Notes on Bergson, H. (1971) [1910] Time and
Free Will. London: George Allen and Unwin.
Dave Harris
Chapter one. The intensity of psychic
states.
[There is an ambiguity in this chapter, noted by
Deleuze, about whether it is just psychic
intensity that is being critiqued, or intensity as
such. Deleuze sees the more general concept
as involving differences of degree and not
kind. He also notes that this chapter denies
that quantification of intensity itself is
possible, but it does say that intensity provides
certain qualities which can be apprehended by
experience, and this is a kind of implicit
quantification. I'm going to take rather
brief notes of this chapter, because, like a lot
of Bergson, it involves interrogation of current
psychological work as well. This dialogue
between social sciences and philosophy is a great
strength of Bergson, as he claims himself, and,
for Deleuze, it just shows that the Absolute
consists of material that can be studied both by
science and by Bergson's intuition. In layman
terms, after many a detour into the confusions
introduced by considering qualitative differences
as only quantitative ones, it gets to the notion
of a multiplicity of intensive states which are
NOT arranged along the spatial dimension]
It is common to talk about quantitative
differences of 'sensations, feelings, passions,
efforts' (1), but this involves philosophical
difficulties. It is not the same as
quantitative differences in space or extensity,
where the higher number includes or contains the
lower. This is not possible with
intensities. It looks as if both intensity
and extensity display the different forms of
magnitude, butts we must not assume that these
magnitudes are common, although this is assumed in
common sense and in some philosophy. There
is sometimes an image of something that rolled up,
contracted and is then left to unwind for the
future, but this needs much more investigation.
One sort of attempted the for the nine intensity
is to measure the number of courses which have
given rise to it, say a larger number of lights
producing a more intense sensation of light.
However, in practice the deduction often works the
other way around, that an intense sensation leads
to a search for multiple causes. There are
also some internal causes at work.
Commonsense cheerfully ignores the difficulties
and makes judgments about intensities, say of pain
or effort. However, in some areas, intensive
differences of qualities might well result from
extensive differences of background changes – a
sound might vary in intensity according to the
number of vibrations at work, acting on the brain,
perhaps. However, it is the sensation that
appears in consciousness not the mechanical causes
themselves.
Intensities seem to commonly refer to different
things, such as feelings, sensations and
efforts. There are certain feelings which
appear to be 'self sufficient, such as deep joy or
sorrow...or an aesthetic emotion' (7). For
Bergson, this shows how a quality can spread over
a number of psychical states, as when 'an obscure
desire' deepen into a major passion, and must
change is an entire outlook. Again this is
not a simple increase in quantity, but rather a a
spreading effect on perception and memory. A
similar argument is going to be made about the
number of muscular contractions that are
involved. The problem is that the psychic
states often coexist in a 'confused heap'
(9). The so-called inner intensities are not
isolated. At first they orient themselves to
the future, and this in turn enables us to
speculate and connect ideas and sensations.
We might experience the initial and final states
as differences in magnitude, but it is not the
same feeling which is changing.
The same might be said for the aesthetic.
Take the 'feeling of grace', which begins with
limited perceptions of facility or ease, which is
then extended to more a more cases, changing as it
develops: ease in mastering motion develops into
ease in controlling time. Music has the
effect of enabling even more predictability and
foresight, so that we 'believe that we now
control' (12) the movements of a dancer [or
singer]. The rhythm establishes 'a kind of
communication' between us and the performer: it
has 'taken complete possession of our thought and
will'. This in turn suggests some notion of
moral sympathy. The whole effect explains
the appeal of the aesthetic. Again, it is a
matter of perceiving and then connecting
connecting more and more different feelings,
'qualitative progress which we interpret as a
change of magnitude'(13) because that is more in
accord with common sense and common language use.
The mistake extends to a view of art where the
artist just express the existing beauties of
nature. However, it makes more sense to
start with the work of arts and the effort needed
to produce it and then to work back to nature as
itself an artist. We would also notes that's
the object of art is to suppress active elements
of our personality and make us perfectly
responsive so that we can fully sympathize with
the feelings that are expressed. It is like
hypnosis. That affects music as well: music
suggests more feelings than nature itself.
The same goes for poetry [and Bergson here sees
the importance of rhythm in poetry as well].
Architecture has analogies rhythms and
forms. Art and liberates us from ordinary
consciousness, sometimes even from the
consciousness of mundane changes, said of that it
appears eternal. The duties of nature are
conveyed from the experience of nature, and again
it can soothe normal perceptions in favor of
harmony and sympathy. It follows that
experiencing the beautiful follows from
suggestions not causes [in other words involving a
certain amount of participation]: the suggestions
can conform to our existing feelings, or highlight
them, or even context them. We are talking
about differences of state or nature rather than
differences in degree.
[However, we must not equate art with they
provision of inferior sensations]. There are
also a degrees 'of depth or elevation', making us
aware of complexity, including the unique nature
of a different feelings or ideas. We are not
required to understand art but just to experience
it, communicating with viewers through choosing
specific 'outward signs of his emotions' (18)
which can be imitated at first as an entry into
the psychological state which produced them.
The more complex the art work, the more beauty we
find.
Moral feelings can be analyzed in the same
way. Pity involves putting ourselves in the
place of others, but there is a higher feeling as
well in the desire to help. It may take a
'lower form'as a wish to avoid future evil for
ourselves, but 'true pity' desires suffering (19),
even if we do not wish to see it realized.
It makes us feel superior to mere 'sensuous
goods'with which we are normally engaged.
Overall, there is 'a qualitative progress...from
repugnant stuff here, from fear to sympathy, and
from sympathy itself to humility'.
These examples are unusual, and most sensations
are clearly connected to external causes, so there
is some linked with extensity. We can start
by analyzing muscular effort, which sometimes
appears to be necessary to control or channel
psychic forces. Some scientific accounts see
muscular movement as necessarily connected to
streams of nervous energy, sometimes in a
pathological way [hysterical paralysis?].
William James is cited here in opposition.
Effort is not just concentrated in immediate
movement, and features, for example, activity of
the muscles of the chest or face. James has
some even stranger examples, where efforts to move
a [paralyzed] right eye can still produce
moving objects. But this is not an effort of
volition itself, but rather an effect of what is
going on in the other eye, where the effort is
being registered. This led James to propose
that effort is 'cenripetal', where contracted
muscles and other physical changes on the
periphery go inwards to produce a sensation of
effort.
Bergson draws from this to argue that the apparent
increase in effort is really the result of a 'the
number of muscles which contract in sympathy with
it' (24), or the size of the 'surface of the body
being affected'(24). If you concentrate, you
can become aware that all sorts of muscles are
contracting in all areas of the body as a part of
the apparently localized effort. It is not
just the quantity of muscles or bodily surfaces
which produce a feeling of intensity, but rather
qualitative changes occurring in them, including
an increase in complexity. Our consciousness
is still oriented towards literal space and simple
categories [expressed in single words] and fails
to perceive these qualities. Sometimes, the
complexity of the elements is 'coordinated by a
purely speculative idea, sometimes by an idea of a
practical order' (27). The first gives us a
sensation of effort or attention, the second gives
violent or acute emotions.
Attention is usually accompanied by movements
itself as a part of it—like tingling sensations in
the scalp or pressure in the scale, facial
muscles, and it is the spread of these muscular
efforts which provided the apparent 'immaterial
effort' (28), just as with the psychic tensions
above. The same goes for the violent
emotions, which are even less reflective.
This is not to reduce emotions like and rage to
the bodily, since there is always 'an irreducible
psychic element' (29). The accompanying
muscular movements are simply ignored [and there
is an interesting example here of those who would
strip emotions of all bodily responses, which
leaves them unable to explain different degrees of
intensity, and reduces emotions to intellectual
ideas]. There is a tendency for peripheral
movements to become internalized, as they get
affected by memories or ideas.
What is the connection between the quantitative
and qualitative elements? We need to
distinguish affect and representation. If we
analyze affect, we can certainly see signs of an
'organic disturbance'arising from some external
cause, but these are not directly connected to the
consciousness of the sensation and therefore
cannot transmit 'anything of their own
magnitude'[which follows from the first decision
to deny any quantitative external dimension to
intensity]. It is possible to retain
physical impressions, but certainly not molecular
movements. However, intensities, say of
pleasure and pain do have a use in nature.
