33The author has avoided an error in the mode and order of the enquiry, which has greatly contributed to make the explanations given by psychologists of Personal Identity, so eminently unsatisfactory as they are. Psychologists have almost always begun with the most intricate part of the question. They have set out by enquiring, what makes me the same person to myself? when they should first have enquired what makes me the same person to other people? or, what makes another person the same person to me? The author of the Analysis has done this, and he easily perceived, that what makes me the same person to others, is precisely what makes a house, or a mountain, the same house or mountain to them to-day which they saw yesterday. It is the belief of an uninterrupted continuity in the series of sensations derivable from the house, or mountain, or man. There is not this continuity in the actual sensations of a single observer: he has not been watching the mountain unintermittedly since yesterday, or from a still more distant time. But he believes, on such evidence as the case affords, that if he had been watching, he should have seen the mountain continuously and unchanged during the whole intervening time (provided the other requisites of vision were present—light to see it by, and no cloud or mist intervening): and he further believes that any being, with organs like his own, who had looked in that direction at any moment of the interval during which he himself was not looking, would have seen it in the same manner as he sees it. All this applies equally to a human object. I call the man I see to-day the same man whom I saw yesterday, for the very reason which makes me call the house or the mountain the same, viz., my conviction that if my organs had been in the173same position towards him all the time as they are now, and the other conditions necessary for seeing had been present, my perception of the man would have continued all the time without interruption.If we now change the point of view, and ask, what makes me always the same person to myself, we introduce, in addition to what there was in the other case, the entire series of my own past states of consciousness. As the author truly says, the evidence on which I accept my own identity is that of memory. But memory reaches only a certain way back, and for all before that period, as well as for all subsequent to it of which I have lost the remembrance, the belief rests on other evidence. As an example of the errors and difficulties in which psychologists have involved themselves by beginning with the more complex question without having considered the simpler one, it is worth remembering that Locke makes personal identity consist in Consciousness, which in this case means Memory; and has been justly criticised by later thinkers for this doctrine, as leading to the corollary, that whatever of my past actions I have forgotten, I never performed—that my forgotten feelings were not my feelings, but were (it must therefore be supposed) the feelings of somebody else. Locke, however, had seen one part of the true state of the case; which is, that tomyselfI am only, properly speaking, the same person, in respect of those facts of my past life which I remember; but that I nevertheless consider myself as having been, at the times of which I retain no remembrance, the same person I now am, because I have satisfactory evidence that I was the same to other people; that an uninterrupted continuity in the sensations of sight and touch caused or which could have been caused to other people, existed between my present self and the infant who I am told I was, and between my present self and the person who is proved to me to have done the acts I have myself forgotten.These considerations remove the outer veil, or husk, as it were, which wraps up the idea of the Ego. But after this is removed, there remains an inner covering, which, as far as I can perceive, is impenetrable. My personal identity consists174in my being the same Ego who did, or who felt, some specific fact recalled to me by memory. So be it: but what is Memory? It is not merely having the idea of that fact recalled: that is but thought, or conception, or imagination. It is, having the idea recalled along with the Belief that the fact which it is the idea of, really happened, and moreover happened to myself. Memory, therefore, by the very fact of its being different from Imagination, implies an Ego who formerly experienced the facts remembered, and who was the same Ego then as now. The phenomenon of Self and that of Memory are merely two sides of the same fact, or two different modes of viewing the same fact We may, as psychologists, set out from either of them, and refer the other to it. We may, in treating of Memory, say (as the author says) that it is the idea of a past sensation associated with the idea of myself as having it. Or we may say, in treating of Identity, (as the author also says), that the meaning of Self is the memory of certain past sensations. But it is hardly allowable to do both. At least it must be said, that by doing so we explain neither. We only show that the two things are essentially the same; that my memory of having ascended Skiddaw on a given day, and my consciousness of being the same person who ascended Skiddaw on that day, are two modes of stating the same fact: a fact which psychology has as yet failed to resolve into anything more elementary.In analysing the complex phenomena of consciousness, we must come to something ultimate; and we seem to have reached two elements which have a good prima facie claim to that title. There is, first, the common element in all cases of Belief, namely, the difference between a fact, and the thought of that fact: a distinction which we are able to cognize in the past, and which then constitutes Memory, and in the future, when it constitutes Expectation; but in neither case can we give any account of it except that it exists; an inability which is admitted in the most elementary case of the distinction, viz. the difference between a present sensation and an idea. Secondly, in addition to this, and setting out from the belief175in the reality of a past event, or in other words, the belief that the idea I now have was derived from a previous sensation, or combination of sensations, corresponding to it, there is the further conviction that this sensation or combination of sensations was my own; that it happened to myself. In other words, I am aware of a long and uninterrupted succession of past feelings going as far back as memory reaches, and terminating with the sensations I have at the present moment, all of which are connected by an inexplicable tie, that distinguishes them not only from any succession or combination in mere thought, but also from the parallel successions of feelings which I believe, on satisfactory evidence, to have happened to each of the other beings, shaped like myself, whom I perceive around me. This succession of feelings, which I call my memory of the past, is that by which I distinguish my Self. Myself is the person who had that series of feelings, and I know nothing of myself, by direct knowledge, except that I had them. But there is a bond of some sort among all the parts of the series, which makes me say that they were feelings of a person who was the same person throughout, and a different person from those who had any of the parallel successions of feelings; and this bond, to me, constitutes my Ego. Here, I think, the question must rest, until some psychologist succeeds better than any one has yet done in shewing a mode in which the analysis can be carried further.—Ed.
