Chapter XXIX: Section I: Names of Names (6)

"On raising the arm to a horizontal position and keeping it so, and still more on dealing similarly with the leg, a sensation is felt, which, tolerably strong as it is at the outset, presently becomes unbearable. If the limb be uncovered, and be not brought against anything, this sensation is associated with no other, either of touch or pressure." This is the sensation of Muscular Tension.

"Allied to the sensation accompanying tension of the muscles, is that accompanying the act of contracting them--the sensation of muscular motion. . . . While, from the muscles of a limb at rest, no sensation rises; while, from the muscles of a limb in a state of continuous strain, there arises a continuous sensation which remains uniform for a considerable time; from the muscle of a limb in motion, there arises a sensation which is {152} ever undergoing increase or decrease, or change of composition.

"When we express our immediate experiences of a body by saying that it is _hard_, what are the experiences implied? First, a sensation of pressure, of considerable intensity, is implied; and if, as in most cases, this sensation of pressure is given to a finger voluntarily thrust against the object, then there is simultaneously felt a correspondingly strong sensation of muscular tension. But this is not all: for feelings of pressure and muscular tension may be given by bodies which we call soft, provided the compressing finger follows the surface as fast as it gives way. In what then consists the difference between the perceptions? In this; that whereas when a soft body is pressed with increasing force, the synchronous sensations of increasing pressure and increasing muscular tension are accompanied by sensations of muscular movement; when a hard body is pressed with increasing force these sensations of increasing pressure and tension are not accompanied by sensations of muscular movement. Considered by itself, then, the perception of softness may be defined as the establishment in consciousness of a relation of simultaneity between three series of sensations--a series of increasing sensations of pressure; a series of increasing sensations of tension; and a series of sensations of motion. And the perception of hardness is the same, with omission of the last series." (pp. 212, 218.)

Of Extension; and first, of Form or Figure:

"It is an anciently established doctrine that Form or Figure, which we may call the most complex mode of extension, is resolvable into relative magnitude of parts. An equilateral triangle is one of which the three sides are alike in magnitude. An ellipse is a symmetrical closed curve, of which the transverse and conjugate diameters are one greater than the other. A cube is a solid, having all its surfaces of the same magnitude, and all its angles of the same magnitude. A cone is a solid, successive sections of which, made at right angles to the axis, are circles regularly decreasing in {153} magnitude as we progress from base to apex. Any object described as narrow is one whoso breadth is of small magnitude when compared with its length. A symmetrical figure is a figure in which the homologous parts on opposite sides are equal in magnitude. Figures which we class as similar to each other, are such that the relation of magnitude between any two parts of the one, is equal to the relation of magnitude between the corresponding parts of the other. Add to which, that an alteration in the form of anything, is an alteration in the comparative sizes of some of its parts--a change in the relations of magnitude subsisting between them and the other parts, and that by continuously altering the relative magnitudes of its parts, any figure may be changed indefinitely. Hence, figure being wholly resolvable into relations of magnitude we may go on to analyze that out of which these relations are formed--magnitude itself." (pp. 224, 225.)

Next therefore, of Magnitude:

"What is a magnitude, considered analytically? The reply is, It consists of one or more relations of position. When we conceive anything as having a certain bulk, we conceive its opposite limiting surfaces as more or less removed from each other; that is, as related in position. When we imagine a line of definite length, we imagine its termini as occupying points in space having some positive distance from each other; that is, as related in position. As a solid is decomposable into planes; a plane into lines; lines into points; and as adjacent points can neither be known nor conceived as distinct from each other, except as occupying different places in space--that is, as occupying not the same position, but relative positions--it follows that every cognition of magnitude, is a cognition of one or more relations of position, which are presented to consciousness as like or unlike one or more other relations of position." (p. 226.)

And finally, of Position:

"This analysis of itself brings us to the remaining space-attribute of body--Position. Like magnitude, Position cannot be known absolutely; but can be known only relatively. {154} The notion of position is, in itself, the notion of relative position. The position of a thing is inconceivable, save by thinking of that thing as at some distance from one or more other things. The essential element of the idea will be best seen, on observing under what conditions only, it can come into existence. Imagine a solitary point A, in infinite space; and suppose it possible for that point to be known by a being having no locality, what now can be predicated respecting its place? Absolutely nothing. Imagine another point B to be added. What can now be predicated respecting the two? Still nothing. The points having no attributes save position, are not comparable in themselves; and nothing can be said of their relative position, from lack of anything with which to compare it. The distance between them may be either infinite or infinitesimal, according to the measure used; and as, by the hypothesis, there exists no measure--as space contains nothing save these two points; the distance between them is unthinkable. But now imagine that a third point C is added. Immediately it becomes possible to frame a proposition respecting their positions. The two distances, A to B, and A to C, serve as measures to each other. The space between A and B may be compared with the space between A and C; and the relation of position in which A stands to B becomes thinkable, as like or unlike the relation in which A stands to C. Thus, then, it is manifest that position is not an attribute of body in itself, but only in its connection with the other contents of the universe.

