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BuTUR & Tanhm,

Thc Silwood Printing Work^

Frohb, and Lamdom.

«••

Xibrar? of pbUoaopb^

EDITED BY J. H. MVIRHEAD, M.A.

THE LIBRARY OF PHILOSOPHY.

The library OF PHILOSOPHY is in the first I*

stance a contribution to the History of Thought WUle
much has been done in England in tracing the course of evol
ution in nature, history, religion, and morality, comparativdj
little has been done in tracing the development of Thov^
upon these and kindred subjects, and yet "the evolution of
opinion is part of the whole evolution."

This Library will deal mainly with Modern Philosophf,
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IB History of Philosophy. By Dr. Joiiann Edoard Erdmavn.

Eit^liih Translalion. Edited hy Wii.i.isrOM S, lIouOH, M.Ph., Crofessor of
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APPEARANCE AND REAlITY

PREFACE.

I HAVE described the following work as an essay in
metaphysics. Neither in form nor extent does it
carry out the idea of a system. Its subject indeed
is central enough to justify the exhaustive treatment
of every problem. But what I have done is in-
complete, and what has been left undone has often
been omitted arbitrarily. The book is a more or
less desultory handling of perhaps the chief ques-
tions in metaphysics.

There were several reasons why 1 did not attempt
a more systematic treatise, and to carry out even
what I proposed has proved enough for my powers.
I began this book in the autumn of 18S7. and, after
writing the first two fifths of it in twelve months,
then took three years with the remainder. My
work has been suspended several times through
long intervals of compulsory idleness, and I have
been glad to finish it when and how I could. I do
not say this to obviate criticism on a book now
deliberately published. Hut, if 1 had attempted
more. I should probably have completed nothing.

And in the main I have accomplished all that lay
within my compass. This volume is meant to be a
critical discussion of first principles, and its object
is to stimulate enquiry and doubt. To originality
in any other sense it makes no claim. If the

XII PREFACE.

reader finds that on any points he has been led
once more to reflect, I shall not have failed, so far
as I can, to be original. But I should add that my
book is not intended for the beginner. Its language
in general I hope is not over-technical, but I have
sometimes used terms intelligible only to the
student. The index supplied is not an index but a
mere collection of certain references.

My book does not design to be permanent, and
will be satisfied to be negative, so long as that word
implies an attitude of active questioning. The
chief need of English philosophy is, I think, a
sceptical study of first principles, and I do not know
of any work which seems to meet this need suffici-
ently. By scepticism is not meant doubt about or
disbelief in some tenet or tenets. I understand by
it an attempt to become aware of and to doubt all
preconceptions. Such scepticism is the result only
of labour and education, but it is a training which
cannot with impunity be neglected. And I know
no reason why the English mind, if it would but
subject itself to this discipline, should not in our day
produce a rational system of first principles. If I
have helped to forward this result, then, whatever,
form it may take, my ambition will be satisfied.

The reason why I have so much abstained from
historical criticism and direct polemics may be briefly
stated. I have written for English readers, and it
would not help them much to learn my relation to
German writers. Besides, to tell the truth, I do
not know precisely that relation myself. And,
though I have a high opinion of the metaphysical
powers of the English mind, I have not seen any

PREFACE,

serious attempt in English to deal systematically
with first principles. But things among us are not
as they were some few years back. There is no
established reputation which now does much harm
to philosophy. And one is not led to feel in writing]
that one is face to face with the same dense body of
stupid tradition and ancestral prejudice. Dogmatic
Individualism is far from having ceased to flourish,
but it no longer occupies the ground as the one
accredited way of " advanced thinking." The
present generation is learning that to gain educa-
tion a man must study in more than one school.
And to criticise a writer of whom you know nothing
is now, even in philosophy, considered to be the
thing that it is. We owe this improvement mostly
to men of a time shortly before my own, and who
insisted well, if perhaps incautiously, on tlte great
claims of Kant and Hegel. But whatever other
influences have helped, the result seems se'cured.
There is a fair field for any one now, I believe, who
has anything to say. And I feel no desire for mere
polemics, which can seldom benefit one's self, and
which seem no longer required by the state of our
philojjophy. I would rather keep my natural place
as a learner among learners.