33The author has avoided an error in the mode and order of the enquiry, which has greatly contributed to make the explanations given by psychologists of Personal Identity, so eminently unsatisfactory as they are. Psychologists have almost always begun with the most intricate part of the question. They have set out by enquiring, what makes me the same person to myself? when they should first have enquired what makes me the same person to other people? or, what makes another person the same person to me? The author of the Analysis has done this, and he easily perceived, that what makes me the same person to others, is precisely what makes a house, or a mountain, the same house or mountain to them to-day which they saw yesterday. It is the belief of an uninterrupted continuity in the series of sensations derivable from the house, or mountain, or man. There is not this continuity in the actual sensations of a single observer: he has not been watching the mountain unintermittedly since yesterday, or from a still more distant time. But he believes, on such evidence as the case affords, that if he had been watching, he should have seen the mountain continuously and unchanged during the whole intervening time (provided the other requisites of vision were present—light to see it by, and no cloud or mist intervening): and he further believes that any being, with organs like his own, who had looked in that direction at any moment of the interval during which he himself was not looking, would have seen it in the same manner as he sees it. All this applies equally to a human object. I call the man I see to-day the same man whom I saw yesterday, for the very reason which makes me call the house or the mountain the same, viz., my conviction that if my organs had been in the173same position towards him all the time as they are now, and the other conditions necessary for seeing had been present, my perception of the man would have continued all the time without interruption.If we now change the point of view, and ask, what makes me always the same person to myself, we introduce, in addition to what there was in the other case, the entire series of my own past states of consciousness. As the author truly says, the evidence on which I accept my own identity is that of memory. But memory reaches only a certain way back, and for all before that period, as well as for all subsequent to it of which I have lost the remembrance, the belief rests on other evidence. As an example of the errors and difficulties in which psychologists have involved themselves by beginning with the more complex question without having considered the simpler one, it is worth remembering that Locke makes personal identity consist in Consciousness, which in this case means Memory; and has been justly criticised by later thinkers for this doctrine, as leading to the corollary, that whatever of my past actions I have forgotten, I never performed—that my forgotten feelings were not my feelings, but were (it must therefore be supposed) the feelings of somebody else. Locke, however, had seen one part of the true state of the case; which is, that tomyselfI am only, properly speaking, the same person, in respect of those facts of my past life which I remember; but that I nevertheless consider myself as having been, at the times of which I retain no remembrance, the same person I now am, because I have satisfactory evidence that I was the same to other people; that an uninterrupted continuity in the sensations of sight and touch caused or which could have been caused to other people, existed between my present self and the infant who I am told I was, and between my present self and the person who is proved to me to have done the acts I have myself forgotten.These considerations remove the outer veil, or husk, as it were, which wraps up the idea of the Ego. But after this is removed, there remains an inner covering, which, as far as I can perceive, is impenetrable. My personal identity consists174in my being the same Ego who did, or who felt, some specific fact recalled to me by memory. So be it: but what is Memory? It is not merely having the idea of that fact recalled: that is but thought, or conception, or imagination. It is, having the idea recalled along with the Belief that the fact which it is the idea of, really happened, and moreover happened to myself. Memory, therefore, by the very fact of its being different from Imagination, implies an Ego who formerly experienced the facts remembered, and who was the same Ego then as now. The phenomenon of Self and that of Memory are merely two sides of the same fact, or two different modes of viewing the same fact We may, as psychologists, set out from either of them, and refer the other to it. We may, in treating of Memory, say (as the author says) that it is the idea of a past sensation associated with the idea of myself as having it. Or we may say, in treating of Identity, (as the author also says), that the meaning of Self is the memory of certain past sensations. But it is hardly allowable to do both. At least it must be said, that by doing so we explain neither. We only show that the two things are essentially the same; that my memory of having ascended Skiddaw on a given day, and my consciousness of being the same person who ascended Skiddaw on that day, are two modes of stating the same fact: a fact which psychology has as yet failed to resolve into anything more elementary.In analysing the complex phenomena of consciousness, we must come to something ultimate; and we seem to have reached two elements which have a good prima facie claim to that title. There is, first, the common element in all cases of Belief, namely, the difference between a fact, and the thought of that fact: a distinction which we are able to cognize in the past, and which then constitutes Memory, and in the future, when it constitutes Expectation; but in neither case can we give any account of it except that it exists; an inability which is admitted in the most elementary case of the distinction, viz. the difference between a present sensation and an idea. Secondly, in addition to this, and setting out from the belief175in the reality of a past event, or in other words, the belief that the idea I now have was derived from a previous sensation, or combination of sensations, corresponding to it, there is the further conviction that this sensation or combination of sensations was my own; that it happened to myself. In other words, I am aware of a long and uninterrupted succession of past feelings going as far back as memory reaches, and terminating with the sensations I have at the present moment, all of which are connected by an inexplicable tie, that distinguishes them not only from any succession or combination in mere thought, but also from the parallel successions of feelings which I believe, on satisfactory evidence, to have happened to each of the other beings, shaped like myself, whom I perceive around me. This succession of feelings, which I call my memory of the past, is that by which I distinguish my Self. Myself is the person who had that series of feelings, and I know nothing of myself, by direct knowledge, except that I had them. But there is a bond of some sort among all the parts of the series, which makes me say that they were feelings of a person who was the same person throughout, and a different person from those who had any of the parallel successions of feelings; and this bond, to me, constitutes my Ego. Here, I think, the question must rest, until some psychologist succeeds better than any one has yet done in shewing a mode in which the analysis can be carried further.—Ed.
33The author has avoided an error in the mode and order of the enquiry, which has greatly contributed to make the explanations given by psychologists of Personal Identity, so eminently unsatisfactory as they are. Psychologists have almost always begun with the most intricate part of the question. They have set out by enquiring, what makes me the same person to myself? when they should first have enquired what makes me the same person to other people? or, what makes another person the same person to me? The author of the Analysis has done this, and he easily perceived, that what makes me the same person to others, is precisely what makes a house, or a mountain, the same house or mountain to them to-day which they saw yesterday. It is the belief of an uninterrupted continuity in the series of sensations derivable from the house, or mountain, or man. There is not this continuity in the actual sensations of a single observer: he has not been watching the mountain unintermittedly since yesterday, or from a still more distant time. But he believes, on such evidence as the case affords, that if he had been watching, he should have seen the mountain continuously and unchanged during the whole intervening time (provided the other requisites of vision were present—light to see it by, and no cloud or mist intervening): and he further believes that any being, with organs like his own, who had looked in that direction at any moment of the interval during which he himself was not looking, would have seen it in the same manner as he sees it. All this applies equally to a human object. I call the man I see to-day the same man whom I saw yesterday, for the very reason which makes me call the house or the mountain the same, viz., my conviction that if my organs had been in the173same position towards him all the time as they are now, and the other conditions necessary for seeing had been present, my perception of the man would have continued all the time without interruption.
If we now change the point of view, and ask, what makes me always the same person to myself, we introduce, in addition to what there was in the other case, the entire series of my own past states of consciousness. As the author truly says, the evidence on which I accept my own identity is that of memory. But memory reaches only a certain way back, and for all before that period, as well as for all subsequent to it of which I have lost the remembrance, the belief rests on other evidence. As an example of the errors and difficulties in which psychologists have involved themselves by beginning with the more complex question without having considered the simpler one, it is worth remembering that Locke makes personal identity consist in Consciousness, which in this case means Memory; and has been justly criticised by later thinkers for this doctrine, as leading to the corollary, that whatever of my past actions I have forgotten, I never performed—that my forgotten feelings were not my feelings, but were (it must therefore be supposed) the feelings of somebody else. Locke, however, had seen one part of the true state of the case; which is, that tomyselfI am only, properly speaking, the same person, in respect of those facts of my past life which I remember; but that I nevertheless consider myself as having been, at the times of which I retain no remembrance, the same person I now am, because I have satisfactory evidence that I was the same to other people; that an uninterrupted continuity in the sensations of sight and touch caused or which could have been caused to other people, existed between my present self and the infant who I am told I was, and between my present self and the person who is proved to me to have done the acts I have myself forgotten.
