Withington 1
Rachel Withington
Dr. May
Phil 401
23 October 2011
What We Are and Aren’t
The stakes have always been high in the question of personal identity. Our conception of who we are is, in many cases, the driving force behind how we make choices, plan, and navigate our world. In “A Treatise of Human Nature,” David Hume addresses this very question through a very systemized account of how we perceive our surroundings and then how we perceive ourselves. Through this we are able to see how, through imagination, we ascribe a continued and distinct existence to external objects, and likewise, how we ascribe a personal identity to ourselves. One of the cornerstone features of Hume’s argument is the idea that all things that enter the mind are perceptions (or impressions), and it takes imagination to leap from a sensory perception to the conclusion that that thing (whether it be an external object or ourselves) is continuous and therefore also distinct. Because our belief in a continuous and distinct existence necessarily has to have its foundation in impressions or perceptions and imagination, Hume asserts that there is no way to justify this belief for certain.
It is probably necessary to begin by trying to figure out what Hume means when he refers to continuous existence and distinct existence. Continued existence is the idea that an object still exists continuously and constantly even when we do not perceive it. In other words, when we see a chair, we presume that chair is still the same chair even when we are not looking at it or touching it (or perceiving it in some other way). Most people generally do not think that a chair will disappear or change the second they take their eyes off of it. The idea of distinct existence is

Withington 2 closely related to this. Distinct existence means that an object exists independently of our minds or our perception of that object. In other words, an object’s existence is not a function of our minds. The two ideas of continuous existence and distinct existence are intimately related to one another. As Hume says, “if the objects of our senses continue to exist, even when they are not perciev’d, their existence is of course independent of and distinct from the perception; and vice versa , if their existence be independent of the perception and distinct from it, they must continue to exist, even tho’ they not be perciev’d” (126). But Hume still wants to keep the distinction separate in order to determine how exactly we arrive at the conclusion that there is such a thing as continuous and distinct existence. The conception of a continued and distinct existence must be either a function of our senses, our reason, or our imagination (126). Hume considers all three, and from there he forms a theory of how we move from a perception of an object to the belief that it has a continuous and distinct existence.
Senses cannot lead to the idea of a continued existence because it “is a contradiction in terms, and supposes that the senses continue to operate, even after they have ceas’d all manner of operation” (126). In other words, senses are inadequate to justify constancy in existence because if they were to do so, they would have to see something when it was not being seen, hear something when it was not being heard, smell something when it was not being smelled, touch something when it was not being touched, or taste something when it was not being tasted. It is a catch-22. It is kind of like trying to see if the motion-sensor refrigerator light actually does turn off when you shut the door. You want to see if the light turns off when the refrigerator door is closed, but by closing the door, you are preventing yourself from being able to see the light.
Senses also cannot lead to the idea of a distinct existence because they can only give us a single impression. In order to distinguish an object from ourselves, two perceptions are required: the

Withington 3 perception of the object and the perception of our mind perceiving the object. The latter is not possible through the senses alone. So instead the mind infers a double existence (namely through the relations of resemblance and causation) through either reason or imagination (126).
In other words, we construct the notion that there are distinct, external objects through faculties of our mind. Senses alone are not enough to reach this conclusion. As Hume says, “the opinion of a continu’d and of a distinct existence never arises from the senses” (128).
Now that he has thrown out senses as sufficient for giving rise to the notion of distinct, continued existence, Hume turns to the next possible option: reason. He makes an interesting point about the nature of reason, saying that even though it is used by philosophers, reason runs contrary to the common man’s way of thinking (129). He believes that while “philosophy informs us, that every thing, which appears to the mind, is nothing but a perception, and is interrupted, and dependant on the mind,” those who are not a part of this philosophical dialogue
“confound perceptions and objects, and attribute a distinct continu’d existence to the very things they feel or see” (129). So realistically, not very many people adopt reason as a way of conceptualizing the world, so it cannot account for the view adopted by the general public that objects are continuous and distinct in existence. Since neither the senses nor the reason can account for this view, we are left with imagination.
But how and why does imagination function this way? The first ingredients that prompt us to form the opinion that an object is continuous in its existence are constancy and coherence.
These two features of our impressions of an object are the starting point for the formation of the illusion of a continued and distinct existence. If our perceptions of an object are constant
(remained unchanged), we are likely to assign continued existence to that object. Or even if we observe a change in our perceptions that coheres with a general reasoning of how the world

Withington 4 works, we are still likely to consider the object to have continued existence. For example, when
I look at a lawn chair sitting out in the sun, I am quick to assume that the lawn chair is continuous in its existence. Then let’s say I leave for a few days and return to find the lawn chair to be a lighter color. My theory still holds because my perceptions of the lawn chair cohere with my experience of plastic objects becoming faded when left out in the sun. By attributing continued existence to objects, we are taking a leap of sorts, “bestow[ing] on the objects a greater regularity than what is observ’d in our mere perceptions” (131). We also do this with the world.
As Hume says, “I am naturally led to regard the world, as something real and durable, and as preserving its existence, even when it is no longer present to my perception” (131).
But what causes us to take this leap? This phenomenon of thinking that the elements of the world have a consistent quality about them is largely related to custom, but if “custom can only be the effect of repeated perceptions” (132), then what prompts us to employ custom when we only have a single perception of the object? Think back to the lawn chair example. How, after only one short look, did I prescribe continued existence to the lawn chair? Certainly even a short look at an object produces multiple impressions as each new fraction of an angle or instant of time producing a new impression. But when we finally do break our train of perception and come back later to find the object unchanged, who is to say that the object didn’t disappear in the duration of time when we were not perceiving it? Our minds are able to form a continuous sequence of perceptions through imagination which, “when set into any train of thinking, is apt to continue, even when its object fails it” (132). So imagination, working in conjunction with custom, is able to create this fictitious chain of uninterrupted perceptions of an object. As Hume says, “we disguise, as much as possible, the interruption, or rather remove it entirely, by supposing that these interrupted perceptions are connected by a real existence, of which we are