It is also the as we developed from automatic to
free movements, affective sensations arise to fill
the interval between external action and
volitional reaction. Here, pleasure and
painmight help us to resist automatic reactions,
as a form of 'nascent freedom' (34). That is
because affect does not only respond to the
action, but also prepares us for the
reaction.
We can now argue that things like molecular
disturbances are necessarily unconscious and do
not appear themselves in sensations.
However, automatic movements do become conscious
movements. Perhaps affect expresses the
awareness of automatic movement and how we are
able to alter it as conscious beings. If
they do act like this, it is because they are able
to represent a number of possible movements.
It is like the way we register the intensity of
pain in terms of the number of muscular activities
or parts of the organism which are involved [the
example is the sensation of disgust which deepens
as it spreads to more a more parts of the
body]. Darwin says that great pain into sees
animals to forget everything else but escape from
the cause of suffering, and this is found in our
experience as well: there may be different
quantities of stimulation of nerves, but they
still have to be interpreted by consciousness and
connected with a reaction, and this is how we
estimate the quantity in the first place.
The same sort of mechanism explains why we prefer
one pleasure to another [rendered in terms of
quantitative differences—a useful critique of
utilitarianism here, and all those who talk about
greater or lesser amounts of joy, including
Spinoza?]. Our body itself goes forward to
meet pleasure, overcoming its own inertia, and we
can gain some estimate of quantity by the amount
of resistance with which we reject distraction
from pleasure. It is the same with morals
where again 'attraction serves to define
movement rather than to produce it' (39).
Affect is connected with the 'representive
sensations' as well, so we are dazzled as the
light increases. Other representative
sensations like 'taste, smell and temperature'are
also perceived as pleasant or unpleasant, and this
in turn gets interpreted as differences of
quantity because their differences produce
different levels of affect and subsequent
movements of reaction. We have to attend
differently to these different sensations, or in
other words make different degrees of
effort. Particularly strong sensations are
indicated by an automatic reaction.
With less intense sensations, we hardly react at
all, and yet still estimate the magnitude of the
sensation—but this might involve unconscious
muscular reactions. However there is
something else—the persistence of the sensation
over time, as 'constant experience' (42).
Again, it is qualitatively distinct sensations
that are being linked together and misunderstood
as quantitative increase. Memory of past
sensations has the same effect—we repeat the
sensation.
Even differences like differences in pitch in the
sound, intervals between notes of the scale, are
often pictured as quantitative, but see this
reflects the greater or less effort required to
produce them [by singers]. It is the
intervals between stages of effort that the are
representing. It is true that physicists can
quantify these intervals by referring to the
number of vibrations involved, but we still do not
perceive quantitative difference directly.
The same can be said for sensations of heat, which
produce different levels of reaction Moscow
raiding as quantitative differences. The
same can be said of pressure or weight. This
is a specially the case in repetitions such as
lifting a heavy weight off to a lighter one that
the same philosophy and duration: the
consciousness can only grasp differences as
differences in magnitude. But consciousness
produces the differences first and waits for
analysis to resolve it into magnitudes.
Light can be seen in the same way, so that
increases or decreases in light are noticed by the
consciousness in terms of different perceptions or
sensations and are grasped afterwards by
scientific definitions affecting the
understanding. In practice, these
differences result from measurements using a
photometer, which are sometimes seem to be
paralleled by physical properties of the eye
[particular approaches challenged, page 53f] [here
and throughout, commonsense seems superior to
science—for example commonsense perceives the grid
a shun between the colors of the spectrum which
artificially separated by science].
Then we get on to'psychophysics'[positivist
psychology?]. Apparently, there have been
attempts to establish constants in laws about the
relation of stimuli to response. The flaw
arises from a 'several different artifices' (61)
intervening between experimental observations and
laws (62f, in some detail]. We just have to
assume that the intervals between the levels of
stimuli are constant, for example, and we have to
go from the observed differences to assume there
are infinitely small differences [so we can then
predict a smooth curve of the relationship].
However, these assumptions have been questioned
[problems asserted from Bergson's own position
really], so that equal states are assumed to be
identical, effectively ignoring qualitative
difference, or at least representing it by a
quantitative one. This is normally done by
convention. Apparently, psychophysics tried
to insist that there were no physical mechanical
relations, but this would leave only qualitative
differences. Apparently the solution was
attempted that refer to minimum differences, the
smallest perceptible increase in a stimulus, and
this would act as some common property with which
we could equate sensations [by setting benchmarks
as it were between two minimum differences in
sensation and then establishing a relation of
addition between them].
However, Bergson was to deny that the differences
in sensation are arithmetical ones, and if we
consider perception only, we would have to become
aware of something that is added. But we do
not perceive additions like this, and to suggest
them is a departure from reality. The
different levels of sensation are simple states,
and therefore can have nothing to explain an
interval between them, except by imposing
one. Either we stick to consciousness and
perception, or we add conventional arithmetic
notions of representation. If we stick with
consciousness we do not find intervals of
magnitude, but rather transitions, and we can only
make them arithmetical differences by
convention. There is no sensation of a sum,
no additive sensations to explain the differences
between states of sensation, nothing equivalent to
being able to calibrate differences in temperature
on a scale. Commonsense also tends to change
contrasts into arithmetical difference [so
psychophysics incorporates common sense?].
There is a vicious circle here in that
experimental data depends on a theoretical
postulate, but that postulate must be granted
first.
Commonsense offers similar forms of reasoning,
because speech dominates over thought and thus
subjective differences become objectified in the
interests of communication. Similarly, we
have a definite interest and object defying states
of consciousness, and to search for causes and
quantities. Physics simply ignores the
subjective qualities of states and deliberately
confuses them with their causes, and this has
added to the floored procedure of things like
psychophysics. It is difficult to avoid
these common sense notions, and, for example, we
often find [weak quantification] statements that
say one sensation is stronger than another,
inviting the question by how much. It might
help to distinguish two sorts of quantity [as in
ordinal vs. ratio measurement], but even this does
not seem to be possible.
Overall, intensity has a double aspect, a state of
consciousness affected either by an external calls
all by some self sufficient factor. In the
former, there's a notion of intensity as a
magnitude which is really a difference in quality:
it is 'an acquired perception'(73). There is
also confused perception where different psychic
phenomena are somehow lumped together. We
normally find these composites, with a
multiplicity of representatives states and
elementary psychic phenomena: this is 'the image
of an inner multiplicity'. This requires
further discussion, and involves and unfolding in
duration. We go on to discuss what would
happen if we eliminate the spatial
dimension. The inclusion of that dimension
has led to the confusions of quality with
quantity, and we can now perceive it as a general
problem. There are implications for the
notion of free will if we do not distinguish outer
and inner change, movement and freedom.
Chapter two. The multiplicity of conscious
states. The idea of duration
[This is very phenomenological, with a central
role played by consciousness in creating the
objective world via actualization, almost
reification. In its denial of external relations
it could cause problems for Deleuze,but these are
empirical external relations. Deleuze's summary (Bergsonism)
admits this could be phenomenology,but says
ultimately that metaphysics has to be involved]
The concept of number implies a synthesis of the
one and the many. We can grasp in intuition
a single number with a name, but we're also aware
that that number is a sum, 'a multiplicity of
parts which can be considered separately'
(76). Not only that, but the units which
make up a number must be identical with each
other. If we are counting real things, we
neglect their individual differences in order to
focus on what is common [their numerical value as
single units]. If we focus on their
particular features, we can no longer add them
together. Most of the time we do both,
giving us 'the simple intuition of the
multiplicity of parts or units which are
absolutely alike', but as an idealization.
Even if things being counted are physically
identical, they will still have different
locations in space, so we have to form an image of
them in an ideal space. We can only put
things next to each other by conceiving of a
space.