These considerations remove the outer veil, or husk, as it were, which wraps up the idea of the Ego. But after this is removed, there remains an inner covering, which, as far as I can perceive, is impenetrable. My personal identity consists174in my being the same Ego who did, or who felt, some specific fact recalled to me by memory. So be it: but what is Memory? It is not merely having the idea of that fact recalled: that is but thought, or conception, or imagination. It is, having the idea recalled along with the Belief that the fact which it is the idea of, really happened, and moreover happened to myself. Memory, therefore, by the very fact of its being different from Imagination, implies an Ego who formerly experienced the facts remembered, and who was the same Ego then as now. The phenomenon of Self and that of Memory are merely two sides of the same fact, or two different modes of viewing the same fact We may, as psychologists, set out from either of them, and refer the other to it. We may, in treating of Memory, say (as the author says) that it is the idea of a past sensation associated with the idea of myself as having it. Or we may say, in treating of Identity, (as the author also says), that the meaning of Self is the memory of certain past sensations. But it is hardly allowable to do both. At least it must be said, that by doing so we explain neither. We only show that the two things are essentially the same; that my memory of having ascended Skiddaw on a given day, and my consciousness of being the same person who ascended Skiddaw on that day, are two modes of stating the same fact: a fact which psychology has as yet failed to resolve into anything more elementary.
In analysing the complex phenomena of consciousness, we must come to something ultimate; and we seem to have reached two elements which have a good prima facie claim to that title. There is, first, the common element in all cases of Belief, namely, the difference between a fact, and the thought of that fact: a distinction which we are able to cognize in the past, and which then constitutes Memory, and in the future, when it constitutes Expectation; but in neither case can we give any account of it except that it exists; an inability which is admitted in the most elementary case of the distinction, viz. the difference between a present sensation and an idea. Secondly, in addition to this, and setting out from the belief175in the reality of a past event, or in other words, the belief that the idea I now have was derived from a previous sensation, or combination of sensations, corresponding to it, there is the further conviction that this sensation or combination of sensations was my own; that it happened to myself. In other words, I am aware of a long and uninterrupted succession of past feelings going as far back as memory reaches, and terminating with the sensations I have at the present moment, all of which are connected by an inexplicable tie, that distinguishes them not only from any succession or combination in mere thought, but also from the parallel successions of feelings which I believe, on satisfactory evidence, to have happened to each of the other beings, shaped like myself, whom I perceive around me. This succession of feelings, which I call my memory of the past, is that by which I distinguish my Self. Myself is the person who had that series of feelings, and I know nothing of myself, by direct knowledge, except that I had them. But there is a bond of some sort among all the parts of the series, which makes me say that they were feelings of a person who was the same person throughout, and a different person from those who had any of the parallel successions of feelings; and this bond, to me, constitutes my Ego. Here, I think, the question must rest, until some psychologist succeeds better than any one has yet done in shewing a mode in which the analysis can be carried further.—Ed.
176
SOmuch use has been made of the word REFLECTION, and results of so much importance have been referred to it, that it is necessary to shew what state of Consciousness it denotes, in all the possible acceptations of it.
Mr. Locke defines it, “That notice which the mind takes of its own operations.”
When we have a sensation, we have already seen, on various occasions, that the having the state of consciousness, and taking notice of it, are not two things, but one and the same thing. When we say that one sensation is more attended to than another, this, as we shall seehereafter, is really tantamount to saying, that the one is more a sensation than the other.
In like manner, when we have an idea; the having the idea, the being conscious of the idea, knowing the idea, observing the idea, are only different names for the same thing. They mean the being conscious in a particular way. But the being conscious is to take notice of the consciousness. To be conscious, and not to take notice, is the same thing as to be177conscious, and not conscious. The notice is the consciousness, and the consciousness is the notice.
Thus far, therefore, it appears, with abundant evidence that Reflection is nothing but Consciousness; and Consciousness is the having the sensations and ideas. But what will be objected is, that we not only have Ideas; but we are capable of forming the idea of that particular state of mind which exists when we have an idea. It requires a close examination, to discover what is really meant by the language in which this objection is conveyed. The thing, however, to which it imperfectly points, can be made out; though, from the imperfection of the language which we must employ, it is not easy to explain it, with a certainty of being understood.
When it is said, that we can not only have a particular idea, but can form an idea of that state of mind, generally, which is called having an idea; this can mean nothing but the distinction between the particular and the general idea. It is affirmed, that we can not only have this idea, and that idea, but we can have the general idea of all ideas. This is true. But we know, by previous elucidations, what all this means. We can have the idea not only of this man, or that man, but we can have the idea of men in general. That is to say, we can group all individuals of a certain description into one class, to which class we give a name, equally applicable to every individual; which name, accordingly, being associated equally with individuals indefinite in number, calls up the ideas of individuals, indefinite in number, on every application of it.
This points out a double meaning of the word Idea; from which all the confusion of the language178aboutREFLECTIONseems to have been derived. The same word, Idea, is both theparticular, and thegeneralname. It cannot be disputed, that so far as regards individual Ideas, the having an idea, and knowing it, the being in the state of consciousness, and knowing the state of consciousness, are one and the same thing. And, if the being in a state of consciousness, and knowing it, does not express all that is meant by reflecting upon it (where reflecting is not used in another sense, as equivalent with remembering), it will remain for those who believe there is anything more, to shew what it is.
That the general is derived from the particular, there will be no hesitation in allowing. The fact, therefore, so imperfectly stated, is, that, from individual states of consciousness, we rise, by generalization, as in other cases, to the general idea which embraces a class. General Ideas, on account of their complexity, are all apt to appear, to persons little accustomed to examine them closely, more or less mysterious. But general ideas, not of the steady objects of sense, but the fleeting states of consciousness, which we have so little under command, and for the naming of which we are so ill provided with terms, cannot fail to appear mysterious in a much greater degree. What we are now, therefore, contemplating is a case of generalization, which, how certainly soever, from the common laws of the human mind, we know that it is made, it is far from easy distinctly to conceive. And those of my readers, who have followed me easily in this deduction, may be satisfied they have made no slight progress in metaphysical science.
179It is evident, when all this is clearly understood, that what has been mysteriously set forth, under the name of an Idea ofREFLECTION, is simply the generalization of particular states of consciousness; which particular states of consciousness are our sensations and ideas.
There are various cases of this generalization, some more, some less, extensive.
In the same manner as we generalize the having of a single idea; and conceive, not the having of this idea, or that idea, but the having of any idea, and all ideas; we also generalize the having two associated ideas, and, from particulars, mount up to the general idea of the association, or train, of ideas.
It is needless to be particular in referring to the specific cases. We have seen what combination of ideas constitutes the case of memory. Individual instances of memory are generalized; these peculiar combinations are viewed as a class; hence the general idea, and general name of the class.
