{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_16406/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_16406","id":"gutenberg_16406","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16406","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Philosophy"],"text":"E-text prepared by Al Haines\n\n\n\nAN INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY\n\nby\n\nGEORGE STUART FULLERTON\n\nProfessor of Philosophy in Columbia University\nNew York\n\nNew York\nThe MacMillan Company\nLondon: Macmillan & Co., Ltd.\n\n1915\n\nNorwood Press\nJ. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.\nNorwood, Mass., U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nAs there cannot be said to be a beaten path in philosophy, and as\n\"Introductions\" to the subject differ widely from one another, it is\nproper that I should give an indication of the scope of the present\nvolume.\n\nIt undertakes:--\n\n1.  To point out what the word \"philosophy\" is made to cover in our\nuniversities and colleges at the present day, and to show why it is\ngiven this meaning.\n\n2.  To explain the nature of reflective or philosophical thinking, and\nto show how it differs from common thought and from science.\n\n3.  To give a general view of the main problems with which philosophers\nhave felt called upon to deal.\n\n4.  To give an account of some of the more important types of\nphilosophical doctrine which have arisen out of the consideration of\nsuch problems.\n\n5.  To indicate the relation of philosophy to the so-called\nphilosophical sciences, and to the other sciences.\n\n6.  To show, finally, that the study of philosophy is of value to us\nall, and to give some practical admonitions on spirit and method.  Had\nthese admonitions been impressed upon me at a time when I was in\nespecial need of guidance, I feel that they would have spared me no\nlittle anxiety and confusion of mind.  For this reason, I recommend\nthem to the attention of the reader.\n\nSuch is the scope of my book.  It aims to tell what philosophy is.  It\nis not its chief object to advocate a particular type of doctrine.  At\nthe same time, as it is impossible to treat of the problems of\nphilosophy except from some point of view, it will be found that, in\nChapters III to XI, a doctrine is presented.  It is the same as that\npresented much more in detail, and with a greater wealth of reference,\nin my \"System of Metaphysics,\" which was published a short time ago.\nIn the Notes in the back of this volume, the reader will find\nreferences to those parts of the larger work which treat of the\nsubjects more briefly discussed here.  It will be helpful to the\nteacher to keep the larger work on hand, and to use more or less of the\nmaterial there presented as his undergraduate classes discuss the\nchapters of this one.  Other references are also given in the Notes,\nand it may be profitable to direct the attention of students to them.\n\nThe present book has been made as clear and simple as possible, that no\nunnecessary difficulties may be placed in the path of those who enter\nupon the thorny road of philosophical reflection.  The subjects treated\nare deep enough to demand the serious attention of any one; and they\nare subjects of fascinating interest.  That they are treated simply and\nclearly does not mean that they are treated superficially.  Indeed,\nwhen a doctrine is presented in outline and in a brief and simple\nstatement, its meaning may be more readily apparent than when it is\ntreated more exhaustively.  For this reason, I especially recommend,\neven to those who are well acquainted with philosophy, the account of\nthe external world contained in Chapter IV.\n\nFor the doctrine I advocate I am inclined to ask especial consideration\non the ground that it is, on the whole, a justification of the attitude\ntaken by the plain man toward the world in which he finds himself.  The\nexperience of the race is not a thing that we may treat lightly.\n\nThus, it is maintained that there is a real external world presented in\nour experience--not a world which we have a right to regard as the\nsensations or ideas of any mind.  It is maintained that we have\nevidence that there are minds in certain relations to that world, and\nthat we can, within certain limits, determine these relations.  It is\npointed out that the plain man's belief in the activity of his mind and\nhis notion of the significance of purposes and ends are not without\njustification.  It is indicated that theism is a reasonable doctrine,\nand it is held that the human will is free in the only proper sense of\nthe word \"freedom.\"  Throughout it is taken for granted that the\nphilosopher has no private system of weights and measures, but must\nreason as other men reason, and must prove his conclusions in the same\nsober way.\n\nI have written in hopes that the book may be of use to undergraduate\nstudents.  They are often repelled by philosophy, and I cannot but\nthink that this is in part due to the dry and abstract form in which\nphilosophers have too often seen fit to express their thoughts.  The\nsame thoughts can be set forth in plain language, and their\nsignificance illustrated by a constant reference to experiences which\nwe all have--experiences which must serve as the foundation to every\ntheory of the mind and the world worthy of serious consideration.\n\nBut there are many persons who cannot attend formal courses of\ninstruction, and who, nevertheless, are interested in philosophy.\nThese, also, I have had in mind; and I have tried to be so clear that\nthey could read the work with profit in the absence of a teacher.\n\nLastly, I invite the more learned, if they have found my \"System of\nMetaphysics\" difficult to understand in any part, to follow the simple\nstatement contained in the chapters above alluded to, and then to\nreturn, if they will, to the more bulky volume.\n\n\nGEORGE STUART FULLERTON.\n\nNew York, 1906.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nPART I\n\nINTRODUCTORY\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE MEANING OF THE WORD \"PHILOSOPHY\" IN THE PAST AND IN THE PRESENT\n\n   1.  The Beginnings of Philosophy.\n   2.  The Greek Philosophy at its Height.\n   3.  Philosophy as a Guide to Life.\n   4.  Philosophy in the Middle Ages.\n   5.  The Modern Philosophy.\n   6.  What Philosophy means in our Time.\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nCOMMON THOUGHT, SCIENCE, AND REFLECTIVE THOUGHT\n\n   7.  Common Thought.\n   8.  Scientific Knowledge.\n   9.  Mathematics.\n  10.  The Science of Psychology.\n  11.  Reflective Thought.\n\n\nPART II\n\nPROBLEMS TOUCHING THE EXTERNAL WORLD\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nIS THERE AN EXTERNAL WORLD?\n\n  12.  How the Plain Man thinks he knows the World.\n  13.  The Psychologist and the External World.\n  14.  The \"Telephone Exchange.\"\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nSENSATIONS AND \"THINGS\"\n\n  15.  Sense and Imagination.\n  16.  May we call \"Things\" Groups of Sensations?\n  17.  The Distinction between Sensations and \"Things.\"\n  18.  The Existence of Material Things.\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nAPPEARANCES AND REALITIES\n\n  19.  Things and their Appearances.\n  20.  Real Things.\n  21.  Ultimate Real Things.\n  22.  The Bugbear of the \"Unknowable\".\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nOF SPACE\n\n  23.  What we are supposed to know about It.\n  24.  Space as Necessary and Space as Infinite.\n  25.  Space as Infinitely Divisible.\n  26.  What is Real Space?\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nOF TIME\n\n  27.  Time as Necessary, Infinite, and Infinitely Divisible.\n  28.  The Problem of Past, Present, and Future.\n  29.  What is Real Time?\n\n\nPART III\n\nPROBLEMS TOUCHING THE MIND\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nWHAT IS THE MIND?\n\n  30.  Primitive Notions of Mind.\n  31.  The Mind as Immaterial.\n  32.  Modern Common Sense Notions of the Mind.\n  33.  The Psychologist and the Mind.\n  34.  The Metaphysician and the Mind.\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nMIND AND BODY\n\n  35.  Is the Mind in the Body?\n  36.  The Doctrine of the Interactionist.\n  37.  The Doctrine of the Parallelist.\n  38.  In what Sense Mental Phenomena have a Time and Place.\n  39.  Objections to Parallelism.\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nHOW WE KNOW THERE ARE OTHER MINDS\n\n  40.  Is it Certain that we know It?\n  41.  The Argument for Other Minds.\n  42.  What Other Minds are there?\n  43.  The Doctrine of Mind-stuff.\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nOTHER PROBLEMS OF WORLD AND MIND\n\n  44.  Is the Material World a Mechanism?\n  45.  The Place of Mind in Nature.\n  46.  The Order of Nature and \"Free-will.\"\n  47.  The Physical World and the Moral World.\n\n\nPART IV\n\nSOME TYPES OF PHILOSOPHICAL THEORY\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHEIR HISTORICAL BACKGROUND\n\n  48.  The Doctrine of Representative Perception.\n  49.  The Step to Idealism.\n  50.  The Revolt of \"Common Sense.\"\n  51.  The Critical Philosophy.\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nREALISM AND IDEALISM\n\n  52.  Realism.\n  53.  Idealism.\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nMONISM AND DUALISM\n\n  54.  The Meaning of the Words.\n  55.  Materialism.\n  56.  Spiritualism.\n  57.  The Doctrine of the One Substance.\n  58.  Dualism.\n  59.  Singularism and Pluralism.\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nRATIONALISM, EMPIRICISM, CRITICISM, AND CRITICAL EMPIRICISM\n\n  60.  Rationalism.\n  61.  Empiricism.\n  62.  Criticism.\n  63.  Critical Empiricism.\n  64.  Pragmatism.\n\n\nPART V\n\nTHE PHILOSOPHICAL SCIENCES\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nLOGIC\n\n  65.  Introductory; the Philosophical Sciences.\n  66.  The Traditional Logic.\n  67.  The \"Modern\" Logic.\n  68.  Logic and Philosophy.\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nPSYCHOLOGY\n\n  69.  Psychology and Philosophy.\n  70.  The Double Affiliation of Psychology.\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nETHICS AND AESTHETICS\n\n  71.  Common Sense Ethics.\n  72.  Ethics and Philosophy.\n  73.  Aesthetics.\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nMETAPHYSICS\n\n  74.  What is Metaphysics?\n  75.  Epistemology.\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nTHE PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION\n\n  76.  Religion and Reflection.\n  77.  The Philosophy of Religion.\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nPHILOSOPHY AND THE OTHER SCIENCES\n\n  78.  The Philosophical and the Non-philosophical Sciences.\n  79.  The study of Scientific Principles and Methods.\n\n\nPART VI\n\nON THE STUDY OF PHILOSOPHY\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nTHE VALUE OF THE STUDY OF PHILOSOPHY\n\n  80.  The Question of Practical Utility.\n  81.  Why Philosophical Studies are Useful.\n  82.  Metaphysics and the Philosophy of Religion.\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nWHY WE SHOULD STUDY THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY\n\n  83.  The Prominence given to the Subject.\n  84.  The Especial Importance of Historical Studies to Reflective Thought.\n  85.  The Value of Different Points of View.\n  86.  Philosophy as Poetry and Philosophy as Science.\n  87.  How to read the History of Philosophy.\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nSOME PRACTICAL ADMONITIONS\n\n  88.  Be prepared to enter upon a New Way of Looking at Things.\n  89.  Be willing to consider Possibilities which at first strike one\n       as Absurd.\n  90.  Do not have too much Respect for Authority.\n  91.  Remember that Ordinary Rules of Evidence Apply.\n  92.  Aim at Clearness and Simplicity.\n  93.  Do not hastily accept a Doctrine.\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\n\n\nAN INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY\n\n\nI. INTRODUCTORY\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE MEANING OF THE WORD \"PHILOSOPHY\" IN THE PAST AND IN THE PRESENT\n\nI must warn the reader at the outset that the title of this chapter\nseems to promise a great deal more than he will find carried out in the\nchapter itself.  To tell all that philosophy has meant in the past, and\nall that it means to various classes of men in the present, would be a\ntask of no small magnitude, and one quite beyond the scope of such a\nvolume as this.  But it is not impossible to give within small compass\na brief indication, at least, of what the word once signified, to show\nhow its signification has undergone changes, and to point out to what\nsort of a discipline or group of disciplines educated men are apt to\napply the word, notwithstanding their differences of opinion as to the\ntruth or falsity of this or that particular doctrine.  Why certain\nsubjects of investigation have come to be grouped together and to be\nregarded as falling within the province of the philosopher, rather than\ncertain other subjects, will, I hope, be made clear in the body of the\nwork.  Only an indication can be given in this chapter.\n\n1. THE BEGINNINGS OF PHILOSOPHY.--The Greek historian Herodotus\n(484-424 B.C.) appears to have been the first to use the verb \"to\nphilosophize.\"  He makes Croesus tell Solon how he has heard that he\n\"from a desire of knowledge has, philosophizing, journeyed through many\nlands.\"  The word \"philosophizing\" seems to indicate that Solon pursued\nknowledge for its own sake, and was what we call an investigator.  As\nfor the word \"philosopher\" (etymologically, a lover of wisdom), a\ncertain somewhat unreliable tradition traces it back to Pythagoras\n(about 582-500 B.C.).  As told by Cicero, the story is that, in a\nconversation with Leon, the ruler of Phlius, in the Peloponnesus, he\ndescribed himself as a philosopher, and said that his business was an\ninvestigation into the nature of things.\n\nAt any rate, both the words \"philosopher\" and \"philosophy\" are freely\nused in the writings of the disciples of Socrates (470-399 B.C.), and\nit is possible that he was the first to make use of them.  The seeming\nmodesty of the title philosopher--for etymologically it is a modest\none, though it has managed to gather a very different signification\nwith the lapse of time--the modesty of the title would naturally appeal\nto a man who claimed so much ignorance, as Socrates; and Plato\nrepresents him as distinguishing between the lover of wisdom and the\nwise, on the ground that God alone may be called wise.  From that date\nto this the word \"philosopher\" has remained with us, and it has meant\nmany things to many men.  But for centuries the philosopher has not\nbeen simply the investigator, nor has he been simply the lover of\nwisdom.\n\nAn investigation into the origin of words, however interesting in\nitself, can tell us little of the uses to which words are put after\nthey have come into being.  If we turn from etymology to history, and\nreview the labors of the men whom the world has agreed to call\nphilosophers, we are struck by the fact that those who head the list\nchronologically appear to have been occupied with crude physical\nspeculations, with attempts to guess what the world is made out of,\nrather than with that somewhat vague something that we call philosophy\nto-day.\n\nStudents of the history of philosophy usually begin their studies with\nthe speculations of the Greek philosopher Thales (b. 624 B.C.).  We are\ntold that he assumed water to be the universal principle out of which\nall things are made, and that he maintained that \"all things are full\nof gods.\"  We find that Anaximander, the next in the list, assumed as\nthe source out of which all things proceed and that to which they all\nreturn \"the infinite and indeterminate\"; and that Anaximenes, who was\nperhaps his pupil, took as his principle the all-embracing air.\n\nThis trio constitutes the Ionian school of philosophy, the earliest of\nthe Greek schools; and one who reads for the first time the few vague\nstatements which seem to constitute the sum of their contributions to\nhuman knowledge is impelled to wonder that so much has been made of the\nmen.\n\nThis wonder disappears, however, when one realizes that the appearance\nof these thinkers was really a momentous thing.  For these men turned\ntheir faces away from the poetical and mythologic way of accounting for\nthings, which had obtained up to their time, and set their faces toward\nScience.  Aristotle shows us how Thales may have been led to the\nformulation of his main thesis by an observation of the phenomena of\nnature.  Anaximander saw in the world in which he lived the result of a\nprocess of evolution.  Anaximenes explains the coming into being of\nfire, wind, clouds, water, and earth, as due to a condensation and\nexpansion of the universal principle, air.  The boldness of their\nspeculations we may explain as due to a courage born of ignorance, but\nthe explanations they offer are scientific in spirit, at least.\n\nMoreover, these men do not stand alone.  They are the advance guard of\nan army whose latest representatives are the men who are enlightening\nthe world at the present day.  The evolution of science--taking that\nword in the broad sense to mean organized and systematized\nknowledge--must be traced in the works of the Greek philosophers from\nThales down.  Here we have the source and the rivulet to which we can\ntrace back the mighty stream which is flowing past our own doors.\nApparently insignificant in its beginnings, it must still for a while\nseem insignificant to the man who follows with an unreflective eye the\ncourse of the current.\n\nIt would take me too far afield to give an account of the Greek schools\nwhich immediately succeeded the Ionic: to tell of the Pythagoreans, who\nheld that all things were constituted by numbers; of the Eleatics, who\nheld that \"only Being is,\" and denied the possibility of change,\nthereby reducing the shifting panorama of the things about us to a mere\ndelusive world of appearances; of Heraclitus, who was so impressed by\nthe constant flux of things that he summed up his view of nature in the\nwords: \"Everything flows\"; of Empedocles, who found his explanation of\nthe world in the combination of the four elements, since become\ntraditional, earth, water, fire, and air; of Democritus, who developed\na materialistic atomism which reminds one strongly of the doctrine of\natoms as it has appeared in modern science; of Anaxagoras, who traced\nthe system of things to the setting in order of an infinite\nmultiplicity of different elements,--\"seeds of things,\"--which setting\nin order was due to the activity of the finest of things, Mind.\n\nIt is a delight to discover the illuminating thoughts which came to the\nminds of these men; and, on the other hand, it is amusing to see how\nrecklessly they launched themselves on boundless seas when they were\nunprovided with chart and compass.  They were like brilliant children,\nwho know little of the dangers of the great world, but are ready to\nundertake anything.  These philosophers regarded all knowledge as their\nprovince, and did not despair of governing so great a realm.  They were\nready to explain the whole world and everything in it.  Of course, this\ncan only mean that they had little conception of how much there is to\nexplain, and of what is meant by scientific explanation.\n\nIt is characteristic of this series of philosophers that their\nattention was directed very largely upon the external world.  It was\nnatural that this should be so.  Both in the history of the race and in\nthat of the individual, we find that the attention is seized first by\nmaterial things, and that it is long before a clear conception of the\nmind and of its knowledge is arrived at.  Observation precedes\nreflection.  When we come to think definitely about the mind, we are\nall apt to make use of notions which we have derived from our\nexperience of external things.  The very words we use to denote mental\noperations are in many instances taken from this outer realm.  We\n\"direct\" the attention; we speak of \"apprehension,\" of \"conception,\" of\n\"intuition.\"  Our knowledge is \"clear\" or \"obscure\"; an oration is\n\"brilliant\"; an emotion is \"sweet\" or \"bitter.\"  What wonder that, as\nwe read over the fragments that have come down to us from the\nPre-Socratic philosophers, we should be struck by the fact that they\nsometimes leave out altogether and sometimes touch lightly upon a\nnumber of those things that we regard to-day as peculiarly within the\nprovince of the philosopher.  They busied themselves with the world as\nthey saw it, and certain things had hardly as yet come definitely\nwithin their horizon.\n\n2. THE GREEK PHILOSOPHY AT ITS HEIGHT.--The next succeeding period sees\ncertain classes of questions emerge into prominence which had attracted\ncomparatively little attention from the men of an earlier day.\nDemocritus of Abdera, to whom reference has been made above, belongs\nchronologically to this latter period, but his way of thinking makes us\nclass him with the earlier philosophers.  It was characteristic of\nthese latter that they assumed rather naively that man can look upon\nthe world and can know it, and can by thinking about it succeed in\ngiving a reasonable account of it.  That there may be a difference\nbetween the world as it really is and the world as it appears to man,\nand that it may be impossible for man to attain to a knowledge of the\nabsolute truth of things, does not seem to have occurred to them.\n\nThe fifth century before Christ was, in Greece, a time of intense\nintellectual ferment.  One is reminded, in reading of it, of the\nsplendid years of the Renaissance in Italy, of the awakening of the\nhuman mind to a vigorous life which cast off the bonds of tradition and\ninsisted upon the right of free and unfettered development.  Athens was\nthe center of this intellectual activity.\n\nIn this century arose the Sophists, public teachers who busied\nthemselves with all departments of human knowledge, but seemed to lay\nno little emphasis upon certain questions that touched very nearly the\nlife of man.  Can man attain to truth at all--to a truth that is more\nthan a mere truth to him, a seeming truth?  Whence do the laws derive\ntheir authority?  Is there such a thing as justice, as right?  It was\nwith such questions as these that the Sophists occupied themselves, and\nsuch questions as these have held the attention of mankind ever since.\nWhen they make their appearance in the life of a people or of an\nindividual man, it means that there has been a rebirth, a birth into\nthe life of reflection.\n\nWhen Socrates, that greatest of teachers, felt called upon to refute\nthe arguments of these men, he met them, so to speak, on their own\nground, recognizing that the subjects of which they discoursed were,\nindeed, matter for scientific investigation.  His attitude seemed to\nmany conservative persons in his day a dangerous one; he was regarded\nas an innovator; he taught men to think and to raise questions where,\nbefore, the traditions of the fathers had seemed a sufficient guide to\nmen's actions.\n\nAnd, indeed, he could not do otherwise.  Men had learned to reflect,\nand there had come into existence at least the beginnings of what we\nnow sometimes rather loosely call the mental and moral sciences.  In\nthe works of Socrates' disciple Plato (428-347 B.C.) and in those of\nPlato's disciple Aristotle (384-322 B.C.), abundant justice is done to\nthese fields of human activity.  These two, the greatest among the\nGreek philosophers, differ from each other in many things, but it is\nworthy of remark that they both seem to regard the whole sphere of\nhuman knowledge as their province.\n\nPlato is much more interested in the moral sciences than in the\nphysical, but he, nevertheless, feels called upon to give an account of\nhow the world was made and out of what sort of elements.  He evidently\ndoes not take his own account very seriously, and recognizes that he is\non uncertain ground.  But he does not consider the matter beyond his\njurisdiction.\n\nAs for Aristotle, that wonderful man seems to have found it possible to\nrepresent worthily every science known to his time, and to have marked\nout several new fields for his successors to cultivate.  His philosophy\ncovers physics, cosmology, zooelogy, logic, metaphysics, ethics,\npsychology, politics and economics, rhetoric and poetics.\n\nThus we see that the task of the philosopher was much the same at the\nperiod of the highest development of the Greek philosophy that it had\nbeen earlier.  He was supposed to give an account of the system of\nthings.  But the notion of what it means to give an account of the\nsystem of things had necessarily undergone some change.  The\nphilosopher had to be something more than a natural philosopher.\n\n3. PHILOSOPHY AS A GUIDE TO LIFE.--At the close of the fourth century\nbefore Christ there arose the schools of the Stoics, the Epicureans,\nand the Skeptics.  In them we seem to find a somewhat new conception of\nphilosophy--philosophy appears as chiefly a guide to life.  The Stoic\nemphasizes the necessity of living \"according to nature,\" and dwells\nupon the character of the wise man; the Epicurean furnishes certain\nselfish maxims for getting through life as pleasantly as possible; the\nSkeptic counsels apathy, an indifference to all things,--blessed is he\nwho expects nothing, for he shall not be disappointed.\n\nAnd yet, when we examine more closely these systems, we find a\nconception of philosophy not really so very different from that which\nhad obtained before.  We do not find, it is true, that disinterested\npassion for the attainment of truth which is the glory of science.  Man\nseems quite too much concerned with the problem of his own happiness or\nunhappiness; he has grown morbid.  Nevertheless, the practical maxims\nwhich obtain in each of these systems are based upon a certain view of\nthe system of things as a whole.\n\nThe Stoic tells us of what the world consists; what was the beginning\nand what will be the end of things; what is the relation of the system\nof things to God.  He develops a physics and a logic as well as a\nsystem of ethics.  The Epicurean informs us that the world originated\nin a rain of atoms through space; he examines into the foundations of\nhuman knowledge; and he proceeds to make himself comfortable in a world\nfrom which he has removed those disturbing elements, the gods.  The\nSkeptic decides that there is no such thing as truth, before he\nenunciates the dogma that it is not worth while to worry about\nanything.  The philosophy of each school includes a view of the system\nof things as a whole.  The philosopher still regarded the universe of\nknowledge as his province.\n\n4. PHILOSOPHY IN THE MIDDLE AGES.--I cannot do more than mention\nNeo-Platonism, that half Greek and half Oriental system of doctrine\nwhich arose in the third century after Christ, the first system of\nimportance after the schools mentioned above.  But I must not pass it\nby without pointing out that the Neo-Platonic philosopher undertook to\ngive an account of the origin, development, and end of the whole system\nof things.\n\nIn the Middle Ages there gradually grew up rather a sharp distinction\nbetween those things that can be known through the unaided reason and\nthose things that can only be known through a supernatural revelation.\nThe term \"philosophy\" came to be synonymous with knowledge attained by\nthe natural light of reason.  This seems to imply some sort of a\nlimitation to the task of the philosopher.  Philosophy is not\nsynonymous with all knowledge.\n\nBut we must not forget to take note of the fact that philosophy, even\nwith this limitation, constitutes a pretty wide field.  It covers both\nthe physical and the moral sciences.  Nor should we omit to notice that\nthe scholastic philosopher was at the same time a theologian.  Albert\nthe Great and St. Thomas Aquinas, the famous scholastics of the\nthirteenth century, had to write a \"_Summa Theologiae_,\" or system of\ntheology, as well as to treat of the other departments of human\nknowledge.\n\nWhy were these men not overwhelmed with the task set them by the\ntradition of their time?  It was because the task was not, after all,\nso great as a modern man might conceive it to be.  Gil Blas, in Le\nSage's famous romance, finds it possible to become a skilled physician\nin the twinkling of an eye, when Dr. Sangrado has imparted to him the\nsecret that the remedy for all diseases is to be found in bleeding the\npatient and in making him drink copiously of hot water.  When little is\nknown about things, it does not seem impossible for one man to learn\nthat little.  During the Middle Ages and the centuries preceding, the\nphysical sciences had a long sleep.  Men were much more concerned in\nthe thirteenth century to find out what Aristotle had said than they\nwere to address questions to nature.  The special sciences, as we now\nknow them, had not been called into existence.\n\n5. THE MODERN PHILOSOPHY.--The submission of men's minds to the\nauthority of Aristotle and of the church gradually gave way.  A revival\nof learning set in.  Men turned first of all to a more independent\nchoice of authorities, and then rose to the conception of a philosophy\nindependent of authority, of a science based upon an observation of\nnature, of a science at first hand.  The special sciences came into\nbeing.\n\nBut the old tradition of philosophy as universal knowledge remained.\nIf we pass over the men of the transition period and turn our attention\nto Francis Bacon (1561-1626) and Rene Descartes (1596-1650), the two\nwho are commonly regarded as heading the list of the modern\nphilosophers, we find both of them assigning to the philosopher an\nalmost unlimited field.\n\nBacon holds that philosophy has for its objects God, man, and nature,\nand he regards it as within his province to treat of \"_philosophia\nprima_\" (a sort of metaphysics, though he does not call it by this\nname), of logic, of physics and astronomy, of anthropology, in which he\nincludes psychology, of ethics, and of politics.  In short, he attempts\nto map out the whole field of human knowledge, and to tell those who\nwork in this corner of it or in that how they should set about their\ntask.\n\nAs for Descartes, he writes of the trustworthiness of human knowledge,\nof the existence of God, of the existence of an external world, of the\nhuman soul and its nature, of mathematics, physics, cosmology,\nphysiology, and, in short, of nearly everything discussed by the men of\nhis day.  No man can accuse this extraordinary Frenchman of a lack of\nappreciation of the special sciences which were growing up.  No one in\nhis time had a better right to be called a scientist in the modern\nsense of the term.  But it was not enough for him to be a mere\nmathematician, or even a worker in the physical sciences generally.  He\nmust be all that has been mentioned above.\n\nThe conception of philosophy as of a something that embraces all\ndepartments of human knowledge has not wholly passed away even in our\nday.  I shall not dwell upon Spinoza (1632-1677), who believed it\npossible to deduce a world _a priori_ with mathematical precision; upon\nChristian Wolff (1679-1754), who defined philosophy as the knowledge of\nthe causes of what is or comes into being; upon Fichte (1762-1814), who\nbelieved that the philosopher, by mere thinking, could lay down the\nlaws of all possible future experience; upon Schelling (1775-1854),\nwho, without knowing anything worth mentioning about natural science,\nhad the courage to develop a system of natural philosophy, and to\ncondemn such investigators as Boyle and Newton; upon Hegel (1770-1831),\nwho undertakes to construct the whole system of reality out of\nconcepts, and who, with his immediate predecessors, brought philosophy\nfor a while into more or less disrepute with men of a scientific turn\nof mind.  I shall come down quite to our own times, and consider a man\nwhose conception of philosophy has had and still has a good deal of\ninfluence, especially with the general public--with those to whom\nphilosophy is a thing to be taken up in moments of leisure, and cannot\nbe the serious pursuit of a life.\n\n\"Knowledge of the lowest kind,\" says Herbert Spencer, \"is _un-unified_\nknowledge; Science is _partially-unified_ knowledge; Philosophy is\n_completely-unified_ knowledge.\" [1]  Science, he argues, means merely\nthe family of the Sciences--stands for nothing more than the sum of\nknowledge formed of their contributions.  Philosophy is the fusion of\nthese contributions into a whole; it is knowledge of the greatest\ngenerality.  In harmony with this notion Spencer produced a system of\nphilosophy which includes the following: A volume entitled \"First\nPrinciples,\" which undertakes to show what man can and what man cannot\nknow; a treatise on the principles of biology; another on the\nprinciples of psychology; still another on the principles of sociology;\nand finally one on the principles of morality.  To complete the scheme\nit would have been necessary to give an account of inorganic nature\nbefore going on to the phenomena of life, but our philosopher found the\ntask too great and left this out.\n\nNow, Spencer was a man of genius, and one finds in his works many\nilluminating thoughts.  But it is worthy of remark that those who\npraise his work in this or in that field are almost always men who have\nthemselves worked in some other field and have an imperfect\nacquaintance with the particular field that they happen to be praising.\nThe metaphysician finds the reasonings of the \"First Principles\" rather\nloose and inconclusive; the biologist pays little heed to the\n\"Principles of Biology\"; the sociologist finds Spencer not particularly\naccurate or careful in the field of his predilection.  He has tried to\nbe a professor of all the sciences, and it is too late in the world's\nhistory for him or for any man to cope with such a task.  In the days\nof Plato a man might have hoped to accomplish it.\n\n6. WHAT PHILOSOPHY MEANS IN OUR TIME.--It savors of temerity to write\ndown such a title as that which heads the present section.  There are\nmen living to-day to whom philosophy means little else than the\ndoctrine of Kant, or of Hegel, or of the brothers Caird, or of Herbert\nSpencer, or even of St. Thomas Aquinas, for we must not forget that\nmany of the seminaries of learning in Europe and some in America still\nhold to the mediaeval church philosophy.\n\nBut let me gather up in a few words the purport of what has been said\nabove.  Philosophy once meant the whole body of scientific knowledge.\nAfterward it came to mean the whole body of knowledge which could be\nattained by the mere light of human reason, unaided by revelation.  The\nseveral special sciences sprang up, and a multitude of men have for a\nlong time past devoted themselves to definite limited fields of\ninvestigation with little attention to what has been done in other\nfields.  Nevertheless, there has persisted the notion of a discipline\nwhich somehow concerns itself with the whole system of things, rather\nthan with any limited division of that broad field.  It is a notion not\npeculiar to the disciples of Spencer.  There are many to whom\nphilosophy is a \"_Weltweisheit_,\" a world-wisdom.  Shall we say that\nthis is the meaning of the word philosophy now?  And if we do, how\nshall we draw a line between philosophy and the body of the special\nsciences?\n\nPerhaps the most just way to get a preliminary idea of what philosophy\nmeans to the men of our time is to turn away for the time being from\nthe definition of any one man or group of men, and to ask ourselves\nwhat a professor of philosophy in an American or European university is\nactually supposed to teach.\n\nIt is quite clear that he is not supposed to be an Aristotle.  He does\nnot represent all the sciences, and no one expects him to lecture on\nmathematics, mechanics, physics, chemistry, zooelogy, botany, economics,\npolitics, and various other disciplines.  There was a time when he\nmight have been expected to teach all that men could know, but that\ntime is long past.\n\nNevertheless, there is quite a group of sciences which are regarded as\nbelonging especially to his province; and although a man may devote a\nlarge part of his attention to some one portion of the field, he would\ncertainly be thought remiss if he wholly neglected the rest.  This\ngroup of sciences includes logic, psychology, ethics and aesthetics,\nmetaphysics, and the history of philosophy.  I have not included\nepistemology or the \"theory of knowledge\" as a separate discipline, for\nreasons which will appear later (Chapter XIX); and I have included the\nhistory of philosophy, because, whether we care to call this a special\nscience or not, it constitutes a very important part of the work of the\nteacher of philosophy in our day.\n\nOf this group of subjects the student who goes to the university to\nstudy philosophy is supposed to know something before he leaves its\nwalls, whatever else he may or may not know.\n\nIt should be remarked, again, that there is commonly supposed to be a\npeculiarly close relation between philosophy and religion.  Certainly,\nif any one about a university undertakes to give a course of lectures\non theism, it is much more apt to be the professor of philosophy than\nthe professor of mathematics or of chemistry.  The man who has written\nan \"Introduction to Philosophy,\" a \"Psychology,\" a \"Logic,\" and an\n\"Outlines of Metaphysics\" is very apt to regard it as his duty to add\nto the list a \"Philosophy of Religion.\"  The students in the\ntheological seminaries of Europe and America are usually encouraged, if\nnot compelled, to attend courses in philosophy.\n\nFinally, it appears to be definitely accepted that even the disciplines\nthat we never think of classing among the philosophical sciences are\nnot wholly cut off from a connection with philosophy.  When we are\noccupied, not with adding to the stock of knowledge embraced within the\nsphere of any special science, but with an examination of the methods\nof the science, with, so to speak, a criticism of the foundations upon\nwhich the science rests, our work is generally recognized as\nphilosophical.  It strikes no one as odd in our day that there should\nbe established a \"Journal of Philosophy, Psychology, and Scientific\nMethods,\" but we should think it strange if some one announced the\nintention to publish a \"Journal of Philosophy and Comparative Anatomy.\"\nIt is not without its significance that, when Mach, who had been\nprofessor of physics at Prague, was called (in 1895) to the University\nof Vienna to lecture on the history and theory of the inductive\nsciences, he was made, not professor of physics, but professor of\nphilosophy.\n\nThe case, then, stands thus: a certain group of disciplines is regarded\nas falling peculiarly within the province of the professor of\nphilosophy, and the sciences which constitute it are frequently called\nthe philosophical sciences; moreover, it is regarded as quite proper\nthat the teacher of philosophy should concern himself with the problems\nof religion, and should pry into the methods and fundamental\nassumptions of special sciences in all of which it is impossible that\nhe should be an adept.  The question naturally arises: Why has his task\ncome to be circumscribed as it is?  Why should he teach just these\nthings and no others?\n\nTo this question certain persons are at once ready to give an answer.\nThere was a time, they argue, when it seemed possible for one man to\nembrace the whole field of human knowledge.  But human knowledge grew;\nthe special sciences were born; each concerned itself with a definite\nclass of facts and developed its own methods.  It became possible and\nnecessary for a man to be, not a scientist at large, but a chemist, a\nphysicist, a biologist, an economist.  But in certain portions of the\ngreat field men have met with peculiar difficulties; here it cannot be\nsaid that we have sciences, but rather that we have attempts at\nscience.  The philosopher is the man to whom is committed what is left\nwhen we have taken away what has been definitely established or is\nundergoing investigation according to approved scientific methods.  He\nis Lord of the Uncleared Ground, and may wander through it in his\ncompassless, irresponsible way, never feeling that he is lost, for he\nhas never had any definite bearings to lose.\n\nThose who argue in this way support their case by pointing to the lack\nof a general consensus of opinion which obtains in many parts of the\nfield which the philosopher regards as his own; and also by pointing\nout that, even within this field, there is a growing tendency on the\npart of certain sciences to separate themselves from philosophy and\nbecome independent.  Thus the psychologist and the logician are\nsometimes very anxious to have it understood that they belong among the\nscientists and not among the philosophers.\n\nNow, this answer to the question that we have raised undoubtedly\ncontains some truth.  As we have seen from the sketch contained in the\npreceding pages, the word philosophy was once a synonym for the whole\nsum of the sciences or what stood for such; gradually the several\nsciences have become independent and the field of the philosopher has\nbeen circumscribed.  We must admit, moreover, that there is to be found\nin a number of the special sciences a body of accepted facts which is\nwithout its analogue in philosophy.  In much of his work the\nphilosopher certainly seems to be walking upon more uncertain ground\nthan his neighbors; and if he is unaware of that fact, it must be\neither because he has not a very nice sense of what constitutes\nscientific evidence, or because he is carried away by his enthusiasm\nfor some particular form of doctrine.\n\nNevertheless, it is just to maintain that the answer we are discussing\nis not a satisfactory one.  For one thing, we find in it no indication\nof the reason why the particular group of disciplines with which the\nphilosopher occupies himself has been left to him, when so many\nsciences have announced their independence.  Why have not these, also,\nseparated off and set up for themselves?  Is it more difficult to work\nin these fields than in others? and, if so, what reason can be assigned\nfor the fact?\n\nTake psychology as an instance.  How does it happen that the physicist\ncalmly develops his doctrine without finding it necessary to make his\nbow to philosophy at all, while the psychologist is at pains to explain\nthat his book is to treat psychology as \"a natural science,\" and will\navoid metaphysics as much as possible?  For centuries men have been\ninterested in the phenomena of the human mind.  Can anything be more\nopen to observation than what passes in a man's own consciousness?\nWhy, then, should the science of psychology lag behind? and why these\nendless disputes as to whether it can really be treated as a \"natural\nscience\" at all?\n\nAgain.  May we assume that, because certain disciplines have taken a\nposition of relative independence, therefore all the rest of the field\nwill surely come to be divided up in the same way, and that there will\nbe many special sciences, but no such thing as philosophy?  It is hasty\nto assume this on no better evidence than that which has so far been\npresented.  Before making up one's mind upon this point, one should\ntake a careful look at the problems with which the philosopher occupies\nhimself.\n\nA complete answer to the questions raised above can only be given in\nthe course of the book, where the main problems of philosophy are\ndiscussed, and the several philosophical sciences are taken up and\nexamined.  But I may say, in anticipation, as much as this:--\n\n(1) Philosophy is reflective knowledge.  What is meant by reflective\nknowledge will be explained at length in the next chapter.\n\n(2) The sciences which are grouped together as philosophical are those\nin which we are forced back upon the problems of reflective thought,\nand cannot simply put them aside.\n\n(3) The peculiar difficulties of reflective thought may account for the\nfact that these sciences are, more than others, a field in which we may\nexpect to find disputes and differences of opinion.\n\n(4) We need not be afraid that the whole field of human knowledge will\ncome to be so divided up into special sciences that philosophy will\ndisappear.  The problems with which the philosopher occupies himself\nare real problems, which present themselves unavoidably to the\nthoughtful mind, and it is not convenient to divide these up among the\nseveral sciences.  This will become clearer as we proceed.\n\n\n[1] \"First Principles,\" Part II, section 37.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nCOMMON THOUGHT, SCIENCE, AND REFLECTIVE THOUGHT\n\n7. COMMON THOUGHT.--Those who have given little attention to the study\nof the human mind are apt to suppose that, when the infant opens its\neyes upon the new world of objects surrounding its small body, it sees\nthings much as they do themselves.  They are ready to admit that it\ndoes not know much _about_ things, but it strikes them as absurd for\nany one to go so far as to say that it does not see things--the things\nout there in space before its eyes.\n\nNevertheless, the psychologist tells us that it requires quite a course\nof education to enable us to see things--not to have vague and\nunmeaning sensations, but to see things, things that are known to be\ntouchable as well as seeable, things that are recognized as having size\nand shape and position in space.  And he aims a still severer blow at\nour respect for the infant when he goes on to inform us that the little\ncreature is as ignorant of itself as it is of things; that in its small\nworld of as yet unorganized experiences there is no self that is\ndistinguished from other things; that it may cry vociferously without\nknowing who is uncomfortable, and may stop its noise without knowing\nwho has been taken up into the nurse's arms and has experienced an\nagreeable change.\n\nThis chaotic little world of the dawning life is not our world, the\nworld of common thought, the world in which we all live and move in\nmaturer years; nor can we go back to it on the wings of memory.  We\nseem to ourselves to have always lived in a world of things,--things in\ntime and space, material things.  Among these things there is one of\npeculiar interest, and which we have not placed upon a par with the\nrest, our own body, which sees, tastes, touches, other things.  We\ncannot remember a time when we did not know that with this body are\nsomehow bound up many experiences which interest us acutely; for\nexample, experiences of pleasure and pain.  Moreover, we seem always to\nhave known that certain of the bodies which surround our own rather\nresemble our own, and are in important particulars to be distinguished\nfrom the general mass of bodies.\n\nThus, we seem always to have been living in a world of _things_ and to\nhave recognized in that world the existence of ourselves and of other\npeople.  When we now think of \"ourselves\" and of \"other people,\" we\nthink of each of the objects referred to as possessing a _mind_.  May\nwe say that, as far back as we can remember, we have thought of\nourselves and of other persons as possessing minds?\n\nHardly.  The young child does not seem to distinguish between mind and\nbody, and, in the vague and fragmentary pictures which come back to us\nfrom our early life, certainly this distinction does not stand out.\nThe child may be the completest of egoists, it may be absorbed in\nitself and all that directly concerns this particular self, and yet it\nmay make no conscious distinction between a bodily self and a mental,\nbetween mind and body.  It does not explicitly recognize its world as a\nworld that contains minds as well as bodies.\n\nBut, however it may be with the child in the earlier stages of its\ndevelopment, we must all admit that the mature man does consciously\nrecognize that the world in which he finds himself is a world that\ncontains minds as well as bodies.  It never occurs to him to doubt that\nthere are bodies, and it never occurs to him to doubt that there are\nminds.\n\nDoes he not perceive that he has a body and a mind?  Has he not\nabundant evidence that his mind is intimately related to his body?\nWhen he shuts his eyes, he no longer sees, and when he stops his ears,\nhe no longer hears; when his body is bruised, he feels pain; when he\nwills to raise his hand, his body carries out the mental decree.  Other\nmen act very much as he does; they walk and they talk, they laugh and\nthey cry, they work and they play, just as he does.  In short, they act\nprecisely as though they had minds like his own.  What more natural\nthan to assume that, as he himself gives expression, by the actions of\nhis body, to the thoughts and emotions in his mind, so his neighbor\ndoes the same?\n\nWe must not allow ourselves to underrate the plain man's knowledge\neither of bodies or of minds.  It seems, when one reflects upon it, a\nsufficiently wonderful thing that a few fragmentary sensations should\nautomatically receive an interpretation which conjures up before the\nmind a world of real things; that, for example, the little patch of\ncolor sensation which I experience when I turn my eyes toward the\nwindow should seem to introduce me at once to a world of material\nobjects lying in space, clearly defined in magnitude, distance, and\ndirection; that an experience no more complex should be the key which\nshould unlock for me the secret storehouse of another mind, and lay\nbefore me a wealth of thoughts and emotions not my own.  From the poor,\nbare, meaningless world of the dawning intelligence to the world of\ncommon thought, a world in which real things with their manifold\nproperties, things material and things mental, bear their part, is\nindeed a long step.\n\nAnd we should never forget that he who would go farther, he who would\nstrive to gain a better knowledge of matter and of mind by the aid of\nscience and of philosophical reflection, must begin his labors on this\nfoundation which is common to us all.  How else can he begin than by\naccepting and more critically examining the world as it seems revealed\nin the experience of the race?\n\n8. SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE.--Still, the knowledge of the world which we\nhave been discussing is rather indefinite, inaccurate, and\nunsystematic.  It is a sufficient guide for common life, but its\ndeficiencies may be made apparent.  He who wishes to know matter and\nmind better cannot afford to neglect the sciences.\n\nNow, it is important to observe that although, when the plain man grows\nscientific, great changes take place in his knowledge of things, yet\nhis way of looking at the mind and the world remains in general much\nwhat it was before.  To prevent this statement from being\nmisunderstood, I must explain it at some length.\n\nLet us suppose that the man in question takes up the study of botany.\nNeed he do anything very different from what is done more imperfectly\nby every intelligent man who interests himself in plants?  There in the\nreal material world before him are the same plants that he observed\nsomewhat carelessly before.  He must collect his information more\nsystematically and must arrange it more critically, but his task is not\nso much to do something different as it is to do the same thing much\nbetter.\n\nThe same is evidently true of various other sciences, such as geology,\nzooelogy, physiology, sociology.  Some men have much accurate\ninformation regarding rocks, animals, the functions of the bodily\norgans, the development of a given form of society, and other things of\nthe sort, and other men have but little; and yet it is usually not\ndifficult for the man who knows much to make the man who knows little\nunderstand, at least, what he is talking about.  He is busying himself\nwith _things_--the same things that interest the plain man, and of\nwhich the plain man knows something.  He has collected information\ntouching their properties, their changes, their relationships; but to\nhim, as to his less scientific neighbor, they are the same things they\nalways were,--things that he has known from the days of childhood.\n\nPerhaps it will be admitted that this is true of such sciences as those\nabove indicated, but doubted whether it is true of all the sciences,\neven of all the sciences which are directly concerned with _things_ of\n_some_ sort.  For example, to the plain man the world of material\nthings consists of things that can be seen and touched.  Many of these\nseem to fill space continuously.  They may be divided, but the parts\ninto which they may be divided are conceived as fragments of the\nthings, and as of the same general nature as the wholes of which they\nare parts.  Yet the chemist and the physicist tell us that these same\nextended things are not really continuous, as they seem to us to be,\nbut consist of swarms of imperceptible atoms, in rapid motion, at\nconsiderable distances from one another in space, and grouped in\nvarious ways.\n\nWhat has now become of the world of realities to which the plain man\npinned his faith?  It has come to be looked upon as a world of\nappearances, of phenomena, of manifestations, under which the real\nthings, themselves imperceptible, make their presence evident to our\nsenses.  Is this new, real world the world of things in which the plain\nman finds himself, and in which he has felt so much at home?\n\nA closer scrutiny reveals that the world of atoms and molecules into\nwhich the man of science resolves the system of material things is not,\nafter all, so very different in kind from the world to which the plain\nman is accustomed.  He can understand without difficulty the language\nin which it is described to him, and he can readily see how a man may\nbe led to assume its existence.\n\nThe atom is not, it is true, directly perceivable by sense, but it is\nconceived as though it and its motions were thus perceivable.  The\nplain man has long known that things consist of parts which remain,\nunder some circumstances, invisible.  When he approaches an object from\na distance, he sees parts which he could not see before; and what\nappears to the naked eye a mere speck without perceptible parts is\nfound under the microscope to be an insect with its full complement of\nmembers.  Moreover, he has often observed that objects which appear\ncontinuous when seen from a distance are evidently far from continuous\nwhen seen close at hand.  As we walk toward a tree we can see the\nindefinite mass of color break up into discontinuous patches; a fabric,\nwhich presents the appearance of an unbroken surface when viewed in\ncertain ways may be seen to be riddled with holes when held between the\neye and the light.  There is no man who has not some acquaintance with\nthe distinction between appearance and reality, and who does not make\nuse of the distinction in common life.\n\nNor can it seem a surprising fact that different combinations of atoms\nshould exhibit different properties.  Have we not always known that\nthings in combination are apt to have different properties from the\nsame things taken separately?  He who does not know so much as this is\nnot fit even to be a cook.\n\nNo, the imperceptible world of atoms and molecules is not by any means\ntotally different from the world of things in which the plain man\nlives.  These little objects and groups of objects are discussed very\nmuch as we discuss the larger objects and groups of objects to which we\nare accustomed.  We are still concerned with _things_ which exist in\nspace and move about in space; and even if these things are small and\nare not very familiarly known, no intellectual revolution is demanded\nto enable a man to understand the words of the scientist who is talking\nabout them, and to understand as well the sort of reasonings upon which\nthe doctrine is based.\n\n9. MATHEMATICS.--Let us now turn to take a glance at the mathematical\nsciences.  Of course, these have to do with things sooner or later, for\nour mathematical reasonings would be absolutely useless to us if they\ncould not be applied to the world of things; but in mathematical\nreasonings we abstract from things for the time being, confident that\nwe can come back to them when we want to do so, and can make use of the\nresults obtained in our operations.\n\nNow, every civilized man who is not mentally deficient can perform the\nfundamental operations of arithmetic.  He can add and subtract,\nmultiply and divide.  In other words, he can use _numbers_.  The man\nwho has become an accomplished mathematician can use numbers much\nbetter; but if we are capable of following intelligently the intricate\nseries of operations that he carries out on the paper before us, and\ncan see the significance of the system of signs which he uses as an\naid, we shall realize that he is only doing in more complicated ways\nwhat we have been accustomed to do almost from our childhood.\n\nIf we are interested, not so much in performing the operations, as in\ninquiring into what really takes place in a mind when several units are\ngrasped together and made into a new unit,--for example, when twelve\nunits are thought as one dozen,--the mathematician has a right to say:\nI leave all that to the psychologist or to the metaphysician; every one\nknows in a general way what is meant by a unit, and knows that units\ncan be added and subtracted, grouped and separated; I only undertake to\nshow how one may avoid error in doing these things.\n\nIt is with geometry as it is with arithmetic.  No man is wholly\nignorant of points, lines, surfaces, and solids.  We are all aware that\na short line is not a point, a narrow surface is not a line, and a thin\nsolid is not a mere surface.  A door so thin as to have only one side\nwould be repudiated by every man of sense as a monstrosity.  When the\ngeometrician defines for us the point, the line, the surface, and the\nsolid, and when he sets before us an array of axioms, or self-evident\ntruths, we follow him with confidence because he seems to be telling us\nthings that we can directly see to be reasonable; indeed, to be telling\nus things that we have always known.\n\nThe truth is that the geometrician does not introduce us to a new world\nat all.  He merely gives us a fuller and a more exact account than was\nbefore within our reach of the space relations which obtain in the\nworld of external objects, a world we already know pretty well.\n\nSuppose that we say to him: You have spent many years in dividing up\nspace and in scrutinizing the relations that are to be discovered in\nthat realm; now tell us, what is space?  Is it real?  Is it a thing, or\na quality of a thing, or merely a relation between things?  And how can\nany man think space, when the ideas through which he must think it are\nsupposed to be themselves non-extended?  The space itself is not\nsupposed to be in the mind; how can a collection of non-extended ideas\ngive any inkling of what is meant by extension?\n\nWould any teacher of mathematics dream of discussing these questions\nwith his class before proceeding to the proof of his propositions?  It\nis generally admitted that, if such questions are to be answered at\nall, it is not with the aid of geometrical reasonings that they will be\nanswered.\n\n10. THE SCIENCE OF PSYCHOLOGY.--Now let us come back to a science which\nhas to do directly with things.  We have seen that the plain man has\nsome knowledge of minds as well as of material things.  Every one\nadmits that the psychologist knows minds better.  May we say that his\nknowledge of minds differs from that of the plain man about as the\nknowledge of plants possessed by the botanist differs from that of all\nintelligent persons who have cared to notice them?  Or is it a\nknowledge of a quite different kind?\n\nThose who are familiar with the development of the sciences within\nrecent years have had occasion to remark the fact that psychology has\nbeen coming more and more to take its place as an independent science.\nFormerly it was regarded as part of the duty of the philosopher to\ntreat of the mind and its knowledge; but the psychologist who pretends\nto be no more than a psychologist is a product of recent times.  This\ntendency toward specialization is a natural thing, and is quite in line\nwith what has taken place in other fields of investigation.\n\nWhen any science becomes an independent discipline, it is recognized\nthat it is a more or less limited field in which work of a certain kind\nis done in a certain way.  Other fields and other kinds of work are to\nsome extent ignored.  But it is quite to be expected that there should\nbe some dispute, especially at first, as to what does or does not\nproperly fall within the limits of a given science.  Where these limits\nshall be placed is, after all, a matter of convenience; and sometimes\nit is not well to be too strict in marking off one field from another.\nIt is well to watch the actual development of a science, and to note\nthe direction instinctively taken by investigators in that particular\nfield.\n\nIf we compare the psychology of a generation or so ago with that of the\npresent day, we cannot but be struck with the fact that there is an\nincreasing tendency to treat psychology as a _natural science_.  By\nthis is not meant, of course, that there is no difference between\npsychology and the sciences that concern themselves with the world of\nmaterial things--psychology has to do primarily with minds and not with\nbodies.  But it is meant that, as the other sciences improve upon the\nknowledge of the plain man without wholly recasting it, as they accept\nthe world in which he finds himself and merely attempt to give us a\nbetter account of it, so the psychologist may accept the world of\nmatter and of minds recognized by common thought, and may devote\nhimself to the study of minds, without attempting to solve a class of\nproblems discussed by the metaphysician.  For example, he may refuse to\ndiscuss the question whether the mind can really know that there is an\nexternal world with which it stands in relation, and from which it\nreceives messages along the avenues of the senses.  He may claim that\nit is no more his business to treat of this than it is the business of\nthe mathematician to treat of the ultimate nature of space.\n\nThus the psychologist assumes without question the existence of an\nexternal real world, a world of matter and motion.  He finds in this\nworld certain organized bodies that present phenomena which he regards\nas indicative of the presence of minds.  He accepts it as a fact that\neach mind knows its own states directly, and knows everything else by\ninference from those states, receiving messages from the outer world\nalong one set of nerves and reacting along another set.  He conceives\nof minds as wholly dependent upon messages thus conveyed to them from\nwithout.  He tells us how a mind, by the aid of such messages,\ngradually builds up for itself the notion of the external world and of\nthe other minds which are connected with bodies to be found in that\nworld.\n\nWe may fairly say that all this is merely a development of and an\nimprovement upon the plain man's knowledge of minds and of bodies.\nThere is no normal man who does not know that his mind is more\nintimately related to his body than it is to other bodies.  We all\ndistinguish between our ideas of things and the external things they\nrepresent, and we believe that our knowledge of things comes to us\nthrough the avenues of the senses.  Must we not open our eyes to see,\nand unstop our ears to hear?  We all know that we do not perceive other\nminds directly, but must infer their contents from what takes place in\nthe bodies to which they are referred--from words and actions.\nMoreover, we know that a knowledge of the outer world and of other\nminds is built up gradually, and we never think of an infant as knowing\nwhat a man knows, much as we are inclined to overrate the minds of\ninfants.\n\nThe fact that the plain man and the psychologist do not greatly differ\nin their point of view must impress every one who is charged with the\ntask of introducing students to the study of psychology and philosophy.\nIt is rather an easy thing to make them follow the reasonings of the\npsychologist, so long as he avoids metaphysical reflections.  The\nassumptions which he makes seem to them not unreasonable; and, as for\nhis methods of investigation, there is no one of them which they have\nnot already employed themselves in a more or less blundering way.  They\nhave had recourse to _introspection_, _i.e._ they have noticed the\nphenomena of their own minds; they have made use of the _objective\nmethod_, i.e. they have observed the signs of mind exhibited by other\npersons and by the brutes; they have sometimes _experimented_--this is\ndone by the schoolgirl who tries to find out how best to tease her\nroommate, and by the boy who covers and uncovers his ears in church to\nmake the preacher sing a tune.\n\nIt may not be easy to make men good psychologists, but it is certainly\nnot difficult to make them understand what the psychologist is doing\nand to make them realize the value of his work.  He, like the workers\nin the other natural sciences, takes for granted the world of the plain\nman, the world of material things in space and time and of minds\nrelated to those material things.  But when it is a question of\nintroducing the student to the reflections of the philosophers the case\nis very different.  We seem to be enticing him into a new and a strange\nworld, and he is apt to be filled with suspicion and distrust.  The\nmost familiar things take on an unfamiliar aspect, and questions are\nraised which it strikes the unreflective man as highly absurd even to\npropose.  Of this world of reflective thought I shall say just a word\nin what follows.\n\n11. REFLECTIVE THOUGHT.--If we ask our neighbor to meet us somewhere at\na given hour, he has no difficulty in understanding what we have\nrequested him to do.  If he wishes to do so, he can be on the spot at\nthe proper moment.  He may never have asked himself in his whole life\nwhat he means by space and by time.  He may be quite ignorant that\nthoughtful men have disputed concerning the nature of these for\ncenturies past.\n\nAnd a man may go through the world avoiding disaster year after year by\ndistinguishing with some success between what is real and what is not\nreal, and yet he may be quite unable to tell us what, in general, it\nmeans for a thing to be real.  Some things are real and some are not;\nas a rule he seems to be able to discover the difference; of his method\nof procedure he has never tried to give an account to himself.\n\nThat he has a mind he cannot doubt, and he has some idea of the\ndifference between it and certain other minds; but even the most ardent\nchampion of the plain man must admit that he has the most hazy of\nnotions touching the nature of his mind.  He seems to be more doubtful\nconcerning the nature of the mind and its knowledge than he is\nconcerning the nature of external things.  Certainly he appears to be\nmore willing to admit his ignorance in this realm.\n\nAnd yet the man can hold his own in the world of real things.  He can\ndistinguish between this thing and that, this place and that, this time\nand that.  He can think out a plan and carry it into execution; he can\nguess at the contents of other minds and allow this knowledge to find\nits place in his plan.\n\nAll of which proves that our knowledge is not necessarily useless\nbecause it is rather dim and vague.  It is one thing to use a mental\nstate; it is another to have a clear comprehension of just what it is\nand of what elements it may be made up.  The plain man does much of his\nthinking as we all tie our shoes and button our buttons.  It would be\ndifficult for us to describe these operations, but we may perform them\nvery easily nevertheless.  When we say that we _know_ how to tie our\nshoes, we only mean that we can tie them.\n\nNow, enough has been said in the preceding sections to make clear that\nthe vagueness which characterizes many notions which constantly recur\nin common thought is not wholly dispelled by the study of the several\nsciences.  The man of science, like the plain man, may be able to use\nvery well for certain purposes concepts which he is not able to analyze\nsatisfactorily.  For example, he speaks of space and time, cause and\neffect, substance and qualities, matter and mind, reality and\nunreality.  He certainly is in a position to add to our knowledge of\nthe things covered by these terms.  But we should never overlook the\nfact that the new knowledge which he gives us is a knowledge of the\nsame kind as that which we had before.  He measures for us spaces and\ntimes; he does not tell us what space and time are.  He points out the\ncauses of a multitude of occurrences; he does not tell us what we mean\nwhenever we use the word \"cause.\"  He informs us what we should accept\nas real and what we should repudiate as unreal; he does not try to show\nus what it is to be real and what it is to be unreal.\n\nIn other words, the man of science _extends_ our knowledge and makes it\nmore accurate; he does not _analyze_ certain fundamental conceptions,\nwhich we all use, but of which we can usually give a very poor account.\n\nOn the other hand, it is the task of _reflective thought_, not in the\nfirst instance, to extend the limits of our knowledge of the world of\nmatter and of minds, but rather _to make us more clearly conscious of\nwhat that knowledge really is_.  Philosophical reflection takes up and\ntries to analyze complex thoughts that men use daily without caring to\nanalyze them, indeed, without even realizing that they may be subjected\nto analysis.\n\nIt is to be expected that it should impress many of those who are\nintroduced to it for the first time as rather a fantastic creation of\nproblems that do not present themselves naturally to the healthy mind.\nThere is no thoughtful man who does not reflect sometimes and about\nsome things; but there are few who feel impelled to go over the whole\nedifice of their knowledge and examine it with a critical eye from its\nturrets to its foundations.  In a sense, we may say that philosophical\nthought is not natural, for he who is examining the assumptions upon\nwhich all our ordinary thought about the world rests is no longer in\nthe world of the plain man.  He is treating things as men do not\ncommonly treat them, and it is perhaps natural that it should appear to\nsome that, in the solvent which he uses, the real world in which we all\nrejoice should seem to dissolve and disappear.\n\nI have said that it is not the task of reflective thought, _in the\nfirst instance_, to extend the limits of our knowledge of the world of\nmatter and of minds.  This is true.  But this does not mean that, as a\nresult of a careful reflective analysis, some errors which may creep\ninto the thought both of the plain man and of the scientist may not be\nexploded; nor does it mean that some new extensions of our knowledge\nmay not be suggested.\n\nIn the chapters to follow I shall take up and examine some of the\nproblems of reflective thought.  And I shall consider first those\nproblems that present themselves to those who try to subject to a\ncareful scrutiny our knowledge of the external world.  It is well to\nbegin with this, for, even in our common experience, it seems to be\nrevealed that the knowledge of material things is a something less\nvague and indefinite than the knowledge of minds.\n\n\n\n\nII.  PROBLEMS TOUCHING THE EXTERNAL WORLD\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nIS THERE AN EXTERNAL WORLD?\n\n12. HOW THE PLAIN MAN THINKS HE KNOWS THE WORLD.--As schoolboys we\nenjoyed Cicero's joke at the expense of the \"minute philosophers.\"\nThey denied the immortality of the soul; he affirmed it; and he\ncongratulated himself upon the fact that, if they were right, they\nwould not survive to discover it and to triumph over him.\n\nAt the close of the seventeenth century the philosopher John Locke was\nguilty of a joke of somewhat the same kind.  \"I think,\" said he,\n\"nobody can, in earnest, be so skeptical as to be uncertain of the\nexistence of those things which he sees and feels.  At least, he that\ncan doubt so far (whatever he may have with his own thoughts) will\nnever have any controversy with me; since he can never be sure I say\nanything contrary to his own opinion.\"\n\nNow, in this chapter and in certain chapters to follow, I am going to\ntake up and turn over, so that we may get a good look at them, some of\nthe problems that have presented themselves to those who have reflected\nupon the world and the mind as they seem given in our experience.  I\nshall begin by asking whether it is not possible to doubt that there is\nan external world at all.\n\nThe question cannot best be answered by a jest.  It may, of course, be\nabsurd to maintain that there is no external world; but surely he, too,\nis in an absurd position who maintains dogmatically that there is one,\nand is yet quite unable to find any flaw in the reasonings of the man\nwho seems to be able to show that this belief has no solid foundation.\nAnd we must not forget that the men who have thought it worth while to\nraise just such questions as this, during the last twenty centuries,\nhave been among the most brilliant intellects of the race.  We must not\nassume too hastily that they have occupied themselves with mere\ntrivialities.\n\nSince, therefore, so many thoughtful men have found it worth while to\nask themselves seriously whether there is an external world, or, at\nleast, how we can know that there is an external world, it is not\nunreasonable to expect that, by looking for it, we may find in our\ncommon experience or in science some difficulty sufficient to suggest\nthe doubt which at first strikes the average man as preposterous.  In\nwhat can such a doubt take its rise?  Let us see.\n\nI think it is scarcely too much to say that the plain man believes that\nhe _does not_ directly perceive an external world, and that he, at the\nsame time, believes that he _does_ directly perceive one.  It is quite\npossible to believe contradictory things, when one's thought of them is\nsomewhat vague, and when one does not consciously bring them together.\n\nAs to the first-mentioned belief.  Does not the plain man distinguish\nbetween his ideas of things and the things themselves?  Does he not\nbelieve that his ideas come to him through the avenues of the senses?\nIs he not aware of the fact that, when a sense is disordered, the thing\nas he perceives it is not like the thing \"as it is\"?  A blind man does\nnot see things when they are there; a color-blind man sees them as\nothers do not see them; a man suffering under certain abnormal\nconditions of the nervous system sees things when they are not there at\nall, _i.e._ he has hallucinations.  The thing itself, as it seems, is\nnot in the man's mind; it is the idea that is in the man's mind, and\nthat represents the thing.  Sometimes it appears to give a true account\nof it; sometimes it seems to give a garbled account; sometimes it is a\nfalse representative throughout--there is no reality behind it.  It is,\nthen, the _idea_ that is immediately known, and not the _thing_; the\nthing is merely _inferred_ to exist.\n\nI do not mean to say that the plain man is conscious of drawing this\nconclusion.  I only maintain that it seems a natural conclusion to draw\nfrom the facts which he recognizes, and that sometimes he seems to draw\nthe conclusion half-consciously.\n\nOn the other hand, we must all admit that when the plain man is not\nthinking about the distinction between ideas and things, but is looking\nat some material object before him, is touching it with his fingers and\nturning it about to get a good look at it, it never occurs to him that\nhe is not directly conscious of the thing itself.\n\nHe seems to himself to perceive the thing immediately; to perceive it\n_as_ it is and _where_ it is; to perceive it as a really extended\nthing, out there in space before his body.  He does not think of\nhimself as occupied with mere images, representations of the object.\nHe may be willing to admit that his mind is in his head, but he cannot\nthink that what he sees is in his head.  Is not the object _there_?\ndoes he not _see_ and _feel_ it?  Why doubt such evidence as this?  He\nwho tells him that the external world does not exist seems to be\ndenying what is immediately given in his experience.\n\nThe man who looks at things in this way assumes, of course, that the\nexternal object is known directly, and is not a something merely\ninferred to exist from the presence of a representative image.  May one\nembrace this belief and abandon the other one?  If we elect to do this,\nwe appear to be in difficulties at once.  All the considerations which\nmade us distinguish so carefully between our ideas of things and the\nthings themselves crowd in upon us.  Can it be that we know things\nindependently of the avenues of the senses?  Would a man with different\nsenses know things just as we do?  How can any man suffer from an\nhallucination, if things are not inferred from images, but are known\nindependently?\n\nThe difficulties encountered appear sufficiently serious even if we\nkeep to that knowledge of things which seems to be given in common\nexperience.  But even the plain man has heard of atoms and molecules;\nand if he accepts the extension of knowledge offered him by the man of\nscience, he must admit that, whatever this apparently immediately\nperceived external thing may be, it cannot be the external thing that\nscience assures him is out there in space beyond his body, and which\nmust be a very different sort of thing from the thing he seems to\nperceive.  The thing he perceives must, then, be _appearance_; and\nwhere can that appearance be if not in his own mind?\n\nThe man who has made no study of philosophy at all does not usually\nthink these things out; but surely there are interrogation marks\nwritten up all over his experience, and he misses them only because he\ndoes not see clearly.  By judiciously asking questions one may often\nlead him either to affirm or to deny that he has an immediate knowledge\nof the external world, pretty much as one pleases.  If he affirms it,\nhis position does not seem to be a wholly satisfactory one, as we have\nseen; and if he denies it, he makes the existence of the external world\nwholly a matter of inference from the presence of ideas in the mind,\nand he must stand ready to justify this inference.\n\nTo many men it has seemed that the inference is not an easy one to\njustify.  One may say: We could have no ideas of things, no sensations,\nif real things did not exist and make an impression upon our senses.\nBut to this it may be answered: How is that statement to be proved?  Is\nit to be proved by observing that, when things are present and affect\nthe senses, there come into being ideas which represent the things?\nEvidently such a proof as this is out of the question, for, if it is\ntrue that we know external things only by inference and never\nimmediately, then we can never prove by observation that ideas and\nthings are thus connected.  And if it is not to be proved by\nobservation, how shall it be proved?  Shall we just assume it\ndogmatically and pass on to something else?  Surely there is enough in\nthe experience of the plain man to justify him in raising the question\nwhether he can certainly know that there is an external world.\n\n13. THE PSYCHOLOGIST AND THE EXTERNAL WORLD.--We have seen just above\nthat the doubt regarding the existence of the world seems to have its\nroot in the familiar distinction between ideas and things, appearances\nand the realities which they are supposed to represent.  The\npsychologist has much to say about ideas; and if sharpening and making\nclear this distinction has anything to do with stirring up doubts, it\nis natural to suppose that they should become more insistent when one\nhas exchanged the ignorance of everyday life for the knowledge of the\npsychologist.\n\nNow, when the psychologist asks how a given mind comes to have a\nknowledge of any external thing, he finds his answer in the messages\nwhich have been brought to the mind by means of the bodily senses.  He\ndescribes the sense-organs and the nervous connections between these\nand the brain, and tells us that when certain nervous impulses have\ntraveled, let us say, from the eye or the ear to the brain, one has\nsensations of sight or sound.\n\nHe describes for us in detail how, out of such sensations and the\nmemories of such sensations, we frame mental images of external things.