We also develop abstract senses of number as we
move from counting [to, say, algebra]. Here
we are operating with symbols which express
number, and this permits rapid calculation without
thinking what the numbers actually mean. Actual
calculations seem to take place in time rather
than space, and counting up to 50 is indeed an
indication of duration. But addition also
implies a particular kind of succession of
different terms which are nevertheless retained,
unlike instance of duration. And they can
'wait' only in space: we are not dealing with
moments in time themselves, which 'have vanished
for ever' that only with the traces left in
space. We are not always conscious of these
visual images in space, of course.
When we think of individual numbers, we develop an
intuitive 'unity of a whole' (80), something
'pure, simple, irreducible'. But we are also
aware that such numbers can be multiple, with
their unity imposed by intuition. This gives
numbers a certain independence, even from
space. We 'objectify' number. However,
multiples like this must be composed of smaller
units, so numbers also become 'provisional
units'. Again this involves seeing number as
something extended, 'multiple in space'.
There is always convention involved in knowing
where to stop subdivision—with whole numbers, with
a limited number of fractions? So numbers
are therefore only 'provisionally indivisible for
the purpose of compounding them up with one
another' (82).
This process of compounding implies discontinuity
as we pass 'abruptly' from the units we have
conventionally defined, 'by jerks, by sudden
jumps'. We tend to see numbers as
mathematical points separated from their
neighboring points by an interval of space,
although we are aware that each point can turn
into lines extending in either direction.
When we think of whole numbers, the boundaries are
completed, but we can go back and divide this
unity entirely as we wish. Whole numbers are
objectified and it is this that seems to give them
objective qualities: 'we apply the term subjective
to what seems to be completely and adequately
known, and the term objective to what is
known in such a way that are constantly increasing
number of new impressions could be substituted for
the idea which we actually have of it'
(83-4). We note these differences when we
analyze, and we can think of them as implicit in
the mental image of a body 'although they are not
realized'(84). So both subjective and
objective processes are involved, the first to
concentrate attention on a particular object in
space, and the second to pursue projects to break
them up. In each case it is space that is
the appropriate material and medium. We see
this in the differences between commonsense grasps
of number and arithmetic ones, the latter
involving a greater attention to the material
involved. Once we have localize numbers in
space, science can then develop to transfer the
qualities of number.
We get to a conception of number first by counting
material objects, and this requires no particular
inventiveness all symbolic representations.
It is otherwise with mental images derived from
psychic states. We need symbolic
representation if we attempt to count those.
If we hear footsteps in the street, we deal with
those with a confused intuitive notion, then tend
to localize each sound and then count the
sensations. It looks like this accounting
involves duration again, since the sounds of each
event occur in succession. However, we must
distinguish the qualitative impression produced by
the whole series from the operation of just
counting sounds. If we just count, we can
only do this by reducing the individual qualities
of the sound. The intervals between the
sounds become more important than the sounds
themselves. But intervals do not remain in
duration, only in space. In the actual
operations of consciousness, these separate
activities get confused into, say, 'a confused
multiplicity of sensations and feelings'
(87). This means there must be two kinds of
multiplicity, one involving material objects which
can be numbered immediately, and a multiplicity of
states of consciousness which are not immediately
numerical. However the second one can have a
number applied to it through symbolic
representations, 'in which a necessary element is
space'.
We see the same if we think of bodies or matter as
having separate impenetrable qualities, but also
qualities that can be combined and mixed.
Again there is a common spatial metaphor available
here, that sees one body filling up the
'interstices of the other'(88). But logic
insists that two bodies cannot occupy the same
place at the same time. This is a
contradiction, but it can be solved by realizing
that we are working here with numbers that imply
locations in space: numbers cannot occupy the same
place, but matter can. We are more familiar
with the idea of feelings and sensations
permeating one another in an overall notion of the
soul, but we cannot count the sensations
[separately] if we do. Counting implies
'homogeneous units which occupy separate positions
in space and consequently no longer permeate one
another' (89). Impenetrability appears at
the same time as number, and this shows how the
concept of number is only you really applicable to
extended objects. If we move toward states
of consciousness, we have to think of a way to
represent them 'symbolically in space'(90).
Sensation considered in itself is 'pure quality',
but we can conceive of it as distributed in
extensity and this quantifies it and means we can
measure intensity of sensation. This new
form helps us reflect more than immediate
perception would. We can see the same
process is operating with our consciousness of
time. Normally we think of conscious states
being ranged alongside each other in a homogeneous
medium—but this is just like space, a useful sign
or symbol 'absolutely distinct from true
duration'. We can see this if we consider
states of consciousness isolated from the external
world [as in dreams], and here power sensations
are not at all like the regular and quantifiable
divisions of number. It is common but wrong
to see time as a form of space, the same sort of
medium, but what we are doing is borrowing images
from space. This is different from pure
duration.
The philosophical task is to think about space and
extensity: the former added to the latter for
Bergson. Space is not just extracted from
extensity as a generalization of elements found in
sensations, but a separate and solid
reality. Kant argued that space was
independent of its content, that extensity was not
just an abstraction, and this is close to the
commonsense notion. It has been little
challenged since [with reference to various
positivist or nativist psychologists 93f].
The argument usually is that our sensations are
themselves not extended but 'simply qualitative',
and that extensity is produced by combining the
sensations, and this is how space acquires a
content. But this still requires some
'active intervention of the mind' (94), if only to
establish the relation between the sensations: it
is not just a process like chemical
combination. Consciousness is crucial if
sensations are to give rise to a notion of space,
taking them all together and putting them in
juxtaposition. It involves intuition,
leading to the conception of an 'empty homogeneous
medium' (95).
This conception explains how space distinguishes
identical and simultaneous sensations from one
another, as 'a principle of differentiation other
than that of qualitative differentiation'.
Space offers a reality with no quality. The
mind itself uses this concept to establish
'qualitative heterogeneity' in the middle of
what looks like extensive homogeneity—two
sensations occupy particular locations in space
and it is assumed that that must result [only]
from different qualities.
The 'independent idea of a homogeneous space' is
probably not shared with animals (96). They
have different conceptions probably with qualities
of space unknown to us [which enables them to
navigate for example]. We can see this in
human affairs if we consider the way we divide
space into left and right, for example, as if
differences in quality were involved. Subtle
qualitative differences are widespread, but the
human notion of homogeneous emerges as 'a kind of
reaction against that heterogeneity'. This
is not a matter of abstraction, because that
already implies a homogeneous medium.
Instead it is a matter of two kinds of reality,
one given to us by the senses which is
heterogeneous, and the other which is homogeneous,
constructed by the intellect. This second
construction has enabled us to count, to abstract,
and 'perhaps also to speak'(97).
It might be tempting to conclude that time, which
is also homogeneous and unbounded, is the same as
space, but we're talking here about two kinds of
homogeneity. We commonly do think of time
and abstracted way, abstracted from duration, and
this really involves falling back into the
spatial. We can also see that material
objects are constituted in a homogeneous medium
which put intervals between them to give them
distinct outlines, but states of consciousness are
not like this. The concept of time as a
homogeneous medium is therefore 'some spurious
concept'(98) derived from contamination from the
idea of space.
In space, externality [boundaries] distinguishes
objects, but not states of consciousness, unless
we spread them out. It looks like this means
that space is the more fundamental of the two
conceptions. One school of thought joins
time and space by saying that we can deduce the
qualities of material objects by seeing them as
resulting from the order of a series of sensations
[like running your hands along a surface].
This operation is reversible. However the
concept of time is not the same as duration.
Duration is living, and involves a succession of
conscious states which are not separated, not in
terms of the present and the past either. It
is not absorbed only in the present either
forgetting its former states, because then 'it
would no longer endure'. The past and the
present form an organic whole, just as happens
when we recall the sequential notes of a tune
which produce a melodic whole: if we disturb this
sequence, we see a qualitative change.
Duration offers 'succession without
distinction'(101), where each element represents
the whole and is only separated from it by
abstract thought. However, we try to grasp
it by introducing the spatial dimension to think
of succession. Duration becomes seen in
terms of extensity, and succession becomes the
progress of separate points on a continuous
line. Here, there is no simultaneity of
before and after.