The explanation is obviously the same, in other cases, as Judgment, Reasoning, Belief, Willing. We know what is the particular case of association on which each of these names is bestowed. We know what is the state of consciousness, on each individual occasion of Judging, Reasoning, and so forth. Generalization is performed. The particular instances are viewed as composing a class. The Idea of the class is the Idea of Reflection.34
34To reflect on any of our feelings or mental acts is more properly identified withattendingto the feeling, than, (as stated in the text) with merely having it. The author scarcely180recognises this as a difference. He sometimes indeed seems to consider attention as mental repetition; but in his chapter on the Will, we shall find that hethereidentifies attending to a feeling with merely having the feeling. I conceive, on the contrary, (with the great majority of psychologists) that there is an important distinction between the two things; the ignoring of which has led the author into errors. What the distinction is, I have endeavoured to shew in mynoteto the chapter on Consciousness; and the subject will return upon ushereafter.—Ed.
34To reflect on any of our feelings or mental acts is more properly identified withattendingto the feeling, than, (as stated in the text) with merely having it. The author scarcely180recognises this as a difference. He sometimes indeed seems to consider attention as mental repetition; but in his chapter on the Will, we shall find that hethereidentifies attending to a feeling with merely having the feeling. I conceive, on the contrary, (with the great majority of psychologists) that there is an important distinction between the two things; the ignoring of which has led the author into errors. What the distinction is, I have endeavoured to shew in mynoteto the chapter on Consciousness; and the subject will return upon ushereafter.—Ed.
34To reflect on any of our feelings or mental acts is more properly identified withattendingto the feeling, than, (as stated in the text) with merely having it. The author scarcely180recognises this as a difference. He sometimes indeed seems to consider attention as mental repetition; but in his chapter on the Will, we shall find that hethereidentifies attending to a feeling with merely having the feeling. I conceive, on the contrary, (with the great majority of psychologists) that there is an important distinction between the two things; the ignoring of which has led the author into errors. What the distinction is, I have endeavoured to shew in mynoteto the chapter on Consciousness; and the subject will return upon ushereafter.—Ed.
181
“It is the greatest triumph of philosophy to refer many, and seemingly very various, phenomena, to one, or a very few, simple principles: and the more simple and evident such a principle is, provided it be truly applicable to all the cases in question, the greater is its value and scientific beauty.”—Elements of Logic,by Dr. Whately, p. 32.
THEPhenomena of Thought have long appeared to be divisible into two great classes; which were distinguished by the names, the one of the Intellectual, the other of the Active, Powers of the Human Mind. In the phenomena which compose the first of those classes, and which we have now pretty completely surveyed, the sensations and ideas are considered merely as existing. In the phenomena which compose the second of the two classes, the sensations and ideas are to be considered as not merely existing, but also as exciting to action.35
35Instead of “The phenomena ofThought,” substitute the phenomena of Mind, the Subject, or the Subject Consciousness. The use of the word “Thought” seems to justify an opinion held by Hamilton and by the German philosophers, that thought, or the cognitive function is the basis of mind, instead of being co-ordinate with the other leading functions (Feeling and Will.) There is no evidence elsewhere that the author shares this opinion.The defectiveness of the two-fold classification of the mind, which seems to have descended from Aristotle, and is only in the present generation supplanted by an explicitly worked-out triple division, is especially apparent in the handling of all the succeeding chapters of the present work. The Will, or the activity of the system, is spoken of as set on indiscriminately by “sensations and ideas;” which, as will be seen, is to mix together a number of entirely distinct processes.There is no adequate separation of the emotional part of a Sensation, from its intellectual or knowledge-giving part. The same confusion extends to the word “idea,” which, without premonition, is employed for the memory of pleasures and pains, and for the memory of sensations of the intellectual or knowledge-giving kind. There is, as might be expected, an insufficient treatment of the special forms of Emotion; there being no basis laid for their exhaustive or natural classification.—B.
35Instead of “The phenomena ofThought,” substitute the phenomena of Mind, the Subject, or the Subject Consciousness. The use of the word “Thought” seems to justify an opinion held by Hamilton and by the German philosophers, that thought, or the cognitive function is the basis of mind, instead of being co-ordinate with the other leading functions (Feeling and Will.) There is no evidence elsewhere that the author shares this opinion.The defectiveness of the two-fold classification of the mind, which seems to have descended from Aristotle, and is only in the present generation supplanted by an explicitly worked-out triple division, is especially apparent in the handling of all the succeeding chapters of the present work. The Will, or the activity of the system, is spoken of as set on indiscriminately by “sensations and ideas;” which, as will be seen, is to mix together a number of entirely distinct processes.There is no adequate separation of the emotional part of a Sensation, from its intellectual or knowledge-giving part. The same confusion extends to the word “idea,” which, without premonition, is employed for the memory of pleasures and pains, and for the memory of sensations of the intellectual or knowledge-giving kind. There is, as might be expected, an insufficient treatment of the special forms of Emotion; there being no basis laid for their exhaustive or natural classification.—B.
35Instead of “The phenomena ofThought,” substitute the phenomena of Mind, the Subject, or the Subject Consciousness. The use of the word “Thought” seems to justify an opinion held by Hamilton and by the German philosophers, that thought, or the cognitive function is the basis of mind, instead of being co-ordinate with the other leading functions (Feeling and Will.) There is no evidence elsewhere that the author shares this opinion.
The defectiveness of the two-fold classification of the mind, which seems to have descended from Aristotle, and is only in the present generation supplanted by an explicitly worked-out triple division, is especially apparent in the handling of all the succeeding chapters of the present work. The Will, or the activity of the system, is spoken of as set on indiscriminately by “sensations and ideas;” which, as will be seen, is to mix together a number of entirely distinct processes.
There is no adequate separation of the emotional part of a Sensation, from its intellectual or knowledge-giving part. The same confusion extends to the word “idea,” which, without premonition, is employed for the memory of pleasures and pains, and for the memory of sensations of the intellectual or knowledge-giving kind. There is, as might be expected, an insufficient treatment of the special forms of Emotion; there being no basis laid for their exhaustive or natural classification.—B.
182With respect to the sensations and ideas which compose the phenomena of the first class, we have observed, that they are apt to be formed into clusters of more or less complexity; and that they follow one another, in trains, according to certain laws.
The sensations and ideas, which compose the phenomena of the second class, are equally formed into clusters, with those composing the phenomena of the former class; and follow one another, in trains, according to the same laws.
So far, the two classes of phenomena agree; and so far, the analysis, which we have endeavoured to effect of the former class, is to be taken as the analysis also of the latter. Our object, now, is, to trace to their183source the differences which constitute this a separate class; to mark the subdivisions into which it can be most conveniently distributed; and to demonstrate the simple laws, into which the whole phenomena of human life, so numerous, and apparently so diversified, may all be easily resolved.
184
THEREis a remarkable difference of sensations, which has been mentioned before, but which must now be more particularly attended to.
Some sensations, probably the greater number, are what we call indifferent. They are not considered as either painful, or pleasurable. There are sensations, however, and of frequent recurrence, some of which are painful, some pleasurable. The difference is, that which is felt. A man knows it, by feeling it; and this is the whole account of the phenomenon. I have one sensation, and then another, and then another. The first is of such a kind, that I care not whether it is long or short; the second is of such a kind that I would put an end to it instantly if I could; the third is of such a kind, that I like it prolonged. To distinguish those feelings, I give them names. I call the first Indifferent; the second, Painful; the third. Pleasurable; very often, for shortness, I call the second, Pain, the third, Pleasure.