\nBetween the mental image and the thing that it represents he\ndistinguishes sharply, and he informs us that the mind knows no more\nabout the external thing than is contained in such images.  That a\nthing is present can be known only by the fact that a message from the\nthing is sent along the nerves, and what the thing is must be\ndetermined from the character of the message.  Given the image in the\nabsence of the thing,--that is to say, an hallucination,--the mind will\nnaturally suppose that the thing is present.  This false supposition\ncannot be corrected by a direct inspection of the thing, for such a\ndirect inspection of things is out of the question.  The only way in\nwhich the mind concerned can discover that the thing is absent is by\nreferring to its other experiences.  This image is compared with other\nimages and is discovered to be in some way abnormal.  We decide that it\nis a false representative and has no corresponding reality behind it.\n\nThis doctrine taken as it stands seems to cut the mind off from the\nexternal world very completely; and the most curious thing about it is\nthat it seems to be built up on the assumption that it is not really\ntrue.  How can one know certainly that there is a world of material\nthings, including human bodies with their sense-organs and nerves, if\nno mind has ever been able to inspect directly anything of the sort?\nHow can we tell that a sensation arises when a nervous impulse has been\ncarried along a sensory nerve and has reached the brain, if every mind\nis shut up to the charmed circle of its own ideas?  The anatomist and\nthe physiologist give us very detailed accounts of the sense-organs and\nof the brain; the physiologist even undertakes to measure the speed\nwith which the impulse passes along a nerve; the psychologist accepts\nand uses the results of their labors.  But can all this be done in the\nabsence of any first-hand knowledge of the things of which one is\ntalking?  Remember that, if the psychologist is right, any external\nobject, eye, ear, nerve, or brain, which we can perceive directly, is a\nmental complex, a something in the mind and not external at all.  How\nshall we prove that there are objects, ears, eyes, nerves, and\nbrains,--in short, all the requisite mechanism for the calling into\nexistence of sensations,--in an outer world which is not immediately\nperceived but is only inferred to exist?\n\nI do not wish to be regarded as impugning the right of the psychologist\nto make the assumptions which he does, and to work as he does.  He has\na right to assume, with the plain man, that there is an external world\nand that we know it.  But a very little reflection must make it\nmanifest that he seems, at least, to be guilty of an inconsistency, and\nthat he who wishes to think clearly should strive to see just where the\ntrouble lies.\n\nSo much, at least, is evident: the man who is inclined to doubt whether\nthere is, after all, any real external world, appears to find in the\npsychologist's distinction between ideas and things something like an\nexcuse for his doubt.  To get to the bottom of the matter and to\ndissipate his doubt one has to go rather deeply into metaphysics.  I\nmerely wish to show just here that the doubt is not a gratuitous one,\nbut is really suggested to the thoughtful mind by a reflection upon our\nexperience of things.  And, as we are all apt to think that the man of\nscience is less given to busying himself with useless subtleties than\nis the philosopher, I shall, before closing this chapter, present some\nparagraphs upon the subject from the pen of a professor of mathematics\nand mechanics.\n\n14. THE \"TELEPHONE EXCHANGE.\"--\"We are accustomed to talk,\" writes\nProfessor Karl Pearson,[1] \"of the 'external world,' of the 'reality'\noutside us.  We speak of individual objects having an existence\nindependent of our own.  The store of past sense-impressions, our\nthoughts and memories, although most probably they have beside their\npsychical element a close correspondence with some physical change or\nimpress in the brain, are yet spoken of as _inside_ ourselves.  On the\nother hand, although if a sensory nerve be divided anywhere short of\nthe brain, we lose the corresponding class of sense impression, we yet\nspeak of many sense-impressions, such as form and texture, as existing\noutside ourselves.  How close then can we actually get to this supposed\nworld outside ourselves?  Just as near but no nearer than the brain\nterminals of the sensory nerves.  We are like the clerk in the central\ntelephone exchange who cannot get nearer to his customers than his end\nof the telephone wires.  We are indeed worse off than the clerk, for to\ncarry out the analogy properly we must suppose him _never to have been\noutside the telephone exchange, never to have seen a customer or any\none like a customer--in short, never, except through the telephone\nwire, to have come in contact with the outside universe_.  Of that\n'real' universe outside himself he would be able to form no direct\nimpression; the real universe for him would be the aggregate of his\nconstructs from the messages which were caused by the telephone wires\nin his office.  About those messages and the ideas raised in his mind\nby them he might reason and draw his inferences; and his conclusions\nwould be correct--for what?  For the world of telephonic messages, for\nthe type of messages that go through the telephone.  Something definite\nand valuable he might know with regard to the spheres of action and of\nthought of his telephonic subscribers, but outside those spheres he\ncould have no experience.  Pent up in his office he could never have\nseen or touched even a telephonic subscriber _in himself_.  Very much\nin the position of such a telephone clerk is the conscious _ego_ of\neach one of us seated at the brain terminals of the sensory nerves.\nNot a step nearer than those terminals can the _ego_ get to the 'outer\nworld,' and what in and for themselves are the subscribers to its nerve\nexchange it has no means of ascertaining.  Messages in the form of\nsense-impressions come flowing in from that 'outside world,' and these\nwe analyze, classify, store up, and reason about.  But of the nature of\n'things-in-themselves,' of what may exist at the other end of our\nsystem of telephone wires, we know nothing at all.\n\n\"But the reader, perhaps, remarks, 'I not only see an object, but I can\n_touch_ it.  I can trace the nerve from the tip of my finger to the\nbrain.  I am not like the telephone clerk, I can follow my network of\nwires to their terminals and find what is at the other end of them.'\nCan you, reader?  Think for a moment whether your _ego_ has for one\nmoment got away from his brain exchange.  The sense-impression that you\ncall touch was just as much as sight felt only at the brain end of a\nsensory nerve.  What has told you also of the nerve from the tip of\nyour finger to your brain?  Why, sense-impressions also, messages\nconveyed along optic or tactile sensory nerves.  In truth, all you have\nbeen doing is to employ one subscriber to your telephone exchange to\ntell you about the wire that goes to a second, but you are just as far\nas ever from tracing out for yourself the telephone wires to the\nindividual subscriber and ascertaining what his nature is in and for\nhimself.  The immediate sense-impression is just as far removed from\nwhat you term the 'outside world' as the store of impresses.  If our\ntelephone clerk had recorded by aid of a phonograph certain of the\nmessages from the outside world on past occasions, then if any\ntelephonic message on its receipt set several phonographs repeating\npast messages, we have an image analogous to what goes on in the brain.\nBoth telephone and phonograph are equally removed from what the clerk\nmight call the 'real outside world,' but they enable him through their\nsounds to construct a universe; he projects those sounds, which are\nreally inside his office, outside his office, and speaks of them as the\nexternal universe.  This outside world is constructed by him from the\ncontents of the inside sounds, which differ as widely from\nthings-in-themselves as language, the symbol, must always differ from\nthe thing it symbolizes.  For our telephone clerk sounds would be the\nreal world, and yet we can see how conditioned and limited it would be\nby the range of his particular telephone subscribers and by the\ncontents of their messages.\n\n\"So it is with our brain; the sounds from telephone and phonograph\ncorrespond to immediate and stored sense-impressions.  These\nsense-impressions we project as it were outwards and term the real\nworld outside ourselves.  But the things-in-themselves which the\nsense-impressions symbolize, the 'reality,' as the metaphysicians wish\nto call it, at the other end of the nerve, remains unknown and is\nunknowable.  Reality of the external world lies for science and for us\nin combinations of form and color and touch--sense-impressions as\nwidely divergent from the thing 'at the other end of the nerve' as the\nsound of the telephone from the subscriber at the other end of the\nwire.  We are cribbed and confined in this world of sense-impressions\nlike the exchange clerk in his world of sounds, and not a step beyond\ncan we get.  As his world is conditioned and limited by his particular\nnetwork of wires, so ours is conditioned by our nervous system, by our\norgans of sense.  Their peculiarities determine what is the nature of\nthe outside world which we construct.  It is the similarity in the\norgans of sense and in the perceptive faculty of all normal human\nbeings which makes the outside world the same, or _practically_ the\nsame, for them all.  To return to the old analogy, it is as if two\ntelephone exchanges had very nearly identical groups of subscribers.\nIn this case a wire between the two exchanges would soon convince the\nimprisoned clerks that they had something in common and peculiar to\nthemselves.  That conviction corresponds in our comparison to the\nrecognition of other consciousness.\"\n\nI suggest that this extract be read over carefully, not once but\nseveral times, and that the reader try to make quite clear to himself\nthe position of the clerk in the telephone exchange, _i.e._ the\nposition of the mind in the body, as depicted by Professor Pearson,\nbefore recourse is had to the criticisms of any one else.  One cannot\nfind anywhere better material for critical philosophical reflection.\n\nAs has been seen, our author accepts without question, the\npsychological doctrine that the mind is shut up within the circle of\nthe messages that are conducted to it along the sensory nerves, and\nthat it cannot directly perceive anything truly external.  He carries\nhis doctrine out to the bitter end in the conclusion that, since we\nhave never had experience of anything beyond sense-impressions, and\nhave no ground for an inference to anything beyond, we must recognize\nthat the only external world of which we know anything is an external\nworld built up out of sense-impressions.  It is, thus, in the mind, and\nis not external at all; it is only \"projected outwards,\" _thought of_\nas though it were beyond us.  Shall we leave the inconsistent position\nof the plain man and of the psychologist and take our refuge in this\nworld of projected mental constructs?\n\nBefore the reader makes up his mind to do this, I beg him to consider\nthe following:--\n\n(1) If the only external world of which we have a right to speak at all\nis a construct in the mind or _ego_, we may certainly affirm that the\nworld is in the _ego_, but does it sound sensible to say that the _ego_\nis somewhere in the world?\n\n(2) If all external things are really inside the mind, and are only\n\"projected\" outwards, of course our own bodies, sense-organs, nerves,\nand brains, are really inside and are merely projected outwards.  Now,\ndo the sense-impressions of which everything is to be constructed \"come\nflowing in\" along these nerves that are really inside?\n\n(3) Can we say, when a nerve lies entirely within the mind or _ego_,\nthat this same mind or _ego_ is nearer to one end of the nerve than it\nis to the other?  How shall we picture to ourselves \"the conscious\n_ego_ of each one of us seated at the brain terminals of the sensory\nnerves\"?  How can the _ego_ place the whole of itself at the end of a\nnerve which it has constructed within itself?  And why is it more\ndifficult for it to get to one end of a nerve like this than it is to\nget to the other?\n\n(4) Why should the thing \"at the other end of the nerve\" remain unknown\nand unknowable?  Since the nerve is entirely in the mind, is purely a\nmental construct, can anything whatever be at the end of it without\nbeing in the mind?  And if the thing in question is not in the mind,\nhow are we going to prove that it is any nearer to one end of a nerve\nwhich is inside the mind than it is to the other?  If it may really be\nsaid to be at the end of the nerve, why may we not know it quite as\nwell as we do the end of the nerve, or any other mental construct?\n\nIt must be clear to the careful reader of Professor Pearson's\nparagraphs, that he does not confine himself strictly to the world of\nmere \"projections,\" to an outer world which is really _inner_.  If he\ndid this, the distinction between inner and outer would disappear.  Let\nus consider for a moment the imprisoned clerk.  He is in a telephone\nexchange, about him are wires and subscribers.  He gets only sounds and\nmust build up his whole universe of things out of sounds.  Now we are\nsupposing him to be in a telephone exchange, to be receiving messages,\nto be building up a world out of these messages.  Do we for a moment\nthink of him as building up, out of the messages which came along the\nwires, those identical wires which carried the messages and the\nsubscribers which sent them?  Never! we distinguish between the\nexchange, with its wires and subscribers, and the messages received and\nworked up into a world.  In picturing to ourselves the telephone\nexchange, we are doing what the plain man and the psychologist do when\nthey distinguish between mind and body,--they never suppose that the\nmessages which come through the senses are identical with the senses\nthrough which they come.\n\nBut suppose we maintain that there is no such thing as a telephone\nexchange, with its wires and subscribers, which is not to be found\nwithin some clerk.  Suppose the real external world is something\n_inner_ and only \"projected\" without, mistakenly supposed by the\nunthinking to be without.  Suppose it is nonsense to speak of a wire\nwhich is not in the mind of a clerk.  May we under such circumstances\ndescribe any clerk as _in a telephone exchange_? as _receiving\nmessages_? as _no nearer_ to his subscribers than his end of the wire?\nMay we say that sense-impressions _come flowing in_ to him?  The whole\nfigure of the telephone exchange becomes an absurdity when we have once\nplaced the exchange within the clerk.  Nor can we think of two clerks\nas connected by a wire, when it is affirmed that every wire must\n\"really\" be in some clerk.\n\nThe truth is, that, in the extracts which I have given above and in\nmany other passages in the same volume, the real external world, the\nworld which does not exist in the mind but _without_ it, is much\ndiscredited, and is yet not actually discarded.  The ego is placed at\nthe brain terminals of the sensory nerves, and it receives messages\nwhich _flow in_; _i.e._ the clerk is actually placed in an exchange.\nThat the existence of the exchange is afterward denied in so many words\ndoes not mean that it has not played and does not continue to play an\nimportant part in the thought of the author.\n\nIt is interesting to see how a man of science, whose reflections compel\nhim to deny the existence of the external world that we all seem to\nperceive and that we somehow recognize as distinct from anything in our\nminds, is _nevertheless compelled to admit the existence of this world\nat every turn_.\n\nBut if we do admit it, what shall we make of it?  Shall we deny the\ntruth of what the psychologist has to tell us about a knowledge of\nthings only through the sensations to which they give rise?  We cannot,\nsurely, do that.  Shall we affirm that we know the external world\ndirectly, and at the same time that we do not know it directly, but\nonly indirectly, and through the images which arise in our minds?  That\nseems inconsistent.  Certainly there is material for reflection here.\n\nNevertheless the more we reflect on that material, the more evident\ndoes it become that the plain man cannot be wrong in believing in the\nexternal world which seems revealed in his experiences.  We find that\nall attempts to discredit it rest upon the implicit assumption of its\nexistence, and fall to the ground when that existence is honestly\ndenied.  So our problem changes its form.  We no longer ask: Is there\nan external world?  but rather: _What_ is the external world, and how\ndoes it differ from the world of mere ideas?\n\n\n[1] \"The Grammar of Science,\" 2d Ed., London, 1900, pp. 60-63.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nSENSATIONS AND \"THINGS\"\n\n15. SENSE AND IMAGINATION.--Every one distinguishes between things\nperceived and things only imagined.  With open eyes I see the desk\nbefore me; with eyes closed, I can imagine it.  I lay my hand on it and\nfeel it; I can, without laying my hand on it, imagine that I feel it.\nI raise my eyes, and see the pictures on the wall opposite me; I can\nsit here and call before my mind the image of the door by which the\nhouse is entered.\n\nWhat is the difference between sense and imagination?  It must be a\ndifference of which we are all somehow conscious, for we unhesitatingly\ndistinguish between the things we perceive and the things we merely\nimagine.\n\nIt is well to remember at the outset that the two classes of\nexperiences are not wholly different.  The blue color that I imagine\nseems blue.  It does not lose this quality because it is only\nimaginary.  The horse that I imagine seems to have four legs, like a\nhorse perceived.  As I call it before my mind, it seems as large as the\nreal horse.  Neither the color, nor the size, nor the distribution of\nparts, nor any other attribute of the sort appears to be different in\nthe imaginary object from what it is in the object as given in\nsensation.\n\nThe two experiences are, nevertheless, not the same; and every one\nknows that they are not the same.  One difference that roughly marks\nout the two classes of experiences from one another is that, as a rule,\nour sense-experiences are more vivid than are the images that exist in\nthe imagination.\n\nI say, as a rule, for we cannot always remark this difference.\nSensations may be very clear and unmistakable, but they may also be\nvery faint and indefinite.  When a man lays his hand firmly on my\nshoulder, I may be in little doubt whether I feel a sensation or do\nnot; but when he touches my back very lightly, I may easily be in\ndoubt, and may ask myself in perplexity whether I have really been\ntouched or whether I have merely imagined it.  As a vessel recedes and\nbecomes a mere speck upon the horizon, I may well wonder, before I feel\nsure that it is really quite out of sight, whether I still see the dim\nlittle point, or whether I merely imagine that I see it.\n\nOn the other hand, things merely imagined may sometimes be very vivid\nand insistent.  To some persons, what exists in the imagination is dim\nand indefinite in the extreme.  Others imagine things vividly, and can\ndescribe what is present only to the imagination almost as though it\nwere something seen.  Finally, we know that an image may become so\nvivid and insistent as to be mistaken for an external thing.  That is\nto say, there are such things as hallucinations.\n\nThe criterion of vividness will not, therefore, always serve to\ndistinguish between what is given in the sense and what is only\nimagined.  And, indeed, it becomes evident, upon reflection, that we do\nnot actually make it our ultimate test.  We may be quite willing to\nadmit that faint sensations may come to be confused with what is\nimagined, with \"ideas,\" but we always regard such a confusion as\nsomebody's error.  We are not ready to admit that things perceived\nfaintly are things imagined, or that vivid \"ideas\" are things perceived\nby sense.\n\nLet us come back to the illustrations with which we started.  How do I\nknow that I perceive the desk before me; and how do I know that,\nsitting here, I imagine, and do not see, the front door of the house?\n\nMy criterion is this: when I have the experience I call \"seeing my\ndesk,\" the bit of experience which presents itself as my desk is in a\ncertain setting.  That is to say, the desk seen must be in a certain\nrelation to my body, and this body, as I know it, also consists of\nexperiences.  Thus, if I am to know that I see the desk, I must realize\nthat my eyes are open, that the object is in front of me and not behind\nme, etc.\n\nThe desk as seen varies with the relation to the body in certain ways\nthat we regard as natural and explicable.  When I am near it, the\nvisual experience is not just what it is when I recede from it.  But\nhow can I know that I am near the desk or far from it?  What do these\nexpressions mean?  Their full meaning will become clearer in the next\nchapter, but here I may say that nearness and remoteness must be\nmeasured for me in experiences of some sort, or I would never know\nanything as near to or far from my body.\n\nThus, all our sensory experiences are experiences that fall into a\ncertain system or order.  It is a system which we all recognize\nimplicitly, for we all reject as merely imaginary those experiences\nwhich lack this setting.  If my eyes are shut--I am speaking now of the\neyes as experienced, as felt or perceived, as given in sensation--I\nnever say; \"I see my desk,\" no matter how vivid the image of the\nobject.  Those who believe in \"second sight\" sometimes talk of seeing\nthings not in this setting, but the very name they give to the supposed\nexperience indicates that there is something abnormal about it.  No one\nthinks it remarkable that I see the desk before which I perceive myself\nto be sitting with open eyes.  Every one would think it strange if I\ncould see and describe the table in the next room, now shut away from\nme.  When a man thinks he hears his name pronounced, and, turning his\nhead, seeks in vain for the speaker, he sets his experience down as a\nhallucination.  He says, I did not really hear that; I merely imagined\nit.\n\nMay one not, with open eyes, have a hallucination of vision, just as\none may seem to hear one's name pronounced when no one is by?\nCertainly.  But in each case the experience may be proved to be a\nhallucination, nevertheless.  It may be recognized that the sensory\nsetting is incomplete, though it may not, at first, seem so.  Thus the\nunreal object which seems to be seen may be found to be a thing that\ncannot be touched.  Or, when one has attained to a relatively complete\nknowledge of the system of experiences recognized as sensory, one may\nmake use of roundabout methods of ascertaining that the experience in\nquestion does not really have the right setting.  Thus, the ghost which\nis seen by the terrified peasant at midnight, but which cannot be\nphotographed, we may unhesitatingly set down as something imagined and\nnot really seen.\n\nAll our sensations are, therefore, experiences which take their place\nin a certain setting.  This is our ultimate criterion.  We need not\ntake the word of the philosopher for it.  We need only reflect, and ask\nourselves how we know that, in a given case, we are seeing or hearing\nor touching something, and are not merely imagining it.  In every case,\nwe shall find that we come back to the same test.  In common life, we\napply the test instinctively, and with little realization of what we\nare doing.\n\nAnd if we turn to the psychologist, whose business it is to be more\nexact and scientific, we find that he gives us only a refinement of\nthis same criterion.  It is important to him to distinguish between\nwhat is given in sensation and what is furnished by memory or\nimagination, and he tells us that sensation is the result of a message\nconducted along a sensory nerve to the brain.\n\nHere we see emphasized the relation to the body which has been\nmentioned above.  If we ask the psychologist how he knows that the body\nhe is talking about is a real body, and not merely an imagined one, he\nhas to fall back upon the test which is common to us all.  A real hand\nis one which we see with the eyes open, and which we touch with the\nother hand.  If our experiences of our own body had not the setting\nwhich marks all sensory experiences, we could never say: I _perceive_\nthat my body is near the desk.  When we call our body real, as\ncontrasted with things imaginary, we recognize that this group of\nexperiences belongs to the class described; it is given in sensation,\nand is not merely thought of.\n\nIt will be observed that, in distinguishing between sensations and\nthings imaginary, we never go beyond the circle of our experiences.  We\ndo not reach out to a something _beyond_ or _behind_ experiences, and\nsay: When such a reality is present, we may affirm that we have a\nsensation, and when it is not, we may call the experience imaginary.\nIf there were such a reality as this, it would do us little good, for\nsince it is not supposed to be perceived directly, we should have to\ndepend upon the sensations to prove the presence of the reality, and\ncould not turn to the reality and ask it whether we were or were not\nexperiencing a sensation.  The distinction between sensations and what\nis imaginary is an _observed_ distinction.  It can be _proved_ that\nsome experiences are sensory and that some are not.  This means that,\nin drawing the distinction, we remain within the circle of our\nexperiences.\n\nThere has been much unnecessary mystification touching this supposed\nreality behind experiences.  In the next chapter we shall see in what\nsenses the word \"reality\" may properly be used, and in what sense it\nmay not.  There is a danger in using it loosely and vaguely.\n\n16. MAY WE CALL \"THINGS\" GROUPS OF SENSATIONS?--Now, the external world\nseems to the plain man to be directly given in his sense experiences.\nHe is willing to admit that the table in the next room, of which he is\nmerely thinking, is known at one remove, so to speak.  But this desk\nhere before him: is it not known directly?  Not the mental image, the\nmere representative, but the desk itself, a something that is physical\nand not mental?\n\nAnd the psychologist, whatever his theory of the relation between the\nmind and the world, seems to support him, at least, in so far as to\nmaintain that in sensation the external world is known as directly as\nit is possible for the external world to be known, and that one can get\nno more of it than is presented in sensation.  If a sense is lacking,\nan aspect of the world as given is also lacking; if a sense is\ndefective, as in the color-blind, the defect is reflected in the world\nupon which one gazes.\n\nSuch considerations, especially when taken together with what has been\nsaid at the close of the last section about the futility of looking for\na reality behind our sensations, may easily suggest rather a startling\npossibility.  May it not be, if we really are shut up to the circle of\nour experiences, that the physical things, which we have been\naccustomed to look upon as non-mental, are nothing more than complexes\nof sensations?  Granted that there seems to be presented in our\nexperience a material world as well as a mind, may it not be that this\nmaterial world is a mental thing of a certain kind--a mental thing\ncontrasted with other mental things, such as imaginary things?\n\nThis question has always been answered in the affirmative by the\nidealists, who claim that all existence must be regarded as psychical\nexistence.  Their doctrine we shall consider later (sections 49 and\n53).  It will be noticed that we seem to be back again with Professor\nPearson in the last chapter.\n\nTo this question I make the following answer: In the first place, I\nremark that even the plain man distinguishes somehow between his\nsensations and external things.  He thinks that he has reason to\nbelieve that things do not cease to exist when he no longer has\nsensations.  Moreover, he believes that things do not always appear to\nhis senses as they really are.  If we tell him that his sensations\n_are_ the things, it shocks his common sense.  He answers: Do you mean\nto tell me that complexes of sensation can be on a shelf or in a\ndrawer? can be cut with a knife or broken with the hands?  He feels\nthat there must be some real distinction between sensations and the\nthings without him.\n\nNow, the notions of the plain man on such matters as these are not very\nclear, and what he says about sensations and things is not always\nedifying.  But it is clear that he feels strongly that the man who\nwould identify them is obliterating a distinction to which his\nexperience testifies unequivocally.  We must not hastily disregard his\nprotest.  He is sometimes right in his feeling that things are not\nidentical, even when he cannot prove it.\n\nIn the second place, I remark that, in this instance, the plain man is\nin the right, and can be shown to be in the right.  \"Things\" are not\ngroups of sensations.  The distinction between them will be explained\nin the next section.\n\n17. THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN SENSATIONS AND \"THINGS\"--Suppose that I\nstand in my study and look at the fire in the grate.  I am experiencing\nsensations, and am not busied merely with an imaginary fire.  But may\nmy whole experience of the fire be summed up as an experience of\nsensations and their changes?  Let us see.\n\nIf I shut my eyes, the fire disappears.  Does any one suppose that the\nfire has been annihilated?  No.  We say, I no longer see it, but\nnothing has happened to the fire.\n\nAgain, I may keep my eyes open, and simply turn my head.  The fire\ndisappears once more.  Does any one suppose that my turning my head has\ndone anything to the fire?  We say unhesitatingly, my sensations have\nchanged, but the fire has remained as it was.\n\nStill, again, I may withdraw from the fire.  Its heat seems to be\ndiminished.  Has the fire really grown less hot?  And if I could\nwithdraw to a sufficient distance, I know that the fire would appear to\nme smaller and less bright.  Could I get far enough away to make it\nseem the faintest speck in the field of vision, would I be tempted to\nclaim that the fire shrunk and grew faint merely because I walked away\nfrom it?  Surely not.\n\nNow, suppose that I stand on the same spot and look at the fire without\nturning my head.  The stick at which I am gazing catches the flame,\nblazes up, turns red, and finally falls together, a little mass of gray\nashes.  Shall I describe this by saying that my sensations have\nchanged, or may I say that the fire itself has changed?  The plain man\nand the philosopher alike use the latter expression in such a case as\nthis.\n\nLet us take another illustration.  I walk towards the distant house on\nthe plain before me.  What I see as my goal seems to grow larger and\nbrighter.  It does not occur to me to maintain that the house changes\nas I advance.  But, at a given instant, changes of a different sort\nmake their appearance.  Smoke arises, and flames burst from the roof.\nNow I have no hesitation in saying that changes are taking place in the\nhouse.  It would seem foolish to describe the occurrence as a mere\nchange in my sensations.  Before it was my sensations that changed; now\nit is the house itself.\n\nWe are drawing this distinction between changes in our sensations and\nchanges in things at every hour in the day.  I cannot move without\nmaking things appear and disappear.  If I wag my head, the furniture\nseems to dance, and I regard it as a mere seeming.  I count on the\nclock's going when I no longer look upon its face.  It would be absurd\nto hold that the distinction is a mere blunder, and has no foundation\nin our experience.  The role it plays is too important for that.  If we\nobliterate it, the real world of material things which seems to be\nrevealed in our experience melts into a chaos of fantastic experiences\nwhose appearances and disappearances seem to be subject to no law.\n\nAnd it is worthy of remark that it is not merely in common life that\nthe distinction is drawn.  Every man of science must give heed to it.\nThe psychologist does, it is true, pay much attention to sensations;\nbut even he distinguishes between the sensations which he is studying\nand the material things to which he relates them, such as brains and\nsense-organs.  And those who cultivate the physical sciences strive,\nwhen they give an account of things and their behavior, to lay before\nus a history of changes analogous to the burning of the stick and of\nthe house, excluding mere changes in sensations.\n\nThere is no physicist or botanist or zooelogist who has not our common\nexperience that things as perceived by us--our experiences of\nthings--appear or disappear or change their character when we open or\nshut our eyes or move about.  But nothing of all this appears in their\nbooks.  What they are concerned with is things and their changes, and\nthey do not consider such matters as these as falling within their\nprovince.  If a botanist could not distinguish between the changes\nwhich take place in a plant, and the changes which take place in his\nsensations as he is occupied in studying the plant, but should tell us\nthat the plant grows smaller as one recedes from it, we should set him\ndown as weak-minded.\n\nThat the distinction is everywhere drawn, and that we must not\nobliterate it, is very evident.  But we are in the presence of what has\nseemed to many men a grave difficulty.  Are not things presented in our\nexperience only as we have sensations?  what is it to perceive a thing?\nis it not to have sensations? how, then, _can_ we distinguish between\nsensations and things?  We certainly do so all the time, in spite of\nthe protest of the philosopher; but many of us do so with a haunting\nsense that our behavior can scarcely be justified by the reason.\n\nOur difficulty, however, springs out of an error of our own.  Grasping\nimperfectly the full significance of the word \"sensation,\" we extend\nits use beyond what is legitimate, and we call by that name experiences\nwhich are not sensations at all.  Thus the external world comes to seem\nto us to be not really a something contrasted with the mental, but a\npart of the mental world.  We accord to it the attributes of the\nlatter, and rob it of those distinguishing attributes which belong to\nit by right.  When we have done this, we may feel impelled to say, as\ndid Professor Pearson, that things are not really \"outside\" of us, as\nthey seem to be, but are merely \"projected\" outside--thought of as if\nthey were \"outside.\"  All this I must explain at length.\n\nLet us come back to the first of the illustrations given above, the\ncase of the fire in my study.  As I stand and look at it, what shall I\ncall the red glow which I observe?  Shall I call it a _quality of a\nthing_, or shall I call it a _sensation_?\n\nTo this I answer: _I may call it either the one or the other, according\nto its setting among other experiences_.\n\nWe have seen (section 15) that sensations and things merely imaginary\nare distinguished from one another by their setting.  With open eyes we\nsee things; with our eyes closed we can imagine them: we see what is\nbefore us; we imagine what lies behind our backs.  If we confine our\nattention to the bit of experience itself, we have no means of\ndetermining whether it is sensory or imaginary.  Only its setting can\ndecide that point.  Here, we have come to another distinction of much\nthe same sort.  That red glow, that bit of experience, taken by itself\nand abstracted from all other experiences, cannot be called either a\nsensation or the quality of a thing.  Only its context can give us the\nright to call it the one or the other.\n\nThis ought to become clear when we reflect upon the illustration of the\nfire.  We have seen that one whole series of changes has been\nunhesitatingly described as a series of changes in my sensations.  Why\nwas this?  Because it was observed to depend upon changes in the\nrelations of my body, my senses (a certain group of experiences), to\nthe bit of experience I call the fire.  Another series was described as\na series of changes in the fire.  Why?  Because, the relation to my\nsenses remaining unchanged, changes still took place, and had to be\naccounted for in other ways.\n\nIt is a matter of common knowledge that they can be accounted for in\nother ways.  This is not a discovery of the philosopher.  He can only\ninvite us to think over the matter and see what the unlearned and the\nlearned are doing at every moment.  Sometimes they are noticing that\nexperiences change as they turn their heads or walk toward or away from\nobjects; sometimes they abstract from this, and consider the series of\nchanges that take place independently of this.\n\nThat bit of experience, that red glow, is not related only to my body.\nSuch experiences are related also to each other; they stand in a vast\nindependent system of relations, which, as we have seen, the man of\nscience can study without troubling himself to consider sensations at\nall.  This system is the external world--the external world as known or\nas knowable, the only external world that it means anything for us to\ntalk about.  As having its place in this system, a bit of experience is\nnot a sensation, but is a quality or aspect of a thing.\n\nSensations, then, to be sensations, must be bits of experience\nconsidered in their relation to some organ of sense.  They should never\nbe confused with qualities of things, which are experiences in a\ndifferent setting.  It is as unpardonable to confound the two as it is\nto confound sensations with things imaginary.\n\nWe may not, therefore, say that \"things\" are groups of sensations.  We\nmay, if we please, describe them as complexes of qualities.  And we may\nnot say that the \"things\" we perceive are really \"inside\" of us and are\nmerely \"projected outside.\"\n\nWhat can \"inside\" and \"outside\" mean?  Only this.  We recognize in our\nexperience two distinct orders, the _objective order_, the system of\nphenomena which constitutes the material world, and the _subjective\norder_, the order of things mental, to which belong sensations and\n\"ideas.\"  That is \"outside\" which belongs to the objective order.  The\nword has no other meaning when used in this connection.  That is\n\"inside\" which belongs to the subjective order, and is contrasted with\nthe former.\n\nIf we deny that there is an objective order, an external world, and say\nthat everything is \"inside,\" we lose our distinction, and even the word\n\"inside\" becomes meaningless.  It indicates no contrast.  When men fall\ninto the error of talking in this way, what they do is to _keep_ the\nexternal world and gain the distinction, and at the same time to _deny_\nthe existence of the world which has furnished it.  In other words,\nthey put the clerk into a telephone exchange, and then tell us that the\nexchange does not really exist.  He is inside--of what?  He is inside\nof nothing.  Then, can he really be inside?\n\nWe see, thus, that the plain man and the man of science are quite right\nin accepting the external world.  The objective order is known as\ndirectly as is the subjective order.  Both are orders of experiences;\nthey are open to observation, and we have, in general, little\ndifficulty in distinguishing between them, as the illustrations given\nabove amply prove.\n\n18. THE EXISTENCE OF MATERIAL THINGS.--One difficulty seems to remain\nand to call for a solution.  We all believe that material things exist\nwhen we no longer perceive them.  We believe that they existed before\nthey came within the field of our observation.\n\nIn these positions the man of science supports us.  The astronomer has\nno hesitation in saying that the comet, which has sailed away through\nspace, exists, and will return.  The geologist describes for us the\nworld as it was in past ages, when no eye was opened upon it.\n\nBut has it not been stated above that the material world is an order of\n_experiences_? and can there be such a thing as an experience that is\nnot _experienced_ by somebody?  In other words, can the world exist,\nexcept as it is _perceived to exist_?\n\nThis seeming difficulty has occasioned much trouble to philosophers in\nthe past.  Bishop Berkeley (1684-1753) said, \"To exist is to be\nperceived.\"  There are those who agree with him at the present day.\n\nTheir difficulty would have disappeared had they examined with\nsufficient care the meaning of the word \"exist.\"  We have no right to\npass over the actual uses of such words, and to give them a meaning of\nour own.  If one thing seems as certain as any other, it is that\nmaterial things exist when we do not perceive them.  On what ground may\nthe philosopher combat the universal opinion, the dictum of common\nsense and of science?  When we look into his reasonings, we find that\nhe is influenced by the error discussed at length in the last\nsection--he has confused the phenomena of the two orders of experience.\n\nI have said that, when we concern ourselves with the objective order,\nwe abstract or should abstract, from the relations which things bear to\nour senses.  We account for phenomena by referring to other phenomena\nwhich we have reason to accept as their physical conditions or causes.\nWe do not consider that a physical cause is effective only while we\nperceive it.  When we come back to this notion of our perceiving a\nthing or not perceiving it, we have left the objective order and passed\nover to the subjective.  We have left the consideration of \"things\" and\nhave turned to sensations.\n\nThere is no reason why we should do this.  The physical order is an\nindependent order, as we have seen.  The man of science, when he is\nendeavoring to discover whether some thing or quality of a thing really\nexisted at some time in the past, is not in the least concerned to\nestablish the fact that some one saw it.  No one ever saw the primitive\nfire-mist from which, as we are told, the world came into being.  But\nthe scientist cares little for that.  He is concerned only to prove\nthat the phenomena he is investigating really have a place in the\nobjective order.  If he decides that they have, he is satisfied; he has\nproved something to exist.  _To belong to the objective order is to\nexist as a physical thing or quality_.\n\nWhen the plain man and the man of science maintain that a physical\nthing exists, they use the word in precisely the same sense.  The\nmeaning they give to it is the proper meaning of the word.  It is\njustified by immemorial usage, and it marks a real distinction.  Shall\nwe allow the philosopher to tell us that we must not use it in this\nsense, but must say that only sensations and ideas exist?  Surely not.\nThis would mean that we permit him to obliterate for us the distinction\nbetween the external world and what is mental.\n\nBut is it right to use the word \"experience\" to indicate the phenomena\nwhich have a place in the objective order?  Can an experience be\nanything but mental?\n\nThere can be no doubt that the suggestions of the word are\nunfortunate--it has what we may call a subjective flavor.  It suggests\nthat, after all, the things we perceive are sensations or percepts, and\nmust, to exist at all, exist in a mind.  As we have seen, this is an\nerror, and an error which we all avoid in actual practice.  We do not\ntake sensations for things, and we recognize clearly enough that it is\none thing for a material object to exist and another for it to be\nperceived.\n\nWhy, then, use the word \"experience\"?  Simply because we have no better\nword.  We must use it, and not be misled by the associations which\ncling to it.  The word has this great advantage: it brings out clearly\nthe fact that all our knowledge of the external world rests ultimately\nupon those phenomena which, when we consider them in relation to our\nsenses, we recognize as sensations.  We cannot start out from mere\nimaginings to discover what the world was like in the ages past.\n\nIt is this truth that is recognized by the plain man, when he maintains\nthat, in the last resort, we can know things only in so far as we see,\ntouch, hear, taste, and smell them; and by the psychologist, when he\ntells us that, in sensation, the external world is revealed as directly\nas it is possible that it could be revealed.  But it is a travesty on\nthis truth to say that we do not know things, but know only our\nsensations of sight, touch, taste, hearing, and the like.[1]\n\n\n[1] See the note on this chapter at the close of the volume.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nAPPEARANCES AND REALITIES\n\n19. THINGS AND THEIR APPEARANCES.--We have seen in the last chapter\nthat there is an external world and that it is given in our experience.\nThere is an objective order, and we are all capable of distinguishing\nbetween it and the subjective.  He who says that we perceive only\nsensations and ideas flies in the face of the common experience of\nmankind.\n\nBut we are not yet through with the subject.  We all make a distinction\nbetween things as they _appear_ and things as they _really are_.\n\nIf we ask the plain man, What is the real external world? the first\nanswer that seems to present itself to his mind is this: Whatever we\ncan see, hear, touch, taste, or smell may be regarded as belonging to\nthe real world.  What we merely imagine does not belong to it.\n\nThat this answer is not a very satisfactory one occurred to men's minds\nvery early in the history of reflective thought.  The ancient skeptic\nsaid to himself: The colors of objects vary according to the light, and\naccording to the position and distance of the objects; can we say that\nany object has a real color of its own?  A staff stuck into water looks\nbent, but feels straight to the touch; why believe the testimony of one\nsense rather than that of another?\n\nSuch questionings led to far-reaching consequences.  They resulted in a\nforlorn distrust of the testimony of the senses, and to  a doubt as to\nour ability to know anything as it really is.\n\nNow, the distinction between appearances and realities exists for us as\nwell as for the ancient skeptic, and without being tempted to make such\nextravagant statements as that there is no such thing as truth, and\nthat every appearance is as real as any other, we may admit that it is\nnot very easy to see the full significance of the distinction, although\nwe are referring to it constantly.\n\nFor example, we look from our window and see, as we say, a tree at a\ndistance.  What we are conscious of is a small bluish patch of color.\nNow, a small bluish patch of color is not, strictly speaking, a tree;\nbut for us it represents the tree.  Suppose that we walk toward the\ntree.  Do we continue to see what we saw before?  Of course, we say\nthat we continue to see the same tree; but it is plain that what we\nimmediately perceive, what is given in consciousness, does not remain\nthe same as we move.  Our blue patch of color grows larger and larger;\nit ceases to be blue and faint; at the last it has been replaced by an\nexpanse of vivid green, and we see the tree just before us.\n\nDuring our whole walk we have been seeing the tree.  This appears to\nmean that we have been having a whole series of visual experiences, no\ntwo of which were just alike, and each of which was taken as a\nrepresentative of the tree.  Which of these representatives is most\nlike the tree?  Is the tree _really_ a faint blue, or is it _really_ a\nvivid green?  Or is it of some intermediate color?\n\nProbably most persons will be inclined to maintain that the tree only\nseems blue at a distance, but that it really is green, as it appears\nwhen one is close to it.  In a sense, the statement is just; yet some\nof those who make it would be puzzled to tell by what right they pick\nout of the whole series of experiences, each of which represents the\ntree as seen from some particular position, one individual experience,\nwhich they claim not only represents the tree as seen from a given\npoint but also represents it as it is.  Does this particular experience\nbear some peculiar earmark which tells us that it is like the real tree\nwhile the others are unlike it?\n\n20. REAL THINGS.--And what is this _real tree_ that we are supposed to\nsee as it is when we are close to it?\n\nAbout two hundred years ago the philosopher Berkeley pointed out that\nthe distinction commonly made between things as they look, the\napparent, and things as they are, the real, is at bottom the\ndistinction between things as presented to the sense of sight and\nthings as presented to the sense of touch.  The acute analysis which he\nmade has held its own ever since.\n\nWe have seen that, in walking towards the tree, we have a long series\nof visual experiences, each of which differs more or less from all of\nthe others.  Nevertheless, from the beginning of our progress to the\nend, we say that we are looking at the same tree.  The images change\ncolor and grow larger.  We do not say that the tree changes color and\ngrows larger.  Why do we speak as we do?  It is because, all along the\nline, we mean by the real tree, not what is given to the sense of\nsight, but something for which this stands as a sign.  This something\nmust be given in our experience somewhere, we must be able to perceive\nit under some circumstances or other, or it would never occur to us to\nrecognize the visual experiences as _signs_, and we should never say\nthat in being conscious of them in succession we are looking at the\nsame tree.  They are certainly not the same with each other; how can we\nknow that they all stand for the same thing, unless we have had\nexperience of a connection of the whole series with one thing?\n\nThis thing for which so many different visual experiences may serve as\nsigns is the thing revealed in experiences of touch.  When we ask: In\nwhat direction is the tree?  How far away is the tree?  How big is the\ntree? we are always referring to the tree revealed in touch.  It is\nnonsense to say that _what we see_ is far away, if by what we see we\nmean the visual experience itself.  As soon as we move we lose that\nvisual experience and get another, and to recover the one we lost we\nmust go back where we were before.  When we say we see a tree at a\ndistance, we must mean, then, that we know from certain visual\nexperiences which we have that by moving a certain distance we will be\nable to touch a tree.  And what does it mean to move a certain\ndistance?  In the last analysis it means to us to have a certain\nquantity of movement sensations.\n\nThus the real world of things, for which experiences of sight serve as\nsigns, is a world revealed in experiences of touch and movement, and\nwhen we speak of real positions, distances, and magnitudes, we are\nalways referring to this world.  But this is a world revealed in our\nexperience, and it does not seem a hopeless task to discover what may\nproperly be called real and what should be described as merely\napparent, when both the real and the apparent are open to our\ninspection.\n\nCan we not find in this analysis a satisfactory explanation of the\nplain man's claim that under certain circumstances he sees the tree as\nit is and under others he does not?  What he is really asserting is\nthat one visual experience gives him better information regarding the\nreal thing, the touch thing, than does another.\n\nBut what shall we say of his claim that the tree is really green, and\nonly looks blue under certain circumstances?  Is it not just as true\nthat the tree only looks green under certain circumstances?  Is color\nany part of the touch thing?  Is it ever more than a sign of the touch\nthing?  How can one color be more real than another?\n\nNow, we may hold to Berkeley's analysis and maintain that, in general,\nthe real world, as contrasted with the apparent, means to us the world\nthat is revealed in experiences of touch and movement; and yet we may\nadmit that the word \"real\" is sometimes used in rather different senses.\n\nIt does not seem absurd for a woman to Say: This piece of silk really\nis yellow; it only looks white under this light.  We all admit that a\nwhite house may look pink under the rays of the setting sun, and we\nnever call it a pink house.  We have seen that it is not unnatural to\nsay: That tree is really green; it is only its distance that makes it\nlook blue.\n\nWhen one reflects upon these uses of the word \"real,\" one recognizes\nthe fact that, among all the experiences in which things are revealed\nto us, certain experiences impress us as being more prominent or\nimportant or serviceable than certain others, and they come to be\ncalled _real_.  Things are not commonly seen by artificial light; the\nsun is not always setting; the tree looks green when it is seen most\nsatisfactorily.  In each case, the real color of the thing is the color\nthat it has under circumstances that strike us as normal or as\nimportant.  We cannot say that we always regard as most real that\naspect under which we most commonly perceive things, for if a more\nunusual experience is more serviceable and really gives us more\ninformation about the thing, we give the preference to that.  Thus we\nlook with the naked eye at a moving speck on the table before us, and\nwe are unable to distinguish its parts.  We place a microscope over the\nspeck and perceive an insect with all its members.  The second\nexperience is the more unusual one, but would not every one say: Now we\nperceive the thing _as it is_?\n\n21. ULTIMATE REAL THINGS.--Let us turn away from the senses of the word\n\"real,\" which recognize one color or taste or odor as more real than\nanother, and come back to the real world of things presented in\nsensations of touch.  All other classes of sensations may be regarded\nas related to this as the series of visual experiences above mentioned\nwas related to the one tree which was spoken of as revealed in them\nall, the touch tree of which they gave information.\n\nCan we say that this world is always to be regarded as reality and\nnever as appearance?  We have already seen (section 8) that science\ndoes not regard as anything more than appearance the real things which\nseem to be directly presented in our experience.\n\nThis pen that I hold in my hand seems, as I pass my fingers over it, to\nbe continuously extended.  It does not appear to present an alternation\nof filled spaces and empty spaces.  I am told that it is composed of\nmolecules in rapid motion and at considerable distances from one\nanother.  I am further told that each molecule is composed of atoms,\nand is, in its turn, not a continuous thing, but, so to speak, a group\nof little things.\n\nIf I accept this doctrine, as it seems I must, am I not forced to\nconclude that the reality which is given in my experience, the reality\nwith which I have contrasted appearances and to which I have referred\nthem, is, after all, itself only an appearance?  The touch things which\nI have hitherto regarded as the real things that make up the external\nworld, the touch things for which all my visual experiences have served\nas signs, are, then, not themselves real external things, but only the\nappearances under which real external things, themselves imperceptible,\nmanifest themselves to me.\n\nIt seems, then, that I do not directly perceive any real thing, or, at\nleast, anything that can be regarded as more than an appearance.  What,\nthen, is the external world?  What are things really like?  Can we give\nany true account of them, or are we forced to say with the skeptics\nthat we only know how things seem to us, and must abandon the attempt\nto tell what they are really like?\n\nNow, before one sets out to answer a question it is well to find out\nwhether it is a sensible question to ask and a sensible question to try\nto answer.  He who asks: Where is the middle of an infinite line?  When\ndid all time begin?  Where is space as a whole? does not deserve a\nserious answer to his questions.  And it is well to remember that he\nwho asks: What is the external world like? must keep his question a\nsignificant one, if he is to retain his right to look for an answer at\nall.  He has manifestly no right to ask us: How does the external world\nlook when no one is looking?  How do things feel when no one feels\nthem?  How shall I think of things, not as I think of them, but as they\nare?\n\nIf we are to give an account of the external world at all, it must\nevidently be _an account_ of the external world; _i.e._ it must be\ngiven in terms of our experience of things.  The only legitimate\nproblem is to give a true account instead of a false one, to\ndistinguish between what only appears and is not real and what both\nappears and is real.\n\nBearing this in mind, let us come back to the plain man's experience of\nthe world.  He certainly seems to himself to perceive a real world of\nthings, and he constantly distinguishes, in a way very serviceable to\nhimself, between the merely apparent and the real.  There is, of\ncourse, a sense in which every experience is real; it is, at least, an\nexperience; but when he contrasts real and apparent he means something\nmore than this.  Experiences are not relegated to this class or to that\nmerely at random, but the final decision is the outcome of a long\nexperience of the differences which characterize different individual\nexperiences and is an expression of the relations which are observed to\nhold between them.  Certain experiences are accepted as signs, and\ncertain others come to take the more dignified position of thing\nsignified; the mind rests in them and regards them as the real.\n\nWe have seen above that the world of real things in which the plain man\nfinds himself is a world of objects revealed in experiences of touch.\nWhen he asks regarding anything: How far away is it?  How big is it?\nIn what direction is it? it is always the touch thing that interests\nhim.  What is given to the other senses is only a sign of this.\n\nWe have also seen (section 8) that the world of atoms and molecules of\nwhich the man of science tells us is nothing more than a further\ndevelopment of the world of the plain man.  The real things with which\nscience concerns itself are, after all, only minute touch things,\nconceived just as are the things with which the plain man is familiar.\nThey exist in space and move about in space, as the things about us are\nperceived to exist in space and move about in space.  They have size\nand position, and are separated by distances.  We do not _perceive_\nthem, it is true; but we _conceive_ them after the analogy of the\nthings that we do perceive, and it is not inconceivable that, if our\nsenses were vastly more acute, we might perceive them directly.\n\nNow, when we conclude that the things directly perceptible to the sense\nof touch are to be regarded as appearances, as signs of the presence of\nthese minuter things, do we draw such a conclusion arbitrarily?  By no\nmeans.  The distinction between appearance and reality is drawn here\njust as it is drawn in the world of our common everyday experiences.\nThe great majority of the touch things about us we are not actually\ntouching at any given moment.  We only _see_ the things, _i.e._ we have\ncertain _signs_ of their presence.  None the less we believe that the\nthings exist all the time.  And in the same way the man of science does\nnot doubt the existence of the real things of which he speaks; he\nperceives their _signs_.  That certain experiences are to be taken as\nsigns of such realities he has established by innumerable observations\nand careful deductions from those observations.  To see the full force\nof his reasonings one must read some work setting forth the history of\nthe atomic theory.\n\nIf, then, we ask the question: What is the real external world?  it is\nclear that we cannot answer it satisfactorily without taking into\nconsideration the somewhat shifting senses of the word \"real.\"  What is\nthe real external world to the plain man?  It is the world of touch\nthings, of objects upon which he can lay his hands.  What is the real\nexternal world to the man of science?  It is the world of atoms and\nmolecules, of minuter touch things that he cannot actually touch, but\nwhich he conceives as though he could touch them.\n\nIt should be observed that the man of science has no right to deny the\nreal world which is revealed in the experience of the plain man.  In\nall his dealings with the things which interest him in common life, he\nrefers to this world just as the plain man does.  He sees a tree and\nwalks towards it, and distinguishes between its real and its apparent\ncolor, its real and its apparent size.  He talks about seeing things as\nthey are, or not seeing things as they are.  These distinctions in his\nexperience of things remain even after he has come to believe in atoms\nand molecules.\n\nThus, the touch object, the tree as he feels it under his hand, may\ncome to be regarded as the sign of the presence of those entities that\nscience seems, at present, to regard as ultimate.  Does this prevent it\nfrom being the object which has stood as the interpreter of all those\ndiverse visual sensations that we have called different views of the\ntree?  They are still the appearances, and it, relatively to them, is\nthe reality.  Now we find that it, in its turn, can be used as a sign\nof something else, can be regarded as an appearance of a reality more\nultimate.  It is clear, then, that the same thing may be regarded both\nas appearance and as reality--appearance as contrasted with one thing,\nand reality as contrasted with another.\n\nBut suppose one says: _I do not want to know what the real external\nworld is to this man or to that man; I want to know what the real\nexternal world is_.  What shall we say to such a demand?\n\nThere is a sense in which such a demand is not purely meaningless,\nthough it may not be a very sensible demand to make.  We have seen that\nan increase of knowledge about things compels a man to pass from the\nreal things of common life to the real things of science, and to look\nupon the former as appearance.  Now, a man may arbitrarily decide that\nhe will use the word \"reality\" to indicate only that which can never in\nits turn be regarded as appearance, a reality which must remain an\nultimate reality; and he may insist upon our telling him about that.\nHow a man not a soothsayer can tell when he has come to ultimate\nreality, it is not easy to see.\n\nSuppose, however, that we could give any one such information.  We\nshould then be telling him about things _as they are_, it is true, but\nhis knowledge of things would not be different in _kind_ from what it\nwas before.  The only difference between such a knowledge of things and\na knowledge of things not known to be ultimate would be that, in the\nformer case, it would be recognized that no further extension of\nknowledge was possible.  The distinction between appearance and reality\nwould remain just what it was in the experience of the plain man.\n\n22. THE BUGBEAR OF THE \"UNKNOWABLE.\"--It is very important to recognize\nthat we must not go on talking about appearance and reality, as if our\nwords really meant something, when we have quite turned our backs upon\nour experience of appearances and the realities which they represent.\n\nThat appearances and realities are connected we know very well, for we\nperceive them to be connected.  What we see, we can touch.  And we not\nonly know that appearances and realities are connected, but we know\nwith much detail what appearances are to be taken as signs of what\nrealities.  The visual experience which I call the house as seen from a\ndistance I never think of taking for a representative of the hat which\nI hold in my hand.  This visual experience I refer to its own\nappropriate touch thing, and not to another.  If what _looks like_ a\nbeefsteak could _really be_ a fork or a mountain or a kitten\nindifferently,--but I must not even finish the sentence, for the words\n\"look like\" and \"could really be\" lose all significance when we loosen\nthe bond between appearances and the realities to which they are\nproperly referred.\n\nEach appearance, then, must be referred to some particular real thing\nand not to any other.  This is true of the appearances which we\nrecognize as such in common life, and it is equally true of the\nappearances recognized as such in science.  The pen which I feel\nbetween my fingers I may regard as appearance and refer to a swarm of\nmoving atoms.  But it would be silly for me to refer it to atoms \"in\ngeneral.\"  The reality to which I refer the appearance in question is a\nparticular group of atoms existing at a particular point in space.  The\nchemist never supposes that the atoms within the walls of his test-tube\nare identical with those in the vial on the shelf.  Neither in common\nlife nor in science would the distinction between appearances and real\nthings be of the smallest service were it not possible to distinguish\nbetween this appearance and that, and this reality and that, and to\nrefer each appearance to its appropriate reality.  Indeed, it is\ninconceivable that, under such circumstances, the distinction should\nhave been drawn at all.\n\nThese points ought to be strongly insisted upon, for we find certain\nphilosophic writers falling constantly into a very curious abuse of the\ndistinction and making much capital of it.  It is argued that what we\nsee, what we touch, what we conceive as a result of scientific\nobservation and reflection--all is, in the last analysis, material\nwhich is given us in sensation.  The various senses furnish us with\ndifferent classes of sensations; we work these up into certain\ncomplexes.  But sensations are only the impressions which something\noutside of us makes upon us.  Hence, although we seem to ourselves to\nknow the external world as it is, our knowledge can never extend beyond\nthe impressions made upon us.  Thus, we are absolutely shut up to\n_appearances_, and can know nothing about the _reality_ to which they\nmust be referred.\n\nTouching this matter Herbert Spencer writes[1] as follows: \"When we are\ntaught that a piece of matter, regarded by us as existing externally,\ncannot be really known, but that we can know only certain impressions\nproduced on us, we are yet, by the relativity of thought, compelled to\nthink of these in relation to a cause--the notion of a real existence\nwhich generated these impressions becomes nascent.  If it be proved\nthat every notion of a real existence which we can frame is\ninconsistent with itself,--that matter, however conceived by us, cannot\nbe matter as it actually is,--our conception, though transfigured, is\nnot destroyed: there remains the sense of reality, dissociated as far\nas possible from those special forms under which it was before\nrepresented in thought.\"\n\nThis means, in plain language, that we must regard everything we know\nand can know as appearance and must refer it to an unknown reality.\nSometimes Mr. Spencer calls this reality the Unknowable, sometimes he\ncalls it the Absolute, and sometimes he allows it to pass by a variety\nof other names, such as Power, Cause, etc.  He wishes us to think of it\nas \"lying behind appearances\" or as \"underlying appearances.\"\n\nProbably it has already been remarked that this Unknowable has brought\nus around again to that amusing \"telephone exchange\" discussed in the\nthird chapter.  But if the reader feels within himself the least\nweakness for the Unknowable, I beg him to consider carefully, before he\npins his faith to it, the following:--\n\n(1) If we do perceive external bodies, our own bodies and others, then\nit is conceivable that we may have evidence from observation to the\neffect that other bodies affecting our bodies may give rise to\nsensations.  In this case we cannot say that we know nothing but\nsensations; we know real bodies as well as sensations, and we may refer\nthe sensations to the real bodies.\n\n(2) If we do not perceive that we have bodies, and that our bodies are\nacted upon by others, we have no evidence that what we call our\nsensations are due to messages which come from \"external things\" and\nare conducted along the nerves.  It is then, absurd to talk of such\n\"external things\" as though they existed, and to call them the reality\nto which sensations, as appearances, must be referred,\n\n(3) In other words, if there is perceived to be a telephone exchange\nwith its wires and subscribers, we may refer the messages received to\nthe subscribers, and call this, if we choose, a reference of appearance\nto reality.\n\nBut if there is perceived no telephone exchange, and if it is concluded\nthat any wires or subscribers of which it means anything to speak must\nbe composed of what we have heretofore called \"messages,\" then it is\npalpably absurd to refer the \"messages\" as a whole to subscribers not\nsupposed to be composed of \"messages\"; and it is a blunder to go on\ncalling the things that we know \"messages,\" as though we had evidence\nthat they came from, and must be referred to, something beyond\nthemselves.\n\nWe must recognize that, with the general demolition of the exchange, we\nlose not only known subscribers, but the very notion of a subscriber.\nIt will not do to try to save from this wreck some \"unknowable\"\nsubscriber, and still pin our faith to him.\n\n(4) We have seen that the relation of appearance to reality is that of\ncertain experiences to certain other experiences.  When we take the\nliberty of calling the Unknowable a _reality_, we blunder in our use of\nthe word.  The Unknowable cannot be an experience either actual,\npossible, or conceived as possible, and it cannot possibly hold the\nrelation to any of our experiences that a real thing of any kind holds\nto the appearances that stand as its signs.\n\n(5) Finally, no man has ever made an assumption more perfectly useless\nand purposeless than the assumption of the Unknowable.  We have seen\nthat the distinction between appearance and reality is a serviceable\none, and it has been pointed out that it would be of no service\nwhatever if it were not possible to refer particular appearances to\ntheir own appropriate realities.  The realities to which we actually\nrefer appearances serve to explain them.  Thus, when I ask: Why do I\nperceive that tree now as faint and blue and now as vivid and green?\nthe answer to the question is found in the notion of distance and\nposition in space; it is found, in other words, in a reference to the\nreal world of touch things, for which visual experiences serve as\nsigns.  Under certain circumstances, the mountain _ought_ to be robed\nin its azure hue, and, under certain circumstances, it _ought not_.\nThe circumstances in each case are open to investigation.\n\nNow, let us substitute for the real world of touch things, which\nfurnishes the explanation of given visual experiences, that philosophic\nfiction, that pseudo-real nonentity, the Unknowable.  Now I perceive a\ntree as faint and blue, now as bright and green; will a reference to\nthe Unknowable explain why the experiences differed?  Was the\nUnknowable in the one instance farther off in an unknowable space, and\nin the other nearer?  This, even if it means anything, must remain\nunknowable.  And when the chemist puts together a volume of chlorine\ngas and a volume of hydrogen gas to get two volumes of hydrochloric\nacid gas, shall we explain the change which has taken place by a\nreference to the Unknowable, or shall we turn to the doctrine of atoms\nand their combinations?\n\nThe fact is that no man in his senses tries to account for any\nindividual fact by turning for an explanation to the Unknowable.  It is\na life-preserver by which some set great store, but which no man dreams\nof using when he really falls into the water.\n\nIf, then, we have any reason to believe that there is a real external\nworld at all, we have reason to believe that we know what it is.  That\nsome know it imperfectly, that others know it better, and that we may\nhope that some day it will be known still more perfectly, is surely no\ngood reason for concluding that we do not know it at all.\n\n\n[1] \"First Principles,\" Part I, Chapter IV, section 26.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nOF SPACE\n\n23. WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT IT.--The plain man may admit\nthat he is not ready to hazard a definition of space, but he is\ncertainly not willing to admit that he is wholly ignorant of space and\nof its attributes.  He knows that it is something in which material\nobjects have position and in which they move about; he knows that it\nhas not merely length, like a line, nor length and breadth, like a\nsurface, but has the three dimensions of length, breadth, and depth; he\nknows that, except in the one circumstance of its position, every part\nof space is exactly like every other part, and that, although objects\nmay move about in space, it is incredible that the spaces themselves\nshould be shifted about.\n\nThose who are familiar with the literature of the subject know that it\nhas long been customary to make regarding space certain other\nstatements to which the plain man does not usually make serious\nobjection when he is introduced to them.  Thus it is said:--\n\n(1) The idea of space is _necessary_.  We can think of objects in space\nas annihilated, but we cannot conceive space to be annihilated.  We can\nclear space of things, but we cannot clear away space itself, even in\nthought.\n\n(2) Space must be _infinite_.  We cannot conceive that we should come\nto the end of space.\n\n(3) Every space, however small, is _infinitely divisible_.  That is to\nsay, even the most minute space must be composed of spaces.  We cannot,\neven theoretically, split a solid into mere surfaces, a surface into\nmere lines, or a line into mere points.\n\nAgainst such statements the plain man is not impelled to rise in\nrebellion, for he can see that there seems to be some ground for making\nthem.  He can conceive of any particular material object as\nannihilated, and of the place which it occupied as standing empty; but\nhe cannot go on and conceive of the annihilation of this bit of empty\nspace.  Its annihilation would not leave a gap, for a gap means a bit\nof empty space; nor could it bring the surrounding spaces into\njuxtaposition, for one cannot shift spaces, and, in any case, a\nshifting that is not a shifting through space is an absurdity.\n\nAgain, he cannot conceive of any journey that would bring him to the\nend of space.  There is no more reason for stopping at one point than\nat another; why not go on?  What could end space?\n\nAs to the infinite divisibility of space, have we not, in addition to\nthe seeming reasonableness of the doctrine, the testimony of all the\nmathematicians?  Does any one of them ever dream of a line so short\nthat it cannot be divided into two shorter lines, or of an angle so\nsmall that it cannot be bisected?\n\n24. SPACE AS NECESSARY AND SPACE AS INFINITE.--That these statements\nabout space contain truth one should not be in haste to deny.  It seems\nsilly to say that space can be annihilated, or that one can travel\n\"over the mountains of the moon\" in the hope of reaching the end of it.\nAnd certainly no prudent man wishes to quarrel with that coldly\nrational creature the mathematician.\n\nBut it is well worth while to examine the statements carefully and to\nsee whether there is not some danger that they may be understood in\nsuch a way as to lead to error.  Let us begin with the doctrine that\nspace is necessary and cannot be \"thought away.\"\n\nAs we have seen above, it is manifestly impossible to annihilate in\nthought a certain portion of space and leave the other portions intact.\nThere are many things in the same case.  We cannot annihilate in\nthought one side of a door and leave the other side; we cannot rob a\nman of the outside of his hat and leave him the inside.  But we can\nconceive of a whole door as annihilated, and of a man as losing a whole\nhat.  May we or may we not conceive of space as a whole as nonexistent?\n\nI do not say, be it observed, can we conceive of something as attacking\nand annihilating space?  Whatever space may be, we none of us think of\nit as a something that may be threatened and demolished.  I only say,\nmay we not think of a system of things--not a world such as ours, of\ncourse, but still a system of things of some sort--in which space\nrelations have no part?  May we not conceive such to be possible?\n\nIt should be remarked that space relations are by no means the only\nones in which we think of things as existing.  We attribute to them\ntime relations as well.  Now, when we think of occurrences as related\nto each other in time, we do, in so far as we concentrate our attention\nupon these relations, turn our attention away from space and\ncontemplate another aspect of the system of things.  Space is not such\na necessity of thought that we must keep thinking of space when we have\nturned our attention to something else.  And is it, indeed,\ninconceivable that there should be a system of things (not extended\nthings in space, of course), characterized by time relations and\nperhaps other relations, but not by space relations?\n\nIt goes without saying that we cannot go on thinking of space and at\nthe same time not think of space.  Those who keep insisting upon space\nas a necessity of thought seem to set us such a task as this, and to\nfound their conclusion upon our failure to accomplish it.  \"We can\nnever represent to ourselves the nonexistence of space,\" says the\nGerman philosopher Kant (1724-1804), \"although we can easily conceive\nthat there are no objects in space.\"\n\nIt would, perhaps, be fairer to translate the first half of this\nsentence as follows: \"We can never picture to ourselves the\nnonexistence of space.\"  Kant says we cannot make of it a\n_Vorstellung_, a representation.  This we may freely admit, for what\ndoes one try to do when one makes the effort to imagine the\nnonexistence of space?  Does not one first clear space of objects, and\nthen try to clear space of space in much the same way?  We try to\n\"think space away,\" _i.e. to remove it from the place where it was and\nyet keep that place_.\n\nWhat does it mean to imagine or represent to oneself the nonexistence\nof material objects?  Is it not to represent to oneself the objects as\nno longer in space, _i.e._ to imagine the space as empty, as cleared of\nthe objects?  It means something in this case to speak of a\n_Vorstellung_, or representation.  We can call before our minds the\nempty space.  But if we are to think of space as nonexistent, what\nshall we call before our minds?  Our procedure must not be analogous to\nwhat it was before; we must not try to picture to our minds _the\nabsence of space_, as though that were in itself a something that could\nbe pictured; we must turn our attention to other relations, such as\ntime relations, and ask whether it is not conceivable that such should\nbe the only relations obtaining within a given system.\n\nThose who insist upon the fact that we cannot but conceive space as\ninfinite employ a very similar argument to prove their point.  They set\nus a self-contradictory task, and regard our failure to accomplish it\nas proof of their position.  Thus, Sir William Hamilton (1788-1856)\nargues: \"We are altogether unable to conceive space as bounded--as\nfinite; that is, as a whole beyond which there is no further space.\"\nAnd Herbert Spencer echoes approvingly: \"We find ourselves totally\nunable to imagine bounds beyond which there is no space.\"\n\nNow, whatever one may be inclined to think about the infinity of space,\nit is clear that this argument is an absurd one.  Let me write it out\nmore at length: \"We are altogether unable to conceive space as\nbounded--as finite; that is, as a whole _in the space_ beyond which\nthere is no further space.\"  \"We find ourselves totally unable to\nimagine bounds, _in the space_ beyond which there is no further space.\"\nThe words which I have added were already present implicitly.  What can\nthe word \"beyond\" mean if it does not signify space beyond?  What Sir\nWilliam and Mr. Spencer have asked us to do is to imagine a limited\nspace with a _beyond_ and yet _no beyond_.\n\nThere is undoubtedly some reason why men are so ready to affirm that\nspace is infinite, even while they admit that they do not know that the\nworld of material things is infinite.  To this we shall come back again\nlater.  