"It remains to add, that relations of position are of two kinds: those which subsist between subject and object; and those which subsist between either different objects, or different parts of the same object. Of these the last are resolvable into the first. It needs but to remember, on the one hand, that in the dark a man can discover the relative positions of two objects only by touching first one and then the other, and so inferring their relative positions from his own position towards each; and on the other hand, that by vision no knowledge of their relative positions can be {155} reached save through a perception of the distance of each from the eye; to see that ultimately all relative positions may be decomposed into relative positions of subject and object.

"These conclusions--that Figure is resolvable into relative magnitudes; that magnitude is resolvable into relative positions; and that all relative positions may finally be reduced to positions of subject and object--will be fully confirmed on considering the process by which the space-attributes of body become known to a blind man. He puts out his hand and touching something, thereby becomes cognizant of its position with respect to himself. He puts out his other hand, and meeting no resistance above or on one side of the position already found, gains some negative knowledge of the thing's magnitude--a knowledge which three or four touches on different sides of it serve to render positive. And then, by continuing to move his hands over its surface, he acquires a notion of its figure. What, then, are the elements out of which, by synthesis, his perceptions of magnitude and figure are framed? He has received nothing but simultaneous and successive touches. Each touch established a relation of position between his centre of consciousness and the point touched. And all he can know respecting magnitude and figure--that is, respecting the relative position of these points to each other--is necessarily known through the relative positions in which they severally stand to himself.

"Our perceptions of all the space-attributes of body being thus decomposable into perceptions of position like that gained by a single act of touch; we have next to inquire what is contained in a perception of this kind. A little thought will make it clear that to perceive the position of anything touched, is really to perceive the position of that part of the body in which the sensation of touch is located. Whence it follows that our knowledge of the positions of objects, is built upon our knowledge of the positions of our members towards each other--knowledge both of their fixed relations, and of those temporary relations they are placed in by every change of muscular adjustment. That {156} this knowledge is gained by a mutual exploration of the parts--by a bringing of each in contact with the others--by a moving over each other in all possible ways; and that the motions involved in these explorations, are known by their reactions upon consciousness; are propositions that scarcely need stating. But it is manifestly impossible to carry the analysis further without analysing our perception of motion. Relative position and motion are two ideas of the same experience. We can neither conceive motion without conceiving relative position, nor discover relative position without motion. In the present, therefore, we must be content with the conclusion that, whether visual or tactual, the perception of every statical attribute of body is resolvable into perceptions of relative position which are gained through motion." (pp. 226--229.)

In further prosecution of the analysis:

"How do we become cognizant of the relative positions of two points on the surface of the body? Such two points, considered as coexistent, involve the germinal idea of Space. Such two points disclosed to consciousness by two successive tactual sensations proceeding from them, involve the germinal idea of Time. And the series of muscular sensations by which, when self-produced, these two tactual sensations are separated, involve the germinal idea of Motion. The questions to be considered then are--In what order do these germinal ideas arise? and--How are they developed?