Weformerlyshewed, that having a sensation and185knowing it, are not two things, but one and the same thing; that having two sensations and knowing them, are not two things, but one and the same thing. It is obvious, therefore, that having three sensations, an Indifferent, a Pleasurable, and a Painful, and knowing them for what they are, are not different things, but one and the same thing.
The pleasurable and painful sensations are common to all the senses. We have pleasures and pains of the eye, of the ear, of the touch, the taste, the smell, and also of many internal parts of the body, for which, though, as we shall presently see, they hold a great share in composing the springs of human action, we have not names, nor any means of accurate estimation.36
36In the case of many pleasurable or painful sensations, it is open to question whether the pleasure or pain, especially the pleasure, is not something added to the sensation, and capable of being detached from it, rather than merely a particular aspect or quality of the sensation. It is often observable that a sensation is much less pleasurable at one time than at another, though to our consciousness it appears exactly the same sensation in all except the pleasure. This is emphatically the fact in cases of satiety, or of loss of taste for a sensation by loss of novelty. It is probable that in such cases the pleasure may depend on different nerves, or on a different action of the same nerves, from the remaining part of the sensation. However this may be, the pleasure or pain attending a sensation is (like the feelings of Likeness, Succession, &c.) capable of being mentally abstracted from the sensation, or, in other words, capable of being attended to by itself. And in any case Mr. Bain’s distinction holds good, between the emotional part or property of a sensation (in which he includes the186pleasure or pain belonging to it) and its intellectual or knowledge-giving part. It must be remembered, however, that these are not exclusive of one another; the knowledge-giving part is not necessarily emotional, but the emotional part is and must be knowledge-giving. The pleasure or pain of the feeling are subjects of intellectual apprehension; they give the knowledge of themselves and of their varieties.—Ed.
36In the case of many pleasurable or painful sensations, it is open to question whether the pleasure or pain, especially the pleasure, is not something added to the sensation, and capable of being detached from it, rather than merely a particular aspect or quality of the sensation. It is often observable that a sensation is much less pleasurable at one time than at another, though to our consciousness it appears exactly the same sensation in all except the pleasure. This is emphatically the fact in cases of satiety, or of loss of taste for a sensation by loss of novelty. It is probable that in such cases the pleasure may depend on different nerves, or on a different action of the same nerves, from the remaining part of the sensation. However this may be, the pleasure or pain attending a sensation is (like the feelings of Likeness, Succession, &c.) capable of being mentally abstracted from the sensation, or, in other words, capable of being attended to by itself. And in any case Mr. Bain’s distinction holds good, between the emotional part or property of a sensation (in which he includes the186pleasure or pain belonging to it) and its intellectual or knowledge-giving part. It must be remembered, however, that these are not exclusive of one another; the knowledge-giving part is not necessarily emotional, but the emotional part is and must be knowledge-giving. The pleasure or pain of the feeling are subjects of intellectual apprehension; they give the knowledge of themselves and of their varieties.—Ed.
36In the case of many pleasurable or painful sensations, it is open to question whether the pleasure or pain, especially the pleasure, is not something added to the sensation, and capable of being detached from it, rather than merely a particular aspect or quality of the sensation. It is often observable that a sensation is much less pleasurable at one time than at another, though to our consciousness it appears exactly the same sensation in all except the pleasure. This is emphatically the fact in cases of satiety, or of loss of taste for a sensation by loss of novelty. It is probable that in such cases the pleasure may depend on different nerves, or on a different action of the same nerves, from the remaining part of the sensation. However this may be, the pleasure or pain attending a sensation is (like the feelings of Likeness, Succession, &c.) capable of being mentally abstracted from the sensation, or, in other words, capable of being attended to by itself. And in any case Mr. Bain’s distinction holds good, between the emotional part or property of a sensation (in which he includes the186pleasure or pain belonging to it) and its intellectual or knowledge-giving part. It must be remembered, however, that these are not exclusive of one another; the knowledge-giving part is not necessarily emotional, but the emotional part is and must be knowledge-giving. The pleasure or pain of the feeling are subjects of intellectual apprehension; they give the knowledge of themselves and of their varieties.—Ed.
187
NEXTin order to the Pleasurable and Painful Sensations, it is necessary to take notice of the causes of them. We can generally trace them to certain constant antecedents; and it is evidently of the greatest importance to us to be able to do so; as it is by those means only, we can lessen the number of the painful sensations, increase the number of the pleasurable.
Of the causes of our Pleasurable and Painful Sensations, it is necessary to distinguish two classes; first, the immediate causes; secondly, the remote causes; a remote, being not, strictly speaking, the cause of the sensation, but the cause of that cause. Thus, the lash of the executioner is the immediate cause of the pain of the criminal. The sentence of the Judge, is the cause of that cause. The sound of the violin is the immediate cause of the pleasure of my ear; the performance of the musician, the cause of that sound; the money with which I have hired the musician, the cause of that performance. The money is, in this case, the cause of the cause of the cause of the sensation; or the cause, at two removes.
188It is necessary to be remarked, respecting the causes of our pleasurable and painful sensations, that, they are apt to become greater objects of concern to us, to rank higher in importance, than the sensations themselves. It is a vulgar observation, with respect to money, for example, that, though useful only for obtaining pleasure, or saving from pain, it is often employed for neither purpose, but hugged as a good in itself.
The importance attached to the cause of the sensation, is a case of association easy to be traced. The pleasurable and painful sensations themselves are, specifically, not numerous. The causes of them, on the other hand, are exceedingly numerous, and diversified. Again; the mind is not much interested in attending to the sensation. The sensation provides for itself. The mind, however, is deeply interested in attending to the cause; that we may prevent, or remove it, if the sensation is painful; provide, or detain it, if the sensation is pleasurable. This creates a habit of passing rapidly from the sensation, to fix our attention upon its cause.
189
WEhave already seen, that all sensations are capable of being revived, without that action on the organs of sense which originally produced them; and that, when so revived, we call them ideas or copies of the sensations.
The sensations which are pleasurable and painful, are revived in the same manner as those which are indifferent; but, as the sensations which are pleasurable and painful form a class of sensations remarkably distinguished from sensations of the indifferent class, the ideas of the pleasurable and painful sensations form a class of ideas, no less remarkably distinguished from the ideas of the indifferent sensations.
It is necessary to endeavour by a particular effort to distinguish accurately from all other feelings that peculiar state of consciousness, which we call the idea of a pleasurable or painful sensation; in other words, that sensation revived, after the operation upon the senses has ceased.
This state of consciousness, like other states, is known only by having it. What it is felt to be, it is.190We can afford, therefore, no aid to the reader in distinguishing it, otherwise than by using such expressions as seem calculated to fix his attention upon it. It is his own inward, invisible state, which only he can mark for himself.