If anything in these pages suggests a more dog-
matic frame of mind, I would ask the reader not
hastily to adopt that suggestion. I offer him a set
of opinions and ideas in part certainly wrong, but
where and how much I am unable to tell him.
That is for him to find out, if he cares to and if he
can. Would it be better if I hinted in effect that
he is in danger of expecting more, and that I, if I

XIV PREFACE,

chose, perhaps might supply it ? I have everywhere
done my best, such as it is, to lay bare the course
of ideas, and to help the reader to arrive at a judg-
ment on each question. And, as I cannot suppose
a necessity on my part to disclaim infallibility, I
have not used set phrases which, if they mean any-
thing, imply it. I have stated my opinions as truths
whatever authority there may be against them, and
however hard I may have found it to come to an
opinion at all. And, if this is to be dogmatic, I
certainly have not tried to escape dogmatism.

It is difficult again for a man not to think too
much of his own pursuit. The metaphysician
cannot perhaps be too much in earnest with meta-
physics, and he cannot, as the phrase runs, take
himself too seriously. But the same thing holds
good with every other positive function of the
universe And the metaphysician, like other men,
is prone to forget this truth. He forgets the narrow
limitation of his special province, and, filled by his
own poor inspiration, he ascribes to it an importance
not its due. I do not know if anywhere in my work
I may seem to have erred thus, but I am sure that
such excess is not my conviction or my habitual
mood. And to restore the balance, and as a con-
fession possibly of equal defect, I will venture to
transcribe some sentences from my note book. I
see written there that " Metaphysics is the finding
of bad reasons for what we believe upon instinct,
but to find these reasons is no less an instinct."
Of Optimism I have said that " The world is the
best of all possible worlds, and everything in it is a
necessary evil." Eclecticism I have found preach

PREFACE. XV

that " Every truth is so true that any truth must be
false," and Pessimism that " Where everything is bad '.'.■;
it must be good to know the worst," or " Where all ' ''
is rotten it is a man's work to cry stinking fish."
About the Unity of Science I have set down that
" Whatever you know it is all one," and of Intro-
spection that " The one self-knowledge worth r.
having is to know one's mind." The reader may '
judge how far these sentences form a Credo, and he
must please himself again as to how seriously he
takes a further extract : " To love unsatisfied the .'
world is mystery, a mystery which love satisfied \

seems to comprehend. The latter is wrong only
because it cannot be content without thinking itself
right."

But for some general remarks in justification of
metaphysics I may refer to the Introduction.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

PACKS

Introduction 1-7

Preliminary objections to metaphysics answered.
The task is not impossible, 2, or indefensible, 3-7.

Xooft £. appearance.

I. Primary and Secondary Qualities. . . 11-18

Attempt to explain error by taking primary qualities
alone as real, 11. The secondary shown to be un-
real, 12-14. But the primary have no independent
existence, 14-17, save as useful fictions, 17-18.

II. Substantive and Adjective .... 19-24

Problem of Inherence. Relation between the thing
and its qualities is unintelligible, 19-24.

III. Relation and Quality ^S-j^

I. Qualities without relations are unintelligible. They
cannot be found, 26-27. They cannot be got bare
legitimately, 27-28, or at all, 28-30. .

I I. Qualities with relations are unintelligible. They
cannot be resolved into relations, 30, and the relations
bring internal discrepancies, 31.

III. Relations with, or without, qualities are unin-
telligible, 32-34.

IV. Space and Time 35-43

Their psychological origin is irrelevant, 35. Space
is inconsistent because it is, and is not, a relation, 36-38,
and its connection with other content is unintelligible,
38.

Time, as usually taken, has the same vices, 39, 40.
And so has Time taken otherwise, for the " now " is
self-inconsistent, 40-43.

/!■

XVlll CONTENTS.

