360 CHAPTER IV. Ο ON CUSTOM OR REPETITION. PPOSED to the principle of Variety, is that of Repetition. Custom and repetition mean the same thing, but the latter term is precise and clear, whereas the former is often confounded with habit, which is properly one of its effects. On this account, the phrase, principle of repetition, seems to me to be preferable. But whichever term we may adopt, the principle is highly important, and its effects are so complicated, that they appear to me to have never been thoroughly understood. It is hoped then, that the reader will not refuse his attention, should it even be more called upon, than in the course of the preceding pages. The effects of repetition are two-fold, primary or original, and secondary or derivative. Of the former kind we may enumerate three distinct effects. First, repetition gives a facility in performing all bodily and mental exercises, even those which at first were very difficult. This effect of repetition is so well known, that it is unnecessary to dwell upon it, or to bring forward many particular instances; but it may not be amiss to mention one of the most remarkable. To the uninitiated, nothing is more surprising or puzzling than feats of jugglery and sleight of hand, whereby the most difficult and complicated movements are performed with unerring dexterity, and even our senses are deceived, so that trusting to them alone we should be forced to believe in a miracle. This deception must depend, in great measure, upon the excessive rapidity with which the changes are effected; a rapidity too great to be followed by the eye of the spectator, and to be acquired only by constant repetition. For it is well known that very quick motion completely baffles the senses, as in the case of a cannonball; and that even when the object is not quite invisible, no motion is seen, as is evinced by a wheel revolving with great rapidity. Sleight of hand is frivolous, and may be criminal in its object, as when practised by thieves and pickpockets; but the art itself is interesting, as showing the power of repetition, and deserves more general attention than hitherto it has received. Secondly. Frequent repetition gives a tendency to repeat the same thing again, a tendency so great as in many cases scarcely to be resisted. One circumstance, in particular, which renders resistance difficult, in the case of bodily movements, is, that after a time we become scarcely if at all aware of them; and the extraordinary phænomenon is presented of voluntary actions performed almost without volition. Almost, I say, for probably there is some volition, though it is so fleeting and makes so little impression that we forget it the instant afterwards. With respect to mental changes, though we cannot be insensible to these, for that would be a manifest contradiction, yet after long custom, thoughts enter as if by stealth, and over-power the mind before they are much attended to. However strong may be our wish to prevent the recurrence of such thoughts, it is difficult to resist so insidious a tendency. They may be compared to the predatory Arabs, who give no warning to their foes, but are ever ready for attack. It is this tendency which is properly called habit. Thirdly. Repetition tends to deaden all our sensibilities, whether of pain or of pleasure. In certain cases, particularly when long continued, it gives rise to a peculiar feeling of mental or bodily fatigue, as we have seen in the preceding chapter in tracing the effects of uniformity. Such are the primary effects of Custom or Repetition. But in addition to these, there are other and secondary effects upon our sensibilities, that are produced by means of three things which arise out of repetition, and which either favour or counteract those primary consequences. These are Remembrance, Comparison, and Facility, the effects of which it now remains to investigate. When we view an object which formerly was a source of pleasure, in addition to the gratification which we experience from the actual presence of that object, we recollect the satisfaction which it afforded us on one or more occasions. And the recollection of pleasure being itself pleasing, whatever was so connected with our past enjoyments as to suggest them to us afterwards, becomes thus a source of delight. It is this agreeable remembrance which constitutes the pleasure of custom. For, if there be pleasures of novelty, so likewise of custom, which as we now see, arise not from it immediately, but from remembrance, the result of repetition. When the object which serves to recall former pleasure is an animated being, particularly of our own kind, since in this way he becomes a source of gratification, we are naturally inclined to love him for this reason alone. But this inclination will be much strengthened if we know that our past pleasure was intentional on his part. Thus does the pleasure of custom, that is, an agreeable remembrance, tend to create affection. Again, it is natural to suppose that the recollection of many pleasures should have a greater effect than the remembrance only of a few. In this way is explained that love or friendship which arises out of long acquaintance. What is true of pleasure, applies to pain. As there are pleasures of remembrance of which some give rise to love, so are there pains of remembrance of which some create hatred. The effect of custom in deadening our sensibilities is thus, as we see, counteracted, in a greater or less degree, by the remembrance that springs from repe tition. But if the effects of custom be weakened by retrospection, so likewise by anticipation, which arises directly from the former. There is a well known tendency in the mind to believe that what has been will continue to be; so that if we have experienced any pleasure or pain for a long while, we are inclined to think that we shall for some time to come. And the longer has been our past experience, the firmer is our conviction for the future. It is evident that this anticipation must serve to increase the present pleasure or pain, and so to counteract the primary effect of custom. We have now to take notice of a fact which seems to be indisputable, that the more intense the original pleasure or pain, the sooner is it diminished by repetition. This seems to be an ultimate fact, not to be traced any further. But, although we cannot assign any cause for the primary effect, yet when the pleasure or pain has already begun to be diminished, we can point out a secondary cause which accelerates the decline. This is the principle of Comparison. When a pleasure at first lively has been somewhat deadened by repetition, we can scarcely help comparing its present dullness with its former vivacity, as also with the hope we had formed that such vivacity would last; for we are prone to imagine that what pleased us greatly at first, will do so on another occasion. This double comparison with the past reality, and with the expectations then created, is all to the disadvantage of the present, and engenders a feeling of disappointment, which weakens, if it do not destroy, whatever pleasure is left. And the greater the pleasure at first, and therefore the hope for the future, the more room will there be for disappointment, and it will also be more sure and speedy; seeing that repetition will the sooner produce its effect. This is the reason why violent love not unfrequently passes into deadly hate. With respect to pain, the case is similar. When we compare a past and intense pain with the same now deadened by custom, we feel a certain satisfaction at the improve |