But if one wishes to affirm it, it is better to do so without\ngiving a reason than it is to present such arguments as the above.\n\n25. SPACE AS INFINITELY DIVISIBLE.--For more than two thousand years\nmen have been aware that certain very grave difficulties seem to attach\nto the idea of motion, when we once admit that space is infinitely\ndivisible.  To maintain that we can divide any portion of space up into\nultimate elements which are not themselves spaces, and which have no\nextension, seems repugnant to the idea we all have of space.  And if we\nrefuse to admit this possibility there seems to be nothing left to us\nbut to hold that every space, however small, may theoretically be\ndivided up into smaller spaces, and that there is no limit whatever to\nthe possible subdivision of spaces.  Nevertheless, if we take this most\nnatural position, we appear to find ourselves plunged into the most\nhopeless of labyrinths, every turn of which brings us face to face with\na flat self-contradiction.\n\nTo bring the difficulties referred to clearly before our minds, let us\nsuppose a point to move uniformly over a line an inch long, and to\naccomplish its journey in a second.  At first glance, there appears to\nbe nothing abnormal about this proceeding.  But if we admit that this\nline is infinitely divisible, and reflect upon this property of the\nline, the ground seems to sink from beneath our feet at once.\n\nFor it is possible to argue that, under the conditions given, the point\nmust move over one half of the line in half a second; over one half of\nthe remainder, or one fourth of the line, in one fourth of a second;\nover one eighth of the line, in one eighth of a second, etc.  Thus the\nportions of line moved over successively by the point may be\nrepresented by the descending series:\n\n1/2, 1/4, 1/8, 1/16, . . . [Greek omicron symbol]\n\nNow, it is quite true that the motion of the point can be described in\na number of different ways; but the important thing to remark here is\nthat, if the motion really is uniform, and if the line really is\ninfinitely divisible, this series must, as satisfactorily as any other,\ndescribe the motion of the point.  And it would be absurd to maintain\nthat _a part_ of the series can describe the whole motion.  We cannot\nsay, for example, that, when the point has moved over one half, one\nfourth, and one eighth of the line, it has completed its motion.  If\neven a single member of the series is left out, the whole line has not\nbeen passed over; and this is equally true whether the omitted member\nrepresent a large bit of line or a small one.\n\nThe whole series, then, represents the whole line, as definite parts of\nthe series represent definite parts of the line.  The line can only be\ncompleted when the series is completed.  But when and how can this\nseries be completed?  In general, a series is completed when we reach\nthe final term, but here there appears to be no final term.  We cannot\nmake zero the final term, for it does not belong to the series at all.\nIt does not obey the law of the series, for it is not one half as large\nas the term preceding it--what space is so small that dividing it by 2\ngives us [omicron]?  On the other hand, some term just before zero\ncannot be the final term; for if it really represents a little bit of\nthe line, however small, it must, by hypothesis, be made up of lesser\nbits, and a smaller term must be conceivable.  There can, then, be no\nlast term to the series; _i.e._ what the point is doing at the very\nlast is absolutely indescribable; it is inconceivable that there should\nbe a _very last_.\n\nIt was pointed out many centuries ago that it is equally inconceivable\nthat there should be a _very first_.  How can a point even begin to\nmove along an infinitely divisible line?  Must it not before it can\nmove over any distance, however short, first move over half that\ndistance?  And before it can move over that half, must it not move over\nthe half of that?  Can it find something to move over that has no\nhalves?  And if not, how shall it even start to move?  To move at all,\nit must begin somewhere; it cannot begin with what has no halves, for\nthen it is not moving over any part of the line, as all parts have\nhalves; and it cannot begin with what has halves, for that is not the\nbeginning.  _What does the point do first?_ that is the question.\nThose who tell us about points and lines usually leave us to call upon\ngentle echo for an answer.\n\nThe perplexities of this moving point seem to grow worse and worse the\nlonger one reflects upon them.  They do not harass it merely at the\nbeginning and at the end of its journey.  This is admirably brought out\nby Professor W. K. Clifford (1845-1879), an excellent mathematician,\nwho never had the faintest intention of denying the possibility of\nmotion, and who did not desire to magnify the perplexities in the path\nof a moving point.  He writes:--\n\n\"When a point moves along a line, we know that between any two\npositions of it there is an infinite number . . . of intermediate\npositions.  That is because the motion is continuous.  Each of those\npositions is where the point was at some instant or other.  Between the\ntwo end positions on the line, the point where the motion began and the\npoint where it stopped, there is no point of the line which does not\nbelong to that series.  We have thus an infinite series of successive\npositions of a continuously moving point, and in that series are\nincluded all the points of a certain piece of line-room.\" [1]\n\nThus, we are told that, when a point moves along a line, between any\ntwo positions of it there is an infinite number of intermediate\npositions.  Clifford does not play with the word \"infinite\"; he takes\nit seriously and tells us that it means without any end: \"_Infinite_;\nit is a dreadful word, I know, until you find out that you are familiar\nwith the thing which it expresses.  In this place it means that between\nany two positions there is some intermediate position; between that and\neither of the others, again, there is some other intermediate; and so\non _without any end_.  Infinite means without any end.\"\n\nBut really, if the case is as stated, the point in question must be at\na desperate pass.  I beg the reader to consider the following, and ask\nhimself whether he would like to change places with it:--\n\n(1) If the series of positions is really endless, the point must\ncomplete one by one the members of an endless series, and reach a\nnonexistent final term, for a really endless series cannot have a final\nterm.\n\n(2) The series of positions is supposed to be \"an infinite series of\nsuccessive positions.\"  The moving point must take them one after\nanother.  But how can it?  _Between any two positions of the point\nthere is an infinite number of intermediate positions_.  That is to\nsay, no two of these successive positions must be regarded as _next to_\neach other; every position is separated from every other by an infinite\nnumber of intermediate ones.  How, then, shall the point move?  It\ncannot possibly move from one position to the next, for there is no\nnext.  Shall it move first to some position that is not the next?  Or\nshall it in despair refuse to move at all?\n\nEvidently there is either something wrong with this doctrine of the\ninfinite divisibility of space, or there is something wrong with our\nunderstanding of it, if such absurdities as these refuse to be cleared\naway.  Let us see where the trouble lies.\n\n26. WHAT IS REAL SPACE?--It is plain that men are willing to make a\nnumber of statements about space, the ground for making which is not at\nonce apparent.  It is a bold man who will undertake to say that the\nuniverse of matter is infinite in extent.  We feel that we have the\nright to ask him how he knows that it is.  But most men are ready\nenough to affirm that space is and must be infinite.  How do they know\nthat it is?  They certainly do not directly perceive all space, and\nsuch arguments as the one offered by Hamilton and Spencer are easily\nseen to be poor proofs.\n\nMen are equally ready to affirm that space is infinitely divisible.\nHas any man ever looked upon a line and perceived directly that it has\nan infinite number of parts?  Did any one ever succeed in dividing a\nspace up infinitely?  When we try to make clear to ourselves how a\npoint moves along an infinitely divisible line, do we not seem to land\nin sheer absurdities?  On what sort of evidence does a man base his\nstatements regarding space?  They are certainly very bold statements.\n\nA careful reflection reveals the fact that men do not speak as they do\nabout space for no reason at all.  When they are properly understood,\ntheir statements can be seen to be justified, and it can be seen also\nthat the difficulties which we have been considering can be avoided.\nThe subject is a deep one, and it can scarcely be discussed\nexhaustively in an introductory volume of this sort, but one can, at\nleast, indicate the direction in which it seems most reasonable to look\nfor an answer to the questions which have been raised.  How do we come\nto a knowledge of space, and what do we mean by space?  This is the\nproblem to solve; and if we can solve this, we have the key which will\nunlock many doors.\n\nNow, we saw in the last chapter that we have reason to believe that we\nknow what the real external world is.  It is a world of things which we\nperceive, or can perceive, or, not arbitrarily but as a result of\ncareful observation and deductions therefrom, conceive as though we did\nperceive it--a world, say, of atoms and molecules.  It is not an\nUnknowable behind or beyond everything that we perceive, or can\nperceive, or conceive in the manner stated.\n\nAnd the space with which we are concerned is real space, the space in\nwhich real things exist and move about, the real things which we can\ndirectly know or of which we can definitely know something.  In some\nsense it must be given in our experience, if the things which are in\nit, and are known to be in it, are given in our experience.  How must\nwe think of this real space?\n\nSuppose we look at a tree at a distance.  We are conscious of a certain\ncomplex of color.  We can distinguish the kind of color; in this case,\nwe call it blue.  But the quality of the color is not the only thing\nthat we can distinguish in the experience.  In two experiences of color\nthe quality may be the same, and yet the experiences may be different\nfrom each other.  In the one case we may have more of the same\ncolor--we may, so to speak, be conscious of a larger patch; but even if\nthere is not actually more of it, there may be such a difference that\nwe can know from the visual experience alone that the touch object\nbefore us is, in the one case, of the one shape, and, in the other\ncase, of another.  Thus we may distinguish between the _stuff_ given in\nour experience and the _arrangement_ of that stuff.  This is the\ndistinction which philosophers have marked as that between \"matter\" and\n\"form.\"  It is, of course, understood that both of these words, so\nused, have a special sense not to be confounded with their usual one.\n\nThis distinction between \"matter\" and \"form\" obtains in all our\nexperiences.  I have spoken just above of the shape of the touch object\nfor which our visual experiences stand as signs.  What do we mean by\nits shape?  To the plain man real things are the touch things of which\nhe has experience, and these touch things are very clearly\ndistinguishable from one another in shape, in size, in position, nor\nare the different parts| of the things to be confounded with each\nother.  Suppose that, as we pass our hand over a table, all the\nsensations of touch and movement which we experience fused into an\nundistinguishable mass.  Would we have any notion of size or shape?  It\nis because our experiences of touch and movement do not fuse, but\nremain distinguishable from each other, and we are conscious of them as\n_arranged_, as constituting a system, that we can distinguish between\nthis part of a thing and that, this thing and that.\n\nThis arrangement, this order, of what is revealed by touch and\nmovement, we may call the \"form\" of the touch world.  Leaving out of\nconsideration, for the present, time relations, we may say that the\n\"form\" of the touch world is the whole system of actual and possible\nrelations of arrangement between the elements which make it up.  It is\nbecause there is such a system of relations that we can speak of things\nas of this shape or of that, as great or small, as near or far, as here\nor there.\n\nNow, I ask, is there any reason to believe that, when the plain man\nspeaks of _space_, the word means to him anything more than this system\nof actual and possible relations of arrangement among the touch things\nthat constitute his real world?  He may talk sometimes as though space\nwere some kind of a _thing_, but he does not really think of it as a\nthing.\n\nThis is evident from the mere fact that he is so ready to make about it\naffirmations that he would not venture to make about things.  It does\nnot strike him as inconceivable that a given material object should be\nannihilated; it does strike him as inconceivable that a portion of\nspace should be blotted out of existence.  Why this difference?  Is it\nnot explained when we recognize that space is but a name for all the\nactual and possible relations of arrangement in which things in the\ntouch world may stand?  We cannot drop out some of these relations and\nyet keep _space_, _i.e._ the system of relations which we had before.\nThat this is what space means, the plain man may not recognize\nexplicitly, but he certainly seems to recognize it implicitly in what\nhe says about space.  Men are rarely inclined to admit that space is a\n_thing_ of any kind, nor are they much more inclined to regard it as a\nquality of a thing.  Of what could it be the quality?\n\nAnd if space really were a thing of any sort, would it not be the\nheight of presumption for a man, in the absence of any direct evidence\nfrom observation, to say how much there is of it--to declare it\ninfinite?  Men do not hesitate to say that space must be infinite.  But\nwhen we realize that we do not mean by space merely the actual\nrelations which exist between the touch things that make up the world,\nbut also the _possible_ relations, _i.e._ that we mean the whole _plan_\nof the world system, we can see that it is not unreasonable to speak of\nspace as infinite.\n\nThe material universe may, for aught we know, be limited in extent.\nThe actual space relations in which things stand to each other may not\nbe limitless.  But these actual space relations taken alone do not\nconstitute space.  Men have often asked themselves whether they should\nconceive of the universe as limited and surrounded by void space.  It\nis not nonsense to speak of such a state of things.  It would, indeed,\nappear to be nonsense to say that, if the universe is limited, it does\nnot lie in void space.  What can we mean by void space but the system\nof possible relations in which things, if they exist, must stand?  To\nsay that, beyond a certain point, no further relations are possible,\nseems absurd.\n\nHence, when a man has come to understand what we have a right to mean\nby space, it does not imply a boundless conceit on his part to hazard\nthe statement that space is infinite.  When he has said this, he has\nsaid very little.  What shall we say to the statement that space is\ninfinitely divisible?\n\nTo understand the significance of this statement we must come back to\nthe distinction between appearances and the real things for which they\nstand as signs, the distinction discussed at length in the last chapter.\n\nWhen I see a tree from a distance, the visual experience which I have\nis, as we have seen, not an indivisible unit, but is a complex\nexperience; it has parts, and these parts are related to each other; in\nother words, it has both \"matter\" and \"form.\"  It is, however, one\nthing to say that this experience has parts, and it is another to say\nthat it has an infinite number of parts.  No man is conscious of\nperceiving an infinite number of parts in the patch of color which\nrepresents to him a tree at a distance; to say that it is constituted\nof such strikes us in our moments of sober reflection as a monstrous\nstatement.\n\nNow, this visual experience is to us the sign of the reality, the real\ntree; it is not taken as the tree itself.  When we speak of the size,\nthe shape, the number of parts, of the tree, we do not have in mind the\nsize, the shape, the number of parts, of just this experience.  We pass\nfrom the sign to the thing signified, and we may lay our hand upon this\nthing, thus gaining a direct experience of the size and shape of the\ntouch object.\n\nWe must recognize, however, that just as no man is conscious of an\ninfinite number of parts in what he sees, so no man is conscious of an\ninfinite number of parts in what he touches.  He who tells me that,\nwhen I pass my finger along my paper cutter, _what I perceive_ has an\ninfinite number of parts, tells me what seems palpably untrue.  When an\nobject is very small, I can see it, and I cannot see that it is\ncomposed of parts; similarly, when an object is very small, I can feel\nit with my finger, but I cannot distinguish its parts by the sense of\ntouch.  There seem to be limits beyond which I cannot go in either case.\n\nNevertheless, men often speak of thousandths of an inch, or of\nmillionths of an inch, or of distances even shorter.  Have such\nfractions of the magnitudes that we do know and can perceive any real\nexistence?  The touch world of real things as it is revealed in our\nexperience does not appear to be divisible into such; it does not\nappear to be divisible even so far, and much less does it appear to be\ninfinitely divisible.\n\nBut have we not seen that the touch world given in our experience must\nbe taken by the thoughtful man as itself the sign or appearance of a\nreality more ultimate?  The speck which appears to the naked eye to\nhave no parts is seen under the microscope to have parts; that is to\nsay, an experience apparently not extended has become the sign of\nsomething that is seen to have part out of part.  We have as yet\ninvented no instrument that will make directly perceptible to the\nfinger tip an atom of hydrogen or of oxygen, but the man of science\nconceives of these little things as though they could be perceived.\nThey and the space in which they move--the system of actual and\npossible relations between them--seem to be related to the world\nrevealed in touch very much as the space revealed in the field of the\nmicroscope is related to the space of the speck looked at with the\nnaked eye.\n\nThus, when the thoughtful man speaks of _real space_, he cannot mean by\nthe word only the actual and possible relations of arrangement among\nthe things and the parts of things directly revealed to his sense of\ntouch.  He may speak of real things too small to be thus perceived, and\nof their motion as through spaces too small to be perceptible at all.\nWhat limit shall he set to the possible subdivision of _real_ things?\nUnless he can find an ultimate reality which cannot in its turn become\nthe appearance or sign of a further reality, it seems absurd to speak\nof a limit at all.\n\nWe may, then, say that real space is infinitely divisible.  By this\nstatement we should mean that certain experiences may be represented by\nothers, and that we may carry on our division in the case of the\nlatter, when a further subdivision of the former seems out of the\nquestion.  But it should not mean that any single experience furnished\nus by any sense, or anything that we can represent in the imagination,\nis composed of an infinite number of parts.\n\nWhen we realize this, do we not free ourselves from the difficulties\nwhich seemed to make the motion of a point over a line an impossible\nabsurdity?  The line as revealed in a single experience either of sight\nor of touch is not composed of an infinite number of parts.  It is\ncomposed of points seen or touched--least experiences of sight or\ntouch, _minima sensibilia_.  These are next to each other, and the\npoint, in moving, takes them one by one.\n\nBut such a single experience is not what we call a line.  It is but one\nexperience of a line.  Though the experience is not infinitely\ndivisible, the line may be.  This only means that the visual or tactual\npoint of the single experience may stand for, may represent, what is\nnot a mere point but has parts, and is, hence, divisible.  Who can set\na limit to such possible substitutions? in other words, who can set a\nlimit to the divisibility of a _real line_?\n\nIt is only when we confuse the single experience with the real line\nthat we fall into absurdities.  What the mathematician tells us about\nreal points and real lines has no bearing on the constitution of the\nsingle experience and its parts.  Thus, when he tells us that between\nany two points on a line there are an infinite number of other points,\nhe only means that we may expand the line indefinitely by the system of\nsubstitutions described above.  We do this for ourselves within limits\nevery time that we approach from a distance a line drawn on a\nblackboard.  The mathematician has generalized our experience for us,\nand that is all he has done.  We should try to get at his real meaning,\nand not quote him as supporting an absurdity.\n\n\n[1] \"Seeing and Thinking,\" p. 149.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nOF TIME\n\n27. TIME AS NECESSARY, INFINITE, AND INFINITELY DIVISIBLE.--Of course, we\nall know something about time; we know it as past, present, and future;\nwe know it as divisible into parts, all of which are successive; we know\nthat whatever happens must happen in time.  Those who have thought a good\ndeal about the matter are apt to tell us that time is a necessity of\nthought, we cannot but think it; that time is and must be infinite; and\nthat it is infinitely divisible.\n\nThese are the same statements that were made regarding space, and, as\nthey have to be criticised in just the same way, it is not necessary to\ndwell upon them at great length.  However, we must not pass them over\naltogether.\n\nAs to the statement that time is a _necessary_ idea, we may freely admit\nthat we cannot in thought _annihilate_ time, or _think it away_.  It does\nnot seem to mean anything to attempt such a task.  Whatever time may be,\nit does not appear to be a something of such a nature that we can\ndemolish it or clear it away from something else.  But is it necessarily\nabsurd to speak of a system of things--not, of course, a system of things\nin which there is change, succession, an earlier and a later, but still a\nsystem of things of some sort--in which there obtain no time relations?\nThe problem is, to be sure, one of theoretical interest merely, for such\na system of things is not the world we know.\n\nAnd as for the infinity of time, may we not ask on what ground any one\nventures to assert that time is infinite?  No man can say that infinite\ntime is directly given in his experience.  If one does not directly\nperceive it to be infinite, must one not seek for some proof of the fact?\nThe only proof which appears to be offered us is contained in the\nstatement that we cannot conceive of a time before which there was no\ntime, nor of a time after which there will be no time; a proof which is\nno proof, for written out at length it reads as follows: we cannot\nconceive of a time _in the time_ before which there was no time, nor of a\ntime _in the time_ after which there will be no time.  As well say: We\ncannot conceive of a number the number before which was no number, nor of\na number the number after which will be no number.  Whatever may be said\nfor the conclusion arrived at, the argument is a very poor one.\n\nWhen we turn to the consideration of time as infinitely divisible, we\nseem to find ourselves confronted with the same difficulties which\npresented themselves when we thought of space as infinitely divisible.\nCertainly no man was immediately conscious of an infinite number of parts\nin the minute which just slipped by.  Shall he assert that it did,\nnevertheless, contain an infinite number of parts?  Then how did it\nsucceed in passing? how did it even _begin_ to pass away?  It is\ninfinitely divisible, that is, there is no end to the number of parts\ninto which it may be divided; those parts and parts of parts are all\nsuccessive, no two can pass at once, they must all do it in a certain\norder, one after the other.\n\nThus, something must pass _first_.  What can it be?  If that something\nhas parts, is divisible, the whole of it cannot pass first.  It must\nitself pass bit by bit, as must the whole minute; and if it is infinitely\ndivisible we have precisely the problem that we had at the outset.\nWhatever passes first cannot, then, have parts.\n\nLet us assume that it has no parts, and bid it Godspeed!  Has the minute\nbegun?  Our minute is, by hypothesis, infinitely divisible; it is\ncomposed of parts, and those parts of other parts, and so on without end.\nWe cannot by subdivision come to any part which is itself not composed of\nsmaller parts.  The partless thing that passed, then, is no part of the\nminute.  That is all still waiting at the gate, and no member of its\ntroop can prove that it has a right to lead the rest.  In the same outer\ndarkness is waiting the point on the line that misbehaved itself in the\nlast chapter.\n\n28. THE PROBLEM OF PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE.--It seems bad enough to\nhave on our hands a minute which must pass away in successive bits, and\nto discover that no bit of it can possibly pass first.  But if we follow\nwith approval the reflections of certain thinkers, we may find ourselves\nat such a pass that we would be glad to be able to prove that we may have\non our hands a minute of any sort.  Men sometimes are so bold as to\nmaintain that they know time to be infinite; would it not be well for\nthem to prove first that they can know time at all?\n\nThe trouble is this; as was pointed out long ago by Saint Augustine\n(354-430) in his famous \"Confessions,\" [1] the parts of time are\nsuccessive, and of the three divisions, past, present, and future, only\none can be regarded as existing: \"Those two times, past and future, how\ncan they be, when the past is not now, and the future is not yet?\"  The\npresent is, it seems, the only existent; how long is the present?\n\n\"Even a single hour passes in fleeting moments; as much of it as has\ntaken flight is past, what remains is future.  If we can comprehend any\ntime that is divisible into no parts at all, or perhaps into the minutest\nparts of moments, this alone let us call present; yet this speeds so\nhurriedly from the future to the past that it does not endure even for a\nlittle space.  If it has duration, it is divided into a past and a\nfuture; but the present has no duration.\n\n\"Where, then, is the time that we may call long?  Is it future?  We do\nnot say of the future: it _is_ long; for as yet there exists nothing to\nbe long.  We say: it _will be_ long.  But when?  If while yet future it\nwill not be long, for nothing will yet exist to be long.  And if it will\nbe long, when, from a future as yet nonexistent, it has become a present,\nand has begun to be, that it may be something that is long, then present\ntime cries out in the words of the preceding paragraph that it cannot be\nlong.\"\n\nAugustine's way of presenting the difficulty is a quaint one, but the\nproblem is as real at the beginning of the twentieth century as it was at\nthe beginning of the fifth.  Past time does not exist now, future time\ndoes not exist yet, and present time, it seems, has no duration.  Can a\nman be said to be conscious of time as past, present, and future?  Who\ncan be conscious of the nonexistent?  And the existent is not _time_, it\nhas no duration, there is no before and after in a mere limiting point.\n\nAugustine's way out of the difficulty is the suggestion that, although we\ncannot, strictly speaking, measure time, we can measure _memory_ and\n_expectation_.  Before he begins to repeat a psalm, his expectation\nextends over the whole of it.  After a little a part of it must be\nreferred to expectation and a part of it to memory.  Finally, the whole\npsalm is \"extended along\" the memory.  We can measure this, at least.\n\nBut how is the psalm in question \"extended along\" the memory or the\nexpectation?  Are the parts of it successive, or do they thus exist\nsimultaneously?  If everything in the memory image exists at once, if all\nbelongs to the punctual present, to the mere point that divides past from\nfuture, how can a man get from it a consciousness of time, of a something\nwhose parts cannot exist together but must follow each other?\n\nAugustine appears to overlook the fact that on his own hypothesis, the\npresent, the only existent, the only thing a man can be conscious of, is\nan indivisible instant.  In such there can be no change; the man who is\nshut up to such cannot be aware that the past is growing and the future\ndiminishing.  Any such change as this implies at least two instants, an\nearlier and a later.  He who has never experienced a change of any sort,\nwho has never been conscious of the relation of earlier and later, of\nsuccession, cannot think of the varied content of memory as of _that\nwhich has been present_.  It cannot mean to him what memory certainly\nmeans to us; he cannot be conscious of a past, a present, and a future.\nTo extract the notion of time, of past, present, and future, from an\nexperience which contains no element of succession, from an indivisible\ninstant, is as hopeless a task as to extract a line from a mathematical\npoint.\n\nIt appears, then, that, if we are to be conscious of time at all, if we\nare to have the least conception of it, we must have some direct\nexperience of change.  We cannot really be shut up to that punctual\npresent, that mere point or limit between past and future, that the\npresent has been described as being.  But does this not imply that we can\nbe directly conscious of what is not present, that we can _now_ perceive\nwhat does _not now_ exist?  How is this possible?\n\nIt is not easy for one whose reading has been somewhat limited in any\ngiven field to see the full significance of the problems which present\nthemselves in that field.  Those who read much in the history of modern\nphilosophy will see that this ancient difficulty touching our\nconsciousness of time has given rise to some exceedingly curious\nspeculations, and some strange conclusions touching the nature of the\nmind.\n\nThus, it has been argued that, since the experience of each moment is\nsomething quite distinct from the experience of the next, a something\nthat passes away to give place to its successor, we cannot explain the\nconsciousness of time, of a whole in which successive moments are\nrecognized as having their appropriate place, unless we assume a\nsomething that knows each moment and knits it, so to speak, to its\nsuccessor.  This something is the self or consciousness, which is\nindependent of time, and does not exist in time, as do the various\nexperiences that fill the successive moments.  It is assumed to be\n_timelessly_ present _at all times_, and thus to connect the nonexistent\npast with the existent present.\n\nI do not ask the reader to try to make clear to himself how anything can\nbe timelessly present at all times, for I do not believe that the words\ncan be made to represent any clear thought whatever.  Nor do I ask him to\ntry to conceive how this timeless something can join past and present.  I\nmerely wish to point out that these modern speculations, which still\ninfluence the minds of many distinguished men, have their origin in a\ndifficulty which suggested itself early in the history of reflective\nthought, and are by no means to be regarded as a gratuitous and useless\nexercise of the ingenuity.  They are serious attempts to solve a real\nproblem, though they may be unsuccessful ones, and they are worthy of\nattention even from those who incline to a different solution.\n\n29. WHAT IS REAL TIME?--From the thin air of such speculations as we have\nbeen discussing let us come back to the world of the plain man, the world\nin which we all habitually live.  It is from this that we must start out\nupon all our journeys, and it is good to come back to it from time to\ntime to make sure of our bearings.\n\nWe have seen (Chapter V) that we distinguish between the real and the\napparent, and that we recognize as the real world the objects revealed to\nthe sense of touch.  These objects stand to each other in certain\nrelations of arrangement; that is to say, they exist in space.  And just\nas we may distinguish between the object as it appears and the object as\nit is, so we may distinguish between apparent space and real space,\n_i.e._ between the relations of arrangement, actual and possible, which\nobtain among the parts of the object as it appears, and those which\nobtain among the parts of the object as it really is.\n\nBut our experience does not present us only with objects in space\nrelations; it presents us with a succession of changes in those objects.\nAnd if we will reason about those changes as we have reasoned about space\nrelations, many of our difficulties regarding the nature of time may, as\nit seems, be made to disappear.\n\nThus we may recognize that we are directly conscious of duration, of\nsuccession, and may yet hold that this crude and immediate experience of\nduration is not what we mean by real time.  Every one distinguishes\nbetween apparent time and real time now and then.  We all know that a\nsermon may _seem _long and not _be_ long; that the ten years that we live\nover in a dream are not ten real years; that the swallowing of certain\ndrugs may be followed by the illusion of the lapse of vast spaces of\ntime, when really very little time has elapsed.  What is this _real_ time?\n\nIt is nothing else than the order of the changes which take place or may\ntake place in real things.  In the last chapter I spoke of space as the\n\"form\" of the real world; it would be better to call it _a_ \"form\" of the\nreal world, and to give the same name also to time.\n\nIt is very clear that, when we inquire concerning the real time of any\noccurrence, or ask how long a series of such lasted, we always look for\nour answer to something that has happened in the external world.  The\npassage of a star over the meridian, the position of the sun above the\nhorizon, the arc which the moon has described since our last observation,\nthe movement of the hands of a clock, the amount of sand which has fallen\nin the hourglass, these things and such as these are the indicators of\nreal time.  There may be indicators of a different sort; we may decide\nthat it is noon because we are hungry, or midnight because we are tired;\nwe may argue that the preacher must have spoken more than an hour because\nhe quite wore out the patience of the congregation.  These are more or\nless uncertain signs of the lapse of time, but they cannot be regarded as\nexperiences of the passing of time either apparent or real.\n\nThus, we see that real space and real time are the _plan_ of the world\nsystem.  They are not _things_ of any sort, and they should not be\nmistaken for things.  They are not known independently of things, though,\nwhen we have once had an experience of things and their changes, we can\nby abstraction from the things themselves fix our attention upon their\narrangement and upon the order of their changes.  We can divide and\nsubdivide spaces and times without much reference to the things.  But we\nshould never forget that it would never have occurred to us to do this,\nindeed, that the whole procedure would be absolutely meaningless to us,\nwere not a real world revealed in our experience as it is.\n\nHe who has attained to this insight into the nature of time is in a\nposition to offer what seem to be satisfactory solutions to the problems\nwhich have been brought forward above.\n\n(1) He can see, thus, why it is absurd to speak of any portion of time as\nbecoming nonexistent.  Time is nothing else than an order, a great system\nof relations.  One cannot drop out certain of these and leave the rest\nunchanged, for the latter imply the former.  Day-after-to-morrow would\nnot be day-after-to-morrow, if to-morrow did not lie between it and\nto-day.  To speak of dropping out to-morrow and leaving it the time it\nwas conceived to be is mere nonsense.\n\n(2) He can see why it does not indicate a measureless conceit for a man\nto be willing to say that time is infinite.  One who says this need not\nbe supposed to be acquainted with the whole past and future history of\nthe real world, of which time is an aspect.  We constantly abstract from\nthings, and consider only the order of their changes, and in this order\nitself there is no reason why one should set a limit at some point;\nindeed, to set such a limit seems a gratuitous absurdity.  He who says\nthat time is infinite does not say much; he is not affirming the\nexistence of some sort of a thing; he is merely affirming a theoretical\npossibility, and is it not a theoretical possibility that there may be an\nendless succession of real changes in a real world?\n\n(3) It is evident, furthermore, that, when one has grasped firmly the\nsignificance of the distinction between apparent time and real time, one\nmay with a clear conscience speak of time as infinitely divisible.  Of\ncourse, the time directly given in any single experience, the minute or\nthe second of which we are conscious as it passes, cannot be regarded as\ncomposed of an infinite number of parts.  We are not directly conscious\nof these subdivisions, and it is a monstrous assumption to maintain that\nthey must be present in the minute or second as perceived.\n\nBut no such single experience of duration constitutes what we mean by\nreal time.  We have seen that real time is the time occupied by the\nchanges in real things, and the question is, How far can one go in the\nsubdivision of this time?\n\nNow, the touch thing which usually is for us in common life the real\nthing is not the real thing for science; it is the appearance under which\nthe real world of atoms and molecules reveals itself.  The atom is not\ndirectly perceivable, and we may assign to its motions a space so small\nthat no one could possibly perceive it as space, as a something with part\nout of part, a something with a here and a there.  But, as has been\nbefore pointed out (section 26), this does not prevent us from believing\nthe atom and the space in which it moves to be real, and we can\n_represent_ them to ourselves as we can the things and the spaces with\nwhich we have to do in common life.\n\nIt is with time just as it is with space.  We can perceive an inch to\nhave parts; we cannot perceive a thousandth of an inch to have parts, if\nwe can perceive it at all; but we can represent it to ourselves as\nextended, that is, we can let an experience which is extended stand for\nit, and can dwell upon the parts of that.  We can perceive a second to\nhave duration; we cannot perceive a thousandth of a second to have\nduration; but we can conceive it as having duration, _i.e._ we can let\nsome experience of duration stand for it and serve as its representative.\n\nIt is, then, reasonable to speak of the space covered by the vibration of\nan atom, and it is equally reasonable to speak of the time taken up by\nits vibration.  It is not necessary to believe that the duration that we\nactually experience as a second must itself be capable of being divided\nup into the number of parts indicated by the denominator of the fraction\nthat we use in indicating such a time, and that each of these parts must\nbe perceived as duration.\n\nThere is, then, a sense in which we may affirm that time is infinitely\ndivisible.  But we must remember that apparent time--the time presented\nin any single experience of duration--is never infinitely divisible; and\nthat real time, in any save a relative sense of the word, is not a single\nexperience of duration at all.  It is a recognition of the fact that\nexperiences of duration may be substituted for each other without\nassignable limit.\n\n(4) But what shall we say to the last problem--to the question how we can\nbe conscious of time at all, when the parts of time are all successive?\nHow can we even have a consciousness of \"crude\" time, of apparent time,\nof duration in any sense of the word, when duration must be made up of\nmoments no two of which can exist together and no one of which alone can\nconstitute time?  The past is not now, the future is not yet, the present\nis a mere point, as we are told, and cannot have parts.  If we are\nconscious of time as past, present, and future, must we not be conscious\nof a series as a series when every member of it save one is nonexistent?\nCan a man be conscious of the nonexistent?\n\nThe difficulty does seem a serious one, and yet I venture to affirm that,\nif we examine it carefully, we shall see that it is a difficulty of our\nown devising.  The argument quietly makes an assumption--and makes it\ngratuitously--with which any consciousness of duration is incompatible,\nand then asks us how there can be such a thing as a consciousness of\nduration.\n\nThe assumption is that _we can be conscious only of the existent_, and\nthis, written out a little more at length, reads as follows: _we can be\nconscious only of the now existent_, or, in other words _of the present_.\nOf course, this determines from the outset that we cannot be conscious of\nthe past and the future, of duration.\n\nThe past and the future are, to be sure, nonexistent from the point of\nview of the present; but it should be remarked as well that the present\nis nonexistent from the point of view of the past or the future.  If we\nare talking of time at all we are talking of that no two parts of which\nare simultaneous; it would be absurd to speak of a past that existed\nsimultaneously with the present, just as it would be absurd to speak of a\npresent existing simultaneously with the past.  But we should not deny to\npast, present, and future, respectively, their appropriate existence; nor\nis it by any means self-evident that there cannot be a consciousness of\npast, present, and future as such.\n\nWe fall in with the assumption, it seems, because we know very well that\nwe are not directly conscious of a remote past and a remote future.  We\nrepresent these to ourselves by means of some proxy--we have present\nmemories of times long past and present anticipations of what will be in\nthe time to come.  Moreover, we use the word \"present\" very loosely; we\nsay the present year, the present day, the present hour, the present\nminute, or the present second.  When we use the word thus loosely, there\nseems no reason for believing that there should be such a thing as a\ndirect consciousness that extends beyond the present.  It appears\nreasonable to say: No one can be conscious save of the present.\n\nIt should be remembered, however, that the generous present of common\ndiscourse is by no means identical with the ideal point between past and\nfuture dealt with in the argument under discussion.  We all say: I now\nsee that the cloud is moving; I now see that the snow is falling.  But\nthere can be no moving, no falling, no change, in the timeless \"now\" with\nwhich we have been concerned.  Is there any evidence whatever that we are\nshut up, for all our immediate knowledge, to such a \"now\"?  There is none\nwhatever.\n\nThe fact is that this timeless \"now\" is a product of reflective thought\nand not a something of which we are directly conscious.  It is an ideal\npoint in the real time of which this chapter has treated, the time that\nis in a certain sense infinitely divisible.  It is first cousin to the\nideal mathematical point, the mere limit between two lines, a something\nnot perceptible to any sense.  We have a tendency to carry over to it\nwhat we recognize to be true of the very different present of common\ndiscourse, a present which we distinguish from past and future in a\nsomewhat loose way, but a present in which there certainly is the\nconsciousness of change, of duration.  And when we do this, we dig for\nourselves a pit into which we proceed to fall.\n\nWe may, then, conclude that we are directly conscious of more than the\npresent, in the sense in which Augustine used the word.  We are conscious\nof _time_, of \"crude\" time, and from this we can pass to a knowledge of\nreal time, and can determine its parts with precision.\n\n\n[1] Book XI, Chapters 14 and 15.\n\n\n\n\nIII. PROBLEMS TOUCHING THE MIND\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nWHAT IS THE MIND?\n\n30. PRIMITIVE NOTIONS OF MIND.--The soul or mind, that something to\nwhich we refer sensations and ideas of all sorts, is an object that men\ndo not seem to know very clearly and definitely, though they feel so\nsure of its existence that they regard it as the height of folly to\ncall it in question.  That he has a mind, no man doubts; what his mind\nis, he may be quite unable to say.\n\nWe have seen (section 7) that children, when quite young, can hardly be\nsaid to recognize that they have minds at all.  This does not mean that\nwhat is mental is not given in their experience.  They know that they\nmust open their eyes to see things, and must lay their hands upon them\nto feel them; they have had pains and pleasures, memories and fancies.\nIn short, they have within their reach all the materials needed in\nframing a conception of the mind, and in drawing clearly the\ndistinction between their minds and external things.  Nevertheless,\nthey are incapable of using these materials; their attention is\nengrossed with what is physical,--with their own bodies and the bodies\nof others, with the things that they can eat, with the toys with which\nthey can play, and the like.  It is only later that there emerges even\na tolerably clear conception of a self or mind different from the\nphysical and contrasted with it.\n\nPrimitive man is almost as material in his thinking as is the young\nchild.  Of this we have traces in many of the words which have come to\nbe applied to the mind.  Our word \"spirit\" is from the Latin\n_spiritus_, originally a breeze.  The Latin word for the soul, the word\nused by the great philosophers all through the Middle Ages, _anima_\n(Greek, anemos), has the same significance.  In the Greek New\nTestament, the word used for spirit (pneuma) carries a similar\nsuggestion.  When we are told in the Book of Genesis that \"man became a\nliving soul,\" we may read the word literally \"a breath.\"\n\nWhat more natural than that the man who is just awakening to a\nconsciousness of that elusive entity the mind should confuse it with\nthat breath which is the most striking outward and visible sign that\ndistinguishes a living man from a dead one?\n\nThat those who first tried to give some scientific account of the soul\nor mind conceived it as a material thing, and that it was sufficiently\ncommon to identify it with the breath, we know from direct evidence.  A\nglance at the Greek philosophy, to which we owe so much that is of\nvalue in our intellectual life, is sufficient to disclose how difficult\nit was for thinking men to attain to a higher conception.\n\nThus, Anaximenes of Miletus, who lived in the sixth century before\nChrist, says that \"our soul, which is air, rules us.\"  A little later,\nHeraclitus, a man much admired for the depth of his reflections,\nmaintains that the soul is a fiery vapor, evidently identifying it with\nthe warm breath of the living creature.  In the fifth century, B.C.,\nAnaxagoras, who accounts for the ordering of the elements into a system\nof things by referring to the activity of Mind or Reason, calls mind\n\"the finest of things,\" and it seems clear that he did not conceive of\nit as very different in nature from the other elements which enter into\nthe constitution of the world.\n\nDemocritus of Abdera (between 460 and 360 B.C.), that great\ninvestigator of nature and brilliant writer, developed a materialistic\ndoctrine that admits the existence of nothing save atoms and empty\nspace.  He conceived the soul to consist of fine, smooth, round atoms,\nwhich are also atoms of fire.  These atoms are distributed through the\nwhole body, but function differently in different places--in the brain\nthey give us thought, in the heart, anger, and in the liver, desire.\nLife lasts just so long as we breathe in and breathe out such atoms.\n\nThe doctrine of Democritus was taken up by Epicurus, who founded his\nschool three hundred years before Christ--a school which lived and\nprospered for a very long time.  Those who are interested in seeing how\na materialistic psychology can be carried out in detail by an ingenious\nmind should read the curious account of the mind presented in his great\npoem, \"On Nature,\" by the Roman poet Lucretius, an ardent Epicurean,\nwho wrote in the first century B.C.\n\nThe school which we commonly think of contrasting with the Epicurean,\nand one which was founded at about the same time, is that of the\nStoics.  Certainly the Stoics differed in many things from the\nEpicureans; their view of the world, and of the life of man, was a much\nnobler one; but they were uncompromising materialists, nevertheless,\nand identified the soul with the warm breath that animates man.\n\n31. THE MIND AS IMMATERIAL.--It is scarcely too much to say that the\nGreek philosophy as a whole impresses the modern mind as representing\nthe thought of a people to whom it was not unnatural to think of the\nmind as being a breath, a fire, a collection of atoms, a something\nmaterial.  To be sure, we cannot accuse those twin stars that must ever\nremain the glory of literature and science, Plato and Aristotle, of\nbeing materialists.  Plato (427-347, B.C.) distributes, it is true, the\nthree-fold soul, which he allows man, in various parts of the human\nbody, in a way that at least suggests the Democritean distribution of\nmind-atoms.  The lowest soul is confined beneath the diaphragm; the one\nnext in rank has its seat in the chest; and the highest, the rational\nsoul, is enthroned in the head.  However, he has said quite enough\nabout this last to indicate clearly that he conceived it to be free\nfrom all taint of materiality.\n\nAs for Aristotle (384-322, B.C.),  who also distinguished between the\nlower psychical functions and the higher, we find him sometimes\nspeaking of soul and body in such a way as to lead men to ask\nthemselves whether he is really speaking of two things at all; but when\nhe specifically treats of the _nous_ or reason, he insists upon its\ncomplete detachment from everything material.  Man's reason is not\nsubjected to the fate of the lower psychical functions, which, as the\n\"form\" of the body, perish with the body; it enters from without, and\nit endures after the body has passed away.  It is interesting to note,\nhowever, an occasional lapse even in Aristotle.  When he comes to speak\nof the relation to the world of the Divine Mind, the First Cause of\nMotion, which he conceives as pure Reason, he represents it as\n_touching_ the world, although it remains itself _untouched_.  We seem\nto find here just a flavor--an inconsistent one--of the material.\n\nSuch reflections as those of Plato and Aristotle bore fruit in later\nages.  When we come down to Plotinus the Neo-Platonist (204-269, A.D.),\nwe have left the conception of the soul as a warm breath, or as\ncomposed of fine round atoms, far behind.  It has become curiously\nabstract and incomprehensible.  It is described as an immaterial\nsubstance  This substance is, in a sense, in the body, or, at least, it\nis present to the body.  But it is not in the body as material things\nare in this place or in that.  _It is as a whole in the whole body, and\nit is as a whole in every part of the body_.  Thus the soul may be\nregarded as divisible, since it is distributed throughout the body; but\nit must also be regarded as indivisible, since it is wholly in every\npart.\n\nLet the man to whom such sentences as these mean anything rejoice in\nthe meaning that he is able to read into them!  If he can go as far as\nPlotinus, perhaps he can go as far as Cassiodorus (477-570, A.D.), and\nmaintain that the soul is not merely as a whole in every part of the\nbody, but is wholly in each of its own parts.\n\nUpon reading such statements one's first impulse is to exclaim: How is\nit possible that men of sense should be led to speak in this\nirresponsible way? and when they do speak thus, is it conceivable that\nother men should seriously occupy themselves with what they say?\n\nBut if one has the historic sense, and knows something of the setting\nin which such doctrines come to the birth, one cannot regard it as\nremarkable that men of sense should urge them.  No one coins them\nindependently out of his own brain; little by little men are impelled\nalong the path that leads to such conclusions.  Plotinus was a careful\nstudent of the philosophers that preceded him.  He saw that mind must\nbe distinguished from matter, and he saw that what is given a location\nin space, in the usual sense of the words, is treated like a material\nthing.  On the other hand, he had the common experience that we all\nhave of a relation between mind and body.  How do justice to this\nrelation, and yet not materialize mind?\n\nWhat he tried to do is clear, and it seems equally clear that he had\ngood reason for trying to do it.  But it appears to us now that what he\nactually did was to make of the mind or soul a something very like an\ninconsistent bit of matter, that is somehow in space, and yet not\nexactly in space, a something that can be in two places at once, a\nlogical monstrosity.  That his doctrine did not meet with instant\nrejection was due to the fact, already alluded to, that our experience\nof the mind is something rather dim and elusive.  It is not easy for a\nman to say what it is, and, hence, it is not easy for a man to say what\nit is not.\n\nThe doctrine of Plotinus passed over to Saint Augustine, and from him\nit passed to the philosophers of the Middle Ages.  How extremely\ndifficult it has been for the world to get away from it at all, is made\nclearly evident in the writings of that remarkable man Descartes.\n\nDescartes wrote in the seventeenth century.  The long sleep of the\nMiddle Ages was past, and the several sciences had sprung into a\nvigorous and independent life.  It was not enough for Descartes to\ndescribe the relation of mind and body in the loose terms that had\nprevailed up to his time.  He had made a careful study of anatomy, and\nhe realized that the brain is a central organ to which messages are\ncarried by the nerves from all parts of the body.  He knew that an\ninjury to the nerve might prevent the receipt of a message, _i.e._ he\nknew that a conscious sensation did not come into being until something\nhappened in the brain.\n\nNor was he content merely to refer the mind to the brain in a general\nway.  He found the \"little pineal gland\" in the midst of the brain to\nbe in what he regarded as an admirable position to serve as the seat of\nthe soul.  To this convenient little central office he relegated it;\nand he describes in a way that may to-day well provoke a smile the\nmovements that the soul imparts to the pineal gland, making it incline\nitself in this direction and in that, and making it push the \"animal\nspirits,\" the fluid contained in the cavities of the brain, towards\nvarious \"pores.\"\n\nThus he writes:[1] \"Let us, then, conceive of the soul as having her\nchief seat in the little gland that is in the middle of the brain,\nwhence she radiates to all the rest of the body by means of the\nspirits, the nerves, and even the blood, which, participating in the\nimpressions of the spirits, can carry them through the arteries to all\nthe members.\"  And again: \"Thus, when the soul wills to call anything\nto remembrance, this volition brings it about that the gland, inclining\nitself successively in different directions, pushes the spirits towards\ndivers parts of the brain, until they find the part which has the\ntraces that the object which one wishes to recollect has left there.\"\n\nWe must admit that Descartes' scientific studies led him to make this\nmind that sits in the little pineal gland something very material.  It\nis spoken of as though it pushed the gland about; it is affected by the\nmotions of the gland, as though it were a bit of matter.  It seems to\nbe a less inconsistent thing than the \"all in the whole body\" soul of\nPlotinus; but it appears to have purchased its comprehensibility at the\nexpense of its immateriality.\n\nShall we say that Descartes frankly repudiated the doctrine that had\nobtained for so many centuries?  We cannot say that; he still held to\nit.  But how could he?  The reader has perhaps remarked above that he\nspeaks of the soul as having her _chief_ seat in the pineal gland.  It\nseems odd that he should do so, but he still held, even after he had\ncome to his definite conclusions as to the soul's seat, to the ancient\ndoctrine that the soul is united to all the parts of the body\n\"conjointly.\"  He could not wholly repudiate a venerable tradition.\n\nWe have seen, thus, that men first conceived of the mind as material\nand later came to rebel against such a conception.  But we have seen,\nalso, that the attempt to conceive it as immaterial was not wholly\nsuccessful.  It resulted in a something that we may describe as\ninconsistently material rather than as not material at all.\n\n32. MODERN COMMON SENSE NOTIONS OF THE MIND.--Under this heading I mean\nto sum up the opinions as to the nature of the mind usually held by the\nintelligent persons about us to-day who make no claim to be regarded as\nphilosophers.  Is it not true that a great many of them believe:--\n\n(1) That the mind is in the body?\n\n(2) That it acts and reacts with matter?\n\n(3) That it is a substance with attributes?\n\n(4) That it is nonextended and immaterial?\n\nI must remark at the outset that this collection of opinions is by no\nmeans something gathered by the plain man from his own experience.\nThese opinions are the echoes of old philosophies.  They are a heritage\nfrom the past, and have become the common property of all intelligent\npersons who are even moderately well-educated.  Their sources have been\nindicated in the preceding sections; but most persons who cherish them\nhave no idea of their origin.\n\nMen are apt to suppose that these opinions seem reasonable to them\nmerely for the reason that they find in their own experience evidence\nof their truth.  But this is not so.\n\nHave we not seen above how long it took men to discover that they must\nnot think of the mind as being a breath, or a flame, or a collection of\nmaterial atoms?  The men who erred in this way were abler than most of\nus can pretend to be, and they gave much thought to the matter.  And\nwhen at last it came to be realized that mind must not thus be\nconceived as material, those who endeavored to conceive it as something\nelse gave, after their best efforts, a very queer account of it indeed.\n\nIs it in the face of such facts reasonable to suppose that our friends\nand acquaintances, who strike us as having reflective powers in nowise\nremarkable, have independently arrived at the conception that the mind\nis a nonextended and immaterial substance?  Surely they have not\nthought all this out for themselves.  They have taken up and\nappropriated unconsciously notions which were in the air, so to speak.\nThey have inherited their doctrines, not created them.  It is well to\nremember this, for it may make us the more willing to take up and\nexamine impartially what we have uncritically turned into articles of\nbelief.\n\nThe first two articles, namely, that the mind is in the body and that\nit acts upon, and is acted upon by, material things, I shall discuss at\nlength in the next chapter.  Here I pause only to point out that the\nplain man does not put the mind into the body quite unequivocally.  I\nthink it would surprise him to be told that a line might be drawn\nthrough two heads in such a way as to transfix two minds.  And I\nremark, further, that he has no clear idea of what it means for mind to\nact upon body or body to act upon mind.  How does an immaterial thing\nset a material thing in motion?  Can it touch it?  Can it push it?\nThen what does it do?\n\nBut let us pass on to the last two articles of faith mentioned above.\n\nWe all draw the distinction between _substance_ and its _attributes_ or\n_qualities_.  The distinction was remarked and discussed many centuries\nago, and much has been written upon it.  I take up the ruler on my\ndesk; it is recognized at once as a bit of wood.  How?  It has such and\nsuch qualities.  My paper-knife is of silver.  How do I know it?  It\nhas certain other qualities.  I speak of my mind.  How do I know that I\nhave a mind?  I have sensations and ideas.  If I experienced no mental\nphenomena of any sort, evidence of the existence of a mind would be\nlacking.\n\nNow, whether I am concerned with the ruler, with the paper-knife, or\nwith the mind, have I direct evidence of the existence of anything more\nthan the whole group of qualities?  Do I ever perceive the substance?\n\nIn the older philosophy, the substance (_substantia_) was conceived to\nbe a something not directly perceived, but only inferred to exist--a\nsomething underlying the qualities of things and, as it were, holding\nthem together.  It was believed in by philosophers who were quite ready\nto admit that they could not tell anything about it.  For example, John\nLocke (1632-1704), the English philosopher, holds to it stoutly, and\nyet describes it as a mere \"we know not what,\" whose function it is to\nhold together the bundles of qualities that constitute the things we\nknow.\n\nIn the modern philosophy men still distinguish between substance and\nqualities.  It is a useful distinction, and we could scarcely get on\nwithout it.  But an increasing number of thoughtful persons repudiate\nthe old notion of substance altogether.\n\nWe may, they say, understand by the word \"substance\" the whole group of\nqualities _as a group_--not merely the qualities that are revealed at a\ngiven time, but all those that we have reason to believe a fuller\nknowledge would reveal.  In short, we may understand by it just what is\nleft when the \"we know not what\" of the Lockian has been discarded.\n\nThis notion of substance we may call the more modern one; yet we can\nhardly say that it is the notion of the plain man.  He does not make\nvery clear to himself just what is in his thought, but I think we do\nhim no injustice in maintaining that he is something of a Lockian, even\nif he has never heard of Locke.  The Lockian substance is, as the\nreader has seen, a sort of \"unknowable.\"\n\nAnd now for the doctrine that the mind is nonextended and immaterial.\nWith these affirmations we may heartily agree; but we must admit that\nthe plain man enunciates them without having a very definite idea of\nwhat the mind is.\n\nHe regards as in his mind all his sensations and ideas, all his\nperceptions and mental images of things.  Now, suppose I close my eyes\nand picture to myself a barber's pole.  Where is the image?  We say, in\nthe mind.  Is it extended?  We feel impelled to answer, No.  But it\ncertainly _seems_ to be extended; the white and the red upon it appear\nundeniably side by side.  May I assert that this mental image has no\nextension whatever?  Must I deny to it _parts_, or assert that its\nparts are not side by side?\n\nIt seems odd to maintain that a something as devoid of parts as is a\nmathematical point should yet appear to have parts and to be extended.\nOn the other hand, if we allow the image to be extended, how can we\nrefer it to a nonextended mind?\n\nTo such questions as these, I do not think that the plain man has an\nanswer.  That they can be answered, I shall try to show in the last\nsection of this chapter.  But one cannot answer them until one has\nattained to rather a clear conception of what is meant by the mind.\n\nAnd until one has attained to such a conception, the statement that the\nmind is immaterial must remain rather vague and indefinite.  As we saw\nabove, even the Plotinic soul was inconsistently material rather than\nimmaterial.  It was not excluded from space; it was referred to space\nin an absurd way.  The mind as common sense conceives it, is the\nsuccessor of this Plotinic soul, and seems to keep a flavor of what is\nmaterial after all.  This will come out in the next chapter, where we\nshall discuss mind and body.\n\n33. THE PSYCHOLOGIST AND THE MIND.--When we ask how the psychologist\nconceives of the mind, we must not forget that psychologists are many\nand that they differ more or less from each other in their opinions.\nWhen we say \"the psychologist\" believes this or that, we mean usually\nno more than that the opinion referred to is prevalent among men of\nthat class, or that it is the opinion of those whom we regard as its\nmore enlightened members.\n\nTaking the words in this somewhat loose sense, I shall ask what the\npsychologist's opinion is touching the four points set forth in the\npreceding section.  How far does he agree with the plain man?\n\n(1) There can be no doubt that he refers the mind to the body in some\nway, although he may shake his head over the use of the word \"in.\"\n\n(2) As to whether the mind acts and reacts with matter, in any sense of\nthe words analogous to that in which they are commonly used, there is a\ndivision in the camp.  Some affirm such interaction; some deny it.  The\nmatter will be discussed in the next chapter.\n\n(3) The psychologist--the more modern one--inclines to repudiate any\nsubstance or substratum of the sort accepted in the Middle Ages and\nbelieved in by many men now.  To him the mind is the whole complex of\nmental phenomena in their interrelations.  In other words, the mind is\nnot an unknown and indescribable something that is merely inferred; it\nis something revealed in consciousness and open to observation.\n\n(4) The psychologist is certainly not inclined to regard the mind or\nany idea belonging to it as material or as extended.  But he does\nrecognize implicitly, if not explicitly, that ideas are composite.  To\nhim, as to the plain man, the image held in the memory or imagination\n_seems_ to be extended, and he can distinguish its parts.  He does not\ndo much towards clearing away the difficulty alluded to at the close of\nthe last section.  It remains for the metaphysician to do what he can\nwith it, and to him we must turn if we wish light upon this obscure\nsubject.\n\n34. THE METAPHYSICIAN AND THE MIND.--I have reserved for the next\nchapter the first two points mentioned as belonging to the plain man's\ndoctrine of the mind.  In what sense the mind may be said to be in the\nbody, and how it may be conceived to be related to the body, are topics\nthat deserve to be treated by themselves in a chapter on \"Mind and\nBody.\"  Here I shall consider what the metaphysician has to say about\nthe mind as substance, and about the mind as nonextended and immaterial.\n\nIt has been said that the Lockian substance is really an \"unknowable.\"\nNo one pretends to have experience of it; it is revealed to no sense;\nit is, indeed, a name for a mere nothing, for when we abstract from a\nthing, in thought, every single quality, we find that there is left to\nus nothing whatever.\n\nWe cannot say that the substance, in this sense of the word, is the\n_reality_ of which the qualities are _appearances_.  In Chapter V we\nsaw just what we may legitimately mean by realities and appearances,\nand it was made clear that an unknowable of any sort cannot possibly be\nthe reality to which this or that appearance is referred.  Appearances\nand realities are experiences which are observed to be related in\ncertain ways.  That which is not open to observation at all, that of\nwhich we have, and can have, no experience, we have no reason to call\nthe reality of anything.  We have, in truth, no reason to talk about it\nat all, for we know nothing whatever about it; and when we do talk\nabout it, it is because we are laboring under a delusion.\n\nThis is equally true whether we are concerned with the substance of\nmaterial things or with the substance of minds.  An \"unknowable\" is an\n\"unknowable\" in any case, and we may simply discard it.  We lose\nnothing by so doing, for one cannot lose what one has never had, and\nwhat, by hypothesis, one can never have.  The loss of a mere word\nshould occasion us no regret.\n\nNow, we have seen that we do not lose the world of real material things\nin rejecting the \"Unknowable\" (Chapter V).  The things are complexes of\nqualities, of physical phenomena; and the more we know about these, the\nmore do we know about real things.\n\nBut we have also seen (Chapter IV) that physical phenomena are not the\nonly phenomena of which we have experience.  We are conscious of mental\nphenomena as well, of the phenomena of the subjective order, of\nsensations and ideas.  Why not admit that these _constitute_ the mind,\nas physical phenomena constitute the things which belong to the\nexternal world?\n\nHe who says this says no more than that the mind is known and is\nknowable.  It is what it is perceived to be; and the more we know of\nmental phenomena, the more do we know of the mind.  Shall we call the\nmind as thus known a _substance_?  That depends on the significance\nwhich we give to this word.  It is better, perhaps, to avoid it, for it\nis fatally easy to slip into the old use of the word, and then to say,\nas men have said, that we do not know the mind as it is, but only as it\nappears to us to be--that we do not know the reality, but only its\nappearances.\n\nAnd if we keep clearly before us the view of the mind which I am\nadvocating, we shall find an easy way out of the difficulties that seem\nto confront us when we consider it as nonextended and immaterial.\n\nCertain complexes of mental phenomena--for example, the barber's pole\nabove alluded to--certainly appear to be extended.  Are they really\nextended?  If I imagine a tree a hundred feet high, is it really a\nhundred feet high?  Has it any real size at all?\n\nOur problem melts away when we realize what we mean by this \"real\nsize.\"  In Chapter V, I have distinguished between apparent space and\nreal space.  Real space is, as was pointed out, the \"plan\" of the real\nphysical world.  To occupy any portion of real space, a thing must be a\nreal external thing; that is, the experiences constituting it must\nbelong to the objective order, they must not be of the class called\nmental.  We all recognize this, in a way.  We know that a real material\nfoot rule cannot be applied to an imaginary tree.  We say, How big did\nthe tree seen in a dream _seem_; we do not say, How big was it\n_really_?  If we did ask such a question, we should be puzzled to know\nwhere to look for an answer.\n\nAnd this for a very good reason.  He who asks: How big was that\nimaginary tree really? asks, in effect: How much real space did the\nunreal tree fill?  The question is a foolish one.  It assumes that\nphenomena not in the objective order are in the objective order.  As\nwell ask how a color smells or how a sound looks.  When we are dealing\nwith the material we are not dealing with the mental, and we must never\nforget this.\n\nThe tree imagined or seen in a dream seems extended.  Its extension is\n_apparent_ extension, and this apparent extension has no place in the\nexternal world whatever.  But we must not confound this apparent\nextension with a real mathematical point, and call the tree nonextended\nin this sense.  If we do this we are still in the old error--we have\nnot gotten away from real space, but have substituted position in that\nspace for extension in that space.  Nothing mental can have even a\nposition in real space.  To do that it would have to be a real thing in\nthe sense indicated.\n\nLet us, then, agree with the plain man in affirming that the mind is\nnonextended, but let us avoid misconception.  The mind is constituted\nof experiences of the subjective order.  None of these are in\nspace--real space.  But some of them have apparent extension, and we\nmust not overlook all that this implies.\n\nNow for the mind as immaterial.  We need not delay long over this\npoint.  If we mean by the mind the phenomena of the subjective order,\nand by what is material the phenomena of the objective order, surely we\nmay and must say that the mind is immaterial.  The two classes of\nphenomena separate themselves out at once.\n\n\n[1] \"The Passions,\" Articles 34 and 42.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nMIND AND BODY\n\n35. IS THE MIND IN THE BODY?--There was a time, as we have seen in the\nlast chapter (section 30), when it did not seem at all out of the way\nto think of the mind as in the body, and very literally in the body.\nHe who believes the mind to be a breath, or a something composed of\nmaterial atoms, can conceive it as being in the body as unequivocally\nas chairs can be in a room.  Breath can be inhaled and exhaled; atoms\ncan be in the head, or in the chest, or the heart, or anywhere else in\nthe animal economy.  There is nothing dubious about this sense of the\npreposition \"in.\"\n\nBut we have also seen (section 31) that, as soon as men began to\nrealize that the mind is not material, the question of its presence in\nthe body became a serious problem.  If I say that a chair is in a room,\nI say what is comprehensible to every one.  It is assumed that it is in\na particular place in the room and is not in some other place.  If,\nhowever, I say that the chair is, as a whole, in every part of the room\nat once, I seem to talk nonsense.  This is what Plotinus and those who\ncame after him said about the mind.  Are their statements any the less\nnonsensical because they are talking about minds?  When one speaks\nabout things mental, one must not take leave of good sense and utter\nunmeaning phrases.\n\nIf minds are enough like material things to be in anything, they must\nbe in things in some intelligible sense of the word.  It will not do to\nsay: I use the word \"in,\" but I do not really mean _in_.  If the\nmeaning has disappeared, why continue to use the word?  It can only\nlead to mystification.\n\nDescartes seemed to come back to something like an intelligible meaning\nwhen he put the mind in the pineal gland in the brain.  Yet, as we have\nseen, he clung to the old conception.  He could not go back to the\nfrank materialization of mind.\n\nAnd the plain man to-day labors under the same difficulty.  He puts the\nmind in the body, in the brain, but he does not put it there frankly\nand unequivocally.  It is in the brain and yet not exactly in the\nbrain.  Let us see if this is not the case.\n\nIf we ask him: Does the man who wags his head move his mind about? does\nhe who mounts a step raise his mind some inches? does he who sits down\non a chair lower his mind?  I think we shall find that he hesitates in\nhis answers.  And if we go on to say: Could a line be so drawn as to\npass through your image of me and my image of you, and to measure their\ndistance from one another?  I think he will say, No.  He does not\nregard minds and their ideas as existing in space in this fashion.\n\nFurthermore, it would not strike the plain man as absurd if we said to\nhim: Were our senses far more acute than they are, it is conceivable\nthat we should be able to perceive every atom in a given human body,\nand all its motions.  But would he be willing to admit that an increase\nin the sharpness of sense would reveal to us directly the mind\nconnected with such a body?  It is not, then, in the body as the atoms\nare.  It cannot be seen or touched under any conceivable circumstances.\nWhat can it mean, hence, to say that it is _there_?  Evidently, the\nword is used in a peculiar sense, and the plain man cannot help us to a\nclear understanding of it.\n\nHis position becomes intelligible to us when we realize that he has\ninherited the doctrine that the mind is immaterial, and that he\nstruggles, at the same time, with the tendency so natural to man to\nconceive it after the analogy of things material.  He thinks of it as\nin the body, and, nevertheless, tries to dematerialize this \"in.\"  His\nthought is sufficiently vague, and is inconsistent, as might be\nexpected.\n\nIf we will bear in mind what was said in the closing section of the\nlast chapter, we can help him over his difficulty.  That mind and body\nare related there can be no doubt.  But should we use the word \"in\" to\nexpress this relation?\n\nThe body is a certain group of phenomena in the objective order; that\nis, it is a part of the external world.  The mind consists of\nexperiences in the subjective order.  We have seen that no mental\nphenomenon can occupy space--real space, the space of the external\nworld--and that it cannot even have a position in space (section 34).\nAs mental, it is excluded from the objective order altogether.  The\nmind is not, then, strictly speaking, _in_ the body, although it is\nrelated to it.  It remains, of course, to ask ourselves how we ought to\nconceive the relation.  This we shall do later in the present chapter.\n\nBut, it may be said, it would sound odd to deny that the mind is in the\nbody.  Does not every one use the expression?  What can we substitute\nfor it?  I answer: If it is convenient to use the expression let us\ncontinue to do so.  Men must talk so as to be understood.  But let us\nnot perpetuate error, and, as occasion demands it, let us make clear to\nourselves and to others what we have a right to understand by this _in_\nwhen we use it.\n\n36. THE DOCTRINE OF THE INTERACTIONIST.--There is no man who does not\nknow that his mind is related to his body as it is not to other\nmaterial things.  We open our eyes, and we see things; we stretch out\nour hand, and we feel them; our body receives a blow, and we feel pain;\nwe wish to move, and the muscles are set in motion.\n\nThese things are matters of common experience.  We all perceive, in\nother words, that there is an interaction, in some sense of the term,\nbetween mind and body.\n\nBut it is important to realize that one may be quite well aware of all\nsuch facts, and yet may have very vague notions of what one means by\nbody and by mind, and may have no definite theory at all of the sort of\nrelation that obtains between them.  The philosopher tries to attain to\na clearer conception of these things.  His task, be it remembered, is\nto analyze and explain, not to deny, the experiences which are the\ncommon property of mankind.\n\nIn the present day the two theories of the relation of mind and body\nthat divide the field between them and stand opposed to each other are\n_interactionism_ and _parallelism_.  I have used the word \"interaction\"\na little above in a loose sense to indicate our common experience of\nthe fact that we become conscious of certain changes brought about in\nour body, and that our purposes realize themselves in action.  But\nevery one who accepts this fact is not necessarily an interactionist.\nThe latter is a man who holds a certain more or less definite theory as\nto what is implied by the fact.  Let us take a look at his doctrine.\n\nPhysical things interact.  A billiard ball in motion strikes one which\nhas been at rest; the former loses its motion, the latter begins to\nroll away.  We explain the occurrence by a reference to the laws of\nmechanics; that is to say, we point out that it is merely an instance\nof the uniform behavior of matter in motion under such and such\ncircumstances.  We distinguish between the state of things at one\ninstant and the state of things at the next, and we call the former\n_cause_ and the latter _effect_.\n\nIt should be observed that both cause and effect here belong to the one\norder, the objective order.  They have their place in the external\nworld.  Both the balls are material things; their motion, and the space\nin which they move, are aspects of the external world.\n\nIf the balls did not exist in the same space, if the motion of the one\ncould not be towards or away from the other, if contact were\nimpossible, we would manifestly have no interaction _in the sense of\nthe word employed above_.  As it is, the interaction of physical things\nis something that we can describe with a good deal of definiteness.\nThings interact in that they stand in certain physical relations, and\nundergo changes of relations according to certain laws.\n\nNow, to one who conceives the mind in a grossly material way, the\nrelation of mind and body can scarcely seem to be a peculiar problem,\ndifferent from the problem of the relation of one physical thing to\nanother.  