PACES

V. Motion and Change and its Perception. 44-53

Motion is inconsistent ; is not so fundamental as
f^ I Change, 44, 45. Change is a new instance of our dilem-
ma and is unintelligible, 45-49.

Perception of Succession is not timeless, 49-51. Its
true nature, 51-53.

VI. Causation S4-6i

Effort to avoid the contradiction of Change. But the

Cause and its Effect are not compatible, 54, 55. Illu-

< sory attempt at explanation, 55, 56. The Cause spreads

'^ to take in all the conditions, and yet cannot be com-

L plete, 56-58. Its relation to its effect is unintelligible,

/ 58.

Causal sequence must be, and cannot be, continuous,
58-61.

VII. Activity 62-70

Whether an original datum, or not, is irrelevant, 62.
It has a meaning which implies change in time, 63, and
self-caused change, 64,65. Passivity what and how
connected with Activity. Occasion what, 65. Condi-
tion and Sum of Conditions, 66-68.

Activity and Passivity imply one another, but are in-
consistent, 68-70.

VIII. Things 71-74

Our previous results have mined Things, 71. Things
must have identity which is ideal, and so appearance,
72, 73. Everyday confusion' as to Things' identity,
73-74-

IX. The Meanings of Self .... 75-102

The Self at last, but what does it mean ? 75, 76. Self
. as body excluded, 77. I. Self as total contents of ex-
perience at one moment, 77. II. Self as average con-
tents of experience, 77-79. III. Essential self, 80^81.
Personal identity, 81-86. IV. Self as Monad, 86-87.
V. Self as what interests, 88. VI. Self as opposed to
Not-self, 88-96. Each is a concrete group, 89, 90. But
does any content belong solely to self, 90^ 91, or to
Not-self, 91, 92 ? Doubtful cases, 92-94. Self and
Not-self on the whole are not fixed, 95, 96. Perception
of Activity, its general nature, 96-100. VII. Self as
Mere Self, loo-ioi.

CONTENTS.

XIX

(^ X. The Reality of Self

103-120

Self is doubtless a fact, but, as it appears, can it be
real? 103-104. (a) Self as Feeling proves for several
reasons untenable, 104-107. (i) Nor is self-conscious-
ness in better case, 107-1 1 1. (1) Personal Identity use-
less, and so also functional unity of self, 1 12-114. W
Self as Activity, Force, or Will, 1 14-11 7. {e) Self as
Monad, 117, 118. Conclusion, 119, 120.

Xf. Phenomen.^lism

121-126

Result so far, 121. Phenomen.ilism as a remedy,

121, 122. But it does not include the facts, itself for one,

122. And its elements are unintelligible, 123. And
difficulty as to past and future and Identity, 123, 124.
And what are Laws, 124, 125? Final dilemma, 125, 126.

XII. Things in Themselves

127-132

Separation of Universe into two hemispheres is in-
defensible, 127-129, and only doubles our difficulties,
129-131. Appearances are facts, which somehow must
qualify reality, 131, 132.

Booh nn.— TRealtt?.

XIII. The General Nature of Realitv

135-143

Result, so far, mainly negative, 135 ; but we have an
absolute criterion, 136. Objection based on develop-
ment, 137. Our criterion is supreme, and not merely
negative. It Rives positive knowledge about reality,
137-140. Further, the Real is one substantially. Plu-
rality of Reals is not possible, 140-143.

XIV. 'Ihe General Nature of Reality (font.) . 144-161

The .■Xbsoluteisone system, and its matter is Experi-
ence, 144-147, But has it more than theoretical perfec-
tion, 147, 148? Noanswer from any practical postulate,
148-155. Ontological Argument, 149, 150. Practical
and theoretical Axioms, 151-154.

Hut, indirectly, theoretical perfection seems to imply
perfection on all sides, 153-158.
I Our knowledge of the Absolute is incomplete, but
I positive. Its sources, 159-161.

XX CONTENTS.