This is how human beings introduce an order [in
the external world] by distinguishing units, and
setting them up in space. This is the only
way that simultaneity can be managed, [as rapid
succession]. Any notion of a correct order
of succession or reversability 'itself implies the
representation of space'(102). If we imagine
a conscious point moving along the line, it could
only explain change and succession by comparing
its movements at several points in juxtaposition,
which itself involves a perception of simultaneity
[presumably this would include the observer in
Einstein thought experiments?]. This in turn
involves the idea of space which has been smuggled
in: in general, we can only see a line as a line
if we take up a position outside it, to think a
space of three dimensions. Normal
consciousness does not operate like this at all,
but it can once it is organized. In its
purest state, duration can be understood as
'nothing but a succession of qualitative changes',
with no need at all to be externalized.
Time seems to be measurable just like space, but
we still think of its units in this double way as
above, as both simple units and as
divisible. There is a different notion of
succession which requires again the preservation
in the mind of earlier moments. If I see
these moments as separated, in a spatial way, I'd
get the notion of quantitative time, but if I saw
them as penetrating each other, I would be unable
to grasp duration, but as 'a qualitative
multiplicity with no resemblance to number'
(105). We experience duration very commonly
in our consciousness, as when the cumulative
effect of a ticking clock is to make us fall sleep
[it is not an effect of individual ticks or their
sum, but a qualitative effect]. Again the
analogy is the combination of slight sensations
into a musical phrase, whose quality varies as new
notes are added. We commonly deal with
qualitative change by spatializing it, and this it
includes attempts to assign causes [which again it
assumes it is the same qualities found in
individual notes]. We can only grasp pure
duration through an 'intensive magnitude', and
these are not strictly quantities.
We can be misled by thinking of external objects
as also enduring, apparently in homogeneous
time. We use homogeneous time in mechanics
or astronomy, say when we calculate
velocities. That this is measurable means
that we often think that so is inner duration, but
it is really a matter of counting simultaneities
[identical positions, oscillations, of the
pendulum, say]: these look simultaneous because
space does not preserve past occasions.
However, within ourselves, there is
interpenetration of different conscious states, so
I can perceive past oscillations at the same time
as perceiving the present one. We can
conceive of such a duration persisting even after
the pendulum ceases to oscillate, without any
external moments. In external conditions, in
pure space, there can be no succession
[since the past state is not preserved]: the
spectator is essential. However, ordinary
consciousness often combines these two
states. We commonly associate phases of our
consciousness with external measures of time, and
as those are separated strictly, so we think are
the phases of consciousness, giving us a mistaken
homogeneous inner duration. The confusion
also helps us provide a kind of duration for
external events: 'we create for them or fourth
dimension of space, which we call homogeneous
time' (109). Both space and duration are real
states, and when we compare the two, we get a 'a
symbolic or representation of duration, derived
from space'(110). The thing that connects
these two process is simultaneity.
We can see this when analyzing motion. The
common way of understanding it is that movement
takes place in space and this makes it homogeneous
and divisible. However, although we can
specify different positions of the moving body in
space, we cannot understand the process without
the conscious spectator. It is the
difference between an object and its
progress. Motion is 'a mental synthesis, a
psychic and therefore unextended process'
(111). This synthesis is a qualitative one,
involve me organize a nation of perceptions and
sensations, just like the phrases in a
melody. We commonly separate the motion or
act from the path that it takes, which indicates
the space traversed. However, it is equally
common to confuse the two, thinking that the
motion can also be divided just as can the space:
we have projected onto space an act, seeing it as
covering the whole line, 'solidifying it'[if we
had properly solidified it, the argument seems to
be, we would be suggesting that the past really
does coexist with the present].
This explains the Greek paradoxes of movement,
where acts are confused with the homogeneous space
in which they take place. [113f].
Space can be subdivided in whatever way we wish
[including breaking it down into the size of step
taken by the tortoise, hence Achilles can never a
overtake the tortoise if he just takes steps that
size—this involves introducing a particular
'metaphysical hypothesis']. Mathematics can
determine simultaneous positions, but cannot grasp
what goes on in the interval except by seeing that
as an endless series of new simultaneities arising
in the traversed space.
The same goes with measurements of velocity, which
assume or anticipate a simultaneity. The
same reduction has to take place of the essential
qualitative element. Most science is modest
in claiming only to equate two durations, two
identical intervals of time when two identical
bodies traverse the same space. We note the
exact moment where the motion starts and where it
ends, and these operations inevitably
involve 'the coincidence of an external
change with one of our psychic states'
(116). [This coincidence persists as we take
frequent observations during the movement] We can
properly measure the amount of space traversed:
this leaves us only with space and
simultaneities. Consciousness is dealing
with the duration, not the object itself. We
could not even grasp succession without comparing
the present with the past. Scientists can
arbitrarily shorten intervals of duration when
they predict things as a succession of
simultaneities.
The specific notion of velocity derives from first
building up the notion of uniform motion along a
particular path. We then imagine a physical
object moving along the path and compare the
intervals between specified marks. Velocity
is then defined as a particular unit of duration
defined in this way. We can then imagine a
number of moving bodies all moving uniformly but
with different velocities for the [a rather
complex example is worked through pages
118-9. Basically, you do away with
measurements of time by having a fixed unit, say
the time it takes for a stone to fall from a
given height—when it hits the ground you stop the
moving objects at particular points. The
method seems to involve comparing objects moving
at different velocities and then averaging
them. The point is that we can work out
variable velocity only using simultaneities and
measurements at an immobile point]. We can
see this by the tendency of mechanics to deal with
equations, expressing 'something already
done', while duration refers to 'something that is
unceasingly being done' (119). We can
specify more and more simultaneities and
positions, and even use differentials instead of
actual differences to approach infinite
intervals—but all these examples show that
mathematics measures intervals at the
extreme. Duration must be left of the
equation because it is a mental synthesis.
So is motion, which is not reducible to passages
through points on a line. Finally, there are
no identical or external moments in duration, they
are 'essentially heterogeneous, continuous, and
with no analogies to number' (120).
Only space is homogeneous, and only space produces
discrete multiplicities through 'a process of
unfolding in space'. If we take the
sensations of consciousness, it is clear that
there is no identity between states of the
world. Discrete multiplicities require an
act of consciousness to isolate states and then
find external relations between them. If we
replace one state with another, we can only do
this through using homogeneous time.
It follows that there is another multiplicity, not
a discrete one but a qualitative one. This
provides another notion off qualitative difference
between same and other. Number is only
potentially possible. Normally,
consciousness works with qualitative
discriminations without counting or even
separating. Here we have 'multiplicity
without quantity'(122). Quite often, we
operational eyes this multiplicity by setting it
out in space and it becomes hard to distinguish
between the two or to express the distinction in
words. Even the discussion earlier that
talks about assembling several states in
consciousness shows the danger of introducing 'the
deeply ingrained habit of setting out time in
space'. Once we have done this, we can then
borrow terms from the spatial dimension, and this
is so common that it becomes hard to grasp
qualitative multiplicities through common sense.
However, a discrete multiplicity actually presumes
a qualitative multiplicity, lying behind the
apparently neutral operations of the counting of
identical terms. There are for example
'emotional equivalents' to numbers, and
shopkeepers know this by pricing items one unit
below a round number. This shows that
counting of identical numbers sometimes crosses a
qualitative threshold which alters the
process. Without this 'no addition will be
possible' [I don't see how this follows]. We
are always aware of the 'quality of
quantity'[perhaps this means sometimes seeing it
as a neutral and sometimes seeing it as a value
laden?]—but this is essential it so that we can
'form the idea of quantity without quality'[I
still don't see why].
We have to express our understanding of time
through 'a symbolical substitute' (124), and if we
did not, we could never see time as a homogeneous
medium. We arrive at this representation by
disregarding the differences between moments or
terms. This is particularly evident in
discussions of motion: on the one hand, we see it
is the same body that moves, but on the other we
compare actual positions with remembered positions
to complete the idea. We apply this
understanding of motion to try to grasp duration
and that in turn becomes a homogeneous medium,
with a special notion of time projected onto
space. We often do this with repetitions as
well, such as a series of blows of the hammer: we
can cut this series into apparently identical
phases and that is used as a way to conceive the
overall dynamic effect [I'm not sure if this is
the same or a further example of the discussion
about melody].