"... Taking for our subject a newly-born infant, let us call the two points on its body between which a relation is to be established, A and Z. Let us assume these points to be anywhere within reach of the hands--say upon the cheek. By the hypothesis, nothing is at present known of these points; either as coexisting in Space, as giving successive sensations in Time, or as being brought into relation by Motion. If, now, the infant moves its arm in such a way as to touch nothing, there is a certain vague reaction upon its consciousness--a sensation of muscular tension. This {157} sensation has the peculiarity of being indefinite in all its commencement; indefinite in its termination; and indefinite in all its intermediate changes. Its strength is proportionate to the degree of muscular contraction. Whence it follows that as the limb starts from a state of rest, in which there is no contraction; and as it can reach a position requiring extreme contraction only by passing through positions requiring intermediate degrees of contraction; and as the degrees of contraction must therefore form a series ascending by infinitesimal increments from zero; the sensations of tension must also form such a series. And the like must be the case with all subsequent movements and their accompanying sensations; seeing that, be it at rest or in action, a muscle cannot pass from any one state to any other without going through all the intermediate states. Thus, then, the infant, on moving its arm backwards and forwards without touching anything, is brought to what we may distinguish as a nascent consciousness--a consciousness not definitely divisible into states; but a consciousness the variations of which pass insensibly into each other, like undulations of greater or less magnitude. And while the states of consciousness are thus incipient--thus indistinctly separated, there can be no clear comparison of them; no thought, properly so called; and consequently no ideas of Motion, Time, or Space, as we understand them. Suppose, now, that the hand touches something. A sudden change in consciousness is produced--a change that is incisive in its commencement, and, when the hand is removed, equally incisive in its termination. In the midst of the continuous feeling of muscular tension, vaguely rising and falling in intensity, there all at once occurs a distinct feeling of another kind. This feeling, beginning and ending abruptly, constitutes a definite state of consciousness; becomes, as it were, a mark in consciousness. By similar experiences other such marks are produced; and in proportion as they are multiplied, there arises a possibility of comparing them, both in respect to their degrees and their relative positions; while at the same {158} time, the feelings of muscular tension being, as it were, divided out into lengths by these superposed marks, become similarly comparable; and so there are acquired materials for a simple order of thought. Observe, also, that while these tactual sensations may, when several things are touched in succession, produce successive marks in consciousness, separated by intervening muscular sensations, they may also become continually coexistent with these muscular sensations; as when the finger is drawn along a surface. And observe further, that when the surface over which the finger is drawn is not a foreign body, but some part of the subject's body, these muscular sensations, and the continuous tactual sensation joined with them, are accompanied by a series of tactual sensations proceeding from that part of the skin over which the finger is drawn. Thus, then, when the infant moves its finger along the surface of its body from A to Z, there are simultaneously impressed upon consciousness three sets of sensations--the varying series of sensations proceeding from the muscles in action; the series of tactual sensations proceeding from the points of the skin successively touched between A and Z; and the continuous sensation of touch from the finger-end.... As subsequent motions of the finger over the surface from A to Z always result in the like simultaneous sets of sensations, these, in course of time, become indissolubly associated. Though the series of tactual sensations, A to Z, being producible by a foreign body moving over the same surface, can be dissociated from the others; and though, if the cheek be withdrawn by a movement of the head, the same motion of the hand, with its accompanying muscular sensations, may occur without any sensation of touch; yet, when these two series are linked by the tactual sensation proceeding from the finger-end, they necessarily proceed together; and become inseparably connected in thought. Whence it obviously results that the series of tactual sensations A to Z, and the series of muscular sensations which invariably accompanies it when self-produced, serve as mutual equivalents; and being {159} two sides of the same experience, suggest each other in consciousness.

"Due attention having been paid to this fact, let us go on to consider what must happen when something touches, at the same moment, the entire surface between A and Z. This surface is supplied by a series of independent nerve-fibres, each of which at its peripheral termination becomes fused into, or continuous with, the surrounding tissue; each of which is affected by impressions falling within a specific area of the skin; and each of which produces a separate state of consciousness. When the finger is drawn along this surface these nerve-fibres A, B, C, D . . . Z, are excited in succession; that is--produce successive states of consciousness. And when something covers, at the same moment, the whole surface between A and Z, they are excited simultaneously; and produce what tends to become a single state of consciousness. Already I have endeavoured to shew in a parallel case, how, when impressions first known as having sequent positions in consciousness are afterwards simultaneously presented to consciousness, the sequent positions are transformed into coexistent positions, which, when consolidated by frequent presentations, are used in thought as equivalent to the sequent positions.[f] ... As the series of tactual {160} impressions A to Z, known as having sequent positions in consciousness, are, on the one hand, found to be equivalent to the accompanying series of muscular impressions; and on the other hand, to the simultaneous tactual impressions A to Z, which, as presented together, are necessarily presented in coexistent positions; it follows that these two last are found to be the equivalents of each other. A series of muscular sensations becomes known as equivalent to a series of coexistent positions; and being habitually joined with it, becomes at last unthinkable without it. Thus, the relation of coexistent positions between the points A and Z (and by implication all intermediate points) is necessarily disclosed by a comparison of experiences: the ideas of Space, Time, and Motion, are evolved together. When the successive states of consciousness A to Z, are thought of as having relative positions, the notion of Time becomes nascent. When these states of consciousness, instead of occurring serially, occur simultaneously, their relative positions, which were before sequent, necessarily become coexistent; and there arises a nascent consciousness of space. And when these two relations of coexistent and sequent positions are both presented to consciousness along with a series of sensations of muscular tension, a nascent idea of Motion results.

[Footnote f: "Objects laid upon the surface will come to be distinguished from each other by the relative lengths of the series they cover; or, when broad as well as long, by the groups of series which they cover. . . . By habit these simultaneous excitations, from being at first known indirectly by translation into the serial ones, will come to be known directly, and the serial ones will be forgotten: just as in childhood the words of a new language, at first understood by means of their equivalents in the mother tongue, are presently understood by themselves; and if used to the exclusion of the mother tongue, lead to the ultimate loss of it." We see that "a set of [nervous] elements may be excited simultaneously as well as serially; that so, a _quasi_ single state of consciousness becomes the equivalent of a series of states; that a relation between what we call coexistent positions thus represents a relation of successive positions, and that this symbolic relation being far briefer, is habitually thought of in place of that it symbolizes; and that, by the continued use of such symbols, and the union of them with more complex ones, are generated our ideas of . . . extension--ideas which, like those of the algebraist working out an equation, are wholly unlike the ideas symbolized, and which yet, like his, occupy the mind to the entire exclusion of the ideas symbolized."--(pp. 222--224.)]

