the\nwhole virtue of beneficence. On the other hand, beneficence is often\nabundant and pronounced in cases where interested associations with\nself have been very slightly cultivated.\n\nThe illustration of this generic discrepancy, between the author's\ntheory and the more obvious facts, might be extended. There is,\nhowever, another mode of proceeding, perhaps more decisive; that is,\nto show that the mind contains sources of the moral sentiment\nbesides the associations with self-interest.\n\nIt does not appear easy, at first sight, to establish the existence\nof purely disinterested impulses in our mental constitution; the\nadmixture of self being so seldom unequivocally absent from human\nconduct. Still, if these impulses do exist, there will probably be\nfound instances where they are manifested in convincing isolation.\n\nPerhaps the desired isolation is most readily afforded in some of\nthe familiar forms of Pity. There are instances, no doubt, where\npity may have a selfish motive, as when we compassionate the\nsufferings of parents, friends, and benefactors. But, in other\ninstances, it arises not only without any selfish bearing, but in\nopposition to powerful associations of interest. The pity that we\noften extend to enemies and to criminals is a case in point. Even\nwhen the punishment of wrong-doers is bound up with our strongest\ninterests, the spectacle of their sufferings often moves us to remit\nthe punishment necessary for our own protection. Now, with beings\nmade up of purely {305} interested considerations, the _argumentum\nad misericordiam_, under those circumstances, would be void of\neffect.\n\nAnother example is furnished by those acts of lavish generosity and\ncharity that perhaps ruin the giver, and do harm to the recipient.\nIf one's moral education were exclusively conducted through the\nbuilding up of associations with self, by what class of associating\nlinks is this impulse generated?\n\nIt is no less difficult to account for the actions of men wholly\ndevoted to philanthropy, like Howard. So very small is the result to\nself from the labours and sacrifices of such men, that we are unable\nto account for their motives without assuming an independent source\nof disinterested affections. The difficulty is greatly increased in\nthe case of minds little cultivated, as in the heroic devotion of\nthe common soldier.\n\nObservation of children reveals a specific power in the spectacle of\nmisery or suffering to awaken pity and generous sympathies. The\neffective impulse to sympathy has little to do with a prudential\neducation, or with the following out of self-interest in its\nassociations with the welfare of others. The patriotic orator never\ntrusts wholly to interested motives; he does not omit these; but he\nexpects much from the lively description of suffering and misery to\npeople generally; and if the picture comes home to the experience of\nhis hearers, they will be moved by it, on account of each other, as\nwell as on account of their separate selves.\n\nFrom such facts as these, it is admissible to lay down, as a general\nlaw, that the sight of misery in others prompts us, irrespective of\nour own interest, to enter into, and to relieve, that misery. This\nis the essential fact of Sympathy.\n\nThe principle thus announced is not an ultimate law of the mind. It\nmay be brought under a still higher law, of which some notice will\nbe taken afterwards (see note on the Will, chap. XXIV.), namely, the\ntendency of every idea to act itself out, to become an actuality,\nnot with a view to bring pleasure or to ward off pain--which is the\nproper description of the will--but from an independent prompting of\nthe mind that often makes us throw away pleasure and embrace pain.\nThe full {306} exposition of this principle would add greatly to the\nevidence for pure disinterested impulses, by showing that the fact\ndescribed operates in a much wider sphere than the moral sentiment.\n\nOn a survey of the different theories of the mental origin of\nBenevolent impulses, we may reduce them under the following heads.\n\n1. They have been ascribed to direct and immediate self-interest,\neither from the return of benefits in kind, or from the pleasure of\npraise and flattery. This is substantially the position of\nMandeville.\n\n2. It is said we are so constituted that the sight of misery is a\npain to us; and that we work to rid ourselves of that pain, as we\nshould work to assuage thirst, to banish toothache, or to escape\nreproach. This view was held by Hobbes. It is forcibly brought in in\nthe following anecdote recorded of him by Aubrey (Lives II. p. 623).\n\n\"One time, I remember, goeing in the Strand, a poor and infirme old\nman begged his almes; he beholding him with eies of pitty and\ncompassion, putt his hand in his pocket, and gave him 6d.; Sayd a\ndivine [Dr. Jaspar Mayne] that stood by, 'Would you have done this,\nif it had not been Christ's Command?' 'Yea,' sayd he: 'Why?' quoth\nthe other; 'Because,' sayd he, 'I was in paine to consider the\nmiserable condition of the old man; and now my almes, giving him\nsome relief, doth also ease me.'\"\n\nThere is a certain amount of truth in this statement; and taking the\nfact by itself, we might find some difficulty in drawing the line\nbetween a volition moved by our own pain, and the acting out of the\nidea of pain in favour of the sufferer. The best reply, perhaps, is\nto compare the amount of pain incurred and of pleasure remitted or\nsacrificed by the sympathiser, with the utmost value fairly\nascribable to his own mental pain. The pain of misery witnessed is\nfrequent and habitual, and although it has a certain depressing\neffect upon the mind, yet we should generally bear it much more\neasily than the pains of self-sacrifice it often incites us to.\n\n{307} 3. We may be endowed with a positive susceptibility to\npleasure from acts of kindness to others; so that in doing good, we\nare still moved in exact proportion to our own gratification. This\nexpresses very nearly Bentham's view of Disinterestedness; which,\nhowever, equally with the foregoing, comes short of the facts.\nSupposing some such pleasure to exist, no one could show that in\ndegree it fully corresponds to the effects prompted by benevolent\nimpulse.\n\n4. _Habits_ of acting in favour of others may be formed to such an\nextent, that our virtuous actions, begun under our own pleasures and\npains, may at last cease to have any reference to those pleasures\nand pains. Here, also, the appeal is to an undeniable fact of our\nmental constitution. Actions that begin as proper voluntary\nactions--on the spur of pleasure and pain--often pass into a\nmechanical routine, and are persisted in even when they thwart our\npleasures. Any one placed for a number of years in a position of\ndanger, and habituated to troublesome precautions, is almost sure to\nkeep up the same routine, after the occasion has ceased; mothers are\nliable to this unreasonable continuance of solicitude about their\nchildren. The application of the fact to moral education is of great\nmoment. If the young are initiated betimes into a regard to the\nfeelings and interests of others, they will grow up with a sort of\nmechanical unquestioning tendency towards the same line of conduct.\n\nThese are the four different modes of stating the origin of\ndisinterested conduct, apart from the assumption of a source of\npurely disinterested impulses in the constitution of the mind. Such\na source has been indicated above, in what may be called the power\nof the \"fixed idea,\" having its seat in the region of the intellect,\nand operating to thwart the proper voluntary impulses, which are\ninstigated by our pleasures and pains.--_B._]\n\nI.\n\n[Editor's footnote 58: It had been pointed out, in a preceding\nchapter, that Wealth, Power, Dignity, and many other things which\nare not {308} in their own nature pleasures, but only causes of\npleasures and of exemption from pains, become so closely associated\nwith the pleasures of which they are causes, and their absence or\nloss becomes so closely associated with the pains to which it\nexposes us, that the things become objects of love and desire, and\ntheir absence an object of hatred and aversion, for their own sake,\nwithout reference to their consequences. By virtue of the same law\nof association, it is pointed out in the present chapter that human\nactions, both our own and those of other people, standing so high as\nthey do among the causes both of pleasure and of pain to us\n(sometimes by their direct operation, and sometimes through the\nsentiments they give birth to in other persons towards ourselves)\ntend naturally to become inclosed in a web of associated ideas of\npleasures or of pains at a very early period of life, in such sort\nthat the ideas of acts beneficial to ourselves and to others become\npleasurable in themselves, and the ideas of acts hurtful to\nourselves and to others become painful in themselves: and both kinds\nof acts become objects of a feeling, the former of love, the latter\nof aversion, which having, in our minds, become independent of any\npleasures or pains actually expected to result to ourselves from the\nacts, may be truly said to be disinterested. It is no less obvious\nthat acts which are not really beneficial, or not really hurtful,\nbut which, through some false opinion prevailing among mankind, or\nsome extraneous agency operating on their sentiments, incur their\npraise or blame, may and often do come to be objects of a quite\nsimilar disinterested love or hatred, exactly as if they deserved\nit. This disinterested love and hatred of actions, generated by the\nassociation of praise or blame with them, constitute, in the\nauthor's opinion, the feelings of moral approbation and\ndisapprobation, which the majority of psychologists have thought it\nnecessary to refer to an original and ultimate principle of our\nnature. Mr. Bain, in the preceding note, makes in this theory a\ncorrection, to which the author himself would probably not have\nobjected, namely, that the mere idea of a pain or pleasure, by\nwhomsoever felt, is intrinsically painful or pleasurable, and when\nraised in {309} the mind with intensity is capable of becoming a\nstimulus to action, independent, not merely of expected consequences\nto ourselves, but of any reference whatever to Self; so that care\nfor others is, in an admissible sense, as much an ultimate fact of\nour nature, as care for ourselves; though one which greatly needs\nstrengthening by the concurrent force of the manifold associations\ninsisted on in the author's text. Though this of Mr. Bain is rather\nan account of disinterested Sympathy, than of the moral feeling, it\nis undoubtedly true that the _foundation_ of the moral feeling is\nthe adoption of the pleasures and pains of others as our own:\nwhether this takes place by the natural force of sympathy, or by the\nassociation which has grown up in our mind between our own good or\nevil and theirs. The moral feeling rests upon this identification of\nthe feelings of others with our own, but is not the same thing with\nit. To constitute the moral feeling, not only must the good of\nothers have become in itself a pleasure to us, and their suffering a\npain, but this pleasure or pain must be associated with our own acts\nas producing it, and must in this manner have become a motive,\nprompting us to the one sort of acts, and restraining us from the\nother sort. And this is, in brief, the author's theory of the Moral\nSentiments.\n\nThe exhaustive treatment of this subject would require a length and\nabundance of discussion disproportioned to the compass and purposes\nof a treatise like the present, which was intended to expound what\nthe author believed to be the real mode of formation of our complex\nstates of consciousness, but not to say all that may and ought to be\nsaid in refutation of other views of the subject. There are,\nhowever, some important parts of the author's own theory, which are\nnot stated in this work, but in a subsequent one, of a highly\npolemical character, the \"Fragment on Mackintosh:\" and it may be\nboth instructive and interesting to the reader to find the statement\nhere. I therefore subjoin the passages containing it.\n\n\"Nature makes no classes. Nature makes individuals. Classes are made\nby men; and rarely with such marks as determine certainly what is to\nbe included in them.\n\n{310} \"Men make classifications, as they do everything else, for\nsome end. Now, for what end was it that men, out of their\ninnumerable acts, selected a class, to which they gave the name of\nmoral, and another class, to which they gave the name of immoral?\nWhat was the motive of this act? What its final cause?\n\n\"Assuredly the answer to this question is the first step, though Sir\nJames saw it not, towards the solution of his two questions,\ncomprehending the whole of ethical science; first, what makes an act\nto be moral? and secondly, what are the sentiments with which we\nregard it?\n\n\"We may also be assured, that it was some very obvious interest\nwhich recommended this classification; for it was performed, in a\ncertain rough way, in the very rudest states of society.\n\n\"Farther, we may easily see how, even in very rude states, men were\nled to it, by little less than necessity. Every day of their lives\nthey had experience of acts, some of which were agreeable, or the\ncause of what was agreeable, to them; others disagreeable, or the\ncause of what was disagreeable to them, in all possible degrees.\n\n\"They had no stronger interest than to obtain the repetition of the\none sort, and to prevent the repetition of the other.\n\n\"The acts in which they were thus interested were of two sorts;\nfirst, those to which the actor was led by a natural interest of his\nown; secondly, those to which the actor was not led by any interest\nof his own. About the first sort there was not occasion for any\nparticular concern. They were pretty sure to take place, without any\nstimulus from without. The second sort, on the contrary, were not\nlikely to take place, unless an interest was artificially created,\nsufficiently strong to induce the actor to perform them.\n\n\"And here we clearly perceive the origin of that important case of\nclassification . . . . the classification of acts as moral and\nimmoral. The acts, which it was important to other men that each\nindividual should perform, but in which the individual had not a\nsufficient interest to secure the {311} performance of them, were\nconstituted one class. The acts, which it was important to other men\nthat each individual should abstain from, but in regard to which he\nhad not a personal interest sufficiently strong to secure his\nabstaining from them, were constituted another class. The first\nclass were distinguished by the name moral acts; the second by the\nname immoral.\n\n\"The interest which men had in securing the performance of the one\nset of acts, the non-performance of the other, led them by a sort of\nnecessity to think of the means. They had to create an interest,\nwhich the actor would not otherwise have, in the performance of the\none sort, the non-performance of the other. And in proceeding to\nthis end, they could not easily miss their way. They had two powers\napplicable to the purpose. They had a certain quantity of good at\ntheir disposal; and they had a certain quantity of evil. If they\ncould apply the good in such a manner as to afford a motive both for\nthe performance and non-performance which they desired, or the evil,\nin such a manner as to afford a motive against the performance and\nnon-performance which they wished to prevent, their end was\nattained.\n\n\"And this is the scheme which they adopted; and which, in every\nsituation, they have invariably pursued. The whole business of the\nmoral sentiments, moral approbation, and disapprobation, has this\nfor its object, the distribution of the good and evil we have at\ncommand, for the production of acts of the useful sort, the\nprevention of acts of the contrary sort. Can there be a nobler\nobject?\n\n\"But though men have been thus always right in their general aim,\ntheir proceedings have been cruelly defective in the detail; witness\nthe consequence,--the paucity of good acts, the frequency of bad\nacts, which there is in the world.\n\n\"A portion of acts having been thus classed into good and bad; and\nthe utility having been perceived of creating motives to incite to\nthe one, and restrain from the other, a sub-classification was\nintroduced. One portion of these acts was such, that the good and\nevil available for their production {312} and prevention, could be\napplied by the community in its conjunct capacity. Another portion\nwas such, that the good and evil available could be applied only by\nindividuals in their individual capacity. The first portion was\nplaced under the control of what is called law; the other remained\nunder the control of the moral sentiments; that is, the distribution\nof good and evil, made by individuals in their individual capacity.\n\n\"No sooner was the class made, than the rule followed. Moral acts\nare to be performed; immoral acts are to be abstained from.\n\n\"Beside this the general rule, there was needed, for more precise\ndirection, particular rules.\n\n\"We must remember the fundamental condition, that all rules of\naction must be preceded by a corresponding classification of\nactions. All moral rules, *comprehended in the great moral rule,\nmust relate to a class of actions comprehended within the grand\nclass, constituted and marked by the term moral. This is the case\nwith grand classes in general. They are subdivided into minor\nclasses, each of the minor classes being a portion of the larger.\nThus, the grand class of acts called moral has been divided into\ncertain convenient portions, or sub-classes, and marked by\nparticular names. Just, Beneficent, Brave, Prudent, Temperate; to\neach of which classes belongs its appropriate rule that men should\nbe just, that they should be beneficent, and so on . . . . .\n\n\"In the performance of our duties two sets of cases may be\ndistinguished. There is one set in which a direct estimate of the\ngood of the particular act is inevitable; and the man acts immorally\nwho acts without making it. There are other cases in which it is not\nnecessary.\n\n\"The first are those, which have in them so much of singularity, as\nto prevent their coming within the limits of any established class.\nIn such cases a man has but one guide; he must consider the\nconsequences, or act not as a moral, or rational agent at all.\n\n{313} \"The second are cases of such ordinary and frequent occurrence\nas to be distinguished into classes. And everybody knows . . . that\nwhen a class of acts are performed regularly and frequently, they\nare at last performed by habit; in other words, the idea of the act\nand the performance of it follow so easily and speedily that they\nseem to cohere, and to be but one operation. It is only necessary to\nrecall some of the more familiar instances, to see the mode of this\nformation. In playing on a musical instrument, every note, at first,\nis found by an effort. Afterwards, the proper choice is made so\nrapidly as to appear as if made by a mechanical process in which the\nmind has no concern. The same is the case with moral acts. When they\nhave been performed with frequency and uniformity, for a sufficient\nlength of time, a habit is generated . . . . .\n\n\"When a man acts from habit, he does not act without reflection. He\nonly acts with a very rapid reflection. In no class of acts does a\nman begin to act by habit. He begins without habit; and acquires the\nhabit by frequency of acting. The consideration, on which the act is\nfounded, and the act itself, form a sequence. And it is obvious from\nthe familiar cases of music and of speaking, that it is a sequence\nat first not very easily performed. By every repetition, however, it\nbecomes easier. The consideration occurs with less effort; the\naction follows with less effort; they take place with greater and\ngreater rapidity, till they seem blended. To say, that this is\nacting without reflection, is only ignorance, for it is thus seen to\nbe a case of acting by reflection so easily and rapidly, that the\nreflection and the act cannot be distinguished from one another . .\n. . . .\n\n\"Since moral acts are not performed at first by habit, but each upon\nthe consideration which recommends it; upon what considerations, we\nmay be asked, do moral acts begin to be performed?\n\n\"The question has two meanings, and it is necessary to reply to\nboth. It may be asked, upon what consideration the men of our own\nage and country, for example, at first {314} and before a habit is\nformed, perform moral acts? Or, it may be asked, upon what\nconsideration did men originally perform moral acts?\n\n\"To the first of these questions every one can reply from his own\nmemory and observation. We perform moral acts at first, from\nauthority. Our parents tell us that we ought to do this, ought not\nto do that. They are anxious that we should obey their precepts.\nThey have two sets of influences, with which to work upon us; praise\nand blame; reward and punishment. All the acts which they say we\nought to do, are praised in the highest degree, all those which they\nsay we ought not to do, are blamed in the highest degree. In this\nmanner, the ideas of praise and blame become associated with certain\nclasses of acts, at a very early age, so closely, that they cannot\neasily be disjoined, No sooner does the idea of the act occur than\nthe idea of praise springs up along with it, and clings to it. And\ngenerally these associations exert a predominant influence during\nthe whole of life.\n\n\"Our parents not only praise certain kinds of acts, blame other\nkinds; but they praise us when we perform those of the one sort,\nblame us when we perform those of the other. In this manner other\nassociations are formed. The idea of ourselves performing certain\nacts is associated with the idea of our being praised, performing\ncertain other acts with the idea of our being blamed, so closely\nthat the ideas become at last indissoluble. In this association\nconsist the very important complex ideas of praise-worthiness, and\nblame-worthiness. An act which is praiseworthy, is an act with the\nidea of which the idea of praise is indissolubly joined; an agent\nwho is praiseworthy is an agent with the idea of whom the idea of\npraise is indissolubly joined. And in the converse case, that of\nblame-worthiness, the formation of the idea is similar.\n\n\"Many powerful circumstances come in aid of these important\nassociations, at an early age. We find, that not only our parents\nact in this manner, but all other parents. {315} We find that grown\npeople act in this manner, not only towards children, but towards\none another. The associations, therefore, are unbroken, general, and\nall-comprehending.\n\n\"Our parents administer not only praise and blame, to induce us to\nperform acts of one sort, abstain from acts of another sort, but\nalso rewards and punishments. They do so directly; and, further,\nthey forward all our inclinations in the one case, baulk them in the\nother. So does everybody else. We find our comforts excessively\nabridged by other people, when we act in one way, enlarged when we\nact in another way. Hence another most important class of\nassociations; that of an increase of well-being from the good will\nof our fellow-creatures, if we perform acts of one sort, of an\nincrease of misery from their ill-will, if we perform those of\nanother sort.