). XV. Thought and REALixy .... 162-183

/ Nature of Ideality, 162, 163. This visible in judg-

ment through contrast of predicate with subject, 163-165.
Truth what, 165 ; is based on Ideality of the Finite,
165-167.

Puzzle about the relation of thought to reality,
167. Thought is dualistic, and its subject and predicate
are different, 168-170. And if thought succeeded in
transcending dualism, it would perish as thought, 170-
172. But why should it not do so? 173-175.

But can we maintain an Other to thought, 175, 176?
Yes, if this Other is what thought itself desires and im-
plies. And that is the case, 176-180. The relational
form implies a completion beyond itself, 180-182. Our
Absolute is no Thing-in-itself, 183.

XVI. Error 184-196

A good objection must be founded on something dis-
crepant, not merely something unexplained, 184-186.
Problem of Error. It involves a dilemma, 186. Error
is Appearance and false Appearance, 187, 188. It is re-
jected by Reality because it makes that discordant, 188-
I 191. But it belongs to Reality somehow, 191. Error
i . can be made truth by division and rearrangement,
192-194. And its positive discordance can be absorbed,
194-196. This possible solution must be real, 196.

XVII. Evil . 197-204

Main difficulties made by an error, 197. Several

senses of evil. Evil as pain, 198-200 ; as failure to

' realize End, 200, 201 ; and as immorahty, 201-203. '"

no sense is it incompatible with the Absolute. And

no diversity is lost there, 203, 204.

XVIII. Temporal and Spatial Appearance . 205-222

Time and space are inexplicable, but not incompatible
, with our Absolute, 205. Question of origin irrelevant,

and appeal to " fact of consciousness " idle, 206.
I Time points to something beyond itself in several
I ways, 207-310. It is transcended, 2 la

Unity of Time. There is none, 210-214. My " real''
world — what, 212. Direction of Time. There is none,
or rather there may be any number, 214-218. Se-
quence in Causation is but appearance, 218-220.
Space, whatever is its ongm, transcends itself, 221,

222.

CONTENTS.

XXI

XIX. — The This and the Mine

rACKS

223-240

Their general nature, 223. They are positive and
negative, 224. Feeling as immediate experience of
reality, 224, 225. The This as feeling of reality, and as
positive fragmeniariness, 226, 237.

The This as negative. It transcends itself, 227, 228.
The This as unique and as Self-will, 228, 229.

Is there more than content in the This.' 230-233.
Does any content slick in the This .■" 233. No, it only
seems to do so through our failure, 234-240. The
" merely mine," what, 237.

XX. — Recapitulation

241-246

Result so far, 241, 242. Individuality and Perfection,
are they merely negative? 243-24;. Perfection and
quantity, 245. There is but one perfect being, 246.

XXI. — ^Solipsism

247-260

Problem slated, 247, 248. The Experience appealed
to is Direct or Indirect, 248.

I. Direct Experience does not give my self as sole
substantive, 248-250.

II. But can we transcend direct experience at all?
Or is the this-mine " unique " ? No, not in sense of
"exclusive," and we are forced to go beyond, 251-254.
Then, if so, can we stop at our past and future self, or
must we conclude also to other souls? 254, 255.
Neither can be demonstrated, but both depend on the
same argument, 255-258. Nor would unreality of other
selves prove Solipsism, 258. Everything is, and also
is not, my experience, 258, 259. Truths contained in
Solipsism, 260.

XXII.-Nature

261-294

Nature — meaning of, and origin of for us, 261, 262
In its essence there is an Antinomy. If is rel.iiion of
unknown to unknown, 263-265. It is a mere system of
the conditions of some phenomena, and an inconsistent
abstraction, 266, 267.

Is all Nature extended? 267-269. Is any part of
Nature inor^-anic ? 270-272. Is it all relative to finite
souls ? 273-280. These questions not important, 280,
281. Identity of Nature, 281-283. Position of physical
science, 283-286. Unity of Nature, 286-288. .Solidity,
288-290. Infinity of Nature, 290-292. Its Uniformity,
292. Nature is contingent, in what sense, 293, 294.