"The development of these nascent ideas, arising as it does from a still further accumulation and comparison of experiences, will be readily understood. What has been above described as taking place with respect to one relation of coexistent positions upon the surface of the skin--or rather, one {161} linear series of such coexisting positions, is, during the same period, taking place, with respect to endless other such linear series, in all directions over the body. The like equivalence between a series of coexistent impressions of touch, a series of successive impressions of touch, and series of successive muscular impressions, is being established between every pair of points that can readily be brought into relation by movement of the hands. Let us glance at the chief consequences that must ultimately arise from this organization of experiences.

"Not only must there gradually be established a connection in thought between each particular muscular series, and the particular tactual series, both successive and simultaneous, with which it is associated; and not only must there, by implication, arise a knowledge of the special muscular adjustments required to touch each special part, but, by the same experiences, there must be established an indissoluble connection between muscular series in general and series of sequent and coexistent positions in general, seeing that this connection is repeated in every one of the particular experiences. And when we consider the infinite repetition of these experiences, we shall have no difficulty in understanding how their components become so consolidated, that even when the hand is moved through empty space, it is impossible to become conscious of the muscular sensations, without becoming conscious of the sequent and coexistent positions--the Time and Space, in which it has moved.

"Observe again, that as, by this continuous exploration of the surface of the body, each point is put in relation not only with points in some directions around it, but with points in all directions--becomes, as it were, a centre from which radiate lines of points known first in their serial positions before consciousness, and afterwards in their coexistent positions--it follows, that when an object of some size, as the hand, is placed upon the skin, the impressions from all parts of the area covered being simultaneously presented to consciousness, are placed in coexistent positions before {162} consciousness: whence results an idea of the superficial extension of that part of the body. The idea of this extension is really nothing more than a simultaneous presentation of all the impressions proceeding from the various points it includes, which have previously had their several relative positions measured by means of the series of impressions separating them. Any one who hesitates respecting this conclusion, will, I think, adopt it, on critically considering the perception he has when placing his open hand against his cheek--on observing that the perception is by no means single, but is made up of many elements which he cannot think of altogether--on observing that there is always one particular part of the whole surface touched, of which he is more distinctly conscious than of any other--and on observing that to become distinctly conscious of any other part, he has to traverse in thought the intervening parts; that is, he has to think of the relative positions of these parts by vaguely recalling the series of states of consciousness which a motion over the skin from one to the other would involve." (pp. 257--263).

These three different expositions of the origin of our ideas of Motion and Extension, by three eminent thinkers, agreeing in essentials, and differing chiefly in the comparative degrees of development which they give to different portions of the detail, will enable any competent reader of such a work as the present to fill up any gaps by his own thoughts. Many pages of additional commentary might easily be written; but they would not add any important thought to those of which the reader is now in possession; and belonging rather to the polemics of the subject than to its strictly scientific exposition, they would jar somewhat with the purely expository character of the present treatise.

I will only further recommend to particular attention, the opinion of Mr. Spencer, also adopted by Mr. Bain, that our ascribing simultaneous existence to things which excite successive sensations, is greatly owing to our being able to vary or reverse the order of the succession. When we pass our hands {163} over an object, we can have the tactual and muscular sensations in many different orders, and after having them in one order, can have them in another exactly the reverse. They do not, therefore, become associated with each other in a fixed order of succession, but are called up in any order with such extreme rapidity, that the impression they leave is that of simultaneousness, and we therefore hold the parts of tangible objects to be simultaneous.--_Ed._]

{164} SECTION VII.

IDENTITY.

There is one other term, which still requires explanation; and that is, IDENTITY, about which there would not have appeared any difficulty, had it not been for Personal Identity; which is, indeed, a complicated case, and, of course, involves the obscurity which great complexity implies.

We have already seen, on what account we use the marks, same, and different, when we apply them to two simple sensations, or when we apply them to two ideas, simple, or complex. In these cases, the terms are relative terms, and name the objects in pairs.

There is another case, that which now it is our business to explain, in which the name is not applied to two objects, but to the same object, at two different times. Thus it is, that I say, The bridge at Westminster, by which I crossed the Thames thirty years ago, is the same by which I crossed it yesterday. The crown which was placed on the head of George IV. at his coronation, is the same by which the kings of England have been crowned for many centuries. The words which we read in the Gospel of Matthew, are the same which were written by that evangelist. The words which we read in the poem called the Æneid are the same which were written by the poet Virgil. The church which is now at Loretto, is the same with that which belonged to the Virgin Mary at Nazareth, which in the month of May, in the year 1291, was {165} carried through the air by Angels, from Galilee to Tersato, in Dalmatia; and again on the 10th of December, 1294, about midnight, by what conveyance is not known, was set down in a wood in Italy, in the district of Ricanati, about a thousand paces from the sea.

