John Locke on madness: redressing the intellectualist bias

The term ‘madness’

Locke’s Essay first appeared in late 1689, though it is often dated 1690 (Locke 1689: xvi). However, he did publish an abridged French translation of his text in 1688, which apparently quickly achieved notoriety in its own right (xiv). The first edition of Locke’s Essay and its first unabridged French translation contained only a handful of important remarks on madness. The greater part of his account of madness was added in the fourth edition of the Essay, published in 1700 (xxxivii). This also is the date of the first complete French translation of the Essay, by Pierre Coste (Balibar 1998: 16, n.12).

Based on Locke’s 1675–79 journal entries, some scholars suggest that the observations on madness that Locke added in the fourth edition of the Essay were inspired by direct acquaintance with the mentally ill gained while in France (Berrios, 1996: 127, n.14; Goodey, 1994: 235–6; Sanchez, 1990). However, this should not be taken to mean that Locke’s concern with madness in the Essay was merely an afterthought. Earlier versions of the Essay do mention madness, and the topic was integral to the aim of the Essay from the very start. That purpose, Locke writes, is to enquire into the ‘Certainty, and Extent of humane Knowledge’ (Locke, 1689: I, i, 2, 43). ⁴ This required giving an account of the manner in which the various ‘Powers’ of the ‘Understanding’ can ‘err’ and ‘fail us’ (I, i, 2–4, 43). Note that the Essay is meant to be a frankly psychological investigation into the workings of the Mind. From the outset, Locke is quick to emphasize that he is not concerned with ‘Physical Considerations of the Mind’ (I, i, 2, 43). Accordingly, a large part of the Essay is concerned with cataloguing various types of ‘Falsehood’, including, notably, the kind of ‘Intellectual Habits and Defects’ that arise from the ‘wrong and unnatural Combinations of Ideas’ that are characteristic of ‘Madness’ (II, xxxiii, 17–18, 400).

Locke uses the English term ‘Madness’ to describe the condition he is concerned with. The individuals he is interested in depicting are, accordingly, labelled ‘mad Men’ (II, xi, 13–15, 160). This was a common term of the time. Other popular terms in circulation during the same period were ‘Lunacy’, ‘Folly’ and ‘Insanity’. Nonetheless, Locke chose ‘Madness’ as his favoured term of art, and this is a choice of some consequence. The terms ‘Lunacy’ and ‘Insanity’ do not appear in the Essay, although both were common at the time. The term ‘Folly’ does appear, however, and this is significant.

Locke sharply distinguishes ‘Madness’ from ‘Folly’ on at least one occasion in the Essay, suggesting that they both admit of ‘degrees’ (II, xi, 13, 161). ‘Folly’, on his view, is a characteristic of ‘Ideots’ (sic). ‘Idiocy’ is in this case essentially a congenital condition and Ideots are also at times referred to as ‘Naturals’. A ‘Changeling’ is an Ideot born to normal parents (II, xi, 12–13, 160; IV, IV, 14, 569). Ideots play an extremely important part in Locke’s account of madness. They serve as a foil in comparison with which madness is defined. They also carry a heavy illustrative burden in the arguments of the Essay as a whole, where they play a major role in Locke’s account of Nominalism and the scope of natural law (Goodey, 1994). Very briefly, the difference between Madness and Folly is that in Folly the powers of the intellect are largely obliterated while in madness they are simply perverted. The real opposite of Reason on this account is therefore Folly, not Madness. In proposing his definition of madness Locke made it possible to view the mad as truly human, since they retained the ability to reason. This was an important ethical presupposition of the moral treatment that followed.

Locke’s choice of the term ‘Madness’ is significant in that ostensibly it suggests a kind of affective disturbance; namely, extreme anger, rage or fury. This, for example, is the primary meaning of the term in the work of Locke’s contemporary, Thomas Hobbes (1651), whose account of madness in Leviathan Locke is almost sure to have read. In Leviathan, ‘Madnesse’ is explicitly defined as a disorder in Passion: ‘to have stronger and vehement passions for anything than is ordinarily seen in others is that which men call madnesse’ (Hobbes, 1651/1992: Para. 16/27 p. 61 mp. 139; also cited in Berrios, 1996: 87). The contrast with Locke’s own alleged intellectualist conception of madness as a disorder in ‘Thought’, or ‘Thinking’, is striking and worth pondering. For madness, according to Locke, is primarily a disorder in the realm of ‘Ideas’ (Locke, 1689: II, xxxiii, 4–5, 395). These are conscious ‘objects of thought’: what the ‘mind is employ’d about while thinking’ (I, i, 8, 47; II, i, 1–10, 104). Thus, it appears that despite its own proprietary affective connotations, the term ‘Madness’, as Locke is using it, does not refer to an affective phenomenon. Rather, ‘Madness’, according to Locke, is an ‘Intellectual’ disorder in thought, or thinking. Indeed, at one point Locke emphasizes that the kind of madness he is concerned with can occur in the absence of any ‘unruly passion’, simply in the ‘steady calm course’ of life (II, xxxiii, 4, 395). There is therefore a tension between the common-sense affective connotations of the term ‘Madness’ and the intellectualist definition of that term proposed by Locke. In these passages, Locke is clearly endorsing an intellectualist interpretation of the term. Madness in this sense is a disorder in the realm of ideas that impacts on thought or thinking. This accords well with the fact that, in Locke’s view, humans are ‘intellectual Beings’ with an ‘intellectual Nature’. Which is good prima facie textual evidence for employing the term ‘intellectualist’ in the context of his definition of Madness (II, xxi, 51, 266).