If my mind consists of atoms disseminated through my body,\nits presence in the body appears as unequivocal as the presence of a\ndinner in a man who has just risen from the table.  Nor can the\ninteraction of mind and matter present any unusual difficulties, for\nmind is matter.  Atoms may be conceived to approach each other, to\nclash, to rearrange themselves.  Interaction of mind and body is\nnothing else than an interaction of bodies.  One is not forced to give\na new meaning to the word.\n\nWhen, however, one begins to think of the mind as immaterial, the case\nis very different.  How shall we conceive an immaterial thing to be\nrelated to a material one?\n\nDescartes placed the mind in the pineal gland, and in so far he seemed\nto make its relation to the gland similar to that between two material\nthings.  When he tells us that the soul brings it about that the gland\nbends in different directions, we incline to view the occurrence as\nvery natural--is not the soul in the gland?\n\nBut, on the other hand, Descartes also taught that the essence of mind\nis _thought_ and the essence of body is _extension_.  He made the two\nnatures so different from each other that men began to ask themselves\nhow the two things could interact at all.  The mind wills, said one\nphilosopher, but that volition does not set matter in motion; when the\nmind wills, God brings about the appropriate change in material things.\nThe mind perceives things, said another, but that is not because they\naffect it directly; it sees things in God.  Ideas and things, said a\nthird, constitute two independent series; no idea can cause a change in\nthings, and no thing can cause a change in ideas.\n\nThe interactionist is a man who refuses to take any such turn as these\nphilosophers.  His doctrine is much nearer to that of Descartes than it\nis to any of theirs.  He uses the one word \"interaction\" to describe\nthe relation between material things and also the relation between mind\nand body, nor does he dwell upon the difference between the two.  He\ninsists that mind and matter stand in the one causal nexus; that a\nchange in the outside world may be the _cause_ of a perception coming\ninto being in a mind, and that a volition may be the _cause_ of changes\nin matter.\n\nWhat shall we call the plain man?  I think we may call him an\ninteractionist in embryo.  The stick in his hand knocks an apple off of\nthe tree; his hand seems to him to be set in motion because he wills\nit.  The relation between his volition and the motion of his hand\nappears to him to be of much the same sort as that between the motion\nof the stick and the fall of the apple.  In each case he thinks he has\nto do with the relation of cause and effect.\n\nThe opponent of the interactionist insists, however, that the plain man\nis satisfied with this view of the matter only because he has not\ncompletely stripped off the tendency to conceive the mind as a material\nthing.  And he accuses the interactionist of having fallen a prey to\nthe same weakness.\n\nCertainly, it is not difficult to show that the interactionists write\nas though the mind were material, and could be somewhere in space.  The\nlate Dr. McCosh fairly represents the thought of many, and he was\ncapable of expressing himself as follows;[1] \"It may be difficult to\nascertain the exact point or surface at which the mind and body come\ntogether and influence each other, in particular, how far into the body\n(Descartes without proof thought it to be in the pineal gland), but it\nis certain, that when they do meet mind knows body as having its\nessential properties of extension and resisting energy.\"\n\nHow can an immaterial thing be located at some point or surface within\nthe body?  How can a material thing and an immaterial thing \"come\ntogether\" at a point or surface?  And if they cannot come together,\nwhat have we in mind when we say they interact?\n\nThe parallelist, for it is he who opposes interactionism, insists that\nwe must not forget that mental phenomena do not belong to the same\norder as physical phenomena.  He points out that, when we make the word\n\"interaction\" cover the relations of mental phenomena to physical\nphenomena as well as the relations of the latter to each other, we are\nassimilating heedlessly facts of two different kinds and are\nobliterating an important distinction.  He makes the same objection to\ncalling the relations between mental phenomena and physical phenomena\n_causal_.  If the relation of a volition to the movement of the arm is\nnot the same as that of a physical cause to its physical effect, why,\nhe argues, do you disguise the difference by calling them by the same\nname?\n\n37. THE DOCTRINE OF THE PARALLELIST.--Thus, the parallelist is a man\nwho is so impressed by the gulf between physical facts and mental facts\nthat he refuses to regard them as parts of the one order of causes and\neffects.  You cannot, he claims, make a single chain out of links so\ndiverse.\n\nSome part of a human body receives a blow; a message is carried along a\nsensory nerve and reaches the brain; from the brain a message is sent\nout along a motor nerve to a group of muscles; the muscles contract,\nand a limb is set in motion.  The immediate effects of the blow, the\ningoing message, the changes in the brain, the outgoing message, the\ncontraction of the muscles--all these are physical facts.  One and all\nmay be described as motions in matter.\n\nBut the man who received the blow becomes conscious that he was struck,\nand both interactionist and parallelist regard him as becoming\nconscious of it when the incoming message reaches some part of the\nbrain.  What shall be done with this consciousness?  The interactionist\ninsists that it must be regarded as a link in the physical chain of\ncauses and effects--he breaks the chain to insert it.  The parallelist\nmaintains that it is inconceivable that such an insertion should be\nmade.  He regards the physical series as complete in itself, and he\nplaces the consciousness, as it were, on a _parallel_ line.\n\nIt must not be supposed that he takes this figure literally.  It is his\neffort to avoid materializing the mind that forces him to hold the\nposition which he does.  To put the mind in the brain is to make of it\na material thing; to make it parallel to the brain, in the literal\nsense of the word, would be just as bad.  All that we may understand\nhim to mean is that mental phenomena and physical, although they are\nrelated, cannot be built into the one series of causes and effects.  He\nis apt to speak of them as _concomitant_.\n\nWe must not forget that neither parallelist nor interactionist ever\ndreams of repudiating our common experiences of the relations of mental\nphenomena and physical.  Neither one will, if he is a man of sense,\nabandon the usual ways of describing such experiences.  Whatever his\ntheory, he will still say: I am suffering because I struck my hand\nagainst that table; I sat down because I chose to do so.  His doctrine\nis not supposed to deny the truth contained in such statements; it is\nsupposed only to give a fuller understanding of it.  Hence, we cannot\ncondemn either doctrine simply by an uncritical appeal to such\nstatements and to the experiences they represent.  We must look much\ndeeper.\n\nNow, what can the parallelist mean by _referring_ sensations and ideas\nto the brain and yet denying that they are _in_ the brain?  What is\nthis reference?\n\nLet us come back to the experiences of the physical and the mental as\nthey present themselves to the plain man.  They have been discussed at\nlength in Chapter IV.  It was there pointed out that every one\ndistinguishes without difficulty between sensations and things, and\nthat every one recognizes explicitly or implicitly that a sensation is\nan experience referred in a certain way to the body.\n\nWhen the eyes are open, we _see_; when the ears are open, we _hear_;\nwhen the hand is laid on things, we _feel_.  How do we know that we are\nexperiencing sensations?  The setting tells us that.  The experience in\nquestion is given together with an experience of the body.  This is\n_concomitance of the mental and the physical_ as it appears in the\nexperience of us all; and from such experiences as these the\nphilosopher who speaks of the concomitance of physical and mental\nphenomena must draw the whole meaning of the word.\n\nLet us here sharpen a little the distinction between sensations and\nthings.  Standing at some distance from the tree, I see an apple fall\nto the ground.  Were I only half as far away, my experience would not\nbe exactly the same--I should have somewhat different sensations.  As\nwe have seen (section 17), the apparent sizes of things vary as we\nmove, and this means that the quantity of sensation, when I observe the\napple from a nearer point, is greater.  The man of science tells me\nthat the image which the object looked at projects upon the retina of\nthe eye grows larger as we approach objects.  The thing, then, may\nremain unchanged; our sensations will vary according to the impression\nwhich is made upon our body.\n\nAgain.  When I have learned something of physics, I am ready to admit\nthat, although light travels with almost inconceivable rapidity, still,\nits journey through space does take time.  Hence the impression made\nupon my eye by the falling apple is not simultaneous with the fall\nitself; and if I stand far away it is made a little later than when I\nam near.  In the case in point the difference is so slight as to pass\nunnoticed, but there are cases in which it seems apparent even to the\nunlearned that sensations arise later than the occurrences of which we\ntake them to be the report.\n\nThus, I stand on a hill and watch a laborer striking with his sledge\nupon the distant railway.  I hear the sound of the blow while I see his\ntool raised above his head.  I account for this by saying that it has\ntaken some time for the sound-waves to reach my ear, and I regard my\nsensation as arising only when this has been accomplished.\n\nBut this conclusion is not judged sufficiently accurate by the man of\nscience.  The investigations of the physiologist and the psychologist\nhave revealed that the brain holds a peculiar place in the economy of\nthe body.  If the nerve which connects the sense organ with the brain\nbe severed, the sensation does not arise.  Injuries to the brain affect\nthe mental life as injuries to other parts of the body do not.  Hence,\nit is concluded that, to get the real time of the emergence of a\nsensation, we must not inquire merely when an impression was made upon\nthe organ of sense, but must determine when the message sent along the\nnerve has reached some part of the brain.  The resulting brain change\nis regarded as the true concomitant of the sensation.  If there is a\nbrain change of a certain kind, there is the corresponding sensation.\nIt need hardly be said that no one knows as yet much about the brain\nmotions which are supposed to be concomitants of sensations, although a\ngood deal is said about them.\n\nIt is very important to remark that in all this no new meaning has been\ngiven to the word \"concomitance.\"  The plain man remarks that\nsensations and their changes must be referred to the body.  With the\nbody disposed in a certain way, he has sensations of a certain kind;\nwith changes in the body, the sensations change.  He does not perceive\nthe sensations to be in the body.  As I recede from a house I have a\nwhole series of visual experiences differing from each other and ending\nin a faint speck which bears little resemblance to the experience with\nwhich I started.  I have had, as we say, a series of sensations, or\ngroups of such.  Did any single group, did the experience which I had\nat any single moment, seem to me to be _in my body_?  Surely not.  Its\nrelation to my body is other than that.\n\nAnd when the man of science, instead of referring sensations vaguely to\nthe body, refers them to the brain, the reference is of precisely the\nsame nature.  From our common experience of the relation of the\nphysical and the mental he starts out.  He has no other ground on which\nto stand.  He can only mark the reference with greater exactitude.\n\nI have been speaking of the relation of sensations to the brain.  It is\nscarcely necessary for me to show that all other mental phenomena must\nbe referred to the brain as well, and that the reference must be of the\nsame nature.  The considerations which lead us to refer ideas to the\nbrain are set forth in our physiologies and psychologies.  The effects\nof cerebral disease, injuries to the brain, etc., are too well known to\nneed mention; and it is palpably as absurd to put ideas in the brain as\nit is to put sensations there.\n\nNow, the parallelist, if he be a wise man, will not attempt to\n_explain_ the reference of mental phenomena to the brain--to _explain_\nthe relation between mind and matter.  The relation appears to be\nunique.  Certainly it is not identical with the relation between two\nmaterial things.  We explain things, in the common acceptation of the\nword, when we show that a case under consideration is an\nexemplification of some general law--when we show, in other words, that\nit does not stand alone.  But this does stand alone, and is admitted to\nstand alone.  We admit as much when we say that the mind is immaterial,\nand yet hold that it is related to the body.  We cannot, then, ask for\nan _explanation_ of the relation.\n\nBut this does not mean that the reference of mental phenomena to the\nbody is a meaningless expression.  We can point to those experiences of\nconcomitance that we all have, distinguish them carefully from\nrelations of another kind, and say: This is what the word means,\nwhether it be used by the plain man or by the man of science.\n\nI have said above: \"If there is a brain change of a certain kind, there\nis the corresponding sensation.\"  Perhaps the reader will feel inclined\nto say here: If you can say as much as this, why can you not go a\nlittle farther and call the brain change the _cause_ of the sensation?\n\nBut he who speaks thus, forgets what has been said above about the\nuniqueness of the relation.  In the objective order of our experiences,\nin the external world, we can distinguish between antecedents and\nconsequents, between causes and their effects.  The causes and their\neffects belong to the one order, they stand in the same series.  The\nrelation of the physical to the mental is, as we have seen, a different\nrelation.  Hence, the parallelist seems justified in objecting to the\nassimilation of the two.  He prefers the word \"concomitance,\" just\nbecause it marks the difference.  He does not mean to indicate that the\nrelation is any the less uniform or dependable when he denies that it\nis causal.\n\n38. IN WHAT SENSE MENTAL PHENOMENA HAVE A TIME AND PLACE.--We have seen\nin Chapters VI and VII what space and time--real space and time--are.\nThey are the plan of the real external world and its changes; they are\naspects of the objective order of experience.\n\nTo this order no mental phenomenon can belong.  It cannot, as we have\nseen (section 35), occupy any portion of space or even have a location\nin space.  It is equally true that no series of mental changes can\noccupy any portion of time, real time, or even fill a single moment in\nthe stream of time.  There are many persons to whom this latter\nstatement will seem difficult of acceptance; but the relation of mental\nphenomena to space and to time is of the same sort, and we can consider\nthe two together.\n\nPsychologists speak unhesitatingly of the localization of sensations in\nthe brain, and they talk as readily of the moment at which a sensation\narises and of the duration of the sensation.  What can they mean by\nsuch expressions?\n\nWe have seen that sensations are not in the brain, and their\nlocalization means only the determination of their concomitant physical\nphenomena, of the corresponding brain-change.  And it ought to be clear\neven from what has been said above that, in determining the moment at\nwhich a sensation arises, we are determining only the time of the\nconcomitant brain process.  Why do we say that a sensation arises later\nthan the moment at which an impression is made upon the organ of sense\nand earlier than the resulting movement of some group of muscles?\nBecause the change in the brain, to which we refer the sensation,\noccurs later than the one and earlier than the other.  This has a place\nin real time, it belongs to that series of world changes whose\nsuccession constitutes real time.  If we ask _when_ anything happened,\nwe always refer to this series of changes.  We try to determine its\nplace in the world order.\n\nThus, we ask: When was Julius Caesar born?  We are given a year and a\nday.  How is the time which has elapsed since measured?  By changes in\nthe physical world, by revolutions of the earth about the sun.  We ask:\nWhen did he conceive the plan of writing his Commentaries?  If we get\nan answer at all, it must be an answer of the same kind--some point in\nthe series of physical changes which occur in real time must be\nindicated.  Where else should we look for an answer?  In point of fact,\nwe never do look elsewhere.\n\nAgain.  We have distinguished between apparent space and real space\n(section 34).  We have seen that, when we deny that a mental image can\noccupy any portion of space, we need not think of it as losing its\nparts and shrivelling to a point.  We may still attribute to it\napparent space; may affirm that it seems extended.  Let us mark the\nsame distinction when we consider time.  The psychologist speaks of the\nduration of a sensation.  Has it real duration?  It is not in time at\nall, and, of course, it cannot, strictly speaking, occupy a portion of\ntime.  But we can try to measure the duration of the physical\nconcomitant, and call this the real duration of the sensation.\n\nWe all distinguish between the real time of mental phenomena, in the\nsense indicated just above, and the apparent time.  We know very well\nthat the one may give us no true measure of the other.  A sermon\n_seems_ long; was it _really_ long?  There is only one way of measuring\nits real length.  We must refer to the clock, to the sun, to some\nchange in the physical world.  We _seem_ to live years in a dream; was\nthe dream _really_ a long one?  The real length can only be determined,\nif at all, by a physical reference.  Those apparent years of the dream\nhave no place in the real time which is measured by the clock.  We do\nnot have to cut it and insert them somewhere.  They belong to a\ndifferent order, and cannot be inserted any more than the thought of a\npatch can be inserted in a rent in a real coat.\n\nWe see, thus, when we reflect upon the matter, that mental phenomena\ncannot, strictly speaking, be said to have a time and place.  He who\nattributes these to them materializes them.  But their physical\nconcomitants have a time and place, and mental phenomena can be\nordered by a reference to these.  They can be assigned a time and\nplace of existing in a special sense of the words not to be confounded\nwith the sense in which we use them when we speak of the time and place\nof material things.  This makes it possible to relate every mental\nphenomenon to the world system in a definite way, and to distinguish it\nclearly from every other, however similar.\n\nWe need not, when we come to understand this, change our usual modes of\nspeech.  We may still say: The pain I had two years ago is like the\npain I have to-day; my sensation came into being at such a moment; my\nregret lasted two days.  We speak that we may be understood; and such\nphrases express a truth, even if they are rather loose and inaccurate.\nBut we must not be deceived by such phrases, and assume that they mean\nwhat they have no right to mean.\n\n39. OBJECTIONS TO PARALLELISM.--What objections can be brought against\nparallelism?  It is sometimes objected by the interactionist that it\nabandons the plain man's notion of the mind as a substance with its\nattributes, and makes of it a mere collection of mental phenomena.  It\nmust be admitted that the parallelist usually holds a view which\ndiffers rather widely from that of the unlearned.\n\nBut even supposing this objection well taken, it can no longer be\nregarded as an objection specifically to the doctrine of parallelism,\nfor the view of the mind in question is becoming increasingly popular,\nand it is now held by influential interactionists as well as by\nparallelists.  One may believe that the mind consists of ideas, and may\nstill hold that ideas can cause motions in matter.\n\nThere is, however, another objection that predisposes many thoughtful\npersons to reject parallelism uncompromisingly.  It is this.  If we\nadmit that the chain of physical causes and effects, from a blow given\nto the body to the resulting muscular movements made in self-defense,\nis an unbroken one, what part can we assign to the mind in the whole\ntransaction?  Has it _done_ anything?  Is it not reduced to the\nposition of a passive spectator?  Must we not regard man as \"a physical\nautomaton with parallel psychical states\"?\n\nSuch an account of man cannot fail to strike one as repugnant; and yet\nit is the parallelist himself whom we must thank for introducing us to\nit.  The account is not a caricature from the pen of an opponent.  \"An\nautomaton,\" writes Professor Clifford,[2] \"is a thing that goes by\nitself when it is wound up, and we go by ourselves when we have had\nfood.  Excepting the fact that other men are conscious, there is no\nreason why we should not regard the human body as merely an exceedingly\ncomplicated machine which is wound up by putting food into the mouth.\nBut it is not _merely_ a machine, because consciousness goes with it.\nThe mind, then, is to be regarded as a stream of feelings which runs\nparallel to, and simultaneous with, a certain part of the action of the\nbody, that is to say, that particular part of the action of the brain\nin which the cerebrum and the sensory tracts are excited.\"\n\nThe saving statement that the body is not _merely_ a machine, because\nconsciousness goes with it, does not impress one as being sufficient to\nredeem the illustration.  Who wants to be an automaton with an\naccompanying consciousness?  Who cares to regard his mind as an\n\"epiphenomenon\"--a thing that exists, but whose existence or\nnonexistence makes no difference to the course of affairs?\n\nThe plain man's objection to such an account of himself seems to be\nabundantly justified.  As I have said earlier in this chapter, neither\ninteractionist nor parallelist has the intention of repudiating the\nexperience of world and mind common to us all.  We surely have evidence\nenough to prove that minds count for something.  No house was ever\nbuilt, no book was ever written, by a creature without a mind; and the\nbetter the house or book, the better the mind.  _That_ there is a fixed\nand absolutely dependable relation between the planning mind and the\nthing accomplished, no man of any school has the right to deny.  The\nonly legitimate question is: _What is the nature_ of the relation?  Is\nit _causal_, or should it be conceived to be _something else_?\n\nThe whole matter will be more fully discussed in Chapter XI.  This\nchapter I shall close with a brief summary of the points which the\nreader will do well to bear in mind when he occupies himself with\nparallelism.\n\n(1) Parallelism is a protest against the interactionist's tendency to\nmaterialize the mind.\n\n(2) The name is a figurative expression, and must not be taken\nliterally.  The true relation between mental phenomena and physical is\ngiven in certain common experiences that have been indicated, and it is\na unique relation.\n\n(3) It is a fixed and absolutely dependable relation.  It is impossible\nthat there should be a particular mental fact without its corresponding\nphysical fact; and it is impossible that this physical fact should\noccur without its corresponding mental fact.\n\n(4) The parallelist objects to calling this relation _causal_, because\nthis obscures the distinction between it and the relation between facts\nboth of which are physical.  He prefers the word \"concomitance.\"\n\n(5) Such objections to parallelism as that cited above assume that the\nconcomitance of which the parallelist speaks is analogous to physical\nconcomitance.  The chemist puts together a volume of hydrogen gas and a\nvolume of chlorine gas, and the result is two volumes of hydrochloric\nacid gas.  We regard it as essential to the result that there should be\nthe two gases and that they should be brought together.  But the fact\nthat the chemist has red hair we rightly look upon as a concomitant\nphenomenon of no importance.  The result would be the same if he had\nblack hair or were bald.  But this is not the concomitance that\ninterests the parallelist.  The two sorts of concomitance are alike\nonly in the one point.  Some phenomenon is regarded as excluded from\nthe series of causes and effects under discussion.  On the other hand,\nthe difference between the two is all-important; in the one case, the\nconcomitant phenomenon is an accidental circumstance that might just as\nwell be absent; in the other, it is nothing of the sort; it _cannot_ be\nabsent--the mental fact _must_ exist if the brain-change in question\nexists.\n\nIt is quite possible that, on reading this list of points, one may be\ninclined to make two protests.\n\nFirst: Is a parallelism so carefully guarded as this properly called\n_parallelism_ at all?  To this I answer: The name matters little.  I\nhave used it because I have no better term.  Certainly, it is not the\nparallelism which is sometimes brought forward, and which peeps out\nfrom the citation from Clifford.  It is nothing more than an insistence\nupon the truth that we should not treat the mind as though it were a\nmaterial thing.  If any one wishes to take the doctrine and discard the\nname, I have no objection.  As so guarded, the doctrine is, I think,\ntrue.\n\nSecond: If it is desirable to avoid the word \"cause,\" in speaking of\nthe relation of the mental and the physical, on the ground that\notherwise we give the word a double sense, why is it not desirable to\navoid the word \"concomitance\"?  Have we not seen that the word is\nambiguous?  I admit the inconsistency and plead in excuse only that I\nhave chosen the lesser of two evils.  It is fatally easy to slip into\nthe error of thinking of the mind as though it were material and had a\nplace in the physical world.  In using the word \"concomitance\" I enter\na protest against this.  But I have, of course, no right to use it\nwithout showing just what kind of concomitance I mean.\n\n\n[1] \"First and Fundamental Truths,\" Book I, Part II, Chapter II.  New\nYork, 1889.\n\n[2] \"Lectures and Essays,\" Vol. II, p. 57.  London, 1879.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nHOW WE KNOW THERE ARE OTHER MINDS\n\n40. IS IT CERTAIN THAT WE KNOW IT?--I suppose there is no man in his\nsober senses who seriously believes that no other mind than his own\nexists.  There is, to be sure, an imaginary being more or less\ndiscussed by those interested in philosophy, a creature called the\nSolipsist, who is credited with this doctrine.  But men do not become\nsolipsists, though they certainly say things now and then that other\nmen think logically lead to some such unnatural view of things; and\nmore rarely they say things that sound as if the speaker, in some\nmoods, at least, might actually harbor such a view.\n\nThus the philosopher Fichte (1762-1814) talks in certain of his\nwritings as though he believed himself to be the universe, and his\nwords cause Jean Paul Richter, the inimitable, to break out in his\ncharacteristic way: \"The very worst of it all is the lazy, aimless,\naristocratic, insular life that a god must lead; he has no one to go\nwith.  If I am not to sit still for all time and eternity, if I let\nmyself down as well as I can and make myself finite, that I may have\nsomething in the way of society, still I have, like petty princes, only\nmy own creatures to echo my words. . . .  Every being, even the highest\nBeing, wishes something to love and to honor.  But the Fichtean\ndoctrine that I am my own body-maker leaves me with nothing\nwhatever--with not so much as the beggar's dog or the prisoner's\nspider. . . .  Truly I wish that there were men, and that I were one of\nthem. . . .  If there exists, as I very much fear, no one but myself,\nunlucky dog that I am, then there is no one at such a pass as I.\"\n\nJust how much Fichte's words meant to the man who wrote them may be a\nmatter for dispute.  Certainly no one has shown a greater moral\nearnestness or a greater regard for his fellowmen than this\nphilosopher, and we must not hastily accuse any one of being a\nsolipsist.  But that to certain men, and, indeed, to many men, there\nhave come thoughts that have seemed to point in this direction--that\nnot a few have had doubts as to their ability to _prove_ the existence\nof other minds--this we must admit.\n\nIt appears somewhat easier for a man to have doubts upon this subject\nwhen he has fallen into the idealistic error of regarding the material\nworld, which seems to be revealed to him, as nothing else than his\n\"ideas\" or \"sensations\" or \"impressions.\"  If we will draw the whole\n\"telephone exchange\" into the clerk, there seems little reason for not\nincluding all the subscribers as well.  If other men's bodies are my\nsensations, may not other men's minds be my imaginings?  But doubts may\nbe felt also by those who are willing to admit a real external world.\nHow do we know that our inference to the existence of other minds is a\njustifiable inference?  Can there be such a thing as _verification_ in\nthis field?\n\nFor we must remember that no man is directly conscious of any mind\nexcept his own.  Men cannot exhibit their minds to their neighbors as\nthey exhibit their wigs.  However close may seem to us to be our\nintercourse with those about us, do we ever attain to anything more\nthan our ideas of the contents of their minds?  We do not experience\nthese contents; we picture them, we represent them by certain proxies.\nTo be sure, we believe that the originals exist, but can we be quite\nsure of it?  Can there be a _proof_ of this right to make the leap from\none consciousness to another?  We seem to assume that we can make it,\nand then we make it again and again; but suppose, after all, that there\nwere nothing there.  Could we ever find out our error?  And in a field\nwhere it is impossible to prove error, must it not be equally\nimpossible to prove truth?\n\nThe doubt has seemed by no means a gratuitous one to certain very\nsensible practical men.  \"It is wholly impossible,\" writes Professor\nHuxley,[1] \"absolutely to prove the presence or absence of\nconsciousness in anything but one's own brain, though by analogy, we\nare justified in assuming its existence in other men.\"  \"The existence\nof my conception of you in my consciousness,\" says Clifford,[2]\n\"carries with it a belief in the existence of you outside of my\nconsciousness. . . .  How this inference is justified, how\nconsciousness can testify to the existence of anything outside of\nitself, I do not pretend to say: I need not untie a knot which the\nworld has cut for me long ago.  It may very well be that I myself am\nthe only existence, but it is simply ridiculous to suppose that anybody\nelse is.  The position of absolute idealism may, therefore, be left out\nof count, although each individual may be unable to justify his dissent\nfrom it.\"\n\nThese are writers belonging to our own modern age, and they are men of\nscience.  Both of them deny that the existence of other minds is a\nthing that can be _proved_; but the one tells us that we are \"justified\nin assuming\" their existence, and the other informs us that, although\n\"it may very well be\" that no other mind exists, we may leave that\npossibility out of count.\n\nNeither position seems a sensible one.  Are we justified in assuming\nwhat cannot be proved? or is the argument \"from analogy\" really a proof\nof some sort?  Is it right to close our eyes to what \"may very well\nbe,\" just because we choose to do so?  The fact is that both of these\nwriters had the conviction, shared by us all, that there are other\nminds, and that we know something about them; and yet neither of them\ncould see that the conviction rested upon an unshakable foundation.\n\nNow, I have no desire to awake in the mind of any one a doubt of the\nexistence of other minds.  But I think we must all admit that the man\nwho recognizes that such minds are not directly perceived, and who\nharbors doubts as to the nature of the inference which leads to their\nassumption, may, perhaps, be able to say that _he feels certain_ that\nthere are other minds; but must we not at the same time admit that he\nis scarcely in a position to say: _it is certain_ that there are other\nminds?  The question will keep coming back again: May there not, after\nall, be a legitimate doubt on the subject?\n\nTo set this question at rest there seems to be only one way, and that\nis this: to ascertain the nature of the inference which is made, and to\nsee clearly what can be meant by _proof_ when one is concerned with\nsuch matters as these.  If it turns out that we have proof, in the only\nsense of the word in which it is reasonable to ask for proof, our doubt\nfalls away of itself.\n\n41. THE ARGUMENT FOR OTHER MINDS.--I have said early in this volume\n(section 7) that the plain man perceives that other men act very much\nas he does, and that he attributes to them minds more or less like his\nown.  He reasons from like to like--other bodies present phenomena\nwhich, in the case of his own body, he perceives to be indicative of\nmind, and he accepts them as indicative of mind there also.  The\npsychologist makes constant use of this inference; indeed, he could not\ndevelop his science without it.\n\nJohn Stuart Mill (1806-1873), whom it is always a pleasure to read\nbecause he is so clear and straightforward, presents this argument in\nthe following form:[3]--\n\n\"By what evidence do I know, or by what considerations am I led to\nbelieve, that there exist other sentient creatures; that the walking\nand speaking figures which I see and hear, have sensations and\nthoughts, or, in other words, possess Minds?  The most strenuous\nIntuitionist does not include this among the things that I know by\ndirect intuition.  I conclude it from certain things, which my\nexperience of my own states of feeling proves to me to be marks of it.\nThese marks are of two kinds, antecedent and subsequent; the previous\nconditions requisite for feeling, and the effects or consequences of\nit.  I conclude that other human beings have feelings like me, because,\nfirst, they have bodies like me, which I know, in my own case, to be\nthe antecedent condition of feelings; and because, secondly, they\nexhibit the acts, and other outward signs, which in my own case I know\nby experience to be caused by feelings.  I am conscious in myself of a\nseries of facts connected by a uniform sequence, of which the beginning\nis modifications of my body, the middle is feelings, the end is outward\ndemeanor.  In the case of other human beings I have the evidence of my\nsenses for the first and last links of the series, but not for the\nintermediate link.  I find, however, that the sequence between the\nfirst and last is as regular and constant in those other cases as it is\nin mine.  In my own case I know that the first link produces the last\nthrough the intermediate link, and could not produce it without.\nExperience, therefore, obliges me to conclude that there must be an\nintermediate link; which must either be the same in others as in\nmyself, or a different one.  I must either believe them to be alive, or\nto be automatons; and by believing them to be alive, that is, by\nsupposing the link to be of the same nature as in the case of which I\nhave experience, and which is in all respects similar, I bring other\nhuman beings, as phenomena, under the same generalizations which I know\nby experience to be the true theory of my own existence.  And in doing\nso I conform to the legitimate rules of experimental inquiry.  The\nprocess is exactly parallel to that by which Newton proved that the\nforce which keeps the planets in their orbits is identical with that by\nwhich an apple falls to the ground.  It was not incumbent on Newton to\nprove the impossibility of its being any other force; he was thought to\nhave made out his point when he had simply shown that no other force\nneed be supposed.  We know the existence of other beings by\ngeneralization from the knowledge of our own; the generalization merely\npostulates that what experience shows to be a mark of the existence of\nsomething within the sphere of our consciousness, may be concluded to\nbe a mark of the same thing beyond that sphere.\"\n\nNow, the plain man accepts the argument from analogy, here insisted\nupon, every day of his life.  He is continually forming an opinion as\nto the contents of other minds on a basis of the bodily manifestations\npresented to his view.  The process of inference is so natural and\ninstinctive that we are tempted to say that it hardly deserves to be\ncalled an inference.  Certainly the man is not conscious of distinct\nsteps in the process; he perceives certain phenomena, and they are at\nonce illuminated by their interpretation.  He reads other men as we\nread a book--the signs on the paper are scarcely attended to, our whole\nthought is absorbed in that for which they stand.  As I have said\nabove, the psychologist accepts the argument, and founds his\nconclusions upon it.\n\nUpon what ground can one urge that this inference to other minds is a\ndoubtful one?  It is made universally.  We have seen that even those\nwho have theoretic objections against it, do not hesitate to draw it,\nas a matter of fact.  It appears unnatural in the extreme to reject it.\nWhat can induce men to regard it with suspicion?\n\nI think the answer to this question is rather clearly suggested in the\nsentence already quoted from Professor Huxley:  \"It is wholly\nimpossible absolutely to prove the presence or absence of consciousness\nin anything but one's own brain, though, by analogy, we are justified\nin assuming its existence in other men.\"\n\nHere Professor Huxley admits that we have something like a proof, for\nhe regards the inference as _justified_.  But he does not think that we\nhave _absolute proof_--the best that we can attain to appears to be a\ndegree of probability falling short of the certainty which we should\nlike to have.\n\nNow, it should be remarked that the discredit cast upon the argument\nfor other minds has its source in the fact that it does not satisfy a\ncertain assumed standard.  What is that standard?  It is the standard\nof proof which we may look for and do look for where we are concerned\nto establish the existence of material things with the highest degree\nof certainty.\n\nThere are all sorts of indirect ways of proving the existence of\nmaterial things.  We may read about them in a newspaper, and regard\nthem as highly doubtful; we may have the word of a man whom, on the\nwhole, we regard as veracious; we may infer their existence, because we\nperceive that certain other things exist, and are to be accounted for.\nUnder certain circumstances, however, we may have proof of a different\nkind: we may see and touch the things themselves.  Material things are\nopen to direct inspection.  Such a direct inspection constitutes\n_absolute proof_, so far as material things are concerned.\n\nBut we have no right to set this up as our standard of absolute proof,\nwhen we are talking about other minds.  In this field it is not proof\nat all.  Anything that can be directly inspected is not another mind.\nWe cannot cast a doubt upon the existence of colors by pointing to the\nfact that we cannot smell them.  If they could be smelt, they would not\nbe colors.  We must in each case seek a proof of the appropriate kind.\n\nWhat have we a right to regard as absolute proof of the existence of\nanother mind?  Only this: the analogy upon which we depend in making\nour inference must be a very close one.  As we shall see in the next\nsection, the analogy is sometimes very remote, and we draw the\ninference with much hesitation, or, perhaps, refuse to draw it at all.\nIt is not, however, the _kind of inference_ that makes the trouble; it\nis the lack of detailed information that may serve as a basis for\ninference.  Our inference to other minds is unsatisfactory only in so\nfar as we are ignorant of our own minds and bodies and of other bodies.\nWere our knowledge in these fields complete, we should know without\nfail the signs of mind, and should know whether an inference were or\nwere not justified.\n\nAnd _justified_ here means proved--proved in the only sense in which we\nhave a right to ask for proof.  No single fact is known that can\ndiscredit such a proof.  Our doubt is, then, gratuitous and can be\ndismissed.  We may claim that we have _verification_ of the existence\nof other minds.  Such verification, however, must consist in showing\nthat, in any given instance, the signs of mind really are present.  It\ncannot consist in presenting minds for inspection as though they were\nmaterial things.\n\nOne more matter remains to be touched upon in this section.  It has\ndoubtless been observed that Mill, in the extract given above, seems to\nplace \"feelings,\" in other words, mental phenomena, between one set of\nbodily motions and another.  He makes them the middle link in a chain\nwhose first and third links are material.  The parallelist cannot treat\nmind in this way.  He claims that to make mental phenomena effects or\ncauses of bodily motions is to make them material.\n\nMust, then, the parallelist abandon the argument for other minds?  Not\nat all.  The force of the argument lies in interpreting the phenomena\npresented by other bodies as one knows by experience the phenomena of\none's own body must be interpreted.  He who concludes that the relation\nbetween his own mind and his own body can best be described as a\n\"parallelism,\" must judge that other men's minds are related to their\nbodies in the same way.  He must treat his neighbor as he treats\nhimself.  The argument from analogy remains the same.\n\n42. WHAT OTHER MINDS ARE THERE?--That other men have minds nobody\nreally doubts, as we have seen above.  They resemble us so closely,\ntheir actions are so analogous to our own, that, although we sometimes\ngive ourselves a good deal of trouble to ascertain what sort of minds\nthey have, we never think of asking ourselves whether they have minds.\n\nNor does it ever occur to the man who owns a dog, or who drives a\nhorse, to ask himself whether the creature has a mind.  He may complain\nthat it has not much of a mind, or he may marvel at its\nintelligence--his attitude will depend upon the expectations which he\nhas been led to form.  But regard the animal as he would regard a\nbicycle or an automobile, he will not.  The brute is not precisely like\nus, but its actions bear an unmistakable analogy to our own; pleasure\nand pain, hope and fear, desire and aversion, are so plainly to be read\ninto them that we feel that a man must be \"high gravel blind\" not to\nsee their significance.\n\nNevertheless, it has been possible for man, under the prepossession of\na mistaken philosophical theory, to assume the whole brute creation to\nbe without consciousness.  When Descartes had learned something of the\nmechanism of the human body, and had placed the human soul--_hospes\ncomesque corporis_--in the little pineal gland in the midst of the\nbrain, the conception in his mind was not unlike that which we have\nwhen we picture to ourselves a locomotive engine with an engineer in\nits cab.  The man gives intelligent direction; but, under some\ncircumstances, the machine can do a good deal in the absence of the\nman; if it is started, it can run of itself, and to do this, it must go\nthrough a series of complicated motions.\n\nDescartes knew that many of the actions performed by the human body are\nnot the result of conscious choice, and that some of them are in direct\ncontravention of the will's commands.  The eye protects itself by\ndropping its lid, when the hand is brought suddenly before it; the foot\njerks away from the heated object which it has accidentally touched.\nThe body was seen to be a mechanism relatively independent of the mind,\nand one rather complete in itself.  Joined with a soul, the circle of\nits functions was conceived to be widened; but even without the\nassistance of the soul, it was thought that it could keep itself busy,\nand could do many things that the unreflective might be inclined to\nattribute to the efficiency of the mind.\n\nThe bodies of the brutes Descartes regarded as mechanisms of the same\ngeneral nature as the human body.  He was unwilling to allow a soul to\nany creature below man, so nothing seemed left to him save to maintain\nthat the brutes are machines without consciousness, and that their\napparently purposive actions are to be classed with such human\nmovements as the sudden closing of the eye when it is threatened with\nthe hand.  The melancholy results of this doctrine made themselves\nevident among his followers.  Even the mild and pious Malebranche could\nbe brutal to a dog which fawned upon him, under the mistaken notion\nthat it did not really hurt a dog to kick it.\n\nAll this reasoning men have long ago set aside.  For one thing, it has\ncome to be recognized that there may be consciousness, perhaps rather\ndim, blind, and fugitive, but still consciousness, which does not get\nitself recognized as do our clearly conscious purposes and volitions.\nMany of the actions of man which Descartes was inclined to regard as\nunaccompanied by consciousness may not, in fact, be really unconscious.\nAnd, in the second place, it has come to be realized that we have no\nright to class all the actions of the brutes with those reflex actions\nin man which we are accustomed to regard as automatic.\n\nThe belief in animal automatism has passed away, it is to be hoped,\nnever to return.  That lower animals have minds we must believe.  But\nwhat sort of minds have they?\n\nIt is hard enough to gain an accurate notion of what is going on in a\nhuman mind.  Men resemble each other more or less closely, but no two\nare precisely alike, and no two have had exactly the same training.  I\nmay misunderstand even the man who lives in the same house with me and\nis nearly related to me.  Does he really suffer and enjoy as acutely as\nhe seems to? or must his words and actions be accepted with a discount?\nThe greater the difference between us, the more danger that I shall\nmisjudge him.  It is to be expected that men should misunderstand\nwomen; that men and women should misunderstand children; that those who\ndiffer in social station, in education, in traditions and habits of\nlife, should be in danger of reading each other as one reads a book in\na tongue imperfectly mastered.  When these differences are very great,\nthe task is an extremely difficult one.  What are the emotions, if he\nhas any, of the Chinaman in the laundry near by?  His face seems as\ndifficult of interpretation as are the hieroglyphics that he has pasted\nup on his window.\n\nWhen we come to the brutes, the case is distinctly worse.  We think\nthat we can attain to some notion of the minds to be attributed to such\nanimals as the ape, the dog, the cat, the horse, and it is not nonsense\nto speak of an animal psychology.  But who will undertake to tell us\nanything definite of the mind of a fly, a grasshopper, a snail, or a\ncuttlefish?  That they have minds, or something like minds, we must\nbelieve; what their minds are like, a prudent man scarcely even\nattempts to say.  In our distribution of minds may we stop short of\neven the very lowest animal organisms?  It seems arbitrary to do so.\n\nMore than that; some thoughtful men have been led by the analogy\nbetween plant life and animal life to believe that something more or\nless remotely like the consciousness which we attribute to animals must\nbe attributed also to plants.  Upon this belief I shall not dwell, for\nhere we are evidently at the limit of our knowledge, and are making the\nvaguest of guesses.  No one pretends that we have even the beginnings\nof a plant psychology.  At the same time, we must admit that organisms\nof all sorts do bear some analogy to each other, even if it be a remote\none; and we must admit also that we cannot _prove_ plants to be wholly\ndevoid of a rudimentary consciousness of some sort.\n\nAs we begin with man and descend the scale of beings, we seem, in the\nupper part of the series, to be in no doubt that minds exist.  Our only\nquestion is as to the precise contents of those minds.  Further down we\nbegin to ask ourselves whether anything like mind is revealed at all.\nThat this should be so is to be expected.  Our argument for other minds\nis the argument from analogy, and as we move down the scale our analogy\ngrows more and more remote until it seems to fade out altogether.  He\nwho harbors doubts as to whether the plants enjoy some sort of psychic\nlife, may well find those doubts intensified when he turns to study the\ncrystal; and when he contemplates inorganic matter he should admit that\nthe thread of his argument has become so attenuated that he cannot find\nit at all.\n\n43. THE DOCTRINE OF MIND-STUFF.--Nevertheless, there have been those\nwho have attributed something like consciousness even to inorganic\nmatter.  If the doctrine of evolution be true, argues Professor\nClifford,[4] \"we shall have along the line of the human pedigree a\nseries of imperceptible steps connecting inorganic matter with\nourselves.  To the later members of that series we must undoubtedly\nascribe consciousness, although it must, of course, have been simpler\nthan our own.  But where are we to stop?  In the case of organisms of a\ncertain complexity, consciousness is inferred.  As we go back along the\nline, the complexity of the organism and of its nerve-action insensibly\ndiminishes; and for the first part of our course we see reason to think\nthat the complexity of consciousness insensibly diminishes also.  But\nif we make a jump, say to the tunicate mollusks, we see no reason there\nto infer the existence of consciousness at all.  Yet not only is it\nimpossible to point out a place where any sudden break takes place, but\nit is contrary to all the natural training of our minds to suppose a\nbreach of continuity so great.\"\n\nWe must not, says Clifford, admit any breach of continuity.  We must\nassume that consciousness is a complex of elementary feelings, \"or\nrather of those remoter elements which cannot even be felt, but of\nwhich the simplest feeling is built up.\"  We must assume that such\nelementary facts go along with the action of every organism, however\nsimple; but we must assume also that it is only when the organism has\nreached a certain complexity of nervous structure that the complex of\npsychic facts reaches the degree of complication that we call\nConsciousness.\n\nSo much for the assumption of something like mind in the mollusk, where\nClifford cannot find direct evidence of mind.  But the argument does\nnot stop here: \"As the line of ascent is unbroken, and must end at last\nin inorganic matter, we have no choice but to admit that every motion\nof matter is simultaneous with some . . . fact or event which might be\npart of a consciousness.\"\n\nOf the universal distribution of the elementary constituents of mind\nClifford writes as follows: \"That element of which, as we have seen,\neven the simplest feeling is a complex, I shall call _Mind-stuff_.  A\nmoving molecule of inorganic matter does not possess mind or\nconsciousness; but it possesses a small piece of mind-stuff.  When\nmolecules are so combined together as to form the film on the under\nside of a jellyfish, the elements of mind-stuff which go along with\nthem are so combined as to form the faint beginnings of Sentience.\nWhen the molecules are so combined as to form the brain and nervous\nsystem of a vertebrate, the corresponding elements of mind-stuff are so\ncombined as to form some kind of consciousness; that is to say, changes\nin the complex which take place at the same time get so linked together\nthat the repetition of one implies the repetition of the other.  When\nmatter takes the complex form of a living human brain, the\ncorresponding mind-stuff takes the form of a human consciousness,\nhaving intelligence and volition.\"\n\nThis is the famous mind-stuff doctrine.  It is not a scientific\ndoctrine, for it rests on wholly unproved assumptions.  It is a play of\nthe speculative fancy, and has its source in the author's strong desire\nto fit mental phenomena into some general evolutionary scheme.  As he\nis a parallelist, and cannot make of physical phenomena and of mental\none single series of causes and effects, he must attain his end by\nmaking the mental series complete and independent in itself.  To do\nthis, he is forced to make several very startling assumptions:--\n\n(1) We have seen that there is evidence that there is consciousness\nsomewhere--it is revealed by certain bodies.  Clifford assumes\nconsciousness, or rather its raw material, _mind-stuff_, to be\neverywhere.  For this assumption we have not a whit of evidence.\n\n(2) To make of the stuff thus attained a satisfactory evolutionary\nseries, he is compelled to assume that mental phenomena are related to\neach other much as physical phenomena are related to each other.  This\nnotion he had from Spinoza, who held that, just as all that takes place\nin the physical world must be accounted for by a reference to physical\ncauses, so all happenings in the world of ideas must be accounted for\nby a reference to mental causes, _i.e._ to ideas.  For this assumption\nthere is no more evidence than for the former.\n\n(3) Finally, to bring the mental phenomena we are familiar with,\nsensations of color, sound, touch, taste, etc., into this evolutionary\nscheme, he is forced to assume that all such mental phenomena are made\nup of elements which do not belong to these classes at all, of\nsomething that \"cannot even be felt.\"  For this assumption there is as\nlittle evidence as there is for the other two.\n\nThe fact is that the _mind-stuff_ doctrine is a castle in the air.  It\nis too fanciful and arbitrary to take seriously.  It is much better to\ncome back to a more sober view of things, and to hold that there is\nevidence that other minds exist, but no evidence that every material\nthing is animated.  If we cannot fit this into our evolutionary scheme,\nperhaps it is well to reexamine our evolutionary scheme, and to see\nwhether some misconception may not attach to that.\n\n\n[1] \"Collected Essays,\" Vol. I, p. 219, New York, 1902.\n\n[2] \"On the Nature of Things-in-Themselves,\" in \"Lectures and Essays,\"\nVol. II.\n\n[3] \"Examination of Sir William Hamilton's Philosophy,\" Chapter XII.\n\n[4] \"On the Nature of Things-in-Themselves.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nOTHER PROBLEMS OF WORLD AND MIND\n\n44. IS THE MATERIAL WORLD A MECHANISM?--So far we have concerned\nourselves with certain leading problems touching the external world and\nthe mind,--problems which seem to present themselves unavoidably to those\nwho enter upon the path of reflection.  And we have seen, I hope, that\nthere is much truth, as well as some misconception, contained in the\nrather vague opinions of the plain man.\n\nBut the problems that we have taken up by no means exhaust the series of\nthose that present themselves to one who thinks with patience and\npersistency.  When we have decided that men are not mistaken in believing\nthat an external world is presented in their experience; when we have\ncorrected our first crude notions of what this world is, and have cleared\naway some confusions from our conceptions of space and time; when we have\nattained to a reasonably clear view of the nature of the mind, and of the\nnature of its connection with the body; when we have escaped from a\ntumble into the absurd doctrine that no mind exists save our own, and\nhave turned our backs upon the rash speculations of the adherents of\n\"mind-stuff\"; there still remain many points upon which we should like to\nhave definite information.\n\nIn the present chapter I shall take up and turn over a few of these, but\nit must not be supposed that one can get more than a glimpse of them\nwithin such narrow limits.  First of all we will raise the question\nwhether it is permissible to regard the material world, which we accept,\nas through and through a mechanism.\n\nThere can be little doubt that there is a tendency on the part of men of\nscience at the present day so to regard it.  It should, of course, be\nfrankly admitted that no one is in a position to prove that, from the\ncosmic mist, in which we grope for the beginnings of our universe, to the\norganized whole in which vegetable and animal bodies have their place,\nthere is an unbroken series of changes all of which are explicable by a\nreference to mechanical laws.  Chemistry, physics, and biology are still\nseparate and distinct realms, and it is at present impossible to find for\nthem a common basis in mechanics.  The belief of the man of science must,\nhence, be regarded as a faith; the doctrine of the mechanism of nature is\na working hypothesis, and it is unscientific to assume that it is\nanything more.\n\nThere can be no objection to a frank admission that we are not here\nwalking in the light of established knowledge.  But it does seem to savor\nof dogmatism for a man to insist that no increase in our knowledge can\never reveal that the physical world is an orderly system throughout, and\nthat all the changes in material things are explicable in terms of the\none unified science.  Earnest objections have, however, been made to the\ntendency to regard nature as a mechanism.  To one of the most curious of\nthem we have been treated lately by Dr. Ward in his book on \"Naturalism\nand Agnosticism.\"\n\nIt is there ingeniously argued that, when we examine with care the\nfundamental concepts of the science of mechanics, we find them to be\nself-contradictory and absurd.  It follows that we are not justified in\nturning to them for an explanation of the order of nature.\n\nThe defense of the concepts of mechanics we may safely leave to the man\nof science; remembering, of course, that, when a science is in the\nmaking, it is to be expected that the concepts of which it makes use\nshould undergo revision from time to time.  But there is one general\nconsideration that it is not well to leave out of view when we are\ncontemplating such an assault upon the notion of the world as mechanism\nas is made by Dr. Ward.  It is this.\n\nSuch attacks upon the conception of mechanism are not purely destructive\nin their aim.  The man who makes them wishes to destroy one view of the\nsystem of things in order that he may set up another.  If the changes in\nthe system of material things cannot be accounted for mechanically, it is\nargued, we are compelled to turn for our explanation to the action and\ninteraction of minds.  This seems to give mind a very important place in\nthe universe, and is believed to make for a view of things that\nguarantees the satisfaction of the highest hopes and aspirations of man.\n\nThat a recognition of the mechanical order of nature is incompatible with\nsuch a view of things as is just above indicated, I should be the last to\nadmit.  The notion that it is so is, I believe, a dangerous error.  It is\nan error that tends to put a man out of sympathy with the efforts of\nscience to discover that the world is an orderly whole, and tempts him to\nrejoice in the contemplation of human ignorance.\n\nBut the error is rather a common one; and see to what injustice it may\nlead one.  It is concluded that the conception of _matter_ is an obscure\none; that we do not know clearly what we mean when we speak of the _mass_\nof a body; that there are disputes as to proper significance to be given\nto the words _cause_ and _effect_; that the _laws of motion_, as they are\nat present formulated, do not seem to account satisfactorily for the\nbehavior of all material particles.  From this it is inferred that we\nmust give up the attempt to explain mechanically the order of physical\nthings.\n\nNow, suppose that it were considered a dangerous and heterodox doctrine,\nthat the changes in the system of things are due to the activities of\nminds.  Would not those who now love to point out the shortcomings of the\nscience of mechanics discover a fine field for their destructive\ncriticism?  Are there no disputes as to the ultimate nature of mind?  Are\nmen agreed touching the relations of mind and matter?  What science even\nattempts to tell us how a mind, by an act of volition, sets material\nparticles in motion or changes the direction of their motion?  How does\none mind act upon another, and what does it mean for one mind to act upon\nanother?\n\nIf the science of mechanics is not in all respects as complete a science\nas it is desirable that it should be, surely we must admit that when we\nturn to the field of mind we are not dealing with what is clear and free\nfrom difficulties.  Only a strong emotional bias can lead a man to dwell\nwith emphasis upon the difficulties to be met with in the one field, and\nto pass lightly over those with which one meets in the other.\n\nOne may, however, refuse to admit that the order of nature is throughout\nmechanical, without taking any such unreasonable position as this.  One\nmay hold that many of the changes in material things do not _appear_ to\nbe mechanical, and that it is too much of an assumption to maintain that\nthey are such, even as an article of faith.  Thus, when we pass from the\nworld of the inorganic to that of organic life, we seem to make an\nimmense step.  No one has even begun to show us that the changes that\ntake place in vegetable and animal organisms are all mechanical changes.\nHow can we dare to assume that they are?\n\nWith one who reasons thus we may certainly feel a sympathy.  The most\nardent advocate of mechanism must admit that his doctrine is a working\nhypothesis, and not _proved_ to be true.  Its acceptance would, however,\nbe a genuine convenience from the point of view of science, for it does\nintroduce, at least provisionally, a certain order into a vast number of\nfacts, and gives a direction to investigation.  Perhaps the wisest thing\nto do is, not to combat the doctrine, but to accept it tentatively and to\nexamine carefully what conclusions it may seem to carry with it--how it\nmay affect our outlook upon the world as a whole.\n\n45. THE PLACE OF MIND IN NATURE.--One of the very first questions which\nwe think of asking when we contemplate the possibility that the physical\nworld is throughout a mechanical system is this: How can we conceive\nminds to be related to such a system?  That minds, and many minds, do\nexist, it is not reasonable to doubt.  What shall we do with them?\n\nOne must not misunderstand the mechanical view of things.  When we use\nthe word \"machine,\" we call before our minds certain gross and relatively\nsimple mechanisms constructed by man.  Between such and a flower, a\nbutterfly, and a human body, the difference is enormous.  He who elects\nto bring the latter under the title of mechanism cannot mean that he\ndiscerns no difference between them and a steam engine or a printing\npress.  He can only mean that he believes he might, could he attain to a\nglimpse into their infinite complexity, find an explanation of the\nphysical changes which take place in them, by a reference to certain\ngeneral laws which describe the behavior of material particles everywhere.\n\nAnd the man who, having extended his notion of mechanism, is inclined to\noverlook the fact that animals and men have minds, that thought and\nfeeling, plan and purpose, have their place in the world, may justly be\naccused of a headlong and heedless enthusiasm.  Whatever may be our\nopinion on the subject of the mechanism of nature, we have no right to\nminimize the significance of thought and feeling and will.  Between that\nwhich has no mind and that which has a mind there is a difference which\ncannot be obliterated by bringing both under the concept of mechanism.\nIt is a difference which furnishes the material for the sciences of\npsychology and ethics, and gives rise to a whole world of distinctions\nwhich find no place in the realm of the merely physical.\n\nThere are, then, minds as well as bodies; what place shall we assign to\nthese minds in the system of nature?\n\nSeveral centuries ago it occurred to the man of science that the material\nworld should be regarded as a system in which there is constant\ntransformation, but in which nothing is created.  This way of looking at\nthings expressed itself formerly in the statement that, through all the\nchanges that take place in the world, the quantity of matter and motion\nremains the same.  To-day the same idea is better expressed in the\ndoctrine of the eternity of mass and the conservation of energy.  In\nplain language, this doctrine teaches that every change in every part of\nthe physical world, every motion in matter, must be preceded by physical\nconditions which may be regarded as the equivalent of the change in\nquestion.\n\nBut this makes the physical world a closed system, a something complete\nin itself.  Where is there room in such a system for minds?\n\nIt does indeed seem hard to find in such a system a place for minds, if\none conceives of minds as does the interactionist.  We have seen (section\n36) that the interactionist makes the mind act upon matter very much as\none particle of matter is supposed to act upon another.  Between the\nphysical and the mental he assumes that there are _causal_ relations;\n_i.e._ physical changes must be referred to mental causes sometimes, and\nmental changes to physical.  This means that he finds a place for mental\nfacts by inserting them as links in the one chain of causes and effects\nwith physical facts.  If he is not allowed to break the chain and insert\nthem, he does not know what to do with them.\n\nThe parallelist has not the same difficulty to face.  He who holds that\nmental phenomena must not be built into the one series of causes and\neffects with physical phenomena may freely admit that physical phenomena\nform a closed series, an orderly system of their own, and he may yet find\na place in the world for minds.  He refuses to regard them as a part of\nthe world-mechanism, but he _relates_ them to physical things, conceiving\nthem as _parallel to_ the physical in the sense described (sections\n37-39).  He insists that, even if we hold that there are gaps in the\nphysical order of causes and effects, we cannot conceive these gaps to be\nfilled by mental phenomena, simply because they are mental phenomena.\nThey belong to an order of their own.  Hence, the assumption that the\nphysical series is unbroken does not seem to him to crowd mental\nphenomena out of their place in the world at all.  They must, in any\ncase, occupy the place that is appropriate to them (section 38).\n\nIt will be noticed that this doctrine that the chain of physical causes\nand effects is nowhere broken, and that mental phenomena are related to\nit as the parallelist conceives them to be, makes the world-system a very\norderly one.  Every phenomenon has its place in it, and can be accounted\nfor, whether it be physical or mental.  To some, the thought that the\nworld is such an orderly thing is in the highest degree repugnant.  They\nobject that, in such a world, there is no room for _free-will_; and they\nobject, further, that there is no room for the _activity of minds_.  Both\nof these objections I shall consider in this chapter.\n\nBut first, I must say a few words about a type of doctrine lately\ninsisted upon,[1] which bears some resemblance to interactionism as we\nusually meet with it, and, nevertheless, tries to hold on to the doctrine\nof the conservation of energy.  It is this:--\n\nThe concept of energy is stretched in such a way as to make it cover\nmental phenomena as well as physical.  It is claimed that mental\nphenomena and physical phenomena are alike \"manifestations of energy,\"\nand that the coming into being of a consciousness is a mere\n\"transformation,\" a something to be accounted for by the disappearance\nfrom the physical world of a certain equivalent--perhaps of some motion.\nIt will be noticed that this is one rather subtle way of obliterating the\ndistinction between mental phenomena and physical.  In so far it\nresembles the interactionist's doctrine.\n\nIn criticism of it we may say that he who accepts it has wandered away\nfrom a rather widely recognized scientific hypothesis, and has\nsubstituted for it a very doubtful speculation for which there seems to\nbe no whit of evidence.  It is, moreover, a speculation repugnant to the\nscientific mind, when its significance is grasped.  Shall we assume\nwithout evidence that, when a man wakes in the morning and enjoys a\nmental life suspended or diminished during the night, his thoughts and\nfeelings have come into being at the expense of his body?  Shall we\nassume that the mass of his body has been slightly diminished, or that\nmotions have disappeared in a way that cannot be accounted for by a\nreference to the laws of matter in motion?  This seems an extraordinary\nassumption, and one little in harmony with the doctrine of the eternity\nof mass and the conservation of energy as commonly understood.  We need\nnot take it seriously so long as it is quite unsupported by evidence.\n\n46. THE ORDER OF NATURE AND \"FREE-WILL.\"--In a world as orderly as, in\nthe previous section, this world is conceived to be, is there any room\nfor freedom?  What if the man of science is right in suspecting that the\nseries of physical causes and effects is nowhere broken?  Must we then\nconclude that we are never free?\n\nTo many persons it has seemed that we are forced to draw this conclusion,\nand it is not surprising that they view the doctrine with dismay.  They\nargue: Mental phenomena are made parallel with physical, and the order of\nphysical phenomena seems to be determined throughout, for nothing can\nhappen in the world of matter unless there is some adequate cause of its\nhappening.  If, then, I choose to raise my finger, that movement must be\nadmitted to have physical causes, and those causes other causes, and so\non without end.  If such a movement must always have its place in a\ncausal series of this kind, how can it be regarded as a free movement?\nIt is determined, and not free.\n\nNow, it is far from a pleasant thing to watch the man of science busily\nat work trying to prove that the physical world is an orderly system, and\nall the while to feel in one's heart that the success of his efforts\ncondemns one to slavery.  It can hardly fail to make one's attitude\ntowards science that of alarm and antagonism.  From this I shall try to\nfree the reader by showing that our freedom is not in the least danger,\nand that we may look on unconcerned.\n\nWhen we approach that venerable dispute touching the freedom of the will,\nwhich has inspired men to such endless discussions, and upon which they\nhave written with such warmth and even acrimony, the very first thing to\ndo is to discover what we have a right to mean when we call a man _free_.\nAs long as the meaning of the word is in doubt, the very subject of the\ndispute is in doubt.  When may we, then, properly call a man free?  What\nis the normal application of the term?\n\nI raise my finger.  Every man of sense must admit that, under normal\nconditions, I can raise my finger or keep it down, _as I please_.  There\nis no ground for a difference of opinion so far.  But there is a further\npoint upon which men differ.  One holds that my \"pleasing\" and the\nbrain-change that corresponds to it have their place in the world-order;\nthat is, he maintains that every volition can be _accounted for_.\nAnother holds that, under precisely the same circumstances, one may\n\"please\" or not \"please\"; which means that the \"pleasing\" cannot be\nwholly accounted for by anything that has preceded.  The first man is a\n_determinist_, and the second a \"_free-willist_.\"  I beg the reader to\nobserve that the word \"free-willist\" is in quotation marks, and not to\nsuppose that it means simply a believer in the freedom of the will.\n\nWhen in common life we speak of a man as free, what do we understand by\nthe word?  Usually we mean that he is free from external compulsion.  If\nmy finger is held by another, I am not free to raise it.  But I may be\nfree in this sense, and yet one may demur to the statement that I am a\nfree man.  If a pistol be held to my head with the remark, \"Hands up!\" my\nfinger will mount very quickly, and the bystanders will maintain that I\nhad no choice.\n\nWe speak in somewhat the same way of men under the influence of\nintoxicants, of men crazed by some passion and unable to take into\nconsideration the consequences of their acts, and of men bound by the\nspell of hypnotic suggestion.  Indeed, whenever a man is in such a\ncondition that he is glaringly incapable of leading a normal human life\nand of being influenced by the motives that commonly move men, we are\ninclined to say that he is not free.\n\nBut does it ever occur to us to maintain that, in general, the possession\nof a character and the capacity of being influenced by considerations\nmake it impossible for a man to be free?  Surely not.  If I am a prudent\nman, I will invest my money in good securities.  Is it sensible to say\nthat I cannot have been free in refusing a twenty per cent investment,\n_because I am by nature prudent_?  Am I a slave _because I eat when I am\nhungry_, and can I partake of a meal freely, only when there is no reason\nwhy I should eat at all?\n\nHe who calls me free only when my acts do violence to my nature or cannot\nbe justified by a reference to anything whatever has strange notions of\nfreedom.  Patriots, poets, moralists, have had much to say of freedom;\nmen have lived for it, and have died for it; men love it as they love\ntheir own souls.  Is the object of all this adoration the metaphysical\nabsurdity indicated above?\n\nTo insist that a man is free only in so far as his actions are\nunaccountable is to do violence to the meaning of a word in very common\nuse, and to mislead men by perverting it to strange and unwholesome uses.\nYet this is done by the \"free-willist.\"  He keeps insisting that man is\nfree, and then goes on to maintain that he cannot be free unless he is\n\"free.\"  He does not, unfortunately, supply the quotation marks, and he\nprofits by the natural mistake in identity.  As he defines freedom it\nbecomes \"freedom,\" which is a very different thing.\n\nWhat is this \"freedom\"?  It is not freedom from external constraint.  It\nis not freedom from overpowering passion.  It is freedom from all the\nmotives, good as well as bad, that we can conceive of as influencing man,\nand freedom also from oneself.\n\nIt is well to get this quite clear.  The \"free-willist\" maintains that,\n_in so far as a man is \"free,\"_ his actions cannot be accounted for by a\nreference to the order of causes at all--not by a reference to his\ncharacter, hereditary or acquired; not by a reference to his\nsurroundings.  \"Free\" actions, in so far as they are \"free,\" have, so to\nspeak, sprung into being out of the void.  What follows from such a\ndoctrine?  Listen:--\n\n(1) It follows that, in so far as I am \"free,\" I am not the author of\nwhat appear to be my acts; who can be the cause of causeless actions?\n\n(2) It follows that no amount of effort on my part can prevent the\nappearance of \"free\" acts of the most deplorable kind.  If one can\ncondition their appearance or non-appearance, they are not \"free\" acts.\n\n(3) It follows that there is no reason to believe that there will be any\ncongruity between my character and my \"free\" acts.  I may be a saint by\nnature, and \"freely\" act like a scoundrel.\n\n(4) It follows that I can deserve no credit for \"free\" acts.  I am not\ntheir author.\n\n(5) It follows that, in so far as I am \"free,\" it is useless to praise\nme, to blame me, to punish me, to endeavor to persuade me.  I must be\ngiven over to unaccountable sainthood or to a reprobate mind, as it\nhappens to happen.  I am quite beyond the pale of society, for my\nneighbor cannot influence my \"free\" acts any more than I can.\n\n(6) It follows that, in so far as I am \"free,\" I am in something very\nlike a state of slavery; and yet, curiously enough, it is a slavery\nwithout a master.  In the old stories of Fate, men were represented as\npuppets in the hand of a power outside themselves.  Here I am a puppet in\nno hand; but I am a puppet just the same, for I am the passive spectator\nof what appear to be my acts.  I do not do the things I seem to do.  They\nare done for me or in me--or, rather, they are not done, but just happen.\n\nSuch \"freedom\" is a wretched thing to offer to a man who longs for\nfreedom; for the freedom to act out his own impulses, to guide his life\naccording to his own ideals.  It is a mere travesty on freedom, a fiction\nof the philosophers, which inspires respect only so long as one has not\npierced the disguise of its respectable name.  True freedom is not a\nthing to be sought in a disorderly and chaotic world, in a world in which\nactions are inexplicable and character does not count.  Let us rinse our\nminds free of misleading verbal associations, and let us realize that a\n\"free-will\" neighbor would certainly not be to us an object of respect.\nHe would be as offensive an object to have in our vicinity as a\n\"free-will\" gun or a \"free-will\" pocketknife.  He would not be a rational\ncreature.\n\nOur only concern need be for freedom, and this is in no danger in an\norderly world.  We all recognize this truth, in a way.  We hold that a\nman of good character freely chooses the good, and a man of evil\ncharacter freely chooses evil.  Is not this a recognition of the fact\nthat the choice is a thing to be accounted for, and is, nevertheless, a\nfree choice?\n\nI have been considering above the world as it is conceived to be by the\nparallelist, but, to the reader who may not incline towards parallelism,\nI wish to point out that these reasonings touching the freedom of the\nwill concern the interactionist just as closely.  They have no necessary\nconnection with parallelism.  The interactionist, as well as the\nparallelist, may be a determinist, a believer in freedom, or he may be a\n\"free-willist.\"\n\nHe regards mental phenomena and physical phenomena as links in the one\nchain of causes and effects.  Shall he hold that certain mental links are\n\"free-will\" links, that they are wholly unaccountable?  If he does, all\nthat has been said above about the \"free-willist\" applies to him.  He\nbelieves in a disorderly world, and he should accept the consequences of\nhis doctrine.\n\n47. THE PHYSICAL WORLD AND THE MORAL WORLD.--I have said a little way\nback that, when we think of bodies as having minds, we are introduced to\na world of distinctions which have no place in the realm of the merely\nphysical.  One of the objections made to the orderly world of the\nparallelist was that in it there is no room for the activity of minds.\nBefore we pass judgment on this matter, we should try to get some clear\nnotion of what we may mean by the word \"activity.\"  The science of ethics\nmust go by the board, if we cannot think of men as _doing_ anything, as\nacting rightly or acting wrongly.\n\nLet us conceive a billiard ball in motion to come into collision with one\nat rest.  We commonly speak of the first ball as active, and of the\nsecond as the passive subject upon which it exercises its activity.  Are\nwe justified in thus speaking?\n\nIn one sense, of course, we are.  As I have several times had occasion to\nremark, we are, in common life, justified in using words rather loosely,\nprovided that it is convenient to do so, and that it does not give rise\nto misunderstandings.\n\nBut, in a stricter sense, we are not justified in thus speaking, for in\ndoing so we are carrying over into the sphere of the merely physical a\ndistinction which does not properly belong there, but has its place in\nanother realm.  The student of mechanics tells us that the second ball\nhas affected the first quite as much as the first has affected the\nsecond.  We cannot simply regard the first as cause and the second as\neffect, nor may we regard the motion of the first as cause and the\nsubsequent motion of the second as its effect alone.  _The whole\nsituation at the one instant_--both balls, their relative positions and\ntheir motion and rest--must be taken as the cause of _the whole situation\nat the next instant_, and in this whole situation the condition of the\nsecond ball has its place as well as that of the first.