\n\n\"In this manner it is that men, born in the social state, acquire\nthe habits of moral acting, and certain affections connected with\nit, before they are capable of reflecting upon the grounds which\nrecommend the acts either to praise or blame. Nearly at this point\nthe greater part of them remain, continuing to perform moral acts\nand to abstain from the contrary, chiefly from the habits they have\nacquired, and the authority upon which they originally acted; though\nit is not possible that any man should come to the years and\nblessing of reason, without perceiving, at least in an indistinct\nand general way, the advantage which mankind derive from their\nacting towards one another in one way, rather than another.\n\n\"We come now to the second question, viz. what are the\nconsiderations upon which men originally performed moral acts? The\nanswer to this question is substantially contained in the\nexplanation already given of the classification of acts as moral and\nimmoral.\n\n\"When men began to mark the distinction between acts, and were\nprompted to praise one class, blame another, they did so, either\nbecause the one sort benefited, the other hurt them; or for some\nother reason. If for the first reason, the case is perfectly\nintelligible. The men had a motive {316} which they understood, and\nwhich was adequate to the end. If it was not on account of utility\nthat men classed some acts as moral, others as immoral, on what\nother account was it?\n\n\"To this question, an answer, consisting of anything but words, has\nnever been returned.\n\n\"It has been said, that there is a beauty, and a deformity, in moral\nand immoral acts, which recommended them to the distinctions they\nhave met with.\n\n\"It is obvious to reply to this hypothesis, that the mind of a\nsavage, that is, a mind in the state in which the minds of all men\nwere, when they began to classify their acts, was not likely to be\nmuch affected by the ideal something called the beauty of acts. To\nreceive pain or pleasure from an act, to obtain, or be deprived of,\nthe means of enjoyment by an act; to like the acts and the actors,\nwhence the good proceeded, dislike those whence the evil proceeded;\nall these were things which they understood.\n\n\"But we must endeavour to get a little nearer to the bottom of this\naffair.\n\n\"In truth, the term beauty, as applied to acts, is just as\nunintelligible to the philosopher, as to the savage. Is the beauty\nof an act one thing; the morality of it another? Or are they two\nnames for the same thing? If they are two things, what is the\nbeauty, distinct from the morality? If they are the same thing, what\nis the use of the name morality? It only tends to confusion.\n\n\"But this is not all. The beautiful is that which excites in us the\nemotion of beauty, a state of mind with which we are acquainted by\nexperience. This state of mind has been successfully analysed, and\nshewn to consist of a train of pleasurable ideas, awakened in us by\nthe beautiful object.\n\n\"But is it in this way only that we are concerned in moral acts? Do\nwe value them for nothing, but as we value a picture, or a piece of\nmusic, for the pleasure of looking at them, or hearing them?\nEverybody knows the contrary. Acts are objects of importance to us,\non account of their {317} consequences, and nothing else. This\nconstitutes a radical distinction between them and the things called\nbeautiful. Acts are hurtful or beneficial, moral or immoral,\nvirtuous or vicious. But it is only an abuse of language, to call\nthem beautiful or ugly.\n\n\"That it is jargon, the slightest reflection is sufficient to\nevince; for what is the beauty of an act, detached from its\nconsequences? We shall be told, perhaps, that the beauty of an act\nwas never supposed to be detached from its consequences. The beauty\nconsists in the consequences. I am contented with the answer. But\nobserve to what it binds you. The consequences of acts are the good\nor evil they do. According to you, therefore, the beauty of acts is\neither the utility of them, or it is nothing at all;--a beautiful\nground on which to dispute with us, that acts are classed as moral,\nnot on account of their utility, but on account of their beauty.\n\n\"It will be easily seen, from what has been said, that they who\nascribe the classification of acts, as moral, and immoral, to a\ncertain taste, an agreeable or disagreeable sentiment which they\nexcite (among whom are included the Scottish professors Hutcheson,\nand Brown, and David Hume himself, though on his part with wonderful\ninconsistency)--hold the same theory with those who say, that beauty\nis the source of the classification of moral acts. Things are\nclassed as beautiful, or deformed, on account of a certain taste, or\ninward sentiment. If acts are classed in the same way, on account of\na certain taste or inward sentiment, they deserve to be classed\nunder the names beautiful, and deformed; otherwise not.\n\n\"I hope it is not necessary for me to go minutely into the exposure\nof the other varieties of jargon, by which it has been endeavoured\nto account for the classification of acts, as moral and immoral.\n'Fitness' is one of them. Acts are approved on account of their\nfitness. When fitness is hunted down, it is brought to bay exactly\nat the place where beauty was. Fitness is either the goodness of the\nconsequences, or it is nothing at all.\n\n{318} \"The same is the case with 'Right Reason,' or 'Moral Reason.'\nAn act according to moral reason, is an act, the consequences of\nwhich are good. Moral reason, therefore, is another name, and not a\nbad name, for the principle of utility.\"[a]\n\n[Editor's footnote a: Fragment on Mackintosh, pp. 247--265.]\n\nThe following passage from another part of the same work, is also\nvery much to the purpose.\n\n\"The terms moral and immoral were applied by men, primarily, not to\ntheir own acts, but the acts of other men. Those acts, the effects\nof which they observed to be beneficial, they desired should be\nperformed. To make them be performed, they, among other things they\ndid, affixed to them marks of their applause; they called them,\ngood, moral, well-deserving; and behaved accordingly.\n\n\"Such is the source of the moral approbation we bestow on the acts\nof other men. The source of that which we bestow on our own is\ntwofold. First, every man's beneficial acts, like those of every\nother man, form part of that system of beneficial acting, in which\nhe, in common with all other men, finds his account. Secondly, he\nstrongly associates with his own beneficial acts, both that\napprobation of other men, which is of so much importance to him, and\nthat approbation which he bestows on other men's beneficial acts.\n\n\"It is also easy to shew what takes place in the mind of a man,\nbefore he performs an act, which he morally approves or condemns.\n\n\"What is called the approbation of an act not yet performed, is only\nthe idea of future approbation: and it is not excited by the act\nitself; it is excited by the idea of the act. The idea of\napprobation or disapprobation is excited by the idea of an act,\nbecause the approbation would be excited by the act itself. But what\nexcites moral approbation or disapprobation of an act, is neither\nthe act itself, nor the motive of the act; but the consequences of\nthe act, good or evil, and their being within the intention of the\nagent.\n\n{319} \"Let us put a case. A man with a starving wife and family is\ndetected wiring a hare on my premises. What happens? I call up the\nidea of sending him to prison. I call up the ideas of the\nconsequences of that act, the misery of the helpless creatures whom\nhis labour supported; their agonizing feelings, their corporal\nwants, their hunger, cold, their destitution of hope, their despair:\nI call up the ideas of the man himself in jail, the sinking of heart\nwhich attends incarceration; the dreadful thought of his family\ndeprived of his support; his association with vicious characters;\nthe natural consequences,--his future profligacy, the consequent\nprofligacy of his ill-fated children, and hence the permanent\nwretchedness and ruin of them all. I next have the idea of my own\nintending all these consequences. And only then am I in a condition\nto perform, as Sir James says, the 'operation of conscience.'\nI perform it. But in this case, it is, to use another of his\nexpressions, 'defeated.' Notwithstanding the moral disapprobation,\nwhich the idea of such intended consequences excites in me,\nI perform the act.\n\n\"Here, at all events, any one may see, that conscience, and the\nmotive of the act, are not the same, but opposed to one another. The\nmotive of the act, is the pleasure of having hares; not in itself a\nthing anywise bad. The only thing bad is the producing so much\nmisery to others, for securing that pleasure to myself.\n\n\"The state of the case, then, is manifest. The act of which I have\nthe idea, has two sets of consequences; one set pleasurable, another\nhurtful. I feel an aversion to produce the hurtful consequences.\nI feel a desire to produce the pleasurable. The one prevails over\nthe other. . . . .\n\n\". . . Nothing in an act is voluntary but the consequences that are\nintended. The idea of good consequences intended, is the pleasurable\nfeeling of moral approbation; the idea of bad consequences intended\nis the painful feeling of moral disapprobation. The very term\nvoluntary, therefore, applied to an act which produces good or evil\nconsequences, {320} expresses the antecedence of moral approbation\nor disapprobation.\"[b]\n\n[Editor's footnote b: Fragment on Mackintosh, pp. 375--378.]\n\nI will quote one short passage more, in correction of the very\nvulgar error, that to analyse our disinterested affections and\nresolve them into associations with the ideas of our own elementary\npleasures and pains, is to deny their reality.\n\n\"Sir James must mean, if he means anything, that to trace up the\nmotive affections of human nature to pain and pleasure, is to make\npersonal advantage the only motive. This is to affirm, that he who\nanalyses any of the complicated phenomena of human nature, and\npoints out the circumstances of their formation, puts an end to\nthem.\n\n\"Sir James was totally ignorant of this part of human nature.\nGratitude remains gratitude, resentment remains resentment,\ngenerosity generosity in the mind of him who feels them, after\nanalysis, the same as before. The man who can trace them to their\nelements does not cease to feel them, as much as the man who never\nthought about the matter. And whatever effects they produce, as\nmotives, in the mind of the man who never thought about the matter,\nthey produce equally, in the minds of those who have analysed them\nthe most minutely.\n\n\"They are constituent parts of human nature. How we are actuated,\nwhen we feel them, is matter of experience, which every one knows\nwithin himself. Their action is what it is, whether they are simple\nor compound. Does a complex motive cease to be a motive whenever it\nis discovered to be complex? The analysis of the active principles\nleaves the nature of them untouched. To be able to assert, that a\nphilosopher, who finds some of the active principles of human nature\nto be compound and traces them to their origin, does on that account\nexclude them from human nature, and deny their efficiency as\nconstituent parts of that nature, discovers a total incapacity of\nthinking upon these subjects. When Newton discovered that a white\nray of {321} light is not simple but compound, did he for that\nreason exclude it from the denomination of light, and deny that it\nproduced its effects, with respect to our perception, as if it were\nof the same nature with the elementary rays of which it is\ncomposed?\"[c]\n\n[Editor's footnote c: Fragment on Mackintosh, pp. 51, 52.]\n\nII.\n\nThe reluctance of many persons to receive as correct this analysis\nof the sentiments of moral approbation and disapprobation, though a\nreluctance founded more on feeling than on reasoning, is accustomed\nto justify itself intellectually, by alleging the total unlikeness\nof those states of mind to the elementary one, from which, according\nto the theory, they are compounded. But this is no more than what is\nobserved in every similar case. When a complex feeling is generated\nout of elements very numerous and various, and in a corresponding\ndegree indeterminate and vague, but so blended together by a close\nassociation, the effect of a long series of experiences, as to have\nbecome inseparable, the resulting feeling always seems not only very\nunlike any one of the elements composing it, but very unlike the sum\nof those elements. The pleasure of acquiring, or of consciously\npossessing, a sum of money (supposed not to be desired for\napplication to some specific purpose,) is a feeling, to our\nconsciousness, very different from the pleasure of protection\nagainst hunger and cold, the pleasure of ease and rest from labour,\nthe pleasure of receiving consideration from our fellow-creatures,\nand the other miscellaneous pleasures, the association with which is\nadmitted to be the real and only source of the pleasure of\npossessing money. In the case, then, of the moral sentiments, we\nhave, on the one hand, a _vera causa_ or set of causes, having a\npositive tendency to generate a sentiment, of love for certain\nactions, and of aversion for certain others; and on the other hand,\nthose sentiments of love and aversion, actually produced. This\ncoincidence between the sentiments and a {322} power adequate to\nproduce them, goes far towards proving causation. That the\nsentiments are not obviously like the causes, is no reason for\npostulating the existence of another cause, in the shape of an\noriginal principle of our nature.\n\nIn a case, however, of so great interest and importance, a rigid\nadherence to the canons of inductive proof must be insisted on.\nThose who dispute the theory are entitled to demand that it shall\nconform strictly to the general law of cause and effect, which is,\nthat the effect shall occur with the cause, shall not occur without\nthe cause, and shall bear some proportion to the cause. Unless it\ncan be shewn that when the effect is not produced, the cause is\neither absent, or counteracted by some more powerful agency; and\nunless, when there is any marked difference in the effect, a\ndifference can be shewn in the cause, sufficient to account for it;\nthe theory must give way, or at least, cannot be considered as\nproved.\n\nThe principal case in which the effect is absent, notwithstanding\nthe apparent presence of the cause assigned for it, is anticipated\nby the author, and provided for after his manner, in the first of\nthe passages quoted from the Fragment on Mackintosh. There are\nactions (he observes) as beneficial as any others, which yet do not\nexcite the moral sentiment of approbation; but it is because the\nspontaneous motives to those beneficial acts are in general\nsufficient: as to eat when we are hungry, or to do a service for\nwhich we are to be amply paid. There are, again, actions of a very\nhurtful character, but such that the spontaneous motives for\nabstaining from them may be relied on, without any artificial\naddition: such, in general, are acts destructive of one's own life\nor property. But even in these cases the hurtful acts may become\nobjects of moral reprobation, when, in any particular case, the\nnatural deterrents prove insufficient for preventing them.\n\nThe author seems to think that the difference here pointed out, is\nexplained by the fact that the moral sentiment is in the one case\nneeded, in the other not needed, for producing the useful or\naverting the hurtful act; that, in short, we are {323} made to have\nthe feeling, by a foresight that our having it will operate usefully\non the conduct of our fellow-creatures. I cannot accept this\nexplanation. It seems to me to explain everything about the usual\nfeelings, except the feelings themselves. It explains praise and\nblame, because these may be administered with the express design of\ninfluencing conduct. It explains reward and punishment, and every\nother distinction which we make in our behaviour between what we\ndesire to encourage, and what we are anxious to check. But these\nthings we might do from a deliberate policy, without having any\nmoral feeling in our minds at all. When there is a moral feeling in\nour minds, our praise or blame is usually the simple expression of\nthat feeling, rather than an instrument purposely employed for an\nend. We may give expression to the feeling without really having it,\nin the belief that our praise or blame will have a salutary effect;\nbut no anticipation of salutary effects from our feeling will ever\navail to give us the feeling itself: except indeed, what may be said\nof every other mental feeling--that we may talk ourselves into it;\nthat the habitual use of the modes of speech that are associated\nwith it, has some tendency to call up the feeling in the speaker\nhimself, and a great tendency to engender it in other people.\n\nI apprehend, however, that there is another, and more adequate\nreason why the feeling of moral approbation is usually absent in the\ncase of actions (or forbearances) for which there are sufficient\nmotives without it. These actions are done, and are seen to be done,\nby everybody alike. The pleasant associations derived from their\nusefulness merge, therefore, in our feelings towards human life and\ntowards our fellow-creatures generally, and do not give rise to any\nspecial association of pleasure with given individuals. But when we\nfind that a certain person does beneficial acts which the general\nexperience of life did not warrant us in counting upon--acts which\nwould not have been done by everybody, or even by most people, in\nhis place; we associate the pleasure which the benefit gives us,\nwith the character and disposition of that individual, and with the\nact, conceived as proceeding {324} from that specially beneficent\ndisposition. And obversely, if a person acts in a manner from which\nwe suffer, but which is such as we should expect from most other\npeople in a parallel case, the associations which his acts create in\nour minds are associations with human life, or with mankind in\ngeneral; but if the acts, besides being of a hurtful kind, betoken a\ndisposition in the agent, more hurtful than we are accustomed to\nlook for in average men, we associate the injury with that very man,\nand with that very disposition, and have the feeling of moral\ndisapprobation and repugnance.\n\nThere is, as already intimated, another condition which those who\nhold the Association theory of the moral sentiments are bound to\nfulfil. The class of feelings called moral embraces several\nvarieties, materially different in their character. Wherever this\ndifference manifests itself, the theory must be required to shew\nthat there is a corresponding difference in the antecedents. If\npleasurable or painful associations are the generating cause, those\nassociations must differ in some proportion to the difference which\nexists in what they generate.\n\nThe principal case in point is the case of what is called Duty, or\nObligation. It will probably be admitted that beneficial acts, when\ndone because they are beneficial, excite in us favourable sentiments\ntowards the agent, for which the utility or beneficial tendency of\nthe actions is sufficient to account. But it is only some, not all,\nof these beneficial acts, that we regard as duties; as acts which\nthe agent, or we ourselves if we are the persons concerned, are\nbound to do. This feeling of duty or obligation, it is contended, is\na very different state of mind from mere liking for the action and\ngood will to the agent. The association theory may account for the\ntwo last, but not for the former.\n\nI have examined this question in the concluding chapter of a short\ntreatise entitled \"Utilitarianism.\" The subject of the chapter is\n\"the connexion between Justice and Utility.\" I have there\nendeavoured to shew what the association is, which exists in the\ncase of what we regard as a duty, but does not {325} exist in the\ncase of what we merely regard as useful, and which gives to the\nfeeling in the former case the strength, the gravity, and pungency,\nwhich in the other case it has not.\n\nI believe that the element in the association, which gives this\ndistinguishing character to the feeling, and which constitutes the\ndifference of the antecedents in the two cases, is the idea of\nPunishment. I mean the association with punishment, not the\nexpectation of it.\n\nNo case can be pointed out in which we consider anything as a duty,\nand any act or omission as immoral or wrong, without regarding the\nperson who commits the wrong and violates the duty as a fit object\nof punishment. We think that the general good requires that he\nshould be punished, if not by the law, by the displeasure and ill\noffices of his fellow-creatures: we at any rate feel indignant with\nhim, that is, it would give us pleasure that he should suffer for\nhis misconduct, even if there are preponderant reasons of another\nkind against inflicting the suffering. This feeling of indignation,\nor resentment, is, I conceive, a case of the animal impulse (I call\nit animal because it is common to us with the other animals) to\ndefend our own life or possessions, or the persons whom we care for,\nagainst actual or threatened attack. All conduct which we class as\nwrong or criminal is, or we suppose it to be, an attack upon some\nvital interest of ourselves or of those we care for, (a category\nwhich may include the public, or the whole human race): conduct\nwhich, if allowed to be repeated, would destroy or impair the\nsecurity and comfort of our lives. We are prompted to defend these\nparamount interests by repelling the attack, and guarding against\nits renewal; and our earliest experience gives us a feeling, which\nacts with the rapidity of an instinct, that the most direct and\nefficacious protection is retaliation. We are therefore prompted to\nretaliate by inflicting pain on the person who has inflicted or\ntried to inflict it upon ourselves. We endeavour, as far as\npossible, that our social institutions shall render us this service.\nWe are gratified when, by that or other means, the pain is\ninflicted, and dissatisfied if from any cause it is not. This {326}\nstrong association of the idea of punishment, and the desire for its\ninfliction, with the idea of the act which has hurt us, is not in\nitself a moral sentiment; but it appears to me to be the element\nwhich is present when we have the feelings of obligation and of\ninjury, and which mainly distinguishes them from simple distaste or\ndislike for any thing in the conduct of another that is disagreeable\nto us; that distinguishes, for instance, our feeling towards the\nperson who steals our goods, from our feeling towards him who\noffends our senses by smoking tobacco. This impulse to self-defence\nby the retaliatory infliction of pain, only becomes a moral\nsentiment, when it is united with a conviction that the infliction\nof punishment in such a case is conformable to the general good, and\nwhen the impulse is not allowed to carry us beyond the point at\nwhich that conviction ends. For further illustration I must refer to\nthe little Treatise already mentioned.--_Ed._]\n\n\n\n\n{327} CHAPTER XXIV.\n\nTHE WILL.\n\n\nWE have now considered the class of sensations, called Pleasurable,\nand Painful. We have also considered the Ideas of those sensations,\nor that revival of them which is capable of taking place, when the\noutward action upon the senses is removed. The Idea of the\npleasurable sensation, and the Desire of it; the Idea of the painful\nsensation, and the Aversion to it; are respectively names for one\nand the same state of consciousness.