However, on its side, the word ‘affective’ in this context is problematic. In particular, it should not be taken to imply any clear or simple contrast or division between intellectual and affective states in so far as they might constitute separate classes of states. Recall that Locke does not employ the term ‘emotion’ in the Essay. He does, however, refer to ‘Passions’ which, although they may involve or be related to Ideas, are nonetheless distinct from these. Let us then assume, for exegetical purposes, that the paradigmatic ‘affective’ term in Locke’s psychology is ‘Passion’, and that it refers to an ‘affective’ state. Since, as we shall see, Passions on Locke’s view are ‘modes of pleasure and pain’, let us also say that these too can be considered to be ‘affective’ states in his psychology.

Locke also mentions ‘Feeling’ and ‘Affections’ in the Essay. Yet these cannot be considered definitive exemplars of ‘affective’ states. There are Affections of the body, such as Heat and Cold, ‘as well as Affections of all kinds of Beings, such as Existence, Duration, and Number, which occupy every Object that affects our senses, every Thought which imploys our Minds’ (Locke, 1689: II, x, 6, 252). None of these appear to be ‘affective’ states in the stipulated sense. Admittedly, Locke does refer to Desire as an ‘Affection’ (II, xxi, 30, 249); and, along with ‘Uneasiness’, ‘Desire’ does count as an ‘affective’ state in Locke’s theory. Nevertheless, it does not follow that all Affections are ‘affective’ states in his view. On its side, ‘Feeling’, as Locke employs the term, is primarily associated with modes of sensory experience like seeing or tasting (II, vi, 126; II, iv, 11, 536; IV, xix, 9, 700). In one case, Locke does refer to ‘feeling pain’, an example that, while sensory, might be thought to fall within the ‘affective’ periphery (II, xxi, 31, 250). However, generally speaking, ‘Feelings’ are tied to sensory experiences. There remains ‘Sentiment’, a popular term of the time, but it is not mentioned in the Essay. Finally, as noted above, it is important to keep in mind that speaking of ‘affective states’ in this context does not imply that there is a uniform class of such states – for example, a ‘Faculty’ of ‘Affectivity’, that we can contrast with ‘Thinking’ and ‘Willing’, which for Locke constitute distinct ‘Powers or Abilities in the Mind’ (II, vi, 2, 128). That said, there is a reasonably clear and defensible exegetical sense in which intellectual and affective states can be contrasted in Locke’s definition of madness and his psychology as a whole. The exact nature of that distinction will emerge as we proceed.

Method of observation

Locke’s pronouncements on madness are in fact ‘observations’ in a technical sense, and it is important to appreciate this in order to fully understand the status of those remarks in his work. Throughout his Essay, Locke warns us of the ‘abuse of words’ and the manner in which words can sometimes corrupt Reason and mislead the intellect (III, x). Nowhere is this more evident than in his writings on method and observation in medicine and the study of disease. Somewhat paradoxically, these medical matters of method are not often explicitly referred to or discussed in Locke’s major works. They only become fully evident when we peruse his extensive personal journals, which deal largely with medical matters (Dewhurst, 1963). Locke of course is now considered a philosopher. But in this context it bears repeating that he was also an avid scientist, an intimate member of the famous Royal Society, as well as a licensed physician, whose medical services and generosity remained in high demand throughout his entire life (Dewhurst, 1963: esp. Chs 1, 2, 3; Sanchez, 1990). Indeed, in both formal education and training, Locke was first and foremost a physician, and not just any physician. He is said to have known or been in correspondence with most of the leading medical men of his time. This medical background and training left an indelible mark on everything else he did, including, of course, his observations on madness, which were, one can suppose, probably based on clinical ‘observations’.

In Of the Conduct of the Understanding, we get a revealing snapshot of Locke’s conception of observation and one of the greatest risks associated with inquiry based on that method, namely, ‘haste’. He writes:

… men, being too hasty to erect to themselves general notions and ill grounded theories, find themselves deceived in their stock of knowledge when they come to examine their hastily assumed maxims themselves or to have them attacked by others. General observations drawn from particulars are the jewels of knowledge, comprehending great store in a little room; but they are therefore to be made with the greater care and caution, lest, if we take counterfeit for true, our loss and shame be the greater when our stock comes to a severe scrutiny. (Locke, 1706: Sec. 25, 78)

Entries in Locke’s journals make it clear that the observations on madness he finally transcribed into the Essay were not hasty but only formulated after several attempts to analyse and categorize the relevant particular facts in question. Among other things, he struggles with terminology. As a practising physician, Locke was clearly aware of popular medical terms for a variety of mental disorders discussed in his time. The journal entries devoted to ‘madness’ sometimes begin with the heading ‘mania’, but in the end he opts for the term ‘madness’ rather than ‘mania’ to categorize the specific phenomenon he wishes to describe (Dewhurst, 1963: 70, 71, 89, 90, 101, 193). There are also numerous entries in the journals related to Hypochondria and, especially, Hysteria (Dewhurst, 1963: 97, 98, 131, 134, 166, 179, 196, 197, 206). The Essay itself contains several references to an equally popular medical term of the time, namely, ‘melancholy’ (Locke, 1689: III, vi, 44, 466; IV, v, 4, 575; IV, xix, 5, 699; see also Dewhurst, 1963: 215, where there is an entry that employs the French term for ‘Melancholy’, namely, ‘mélancolie’). One particularly interesting clue to Locke’s opinion of the scientific status of these medical terms occurs in the context of one of these references to ‘melancholy’, where he suggests that not only ‘melancholy’, but also ‘choler’ (another ‘humor’), as well as the concept of ‘Humour’ associated with both, are all ‘confused or obscure Notions’ (IV, v, 4, 575). Evidently, Locke did not trust the medical terminology of his time even though, as a practising physician, he sometimes employed it. Importantly, he does hesitate at several points on the question of whether ‘madness’ might be called ‘Mania’, ⁵ but in the end he settles for ‘madness’. Probably this is because the kind of mental disorder he is concerned to describe is not necessarily associated with the kind of maniacal fury usually associated with ‘Mania’, but can occur simply in the ‘steady calm course’ of life (II, xxxiii, 4, 394).