XXU CONTENTS.

PACKS

XXIII. — Body and Soul. .... 295-358

They are phenomenal and furnish no ground for an
objection, 295-297. Body, what, 297, 298. Soul, what,
298. It is not the same as experience. This shown from
point of view of the individual, 299-304 ; and of the
Absolute, 305-307.

Objections discussed, (i) If phenomenal, is the soul
,a mere appendage to the organism ? Problem of con-
tinuity and of dispositions. The soul an ideal construc-
'tion, 307-316. (2) Does the series imply a transcendent
j Ego ? 316. (3) Are there psychical facts which are not
I events .'317-323.

Relation of Body and Soul. They are not one thing,
323, 358? They are causally connected, 324, 325. One is
not the idle adjective of the other, 326-331. The true
view stated, 333-335 ; but the connection remains in-
explicable, 336, 337. How far can body or soul be
independent ? 337-342.

Communication between Souls, its nature, 342-347.

Identity of diverse souls, its nature and action,
347-352. Identity within one soul, and how far it tran-
scends the mechanical view, 353-37.

XXIV. — Degrees of Truth and Reality . 359-400

The Absolute has no degrees, but this not true of
Existence, 359, 36a Truth — nature of, 360, 361. It re-
mains conditional, 361. Hence no total truth or error,
only more or less of Validity, 362, 363.

The Standard, what. It has two features which are
essentially connected, 363-365. Approach to this mea-
sures degree of relative truth. 365. All thought, even
mere imagination, has some truth, 365-370. The
Standard further specified, in relation to mere pheno-
mena, 370^ and to higher appearances, 370-372. No
other standard possible, 372-374. And ours is appli-
cable everywhere, 375-377. The world of Sense, its
proper place. Neither mere Sens» nor mere Thought is
real, 378-381. The truer and more real must appear
more; but in what sense.' 381, 382. «

Complete conditions not same as Reality, 383. Un-
seen Nature and psychical Dispositions, 383, 384. Po-
tential Existence, what,384-387. Possibilityand Chance
and external Necessity, relative and absolute, 387-394.
Degrees of Possibility, 394. The Ontolo^ical Proof,
its failure and justification, 395-397. Bastard form of
it, 398, 399. Existence necessary, in what sense, 40a

XXV. Goodness!! 401-454

Good and Evil and their degrees are not illusions, but
still are appearances, 401,402. Goodness, what, 402.

CONTENTS.

XXtll

The merely pleasant, why not good, 403. Pleasure by
itself not Kot)d, 404-407. (iood is not the satisfied
will, but is in general the approved, 407, 408. How far
is it "desirable "? 408, 409.

Goodness is a one-sided inconsistent aspect of per-
fection, 409, 410. The Absolute both is and is not
good, 411, 412.

Goodness, moi especially, as Self-realization, 412, 413.
Its double aspect as Self-sacrifice and Self-assertion,
414. What these are, 415-418. They come together
but are transcended in the Absolute, 419. But popular
Ethics asseils each as ultimate, and hence necessarily
fails, 420-429. Relativity of (ioodness, 429, 430.

Goodness as inner Morality, 431, 432. U inconsis-
tent and ends in nothing or in evil, 432-436.

The demands of Morality carry it beyond itself into
Religion, 436-438. What this is, and how it promises
Siuisfaction, 439-442. But it proves inconsistent, and
is an appearance which passes beyond itself, 442-448 ;
but it is no illusion, 448-450. The practical problem
as to religious truth, 450-453. Religion and Philo-
sophy, 453. 454.

XXVI. The Absolute and its Appearances .

4SS-5'o

Object of this Chapter, 455-457. The chief modes
of Experience ; they all are relative, 458. Pleasure,
Feeling, the Theoretical, the Practical, and the
/Esthetic attitude are each but appearance, 458-466.
And each implies the rest, 466-468.