\n\nWe have also considered the Ideas of the Causes of our Pleasurable\nand Painful sensations. We have found that those Ideas are never\nIdeas of the Causes separately; but Ideas both of the causes and of\ntheir effects, inseparably joined by association. They are not,\ntherefore, indifferent Ideas; they are always either pleasurable or\npainful; being complex Ideas, to a great degree composed of the\nIdeas of pleasurable and painful sensations.\n\nAs the simple Idea of a pleasurable or painful sensation, is a\nDESIRE or an AVERSION; so the complex Idea, composed of the Ideas of\na Cause of pleasurable or painful sensations, and its effects, is\ncalled an {328} AFFECTION; which receives different names, according\nas it is modified by different circumstances; of time, for example,\npast or future; and if future, certainly or uncertainly, future.\n\nWe next observed, that our own acts were very often the cause of the\ncauses of our pleasures, and of the prevention of our pains. The\nIdea of an action of our own, as cause, strongly associated with the\nIdea of a pleasure as its effect, we found to be a state of mind\npeculiarly important; because it excites to action. In what manner\nthis state of mind gives birth to action, is the question which we\nnow have to resolve.\n\nThe object of the Inquiry is, to find out, what that peculiar state\nof mind or consciousness is, by which action is preceded. From all\nmen it receives the same name. It is called the Will, by every body;\nand by every body this Will is understood to be a state of mind or\nconsciousness; but how formed, or wherein consisting, is variously\nand vehemently disputed.\n\nMuch of the confusion of Ideas which has darkened this controversy\narose from the misconception, so long universal, respecting the Idea\nof a Cause. The will was invariably, and justly, assumed as the\ncause of the action; but unhappily there was always assumed as a\npart of the Idea of this cause, an item, which is found to be\naltogether imaginary. In the sequence of events called Cause and\nEffect, men were not contented with the Cause and the Effect; they\nimagined a third thing, called Force or Power, which was not the\ncause, but something emanating from the cause, and the true and\nimmediate cause of the {329} Effect. This illusion has been\nminutely examined, as we have already remarked, by a late\nPhilosopher; by whom it has been proved, beyond the reach of\ncontradiction, that the power of any cause is nothing different from\nthe cause. A cause, and the power of a cause, are not two things,\nbut two names for the same thing. With the Idea of Cause is always\nunited the Idea of Effect. It is one of the cases of inseparable\nconjunction. The Idea of the Cause as existing, is irresistibly\nfollowed by the Idea of the Effect as existing. Not only does the\none Idea always follow the other; but it is not in our power to\nprevent their following. Now the Idea of any thing as existing, when\nthat idea forces itself upon us, and cannot be resisted, is that\nwhich we call Belief. In all this, however, there is nothing but the\nidea of an Antecedent and a Consequent, and a fixed order of\nAssociation. Our object, therefore, in this Inquiry will be\ncompletely attained if we discover which is the real state of mind\nwhich immediately precedes an action.\n\nThe actions of a human being may be divided into two sorts: I. Those\nwhich are called the actions of his Body; II. Those which are called\nthe actions of his mind. We shall endeavour to ascertain what are\nthe antecedents of both, and shall begin with the Body.\n\nI. The actions of the Body are all of one sort. They consist\nessentially of that action of certain fibres, which is called\ncontraction. The object of this part of our Inquiry, therefore, is\nto ascertain what are the states of mind which immediately precede a\nfibrous contraction.\n\n{330} We can show that muscular or fibrous contractions follow, 1st,\nSensations; 2dly, Ideas: and we can also shew, that in a vast\nproportion of those cases, the sequence is invariable; in other\nwords, that the Sensation, or Idea, is the cause of the contraction.\n\n1. It is no part of our present business to adduce what has been\ndiscovered by physiologists in tracing the physical antecedents of a\ncontracting muscle. The mental antecedent is the object of our\ninquiry; and whether a physical link, or more than one physical\nlink, intervenes between it and the contraction, alters not the\nquestion as to the state of the mental cause; nor the fact as to the\nultimate effect. Facts are abundant, to prove, that the nerves are\nthe immediate instrument of contraction; and also that the effect\nproduced by the mental state is first upon the nerves, and only\nthrough the nerves upon the muscle. A paralytic limb, is a limb, the\nmovement of which is not consequent upon that mental state which is\nusually followed by such a movement. But a paralytic limb is only a\nlimb, the nerves of which are deprived of their usual power by a\ndisorder in that part of the brain in which they originate.\n\nInnumerable facts are capable of being adduced, to prove that\nsensation is a cause of muscular action. There is, however, little\nnecessity to be tedious with the proof; because there will be little\ndifficulty in assenting to the proposition.\n\nThe distinction, which we formerly drew, between those sensations\nwhich we have by what is called the external senses, in other words,\non the surface of our body, and those (numerous, not individually\nonly, but also in their species or kinds), which we have in {331}\nthe internal parts of our bodies, it is here peculiarly necessary to\nremember, and strongly to remark. The muscles themselves are\ninternal parts of the body. The feelings in the muscles are one\nspecies of those internal sensations. And, in general, as it is easy\nto conceive, the internal sensations are a leading cause of such\nactions as take place in the internal organs of the Body.[59]\n\n[Editor's footnote 59: The actions which take place in the interior\nof the body are not always, nor perhaps even generally, produced by\nsensations. A large portion of them are not preceded by any\nsensation of which we are aware, and have been ascertained to depend\non nerves not terminating in the brain, which is the seat of\nsensation, but stopping at the spinal cord. These actions are\ninferred to be the results of a mere *physical stimulus, operating\neither upon the local nerves, or upon the spinal ganglions with\nwhich those nerves communicate, and not attended with any\nconsciousness.\n\nMany of the instances which the author goes on to enumerate, of\nmuscular action excited by sensation, are, in all probability, cases\nof this description. The muscular action is directly excited by the\nphysical irritation of the nerves, and any sensation which\naccompanies it is not its cause, but a simultaneous effect.--_Ed._]\n\nSome of the external cases are remarkably familiar and precise.\nA pungent odour enters the nostrils; first, a certain sensation\nfollows, and immediately after, the violent action of a great number\nof muscles, called Sneezing. In drinking, a drop of water sometimes\nenters the larynx; it produces a certain sensation, immediately\nfollowed by the action of certain muscles, from which we have the\nvery painful feeling of suffocation. There is a very remarkable\nexemplification of the same law, in the case of the sensation {332}\nof light. The Pupil of the Eye contracts or dilates, according as a\ngreater or less degree of light falls upon the retina. The eyelids\nare in perpetual motion in consequence of sensations to which we do\nnot attend. The painful sensation pervading the body, when we plunge\ninto cold water, produces so much action in the muscles, that we sob\nand respire in a convulsive manner. The lachrymal glands are moved\nto action, by certain effluvia, as those of onions, by smoke, and\nvarious gases, and even by certain states of the air, so as to shed\ntears abundantly. The action of food is similar upon the salivary\nglands; and of heat and cold upon the skin, the one opening, the\nother contracting its pores.\n\nIn respect to a great number of the contractions of muscles, which\ntake place in consequence of impressions on the surface of our\nbodies, the evidence is not so precise; because, though contractions\nare originally performed by sensation, they are afterwards and more\nhabitually performed by Ideas. We shall be able, therefore, to speak\nof them more instructively, when more familiar with the sequence\nconsisting of Ideas antecedent, and the contraction of muscles\nconsequent.\n\nThe action of the internal organs in consequence of internal\nsensations, is proved by many familiar, as well as by many\ninteresting phenomena. The action of coughing, than which none more\nfamiliar, is the highest evidence. The sensation here, is not one of\nthose which are neglected and obscure. A violent action of the\nmuscles is its immediate consequence. Hiccup is also produced by a\nsensation in the stomach; and affords evidence definite and\ndecisive. Vomiting is another very instructive case. We {333} know\nthat it is the ultimate effect of something which produces\ndisagreeable sensations in the stomach. The sensation, indeed, in\nthis case, is not so well distinguished from others, nor so\nprecisely known, as in the case of coughing. We know, however, its\ngeneral character, and we know well the violent contraction of\nmuscles, which is the consequence of it. In connexion with this, we\nmay notice the peculiar sensations in the _Uterus_, which produce\nthe muscular actions of Parturition; some of the most violent\nbelonging to the human frame. The sensations, which are the cause of\ncramps, are commonly obscure. It is the Effect which engages all our\nattention. There is no doubt, however, that it is by an internal\nsensation, that this very painful effect is produced. A greater\nproportion of those painful muscular actions called spasms, are the\neffect of sensations; though Ideas, also, appear to be concerned in\nthe production of those which become frequent. One very remarkable\ncase, which is named the Locked Jaw, is often the result of a pain\nproduced by an external wound.\n\nNot any of our bodily functions is more important than Respiration.\nIt is a very extensive action of muscles habitually performed by\nsensation merely. The sensations, however, escape our attention to\nsuch a degree, that we lose the power of attending to them. And it\nis only by the effort we are capable of to stop Respiration, when a\npainful sensation after a time renders the action of the muscles\nirresistible, that we get a sort of conjectural knowledge of what\nthe ordinary sensation is.\n\nThere are some most important cases of the action of our internal\norgans, in consequence of sensation, in {334} which, from the\nhabitual neglect of that which never calls for our attention, both\ncause and effect, to our ordinary perception, are alike unknown.\nThat the heart is a part of the body endowed with sensation, is\nabundantly known, as often as, by a departure from its habitual\nstate, it becomes the seat of sensations other than the habitual\nsensations, to which, from habit of inattention to them, we have\nlost the power of attending. The blood cannot flow into the heart,\nwithout a sensation of the heart. The contraction of the heart is\nthe consequence of that sensation; thence the circulation of the\nblood; thence respiration, and all the trains, both of sensations,\nand of actions, which constitute the general working of the human\nmachine. In truth, the actions of the alimentary canal, necessary to\nkeep up the supply of the blood and the actions of the circulating\nsystem, which impart their action to most of the assimilating and\nsecreting organs of the human body, all taking place in sensitive\nparts, all, of course, attended by sensation, and all produced by\nsensation, constitute a system of internal sensations, numerous\nbeyond what it is easy to conceive,--some pleasurable, some\npainful,--and of all possible modifications of pain and pleasure;\nbut to which, singly, the habit of inattention is so complete, that\nit amounts to inability of attending to them.\n\nWhen they are very extensively of a pleasurable, or very extensively\nof a painful kind, they produce a general state, which often calls\nour attention; but for which, as it is a vague, indeterminate\nfeeling, we have only vague, indeterminate names: we call it a {335}\nstate of comfort or discomfort; of cheerfulness, or gloom; high\nspirits, or low spirits; and so on. The incessant motion of the\nblood, in so many sensitive tubes, in every part of the body,\nconstitutes a system of sensations pervading the whole frame; as the\ncontact of the air produces a system of sensations, pervading every\npart of the surface of our bodies, but to which our habit of\ninattention is so complete, that we are equally incapable of\nattending to them as we are of attending to the sensations produced\nin our arteries and veins, by the motion of the blood, and in the\nsecreting and absorbing vessels when excited to action.[10*]\n\n[Mill's footnote 10: \"Is there not reason to suspect, that our\nunconsciousness, in health, of the Impressions made on our organs by\nthe fluids which they contain, depends on our being accustomed to\nthe sensations which they incessantly excite; so that there remains\nbut a confused perception which in time disappears.\"--_Elements of\nPhysiology_, by A. Richerand, translated by James Copeland, M.D.,\n4th ed., p. 21.--(_Author's Note_.)]\n\nWe are rather more attentive, perhaps, to the general states\nproduced by the extensive diffusion of pleasurable or painful\nsensations in the alimentary canal, than in the channels of the\nblood, and perhaps we sometimes confound them. To some of the\nfeelings in the upper part of the canal we attend sufficiently to\ndistinguish them; the feeling called nausea, for example, in its\nnumerous modifications. To those in the other parts, unless they\namount to acute pain, we never attend, till they are so extensively\ndiffused, as to constitute a state, to which we assign the terms,\nComfort, Discomfort, or some other {336} of the vague names, by\nwhich a state made up of an indefinite number of painful or\npleasurable sensations is usually denominated. Yet we know that\nactions of great importance are the result of those unnoticed\nsensations; the secretion of the gastric juice; the secretion of the\nbile; the separation of the nutritive from the innutritive part of\nthe food; the operation of the lacteal and lymphatic vessels, and\nthat extraordinary motion called the peristaltic, which aids in\ncarrying on the contents of the bowels to the place of their\ndischarge. It is probable, that the pleasurable states of the\nalimentary canal are commonly joined, or synchronous, with\npleasurable states of the channels of the blood; and the painful\nstates, the same. That the healthy, or unhealthy state of the one,\naccompanies that of the other, we know. And that certain diseased\nstates of the circulating system, are accompanied with that general\nstate of feeling, called discomfort, or wretchedness, which implies\nthe wide diffusion of painful sensations throughout the system, is\nbut too well known to all who have experienced any modification of\nthe febrile state; nor can it be doubted, that the joyous state of\nperfect health, in which we feel delight in our being, and our whole\nframe seems to be a source of pleasure to us, is in a great degree\nproduced by the innumerable unnoticed and unnoticeable sensations,\nproduced by the motion and contact of the blood, in every part of\nour frame.\n\nWe seem authorized, therefore, by the fullest Evidence, to assume\nthat Sensation, is the mental cause, whatever the physical links, of\na great proportion of the muscular contractions of our frame; and\nthat {337} among those so produced are found some of the most\nconstant, the most remarkable, and the most important, of that grand\nclass of corporeal phenomena.\n\n2. To prove that Ideas, as well as Sensations, are the cause of\nmuscular actions, it is necessary to make choice of cases, in which\nthe Idea is in no danger of being confounded with that state of mind\ncalled the Will. And hardly any case will answer this condition,\nexcept some of those which are held to be involuntary, for the Idea\nitself never can be very clearly distinguished from the Will.\n\nThe Winking of the Eyelids, when a person moves his hand rapidly\nclose to the eyes of another person, is a familiar case of an action\nof the muscles, which we cannot prevent. The idea is that of pain,\nfrom the contact of the hand with the eye. A sudden sensation of\npain in the eye makes the eyelid close. This is the case, already\nexamined, of contraction by sensation. When this has been performed,\na number of times, the idea of pain in the eye, and the idea of the\ncontraction of the muscles, that is, of the sensations contained in\nthe contraction of the muscles, become associated together, so\nstrongly, that the one can never exist without the other. The next\nstep of the process is, that the contraction follows upon the Idea,\nin the same manner as it followed upon the sensation. This is not a\nmatter of conjecture, it is matter of fact. It is an experienced\nevent. We do not undertake to say, what physical links are between\nthe Idea and the contraction, any more than between the sensation\nand the contraction. The Idea is the last part of the mental\noperation. And as the Idea and the sensation are feelings so nearly\nalike, there is {338} no difficulty in believing that like effects\nproceed from like causes.[60]\n\n[Bain's footnote 60: The act of winking or wincing under the threat\nof a blow on the eyes is a good example of strong, and even\nindissoluble association. Any one making the experiment with an\ninfant will find that there is no original tendency to perform the\nact. It is an association generated under the impressiveness of an\nacute pain, mingled with terror; a state of things under which an\nindelible mental connexion will be established in a very small\nnumber of repetitions. As a dog that has once suffered from a burnt\ncinder will dread for ever any commotion or stirring of the fire, so\none smart in the eye will be associated with the cause in an\nindissoluble bond; and the mere sight of anything in motion towards\nthe face will induce the preventive volition.--_B._]\n\nThe origin of the sensation, and the origin of the Idea seem to be\ndifferent. The sensation originates in the extremity of the nerves\nat some particular part of the body. Something, we know not what,\nhappens at the extremity of those nerves; something, we know not\nwhat, is conveyed along the nerves to the brain; and then sensation\nexists. From the brain, in its state of sensation, something, we\nknow not what, is conveyed along the nerves to the contracting\nmuscle, and the contraction takes place. Also, from the Brain, in\nits state of Ideation, if I may here, for the sake of the analogy\nwith sensation, use a word of my own coining, something is conveyed\nalong the nerves to the contracting muscle, and the contraction\ntakes place. The sensation does not originate in the Brain; the Idea\ndoes. But if the state of the Brain when it has a sensation, and\nwhen it has the idea of that sensation, be, as we may {339}\nnaturally suppose, very nearly the same; and if the state of the\nBrain is a necessary link in the chain of antecedents and\nconsequents which terminates in the contracted muscle, the effect is\nso far accounted for.\n\nYawning is a familiar case of contraction, produced by sensation. We\nyawn without intending it; we know that we yawn in consequence of an\nantecedent state of feeling, of which, from never attending to it\nparticularly, we have no distinct Idea; but which we recognise\nsufficiently as the antecedent of the act. This act, however, we\nalso know is frequently the effect of Ideas. If we see another\nperson yawn, it rarely happens that we do not yawn along with him.\nThe act of yawning is so strongly associated with the idea of the\nfeelings which precede it, that the sight of the act by another\nperson calls up in us strongly the idea of the precedent feelings.\nThe Idea exists, and as the contraction was the effect of the\nsensation, so is it also of the Idea.\n\nThe same is the account to be rendered of the infectious power of\nconvulsions. In assemblies of men and women, especially under such a\nstate of excitement (religious enthusiasm, for instance) as implies\nthe strong association of certain trains of Ideas, if one person is\nattacked with convulsions, it commonly happens that others are\nattacked, and frequently great numbers. That this is a case of Ideas\nis certain; because nothing is conveyed to the spectators from a\nperson convulsed, but the sight of the person; and the sight can do\nnothing but excite associated Ideas. The associated Ideas exist: the\nconvulsions follow.\n\nLaughter is a curious phenomenon of human nature. The analysis of it\nis not here required. It {340} will be easily recognised as a\nremarkable instance of the production of muscular action by Ideas.\nWe laugh, either when certain ideas are suggested to us by others,\nor when they proceed from our own associations. In either case, the\nIdeas exist; the Laughter follows.\n\nSobbing and weeping, in grief, afford a similar instance. What we\ncall grief, is the existence of certain trains of Ideas. The Ideas\nexist: the weeping follows.\n\nThe swallowing of the saliva affords a good experiment. If a friend\nassures you that you cannot refrain, for the space of a minute, from\nthis act, and you are tempted to try, you are almost sure to fail.\nBy the attention fixed on the act, the ideas of the feelings, which\nprecede the act, are so strongly called up by association, that the\nact follows of course.[61]\n\n[Bain's footnote 61: This is a pure example of the \"fixed idea,\" or\nof the tendency to work out into full actuality whatever is strongly\npresented in idea. The case also shows this power in conflict with\nthe Will; we are supposed to be trying hard to prevent the act\n(which is volition), and yet there is, in the intense possession of\nan idea, a power greater than the will. The fact of being strongly\nexcited to avoid swallowing the saliva, increases the force of the\nidea of swallowing it, and makes that idea almost omnipotent to work\nitself out. The same baffling of the will, the making it recoil upon\nitself, is shown in our attempt to forget or banish a painful idea.\nThe more intensely we will to forget the idea, the more do we stamp\nit on the mind, through the excitement engendered by the\nvolition.--_B._]\n\nThere are many acts of familiar occurrence to shew, that those\nactions of our organs which are the most {341} habitually produced\nby sensations, are capable of being strongly modified by Ideas. The\neffect of Fear, for example, on the action of the heart, is known to\nbe very remarkable. So it is on the action of the bowels, of the\nkidneys, and of the skin. One of its effects is perspiration;\nanother, paleness: another, cold.