\n\nIf, then, we insist that to have causal efficiency is the same thing as\nto be active, we should also admit that the second ball was active, and\nquite as active as the first.  It has certainly had as much to do with\nthe total result.  But it offends us to speak of it in this way.  We\nprefer to say that the first was active and the second was acted upon.\nWhat is the source of this distinction?\n\nIts original source is to be found in the judgments we pass upon\nconscious beings, bodies with minds; and it could never have been drawn\nif men had not taken into consideration the relations of minds to the\nchanges in the physical world.  As carried over to inanimate things it is\na transferred distinction; and its transference to this field is not\nstrictly justifiable, as has been indicated above.\n\nI must make this clear by an illustration.  I hurry along a street\ntowards the university, because the hour for my lecture is approaching.\nI am struck down by a falling tile.  In my advance up the street I am\nregarded as active; in my fall to the ground I am regarded as passive.\n\nNow, looking at both occurrences from the purely physical point of view,\nwe have nothing before us but a series of changes in the space relations\nof certain masses of matter; and in all those changes both my body and\nits environment are concerned.  As I advance, my body cannot be regarded\nas the sole cause of the changes which are taking place.  My progress\nwould be impossible without the aid of the ground upon which I tread.\nNor can I accuse the tile of being the sole cause of my demolition.  Had\nI not been what I was and where I was, the tile would have fallen in\nvain.  I must be regarded as a concurrent cause of my own disaster, and\nmy unhappy state is attributable to me as truly as it is to the tile.\n\nWhy, then, am I in the one case regarded as active and in the other as\npassive?  In each case I am a cause of the result.  How does it happen\nthat, in the first instance, I seem to most men to be _the_ cause, and in\nthe second to be not a cause at all?  The rapidity of my motion in the\nfirst instance cannot account for this judgment.  He who rides in the\npolice van and he who is thrown from the car of a balloon may move with\ngreat rapidity and yet be regarded as passive.\n\nMen speak as they do because they are not content to point out the\nphysical antecedents of this and that occurrence and stop with that.\nThey recognize that, between my advance up the street and my fall to the\nground there is one very important difference.  In the first case what is\nhappening _may be referred to an idea in my mind_.  Were the idea not\nthere, I should not do what I am doing.  In the second case, what has\nhappened _cannot be referred to an idea in my mind_.\n\nHere we have come to the recognition that there are such things as\n_purposes_ and _ends_; that an idea and some change in the external world\nmay be related as _plan_ and _accomplishment_.  In other words, we have\nbeen brought face to face with what has been given the somewhat\nmisleading name of _final cause_.  In so far as that in the bringing\nabout of which I have had a share is my _end_, I am _active_; in so far\nas it is not my end, but comes upon me as something not planned, I am\n_passive_.  The enormous importance of the distinction may readily be\nseen; it is only in so far as I am a creature who can have purposes, that\n_desire_ and _will_, _foresight_ and _prudence_, _right_ and _wrong_, can\nhave a significance for me.\n\nI have dwelt upon the meaning of the words \"activity\" and \"passivity,\"\nand have been at pains to distinguish them from cause and effect, because\nthe two pairs of terms have often been confounded with each other, and\nthis confusion has given rise to a peculiarly unfortunate error.  It is\nthis error that lies at the foundation of the objection referred to at\nthe beginning of this section.\n\nWe have seen that certain men of science are inclined to look upon the\nphysical world as a great system, all the changes in which may be\naccounted for by an appeal to physical causes.  And we have seen that the\nparallelist regards ideas, not as links in this chain, but as parallel\nwith physical changes.\n\nIt is argued by some that, if this is a true view of things, we must\nembrace the conclusion that _the mind cannot be active at all_, that it\ncan _accomplish nothing_.  We must look upon the mind as an\n\"epiphenomenon,\" a useless decoration; and must regard man as \"a physical\nautomaton with parallel psychical states.\"\n\nSuch abuse of one's fellow-man seems unchristian, and it is wholly\nuncalled for on any hypothesis.  Our first answer to it is that it seems\nto be sufficiently refuted by the experiences of common life.  We have\nabundant evidence that men's minds do count for something.  I conclude\nthat I want a coat, and I order one of my tailor; he believes that I will\npay for it, he wants the money, and he makes the coat; his man desires to\nearn his wages and he delivers it.  If I had not wanted the coat, if the\ntailor had not wanted my money, if the man had not wanted to earn his\nwages, the end would not have been attained.  No philosopher has the\nright to deny these facts.\n\nAh! but, it may be answered, these three \"wants\" are not supposed to be\nthe _causes_ of the motions in matter which result in my appearing\nwell-dressed on Sunday.  They are only _concomitant phenomena_.\n\nTo this I reply: What of that?  We must not forget what is meant by such\nconcomitance (section 39).  We are dealing with a fixed and necessary\nrelation, not with an accidental one.  If these \"wants\" had been lacking,\nthere would have been no coat.  So my second answer to the objector is,\nthat, on the hypothesis of the parallelist, the relations between mental\nphenomena and physical phenomena are just as dependable as that relation\nbetween physical phenomena which we call that of cause and effect.\nMoreover, since activity and causality are not the same thing, there is\nno ground for asserting that the mind cannot be active, merely because it\nis not material and, hence, cannot be, strictly speaking, a cause of\nmotions in matter.\n\nThe plain man is entirely in the right in thinking that minds are active.\nThe truth is that _nothing can be active except as it has a mind_.  The\nrelation of purpose and end is the one we have in view when we speak of\nthe activity of minds.\n\nIt is, thus, highly unjust to a man to tell him that he is \"a physical\nautomaton with parallel psychical states,\" and that he is wound up by\nputting food into his mouth.  He who hears this may be excused if he\nfeels it his duty to emit steam, walk with a jerk, and repudiate all\nresponsibility for his actions.  Creatures that think, form plans, and\n_act_, are not what we call automata.  It is an abuse of language to call\nthem such, and it misleads us into looking upon them as we have no right\nto look upon them.  If men really were automata in the proper sense of\nthe word, we could not look upon them as wise or unwise, good or bad; in\nshort, the whole world of moral distinctions would vanish.\n\nPerhaps, in spite of all that has been said in this and in the preceding\nsection, some will feel a certain repugnance to being assigned a place in\na world as orderly as our world is in this chapter conceived to be--a\nworld in which every phenomenon, whether physical or mental, has its\ndefinite place, and all are subject to law.  But I suppose our content or\ndiscontent will not be independent of our conception of what sort of a\nworld we conceive ourselves to be inhabiting.\n\nIf we conclude that we are in a world in which God is revealed, if the\norderliness of it is but another name for Divine Providence, we can\nscarcely feel the same as we would if we discovered in the world nothing\nof the Divine.  I have in the last few pages been discussing the doctrine\nof purposes and ends, teleology, but I have said nothing of the\nsignificance of that doctrine for Theism.  The reader can easily see that\nit lies at the very foundation of our belief in God.  The only arguments\nfor theism that have had much weight with mankind have been those which\nhave maintained there are revealed in the world generally evidences of a\nplan and purpose at least analogous to what we discover when we\nscrutinize the actions of our fellow-man.  Such arguments are not at the\nmercy of either interactionist or parallelist.  On either hypothesis they\nstand unshaken.\n\nWith this brief survey of some of the most interesting problems that\nconfront the philosopher, I must content myself here.  Now let us turn\nand see how some of the fundamental problems treated in previous chapters\nhave been approached by men belonging to certain well-recognized schools\nof thought.\n\nAnd since it is peculiarly true in philosophy that, to understand the\npresent, one must know something of the past, we shall begin by taking a\nlook at the historical background of the types of philosophical doctrine\nto which reference is constantly made in the books and journals of the\nday.\n\n\n[1] Ostwald, \"Vorlesungen ueber Naturphilosophie,\" s. 396.  Leipzig, 1902.\n\n\n\n\nIV. SOME TYPES OF PHILOSOPHICAL THEORY\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHEIR HISTORICAL BACKGROUND\n\n48. THE DOCTRINE OF REPRESENTATIVE PERCEPTION.--We have seen in Chapter\nII that it seems to the plain man abundantly evident that he really is\nsurrounded by material things and that he directly perceives such\nthings.  This has always been the opinion of the plain man and it seems\nprobable that it always will be.  It is only when he begins to reflect\nupon things and upon his knowledge of them that it occurs to him to\ncall it in question.\n\nVery early in the history of speculative thought it occurred to men,\nhowever, to ask how it is that we know things, and whether we are sure\nwe do know them.  The problems of reflection started into life, and\nvarious solutions were suggested.  To tell over the whole list would\ntake us far afield, and we need not, for the purpose we have in view,\ngo back farther than Descartes, with whom philosophy took a relatively\nnew start, and may be said to have become, in spirit and method, at\nleast, modern.\n\nI have said (section 31) that Descartes (1596-1650) was fairly well\nacquainted with the functioning of the nervous system, and has much to\nsay of the messages which pass along the nerves to the brain.  The same\nsort of reasoning that leads the modern psychologist to maintain that\nwe know only so much of the external world as is reflected in our\nsensations led him to maintain that the mind is directly aware of the\nideas through which an external world is represented, but can know the\nworld itself only indirectly and through these ideas.\n\nDescartes was put to sore straits to prove the existence of an external\nworld, when he had once thus placed it at one remove from us.  If we\naccept his doctrine, we seem to be shut up within the circle of our\nideas, and can find no door that will lead us to a world outside.  The\nquestion will keep coming back: How do we _know_ that, corresponding to\nour ideas, there are material things, if we have never perceived, in\nany single instance, a material thing?  And the doubt here suggested\nmay be reinforced by the reflection that the very expression \"a\nmaterial thing\" ought to be meaningless to a man who, having never had\nexperience of one, is compelled to represent it by the aid of something\nso different from it as ideas are supposed to be.  Can material things\nreally be to such a creature anything more than some complex of ideas?\n\nThe difficulties presented by any philosophical doctrine are not always\nevident at once.  Descartes made no scruple of accepting the existence\nof an external world, and his example has been followed by a very large\nnumber of those who agree with his initial assumption that the mind\nknows immediately only its own ideas.\n\nPreeminent among such we must regard John Locke, the English\nphilosopher (1632-1704), whose classic work, \"An Essay concerning Human\nUnderstanding,\" should not be wholly unknown to any one who pretends to\nan interest in the English literature.\n\nAdmirably does Locke represent the position of what very many have\nregarded as the prudent and sensible man,--the man who recognizes that\nideas are not external things, and that things must be known through\nideas, and yet holds on to the existence of a material world which we\nassuredly know.\n\nHe recognizes, it is true, that some one may find a possible opening\nfor the expression of a doubt, but he regards the doubt as gratuitous;\n\"I think nobody can, in earnest, be so skeptical as to be uncertain of\nthe existence of those things which he sees and feels.\"  As we have\nseen (section 12), he meets the doubt with a jest.\n\nNevertheless, those who read with attention Locke's admirably clear\npages must notice that he does not succeed in really setting to rest\nthe doubt that has suggested itself.  It becomes clear that Locke felt\nso sure of the existence of the external world because he now and then\nslipped into the inconsistent doctrine that he perceived it\nimmediately, and not merely through his ideas.  Are those things \"which\nhe sees and feels\" _external_ things?  Does he see and feel them\ndirectly, or must he infer from his ideas that he sees and feels them?\nIf the latter, why may one not still doubt?  Evidently the appeal is to\na direct experience of material things, and Locke has forgotten that he\nmust be a Lockian.\n\n\"I have often remarked, in many instances,\" writes Descartes, \"that\nthere is a great difference between an object and its idea.\"  How could\nthe man possibly have remarked this, when he had never in his life\nperceived the object corresponding to any idea, but had been altogether\nshut up to ideas?  \"Thus I see, whilst I write this,\" says Locke,[1] \"I\ncan change the appearance of the paper, and by designing the letters\ntell beforehand what new idea it shall exhibit the very next moment, by\nbarely drawing my pen over it, which will neither appear (let me fancy\nas much as I will), if my hand stands still, or though I move my pen,\nif my eyes be shut; nor, when those characters are once made on the\npaper, can I choose afterward but see them as they are; that is, have\nthe ideas of such letters as I have made.  Whence it is manifest, that\nthey are not barely the sport and play of my own imagination, when I\nfind that the characters that were made at the pleasure of my own\nthought do not obey them; nor yet cease to be, whenever I shall fancy\nit; but continue to affect the senses constantly and regularly,\naccording to the figures I made them.\"\n\nLocke is as bad as Descartes.  Evidently he regards himself as able to\nturn to the external world and perceive the relation that things hold\nto ideas.  Such an inconsistency may escape the writer who has been\nguilty of it, but it is not likely to escape the notice of all those\nwho come after him.  Some one is sure to draw the consequences of a\ndoctrine more rigorously, and to come to conclusions, it may be, very\nunpalatable to the man who propounded the doctrine in the first\ninstance.\n\nThe type of doctrine represented by Descartes and Locke is that of\n_Representative Perception_.  It holds that we know real external\nthings only through their mental representatives.  It has also been\ncalled _Hypothetical Realism_, because it accepts the existence of a\nreal world, but bases our knowledge of it upon an inference from our\nsensations or ideas.\n\n49. THE STEP TO IDEALISM.--The admirable clearness with which Locke\nwrites makes it the easier for his reader to detect the untenability of\nhis position.  He uses simple language, and he never takes refuge in\nvague and ambiguous phrases.  When he tells us that the mind is wholly\nshut up to its ideas, and then later assumes that it is not shut up to\nits ideas, but can perceive external things, we see plainly that there\nmust be a blunder somewhere.\n\nGeorge Berkeley (1684-1753), Bishop of Cloyne, followed out more\nrigorously the consequences to be deduced from the assumption that all\nour direct knowledge is of ideas; and in a youthful work of the highest\ngenius entitled \"The Principles of Human Knowledge,\" he maintained that\nthere is no material world at all.\n\nWhen we examine with care the objects of sense, the \"things\" which\npresent themselves to us, he argues, we find that they resolve\nthemselves into sensations, or \"ideas of sense.\"  What can we mean by\nthe word \"apple,\" if we do not mean the group of experiences in which\nalone an apple is presented to us?  The word is nothing else than a\nname for this group as a group.  Take away the color, the hardness, the\nodor, the taste; what have we left?  And color, hardness, odor, taste,\nand anything else that may be referred to any object as a quality, can\nexist, he claims, only in a perceiving mind; for such things are\nnothing else than sensations, and how can there be an unperceived\nsensation?\n\nThe things which we perceive, then, he calls complexes of ideas.  Have\nwe any reason to believe that these ideas, which exist in the mind, are\nto be accepted as representatives of things of a different kind, which\nare not mental at all?  Not a shadow of a reason, says Berkeley; there\nis simply no basis for inference at all, and we cannot even make clear\nwhat it is that we are setting out to infer under the name of matter.\nWe need not, therefore, grieve over the loss of the material world, for\nwe have suffered no loss; one cannot lose what one has never had.\n\nThus, the objects of human knowledge, the only things of which it means\nanything to speak, are: (1) Ideas of Sense; (2) Ideas of Memory and\nImagination; (3) The Passions and Operations of the Mind; and (4) The\nSelf that perceives all These.\n\nFrom Locke's position to that of Berkeley was a bold step, and it was\nmuch criticised, as well it might be.  It was felt then, as it has been\nfelt by many down to our own time, that, when we discard an external\nworld distinct from our ideas, and admit only the world revealed in our\nideas, we really do lose.\n\nIt is legitimate to criticise Berkeley, but it is not legitimate to\nmisunderstand him; and yet the history of his doctrine may almost be\ncalled a chronicle of misconceptions.  It has been assumed that he drew\nno distinction between real things and imaginary things, that he made\nthe world no better than a dream, etc.  Arbuthnot, Swift, and a host of\nthe greater and lesser lights in literature, from his time to ours,\nhave made merry over the supposed unrealities in the midst of which the\nBerkeleian must live.\n\nBut it should be remembered that Berkeley tried hard to do full justice\nto the world of things in which we actually find ourselves; not a\nhypothetical, inferred, unperceived world, but the world of the things\nwe actually perceive.  He distinguished carefully between what is real\nand what is merely imaginary, though he called both \"ideas\"; and he\nrecognized something like a system of nature.  And, by the argument\nfrom analogy which we have already examined (section 41), he inferred\nthe existence of other finite minds and of a Divine Mind.\n\nBut just as John Locke had not completely thought out the consequences\nwhich might be deduced from his own doctrines, so Berkeley left, in his\nturn, an opening for a successor.  It was possible for that acutest of\nanalysts, David Hume (1711-1776), to treat him somewhat as he had\ntreated Locke.\n\nAmong the objects of human knowledge Berkeley had included the _self_\nthat perceives things.  He never succeeded in making at all clear what\nhe meant by this object; but he regarded it as a substance, and\nbelieved it to be a cause of changes in ideas, and quite different in\nits nature from all the ideas attributed to it.  But Hume maintained\nthat when he tried to get a good look at this self, to catch it, so to\nspeak, and to hold it up to inspection, he could not find anything\nwhatever save perceptions, memories, and other things of that kind.\nThe self is, he said, \"but a bundle or collection of different\nperceptions which succeed each other with inconceivable rapidity, and\nare in a perpetual flux and movement.\"\n\nAs for the objects of sense, our own bodies, the chairs upon which we\nsit, the tables at which we write, and all the rest--these, argues\nHume, we are impelled by nature to think of as existing continuously,\nbut we have no evidence whatever to prove that they do thus exist.  Are\nnot the objects of sense, after all, only sensations or impressions?\nDo we not experience these sensations or impressions interruptedly?\nWho sees or feels a table continuously day after day?  If the table is\nbut a name for the experiences in question, if we have no right to\ninfer material things behind and distinct from such experiences, are we\nnot forced to conclude that the existence of the things that we see and\nfeel is an interrupted one?\n\nHume certainly succeeded in raising more questions than he succeeded in\nanswering.  We are compelled to admire the wonderful clearness and\nsimplicity of his style, and the acuteness of his intellect, in every\nchapter.  But we cannot help feeling that he does injustice to the\nworld in which we live, even when we cannot quite see what is wrong.\nDoes it not seem certain to science and to common sense that there is\nan order of nature in some sense independent of our perceptions, so\nthat objects may be assumed to exist whether we do or do not perceive\nthem?\n\nWhen we read Hume we have a sense that we are robbed of our real\nexternal world; and his account of the mind makes us feel as a badly\ntied sheaf of wheat may be conceived to feel--in danger of falling\napart at any moment.  Berkeley we unhesitatingly call an _Idealist_,\nbut whether we shall apply the name to Hume depends upon the extension\nwe are willing to give to it.  His world is a world of what we may\nbroadly call _ideas_; but the tendencies of his philosophy have led\nsome to call it a _Skepticism_.\n\n50. THE REVOLT OF \"COMMON SENSE.\"--Hume's reasonings were too important\nto be ignored, and his conclusions too unpalatable to satisfy those who\ncame after him.  It seemed necessary to seek a way of escape out of\nthis world of mere ideas, which appeared to be so unsatisfactory a\nworld.  One of the most famous of such attempts was that made by the\nScotchman Thomas Reid (1710-1796).\n\nAt one time Reid regarded himself as the disciple of Berkeley, but the\nconsequences which Hume deduced from the principles laid down by the\nformer led Reid to feel that he must build upon some wholly different\nfoundation.  He came to the conclusion that the line of philosophers\nfrom Descartes to Hume had made one capital error in assuming \"that\nnothing is perceived but what is in the mind that perceives it.\"\n\nOnce admit, says Reid, that the mind perceives nothing save ideas, and\nwe must also admit that it is impossible to prove the existence either\nof an external world or of a mind different from \"a bundle of\nperceptions.\"  Hence, Reid maintains that we perceive--not infer, but\nperceive--_things_ external to the mind.  He writes:[2]--\n\n\"Let a man press his hand against the table--_he feels it hard_.  But\nwhat is the meaning of this?  The meaning undoubtedly is, that he hath\na certain feeling of touch, from which he concludes, without any\nreasoning, or comparing ideas, that there is something external really\nexisting, whose parts stick so firmly together that they cannot be\ndisplaced without considerable force.\n\n\"There is here a feeling, and a conclusion drawn from it, or some way\nsuggested by it.  In order to compare these, we must view them\nseparately, and then consider by what tie they are connected, and\nwherein they resemble one another.  The hardness of the table is the\nconclusion, the feeling is the medium by which we are led to that\nconclusion.  Let a man attend distinctly to this medium, and to the\nconclusion, and he will perceive them to be as unlike as any two things\nin nature.  The one is a sensation of the mind, which can have no\nexistence but in a sentient being; nor can it exist one moment longer\nthan it is felt; the other is in the table, and we conclude, without\nany difficulty, that it was in the table before it was felt, and\ncontinues after the feeling is over.  The one implies no kind of\nextension, nor parts, nor cohesion; the other implies all these.  Both,\nindeed, admit of degrees, and the feeling, beyond a certain degree, is\na species of pain; but adamantine hardness does not imply the least\npain.\n\n\"And as the feeling hath no similitude to hardness, so neither can our\nreason perceive the least tie or connection between them; nor will the\nlogician ever be able to show a reason why we should conclude hardness\nfrom this feeling, rather than softness, or any other quality\nwhatsoever.  But, in reality, all mankind are led by their constitution\nto conclude hardness from this feeling.\"\n\nIt is well worth while to read this extract several times, and to ask\noneself what Reid meant to say, and what he actually said.  He is\nobjecting, be it remembered, to the doctrine that the mind perceives\nimmediately only its own ideas or sensations and must infer all else.\nHis contention is that we _perceive_ external things.\n\nDoes he say this?  He says that we have feelings of touch _from which\nwe conclude_ that there is something external; that there is a feeling,\n\"_and a conclusion drawn from it, or some way suggested by it_;\" that\n\"the hardness of the table is the _conclusion_, and the feeling is the\n_medium_ by which we are _led to the conclusion_.\"\n\nCould Descartes or Locke have more plainly supported the doctrine of\nrepresentative perception?  How could Reid imagine he was combatting\nthat doctrine when he wrote thus?  The point in which he differs from\nthem is this: he maintains that we draw the conclusion in question\nwithout any reasoning, and, indeed, in the absence of any conceivable\nreason why we should draw it.  We do it instinctively; we are led by\nthe constitution of our nature.\n\nIn effect Reid says to us: When you lay your hand on the table, you\nhave a sensation, it is true, but you also know the table is hard.  How\ndo you know it?  I cannot tell you; you simply know it, and cannot help\nknowing it; and that is the end of the matter.\n\nReid's doctrine was not without its effect upon other philosophers.\nAmong them we must place Sir William Hamilton (1788-1856), whose\nwritings had no little influence upon British philosophy in the last\nhalf of the last century.\n\nHamilton complained that Reid did not succeed in being a very good\n_Natural Realist_, and that he slipped unconsciously into the position\nhe was concerned to condemn.  Sir William tried to eliminate this\nerror, but the careful reader of his works will find to his amusement\nthat this learned author gets his feet upon the same slippery descent.\nAnd much the same thing may be said of the doctrine of Herbert Spencer\n(1820-1903), who claims that, when we have a sensation, we know\ndirectly that there is an external thing, and then manages to sublimate\nthat external thing into an Unknowable, which we not only do not know\ndirectly, but even do not know at all.\n\nAll of these men were anxious to avoid what they regarded as the perils\nof Idealism, and yet they seem quite unable to retain a foothold upon\nthe position which they consider the safer one.\n\nReid called his doctrine the philosophy of \"Common Sense,\" and he\nthought he was coming back from the subtleties of the metaphysicians to\nthe standpoint of the plain man.  That he should fall into difficulties\nand inconsistencies is by no means surprising.  As we have seen\n(section 12), the thought of the plain man is far from clear.  He\ncertainly believes that we perceive an external world of things, and\nthe inconsistent way in which Descartes and Locke appeal from ideas to\nthe things themselves does not strike him as unnatural.  Why should not\na man test his ideas by turning to things and comparing the former with\nthe latter?  On the other hand, he knows that to perceive things we\nmust have sense organs and sensations, and he cannot quarrel with the\npsychologists for saying that we know things only in so far as they are\nrevealed to us through our sensations.  How does he reconcile these two\npositions?  He does not reconcile them.  He accepts them as they stand.\n\nReid and various other philosophers have tried to come back to \"Common\nSense\" and to stay there.  Now, it is a good position to come back to\nfor the purpose of starting out again.  The experience of the plain\nman, the truths which he recognizes as truths, these are not things to\nbe despised.  Many a man whose mind has been, as Berkeley expresses it,\n\"debauched by learning,\" has gotten away from them to his detriment,\nand has said very unreasonable things.  But \"Common Sense\" cannot be\nthe ultimate refuge of the philosopher; it can only serve him as\nmaterial for investigation.  The scholar whose thought is as vague and\ninconsistent as that of the plain man has little profit in the fact\nthat the apparatus of his learning has made it possible for him to be\nponderously and unintelligibly vague and inconsistent.\n\nHence, we may have the utmost sympathy with Reid's protest against the\ndoctrine of representative perception, and we may, nevertheless,\ncomplain that he has done little to explain how it is that we directly\nknow external things and yet cannot be said to know things except in so\nfar as we have sensations or ideas.\n\n51. THE CRITICAL PHILOSOPHY.--The German philosopher, Immanuel Kant\n(1724-1804), was moved, by the skeptical conclusions to which Hume's\nphilosophy seemed to lead, to seek a way of escape, somewhat as Reid\nwas.  But he did not take refuge in \"Common Sense\"; he developed an\ningenious doctrine which has had an enormous influence in the\nphilosophical world, and has given rise to a Kantian literature of such\nproportions that no man can hope to read all of it, even if he devotes\nhis life to it.  In Germany and out of it, it has for a hundred years\nand more simply rained books, pamphlets, and articles on Kant and his\nphilosophy, some of them good, many of them far from clear and far from\noriginal.  Hundreds of German university students have taken Kant as\nthe subject of the dissertation by which they hoped to win the degree\nof Doctor of Philosophy;--I was lately offered two hundred and\nseventy-four such dissertations in one bunch;--and no student is\nsupposed to have even a moderate knowledge of philosophy who has not an\nacquaintance with that famous work, the \"Critique of Pure Reason.\"\n\nIt is to be expected from the outset that, where so many have found so\nmuch to say, there should reign abundant differences of opinion.  There\nare differences of opinion touching the interpretation of Kant, and\ntouching the criticisms which may be made upon, and the development\nwhich should be given to, his doctrine.  It is, of course, impossible\nto go into all these things here; and I shall do no more than indicate,\nin untechnical language and in briefest outline, what he offers us in\nplace of the philosophy of Hume.\n\nKant did not try to refute, as did Reid, the doctrine, urged by\nDescartes and by his successors, that all those things which the mind\ndirectly perceives are to be regarded as complexes of ideas.  On the\ncontrary, he accepted it, and he has made the words \"phenomenon\" and\n\"noumenon\" household words in philosophy.\n\nThe world which seems to be spread out before us in space and time is,\nhe tells us, a world of things _as they are revealed to our senses and\nour intelligence_; it is a world of manifestations, of phenomena.  What\nthings-in-themselves are like we have no means of knowing; we know only\nthings as they appear to us.  We may, to be sure, talk of a something\ndistinct from phenomena, a something not revealed to the senses, but\nthought of, a _noumenon_; but we should not forget that this is a\nnegative conception; there is nothing in our experience that can give\nit a filling, for our experience is only of phenomena.  The reader will\nfind an unmistakable echo of this doctrine in Herbert Spencer's\ndoctrine of the \"Unknowable\" and its \"manifestations.\"\n\nNow, Berkeley had called all the things we immediately perceive\n_ideas_.  As we have seen, he distinguished between \"ideas of sense\"\nand \"ideas of memory and imagination.\"  Hume preferred to give to these\ntwo classes different names--he called the first _impressions_ and the\nsecond _ideas_.\n\nThe associations of the word \"impression\" are not to be mistaken.\nLocke had taught that between ideas in the memory and genuine\nsensations there is the difference that the latter are due to the\n\"brisk acting\" of objects without us.  Objects impress us, and we have\nsensations or impressions.  To be sure, Hume, after employing the word\n\"impression,\" goes on to argue that we have no evidence that there are\nexternal objects, which cause impressions.  But he retains the word\n\"impression,\" nevertheless, and his use of it perceptibly colors his\nthought.\n\nIn Kant's distinction between phenomena and noumena we have the lineal\ndescendant of the old distinction between the circle of our ideas and\nthe something outside of them that causes them and of which they are\nsupposed to give information.  Hume said we have no reason to believe\nsuch a thing exists, but are impelled by our nature to believe in it.\nKant is not so much concerned to prove the nonexistence of noumena,\nthings-in-themselves, as he is to prove that the very conception is an\nempty one.  His reasonings seem to result in the conclusion that we can\nmake no intelligible statement about things so cut off from our\nexperience as noumena are supposed to be; and one would imagine that he\nwould have felt impelled to go on to the frank declaration that we have\nno reason to believe in noumena at all, and had better throw away\naltogether so meaningless and useless a notion.  But he was a\nconservative creature, and he did not go quite so far.\n\nSo far there is little choice between Kant and Hume.  Certainly the\nformer does not appear to have rehabilitated the external world which\nhad suffered from the assaults of his predecessors.  What important\ndifference is there between his doctrine and that of the man whose\nskeptical tendencies he wished to combat?\n\nThe difference is this: Descartes and Locke had accounted for our\nknowledge of things by maintaining that things act upon us, and make an\nimpression or sensation--that their action, so to speak, begets ideas.\nThis is a very ancient doctrine as well as a very modern one; it is the\ndoctrine that most men find reasonable even before they devote\nthemselves to the study of philosophy.  The totality of such\nimpressions received from the external world, they are accustomed to\nregard as our _experience_ of external things; and they are inclined to\nthink that any knowledge of external things not founded upon experience\ncan hardly deserve the name of knowledge.\n\nNow, Hume, when he cast doubt upon the existence of external things,\ndid not, as I have said above, divest himself of the suggestions of the\nword \"impression.\"  He insists strenuously that all our knowledge is\nfounded upon experience; and he holds that no experience can give us\nknowledge that is necessary and universal.  We know things as they are\nrevealed to us in our experience; but who can guarantee that we may not\nhave new experiences of a quite different kind, and which flatly\ncontradict the notions which we have so far attained of what is\npossible and impossible, true and untrue.\n\nIt is here that Kant takes issue with Hume.  A survey of our knowledge\nmakes clear, he thinks, that we are in the possession of a great deal\nof information that is not of the unsatisfactory kind that, according\nto Hume, all our knowledge of things must be.  There, for example, are\nall the truths of mathematics.  When we enunciate a truth regarding the\nrelations of the lines and angles of a triangle, we are not merely\nunfolding in the predicate of our proposition what was implicitly\ncontained in the subject.  There are propositions that do no more than\nthis; they are _analytical_, _i.e._ they merely analyze the subject.\nThus, when we say: Man is a rational animal, we may merely be defining\nthe word \"man\"--unpacking it, so to speak.  But a _synthetic_ judgment\nis one in which the predicate is not contained in the subject; it adds\nto one's information.  The mathematical truths are of this character.\nSo also is the truth that everything that happens must have a cause.\n\nDo we connect things with one another in this way merely because we\nhave had _experience_ that they are thus connected?  Is it because they\nare _given_ to us connected in this way?  That cannot be the case, Kant\nargues, for what is taken up as mere experienced act cannot be known as\nuniversally and necessarily true.  We perceive that these things _must_\nbe so connected.  How shall we explain this necessity?\n\nWe can only explain it, said Kant, in this way: We must assume that\nwhat is given us from without is merely the raw material of sensation,\nthe _matter_ of our experience; and that the ordering of this matter,\nthe arranging it into a world of phenomena, the furnishing of _form_,\nis the work of the mind.  Thus, we must think of space, time,\ncausality, and of all other relations which obtain between the elements\nof our experience, as due to the nature of the mind.  It perceives the\nworld of phenomena that it does, because it _constructs_ that world.\nIts knowledge of things is stable and dependable because it cannot know\nany phenomenon which does not conform to its laws.  The water poured\ninto a cup must take the shape of the cup; and the raw materials poured\ninto a mind must take the form of an orderly world, spread out in space\nand time.\n\nKant thought that with this turn he had placed human knowledge upon a\nsatisfactory basis, and had, at the same time, indicated the\nlimitations of human knowledge.  If the world we perceive is a world\nwhich we make; if the forms of thought furnished by the mind have no\nother function than the ordering of the materials furnished by sense;\nthen what can we say of that which may be beyond phenomena?  What of\n_noumena_?\n\nIt seems clear that, on Kant's principles, we ought not to be able to\nsay anything whatever of _noumena_.  To say that such may exist appears\nabsurd.  All conceivable connection between them and existing things as\nwe know them is cut off.  We cannot think of a noumenon as a\n_substance_, for the notions of substance and quality have been\ndeclared to be only a scheme for the ordering of phenomena.  Nor can we\nthink of one as a cause of the sensations that we unite into a world,\nfor just the same reason.  We are shut up logically to the world of\nphenomena, and that world of phenomena is, after all, the successor of\nthe world of ideas advocated by Berkeley.\n\nThis is not the place to discuss at length the value of Kant's\ncontribution to philosophy.[3]  There is something terrifying in the\nprodigious length at which it seems possible for men to discuss it.\nKant called his doctrine \"Criticism,\" because it undertook to establish\nthe nature and limits of our knowledge.  By some he has been hailed as\na great enlightener, and by others he has been accused of being as\ndogmatic in his assumptions as those whom he disapproved.\n\nBut one thing he certainly has accomplished.  He has made the words\n\"phenomena\" and \"noumena\" familiar to us all, and he has induced a vast\nnumber of men to accept it as established fact that it is not worth\nwhile to try to extend our knowledge beyond phenomena.  One sees his\ninfluence in the writings of men who differ most widely from one\nanother.\n\n\n[1] \"Essay,\" Book IV, Chapter XI, section 7.\n\n[2] \"An Inquiry into the Human Mind,\" Chapter V, section 5.\n\n[3] The reader will find a criticism of the Critical Philosophy in\nChapter XV.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nREALISM AND IDEALISM\n\n52. REALISM.--The plain man is a realist.  That is to say, he believes\nin a world which is not to be identified with his own ideas or those of\nany other mind.  At the same time, as we have seen (section 12), the\ndistinction between the mind and the world is by no means clear to him.\nIt is not difficult, by judicious questioning, to set his feet upon the\nslippery descent that shoots a man into idealism.\n\nThe vague realism of the plain man may be called _Naive_ or\n_Unreflective Realism_.  It has been called by some _Natural Realism_,\nbut the latter term is an unfortunate one.  It is, of course, natural\nfor the unreflective man to be unreflective, but, on the other hand, it\nis also natural for the reflective man to be reflective.  Besides, in\ndubbing any doctrine \"natural,\" we are apt to assume that doctrines\ncontrasted with it may properly be called \"unnatural\" or \"artificial.\"\nIt is an ancient rhetorical device, to obtain sympathy for a cause in\nwhich one may happen to be interested by giving it a taking name; but\nit is a device frowned upon by logic and by good sense.\n\nOne kind of realism is, then, naive realism.  It is the position from\nwhich we all set out, when we begin to reflect upon the system of\nthings.  It is the position to which some try to come back, when their\nreflections appear to be leading them into strange or unwelcome paths.\n\nWe have seen how Thomas Reid (section 50) recoiled from the conclusions\nto which the reasonings of the philosophers had brought him, and tried\nto return to the position of the plain man.  The attempt was a failure,\nand was necessarily a failure, for Reid tried to come back to the\nposition of the plain man _and still be a philosopher_.  He tried to\nlive in a cloud and, nevertheless, to see clearly--a task not easy to\naccomplish.\n\nIt should be remarked, however, that he tried, at least, to insist that\nwe know the external world _directly_.  We may divide realists into two\nbroad classes, those who hold to this view, and those who maintain that\nwe know it only indirectly and through our ideas.\n\nThe plain man belongs, of course, to the first class, if it is just to\nspeak of a man who says inconsistent things as being wholly in any one\nclass.  Certainly he is willing to assert that the ground upon which he\nstands and the staff in his hand are perceived by him directly.\n\nBut we are compelled to recognize that there are subdivisions in this\nfirst class of realists.  Reid tried to place himself beside the plain\nman and failed to do so.  Hamilton (section 50) tried also, and he is\nnot to be classed precisely either with the plain man or with Reid.  He\ninforms us that the object as it appears to us is a composite something\nto the building up of which the knowing mind contributes its share, the\nmedium through which the object is perceived its share, and the object\nin itself its share.  He suggests, by way of illustration, that the\nexternal object may contribute one third.  This seems to make, at\nleast, _something_ external directly known.  But, on the other hand, he\nmaintains that the mind knows immediately only what is in immediate\ncontact with the bodily organ--with the eyes, with the hands, etc.; and\nhe believes it knows this immediately because it is actually present in\nall parts of the body.  And, further, in distinguishing as he does\nbetween existence \"as it is in itself\" and existence \"as it is revealed\nto us,\" and in shutting us up to the latter, he seems to rob us even of\nthe modicum of externality that he has granted us.\n\nI have already mentioned Herbert Spencer (section 50) as a man not\nwithout sympathy for the attempt to rehabilitate the external world.\nHe is very severe with the \"insanities\" of idealism.  He is not willing\neven to take the first step toward it.\n\nHe writes:[1] \"The postulate with which metaphysical reasoning sets out\nis that we are primarily conscious only of our sensations--that we\ncertainly know we have these, and that if there be anything beyond\nthese serving as cause for them, it can be known only by inference from\nthem.\n\n\"I shall give much surprise to the metaphysical reader if I call in\nquestion this postulate; and the surprise will rise into astonishment\nif I distinctly deny it.  Yet I must do this.  Limiting the proposition\nto those epiperipheral feelings produced in us by external objects (for\nthese are alone in question), I see no alternative but to affirm that\nthe thing primarily known is not that a sensation has been experienced,\nbut that there exists an outer object.\"\n\nAccording to this, the outer object is not known through an inference;\nit is known directly.  But do not be in haste to class Spencer with the\nplain man, or with Reid.  Listen to a citation once before made\n(section 22), but worth repeating in this connection: \"When we are\ntaught that a piece of matter, regarded by us as existing externally,\ncannot be really known, but that we can know only certain impressions\nproduced on us, we are yet, by the relativity of thought, compelled to\nthink of these in relation to a cause--the notion of a real existence\nwhich generated these impressions becomes nascent.  If it be proved\nthat every notion of a real existence which we can frame is\ninconsistent with itself,--that matter, however conceived by us, cannot\nbe matter as it actually is,--our conception, though transfigured, is\nnot destroyed: there remains the sense of reality, dissociated as far\nas possible from those special forms under which it was before\nrepresented in thought.\"\n\nIt is interesting to place the two extracts side by side.  In the one,\nwe are told that we do not know external objects by an inference from\nour sensations; in the other we are taught that the piece of matter\nwhich we regard as existing externally cannot be really known; that we\ncan know only certain impressions produced on us, and must refer them\nto a cause; that this cause cannot be what we think it.  It is\ndifficult for the man who reads such statements not to forget that\nSpencer regarded himself as a realist who held to a direct knowledge of\nsomething external.\n\nThere are, as it is evident, many sorts of realists that may be\ngathered into the first class mentioned above--men who, however\ninconsistent they may be, try, at least, to maintain that our knowledge\nof the external world is a direct one.  And it is equally true that\nthere are various sorts of realists that may be put into the second\nclass.\n\nThese men have been called _Hypothetical Realists_.  In the last\nchapter it was pointed out that Descartes and Locke belong to this\nclass.  Both of these men believed in an external world, but believed\nthat its existence is a thing to be inferred.\n\nNow, when a man has persuaded himself that the mind can know directly\nonly its own ideas, and must infer the world which they are supposed to\nrepresent, he may conceive of that external world in three different\nways.\n\n(1) He may believe that what corresponds to his idea of a material\nobject, for example, an apple, is in very many respects like the idea\nin his mind.  Thus, he may believe that the odor, taste, color,\nhardness, etc., that he perceives directly, or as ideas, have\ncorresponding to them real external odor, taste, color, hardness, etc.\nIt is not easy for a man to hold to this position, for a very little\nreflection seems to make it untenable; but it is theoretically possible\nfor one to take it, and probably many persons have inclined to the view\nwhen they have first been tempted to believe that the mind perceives\ndirectly only its ideas.\n\n(2) He may believe that such things as colors, tastes, and odors cannot\nbe qualities of external bodies at all, but are only effects, produced\nupon our minds by something very different in kind.  We seem to\nperceive bodies, he may argue, to be colored, to have taste, and to be\nodorous; but what we thus perceive is not the external thing; the\nexternal thing that produces these appearances cannot be regarded as\nhaving anything more than \"solidity, extension, figure, motion or rest,\nand number.\"  Thus did Locke reason.  To him the external world as it\nreally exists, is, so to speak, a paler copy of the external world as\nwe seem to perceive it.  It is a world with fewer qualities, but,\nstill, a world with qualities of some kind.\n\n(3) But one may go farther than this.  One may say: How can I know that\neven the extension, number, and motion of the things which I directly\nperceive have corresponding to them extension, number, and motion, in\nan outer world?  If what is not colored can cause me to perceive color,\nwhy may not that which is not extended cause me to perceive extension?\nAnd, moved by such reflections, one may maintain that there exists\noutside of us that which we can only characterize as an Unknown Cause,\na Reality which we cannot more nearly define.\n\nThis last position resembles very closely one side of Spencer's\ndoctrine--that represented in the last of the two citations, as the\nreader can easily see.  It is the position of the follower of Immanuel\nKant who has not yet repudiated the noumenon or thing-in-itself\ndiscussed in the last chapter (section 51).\n\nI am not concerned to defend any one of the varieties of Direct or of\nHypothetical Realism portrayed above.  But I wish to point out that\nthey all have some sort of claim to the title _Realism_, and to remind\nthe reader that, when we call a man a realist, we do not do very much\nin the way of defining his position.  I may add that the account of the\nexternal world contained in Chapter IV is a sort of realism also.\n\nIf this last variety, which I advocate, _must_ be classified, let it be\nplaced in the first broad class, for it teaches that we know the\nexternal world directly.  But I sincerely hope that it will not be\njudged wholly by the company it keeps, and that no one will assign to\nit either virtues or defects to which it can lay no just claim.\n\nBefore leaving the subject of realism it is right that I should utter a\nnote of warning touching one very common source of error.  It is\nfatally easy for men to be misled by the names which are applied to\nthings.  Sir William Hamilton invented for a certain type of\nmetaphysical doctrine the offensive epithet \"nihilism.\"  It is a type\nwhich appeals to many inoffensive and pious men at the present day,\nsome of whom prefer to call themselves idealists.  Many have been\ninduced to become \"free-willists\" because the name has suggested to\nthem a proper regard for that freedom which is justly dear to all men.\nWe can scarcely approach with an open mind an account of ideas and\nsensations which we hear described as \"sensationalism,\" or worse yet,\nas \"sensualism.\"  When a given type of philosophy is set down as\n\"dogmatism,\" we involuntarily feel a prejudice against it.\n\nHe who reads as reflectively as he should will soon find out that\nphilosophers \"call names\" much as other men do, and that one should\nalways be on one's guard.  \"Every form of phenomenalism,\" asseverated a\nlearned and energetic old gentleman, who for many years occupied a\nchair in one of our leading institutions of learning, \"necessarily\nleads to atheism.\"  He inspired a considerable number of students with\nsuch a horror for \"phenomenalism\" that they never took pains to find\nout what it was.\n\nI mention these things in this connection, because I suspect that not a\nfew in our own day are unduly influenced by the associations which\ncling to the words \"realism\" and \"idealism.\"  Realism in literature, as\nmany persons understand it, means the degradation of literature to the\nportrayal of what is coarse and degrading, in a coarse and offensive\nway.  Realism in painting often means the laborious representation upon\ncanvas of things from which we would gladly avert our eyes if we met\nthem in real life.  With the word \"idealism,\" on the other hand, we are\napt to connect the possession of ideals, a regard for what is best and\nnoblest in life and literature.\n\nThe reader must have seen that realism in the philosophic sense of the\nword has nothing whatever to do with realism in the senses just\nmentioned.  The word is given a special meaning, and it is a weakness\nto allow associations drawn from other senses of the word to color our\njudgment when we use it.\n\nAnd it should be carefully held in view that the word \"idealism\" is\ngiven a special sense when it is used to indicate a type of doctrine\ncontrasted with the doctrine of the realist.  Some forms of\nphilosophical idealism have undoubtedly been inspiring; but some have\nbeen, and are, far from inspiring.  They should not be allowed to\nposture as saints merely because they are cloaked with an ambiguous\nname.\n\n53. IDEALISM.--Idealism we may broadly define as the doctrine that all\nexistence is mental existence.  So far from regarding the external\nworld as beyond and independent of mind, it maintains that it can have\nits being only in consciousness.\n\nWe have seen (section 49) how men were led to take the step to\nidealism.  It is not a step which the plain man is impelled to take\nwithout preparation.  To say that the real world of things in which we\nperceive ourselves to live and move is a something that exists only in\nthe mind strikes him as little better than insane.  He who becomes an\nidealist usually does so, I think, after weighing the arguments\npresented by the hypothetical realist, and finding that they seem to\ncarry one farther than the latter appears to recognize.\n\nThe type of idealism represented by Berkeley has been called\n_Subjective Idealism_.  Ordinarily our use of the words \"subjective\"\nand \"objective\" is to call attention to the distinction between what\nbelongs to the mind and what belongs to the external order of things.\nMy sensations are subjective, they are referred to my mind, and it is\nassumed that they can have no existence except in my mind; the\nqualities of things are regarded as objective, that is, it is commonly\nbelieved that they exist independently of my perception of them.\n\nOf course, when a man becomes an idealist, he cannot keep just this\ndistinction.  The question may, then, fairly be raised: How can he be a\n_subjective idealist_?  Has not the word \"subjective\" lost its\nsignificance?\n\nTo this one has to answer: It has, and it has not.  The man who, with\nstrict consistency, makes the desk at which he sits as much his \"idea\"\nas is the pain in his finger or his memory of yesterday, cannot keep\nhold of the distinction of subjective and objective.  But men are not\nalways as consistent as this.  Remember the illustration of the\n\"telephone exchange\" (section 14).  The mind is represented as situated\nat the brain terminals of the sensory nerves; and then brain, nerves,\nand all else are turned into ideas in this mind, which are merely\n\"projected outwards.\"\n\nNow, in placing the mind at a definite location in the world, and\ncontrasting it with the world, we retain the distinction between\nsubjective and objective--what is in the mind can be distinguished from\nwhat is beyond it.  On the other hand, in making the whole system of\nexternal things a complex of ideas in the mind, we become idealists,\nand repudiate realism.  The position is an inconsistent one, of course,\nbut it is possible for men to take it, for men have taken it often\nenough.\n\nThe idealism of Professor Pearson (section 14) is more palpably\nsubjective than that of Berkeley, for the latter never puts the mind in\na \"telephone exchange.\"  Nevertheless, he names the objects of sense,\nwhich other men call material things, \"ideas,\" and he evidently\nassimilates them to what we commonly call ideas and contrast with\nthings.  Moreover, he holds them in some of the contempt which men\nreserve for \"mere ideas,\" for he believes that idolaters might be\ninduced to give over worshiping the heavenly bodies could they be\npersuaded that these are nothing more than their own ideas.\n\nWith the various forms of subjective idealism it is usual to contrast\nthe doctrine of _Objective Idealism_.  This does not maintain that the\nworld which I perceive is my \"idea\"; it maintains that the world is\n\"idea.\"\n\nIt is rather a nice question, and one which no man should decide\nwithout a careful examination of the whole matter, whether we have any\nright to retain the word \"idea\" when we have rubbed out the distinction\nwhich is usually drawn between ideas and external things.  If we\nmaintain that all men are always necessarily selfish, we stretch the\nmeaning of the word quite beyond what is customary, and selfishness\nbecomes a thing we have no reason to disapprove, since it characterizes\nsaint and sinner alike.  Similarly, if we decide to name \"idea,\" not\nonly what the plain man and the realist admit to have a right to that\nname, but also the great system which these men call an external\nmaterial world, it seems right to ask; Why use the word \"idea\" at all?\nWhat does it serve to indicate?  Not a distinction, surely, for the\nword seems to be applicable to all things without distinction.\n\nSuch considerations as these lead me to object to the expression\n\"objective idealism\": if the doctrine is really _objective_, _i.e._ if\nit recognizes a system of things different and distinct from what men\ncommonly call ideas, it scarcely seems to have a right to the title\n_idealism_; and if it is really _idealism_, and does not rob the word\nidea of all significance, it can scarcely be _objective_ in any proper\nsense of the word.\n\nManifestly, there is need of a very careful analysis of the meaning of\nthe word \"idea,\" and of the proper significance of the terms\n\"subjective\" and \"objective,\" if error is to be avoided and language\nused soberly and accurately.  Those who are not in sympathy with the\ndoctrine of the objective idealists think that in such careful analysis\nand accurate statement they are rather conspicuously lacking.\n\nWe think of Hegel (1770-1831) as the typical objective idealist.  It is\nnot easy to give an accurate account of his doctrine, for he is far\nfrom a clear writer, and he has made it possible for his many admirers\nto understand him in many ways.  But he seems to have accepted the\nsystem of things that most men call the real external world, and to\nhave regarded it as the Divine Reason in its self-development.  And\nmost of those whom we would to-day be inclined to gather together under\nthe title of objective idealists appear to have been much influenced,\ndirectly or indirectly, by his philosophy.  There are, however, great\ndifferences of opinion among them, and no man should be made\nresponsible for the opinions of the class as a class.\n\nI have said a few pages back that some forms of idealism are inspiring,\nand that some are not.\n\nBishop Berkeley called the objects of sense ideas.  He regarded all\nideas as inactive, and thought that all changes in ideas--and this\nincludes all the changes that take place in nature--must be referred to\nthe activity of minds.  Some of those changes he could refer to finite\nminds, his own and others.  Most of them he could not, and he felt\nimpelled to refer them to a Divine Mind.  Hence, the world became to\nhim a constant revelation of God; and he uses the word \"God\" in no\nequivocal sense.  It does not signify to him the system of things as a\nwhole, or an Unknowable, or anything of the sort.  It signifies a\nspirit akin to his own, but without its limitations.  He writes:[2]--\n\n\"A human spirit or person is not perceived by sense, as not being an\nidea; when, therefore, we see the color, size, figure, and motions of a\nman, we perceive only certain sensations or ideas excited in our own\nminds; and these being exhibited to our view in sundry distinct\ncollections serve to mark out unto us the existence of finite and\ncreated spirits like ourselves.  Hence, it is plain we do not see a\nman,--if by _man_ is meant that which lives, moves, perceives, and\nthinks as we do,--but only such a certain collection of ideas as\ndirects us to think there is a distinct principle of thought and\nmotion, like to ourselves, accompanying and represented by it.  And\nafter the same manner we see God; all the difference is that, whereas\nsome one finite and narrow assemblage of ideas denotes a particular\nhuman mind, whithersoever we direct our view, we do at all times and in\nall places perceive manifest tokens of the Divinity--everything we see,\nhear, feel, or any wise perceive by sense, being a sign or effect of\nthe power of God; as is our perception of those very motions which are\nproduced by men.\"\n\nWith Berkeley's view of the world as a constant revelation of God, many\nmen will sympathize who have little liking for his idealism as\nidealism.  They may criticise in detail his arguments to prove the\nnonexistence of a genuinely external world, but they will be ready to\nadmit that his doctrine is an inspiring one in the view that it takes\nof the world and of man.\n\nWith this I wish to contrast the doctrine of another idealist, Mr.\nBradley, whose work, \"Appearance and Reality,\" has been much discussed\nin the last few years, in order that the reader may see how widely\ndifferent forms of idealism may differ from each other, and how absurd\nit is to praise or blame a man's philosophy merely on the ground that\nit is idealistic.\n\nMr. Bradley holds that those aspects of our experience which we are\naccustomed to regard as real--qualities of things, the relations\nbetween things, the things themselves, space, time, motion, causation,\nactivity, the self--turn out when carefully examined to be\nself-contradictory and absurd.  They are not real; they are\nunrealities, mere appearances.\n\nBut these appearances exist, and, hence, must belong to reality.  This\nreality must be sentient, for \"there is no being or fact outside of\nthat which is commonly called psychical existence.\"\n\nNow, what is this reality with which appearances--the whole world of\nthings which seem to be given in our experience--are contrasted?  Mr.\nBradley calls it the Absolute, and indicates that it is what other men\nrecognize as the Deity.  How shall we conceive it?\n\nWe are told that we are to conceive it as consisting of the contents of\nfinite minds, or \"centers of experience,\" subjected to \"an\nall-pervasive transfusion with a reblending of all material.\"  In the\nAbsolute, finite things are \"transmuted\" and lose \"their individual\nnatures.\"\n\nWhat does this mean in plain language?  It means that there are many\nfinite minds of a higher and of a lower order, \"centers of experience,\"\nand that the contents of these are unreal appearances.  There is not a\nGod or Absolute outside of and distinct from these, but rather one that\nin some sense _is their reality_.  This mass of unrealities transfused\nand transmuted so that no one of them retains its individual nature is\nthe Absolute.  That is to say, time must become indistinguishable from\nspace, space from motion, motion from the self, the self from the\nqualities of things, etc., before they are fit to become constituents\nof the Absolute and to be regarded as real.\n\nAs the reader has seen, this Absolute has nothing in common with the\nGod in which Berkeley believed, and in which the plain man usually\nbelieves.  It is the night in which all cats are gray, and there\nappears to be no reason why any one should harbor toward it the least\nsentiment of awe or veneration.\n\nWhether such reasonings as Mr. Bradley's should be accepted as valid or\nshould not, must be decided after a careful examination into the\nfoundations upon which they rest and the consistency with which\ninferences are drawn from premises.  I do not wish to prejudge the\nmatter.  But it is worth while to set forth the conclusions at which he\narrives, that it may be clearly realized that the associations which\noften hang about the word \"idealism\" should be carefully stripped away\nwhen we are forming our estimate of this or that philosophical doctrine.\n\n\n[1] \"Principles of Psychology,\" Part VII, Chapter VI, section 404.\n\n[2] \"Principles,\" section 148.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nMONISM AND DUALISM\n\n54. THE MEANING OF THE WORDS.--In common life men distinguish between\nminds and material things, thus dividing the things, which taken\ntogether make up the world as we know it, into two broad classes.  They\nthink of minds as being very different from material objects, and of\nthe latter as being very different from minds.  It does not occur to\nthem to find in the one class room for the other, nor does it occur to\nthem to think of both classes as \"manifestations\" or \"aspects\" of some\none \"underlying reality.\"  In other words, the plain man to-day is a\n_Dualist_.\n\nIn the last chapter (section 52) I have called him a Naive Realist; and\nhere I shall call him a _Naive Dualist_, for a man may regard mind and\nmatter as quite distinct kinds of things, without trying to elevate his\nopinion, through reflection, into a philosophical doctrine.  The\nreflective man may stand by the opinion of the plain man, merely trying\nto make less vague and indefinite the notions of matter and of mind.\nHe then becomes a _Philosophical Dualist_.  There are several varieties\nof this doctrine, and I shall consider them a little later (section 58).\n\nBut it is possible for one to be less profoundly impressed by the\ndifferences which characterize matter and mind.  One may feel inclined\nto refer mental phenomena to matter, and to deny them the prominence\naccorded them by the dualist.  On the other hand, one may be led by\none's reflections to resolve material objects into mere ideas, and to\nclaim that they can have no existence except in a mind.  Finally, it is\npossible to hold that both minds and material things, as we know them,\nare only manifestations, phenomena, and that they must be referred to\nan ulterior \"reality\" or \"substance.\"  One may claim that they are\n\"aspects\" of the one reality, which is neither matter nor mind.\n\nThese doctrines are different forms of _Monism_.  In whatever else they\ndiffer from one another, they agree in maintaining that the universe\ndoes not contain two kinds of things fundamentally different.  Out of\nthe duality of things as it seems to be revealed to the plain man they\ntry to make some kind of a unity.\n\n35. MATERIALISM.--The first of the forms of monism above mentioned is\n_Materialism_.  It is not a doctrine to which the first impulse of the\nplain man leads him at the present time.  Even those who have done no\nreading in philosophy have inherited many of their ways of looking at\nthings from the thinkers who lived in the ages past, and whose opinions\nhave become the common property of civilized men.  For more than two\nthousand years the world and the mind have been discussed, and it is\nimpossible for any of us to escape from the influence of those\ndiscussions and to look at things with the primitive simplicity of the\nwholly untutored.\n\nBut it was not always so.  There was a time when men who were not\nsavages, but possessed great intellectual vigor and much cultivation,\nfound it easy and natural to be materialists.  This I have spoken of\nbefore (section 30), but it will repay us to take up again a little\nmore at length the clearest of the ancient forms of materialism, that\nof the Atomists, and to see what may be said for and against it.\n\nDemocritus of Abdera taught that nothing exists except atoms and empty\nspace.  The atoms, he maintained, differ from one another in size,\nshape, and position.  In other respects they are alike.  They have\nalways been in motion.  Perhaps he conceived of that motion as\noriginally a fall through space, but there seems to be uncertainty upon\nthis point.  However, the atoms in motion collide with one another, and\nthese collisions result in mechanical combinations from which spring\ninto being world-systems.\n\nAccording to this doctrine, nothing comes from nothing, and nothing can\nbecome nonexistent.  All the changes which have ever taken place in the\nworld are only changes in the position of material particles--they are\nregroupings of atoms.  We cannot directly perceive them to be such, for\nour senses are too dull to make such fine observations, but our reason\ntells us that such is the case.\n\nWhere, in such a world as this, is there room for mind, and what can we\nmean by mind?  Democritus finds a place for mind by conceiving it to\nconsist of fine, smooth, round atoms, which are the same as the atoms\nwhich constitute fire.  These are distributed through the whole body,\nand lie among the other atoms which compose it.  They are inhaled with\nand exhaled into the outer air.  While they are in the body their\nfunctions are different according as they are located in this organ or\nin that.  In the brain they give rise to thought, in the heart to\nanger, and in the liver to desire.\n\nI suppose no one would care, at the present time, to become a\nDemocritean.  The \"Reason,\" which tells us that the mind consists of\nfine, round atoms, appears to have nothing but its bare word to offer\nus.  But, apart from this, a peculiar difficulty seems to face us; even\nsupposing there are atoms of fire in the brain, the heart, and the\nliver, what are the _thought_, _anger_, and _desire_, of which mention\nis made?\n\nShall we conceive of these last as atoms, as void space, or as the\nmotion of atoms?  There really seems to be no place in the world for\nthem, and _these are the mind so far as the mind appears to be\nrevealed_--they are _mental phenomena_.  It does not seem that they are\nto be identified with anything that the Atomistic doctrine admits as\nexisting.  They are simply overlooked.\n\nIs the modern materialism more satisfactory?  About half a century ago\nthere was in the scientific world something like a revival of\nmaterialistic thinking.  It did not occur to any one to maintain that\nthe mind consists of fine atoms disseminated through the body, but\nstatements almost as crude were made.  It was said, for example, that\nthe brain secretes thought as the liver secretes bile.\n\nIt seems a gratuitous labor to criticise such statements as these in\ndetail.  There are no glands the secretions of which are not as\nunequivocally material as are the glands themselves.  This means that\nsuch secretions can be captured and analyzed; the chemical elements of\nwhich they are composed can be enumerated.  They are open to inspection\nin precisely the same way as are the glands which secrete them.\n\nDoes it seem reasonable to maintain that thoughts and feelings are\nrelated to brains in this way?  Does the chemist ever dream of\ncollecting them in a test tube, and of drawing up for us a list of\ntheir constituent elements?  When the brain is active, there are, to be\nsure, certain material products which pass into the blood and are\nfinally eliminated from the body; but among these products no one would\nbe more surprised than the materialist to discover pains and pleasures,\nmemories and anticipations, desires and volitions.  This talk of\nthought as a \"secretion\" we can afford to set aside.\n\nNor need we take much more seriously the seemingly more sober statement\nthat thought is a \"function\" of the brain.  There is, of course, a\nsense in which we all admit the statement; minds are not disembodied,\nand we have reason to believe that mind and brain are most intimately\nrelated.  But the word \"function\" is used in a very broad and loose\nsense when it serves to indicate this relation; and one may employ it\nin this way without being a materialist at all.  In a stricter sense of\nthe word, the brain has no functions that may not be conceived as\nmechanical changes,--as the motion of atoms in space,--and to identify\nmental phenomena with these is inexcusable.  It is not theoretically\ninconceivable that, with finer senses, we might directly perceive the\nmotions of the atoms in another man's brain; it is inconceivable that\nwe should thus directly perceive his melancholy or his joy; they belong\nto another world.\n\n56. SPIRITUALISM.--The name _Spiritualism_ is sometimes given to the\ndoctrine that there is no existence which we may not properly call mind\nor spirit.  It errs in the one direction as materialism errs in the\nother.\n\nOne must not confound with this doctrine that very different one,\nSpiritism, which teaches that a certain favored class of persons called\nmediums may bring back the spirits of the departed and enable us to\nhold communication with them.  Such beliefs have always existed among\nthe common people, but they have rarely interested philosophers.  I\nshall have nothing to say of them in this book.\n\nThere have been various kinds of spiritualists.  The name may be\napplied to the idealists, from Berkeley down to those of our day; at\nsome of the varieties of their doctrine we have taken a glance\n(sections 49, 53).  To these we need not recur; but there is one type\nof spiritualistic doctrine which is much discussed at the present day\nand which appears to appeal strongly to a number of scientific men.  We\nmust consider it for a moment.\n\nWe have examined Professor Clifford's doctrine of Mind-stuff (section\n43).  Clifford maintained that all the material things we perceive are\nour perceptions--they are in our consciousness, and are not properly\nexternal at all.  But, believing, as he did, that all nature is\nanimated, he held that every material thing, every perception, may be\ntaken as a revelation of something not in our consciousness, of a mind\nor, at least, of a certain amount of mind-stuff.  How shall we conceive\nthe relation between what is in our mind and the something\ncorresponding to it not in our mind?\n\nWe must, says Clifford, regard the latter as the _reality_ of which the\nformer is the _appearance_ or _manifestation_.  \"What I perceive as\nyour brain is really in itself your consciousness, is You; but then\nthat which I call your brain, the material fact, is merely my\nperception.\"\n\nThis doctrine is _Panpsychism_, in the form in which it is usually\nbrought to our attention.  It holds that the only real existences are\nminds, and that physical phenomena must be regarded as the\nmanifestations under which these real existences make us aware of their\npresence.  The term panpsychism may, it is true, be used in a somewhat\ndifferent sense.  It may be employed merely to indicate the doctrine\nthat all nature is animated, and without implying a theory as to the\nrelation between bodies perceived and the minds supposed to accompany\nthem.\n\nWhat shall we say to panpsychism of the type represented by Clifford?\nIt is, I think, sufficiently answered in the earlier chapters of this\nvolume:--\n\n(1) If I call material facts my perceptions, I do an injustice to the\ndistinction between the physical and the mental (Chapter IV).\n\n(2) If I say that all nature is animated, I extend illegitimately the\nargument for other minds (Chapter X).\n\n(3) If I say that mind is the reality of which the brain is the\nappearance, I misconceive what is meant by the distinction between\nappearance and reality (Chapter V).\n\n57. THE DOCTRINE OF THE ONE SUBSTANCE.--In the seventeenth century\nDescartes maintained that, although mind and matter may justly be\nregarded as two substances, yet it should be recognized that they are\nnot really independent substances in the strictest sense of the word,\nbut that there is only one substance, in this sense, and mind and\nmatter are, as it were, its attributes.\n\nHis thought was that by attribute we mean that which is not\nindependent, but must be referred to something else; by substance, we\nmean that which exists independently and is not referred to any other\nthing.  It seemed to follow that there could be only one substance.\n\nSpinoza modified Descartes' doctrine in that he refused to regard mind\nand matter as substances at all.  He made them unequivocally attributes\nof the one and only substance, which he called God.\n\nThe thought which influenced Spinoza had impressed many minds before\nhis time, and it has influenced many since.  One need not follow him in\nnaming the unitary something to which mind and matter are referred\nsubstance.  One may call it Being, or Reality, or the Unknowable, or\nEnergy, or the Absolute, or, perhaps, still something else.  The\ndoctrine has taken many forms, but he who reads with discrimination\nwill see that the various forms have much in common.\n\nThey agree in maintaining that matter and mind, as they are revealed in\nour experience, are not to be regarded as, in the last analysis, two\ndistinct kinds of thing.  They are, rather, modes or manifestations of\none and the same thing, and this is not to be confounded with either.\n\nThose who incline to this doctrine take issue with the materialist, who\nassimilates mental phenomena to physical; and they oppose the idealist,\nwho assimilates physical phenomena to mental, and calls material things\n\"ideas.\"  We have no right, they argue, to call that of which ideas and\nthings are manifestations either mind or matter.  It is to be\ndistinguished from both.\n\nTo this doctrine the title of _Monism_ is often appropriated.  In this\nchapter I have used the term in a broader sense, for both the\nmaterialist and the spiritualist maintain that there is in the universe\nbut one kind of thing.  Nevertheless, when we hear a man called a\nmonist without qualification, we may, perhaps, be justified in\nassuming, in the absence of further information, that he holds to some\none of the forms of doctrine indicated above.  There may be no logical\njustification for thus narrowing the use of the term, but logical\njustification goes for little in such matters.\n\nVarious considerations have moved men to become monists in this sense\nof the word.  Some have been influenced by the assumption--one which\nmen felt impelled to make early in the history of speculative\nthought--that the whole universe must be the expression of some unitary\nprinciple.  A rather different argument is well illustrated in the\nwritings of Professor Hoeffding, a learned and acute writer of our own\ntime.  It has influenced so many that it is worth while to delay upon\nit.\n\nProfessor Hoeffding holds that mental phenomena and physical phenomena\nmust be regarded as parallel (see Chapter IX), and that we must not\nconceive of ideas and material things as interacting.  He writes:[1]--\n\n\"If it is contrary to the doctrine of the persistence of physical\nenergy to suppose a transition from the one province to the other, and\nif, nevertheless, the two provinces exist in our experience as\ndistinct, then the two sets of phenomena must be unfolded\nsimultaneously, each according to its laws, so that for every\nphenomenon in the world of consciousness there is a corresponding\nphenomenon in the world of matter, and conversely (so far as there is\nreason to suppose that conscious life is correlated with material\nphenomena).  The parallels already drawn point directly to such a\nrelation; it would be an amazing accident, if, while the characteristic\nmarks repeated themselves in this way, there were not at the foundation\nan inner connection.  Both the _parallelism_ and the _proportionality_\nbetween the activity of consciousness and cerebral activity point to an\n_identity_ at bottom.  The difference which remains in spite of the\npoints of agreement compels us to suppose that one and the same\nprinciple has found its expression in a double form.  We have no right\nto take mind and body for two beings or substances in reciprocal\ninteraction.  We are, on the contrary, impelled to conceive the\nmaterial interaction between the elements composing the brain and\nnervous system _as an outer form of the inner ideal unity of\nconsciousness_.  What we in our inner experience become conscious of as\nthought, feeling, and resolution, is thus represented in the material\nworld by certain material processes of the brain, which as such are\nsubject to the law of the persistence of energy, although this law\ncannot be applied to the relation between cerebral and conscious\nprocesses.  It is as though the same thing were said in two languages.\"\n\nSome monists are in the habit of speaking of the one Being to which\nthey refer phenomena of all sorts as the \"Absolute.\"  The word is a\nvague one, and means very different things in different philosophies.\nIt has been somewhat broadly defined as \"the ultimate principle of\nexplanation of the universe.\"  He who turns to one principle of\nexplanation will conceive the Absolute in one way, and he who turns to\nanother will, naturally, understand something else by the word.\n\nThus, the idealist may conceive of the Absolute as an all-inclusive\nMind, of which finite minds are parts.  