Hut the Unity is not known in deLiil. Final Inex-
plicabilities, 46S-470. The universe cannot be reduced
to Thought and Will, 469. This shown at length, 470-
482. The universe how far intelligible, 482, 483. The
primacy of Will a delusion, 483-485.

Appearance, meaning of the term, 485, 486. Ap-
pearances and the Absolute, 4S6-489. Nature, is it
beautiiul and adorable ? 490-495. Ends in Nature— ^a
question not for Metaphysics, 496, 497. Philosophy of
Nature what, 496-499.

Progress, is there any in the Absolute, 499-501 ; or
any life after death, 501-510?

XXVII. Ultimate Doubts

S"-S52

Is our conclusion merely possible ? 5 1 2. Preliminary
statement as to possibility and doubt. These must rest
on positive knowledge, 512-518.

This applied to our Absolute. It is one, 518-522.
It is experience, 522-526. But it docs not (properly
speaking) consist of souls, 526-530; nor is it (properly)

XXIV CONTENTS.

personal, 531-533. Can the Absolute be called happy?

533-535-

Knowledge is conditional or absolute, and sp is im-
possibility, 535-538. Finite knowledge is all condi-
tional, 539-542. It varies in strength and in corrigi-
bility, 542, 543-

Tn the end not even absolute truth is quite true, and
yet the distinction remains, 544, 545. Relation of truth
to reality, 545-547-

Our result reconciles extremes, and is just to our
whole nature, 547-549. Error and illusion, 549, 550.
The presence of Reality in all appearances, but to
different degrees, is the last word of philosophy,
550-552-

INTRODUCTION.

The writer on metaphysics has a great deal against
him. Engaged on a subject which more than others
demands peace of spirit, even before he enters on
the controversies of his own field, he finds himself
involved in a sort of warfare. He is confronted
by prejudices hostile to his study, and he is tempted
to lean upon those prejudices, within hint and around
him, which seem contrary to the first. It is on the
preconceptions adverse to metaphysics in general
that I am going to make some remarks by way of
introduction. We may agree, perhaps, to understand
'by metaphysics an attempt to know reality as against
mere appearance, or the study of first principles or
ultimate truths, or again the effort to comprehend
the universe, not simply piecemeal or by fragments,
but somehow as a whole. Any such pursuit will
encounter a number of objections. It will have to
hear that the knowledge which it desires to obtain
is impossible altogether ; or, if possible in some
degree, is yet practically useless ; or that, at all
events, we can want nothing beyond the old philo-
sophies. And I will say a few words on these
arguments in their order.

(a) The man who is ready to prove that meta-
physical knowledge is wholly impossible has no
right here to any answer. He must be referred for
conviction to the body of this treatise. And he can
hardly refuse to go there, since he himself has, per-
haps unknowingly, entered the arena. He is a
brother metaphysician with a rival theory of first

.K. R. • n

INTRODUCTION,

principles. And this is so plain that I must excuse
myself from dwelling on the point. To say the
reality is such that our knowledge cannot reach it,
is a claim to know reality ; to urge that our know-
ledge is of a kind which must fail to transcend
appearance, itself implies that transcendence. For,
if we had no idea of a beyond, we should assuredly
not know how to talk about failure or success. And
the test, by which we distinguish them, must ob-
viously be some acquaintance with the nature of the
goal. Nay, the would-be sceptic, who presses on
us the contradictions of our thoughts, himself asserts
dogmatically. For these contradictions might be
ultimate and absolute truth, if the nature of the
reality were not known to be otherwise. But this
introduction is not the place to discuss a class of
objections which are themselves, however unwill-
ingly, metaphysical views, and which a little acquaint-
ance with the subject commonly serves to dispel.
So far as is necessary, they will be dealt with in
their proper place : and I will therefore pass to the
second main argument against metaphysics.

(d) It would be idle to deny that this possesses
great force. " Metaphysical knowledge," it insists,
" may be possible theoretically, and even actual, if
you please, to a certain degree ; but, for all that, it
is practically no knowledge worth the name." And
this objection may be rested on various grounds. I
will state some of these, and will make the answers
which appear to me to be sufficient.