Locke’s scepticism with regard to terminology in the area of mental disorder is mirrored in his scepticism with regard to method. He is a devoted follower of the Hippocratic method of expectant medicine, where nature is allowed to take its course and harsh medical treatments – what Locke calls ‘Physick’ – are usually discouraged on the grounds that they are ineffectual and harmful. Indeed, Locke is keenly aware of the tendency of physicians to inflict iatrogenic harm, causing later trauma. He repeatedly warns parents to keep their children away from such treatments (Dewhurst, 1963: 4, 84, 101, 113). Some commentators make a compelling case that Locke’s methodological commitment to ‘experience, observation, and natural history’ in the Essay is a direct consequence of his acquaintance with, and endorsement of, the scientific approach to clinical medicine taught and practised by his close friend and colleague, Thomas Sydenham, dubbed the ‘English Hippocrates’ (Dewhurst, 1963; Sanchez, 1990). There are other complementary influences as well. Like his contemporary, Newton, Locke is sceptical and wary of hypotheses. In the case of medicine, this translates into careful practical attention to the consequences of treatment interventions and a condemnation of explanatory deductive models of medical practice such as those associated with the Galenic and Humoural theories of health and disease. All these methodological presuppositions are reflected in Locke’s very limited, but very careful and succinct, observations on madness. They help to explain the conceptual paucity of his descriptions and the absence of speculation and hypotheses.

Intellectual nature of madness

Consider now Locke’s more specific pronouncements on the nature of Madness. In a famous passage that is often cited, he writes that ‘mad Men, … do not appear to have lost the Faculty of Reasoning: but having joined together some ideas very wrongly, they mistake them for Truths; and they err, as Men do that argue right from wrong Principles’ (Locke, 1689: II, xi, 13, 161). Madness, then, is defined negatively, as a specific kind of ‘unreasonableness’, a deviation from, or ‘opposition to reason’ (II, xxxiii, 3–4, 394). The examples that Locke provides to illustrate his definition clearly indicate the intellectual nature of the phenomenon he is interested in. Referring to ‘mad Men’, he writes: ‘For by the violence of their Imaginations, having taken their Fancies for Realities, they make right deductions from them’ (II, xi, 12–13, 161).

Locke then adds the following observation to the example: ‘Thus you shall find a distracted Man fancying himself a King, with a right inference, require suitable Attendance, Respect, and Obedience: Others who have thought themselves made of glass, have used the caution necessary to protect such brittle Bodies.’ From which ‘… it comes to pass that a Man, who is very sober, and of a right Understanding in all other things, may in one particular be as frantick, as any in Bedlam; if either by any sudden or strong impressions, or long fixing his Fancy on one sort of Thoughts, incoherent Ideas have been cemented together so powerfully, as to remain united.’ And finally, an extremely important qualification: ‘But there are degrees of Madness, as of Folly; the disorderly jumbling Ideas together, is in some more, and some less. In short, herein seems to lie the difference between Idiots and mad Men.’ (II, xi, 13–14, 160). Hence the final point and conclusion of the entire passage, namely, that Idiots are ‘deprived of Reason’, but not mad Men. There is therefore an important difference in kind between the nature and degree of Folly that Idiots may exhibit, and the nature and degree of Madness that afflicts mad Men.

Significantly, Locke asserts that ‘Mad men’ do not appear to have ‘lost the Faculty of Reasoning’ (II, xi, 13, 161). They do ‘put wrong Ideas together, and so make wrong Propositions’ (II, xi, 13,160). However, at the same time, they ‘argue and Reason right from them’ (II, xi, 13, 160). Idiots, on their side, ‘make very few or no Propositions, and reason scarce at all’ (II, XI, 14, 161). The qualification is pivotal. For according to Locke, mad Men have not entirely lost the ability to reason: in fact, often they can even reason well. Reason is admittedly impaired in an important, rather general, sense, but not obliterated or abolished. In the fourth edition of his Essay, Locke expands significantly on this point. He adds that madness is a matter of degree, ‘that there is scarce a man so free from it, but that if he should always on all occasions argue or do as in some cases he constantly does, would not be thought Fitter for Bedlam, than Civil Conversation’ (Locke, 1689: II, xi, 13, 160). Madness, then, falls on a continuum from normal to abnormal, and humans are all mad to some degree. This is a qualification of enormous importance, and Locke treats it very carefully, resorting, one suspects, to an indirect form of assertion framed in hypothetical mode: ‘… if this be a Weakness to which all Men are so liable; if this be a taint which so universally infects Mankind, the greater the greater care should be taken to lay it open under its due Name, thereby to excite the greater care in its prevention and cure’ (Locke, 1689: II, xxxiii, 4, 395).

Locke openly admits that it may seem rather ‘harsh’ to use the designation ‘Madness’ to refer to persons along the entire dimensional spectrum he is concerned with (Locke, 1689: II, xxxiii, 4, 395). He is obviously concerned with the fact that describing persons whose thinking only opposes reason to a minimal degree as ‘mad’ rings of hyperbole and risks causing serious prejudice. He even goes so far as to seek ‘pardon’ for asserting that we are all mad to some degree (II, xxxiii, 4, 395). Nonetheless, he remains adamant that we must be forthright about the universal presence of, and propensity for, madness in the general population, if we are to arrive at a true account of its nature and fully understand its ‘Roots’. These roots lie in the operations of the Understanding and the manner in which custom, education and habit both inform and influence which ‘connexions of ideas’ get ‘cemented’ there. Many ‘disorders in the mind’ begin at this level (II, xxxiii, 11–13, 398).