To Spencer, it is the\nUnknowable, a something behind the veil of phenomena.  Sometimes it\nmeans to a writer much the same thing that the word God means to other\nmen; sometimes it has a significance at the farthest remove from this\n(section 53).  Indeed, the word is so vague and ambiguous, and has\nproved itself the mother of so many confusions, that it would seem a\ndesirable thing to drop it out of philosophy altogether, and to\nsubstitute for it some less ambiguous expression.\n\nIt seems clear from the preceding pages, that, before one either\naccepts or rejects monism, one should very carefully determine just\nwhat one means by the word, and should scrutinize the considerations\nwhich may be urged in favor of the particular doctrine in question.\nThere are all sorts of monism, and men embrace them for all sorts of\nreasons.  Let me beg the reader to bear in mind;--\n\n(1) The monist may be a materialist; he may be an idealist; he may be\nneither.  In the last case, he may, with Spinoza, call the one\nSubstance God; that is, he may be a Pantheist.  On the other hand, he\nmay, with Spencer, call it the Unknowable, and be an Agnostic.  Other\nshades of opinion are open to him, if he cares to choose them.\n\n(2) It does not seem wise to assent hastily to such statements as; \"The\nuniverse is the manifestation of one unitary Being\"; or: \"Mind and\nmatter are the expression of one and the same principle.\"  We find\nrevealed in our experience mental phenomena and physical phenomena.  In\nwhat sense they are one, or whether they are one in any sense,--this is\nsomething to be determined by an examination of the phenomena and of\nthe relations in which we find them.  It may turn out that the universe\nis one only in the sense that all phenomena belong to the one orderly\nsystem.  If we find that this is the case, we may still, if we choose,\ncall our doctrine monism, but we should carefully distinguish such a\nmonism from those represented by Hoeffding and Spencer and many others.\nThere seems little reason to use the word, when the doctrine has been\nso far modified.\n\n58. DUALISM.--The plain man finds himself in a world of physical things\nand of minds, and it seems to him that his experience directly\ntestifies to the existence of both.  This means that the things of\nwhich he has experience appear to belong to two distinct classes.\n\nIt does not mean, of course, that he has only two kinds of experiences.\nThe phenomena which are revealed to us are indefinitely varied; all\nphysical phenomena are not just alike, and all mental phenomena are not\njust alike.\n\nNevertheless, amid all the bewildering variety that forces itself upon\nour attention, there stands out one broad distinction, that of the\nphysical and the mental.  It is a distinction that the man who has done\nno reading in the philosophers is scarcely tempted to obliterate; to\nhim the world consists of two kinds of things widely different from\neach other; minds are not material things and material things are not\nminds.  We are justified in regarding this as the opinion of the plain\nman even when we recognize that, in his endeavor to make clear to\nhimself what he means by minds, he sometimes speaks as though he were\ntalking about something material or semi-material.\n\nNow, the materialist allows these two classes to run together; so does\nthe idealist.  The one says that everything is matter; the other, that\neverything is mind.  It would be foolish to maintain that nothing can\nbe said for either doctrine, for men of ability have embraced each.\nBut one may at least say that both seem to be refuted by our common\nexperience of the world, an experience which, so far as it is permitted\nto testify at all, lifts up its voice in favor of _Dualism_.\n\nDualism is sometimes defined as the doctrine that there are in the\nworld two kinds of substances, matter and mind, which are different in\nkind and should be kept distinct.  There are dualists who prefer to\navoid the use of the word substance, and to say that the world of our\nexperiences consists of physical phenomena and of mental phenomena, and\nthat these two classes of facts should be kept separate.\n\nThe dualist may maintain that we have a direct knowledge of matter and\nof mind, and he may content himself with such a statement, doing little\nto make clear what we mean by matter and by mind.  In this case, his\nposition is little different from that of the plain man who does not\nattempt to philosophize.  Thomas Reid (section 50) belongs to this\nclass.\n\nOn the other hand, the dualist may attempt to make clear, through\nphilosophical reflection, what we mean by the matter and mind which\nexperience seems to give us.  He may conclude:--\n\n(1) That he must hold, as did Sir William Hamilton, that we perceive\ndirectly only physical and mental phenomena, but are justified in\ninferring that, since the phenomena are different, there must be two\nkinds of underlying substances to which the phenomena are referred.\nThus, he may distinguish between the two substances and their\nmanifestations, as some monists distinguish between the one substance\nand its manifestations.\n\n(2) Or he may conclude that it is futile to search for substances or\nrealities of any sort _behind_ phenomena, arguing that such realities\nare never revealed in experience, and that no sound reason for their\nassumption can be adduced.  In this case, he may try to make plain what\nmind and matter are, by simply analyzing our experiences of mind and\nmatter and coming to a clearer comprehension of their nature.\n\nAs the reader has probably remarked, the philosophy presented in the\nearlier chapters of this book (Chapters III to XI) is _dualistic_ as\nwell as _realistic_.  That is to say, it refuses to rub out the\ndistinction between physical phenomena and mental phenomena, either by\ndissolving the material world into ideas; by calling ideas secretions\nor functions of the brain; or by declaring them one in a fictitious\nentity behind the veil and not supposed to be exactly identical with\neither.  And as it teaches that the only reality that it means anything\nto talk about must be found in experience, it is a dualism of the type\ndescribed in the paragraph which immediately precedes.\n\nSuch a philosophy does not seem to do violence to the common experience\nof minds and of physical things shared by us all, whether we are\nphilosophers or are not.  It only tries to make clear what we all know\ndimly and vaguely.  This is, I think, a point in its favor.  However,\nmen of great ability and of much learning have inclined to doctrines\nvery different; and we have no right to make up our minds on such a\nsubject as this without trying to give them an attentive and an\nimpartial hearing.\n\n59. SINGULARISM AND PLURALISM.--There are those who apply to the\nvarious forms of monism the title _Singularism_, and who contrast with\nthis _Pluralism_, a word which is meant to cover the various doctrines\nwhich maintain that there is more than one ultimate principle or being\nin the universe.\n\nIt is argued that we should have some word under which we may bring\nsuch a doctrine, for example, as that of the Greek philosopher\nEmpedocles (born about 490 B.C.).  This thinker made earth, water,\nfire, and air the four material principles or \"roots\" of things.  He\nwas not a monist, and we can certainly not call him a dualist.\n\nAgain.  The term pluralism has been used to indicate the doctrine that\nindividual finite minds are not parts or manifestations of one\nall-embracing Mind,--of God or the Absolute,--but are relatively\nindependent beings.  This doctrine has been urged in our own time, with\neloquence and feeling, by Professor Howison.[2]  Here we have a\npluralism which is idealistic, for it admits in the universe but one\n_kind_ of thing, minds; and yet refuses to call itself monistic.  It\nwill readily be seen that in this paragraph and in the one preceding\nthe word is used in different senses.\n\nI have added the above sentences to this chapter that the reader may\nhave an explanation of the meaning of a word sometimes met with.  But\nthe title of the chapter is \"Monism and Dualism,\" and it is of this\ncontrast that it is especially important to grasp the significance.\n\n\n[1] \"Outlines of Psychology,\" pp. 64-65, English translation, 1891.\n\n[2] \"The Limits of Evolution, and Other Essays,\" revised edition.  New\nYork, 1905.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nRATIONALISM, EMPIRICISM, CRITICISM, AND CRITICAL EMPIRICISM\n\n60. RATIONALISM.--As the content of a philosophical doctrine must be\ndetermined by the _initial assumptions_ which a philosopher makes and\nby the _method_ which he adopts in his reasonings, it is well to\nexamine with some care certain broad differences in this respect which\ncharacterize different philosophers, and which help to explain how it\nis that the results of their reflections are so startlingly different.\n\nI shall first speak of _Rationalism_, which I may somewhat loosely\ndefine as the doctrine that the reason can attain truths independently\nof observation--can go beyond experienced fact and the deductions which\nexperience seems to justify us in making from experienced fact.  The\ndefinition cannot mean much to us until it is interpreted by a concrete\nexample, and I shall turn to such.  It must, however, be borne in mind\nthat the word \"rationalism\" is meant to cover a great variety of\nopinions, and we have said comparatively little about him when we have\ncalled a man a rationalist in philosophy.  Men may agree in believing\nthat the reason can go beyond experienced fact, and yet may differ\nregarding the particular truths which may be thus attained.\n\nNow, when Descartes found himself discontented with the philosophy that\nhe and others had inherited from the Middle Ages, and undertook a\nreconstruction, he found it necessary to throw over a vast amount of\nwhat had passed as truth, if only with a view to building up again upon\na firmer foundation.  It appeared to him that much was uncritically\naccepted as true in philosophy and in the sciences which a little\nreflection revealed to be either false or highly doubtful.\nAccordingly, he decided to clear the ground by a sweeping doubt, and to\nbegin his task quite independently.\n\nIn accordance with this principle, he rejected the testimony of the\nsenses touching the existence of a world of external things.  Do not\nthe senses sometimes deceive us?  And, since men seem to be liable to\nerror in their reasonings, even in a field so secure as that of\nmathematical demonstration, he resolved further to repudiate all the\nreasonings he had heretofore accepted.  He would not even assume\nhimself to be in his right mind and awake; might he not be the victim\nof a diseased fancy, or a man deluded by dreams?\n\nCould anything whatever escape this all-devouring doubt?  One truth\nseemed unshakable: his own existence, at least, emerged from this sea\nof uncertainties.  I may be deceived in thinking that there is an\nexternal world, and that I am awake and really perceive things; but I\nsurely cannot be deceived unless I exist.  _Cogito, ergo sum_--I think,\nhence I exist; this truth Descartes accepted as the first principle of\nthe new and sounder philosophy which he sought.\n\nAs we read farther in Descartes we discover that he takes back again a\ngreat many of those things that he had at the outset rejected as\nuncertain.  Thus, he accepts an external world of material things.  How\ndoes he establish its existence?  He cannot do it as the empiricist\ndoes it, by a reference to experienced fact, for he does not believe\nthat the external world is directly given in our experience.  He thinks\nwe are directly conscious only of our _ideas_ of it, and must somehow\nprove that it exists over against our ideas.\n\nBy his principles, Descartes is compelled to fall back upon a curious\nroundabout argument to prove that there is a world.  He must first\nprove that God exists, and then argue that God would not deceive us\ninto thinking that it exists when it does not.\n\nNow, when we come to examine Descartes' reasonings in detail we find\nwhat appear to us some very uncritical assumptions.  Thus, he proves\nthe existence of God by the following argument:--\n\nI exist, and I find in me the idea of God; of this idea I cannot be the\nauthor, for it represents something much greater than I, and its cause\nmust be as great as the reality it represents.  In other words, nothing\nless than God can be the cause of the idea of God which I find in me,\nand, hence, I may infer that God exists.\n\nWhere did Descartes get this notion that every idea must have a cause\nwhich contains as much external reality as the idea does represented\nreality?  How does he prove his assumption?  He simply appeals to what\nhe calls \"the natural light,\" which is for him a source of all sorts of\ninformation which cannot be derived from experience.  This \"natural\nlight\" furnishes him with a vast number of \"eternal truths\", these he\nhas not brought under the sickle of his sweeping doubt, and these help\nhim to build up again the world he has overthrown, beginning with the\none indubitable fact discussed above.\n\nTo the men of a later time many of Descartes' eternal truths are simply\ninherited philosophical prejudices, the results of the reflections of\nearlier thinkers, and in sad need of revision.  I shall not criticise\nthem in detail.  The important point for us to notice is that we have\nhere a type of philosophy which depends upon truths revealed by the\nreason, independently of experience, to carry one beyond the sphere of\nexperience.\n\nI again remind the reader that there are all sorts of rationalists, in\nthe philosophical sense of the word.  Some trust the power of the\nunaided reason without reserve.  Thus Spinoza, the pantheist, made the\nmagnificent but misguided attempt to deduce the whole system of things\nphysical and things mental from what he called the attributes of God,\nExtension and Thought.\n\nOn the other hand, one may be a good deal of an empiricist, and yet\nsomething of a rationalist, too.  Thus Professor Strong, in his recent\nbrilliant book, \"Why the Mind has a Body,\" maintains that we know\nintuitively that other minds than our own exist; know it without\ngathering our information from experience, and without having to\nestablish the fact in any way.  This seems, at least, akin to the\ndoctrine of the \"natural light,\" and yet no one can say that Professor\nStrong does not, in general, believe in a philosophy of observation and\nexperiment.\n\n61. EMPIRICISM.--I suppose every one who has done some reading in the\nhistory of philosophy will, if his mother tongue be English, think of\nthe name of John Locke when empiricism is mentioned.\n\nLocke, in his \"Essay concerning Human Understanding,\" undertakes \"to\ninquire into the original, certainty, and extent of human knowledge,\ntogether with the grounds and degrees of belief, opinion, and assent.\"\nHis sober and cautious work, which was first published in 1690, was\npeculiarly English in character; and the spirit which it exemplifies\nanimates also Locke's famous successors, George Berkeley (1684-1753),\nDavid Hume (1711-1776), and John Stuart Mill (1806-1873).  Although\nLocke was a realist, Berkeley an idealist, Hume a skeptic, and Mill\nwhat has been called a sensationalist; yet all were empiricists of a\nsort, and emphasized the necessity of founding our knowledge upon\nexperience.\n\nNow, Locke was familiar with the writings of Descartes, whose work he\nadmired, but whose rationalism offended him.  The first book of the\n\"Essay\" is devoted to the proof that there are in the mind of man no\n\"innate ideas\" and no \"innate principles.\"  That is to say, Locke tries\nto show that one must not seek, in the \"natural light\" to which\nDescartes turned, a distinct and independent source of information,\n\n\"Let us, then,\" he continues, \"suppose the mind to be, as we say, white\npaper, void of all characters, without any ideas; how comes it to be\nfurnished?  Whence comes it by that vast store which the busy and\nboundless fancy of man has painted on it, with an almost endless\nvariety?  Whence has it all the materials of reason and knowledge?  To\nthis I answer in one word, from experience; in that all our knowledge\nis founded, and from that it ultimately derives itself.  Our\nobservation, employed either about external sensible objects, or about\nthe internal operations of our minds, perceived and reflected on by\nourselves, is that which supplies our understandings with all the\nmaterials of thinking.  These two are the fountains of knowledge, from\nwhence all the ideas we have, or can naturally have, do spring.\" [1]\n\nThus, all we know and all we ever shall know of the world of matter and\nof minds must rest ultimately upon observation,--observation of\nexternal things and of our own mind.  We must clip the erratic wing of\na \"reason\" which seeks to soar beyond such knowledge; which leaves the\nsolid earth, and hangs suspended in the void.\n\n\"But hold,\" exclaims the critical reader; \"have we not seen that Locke,\nas well as Descartes (section 48), claims to know what he cannot prove\nby direct observation or even by a legitimate inference from what has\nbeen directly observed?  Does he not maintain that the mind has an\nimmediate knowledge or experience only of its own ideas?  How can he\nprove that there are material extended things outside causing these\nideas?  And if he cannot prove it by an appeal to experience, to direct\nobservation, is he not, in accepting the existence of the external\nworld at all, just as truly as Descartes, a rationalist?\"\n\nThe objection is well taken.  On his own principles, Locke had no right\nto believe in an external world.  He has stolen his world, so to speak;\nhe has taken it by violence.  Nevertheless, as I pointed out in the\nsection above referred to, Locke is not a rationalist of _malice\nprepense_.  He _tries_ to be an empiricist.  He believes in the\nexternal world because he thinks it is directly revealed to the\nsenses--he inconsistently refers to experience as evidence of its\nexistence.\n\nIt has often been claimed by those who do not sympathize with\nempiricism that the empiricists make assumptions much as others do, but\nhave not the grace to admit it.  I think we must frankly confess that a\nman may try hard to be an empiricist and may not be wholly successful.\nMoreover, reflection forces us to the conclusion that when we have\ndefined empiricism as a doctrine which rests throughout upon an appeal\nto \"experience\" we have not said anything very definite.\n\nWhat is _experience_?  What may we accept as directly revealed fact?\nThe answer to such questions is far from an easy one to give.  It is a\nharder matter to discuss intelligently than any one can at all realize\nuntil he has spent some years in following the efforts of the\nphilosophers to determine what is \"revealed fact.\"  We are supposed to\nhave experience of our own minds, of space, of time, of matter.  What\nare these things as revealed in our experience?  We have seen in the\nearlier chapters of this book that one cannot answer such questions\noff-hand.\n\n62.  CRITICISM.--I have in another chapter (section 51) given a brief\naccount of the philosophy of Immanuel Kant.  He called his doctrine\n\"Criticism,\" and he distinguished it from \"Dogmatism\" and \"Empiricism.\"\n\nEvery philosophy that transcends experience, without first critically\nexamining our faculty of knowledge and determining its right to spread\nits wings in this way, Kant calls \"dogmatism.\"  The word seems rather\nan offensive one, in its usual signification, at least; and it is as\nwell not to use it.  As Kant used the word, Descartes was a dogmatist;\nbut let us rather call him a rationalist.  He certainly had no\nintention of proceeding uncritically, as we shall see a little later.\nIf we call him a dogmatist we seem to condemn him in advance, by\napplying to him an abusive epithet.\n\nEmpiricism, according to Kant, confines human knowledge to experience,\nand thus avoids the errors which beset the dogmatist.  But then, as\nHume seemed to have shown, empiricism must run out into skepticism.  If\nall our knowledge has its foundations in experience, how can we expect\nto find in our possession any universal or necessary truths?  May not a\nlater experience contradict an earlier?  How can we be sure that what\nhas been will be?  Can we _know_ that there is anything fixed and\ncertain in our world?\n\nSkepticism seemed a forlorn doctrine, and, casting about for a way of\nescape from it, Kant hit upon the expedient which I have described.  So\nlong as we maintain that our knowledge has no other source than the\nexperiences which the world imprints upon us, so to speak, from\nwithout, we are without the power of prediction, for new experiences\nmay annihilate any generalizations we have founded upon those already\nvouchsafed us; but if we assume that the world upon which we gaze, the\nworld of phenomena, is made what it is by the mind that perceives it,\nare we not in a different position?\n\nSuppose, for example, we take the statement that there must be an\nadequate cause of all the changes that take place in the world.  Can a\nmere experience of what has been in the past guarantee that this law\nwill hold good in the future?  But, when we realize that the world of\nwhich we are speaking is nothing more than a world of phenomena, of\nexperiences, and realize further that this whole world is constructed\nby the mind out of the raw materials furnished by the senses, may we\nnot have a greater confidence in our law?  If it is the nature of the\nmind to connect the phenomena presented to it with one another as cause\nand effect, may we not maintain that no phenomenon can possibly make\nits appearance that defies the law in question?  How could it appear\nexcept under the conditions laid upon all phenomena?  If it is our\nnature to think the world as an orderly one, and if we can know no\nworld save the one we construct ourselves, the orderliness of all the\nthings we can know seems to be guaranteed to us.\n\nIt will be noticed that Kant's doctrine has a negative side.  He limits\nour knowledge to phenomena, to experiences, and he is himself, in so\nfar, an empiricist.  But in that he finds in experience an order, an\narrangement of things, not derived from experience in the usual sense\nof the word, he is not an empiricist.  He has paid his own doctrine the\ncompliment of calling it \"criticism,\" as I have said.\n\nNow, I beg the reader to be here, as elsewhere, on his guard against\nthe associations which attach to words.  In calling Kant's doctrine\n\"the critical philosophy,\" we are in some danger of uncritically\nassuming and leading others to believe uncritically that it is free\nfrom such defects as may be expected to attach to \"dogmatism\" and to\nempiricism.  Such a position should not be taken until one has made a\nmost careful examination of each of the three types of doctrine, of the\nassumptions which it makes, and of the rigor with which it draws\ninferences upon the basis of such assumptions.  That we may be the\nbetter able to withstand \"undue influence,\" I call attention to the\nfollowing points:--\n\n(1) We must bear in mind that the attempt to make a critical\nexamination into the foundations of our knowledge, and to determine its\nscope, is by no means a new thing.  Among the Greeks, Plato, Aristotle,\nthe Stoics, the Epicureans, and the Skeptics, all attacked the problem.\nIt did not, of course, present itself to these men in the precise form\nin which it presented itself to Kant, but each and all were concerned\nto find an answer to the question: Can we know anything with certainty;\nand, if so, what?  They may have failed to be thoroughly critical, but\nthey certainly made the attempt.\n\nI shall omit mention of the long series of others, who, since that\ntime, have carried on the tradition, and shall speak only of Descartes\nand Locke, whom I have above brought forward as representatives of the\ntwo types of doctrine that Kant contrasts with his own.\n\nTo see how strenuously Descartes endeavored to subject his knowledge to\na critical scrutiny and to avoid unjustifiable assumptions of any sort,\none has only to read that charming little work of genius, the\n\"Discourse on the Method of Rightly Conducting the Reason.\"\n\nIn his youth Descartes was, as he informs us, an eager student; but,\nwhen he had finished the whole course of education usually prescribed,\nhe found himself so full of doubts and errors that he did not feel that\nhe had advanced in learning at all.  Yet he had been well tutored, and\nwas considered as bright in mind as others.  He was led to judge his\nneighbor by himself, and to conclude that there existed no such certain\nscience as he had been taught to suppose.\n\nHaving ripened with years and experience, Descartes set about the task\nof which I have spoken above, the task of sweeping away the whole body\nof his opinions and of attempting a general and systematic\nreconstruction.  So important a work should be, he thought, approached\nwith circumspection; hence, he formulated certain Rules of Method.\n\n\"The first,\" he writes, \"was never to accept anything for true which I\ndid not clearly know to be such; that is, carefully to avoid haste and\nprejudice, and to include nothing more in my judgments than what was\npresented to my mind so clearly and distinctly as to exclude all reason\nfor doubt.\"\n\nSuch was our philosopher's design, and such the spirit in which he set\nabout it.  We have seen the result above.  It is as if Descartes had\ndecided that a certain room full of people did not appear to be free\nfrom suspicious characters, and had cleared out every one, afterwards\nposting himself at the door to readmit only those who proved themselves\nworthy.  When we examine those who succeeded in passing muster, we\ndiscover he has favored all his old friends.  He simply _cannot_ doubt\nthem; are they not vouched for by the \"natural light\"?  Nevertheless,\nwe must not forget that Descartes sifted his congregation with much\ntravail of spirit.  He did try to be critical.\n\nAs for John Locke, he reveals in the \"Epistle to the Reader,\" which\nstands as a preface to the \"Essay,\" the critical spirit in which his\nwork was taken up.  \"Were it fit to trouble thee,\" he writes, \"with the\nhistory of this Essay, I should tell thee, that five or six friends\nmeeting at my chamber, and discoursing on a subject very remote from\nthis, found themselves quickly at a stand, by the difficulties that\nrose on every side.  After we had a while puzzled ourselves, without\ncoming any nearer a resolution of those doubts which perplexed us, it\ncame into my thoughts, that we took a wrong course; and that before we\nset ourselves upon inquiries of that nature, it was necessary to\nexamine our own abilities, and to see what objects our understandings\nwere, or were not, fitted to deal with.\"\n\nThis problem, proposed by himself to his little circle of friends,\nLocke attacked with earnestness, and as a result he brought out many\nyears later the work which has since become so famous.  The book is\nliterally a critique of the reason, although a very different critique\nfrom that worked out by Kant.\n\n\"If, by this inquiry into the nature of the understanding,\" says Locke,\n\"I can discover the powers thereof, how far they reach, to what things\nthey are in any degree proportionate, and where they fail us; I suppose\nit may be of use to prevail with the busy mind of man to be more\ncautious in meddling with things exceeding its comprehension; to stop\nwhen it is at the utmost extent of its tether; and to sit down in a\nquiet ignorance of those things which upon examination are found to be\nbeyond the reach of our capacities.\" [2]\n\nTo the difficulties of the task our author is fully alive: \"The\nunderstanding, like the eye, whilst it makes us see and perceive all\nother things, takes no notice of itself; and it requires art and pains\nto set it at a distance, and make it its own object.  But whatever be\nthe difficulties that lie in the way of this inquiry, whatever it be\nthat keeps us so much in the dark to ourselves, sure I am that all the\nlight we can let in upon our own minds, all the acquaintance we can\nmake with our own understandings, will not only be very pleasant, but\nbring us great advantage, in directing our thoughts in the search, of\nother things.\" [3]\n\n(2) Thus, many men have attempted to produce a critical philosophy, and\nin much the same sense as that in which Kant uses the words.  Those who\nhave come after them have decided that they were not sufficiently\ncritical, that they have made unjustifiable assumptions.  When we come\nto read Kant, we will, if we have read the history of philosophy with\nprofit, not forget to ask ourselves if he has not sinned in the same\nway.\n\nFor example, we will ask;--\n\n(a) Was Kant right in maintaining that we find in experience synthetic\njudgments (section 51) that are not founded upon experience, but yield\nsuch information as is beyond the reach of the empiricist?  There are\nthose who think that the judgments to which he alludes in evidence of\nhis contention--the mathematical, for instance--are not of this\ncharacter.\n\n(b) Was he justified in assuming that all the ordering of our world is\ndue to the activity of mind, and that merely the raw material is\n\"given\" us through the senses?  There are many who demur against such a\nstatement, and hold that it is, if not in all senses untrue, at least\nhighly misleading, since it seems to argue that there is no really\nexternal world at all.  Moreover, they claim that the doctrine is\nneither self-evident nor susceptible of proper proof.\n\n(c) Was Kant justified in assuming that, even if we attribute the\n\"form\" or arrangement of the world we know to the native activity of\nthe mind, the necessity and universality of our knowledge is assured?\nLet us grant that the proposition, whatever happens must have an\nadequate cause, is a \"form of thought.\"  What guarantee have we that\nthe \"forms of thought\" must ever remain changeless?  If it is an\nassumption for the empiricist to declare that what has been true in the\npast will be true in the future, that earlier experiences of the world\nwill not be contradicted by later; what is it for the Kantian to\nmaintain that the order which he finds in his experience will\nnecessarily and always be the order of all future experiences?\nTransferring an assumption to the field of mind does not make it less\nof an assumption.\n\nThus, it does not seem unreasonable to charge Kant with being a good\ndeal of a rationalist.  He tried to confine our knowledge to the field\nof experience, it is true; but he made a number of assumptions as to\nthe nature of experience which certainly do not shine by their own\nlight, and which many thoughtful persons regard as incapable of\njustification.\n\nKant's famous successors in the German philosophy, Fichte (1762-1814),\nSchelling (1775-1854), Hegel (1770-1831), and Schopenhauer (1788-1860),\nall received their impulse from the \"critical philosophy,\" and yet each\ndeveloped his doctrine in a relatively independent way.\n\nI cannot here take the space to characterize the systems of these men;\nI may merely remark that all of them contrast strongly in doctrine and\nmethod with the British philosophers mentioned in the last section,\nLocke, Berkeley, Hume, and Mill.  They are _un-empirical_, if one may\nuse such a word; and, to one accustomed to reading the English\nphilosophy, they seem ever ready to spread their wings and hazard the\nboldest of flights without a proper realization of the thinness of the\natmosphere in which they must support themselves.\n\nHowever, no matter what may be one's opinion of the actual results\nattained by these German philosophers, one must frankly admit that no\none who wishes to understand clearly the development of speculative\nthought can afford to dispense with a careful reading of them.  Much\neven of the English philosophy of our own day must remain obscure to\nthose who have not looked into their pages.  Thus, the thought of Kant\nand Hegel molded the thought of Thomas Hill Green (1836-1882) and of\nthe brothers Caird; and their influence has made itself widely felt\nboth in England and in America.  One cannot criticise intelligently\nbooks written from their standpoint, unless one knows how the authors\ncame by their doctrine and out of what it has been developed.\n\n63. CRITICAL EMPIRICISM.--We have seen that the trouble with the\nrationalists seemed to be that they made an appeal to \"eternal truths,\"\nwhich those who followed them could not admit to be eternal truths at\nall.  They proceeded on a basis of assumptions the validity of which\nwas at once called in question.\n\nLocke, the empiricist, repudiated all this, and then also made\nassumptions which others could not, and cannot, approve.  Kant did\nsomething of much the same sort; we cannot regard his \"criticism\" as\nwholly critical.\n\nHow can we avoid such errors?  How walk cautiously, and go around the\npit into which, as it seems to us, others have fallen?  I may as well\ntell the reader frankly that he sets his hope too high if he expects to\navoid all error and to work out for himself a philosophy in all\nrespects unassailable.  The difficulties of reflective thought are very\ngreat, and we should carry with us a consciousness of that fact and a\nwillingness to revise our most cherished conclusions.\n\nOur initial difficulty seems to be that we must begin by assuming\n_something_, if only as material upon which to work.  We must begin our\nphilosophizing _somewhere_.  Where shall we begin?  May we not fall\ninto error at the very outset?\n\nThe doctrine set forth in the earlier chapters of this volume maintains\nthat we must accept as our material the revelation of the mind and the\nworld which seems to be made in our common experience, and which is\nextended and systematized in the sciences.  But it insists that we must\nregard such an acceptance as merely provisional, must subject our\nconcepts to a careful criticism, and must always be on our guard\nagainst hasty assumptions.\n\nIt emphasizes the value of the light which historical study casts upon\nthe real meaning of the concepts which we all use and must use, but\nwhich have so often proved to be stones of stumbling in the path of\nthose who have employed them.  Its watchword is analysis, always\nanalysis; and a settled distrust of what have so often passed as\n\"self-evident\" truths.  It regards it as its task to analyze\nexperience, while maintaining that only the satisfactory carrying out\nof such an analysis can reveal what experience really is, and clear our\nnotions of it from misinterpretations.\n\nNo such attempt to give an account of experience can be regarded as\nfundamentally new in its method.  Every philosopher, in his own way,\ncriticises experience, and seeks its interpretation.  But one may,\nwarned by the example of one's predecessors, lay emphasis upon the\ndanger of half-analyses and hasty assumptions, and counsel the\nobservance of sobriety and caution.\n\nFor convenience, I have called the doctrine _Critical Empiricism_.  I\nwarn the reader against the seductive title, and advise him not to\nallow it to influence him unduly in his judgment of the doctrine.\n\n64. PRAGMATISM.--It seems right that I should, before closing this\nchapter, say a few words about Pragmatism, which has been so much\ndiscussed in the last few years.\n\nIn 1878 Mr. Charles S. Peirce wrote an article for the _Popular Science\nMonthly_ in which he proposed as a maxim for the attainment of\nclearness of apprehension the following: \"Consider what effects, which\nmight conceivably have practical bearings, we conceive the object of\nour conception to have.  Then, our conception of these effects is the\nwhole of our conception of the object.\"\n\nThis thought has been taken up by others and given a development which\nMr. Peirce regards with some suspicion.  He refers[4] especially to the\ndevelopment it has received at the hands of Professor William James, in\nhis two essays, \"The Will to Believe\" and \"Philosophical Conceptions\nand Practical Results.\" [5]  Professor James is often regarded as\nforemost among the pragmatists.\n\nI shall not attempt to define pragmatism, for I do not believe that the\ndoctrine has yet attained to that definiteness of formulation which\nwarrants a definition.  We seem to have to do not so much with a\nclear-cut doctrine, the limits and consequences of which have been\nworked out in detail, as with a tendency which makes itself apparent in\nthe works of various writers under somewhat different forms.\n\nI may roughly describe it as the tendency to take that to be _true_\nwhich is _useful_ or _serviceable_.  It is well illustrated in the two\nessays to which reference is made above.\n\nThus, Professor James dwells upon the unsatisfactoriness and\nuncertainty of philosophical and scientific knowledge: \"Objective\nevidence and certitude are doubtless very fine ideals to play with, but\nwhere on this moonlit and dream-visited planet are they found?\"\n\nNow, among those things regarding which it appears impossible to attain\nto intellectual certitude, there are matters of great practical moment,\nand which affect deeply the conduct of life; for example, the doctrines\nof religion.  Here a merely skeptical attitude seems intolerable.\n\nIn such cases, argues Professor James, \"we have the right to believe at\nour own risk any hypothesis that is live enough to tempt our will.\"\n\nIt is important to notice that there is no question here of a logical\nright.  We are concerned with matters regarding which, according to\nProfessor James, we cannot look for intellectual evidence.  It is\nassumed that we believe simply because we choose to believe--we believe\narbitrarily.\n\nIt is further important to notice that what is a \"live\" hypothesis to\none man need not tempt the will of another man at all.  As our author\npoints out, a Turk would naturally will to believe one thing and a\nChristian would will to believe another.  Each would will to believe\nwhat struck him as a satisfactory thing to believe.\n\nWhat shall we say to this doctrine?  I think we must say that it is\nclearly not a philosophical _method of attaining to truth_.  Hence, it\nhas not properly a place in this chapter among the attempts which have\nbeen made to attain to the truth of things.\n\nIt is, in fact, not concerned with truths, but with assumptions, and\nwith assumptions which are supposed to be made on the basis of no\nevidence.  It is concerned with \"seemings.\"\n\nThe distinction is a very important one.  Our Turk cannot, by willing\nto believe it, make his hypothesis true; but he can make it _seem_\ntrue.  Why should he wish to make it seem true whether it is true or\nnot?  Why should he strive to attain to a feeling of subjective\ncertainty, not by logically resolving his doubts, but by ignoring them?\n\nThe answer is given us by our author.  He who lives in the midst of\ndoubts, and refuses to cut his knot with the sword of belief, misses\nthe good of life.  This is a practical problem, and one of no small\nmoment.  In the last section of this book I have tried to indicate what\nit is wise for a man to do when he is confronted by doubts which he\ncannot resolve.\n\nInto the general question whether even a false belief may not, under\nsome circumstances, be more serviceable than no belief at all, I shall\nnot enter.  The point I wish to emphasize is that there is all the\ndifference in the world between _producing a belief_ and _proving a\ntruth_.\n\nWe are compelled to accept it as a fact that men, under the influence\nof feeling, can believe in the absence of evidence, or, for that\nmatter, can believe in spite of evidence.  But a truth cannot be\nestablished in the absence of evidence or in the face of adverse\nevidence.  And there is a very wide field in which it is made very\nclear to us that beliefs adopted in the absence of evidence are in\ndanger of being false beliefs.\n\nThe pragmatist would join with the rest of us in condemning the Turk or\nthe Christian who would simply will to believe in the rise or the fall\nof stocks, and would refuse to consult the state of the market.  Some\nhypotheses are, in the ordinary course of events, put to the test of\nverification.  We are then made painfully aware that beliefs and truths\nare quite distinct things, and may not be in harmony.\n\nNow, the pragmatist does not apply his principle to this field.  He\nconfines it to what may not inaptly be called the field of the\nunverifiable.  The Turk, who wills to believe in the hypothesis that\nappeals to him as a pious Turk, is in no such danger of a rude\nawakening as is the man who wills to believe that stocks will go up or\ndown.  But mark what this means: it means that _he is not in danger of\nfinding out what the truth really is_.  It does not mean that he is in\npossession of the truth.\n\nSo I say, the doctrine which we are discussing is not a method of\nattaining to truth.  What it really attempts to do is to point out to\nus how it is prudent for us to act when we cannot discover what the\ntruth is.[6]\n\n\n[1] \"An Essay concerning Human Understanding,\" Book II, Chapter I,\nsection 2.\n\n[2] Book I, Chapter I, section 4.\n\n[3] Book I, Chapter I, section 1.\n\n[4] \"Dictionary of Philosophy and Psychology,\" article \"Pragmatism.\"\n\n[5] Published in 1897 and 1898.\n\n[6] For references to later developments of pragmatism, see the note on\npage 312.\n\n\n\n\nV. THE PHILOSOPHICAL SCIENCES\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nLOGIC\n\n65. INTRODUCTORY: THE PHILOSOPHICAL SCIENCES.--I have said in the first\nchapter of this book (section 6) that there is quite a group of\nsciences that are regarded as belonging peculiarly to the province of\nthe teacher of philosophy to-day.  Having, in the chapters preceding,\ngiven some account of the nature of reflective thought, of the problems\ntouching the world and the mind which present themselves to those who\nreflect, and of some types of philosophical theory which have their\norigin in such reflection, I turn to a brief consideration of the\nphilosophical sciences.\n\nAmong these I included logic, psychology, ethics, and aesthetics,\nmetaphysics, and the history of philosophy.  I did not include\nepistemology or \"the theory of knowledge\" as a separate discipline, and\nmy reasons for this will appear in Chapter XIX.  I remarked that, to\ncomplete the list, we should have to add the philosophy of religion and\nan investigation into the principles and methods of the sciences\ngenerally.\n\nWhy, it was asked, should this group of disciplines be regarded as the\nfield of the philosopher, when others are excluded?  The answer to this\nquestion which finds the explanation of the fact to lie in a mere\nhistorical accident was declared unsatisfactory, and it was maintained\nthat the philosophical sciences are those in which we find ourselves\ncarried back to the problems of reflective thought.\n\nWith a view to showing the truth of this opinion, I shall take up one\nby one the philosophical sciences.  Of the history of philosophy I\nshall not speak in this part of the work, but shall treat of it in\nChapter XXIII.\n\n66. THE TRADITIONAL LOGIC.--Most of us begin our acquaintance with\nlogic in the study of some such elementary manual as Jevons' \"Lessons\nin Logic.\"\n\nIn such books we are shown how terms represent things and classes of\nthings or their attributes, and how we unite them into propositions or\nstatements.  It is indicated at length what statements may be made on a\nbasis of certain other statements and what may not; and emphasis is\nlaid upon the dangers which arise out of a misunderstanding of the\nlanguage in which we are forced to express our thoughts.  Finally,\nthere are described for us the experimental methods by which the\nworkers in the sciences have attained to the general information about\nthe world which has become our heritage.\n\nSuch books are useful.  It is surely no small profit for a student to\ngain the habit of scrutinizing the steps by which he has come into the\npossession of a certain bit of information, and to have a quick eye for\nloose and inconsistent reasonings.\n\nBut it is worthy of remark that one may study such a book as this and\nyet remain pretty consistently on what may be called the plane of the\ncommon understanding.  One seems to make the assumptions made in all\nthe special sciences, _e.g._ the assumption that there is a world of\nreal things and that we can know them and reason about them.  We are\nnot introduced to such problems as: What _is_ truth?  and Is _any_\nknowledge valid?  Nor does it seem at once apparent that the man who is\nstudying logic in this way is busying himself with a philosophical\ndiscipline.\n\n67. THE \"MODERN LOGIC.\"--It is very puzzling for the student to turn\nfrom such a text-book as the one above mentioned to certain others\nwhich profess to be occupied with the same science, and which, yet,\nappear to treat of quite different things.\n\nThus, in Dr. Bosanquet's little work on \"The Essentials of Logic,\" the\nreader is at once plunged into such questions as the nature of\nknowledge, and what is meant by the real world.  We seem to be dealing\nwith metaphysics, and not with logic, as we have learned to understand\nthe term.  How is it that the logician comes to regard these things as\nwithin his province?\n\nA multitude of writers at the present day are treating logic in this\nway, and in some great prominence is given to problems which the\nphilosopher recognizes as indisputably his own.  The term \"modern\nlogic\" is often employed to denote a logic of this type; one which does\nnot, after the fashion of the natural sciences generally, proceed on\nthe basis of certain assumptions, and leave deeper questions to some\nother discipline, but tries to get to the bottom of things for itself.\nThe tendency to run into metaphysics is peculiarly marked in those\nwriters who have been influenced by the work of the philosopher Hegel.\n\nI shall not here ask why those who belong to one school are more\ninclined to be metaphysical than are those who belong to another, but\nshall approach the broader question why the logicians generally are\ninclined to be more metaphysical than those who work in certain other\nspecial sciences, such as mathematics, for example.  Of the general\ntendency there can be no question.  The only problem is: Why does this\ntendency exist?\n\n68. LOGIC AND PHILOSOPHY.--Let us contrast the science of arithmetic\nwith logic; and let us notice, regarding it, the following points:--\n\nIt is, like logic, a _general_ science, in that the things treated of\nin many sciences may be numbered.  It considers only a certain aspect\nof the things.\n\nNow, that things may be counted, added together, subtracted, etc., is\nguaranteed by the experience of the plain man; and the methods of\ndetermining the numerical relations of things are gradually developed\nbefore his eyes, beginning with operations of great simplicity.\nMoreover, verification is possible, and within certain limits\nverification by direct inspection.\n\nTo this we may add, that there has gradually been built up a fine\nsystem of unambiguous symbols, and it is possible for a man to know\njust what he is dealing with.\n\nThus, a certain beaten path has been attained, and a man may travel\nthis very well without having forced on his attention the problems of\nreflective thought.  The knowledge of numbers with which he starts is\nsufficient equipment with which to undertake the journey.  That one is\non the right road is proved by the results one obtains.  As a rule,\ndisputes can be settled by well-tried mathematical methods.\n\nThere is, then, a common agreement as to initial assumptions and\nmethods of work, and useful results are attained which seem to justify\nboth.  Here we have the normal characteristics of a special science.\n\nWe must not forget, however, that, even in the mathematical sciences,\nbefore a beaten path was attained, disputes as to the significance of\nnumbers and the cogency of proofs were sufficiently common.  And we\nmust bear in mind that even to-day, where the beaten path does not seem\nwholly satisfactory, men seem to be driven to reflect upon the\nsignificance of their assumptions and the nature of their method.\n\nThus, we find it not unnatural that a man should be led to ask; What is\na minus quantity really?  Can anything be less than nothing? or that he\nshould raise the questions: Can one rightly speak of an infinite\nnumber?  Can one infinite number be greater than another, and, if so,\nwhat can greater mean?  What are infinitesimals? and what can be meant\nby different orders of infinitesimals?\n\nHe who has interested himself in such questions as these has betaken\nhimself to philosophical reflection.  They are not answered by\nemploying mathematical methods.\n\nLet us now turn to logic.  And let us notice, to begin with, that it is\nbroader in its application than the mathematical sciences.  It is\nconcerned to discover what constitutes _evidence_ in every field of\ninvestigation.\n\nThere is, it is true, a part of logic that may be developed somewhat\nafter the fashion of mathematics.  Thus, we may examine the two\nstatements: All men are mortal, and Caesar is a man; and we may see\nclearly that, given the truth of these, we must admit that Caesar is\nmortal.  We may make a list of possible inferences of this kind, and\npoint out under what circumstances the truth of two statements implies\nthe truth of a third, and under what circumstances the inference cannot\nbe made.  Our results can be set forth in a system of symbols.  As in\nmathematics, we may abstract from the particular things reasoned about,\nand concern ourselves only with the forms of reasoning.  This gives us\nthe theory of the _syllogism_; it is a part of logic in which the\nmathematician is apt to feel very much at home.\n\nBut this is by no means all of logic.  Let us consider the following\npoints:--\n\n(1) We are not concerned to know only what statements may be made on\nthe basis of certain other statements.  We want to know what is true\nand what is false.  We must ask: Has a man the right to set up these\nparticular statements and to reason from them?  That some men accept as\ntrue premises which are repudiated by others is an undoubted fact.\nThus, it is maintained by certain philosophers that we may assume that\nany view of the universe which is repellant to our nature cannot be\ntrue.  Shall we allow this to pass unchallenged?  And in ethics, some\nhave held that it is under all circumstances wrong to lie; others have\ndenied this, and have held that in certain cases--for example, to save\nlife or to prevent great and unmerited suffering--lying is permissible.\nShall we interest ourselves only in the deductions that each man makes\nfrom his assumed premises, and pay no attention to the truth of the\npremises themselves?\n\n(2) Again.  The vast mass of the reasonings that interest men are\nexpressed in the language that we all use and not in special symbols.\nBut language is a very imperfect instrument, and all sorts of\nmisunderstandings are possible to those who express their thoughts in\nit.\n\nFew men know exactly how much is implied in what they are saying.  If I\nsay: All men are mortal, and an angel is not a man; therefore, an angel\nis not mortal; it is not at once apparent to every one in what respect\nmy argument is defective.  He who argues: Feathers are light; light is\ncontrary to darkness; hence, feathers are contrary to darkness; is\nconvicted of error without difficulty.  But arguments of the same kind,\nand quite as bad, are to be found in learned works on matters less\nfamiliar to us, and we often fail to detect the fallacy.\n\nThus, Herbert Spencer argues, in effect, in the fourth and fifth\nchapters of his \"First Principles,\" as follows:--\n\n  We are conscious of the Unknowable,\n  The Unknowable lies behind the veil of phenomena,\n  Hence, we are conscious of what lies behind the veil of phenomena.\n\nIt is only the critical reader who notices that the Unknowable in the\nfirst line is the \"raw material of consciousness,\" and the Unknowable\nin the second is something not in consciousness at all.  The two senses\nof the word \"light\" are not more different from one another.  Such\napparent arguments abound, and it often requires much acuteness to be\nable to detect their fallacious character.\n\nWhen we take into consideration the two points indicated above, we see\nthat the logician is at every turn forced to reflect upon our knowledge\nas men do not ordinarily reflect.  He is led to ask: What is truth?  He\ncannot accept uncritically the assumptions which men make; and he must\nendeavor to become very clearly conscious of the real meaning and the\nwhole meaning of statements expressed in words.  Even in the simple\nlogic with which we usually begin our studies, we learn to scrutinize\nstatements in a reflective way; and when we go deeper, we are at once\nin contact with philosophical problems.  It is evidently our task to\nattain to a clearer insight into the nature of our experience and the\nmeaning of proof than is attainable by the unreflective.\n\nLogic, then, is a reflective science, and it is not surprising that it\nhas held its place as one of the philosophical sciences.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nPSYCHOLOGY\n\n69. PSYCHOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY.--I think I have said enough in Chapter\nII (section 10) about what we mean when we speak of psychology as a\nnatural science and as an independent discipline.  Certainly there are\nmany psychologists who would not care to be confused with the\nphilosophers, and there are some that regard philosophy with suspicion.\n\nNevertheless, psychology is commonly regarded as belonging to the\nphilosophical group.  That this is the case can scarcely be thought\nsurprising when we see how the psychologist himself speaks of the\nrelation of his science to philosophy.\n\n\"I have kept,\" writes Professor James[1] in that delightful book which\nhas become the common property of us all, \"close to the point of view\nof natural science throughout the book.  Every natural science assumes\ncertain data uncritically, and declines to challenge the elements\nbetween which its own 'laws' obtain, and from which its own deductions\nare carried on.  Psychology, the science of finite individual minds,\nassumes as its data (1) _thoughts and feelings_, and (2) _a physical\nworld_ in time and space with which they coexist, and which (3) _they\nknow_.  Of course, these data themselves are discussable; but the\ndiscussion of them (as of other elements) is called metaphysics and\nfalls outside the province of this book.\"\n\nThis is an admirable statement of the scope of psychology as a natural\nscience, and also of the relations of metaphysics to the sciences.  But\nit would not be fair to Professor James to take this sentence alone,\nand to assume that, in his opinion, it is easy to separate psychology\naltogether from philosophy.  \"The reader,\" he tells us in the next\nparagraph, \"will in vain seek for any closed system in the book.  It is\nmainly a mass of descriptive details, running out into queries which\nonly a metaphysics alive to the weight of her task can hope\nsuccessfully to deal with.\"  And in the opening sentence of the preface\nhe informs us that some of his chapters are more \"metaphysical\" than is\nsuitable for students going over the subject for the first time.\n\nThat the author is right in maintaining that it is not easy to draw a\nclear line between philosophy and psychology, and to declare the latter\nwholly independent, I think we must concede.  An independent science\nshould be sure of the things with which it is dealing.  Where these are\nvague and indefinite, and are the subject of constant dispute, it\ncannot march forward with assurance.  One is rather forced to go back\nand examine the data themselves.  The beaten track of the special\nscience has not been satisfactorily constructed.\n\nWe are forced to admit that the science of psychology has not yet\nemerged from the state in which a critical examination of its\nfoundations is necessary, and that the construction of the beaten path\nis still in progress.  This I shall try to make clear by illustrations.\n\nThe psychologist studies the mind, and his ultimate appeal must be to\nintrospection, to a direct observation of mental phenomena, and of\ntheir relations to external things.  Now, if the observation of mental\nphenomena were a simple and an easy thing; if the mere fact that we are\nconscious of sensations and ideas implied that we are _clearly_\nconscious of them and are in a position to describe them with accuracy,\npsychology would be a much more satisfactory science than it is.\n\nBut we are not thus conscious of our mental life.  We can and do use\nour mental states without being able to describe them accurately.  In a\nsense, we are conscious of what is there, but our consciousness is\nrather dim and vague, and in our attempts to give an account of it we\nare in no little danger of giving a false account.\n\nThus, the psychologist assumes that we perceive both physical phenomena\nand mental--the external world and the mind.  He takes it for granted\nthat we perceive mental phenomena to be related to physical.  He is\nhardly in a position to make this assumption, and then to set it aside\nas a thing he need not further consider.  Does he not tell us, as a\nresult of his investigations, that we can know the external world only\nas it is reflected in our sensations, and thus seem to shut the mind up\nwithin the circle of mental phenomena merely, cutting off absolutely a\ndirect knowledge of what is extra-mental?  If we can know only mental\nphenomena, the representatives of things, at first hand, how can we\ntell that they are representatives? and what becomes of the assumption\nthat we _perceive_ that mind is related to an external world?\n\nIt may be said, this problem the psychologist may leave to the\nmetaphysician.  Certainly, it is one of those problems that the\nmetaphysician discusses; it has been treated in Chapter IV.  But my\ncontention is, that he who has given no thought to the matter may\neasily fall into error as to the very nature of mental phenomena.\n\nFor example, when we approach or recede from a physical object we have\na series of experiences which are recognized as sensational.  When we\nimagine a tree or a house we are also experiencing a mental phenomenon.\nAll these experiences _seem_ plainly to have extension in some sense of\nthe word.  We appear to perceive plainly part out of part.  In so far,\nthese mental things seem to resemble the physical things which we\ncontrast with what is mental.  Shall we say that, because these things\nare mental and not physical, their apparent extension is a delusion?\nShall we say that they really have no parts?  Such considerations have\nimpelled psychologists of eminence to maintain, in flat contradiction\nto what seems to be the unequivocal testimony of direct introspection,\nthat the total content of consciousness at any moment must be looked\nupon as an indivisible, part-less unit.\n\nWe cannot, then, depend merely on direct introspection.  It is too\nuncertain in its deliverances.  If we would make clear to ourselves\nwhat mental phenomena really are, and how they | differ from physical\nphenomena, we must fall back upon the reflective analysis of our\nexperience which occupies the metaphysician (section 34).  Until we\nhave done this, we are in great danger of error.  We are actually\nuncertain of our materials.\n\nAgain.  The psychologist speaks of the relation of mind and body.  Some\npsychologists incline to be parallelists, some are warm advocates of\ninteractionism.  Now, any theory of the relation of mind to body must\ndepend on observation ultimately.  If we had not direct experience of a\nrelation between the physical and the mental somewhere, no hypothesis\non the subject would ever have emerged.\n\nBut our experiences are not perfectly clear and unequivocal to us.\nTheir significance does not seem to be easily grasped.  To comprehend\nit one is forced to that reflective examination of experience which is\ncharacteristic of the philosopher (Chapter IX).\n\nHere it may again be said: Leave the matter to the meta-physician and\ngo on with your psychological work.  I answer: The psychologist is not\nin the same position as the botanist or the zooelogist.  He is studying\nmind in its relation to body.  It cannot but be unsatisfactory to him\nto leave that relation wholly vague; and, as a matter of fact, he\nusually takes up with one theory or another.  We have seen (section 36)\nthat he may easily adopt a theory that leads him to overlook the great\ndifference between physical phenomena and mental phenomena, and to\ntreat them as though they were the same.  This one may do in spite of\nall that introspection has to say about the gulf that separates them.\n\nPsychology is, then, very properly classed among the philosophical\nsciences.  The psychologist is not sufficiently sure of his materials\nto be able to dispense with reflective thought, in many parts of his\nfield.  Some day there may come to be a consensus of opinion touching\nfundamental facts, and the science may become more independent.  A\nbeaten track may be attained; but that has not yet been done.\n\n70. THE DOUBLE AFFILIATION OF PSYCHOLOGY.--In spite of what has been\nsaid above, we must not forget that psychology is a _relatively_\nindependent science.  One may be a useful psychologist without knowing\nmuch about philosophy.\n\nAs in logic it is possible to write a text-book not greatly different\nin spirit and method from text-books concerned with the sciences not\nclassed as philosophical, so it is possible to make a useful study of\nmental phenomena without entering upon metaphysical analyses.  In\nscience, as in common life, we can _use_ concepts without subjecting\nthem to careful analysis.\n\nThus, our common experience reveals that mind and body are connected.\nWe may, for a specific purpose, leave the _nature_ of this connection\nvague, and may pay careful attention to the physiological conditions of\nmental phenomena, studying in detail the senses and the nervous system.\nWe may, further, endeavor to render our knowledge of mental phenomena\nmore full and accurate by experimentation.  In doing this we may be\ncompelled to make use of elaborate apparatus.  Of such mechanical aids\nto investigation our psychological laboratories are full.\n\nIt is to such work as this that we owe what is called the\n\"physiological\" and the \"experimental\" psychology.  One can carry on\nsuch investigations without being a metaphysician.  But one can\nscarcely carry them on without having a good knowledge of certain\nsciences not commonly supposed to be closely related to psychology at\nall.  Thus, one should be trained in chemistry and physics and\nphysiology, and should have a working knowledge of laboratory methods.\nMoreover, it is desirable to have a sufficient knowledge of mathematics\nto enable one to handle experimental data.\n\nThe consideration of such facts as these sometimes leads men to raise\nthe question: Should psychology affiliate with philosophy or with the\nphysical sciences?  The issue is an illegitimate one.  Psychology is\none of the philosophical sciences, and cannot dispense with reflection;\nbut that is no reason why it should not acknowledge a close relation to\ncertain physical sciences as well.  Parts of the field can be isolated,\nand one may work as one works in the natural sciences generally; but if\none does nothing more, one's concepts remain unanalyzed, and, as we\nhave seen in the previous section, there is some danger of actual\nmisconception.\n\n\n[1] \"Psychology,\" Preface.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nETHICS AND AESTHETICS\n\n71. COMMON SENSE ETHICS.--We may, if we choose, study the actions of\nmen merely with a view to ascertaining what they are and describing\nthem accurately.  Something like this is done by the anthropologist,\nwho gives us an account of the manners and customs of the various races\nof mankind; he tells us _what is_; he may not regard it as within his\nprovince at all to inform us regarding _what ought to be_.\n\nBut men do not merely act; they judge their actions in the light of\nsome norm or standard, and they distinguish between them as right and\nwrong.  The systematic study of actions as right and wrong yields us\nthe science of ethics.\n\nLike psychology, ethics is a special science.  It is concerned with a\nsomewhat limited field of investigation, and is not to be confounded\nwith other sciences.  It has a definite aim distinct from theirs.  And,\nalso like psychology, ethics is classed as one of the philosophical\nsciences, and its relation to philosophy is supposed to be closer than\nthat of such sciences as physics and mathematics.  It is fair to ask\nwhy this is so.  Why cannot ethics proceed on the basis of certain\nassumptions independently, and leave to some other discipline the whole\nquestion of an inquiry into the nature and validity of those\nassumptions?\n\nAbout half a century ago Dr. William Whewell, one of the most learned\nof English scholars, wrote a work entitled \"The Elements of Morality,\"\nin which he attempted to treat the science of ethics as it is generally\nadmitted that one may treat the science of geometry.  The book was\nrather widely read a generation since, but we meet with few references\nto it in our time.\n\n\"Morality and the philosophy of morality,\" argues the author, \"differ\nin the same manner and in the same degree as geometry and the\nphilosophy of geometry.  Of these two subjects, geometry consists of a\nseries of positive and definite propositions, deduced one from another,\nin succession, by rigorous reasoning, and all resting upon certain\ndefinitions and self-evident axioms.  The philosophy of geometry is\nquite a different subject; it includes such inquiries as these: Whence\nis the cogency of geometrical proof?  What is the evidence of the\naxioms and definitions?  What are the faculties by which we become\naware of their truth? and the like.  The two kinds of speculation have\nbeen pursued, for the most part, by two different classes of\npersons,--the geometers and the metaphysicians; for it has been far\nmore the occupation of metaphysicians than of geometers to discuss such\nquestions as I have stated, the nature of geometrical proofs,\ngeometrical axioms, the geometrical faculty, and the like.  And if we\nconstruct a complete system of geometry, it will be almost exactly the\nsame, whatever be the views which we take on these metaphysical\nquestions.\" [1]\n\nSuch a system Dr. Whewell wishes to construct in the field of ethics.\nHis aim is to give us a view of morality in which moral propositions\nare \"deduced from axioms, by successive steps of reasoning, so far as\nto form a connected system of moral truth.\"  Such a \"sure and connected\nknowledge of the duties of man\" would, he thinks, be of the greatest\nimportance.\n\nIn accordance with this purpose, Dr. Whewell assumes that humanity,\njustice, truth, purity, order, earnestness, and moral purpose are\nfundamental principles of human action; and he thinks that all who\nadmit as much as this will be able to go on with him in his development\nof a system of moral rules to govern the life of man.\n\nIt would hardly be worth while for me to speak at length of a way of\ntreating ethics so little likely to be urged upon the attention of the\nreader who busies himself with the books which are appearing in our own\nday, were it not that we have here an admirable illustration of the\nattempt to teach ethics as though it were such a science as geometry.\nThe shortcomings of the method become very evident to one who reads the\nwork attentively.\n\nThus, we are forced to ask ourselves, have we really a collection of\nultimate moral principles which are analogous to the axioms of\ngeometry?  For example, to take but a single instance, Dr. Whewell\nformulates the Principle of Truth as follows: \"We must conform to the\nuniversal understanding among men which the use of language\nimplies\";[2] and he remarks later; \"The rules: _Lie not_, Perform your\npromise, are of universal validity; and the conceptions of _lie_ and of\n_promise_ are so simple and distinct that, in general, the rules may be\ndirectly and easily applied.\" [3]\n\nNow, we are struck by the fact that this affirmation of the universal\nvalidity of the principle of truth is made in a chapter on \"Cases of\nConscience,\" in a chapter concerned with what seem to be conflicts\nbetween duties; and this chapter is followed by one which treats of\n\"Cases of Necessity,\" _i.e._ cases in which a man is to be regarded as\njustified in violating common rules when there seems to be urgent\nreason for so doing.  We are told that the moralist cannot say: Lie\nnot, except in great emergencies; but must say: Lie not at all.  But we\nare also told that he must grant that there are cases of necessity in\nwhich transgressions of moral rules are excusable; and this looks very\nmuch as if he said: Go on and do the thing while I close my eyes.\n\nThis hardly seems to give us a \"sure and connected knowledge of the\nduties of man\" deduced from axiomatic principles.  On what authority\nshall we suspend for the time being this axiomatic principle or that?\nIs there some deeper principle which lends to each of them its\nauthority, and which may, for cause, withdraw it?  There is no hint of\nsuch in the treatment of ethics which we are considering, and we seem\nto have on our hands, not so much a science, as a collection of\npractical rules, of the scope of which we are more or less in the dark.\n\nThe interesting thing to notice is that this view of ethics is very\nclosely akin to that adapted unconsciously by the majority of the\npersons we meet who have not interested themselves much in ethics as a\nscience.\n\nBy the time that we have reached years of discretion we are all in\npossession of a considerable number of moral maxims.  We consider it\nwrong to steal, to lie, to injure our neighbor.  Such maxims lie in our\nminds side by side, and we do not commonly think of criticising them.\nBut now and then we face a situation in which one maxim seems to urge\none course of action and another maxim a contrary one.  Shall we tell\nthe truth and the whole truth, when so doing will bring grave\nmisfortune upon an innocent person?  And now and then we are brought to\nthe realization that all men do not admit the validity of all our\nmaxims.  Judgments differ as to what is right and what is wrong.  Who\nshall be the arbiter?  Not infrequently a rough decision is arrived at\nin the assumption that we have only to interrogate \"conscience\"--in the\nassumption, in other words, that we carry a watch which can be counted\nupon to give the correct time, even if the timepieces of our neighbors\nare not to be depended upon.\n\nThe common sense ethics cannot be regarded as very systematic and\nconsistent, or as very profound.  It is a collection of working rules,\nof practical maxims; and, although it is impossible to overestimate its\nvalue as a guide to life, its deficiencies, when it is looked at\ncritically, become evident, I think, even to thoughtful persons who are\nnot scientific at all.\n\nMany writers on ethics have simply tried to turn this collection of\nworking rules into a science, somewhat as Dr. Whewell has done.  This\nis the peculiar weakness of those who have been called the\n\"intuitionalists\"--though I must warn the reader against assuming that\nthis term has but the one meaning, and that all those to whom it has\nbeen applied should be placed in the same class.  Here it is used to\nindicate those who maintain that we are directly aware of the validity\nof certain moral principles, must accept them as ultimate, and need\nonly concern ourselves with the problem of their application.\n\n72. ETHICS AND PHILOSOPHY.--When John Locke maintained that there are\nno \"innate practical principles,\" or innate moral maxims, he pointed in\nevidence to the \"enormities practiced without remorse\" in different\nages and by different peoples.  The list he draws up is a curious and\nan interesting one.[4]\n\nIn our day it has pretty generally come to be recognized by thoughtful\nmen that a man's judgments as to right and wrong reflect the phase of\ncivilization, or the lack of it, which he represents, and that their\nsignificance cannot be understood when we consider them apart from\ntheir historic setting.  This means that no man's conscience is set up\nas an ultimate standard, but that every man's conscience is regarded as\nfurnishing material which the science of ethics must take into account.\n\nMay we, broadening the basis upon which we are to build, and studying\nthe manners, customs, and moral judgments of all sorts and conditions\nof men, develop an empirical science of ethics which will be\nindependent of philosophy?\n\nIt does not seem that we can do this.  We are concerned with\npsychological phenomena, and their nature and significance are by no\nmeans beyond dispute.  For example, there is the feeling of moral\nobligation, of which ethics has so much to say.  What is this feeling,\nand what is its authority?  Is it a thing to be explained?  Can it\nimpel a man, let us say, a bigot, to do wrong?  And what can we mean by\ncredit and discredit, by responsibility and free choice, and other\nconcepts of the sort?  All this must remain very vague to one who has\nnot submitted his ethical concepts to reflective analysis of the sort\nthat we have a right to call philosophical.\n\nFurthermore, it does not seem possible to decide what a man should or\nshould not do, without taking into consideration the circumstances in\nwhich he is placed.  The same act may be regarded as benevolent or the\nreverse according to its context.  If we will but grant the validity of\nthe premises from which the medieval churchman reasoned, we may well\nask whether, in laying hands violently upon those who dared to form\nindependent judgments in matters of religion, he was not\nconscientiously doing his best for his fellow-man.  He tried by all\nmeans to save some, and to what he regarded as a most dangerous malady\nhe applied a drastic remedy.  By what standard shall we judge him?\n\nThere can be no doubt that our doctrine of the whole duty of man must\nbe conditioned by our view of the nature of the world in which man\nlives and of man's place in the world.  Has ethics nothing to do with\nreligion?  If we do not believe in God, and if we think that man's life\nends with the death of the body, it is quite possible that we shall set\nfor him an ethical standard which we should have to modify if we\nadopted other beliefs.  The relation of ethics to religion is a problem\nthat the student of ethics can scarcely set aside.  It seems, then,\nthat the study of ethics necessarily carries us back to world problems\nwhich cannot be approached except by the path of philosophical\nreflection.  We shall see in Chapter XX that the theistic problem\ncertainly belongs to this class.\n\nIt is worthy of our consideration that the vast majority of writers on\nethics have felt strongly that their science runs out into metaphysics.\nWe can scarcely afford to treat their testimony lightly.  Certainly it\nis not possible for one who has no knowledge of philosophy to\nunderstand the significance of the ethical systems which have appeared\nin the past.  The history of ethics may be looked upon as a part of the\nhistory of philosophy.  Only on the basis of some general view as to\nnature and man have men decided what man ought to do.  As we have seen\nabove, this appears sufficiently reasonable.\n\n73. AESTHETICS.--Of aesthetics, or the science of the beautiful, I\nshall say little.  There is somewhat the same reason for including it\namong the philosophical sciences that there is for including ethics.\n\nThose who have paid little attention to science or to philosophy are\napt to dogmatize about what is and what is not beautiful just as they\ndogmatize about what is and what is not right.  They say\nunhesitatingly; This object is beautiful, and that one is ugly.  It is\nas if they said: This one is round, and that one square.\n\nOften it quite escapes their attention that what they now regard as\nbeautiful struck them as unattractive a short time before; and will,\nperhaps, when the ceaseless change of the fashions has driven it out of\nvogue, seem strange and unattractive once more.  Nor do they reflect\nupon the fact that others, who seem to have as good a right to an\nopinion as they, do not agree with them in their judgments; nor upon\nthe further fact that the standard of beauty is a thing that has varied\nfrom age to age, differs widely in different countries, and presents\nminor variations in different classes even in the same community.\n\nThe dogmatic utterances of those who are keenly susceptible to the\naesthetic aspects of things but are not given to reflection stand in\nstriking contrast to the epitome of the popular wisdom expressed in the\nskeptical adage that there is no disputing about tastes.\n\nWe cannot interpret this adage broadly and take it literally, for then\nwe should have to admit that men's judgments as to the beautiful cannot\nconstitute the material of a science at all, and that there can be no\nsuch thing as progress in the fine arts.  The notion of progress\nimplies a standard, and an approximation to an ideal.  Few would dare\nto deny that there has been progress in such arts as painting and\nmusic; and when one has admitted so much as this, one has virtually\nadmitted that a science of aesthetics is, at least, possible.\n\nThe science studies the facts of the aesthetic life as ethics studies\nthe facts of the moral life.  It can take no man's taste as furnishing\na standard: it must take every man's taste as a fact of significance.\nIt is driven to reflective analysis--to such questions as, what is\nbeauty? and what is meant by aesthetic progress?  It deals with elusive\npsychological facts the significance of which is not easily grasped.\nIt is a philosophical science, and is by no means in a position to\nfollow a beaten path, dispensing with a reflective analysis of its\nmaterials.\n\n\n[1] Preface.\n\n[2] section 269.\n\n[3] section 376.\n\n[4] \"Essay concerning Human Understanding,\" Book I, Chapter III.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nMETAPHYSICS\n\n74. WHAT IS METAPHYSICS?--The reader has probably already remarked that\nin some of the preceding chapters the adjectives \"metaphysical\" and\n\"philosophical\" have been used as if they were interchangeable, in\ncertain connections, at least.  This is justified by common usage; and\nin the present chapter I shall be expected by no one, I think, to prove\nthat metaphysics is a philosophical discipline.  My task will rather be\nto show how far the words \"metaphysics\" and \"philosophy\" have a\ndifferent meaning.\n\nIn Chapters III to XI, I have given a general view of the problems\nwhich present themselves to reflective thought, and I have indicated\nthat they are not problems which can conveniently be distributed among\nthe several special sciences.  Is there an external world?  What is it?\nWhat are space and time?  What is the mind?  How are mind and body\nrelated?  How do we know that there are other minds than ours? etc.\nThese have been presented as _philosophical_ problems; and when we turn\nback to the history of speculative thought we find that they are just\nthe problems with which the men whom we agree to call philosophers have\nchiefly occupied themselves.\n\nBut when we turn to our treatises on _metaphysics_, we also find that\nthese are the problems there discussed.  Such treatises differ much\namong themselves, and the problems are not presented in the same form\nor in the same order; but one who can look beneath the surface will\nfind that the authors are busied with much the same thing--with some or\nall of the problems above mentioned.\n\nHow, then, does metaphysics differ from philosophy?  The difference\nbecomes clear to us when we realize that the word philosophy has a\nbroader and looser signification, and that metaphysics is, so to speak,\nthe core, the citadel, of philosophy.\n\nWe have seen (Chapter II) that the world and the mind, as they seem to\nbe presented in the experience of the plain man, do not stand forth\nwith such clearness and distinctness that he is able to answer\nintelligently the questions we wish to ask him regarding their nature.\nIt is not merely that his information is limited; it is vague and\nindefinite as well.  And we have seen, too, that, however the special\nsciences may increase and systematize his information, they do not\nclear away such vagueness.  