The idea of a pain or pleasure, is not a pain or pleasure. We do not say that the idea of the hand scalded is a pain, or the idea of a sweet smell is a pleasure. But this is not very satisfactory language; for it, in reality, means little more, than that the idea of a pleasurable or painful sensation, is not a sensation. That there are some trains of ideas, however, which it is agreeable to have, others which it is disagreeable, is one among the most familiar facts of our nature. There is, therefore, a distinction among ideas, analogous to that of pleasurable and painful among sensations.
It is difficult to think of any one sensation by itself; because each is so combined with others, that the idea of one can never present itself, but in company with more. This is peculiarly the case with sensations of the pleasurable and painful kinds: and hence the cause of the indistinctness, which seems to accompany the idea of any of those sensations, when we endeavour to take it apart, and consider what it is in itself.
An idea is the revival of a former state of feeling. The first thing which I have to consider is, what is my precise state of consciousness, when I receive a pleasurable or painful sensation.
When the sensation was present, suppose a painful one, it was a state of consciousness, so interesting to me, that it was important to find a mark for it. I191called it Pain. It is a state of consciousness known to every man by his having had it, and it can be known by no other means. We call it by various names; an odious state, a disagreeable state, and so on; but these are only several modes of marking what is felt, and tell to no man anything more than his feeling has told. Except for his own knowledge of his own feeling, the words would be utterly without a meaning.
Such is the state of consciousness under the sensation. I revive the sensation.
My state of consciousness under the sensation I called a pain. My state of consciousness under the idea of the pain, I call, not a pain, but an aversion. An aversion is the idea of a pain. Whatever is included under the term idea of pain, is included precisely under the term aversion. They are not two things, but two names for the same thing.
The same explanation applies to the case of a pleasurable sensation. The state of consciousness under the sensation, that is, the sensation itself, differed from other sensations, in that it was agreeable. A name was wanted to denote this peculiarity; to mark, as a class, the sensations which possess it. The term, Pleasure, was adopted. I revive the sensation; in other words, have the idea; and as I had occasion for a name to class the sensations, I have occasion for a name to class the ideas. My state of consciousness under the sensation, I call a Pleasure: my state of consciousness under the idea, that is, the idea itself, I call a Desire. The term “Idea of a pleasure,” expresses precisely the same thing as the term, Desire. It does so by the very import of the words. The192idea of a pleasure, is the idea of something as good to have. But what is a desire, other than the idea of something as good to have; good to have, being really nothing but desirable to have? The terms, therefore, “idea of pleasure,” and “desire,” are but two names; the thing named, the state of consciousness, is one and the same.
There is an ambiguity, however, in the terms Aversion, and Desire, which contributes not a little to cast darkness upon this part of our inquiry.
They are applied to the ideas of the Causes of our Pleasurable and Painful Sensations, as well as to the ideas of those Sensations; and, of course, in a different sense. We say we have an aversion to certain kinds of food, or certain drugs; we have a desire for water to drink, for fire to warm us, and so on.
When we examine these phrases narrowly, we find that it is not literally, but by a sort of figure of speech, that the terms “Aversion,” and “Desire,” are applied to the Causes of Pains and Pleasures. Properly speaking, it is not to the food, or the drug, that we have the aversion, but to the disagreeable taste. The food is a substance of a certain colour, and consistence; so is the drug. There is nothing in these qualities which is offensive to us; only the taste. In like manner, it is not the water we desire, but the pleasure of drinking; not the fire we desire, but the pleasure of warmth.
The illusion is merely that of a very close association. There is no case, indeed, of association, in which the union is more intimate, than that between the idea of a pungent sensation, and its customary cause; and hence, there is no wonder that the name193which properly belongs to the one, should be bestowed upon the other, or rather, that the name which belongs properly to one, should be given to the two, formed into a complex idea, in conjunction.
There is another source of perplexity, which arises from the connotative power of the terms Desire, and Aversion. They are Nouns, in the future tense; that is, they connote futurity; just as Verbs, in the future tense, connote futurity. Though the feeling, called the idea of a pleasurable sensation, is precisely the feeling called desirableness; desirableness, and the idea of something pleasurable, being convertible terms, the word Desire, whenever it is applied to a particular case, carries with it a tacit reference to future time. When the idea of a sensation is present, the sensation itself is not present. The sensation has been, or is to be. It is difficult, therefore, to have the idea of a pleasurable sensation, without the association of the past, or the future. The idea of a pleasurable sensation with the association of the Past, is never called Desire. The word Desire, is commonly used to mark the idea of a pleasurable sensation, when the Future is associated with it. The idea of a pleasurable sensation, to come, is what is commonly meant by Desire. We have, however, no other name to mark the idea, when it is considered by itself, and without reference to the past, or the future. In these cases, Desire, and the idea of a pleasurable sensation; Aversion, and the idea of a painful sensation, are convertible terms.
From this exposition, it follows, that the number of our desires is the same with that of our pleasurable sensations; the number of our aversions, the same194with that of our painful sensations; just as the number of our simple ideas of sight, is the same with that of our sensations of sight; the number of our simple ideas of sound, taste, or smell, the same with that of our sensations of sound, taste, or smell.37
37The principal doctrine of this chapter is, that Desire, and Aversion, are nothing but the idea of a pleasurable sensation, and the Idea of a painful sensation: which doctrine is then qualified by saying, that a desire is the idea of a pleasure associated with the future, an aversion the idea of a pain associated with the future.But according to the whole spirit of the author’s speculations, and to his express affirmation in the beginning of the nextchapter, the idea of any sensation associated with the future, constitutes the Expectation of it: and if so, it rested with him to prove that the expectation of a pleasure, or of a pain, is the same thing with the desire, or aversion. This is certainly not conformable to common observation. For, on the one hand, it is commonly understood that there may be desire or aversion without expectation; and on the other, expectation of a pleasure without any actual feeling of desire: one may expect, and even look forward with satisfaction to, the pleasure of a meal, although one is not, but only expects to be, hungry. So perfectly is it assumed that expectation, and desire or aversion, are not necessarily combined, that the case in which they are combined is signified by a special pair of names. Desire combined with expectation, is called by the name of Hope; Aversion combined with expectation, is known by the name of Fear.I believe the fact to be that desire is not Expectation, but is more than the idea of the pleasure desired, being, in truth, the initiatory stage of Will. In what we call Desire there is, I think, always included a positive stimulation to action; either to the definite course of action which would lead to our195obtaining the pleasure, or to a general restlessness and vague seeking after it. The stimulation may fall short of actually producing action: even when it prompts to a definite act, it may be repressed by a stronger motive, or by knowledge that the pleasure is not within present reach, nor can be brought nearer to us by any present action of our own. Still, there is, I think, always, the sense of a tendency to action, in the direction of pursuit of the pleasure, though the tendency may be overpowered by an external or an internal restraint. So also, in aversion, there is always a tendency to action of the kind which repels or avoids the painful sensation. But of these things more fully under the head ofWill.—Ed.