Locke provides a detailed discussion of what he considers to be the ‘first Faculties and Operations of the Mind, which it makes use of in Understanding’ (II, xi, 14, 161). Those Faculties and Operations all represent potential loci for defects, or lesions, in the Understanding. First, there is ‘Perception’, which in this case means primarily ‘bare naked Perception’, something, ‘for the most, only part passive’ (II, ix, 1–2, 143). Then there is ‘Retention’, which includes ‘Contemplation’ and ‘Memory’, along with ‘Attention’ and ‘Repetition’ (II, x, 1–10, 149). Finally, there is ‘Discernment’, ‘Knowledge’, ‘Judgment’, ‘Comparing’, ‘Composition’ and ‘Abstraction’ (II, xi, 1–16, 155). At the most sophisticated level, the Intellectual Powers of the Mind include ‘Knowledge’, ‘Judgment’ and ‘Reasoning’ (IV, i–iii, 525–73; IV, xiv, 652–53; IV, xvii, 668–88). Significantly, Locke does not appear to include ‘Imagination’, as such, in his official list of the Faculties and Operations of the Understanding. ⁶ He does, however, mention ‘Invention, Fancy’ which are ostensibly equivalent terms, in the context of his discussion of memory (II, x, 8, 153). The point is important. It concerns the mind’s ability to revive and retrieve dormant Ideas ‘which it has present occasion for, and in the having them ready at hand on all occasions …’, guaranteeing a ‘quickness of Parts’ (II, x, 8, 153). Similar uses of the term ‘Fancy’ occur at other points in the Essay (II, i, 1, 104; II, xi, 2, 156; II, xxiii, 13, 304; III, x, 34, 508; III, xi, 2, 523; IV, xi, 7, 633), as does the term ‘Imagination’ (III, x, 32, 506; II, xi, 23, 520; IV, xi, 7, 634).

Notoriously, the ‘Fancy’, and its apparent equivalent, the ‘Imagination’, are both explicitly mentioned in the discussion of Madness, where we are told that it is ‘by the violence of their Imaginations’, that the mad come to ‘take their Fancies for Realities’ (II, xi, 13, 161). In Locke’s journals, the ‘Imagination’ (sometimes also ‘imagination’, in lower case) is repeatedly cited as the primary aetiological locus of the mental derangements that result in madness. For example, there he writes that ‘Madnesse seemes to be noething but a disorder in the imagination, and not in the Discursive Faculty’ (Dewhurst, 1963: 89). In the journals Locke also emphasizes the fact that the ‘wrong impressions that lie at the Roots of Madness have their origin in the imagination’ (Dewhurst, 1963: 89, 101; note that the term is used in lower case here). It is instructive to consider one detailed example of how this process is said to occur. Significantly, the context in which the example is offered is first-hand personal experience. These are therefore clinical observations in large part. They reflect what ‘… those who are about madnesse will finde’ (Dewhurst, 1963: 101). The example is rich and worth quoting in full:

… for allowing their imaginations to be right one may observe that madmen generally reason right from them, and I guesse that those who are about madmen will finde that they make very little use of their memory which is to recollect particulars past with their circumstances but haeving any partial Idea suggested by their memorys phansy dresses it up after its own fashion without regard to the original.

And now for the key passage:

Hence one may also see how it comes to passe that those that thinke long and intently upon one thing come at last to have their minde disturbed about it and to be a little cracked as to that particular. For by repeating often with the vehemence of imagination the Ideas that doe belong to or may be brought in about the same thing a great many whereof the phansy is wont to furnish, those at length come to take soe deepe an impression that they all passe for cleare truths and realitys though perhaps the greatest part of them have been supplied only by the phansy and are noething but the pure effects of the imagination. (Dewhurst, 1963: 101)

Thus, the ‘imagination’ appears to be all-powerful compared to the other ‘facultys of the minde’ (Dewhurst, 1963: 101), but it does not appear to be a faculty itself. At least, Locke does not appear to refer to it as such, either in the Essay or in his journals. It is puzzling that nowhere in these remarks does Locke refer to the ‘Imagination’ (with upper case) as a faculty, given its relative autonomy and importance in the organization of mind.

Madness as delusion

The mad incorrectly believe their Fancies or Imaginings and mistake these for Realities. In other words, they not only entertain, but also assent to, beliefs that are patently false. The two examples Locke provides of this phenomenon are a man who falsely believes that he is a king, and another who falsely believes that he is made of glass. In contemporary terms, this is tantamount to the claim that the mad suffer from delusions. Secondly, in some cases, like the two examples cited above, the mad reason correctly from their false beliefs; they ‘make right deductions … argue and reason right from them’ (Locke, 1689: II, xi, 13, 161).

Thus, based on his deluded false belief that he is a king, a man will correctly infer and deduce from that putative (but deluded and mistaken) fact that he is therefore due special respect and attention, like a real king. ⁷ Likewise, based on the deluded but false belief that that he is made of glass, a man will correctly infer and deduce from that putative (but deluded and mistaken) fact that he ought therefore to carefully avoid falls and bumping into hard objects on the grounds that he is brittle and might break if he were to fall or, say, bump into a fence or a wall. In both these cases, the reasoning and deductions involved are quite correct. The problem lies in the deluded character of the false beliefs on which that reasoning and its deductions are based. From the right ‘Principle’ that ‘a King is due special respect and attention’ our first madman ‘argues right’ to the ‘wrong Principles’ that he is due special respect and that he should be obeyed in all instances. Also, from the right ‘Principle’ that ‘one should protect brittle objects from breaking’, our second madman ‘argues right’ to the ‘wrong Principles’ that he should ‘avoid all contact with hard surfaces and never walk on his own for fear falling and breaking’.

