A Treatise of Human Nature · David Hume
GENERAL INTRODUCTION TO VOL. I.
In his account of the idea as _abstract_, Hume really introduces distinction between feeling and conception; 252. Disguise it as he might, however, the admission that there was in some sense an abstract idea of space, which the existence of geometry required of him, really carried with it the admission either of a distinct impression of the same, or of some transmuting process by which the idea may become what the impression is not. His way of evading this consequence has been already noticed in our examination of his doctrine of ‘abstract ideas’ generally, though without special reference to extension. [1] It consists in asserting figure and colour to be ‘really,’ or as an impression, ‘the same and indistinguishable,’ but different as ‘relations and resemblances’ of the impression; in other words, different according to the ‘light in which the impression is considered’ or ‘the aspect in which it is viewed.’ Of these ‘separate resemblances and relations,’ however, are there ideas or are there not? If there are not, they are according to Hume nothing of which we are conscious at all; if there are, there must be distinguishable, and therefore separable, impressions corresponding. To say then that figure and colour form one and the same indistinguishable impression, and yet that they constitute ‘different resemblances and relations,’ without such explanation as Hume cannot consistently give, is in fact a contradiction in terms.
The true explanation is that the ‘impression’ has a different meaning, when figure and colour are said to be inseparable in the impression, from that which it has when spoken of as a subject of different resemblances and relations. In the former sense it is the feeling pure and simple--_one_ as presented singly in time, after another and before a third. In this sense it is doubtless insusceptible of distinction into qualities of figure and colour, because (for reasons already stated) it can have no qualities at all. But the ‘simplicity in which many different resemblances and relations may be contained’ is quite other than this singleness. It is the unity of an object thought of under manifold relations--a unity of which Hume, reducing all consciousness to ‘impression’ and impression to feeling, has no consistent account to give. Failing such an account, the unity of the intelligible object, and the singleness of the feeling in time, are simply confused with each other. It is only an object as thought of, not a feeling as felt, that can properly be said to have qualities at all; while it is only because it is still regarded as a feeling that qualities of it, which cannot be referred to separate impressions, are pronounced the same and indistinguishable. If the idea of space is other than a feeling grown fainter, the sole reason for regarding it as originally an impression of colour disappears; if it _is_ such a feeling, it cannot contain such ‘different resemblances and relations’ as render it representative of objects not only coloured in every possible way, but not coloured at all.
Of such relations, however, there can properly, if ideas are fainter impressions, be no ideas at all. In regard to those of cause and identity Hume virtually admits this; but the ‘propensities to feign’ by which in the case of these latter relations he tries to account for the appearance of there being ideas of them, cannot plausibly be applied to relations in space and time, of which, as we shall see, ideas must be assumed in order to account for the ‘fictions’ of body and necessary connexion. Since then they cannot be derived from any separate impression without the introduction in effect of a sixth sense, and since all constitutive action of thought as distinct from feeling is denied by Hume, the only way to save appearances is to treat the order in which a multitude of impressions present themselves as the same with each impression, even though immediately afterwards it may have to be confessed, that it is so independent of the nature of any or all of the impressions as to be the foundation of an abstract idea, which is representative of other impressions having nothing whatever in common with them but the order of appearance. This once allowed--an abstract idea having been somehow arrived at which is not really the copy of any impression--it is easy to argue back from the abstract idea to an impression, and because there is an idea of the composition of points to substitute a ‘composition of coloured points’ for colour as the original impression. From such impression, being already extension, the idea of extension can undoubtedly be abstracted.
Summary of contradictions in his account of extension. 254. We now know what becomes of ‘extended matter’ when the doctrine, which has only to be stated to find acceptance, that we cannot ‘look for anything anywhere but in our ideas’--in other words that for us there is no world but consciousness--is fairly carried out. Its position must become more and more equivocal, as the assumption, that consciousness reveals to us an alien matter, has in one after another of its details to be rejected, until a principle of synthesis within consciousness is found to explain it. In default of this, the feeling consciousness has to be made to take its place as best it may; which means that what is said of it as feeling has to be unsaid of it as extended, and _vice versâ_. As _feeling_, it carries no reference to anything other than itself, to an object of which it is a quality; as _extended_, it is a qualified object. As _extended_ again, its qualities are relations of coexistent parts; as _feeling_, it is an unlimited succession, and therefore, not being a possible whole, can have no parts at all.