The man still uses such concepts as \"inner\"\nand \"outer,\" \"reality,\" \"the mind,\" \"space,\" and \"time,\" with no very\ndefinite notion of what they mean.\n\nNow, the attempt to clear away this vagueness by the systematic\nanalysis of such concepts--in other words, the attempt to make a\nthorough analysis of our experience--is metaphysics.  The metaphysician\nstrives to limit his task as well as he may, and to avoid unnecessary\nexcursions into the fields occupied by the special sciences, even those\nwhich lie nearest to his own, such as psychology and ethics.  There is\na sense in which he may be said to be working in the field of a special\nscience, though he is using as the material for his investigations\nconcepts which are employed in many sciences; but it is clear that his\ndiscipline is not a special science in the same sense in which geometry\nand physics are special sciences.\n\nNevertheless, the special sciences stand, as we have already seen in\nthe case of several of them, very near to his own.  If he broadens his\nview, and deliberately determines to take a survey of the field of\nhuman knowledge as illuminated by the analyses that he has made, he\nbecomes something more than a _metaphysician_; he becomes a\n_philosopher_.\n\nThis does not in the least mean that he becomes a storehouse of\nmiscellaneous information, and an authority on all the sciences.\nSometimes the philosophers have attempted to describe the world of\nmatter and of mind as though they possessed some mysterious power of\nknowing things that absolved them from the duty of traveling the weary\nroad of observation and experiment that has ended in the sciences as we\nhave them.  When they have done this, they have mistaken the\nsignificance of their calling.  A philosopher has no more right than\nanother man to create information out of nothing.\n\nBut it is possible, even for one who is not acquainted with the whole\nbody of facts presented in a science, to take careful note of the\nassumptions upon which that science rests, to analyze the concepts of\nwhich it makes use, to mark the methods which it employs, and to gain a\nfair idea of its scope and of its relation to other sciences.  Such a\nreflection upon our scientific knowledge is philosophical reflection,\nand it may result in a classification of the sciences, and in a general\nview of human knowledge as a whole.  Such a view may be illuminating in\nthe extreme; it can only be harmful when its significance is\nmisunderstood.\n\nBut, it may be argued, why may not the man of science do all this for\nhimself?  Why should he leave it to the philosopher, who is presumably\nless intimately acquainted with the sciences than he is?\n\nTo this I answer: The work should, of course, be done by the man who\nwill do it best.  All our subdivision of labor should be dictated by\nconvenience.  But I add, that experience has shown that the workers in\nthe special sciences have not as a rule been very successful when they\nhave tried to philosophize.\n\nScience is an imperious mistress; she demands one's utmost efforts; and\nwhen a man turns to philosophical reflection merely \"by the way,\" and\nin the scraps of time at his disposal after the day's work is done, his\nphilosophical work is apt to be rather superficial.  Moreover, it does\nnot follow that, because a man is a good mathematician or chemist or\nphysicist, he is gifted with the power of reflective analysis.  Then,\ntoo, such men are apt to be imperfectly acquainted with what has been\ndone in the past; and those who are familiar with the history of\nphilosophy often have occasion to remark that what is laid before them,\nin ignorance of the fact that it is neither new nor original, is a\ndoctrine which has already made its appearance in many forms and has\nbeen discussed at prodigious length in the centuries gone by.\n\nIn certain sciences it seems possible to ignore the past, to a great\nextent, at least.  What is worth keeping has been kept, and there is a\nsolid foundation on which to build for the future.  But with reflective\nthought it is not so.  There is no accepted body of doctrine which we\nhave the right to regard as unassailable.  We should take it as a safe\nmaxim that the reflections of men long dead _may_ be profounder and\nmore worthy of our study than those urged upon our attention by the men\nof our day.\n\nAnd this leads me to make a remark upon the titles given to works on\nmetaphysics.  It seems somewhat misleading to label them: \"Outlines of\nMetaphysics\" or \"Elements of Metaphysics.\"  Such titles suggest that we\nare dealing with a body of doctrine which has met with general\nacceptance, and may be compared with that found in handbooks on the\nspecial sciences.  But we should realize that, when we are concerned\nwith the profounder investigations into the nature of our experience,\nwe tread upon uncertain ground and many differences of opinion obtain.\nWe should, if possible, avoid a false semblance of authority.\n\n75. EPISTEMOLOGY.--We hear a great deal at the present day of\nEpistemology, or the Theory of Knowledge.  I have not classed it as a\ndistinct philosophical science, for reasons which will appear below.\n\nWe have seen in Chapter XVI that it is possible to treat of logic in a\nsimple way without growing very metaphysical; but we have also seen\nthat when we go deeply into questions touching the nature of evidence\nand what is meant by truth and falsity, we are carried back to\nphilosophical reflection at once.\n\nWe may, for convenience, group together these deeper questions\nregarding the nature of knowledge and its scope, and call the subject\nof our study \"Epistemology.\"\n\nBut it should be remarked, in the first place, that, when we work in\nthis field, we are exercising a reflective analysis of precisely the\ntype employed in making the metaphysical analyses contained in the\nearlier chapters of this book.  We are treating our experience as it is\nnot treated in common thought and in science.\n\nAnd it should be remarked, in the second place, that the investigation\nof our knowledge inevitably runs together with an investigation into\nthe nature of things known, of the mind and the world.  Suppose that I\ngive the titles of the chapters in Part III of Mr. Hobhouse's able work\non \"The Theory of Knowledge.\"  They are as follows: Validity; the\nValidity of Knowledge; the Conception of External Reality; Substance;\nthe Conception of Self; Reality as a System; Knowledge and Reality; the\nGrounds of Knowledge and Belief.\n\nAre not these topics metaphysical?  Let us ask ourselves how it would\naffect our views of the validity and of the limits of our knowledge, if\nwe were converted to the metaphysical doctrines of John Locke, or of\nBishop Berkeley, or of David Hume, or of Thomas Reid, or of Immanuel\nKant.\n\nWe may, then, regard epistemology as a part of logic--the metaphysical\npart--or as a part of metaphysics; it does not much matter which we\ncall it, since we mean the same thing.  But its relation to metaphysics\nis such that it does not seem worth while to call it a separate\ndiscipline.\n\nBefore leaving this subject there is one more point upon which I should\ntouch, if only to obviate a possible misunderstanding.\n\nWe find in Professor Cornelius's clear little book, \"An Introduction to\nPhilosophy\" (Leipzig, 1903; it has unhappily not yet been translated\ninto English), that metaphysics is repudiated altogether, and\nepistemology is set in its place.  But this rejection of metaphysics\ndoes not necessarily imply the denial of the value of such an analysis\nof our experience as I have in this work called metaphysical.\nMetaphysics is taken to mean, not an analysis of experience, but a\ngroping behind the veil of phenomena for some reality not given in\nexperience.  In other words, what Professor Cornelius condemns is what\nmany of the rest of us also condemn under another name.  What he calls\nmetaphysics, we call bad metaphysics; and what he calls epistemology,\nwe call metaphysics.  The dispute is really a dispute touching the\nproper name to apply to reflective analysis of a certain kind.\n\nAs it is the fashion in certain quarters to abuse metaphysics, I set\nthe reader on his guard.  Some kinds of metaphysics certainly ought to\nbe repudiated under whatever name they may be presented to us.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nTHE PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION\n\n76. RELIGION AND REFLECTION.--A man may be through and through ethical\nin his thought and feeling, and yet know nothing of the science of\nethics.  He may be possessed of the finest aesthetic taste, and yet may\nknow nothing of the science of aesthetics.  It is one thing to be good,\nand another to know clearly what goodness means; it is one thing to\nlove the beautiful, and another to know how to define it.\n\nJust so a man may be thoroughly religious, and may, nevertheless, have\nreflected very little upon his religious belief and the foundations\nupon which it rests.  This does not mean that his belief is without\nfoundation.  It may have a firm basis or it may not.  But whatever the\ncase may be, he is not in a position to say much about it.  He _feels_\nthat he is right, but he cannot prove it.  The man is, I think we must\nadmit, rather blind as to the full significance of his position, and he\nis, in consequence, rather helpless.\n\nSuch a man is menaced by certain dangers.  We have seen in the chapter\non ethics that men are by no means at one in their judgments as to the\nrightness or wrongness of given actions.  And it requires a very little\nreflection to teach us that men are not at one in their religious\nnotions.  God and His nature, the relation of God to man, what the\nreligious life should be, these things are the subject of much dispute;\nand some men hold opinions regarded by others as not merely erroneous\nbut highly pernicious in their influence.\n\nShall a man simply assume that the opinions which he happens to hold\nare correct, and that all who differ with him are in error?  He has not\nframed his opinions quite independently for himself.  We are all\ninfluenced by what we have inherited from the past, and what we inherit\nmay be partly erroneous, even if we be right in the main.  Moreover, we\nare all liable to prejudices, and he who has no means of distinguishing\nsuch from sober truths may admit into his creed many errors.  The\nlesson of history is very instructive upon this point.  The fact is\nthat a man's religious notions reflect the position which he occupies\nin the development of civilization very much as do his ethical notions.\n\nAgain.  Even supposing that a man has enlightened notions and is living\na religious life that the most instructed must approve; if he has never\nreflected, and has never tried to make clear to himself just what he\nreally does believe and upon what grounds he believes it, how will it\nbe with him when his position is attacked by another?  Men are, as I\nhave said, not at one in these matters, and there are few or none of\nthe doctrines put forward as religions that have not been attacked\nagain and again.\n\nNow, those who depend only upon an instinctive feeling may be placed in\nthe very painful position of seeing no answer to the objections brought\nagainst them.  What is said may seem plausible; it may even seem true,\nand is it right for a man to oppose what appears to be the truth?  One\nmay be shocked and pained, and may feel that he who makes the assault\n_cannot_ be right, and yet may be forced to admit that a relentless\nlogic, or what presents itself as such, has every appearance of\nestablishing the repellent truth that robs one of one's dearest\npossession.  The situation is an unendurable one; it is that of the man\nwho guards a treasure and recognizes that there is no lock on the door.\n\nSurely, if there is error mixed with truth in our religious beliefs, it\nis desirable that we should have some way of distinguishing between the\ntruth and the error.  And if our beliefs really have a foundation, it\nis desirable that we should know what that foundation is, and should\nnot be at the mercy of every passer-by who takes the notion to throw a\nstone at us.  But these desirable ends, it seems clear, cannot be\nattained without reflection.\n\n77. THE PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION.--The reflection that busies itself with\nthese things results in what is called the philosophy of religion.  To\nshow that the name is an appropriate one and that we are concerned with\na philosophical discipline, I shall take up for a moment the idea of\nGod, which most men will admit has a very important place in our\nconception of religion.\n\nDoes God exist?  We may feel very sure that He does, and yet be forced\nto admit that the evidence of His existence is not so clear and\nundeniable as to compel the assent of every one.  We do not try to\nprove the existence of the men we meet and who talk to us.  No one\nthinks of denying their existence; it is taken for granted.  Even the\nmetaphysician, when he takes up and discusses the question whether we\ncan prove the existence of any mind beyond our own, does not seriously\ndoubt whether there are other minds or not.  It is not so much what we\nknow, as how we know it, that interests him.\n\nBut with the existence of God it is different.  That men do not think\nthat an examination of the evidence can be dispensed with is evident\nfrom the books that are written and lectures that are delivered year\nafter year.  There seem to be honest differences of opinion, and we\nfeel compelled to offer men proofs--to show that belief is reasonable.\n\nHow shall we determine whether this world in which we live is such a\nworld that we may take it as a revelation of God?  And of what sort of\na Being are we speaking when we use the word \"God\"?  The question is\nnot an idle one, for men's conceptions have differed widely.  There is\nthe savage, with a conception that strikes the modern civilized man as\naltogether inadequate; there is the thoughtful man of our day, who has\ninherited the reflections of those who have lived in the ages gone by.\n\nAnd there is the philosopher, or, perhaps, I should rather say, there\nare the philosophers.  Have they not conceived of God as a group of\nabstract notions, or as a something that may best be described as the\nUnknowable, or as the Substance which is the identity of thought and\nextension, or as the external world itself?  All have not sinned in\nthis way, but some have, and they are not men whom we can ignore.\n\nIf we turn from all such notions and, in harmony with the faith of the\ngreat body of religious men in the ages past, some of whom were\nphilosophers but most of whom were not, cling close to the notion that\nGod is a mind or spirit, and must be conceived according to the\nanalogy, at least, of the human mind, the mind we most directly\nknow--if we do this, we are still confronted by problems to which the\nthoughtful man cannot refuse attention.\n\nWhat do we mean by a mind?  This is a question to which one can\nscarcely give an intelligent answer unless one has exercised one's\nfaculty of philosophic reflection.  And upon what sort of evidence does\none depend in establishing the existence of minds other than one's own?\nThis has been discussed at length in Chapter X, and the problem is\ncertainly a metaphysical one.  And if we believe that the Divine Mind\nis not subject to the limitations which confine the human, how shall we\nconceive it?  The question is an important one.  Some of the\nphilosophers and theologians who have tried to free the Divine Mind\nfrom such limitations have taken away every positive mark by which we\nrecognize a mind to be such, and have left us a naked \"Absolute\" which\nis no better than a labeled vacuum.\n\nMoreover, we cannot refuse to consider the question of God's relation\nto the world.  This seems to lead back to the broader question: How are\nwe to conceive of any mind as related to the world?  What is the\nrelation between mind and matter?  If any subject of inquiry may\nproperly be called metaphysical, surely this may be.\n\nWe see, then, that there is little wonder that the thoughtful\nconsideration of the facts and doctrines of religion has taken its\nplace among the philosophical sciences.  Aesthetics has been called\napplied psychology; and I think it is scarcely too much to say that we\nare here concerned with applied metaphysics, with the attempt to obtain\na clear understanding of the significance of the facts of religion in\nthe light of those ultimate analyses which reveal to us the real nature\nof the world of matter and of minds.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nPHILOSOPHY AND THE OTHER SCIENCES\n\n78. THE PHILOSOPHICAL AND NON-PHILOSOPHICAL SCIENCES.--We have seen in\nthe preceding chapters that certain of the sciences can scarcely be\ncultivated successfully in complete separation from philosophy.  It has\nalso been indicated in various places that the relation of other\nsciences to philosophy is not so close.\n\nThus, the sciences of arithmetic, algebra, and geometry may be\nsuccessfully prosecuted by a man who has reflected little upon the\nnature of numbers and who has never asked himself seriously what he\nmeans by space.  The assumptions which he is justified in making, and\nthe kind of operations which he has the right to perform, do not seem,\nas a rule, to be in doubt.\n\nSo it is also in the sciences of chemistry and physics.  There is\nnothing to prevent the chemist or the physicist from being a\nphilosopher, but he is not compelled to be one.  He may push forward\nthe investigations proper to his profession regardless of the type of\nphilosophy which it pleases him to adopt.  Whether he be a realist or\nan idealist, a dualist or a monist, he should, as chemist or physicist,\ntreat the same sort of facts in the same sort of a way.  His path\nappears to be laid out for him, and he can do work the value of which\nis undisputed by traveling quietly along it, and without stopping to\nconsider consciously what kind of a path it is.  There are many who\nwork in this way, and they succeed in making important contributions to\nhuman knowledge.\n\nSuch sciences as these I call the non-philosophical sciences to\ndistinguish them from the group of sciences I have been discussing at\nlength.  What marks them out is, that the facts with which the\ninvestigator has to deal are known by him with sufficient clearness to\nleave him usually in little doubt as to the use which he can make of\nthem.  His knowledge is clear enough for the purpose in hand, and his\nwork is justified by its results.  What is the relation of such\nsciences as these to philosophy?\n\n79. THE STUDY OF SCIENTIFIC PRINCIPLES AND METHODS.--It is one thing to\nhave the instinct of the investigator and to be able to feel one's way\nalong the road that leads to new knowledge of a given kind, and it is\nanother thing to have the reflective turn of mind that makes one\nclearly conscious of just what one has been doing and how one has been\ndoing it.  Men reasoned before there was a science of logic, and the\nsciences made their appearance before what may be called the logic of\nthe sciences had its birth.\n\n\"It may be truly asserted,\" writes Professor Jevons,[1] \"that the rapid\nprogress of the physical sciences during the last three centuries has\nnot been accompanied by a corresponding advance in the theory of\nreasoning.  Physicists speak familiarly of Scientific Method, but they\ncould not readily describe what they mean by that expression.\nProfoundly engaged in the study of particular classes of natural\nphenomena, they are usually too much engrossed in the immense and ever\naccumulating details of their special sciences to generalize upon the\nmethods of reasoning which they unconsciously employ.  Yet few will\ndeny that these methods of reasoning ought to be studied, especially by\nthose who endeavor to introduce scientific order into less successful\nand methodical branches of knowledge.\"\n\nProfessor Jevons suggests that it is lack of time and attention that\nprevents the scientific investigator from attaining to a clear\nconception of what is meant by scientific method.  This has something\nto do with it, but I think we may also maintain that the work of the\ninvestigator and that of the critic are somewhat different in kind, and\nrequire somewhat different powers of mind.  We find a parallel to this\nelsewhere.  Both in literature and in art men may be in the best sense\nproductive, and yet may be poor critics.  We are often wofully\ndisappointed when we attend a lecture on poetry by a poet, or one on\npainting by an artist.\n\nIt may be said: If what is maintained above regarding the possibility\nof prosecuting scientific researches without having recourse to\nreflective thought is true, why should the man of science care whether\nthe principles and methods of the non-philosophical sciences are\ninvestigated or are merely taken for granted?\n\nI answer: It should be observed that the statements made in the last\nsection were somewhat guarded.  I have used the expressions \"as a rule\"\nand \"usually.\"  I have spoken thus because one can work in the way\ndescribed, without danger of error, only where a beaten track has been\nattained and is followed.  In Chapter XVI it was pointed out that even\nin the mathematical sciences one may be forced to reflect upon the\nsignificance of one's symbols.  As I write this, a pamphlet comes to\nhand which is concerned to prove that \"every cause is potentially\ncapable of producing several effects,\" and proves it by claiming that\nthe square root of four ([square root symbol]4) is a _cause_ which may\nhave as _effect_ either two (2) or minus two (-2).\n\nIs this mathematical reasoning?  Are mathematical relations ever those\nof cause and effect?  And may one on the basis of such reasonings claim\nthat in nature the relation of cause and effect is not a fixed and\ninvariable one?\n\nEven where there is a beaten track, there is some danger that men may\nwander from it.  And on the confines of our knowledge there are fields\nin which the accepted road is yet to be established.  Science makes\nconstant use of hypotheses as an aid to investigation.  What hypotheses\nmay one frame, and what are inadmissible?  How important an\ninvestigation of this question may be to the worker in certain branches\nof science will be clear to one who will read with attention Professor\nPoincare's brilliant little work on \"Science and Hypothesis.\" [2]\n\nThere is no field in art, literature, or science in which the work of\nthe critic is wholly superfluous.  \"There are periods in the growth of\nscience,\" writes Professor Pearson in his deservedly popular work, \"The\nGrammar of Science,\" [3] \"when it is well to turn our attention from\nits imposing superstructure and to examine carefully its foundations.\nThe present book is primarily intended as a criticism of the\nfundamental concepts of modern science, and as such finds its\njustification in the motto placed upon its title-page.\"  The motto in\nquestion is a quotation from the French philosopher Cousin: \"Criticism\nis the life of science.\"\n\nWe have seen in Chapter XVI that a work on logic may be a comparatively\nsimple thing.  It may describe the ways in which men reason when they\nreason correctly, and may not go deep into metaphysical questions.  On\nthe other hand, it may be deeply metaphysical.\n\nWhen we approach the part of logic which deals with the principles and\nmethods of the sciences, this difference is forced upon our attention.\nOne may set forth the assumptions upon which a science rests, and may\ndescribe the methods of investigation employed, without going much\nbelow the plane of common thought.  As a type of such works I may\nmention the useful treatise by Professor Jevons cited earlier in this\nchapter.\n\nOn the other hand, our investigations may be more profound, and we may\nscrutinize the very foundations upon which a science rests.  Both the\nother works referred to illustrate this method of procedure.\n\nFor example, in \"The Grammar of Science,\" we find our author\ndiscussing, under the title \"The Facts of Science,\" such problems as\nthe following: the Reality of Things; Sense-impressions and\nConsciousness; the Nature of Thought; the External Universe; Sensations\nas the Ultimate Source of the Materials of Knowledge; and the Futility\nof \"Things-in-themselves.\"  The philosophical character of such\ndiscussions does not need to be pointed out at length.\n\n\n[1] \"The Principles Of Science,\" London, 1874, Preface.\n\n[2] English translation, New York, 1905.\n\n[3] Second edition, London, 1900.\n\n\n\n\nVI. ON THE STUDY OF PHILOSOPHY\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nTHE VALUE OF THE STUDY OF PHILOSOPHY\n\n80. THE QUESTION OF PRACTICAL UTILITY.--Why should men study\nphilosophy?  The question is a natural one, for man is a rational\nbeing, and when the worth of a thing is not at once evident to him, he\nusually calls for proof of its worth.  Our professional schools, with\nthe exception of schools of theology, usually pay little attention to\nphilosophical studies; but such studies occupy a strong position in our\ncolleges, and a vast number of persons not students in the technical\nsense think it worth while to occupy themselves with them more or less.\nWherever liberal studies are prosecuted they have their place, and it\nis an honored place.  Is this as it should be?\n\nBefore we ask whether any given study is of practical value, it is wise\nto determine what the word \"practical\" shall be taken to mean.  Shall\nwe say that we may call practical only such learning as can be turned\nto direct account in earning money later?  If we restrict the meaning\nof the word in this way, we seem to strike a blow at liberal studies in\ngeneral.\n\nThus, no one would think of maintaining that the study of mathematics\nis not of practical value--sometimes and to some persons.  The\nphysicist and the engineer need to know a good deal about mathematics.\nBut how is it with the merchant, the lawyer, the clergyman, the\nphysician?  How much of their algebra, geometry, and trigonometry do\nthese remember after they have become absorbed in the practice of their\nseveral callings, and how often do they find it necessary to use\nanything beyond certain simple rules of arithmetic?\n\nSometimes we are tempted to condemn the study of the classics as\nunpractical, and to turn instead to the modern languages and to the\nphysical sciences.  Now, it is, of course, a fair question to ask what\nshould and what should not be regarded as forming part of a liberal\neducation, and I shall make no effort to decide the question here.  But\nit should be borne well in mind that one cannot decide it by\ndetermining what studies are practical in the sense of the word under\ndiscussion.\n\nIf we keep strictly to this sense, the modern languages are to the\nmajority of Americans of little more practical value than are the Latin\nand Greek.  We scarcely need them except when we travel abroad, and\nwhen we do that we find that the concierge and the waiter use English\nwith surprising fluency.  As for the sciences, those who expect to earn\na living through a knowledge of them, seek, as a rule, that knowledge\nin a technical or professional school, and the rest of us can enjoy the\nfruit of their labors without sharing them.  It is a popular fallacy\nthat because certain studies have a practical value to the world at\nlarge, they must necessarily have a practical value to every one, and\ncan be recommended to the individual on that account.  It is worth\nwhile to sit down quietly and ask oneself how many of the bits of\ninformation acquired during the course of a liberal education are\ndirectly used in the carrying on of a given business or in the practice\nof a given profession.\n\nNevertheless, we all believe that liberal education is a good thing for\nthe individual and for the race.  One must not too much restrict the\nmeaning of the word \"practical.\"  A civilized state composed of men who\nknow nothing save what has a direct bearing upon their especial work in\nlife is an absurdity; it cannot exist.  There must be a good deal of\ngeneral enlightenment and there must be a considerable number of\nindividuals who have enjoyed a high measure of enlightenment.\n\nThis becomes clear if we consider the part played in the life of the\nstate by the humblest tradesman.  If he is to be successful, he must be\nable to read, write, and keep his accounts, and make, let us say,\nshoes.  But when we have said this, we have summed him up as a workman,\nbut not as a man, and he is also a man.  He may marry, and make a good\nor a bad husband, and a good or a bad father.  He stands in relations\nto his neighborhood, to the school, and to the church; and he is not\nwithout his influence.  He may be temperate or intemperate, frugal or\nextravagant, law-abiding or the reverse.  He has his share, and no\nsmall share, in the government of his city and of his state.  His\ninfluence is indeed far-reaching, and that it may be an influence for\ngood, he is in need of all the intellectual and moral enlightenment\nthat we can give him.  It is of the utmost practical utility to the\nstate that he should know a vast number of things which have no direct\nbearing upon the making and mending of shoes.\n\nAnd if this is true in the case of the tradesman, it is scarcely\nnecessary to point out that the physician, the lawyer, the clergyman,\nand the whole army of those whom we regard as the leaders of men and\nthe molders of public opinion have spheres of non-professional activity\nof great importance to the state.  They cannot be mere specialists if\nthey would.  They must influence society for good or ill; and if they\nare ignorant and unenlightened, their influence cannot be good.\n\nWhen we consider the life of man in a broad way, we see how essential\nit is that many men should be brought to have a share in what has been\ngained by the long travail of the centuries past.  It will not do to\nask at every step whether they can put to direct professional use every\nbit of information gained.  Literature and science, sweetness and\nlight, beauty and truth, these are the heritage of the modern world;\nand unless these permeate its very being, society must undergo\ndegeneration.  It is this conviction that has led to the high\nappreciation accorded by intelligent men to courses of liberal study,\nand among such courses those which we have recognized as philosophical\nmust take their place.\n\n81. WHY PHILOSOPHICAL STUDIES ARE USEFUL.--But let us ask a little more\nspecifically what is to be gained by pursuing distinctively\nphilosophical studies.  Why should those who go to college, or\nintelligent persons who cannot go to college, care to interest\nthemselves in logic and ethics, psychology and metaphysics?  Are not\nthese studies rather dry, in the first place, and rather profitless, in\nthe second?\n\nAs to the first point, I should stoutly maintain that if they are dry,\nit is somebody's fault.  The most sensational of novels would be dry if\ncouched in the language which some philosophers have seen fit to use in\nexpressing their thoughts.  He who defines \"existence\" as \"the still\nand simple precipitate of the oscillation between beginning to be and\nceasing to be\" has done his best to alienate our affections from the\nsubject of his predilection.\n\nBut it is not in the least necessary to talk in this way about matters\nphilosophical.  He who is not a slave to tradition can use plain and\nsimple language.  To be sure, there are some subjects, especially in\nthe field of metaphysics, into which the student cannot expect to see\nvery deeply at the outset of his studies.  Men do not expect to\nunderstand the more difficult problems of mathematics without making a\ngood deal of preparation; but, unhappily, they sometimes expect to have\nthe profoundest problems of metaphysics made luminous to them in one or\ntwo popular lectures.\n\nPhilosophical studies are not dry, when men are properly taught, and\nare in a position to understand what is said.  They deal with the most\nfascinating of problems.  It is only necessary to pierce through the\nhusk of words which conceals the thoughts of the philosopher, and we\nshall find the kernel palatable, indeed.  Nor are such studies\nprofitless, to take up our second point.  Let us see what we may gain\nfrom them.\n\nLet us begin with logic--the traditional logic commonly taught to\nbeginners.  Is it worth while to study this?  Surely it is.  No one who\nhas not tried to introduce the average under-graduate to logic can\nrealize how blindly he uses his reasoning powers, how unconscious he is\nof the full meaning of the sentences he employs, how easily he may be\nentrapped by fallacious reasonings where he is not set on his guard by\nsome preposterous conclusion touching matters with which he is familiar.\n\nAnd he is not merely unconscious of the lapses in his processes of\nreasoning, and of his imperfect comprehension of the significance of\nhis statements; he is unconscious also of the mass of inherited and\nacquired prejudices, often quite indefensible, which he unquestioningly\nemploys as premises.\n\nHe fairly represents the larger world beyond the walls of the college.\nIt is a world in which prejudices are assumed as premises, and loose\nreasonings pass current and are unchallenged until they beget some\nunpalatable conclusion.  It is a world in which men take little pains\nto think carefully and accurately unless they are dealing with\nsomething touching which it is practically inconvenient to make a\nmistake.\n\nHe who studies logic in the proper way is not filling his mind with\nuseless facts; he is simply turning the light upon his own thinking\nmind, and realizing more clearly what he has always done rather blindly\nand blunderingly.  He may completely forget the\n\n  \"Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Ferioque prioris,\"\n\nand he may be quite unable to give an account of the moods and figures\nof the syllogism; but he cannot lose the critical habit if he once has\nacquired it, and he cannot but be on his guard against himself as well\nas against others.\n\nThere is a keen pleasure in gaining such insight.  It gives a feeling\nof freedom and power, and rids one of that horrid sense that, although\nthis or that bit of reasoning is certainly bad, it is impossible to\ntell just what is the matter with it.  And as for its practical\nutility, if it is desirable to get rid of prejudice and confusion, and\nto possess a clear and reasonable mind, then anything that makes for\nthis must be of value.\n\nOf the desirability that all who can afford the luxury of a liberal\neducation should do some serious reading in ethics, it seems hardly\nnecessary to speak.  The deficiencies of the ethics of the unreflective\nhave already been touched upon in Chapter XVIII.\n\nBut I cannot forbear dwelling upon it again.  What thoughtful man is\nnot struck with the variety of ethical standards which obtain in the\nsame community?  The clergyman who has a strong sense of responsibility\nfor the welfare of his flock is sometimes accused of not sufficiently\nrealizing the importance of a frank expression of the whole truth about\nthings; the man of science, whose duty it seems to be to peer into the\nmysteries of the universe, and to tell what he sees or what he guesses,\nis accused of an indifference to the effect which his utterances may\nhave upon the less enlightened who hear him speak; many criticise the\nlawyer for a devotion to the interests of his client which is at times\nin doubtful harmony with the interests of justice in the larger sense;\nin the business world commercial integrity is exalted, and lapses from\nthe ethical code which do not assail this cardinal virtue are not\nalways regarded with equal seriousness.\n\nIt is as though men elected to worship at the shrine of a particular\nsaint, and were inclined to overlook the claims of others.  For all\nthis there is, of course, a reason; such things are never to be looked\nupon as mere accident.  But this does not mean that these more or less\nconflicting standards are all to be accepted as satisfactory and as\nultimate.  It is inevitable that those who study ethics seriously, who\nreally reflect upon ethical problems, should sometimes criticise the\njudgments of their fellow-men rather unfavorably.\n\nOf such independent criticism many persons have a strong distrust.  I\nam reminded here of an eminent mathematician who maintained that the\nstudy of ethics has a tendency to distort the student's judgments as to\nwhat is right and what is wrong.  He had observed that there is apt to\nbe some divergence of opinion between those who think seriously upon\nmorals and those who do not, and he gave the preference to the\nunthinking majority.\n\nNow, there is undoubtedly danger that the independent thinker may be\nbetrayed into eccentricities of opinion which are unjustifiable and are\neven dangerous.  But it seems a strange doctrine that it is, on the\nwhole, safer not to think, but rather to drift on the stream of public\nopinion.  In other fields we are not inclined to believe that the\nignorant man, who has given no especial attention to a subject, is the\none likely to be right.  Why should it be so in morals?\n\nThat the youth who goes to college to seek a liberal education has a\nneed of ethical studies becomes very plain when we come to a\nrealization of the curious limitations of his ethical training as\npicked up from his previous experience of the world.  He has some very\ndefinite notions as to right and wrong.  He is as ready to maintain the\ndesirability of benevolence, justice, and veracity, as was Bishop\nButler, who wrote the famous \"Analogy \"; although, to be sure, he is\nmost inarticulate when called upon to explain what constitutes\nbenevolence, justice, or veracity.  But the strangest thing is, that he\nseems to place some of the most important decisions of his whole life\nquite outside the realm of right and wrong.\n\nHe may admit that a man should not undertake to be a clergyman, unless\nhe possesses certain qualifications of mind and character which\nevidently qualify him for that profession.  But he does not see why he\nhas not the right to become a wearisome professor or an incompetent\nphysician, if he chooses to enter upon such a career.  Is a man not\nfree to take up what profession he pleases?  He must take the risk, of\ncourse; but if he fails, he fails.\n\nAnd when he is asked to consider from the point of view of ethics the\nquestion of marriage and its responsibilities, he is at first inclined\nto consider the whole subject as rather a matter for jest.  Has a man\nnot the right to marry or remain single exactly as he pleases?  And is\nhe not free to marry any one whom he can persuade to accept him?  To be\nsure, he should be a little careful about marrying quite out of his\nclass, and he should not be hopelessly careless about money matters.\nThus, a decision, which may affect his whole life as much as any other\nthat he can be called upon to make, which may practically make it or\nmar it, is treated as though it were not a matter of grave concern, but\na private affair, entailing no serious consequences to any one and\ncalling for no reflection.\n\nI wish it could be said that the world outside of the college regarded\nthese matters in another light.  But the student faithfully represents\nthe opinions current in the community from which he comes.  And he\nrepresents, unhappily, the teachings of the stage and of the world of\ncurrent fiction.  The influence of these is too often on the side of\ninconsiderate passion, which stirs our sympathy and which lends itself\nto dramatic effect.  With the writers of romance the ethical\nphilosophers have an ancient quarrel.\n\nIt may be said: But the world gets along very well as it is, and\nwithout brooding too much upon ethical problems.  To this we may\nanswer: Does the world get along so very well, after all?  Are there no\nevils that foresight and some firmness of character might have\nobviated?  And when we concern ourselves with the educated classes, at\nleast, the weight of whose influence is enormous, is it too much to\nmaintain that they should do some reading and thinking in the field of\nethics? should strive to attain to clear vision and correct judgment on\nthe whole subject of man's duties?\n\nJust at the present time, when psychological studies have so great a\nvogue, one scarcely feels compelled to make any sort of an apology for\nthem.  It is assumed on all hands that it is desirable to study\npsychology, and courses of lectures are multiplied in all quarters.\n\nProbably some of this interest has its root in the fallacy touched upon\nearlier in this chapter.  The science of psychology has revolutionized\neducational theory.  When those of us who have arrived at middle life\nlook back and survey the tedious and toilsome path along which we were\nunwillingly driven in our schoolboy days, and then see how smooth and\npleasant it has been made since, we are impelled to honor all who have\ncontributed to this result.  Moreover, it seems very clear that\nteachers of all grades should have some acquaintance with the nature of\nthe minds that they are laboring to develop, and that they should not\nbe left to pick up their information for themselves--a task\nsufficiently difficult to an unobservant person.\n\nThese considerations furnish a sufficient ground for extolling the\nscience of psychology, and for insisting that studies in it should form\nsome part of the education of a teacher.  But why should the rest of us\ncare for such studies?\n\nTo this one may answer, in the first place, that nearly all of us have,\nor ought to have, some responsibility for the education of children;\nand, in the second, that we deal with the minds of others every day in\nevery walk in life, and it can certainly do no harm to have our\nattention called to the way in which minds function.  To be sure, some\nmen are by nature tactful, and instinctively conscious of how things\nstrike the minds of those about them.  But even such persons may gain\nhelpful suggestions, and, at least, have the habit of attention to the\nmental processes of others confirmed in them.  How often we are\nimpressed at church, at the public lecture, and in private\nconversations, with the fact that the speaker lives in blissful\nunconsciousness of what can be understood by or can possibly interest\nhis hearers!  For the confirmed bore, there is, perhaps, no cure; but\nit seems as though something might be done for those who are afflicted\nto a minor degree.\n\nAnd this brings me to another consideration, which is that a proper\nstudy of psychology ought to be of service in revealing to a man his\nown nature.  It should show him what he is, and this is surely a first\nstep toward becoming something better.  It is wonderful how blind men\nmay be with regard to what passes in their own minds and with regard to\ntheir own peculiarities.  When they learn to reflect, they come to a\nclearer consciousness of themselves--it is as though a lamp were\nlighted within them.  One may, it is true, study psychology without\nattaining to any of the good results suggested above; but, for that\nmatter, there is no study which may not be pursued in a profitless way,\nif the teacher be sufficiently unskilled and the pupil sufficiently\nthoughtless.\n\n82. METAPHYSICS AND PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION.--Perhaps it will be said:\nFor such philosophical studies as the above a good defense may perhaps\nbe made, but can one defend in the same way the plunge into the\nobscurities of metaphysics?  In this field no two men seem to be wholly\nagreed, and if they were, what would it signify?  Whether we call\nourselves monists or dualists, idealists or realists, Lockians or\nKantians, must we not live and deal with the things about us in much\nthe same way?\n\nThose who have dipped into metaphysical studies deeply enough to see\nwhat the problems discussed really are; who have been able to reach the\nideas concealed, too often, under a rather forbidding terminology; who\nare not of the dogmatic turn of mind which insists upon unquestioned\nauthority and is repelled by the uncertainties which must confront\nthose who give themselves to reflective thought,--these will hardly\nneed to be persuaded that it is desirable to give some attention to the\nquestion: What sort of a world, after all, is this world in which we\nlive?  What is its meaning?\n\nTo many men the impulse to peer into these things is over-powering, and\nthe pleasure of feeling their insight deepen is extremely keen.  What\ndeters us in most instances is not the conviction that such\ninvestigations are not, or should not be, interesting, but rather the\ndifficulty of the approach.  It is not easy to follow the path which\nleads from the world of common thought into the world of philosophical\nreflection.  One becomes bewildered and discouraged at the outset.\nSometimes, after listening to the directions of guides who disagree\namong themselves, we are tempted to believe that there can be no\ncertain path to the goal which we have before us.\n\nBut, whatever the difficulties and uncertainties of our task, a little\nreflection must show that it is not one which has no significance for\nhuman life.\n\nMen can, it is true, eat and sleep and go through the routine of the\nday, without giving thought to science or religion or philosophy, but\nfew will defend such an existence.  As a matter of fact, those who have\nattained to some measure of intellectual and moral development do\nassume, consciously or unconsciously, some rather definite attitude\ntoward life, and this is not independent of their conviction as to what\nthe world is and means.\n\nMetaphysical speculations run out into the philosophy of religion; and,\non the other hand, religious emotions and ideals have again and again\nprompted men to metaphysical construction.  A glance at history shows\nthat it is natural to man to embrace some attitude toward the system of\nthings, and to try to justify this by reasoning.  Vigorous and\nindependent minds have given birth to theories, and these have been\nadopted by others.  The influence of such theories upon the evolution\nof humanity has been enormous.\n\nIdeas have ruled and still rule the world, some of them very abstract\nideas.  It does not follow that one is uninfluenced by them, when one\nhas no knowledge of their source or of their original setting.  They\nbecome part of the intellectual heritage of us all, and we sometimes\nsuppose that we are responsible for them ourselves.  Has not the fact\nthat an idealistic or a materialistic type of thought has been current\nat a particular time influenced the outlook on life of many who have\nthemselves devoted little attention to philosophy?  It would be\ninteresting to know how many, to whom Spencer is but a name, have felt\nthe influence of the agnosticism of which he was the apostle.\n\nI say this without meaning to criticise here any of the types of\ndoctrine referred to.  My thesis is only that philosophy and life go\nhand in hand, and that the prying into the deeper mysteries of the\nuniverse cannot be regarded as a matter of no practical moment.  Its\nimportance ought to be admitted even by the man who has little hope\nthat he will himself be able to attain to a doctrine wholly\nsatisfactory and wholly unshakable.\n\nFor, if the study of the problems of metaphysics does nothing else for\na given individual, it, at least, enables him to comprehend and\ncriticise intelligently the doctrines which are presented for his\nacceptance by others.  It is a painful thing to feel quite helpless in\nthe face of plausible reasonings which may threaten to rob us of our\nmost cherished hopes, or may tend to persuade us of the vanity of what\nwe have been accustomed to regard as of highest worth.  If we are quite\nunskilled in the examination of such doctrines, we may be captured by\nthe loosest of arguments--witness the influence of Spencer's argument\nfor the \"Unknowable,\" in the \"First Principles\"; and if we are ignorant\nof the history of speculative thought, we may be carried away by old\nand exploded notions which pose as modern and impressive only because\nthey have been given a modern dress.\n\nWe can, of course, refuse to listen to those who would talk with us.\nBut this savors of bigotry, and the world will certainly not grow\nwiser, if men generally cultivate a blind adherence to the opinions in\nwhich they happen to be brought up.  A cautious conservatism is one\nthing, and blind obstinacy is another.  To the educated man (and it is\nprobable that others will have to depend on opinions taken at second\nhand) a better way of avoiding error is open.\n\nFinally, it will not do to overlook the broadening influence of such\nstudies as we are discussing.  How dogmatically men are in the habit of\nexpressing themselves upon those obscure and difficult problems which\ndeal with matters that lie on the confines of human knowledge!  Such an\nassumption of knowledge cannot but make us uncomprehending and\nunsympathetic.\n\nThere are many subjects upon which, if we hold an opinion at all, we\nshould hold it tentatively, waiting for more light, and retaining a\nwillingness to be enlightened.  Many a bitter and fruitless quarrel\nmight be avoided, if more persons found it possible to maintain this\nphilosophical attitude of mind.  Philosophy is, after all, reflection,\nand the reflective man must realize that he is probably as liable to\nerror as are other men.  He is not infallible, nor has the limit of\nhuman knowledge been attained in his day and generation.  He who\nrealizes this will not assume that his neighbor is always wrong, and he\nwill come to have that wide, conscientious tolerance, which is not\nindifference, but which is at the farthest remove from the zeal of mere\nbigotry.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nWHY WE SHOULD STUDY THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY\n\n83. THE PROMINENCE GIVEN TO THE SUBJECT.--When one reflects upon the\nnumber of lecture courses given every year at our universities and\ncolleges on the history of philosophy, one is struck by the fact that\nphilosophy is not treated as are most other subjects with which the\nstudent is brought into contact.\n\nIf we study mathematics, or chemistry, or physics, or physiology, or\nbiology, the effort is made to lay before us in a convenient form the\nlatest results which have been attained in those sciences.  Of their\nhistory very little is said; and, indeed, as we have seen (section 6),\nlectures on the history of the inductive sciences are apt to be\nregarded as philosophical in their character and aims rather than as\nmerely scientific.\n\nThe interest in the history of philosophy is certainly not a\ndiminishing one.  Text-books covering the whole field or a part of it\nare multiplied; extensive studies are made and published covering the\nwork of individual philosophers; innumerable historical discussions\nmake their appearance in the pages of current philosophical journals.\nNo student is regarded as fairly acquainted with philosophy who knows\nnothing of Plato and Aristotle, Descartes and Spinoza, Berkeley and\nHume, Kant and Hegel, and the rest.  We should look upon him as having\na very restricted outlook if he had read only the works of the thinkers\nof our own day; indeed, we should not expect him to have a proper\ncomprehension even of these, for their chapters must remain blind and\nmeaningless to one who has no knowledge of what preceded them and has\ngiven birth to the doctrines there set forth.\n\nIt is a fair question to ask: Why is philosophy so bound up with the\nstudy of the past?  Why may we not content ourselves with what has up\nto the present been attained, and omit a survey of the road along which\nour predecessors have traveled?\n\n84. THE ESPECIAL IMPORTANCE OF HISTORICAL STUDIES TO REFLECTIVE\nTHOUGHT.--In some of the preceding chapters dealing with the various\nphilosophical sciences, it has been indicated that, in the sciences we\ndo not regard as philosophical, men may work on the basis of certain\ncommonly accepted assumptions and employ methods which are generally\nregarded as trustworthy within the given field.  The value both of the\nfundamental assumptions and of the methods of investigation appear to\nbe guaranteed by the results attained.  There are not merely\nobservation and hypothesis; there is also verification, and where this\nis lacking, men either abandon their position or reserve their judgment.\n\nThus, a certain body of interrelated facts is built up, the\nsignificance of which, in many fields at least, is apparent even to the\nlayman.  Nor is it wholly beyond him to judge whether the results of\nscientific investigations can be verified.  An eclipse, calculated by\nmethods which he is quite unable to follow, may occur at the appointed\nhour and confirm his respect for the astronomer.  The efficacy of a\nserum in the cure of diseases may convince him that work done in the\nlaboratory is not labor lost.\n\nIt seems evident that the several sciences do really rise on stepping\nstones of their dead selves, and that those selves of the past are\nreally dead and superseded.  Who would now think of going back for his\nscience to Plato's \"Timaeus,\" or would accept the description of the\nphysical world contained in the works of Aristotle?  What chemist or\nphysicist need busy himself with the doctrine of atoms and their\nclashings presented in the magnificent poem of Lucretius?  Who can\nforbear a smile--a sympathetic one--when he turns over the pages of\nAugustine's \"City of God,\" and sees what sort of a world this\nremarkable man believed himself to inhabit?\n\nIt is the historic and human interest that carries us back to these\nthings.  We say: What ingenuity! what a happy guess! how well that was\nreasoned in the light of what was actually known about the world in\nthose days!  But we never forget that what compels our admiration does\nso because it makes us realize that we stand in the presence of a great\nmind, and not because it is a foundation-stone in the great edifice\nwhich science has erected.\n\nBut it is not so in philosophy.  It is not possible to regard the\nphilosophical reflections of Plato and of Aristotle as superseded in\nthe same sense in which we may so regard their science.  The reason for\nthis lies in the difference between scientific thought and reflective\nthought.\n\nThe two have been contrasted in Chapter II of this volume.  It was\nthere pointed out that the sort of thinking demanded in the special\nsciences is not so very different from that with which we are all\nfamiliar in common life.  Science is more accurate and systematic, it\nhas a broader outlook, and it is free from the imperfections which\nvitiate the uncritical and fragmentary knowledge which experience of\nthe world yields the unscientific.  But, after all, the world is much\nthe same sort of a world to the man of science and to his uncritical\nneighbor.  The latter can, as we have seen, understand what, in\ngeneral, the former is doing, and can appropriate many of his results.\n\nOn the other hand, it often happens that the man who has not, with\npains and labor, learned to reflect, cannot even see that the\nphilosopher has a genuine problem before him.  Thus, the plain man\naccepts the fact that he has a mind and that it knows the world.  That\nboth mental phenomena and physical phenomena should be carefully\nobserved and classified he may be ready to admit.  But that the very\nconceptions of mind and of what it means to know a world are vague and\nindefinite in the extreme, and stand in need of careful analysis, he\ndoes not realize.\n\nIn other words, he sees that our knowledge needs to be extended and\nrendered more accurate and reliable, but he does not see that, if we\nare to think clearly and consciously, all our knowledge needs to be\ngone over in a different way.  In common life it is quite possible to\nuse in the attainment of practical ends knowledge which has not been\nanalyzed and of the full meaning of which we are ignorant.  I hope it\nhas become evident in the course of this volume that something closely\nanalogous is true in the field of science.  The man of science may\nmeasure space and time, and may study the phenomena of the human mind,\nwithout even attempting to answer all the questions which may be raised\nas to what is meant, in the last analysis, by such concepts as space,\ntime, and the mind.\n\nThat such concepts should be analyzed has, I hope, been made clear, if\nonly that erroneous and misleading notions as to these things should be\navoided.  But when a man with a genius for metaphysical analysis\naddresses himself to this task, he cannot simply hand the results\nattained by his reflections over to his less reflective fellow-man.\nHis words are not understood; he seems to be dealing with shadows, with\nunrealities; he has passed from the real world of common thought into\nanother world which appears to have little relation to the former.\n\nNor can verification, indubitable proof, be demanded and furnished as\nit can in many parts of the field cultivated by the special sciences.\nWe may judge science fairly well without ourselves being scientists,\nbut it is not possible to judge philosophy without being to some extent\na philosopher.\n\nIn other words, the conclusions of reflective thought must be judged by\nfollowing the process and discovering its cogency or the reverse.\nThus, when the philosopher lays before us an argument to prove that we\nmust regard the only ultimate reality in the world as unknowable, and\nmust abandon our theistic convictions, how shall we make a decision as\nto whether he is right or is wrong?  May we expect that the day will\ncome when he will be justified or condemned as is the astronomer on the\nday predicted for an eclipse?  Neither the philosophy of Locke, nor\nthat of Descartes, nor that of Kant, can be vindicated as can a\nprediction touching an eclipse of the sun.  To judge these men, we must\nlearn to think with them, to survey the road by which they travel; and\nthis we cannot do until we have learned the art.\n\nWhether we like to admit it or not, we must admit, if we are\nfair-minded and intelligent, that philosophy cannot speak with the same\nauthority as science, where science has been able to verify its\nresults.  There are, of course, scientific hypotheses and speculations\nwhich should be regarded as being quite as uncertain as anything\nbrought forward by the philosophers.  But, admitting this, the fact\nremains that there is a difference between the two fields as a whole,\nand that the philosopher should learn not to speak with an assumption\nof authority.  No final philosophy has been attained, so palpably firm\nin its foundation, and so admittedly trustworthy in its construction,\nthat we are justified in saying: Now we need never go back to the past\nunless to gratify the historic interest.  It is a weakness of young\nmen, and of older men of partisan temper, to feel very sure of matters\nwhich, in the nature of things, must remain uncertain.\n\nSince these things are so, and since men possess the power of\nreflection in very varying degree, it is not surprising that we find it\nworth while to turn back and study the thoughts of those who have had a\ngenius for reflection, even though they lived at a time when modern\nscience was awaiting its birth.  Some things cannot be known until\nother things are known; often there must be a vast collection of\nindividual facts before the generalizations of science can come into\nbeing.  But many of the problems with which reflective thought is still\nstruggling have not been furthered in the least by information which\nhas been collected during the centuries which have elapsed since they\nwere attacked by the early Greek philosophers.\n\nThus, we are still discussing the distinction between \"appearance\" and\n\"reality,\" and many and varied are the opinions at which philosophers\narrive.  But Thales, who heads the list of the Greek philosophers, had\nquite enough material, given in his own experience, to enable him to\nsolve this problem as well as any modern philosopher, had he been able\nto use the material.  He who is familiar with the history of philosophy\nwill recognize that, although one may smile at Augustine's accounts of\nthe races of men, and of the spontaneous generation of small animals,\nno one has a right to despise his profound reflections upon the nature\nof time and the problems which arise out of its character as past,\npresent, and future.\n\nThe fact is that metaphysics does not lag behind because of our lack of\nmaterial to work with.  The difficulties we have to face are nothing\nelse than the difficulties of reflective thought.  Why can we not tell\nclearly what we mean when we use the word \"self,\" or speak of\n\"knowledge,\" or insist that we know an \"external world\"?  Are we not\nconcerned with the most familiar of experiences?  To be sure we\nare--with experiences familiarly, but vaguely and unanalytically, known\nand, hence, only half known.  All these experiences the great men of\nthe past had as well as we; and if they had greater powers of\nreflection, perhaps they saw more deeply into them than we do.  At any\nrate, we cannot afford to assume that they did not.\n\nOne thing, however, I must not omit to mention.  Although one man\ncannot turn over bodily the results of his reflection to another, it by\nno means follows that he cannot give the other a helping hand, or warn\nhim of dangers by himself stumbling into pitfalls, as the case may be.\nWe have an indefinite advantage over the solitary thinkers who opened\nup the paths of reflection, for we have the benefit of their teaching.\nAnd this brings me to a consideration which I must discuss in the next\nsection.\n\n85. THE VALUE OF DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW.--The man who has not read is\nlike the man who has not traveled--he is not an intelligent critic, for\nhe has nothing with which to compare what falls within the little\ncircle of his experiences.  That the prevailing architecture of a town\nis ugly can scarcely impress one who is acquainted with no other town.\nIf we live in a community in which men's manners are not good, and\ntheir standard of living not the highest, our attention does not dwell\nmuch upon the fact, unless some contrasted experience wakes within us a\nclear consciousness of the difference.  That to which we are accustomed\nwe accept uncritically and unreflectively.  It is difficult for us to\nsee it somewhat as one might see it to whom it came as a new experience.\n\nOf course, there may be in the one town buildings of more and of less\narchitectural beauty; and there may be in the one community differences\nof opinion that furnish intellectual stimulus and keep awake the\ncritical spirit.  Still, there is such a thing as a prevalent type of\narchitecture, and there is such a thing as the spirit of the times.  He\nwho is carried along by the spirit of the age may easily conclude that\nwhat is, is right, because he hears few raise their voices in protest.\n\nTo estimate justly the type of thought in which he has been brought up,\nhe must have something with which to compare it.  He must stand at a\ndistance, and try to judge it as he would judge a type of doctrine\npresented to him for the first rime.  And in the accomplishment of this\ntask he can find no greater aid than the study of the history of\nphilosophy.\n\nIt is at first something of a shock to a man to discover that\nassumptions which he has been accustomed to make without question have\nbeen frankly repudiated by men quite as clever as he, and, perhaps,\nmore critical.  It opens the eyes to see that his standards of worth\nhave been weighed by others and have been found wanting.  It may well\nincline him to reexamine reasonings in which he has detected no flaw,\nwhen he finds that acute minds have tried them before, and have\ndeclared them faulty.\n\nNor can it be without its influence upon his judgment of the\nsignificance of a doctrine, when it becomes plain to him that this\nsignificance can scarcely be fully comprehended until the history of\nthe doctrine is known.  For example, he thinks of the mind as somehow\nin the body, as interacting with it, as a substance, and as immaterial.\nIn the course of his reading it begins to dawn upon his consciousness\nthat he has not thought all this out for himself; he has taken these\nnotions from others, who in turn have had them from their predecessors.\nHe begins to realize that he is not resting upon evidence independently\nfound in his own experience, but has upon his hands a sheaf of opinions\nwhich are the echoes of old philosophies, and whose rise and\ndevelopment can be traced over the stretch of the centuries.  Can he\nhelp asking himself, when he sees this, whether the opinions in\nquestion express the truth and the whole truth?  Is he not forced to\ntake the critical attitude toward them?\n\nAnd when he views the succession of systems which pass in review before\nhim, noting how a truth may be dimly seen by one writer, denied by\nanother, taken up again and made clearer by a third, and so on, how can\nhe avoid the reflection that, as there was some error mixed with the\ntruth presented in earlier systems, so there probably is some error in\nwhatever may happen to be the form of doctrine generally received in\nhis own time?  The evolution of humanity is not yet at an end; men\nstill struggle to see clearly, and fall short of the ideal; it must be\na good thing to be freed from the dogmatic assumption of finality\nnatural to the man of limited outlook.  In studying the history of\nphilosophy sympathetically we are not merely calling to our aid critics\nwho possess the advantage of seeing things from a different point of\nview, but we are reminding ourselves that we, too, are human and\nfallible.\n\n86. PHILOSOPHY AS POETRY, AND PHILOSOPHY AS SCIENCE.--The recognition\nof the truth that the problems of reflection do not admit of easy\nsolution and that verification can scarcely be expected as it can in\nthe fields of the special sciences, need not, even when it is brought\nhome to us, as it is apt to be, by the study of the history of\nphilosophy, lead us to believe that philosophies are like the fashions,\na something gotten up to suit the taste of the day, and to be dismissed\nwithout regret as soon as that taste changes.\n\nPhilosophy is sometimes compared with poetry.  It is argued that each\nage must have its own poetry, even though it be inferior to that which\nit has inherited from the past.  Just so, it is said, each age must\nhave its own philosophy, and the philosophy of an earlier age will not\nsatisfy its demands.  The implication is that in dealing with\nphilosophy we are not concerned with what is true or untrue in itself\nconsidered, but with what is satisfying to us or the reverse.\n\nNow, it would sound absurd to say that each age must have its own\ngeometry or its own physics.  The fact that it has long been known that\nthe sum of the interior angles of a plane triangle is equal to two\nright angles, does not warrant me in repudiating that truth; nor am I\njustified in doing so, and in believing the opposite, merely because I\nfind the statement uninteresting or distasteful.  When we are dealing\nwith such matters as these, we recognize that truth is truth, and that,\nif we mistake it or refuse to recognize it, so much the worse for us.\n\nIs it otherwise in philosophy?  Is it a perfectly proper thing that, in\none age, men should be idealists, and in another, materialists; in one,\ntheists, and in another, agnostics?  Is the distinction between true\nand false nothing else than the distinction between what is in harmony\nwith the spirit of the times and what is not?\n\nThat it is natural that there should be such fluctuations of opinion,\nwe may freely admit.  Many things influence a man to embrace a given\ntype of doctrine, and, as we have seen, verification is a difficult\nproblem.  But have we here, any more than in other fields, the right to\nassume that a doctrine was true at a given time merely because it\n_seemed_ to men true at that time, or because they found it pleasing?\nThe history of science reveals that many things have long been believed\nto be true, and, indeed, to be bound up with what were regarded as the\nhighest interests of man, and that these same things have later been\ndiscovered to be false--not false merely for a later age, but false for\nall time; as false when they were believed in as when they were\nexploded and known to be exploded.  No man of sense believes that the\nPtolemaic system was true for a while, and that then the Copernican\nbecame true.  We say that the former only _seemed_ true, and that the\nenthusiasm of its adherents was a mistaken enthusiasm.\n\nIt is well to remember that philosophies are brought forward because it\nis believed or hoped that they are true.  A fairy tale may be recited\nand may be approved, although no one dreams of attaching faith to the\nevents narrated in it.  But a philosophy attempts to give us some\naccount of the nature of the world in which we live.  If the\nphilosopher frankly abandons the attempt to tell us what is true, and\nwith a Celtic generosity addresses himself to the task of saying what\nwill be agreeable to us, he loses his right to the title.  It is not\nenough that he stirs our emotions, and works up his unrealities into\nsomething resembling a poem.  It is not primarily his task to please,\nas it is not the task of the serious worker in science to please those\nwhom he is called upon to instruct.  Truth is truth, whether it be\nscientific truth or philosophical truth.  And error, no matter how\nagreeable or how nicely adjusted to the temper of the times, is always\nerror.  If it is error in a field in which the detection and exposure\nof error is difficult, it is the more dangerous, and the more should we\nbe on our guard against it.\n\nWe may, then, accept the lesson of the history of philosophy, to wit,\nthat we have no right to regard any given doctrine as final in such a\nsense that it need no longer be held tentatively and as subject to\npossible revision; but we need not, on that account, deny that\nphilosophy is, what it has in the past been believed to be, an earnest\nsearch for truth.  A philosophy that did not even profess to be this\nwould not be listened to at all.  It would be regarded as too trivial\nto merit serious attention.  If we take the word \"science\" in the broad\nsense to indicate a knowledge of the truth more exact and satisfactory\nthan that which obtains in common life, we may say that every\nphilosophy worthy of the name is, at least, an attempt at scientific\nknowledge.  Of course, this sense of the word \"science\" should not be\nconfused with that in which it has been used elsewhere in this volume.\n\n87. HOW TO READ THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY.--He who takes up the history\nof philosophy for the first time is apt to be impressed with the fact\nthat he is reading something that might not inaptly be called the\nhistory of human error.\n\nIt begins with crude and, to the superficial spectator, seemingly\nchildish attempts in the field of physical science.  There are clever\nguesses at the nature of the physical world, but the boldest of\nspeculations are entered upon with no apparent recognition of the\ndifficulty of the task undertaken, and with no realization of the need\nfor caution.  Somewhat later a different class of problems makes its\nappearance--the problems which have to do with the mind and with the\nnature of knowledge, reflective problems which scarcely seem to have\ncome fairly within the horizon of the earliest thinkers.\n\nThese problems even the beginner may be willing to recognize as\nphilosophical; but he may conscientiously harbor a doubt as to the\ndesirability of spending time upon the solutions which are offered.\nSystem rises after system, and confronts him with what appear to be new\nquestions and new answers.  It seems as though each philosopher were\nconstructing a world for himself independently, and commanding him to\naccept it, without first convincing him of his right to assume this\ntone of authority and to set up for an oracle.  In all this conflict of\nopinions where shall we seek for truth?  Why should we accept one man\nas a teacher rather than another?  Is not the lesson to be gathered\nfrom the whole procession of systems best summed up in the dictum of\nProtagoras: \"Man is the measure of all things\"--each has his own truth,\nand this need not be truth to another?\n\nThis, I say, is a first impression and a natural one.  I hasten to add:\nthis should not be the last impression of those who read with\nthoughtful attention.\n\nOne thing should be emphasized at the outset: nothing will so often\nbear rereading as the history of philosophy.  When we go over the\nground after we have obtained a first acquaintance with the teachings\nof the different philosophers, we begin to realize that what we have in\nour hands is, in a sense, a connected whole.  We see that if Plato and\nAristotle had not lived, we could not have had the philosophy which\npassed current in the Middle Ages and furnished a foundation for the\nteachings of the Church.  We realize that without this latter we could\nnot have had Descartes, and without Descartes we could not have had\nLocke and Berkeley and Hume.  And had not these lived, we should not\nhave had Kant and his successors.  Other philosophies we should\nundoubtedly have had, for the busy mind of man must produce something.\nBut whatever glimpses at the truth these men have vouchsafed us have\nbeen guaranteed by the order of development in which they have stood.\nThey could not independently have written the books that have come down\nto us.\n\nThis should be evident from what has been said earlier in this chapter\nand elsewhere in this book.  Let us bear in mind that a philosopher\ndraws his material from two sources.  First of all, he has the\nexperience of the mind and the world which is the common property of us\nall.  But it is, as we have seen, by no means easy to use this\nmaterial.  It is vastly difficult to reflect.  It is fatally easy to\nmisconceive what presents itself in our experience.  With the most\nearnest effort to describe what lies before us, we give a false\ndescription, and we mislead ourselves and others.\n\nIn the second place, the philosopher has the interpretations of\nexperience which he has inherited from his predecessors.  The influence\nof these is enormous.  Each age has, to a large extent, its problems\nalready formulated or half formulated for it.  Every man must have\nancestors, of some sort, if he is to appear upon this earthly stage at\nall; and a wholly independent philosopher is as impossible a creature\nas an ancestorless man.  We have seen how Descartes (section 60) tried\nto repudiate his debt to the past, and how little successful he was in\ndoing so.\n\nNow, we make a mistake if we overlook the genius of the individual\nthinker.  The history of speculative thought has many times taken a\nturn which can only be accounted for by taking into consideration the\ngenius for reflective thought possessed by some great mind.  In the\ncrucible of such an intellect, old truths take on a new aspect,\nfamiliar facts acquire a new and a richer meaning.  But we also make a\nmistake if we fail to see in the writings of such a man one of the\nstages which has been reached in the gradual evolution of human\nthought, if we fail to realize that each philosophy is to a great\nextent the product of the past.\n\nWhen one comes to understand these things, the history of philosophy no\nlonger presents itself as a mere agglomeration of arbitrary and\nindependent systems.  And an attentive reading gives us a further key\nto the interpretation of what seemed inexplicable.  We find that there\nmay be distinct and different streams of thought, which, for a while,\nrun parallel without commingling their waters.  For centuries the\nEpicurean followed his own tradition, and walked in the footsteps of\nhis own master.  The Stoic was of sterner stuff, and he chose to travel\nanother path.  To this day there are adherents of the old church\nphilosophy, Neo-Scholastics, whose ways of thinking can only be\nunderstood when we have some knowledge of Aristotle and of his\ninfluence upon men during the Middle Ages.  We ourselves may be\nKantians or Hegelians, and the man at our elbow may recognize as his\nspiritual father Comte or Spencer.\n\nIt does not follow that, because one system follows another in\nchronological order, it is its lineal descendant.  But some ancestor a\nsystem always has, and if we have the requisite learning and ingenuity,\nwe need not find it impossible to explain why this thinker or that was\ninfluenced to give his thought the peculiar turn that characterizes it.\nSometimes many influences have conspired to attain the result, and it\nis no small pleasure to address oneself to the task of disentangling\nthe threads which enter into the fabric.\n\nMoreover, as we read thus with discrimination, we begin to see that the\ngreat men of the past have not spoken without appearing to have\nsufficient reason for their utterances in the light of the times in\nwhich they lived.  We may make it a rule that, when they seem to be\nspeaking arbitrarily, to be laying before us reasonings that are not\nreasonings, dogmas for which no excuse seems to be offered, the fault\nlies in our lack of comprehension.  Until we can understand how a man,\nliving in a certain century, and breathing a certain moral and\nintellectual atmosphere, could have said what he did, we should assume\nthat we have read his words, but not his real thought.  For the latter\nthere is always a psychological, if not a logical, justification.\n\nAnd this brings me to the question of the language in which the\nphilosophers have expressed their thoughts.  The more attentively one\nreads the history of philosophy, the clearer it becomes that the number\nof problems with which the philosophers have occupied themselves is not\noverwhelmingly great.  If each philosophy which confronts us seems to\nus quite new and strange, it is because we have not arrived at the\nstage at which it is possible for us to recognize old friends with new\nfaces.  The same old problems, the problems which must ever present\nthemselves to reflective thought, recur again and again.  The form is\nmore or less changed, and the answers which are given to them are not,\nof course, always the same.  Each age expresses itself in a somewhat\ndifferent way.  But sometimes the solution proposed for a given problem\nis almost the same in substance, even when the two thinkers we are\ncontrasting belong to centuries which lie far apart.  In this case,\nonly our own inability to strip off the husk and reach the fruit itself\nprevents us from seeing that we have before us nothing really new.\n\nThus, if we read the history of philosophy with patience and with\ndiscrimination, it grows luminous.  We come to feel nearer to the men\nof the past.  We see that we may learn from their successes and from\ntheir failures; and if we are capable of drawing a moral at all, we\napply the lesson to ourselves.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nSOME PRACTICAL ADMONITIONS\n\n88. BE PREPARED TO ENTER UPON A NEW WAY OF LOOKING AT THINGS.--We have\nseen that reflective thought tries to analyze experience and to attain\nto a clear view of the elements that make it up--to realize vividly\nwhat is the very texture of the known world, and what is the nature of\nknowledge.  It is possible to live to old age, as many do, without even\na suspicion that there may be such a knowledge as this, and\nnevertheless to possess a large measure of rather vague but very\nserviceable information about both minds and bodies.\n\nIt is something of a shock to learn that a multitude of questions may\nbe asked touching the most familiar things in our experience, and that\nour comprehension of those things may be so vague that we grope in vain\nfor an answer.  Space, time, matter, minds, realities,--with these\nthings we have to do every day.  Can it be that we do not know what\nthey are?  Then we must be blind, indeed.  How shall we set about\nenlightening our ignorance?\n\nNot as we have enlightened our ignorance heretofore.  We have added\nfact to fact; but our task now is to gain a new light on all facts, to\nsee them from a different point of view; not so much to extend our\nknowledge as to deepen it.\n\nIt seems scarcely necessary to point out that our world, when looked at\nfor the first time in this new way, may seem to be a new and strange\nworld.  The real things of our experience may appear to melt away, to\nbe dissolved by reflection into mere shadows and unrealities.  