37The principal doctrine of this chapter is, that Desire, and Aversion, are nothing but the idea of a pleasurable sensation, and the Idea of a painful sensation: which doctrine is then qualified by saying, that a desire is the idea of a pleasure associated with the future, an aversion the idea of a pain associated with the future.But according to the whole spirit of the author’s speculations, and to his express affirmation in the beginning of the nextchapter, the idea of any sensation associated with the future, constitutes the Expectation of it: and if so, it rested with him to prove that the expectation of a pleasure, or of a pain, is the same thing with the desire, or aversion. This is certainly not conformable to common observation. For, on the one hand, it is commonly understood that there may be desire or aversion without expectation; and on the other, expectation of a pleasure without any actual feeling of desire: one may expect, and even look forward with satisfaction to, the pleasure of a meal, although one is not, but only expects to be, hungry. So perfectly is it assumed that expectation, and desire or aversion, are not necessarily combined, that the case in which they are combined is signified by a special pair of names. Desire combined with expectation, is called by the name of Hope; Aversion combined with expectation, is known by the name of Fear.I believe the fact to be that desire is not Expectation, but is more than the idea of the pleasure desired, being, in truth, the initiatory stage of Will. In what we call Desire there is, I think, always included a positive stimulation to action; either to the definite course of action which would lead to our195obtaining the pleasure, or to a general restlessness and vague seeking after it. The stimulation may fall short of actually producing action: even when it prompts to a definite act, it may be repressed by a stronger motive, or by knowledge that the pleasure is not within present reach, nor can be brought nearer to us by any present action of our own. Still, there is, I think, always, the sense of a tendency to action, in the direction of pursuit of the pleasure, though the tendency may be overpowered by an external or an internal restraint. So also, in aversion, there is always a tendency to action of the kind which repels or avoids the painful sensation. But of these things more fully under the head ofWill.—Ed.
37The principal doctrine of this chapter is, that Desire, and Aversion, are nothing but the idea of a pleasurable sensation, and the Idea of a painful sensation: which doctrine is then qualified by saying, that a desire is the idea of a pleasure associated with the future, an aversion the idea of a pain associated with the future.
But according to the whole spirit of the author’s speculations, and to his express affirmation in the beginning of the nextchapter, the idea of any sensation associated with the future, constitutes the Expectation of it: and if so, it rested with him to prove that the expectation of a pleasure, or of a pain, is the same thing with the desire, or aversion. This is certainly not conformable to common observation. For, on the one hand, it is commonly understood that there may be desire or aversion without expectation; and on the other, expectation of a pleasure without any actual feeling of desire: one may expect, and even look forward with satisfaction to, the pleasure of a meal, although one is not, but only expects to be, hungry. So perfectly is it assumed that expectation, and desire or aversion, are not necessarily combined, that the case in which they are combined is signified by a special pair of names. Desire combined with expectation, is called by the name of Hope; Aversion combined with expectation, is known by the name of Fear.
I believe the fact to be that desire is not Expectation, but is more than the idea of the pleasure desired, being, in truth, the initiatory stage of Will. In what we call Desire there is, I think, always included a positive stimulation to action; either to the definite course of action which would lead to our195obtaining the pleasure, or to a general restlessness and vague seeking after it. The stimulation may fall short of actually producing action: even when it prompts to a definite act, it may be repressed by a stronger motive, or by knowledge that the pleasure is not within present reach, nor can be brought nearer to us by any present action of our own. Still, there is, I think, always, the sense of a tendency to action, in the direction of pursuit of the pleasure, though the tendency may be overpowered by an external or an internal restraint. So also, in aversion, there is always a tendency to action of the kind which repels or avoids the painful sensation. But of these things more fully under the head ofWill.—Ed.
196
WEhave considered, what the pleasurable and painful sensations are when present; what the ideas of them, considered as present, are; and what the ideas of their causes.
Those sensations, however, together with their causes, we may contemplate, either as passed, or as future: and so contemplated, they give rise to some of the most interesting states of the human mind.
To contemplate any feeling as Passed, is to remember it; and the explanation ofMemorywe need not repeat. To contemplate any feeling as Future, is merely a case of that Anticipation of the future from the passed, of which, also, we havealreadygiven the explanation.
When my finger was in the flame of the candle and burned, the painful sensation was present. The state of consciousness, however, was complex, and consisted of several ingredients; the sight of the burning candle, the sight of my finger, the sense of a certain position or locality, namely, that of my197finger and the candle, the painful sensation, and the belief that it was my sensation; in other words, the association of that thread of consciousness in which, to me, my being consists, with the present sensation. The painful feeling was thus a feeling deeply imbedded among others.
When I remember this state of consciousness, the idea of it, which makes part of the memory, is by no means a simple idea. It is composed of the ideas of all the above-mentioned sensations, together with that of the train of consciousness, which I call myself. This last is necessary to constitute itmyidea. This idea, thus existing as my idea, and my present idea, is associated with that part of my train or thread of consciousness which has intervened, between the present state and the remembered state; and by this last association the idea becomes memory.
The anticipation of the Future is the same series of association; with this difference, that, in memory, the association of the train of consciousness, which converts the idea into memory, is from consequent to antecedent, that is, backwards; the association in the case of anticipation is from antecedent to consequent, forwards.
In anticipation, as in memory, there is, first, the complex idea, as above; next, the passage of the mind forwards from the present state of consciousness, the antecedent, to one consequent after another, till it comes to the anticipated sensation. Suppose, that, as a punishment, a man is condemned to put his finger after two days in the flame of a candle; wherein consists his anticipation? The complex idea, as described above, of the painful sensation, with all its198concomitant sensations and ideas, is the first part of the process. The remainder is the association with this idea of the events, one after another, which are to fill up the intermediate time, and terminate with his finger placed in the flame of the candle. The whole of this association, taken together, comprises the idea of the pain as his pain, after a train of antecedents.
The process of anticipation is so precisely the same, when the sensation is of the pleasurable kind, that I deem it unnecessary to repeat it.38
38This is the first place in which the author gives his analysis of Expectation; and his theory of it is, as all theories of it must be, the exact counterpart of the same person’s theory of Memory. He resolves it into the mere Idea of the expected event, accompanied by the “idea of the events, one after another,” which are to begin with the present moment, and end with the expected event. But in this case, as in that of Memory, the objection recurs, that all this may exist in the case of mere Imagination. A man may conceive himself being hanged, or elevated to a throne, and may construct in his mind a series of possible or conceivable events, through which he can fancy each of these results to be brought about. If he is a man of lively imagination, this idea of the events “which are to fill up the intermediate time” may be at least as copious, as the idea of the series of coming events for a year from the present time, which according to the author’s theory I have in my mind when I look forward to commencing a journey twelve months hence. Yet he neither expects to be hanged, nor to be made a king, still less both, which, to bear out the theory, it would seem that he ought.The difference between Expectation and mere Imagination, as well as between Memory and Imagination, consists in the presence or absence of Belief; and though this is no explanation of either phenomenon, it brings us back to one and the same real problem, which I have so often referred to, and which neither the author nor any other thinker has yet solved—the difference between knowing something as a Reality, and as a mere Thought; a distinction similar and parallel to that between a Sensation and an Idea.—Ed.