Finally as _feeling_, it must in each moment of existence either be ‘on the same footing’ with pain and pleasure or else--a distinction between impressions of sensation and reflection being unwarrantably admitted--be a colour, a taste, a sound, a smell, or ‘tangibility;’ as _extended_, it is an ‘order of appearance’ or ‘disposition of corpuscles,’ which, being predicable indifferently at any rate of two of these sensations, can no more be the same with either than either can be the same with the other. It is not the fault of Hume but his merit that, in undertaking to maintain more strictly than others the identification of extension with feeling, he brought its impossibility more clearly into view. The pity is that having carried his speculative enterprise so far before he was thirty, he allowed literary vanity to interfere with its consistent pursuit, caring only to think out the philosophy which he inherited so far as it enabled him to pose with advantage against Mystics and Dogmatists, but not to that further issue which is the entrance to the philosophy of Kant. He gives no account of quantity as such.
255. As it was, he never came fairly to ask himself the fruitful question. How the sciences of quantity ‘continuous and discreet,’ which undoubtedly do exist, are possible to a merely feeling consciousness, because, while professedly reducing all consciousness to this form, he still allowed himself to interpret it in the terms of these sciences and, having done so, could easily account for their apparent ‘abstraction’ from it. If colour is already for feeling a magnitude, as is implied in calling it a ‘composition of coloured points,’ the question, how a knowledge of magnitude is possible, is of course superfluous. It only remains to deal, as Hume professes to do, with the apparent abstraction in mathematics of magnitude from colour and the consequent suppositions of pure space and infinite divisibility. Any ulterior problem he ignores. That magnitude is not any the more a feeling for being ‘endowed with colour’ he shows no suspicion. He pursues his ‘sensationalism’ in short, in its bearing on mathematics, just as far as Berkeley did and no further. The question at issue, as he conceived it, was not as to the possibility of magnitude altogether, but only as to the existence of a vacuum; not as to the possibility of number altogether, but only as to the infinity of its parts. Just as he takes magnitude for granted as found in extension, and extension as equivalent to the feeling of colour, so he takes number for granted, without indeed any explicit account of the impression in which it is to be found, but apparently as found in time, which again is identified with the succession of impressions. In the second part of the Treatise, though the idea of number is assumed and an account is given of it which is supposed to be fatal to the infinite divisibility of extension, we are told nothing of the impression or impressions from which it is derived. In the Fourth Part, however, there is a passage in which a certain consideration of time is spoken of as its source.
His account of the relation between Time and Number. 256. In the latter passage, in order to account for the idea of identity, he is supposing ‘a single object placed before us and surveyed for any time without our discovering in it any variation or interruption.’ ‘When we consider any two points of this time,’ he proceeds, ‘we may place them in different lights. We may either survey them at the very same instant; in which case they give us the idea of number, both by themselves and by the object, which must be multiplied in order to be conceived at once, as existent in these two different points of time: or, on the other hand, we may trace the succession of time by a like succession of ideas, and conceiving first one moment, along with the object then existent, imagine afterwards a change in the time without any variation or interruption in the object; in which case it gives us the idea of unity’. [1] [1] P. 490. [Book I, part IV., sec. II.] What does it come to?
257. A slight scrutiny of this passage will show that it is a prolonged tautology. The difference is merely verbal between the processes by which the ideas of number and unity are severally supposed to be given, except that in the former process it is the moment of surveying the times that is supposed to be one, while the times themselves are many; in the latter it is the object that is supposed to be one, but the times many. According to the second version of the former process--that according to which the different times surveyed together are said to give the idea of number ‘by their object’--even this difference disappears. The only remaining distinction is that in the one case the object is supposed to be given as one, ‘without interruption or variation,’ but to become multiple as conceived to exist in different moments; in the other the objects are supposed to be given as manifold, being ideas presented in successive times, but to become one through the imaginary restriction of the multiplicity to the times in distinction from the object. Undoubtedly any one of these verbally distinct processes will yield indifferently the ideas of number and of unity, since these ideas in strict correlativity are presupposed by each of them. ‘Two points of time surveyed at the same time’ will give us the idea of number because, being a duality in unity, they are already a number. So, too, and for the same reason, will the object, one in itself but multiple as existent at different times. Nor does the idea given by imagining ideas, successively presented, to be ‘one uninterrupted object,’ differ from the above more than many-in-one differs from one-in-many. The real questions of course are, How two times can be surveyed at one time; how a single object can be multiplied or become many; how a succession of ideas can be imagined to be an unvaried and uninterrupted object. To these questions Hume has no answer to give. His reduction of thought to feeling logically excluded an answer, and the only alternative for him was to ignore or disguise them.
