5. Why Sorrow has a Contracting Tendency on the Mind We have taken it to be a law of joy1 that the more its concealed impulse or desire, in becoming urgent through conflict, rises into prominence in consciousness, the more— other things equal-is the joy diminished, while the less this impulse or desire is felt in consciousness the greater is the joy. The law of sorrow appears to be opposite and we shall now attempt to define it: (81 H) The more the impulse or desire of sorrow becomes urgent and prominent in consciousness the more-other things equal—is the sorrow increased; the less prominent, the more is the sorrow diminished. It is a familiar fact that in great sorrow we find some relief in recalling the scenes of the past when union with the beloved object was unimpaired. In vivid recollection of them we partially forget our loss and the pangs of frustrated desire. But soon the horrible truth returns and with it the desire that we cannot satisfy. When at length time has brought its relief, and this desire has been forgotten, repressed, or transformed, the sorrow itself is diminished or effaced. It is the presence of this frustrated desire that chiefly accounts for the narrowing and absorbing effect of sorrow on the mind. When we desire anything, and in proportion as this desire is strong, we find it hard to occupy ourselves with other things. Attention and thought, engrossed by the present desire, will not expand to them. They may have been objects of joy, but joy has now left them. They may have been desired, but we feel now only one desire. We notice this even in the desire to satisfy a present need of the organism-as the need of exercise or rest, or an appetite of hunger or thirst. The more such desires when strong are impeded the more urgent they become. They absorb the mind, and narrow it down to find the means to their satisfaction. The desire for a holiday after long-continued work; or the desire of a vain woman for 1 Supra, p. 283, Law 55. some dress or jewellery seen in a shop, where sufficiently strong, produces a similar effect. Yet there are some desires which are put an end to by the difficulty of satisfying them, when the difficulty or sustained effort arouses repugnance or disheartens us; and the desire of love may be forgotten, and the impulse for change may triumph over it. But in proportion as desire is strong it counteracts all expansion of the mind beyond its system. Thus, when a scientific man desires to find the solution of some problem that has long baffled him he concentrates all his thought upon it, and excludes all distractions, neglecting even his business; and in this spirit are all great works accomplished. We must then formulate this familiar law of desire: (81 1) In proportion as desire is strong it contracts the mind to finding the means to satisfying it, and counteracts the tendency of attention and thought to expand toward other objects, except those which may subserve it. If it is through the contracting tendency of desire that sorrow manifests the same tendency, we have still not fully accounted for the extent of its influence. There is the fact that sorrow does not merely extinguish joy, but arouses repugnance for the things that might otherwise free us from its tyranny; and the mind never willingly expands toward objects that cause repugnance. The contracting tendency of sorrow is also strengthened and prolonged by the fact that its desire is frustrated, at least in all great sorrow. To all these causes must be attributed its narrowing and enslaving power over the mind. Still we have seen, in considering joy, the immense power which the impulse for change has in freeing the mind from the tyranny of an emotion. Why does it not here triumph over sorrow? It is because sorrow, unlike joy, by making other things repugnant to us, makes them unattractive to attention and thought, and draws them back within its sphere. Moreover sorrow is more in harmony with the restlessness of attention and thought than joy, which only for a short time can appease them. For sorrow has a prominent desire which joy, so far as it is complete, excludes; and desire is in harmony with the restlessness of attention and thought because it tends to bring about change and progress for the fulfilment of its ends; and, unlike joy, is never satisfied with the present state. Still the situation of sorrow with a frustrated desire cannot be in complete harmony with the impulse for change. For, though sorrow is seeking for a way to achieve its end, yet how do the same thoughts recur again and again, and what monotony there is in its ineffectual struggle with the past. There is, indeed, some variety also, and both in recollecting the scenes of the past and in imagining satisfaction in the future. It is when desire is frustrated that the kind of thinking arises that, no longer endeavouring to find the means to the end, turns its back on reality and gives free play to the imagination. In how many different ways can we fancy our desires fulfilled. In imagination we leap over difficulties, and make the circumstances what we will. And thus is the monotonous effect of sorrow partly mitigated, and its tendency brought more into harmony with the impulse for change and progress. We have now reached a tentative solution of our problem why joy has an expansive tendency and sorrow a contracting tendency. Joy would contract its emotion to its object but cannot, except for a little time; sorrow would likewise contract its emotion and can for a long time. Joy does not arouse repugnance to former objects of joy; sorrow does arouse repugnance for them and thus aggravates its slavery. APPENDIX III OF THE ANTAGONISM OF JOY AND DESIRE AND THE IN attempting to discover how far, in favourable circumstances, Joy can be harmonised with Desire we shall start from some of the provisional laws of these systems. Of these the first is that Joy tends to conserve the present state, as understood to mean the state of its object and the relation of the self to it. The second law is that the less the impulse (or desire) of Joy is felt in consciousness the greater-other things equal-is the joy, and the more the less.2 The third is that Joy and Desire tend to exclude each other from simultaneous presence in consciousness.3 Let us see how far these laws will serve to interpret those desires in which we seem so often to experience joy. We shall first divide desires into two classes, (1) desires in which the ends desired are in no degree contained in the means; (2) desires in which the ends desired are potentially and in some degree contained in the means. (1) It seems that desire, being a restless state in pursuit of an end, cannot be satisfied until this end is attained, and is therefore impatient to realise it. In the crisis of some illness where we urgently desire the opinion of a specialist with the least possible delay, we can only feel anxiety mixed with hope until his arrival is announced. 1 Supra, pp. 280, 281. 2 Supra, p. 283. 3 Supra, p. 510. The end of this desire-the opinion of the specialist-is in no degree contained in the means by which it has been accomplished, but stands apart from them as of a different nature. It is the same with the satisfaction of the appetites. The means by which we obtain food, the search for it and securing it, are events of a different kind from the endits absorption into the organism. In proportion as such desires are intensely felt they exclude the emotion of joy until their ends are attained. Even if, after difficulties, we become confident of attaining them and might yield to the joy of anticipation the straining of desire tends to exclude this joy. When further we take account of the fact that in desires of this class the means are often disagreeable and subjected to a variety of obstacles and delays, and the ends difficult or hardly to be attained at all, we realise how much our common experience leads us to oppose states of desire and states of joy, peace, and happiness. "While we desire," says Hazlitt, "we do not enjoy; and with enjoyment desire ceases." And thus Shakespeare says of man in his search for happiness : For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get, The desires of the second class are very different because the joy of the end may be present in the means. Such desires belong to sentiments and are conspicuously present and active in the love of knowledge and art, the love of wealth and power, and the love of other human beings. Their ends are 'infinite' in the sense that they can never be completely attained at any moment of time, however distant. There is always a greater happiness conceivable for those we love than any they possess or we can confer on them. In the love of knowledge the infinite realm of knowledge is an unattainable ideal. But the means to this end are largely constituted of the truths to which we successively attain. They are also, while still being 'means,' partial attainments of the end, and the joy of an end attained 1 'Characteristics,' XXXVI. 2 Measure for Measure,' a. iii, sc. i. |