38This is the first place in which the author gives his analysis of Expectation; and his theory of it is, as all theories of it must be, the exact counterpart of the same person’s theory of Memory. He resolves it into the mere Idea of the expected event, accompanied by the “idea of the events, one after another,” which are to begin with the present moment, and end with the expected event. But in this case, as in that of Memory, the objection recurs, that all this may exist in the case of mere Imagination. A man may conceive himself being hanged, or elevated to a throne, and may construct in his mind a series of possible or conceivable events, through which he can fancy each of these results to be brought about. If he is a man of lively imagination, this idea of the events “which are to fill up the intermediate time” may be at least as copious, as the idea of the series of coming events for a year from the present time, which according to the author’s theory I have in my mind when I look forward to commencing a journey twelve months hence. Yet he neither expects to be hanged, nor to be made a king, still less both, which, to bear out the theory, it would seem that he ought.The difference between Expectation and mere Imagination, as well as between Memory and Imagination, consists in the presence or absence of Belief; and though this is no explanation of either phenomenon, it brings us back to one and the same real problem, which I have so often referred to, and which neither the author nor any other thinker has yet solved—the difference between knowing something as a Reality, and as a mere Thought; a distinction similar and parallel to that between a Sensation and an Idea.—Ed.
38This is the first place in which the author gives his analysis of Expectation; and his theory of it is, as all theories of it must be, the exact counterpart of the same person’s theory of Memory. He resolves it into the mere Idea of the expected event, accompanied by the “idea of the events, one after another,” which are to begin with the present moment, and end with the expected event. But in this case, as in that of Memory, the objection recurs, that all this may exist in the case of mere Imagination. A man may conceive himself being hanged, or elevated to a throne, and may construct in his mind a series of possible or conceivable events, through which he can fancy each of these results to be brought about. If he is a man of lively imagination, this idea of the events “which are to fill up the intermediate time” may be at least as copious, as the idea of the series of coming events for a year from the present time, which according to the author’s theory I have in my mind when I look forward to commencing a journey twelve months hence. Yet he neither expects to be hanged, nor to be made a king, still less both, which, to bear out the theory, it would seem that he ought.
The difference between Expectation and mere Imagination, as well as between Memory and Imagination, consists in the presence or absence of Belief; and though this is no explanation of either phenomenon, it brings us back to one and the same real problem, which I have so often referred to, and which neither the author nor any other thinker has yet solved—the difference between knowing something as a Reality, and as a mere Thought; a distinction similar and parallel to that between a Sensation and an Idea.—Ed.
199In contemplating a painful or pleasurable sensation as past, that is, remembering it, the mind is in general tranquil. The state is not, perhaps, a state of indifference; but it is not so far removed from it, as to call attention to itself, or require a name to mark it.
The case is different, when the sensation is contemplated as future, or anticipated. The state of consciousness is then far removed from a state of indifference. It admits of two cases. One is, when the sensation is contemplated as certainly future; the other is, when it is contemplated as not certainly future.
When a pleasurable sensation is contemplated as future, but not certainly, the state of consciousness is called Hope. When a painful sensation is contemplated as future, but not certainly, the state of consciousness is called Fear.39
39The author’s definitions of Hope and Fear differ from those offered in mynote(p. 194). He considers these words to signify that the pleasure or the pain is contemplated as future, but without certainty. It must be admitted that the words are often applied to very faint degrees of anticipation, far short of those which in popular language would be spoken of as Expectation: but I think the terms are not inconsistent with the fullest assurance. A man is about to undergo a painful surgical operation. He has no doubt whatever about the event; he fully intends it; there are no other means, perhaps, of saving his life. Yet the feeling with which he looks forward to it, and with which he contemplates the preparations for it, are such as would, I think, by the custom of language, be designated as fear. Death, again, is the most certain of all future events, yet we speak of the fear of death. It is perhaps more doubtful whether the fully assured anticipation of a desired enjoyment would receive, in ordinary parlance, the name of Hope; yet some common phrases seem to imply that it would. We read even on tombstones “the sure hope of a joyful immortality.”A still more restricted application of the word Fear, also justified by usage, is to the case in which the feeling amounts to a disturbing passion; and to this meaning Mr Bain, as will be seen in a futurenote, thinks it desirable to confine it.—Ed.
39The author’s definitions of Hope and Fear differ from those offered in mynote(p. 194). He considers these words to signify that the pleasure or the pain is contemplated as future, but without certainty. It must be admitted that the words are often applied to very faint degrees of anticipation, far short of those which in popular language would be spoken of as Expectation: but I think the terms are not inconsistent with the fullest assurance. A man is about to undergo a painful surgical operation. He has no doubt whatever about the event; he fully intends it; there are no other means, perhaps, of saving his life. Yet the feeling with which he looks forward to it, and with which he contemplates the preparations for it, are such as would, I think, by the custom of language, be designated as fear. Death, again, is the most certain of all future events, yet we speak of the fear of death. It is perhaps more doubtful whether the fully assured anticipation of a desired enjoyment would receive, in ordinary parlance, the name of Hope; yet some common phrases seem to imply that it would. We read even on tombstones “the sure hope of a joyful immortality.”A still more restricted application of the word Fear, also justified by usage, is to the case in which the feeling amounts to a disturbing passion; and to this meaning Mr Bain, as will be seen in a futurenote, thinks it desirable to confine it.—Ed.
39The author’s definitions of Hope and Fear differ from those offered in mynote(p. 194). He considers these words to signify that the pleasure or the pain is contemplated as future, but without certainty. It must be admitted that the words are often applied to very faint degrees of anticipation, far short of those which in popular language would be spoken of as Expectation: but I think the terms are not inconsistent with the fullest assurance. A man is about to undergo a painful surgical operation. He has no doubt whatever about the event; he fully intends it; there are no other means, perhaps, of saving his life. Yet the feeling with which he looks forward to it, and with which he contemplates the preparations for it, are such as would, I think, by the custom of language, be designated as fear. Death, again, is the most certain of all future events, yet we speak of the fear of death. It is perhaps more doubtful whether the fully assured anticipation of a desired enjoyment would receive, in ordinary parlance, the name of Hope; yet some common phrases seem to imply that it would. We read even on tombstones “the sure hope of a joyful immortality.”
A still more restricted application of the word Fear, also justified by usage, is to the case in which the feeling amounts to a disturbing passion; and to this meaning Mr Bain, as will be seen in a futurenote, thinks it desirable to confine it.—Ed.
200Again: When a pleasurable sensation is anticipated with certainty, we call the state of consciousness Joy. When a painful sensation is thus anticipated, we call it Sorrow. Neither of the two terms is good; because not confined to this signification. Both are applied to name other things, also, which we shall presently have occasion to notice. They are, therefore, a source of confusion.