Unites alone really exist: number a ‘fictitious denomination’. Yet ‘unites’ and ‘number’ are correlative; and the supposed fiction unaccountable. 258. In the passage from part II. of the Treatise, already referred to, he distinctly tells us that the unity to which existence belongs excludes multiplicity. ‘Existence itself belongs to unity, and is never applicable to number but on account of the unites of which the number is composed. Twenty men may be said to exist, but ’tis only because one, two, three, four, &c., are existent. ... A unite, consisting of a number of fractions, is merely a fictitious denomination, which the mind may apply to any quantity of objects it collects together; nor can such an unity any more exist alone than number can, as being in reality a true number. But the unity which can exist alone, and whose existence is necessary to that of all number, is of another kind and must be perfectly indivisible and incapable of being resolved into any lesser unity’. [1] What then is the ‘unity which can exist alone’? The answer, according to Hume, must be that it is an impression separately felt and not resoluble into any other impressions.
But then the question arises, how a succession of such impressions can form a number or sum; and if they cannot, how the so-called real unity or separate impression can in any sense be a unite, since a unite is only so as one of a sum. To put the question otherwise, Is it not the case that a unite has no more meaning without number than number without unites, and that every number is not only just such a ‘fictitious denomination,’ as Hume pronounces a ‘unite consisting of a number of fractions’ to be, but a fiction impossible for our consciousness according to Hume’s account of it? It will not do to say that such a question touches only the fiction of ‘abstract number,’ but not the existence of numbered objects; that (to take Hume’s instance) twenty men exist with the existence of each individual man, each real unit, of the lot. It is precisely the numerability of objects--not indeed their existence, if that only means their successive appearance, but their existence _as a sum_--that is in question. If such numerability is possible for such a consciousness as Hume makes ours to be; in other words, if he can explain the fact that we count; ‘abstract number’ may no doubt be left to take care of itself.
Is it then possible? ‘Separate impressions’ mean impressions felt at different times, which accordingly can no more co-exist than, to use Hume’s expression, ‘the year 1737 can concur with the year 1738;’ whereas the constituents of a sum must, as such, co-exist. Thus when we are told that ‘twenty may be said to exist because one, two, three, &c., are existent,’ the alleged reason, understood as Hume was bound to understand it, is incompatible with the supposed consequence. The existence of an object would, to him, mean no more than the occurrence of an impression; but that one impression should occur, and then another and then another, is the exact opposite of their coexistence as a sum of impressions, and it is such co-existence that is implied when the impressions are counted and pronounced so many. Thus when Hume tells us that a single object, by being ‘multiplied in order to be conceived at once as existent in different points of time,’ gives us the idea of number, we are forced to ask him what precisely it is which thus, being one, can become manifold. Is it a ‘unite that can exist alone’? That, having no parts, cannot become manifold by resolution. ‘But it may by repetition?’ No, for it is a separate impression, and the repetition of an impression cannot co-exist, so as to form one sum, with its former occurrence. ‘But it may be _thought of_ as doing so?’ No, for that, according to Hume, could only mean that feelings might concur in a fainter stage though they could not in a livelier. Is the single object then a unite which already consists of parts? But that is a ‘fictitious denomination,’ and presupposes the very idea of number that has to be accounted for.
The answer of common sense of course will be that, though the feeling of one moment is really past before that of another begins, yet thought retains the former, and combining it with the latter, gets the idea of time both as a relation and as a sum. Such an answer, however, implies that the retaining and combining thought is other than the succession of the feelings, and while it takes this succession to be the reality, imports into it that determination by the relations of past and present which it can only derive from the retaining and combining thought opposed to it. It is thus both inconsistent with Hume’s doctrine, which allows no such distinction between thought, _i.e._ the succession of ideas, and the succession of impressions, and inconsistent with itself. Yet Hume by disguising both inconsistencies contrives to avail himself of it. By tacitly assuming that a conception of ‘the manner in which impressions appear to the mind’ is given in and with the occurrence of the impressions, he imports the consciousness of time, both as relation and as numerable quantity, into the sequence of impressions. He thus gains the advantage of being able to speak of this sequence indifferently under predicates which properly exclude each other. He can make it now a consciousness in time, now a consciousness of itself as in time; now a series that cannot be summed, now a conception of the sum of the series. The sequence of feelings, then, having been so dealt with as to make it appear in effect that time can be _felt_, that it should be _thought of_ can involve no further difficulty. The conception, smuggled into sensitive experience as an ‘impression,’ can be extracted from it again as ‘idea,’ without ostensible departure from the principle that the idea is only the weaker impression.