With important qualifications, the two examples above suggest that, according to Locke, madness is sometimes tantamount to delusion. This is a common interpretation suggested by commentators (Berrios, 1996: 87–8; Goldstein, 2001: 172; Porter, 1987: 190). However the qualifications are absolutely critical, since Locke himself does not use the term ‘delusion’. First, the examples, as stated, appear to support the contemporary view that delusions are wrong, or false, beliefs. On one popular view, this requires that beliefs in question are: ‘(a) … held with an extraordinary conviction, with an incomparable subjective certainty, (b) … there is an imperviousness to other experiences and to compelling counterargument, (c) … their content is impossible’ (Walker, 1991: 95). These three additional conditions seem compatible with both the letter and the spirit of Locke’s account. Indeed, it is clearly implicit in his account that the delusions – wrong, or false beliefs – of the mad often have a fixed, permanent, character, and are not easily dislodged by reasoning or other means.

The fixity and impervious character of Lockean delusions becomes more apparent when we consider the associations of ideas in which they figure. This brings us to a second set of examples that Locke considers in his account of madness, which must be carefully distinguished from the first. For, according to Locke, the initial individual delusional beliefs, or ‘Ideas’, that lie at the ‘Root’ of madness and result from a mismatch between ‘Ideas’ and Reality, are also typically subject to elaboration by malfunctions in associations among Ideas themselves. We must distinguish, in other words, the fact and manner in which the mad come to have ‘wrong Ideas’, from the fact and manner in which they ‘put wrong Ideas together, and so make wrong Propositions’ (Locke, 1689: II, xi, 13, 161). In this second case, what is at issue is the connection, or ‘association’, between Ideas themselves, and not, as in the former case, the connection or ‘association’ between Ideas and their putative objects in the world. It is easy to overlook these two senses of ‘association’ since they are so intermingled in Locke’s discussion. However, for reasons of epistemology and psychopathology, it is important to distinguish them.

Affective conditioning

It is a hallmark of Locke’s discussion of madness that ‘incoherent Ideas’ can become ‘cemented together so powerfully, as to become united’ (Locke, 1689: II, xi, 13, 161). The term ‘cemented’, in this case, is meant to suggest that such associations might be quite fixed, permanent and even impervious to change. This kind of cementing in the association of ideas can be caused ‘either by any sudden very strong impression, or long fixing … [the] fancy upon one sort of Thoughts’ (II, xi, 13, 161). Elsewhere in the Essay, Locke provides numerous examples of how, through ‘Education’, ‘Habit’ or ‘Custom’, Ideas get associated and how, under some conditions, those associations contribute to a more or less fixed, permanent, impervious, delusional system of ‘incoherent Ideas’ and ‘wrong Propositions’ supported by ‘right deductions’.

How then do Ideas get associated? Locke’s views on this matter are surprisingly modern and anticipate many of the chief findings and assumptions of contemporary behavioural theories of conditioning (Ban, 1964). A striking thing about the examples that Locke provides is their affective nature: they mostly have to do with affective conditioning. Consider, for example, the following three illustrations.

Many Children imputing the Pain they endured at school to their Books they were corrected for, so join those Ideas together, that a Book becomes their Aversion, and they are never reconciled to the study and use of them all their Lives after. (Locke, 1689: I, xxxiii, 15, 399)

A man receives a sensible Injury from another, thinks on the Man and that Action over and over, and by ruminating on them strongly, or much in his Mind, so cements those two Ideas together, that he makes them almost one; never thinks on the Man, but the Pain and Displeasure he suffered comes into his Mind with it, so that he scarcely distinguishes them, but has as much an aversion for the one as the other. Thus Hatreds are often begotten from slight and almost innocent Occasions, and Quarrels propagated and continued in the World. (II, xxxiii, 12, 398)

A man has suffered Pain or Sickness in any Place, he saw his Friend die in such a Room; though these have in Nature nothing to do with one another, yet when the Idea of the Place occurs to his Mind, it brings (the Impression once made) that of the Pain and Displeasure with it, he confounds them in his Mind, and can as little bar the one as the other. (II, xxxiii, 12, 398)

In Lockean terminology, these are all cases where ‘accidental Ideas’ get ‘annex’d’ or ‘Combined’ with other ‘accidental Ideas’ with which they have no ‘natural Correspondence or Connection’ (II, xxxiii, 15, 399; II, xxxiii, 5, 395). More specifically, Ideas which were not previously joined, and which have no ‘natural Correspondence or Connection’, get conjoined and eventually appear as if they were one, unified, Idea, rather than two separate Ideas that are joined. In Locke’s words:

Ideas that in themselves are not at all of kin, come to be so united in some Men’s Minds, that ’tis very hard to separate them, they always keep in company, and the one no sooner comes into the Understanding, but its Associate appears with it, and if they are more than two which are thus united, the whole gang always inseparable shew themselves together. (II, xxxiii, 5, 395)

Such ‘connexions of Ideas’ arise from ‘Chance’ or ‘Custom’ (II, xxxiii, 5, 395). They can also be orchestrated voluntarily (II, xxxiii, 6, 396), but can occur accidentally (II, xxxiii, 11–14, 398). Locke deems the matter extremely important in Education, where it is imperative to ‘prevent the undue connexion of Ideas in the Minds of young People’ (II, xxxiii, 8, 397).