[11*]\n\n[Mill's footnote 11: The operation of Ideas on the internal parts of\nthe body is so familiar, that we meet everywhere with pleasant\nstories of it. Zachary Gray, in one of his notes on Butler's\nHudibras, alluding to the story of the countryman, who, receiving a\nprescription from the doctor, and being told by him to take that,\nswallowed the paper, asks, \"And why might not this operate upon a\nstrong imagination, as well as the ugly parson, the very sight of\nwhom in a morning (Oldham's Remains) would work beyond Jalap or\nRhubarb; and a Doctor prescribed him to one of his patients as a\nremedy against costiveness: Or what is mentioned by Dr. Daniel\nTurner (De Morbis Cutaneis), that the bare imagination of a purging\npotion has wrought such an alteration in sundry persons, as to bring\non several stools like those they call physical; and he mentions a\nyoung gentleman, his patient, who having occasion to take many\nvomits, had such an antipathy to them, that ever after he would\nvomit as strongly by the force of imagination, by the bare sight of\nthe emetic bolus, as most could do by medicine. The application of a\nclyster-pipe, without the clyster, has had the same effect upon\nothers.\"--(_Author's Note_.)]\n\nThe cases which we have just adduced, of yawning, and contagious\nconvulsions, may be regarded as belonging to an extensive class;\nwhich obtains the general name of Imitation. There is more or less\nof a propensity to Imitation in all men, that is, to perform the act\nwhich we see another man performing. In most children the propensity\nis very strong; and {342} to it they owe much of the celerity with\nwhich they make certain acquirements; to that of imitating sounds,\nfor example, the celerity with which they learn to speak. The\npropensity to imitate musical sounds so adheres to persons of a\nmusical ear, even in mature age, that they can scarcely forbear\nhumming every tune which they hear. Children learn to stutter and to\nsquint, from imitation of their companions. We know how universally\nit happens that young persons acquire the manner and the air of\nthose with whom they habitually live. These are cases not only of\naction, but of habits of action, produced by the agency of Ideas. It\nrequires only cases of strong association to produce analogous\neffects, at all periods of life. \"When we see a stroke,\" says Mr.\nSmith, \"aimed and just ready to fall upon the leg or arm of another\nperson, we naturally shrink and draw back our own leg, or our own\narm. The mob, when they are gazing at a dancer on the slack rope,\nnaturally writhe and twist, and balance their own bodies as they see\nhim do. Persons of delicate fibres and a weak constitution of body,\ncomplain, that in looking on the sores and ulcers which are exposed\nby beggars in the streets, they are apt to feel an itching or uneasy\nsensation in the correspondent part of their own bodies. Men of the\nmost robust make, observe, that in looking upon sore eyes, they\noften feel a very sensible soreness in their own.\" There are few\npersons who do not put on a cheerful countenance, upon the sight of\nthe cheerful countenances of their friends; still fewer whose\ncountenance is not made sorrowful by sight of the sorrowful\ncountenances of their friends. It is well known, that Tears are\ncontagious; and upon {343} this some well-known rules for the\ncountenance both of the orator and the actor are prescribed. It is\nnot necessary further to accumulate instances of this description;\nnor further to enter into the analysis of them, than to remark, that\nthe action, the idea of which is conveyed to us by what we thus hear\nor see, calls up, by association, the idea of the feelings which\nprecede the action. The Idea of the feelings exists, and the action\nfollows.\n\nThere is a case of the action of the muscles which requires\nparticular attention; that in which we _learn_ to make use of them;\nin which we acquire what we call command over them only by degrees.\nThere is more or less, probably, of this process in all the sorts of\nmuscular action which are not performed originally by sensation; and\nthe process seems to be longer or shorter according as the number of\nmuscles, which must act together in order to the production of the\neffect, is greater or less. We know how slowly the child acquires\nthe power of so balancing his body as to hold it erect. To this\nEffect the action of a great number of muscles is required. Yet,\nbefore the age at which reflection begins, the power is so\ncompletely acquired, that the mental process escapes our attention.\nTo be erect, seems the posture into which our body puts itself of\nits own accord. There are circumstances, however, in which we become\ndistinctly conscious of the powerful effort, which is required for\nthat purpose, though, from its being habitual, we are in ordinary\ncircumstances wholly insensible of it. If we allow sleep to come\nupon us, while we are in an erect posture, so far, that the ideas\nwhich maintain the muscular action begin to give way, we have {344}\nimmediately the sensation of falling, and a strong perception of the\neffort required to keep the body erect.\n\nWe observe how slowly the child learns to perform, with the\nrequisite precision, the contractions on which the operation of\nwalking depends. And every man can remember the difficulty with\nwhich he has learned to perform any new combination of contractions.\nWhoever has learned to dance, knows how imperfectly, till after a\nmultitude of repetitions, he performed the simplest steps. Whoever\nhas been drilled, as they call it; that is, trained to perform with\nthe firelock the acts required of the soldier, knows with what\ndifficulty, each of them, however simple, was originally performed.\n\nThere is another very familiar instance, that of learning to write.\nMost men can remember, when they began this process, how imperfectly\nthe hand obeyed them; and how awkwardly they made even the simple\nstrokes. Every man can make the experiment with his left hand. After\nthe habit of performing with the right hand is completely attained,\nhe is almost unable to form a letter with the left. The cases of\nthis incapacity of the left hand to perform the acts which we\nperform habitually with the right are innumerable; and afford\ndecisive illustration of the great fact which is now the subject of\nour attention. To perform the contractions of a number of muscles,\nthe contractions of all of which must be combined in the action, the\nidea whereon each of the contractions depends must previously exist,\nand in the requisite order. That is to say, a certain association of\nIdeas must be performed. But we know, that no new {345} association\nof Ideas is easily or steadily performed. This is the effect of\nRepetition. As soon as the association of the ideas is completely\nestablished by repetition, the process, both bodily and mental, goes\non with ease; and where the habit is great, with so much ease, as\neven to escape attention. The process of learning to play on a\nmusical instrument is slow and difficult. By habit the associations\nbecome so close, that an expert performer can execute the most\ndifficult pieces, and carry on another and even an intricate process\nof thought at the same time.\n\nHow slowly, and with how much difficulty do children acquire command\nover the organs of speech? And how totally without effort on our\npart in after life does the sound appear immediately to cling to the\nIdea of the word? Yet, in learning the new sounds of a foreign\nlanguage we become abundantly sensible of the difficulty, sometimes\naltogether insurmountable, of performing the precise combination of\ncontractions which a particular sound requires.\n\nIt seems to be established, therefore, by an ample induction, that\nmuscular actions follow ideas, as invariable antecedent and\nconsequent, in other words, as cause and effect; that whenever we\nhave obtained a command over the ideas, we have also obtained a\ncommand over the motions; and that we cannot perform associate\ncontractions of several muscles, till we have established by\nrepetition, the ready association of the Ideas.\n\nI believe that nothing more need be said for the establishing of\nthese truths. I shall adduce a few more instances, chiefly with the\nview to familiarize my readers with the mode of applying to this\n{346} interesting class of facts, the principles with which they are\nnow fully acquainted.\n\nThere is no part of the body with the use of which we are so\nperfectly familiar as the hand. There are no actions, of the sort at\nleast to which we are attentive, the repetition of which is so\nincessant. Of course, the associations of the ideas corresponding to\nthe associate contractions of the muscles which produce the various\nmovements or actions of the hand, are formed in the most perfect\nmanner; and we never have the Ideas, as antecedent, without the\nmovement as consequent. This inseparable connexion between the\nIdeas, and the contractions, which we call the Power of the Will, is\ngradually formed. At first the hand of the infant is moved by\nsensations. If the inside of the hand is touched, so at least as to\nmake the sensation considerable, the fingers bend; and perform more\nor less of the act of grasping. Here is a train of events. First,\nthe sensation of touch, from the application of the external object;\nnext, an influence from the seat of the sensation in the brain,\ntransmitted along the nerves of certain muscles; then the\ncontraction of the muscles, with the various sensations which the\naction upon those organs, and the action excited in them, imply.\nWhen the sensation has been often repeated, in conjunction with its\neffect, the Idea of the sensation becomes familiar and distinct; and\ncapable of producing many of the effects which the sensation itself\nproduces. It is also closely associated with the idea of the motion,\nand all its accompanying sensations as the effect; and the chain of\nantecedents and consequents proceeds in uninterrupted order.\n\n{347} As similar instances of motions, at first produced by\nsensations, afterwards by ides, we may adduce the remarkable cases\nof the sphincters of the bladder and _anus_. At first, children\nperform their evacuations, as they sneeze and cough, when the\nsensations excite them. Afterwards, they learn, but by slow degrees,\nto bring them under the command of ideas. There is no case, however,\nwhich affords more decisive evidence of the power of ideas over the\nactions of particular parts, than those which are called Amatory;\nbecause the effects, which are produced by the Ideas, cannot be\nproduced by the will.\n\nThere is another set of cases, which deserve attention; those in\nwhich the ideas which are followed by the action of certain muscles,\nacquire associations with other sensations or Ideas which call them\nup, and thence give action to the muscles, upon very inconvenient\noccasions. A woman who has accustomed herself to scream out, upon\nevery sudden idea of the slightest danger, cannot abstain from\nscreaming. The awkward motions, for which some, even eminent, men\nhave been remarkable, Dr. Johnson, for instance, are completely\nexplained by this principle. The ideas, whence the motions proceed,\nhave become associated, in ways which can seldom be traced, with\nsensations, or ideas of frequent recurrence. And hence are the\nmotions frequently produced.\n\nThere are equally remarkable cases, in which the associations,\nnecessary to produce the idea on which the muscular actions depend,\nare prevented by other associations more powerful. Men admitted to\nthe presence of a great personage have found themselves wholly\nunable to articulate a word. The Ideas of {348} Power and Dignity,\nwith all their associates of terror and of hope, were called up in\nsuch irresistible association by the presence of him who was clothed\nwith them; that the ideas necessary to the articulation of words\nwere excluded, and the power of speaking was lost.\n\nWe have now established, by an ample Induction, that the action of\nmuscles follows, as an effect its cause; first, upon sensations;\nsecondly, upon Ideas. The language which Professor Stewart has\napplied to a similar case, is perfectly applicable here. \"It may,\nindeed, be said, that these observations only prove the possibility,\nthat our muscular contractions may be all performed by sensations\nand Ideas. But, if this be admitted, nothing more can well be\nrequired; for, surely, if these phenomena are clearly explicable,\nfrom the known and acknowledged laws of the human mind, it would be\nunphilosophical to devise a new principle, on purpose to account for\nthem.\"[12*]\n\n[Mill's footnote 12: Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind.\nChap. ii.]\n\nI believe, indeed, that this conclusion is not at variance with the\ncommon belief upon the subject. It appears to me to be not\ninconsistent with the language of the advocates for what is called\nthe Freedom of the Will, to admit, that the action of the muscle\ntakes place in consequence of the Idea; and that our power of\nwilling consists in the power of calling into existence the\nappropriate Idea; that the power of the will is not immediate over\nthe muscle, but over the Idea.\n\nThe following observations of Dr. Reid, though not remarkable for\ntheir precision, seem fully to justify this Inference.\n\n{349} \"_First_, every act of will must have an object. He that\nwills, must will something; and that which he wills is called the\nobject of his volition. As a man cannot think without thinking of\nsomething, nor remember without remembering something, so neither\ncan he will without willing something. Every act of will, therefore,\nmust have an object; and the person who wills must have some\nconception, more or less distinct of what he wills.\n\n\"A _second_ observation is, that the immediate object of will must\nbe some action of our own.\"\n\nThere are two assertions here which demand our attention; 1, that\nwhat is willed is an action of our own; 2, that to such will a\nconception, that is, an Idea, more or less distinct, of this action\nof ours, is indispensable.\n\nHe adduces some particulars, in illustration, which impart something\nmore of precision to his meaning.\n\n\"A healthy child, some hours after its birth, feels the sensation of\nhunger, and, if applied to the breast, sucks and swallows its food\nvery perfectly. We have no reason to think, that before it ever\nsucked, it has any conception of that complex operation, or how it\nis performed. It cannot, therefore, with propriety, be said that it\nwills to suck.\" It appears, from this example, that the muscular\nactions, which are performed by Sensation, Dr. Reid distinguishes\nfrom those, which he calls voluntary; that he denominates voluntary,\nthose only which are performed by Ideas. It also appears fully, from\nthe example, that the Idea of the action willed, which he considers\nthe foundation of volition, must, in all cases, be subsequent to the\nperformance of the act by Sensation; in other {350} words, that the\nidea cannot exist but in consequence of the sensation.\n\nWhat has yet been advanced, however, is not a full explanation of\nthe subject. For, after it is admitted that the motion of the\nmuscles is, in all cases, the immediate effect of the appropriate\nIdea, there is still one class which all men agree to call\ninvoluntary; another which many contend are voluntary. It now\nremains that we inquire wherein the difference consists.\n\nThere is one point which is established by the mere statement, and\nwhich goes a certain way towards the solution of the question. Since\nthe action of the muscles follows upon the existence of the Idea,\nwhatever calls up the Idea produces the action. The Question, then,\nmay be resolved into these two: In what manner is the Idea called up\nin cases called involuntary? In what manner is it called up in those\ncalled voluntary?\n\nIn the cases called not voluntary, I doubt not, it will be easily\nadmitted, that the Idea is raised in the way of ordinary\nassociation, by a preceding Sensation, or Idea. In the yawning which\nproceeds from the sight of another person yawning, the idea is\ncalled up by a Sensation. In the laughter which is excited either by\nideas suggested to us from without, or ideas which spring up in our\nassociated trains, the idea which is proximate to the muscular\naction is, of course, called up by an Idea.\n\nThere appears no circumstance by which the cases called voluntary\nare distinguished from the involuntary, except that in the voluntary\nthere exists a Desire. Shedding tears at the hearing of a tragic\nstory, we do not desire to weep: laughing at the recital {351} of a\ncomic story, we do not desire to laugh.[62] But when we elevate the\narm to ward off a blow, we desire to lift the arm; when we turn the\nhead to look at some attractive object, we desire to move the head.\nI believe that no case of voluntary action can be mentioned, in\nwhich it would not be an appropriate expression, to call the action\ndesired.\n\n[Bain's footnote 62: These are emotional and not volitional\nmanifestations. They are the natural signs, expression, or\nembodiment of a feeling, as feeling, and apart from the power to\nmove the will, which is a separate fact.--_B._]\n\nWe have already examined the meaning of the word Desire. We have\nseen that it is applied to pleasurable sensations; to exemption from\npainful sensations; and to the causes of them. We have also seen,\nand to the present purpose this is a point of great importance, that\nwhen the word desire is applied, to the cause of a sensation, or of\nan exemption from a sensation, it is employed in a figurative, or\nmetaphorical, not in a direct sense. Few of our actions can be\ncalled pleasurable sensations; or exemption from painful; in\npropriety of language perhaps none. Our actions are causes of those\ntwo classes of events; and on that account are called, but only in a\nmetaphorical sense, objects of desire.\n\nIn a voluntary action, then, we recognise two Ideas; first, the idea\nof the sensation or exemption, which two, for shortness, we shall\ncall by one name, Pleasure; secondly, the idea of an action of our\nown as the cause of the pleasure. It is also easy to see how the\nIdea of a pleasure should excite the Idea of the action which is the\ncause of it; and how, when the Idea exists, the action should\nfollow.\n\n{352} We have seen, that the idea of a pleasure, as effect,\nassociated with the Idea of an act of our own, as its cause, is one\nof the cases of motive. In the preceding paragraph it seems also to\nbe one of the cases of will. It may then be asked, if the will is,\nor is not, anything different from the motive?\n\nThe course pursued by the mind in devising and executing a train of\nmeans for the accomplishment of an end, has been often described.\nThe End; that is, the advantage or pleasure desired; is the first\nthing in the contemplation of the mind; the step nearest to the end\nin the process of attainment, is the second; the step immediately\npreceding that is the third; and so on, to the step at which the\nprocess of execution must begin. Thus, suppose the pleasure of\nliving in a handsome house is the end; the apartments, and\nfurniture, and accommodations of such a mansion is the nearest step;\nthe one immediately preceding that is the building and furnishing\nit; the one preceding that, the employing an architect and\nupholsterer; the one preceding that, the finding the money. Such is\nthe order in which the mind proceeds from the primary conception of\nthe End through the requisite series of means. The order of\nexecution is directly the reverse. It begins where the other ends,\nand ends where the other begins. If the person we have supposed\nproceeds to the execution of his plan, his first step is, to find\nthe money, his next to provide the architect, and so on from step to\nstep, till he places himself in the pleasurable situation he\noriginally contemplated.\n\nThere is this double operation in what we may call the formation and\nexecution of motives. The first association starts from the\npleasure. The idea of the {353} pleasure is associated with its\nimmediate cause, that cause with its cause, and so on, till it\nreaches that act of ours which is the opposite end of the train. The\nprocess may stop here, and in that case the motive does not excite\nto action. If it excites to action, the process is exactly reversed.\nIn the first process of association, the pleasure was the first link\nin the chain, the action the last; in the second process, the action\nis the first, the pleasure the last. When the first process only is\nperformed, the association is called MOTIVE. When the second is\nperformed it is called WILL.\n\nA difficulty, however, presents itself. The first process terminates\nin an Idea of the action. The second process commences with an idea\nof the action. The Idea of the action is thus excited twice. But the\nfirst time it is not followed by the action; the second time it is.\nHow is this to be reconciled with the supposed constancy of\nconnexion between the muscular action and the Idea which produces\nit? The difficulty is solved by observing, that the phrase, \"Idea of\nthe action,\" has two meanings. There are two Ideas, very different\nfrom one another, to both of which we give the name, \"Idea of the\naction.\" Of these Ideas, one is the outward appearance of the\naction, and is always a very obvious Idea. The other is the copy of\nthose internal sensations which originally called the muscles into\naction, to which, from habit of not attending to them, we have lost\nthe power of attending. This last is by no means an obvious Idea.\nAnd the mind passes from it so quickly, intent upon the action which\nis its result, that it is almost always swallowed up in the mass of\nassociation. It constitutes, in fact, one of the most remarkable\n{354} instances of that class of links in a chain, which, how\nimportant soever to the existence of the chain, are passed over so\nrapidly, that the existence of them is hardly ever recognised.\n\nThis last Idea alone, is that upon which the contraction of the\nmuscle is consequent. In the process of association which we call\nthe motive, as described above, the first of the two above-mentioned\nideas of the action, that of its outward appearance, is the idea\nexcited. If the association stops there, the motive is inoperative;\nif the association does not stop there, but the idea of the outward\nappearance of the action, calls up that other, the idea of the\ninternal feelings of the action, the motive is then operative, and\nwe are said TO WILL.\n\nIf we are asked, how an Idea, as that of the outward appearance of\nan act, should at one time excite an idea, as that of the internal\nfeelings of the act, at another time not excite it, we can only\nrefer to the laws of association, as far as they have been\nascertained. We know there are certain cases of association, so\nstrong, that the one Idea never exists without calling up the other.\nWe know there are other cases in which an Idea sometimes does, and\nsometimes does not, call up such or such an Idea. Sometimes it is\neasy to trace the cause of this variety; sometimes difficult.[63]\n\n[Editor's footnote 63: This analysis of the power of the Will over\nmuscular action is substantially that of Hartley, though more\nclearly and forcibly stated, and more amply illustrated. In the\nfield of mental philosophy this is the point at which Hartley\napproached nearest to the most advanced thoughts of his successors,\nand left least for them to do beyond the task of commentators and\ndefenders.\n\nThe doctrine of Hartley on the Will may be summed up in the\nfollowing propositions. 1. All our voluntary movements were\noriginally automatic: meaning by automatic, involuntary, and excited\ndirectly by sensations. 2. When a sensation has the power of\nexciting a given muscular action, the idea of that sensation, if\nsufficiently vivid, will excite it likewise. 