It is a relation only possible for a thinking consciousness--a relation, in Hume’s language, not depending on the nature of the impressions related--that has in each case to be introduced into experience in order to be extracted from it again by ‘consideration:’ but there is this difference, that in one case the relation is not really between feelings at all, but between things or parts of a thing; while in the other it is just that relation between feelings, the introduction of which excludes the possibility that any feeling should be the consciousness of the relation. Thus to speak of a feeling of extension does not involve so direct a contradiction as to speak in the same way of time. The reader gives Hume the benefit of a way of thinking which Hume’s own theory excludes. Himself distinguishing between feeling and felt thing, and regarding extension as a relation between parts of a thing, he does not reflect that for Hume there is no such distinction; that a ‘feeling of extension’ means that feeling is extended, which again means that it has co-existent parts; and that what is thus said of feeling as _extended_ is incompatible with what is said of it as _feeling_.
But when it comes to a ‘feeling of time’--a feeling of the successiveness of all feelings--the incompatibility between what is said of feeling as the object and what is implied of it as the subject is less easy to disguise. In like manner because we cannot really think of extension as being that which yet according to Hume it is, it does not strike us, when he speaks of it as coloured or of colour as extended, that he is making one feeling a quality of another. But it would be otherwise if any specific feeling were taken as a quality of what is ostensibly a relation between all feelings. There is thus no ‘sensible quality’ with which time can be said to be ‘endowed,’ as extension with ‘colour and solidity;’ none that can be made to do the same duty in regard to it as these do in regard to extension, ‘giving the idea’ of it without actually being it. He fails to assign any impression or compound of impressions from which idea of time is copied.
262. Hence, as the passage last quoted shows, in the case of time the alternative between ascribing it to a sixth sense, and confessing that it is not an impression at all, is very hard to avoid. It would seem that there is an impression of ‘the manner in which impressions appear to the mind,’ which yet is no ‘distinct impression.’ What, then, is it? It cannot be any one of the impressions of sense, for then it would be a distinct impression. It cannot be a ‘compound impression,’ for such composition is incompatible with that successiveness of all feelings to each other which is the object of the supposed impression. It cannot be any ‘new original impression’ arising from the contemplation of other impressions, for then, according to Hume, it would be ‘an affection or emotion.’ But after the exclusion of impressions of sense, compound impressions, and impressions of reflection, Hume’s inventory of the possible sources of ideas is exhausted. To have been consistent, he ought to have dealt with the relation of time as he afterwards does with that of cause and effect, and, in default of an impression from which it could be derived, have reduced it to a figure of speech.
But since the possibility of accounting for the propensities to feign, which our language about cause and effect according to him represents, required the consciousness of relation in time, this course could not be taken. Accordingly after the possibility of time being an impression has been excluded as plainly as it can be by anything short of a direct negation, by a device singularly _naïf_ it is made to appear as an impression after all. On being told that the consciousness of time is not a ‘new original impression of reflection,’ since in that case it would be an emotion or affection, but ‘_only_ the notice which the mind takes of the manner in which impressions appear to it,’ the reader must be supposed to forget the previous admission that it is no distinct impression at all, and to interpret this ‘notice which the mind takes,’ because it is not an impression of reflection, as an impression of sense. To make such interpretation easier, the account given of time earlier in the paragraph quoted is judiciously altered at its close, so that instead of having to ascribe to feeling a consciousness of ‘the manner in which impressions appear to the mind,’ we have only to ascribe to it the impressions so appearing.
But this alteration admitted, what becomes of the ‘abstractness’ of the idea of time, _i.e._ of the possibility of its being ‘conjoined with any objects’ indifferently? It is the essential condition of such indifferent conjunction, as Hume puts it, that time should be only the manner of appearance as distinct from the impressions themselves. If time _is_ the impressions, it must have the specific sensuous character which belongs to these. It must be a multitude of sounds, a multitude of tastes, a multitude of smells--these one after the other in endless series. How then can such a series of impressions become such an idea, _i.e._ so grow fainter as to be ‘conjoined’ indifferently ‘with any impressions whatever’? How can he adjust the exact sciences to his theory of space and time?
263. The case then between Hume and the conceptions which the exact sciences presuppose, as we have so far examined it, stands thus. Of the idea of quantity, as such, he gives no account whatever. We are told, indeed, that there are ‘unites which can exist alone,’ _i.e._ can be felt separately, and which are indivisible; but how such unites, being separate impressions, can form a sum or number, or what meaning a unite can have except as one of a number--how again a sum formed of separate unites can be a continuous whole or magnitude--we are not told at all. Of the ideas of space and time we do find an account. They are said to be given in impressions, but, to justify this account of them, each impression has to be taken to be at the same time a consciousness of the manner of its own existence, as determined by relation to other impressions not felt along with it and as interpreted in a way that presupposes the unexplained idea of quantity. With this supposed origin of the ideas the sciences resting on them have to be adjusted.
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