The first reason for refusing to enter on our field
is an appeal to the confusion and barrenness which
prevail there. " The same problems," we hear it
often, " the same disputes, the same sheer failure.
Why not abandon it and come out ? Is there
nothing else more worth your labour .'' " To this I
shall reply more fully soon, but will at present deny
entirely that the problems have not altered. The
assertion is about as true and about as false as would

INTRODUCTION.

be a statement that human nature has not chantjed.
And it seems indefensible when we consider that in
history metaphysics has not only been acted on by
the general development, but has also reacted. But,
apart from historical questions, which are here not in
place, I am inclined to take my stand on the admitted
possibility. If the object is not impossible, and the
adventure suits us — what then } Others far better
than ourselves have wholly failed — so you say. But
the man who succeeds is not apparently always the
man of most merit, and even in philosophy's cold
world perhaps some fortunes go by favour. One
never knows until one tries.

But to the question, if seriously I expect to suc-
ceed, I must, of course, answer, No. I do not sup-
pose, that is, that satisfactory knowledge is possible.
How much we can ascertain about reality will be
discussed in this book ; but I may say at once that I
expect a very partial satisfaction. I am so bold as
to believe that we have a knowledge of the Absolute,
certain and real, though I am sure that our compre-
hension is miserably incomplete. But I dissent
emphatically from the conclusion that, because im-
perfect, it is worthless. And I must suggest to the
objector that he should open his eyes and should
consider human nature. Is it possible to abstain
from thought about the universe .'' I do not mean
merely that to every one the whole body of
things must come in the gross, whether consciously
or unconsciously, in a certain way. I mean that, by
various causes, even the average man is compelled to
wonder and to reflect. To him the world, and his
share in it. is a natural object of thought, and seems
likely to remain one. And so, when poetry, art, and
religion have ceased wholly to interest, or when they
show no longer any tendency to struggle with ulti-
mate problems and to come to an understanding
with them ; when the sense of mystery and en-
chantment no longer draws the mind to wander aim-

4 INTRODUCTION.

/, lessly and to love it knows not what ; when, in
jl short, twilight has no charm — then metaphysics
will be worthless. For the question (as things are
now) is not whether we are to reflect and ponder on
ultimate truth — for perhaps most of us do that, and
• are not likely to cease. The question is merely as
to the way in which this should be done. And the
claim of metaphysics .is surely not unreasonable.
Metaphysics takes its stand on this side of human
nature, this desire to think about and comprehend
reality. And it merely asserts that, if the attempt
is to be made, it should be done as thoroughly as
our nature permits. There is no claim on its part
to supersede other functions of the human mind ;
but it protests that, if we are to think, we should
sometimes try to think properly. And the opponent
of metaphysics, it appears to me, is driven to a
dilemma. He must either condemn all reflection
on the essence of things, — and, if so, he breaks,
or, rather, tries to break, with part of the highest
side of human nature, — or else he allows us to
think, but not to think strictly. He permits, that
is to say, the exercise of thought so long as it is
entangled with other functions of our being ; but
as soon as it attempts a pure development of its
own, guided by the principles of its own distinc-
tive working, he prohibits it forthwith. And this
appears to be a paradox, since it seems equivalent
to saying, You may satisfy your instinctive longing
to reflect, so long as you do it in a way which is
unsatisfactory. If your character is such that in you
thought is satisfied by what does not, and cannot,
pretend to be thought proper, that is quite legiti-
mate. But if you are constituted otherwise, and if
in you a more strict thinking is a want of your
nature, that is by all means to be crushed out.
And, speaking for myself, I must regard this as at
once dogmatic and absurd.