Because we contact the external world at its
surface, we tend to regard to our sensations as
something external to us, and having objective
causes. We then form an idea of our psychic
life as occupying homogenous time. However
there is a deeper self where this would involve
distortion. This deeper self is combined
with the 'superficial ego', and the latter tends
to dominate the former, producing apparently
distinct segments in 'our more personal conscious
states' (126). We can see this contaminating
effect when we consider psychic states which are
separated from the external world, as in
dreams. Here there are no measures and no
separate quantities. Even our waking states
sometimes reveal the notion of duration as
quality, grasped immediately [the example here is
when we disattend to the earlier elements in a
series, say a striking clock, but manage to
recover them in consciousness, feeling them as
something producing an effect— the example of a
musical phrase is used again]. Here, early
elements are used to understand qualities not
quantities.
So there are two distinct forms of multiplicity,
ways of seeing duration, and aspects of conscious
life, with the qualitative elements 'below' the
quantitative ones. The quantitative
multiplicity tends to dominate partly because
consciousness has a 'an insatiable desire to
separate'(128), and a tendency to take the symbol
for the reality. In this way, we are 'better
adapted to the requirements of social life in
general and language in particular', and the
qualitative aspects tend to disappear.
Social life is more important to us than our inner
selves, and to express feelings we have to
solidify them first and then represent them in
language. As a result, 'we confuse the
feeling itself, which is in a perpetual state of
becoming, with its permanent external object and
especially with the word that expresses this
object'. (130).
We require 'a vigorous effort of analysis'
to recover them, focused on grasping 'this
fundamental self' (129), and also seeing how there
is always a tendency to head for precision in
language or perception which in turn requires
operating with the discrete multiplicity rather
than the confused one. One exercise is to
look again at the familiar and focus on
qualitative changes that are normally overlooked,
or tried to dwell upon fleeting sensations without
solidifying them, say into discrete tastes.
In reality, 'every sensation is altered by
repetition'(131), although words are fixed.
We can even affects sensations by labeling them in
different ways: words 'impose...their own
stability'(132).
An even better case is to think of feelings like
love or melancholy which permeate the whole
soul and overwhelm apparently distinctive
elements. Feelings like this cannot be
expressed in words, or rather a distorted as soon
as we attempt to do so. Even if we do
externalize them, they remain underneath 'the
juxtaposition of lifeless states which can be
translated into words' (133). It would
require a clever novelist to show that the
apparently separated lifeless states conceal
'an infinite permeation of a thousand different
impressions', although most novelists are content
to attempt to express feelings in words.
Even so, sometimes a contradictory element
remains.
We could attempt to explore our own selves, to
break up the elements of an idea, to try to
recapture the 'genuine threads with which the
concrete idea was woven'(134). However, we
must avoid the dangers of 'associationism'.
Sometimes excessive zeal in addressing questions
shows that 'our intellect has its instincts', an
impetus common to all our ideas, the source of
strong beliefs which have often been adopted
'without any reason' but rather that they can form
to all our other ideas. Such ideas can fill
the whole of our self, although many others 'float
on the surface' and appears external to the
mind. Examples here include readymade ideas
which have never been properly assimilated, or old
ideas which have withered.
We only move to the surface of the self by making
our ideas external and impersonal, with no inner
connections. Beneath that surface, we can
find blendings of ideas which can even be
contradictory. A gain dreams can sometimes
indicate this. Thus there are two aspects of
the self, only the deepest level being able to
grasp quality and duration in a non numerical
way. Sensations at this level cannot be
separated. It is the need to lead a social
life and use language that stops us grasping this
level [so you need an époche, mate?]. Humans
seem to need this idea of a homogeneous space
external to themselves and shared by others.
We get to this notion by increasingly solidifying
or objectifying inner states. In the process
we create a second self which dominates [not in
the sense of a split, he insists—a bit like the I
and me?]. There is no real incentive to
reintroduce confusion between terms [or
becoming?—Is this conservatism or realism?].
It is no surprise that psychology tends to
describe the second self, but it cannot understand
processes. The next chapter goes on to
explain the contradictions that result when this
sort of approach discusses causality or freedom
and proposes a return to 'the real and concrete
self' (139) to resolve them.
Chapter three. The organization of
conscious states. Free will
[Long discussion about psychological determinism,
much of which is repeated in Matter and Memory,
which is where I have noted it. One of the
people criticized this time is JS
Mill, which I have noted in more
detail. Overall—highlights only]
We can either start with seeing systems as dynamic
from the beginning, which then suffer from
inertia, or argue the other way round, as does
mechanism. Those approaches in turn offer
different into sees on facts compared to laws, and
the status of these laws as either symbol or
reality. That will depend on what is taken
to be the most simple [or given] category.
For those who take the dynamic routes, even these
simple notions have often been obtained by
combining other notions, and that leads to the
suggestion that spontaneity is simpler than
inertia, and can be grasped immediately.
The different approaches also appealed to
different facts, especially those that seem to
limit free will: these facts might turn on the
constraints of conscious states or more
fundamental properties of matter, including law of
the conservation of energy. For Bergson, the
first notion is prior and the second reducible to
it [that is our consciousness imposes these
constraints]. Physical determinism has a
picture of the universe that suggests that
particles unceasingly move and interact producing
sensible qualities, but they obey universal laws,
including the particles that make up about brains
and nervous system: sensations and feelings are
merely 'mechanical resultants' (144). So-called
free actions are included [they arise from
compounds of sensations]. The law of
conservation of energy underpins the whole
argument, once we extend it to all processes in
all living bodies. Even if the argument were
true, however, we would still have to show that
particular psychic states correspond to definite
cerebral states: this is usually a generalization
from noticing that some do. The underlying
view that psychological and physiological series
are always parallel has been justified by further
argument: Leibniz assume some preestablished
harmony, Spinoza saw the two series expressing
some underlying 'eternal truth' (147). Few
modern determinists bother with such implications,
though, and are content to see the emergence of
consciousness as something unknown.
We can explain actions by reference to motives,
but this is not to be taken as absolute as in
'associationist determinism' (148). Nor is
it to be linked to physical mechanism in
general. Again, some simple psychic states
can be seen as 'accessories'(149) to physical
phenomena, and to generalize the argument itself
must imply general psychological determination,
not a real connection, but only an appeal to
science more generally. There may be a form
of weak determinism, with freewill active only to
a certain extent. But this itself involves a
psychological theory and a certain 'prejudice
against human freedom'. There is no doubt
that the law of conservation of energy has played
a major part in natural sciences, and it underpins
every mathematical operation. But that only
works with what is given and with the law of non
contradiction: there's no guidance as to what
should be taken as given. There is a
judgement involved in deciding what counts for
something and what counts for nothing when we say
that something cannot come from nothing.
There's also an assumption that the system itself
remains behind the combinations of the series, and
again this involves judgement [experience].
We can see this when we realize that early
physicists did not operate with the law of
conservation of motion. As our studies of
psychology progress, we may uncover a new kind of
potential energy. There is an ambiguity if
we say that mechanical theories allow for
epiphenomena appearing as consciousness—this
consciousness could in turn create other things
such as movement from nothing.
Upholding the law of conservation involves
thinking of systems as reversible, and therefore
as immune from time: this may be based on our
common sense perceptions of apparently inert
matter. However, in real life there is
always duration, and it produces irreversible
changes. This could be explained by emergent
complexity of systems and the role of chance, but
it still does not explain the events such as
prolonged sensations which are clearly reinforced
by the past. For living beings, 'the past is
a reality' (153), and it can amplify present
activity. There's at least a possibility
that consciousness and free will, by storing up
duration, can do the same and escape the law of
conservation.
The attempt to establish links between the
psychological and the natural can be understood as
a 'psychological mistake'(154) where we
equate duration with perceived objective time,
with no difference between outer and inner
worlds. Those wishing to extend the law of
conservation build on this common sense tendency
which becomes 'a metaphysical
prepossession'(155). It is in this way that
psychological determinism seems to be prior.