It is evident, from the contemplation of these instances, which might be multiplied to any extent, that the word SAME, in this mode of applying it, is merely the name of a certain case of Belief: a belief which, in some of the instances, is, memory; in some, is grounded upon testimony; in some, upon circumstantial evidence; and, in some, upon both testimony and circumstances. Thus, the case of belief respecting Westminster-bridge, which I mark by the word, same, is Memory. The cases of belief respecting the crown of England, respecting the words of the gospel, respecting the church of Loretto, marked respectively by the word same, are founded on testimony, joined with circumstances.

As we have already shewn wherein Belief, in all its cases, consists, we have implicitly afforded the exposition of Identity. From same, the concrete, comes, in the usual way, sameness, the abstract, dropping only the connotation of the concrete. And Identity and Sameness are equivalent terms.

From the importance, however, which has been attached to these words, it seems necessary to shew to the learner, somewhat more particularly, the mode of tracing the simple ideas composing the clusters which they are employed to mark.

The Lily, when it produces its brilliant flower in summer, I call the same, with the plant which began {166} to shew itself above the surface of the ground, in spring, from a bulb, which I had planted in a particular spot of my garden. I also called it the same, from one day to another, though changing every day in its size, and other appearances, from its germination to the present time. For what reason have I done so? On account of certain circumstances, which every body can enumerate; its rising from a certain root; the uninterrupted continuity, by means of the stalk, between the root and the other parts of the plant; its being always found in the same place, that is, in the same synchronous order with certain other things; its corresponding with other plants, the growth of which I have observed, and so on. If it had grown in a flower pot, and been transferred from one to another, the enumeration of the circumstances would have been different; the evidence of its having grown from the same root would have been drawn from other circumstances. When I say, then, that the Lily I see, with its flowers in July, is the same with the Lily just emerging from the ground in April, I only express my belief of its having sprung from a certain root, and of its having vegetated, in connexion with that root, in the way of the plants grouped in the class called Lily.

I have a male Calf, of singular beauty, produced from my cow. I observe him from day to day. From day to day I call him the Same; and I do so when he has grown a bull of the greatest size. When I do so, I merely express my belief in a certain train of antecedents and consequents, with which experience has rendered me familiar. There is a certain train of antecedents and consequents, known to me by {167} observation, which I call the birth, growth, maturity; and, in one word, the Life, of the animal. The birth, growth, and maturity of one animal, is one series of successions; the birth, growth, and maturity of another animal, is another series of successions. When I apply the name Same, then, to any animal, I merely express my belief, that my present sight of the animal is part of a particular series, of which that perception is the last link.

The case, it will not be doubted, is perfectly analogous, when I transfer the term from one of the lower animals to one of my fellow men. The birth, infancy, childhood, youth, manhood, of a human being, are names for different parts of a certain series of antecedents and consequents. This series is known to me by experience; that is, by sensation, by memory, and other cases of association. The life of one man is one series. The life of another man is another series. When I say, then, that a man is the same, I merely express my belief in one of those series; belief that the particular man, of the present instant, is the last link of such and such a chain, and not of any other.

It is, however, to be observed, that the chain, thus believed, and the evidence upon which it is believed, are different things; and that this evidence is different in different cases. In the case of a person whom I have lived with from his birth, and seen every day, the evidence, to a great degree, is sense and memory. Sometimes the sameness of an individual is proved in a court of justice, by evidence, such as is applicable to any other matters of fact; by written documents, marks on the body, articles of property found {168} with the child, and the testimony of those whose knowledge has been uninterrupted from one time to another.

It is not to be doubted, that when I transfer the word Same, from another man to myself, all that I do is to express my belief in one of those series; and the only difference in the case is, that it is a series of which I have evidence of a very particular kind, and of which many parts are known to me, which can be known to nobody else.

As far as memory reaches, the evidence, in regard to myself, is memory and sensation. In the case of Evidence by memory and sensation, we have observed a peculiarity, necessary to be remembered, that the Evidence, and the Belief, are not different things, but the same thing. The memory which I have of my own existence, that is, the memory of a certain train of antecedents and consequents, is the Belief of them; on account of which belief, I apply to myself the term same, in the same way as I apply it to any other of my fellow men.

But I apply the term same to myself beyond the point to which memory reaches; as far back, in short, as to other men. This is true: I believe, that a train of antecedents and consequents, corresponding to that which forms the existence of other men, has also formed my existence. Part of this train I believe, by consciousness, memory. Part, namely, that which precedes memory, I believe on other evidence. What that evidence is, it is not difficult to see. We have, in the first place, the evidence of testimony; namely, that of all the persons who knew us from our birth, to the time to which memory extends. We have next {169} the evidence of what happens in the existence of all other men; or that case of association which unites inseparably the idea of like antecedents with like consequents.

