1.3. CHAPTER III
Of the Consequence or TRAIN of Imaginations
BY CONSEQUENCE, or train of thoughts, I understand that succession
of one thought to another which is called, to distinguish it from
discourse in words, mental discourse.
When a man thinketh on anything whatsoever, his next thought after
is not altogether so casual as it seems to be. Not every thought to
every thought succeeds indifferently. But as we have no imagination,
whereof we have not formerly had sense, in whole or in parts; so we
have no transition from one imagination to another, whereof we never
had the like before in our senses. The reason whereof is this. All
fancies are motions within us, relics of those made in the sense;
and those motions that immediately succeeded one another in the
sense continue also together after sense: in so much as the former
coming again to take place and be predominant, the latter followeth,
by coherence of the matter moved, in such manner as water upon a plain
table is drawn which way any one part of it is guided by the finger.
But because in sense, to one and the same thing perceived, sometimes
one thing, sometimes another, succeedeth, it comes to pass in time
that in the imagining of anything, there is no certainty what we shall
imagine next; only this is certain, it shall be something that
succeeded the same before, at one time or another.
This train of thoughts, or mental discourse, is of two sorts. The
first is unguided, without design, and inconstant; wherein there is no
passionate thought to govern and direct those that follow to itself as
the end and scope of some desire, or other passion; in which case
the thoughts are said to wander, and seem impertinent one to
another, as in a dream. Such are commonly the thoughts of men that are
not only without company, but also without care of anything; though
even then their thoughts are as busy as at other times, but without
harmony; as the sound which a lute out of tune would yield to any man;
or in tune, to one that could not play. And yet in this wild ranging
of the mind, a man may oft-times perceive the way of it, and the
dependence of one thought upon another. For in a discourse of our
present civil war, what could seem more impertinent than to ask, as
one did, what was the value of a Roman penny? Yet the coherence to
me was manifest enough. For the thought of the war introduced the
thought of the delivering up the King to his enemies; the thought of
that brought in the thought of the delivering up of Christ; and that
again the thought of the 30 pence, which was the price of that
treason: and thence easily followed that malicious question; and all
this in a moment of time, for thought is quick.
The second is more constant, as being regulated by some desire and
design. For the impression made by such things as we desire, or
fear, is strong and permanent, or (if it cease for a time) of quick
return: so strong it is sometimes as to hinder and break our sleep.
From desire ariseth the thought of some means we have seen produce the
like of that which we aim at; and from the thought of that, the
thought of means to that mean; and so continually, till we come to
some beginning within our own power. And because the end, by the
greatness of the impression, comes often to mind, in case our thoughts
begin to wander they are quickly again reduced into the way: which,
observed by one of the seven wise men, made him give men this precept,
which is now worn out: respice finem; that is to say, in all your
actions, look often upon what you would have, as the thing that
directs all your thoughts in the way to attain it.
The train of regulated thoughts is of two kinds: one, when of an
effect imagined we seek the causes or means that produce it; and
this is common to man and beast. The other is, when imagining anything
whatsoever, we seek all the possible effects that can by it be
produced; that is to say, we imagine what we can do with it when we
have it. Of which I have not at any time seen any sign, but in man
only; for this is a curiosity hardly incident to the nature of any
living creature that has no other passion but sensual, such as are
hunger, thirst, lust, and anger. In sum, the discourse of the mind,
when it is governed by design, is nothing but seeking, or the
faculty of invention, which the Latins call sagacitas, and solertia; a
hunting out of the causes of some effect, present or past; or of the
effects of some present or past cause. Sometimes a man seeks what he
hath lost; and from that place, and time, wherein he misses it, his
mind runs back, from place to place, and time to time, to find where
and when he had it; that is to say, to find some certain and limited
time and place in which to begin a method of seeking. Again, from
thence, his thoughts run over the same places and times to find what
action or other occasion might make him lose it. This we call
remembrance, or calling to mind: the Latins call it reminiscentia,
as it were a re-conning of our former actions.