Psychological determination takes an
associationist form rather than a strictly causal
or 'geometric' one. One psychological state
cannot be predicted fully from its predecessors,
but the transition can be explained in terms of
conventional reasoning such as causality or
teleology. Relations between psychic states
do exist, but are not of this kind. We can
see this if we think of the ways in which two
people associate a conversation with different new
ideas or at different points with the same
idea. Hypnosis also shows that causal
explanations are not sufficient: a causal chain
has been imposed post hoc. Human
acts show a mixture of free will and
determination. We are quite capable of
rationalizing the affect of motives on our
actions, and explaining freewill as a sudden
intervention.
JS Mill can be criticized here. He argues
that of the collected psychic states, the
strongest will prevail [and this bumps into the
first sort of argument about the difficulty of
quantifying them, as I noticed at the time].
This assumes you can distinguish these states,
such as 'desire, aversion, fear, temptation'
(159). Mill even posits an inner conflict
where the self can grasp clear distinctions.
Some other philosophers have even argued that the
idea of freedom can provide a dominant
motive. Here, we can attribute the confusion
to language which is not capable of conveying 'all
the delicate shades of inner states'[which was my
problem when discussing recent work on the
emotions]. We can change the relation
between motives and actions, but motives can still
color actions even though language is not capable
of discerning that. Actions that looks
similar can be quite 'different to consciousness
from the inside' (161). Associationism can
only work with external similarities, 'rendered
colorless', and it is observers who establish the
association. They can still divide qualities
into common properties and personal impressions,
but this is still categorization.
We are left with a choice discussed above, in
terms of whether we locate separate impressions or
actions in a quantitative or qualitative
multiplicity, as a matter of juxtaposition or
fusion and interpenetration. Both are
capable of explaining plurality.
Associationists spread out plural occurrences in a
homogeneous medium: they might call it duration,
but it is 'in reality space' (163). The
terms have been symbolized, sometimes only by
expressing them in words. The homogeneous
medium is a common assumption in much
thought. The occurrences are seen as
impersonal and external to each other, and again
naming them with words [as a category] assume some
relation. In practice, the elements might
well have melted into one another before this
'artificial reconstruction'. The explanation
has generated the facts.
Commonsense reproduces the same practices as we
contact the external world at its surface, and
perceive aspects of it in terms of contiguity,
simple and impersonal connections. When we
look beneath the surface [sic] we see that states
of consciousness permeate each other to produce
our personalities. Language still persists
in attributing properties to objects which are
named in the same way, and so itself can 'only fix
the objective and impersonal aspect of love and
hate and the thousand emotions'(164).
Novelists can explore feelings and ideas with
words, but this is still not the same as showing
how states permeate each other. 'There is no
common measure between mind and language' (165).
Only [positivist] psychology, 'misled by language'
can show us the affects of various feelings acting
as separate forces: but each feeling 'makes up the
whole soul', as a form of self
determination. The self is not just an
aggregate of conscious states, since each feeling
can contaminate the personality. This is
free action in the sense that it is the self alone
that acts to express the whole of itself.
This is freedom as relative not absolute, since
sometimes the self can produce what looks like
external 'independent growths' as well, and these
can take on a life of their own and act back on
the whole personality—violent anger, 'hereditary
vice' can act like hypnotic suggestions. As
well as these, some complex series are never
smoothly blended with the whole of the self, and
these include those feelings and ideas not
properly assimilated in education. They
helped provide 'a parasitic self' which encroaches
on the real self. But none of these passions
or indoctrinations [my word, but I think that's
what he means] can curtail all freedom—the dynamic
series of the 'fundamental self' can remain.
Free acts are exceptional. We usually
constrain ourselves with spatialized thinking, or
a reliance on words. The need to promote
social relations is another factor. Habit
and routine show the effects, where feelings are
'solidified on the surface' (168). It is
something like conscious automatism. These
acts are solidified in memory as well and produce
further examples of purely reflex activity.
Associationism explains these quite well [compare
with Weber constructing the ideal type rational
action], but they should really be seen as a
substratum, like the organic functions. It
is also true that we can resign our freedom to
external forces including those of persuasion,
although even then the self might revolt and we
can realize that they have been imposed.
This can sometimes look irrational, but it is
sometimes for 'the best of reasons', to do
with happiness or honour. In any events, it
is wrong just to examine routine acts and some
motives, and instead we should look at examples
of 'the great and solemn crisis'(170).
There's another form of determinism which locates
free will at this stage of making decisions
between two opposing feelings. However, if
these really are equally possible options, it is
difficult to see how the self makes a decision: in
practice, they are not regarded as equal by the
self, which constantly modifies its feelings until
an action is possible. Inner dynamism is
responsible, underneath symbolic
representation. This occurs when the self
properly appropriates its experience. This
would make the self alone responsible for
decisions and free will would become a
'fact'(173).
JS Mill returns here in emphasizing
decision-making as central to consciousness and
free will. But he thinks that acting otherwise
implies knowing something about the options and
their antecedents: determinism is rescued by
seeing the ego as a determining cause
itself. However, there is a metaphysical
issue involved here, turning on how things can be
seen as equally possible. We can represent
two possible actions as points symbolized by X and
Y, and in an attempt to be rigorous, we can use
these terms to suggest different directions.
This is already different from a conception of the
developing self where 'free action drops from it
like an overripe fruit' (176). In mechanism,
including common sense versions of it, the self is
seen as tracing a path through various conscious
states before opting for either X or Y at a
particular point in the path. The paths have
become things and the self only chooses between
them. This choice is what the self does,
separately from the paths, as 'an impartially
active ego' (177). Since the paths are
independent, they must trace different
possibilities. The very depiction of a fork
in the path suggests a notion of opposite motives,
hesitation and choice as a way of symbolizing
conscious activity.
This is an abstract conception, but it runs into
difficulties. If X is chosen at a point, the
self has ceased to be neutral, despite some
'oscillations' towards Y (178). The choice
is only part of a more continuous psychological
activity which has already distinguished the two
outcomes. What looks like contingency is
actually already 'absolute necessity' (179).
The outcome has already played a part in the
decision. Consciousness has already followed
both paths [in imagination] and it is restricting
to confine its activity to a point before the
divergence. Mechanism traces back the
process from what has already been done.
Here, there are contradictions for mechanists: if
either path could be chosen as equally possible,
the self could never decide; if one path is
preordained in some way there can be no real free
will [which means they would have to deny
experience --or Christianity?]
The use of a path as a symbol already represents
time by space and a 'succession by a
simultaneity'(180). The diagram at best
operates as a stereotyped memory, and can never
capture dynamic processes of deliberation.
Paths can be retraced, like roads marked on a map,
but they are misleading as a representation of
time which is passing. This is misleading
and 'clumsy symbolism' (182), essential to
determinism. It cannot explain free will,
since 'freedom must be sought in a certain shade
or quality of the action itself', and not in
relation to abstract possibilities. The
clumsy symbolism ignores that the self is
undergoing a dynamic progress, 'in which the self
and its motives...are in a constant state of
becoming'. By adopting this symbolism, the
self ironically is unable to explain the sense of
freedom which it grasps in immediate experience.
Predictions suffers from the same problems.
Probable outcomes amount to 'a judgment on... [a
person's] present character, that is to say on
[the] past' (184) [so some characteristics remain
despite constant becoming]. This is not the
same as saying that prediction is possible in
principle if we could know all the
conditions. But knowing all the conditions
that prompted another to act is impossible, since
intensities of feeling are particularly difficult
to represent and share because they are
felt. The options seem to remain as
attempting to experience the life of another, or
finding adequate images or symbols for their
ideas. Again, it is almost impossible to
experience intensity. In practice, knowing
the final action is used in building a mental
image of successive states, in effect ceasing to
be a spectator at all, but attempting to act out
in detail the life of another in its
totality—literally becoming the other except for
bodily differences. It is impossible to
remove all differences, including those provided
by different locations in time. [The
implication is that final states are used in a
circular manner to reconstruct earlier ones].