Withington 5 insensible” (133). Since we have fooled ourselves into thinking our perceptions of an object are uninterrupted, we are coaxed into thinking the object has a continued existence. In other words, our imagination fills in the gaps in our perception, giving the illusion of a continued existence.
And since we have granted a continuous existence, we must also grant an existence distinct from our perceptions. This is because since we cannot unceasingly perceive the object, and yet we still believe it is continuous, it must exist distinctively outside of our perception.
Through this imagined continued existence we are also able to attribute identity to an object. Even though the principle of individuation states that “the view of any one object is not sufficient to convey the idea of identity,” we are able to move past that by the “fiction of imagination” which allows “a single object, plac’d before us, and survey’d for any time without our discovering in it any interruption or variation, is able to give us the notion of identity” (133).
But it is important to remember that even though we may believe in the continued and distinct existence and identity of things, there is no grounding for its certainty. It is merely a belief, or a reinforced relationship between impressions that we have. Basically Hume sees the mind as a heap of impressions that are bound together by relations (resemblance, contiguity, cause and effect, etc.). Through the principle of resemblance and imagination, we ascribe identity
(sameness over time) to an object (133). It is then reinforced until it becomes a belief. It’s important to remember that this is an entirely internal process.
Since we cannot be sure of the existence of those external objects which we perceive, how can we ever begin form and believe any sort of stable notion of our own personal identity?
Hume recognizes this problem, saying “there is no question in philosophy more abstruse than that concerning identity, and the nature of the uniting principle, which constitutes a person”
(127). Not only is this question abstruse, but it is also extremely important. Personal identity is

Withington 6 considered to be the underlying thread throughout our life. While our physical bodies might change and grow, we like to think that our identities (or essence, as some call it) remain the same. If there is no constant thread of our being, what ties us to ourselves? Why make plans or take care of oneself if the entire notion of “self” is arbitrary?
It’s tempting to think that I can be certain of perceiving myself and what it not myself on the basic sensory level, but as Hume says, “Every thing that enters the mind, being in reality a perception, ‘tis impossible any thing shou’d to feeling appear different. This were to suppose, that even are most intimately conscious, we might be mistaken” (127). In other words, everything we perceive is merely that: a perception. It enters our mind as an impression, and no matter what ideas are built upon it, its foundation can never be one of certainty. This includes our perceptions of ourselves. I may see my fingers typing this paper and feel the keyboard clicking beneath my fingertips, but all of this is merely sensory perception. By itself, it can give us no notion of identity. Just like our belief that there is continued and distinct existence in the external world (and therefore identity) is dependent on something more than sensory perceptions, there must be some other function at work to make us believe in a personal identity. As Hume says, “when we attribute identity, in an improper sense, to variable or interrupted objects, our mistake is not confin’d to the expression, but is commonly attended with a fiction, either of something invariable and uninterrupted, or of something mysterious and inexplicable” (166). In order to attribute identity in the proper sense, an uninterrupted chain of perceptions would be required, but since “there is no impression constant and invariable” (164), we are mistaken in ascribing any sort of identity, whether it be the identity of external objects, or our own personal identities. That “invariable,” “uninterrupted,” “mysterious,” and “inexplicable” thing that Hume refers to (166) is obtained by something other than mere perceptions. As Hume says, “we feign

Withington 7 the continu’d existence of the perceptions of our senses, to remove the interruption; and run into the notion of a soul , and self , and substance to disguise the variation” (166). So Hume believes that there is no real soul or constant self, and that these are illusions that we develop in order to fool us into thinking that there is some stable essence of our lives.
Hume says that people are “nothing but a bundle or collection of different perceptions, which succeed each other with an inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement” (165). So obviously there is nothing unchanging or constant about our perceptions.
But what about how we perceive them? Could that be the origin of personal identity? Hume says no, arguing that “identity is nothing really belonging to these different perceptions, and uniting them together; but is merely a quality, which we attribute to them, because of the union of their ideas in the imagination, when we reflect upon them” (169). In other words, the whole concept of personal identity depends upon that faculty “which can give ideas an union in the imagination” (169). But what faculty can do such a thing?
In order to discern what faculty of the mind gives union to ideas in our imagination,
Hume begins by looking at the union of resemblance and how it comes about. He says that this union of ideas is obtained through memory because “what is the memory but a faculty, by which we raise up the images of past perceptions? And as an image necessarily resembles its object, must not the frequent placing of these perceptions in the chain of thought, convey the imagination more easily from one link to another, and make the whole seem like the continuance of one object?” (170). In other words, memory enables imagination to smooth out the bumps in our self-perception, giving the illusion of a continuous whole (and therefore an identity). A similar phenomenon happens with causation. Hume notes that “Had we no memory, we never shou’d have any notion of causation, nor consequently of that chain of causes and effects, which

Withington 8 constitute our self or person” (170). So without memory, our ideas would not be able to be bonded together and our imagination would not be able to be in play. We would then have no notion of personal presence (however fictitious it may be). But even though it is our memory that spurs this opinion, we oftentimes move past the realm of memory, while keeping our notion of personal identity intact. This is because we can certainly never remember every moment of our lives, but we still affirm the idea that we are always ourselves. This realization only adds to the conclusion that we can never be certain of our personal identity. Also adding to the conclusion of uncertainty is the acknowledgment that we are merely human; we make mistakes, and we certainly do not have infallible memories. Because of all of this, it is clear that our personal identities are not rooted in anything constant or uninterrupted. They are only rooted in illusions of constancy.