Sometimes a man knows a place determinate, within the compass
whereof he is to seek; and then his thoughts run over all the parts
thereof in the same manner as one would sweep a room to find a
jewel; or as a spaniel ranges the field till he find a scent; or as
a man should run over the alphabet to start a rhyme.
Sometimes a man desires to know the event of an action; and then
he thinketh of some like action past, and the events thereof one after
another, supposing like events will follow like actions. As he that
foresees what will become of a criminal re-cons what he has seen
follow on the like crime before, having this order of thoughts; the
crime, the officer, the prison, the judge, and the gallows. Which kind
of thoughts is called foresight, and prudence, or providence, and
sometimes wisdom; though such conjecture, through the difficulty of
observing all circumstances, be very fallacious. But this is
certain: by how much one man has more experience of things past than
another; by so much also he is more prudent, and his expectations
the seldomer fail him. The present only has a being in nature;
things past have a being in the memory only; but things to come have
no being at all, the future being but a fiction of the mind,
applying the sequels of actions past to the actions that are
present; which with most certainty is done by him that has most
experience, but not with certainty enough. And though it be called
prudence when the event answereth our expectation; yet in its own
nature it is but presumption. For the foresight of things to come,
which is providence, belongs only to him by whose will they are to
come. From him only, and supernaturally, proceeds prophecy. The best
prophet naturally is the best guesser; and the best guesser, he that
is most versed and studied in the matters he guesses at, for he hath
most signs to guess by.
A sign is the event antecedent of the consequent; and contrarily,
the consequent of the antecedent, when the like consequences have been
observed before: and the oftener they have been observed, the less
uncertain is the sign. And therefore he that has most experience in
any kind of business has most signs whereby to guess at the future
time, and consequently is the most prudent: and so much more prudent
than he that is new in that kind of business, as not to be equalled by
any advantage of natural and extemporary wit, though perhaps many
young men think the contrary.
Nevertheless, it is not prudence that distinguisheth man from beast.
There be beasts that at a year old observe more and pursue that
which is for their good more prudently than a child can do at ten.
As prudence is a presumption of the future, contracted from the
experience of time past: so there is a presumption of things past
taken from other things, not future, but past also. For he that hath
seen by what courses and degrees a flourishing state hath first come
into civil war, and then to ruin; upon the sight of the ruins of any
other state will guess the like war and the like courses have been
there also. But this conjecture has the same uncertainty almost with
the conjecture of the future, both being grounded only upon
experience.
There is no other act of man's mind, that I can remember,
naturally planted in him, so as to need no other thing to the exercise
of it but to be born a man, and live with the use of his five
senses. Those other faculties, of which I shall speak by and by, and
which seem proper to man only, are acquired and increased by study and
industry, and of most men learned by instruction and discipline, and
proceed all from the invention of words and speech. For besides sense,
and thoughts, and the train of thoughts, the mind of man has no
other motion; though by the help of speech, and method, the same
faculties may be improved to such a height as to distinguish men
from all other living creatures.
Whatsoever we imagine is finite. Therefore there is no idea or
conception of anything we call infinite. No man can have in his mind
an image of infinite magnitude; nor conceive infinite swiftness,
infinite time, or infinite force, or infinite power. When we say
anything is infinite, we signify only that we are not able to conceive
the ends and bounds of the thing named, having no conception of the
thing, but of our own inability. And therefore the name of God is
used, not to make us conceive Him (for He is incomprehensible, and His
greatness and power are unconceivable), but that we may honour Him.
Also because whatsoever, as I said before, we conceive has been
perceived first by sense, either all at once, or by parts, a man can
have no thought representing anything not subject to sense. No man
therefore can conceive anything, but he must conceive it in some
place; and endued with some determinate magnitude; and which may be
divided into parts; nor that anything is all in this place, and all in
another place at the same time; nor that two or more things can be
in one and the same place at once: for none of these things ever
have or can be incident to sense, but are absurd speeches, taken
upon credit, without any signification at all, from deceived
philosophers and deceived, or deceiving, Schoolmen.