We have revealed 'fundamental illusions of
reflective consciousness'(190). One includes
trying to mathematically symbolize psychic states
and their intensity. The other works back
from the act to retrace the path that led to it,
as above. We are left with a list of
antecedents, but we still do not know their value
[in prediction specifically]. Once more, a
completed action produces the diagram of action
with a fork, as above, and this is taken as action
itself in progression. The fundamental
problem once more is that time is taken as
space. Conscious states are set out as
points on a line to be traced by a moving body in
space. In prediction, we continue the curve
into the future, but this already constrains
future paths. It is no solution to imagine
oneself on a similar path.
It is true that science has succeeded in
successful prediction as in planetary
motions. In effect, time has been compressed
in these predictions. But this is not the
same as anticipating a voluntary act. We can
see that the equations in astronomy take some
standard time as the fundamental unit, and this
can actually vary: the point is that standard time
does not represent actual duration but rather the
relation between particular units of time, 'in
short, for a certain number of
simultaneities'(193), coincidences separated by
intervals. The intervals themselves do not
have a role in the calculation. But in
consciousness with real duration they do, and any
change in the normal units would soon be noticed
[why should experience dominate though?] .
Astronomers reduce the intervals in their
calculations, covering centuries of astronomical
time in a few minutes. Consciousness lives
through the intervals, however, not the points at
the end of them. Of course, sometimes it can
grasp movement in a single perception, as when a
shooting star becomes a single line. In
effect, this is what astronomers do too,
compressing time in order to predict, and then
expanding it again to produce the event in the
future.
Lived experience might be relevant to science, but
it is not to [phenomenological] psychology.
Pure consciousness does not even measure time, but
compares feelings over time elapsed.
Sometimes these feelings are named and treated as
thing-like, denoted by a single word, but they're
always processes. They cannot be subdivided
without changing their qualities, since they are
compounds produced by experiencing a number of
phases. It is not possible to retrace the
others back from a definitive action since the
whole of the life story is involved. We can
as observers collapse the time intervals between
successive states, but we will impoverish [NB]
consciousness. We still think of prediction
in terms of the operations of science, reducing
duration to numbers. It is possible to
recall the past in a shortened form without
distorting the event in consciousness which
interest to us, because we know it already, we
have turned into a thing. This is similar to
astronomical predictions, but we must still see
psychological antecedents in a dynamic way,
exerting influence, and prediction involves
tracing that influence forward, living it in
duration: future duration cannot be
shortened. With psychic states, foreseeing
and acting, even seeing, become the same.
It is still possible to work with a weak form of
determinism that says that acts are determined by
psychic antecedents, even if those psychic states
cannot be adequately symbolized: they might still
be subject to causal laws. Indeed, if they
are not, psychic life offers 'an incomprehensible
exception' (199). However, it is doubtful
whether the same event recurs a second time
[denying predictable causality in other words],
especially if duration produces a radical
heterogeneity of psychic states, quite unlike
external objects: 'the same moment does not occur
twice' (200) [shades of Heraclitus here?].
Of course, apparently unique events might be
resolved into more general standard elements, but
again this denies psychic events 'a life of their
own'. Every time a feeling is repeated this
is a new feeling, so there is no real warrant for
using the same name, which only rarely expresses
similarities. In psychic life, 'a deep
seated inner cause produces its effect once for
all [sic]'(201)—but that has already been
discussed under the impossibility of prediction.
Opting for determinism reveals 'a misapprehension
and [an] obstinate ...prejudice'(202) so the very
concepts of cause has to be shown to be
ambiguous. En route, we will come across a
more positive notion of freedom. Physical
phenomena obey laws, so sequences repeat
themselves, and phenomena only emerge after
particular conditions have been met. This
implies that experience is involved in noting
regular succession. In consciousness,
however it is different, and experience does not
show us regular succession. If experience is
appealed to in the first case, it must be in the
second as well. Empiricism does not just
rely on subjectively perceived perceptions,
however, but must assume that somehow effects are
already contained within causes. Mathematics
suggests one case in which this happens, when we
draw a circle complete with all its mathematical
properties which can then be deduced into several
subsequent equations or theorems. This is a
purely quantitative notion, that has difficulties
in explaining successions of physical phenomena
which change qualities: someone has to decide
whether they are still equivalent, especially if
our sense organs suggest differences. A
number of concrete qualities have to be ignored,
and processes of abstraction pursued until they
lead to the notion of homogeneous extensity
beneath all particular characteristics. We
can then impose figures in this space which follow
mathematical laws. However, this notion of
space is still 'a mental image' (205), although it
is seen as 'a concrete and therefore irreducible
quality of matter'. This can be remedied by
replacing mental images with abstract forms,
algebraic relations still 'entangled'[fashionable
term] with each other and becoming
objective.
Many scientists do not have to abstract this far,
although Kelvin did [with his notion that space is
filled with a fluid with vortices, with atoms as
movements]. Even so, this fluid has to be
seen as perfectly homogeneous, or in other words,
without intervals between the parts, in other
words, offering a state 'equivalent to absolute
immobility' (206). This provides us with the
strange idea of movement which can only be a
mental picture, 'a relation between
relations'. It can be acknowledged that
motion has something to do with consciousness,
while space has only simultaneities related
together at any particular moment. This
conception represents the peak of assumptions
already in physics with Descartes. However,
abstracting this far, so that even atoms have no
'sensible qualities', makes it difficult to
explain 'the concrete existence of the phenomena
of nature' (207). [I think Deleuze has the same
problem with actualization]
Causality in this way approaches relations of
identity. This is also found in our
consciousness as 'an absolute law', so that what
is thought is thought at the moment we think of
it. It is a way of establishing the notion
of the present, as an 'absolute necessity', and
gives consciousness its confidence. But
causality is different in that it binds the future
to the present and this can not have the same
necessity, since we can never agree that what has
been will continue to be. Descartes had to
invoke Providence here, Spinoza referred to divine
unity at the absolute level where duration became
eternity. All these can be seen as efforts
to 'do away with active duration'(209) and to see
in causality 'a fundamental identity'. For
common sense, it is more a matter of assuming we
can perceive mathematical mechanism behind the
scenes. We know that we ourselves change in
duration, but it is really 'absurd' to imagine
that external objects do as well. We assume
that these objects do not endure, but that there
is still some mechanism to regulate this
succession, since the external objects do not all
appear at once. We tend to regard duration
as merely a subjective form of consciousness, and
accept differences between physical and psychical
series. Seeing mathematical mechanisms regulating
external objects should lead us to a notion of
free will, as we shall see.
We also model succession in the external world
from successive states of consciousness, starting
with ideas which eventually become realized in
action, through some underlying form, usually
thought of as 'the feeling of effort' (211).
Since the stages are not clear, it looks like the
present prefigures the future: we know that some
future action is potentially realizable and we
move to realize it. If we apply this to
causality, however, necessary determination of
effects no longer apply, but remain as pure
possibilities. However, the commonsense
version of causality is good enough for ordinary
purposes, based on a simple analogy between outer
and inner worlds. It is a matter of
extending objectification, so that qualities
become actual states, the material universe seems
to be 'a vague personality', possibly even the
conscious one (213) with its own kind of
efforts. This was developed in 'ancient
hylozoism' with a notion of a deus ex machina
and critiqued by Leibniz, who argued that
succession should be understood as a series of
perceptions of an unextended nomad. Some
preestablished harmony explains the link between
inner and outer states as above, and this was
necessary for Leibniz who had started with monads
only in the first place, to overcome mechanism.
Overall, we get contradictory conceptions of the
duration of external things, sometimes the same as
psychic duration, sometimes limited only to
conscious states and thus inapplicable to external
things, regulated only by mathematical laws which
unfold. Both in fact imply human
freedom. In the first case, even the
phenomena of nature are contingent, and in the
second, we distinguish a free self from a
determined nature. Human freedom is a
consequence of both. However, it is common
to confuse the two conceptions of causality, one
which favors the imagination, and the other
mathematical reasoning: we think of both
succession and becoming, of perceived regularity
becoming absolute regularity. Neither is
ever rejected decisively but used in the interests
of science [ I think this was his beef with
Einstein]
However, serious problems arise if we try and see
conscious states as subject to causality. We
tend to confuse the concepts of force and
necessity, although the former denies the
latter. We know about forces through
consciousness, but it gets mixed with the
scientific notion of force which operates with
strict necessity to produce effects. We are
not looking at consciousness itself here, but with
a 'a kind of refraction through the forms which it
has lent to external perception' (217). It
makes common sense to amalgamate the two notions
because we can then communicate with each other
using the same words, and we can break duration
down into objectified moments [the better to
accomplish action]. Scientists themselves see no
need to mix the two conceptions, and never
actually define what a force is [whose effort it
is].