Once two or more Ideas have been ‘Combined’ and ‘Cemented’ together by the kind of processes just described, ‘the associations and connexions’ involved, although ‘accidental’, take on a Natural tone, ‘as if they were Natural’ (II, xxxiii, 7, 396). This is despite the fact those Ideas are originally ‘not ally’d by Nature’ (II, xxxiii, 6, 396). Locke concedes that we most assuredly do have Natural ‘antipathies’ for things, but he suggests that many of those ‘antipathies’ are not truly Natural, but instead learned through early associations of Ideas that have been long forgotten (II, xxxiii, 7, 396). Reason is notoriously unreliable, and even often powerless, to alter or redress these and other, later, conditioned antipathies. Recall, for example, the case alluded to above, of the man who experiences Pain and Displeasure whenever the Idea of the Place where his friend died occurs to his Mind. Locke tells us that, for this man, the two Ideas – of the Room and of Pain and Displeasure – have been combined and fused together to the point where we can say they are confounded, ‘as if they were but one Idea’ (II, xxxiii, 7, 396). The strength of the Antipathy in this connexion of Ideas is very strong indeed. Locke goes on to say that, ‘when such a case is settled and whilst it lasts, it is not in the Power of Reason to help us, and relieve us from the Effects of it’ (II, xxxiii, 12, 398). This concession to the limits of Reason in undoing the strong connexions that underlie some of our Antipathies is extremely important. Essentially, it means that Locke believes that there are cases of affective conditioning and trauma where Reason cannot help. In this respect, what he has to say about Grief is very instructive:

The Death of a Child that was the daily delight of his Mother’s Eye’s, and Joy of her Soul, rends from her Heart the whole comfort of her Life, and gives her all the torment imaginable; use the consolations of Reason in this case, and you were as good preach Ease to one on the Rack, and hope to allay, by rational Discourses, the Pain of his Joints tearing asunder. Till time has by disuse separated the sense of that Enjoyment and its loss from the Idea of the Child returning to her Memory, all Representations, though never so reasonable, are in vain; and therefore some in whom the Union between these Ideas is never dissolved, spend their lives in Mourning, and carry an incurable Sorrow to their Graves. (II, xxxiii, 13, 398)

This last example constitutes a clear case of a disorder in the domain of affective states and processes. Specifically, it is an instance of the passion, grief. Evidently, though he was champion of Reason and the Intellectual powers of the Understanding, Locke also shows a deep respect and appreciation for the more affective dimensions of our natures. The point of this telling example is that ‘Time cures certain Affections, which Reason, though in the right, and allow’d to be so, has not power over, nor is able against them to prevail with those who are apt to harken to it in other cases’ (II, xxxiii, 13, 398).

Locke extends these lessons on the limits of Reason and its ‘rational Discourses’ to nefarious ‘Intellectual Habits and Defects’ of the Understanding (II, xxxiii, 17, 400). Such Habits and Defects, he tells us, can also be ‘contracted’ by means of the association of Ideas, and they ‘are not less frequent and powerful, though less observed’ (II, xxxiii, 17, 400). But they are quite different from the affective habits adumbrated above. Note also the Actions of the Will and even ‘Motions of the Body’ can also be conditioned in a similar manner. Locke suggests the example of musical training as an illustration of these combined modes of conditioning and association. Lockean conditioning is therefore multi-faceted, although in the present case it is especially its affective aspects that are of concern.

Passions

Many of the above observations on the ‘Roots’ of Madness are taken from Locke’s Essay. He also offers additional observations in Of the Conduct of the Understanding where he discusses ‘perfect madness’.

The Mind should be always free and ready to turn itself to the variety of objects that occur, and allow them as much consideration as shall for that time be thought fit. To be engrossed so by one object, as not to be prevailed on to leave it for another that we judge fitter for our contemplation, is to make it of no use to us. Did this state of mind remain always so, everyone would, without scruple, give it the name of perfect madness; such a rotation of thoughts about the same object no more carries us forward towards the attainment of knowledge, than getting upon a mill horse whilst he jogs on his circular track would carry a man a journey. (Locke, 1706: XLIV, 112–13)

One especially interesting thing about this last passage is the fact that, immediately following it, Locke ties the phenomenon in question directly to passions. Thus he comments:

I grant something must be allowed to legitimate passions, and to natural inclinations. Every man, besides occasional affections, has beloved studies, and those the mind will more closely stick to; but yet it is best that it should always be at liberty, and under the free disposal of the man, and to act how and upon what he directs. This we should endeavour to obtain, unless we would be content with such a flaw in our understanding, that sometimes we should be as it were without it … (Locke, 1706: XLIV, 113)

Having granted that there may be ‘legitimate passions’, Locke still appears to wish to depict passions, as a whole, as flaws in the Understanding. The problem is that passions tend to fix and focus the activities of the Mind on a fixed unchangeable object. This, for Locke, constitutes an impediment to the kind of flexibility that is required for proper functioning of the Understanding. He explains:

A prevailing passion so pins down our thoughts to the object and concern of it, that a man passionately in Love cannot bring himself to think of his ordinary affairs, or a kind mother drooping under the loss of a child, is not able to bear a part as she was wont in the discourse of the company, or conversation of her friends. (Locke, 1706: XLIV, 113)