3. The idea of the\nsensation which excites an automatic action of the muscles, persists\nduring the action, and becomes associated with it by contiguity, in\nsuch a manner as to be itself, in its turn, excited by any vividly\nrecalled idea of the muscular act. 4. The following is what takes\nplace in voluntary motion. The idea of the end we desire, excites by\nassociation the idea of the muscular act which would procure it for\nus. The idea of this muscular act excites, by association, the idea\nof the sensation which originally excited the same muscular action\nautomatically. And lastly, the idea of this sensation excites the\naction, as the sensation itself would have done. 5. These\nassociations being formed gradually, and progressively strengthened\nby repetition, this gives us the explanation of the gradual and slow\nprocess whereby we gain what is called command of our muscles; i.e.\nthe process by which the actions, originally produced automatically\nby sensations, come to be produced, and at last, to be easily and\nrapidly produced, by the ideas of the different pleasurable ends to\nwhich those muscular actions are the means. 6. In this chain of\nassociation, as is so often the case in chains of association, the\nlinks which are no otherwise interesting to us than by introducing\nother links, gradually drop out of consciousness, being, after many\nrepetitions, either forgotten as soon as felt, or altogether thrown\nout; the latter being the supposition which Hartley apparently\nfavours. The link that consists in the idea of the internal\nsensations which excited the muscular action when it was still\nautomatic, being the least interesting part of the whole series, is\nprobably the first which we cease to be aware of. When the\nsuccession of the ideas has become, by frequent repetition,\nextremely prompt, rapid, and certain, another link tends to\ndisappear, namely, the ideas of the muscular feelings that accompany\nthe act. A practised player, for example, on a keyed instrument,\nbecomes less and less conscious of the motions of his fingers, until\nthere at last remains nothing in his consciousness to shew that the\nmuscular acts do not arise without any intermediate links, from the\npurpose, i.e. the idea in his mind, which made him begin playing. At\nthis stage the muscular motion, which, from automatic, had become\nvoluntary, has become, from voluntary, what, in Hartley's\nphraseology, is called secondarily automatic; and it seems to be his\nopinion that the ideas which have disappeared from consciousness, or\nat all events from memory, have not been (as maintained by Stewart)\ncalled up, and immediately afterwards forgotten, but have ceased to\nbe called up; being, as it were, leapt over by the rapidity with\nwhich the succeeding links rush into consciousness.\n\nThis theory, as we have seen, is adopted, and more fully worked out,\nby the author of the Analysis. He proves, by many examples, that\nsensations excite muscular actions; that ideas excite muscular\nactions; and that, when a sensation has power to excite a particular\nmuscular action, the idea of the sensation tends to do the same. It\nis true that many, if not most, of what he presents as instances of\nmuscular action excited by sensations, are cases in which both the\nsensation and the muscular action are probably joint effects of a\nphysical cause, a stimulus acting on the nerves. This\nmisapprehension by the author reaches its extreme point when he\ndeclares traumatic tetanus to be produced not by the wound but by\nthe pain of the wound; and cramps to be produced by sensations,\ninstead of merely producing them. But the error is quite immaterial\nto the theory of the Will; the two suppositions being equivalent, as\na foundation for the power which the idea of the muscular sensation\nacquires over the muscular action. Whether the sensation is the\ncause of the automatic action, or its effect, or a joint effect of\nthe cause which produces it--on all these hypotheses the sensation\nand the action are conjoined in such a manner, as to form so close\nan association by contiguity that the idea of the sensation becomes\ncapable of exciting the action. This being conceded, it follows, by\nthe ordinary laws of association, that whatever recals the idea of\nthe sensation, tends, through the idea, to produce the action.\n\nNow, there is nothing so closely associated with the idea of the\nmuscular sensation, as the idea of the muscular act itself, such as\nit appears to outward observation. Whatever, therefore, calls up\nstrongly the idea of the act, is likely to call up the idea of the\naccompanying muscular sensation, and so produce the act. But the\nidea of the act is called up strongly by anything which makes us\ndesire to perform it; that is, by an association between it as a\nmeans, and any coveted pleasure as an end. The act is thus produced\nby our desire of the end; that is (according to the author's theory\nof desire) by our idea of the end, when pleasurable; which, if an\nend, it must be. The pleasurable association may be carried over\nfrom the ultimate end to the idea of the muscular act, through any\nnumber of intermediate links, consisting of the successive\noperations, probably in themselves indifferent, by which the end has\nto be compassed; but this transfer is strictly conformable to the\nlaws of association. When the pleasurable association has reached\nthe muscular act itself, and has caused it to be desired, the series\nof effects terminates in the production of the act. What has now\nbeen described is, in the opinion of the author, the whole of what\ntakes place in any voluntary action of the muscles. At the close of\nthe chapter we shall consider whether there is any part of the\nfacts, for which this theory does not sufficiently account.--_Ed._]\n\n{355} II. But even when it is admitted that all muscular contraction\nis the effect of association, in the way we have described, there\nare other {356} phenomena to be accounted for. We may still be\nreasonably called upon to explain the power which the mind appears\nto possess over its associations. There is a {357} distinction in\nthe trains of the mind which is observed by every body. Some trains,\nas those in dreams, in delirium, in frenzy, are supposed to proceed\naccording {358} to the established laws of association without any\ndirection from the mind. Other trains; a piece of reasoning, for\nexample; any process of thought, directed to an end; are considered\nas wholly under the guidance of the mind. The guidance of the mind\nis but another name for the will. And thus it is inferred that the\nwill is not association, but something which controuls association.\n\nWe now proceed to the solution of this difficulty. It can be\nsupposed that the will controuls association, in only one of two\nways; either, by calling up an Idea, independently of association;\nor, by making an Idea call up, not the Idea which would follow it\nspontaneously, but some other Idea.\n\nThe first supposition, that an Idea can be called up by the will,\nis relinquished by the common consent of philosophers.\n\nWe cannot will without willing something; and in willing we must\nhave an Idea of the thing willed. If we will an Idea, therefore, we\nmust have the Idea. The Idea does not remain to be called up. It is\ncalled up already. To say that we will to have an Idea, when we\nalready have it, is a mere absurdity.[64]\n\n[Bain's footnote 64: What we have in mind when we will to remember\nanything, is of course not the thing to be remembered, but some\ncollateral, or something to determine our search for it. We will to\nremember an opinion found in a certain book. We have not in our mind\nthe actual opinion sought; what we have in mind is the book, and\nportion of the book, and the subject that the opinion refers to; and\nwe desiderate the filling up of the blank in our present ideas. We\nwill to remember the Greek name of the god, called by the Romans,\nBacchus. We have in mind the name Bacchus, and the knowledge that\nthe Greeks had a different name for the god; we have not in our mind\nthat name; and we put forth an effort of recollection to arrive at\nit.--_B._]\n\n{359} The second supposition is, that will can prevent an Idea from\ncalling up one idea, make it call up another; prevent its calling up\nthe Idea which would have followed it spontaneously, make it call up\nthe Idea which the mind is in quest of.\n\nThe first question is, how the will, or the mind willing, can\nprevent an Idea from calling up another. We know that this is wholly\nimpossible in all those cases in which the association is strong. We\ncannot think of colour without thinking of extension; we cannot\nthink of the word bread without thinking of its meaning. It can be\nsupposed that we have such power in those cases only in which an\nIdea has not an inseparable association with the idea in question,\nbut only such an association with it as it has with many others. But\nhow is it that we can hinder an idea which has those associations,\nfrom calling up any of the ideas with which it is associated? How\ncan we foresee which of those ideas it will call up? And, if we do\nforesee that it will call up the idea which we desire to avoid, it\nfollows that the Idea is already in our mind. There seems,\ntherefore, the same incongruity in the supposition that the will can\ndirectly prevent, as that it can directly produce, an idea.\n\nIf the mind, then, possesses any power over its trains, it seems to\nbe confined to its power of making {360} an idea call up other ideas\nthan those which it would spontaneously excite. And if it possesses\nthis power, it possesses that also of excluding ideas which would\notherwise exist; since a new train of associations must take its\norigin from the state of consciousness thus produced. It is,\ntherefore, in this, if in any thing, that the power of willing\nconsists.\n\nWe are, however, immediately encountered by the question. If the\nmind cannot will an Idea, what power does it possess of introducing\nany idea into a train, but such as comes of its own accord? If it\nhas the idea, it is in the train already. If it has it not, what can\nit do in order to obtain it? There is the existing train; but how\ncan that be made any thing but what it is; or have any associations\nbut those which are already established?\n\nIn cases where language is too imperfect to ensure the conveyance of\ndefinite ideas, there is an advantage in particular instances. There\nare two familiar processes, which are commonly adduced as examples\nof the power which the mind exercises over its trains. The one is,\nthe endeavour to recollect something we do not remember. The other\nis, the process of attention.\n\nWhen anything is remembered, the idea of the thing is always in the\nmind along with certain associations. In recollection, therefore,\nthe object is attained by the excitement of this idea. Sometimes the\neffort which we make is successful; sometimes it is not. We are said\nto will to recollect; but this is obviously an improper expression.\nTo recollect is to call up an Idea. But this, as we have seen\nalready, is not within the province of will. When it is said {361}\nthat we will to recollect, the meaning only is, that we desire to\nrecollect.\n\nBut it is also to be inquired, what here is the meaning of the word\nDesire. We have seen that it is a term applied to Pleasure, or the\nCause of Pleasure. The idea, in this instance, which the mind is in\nquest of, is desired. But why desired? As Pleasure; or the Cause of\nPleasure? As Cause, we may reply, in all instances. The idea is\nwanted for some purpose or end. In that End the pleasure is\ninvolved.\n\nThe End is thus a pleasurable, that is, an interesting, Idea. But it\nis in the character of interesting ideas, to dwell in the mind. The\nmeaning is, that they are easily called up by other ideas; and,\nthus, that there is a perpetual recurrence of them. A young man in\nlove, is said to be engrossed with the idea of his mistress. No\nsooner has her idea suggested another idea, that is, given place to\nit, than her idea is again suggested by another, and so on,\ncontinually. The man, who is to be executed to-morrow, can think of\nnothing but the terrible event which is approaching. It can be\nbanished, hardly for an instant. Every thing serves to recall it:\nand along with it a rush of ideas of the most painful description.\nThere is no law of association more remarkable than that of the\nrapidity with which pleasurable and painful ideas call up trains of\ngreat complexity, and the facility with which they themselves are\nexcited by almost every idea which enters the mind.\n\nWhen we endeavour, therefore, to recollect any thing, the\npleasurable idea, the purpose or end, predominates in the mind, and\ngives birth to those {362} associations, which are called the effort\nof recollection. The idea sought after, is sought as a means to this\nend. Till that idea is recalled, the Idea of the end, that is, an\nunsatisfied desire, exists, and calls up one circumstance after\nanother, more or less connected with the Idea which is sought after.\nIf these circumstances do not recall the idea; the feeling of\nunsatisfied desire still continues. The feeling of unsatisfied\ndesire, accompanying successive cases of association, constitutes\nthe feeling to which we give the name of effort of recollection. And\nthe Idea of the End, perpetually calling up the idea of the absence\nof what is wanted, as the means to that end, and hence calling up in\nclose association every circumstance connected with that unknown\nsomething, constitutes the feeling which we call casting about, for\nthe unknown Idea. I believe that this is a full, though summary\naccount of the mental process, or succession of ideas, which takes\nplace when we endeavour to recall a forgotten idea.\n\nThe other process, through which the mind is supposed to influence\nits trains, is Attention. We seem to have the power of attending, or\nnot attending to any object; by which is meant, that we can Will to\nattend to it, or not to attend. By attending to an object, we give\nit the opportunity of exciting all the ideas with which it is\nassociated. By not attending to it we deprive it of more or less of\nthat opportunity. And if the will has this power over every idea in\na train, it has thence a power, which may be called unlimited, over\nthe train.\n\nWhat remains, therefore, to complete this inquiry, is, to point out\nthe real process, on which the name {363} ATTENTION is in this\nmanner bestowed. The exposition has been substantially given by\npreceding writers. But it is desirable, if it be in our power, to set\nforth the several steps of the process a little more distinctly than\nhas hitherto been done.\n\nAt first sight, the objects of attention seem to be infinite. When\ntraced to their sources, however, it is found, that they are of two\nspecies only. We attend to Sensations; we attend to Ideas; and there\nis no other object of our attention.\n\nFor the present purpose, it is peculiarly necessary to bear in mind\nthe important distinction we have already noticed, between the class\nof indifferent sensations, and the class of pleasurable or painful,\nwhich we may call, by one name, interesting, sensations.\nUninteresting sensations are never, for their own sakes, an object\nof attention. If ever they become objects of attention, it is when\nthey are considered as causes, or signs, of interesting sensations.\n\nA painful or a pleasurable sensation is a peculiar state of mind. A\nman knows it, only by having it; and it is impossible that by words\nhe can convey his feeling to others. The effort, however, to convey\nthe idea of it, has given occasion to various forms of expression,\nall of which are greatly imperfect. The state of mind under a\npleasurable or painful sensation is such, that we say, the sensation\nengrosses the mind; but this really means no more than that it is a\npainful or pleasurable sensation; and that such a sensation is a\nstate of mind very different from an indifferent sensation. The\nphrase, engrossing the mind, is sometimes exchanged for the word\nAttention. A pleasurable or painful sensation is said to fix the\n{364} Attention of the Mind. But if any man tries to satisfy himself\nwhat it is to have a painful sensation, and what it is to attend to\nit, he will find little means of distinguishing them. Having a\npleasurable or painful sensation, and attending to it, seem not to\nbe two things, but one and the same thing. The feeling a pain is\nattending to it; and attending to it is feeling it. The feeling is\nnot one thing, the attention another; the feeling and the attention\nare the same thing.\n\nAn objector may appeal to certain cases, in which one sensation of\nthe pleasurable or painful kind seems to be swallowed up, as it\nwere, by another. Thus, in the agony of the gout, or toothache, the\nuneasiness of some local cutaneous inflammation is hardly perceived.\nThe case here is that of two uneasy sensations, one slight; the\nother intense. According to the supposition, that attention is but a\nname given to the having of an interesting sensation, what ought to\nhappen in this case is that precisely which does happen. The\nstronger sensation is, the stronger attention. And that the feebler\nsensation merges itself in the stronger, and is lost in it, is\nmatter of common and obvious experience. Thus we are every instant,\nas long as we are awake, shutting and opening our eyelids. We are,\ntherefore, alternately in light and darkness. But as the light is\nthe stronger sensation of the two, we have the sensation of light\nwithout interruption. Thus, too, if a stick ignited at one end is\nrapidly turned round in a circle, though it is obvious that the\nignited object is at only one part of the circle at a time, and all\nthe other parts are in darkness, the circle, nevertheless, assumes\nthe {365} appearance of being wholly ignited. There is not a more\nstriking exemplification of this law than what is exhibited by the\ncomparison of our sleeping and waking thoughts. In dreams, when our\ntrains are composed of Ideas, unmixed with sensations, the Ideas\nhave so much vividness as to be taken for sensations.[65] In our\nwaking trains, sensations and ideas are mixed together; but as each\nsensation introduces many ideas, however numerous the sensations may\nbe, the ideas are many times more numerous. Yet such is the effect\nof the more vivid to obscure the less vivid feeling, that our day\ndoes not appear a day of ideas, but a day of sensations.\n\n[Bain's footnote 65: The author makes frequent reference to dreams,\nbut it may be doubted whether he has seized the explanation of that\nobscure phenomenon. It is an approximately correct statement of one\ncircumstance of dreams, that the Ideas are unmixed with sensations;\nin a sound slumber, we are inaccessible to the sensations of the\nfive senses. We are not equally fortified against the organic\nsensations, as those of digestion and other functions. The\nsensations absent are a very important class, as regards objective\nor outward reality; and it is probably their absence, as competitors\non this ground, that allows the ideas to swell out into an unnatural\nand illusory prominence, as if they alone were the full reality.\nThis is a more probable account of the illusion, than the\ncircumstance given in the text, \"the greater vividness\" of the\nmonopolising Ideas, although that too is a fact, and may tend in the\nsame direction.--_B._]\n\nThere are cases in which the effect which is thus produced by a\nstronger sensation with respect to a weaker, or by sensations with\nrespect to ideas, is also produced by one idea with respect to\nanother. Innumerable cases can be adduced to prove, and, {366}\nindeed, it forms one of the great features of what we call the\nintellectual nature of man, that Ideas, by their accumulation, are\ncapable of acquiring a power, superior to that of sensations, both\nas pleasure and as pain. The pleasures of Taste, the pleasures of\nIntellectual exertion, the pleasures of Virtue, acquire when duly\ncultivated, a power of controlling the solicitations of appetite,\nand are esteemed a more valuable constituent of happiness than all\nthat sense can immediately bestow.\n\nOn the power of ideas, as the stronger feelings, to swallow up\nsensations, in the same manner as stronger sensations swallow up the\nweaker, some decisive experiments have been made. The wretches who,\nnearly a century ago, were made tools of in France, under the title\nof _convulsionnaires_, to carry on the purposes of Fanaticism, were\nso placed under the dominion of certain ideas, being persons of weak\nintellects and strong imagination, and operated upon by men skilled\nin the ways of perverting feeble understandings, that the ideas\nbecame feelings far more potent than the sensations; and when the\nbodies of the frenzied creatures were subjected to operations\ncalculated to produce the most intense sufferings, they denied that\nthey felt any thing, and by the whole of their demeanour confirmed,\nas far as it could confirm, the truth of their asseverations. That\nmen in the ardour of battle receive wounds of a serious nature,\nwithout being aware of them, till after a considerable lapse of\ntime, is testified upon unsuspicious evidence.\n\nThese instances, therefore, it is manifest, form no objection to our\nconclusion, that the attending to an {367} interesting sensation,\nand the having the sensation, are but two names for the same thing.\n\nWe have now to consider, what it is, to attend to an indifferent\nsensation. The force of the word indifferent implies, that an\nindifferent sensation is not an object of attention on its own\naccount. If it were an object of attention on its own account, it\nwould not be indifferent. If it is regarded, however, as the cause,\nor the sign, of an interesting sensation, we are already acquainted\nwith the process which takes place. The idea of the interesting\nsensation is immediately associated with it; the state of\nconsciousness then is not an indifferent sensation merely; it is a\nsensation and an idea, in union. The idea besides is an interesting\nidea, that of a pain or pleasure.\n\nThe union of an interesting idea, with an indifferent sensation,\nmakes a compound state of consciousness which, as a whole, is\ninteresting. As the having an interesting sensation, and the\nattending to it, are but two names for the same thing; the having a\nsensation rendered interesting by association, and the attending to\nit, cannot be regarded as two different things. In the first case,\nattention is merely a sensation of a particular kind; in the second,\nit is merely an association of a particular kind.\n\nWe have now to shew what takes place, when the attention, to use the\ncommon language, is not directed to Sensations but Ideas.\n\nIdeas are, like sensations, of two kinds. They are either\ninteresting, or not interesting. We need not repeat what has been so\noften said respecting the origin and composition of those two\nclasses of Ideas, and the cause of their difference.\n\n{368} An indifferent idea, like an indifferent sensation, is, in\nitself, not an object of attention. If it were an object of\nattention, it would not be indifferent; in other words, it would be\ninteresting. In fact, it is in the very import of the word\nattention, that the object of it is interesting. And if an object is\ninteresting it must be so, either in itself, or by association.\n\nAs we found that the having an interesting sensation, and the\nattending to that sensation, were not two distinguishable states of\nconsciousness, but one and the same state of consciousness, let us\nnow observe, as carefully as we can, whether the having an\ninteresting idea is a state of consciousness, which can be\ndistinguished from attending to it, or whether they are not merely\ntwo names for the same thing. When the young man, in love, has the\nidea of the woman, who is the object of his affections, is not\nattention merely another word for the peculiar nature of the Idea?