It may be said, however, that my belief in the Identity of other men, is a very different thing from belief in my own Identity; and that the foregoing exposition does not sufficiently account for the difference which every one remarks between them.

The foregoing exposition, when duly attended to, will be found to account completely for the difference. We have remarked, that the evidence which I have for a great part of the series, in the case of other men, and of myself, is remarkably different. In the case of other men, it consists of observation and memory; in the case of myself, it consists of consciousness and memory. In these several and respective circumstances, Observation, and Consciousness, the distinction wholly consists. The memory of a chain of facts observed, is the evidence in the one case. The memory of a chain of states of Consciousness, is the evidence in the other.

I doubt not that this, without further analysis, will be seen by many of my readers to be a complete solution of the question. It may, however, be still objected, that we resolve observation itself into states of consciousness; and, if so, that the memory of a chain of states of Consciousness, is the evidence in both cases.

This brings us to the very bottom of the matter. Every body recognises, at once, that the memory of a state of consciousness, and the memory of something {170} observed, are two distinct things; that the memory, for example, of one of my own sensations, and the memory of an outward fact, as of the death of my father, are specifically different: or, to take two cases still easier perhaps to distinguish; no one will say, that the memory of one's own pain is any thing like the same state of consciousness with the memory of seeing another man in pain. In the one case, the state of consciousness remembered is the pain itself; in the other it is the sensations of sight or hearing, which indicated to me the pain of the other man, or called up the idea of his pain by association. In the one case, the memory is memory of my own sensations purely; in the other case, it is the memory of my sensations, as the evidence only of outward things.

Each of the terms, therefore, I, Thou, He, marks a particular chain of antecedents and consequents, terminating with the I, the Thou, the He, of the present moment. The I, the Thou, the He, of the present moment, is marked, by these terms, _primarily_; the preceding links are marked, _secondarily_, that is, connoted. When I say, "I, Thou, or He, did any thing," it is the I, the Thou, the He, of the moment spoken of, that is specially noted. The rest of the chain is not particularly adverted to, except when there is particular occasion for it.

Since the I, the Thou, the He, stand for the names of three men, and equally denote the antecedents and consequents, forming what is familiarly called the thread of life, of each of those individuals; how does it happen, that the idea, which is called up by the term I, appears to be so different, from that which is {171} called up by the term Thou, or any term denoting the vital chain of any other man?

In what has been already stated, is found the answer. In that chain of antecedents and consequents which I mark by the term "same man," two species of things are included; 1. The antecedents and consequents which form the successive states of his body; 2. The successive states of his consciousness.

In knowing the antecedents and consequents, which form the successive states of my own body and of that of another man, the mode, though in some respects different, is, in so many respects, the same, that it does not here require explanation. But the mode of knowing the successive states of my own consciousness, and of those of other men, is totally different; and in this consists the peculiarity which appears to belong to the idea which I annex to the term I, or myself. The knowledge of my own states of consciousness is consciousness itself, for the present moment, and memory of that consciousness for all the past. Of the states of consciousness of other men, I have no direct knowledge. I draw my belief of them only from signs. These signs, too, are significant only by reference to my own states of consciousness. Certain things cognizable by my senses, are accompanied in myself by certain states of consciousness, single, or in trains. These objects of sense (sights, sounds, &c.) are closely associated with the ideas of those states of consciousness. When presented to me, therefore, as objects of sense to other men, they excite the ideas of those states of consciousness; and hence what I call my knowledge and belief of the mental trains of other men. It is not necessary to go further in the {172} analysis. It is very obvious, that two complex ideas must be different, which are formed in these different ways; nor is any thing more necessary to account for the difference between the idea annexed to the pronoun I, and that annexed to the pronoun Thou.[33]

[Editor's footnote 33: The author has avoided an error in the mode and order of the enquiry, which has greatly contributed to make the explanations given by psychologists of Personal Identity, so eminently unsatisfactory as they are. Psychologists have almost always begun with the most intricate part of the question. They have set out by enquiring, what makes me the same person to myself? when they should first have enquired what makes me the same person to other people? or, what makes another person the same person to me? The author of the Analysis has done this, and he easily perceived, that what makes me the same person to others, is precisely what makes a house, or a mountain, the same house or mountain to them to-day which they saw yesterday. It is the belief of an uninterrupted continuity in the series of sensations derivable from the house, or mountain, or man. There is not this continuity in the actual sensations of a single observer: he has not been watching the mountain unintermittedly since yesterday, or from a still more distant time. But he believes, on such evidence as the case affords, that if he had been watching, he should have seen the mountain continuously and unchanged during the whole intervening time (provided the other requisites of vision were present--light to see it by, and no cloud or mist intervening): and he further believes that any being, with organs like his own, who had looked in that direction at any moment of the interval during which he himself was not looking, would have seen it in the same manner as he sees it. All this applies equally to a human object. I call the man I see to-day the same man whom I saw yesterday, for the very reason which makes me call the house or the mountain the same, viz., my conviction that if my organs had been in the {173} same position towards him all the time as they are now, and the other conditions necessary for seeing had been present, my perception of the man would have continued all the time without interruption.