Well do\nI remember the consternation with which, when almost a schoolboy, I\nfirst made my acquaintance with John Stuart Mill's doctrine that the\nthings about us are \"permanent possibilities of sensation.\"  To Mill,\nof course, chairs and tables were still chairs and tables, but to me\nthey became ghosts, inhabitants of a phantom world, to find oneself in\nwhich was a matter of the gravest concern.\n\nI suspect that this sense of the unreality of things comes often to\nthose who have entered upon the path of reflection, It may be a comfort\nto such to realize that it is rather a thing to be expected.  How can\none feel at home in a world which one has entered for the first time?\nOne cannot become a philosopher and remain exactly the man that one was\nbefore.  Men have tried to do it,--Thomas Reid is a notable instance\n(section 50); but the result is that one simply does not become a\nphilosopher.  It is not possible to gain a new and a deeper insight\ninto the nature of things, and yet to see things just as one saw them\nbefore one attained to this.\n\nIf, then, we are willing to study philosophy at all, we must be willing\nto embrace new views of the world, if there seem to be good reasons for\nso doing.  And if at first we suffer from a sense of bewilderment, we\nmust have patience, and must wait to see whether time and practice may\nnot do something toward removing our distress.  It may be that we have\nonly half understood what has been revealed to us.\n\n89. BE WILLING TO CONSIDER POSSIBILITIES WHICH AT FIRST STRIKE ONE AS\nABSURD.--It must be confessed that the philosophers have sometimes\nbrought forward doctrines which seem repellent to good sense, and\nlittle in harmony with the experience of the world which we have all\nour lives enjoyed.  Shall we on this account turn our backs upon them\nand refuse them an impartial hearing?\n\nThus, the idealist maintains that there is no existence save psychical\nexistence; that the material things about us are really mental things.\nOne of the forms taken by this doctrine is that alluded to above, that\nthings are permanent possibilities of sensation.\n\nI think it can hardly be denied that this sounds out of harmony with\nthe common opinion of mankind.  Men do not hesitate to distinguish\nbetween minds and material things, nor do they believe that material\nthings exist only in minds.  That dreams and hallucinations exist only\nin minds they are very willing to admit; but they will not admit that\nthis is true of such things as real chairs and tables.  And if we ask\nthem why they take such a position, they fall back upon what seems\ngiven in experience.\n\nNow, as the reader of the earlier chapters has seen, I think that the\nplain man is more nearly right in his opinion touching the existence of\na world of non-mental things than is the idealistic philosopher.  The\nlatter has seen a truth and misconceived it, thus losing some truth\nthat he had before he began to reflect.  The former has not seen the\ntruth which has impressed the idealist, and he has held on to that\nvague recognition that there are two orders of things given in our\nexperience, the physical and the mental, which seems to us so\nunmistakable a fact until we fall into the hands of the philosophers.\n\nBut all this does not prove that we have a right simply to fall back\nupon \"common sense,\" and refuse to listen to the idealist.  The\ndeliverances of unreflective common sense are vague in the extreme; and\nthough it may seem to assure us that there is a world of things\nnon-mental, its account of that world is confused and incoherent.  He\nwho must depend on common sense alone can find no answer to the\nidealists; he refuses to follow them, but he cannot refute them.  He is\nreduced to dogmatic denial.\n\nThis is in itself an uncomfortable position.  And when we add to this\nthe reflection that such a man loses the truth which the idealist\nemphasizes, the truth that the external world of which we speak must\nbe, if we are to know it at all, a world revealed to our senses, a\nworld given in our experience, we see that he who stops his ears\nremains in ignorance.  The fact is that the man who has never weighed\nthe evidence that impresses the idealist is not able to see clearly\nwhat is meant by that external world in which we all incline to put\nsuch faith.  We may say that he _feels_ a truth blindly, but does not\nsee it.\n\nLet us take another illustration.  If there is one thing that we feel\nto be as sure as the existence of the external world, it is that there\nare other minds more or less resembling our own.  The solipsist may try\nto persuade us that the evidence for such minds is untrustworthy.  We\nmay see no flaw in his argument, but he cannot convince us.  May we\nignore him, and refuse to consider the matter at all?\n\nSurely not, if we wish to substitute clear thinking for vague and\nindefinite opinion.  We should listen with attention, strive to\nunderstand all the reasonings laid before us, and then, if they seem to\nlead to conclusions really not in harmony with our experience, go\ncarefully over the ground and try to discover the flaw in them.  It is\nonly by doing something like this that we can come to see clearly what\nis meant when we speak of two or more minds and the relation between\nthem.  The solipsist can help us, and we should let him do it.\n\nWe should, therefore, be willing to consider seriously all sorts of\ndoctrines which may at first strike us as unreasonable.  I have chosen\ntwo which I believe to contain error.  But the man who approaches a\ndoctrine which impresses him as strange has no right to assume at the\noutset that it contains error.  We have seen again and again how easy\nit is to misapprehend what is given in experience.  The philosopher may\nbe in the right, and what he says may repel us because we have become\naccustomed to certain erroneous notions, and they have come to seem\nself-evident truths.\n\n90. DO NOT HAVE TOO MUCH RESPECT FOR AUTHORITY.--But if it is an error\nto refuse to listen to the philosopher, it is surely no less an error\nto accord him an authority above what he has a right to demand.  Bear\nin mind what was said in the last chapter about the difference between\nthe special sciences and philosophy.  There is in the latter field no\nbody of doctrine that we may justly regard as authoritative.  There are\n\"schools\" of philosophy, and their adherents fall into the very human\nerror of feeling very sure that they and those who agree with them are\nright; and the emphasis with which they speak is apt to mislead those\nwho are not well informed.  I shall say a few words about the dangers\nof the \"school.\"\n\nIf we look about us, we are impressed by the fact that there are\n\"schools\" of philosophy, somewhat as there are religious sects and\npolitical parties.  An impressive teacher sets the mark of his\npersonality and of his preferences upon those who come under his\ninfluence.  They are not at an age to be very critical, and, indeed,\nthey have not as yet the requisite learning to enable them to be\ncritical.  They keep the trend which has been given them early in life,\nand, when they become teachers, they pass on the type of thought with\nwhich they have been inoculated, and the circle widens.  \"Schools\" may\narise, of course, in a different way.  An epoch-making book may sweep\nmen off of their feet and make of them passionate adherents.  But he\nwho has watched the development of the American universities during the\nlast twenty-five years must be impressed with the enormous influence\nwhich certain teachers have had in giving a direction to the\nphilosophic thought of those who have come in contact with them.  We\nexpect the pupils of a given master to have a given shade of opinion,\nand very often we are not disappointed in our guess.\n\nIt is entirely natural that this should be so.  Those who betake\nthemselves to the study of philosophy are men like other men.  They\nhave the same feelings, and the bending of the twig has the same\nsignificance in their case that it has in that of others.  It is no\nsmall compliment to a teacher that he can thus spread his influence,\nand leave his proxies even when he passes away.\n\nBut, when we strive to \"put off humanity\" and to look at the whole\nmatter under the cold light of reason, we may well ask ourselves,\nwhether he who unconsciously accepts his philosophy, in whole or in\npart, because it has been the philosophy of his teacher, is not doing\nwhat is done by those persons whose politics and whose religion take\ntheir color from such accidental circumstances as birth in a given\nclass or family traditions?\n\nI am far from saying that it is, in general, a bad thing for the world\nthat men should be influenced in this way by one another.  I say only\nthat, when we look at the facts of the case, we must admit that even\nour teachers of philosophy do not always become representatives of the\npeculiar type of thought for which they stand, merely through a\ndeliberate choice from the wealth of material which the history of\nspeculative thought lays before them.  They are influenced by others to\ntake what they do take, and the traces of this influence are apt to\nremain with them through life.  He who wishes to be entirely impartial\nmust be on his guard against such influences as these, and must\ndistrust prejudices for or against certain doctrines, when he finds\nthat he imbibed them at an uncritical age and has remained under their\ninfluence ever since.  Some do appear to be able to emancipate\nthemselves, and to outgrow what they first learned.\n\nIt is, as I have said, natural that there should be a tendency to form\n\"schools\" in philosophy.  And there are certain things that make this\nsomewhat uncritical acceptance of a doctrine very attractive.\n\nIn the first place, if we are willing to take a system of any sort as a\nwhole, it saves us a vast amount of trouble.  We seem to have a\ncitadel, a point of vantage from which we can look out upon life and\ninterpret it.  If the house we live in is not in all respects ideal, at\nleast it is a house, and we are not homeless.  There is nothing more\nintolerable to most men than the having of no opinions.  They will\nchange one opinion for another, but they will rarely consent to do\nwithout altogether.  It is something to have an answer to offer to\nthose who persist in asking questions; and it is something to have some\nsort of ground under one's feet, even if it be not very solid ground.\n\nAgain.  Man is a social creature, and he is greatly fortified in his\nopinions by the consciousness that others share them with him.  If we\nbecome adherents of a \"school,\" we have the agreeable consciousness\nthat we are not walking alone through the maze of speculations that\nconfronts those who reflect.  There appears to be a traveled way in\nwhich we may have some confidence.  Are we not following the crowd, or,\nat least, a goodly number of the pilgrims who are seeking the same goal\nwith ourselves?  Under such circumstances we are not so often impelled\nto inquire anxiously whether we are after all upon the right road.  We\nassume that we have made no mistake.\n\nUnder such circumstances we are apt to forget that there are many such\nroads, and that these have been traveled in ages past by troops very\nmuch like our own, who also cherished the hope that they were upon the\none and only highway.  In other words, we are apt to forget the lesson\nof the history of philosophy.  This is a serious mistake.\n\nAnd what intensifies our danger, if we belong to a school which happens\nto be dominant and to have active representatives, is that we get very\nlittle real criticism.  The books that we write are usually criticised\nby those who view our positions sympathetically, and who are more\ninclined to praise than to blame.  He who looks back upon the past is\nstruck with the fact that books which have been lauded to the skies in\none age have often been subjected to searching criticism and to a good\ndeal of condemnation in the next.  Something very like this is to be\nexpected of books written in our own time.  It is, however, a pity that\nwe should have to wait so long for impartial criticism.\n\nThis leads me to say a word of the reviews which fill our philosophical\njournals, and which we must read, for it is impossible to read all the\nbooks that come out, and yet we wish to know something about them.\n\nTo the novice it is something of a surprise to find that books by men\nwhom he knows to be eminent for their ingenuity and their learning are\ncondemned in very offhand fashion by quite young men, who as yet have\nattained to little learning and to no eminence at all.  One sometimes\nis tempted to wonder that men admittedly remarkable should have\nfathered such poor productions as we are given to understand them to\nbe, and should have offered them to a public that has a right to be\nindignant.\n\nNow, there can be no doubt that, in philosophy, a cat has the right to\nlook at a king, and has also a right to point out his misdoings, if\nsuch there be.  But it seems just to indicate that, in this matter,\ncertain cautions should be observed.\n\nIf a great man has been guilty of an error in reasoning, there is no\nreason why it should not be pointed out by any one who is capable of\ndetecting it.  The authority of the critic is a matter of no moment\nwhere the evidence is given.  In such a case, we take a suggestion and\nwe do the criticising for ourselves.  But where the evidence is not\ngiven, where the justice of the criticism is not proved, the case is\ndifferent.  Here we must take into consideration the authority of the\ncritic, and, if we follow him at all, we must follow him blindly.  Is\nit safe to do this?\n\nIt is never safe in philosophy, or, at any rate, it is safe so seldom\nthat the exceptions are not worth taking into account.  Men write from\nthe standpoint of some school of opinion; and, until we know their\nprepossessions, their statements that this is good, that is bad, the\nthird thing is profound, are of no significance whatever.  We should\nsimply set them aside, and try to find out from our reviewer what is\ncontained in the book under criticism.\n\nOne of the evils arising out of the bias I am discussing is, that books\nand authors are praised or condemned indiscriminately because of their\npoint of view, and little discrimination is made between good books and\npoor books.  There is all the difference in the world between a work\nwhich can be condemned only on the ground that it is realistic or\nidealistic in its standpoint, and those feeble productions which are to\nbe condemned from every point of view.  If we consistently carry out\nthe principle that we may condemn all those who are not of our party,\nwe must give short shrift to a majority of the great men of the past.\n\nSo I say, beware of authority in philosophy, and, above all, beware of\nthat most insidious form of authority, the spirit of the \"school.\"  It\ncannot but narrow our sympathies and restrict our outlook.\n\n91. REMEMBER THAT ORDINARY RULES OF EVIDENCE APPLY.--What I am going to\nsay in this section is closely related to what has been said just\nabove.  To the disinterested observer it may seem rather amusing that\none should think it worth while to try to show that we have not the\nright to use a special set of weights and measures when we are dealing\nwith things philosophical.  There was a time when men held that a given\ndoctrine could be philosophically false, and, at the same time,\ntheologically true; but surely the day of such twists and turnings is\npast!\n\nI am by no means sure that it is past.  With the lapse of time, old\ndoctrines take on new aspects, and come to be couched in a language\nthat suits the temper of the later age.  Sometimes the doctrine is\nveiled and rendered less startling, but remains essentially what it was\nbefore, and may be criticised in much the same way.\n\nI suppose we may say that every one who is animated by the party spirit\ndiscussed above, and who holds to a group of philosophical tenets with\na warmth of conviction out of proportion to the authority of the actual\nevidence which may be claimed for them, is tacitly assuming that the\ntruth or falsity of philosophical dogmas is not wholly a matter of\nevidence, but that the desires of the philosopher may also be taken\ninto account.\n\nThis position is often taken unconsciously.  Thus, when, instead of\nproving to others that a given doctrine is false, we try to show them\nthat it is a dangerous doctrine, and leads to unpalatable consequences,\nwe assume that what seems distasteful cannot be true, and we count on\nthe fact that men incline to believe what they like to believe.\n\nMay we give this position the dignity of a philosophical doctrine and\nhold that, in the somewhat nebulous realm inhabited by the philosopher,\nmen are not bound by the same rules of evidence that obtain elsewhere?\nThat this is actually done, those who read much in the field of modern\nphilosophy are well aware.  Several excellent writers have maintained\nthat we need not, even if there seems to be evidence for them, accept\nviews of the universe which do not satisfy \"our whole nature.\"\n\nWe should not confuse with this position the very different one which\nmaintains that we have a right to hold tentatively, and with a\nwillingness to abandon them should evidence against them be\nforthcoming, views which we are not able completely to establish, but\nwhich seem reasonable.  One may do this with perfect sincerity, and\nwithout holding that philosophical truth is in any way different from\nscientific truth.  But the other position goes beyond this; it assumes\nthat man must be satisfied, and that only that can be true which\nsatisfies him.\n\nI ask, is it not significant that such an assumption should be made\nonly in the realm of the unverifiable?  No man dreams of maintaining\nthat the rise and fall of stocks will be such as to satisfy the whole\nnature even of the elect, or that the future history of man on this\nplanet is a thing to be determined by some philosopher who decides for\nus what would or would not be desirable.\n\nSurely all truths of election--those truths that we simply choose to\nhave true--are something much less august than that Truth of Evidence\nwhich sometimes seems little to fall in with our desires, and in the\nface of which we are humble listeners, not dictators.  Before the\nlatter we are modest; we obey, lest we be confounded.  And if, in the\nphilosophic realm, we believe that we may order Truth about, and make\nher our slave, is it not because we have a secret consciousness that we\nare not dealing with Truth at all, but with Opinion, and with Opinion\nthat has grown insolent because she cannot be drawn from her obscurity\nand be shown to be what she is?\n\nSometimes it is suddenly revealed to a man that he has been accepting\ntwo orders of truth.  I once walked and talked with a good scholar who\ndiscoursed of high themes and defended warmly certain theses.  I said\nto him: If you could go into the house opposite, and discover\nunmistakably whether you are in the right or in the wrong,--discover it\nas unmistakably as you can discover whether there is or is not\nfurniture in the drawing-room,--would you go?  He thought over the\nmatter for a while, and then answered frankly; No! I should not go; I\nshould stay out here and argue it out.\n\n92. AIM AT CLEARNESS AND SIMPLICITY.--There is no department of\ninvestigation in which it is not desirable to cultivate clearness and\nsimplicity in thinking, speaking, and writing.  But there are certain\nreasons why we should be especially on our guard in philosophy against\nthe danger of employing a tongue \"not understanded of the people.\"\nThere are dangerous pitfalls concealed under the use of technical words\nand phrases.\n\nThe value of technical expressions in the special sciences must be\nconceded.  They are supposed to be more exact and less ambiguous than\nterms in ordinary use, and they mark an advance in our knowledge of the\nsubject.  The distinctions which they indicate have been carefully\ndrawn, and appear to be of such authority that they should be generally\naccepted.  Sometimes, as, for example, in mathematics, a conventional\nset of symbols may quite usurp the function of ordinary language, and\nmay enormously curtail the labor of setting forth the processes and\nresults of investigation.\n\nBut we must never forget that we have not in philosophy an\nauthoritative body of truth which we have the right to impose upon all\nwho enter that field.  A multitude of distinctions have been made and\nare made; but the representatives of different schools of thought are\nnot at one touching the value and significance of these distinctions.\nIf we coin a word or a phrase to mark such, there is some danger that\nwe fall into the habit of using such words or phrases, as we use the\ncoins in our purse, without closely examining them, and with the ready\nassumption that they must pass current everywhere.\n\nThus, there is always a possibility that our technical expressions may\nbe nothing less than crystallized error.  Against this we should surely\nbe on our guard.\n\nAgain.  When we translate the language of common life into the dialect\nof the learned, there is danger that we may fall into the error of\nsupposing that we are adding to our knowledge, even though we are doing\nnothing save to exchange one set of words for another.  Thus, we all\nknow very well that one mind can communicate with another.  One does\nnot have to be a scholar to be aware of this.  If we choose to call\nthis \"intersubjective intercourse,\" we have given the thing a sounding\nname; but we know no more about it than we did before.  The problem of\nthe relation between minds, and the way in which they are to be\nconceived as influencing each other, remains just what it was.  So,\nalso, we recognize the everyday fact that we know both ourselves and\nwhat is not ourselves.  Shall we call this knowledge of something not\nourselves \"self-transcendence\"?  We may do so if we wish, but we ought\nto realize that this bestowal of a title makes no whit clearer what is\nmeant by knowledge.\n\nUnhappily, men too often believe that, when they have come into the\npossession of a new word or phrase, they have gained a new thought.\nThe danger is great in proportion to the breadth of the gulf which\nseparates the new dialect from the old language of common life in which\nwe are accustomed to estimate things.  Many a philosopher would be\nbereft, indeed, were he robbed of his vocabulary and compelled to\nexpress his thoughts in ordinary speech.  The theories which are\nimplicit in certain recurring expressions would be forced to come out\ninto the open, and stand criticism without disguise.\n\nBut can one write philosophical books without using words which are not\nin common use among the unphilosophic?  I doubt it.  Some such words it\nseems impossible to avoid.  However, it does seem possible to bear in\nmind the dangers of a special philosophical terminology and to reduce\nsuch words to a minimum.\n\nFinally, we may appeal to the humanity of the philosopher.  The path to\nreflection is a sufficiently difficult one as it is; why should he roll\nrocks upon it and compel those who come after him to climb over them?\nIf truths are no truer for being expressed in a repellent form, why\nshould he trick them out in a fantastic garb?  What we want is the\nnaked truth, and we lose time and patience in freeing our mummy from\nthe wrappings in which learned men have seen fit to encase it.\n\n93. DO NOT HASTILY ACCEPT A DOCTRINE.--This brings me to the last of\nthe maxims which I urge upon the attention of the reader.  All that has\nbeen said so far may be regarded as leading up to it.\n\nThe difficulty that confronts us is this: On the one hand, we must\nrecognize the uncertainty that reigns in this field of investigation.\nWe must ever weigh probabilities and possibilities; we do not find\nourselves in the presence of indubitable truths which all competent\npersons stand ready to admit.  This seems to argue that we should learn\nto suspend judgment, and should be most wary in our acceptance of one\nphilosophical doctrine and our rejection of another.\n\nOn the other hand, philosophy is not a mere matter of intellectual\ncuriosity.  It has an intimate connection with life.  As a man thinks,\nso is he, to a great extent, at least.  How, then, can one afford to\nremain critical and negative?  To counsel this seems equivalent to\nadvising that one abandon the helm and consent to float at the mercy of\nwind and tide.\n\nThe difficulty is a very real one.  It presents itself insistently to\nthose who have attained to that degree of intellectual development at\nwhich one begins to ask oneself questions and to reflect upon the worth\nand meaning of life.  An unreflective adherence to tradition no longer\nsatisfies such persons.  They wish to know why they should believe in\nthis or that doctrine, and why they should rule their lives in harmony\nwith this or that maxim.  Shall we advise them to lay hold without\ndelay of a set of philosophical tenets, as we might advise a disabled\nman to aid himself with any staff that happens to come to hand?  Or\nshall we urge them to close their eyes to the light, and to go back\nagain to the old unreflective life?\n\nNeither of these counsels seems satisfactory, for both assume tacitly\nthat it does not much matter what the _truth_ is, and that we can\nafford to disregard it.\n\nPerhaps we may take a suggestion from that prudent man and acute\nphilosopher, Descartes.  Discontented with the teachings of the schools\nas they had been presented to him, he resolved to set out upon an\nindependent voyage of discovery, and to look for a philosophy of his\nown.  It seemed necessary to him to doubt, provisionally at least, all\nthat he had received from the past.  But in what house should he live\nwhile he was reconstructing his old habitation?  Without principles of\nsome sort he could not live, and without reasonable principles he could\nnot live well.  So he framed a set of provisional rules, which should\nguide his life until he had new ground beneath his feet.\n\nWhen we examine these rules, we find that, on the whole, they are such\nas the experience of mankind has found prudent and serviceable.  In\nother words, we discover that Descartes, until he was in a position to\nsee clearly for himself, was willing to be led by others.  He was a\nunit in the social order, and he recognized that truth.\n\nIt does not seem out of place to recall this fact to the consciousness\nof those who are entering upon the reflective life.  Those who are\nrather new to reflection upon philosophical matters are apt to seize\nsingle truths, which are too often half-truths, and to deduce their\nconsequences remorselessly.  They do not always realize the extreme\ncomplexity of society, or see the full meaning of the relations in\nwhich they stand to the state and to the church.  Breadth of view can\nonly come with an increase of knowledge and with the exercise of\nreflection.\n\nFor this reason I advise patience, and a willingness to accept the\nestablished order of things until one is very sure that one has\nattained to some truth--some real truth, not a mere truth of\nelection--which may serve as the basis of a reconstruction.  The first\nglimpses of truth cannot be depended upon to furnish such a foundation.\n\nThus, we may suspend judgment, and, nevertheless, be ready to act.  But\nis not this a mere compromise?  Certainly.  All life is a compromise;\nand in the present instance it means only that we should keep our eyes\nopen to the light, whatever its source, and yet should nourish that\nwholesome self-distrust that prevents a man from being an erratic and\nrevolutionary creature, unmindful of his own limitations.  Prudent men\nin all walks in life make this compromise, and the world is the better\nfor it.\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\nCHAPTER I, sections 1-5.  If the student will take a good history of\nphilosophy, and look over the accounts of the different systems\nreferred to, he will see the justice of the position taken in the text,\nnamely, that philosophy was formerly synonymous with universal\nknowledge.  It is not necessary, of course, to read the whole history\nof philosophy to attain this end.  One may take such a text-book as\nUeberweg's \"History of Philosophy,\" and run over the summaries\ncontained in the large print.  To see how the conception of what\nconstitutes universal knowledge changed in successive ages, compare\nThales, the Sophists, Aristotle, the Schoolmen, Bacon, and Descartes.\nFor the ancient philosophy one may consult Windelband's \"History of the\nAncient Philosophy,\" a clear and entertaining little work (English\ntranslation, N.Y., 1899).\n\nIn Professor Paulsen's \"Introduction to Philosophy\" (English\ntranslation, N.Y., 1895), there is an interesting introductory chapter\non \"The Nature and Import of Philosophy\" (pp. 1-41).  The author pleads\nfor the old notion of philosophy as universal knowledge, though he does\nnot, of course, mean that the philosopher must be familiar with all the\ndetails of all the sciences.\n\nSection 6.  In justification of the meaning given to the word\n\"philosophy\" in this section, I ask the reader to look over the list of\ncourses in philosophy advertised in the catalogues of our leading\nuniversities at home and abroad.  There is a certain consensus of\nopinion as to what properly comes under the title, even among those who\ndiffer widely as to what is the proper definition of philosophy.\n\n\nCHAPTER II, sections 7-10.  Read the chapter on \"The Mind and the World\nin Common Thought and in Science\" (Chapter I) in my \"System of\nMetaphysics,\" N.Y., 1904.\n\nOne can be brought to a vivid realization of the fact that the sciences\nproceed upon a basis of assumptions which they do not attempt to\nanalyze and justify, if one will take some elementary work on\narithmetic or geometry or psychology and examine the first few\nchapters, bearing in mind what philosophical problems may be drawn from\nthe materials there treated.  Section 11.  The task of reflective\nthought and its difficulties are treated in the chapter entitled \"How\nThings are Given in Consciousness\" (Chapter III), in my \"System of\nMetaphysics.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER III, sections 12-13.  Read \"The Inadequacy of the Psychological\nStandpoint,\" \"System of Metaphysics,\" Chapter II.  I call especial\nattention to the illustration of \"the man in the cell\" (pp. 18 ff.).\nIt would be a good thing to read these pages with the class, and to\nimpress upon the students the fact that those who have doubted or\ndenied the existence of the external material world have, if they have\nfallen into error, fallen into a very natural error, and are not\nwithout some excuse.\n\nSection 14.  See \"The Metaphysics of the Telephone Exchange,\" \"System\nof Metaphysics,\" Chapter XXII, where Professor Pearson's doctrine is\nexamined at length, with quotations and references.\n\nIt is interesting to notice that a doubt of the external world has\nalways rested upon some sort of a \"telephone exchange\" argument;\nnaturally, it could not pass by that name before the invention of the\ntelephone, but the reasoning is the same.  It puts the world at one\nremove, shutting the mind up to the circle of its ideas; and then it\ndoubts or denies the world, or, at least, holds that its existence must\nbe proved in some roundabout way.  Compare Descartes, \"Of the Existence\nof Material Things,\" \"Meditations,\" VI.\n\n\nCHAPTER IV, sections 15-18.  See Chapters VI and VII, \"What we mean by\nthe External World,\" and \"Sensations and 'Things,'\" in my \"System of\nMetaphysics.\"  In that work the discussion of the distinction between\nthe objective order of experience and the subjective order is completed\nin Chapter XXIII, \"The Distinction between the World and the Mind.\"\nThis was done that the subjective order might be treated in the part of\nthe book which discusses the mind and its relation to matter.\n\nAs it is possible that the reader may be puzzled by differences of\nexpression which obtain in the two books, a word of explanation is not\nout of place.\n\nIn the \"Metaphysics,\" for example, it is said that sensations so\nconnect themselves together as to form what we call the system of\nmaterial things (p. 105).  It is intimated in a footnote that this is a\nprovisional statement and the reader is referred to later chapters.\nNow, in the present book (sections 16-17), it is taught that we may not\ncall material things groups of sensations.\n\nThe apparent contradiction is due to the fact that, in this volume, the\nfull meaning of the word \"sensation\" is exhibited at the outset, and\nsensations, as phenomena of the subjective order, are distinguished\nfrom the phenomena of the objective order which constitute the external\nworld.  In the earlier work the word \"sensation\" was for a while used\nloosely to cover all our experiences that do not belong to the class\ncalled imaginary, and the distinction between the subjective and\nobjective in this realm was drawn later (Chapter XXIII).\n\nI think the present arrangement is the better one, as it avoids from\nthe outset the suggestion that the real world is something\nsubjective--our sensations or ideas--and thus escapes the idealistic\nflavor which almost inevitably attaches to the other treatment, until\nthe discussion is completed, at least.\n\n\nCHAPTER V, sections 10-21.  See Chapters VIII and IX, \"System of\nMetaphysics,\" \"The Distinction between Appearance and Reality\" and \"The\nSignificance of the Distinction.\"\n\nSection 22.  See Chapter XXVI, \"The World as Unperceived, and the\n'Unknowable,'\" where Spencer's doctrine is examined at length, and\nreferences are given.  I think it is very important that the student\nshould realize that the \"Unknowable\" is a perfectly useless assumption\nin philosophy, and can serve no purpose whatever.\n\n\nCHAPTER VI, sections 23-25.  See Chapters X and XI, \"System of\nMetaphysics,\" \"The Kantian Doctrine of Space\" and \"Difficulties\nconnected with the Kantian Doctrine of Space.\"\n\nIt would be an excellent thing for the student, after he has read the\nabove chapters, to take up Kant's \"Critique of Pure Reason,\" and read\nand analyze the argument of Antinomies I and II, with the Observations\nappended.  One can understand these arguments without being familiar\nwith the \"Critique\" as a whole; at any rate, the account of Kant's\nphilosophy contained in section 51 of this book will serve to explain\nhis use of certain terms, such as \"the laws of our sensibility.\"\n\nKant's reasonings are very curious and interesting in this part of his\nbook.  It seems to be proved that the world must be endless in space\nand without a beginning or end in time, and just as plausibly proved\nthat it cannot be either.  It seems to be proved that finite spaces and\ntimes are infinitely divisible, and at the same time that they cannot\nbe infinitely divisible.  The situation is an amusing one, and rendered\nnot the less amusing by the seriousness with which the mutually\ndestructive arguments are taken.\n\nWhen the student meets such a tangle in the writings of any\nphilosopher, I ask him to believe that it is not the human reason that\nis at fault--at least, let him not assume that it is.  The fault\nprobably lies with a human reason.\n\nSection 26.  See Chapter XII, \"The Berkeleian Doctrine of Space,\" in my\n\"System of Metaphysics.\"  The argument ought not to be difficult to one\nwho has mastered Chapter V of this volume.\n\n\nCHAPTER VII, sections 27-29.  Compare Chapter XIII, \"System of\nMetaphysics,\" \"Of Time.\"\n\nWith the chapters on Space and Time it would be well for the student to\nread Chapter XIV, \"The Real World in Space and Time,\" where it is made\nclear why we have no hesitation in declaring space and time to be\ninfinite, although we recognize that it seems to be an assumption of\nknowledge to declare the material world infinite.\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII, sections 30-32.  Read, in the \"System of Metaphysics,\"\nChapters V and XVII, \"The Self or Knower\" and \"The Atomic Self.\"\n\nSection 33.  The suggestions, touching the attitude of the psychologist\ntoward the mind, contained in the preface to Professor William James's\n\"Psychology\" are very interesting and instructive.\n\n\nCHAPTER IX, sections 35-36.  For a strong argument in favor of\ninteractionism see James's \"Psychology,\" Chapter V.  I wish the student\nwould, in reading it, bear in mind what is said in my chapter on \"The\nAtomic Self,\" above referred to.  The subject should be approached with\nan open mind, and one should suspend judgment until both sides have\nbeen heard from.\n\nSection 37.  Descartes held that the lower animals are automata and\nthat their actions are not indicative of consciousness; he regarded\ntheir bodies as machines lacking the soul in the \"little pineal gland.\"\nProfessor Huxley revived the doctrine of animal automatism and extended\nit so as to include man.  He regarded consciousness as a \"collateral\nproduct\" of the working of the body, related to it somewhat as is the\nsteam-whistle of a locomotive engine to the working of the machine.  He\nmade it an effect, but not a cause, of motions.  See \"System of\nMetaphysics,\" Chapter XVIII, \"The Automaton Theory: its Genesis.\"\n\nWe owe the doctrine of parallelism, in its original form, to Spinoza.\nIt was elaborated by W. K. Clifford, and to him the modern interest in\nthe subject is largely due.  The whole subject is discussed at length\nin my \"System of Metaphysics,\" Chapters XIX-XXI.  The titles are: \"The\nAutomaton Theory: Parallelism,\" \"What is Parallelism?\" and \"The Man and\nthe Candlestick.\"  Clifford's doctrine is presented in a new form in\nProfessor Strong's recent brilliant work, \"Why the Mind has a Body\"\nN.Y., 1903.\n\nSection 38.  See \"System of Metaphysics,\" Chapter XXIV, \"The Time and\nPlace of Sensations and Ideas.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER X, sections 40-42.  See \"System of Metaphysics,\" Chapters XXVII\nand XXVIII, \"The Existence of Other Minds,\" and \"The Distribution of\nMinds.\"\n\nWriters seem to be divided into three camps on this question of other\nminds.\n\n(1) I have treated our knowledge of other minds as due to an inference.\nThis is the position usually taken.\n\n(2) We have seen that Huxley and Clifford cast doubts upon the validity\nof the inference, but, nevertheless, made it.  Professor Strong, in the\nwork mentioned in the notes to the previous chapter, maintains that it\nis not an inference, and that we do not directly perceive other minds,\nbut that we are assured of their existence just the same.  He makes our\nknowledge an \"intuition\" in the old-fashioned sense of the word, a\nsomething to be accepted but not to be accounted for.\n\n(3) Writers who have been influenced more or less by the Neo-Kantian or\nNeo-Hegelian doctrine are apt to speak as though we had the same direct\nevidence of the existence of other minds that we have of the existence\nof our own.  I have never seen a systematic and detailed exposition of\nthis doctrine.  It appears rather in the form of hints dropped in\npassing.  A number of such are to be found in Taylor's \"Elements of\nMetaphysics.\"\n\nSection 43. The \"Mind-stuff\" doctrine is examined at length and its\norigin discussed in Chapter XXXI of the \"System of Metaphysics,\"\n\"Mental Phenomena and the Causal Nexus.\"  It is well worth while for\nthe student to read the whole of Clifford's essay \"On the Nature of\nThings-in-themselves,\" even if he is pressed for time.\n\n\nCHAPTER XI, section 44.  See \"System of Metaphysics,\" Chapter XV, \"The\nWorld as Mechanism.\"\n\nSection 45.  See Chapter XXXI, \"The Place of Mind in Nature.\"\n\nSection 46.  For a definition of Fatalism, and a description of its\ndifference from the scientific doctrine of Determinism, see Chapter\nXXXIII, \"Fatalism, 'Freewill' and Determinism.\"  For a vigorous defense\nof \"Freewill\" (which is not, in my opinion, free will at all, in the\ncommon acceptation of the word) see Professor James's Essay on \"The\nDilemma of the Determinist,\" in his volume, \"The Will to Believe.\"\n\nFatalism and Determinism are constantly confused, and much of the\nopposition to Determinism is attributable to this confusion.\n\nSection 47.  See Chapter XXXII, \"Mechanism and Teleology.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER XII, section 48.  The notes to Chapter III (see above) are in\npoint here.  It is well worth the student's while to read the whole of\nChapter XI, Book IV, of Locke's \"Essay.\"  It is entitled \"Of our\nKnowledge of the Existence of Other Things.\"  Notice the headings of\nsome of his sections:--\n\nSection 1.  \"It is to be had only by sensation.\"\n\nSection 2.  \"Instance whiteness of this paper.\"\n\nSection 3.  \"This, though not so certain as demonstration, yet may be\ncalled 'Knowledge,' and proves the existence of things without us.\"\n\nLocke's argument proceeds, as we have seen, on the assumption that we\nperceive external things directly,--an assumption into which he slips\nunawares,--and yet he cannot allow that we really do perceive directly\nwhat is external.  This makes him uncomfortably conscious that he has\nnot absolute proof, after all.  The section that closes the discussion\nis entitled: \"Folly to expect demonstration in everything.\"\n\nSection 49.  I wish that I could believe that every one of my readers\nwould sometime give himself the pleasure of reading through Berkeley's\n\"Principles of Human Knowledge\" and his \"Three Dialogues between Hylas\nand Philonous.\"  Clearness of thought, beauty of style, and elevation\nof sentiment characterize them throughout.\n\nThe \"Principles\" is a systematic treatise.  If one has not time to read\nit all, one can get a good idea of the doctrine by running through the\nfirst forty-one sections.  For brief readings in class, to illustrate\nBerkeley's reasoning, one may take sections 1-3, 14, 18-20, and 38.\n\nThe \"Dialogues\" is a more popular work.  As the etymology of the names\nin the title suggests, we have in it a dispute between a man who pins\nhis faith to matter and an idealist.  The aim of the book is to confute\nskeptics and atheists from the standpoint of idealism.\n\nFor Hume's treatment of the external world, see his \"Treatise of Human\nNature,\" Part IV, section 2.  For his treatment of the mind, see Part\nIV, section 6.\n\nSection 50.  Reid repeats himself a great deal, for he gives us\nasseveration rather than proof.  One can get the gist of his argument\nby reading carefully a few of his sections.  It would be a good\nexercise to read in class, if time permitted, the two sections of his\n\"Inquiry\" entitled \"Of Extension\" (Chapter V, section 5), and \"Of\nPerception in General\" (Chapter VI, section 20).\n\nSection 51.  For an account of the critical Philosophy, see\nFalckenberg's \"History of Modern Philosophy\" (English translation,\nN.Y., 1893).  Compare with this the accounts in the histories of\nphilosophy by Ueberweg and Hoeffding (English translation of the latter,\nLondon, 1900).  Full bibliographies are to be found especially in\nUeberweg.\n\nIt is well to look at the philosophy of Kant through more than one pair\nof eyes.  Thus, if one reads Morris's \"Kant's Critique of Pure Reason\"\n(Chicago, 1882), one should read also Sidgwick's \"Lectures on the\nPhilosophy of Kant\" (N.Y., 1905).\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII, section 52.  It is difficult to see how Hamilton could\nregard himself as a \"natural\" realist (the word is employed by him).\nSee his \"Lectures on Metaphysics,\" VIII, where he develops his\ndoctrine.  He seems to teach, in spite of himself, that we can know\ndirectly only the impressions that things make on us, and must infer\nall else: \"Our whole knowledge of mind and matter is, thus, only\nrelative; of existence, absolutely and in itself, we know nothing.\"\n\nWhom may we regard as representing the three kinds of \"hypothetical\nrealism\" described in the text?  Perhaps we may put the plain man, who\nhas not begun to reflect, in the first class.  John Locke is a good\nrepresentative of the second; see the \"Essay concerning Human\nUnderstanding,\" Book II, Chapter VIII.  Herbert Spencer belonged to the\nthird while he wrote Chapter V of his \"First Principles of Philosophy.\"\n\nSection 53.  I have said enough of the Berkeleian idealism in the notes\non Chapter XII.  As a good illustration of objective idealism in one of\nits forms I may take the doctrine of Professor Royce; see his address,\n\"The Conception of God\" (N.Y., 1902).\n\nMr. Bradley's doctrine is criticised in Chapter XXXIV (entitled \"Of\nGod\"), \"System of Metaphysics.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV, section 55.  See \"System of Metaphysics,\" Chapter XVI,\n\"The Insufficiency of Materialism.\"\n\nSection 56.  Professor Strong's volume, \"Why the Mind has a Body\"\n(N.Y., 1903), advocates a panpsychism much like that of Clifford.  It\nis very clearly written, and with Clifford's essay on \"The Nature of\nThings-in-themselves,\" ought to give one a good idea of the\nconsiderations that impel some able men to become panpsychists.\n\nSection 57.  The pantheistic monism of Spinoza is of such importance\nhistorically that it is desirable to obtain a clear notion of its\nmeaning.  I have discussed this at length in two earlier works: \"The\nPhilosophy of Spinoza\" (N.Y., 1894) and \"On Spinozistic Immortality.\"\nThe student is referred to the account of Spinoza's \"God or Substance\"\ncontained in these.  See, especially, the \"Introductory Note\" in the\nback of the first-mentioned volume.\n\nProfessor Royce is a good illustration of the idealistic monist; see\nthe volume referred to in the note above (section 53).  His \"Absolute,\"\nor God, is conceived to be an all-inclusive mind of which our finite\nminds are parts.\n\nSection 58.  Sir William Hamilton's dualism is developed in his\n\"Lectures on Metaphysics,\" VIII.  He writes: \"Mind and matter, as known\nor knowable, are only two different series of phenomena or qualities;\nas unknown and unknowable, they are the two substances in which these\ntwo different series of phenomena or qualities are supposed to inhere.\nThe existence of an unknown substance is only an inference we are\ncompelled to make, from the existence of known phenomena; and the\ndistinction of two substances is only inferred from the seeming\nincompatibility of the two series of phenomena to coinhere in one.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER XV, section 60.  The reader will find Descartes's path traced\nin the \"Meditations.\"  In I, we have his sweeping doubt; in II, his\ndoctrine as to the mind; in III, the existence of God is established;\nin VI, he gets around to the existence of the external world.  We find\na good deal of the \"natural light\" in the first part of his \"Principles\nof Philosophy.\"\n\nSection 61.  We have an excellent illustration of Locke's inconsistency\nin violating his own principles and going beyond experience, in his\ntreatment of \"Substance.\"  Read, in his \"Essay,\" Book I, Chapter IV,\nsection 18, and Book II, Chapter XXIII, section 4.  These sections are\nnot long, and might well be read and analyzed in class.\n\nSection 62.  See the note to section 51.\n\nSection 64.  I write this note (in 1908) to give the reader some idea\nof later developments of the doctrine called pragmatism.  There has\nbeen a vast amount printed upon the subject in the last two or three\nyears, but I am not able to say even yet that we have to do with \"a\nclear-cut doctrine, the limits and consequences of which have been\nworked out in detail.\"  Hence, I prefer to leave section 64 as I first\nwrote it, merely supplementing it here.\n\nWe may fairly consider the three leaders of the pragmatic movement to\nbe Professor William James, Dr. F. C. S. Schiller, and Professor John\nDewey.  The first has developed his doctrine at length in his volume\nentitled \"Pragmatism\" (London, 1907); the second, who calls his\ndoctrine \"Humanism,\" but declares himself a pragmatist, and in\nessential agreement with Professor James, has published two volumes of\nphilosophical essays entitled \"Humanism\" (London, 1903) and \"Studies in\nHumanism\" (London, 1907); the third has developed his position in the\nfirst four chapters of the \"Studies in Logical Theory\" (Chicago, 1903).\n\nProfessor James, in his \"Pragmatism\" (Lecture II), says that\npragmatism, at the outset, at least, stands for no particular results.\nIt has no dogmas, and no doctrines save its method.  This method means:\n\n\"The attitude of looking away from first things, principles,\n'categories,' supposed necessities; and of looking towards last things,\nfruits, consequences, facts.\"  He remarks further, however, that\npragmatism has come to be used also in a wider sense, as signifying a\ncertain theory of truth (pp. 54-55).  This theory is brought forward in\nLecture VI.\n\nThe theory maintains that: \"True ideas are those that we can\nassimilate, validate, corroborate, and verify.  False ideas are those\nthat we can not\" (p. 201).  This sounds as though Professor James\nabandoned his doctrine touching the Turk and the Christian mentioned in\nsection 64.\n\nBut what do the words \"verification\" and \"validation\" pragmatically\nmean?  We are told that they signify certain practical consequences of\nthe verified and validated idea.  Our ideas may be said to \"agree\" with\nreality when they lead us, through acts and other ideas which they\ninstigate, up to or towards other parts of experience with which we\nfeel that the original ideas remain in agreement.  \"The connections and\ntransitions come to us from point to point as being progressive,\nharmonious, satisfactory.  This function of agreeable leading is what\nwe mean by an idea's verification\" (p. 202).\n\nThus, we do not seem to be concerned with verification in the sense in\nwhich the word has usually been employed heretofore.  The tendency to\ntake as true what is useful or serviceable has not been abandoned.\nThat Professor James does not really leave his Turk in the lurch\nbecomes clear to any one who will read his book attentively and note\nhis reasons for taking the various pragmatic attitudes which he does\ntake.  See, for example, his pragmatic argument for \"free-will.\"  The\ndoctrine is simply assumed as a doctrine of \"relief\" (pp. 110-121).\n\nBriefly stated, Dr. Schiller's doctrine is that truths are man-made,\nand that it is right for man to consult his desires in making them.  It\nis in substantial harmony with the pragmatism of Professor James, and I\nshall not dwell upon it.  Dr. Schiller's essays are very entertainingly\nwritten.\n\nProfessor Dewey's pragmatism seems to me sufficiently different from\nthe above to merit another title.  In the \"Journal of Philosophy,\nPsychology, and Scientific Methods,\" Volume IV, No. 4, Professor Dewey\nbrings out the distinction between his own position and that of\nProfessor James.\n\nTo the periodical literature on pragmatism I cannot refer in detail.\nProfessor James defends his position against misconceptions in the\n\"Philosophical Review,\" Volume XVII, No. 1.  See, on the other side,\nProfessor Perry, in the \"Journal of Philosophy, Psychology, and\nScientific Methods,\" Volume IV, pp. 365 and 421; Professor Hibben,\n\"Philosophical Review,\" XVII, 4; and Dr. Carus, \"The Monist,\" July,\n1908.\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI, sections 65-68.  To see how the logicians have regarded\ntheir science and its relation to philosophy, see; Keynes's \"Formal\nLogic\" (London, 1894), Introduction; Hobhouse's \"Theory of Knowledge\"\n(London, 1896), Introduction; Aikins's \"The Principles of Logic\" (N.Y.,\n1902), Introduction; and Creighton's \"Introductory Logic\" (N.Y., 1898),\nPreface.\n\nProfessor Aikins writes: \"Thus, in so far as logic tries to make us\nreason correctly by giving us correct conceptions of things and the way\nin which their relations involve each other, it is a kind of simple\nmetaphysics studied for a practical end.\"\n\nProfessor Creighton says, \"Although in treating the syllogistic logic I\nhave followed to a large extent the ordinary mode of presentation, I\nhave both here, and when dealing with the inductive methods, endeavored\nto interpret the traditional doctrines in a philosophical way, and to\nprepare for the theoretical discussions of the third part of the book.\"\n\nJohn Stuart Mill tried not to be metaphysical; but let the reader\nexamine, say, his third chapter, \"Of the Things denoted by Names,\" or\nlook over Book VI, in his \"System of Logic.\"\n\nProfessor Sigwart's great work, \"Logik\" (Freiburg, 2d edition, Volume\nI, 1889, Volume II, 1893), may almost be called a philosophy of logic.\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII, section 69.  Compare with Professor James's account of\nthe scope of psychology the following from Professor Baldwin: \"The\nquestion of the relation of psychology to metaphysics, over which a\nfierce warfare has been waged in recent years, is now fairly settled by\nthe adjustment of mutual claims. . . .  The terms of the adjustment of\nwhich I speak are briefly these: on the one hand, empirical\ninvestigation must precede rational interpretation, and this empirical\ninvestigation must be absolutely unhampered by fetters of dogmatism and\npreconception; on the other hand, rational interpretation must be\nequally free in its own province, since progress from the individual to\nthe general, from the detached fact to its universal meaning, can be\nsecured only by the judicious use of hypotheses, both metaphysical and\nspeculative.  Starting from the empirical we run out at every step into\nthe metempirical.\"  \"Handbook of Psychology,\" Preface, pp. iii and iv.\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII, section 71.  The teacher might very profitably take\nextracts from the two chapters of Whewell's \"Elements of Morality\"\nreferred to in the text, and read them with the class.  It is\nsignificant of the weakness of Whewell's position that he can give us\nadvice as long as we do not need it, but, when we come to the\ncross-roads, he is compelled to leave the matter to the individual\nconscience, and gives us no hint of a general principle that may guide\nus.\n\nSection 72.  Wundt, in his volume \"The Facts of the Moral Life\" (N.Y.,\n1897), tries to develop an empirical science of ethics independent of\nmetaphysics; see the Preface.\n\nCompare with this: Martineau's \"Types of Ethical Theory\" (London,\n1885), Preface; T. H. Green's \"Prolegomena to Ethics,\" Introduction;\nMuirhead's \"The Elements of Ethics\" (N.Y., 1892); Mackenzie's \"A Manual\nof Ethics\" (London, 1893); Jodl's \"Gesduchte der Ethik\" (Stuttgart,\n1882), Preface.  I give but a few references, but they will serve to\nillustrate how close, in the opinion of ethical writers, is the\nrelation between ethics and philosophy.\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX, section 74.  The student who turns over the pages of\nseveral works on metaphysics may be misled by a certain superficial\nsimilarity that is apt to obtain among them.  One sees the field mapped\nout into Ontology (the science of Being or Reality), Rational\nCosmology, and Rational Psychology.  These titles are mediaeval\nlandmarks which have been left standing.  I may as well warn the reader\nthat two men who discourse of Ontology may not be talking about the\nsame thing at all.  Bear in mind what was said in section 57 of the\ndifferent ways of conceiving the \"One Substance\"; and bear in mind also\nwhat was said in Chapter V of the proper meaning of the word \"reality.\"\n\nI have discarded the above titles in my \"System of Metaphysics,\"\nbecause I think it is better and less misleading to use plain and\nunambiguous language.\n\nSection 75.  See the note to Chapter XVI.\n\n\nCHAPTER XX, sections 76-77.  One can get an idea of the problems with\nwhich the philosophy of religion has to deal by turning to my \"System\nof Metaphysics\" and reading the two chapters entitled \"Of God,\" at the\nclose of the book.  It would be interesting to read and criticise in\nclass some of the theistic arguments that philosophers have brought\nforward.  Quotations and references are given in Chapter XXXIV.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI, sections 78-79.  What is said of the science of logic, in\nChapter XVI, has, of course, a bearing upon these sections.  I suggest\nthat the student examine a few chapters of \"The Grammar of Science\";\nthe book is very readable.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII, sections 80-82.  The reader will find in lectures I and\nII in Sir William Hamilton's \"Lectures on Metaphysics\" a discussion of\nthe utility of philosophy.  It has a pleasant, old-fashioned flavor,\nand contains some good thoughts.  What is said in Chapters XVI-XXI of\nthe present volume has a good deal of bearing upon the subject.  See\nespecially what is said in the chapters on logic, ethics, and the\nphilosophy of religion.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII, sections 83-87.  There is a rather brief but good and\nthoughtful discussion of the importance of historical study to the\ncomprehension of philosophical doctrines in Falckenberg's \"History of\nModern Philosophy\" (English translation, N.Y., 1893); see the\nIntroduction.\n\nWe have a good illustration of the fact that there may be parallel\nstreams of philosophic thought (section 87) when we turn to the Stoics\nand the Epicureans.  Zeno and Epicurus were contemporaries, but they\nwere men of very dissimilar character, and the schools they founded\ndiffered widely in spirit.  Zeno went back for his view of the physical\nworld to Heraclitus, and for his ethics to the Cynics.  Epicurus\nborrowed his fundamental thoughts from Democritus.\n\nOn the other hand, philosophers may sometimes be regarded as links in\nthe one chain.  Witness the series of German thinkers: Kant, Fichte,\nSchelling, Hegel, Schopenhauer; or the series of British thinkers:\nLocke, Berkeley, Hume, Mill.  Herbert Spencer represents a confluence\nof the streams.  The spirit of his doctrine is predominantly British;\nbut he got his \"Unknowable\" from Kant, through Hamilton and Mansel.\n\nAt any point in a given stream there may be a division.  Thus, Kant was\nawakened to his creative effort by Hume.  But Mill is also the\nsuccessor of Hume, and more truly the successor, for he carries on the\ntraditional way of approaching philosophical problems, while Kant\nrebels against it, and heads a new line.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV, sections 88-93.  I hardly think it is necessary for me to\ncomment upon this chapter.  The recommendations amount to this: that a\nman should be fair-minded and reasonable, free from partisanship,\ncautious, and able to suspend judgment where the evidence is not clear;\nalso that where the light of reason does not seem to him to shine\nbrightly and to illumine his path as he could wish, he should be\ninfluenced in his actions by the reflection that he has his place in\nthe social order, and must meet the obligations laid upon him by this\nfact.  When the pragmatist emphasizes the necessity of accepting ideals\nand living by them, he is doing us a service.  But we must see to it\nthat he does not lead us into making arbitrary decisions and feeling\nthat we are released from the duty of seeking for evidence.  Read\ntogether sections 64, 91, and 93.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n  Absolute, The: Spencer's doctrine of, 70;\n    Bradley's, 191-192;\n    meanings of the word, 201;\n    reference, 312.\n  Activity and Passivity: meaning of, 159-161;\n    confused with cause and effect, 159-161;\n    activity of mind, 162-163.\n  Aesthetics:  a philosophical discipline, 242-243.\n  Agnosticism: 202.\n  Aikins: 314.\n  Albert the Great: scope of his labors, 9.\n  Analytical Judgments: defined, 178.\n  Anaxagoras: his doctrine, 4; on the soul, 101.\n  Anaximander: his doctrine, 3.\n  Anaximenes: his doctrine, 3; on the soul, 101.\n  Appearances: doubt of their objectivity, 35;\n    realities and, 59 ff.;\n    apparent and real space, 80-87;\n    apparent and real time, 93-99;\n    apparent and real extension, 113;\n    measurement of apparent time, 128;\n    appearance and reality, Bradley's  doctrine, 191-192.\n  Aristotle: reference to Thales, 3;\n    scope of his philosophy, 7;\n    authority in the Middle Ages, 9;\n    on the soul, 102-103.\n  Arithmetic: compared with logic, 225-226.\n  Atoms: nature of our knowledge of, 22-23; also, 65-67;\n    doctrine of Democritus, 194-195.\n  Augustine: on time as past, present, and future, 90 ff.;\n    on soul and body, 104;\n    as scientist and as philosopher, 278.\n  Authority: in philosophy, 291-296.\n  Automatism: the automaton theory, 129-130;\n    animal automatism, 141-142;\n    activity of mind and automatism, 162;\n    references, 308-309.\n  Automaton: see Automatism.\n\n  Bacon, Francis:  his conception of philosophy, 10.\n  Baldwin:  on psychology and metaphysics, 314.\n  Berkeley: referred to, 56;\n    on appearance and reality, 61-63;\n    his idealism, 168-170;\n    his theism, 190-191;\n    references to his works, 310.\n  Body and Mind: see Mind and Body.\n  Bosanquet: his logic, 235.\n  Bradley: his \"Absolute,\" 191-192; reference given, 311.\n  Breath: mind conceived to be, 101.\n\n  Cassiodorus: on soul and body, 103-104.\n  Cause and Effect; meaning of words, 118-120;\n    relation of mental and material not causal, 121-126;\n      see also, 132;\n    cause and effect, activity and passivity, 159 ff.\n  Child: its knowledge of the world, 18-19.\n  Cicero: Pythagoras' use of word \"philosopher,\" 2; on immortality, 32.\n  Clifford, W. K.: on infinite divisibility of space, 79-80;\n    on other minds, 135;\n    on mind-stuff, 144-146;\n    his panpsychism, 197-198;\n    his parallelism, 308-309;\n    references on mind-stuff, 309.\n  Common Sense: notions of mind and body, 106 ff.;\n    Reid's doctrine, 171-174;\n    common sense ethics, 236-240.\n  Common Thought: what it is, 18-20.\n  Concomitance: see Mind and Body.\n  Copernican System: 282.\n  Cornelius: on metaphysics, 249.\n  Creighton: 314.\n  Critical Empiricism: the doctrine, 218-219.\n  Critical Philosophy: outlined, 175-180;\n    criticised, 211-218;\n    references, 311.\n  Croesus: 1.\n\n  Democritus: doctrine referred to, 4;\n    his place in the history of philosophy, 5;\n    on the soul, 101-102;\n    his materialism examined, 194-195.\n  Descartes: conception of philosophy, 10;\n    on mind and body, 105-106; also, 119;\n    on animal automatism, 141-142;\n    on the external world, 163-168;\n    on substance, 198;\n    his rationalism, 206-209;\n    the \"natural light,\" 208;\n    his attempt at a critical philosophy, 214;\n    his rules of method, 214;\n    provisional rules of life, 301-302;\n    reference given, 306;\n    reference to his automatism, 308;\n    references to the \"Meditations,\" 312.\n  Determinism: 155-159; references, 309-310.\n  Dewey, John: 312-314.\n  Dogmatism: Kant's use of term, 211-212.\n  Dualism: what, 193;\n    varieties of, 202-204;\n    the present volume dualistic, 204;\n    Hamilton's, 312.\n\n  Eleatics: their doctrine, 4.\n  Empedocles: his doctrine, 4; a pluralist, 205.\n  Empiricism: the doctrine, 209-211;\n    Kant on, 212;\n    critical empiricism, 218-219.\n  Energy: conservation of, 151-154.\n  Epicureans: their view of philosophy, 7-8; their materialism, 102.\n  Epiphenomenon: the mind as, 162.\n  Epistemology: its place among the philosophical sciences, 247-249.\n  Ethics: and the mechanism of nature, 159-164;\n    common sense ethics, 236-240;\n    Whewell criticised, 238-240;\n    philosophy and, 240-242;\n    utility of, 265-267;\n    references, 315.\n  Evidence: in philosophy, 296-298.\n  Existence: of material things, 56-58; also, 165-192.\n  Experience: suggestions of the word, 58;\n    Hume's doctrine of what it yields, 170-171;\n    Descartes and Locke, 178;\n    Kant's view of, 179;\n    empiricism, 209-211;\n    critical empiricism, 218-219.\n  Experimental Psychology: its scope, 234-235.\n  Explanation: of relation of mind and body, 125-126.\n  External World: its existence, 32 ff.;\n    plain man's knowledge of, 32-36;\n    psychologist's attitude, 36-38;\n    the \"telephone exchange,\" 38-44;\n    what the external world is, 45-58;\n    its existence discussed, 56-58;\n    a mechanism, 147-150;\n    knowledge of, theories, 165-180;\n    Descartes on, 207-208;\n    psychologist's attitude discussed, 230-234.\n  Falckenberg: 311, 316.\n  Fate: 158; literature on fatalism, 309-310.\n  Fichte: on philosophic method, 10; solipsistic utterances, 133.\n  Final Cause: what, 161.\n  \"Form\" and \"Matter\": the distinction between, 82-83;\n    space as \"form,\" 82-84;\n    time as \"form,\" 94;\n    Kant's doctrine of \"forms,\" 179;\n    the same criticised, 216-217.\n  Free-will: and the order of nature, 154-159;\n    determinism and \"free-will-ism,\" 155-159;\n    literature referred to, 309-310.\n\n  God: revealed in the world, 163-164;\n    Berkeley on argument for, 190-191;\n    Spinoza on God or substance, 199;\n    Descartes' argument for, 208;\n    influence of belief on ethics, 241;\n    conceptions of, 252-253;\n    relation to the world, 253-254;\n    monistic conception of, 312;\n    references, 314.\n  Greek Philosophy: Pre-Socratic characterized, 2-5;\n    conception of philosophy from Sophists to Aristotle, 5-7;\n    the Stoics, Epicureans, and Skeptics, 7-8.\n  Green, T. H.: 218, 315.\n\n  Hamilton, Sir W.: on space, 76;\n    on the external world, 174; also, 182;\n    reference, 311;\n    his dualism, 312;\n    on utility of philosophy, 316.\n  Hegel: his conception of philosophy, 11;\n    an objective idealist, 190.\n  Heraclitus: his doctrine, 4; on the soul, 101.\n  Herodotus: 1-2.\n  History of Philosophy: much studied, 273-274;\n    its importance, 274-281;\n    how to read it, 281-287;\n    references, 316.\n  Hobhouse: on theory of knowledge, 248; reference, 312.\n  Hoeffding: his monism, 200-201; his history of philosophy, 311.\n  Howison: on pluralism, 205.\n  Humanism: 312-313.\n  Hume: his doctrine, 170-171;\n    use of word \"impression,\" 177;\n    influence on Kant, 177-178.\n  Huxley: on other minds, 135, 138; on automatism, 308.\n  Hypothetical Realism: see Realism.\n\n  Idealism: in Berkeley and Hume, 168-171;\n    general discussion of the varieties of, 187-192;\n    proper attitude toward, 289-291.\n  Ideas: distinguished from things, 33-36;\n    in psychology, 36-38;\n    Berkeley's use of the word, 168-170;\n    Hume's use of the word, 177.\n  Imagination: contrasted with sense, 45-49;\n    extension of imagined things, 113.\n  Immateriality: of mind, see Plotinus, and Mind.\n  Impression: Hume's use of word, 177.\n  Infinity: infinity and infinite divisibility of space, 73-80;\n    of time, 88-90; also, 95-97;\n    mathematics and, 226.\n  Inside: meaning of word, 55.\n  Interactionism: see Mind and Body.\n  Intuitionalists; defined, 240.\n  Ionian School: 3.\n\n  James, W.: on pragmatism, 220-222 and 312-313;\n    on psychology and metaphysics, 230-231;\n    on interactionism, reference, 308;\n    on \"free-will,\" 309-310.\n  Jevons: his logic, 224; on study of scientific method, 256.\n  Jodl: 315.\n\n  Kant: on space, 75;\n    his critical philosophy, 175-180;\n    his philosophy criticised, 211-218;\n    references to, 307, 311.\n  Keynes: 314.\n\n  Localisation: of sensations, what, 127.\n  Locke, John: on doubt of external world, 32;\n    on substance, 108;\n    on perception of external world, 166-168;\n    his empiricism, 209-210;\n    his attempt at a critical philosophy, 215-216;\n    on innate moral principles, 240;\n    reference to \"Essay,\" 310;\n    his hypothetical realism, 311;\n    treatment of substance, references, 312.\n  Logic; the traditional, 224;\n    \"modern\" logic, 224-225;\n    Jevons and Bosanquet referred to, 224-225;\n    philosophy and, 225-229;\n    compared with arithmetic, 225-227;\n    deeper problems of, 227;\n    Spencer cited, 228;\n    utility of, 264-265;\n    references, 314.\n  Lucretius: his materialistic psychology, 102.\n\n  Mach: 14.\n  Mackenzie: 315.\n  Malebranche: referred to, 142.\n  Martineau: 315.\n  Materialism: primitive man's notion of mind, 100-101;\n    materialism in the Greek philosophy, 101-102;\n    refutation of, 111-132;\n    general account of, 194-197.\n  Mathematics: nature of mathematical knowledge, 23-25;\n    arithmetic compared with logic, 225-226;\n    mathematical relations and cause and effect, 257;\n    mathematical methods, 256-257.\n  Matter: what is meant by material things, 51-58;\n    the material world a mechanism, 147-150.\n  \"Matter\" and \"Form\": see \"Form\" and \"Matter.\"\n  McCosh: on mind and body, 120.\n  Mechanism: the material world a, 147-150;\n    objections to the doctrine, 148-150;\n    mind and mechanism, 151-154;\n    mechanism and morals, 159-164;\n    mechanism and teleology, reference, 310.\n  Metaphysician: on the mind, 111 ff.\n  Metaphysics: psychology and, 230-234;\n    distinguished from philosophy, 244-245;\n    uncertainty of, 247;\n    utility of, 269-272;\n    traditional divisions of, 315.\n  Method: scientific method, 256-259.\n  Middle Ages: view of philosophy in, 8-9.\n  Mill, J. S.: the argument for other minds, 136-138;\n    on permanent possibilities of sensation, 289;\n    his logic, 314.\n  Mind: the child's notion of, 100;\n    regarded as breath, 101;\n    suggestions of Latin, Greek, and Hebrew words for mind or\n      soul, 101;\n    materialistic views of, in Greek philosophy, 101-102;\n    Plato and Aristotle on nature of, 102-103;\n    doctrine of Plotinus, 103;\n    of Cassiodorus, 103;\n    of Augustine, 104;\n    of Descartes, 105-106;\n    modern common sense notions of mind, 106-110;\n    mind as substance, Locke quoted, 108-109;\n    psychologist's notion of, 110-111;\n    what the mind is, 111-114;\n    place of mind in nature, 151-154;\n    minds active, 162-163;\n    see also, Mind and Body, and Other Minds.\n  Mind and Body: is the mind in the body, 115-117;\n    plain man's notion of, 116;\n    interactionism, 117-121;\n    doctrine of Descartes and his successors, 119-120;\n    plain man as interactionist, 120;\n    McCosh quoted, 120-121;\n    objection to interactionism, 121;\n    parallelism, 121-126;\n    its foundation in experience, 123-124;\n    meaning of word \"concomitance,\" 123-125;\n    time and place of mental phenomena, 126-129;\n    objections to parallelism, 129-132;\n    Clifford's parallelism criticised, 130;\n    mental phenomena and causality, 129;\n    double sense of word \"concomitance,\" 131-132;\n    mind and the mechanism of the world, 151-154;\n    mechanism and morals, 159-164;\n    \"concomitant phenomena\" and attainment of ends, 162;\n    references given on other minds and mind-stuff, 309;\n    see also, Other Minds.\n  Mind-stuff: see Other Minds.\n  Minima Sensibilia: 87.\n  Modern Philosophy: conception of philosophy in, 9-12.\n  Monism: what, 193-194;\n    varieties of, 194-202;\n    narrower sense of word, 198-202.\n  Moral Distinctions: their foundation, 159-164.\n  Muirhead: 315.\n\n  Naive Realism: 181.\n  \"Natural Light\": term used by Descartes, 208.\n  Natural Realism: see Realism.\n  Nature: place of mind in, 151-154;\n    order of nature and \"free-will,\" 154-159.\n  Neo-Platonism: referred to, 8; on the soul as immaterial, 103.\n  Nihilism: word used by Hamilton, 186.\n  Noumena: see Phenomena.\n\n  Objective Idealism: 189-190; reference to Royce, 311.\n  Objective Order:  contrasted with the subjective, 55.\n  Ontology: what, 315.\n  Orders of Experience: the subjective and the objective, 55;\n    see also, 114.\n  Other Minds: their existence, 133-136;\n    Fichte referred to, 133;\n    Richter quoted, 133;\n    Huxley and Clifford on proof of, 135;\n    the argument for, 136-140;\n    Mill quoted, 136-138;\n    Huxley criticised, 138-140;\n    what minds are there? 140-144;\n    Descartes quoted, 141-142;\n    Malebranche, 142;\n    the limits of psychic life, 142-144;\n    mind-stuff, 144-146;\n    proper attitude toward solipsism, 291.\n  Outside: meaning of word, 55.\n\n  Panpsychism: the doctrine, 198; references given, 311.\n  Pantheism: 202.\n  Parallelism: see Mind and Body.\n  Paulsen: on nature of philosophy, 305.\n  Pearson: the \"telephone exchange,\" 38 ff.;\n    on scientific principles and method, 258-259;\n    reference given, 306.\n  Peirce, C. S.: on pragmatism, 219-220.\n  Perception: see Representative  Perception.\n  Phenomena and Noumena: Kant's distinction between, 176-180.\n  Philosophical Sciences: enumerated, 13;\n    why grouped together, 13-17;\n    examined in detail, 223-259.\n  Philosophy: meaning of word, and history of its use, 1 ff.;\n    what the word now covers, 12-17;\n    problems of, 32-164;\n    historical background of modern philosophy, 165-180;\n    types of, 181-222;\n    logic and, 225-229;\n    psychology and, 230-234;\n    ethics and, 240-242;\n    aesthetics and, 242-243;\n    metaphysics distinguished from, 244-245;\n    religion and, 250-254;\n    the non-philosophical sciences and, 255-259;\n    utility of, 263-272;\n    history of, 273-287;\n    verification in, 276-277;\n    as poetry and as science, 281-283;\n    how systems arise, 283-287;\n    practical admonitions, 288-303;\n    authority in, 291-296;\n    ordinary rules of evidence in, 296-298.\n  Physiological Psychology: what it is, 234.\n  Pineal Gland; as seat of the soul, 105.\n  Place: of mental phenomena, see Space.\n  Plain Man: his knowledge of the world, 19-20; also, 32-36;\n    his knowledge of space, 73;\n    on mind and body, 106-110;\n    his interactionism, 120.\n  Plants: psychic life in, 143.\n  Plato: use of word \"philosopher,\" 2;\n    scope of his philosophy, 6-7;\n    on the soul, 102-103.\n  Plotinus: the soul as immaterial, 103.\n  Pluralism and Singularism: described, 204-205.\n  Poetry and Philosophy: 281-283.\n  Poincare: referred to, 258.\n  Pragmatism: the doctrine, 219-222;\n    see also, 296-298, 300-303, and 312-314;\n    will to believe, references, 310, 312.\n  Present: meaning of \"the present,\" 97-99.\n  Psychology:  psychological knowledge characterized, 25-28;\n    attitude of psychologist toward external world, 36-38;\n    toward mind, 110-111;\n    philosophy and, 230-234;\n    double affiliation of, 234-235;\n    utility of, 268-269;\n    metaphysics and, 313;\n    \"rational,\" 315.\n  Ptolemaic System; 282.\n  Pythagoras: the word \"philosopher,\" 2.\n  Pythagoreans: their doctrine, 4.\n\n  Qualities of Things: contrasted with sensations, 51-56.\n\n  Rational Cosmology: 315.\n  Rationalism: the doctrine, 206-209.\n  Rational Psychology: 315.\n  Real: see Reality.\n  Realism: hypothetical realism, 168;\n    \"natural\" realism, 174;\n    general discussion of realism and its varieties, 181-187;\n    ambiguity of the word, 186-187.\n  Reality: contrasted with appearance, 35;\n    in psychology, 36-38;\n    the \"telephone exchange\" and, 38 ff.;\n    things and their appearances, 59-61;\n    real things, 61-63;\n    ultimate real things, 63-68;\n    the \"Unknowable\" as Reality, 68-72;\n    real space, 80-87;\n    real time, 93-99;\n    substance as reality, 111;\n    real and apparent extension, 113-114;\n    measurement of apparent time, 128;\n    Bradley's doctrine of reality, 191-192;\n    Clifford's panpsychism and reality, 197-198.\n\n  Reflective Thought: its nature, 28-31.\n  Reid, Thomas: doctrine of \"common sense,\" 171-174;\n    references, 310.\n  Religion: philosophy and, 250-254;\n    conceptions of God, 252-253;\n    God and the world, 253-254; see God.\n  Representative Perception: plain man's position, 32-36;\n    the psychologist, 36-38;\n    \"telephone exchange\" doctrine, 38-44;\n    the true distinction between sensations and things, 45-58;\n    the doctrine of, 165-168;\n    Descartes and Locke quoted, 165-168.\n  Richter, Jean Paul: on the solipsist, 133.\n  Royce: an objective idealist, 311; a monist, 312.\n\n  Schelling: attitude toward natural philosophy, 10.\n  Schiller: on \"Humanism,\" 312-313.\n  \"Schools\": in philosophy, 291-296.\n  Science:  philosophy and the special sciences, 12-17;\n    the philosophical sciences, 13 ff.;\n    nature of scientific knowledge, 21-28;\n    compared with reflective thought, 29-31;\n    science and the world as mechanism, 148;\n    the conservation of energy, 151-154;\n    philosophical sciences examined in detail, 223-259;\n    science and metaphysical analysis, 246-247;\n    the non-philosophical sciences and philosophy, 255-259;\n    study of scientific principles, 256-259;\n    verification in science and in philosophy, 275-277;\n    philosophy as science, 281-283.\n  Scientific Knowledge: see Science.\n  Sensations: knowledge of things through, 33-44;\n    sense and imagination contrasted, 45-49;\n    are \"things\" groups of, 49-51;\n    distinction between things and, 51-56;\n    use of the word in this volume and in the\n      \"System of Metaphysics,\" 306-307.\n  Sidgwick: on Kant, 311.\n  Sigwart: 314.\n  Singularism and Pluralism: described, 204-205.\n  Skeptics: their view of philosophy, 7-8;\n    their doubt of reality, 59;\n    Hume's skepticism, 171.\n  Socrates: use of words \"philosopher\" and \"philosophy,\" 2;\n    attitude toward sophism, 6.\n  Solipsism: see Other Minds.\n  Solon: 1.\n  Sophists: characterized, 6.\n  Soul: see Mind.\n  Space: plain man's knowledge of, 73;\n    said to be necessary, infinite and infinitely divisible, 73-74;\n    discussion of it as necessary and as infinite, 74-77;\n    Kant, Hamilton, and Spencer quoted, 75-77;\n    as infinitely divisible, the moving point, 77-80;\n    Clifford quoted, 79-80;\n    real space and apparent, 80-87;\n    \"matter\" and \"form,\" 82-84;\n    extension of imaginary things, 113;\n    place of mental phenomena, 115-117, also, 126-129.\n  Spencer, Herbert: his  definition  of philosophy, 11;\n    his work criticised, 11-12;\n    on the \"Unknowable\" as ultimate Reality, 69-70;\n    Spencer as \"natural\" realist, 174;\n    influenced by Kant's doctrine, 176;\n    his inconsistent doctrine of the external world, 183-184;\n    defective logic, 228;\n    influence of agnosticism, 271;\n    references given, 307, 311.\n  Spinoza: his _a priori_ method, 10;\n    on God or substance, 199;\n    his rationalism, 208;\n    his parallelism, 308;\n    references, 311-312.\n  Spiritualism: the doctrine, 197-198.\n  Stoics: their view of philosophy, 7-8; their materialism, 102.\n  Strong: on other minds, 209; references to, 309, 311.\n  Subjective Idealism: 187-188.\n  Subjective Order: contrasted with objective, 55.\n  Substance: meaning of word, 108;\n    Locke on, 108;\n    mind as substance, 111-112;\n    doctrine of the One Substance, 198-202.\n  Synthetic Judgments: defined, 179.\n  Systems of Philosophy: their relations to each other, 283-287.\n\n  Taylor: on other minds, 309.\n  Teleology: what, 163; reference, 310.\n  \"Telephone Exchange\": doctrine of the external world\n    as \"messages,\" 38-44.\n  Thales: his doctrine, 3.\n  Theism: see God.\n  Theory of Knowledge: see Epistemology.\n  Things: our knowledge of, 18-23;\n    contrast of ideas and, 33-36;\n    same contrast in psychology, 36-38;\n    sensations and things, 45 ff.;\n    existence of, 56-58;\n    contrasted with appearances, 59 ff.;\n    real things, 61 ff.;\n    the space of real things, 80-87.\n  Thomas Aquinas: scope of his labors, 9.\n  Time: as necessary, infinite, and infinitely divisible, 88-90;\n    problem of knowing past, present, and future, 90-93;\n    Augustine quoted, 90-91;\n    timeless self criticised, 92-93;\n    real time and apparent, 93-99;\n    real time as necessary, infinite, and infinitely divisible, 95-97;\n    consciousness of time, 97-99;\n    mental phenomena and time, 126-129.\n  Timeless Self: 92-93.\n  Touch: the real world revealed in experiences of, 61-63.\n  Truth: pragmatism and, 219-222 and 312-314;\n    Whewell on veracity, 238-239;\n    criterion of truth in philosophy, 296-298;\n    also, 300-303.\n\n  Ueberweg: 305, 311.\n  Ultimate Reality: see Reality.\n  \"Unknowable\": as Reality, 68-72; see Spencer.\n  Utility: of liberal studies, 260-263; of philosophy, 363-272.\n\n  Verification: in science and in philosophy, 275-277.\n\n  Ward, James: on concepts of mechanics, 148.\n  \"Weltweisheit\": philosophy as, 12.\n  Whewell: his common sense ethics, 236-240; referred to, 315.\n  Will: see Free-will.\n  Will to Believe: see Pragmatism.\n  Windelband: 305.\n  Wolff, Christian: definition of philosophy, 10.\n  World: see External World.\n  Wundt: ethics referred to, 315.","title":"An Introduction to Philosophy","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":112109}