It will be seen that Mill here draws a line between sameness in sense first and the samenesses in which there is an element of duality. He also draws attention to the fact—a fact to which I have already referred—that successive mental elements, considered in themselves, are more likely to be confounded than material things, though these last may be quite as closely similar. Language shows how men overlook the duality of two similar feelings which differ only in time. They may speak of two similar objects as the same, as they frequently do, and yet they will not usually lose the sense of their twoness. They say these objects are the same. But when they compare a feeling experienced to-day with one experienced yesterday, they say this is the same feeling I had yesterday. There is nothing in the language used to indicate duality at all.
I have said that, in the extract given, a line is drawn between samenesses which imply duality and the sameness which does not; and yet such illustrations are used to represent the latter as a man, a table, and a ship—objects which are the same in sense third as well as in sense first, and which consequently imply duality, in some sense of the word. But, if one is not considering single members of the chain of experiences which, taken together, we call a man, but is considering the whole group as a unit, this difficulty disappears. This is evidently what Mill has in mind, and he cannot be taxed with inconsistency. One may, however, object to the statement that it is an improper use of the word same to speak of things merely similar as the same. The word has many meanings, and we can hardly say that any one of them is illegitimate. It is merely illegitimate to confound them. And one should not take quite literally the description of resemblance in the highest degree as "amounting to undistinguishableness." Strict undistinguishableness removes all duality, and consequently makes impossible what we call resemblance or similarity. To be similar, things must be distinguished as two. Finally, one may object to a treatment of samenesses which merely groups them into two classes, when there are at least seven kinds that should, in the interests of clear thinking, be kept separate. It is only by carefully marking such distinctions that fallacious reasonings are to be avoided. As, however, this discussion of samenesses is merely a side issue where it occurs in the Logic, it would perhaps be unjust to blame Mill for not going into it more fully.
Sec. 34. At this point I leave the realms of the dead and emerge into the land of the living. The errors that I have been criticizing still live, and it would not be difficult to glean a goodly number of them from the authors of our day. I shall be moderate, and will content myself with one or two representative instances.
It would be surprising if as loose and incautious a reasoner as Mr. Herbert Spencer did not furnish some examples of confused samenesses. To certain of his errors in this direction I have briefly referred in the earlier part of my monograph. Here I shall treat of him a little more at length, though even here it is impossible to do justice to the subject, as that would involve my quoting and commenting upon at least a large part of the first division of the "First Principles." I shall take only the conclusion of the argument by which he establishes the existence of his "Unknowable," or "Inscrutable Power," or "Ultimate Cause," or "Unseen Reality," or "Absolute." This contains two confusions of no little significance. Mr. Spencer writes:
"Hence our firm belief in objective reality—a belief which metaphysical criticisms cannot for a moment shake. When we are taught that a piece of matter, regarded by us as existing externally, cannot be really known, but that we can know only certain impressions produced on us, we are yet, by the relativity of our thought, compelled to think of these in relation to a positive cause—the notion of a real existence which generated these impressions becomes nascent. If it be proved to us that every notion of a real existence which we can frame is utterly inconsistent with itself—that matter, however conceived by us, cannot be matter as it actually is, our conception, though transfigured, is not destroyed: there remains the sense of reality, dissociated as far as possible from those special forms under which it was before represented in thought. Though Philosophy condemns successively each attempted conception of the Absolute—though it proves to us that the Absolute is not this, nor that, nor that—though in obedience to it we negative, one after another, each idea as it arises; yet, as we cannot expel the entire contents of consciousness, there ever remains behind an element which passes into new shapes. The continual negation of each particular form and limit, simply results in the more or less complete abstraction of all forms and limits; and so ends in an indefinite consciousness of the unformed and unlimited.