\nIn like manner in the mind of the man, who is to be executed\nto-morrow, the idea of the terrible event before him, is an idea in\nthe very essence of which attention is involved. Attention is but\nanother name for the interesting character of the idea.\n\nIf there are any cases to which an objector's appeal can be made,\nthey will be found, upon examination, to resemble those which we\nconsidered in the case of sensation, and which we found to be\nnothing more than instances of the prevalence of a stronger feeling\nover a weaker; stronger, either by its nature, or the peculiar\ncircumstances of the moment. We shall not, therefore, stay to\npropound and explain them.\n\n{369} It only remains to expound the case in which an indifferent\nIdea becomes interesting by association. It cannot do so in any\nother way, than those in which it appeared that an indifferent\nsensation becomes interesting. It may be considered as the cause, or\nthe sign, of some interesting state of consciousness. When that\nwhich is interesting becomes associated with that which is\nuninteresting, so as to form one compound state of consciousness,\nthe whole is interesting. An idea, in itself indifferent, associated\nwith interesting ideas, becomes part of a new compound which, as a\nwhole, is interesting: and an interesting idea existing, and an\ninteresting idea attended to, are only two names for the same thing.\n\nIn the case of Ideas, then, as in the case of sensations, attention\nto an interesting Idea, is merely having it; attention to an\nindifferent idea, is merely associating with it some idea that is\ninteresting.\n\nAs far then, as ATTENTION gives us power over the trains of our\nideas, it is not Will which gives it to us, but the occurrence of\ninteresting sensations, or ideas.\n\nThere is not any of the phenomena, which are usually appealed to as\nthe great manifestations of the power of the mind over its trains,\nwhich this mode of exposition does not satisfactorily account for.\nWe may take as a sufficient exemplification of them all, the\ncomposition of a Discourse upon any important topic. The operation\nof the mind upon such an occasion seems to consist in a perpetual\nselection; that is, in the exercise of an uninterrupted power over\n{370} the trains of association. There is no doubt that it consists\nof that peculiar class of associations, to which we give the names,\nof selection, and power.\n\nIn composing a Discourse, a man has some end in view. It is for the\nattainment of this end, that the Discourse is undertaken. If every\nthing in the discourse tends to the accomplishment of the end, the\nDiscourse is said to be coherent, appropriate, consistent. If there\nare many things in it which have no tendency, or but little\ntendency, to the accomplishment of the end, the discourse is said to\nbe rambling, and incoherent.\n\nThis is a case, the exposition of which corresponds very much with\nthat which we have already explained; the endeavour to recollect a\nforgotten Idea. In that case, the existence of an interesting idea\ncalls up a variety of circumstances, that is, a variety of ideas;\nand it very often happens, that the idea which is sought for, is\ncalled up among them.\n\nIn this case, what the seeker has occasion for, is a single Idea; a\nsingle idea accomplishes the end he has in view. In the case of the\ncomposer of a discourse a great many ideas are wanted. His end\ncannot be attained by one or a few. But his proceeding is precisely\nof the same kind in regard to his many Ideas, as that of the man who\ndesires to recollect in regard to his single Idea. He knows there\nare a number of ideas, connected with the end he has in view, which\nhe can employ for his purpose, provided he can call them up. How\nthey are called up, after the practice we have had in those\nsolutions, requires but little explanation. The end in view is an\ninteresting Idea. It is, at the time, the prevalent Idea. {371} It\nis that by which the man is stimulated to action. This idea calls up\nby association many ideas and trains of ideas. Of these a large\nproportion pass, and are not made use of. Others are detained and\nemployed. This detaining and employing is all that needs to be\nexplained. It is the same sort of result as the recognition of the\nforgotten Idea, in the case of recollection.\n\nThe forgotten Idea is an Idea associated, as cause, with the end to\nbe obtained by it, as its effect. The same is the case with the\nideas which the composer of a discourse selects out of the\nmultitudes, which the continual suggestions of the interesting Idea\nby which he is actuated, that of his end, bring before him. The\ngreater number are not associated with the idea of his end as cause\nand effect. Some among them are. These immediately suggest the use\nto be made of them; and thence, by the regular chains of\nassociation, the operations take place.\n\nIt is from these explanations, also, easy to see what constitutes\nthe difference between the man who composes a coherent, and the man\nwho composes a rambling discourse. In the man who composes the\ncoherent discourse, the main Idea, that of the end in view,\npredominates, and controls the association, in every part of the\nprocess. It is not only the grand suggesting principle, which sets\ntrains of the ideas connected with itself in motion; but it is the\ngrand selecting principle. As ideas rise in the train, this\ninteresting and predominating idea stands ready to be associated as\neffect with every idea in the train which can operate as cause; it\nso associates itself with no other; and therefore no wrong selection\nis made. {372} If, however, it does not thus predominate in the mind\nof the composer of the discourse, as his exclusive end; if it gives\nway at every turn to some other end; as the idea of applause from\nsome lively jest, from some gaudy description, from some florid\nthought, the selection is made so far upon other principles, and the\nobject of the discourse is forgotten.[66]\n\n[Editor's footnote 66: The account here given of Attention, though\nfull of instructive matter, I cannot consider to be at all adequate.\nWhen it is said that a sensation, by reason of its highly\npleasurable or painful character, engrosses the mind, more is meant\nthan merely that it is a highly pleasurable or painful sensation.\nThe expression means, first, that when a sensation is highly\npleasurable or painful, it tends, more or less strongly, to exclude\nfrom consciousness all other sensations less pleasurable or painful\nthan itself, and to prevent the rising up of any ideas but those\nwhich itself recals by its associations. This portion of the facts\nof the case is noticed by the author, though not sufficiently\nprominent in his theory. But there is another portion, altogether\nuntouched by him. Through this power which the sensation has, of\nexcluding other sensations and ideas, it tends to prolong its own\nexistence; to make us continue conscious of it, from the absence of\nother feelings which if they were present would either prevent us\nfrom feeling it, or would make us feel it less intensely; which is\ncalled diverting our attention from it. This is what we mean when we\nsay that a pleasurable or painful idea tends to fix the attention.\nWe mean, that it is not easy to have, simultaneously with it, any\nother sensation or idea; except the ideas called up by itself, and\nwhich in turn recal it by association, and so keep it present to the\nmind. Becoming thus a nearly exclusive object of consciousness, it\nis both felt with greater intensity, and acquires greater power of\ncalling up, by association, other ideas. There is an increase both\nin the multitude, the intensity, and the distinctness of the ideas\nit suggests; as is always the case when the suggesting sensation or\nidea is increased in intensity. In this manner a sensation which\ngets possession of our consciousness because it is already intense,\nbecomes, by the fact of having taken possession, still more intense,\nand obtains still greater control over the subsequent train of our\nthoughts. And these also are precisely the effects which take place\nwhen, the sensation not being so pleasurable or painful as to\nproduce them of itself, or in other words to fix the attention, we\nfix it voluntarily. All this is as true of Ideas as of Sensations.\nIf a thought is highly painful, or pleasurable, it tends to exclude\nall thoughts which have no connexion with it, and which if aroused\nwould tend to expel it--to make us (as we say) forget the pain or\nthe pleasure. By thus obtaining exclusive possession of the mind,\nthe pleasurable or painful thought is made more intense, more\npainful or pleasurable; and, as is the nature of pains and\npleasures, acquires, in consequence, a greater power of calling up\nwhatever ideas are associated with it. All this is expressed by\nsaying that it fixes the attention. And ideas which are not of\nthemselves so painful or pleasurable as to fix the attention, may\nhave it fixed on them by a voluntary act. In other words, the will\nhas power over the attention.\n\nBut how is this act of will excited, and in what does it consist? On\nthis point the author's analysis is conclusive, and admirable. The\nact, like other voluntary acts, is excited by a motive; by the\ndesire of some end, that is, of something pleasurable; (including in\nthe word pleasurable, as the author does, exemption from pain). What\nhappens is, that, the idea on which we are said to fix our attention\nnot being of itself sufficiently pleasurable to fix it\nspontaneously, we form an association between it and another\npleasurable idea, and the result then is that the attention is\nfixed. This is the true account of all that we do when we fix our\nattention voluntarily; there is no other possible means of fixing\nit. It thus appears, that the fixing of attention by an act of will\ndepends on the same law, as the fixing it by the natural\npleasantness or painfulness of the idea. Of itself the idea is not\npleasant or painful, or not sufficiently so to fix the attention;\nbut if it were considerably more pleasant or painful than it is, it\nwould do so. It becomes considerably more pleasurable by being\nassociated with the motive--that is, by a fresh association of\npleasure with it--and the attention is fixed. This explanation seems\ncomplete.\n\nIt may be said, however, by an objector, that this accounts only for\nthe case in which the voluntary attention flows easy and unimpeded,\nalmost as if it were spontaneous; when the mere perception that the\nidea is connected with our purpose--with the pleasurable end which\nsuggested the train of thought, at once and without difficulty\nproduces that exclusive occupation of the mind with it, which is\ncalled fixing the attention. But it often happens that the mere\nperception of its connexion with our purpose is not sufficient: the\nmind still wanders from the thought: and there is then required a\nsupplementary force of will, in aid of association; an effort, which\nexpends energy, and is often both painful and exhausting.\n\nLet us examine, then, what takes place in this case. The association\nof the thought with the pleasurable end in view, is sufficient to\ninfluence the attention, but not sufficient to command it. The will,\ntherefore, has to be called in, to heighten the effect. But in this\ncase, as in every case, the will is called into action by a motive.\nThe motive, like all other motives, is a desire. The desire must be\neither the same desire which was already felt, but made more\neffectual than before, or another desire superadded to the first.\nThe former case presupposes the latter: for the desire which was not\nsufficient to fix the attention firmly on that which is the means to\nits fulfilment, cannot be sufficient to call forth the voluntary\neffort necessary for fixing it: some other desire must come to its\nassistance. What, then, is this other desire? The question is not\ndifficult. The present is one of the complex cases, in which we\ndesire a different state of our own desires. By supposition, we\ndo not care enough for the immediate end, that is the idea of it\nis not sufficiently pleasurable, or the idea of its frustration\nsufficiently painful, to exert the force of association required.\nBut we are dissatisfied with this infirmity of our desires:\nwe wish that we cared more for the end; we think that it would be\nbetter for us if either this particular end, or our ends generally,\nhad greater command over our thoughts and actions than they have.\nThere is thus called up, by our sense of the insufficiency of our\nattention in the particular case, the idea of another desirable\nend--greater vigour and certainty in our mental operations. That\nidea superadds itself to the idea of the immediate end, and this\nreinforcement of the associating power at last suffices to fix the\nattention. Or (which is the same thing in effect) the painful idea\nis called up, of being unable to fix our attention, and being in\nconsequence thwarted generally in our designs; and this pain\noperates, in the same manner as a pleasure, in fixing our attention\nupon the thought which, if duly attended to, will relieve us from\nthe oppressive consciousness.\n\nIt will be asked, whence come the sense of laborious effort, and the\nsubsequent feeling of fatigue, which are experienced when the\nattention does not fix itself spontaneously, but is fixed with more\nor less difficulty by a voluntary act? I conceive them to be\nconsequences of the prolongation of the state designated by the\nauthor, in the text, as a state of unsatisfied desire. That state,\nwhatever view the psychologist takes of it, is a condition of the\nbrain and nerves, having physiological consequences of great\nimportance, and drawing largely on that stock of what we call\nnervous energy, any unusual expenditure or deficiency of which\nproduces the feeling of exhaustion. The waste of energy, and the\nsubsequent exhaustion, are greatest when the desire seems\ncontinually on the point of obtaining its gratification, but the\ngratification constantly eludes it. And this is what actually\nhappens in the case supposed. The attention continually fastens on\nthe idea which we desire to attend to, but, from the insufficient\nstrength of the pleasurable or painful association, again deserts\nit; and the incessant alternation of hope and disappointment\nproduces, as in other cases, the nervous disturbance which we call\nthe sense of effort, and which is physiologically followed by the\nsensations of nervous exhaustion. It is probable that whatever is\nnot muscular in the feeling which we call a sense of effort, is the\nphysical effect produced by a more than usual expenditure of nervous\nforce: which, reduced to its elements, means a more than usually\nrapid disintegration and waste of nervous substance.\n\nLet me here remark, that the recognition, by the author of the\nAnalysis, of a peculiar state of consciousness called a state of\nunsatisfied desire, conflicts with his doctrine that desire is\nnothing but the idea of the desired pleasure as future. In what\nsense is it possible to speak of an unsatisfied idea? If even we\ninsert the omitted element of Belief, and resolve desire not into\nthe mere idea, but into the expectation of a pleasure; though we\nmight rationally speak of an unsatisfied expectation, it would only\nmean an expectation not fulfilled, in other words, an expectation of\npleasure not followed by the pleasure; an expectation followed by a\nmere negation. How a pleasant idea, followed, not by a pain, but by\nnothing at all, is converted into a pain, the pain of unsatisfied\ndesire, remains to be explained: and the author has not pointed out\nany associations which account for it. If it be said that the\nexpectation is perpetually renewed and perpetually disappointed,\nthis is true, but does not account for more than a continual\nalternation between a pleasant idea and no idea at all. That an\nelement of pain should enter into unsatisfied desire, is a fact not\nexplained by the author's theory; and it stands as evidence that\nthere is in a desire something inherently distinct from either an\nidea or an expectation.--_Ed._]\n\n{373} I cannot deem it necessary, after the training which we now\nhave had, to give these expositions in more {374} minute detail. But\nit seems to be proper to notice, in a few words, the explanation\nwhich they afford of {375} the phenomena which are usually named the\npower or want of power over the train of the ideas--in a still {376}\nmore important instance than the composition of a discourse, that of\nthe conduct of life. Some men are distinguished for a steady\ndirection of their actions, through the course of their lives, to\nsome general end, or ends. One man attaches himself to the\ncultivation of his mind; another, to the accumulation of wealth;\nanother, to the acquisition of fame. There are other men whose lives\nappear to be a perpetual fluctuation. They either shift from one\ngreat end to another perpetually; or, in their trains, the great\nends appear to have no ascendancy over the little. There are men who\nseem to have a different end of their actions, every day they rise\nfrom their beds. The men, in whose minds the great purposes of life\nseem to have no greater ascendancy than the minor objects, are\ncalled frivolous men. It sometimes happens, that a {377} man who\nchooses a frivolous end is steady in the pursuit of it. The common\ncase, however, is that no one frivolous end acquires a steady\nascendancy; and the man is in a state of perpetual fluctuation.\n\nThe solution of these phenomena is obvious. When the idea of any of\nthe great purposes of life exists habitually in controlling\nstrength, it performs the same function in regard to the selection\nof actions, which the Idea of the end or purpose of the Discourse\nperforms in regard to ideas, in the case of the man who is composing\nit. Out of the whole number of ideas, which present themselves to\nhim, the idea of his End associates itself with those which can\noperate as causes of its attainment; and this association is\nfollowed by all the other associations which produce the employment\nof the Ideas. In like manner, when {378} the great purposes of life\nare established into predominating ideas, they associate themselves\nstrongly with the ideas of those actions which contribute to their\nattainment; and those associations are followed by all the other\nassociations, which produce their adoption.\n\nThe interpretation which belongs to the phrases, when we hear of men\nwho have, and men who have not, their ideas and actions under\ncommand, is, that the one set of men have certain leading ideas,\ncalled purposes, so established, as to maintain a control over both\ntheir Ideas and their actions; the other set have not ideas so\nformed as to exercise this ascendancy. That man may be justly said\nto have the greatest command over his ideas, whose associations with\nthe grand sources of felicity are the most numerous and strong. When\nthe grand sources of felicity are formed into the leading and\ngoverning ideas, each in its due and relative strength. Education\nhas then performed its most perfect work; and thus the individual\nbecomes, to the greatest degree, the source of utility to others,\nand of happiness to himself.\n\nIn regard, then, to that state of mind which precedes action, we\nseem to have ascertained the following indisputable facts: That\nactions are, in some instances, preceded by mere sensations; that,\nin other instances, they are preceded by ideas; that, in all cases\nin which the action is said to be Willed, it is desired, as a means\nto an end; or, in more accurate language, is associated, as cause,\nwith pleasure as effect: that the idea of the outward appearance of\nthe action, thus excited by association, excites, in the same way,\nthe idea of the internal feelings, which are {379} the immediate\nantecedent of the action, and then the action takes place; that\nwhatever power we may possess over the actions of our muscles, must\nbe derived from our power over our associations; and that this power\nover our associations, when fully analysed, means nothing more than\nthe power of certain interesting Ideas, originating in interesting\nsensations, and formed into strength by association.[67] [68]\n\n[Editor's footnote 67: The analysis contained in this chapter\naffords, as it appears to me, a sufficient theory of the manner in\nwhich all that we denominate voluntary, whether it be a bodily\naction or a modification of our mental state, comes to be produced\nby a motive, i.e. by the association of an idea of pleasure or of\nexemption from pain with the act or the mental modification. But\nthere is still an unexplained residuum which has not yet been\nbrought to account. There are some bodily movements the consequence\nof which is not pleasure, but pain. Painful states of consciousness,\nno less than pleasurable ones, tend to form strong associations with\ntheir causes or concomitants. The idea, therefore, of a pain, will,\nno less than that of a pleasure, become associated with the muscular\naction that would produce it, and with the muscular sensations that\naccompany the action; and, as a matter of fact, we know that it does\nso. Why, then, is the result not merely different, but contrary? Why\nis it that the muscular action excited by association with a\npleasure, is action towards the pleasure, while that excited by\nassociation with a pain is away from the pain? As far as depends on\nthe law of association, it might seem that the action, in both\ncases, would be towards the fact with which the action is\nassociated. There are some remarkable phenomena in which this really\nhappens. There are cases in which a vivid imagination of a painful\nfact, seems really to produce the action which realizes the fact.\nPersons looking over a precipice are said to be sometimes seized\nwith a strong impulse to throw {380} themselves down. Persons who\nhave extreme horror of a crime, if circumstances make the idea of\ncommitting it vividly present to their mind, have been known, from\nthe mere intensity of their horror, to commit the crime without any\nassignable motive; and have been unable to give any account of why\nthey committed it, except that the thought struck them, that the\ndevil tempted them, and the like. This is the case of what is\nsometimes called a fixed idea; which has a sort of fascinating\ninfluence, and makes people seek what they fear or detest, instead\nof shunning it. Why is not this extremely exceptional case the\ncommon one? Why does the association of pain with an act, usually\nexcite not to that act, but to the acts which tend to prevent the\nrealization of the dreaded evil?