If we now change the point of view, and ask, what makes me always the same person to myself, we introduce, in addition to what there was in the other case, the entire series of my own past states of consciousness. As the author truly says, the evidence on which I accept my own identity is that of memory. But memory reaches only a certain way back, and for all before that period, as well as for all subsequent to it of which I have lost the remembrance, the belief rests on other evidence. As an example of the errors and difficulties in which psychologists have involved themselves by beginning with the more complex question without having considered the simpler one, it is worth remembering that Locke makes personal identity consist in Consciousness, which in this case means Memory; and has been justly criticised by later thinkers for this doctrine, as leading to the corollary, that whatever of my past actions I have forgotten, I never performed--that my forgotten feelings were not my feelings, but were (it must therefore be supposed) the feelings of somebody else. Locke, however, had seen one part of the true state of the case; which is, that to _myself_ I am only, properly speaking, the same person, in respect of those facts of my past life which I remember; but that I nevertheless consider myself as having been, at the times of which I retain no remembrance, the same person I now am, because I have satisfactory evidence that I was the same to other people; that an uninterrupted continuity in the sensations of sight and touch caused or which could have been caused to other people, existed between my present self and the infant who I am told I was, and between my present self and the person who is proved to me to have done the acts I have myself forgotten.

These considerations remove the outer veil, or husk, as it were, which wraps up the idea of the Ego. But after this is removed, there remains an inner covering, which, as far as I can perceive, is impenetrable. My personal identity consists {174} in my being the same Ego who did, or who felt, some specific fact recalled to me by memory. So be it: but what is Memory? It is not merely having the idea of that fact recalled: that is but thought, or conception, or imagination. It is, having the idea recalled along with the Belief that the fact which it is the idea of, really happened, and moreover happened to myself. Memory, therefore, by the very fact of its being different from Imagination, implies an Ego who formerly experienced the facts remembered, and who was the same Ego then as now. The phenomenon of Self and that of Memory are merely two sides of the same fact, or two different modes of viewing the same fact We may, as psychologists, set out from either of them, and refer the other to it. We may, in treating of Memory, say (as the author says) that it is the idea of a past sensation associated with the idea of myself as having it. Or we may say, in treating of Identity, (as the author also says), that the meaning of Self is the memory of certain past sensations. But it is hardly allowable to do both. At least it must be said, that by doing so we explain neither. We only show that the two things are essentially the same; that my memory of having ascended Skiddaw on a given day, and my consciousness of being the same person who ascended Skiddaw on that day, are two modes of stating the same fact: a fact which psychology has as yet failed to resolve into anything more elementary.

In analysing the complex phenomena of consciousness, we must come to something ultimate; and we seem to have reached two elements which have a good prima facie claim to that title. There is, first, the common element in all cases of Belief, namely, the difference between a fact, and the thought of that fact: a distinction which we are able to cognize in the past, and which then constitutes Memory, and in the future, when it constitutes Expectation; but in neither case can we give any account of it except that it exists; an inability which is admitted in the most elementary case of the distinction, viz. the difference between a present sensation and an idea. Secondly, in addition to this, and setting out from the belief {175} in the reality of a past event, or in other words, the belief that the idea I now have was derived from a previous sensation, or combination of sensations, corresponding to it, there is the further conviction that this sensation or combination of sensations was my own; that it happened to myself. In other words, I am aware of a long and uninterrupted succession of past feelings going as far back as memory reaches, and terminating with the sensations I have at the present moment, all of which are connected by an inexplicable tie, that distinguishes them not only from any succession or combination in mere thought, but also from the parallel successions of feelings which I believe, on satisfactory evidence, to have happened to each of the other beings, shaped like myself, whom I perceive around me. This succession of feelings, which I call my memory of the past, is that by which I distinguish my Self. Myself is the person who had that series of feelings, and I know nothing of myself, by direct knowledge, except that I had them. But there is a bond of some sort among all the parts of the series, which makes me say that they were feelings of a person who was the same person throughout, and a different person from those who had any of the parallel successions of feelings; and this bond, to me, constitutes my Ego. Here, I think, the question must rest, until some psychologist succeeds better than any one has yet done in shewing a mode in which the analysis can be carried further.--_Ed._]

{176} CHAPTER XV.

REFLECTION.

SO much use has been made of the word REFLECTION, and results of so much importance have been referred to it, that it is necessary to shew what state of Consciousness it denotes, in all the possible acceptations of it.