"And here we come face to face with the ultimate difficulty—How can there possibly be constituted a consciousness of the unformed and unlimited, when, by its very nature, consciousness is possible only under forms and limits? If every consciousness of existence is a consciousness of existence as conditioned, then how, after the negation of conditions, can there be any residuum? Though not directly withdrawn by the withdrawal of its conditions, must not the raw material of consciousness be withdrawn by implication? Must it not vanish when the conditions of its existence vanish? That there must be a solution of this difficulty is manifest; since even those who would put it, do, as already shown, admit that we have some such consciousness; and the solution appears to be that above shadowed forth. Such consciousness is not, and cannot be, constituted by any single mental act; but is the product of many mental acts. In each concept there is an element which persists. It is alike impossible for this element to be absent from consciousness, and for it to be present in consciousness alone: either alternative involves unconsciousness—the one from the want of the substance; the other from the want of the form. But the persistence of this element under successive conditions, necessitates a sense of it as distinguished from the conditions, and independent of them. The sense of a something that is conditioned in every thought, cannot be got rid of, because the something cannot be got rid of. How then must the sense of this something be constituted? Evidently by combining successive concepts deprived of their limits and conditions. We form this indefinite thought, as we form many of our definite thoughts, by the coalescence of a series of thoughts. Let me illustrate this: A large complex object, having attributes too numerous to be represented at once, is yet tolerably well conceived by the union of several representations, each standing for part of its attributes. On thinking of a piano, there first rises in imagination its visual appearance, to which are instantly added (though by separate mental acts) the ideas of its remote side and of its solid substance. A complete conception, however, involves the strings, the hammers, the dampers, the pedals; and while successively adding these to the conception, the attributes first thought of lapse more or less completely out of consciousness. Nevertheless, the whole group constitutes a representation of the piano. Now as in this case we form a definite concept of a special existence, by imposing limits and conditions in successive acts; so, in the converse case, by taking away the limits and conditions in successive acts, we form an indefinite notion of general existence. By fusing a series of states of consciousness, in each of which, as it arises, the limitations and conditions are abolished, there is produced a consciousness of something unconditioned. To speak more rigorously:—this consciousness is not the abstract of any one group of thoughts, ideas, or conceptions; but it is the abstract of all thoughts, ideas, or conceptions. That which is common to them all, and cannot be got rid of, is what we predicate by the word existence. Dissociated as this becomes from each of its modes by the perpetual change of those modes, it remains as an indefinite consciousness of something constant under all modes—of being apart from its appearances. The distinction we feel between special and general existence, is the distinction between that which is changeable in us, and that which is unchangeable. The contrast between the Absolute and the Relative in our minds, is really the contrast between that mental element which exists absolutely, and those which exist relatively.
"By its very nature, therefore, this ultimate mental element is at once necessarily indefinite and necessarily indestructible. Our consciousness of the unconditioned being literally the unconditioned consciousness, or raw material of thought to which in thinking we give definite forms, it follows that an ever-present sense of real existence is the very basis of our intelligence. As we can in successive mental acts get rid of all particular conditions and replace them by others, but cannot get rid of that undifferentiated substance of consciousness which is conditioned anew in every thought; there ever remains with us a sense of that which exists persistently and independently of conditions. At the same time that by the laws of thought we are rigorously prevented from forming a conception of absolute existence; we are by the laws of thought equally prevented from ridding ourselves of the consciousness of absolute existence: this consciousness being, as we here see, the obverse of our self-consciousness. And since the only possible measure of relative validity among our beliefs, is the degree of their persistence in opposition to the efforts made to change them, it follows that this which persists at all times, under all circumstances, and cannot cease until consciousness ceases, has the highest validity of any.
"To sum up this somewhat too elaborate argument:—We have seen how in the very assertion that all our knowledge, properly so called, is Relative, there is involved the assertion that there exists a Non-relative. We have seen how, in each step of the argument by which this doctrine is established, the same assumption is made. We have seen how, from the very necessity of thinking in relations, it follows that the Relative is itself inconceivable, except as related to a real Non-relative. We have seen that unless a real Non-relative or Absolute be postulated, the Relative itself becomes absolute; and so brings the argument to a contradiction. And on contemplating the process of thought, we have equally seen how impossible it is to get rid of the consciousness of an actuality lying behind appearances; and how, from this impossibility, results our indestructible belief in that actuality."[61]
Such an extract as this is very tempting to the critic, but I shall try not to be drawn into criticisms which do not immediately concern my purpose in quoting. The points which chiefly interest me are Mr. Spencer's evident confusion of sameness in sense seventh with sameness in sense first, and of sameness in sense second with sameness in sense first. I shall begin with the first confusion.
Every careful reader of the extract given above must see that the Absolute with which Mr. Spencer's argument is concerned is an Absolute in consciousness. It is "an indefinite consciousness," "raw material of consciousness," an "indefinite thought," an "abstract of all thoughts, ideas, or conceptions." It is the element of existence which is common to all these thoughts, ideas, or conceptions. If there could be any doubt as to the nature of this Absolute in which the argument results, it should be set at rest by the very emphatic statement that "our consciousness of the unconditioned" is "literally the unconditioned consciousness, or raw material of thought to which in thinking we give definite forms." It is this "undifferentiated substance of consciousness which is conditional anew in every thought" that remains with us as an Absolute through all forms of the conditioned.