These remarks are telling. They have to do with flaws that ‘bind’ the operations of the Understanding and ultimately limit or impede the search for Knowledge. Extreme, and even legitimate, passions are such flaws. They ‘take possession of our minds with a kind of authority, and will not be kept out or dislodged’ (Locke, 1706: XLIV, 112). Locke likens the hold of a passion on the mind to a kind of ‘tyranny’ (Locke, 1706: XLIV, 112), even going so far as to call it a ‘disease’ (Locke, 1706: XLIV, 113). However, he is also careful to note that passion ‘is not the only cause that binds up the Understanding, and confines it for the tie to one object, from which it will not be taken off’ (Locke, 1706: XLIV, 113). Fixations on various objects can also occur by simple conditioning and habituation, such as in cases where the understanding ‘works itself into a warmth, and by degrees gets into a career, wherein, like a bowl down a hill, it increases its motion by going, and will not be stopped or diverted’ (Locke, 1706: XLIV, 113). Finally, there is also the case where, through childish diversion, the understanding ‘plays with and dandles with some insignificant puppet to no end, nor with any design at all, and yet cannot easily be got off from it’ (Locke, 1706: XLIV, 113). Locke tentatively attributes this last kind of phenomenon to a ‘mechanical cause’ and ‘motion of the blood or animal spirits’ (Locke, 1706: XLIV, 114). He says it manifests itself with a ‘troubling intrusion’ in the flow of ideas that sometimes has a repetitious, successive nature. It is interesting to consider whether Locke’s observation represents an early instance of what is now called obsessive compulsive disorder. The example of grief above certainly has overtones modern post-traumatic stress disorder and major depressive disorder.

These observations on madness taken from Of the Conduct of the Understanding amplify Locke’s comments on the relationship between affective states and madness in the Essay, but with one important difference. In the former work there is the explicit suggestion that the passions may themselves constitute a variety of mental disorder for which therapy is possible. Thus Locke writes: ‘When the Fancy is bound by passion, I know no way to set the mind free, and at liberty to prosecute what thoughts the man would make choice of, but to allay the present passion, or counterbalance it with another; which is an art to be got by study, and acquaintance with the passions’ (Locke, 1706: XLIV, 114). This passage suggests that it is mistaken to suggest that, unlike Descartes, Locke ‘… who wanted to rely on experiential data, had no concrete device to offer to man to govern his passions …’ (Riese, 1969: 76).

Clearly, despite the professed intellectualist focus of his observations on Madness, Locke is also a keen observer of the passions and how they figure in mental disorder. The passions themselves may, under some conditions, count as instances of mental and behavioural disorder. Such disorders are not reducible to problems in the realm of ideas, though ideas may be involved and disorder is manifest in that realm, since passions are dominated by a fixity in ideas: what later thinkers refer to as a ‘fixed idea’ (Ribot, 1907: v). The most striking example of affective disorder of this sort that Locke provides is drunkenness, which he likens to a passion.

Let a Drunkard see, that his Health decays, his Estate wastes; Discredit and Diseases and the want of all things, even of his beloved Drink, attends him in the course he follows: yet the returns of uneasiness to miss his Companions; the habitual thirst after his Cups, at the usual time, drives him to the Tavern, though he has in his view the loss of health and plenty, and perhaps the joys of another life: the least of which is no inconsiderable good, but such as he confesses, is far greater, than the tickling of his palate with a glass of Wine, or the idle Chat of a soaking club. ’Tis not for wanting of viewing the greater good: for he sees, and acknowledges it, and in the intervals of his drinking hours, will take resolutions to pursue the greater good; but when the uneasiness to miss his accustomed delight returns, the greater acknowledged good loses its hold, and the present uneasiness determines the will to the accustomed action; which thereby gets stronger footing to prevail against the next occasion, though he at the same time make secret promises to himself, that he will do so no more; this is the last time he will act against the attainment of those greater goods. (Locke, 1689, II, xxi, 35, 253–4)

The Drunkard, therefore, is condemned – Locke calls it a ‘Sentence’ – to a tragic ambivalent cycle of resolution and relapse, in his love for Drink. Not only that, his repeated drinking only serves to give his ‘accustomed action’ a ‘stronger footing’: a crystal clear statement of affective conditioning, if there ever was one. Note that the kind of conditioning here has nothing much to do with Ideas, but rather the Drunkard’s behaviour and his passion for his ‘beloved’ drink. What we have in this passage is a pioneering clinical description of chronic alcoholism, with all its attendant symptoms, such as ambivalence and denial, set in the context of a chronic, worsening, relapsing course, characterized by further drinking despite increasing negative consequences. But none of this has to do with Madness in the intellectual sense that Locke is famous for. Yet obviously it does form part of his views on Madness in a wider sense, one that involves the Passions and how they can be deleteriously conditioned. It is surprising that this other dimension of Locke’s thought has been overlooked to the point it has. In this respect, it is worth noting that in Leviathan Hobbes states that ‘… the variety of behavior in men that have drunk too much, is the same with that of madmen; some of them raging, others loving, others laughing, all extravagantly, but according to their several domineering Passions’; the reason is that ‘passions unguided, are for the most part mere madness’ (Hobbes, 1651/1992: Para. 23–27, p.64, mp.141). This more affective variety of madness differs markedly from Locke’s other, more intellectual, examples. Yet as Locke’s terminology clearly indicates, this is a variety of mental disorder that is equally deserving of the appellation ‘madness’.

Primordiality of affectivity ⁸

The Passions turn out to occupy an ambiguous place in Locke’s economy of mind. Some of their Constituents, for example Pleasures and Pains, are bona fide states of the Understanding. The Ideas we form of Passions also figure among the constituents of the Understanding. Apparently, then, the Ideas we have of Passions are sufficiently homogenous to merit a distinct terminological designation as states of the Understanding: they are all collected under the term ‘Passion’. Yet, as a class, ‘Passions’ do not qualify as a distinct ‘Power’ or ‘Ability’ of the Mind. Neither do the Passions constitute a separate and distinct Faculty, comparable to Willing or Thinking. They are not ‘principal Actions of the Mind’. It is hard to escape the conclusion that Passions are second-class citizens in Locke’s psychology. At the same time, it must be recognized that they are citizens nonetheless.