Inner causality is dynamic, as we have
argued. We can now define freedom as 'the
relation of the concrete self to the act which it
performs'(219). This relation is indefinable
any further, incapable of further analysis,
because we would then transform this relation into
something concrete in homogeneous space again, and
freedom would become necessity. It is
misleading to think of a free act as something
that might have been left undone because of the
problem with symbolized possibilities above, which
imply determinism [or inability to act]. It
is equally misleading to define freedom as
something going against all known conditions,
because we cannot conceive of these conditions
except symbolically, using homogeneous time and
space. Nor is a free act something that is
not necessarily determined by its cause, because
these conceptions do not apply to inner processes,
and antecedents cannot be repeated. [All of
these seem to me to be circular, starting with the
notion that we must accept freedom of action and
thus reject any approach that would permit
determinism. There are good reasons to
reject determinism, as above, but this seems to
imply that freedom is something residual?]
The whole debate turns on whether time can be
adequately represented by space. If we are
thinking of accomplished time, it can be, but not
if we are thinking of flowing time. Freedom
takes place in flowing time and is 'therefore a
fact' (221) and is clearly observable. We
only get difficulties if we tried to equate
duration with extensity, succession with
simultaneity, and use words which are not actually
translatable between external and inner worlds.
Conclusion
We must avoid Kantian distinctions between time
and space consciousness and external
perception. Nor should we fall for
empiricism that attempts to turn duration into
space and internal states into external
ones. We must apply positivist principles to
avoid all impressions and see 'sensations as signs
of reality, not as reality itself'(223). We
need to reverse the issue. It seems that
psychic states have been understood through
borrowed forms from the external world. This
is because normally we are interested in forms
fitting material objects, so it is tempting to
apply them back to knowledge of ourselves.
The forms with which we understand matter are
compromised by matter: matter leaves its mark on
them. These must be cleared away.
When we see psychic states as isolated events,
they seem to be more or less intense. They
seem to be unfolded in [spatialized] time, and
they seem to be linked causally. Instead, we
have to see psychic phenomena as 'pure quality or
qualitative multiplicity'(224), unlike external
phenomena which are quantitative. When we
talk of intensity, we are confusing the two,
taking quality as the sign of quantity: intensity
is really a 'qualitative sign'. There is a
compromise between pure quality in consciousness
and pure quantity in space [in common
sense]. We're happy to leave aside
consciousness when we study external things, say
by ignoring the notion of what a force is and
concentrating only on its measurable
effects. The hybrid state must also be
rejected when we look at consciousness: external
magnitude is never intensive, intensity is never
quantitative. If we do not distinguish these
two, we are forced to rely on words like
'increase' which actually mean different
things. The confusion has led to the growth
of psychophysics.
The same goes when we consider
multiplicities. The very concept of numbers
as multiples implies a homogeneous medium in space
so that we can set distinct terms on a line and
then add them together. However, there's a
second notion of multiplicity which involves
dynamic adding of units which permeate each
other—qualitative multiplicity. It is not
uncommon to confuse the two and think of qualities
being added, and again science proceeds by
avoiding hybridity, and so must studies of
consciousness. Failing to do so explains the
errors of associationism, especially when assuming
that we can just add distinct states of
consciousness [for example in terms of their
importance as in Mill].
After such clarity we can precede to understand
duration and 'voluntary determination'
(226). Duration in our consciousness
is a qualitative multiplicity, unlike
constitutive ones. It offers organic
evolution rather than simple additions, and
heterogeneity rather than distinct qualities:
there is thus no external relation between the
moments. Duration in externality is
different, and occupies the present only, or
simultaneity. There may be change but not
succession, or if there is, it is the
consciousness that provides it. Points in
space do not retain anything that has preceded
them. Any notion of endurance is provided by
us, although there may be something in external
things which makes us see them that way, 'some
inexpressible reason' (227). However, this
attribute is then projected so that it seems that
things endure as we do ourselves [much of this is
revised in the later works]. At the same
time, externality is projected into consciousness,
through 'endosmosis'. A 'mixed idea'
results.
However, science distinguishes extensity and
duration, abandoning the latter. It follows
that we must do the reverse when we study inner
phenomena in their original state, before they are
developed and externalized. Once we have
done this, duration appears as a qualitative
multiplicity, 'an absolute heterogeneity of
elements which pass into one another' (229).
Without separating the two, we cannot grasp
freedom: determinists deny it, while advocates
define it in externalized terms, as in logical
trees. As we saw, we have to deny the
universality of the law of conservation of energy,
and refuse to identify time with space. We
can use our experience to deny determinism, but we
must equally refuse to deny any external
definition of freedom. Separating duration and
extensity is a move that arouses
'repugnance'(230), partly because we cannot
predict events with the authority of science, and
we cannot measure the units. We gain by
externalizing our inner consciousness, because we
can then achieve some fixity and stability, we
can 'objectify them, to throw them out into
the current of social life'(231).
We have to fully recognize that there are two
different selves, one specialized and socially
represented, and another which is a fully living
thing, 'constantly becoming', not open to
measurement. Grasping this notion of the
self is rare, however, since most of the time we
live in externality, operating with 'our own
ghost, a colorless shadow which pure duration
projects into homogeneous space'. We live
for the external world, we speak rather than
think, and allow ourselves to be acted upon rather
than acting freely.
Kant was mistaken to think of time as a
homogeneous medium in itself and not as a
projection of consciousness. The distinction
he makes between space and time actually confuses
the two. He sees psychic states as
juxtaposed in space, and applied the understanding
of the recurrence of same states in externality to
consciousness. Thus there is a single notion
of causality, and this naturally causes problems
for freedom. Nevertheless Kant believed in
freedom, so it had to be raised to 'the sphere of
noumena'(232] and this is the only location for
genuine freedom, outside of space and
duration. But we can experience this free
moment at times [by introspection]. For
Kant, there are things in themselves which are
arranged in a homogeneous time and space, complete
with a phenomenal self. Time and space are
purely external and this permits empirical
understandings. However, we can never get to
things in themselves, especially where we use
practical reason. The scientific conception of
time causes problems [as seen above, not
everything can be rendered as mathematics.
Time itself depends on sequences of immobile
points and so on]. Kant was aware that a
source of freedom is in the impossibility of
conscious states recurring again, but has to
locate this outside of any kind of time, including
duration. However, an 'attentive
consciousness'(235) can grasp moments of duration
and the underlying heterogeneity of psychic
processes. This will point to freedom.
It will also redirect our attention to phenomena
[sounds a bit like Husserl's claim that a proper
attention to phenomena will solve some of the
crises of science], and rescue them from reduction
to mathematical reason.
We do intuit a homogeneous space as well, as we
argued, and this permits us to see things as
objective and to develop a suitable
language. We can explain the temptation to
introduce the same sort of objectivity into
discussing inner states as well. This is a
form of symbolic representation, but it is one
that tends to take over so that psychic states are
solidified or crystallized, and apparently
permanent associations are established. This
will lead to automatism rather than freedom, and
opens the door to determinism again, with freedom
remaining only in some 'supratemporal
domain'(238). If we intuit duration instead,
we can see that we have made decisions at unique
moments, that past states can never be adequately
expressed in words since they have dynamic
unity. Our actions cannot be expressed by
laws, and we can see there's no necessary
determination or any possibility of accurate
prediction. We might also be able to trace
the stages in which free will get externalized and
represented symbolically.
However we do not always will to be free, and it
is not easy to reason about actions without
externalizing them, so it is no mystery that
freedom is misunderstood, in the equivalent of the
paradoxes of motion of the Greeks.
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