\n\nIt seems, that as the author has had to admit as an ultimate fact,\nthe distinction between those of our sensations which we call\npleasures and those which we call pains, considered as states of our\npassive sensibility, so also he would be compelled to admit, as a\nfact unreached by his explanations, a difference between the two in\ntheir relation to our active faculty; an attraction in the one case,\nand a repulsion in the other. That is, he must admit that the\nassociation of a pleasurable or painful idea (at all events when\naccompanied by a feeling of expectation) with a muscular act, has a\nspecific tendency to excite the act when the idea is that of a\npleasure, but, when it is the idea of a pain, has a specific\ntendency to prevent that act, and to excite the acts that are\nassociated with the negation of the pain. This is precisely what we\nmean when we say that pleasure is desired, that pain is an object of\naversion, and the absence of pain an object of desire. These facts\nare of course admitted by the author: and he admits them even as\nultimate: but, with his characteristic dislike to multiply the\nnumber of ultimate facts, he merges them in the admitted ultimate\nfact of the difference between pleasure and pain. It is chiefly in\ncases of this sort--in leading him to identify two ultimate facts\nwith one another, that his love of simplification, in itself a\nfeeling highly worthy of a philosopher, seems to {381} mislead him.\nEven if we consent to admit that the desire of a pleasure is one and\nthe same thing with the idea of a pleasure, and aversion to a pain\nis the same thing with the idea of a pain--it remains true that the\ndifference which we passively feel, between the consciousness of a\npleasure; and that of a pain, is one fact, and our being stirred to\nseek the one and avoid the other is another fact; and it is just\nthis second fact that distinguishes a mere idea of something as\nfuture, from a desire or aversion. It is this conscious or\nunconscious reference to action, which distinguishes the desire of a\npleasure from the idea of it. Desire, in short, is the initiatory\nstage of volition. The author might indeed say, that this seeking of\nthe sensation is involved in the very fact of conceiving it as\npleasant; but this, when looked into, only means that the two things\nare inseparable; not that they are, or that they can ever be thought\nof, as identical; as one and the same thing.\n\nIt appears, then, that there is a law of voluntary action, the most\nimportant one of all, which the author's explanations do not attempt\nto reach. Yet there is no necessity for accepting that law as\nultimate. A theory resolving it into laws still more fundamental,\nhas been propounded by Mr. Bain in his writings, and a masterly\nstatement of it will be found in the succeeding note. If, as\nI expect, this theory makes good its footing, Mr. Bain will be the\nfirst psychologist who has succeeded in effecting a complete and\ncorrect analysis of the Will.\n\nIn the same note will be found an analysis of the case of an _id\u00e9e\nfixe_--the most striking case of which, is that of a terrific idea,\nexceptionally drawing the active power into the direction which\nleads towards the dreaded catastrophe, instead of, as usual, into\nthe opposite direction. This peculiar case obliges us to acknowledge\nthe coexistence of two different modes in which action may be\nexcited. There is the normal agency of the ideas of a pleasure and a\npain, the one determining an action towards the pleasure, the other\nan action away from the pain; and there is the general power of an\nextremely strong association of any kind, to make the action follow\nthe idea. {382} The reason why the determination of action towards a\npain by the idea of the pain is only exceptional, is, that in order\nto produce it, the general power of a strong association to excite\naction towards the fact which it recals, has to overcome the\nspecific tendency of a painful association to repel action from that\nfact. But the intensity of the painful idea may be so great, and the\nassociation of the act with it so strong, as to overpower this\nrepulsive force by a greater attractive force: and it is then that\nwe find the painful idea operating on action in a mode contrary to\nthe specific property which is characteristic of it, and which it\nusually obeys.\n\nIt has been suggested, that the intensity with which the mind\nsometimes fixes upon a frightful idea, may operate by paralysing for\nthe time being the usual voluntary efforts to avoid pain, and so\nallowing the natural impulse to act on a predominant idea to come\ninto play.--_Ed._]\n\n[Bain's footnote 68: This chapter is a remarkably searching\ndiscussion of the Will, not as a metaphysical puzzle, but as a\nleading function of the mind. It is greatly superior to any previous\nhandling of the subject.\n\nOf the facts brought forward in illustration of voluntary movement,\nsome are more properly referable to other parts of the mental\nsystem.\n\nFirst. Such actions as sneezing, coughing, contraction of the pupil\nof the eye, hiccup, parturition, lock-jaw, respiration, the\nmovements of the heart, the peristaltic movements of the\nintestines,--all which are stated to be movements prompted by\nsensation,--are nearly, if not altogether, involuntary. They are\nmore usually termed Reflex Actions. In a certain number, sensation\nis present, but is not essential; as in coughing, sneezing,\nparturition. In others, for example, the movements of the heart and\nthe intestines, there is no sensation; the assumption made in the\ntext, that the blood cannot flow into the heart without being\naccompanied with sensation, is incorrect.\n\nThese actions are interesting to study in connexion with the will,\nbut rather in the way of contrast than of similarity. {383} There is\nprobably a deep community in the foundations of the two classes of\nmovements; but, in their more obvious aspect, and for all\npsychological purposes, they are opposed. It is common to apply to\nthe Reflex class the name \"involuntary.\"\n\nSecondly. The movements in yawning, laughter, sobbing; the altered\naction of the heart, the bowels, the kidneys, the skin, in\nFear,--are allied with sensations or feelings; but they are not\ncorrectly classed with the Will; in fact, some of them are performed\nthrough involuntary muscles. A different view must be taken of these\neffects. They are the inseparable physical accompaniments of\nfeeling; the physical side or counterpart of the mental fact; in\ntheir absence the feeling itself would not exist. Fear would not be\nfear, if the emotional state were not attended with a series of\nphysical effects, partly of movement, partly of altered secretions.\nThese physical accompaniments supply the appearances known to all\nmen as the expression of feeling; which although to a great degree\nmade up of movements, is totally distinct from the voluntary\npromptings of the feelings. The smile that accompanies a pleasure\ntasted is one thing: the activity inspired to prolong the enjoyment\nis another thing. The two kinds of movement are frequently mingled;\nthus, in acute pains, the cries and contortions of feature are the\nembodiment of the feeling; the gestures and movements of the body,\nmay be partly expression, but are also attempts to obtain relief.\nExpression in its purity is well seen in a shock of surprise; a\nstate which being often entirely neutral as regards pleasure or\npain, has no voluntary prompting whatsoever. Every feeling has a\ncertain definite physical embodiment with much or with little\noutward display; this belongs to the feeling as such; it is a\nphenomenon of feeling or emotion, and not of volition.\n\nThirdly. The operation of Ideas, in such instances as involuntary\nimitation, contagious convulsions, the influence of the\nimagination,--is a genuine source of actions, but is yet to be\ndistinguished from the Will. When the idea of a certain medicine\nproduces the very same effect as the medicine actually applied, when\na person yawning makes the beholder yawn, {384} or when, standing on\nthe brink of a precipice, one is tempted to jump down,--there is no\nintervention of the will properly so called; on the contrary, there\nmay be a conflict between the influence of the idea and the true\nvolitional promptings. The characteristic feature of the voluntary\nactivity is to follow pleasure and to retreat from pain; some of the\ntendencies growing out of an idea are in the direction of pain.\n\nThis, in many respects remarkable, phenomenon is better assigned to\nthe Intellectual part of our nature, although it has consequences on\nour actions. When a sensation passes into an idea, it still retains,\nin a diminished form, many of its characteristic properties. The\nsensation of a savoury morsel in the mouth is accompanied with a\ngush of saliva; the corresponding idea in any way aroused, as when\njust commencing to eat, induces the very same flow, expressed by the\nphrase \"the mouth watering.\" The mode of interpreting the phenomenon\nis the announcement of a pregnant law of the mind (two-sided like\nthe mind itself), that the idea is embodied in the same tracks as\nthe sensation, although commonly in a weaker form. There is a\nstanding mental determination, whereby all ideas tend to work\nthemselves out into full actuality; a power that the will and other\ninfluences are constantly employed in checking. The sight of a\nperson yawning gives the idea of the act; and the idea, unless\ncounteracted, brings forth the reality. The sight of a precipice\ngives very forcibly the idea of something falling headlong down, and\nthat idea possesses the mind of the spectator so strongly that but\nfor a restraining volition, he would act it out in his own person.\n\nBy far the most interesting application of the law is to explain the\nworkings of Sympathy, in the form of purely beneficent disinterested\nimpulses. Allusion has already been made to the law, in this\npeculiar aspect, in a former note (Chap. XXIII. p. 302).\n\nThese three great classes of phenomena being withdrawn from the\nregion of the Will, the remaining facts mentioned in the text can be\nviewed in a clearer light.\n\n1. It is justly stated that the Will is an extensive and {385}\nlaborious _acquisition_, pursued, especially at the commencement, in\nthe midst of considerable difficulties.\n\n2. In the mature will, the immediate antecedent of a voluntary act\nis an _idea_ of the thing to be done. This is true, but not the\nprecise, nor the whole truth.\n\n3. The author's mode of viewing the influence of Attention points to\nthe really fundamental and typical fact of the Will. He says,\nAttention is merely another name for the engrossing effect of a\npleasurable or a painful sensation. \"Having a pleasurable or painful\nsensation, and attending to it, seem not to be two things, but one\nand the same thing.\" That is to say, there is a power in pleasure as\nsuch, and in pain as such, to stimulate action or movement with\nreference to the pleasure or the pain. This is the nearest approach\nthat is made in the text to a statement of the law of voluntary\naction.\n\nThe law has been differently expressed. Locke said, the will moves\nto the greatest uneasiness, which is no doubt the fact. Still, by a\nwider induction, we obtain a more comprehensive, as well as more\naccurate, generalization.\n\nIf we observe one of the most familiar instances of voluntary\naction--the process of eating, for example, we find that what\nhappens is as follows:--The contact of the food with the tongue and\npalate stimulates, by an immediate impulse, all the movements of\nmastication and swallowing (in its first stage), and the further\nmovements for placing more food in the mouth. We find that the\nintensity of the stimulation is in proportion to the degree of the\npleasurable excitement, being highest at the commencement, and\nsinking gradually in the approach to satiety. There is no fact that\ncan be produced more exactly typifying the primary action of the\nwill. A tasted pleasure, everywhere, at all times, from the\nbeginning to the close of life, is an immediate inducement to\nactivity. Coming out of a chilling atmosphere into a place of genial\nwarmth, our energy is at once aroused to follow the cue. The\nstriking up of a band attracts and detains all listeners susceptible\nto the charm. There is, in such instances, no intermediate process\nof reflection, deliberation, or resolution; a {386} simple, an\nindivisible, link unites a burst of pleasure and a burst of activity\nfollowing up the pleasure.\n\nReverting to the first example, the act of eating, we may detect\nanother phase of the voluntary sequences. Suppose a morsel, admitted\nin good faith, to disclose a very bad taste, say the taste of soot;\nwhat is the immediate, unreflecting, response? The _first_ effect is\na collapse and suspension of all the masticating movements. From the\nearliest infancy, this consequence would be shown. There commonly\nsucceeds, and often with great rapidity, a _second_ effect, which we\nshall consider under another head--the energetic discharge of the\nmorsel from the mouth; but long before children are capable of the\nsecond act, they fall into the first--the suspension of the activity\nat the time.\n\nOn extending our survey to the analogous cases, we are enabled to\nannounce this also, as a typical situation of the Will,\nnamely:--That, as pleasure furthers activity in its own direction,\npain arrests activity in its own direction. Turning a street corner,\nwe encounter suddenly a bitter wintry blast; we feel at once an\narrest upon our movements. An ill odour, a painful contact, a\ngrating noise, a disagreeable spectacle, have all the same immediate\nefficacy. The proper, the direct consequent of an incursion of pain,\nis suspended activity. Not only is this second law conformable to\nobservation, it is the implication, the obverse, of the previous law\nconnecting pleasure with increased activity.\n\nThe apparent exceptions to the second law need to be adverted to.\nThe most obvious is the exciting effect of a smarting sensation, as\nthe stroke of a whip. A light, smarting, pungent, stimulus,\namounting to pain, quickens the general activity of the system for\nthe time; while a more severe blow operates according to the general\nprinciple, and suspends activity. To quicken an animal's pace, the\nlight smart is often the best application; to arrest an access of\naction, there must be greater severity. The excitement of an acute\nsmart is due not to the pain of it, but to the mere shock imparted\nto the nerves; if a similar intensity of nervous shock were also a\n{387} cause of pleasure, the stimulating effect would be far\ngreater, and more prolonged; for the element of pain, in the case of\nthe painful smart, destroys the activity in the second stage, when\nthe nervous excitement has subsided. Any one walking at a certain\npace, and suddenly jolted, is momentarily awakened to a higher pitch\nof nervous excitement; but goes on, after the shock, at a slackened\npace. An acute smart has thus a twofold efficacy; it is both a\ntemporary stimulant of activity, and a cause of reduced energy on\nthe whole, according to the second law of the Will.\n\nAnother apparent exception is the vehemence manifested in escaping\nfrom pain; a mode of activity almost indistinguishably mixed up with\nthe writhings and contortions of a creature under suffering, in\nother words, with the physical embodiments of the state of pain. The\nsudden excitement just adverted to also enters into the complex\neffect; being brought out at the first moment of the infliction, and\nat every new twinge in fitful modes of suffering. This energetic\nactivity for escape is a distinct aspect of voluntary power. It is\nLocke's typical form of the Will, but is here regarded as secondary\nor circuitous, and not as the primitive situation.\n\nThirdly. We must now then consider expressly the influence of pain\nin stimulating action for alleviation or escape, as when we draw\nback from anything that pains or offends us. To call the pain the\ndirect stimulant in this situation, would be to connect pain and\npleasure equally with the exaltation of our energies; which would be\na contradiction, or else would tend to show that there is no casual\nconnexion between pleasure or pain and our active exertions. The\nreal motive force of pain, however, is not the state of suffering,\nbut the _relief_; and relief from pain is another form of pleasure.\nThat pleasure stimulates, that pain depresses, that alleviation of\npain stimulates, are all one and the same phenomenon--statements of\nthe same law.\n\nThere are two stages in the operation of pain. The first is, when\nunder a present pain, something happens to give us relief; in which\ncase, we experience on the instant, a burst of {388} physical elation,\nexactly as from a sudden access of pleasure. In exposure to a cold\nwind, we have the depression accompanying a massive pain; in coming\ngradually under shelter, we feel buoyed and elated, our movements\nare quickened, and we follow the lead with growing energy. Every one\nhas experienced the stimulus of success, and the damping effect of\nfailure; although, practically viewed, the success should dispense\nwith the newborn energy, and the failure should bring about an\nincrease of exertion. It takes a mind of unusual strength, to resist\nthese natural tendencies.\n\nIn the second stage, pain is found acting as a stimulant, without\npresent alleviation, and therefore without the benefit of the law of\npleasure. How is this? The answer is, that the idea of the relief is\nthe operative circumstance. The pedestrian exposed to a freezing\nwind is urged to an accelerated pace, by the secondary or derived\nimpulse, growing out of the idea or anticipation of relief through a\ncertain amount of exertion. That this idea is the real source of the\nnew strength, is attested by the known facts and circumstances of\nthe situation. A sufferer, having no idea, prospect, or hope of\nalleviation, flags and succumbs, in accordance with the proper\ntendency of pain; the stimulation of the active powers does not\nfollow the degree of the misery, but the openings of a better lot.\nWhat was noted above as the strength of mind that induces a\nsuccessful man to refrain from pushing on still farther, and an\nunsuccessful man to struggle the more, means the firm possession of\nan _idea_, to oppose the power of the present,--under success, an\nidea of moderation, and, under misery, an idea of relief to supply\nthe active spur that the situation restrains. We call a man\nstrong-minded, if he resists the pressure of the actual in favour of\nan ideal. This is the highest manifestation of energy of will. It\nowes its merit, and even its meaning, to the fact that a present\npleasure inflames and a present pain quenches the activities; and\nthat, to counterwork these tendencies, there must be a strong\nconception of ideal pain in the one case, and of ideal pleasure in\nthe other; which is the same law of the mind in another form. We\n{389} cannot remain quiescent under a vivid and growing pleasure,\nunless by the prospect of pain in the distance; nor do we rouse up\nunder pain without some idea of relief, that is, pleasure in the\ndistance.\n\nNo general law of the mind is more thoroughly confirmed by the\nexperience of human actions than the principle now stated in its\nthree several aspects. There is, as has been seen, something to be\naccounted for, in the lively stimulus under acute smarts; there is,\nalso, an obverse of this fact, in certain forms of pleasure (as\ngentle warmth) which are lulling and soporific; but these are the\nconsequence of another law of the mind, in some degree complicating\nthe phenomena, without disproving the main law of the Will.\n\nPossibly, this principle, wide as it is, may be subsumed under a\nstill wider:--namely, a principle connecting pleasure with\nnutrition, or the supply of vital power and stimulus, and, by\nimplication, pain with the abatement or loss of vital energy; from\nwhich the law of the will would be a consequence. The attempt to\nresolve it so is highly interesting; but, in the psychological\nexplanation of the will, we may be satisfied, for the present, to\nstart from the less imposing, but well-grounded generality now\ngiven. At the same time, it will be found that, having once caught a\nglimpse of the higher law, we cannot avoid occasionally falling into\nthe language suggested by it; so suitable does it often appear to\nthe expression of the facts.\n\nWith regard to one great aspect of voluntary action,--our being\nmoved _to_ pleasure and _from_ pain, the law is the full and precise\nsummary. The element of the will remaining unexplained, is the\n_selection_ of the proper movements in each case; as when we start\nup and walk in the direction of a pleasing sound. The rendering an\naccount of this selective adaptation is the theory of the growth or\ndevelopment of the will.\n\nIn the delicate and difficult enquiry as to the manner of first\nattaining the voluntary command of the movements, the law of the\nwill, just expounded, must still be referred to. But taken by\nitself, that law does not explain the beginnings of the will. It\naccounts for the keeping up of a movement {390} bringing pleasure,\nand the dropping of a movement bringing pain, but it does not\naccount for the ability to single out, and set a-going, movements\ncalculated to enhance pleasure and subdue pain, actual or distant.\nThere is not, within its compass, any specifying or selective\nfaculty.\n\nThe complete explanation of the Will demands a reference to two\nother laws of the mind. The first is the Spontaneous beginning of\nMovements; the second, the Retentive or Associative process\nconstituting the basis of all our acquisitions.\n\nBy the Spontaneity of Movement is meant the tendency of human\nbeings, and of animals generally, to begin acting without the\nexpress stimulus of sensation from without, and by virtue of the\nfund of power residing in the active organs themselves. By means of\nnourishment, the animal is disposed to pass into movement, from the\nmere abundance of the motor energy in the nerve centres and in the\nmuscles. A large proportion of the activity of the more active\ncreatures,--as the human species (especially the young), quadrupeds,\nbirds, fishes, and insects,--is due to the presence of an active\nmachinery provided with superabundance of motive power. Apart from\nthe stimulus of sensation, from the wants and the pleasures of the\nanimal, there is a necessity for the active organs to put forth\ntheir activity. The energy is greatly heightened,--often doubled or\ntripled, by the stimulation of the senses, and, after a certain\neducation, by the influence of ideas; but it is far from remaining\nin abeyance till operated upon by stimulants from without or from\nwithin.\n\nBesides summing up a large amount of the activity familiar to us in\nthe life of human beings, and of animals, this Spontaneity has a\nspecial importance as a starting-point for the will. We have seen\nthat the difficulty unprovided for by the law of pleasure and pain,\nis the singling out, or commencing, of the suitable movements. The\nutmost that the law can ensure is to retain or continue them, when\nonce commenced. Now, the tendency to spontaneous action applies to\nall the voluntary members--locomotive organs, trunk, head, jaw,\n{391} tongue, mouth, eyes, voice, &c. There is, at the outset, no\nrule or order for the spontaneous outburst, except the physical\ncondition of each organ, including the nervous connexions. The\nanimal, in its exuberant phase, after nourishment and rest, may\nbecome active at any point; it may run, gesticulate, chew, gaze, cry\nout; or having expended itself in any one direction, it may fall\ninto other regions of activity where the force is still abundant.\n\nOne or two instances must here suffice to indicate the process of\nattaining the selective faculty of the will, through Spontaneity,\njoined with the law of pleasure and pain. In the maturity of the\nwill, we have the power of following with the eyes a moving object,\npartly by revolving the eye-balls, and partly by turning the head.