Now according to Locke, we have ‘Ideas of our Passions’, which, like all Ideas, arise from Sensation and Reflection (Locke, 1689: II, i, 3–4, 105). However, Passions, as such, are not Ideas. In the Essay, Locke defines Passions as ‘Modes of Pleasure and Pain resulting in our Minds, from various considerations of Good and Evil’ (II, xx, 18, 232). ‘Pleasure’ and ‘Pain’, in this case, are said to be simple ‘Ideas’ that arise from sensation (II, xx, 1–3, 229). Like other simple Ideas, Pleasure and Pain ‘cannot be described, nor their Names defined; the way of knowing them is, as of other simple Ideas of the Senses, only by Experience’ (II, xx, 1, 229). Moreover, Pleasure and Pain can be ‘of Body or Mind’, being ‘sometimes occasioned by disorder in the Body, sometimes by Thoughts of the Mind’ (II, xx, 2, 229). The passions, then, ‘depend on different Modifications of Pleasure and Pain’ (II, xx, 5, 230). Note that the terms ‘Pleasure’ and ‘Pain’ are not essential to this account. Other, interchangeable, terms include ‘Delight’, and ‘Trouble’ or ‘Uneasiness’ (II, xx, 1, 229; II, xx, 15, 232; II, xx, 2, 128). Locke leaves the choice of terminology to the reader: ‘call it how you please’ (II, xx, 1, 229).

Locke states that ‘we form to our selves the Ideas of our Passions’ (II, xx, 3, 230). He maintains that ‘those Ideas we have of them, are derived from Sensation and Reflection’ (II, xx, 18, 233). Logically, this would appear to imply that we can distinguish Passions themselves from the Ideas we have of them. A second reason for making such a distinction arises from the fact that the Passions have a bodily dimension. They ‘… have most of them in most Persons operations on the Body, and cause various changes in it: Which not being always sensible, do not make a necessary part of the Idea of each passion’ (II, xx, 17, 232). As an example Locke cites the case of Shame, which he defines as an ‘uneasiness of the Mind, upon the thought of having done something, which is indecent, or will lessen the valued Esteem, which others have for us’ (II, xx, 18, 232). His point appears to be that, in so far as it is a thought, that Shame ‘… has not always blushing accompanying it’ (II, xx, 18, 232). The bodily phenomenon of blushing, then, is sometimes part of the Passion, Shame, though it may not form part of our Idea of Shame as a Passion. Hence, there are bodily aspects or accompaniments of Shame, the Passion, that are not included in our Idea of that Passion.

Locke only provides a brief account of the Passions in his Essay. Indeed, he warns us that it is not his aim to provide a full ‘Discourse of the Passions’ (II, xx, 17–18, 232). He mentions only Love and Hatred, Joy, Sorrow, Hope, Fear, Despair, Anger, Envy, and Shame, and admits that there ‘… are many more than those I have named’ (II, xx, 5–30, 230; II, xx, 18, 232). Desire deserves special mention. It is a Passion. Locke defines it as ‘the uneasiness a Man finds in himself upon the absence of any thing, whose present enjoyment carries the Idea of Delight with it, [… ], which is greater or less, as the uneasiness is more or less vehement’ (II, xx, 6, 230; II, xxi, 32, 251). Uneasiness, an affective state, is a central explanatory concept in this theory (Roinila, 2011). It is said to be ‘the chief if not only spur to humane Industry and Action’ (Locke, 1689: II, xx, 6, 230; see also II, vii, 4, 130). Apparently, without uneasiness, there is no desire, and without desire, there is no motive for action. It ‘is this uneasiness, that determines the Will to the successive voluntary actions, whereof the greatest part of our Lives is made up, and by which we are conducted through different courses to different ends’ (II, xxi, 33, 252). ⁹

Based on the exegetical evidence adumbrated above, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that not only the passions, but also pain and pleasure, are primordial in Locke’s account of human thought and conduct. Pain and pleasure, in particular, are ubiquitous: ‘God hath scattered up and down several degrees of Pleasure and Pain in all the things that environ and affect us; and blended them together, in almost all that our Thought and Senses have to do with’ (II, vii, 5, 130). In addition, ‘Pleasure and Pain, and that which cause them, Good and Evil, are the hinges on which our Passions turn’ (II, xx, 3, 229).

Conclusion

Locke, then, clearly acknowledges our ‘passionate nature’, though it is important for him to qualify it as a ‘feeble passionate Nature’ (Locke, 1689: II, xxi, 67, 278). The reason is that it is our ‘intellectual nature’ that he wishes to extol, the fact that we are ‘Intellectual Beings’ and ‘intellectual agents’ with the ability to think in accordance with the dictates of Reason (II, xxi, 51, 266; xxiii, 11, 294). In this scheme the Passions are especially important because of the manner in which they can interfere with the operation of the will, and ultimately Reason (II, xxi, 38, 256). Locke goes so far as to say that the Passions are inimical to the ‘Love of Truth’, which ‘as it can receive no Evidence from our Passions or Interests, should receive no Tincture from them’ (IV, xix, 1, 698). There is of course a slight irony in speaking of a ‘Love’ of Truth in this case. The greater irony is that, despite his professed intellectualist bias as a champion of Reason, Locke contributed so much to our understanding of the role of affective states and processes in mental disorder.

In sum, Lockean madness is more than simply a matter of intellectual disorder in the realm of ideas. There is also disorder in affective states and processes, which can sometimes constitute a distinct kind of disorder of its own. Locke even apparently goes so far as to claim that affectivity is primordial with respect to the intellect in the determination of thought and action. These aspects of Locke’s views have been largely overlooked in the relevant scholarship, which is dominated by an intellectualist bias that must be redressed.