Mr. Locke defines it, "That notice which the mind takes of its own operations."

When we have a sensation, we have already seen, on various occasions, that the having the state of consciousness, and taking notice of it, are not two things, but one and the same thing. When we say that one sensation is more attended to than another, this, as we shall see hereafter, is really tantamount to saying, that the one is more a sensation than the other.

In like manner, when we have an idea; the having the idea, the being conscious of the idea, knowing the idea, observing the idea, are only different names for the same thing. They mean the being conscious in a particular way. But the being conscious is to take notice of the consciousness. To be conscious, and not to take notice, is the same thing as to be {177} conscious, and not conscious. The notice is the consciousness, and the consciousness is the notice.

Thus far, therefore, it appears, with abundant evidence that Reflection is nothing but Consciousness; and Consciousness is the having the sensations and ideas. But what will be objected is, that we not only have Ideas; but we are capable of forming the idea of that particular state of mind which exists when we have an idea. It requires a close examination, to discover what is really meant by the language in which this objection is conveyed. The thing, however, to which it imperfectly points, can be made out; though, from the imperfection of the language which we must employ, it is not easy to explain it, with a certainty of being understood.

When it is said, that we can not only have a particular idea, but can form an idea of that state of mind, generally, which is called having an idea; this can mean nothing but the distinction between the particular and the general idea. It is affirmed, that we can not only have this idea, and that idea, but we can have the general idea of all ideas. This is true. But we know, by previous elucidations, what all this means. We can have the idea not only of this man, or that man, but we can have the idea of men in general. That is to say, we can group all individuals of a certain description into one class, to which class we give a name, equally applicable to every individual; which name, accordingly, being associated equally with individuals indefinite in number, calls up the ideas of individuals, indefinite in number, on every application of it.

This points out a double meaning of the word Idea; from which all the confusion of the language {178} about REFLECTION seems to have been derived. The same word, Idea, is both the _particular_, and the _general_ name. It cannot be disputed, that so far as regards individual Ideas, the having an idea, and knowing it, the being in the state of consciousness, and knowing the state of consciousness, are one and the same thing. And, if the being in a state of consciousness, and knowing it, does not express all that is meant by reflecting upon it (where reflecting is not used in another sense, as equivalent with remembering), it will remain for those who believe there is anything more, to shew what it is.

That the general is derived from the particular, there will be no hesitation in allowing. The fact, therefore, so imperfectly stated, is, that, from individual states of consciousness, we rise, by generalization, as in other cases, to the general idea which embraces a class. General Ideas, on account of their complexity, are all apt to appear, to persons little accustomed to examine them closely, more or less mysterious. But general ideas, not of the steady objects of sense, but the fleeting states of consciousness, which we have so little under command, and for the naming of which we are so ill provided with terms, cannot fail to appear mysterious in a much greater degree. What we are now, therefore, contemplating is a case of generalization, which, how certainly soever, from the common laws of the human mind, we know that it is made, it is far from easy distinctly to conceive. And those of my readers, who have followed me easily in this deduction, may be satisfied they have made no slight progress in metaphysical science.

{179} It is evident, when all this is clearly understood, that what has been mysteriously set forth, under the name of an Idea of REFLECTION, is simply the generalization of particular states of consciousness; which particular states of consciousness are our sensations and ideas.

There are various cases of this generalization, some more, some less, extensive.

In the same manner as we generalize the having of a single idea; and conceive, not the having of this idea, or that idea, but the having of any idea, and all ideas; we also generalize the having two associated ideas, and, from particulars, mount up to the general idea of the association, or train, of ideas.

It is needless to be particular in referring to the specific cases. We have seen what combination of ideas constitutes the case of memory. Individual instances of memory are generalized; these peculiar combinations are viewed as a class; hence the general idea, and general name of the class.

The explanation is obviously the same, in other cases, as Judgment, Reasoning, Belief, Willing. We know what is the particular case of association on which each of these names is bestowed. We know what is the state of consciousness, on each individual occasion of Judging, Reasoning, and so forth. Generalization is performed. The particular instances are viewed as composing a class. The Idea of the class is the Idea of Reflection.[34]

[Editor's footnote 34: To reflect on any of our feelings or mental acts is more properly identified with _attending_ to the feeling, than, (as stated in the text) with merely having it. The author scarcely {180} recognises this as a difference. He sometimes indeed seems to consider attention as mental repetition; but in his chapter on the Will, we shall find that he there identifies attending to a feeling with merely having the feeling. I conceive, on the contrary, (with the great majority of psychologists) that there is an important distinction between the two things; the ignoring of which has led the author into errors. What the distinction is, I have endeavoured to shew in my note to the chapter on Consciousness; and the subject will return upon us hereafter.--_Ed._]

{181} CHAPTER XVI.

THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN THE INTELLECTUAL AND ACTIVE POWERS OF THE HUMAN MIND.