\nAn infant has no such power. The manner of arriving at it is open to\nobservation, and is typical of the less obvious cases. Suppose the\nchild to have its gaze fixed upon a light, or some other appearance\nof a stimulating kind. The physical effect of the stimulus, always\nconjoined with the mental effect, is an increase of energy (by the\nprimary law of the will), which would manifest itself in quickening\nand retaining the child's gaze; there is displayed a more energetic\nstrain of the attention than had existed when the eyes found nothing\nto impart a special charm. Suppose next that the light is withdrawn,\nby being moved to one side. The loss of the stimulus instantly works\nas a depression; the heightened strain of attention collapses.\nStill, the child is not reduced to absolute quiescence; it has an\ninternal fund of energy, independent of casual stimulations; the\nflowing out of this energy consists in a series of movements for the\nmost part at random. It may happen, that one of these chance\nmovements is a rotation of the eyes, or of the head, in the exact\ndirection of the pleasing object, and therefore tending to recover\nthe illumination. Instantly, there is a burst of heightened energy,\naccording to the law of pleasure; and the movement accidentally\ncommenced is persistently stimulated so long as the pleasure of the\nspectacle grows or continues. The concurrence is fortuitous; the\nprolongation of it is not fortuitous, {392} but follows the law of\nthe will--the abiding by whatever movement is giving pleasure.\n\nThe completing step is due to the Retentive or plastic power of the\nmind. An association is begun between the optical effect of a light\nretreating from the full gaze to the right or to the left, and the\nmuscular movements that enable the eye to follow it. After a certain\nnumber of similar chance coincidences, this bond of association is\nrendered firm enough to ensure the movement at once when the\nsensation is present; and one of the many thousand links\nconstituting the mature will is thereby forged. The very same course\nof proceeding is followed in a host of other instances.\n\nThe beginnings of Imitation are also highly illustrative of the\nprocess. There is no trace of imitative power during the first\nmonths of infancy. The rise and progress of the power may be visibly\ndiscerned by any observer; and perhaps the best example for the\npurpose is Speech. In the beginnings of this extensive acquirement,\nthe basis is most obviously the infant's spontaneous articulations;\nthese must be waited for by the instructor, who can only foster and\nmaintain them when they come. The law of the will provides for the\nfostering part of the process. The child is, in all probability,\ngratified by the sound of its voice, when it gives forth any new\nsound, and so is stimulated to keep up the vocal exertion. Next in\nefficacy is the catching up and repeating of the sound by others,\nwhich is an addition to the pleasing stimulus. Under the two-fold\nagency, there is opportunity for an association to grow up between\nthe vocal impulse and the sensation of the sound heard; which\nassociation is ultimately the medium of bringing on the articulation\nwhenever it is desired.\n\nThe other cases of Imitation describe the same routine. The\nmovements are initiated by random spontaneity; and when they arise,\nthey are accompanied by a sensible impression on the eye, or on the\near; the concurrences, being regular and uniform, are at length\ncontiguously associated; the muscular exertion of lifting the hand\nis connected with the visible picture of a lifted hand. At a certain\nstage, the association {393} may be brought to operate in the\ninverted order,--the sensations first, the movement next,--which is\nthe whole fact of Imitation.\n\nA numerous class of voluntary links consists in obeying the word of\ncommand, or in following verbal directions. This, as will be\nadmitted, can be nothing but association. It is an association that\nwould not be attainable without the spontaneous commencement. A\nchild, or an animal, must perform a certain action, _proprio motu_,\nin the first instance; the name is then uttered in company with it;\nthis being done repeatedly, a connexion is made whereby the word can\ninduce or single out the movement.\n\nIn the training of animals, a hastening process is resorted to,\nwhich well exemplifies the difficulties in the early education of\nthe will. In breaking a horse, the whip and the curb form the\nearliest instrumentality. The animal must still commence moving of\nits own accord. The business is to guide the spontaneity into\ndefinite channels, in consistency with the law of the will, and to\nconnect all the various desired movements with language and signs,\nby whose means they can always be brought into play. When the colt\nunder discipline is moving in the desired pace, it is allowed to go\non without molestation or hindrance; when it deviates in any way, it\nis made to feel the pain of the whip or other check; this, by the\nlaw of pain, abates the existing movements; and if the abatement is\nthe thing sought, the end is gained. The application may, however,\nbe such as to quicken the movements by the smarting stimulus; an\neffect both exceptional and uncertain, and of use as causing a\ndiversion of pace, out of which may come the movement desired. The\nsurest agency of control, however, in the early and crude stage of\nthe will, is the abatement of an excessive or a wrong movement by a\ndecidedly painful check, such as the operation of the curb, which by\npressing severely on a sensitive surface, is a certain means of\ndepression; whereas, the light, irritating smart of the whip\noperates by a spasmodic uncertain stimulation. It is by the tendency\nof pain to put an arrest upon the wrong movement. {394} and of the\nrelief from pain to indicate the right movement, that the trainer\nsecures the obedience of the animal; he, at the same time,\nfamiliarizing its ear with the sounds that are to signify the\nvarious paces and movements. The spontaneous commencement is\nessential under all circumstances; according as this spontaneity is,\nfrom the first, ready, vigorous, and various, is the facility in\nattaining and cementing the initial links of voluntary command.\n\nIt will now be apparent that the immediate antecedent of a voluntary\nact is not solely the idea of the action to be performed. The\nsuccessive upbuilding of the voluntary associations developes a\nseries of phases, under which the direct antecedent is transformed\ninto various shapes. The sensation of hunger may be the sole\nantecedent in prompting an animal to the search for food; the\npainful sensation is coupled at a very early stage with the sight\nand the idea of food. When a child first attains the power of\nlifting a sweet morsel to its mouth, the antecedent of the voluntary\nact is the sight of the morsel coupled with the remembrance of the\nsweetness. A farther advance takes place by associating the ultimate\nobject with intermediate actions, as when the child learns to\nentreat what it wants from other persons. The stage that first\nbrings in an idea of the moving members themselves is Imitation; in\nimitating by sight, the antecedent is the view of the parts moved.\nThrough this medium, we pass to what is popularly considered the\ntype of voluntary control, the moving from a wish to move. I will to\nraise the arm, and the act follows; the antecedent is the idea of\nthe raised arm (together with some feeling to be gratified by the\nact). In the highest developments of voluntary acquisition, there is\nanother case, also of frequent occurrence; namely, where the\nintellectual antecedent is the idea of the work to be done; as, for\nexample, in the act of washing the hands, where we do not think of\nthe movements to be gone through, but of a certain appearance to be\nproduced.\n\nIn Chapter X., on Memory, it is remarked:--'When we {395} are said\nto will, there must be in the mind what is willed.' But the idea of\nwhat is immediately willed, with reference to the same ultimate end,\nmay assume all the variations above described. To gain a pleasure or\nfree ourselves from a pain, we may employ different\ninstrumentalities; and the explanation of the will should comprehend\nthem all.--_B._]\n\n\n\n\n{396} CHAPTER XXV.\n\nINTENTION.\n\n\nTHE word \"intend,\" the concrete, seems to be employed on two\noccasions. 1. We are said to intend, or not to intend, certain\nactions of our own. 2. And we are said to intend, or not to intend,\ncertain consequences of our own actions.\n\nWe have to examine what is the state of mind which the word\ndesignates on each of those occasions.\n\n1. We are said to intend only a _future_ action. When the action is\nimmediate, we are not said to INTEND, but to WILL it; an action\nintended, is an action of ours contemplated as _future_, or\ncertainly to be.\n\nWe have minutely analysed, on a former occasion, the state of mind\nwhich exists, when events, other than actions of our own, are\ncontemplated as future. An association, from prior habit, exists,\nbetween antecedent and consequent, in a series of events; an\nassociation, such, that we cannot think of one of the events as\nexisting, without thinking of the others as existing; that is,\nwithout anticipating their existence.\n\n{397} That this process is involved in anticipating that peculiar\nevent, called an action of our own, cannot be doubted. The only\nquestion is, what are the circumstances from which it derives its\npeculiar character.\n\nSomething peculiar is imparted to it, from the very circumstance of\nits being an action of our own. In anticipating an action of our\nown, we necessarily anticipate the mental processes, which are its\nantecedents. Among these we necessarily anticipate what is called\nthe act of willing. In such anticipations, the association is of\nthat intimate character, which constitutes belief. In anticipating\nan action of our own, therefore, we contemplate the act as certainly\nfuture: that is, we believe that we shall will it. But to look\nforward through a certain train of antecedents and consequents, the\nconcluding part of which is a certain act, which we shall then will,\nand then do, is a process which apparently involves in it all that\nis meant by what, in this class of cases, we call Intention.\n\nIt may still, however, be objected, that the explanation thus\npresented, recognises, in the state of mind in question, only the\nideas involved in the process called willing, with the idea of the\naction, and the belief that the action will take place; but that\nthere seems to be something more than the present existence of ideas\nand belief, in that state of mind which we call intending, which\nseems to partake of the nature of willing at the moment of its\nexistence.\n\nThere is something here of the customary illusions of language. The\nword \"intend\" is an active verb. And, wherever we use an active\nverb, we have {398} the association of activity and of willing,\ninvolved in it.\n\nThat there can be nothing of willing in the case, is abundantly\ncertain; since the will relates only to immediate acts.\n\nIt may, however, be objected, that though there is nothing of\nwilling in the case, there is nevertheless a determination or\npurpose to will. A man may say, I not only believe that I shall act\nso and so, but I am determined that I shall act so and so.\n\nIn this objection, the words \"determine,\" and \"determination,\" are\nstill but substitutes for \"intend,\" and \"intention.\" At most, they\nonly mark a degree of strength in the intention. There is another\nexpression, however, which deserves notice. A man may not only\nresolve to do a thing, but he may promise to do it. And the promises\nof men form a very important class of their actions.\n\nAfter all, a Promise is in its very essence merely the _Declaration_\nof an _Intention_. If it be asserted that it is not only the\ndeclaration of an intention, but the declaration that nothing shall\noccur to hinder that intention of its effect; what is this but the\ndeclaration of another intention; the intention not to frustrate an\nexisting intention? But this second intention is included in the\nfirst. The very existence of an intention implies the absence of any\ncounter intention.\n\nWhy is it that a man intends? For the same reason, of course, that\nhe wills. In willing, a certain act is contemplated as a cause of\npleasure; an immediate act, and an immediate pleasure. In intending,\na certain future act is contemplated as cause of a future {399}\npleasure. The idea of the pleasure and its cause, united by\nassociation, constitute the motive. In this act of anticipation, the\nsequence, consisting of motive as cause, action as effect, is\nindissoluble. In our supposed state of intention, the motive is\npresented to the mind as about to exist at the time in\ncontemplation; the idea of the act as existing irresistibly follows.\nAn act of our own anticipated by irresistible association, when the\nmotive is immediate, is willed; when the motive is future, is\nintended. Intention is the strong anticipation of a future will. But\nevery thing which strengthens the motive, that is, associates the\nidea of the act with that of a greater amount of good arising from\nit, increases the certainty of the act. A promise to perform the act\nstrengthens the motive; in some cases exceedingly. As it is of great\nconsequence to men in general, that promises should be performed,\nthey take care to reward the performing of promises, to punish the\nnon-performing of them, with their favour in the one case, their\ndisfavour in the other. When the favour and disfavour of mankind are\ngeneral, and strong, to a certain degree, they amount to the highest\nof all punishments, and all rewards. A promise, then, which is the\n_declaration_ of an intention, greatly strengthens the certainty of\nthe act, by greatly adding to the force of the motive.\n\n2. The next case of the meaning of Intention is of easy explanation.\nWhen we will, or when we intend, an action, we either foresee, or do\nnot foresee, certain of its consequences. In what associations the\nact of foreseeing or anticipating consists, we need not again\nexplain. The question, whether a man did {400} or did not foresee\ncertain consequents of his acts, is of great importance in certain\ncases of judicature, because upon this circumstance depends the\npropriety of a less or greater degree of punishment, perhaps the\npropriety or impropriety of punishing at all.\n\nA person administers to another person a medicine. It turns out to\nbe poison. The person whose act the administration was, believing\nthe drug to be salubrious, not hurtful, anticipated good\nconsequences; in other words, intended the benefit of the patient;\nintending, and anticipating, here, being only two names for the same\nthing. He did not foresee the evil consequences; and this we\ncommonly express by saying he did not intend them. If the person who\nadministered the drug, instead of believing it to be a proper\nmedicine, and anticipating from it salutary effects, knew it to be\npoison, anticipating from it destructive effects, he would be said\nto intend those effects.\n\nIt thus appears, that when a man, having certain consequences of an\nact in view, proceeds to the performance of the act, the having in\nview, or anticipating, receives, in these circumstances, the name of\nintention. It is a case of anticipation, anticipation in peculiar\ncircumstances, and is marked by a peculiar name.\n\nThe consequence of an act may be such, that the person had no reason\nto anticipate them, or could not possibly anticipate them; or they\nmay be such, that, though actually not foreseen, they might, with\nmore or less of care, have been foreseen. These are questions\nrespecting the nature of one solitary act. {401} They are what in\nlaw are called questions of fact. The exact determination of them is\nessential to the right decision of the judge in the particular case;\nbut any further consideration of them is not within the province of\nthis inquiry.[69]\n\n[Editor's footnote 69: This chapter is devoted to clearing up the\nconfusion and disentangling the ambiguity connected with the word\nIntention. And it fully attains the purpose, save where the refusal\nto admit any difference between expectation and a strong\nassociation, throws a certain haze over an operation into which they\nboth enter.\n\nIntention, when the word is used in reference to our future conduct,\nis well characterized by the author as \"the strong anticipation of a\nfuture will.\" It is an unfaltering present belief that we shall\nhereafter will a particular act, or a particular course of action.\nThere may be, over and above this belief, an intention \"that nothing\nshall occur to hinder that intention of its effect;\" \"the intention\nnot to frustrate an existing intention.\" The author thinks that\n\"this second intention is included in the first:\" but it is not\nnecessarily so. It is the first intention, fortified by some\nadditional motive which creates a special desire that this\nparticular desire and intention should continue. It is another case\nof what the author never recognizes, the desire of a desire.\n\nIntention, when we are said to intend the consequences of our\nactions, means the foresight, or expectation of those consequences;\nwhich is a totally different thing from desiring them. The\nparticular consequences in question, though foreseen may be\ndisagreeable to us: the act may be done for the sake of other\nconsequences. Intention, and motive, are two very different things.\nBut it is the intention, that is, the foresight of consequences,\nwhich constitutes the moral rightness or wrongness of the act. Which\namong the many consequences of a crime, are those, foresight of\nwhich constitutes guilt, and non-foresight entitles to acquittal,\ndepends on the particular nature of the case. We may say generally,\nthat it is the hurtful consequences. When the question arises\njudicially, we must say it is the consequences which the law\nintended to prevent. Reverting to the author's illustration; a\nperson who gives a drug to a patient, who dies in consequence, is\nnot guilty (at least of intentional crime) if he expected good\nconsequences, or no consequences at all, from its administration. He\nis guilty, if he expected that the consequence would be death;\nbecause that was the consequence which the legislator intended to\nprevent. He is guilty, even if he thought that the death of the\npatient would be a good to the world: because, though the law did\nnot intend to prevent good to the world, it did intend to prevent\npersons from killing one another. Judged by a moral instead of a\nlegal standard, the man may be innocent; or guilty of a different\noffence, that of not using his thinking faculty with sufficient\ncalmness and impartiality, to perceive that in such a case as that\nof taking life, the general presumption of pernicious consequences\nought to outweigh a particular person's opinion that preponderant\ngood consequences would be produced in the particular\ninstance.--_Ed._]\n\n{402} Thus, then, the Exposition of the Human Mind, as far as the\nimperfection of the execution may allow the accomplishment to be\npredicated of the attempt, may be regarded as brought to its close.\nThe phenomena which characterize man as a thinking Being, have been\nbrought forward, have been carefully resolved into their component\nelements, and traced to certain general and undisputed laws.\nI should call this the THEORY of the Human Mind, if I could hope that\nthe word would be understood in its original and literal meaning,\nthat is, VIEWING or OBSERVING, AND CORRECTLY RECORDING THE MATTERS\nOBSERVED. This is the task, the execution of which {403} has been\nendeavoured throughout the preceding pages. But, unhappily, the word\nTheory has been perverted to denote an operation very different from\nthis, an operation by which VIEWING--OBSERVING--is superseded; an\noperation which essentially consists in SUPPOSING, AND SETTING DOWN\nMATTERS SUPPOSED AS MATTERS OBSERVED. Theory, in fact, has been\nconfounded with Hypothesis; and it is probably vain to think of\nrestoring it to its proper signification.\n\nIf, however, the _Theoretical_, or Expository part of the Doctrine\nof the Human Mind were perfected; another great branch, the\n_Practical_ (which, to be rationally founded, must be founded on the\nTheoretical) would still remain. This subject, it appears, might be\nconveniently treated in three Books:\n\nI. The Book of Logic; containing the Practical Rules for conducting\nthe mind in its search after Truth:\n\nII. The Book of Ethics; or the Book of Rules for regulating the\nactions of human beings, so as to deduce from them the greatest\namount of good, both to the actor himself, and to his\nfellow-creatures at large:\n\nIII. The Book of Education; or the Book of Rules, for training the\nIndividual to the greatest excellence of his nature; that is, to the\nhighest possible state of efficiency (ability and will included), as\ncause of good to himself, and to his species.\n\n\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\nLONDON:\n\nSAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,\n\nCOVENT GARDEN.\n\n\n * * * * *\n\nTranscriber's Note\n\nAll editions of this text were published in two volumes. This file\nhas combined them. The only consequential change to the original\nmaterial is that the Contents pages for Volume 2 are repeated\nimmediately after the Contents of Volume 1.\n\nFootnotes\nJames Mill's text had a few footnotes, indicated by single asterisks.\nHis later commentators' work was printed as footnotes, numbered\nconsecutively through each volume (though there is no note 36 in\nvolume 1), and attributed by an initial (or \"Editor's note\") at the\nend. In this text each note is attributed to its author (James Mill\nbeing called Mill; John Stuart Mill, Editor). John Stuart Mill made\none note in James' style, 7* in volume 1 (where the attribution has\nbeen marked by an asterisk). There are footnotes in Grote's main\nfootnote, and in a couple of other footnotes, marked as in the\noriginal. All footnotes are now placed after the paragraph in\nwhich they occur.\n\nCorrections\nCorrected text is indicated by a preceding *. The following\ncorrections have been made (usually confirmed by reference to the\nearlier editions):\n\n Location Original Correction\n Volume 1\n p. 11 denonominate denominate\n p. 95 and of\n footnote 47 infinities infinitives\n footnote 54 existtence existence\n p. 195 their there\n footnote 59 gutteral guttural\n p. 204 {blank} 2\n p. 217 predicacations predications\n p. 256 rationes _rationes_\n footnote g b 6\n footnote j accute acute\n footnote 82 6 5\n footnote 87 phrase phase\n p. 363 it its\n p. 447 unconciousness unconsciousness\n Volume 2\n Contents 369 396\n p. 45 : ;\n p. 72 former formed\n p. 89 succeeds succeed\n p. 122 measure measured\n p. 129 end quote mark missing at footnote 8*\n p. 136 Read Reid\n footnote 30 not nor\n p. 312 comprehend comprehended\n footnote 59 physicial physical\n\nTwo uncorrections might be noticed:\nin volume 1, pp. 61-62 the Mills read 'Brobdignagian,'\nfollowing, it seems, an edition with that spelling instead of the\nusual 'Brobdingnag';\nin volume 2, page 387 'casual' is given in both editions but\n'causal' seems better sense.\n\nOther matters\nPage numbers are preserved in-text within {}.\n\nItalic or gesperrt text is enclosed by _ _.\n\nGreek text is transliterated thus: breathings marked ( for hard,\n) for soft, accents / for acute, \\ for grave, = for circumflex,\nall after their vowel; iota subscript is marked |. In footnote 53\nof Volume 1, [)i] is used to stand for i with a breve above it, in\na rendering of Wotiak.","title":"Analysis of the Phenomena of the Human Mind","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":264366}