But the reader, perhaps, may press me with a

different objection. Admitting, he may say, that
thought about reaUty is lawful, I still do not under-
stand why, the results being what they are, you
should judge it to be desirable. And I will try to
answer this frankly. I certainly do not suppose that
it would be good for every one to study metaphysics,
and I cannot express any opinion as to the number
of persons who should do so. But I think it quite
necessary, even on the view that this study can pro-
duce no positive results, that it should still be pur-
sued. There is, so far as I can see, no other certain
way of protecting ourselves against dogmatic super-
stition. Our orthodo.\ theology on the one side,
and our common-place materialism on the other side
(it is natural to take these as prominent instances),
vanish like ghosts before the daylight of free scepti-
cal enquiry. I do not mean, of course, to condemn
wholly either of these beliefs ; but I am sure that
either, when taken seriously, is the mutilation of
our nature. Neither, as experience has amply
shown, can now survive in the mind which has
thought sincerely on first principles ; and it seems
desirable that there should be such a refuge for the
man who burns to think consistently, and yet is too
good to become a slave, either to stupid fanaticism
or dishonest sophistry. That is one reason why 1
think that metaphysics, even if it end in total scepti-
cism, should be studied by a certain number of
persons.

And there is a further reason which, with myself
perhaps, has even more weight. All of us, I pre-
sume, more or less, are led beyond the region of
ordinary facts. Some in one way and some in others,
we seem to touch and have communion with what is
beyond the visible world. In various manners we
find something higher, which both supports and
humbles, both chastens and transports us. And,
with certain persons, the intellectual effort to under-
stand the universe is a principal way of thus ex-

INTRODUCTION.

periencing the Deity. No one, probably, who has
not felt this, however differently he might describe it,
has ever cared much for metaphysics. And, where-
ever it has been felt strongly, it has been its own
justification. The man whose nature is such that
by one path alone his chief desire will reach con-
summation, will try to find it on that path, whatever
it maybe, and whatever the world thinks of it ; and,
if he does not, he is contemptible. Self-sacrifice is
too often the "great sacrifice" of trade, the giving
cheap what is worth nothing. To know what one
wants, and to scruple at no means that will get it,
may be a harder self-surrender. And this appears
to be another reason for some persons pursuing the
study of ultimate truth.

{c) And that is why, lastly, existing philosophies
cannot answer the purpose. For whether there is
progress or not, at all events there is change ; and
the changed minds of each generation will require
a difference in what has to satisfy their intellect.
Hence there seems as much reason for new philo-
sophy as there is for new poetry. In each case the
fresh production is usually much inferior to something
already in existence ; and yet it answers a purpose
if it appeals more personally to the reader. VVhat
is really worse may serve better to promote, in cer-
tain respects and in a certain generation, the exercise
of our best functions. And that is why, so long as
we alter, we shall always want, and shall always have,
new metaphysics.

I will end this introduction with a word of warn-
ing. I have been obliged to speak of philosophy as
a satisfaction of what may be called the mystical side
of our nature — a satisfaction which, by certain per-
sons, cannot be as well procured otherwise. And I
may have given the impression that I take the
metaphysician to be initiated into something far'
higher than what the common herd possesses. Such
a doctrine would rest on a most deplorable error.

INTRODUCTION. 7

the superstition that the mere intellect is the highest
side of our nature, and the false idea that in the in-
tellectual world work done on higher subjects is for
that reason higher work. Certainly the life of one
man, in comparison with that of another, may be
fuller of the Divine, or, again, may realize it with an
intenser consciousness ; but there is no calling or
pursuit which is a private road to the Deity. And
assuredly the way through speculation upon ultimate
truths, though distinct and legitimate, is not superior
to others. There is no sin, however prone to it the
philosopher may be, which philosophy can justify so
little as spiritual pride.

BOOK I.
APPEARANCE.

CHAPTER I.

PRIMARY AND SECONDARE QUALIJIES.

The fact of illusion and error is in various ways
forced early upon the mind ; and the ideas, by
which we try to understand the universe, may be
considered as attempts to set right our failure. In
this division of my work I shall criticize some of
these, and shall endeavour to show that they have
not reached their object. I shall point out that the
world, as so understood, contradicts itself; and is
therefore appearance, and not reality.

In this chapter I will begin with the proposal to
make things intelligible by the distinction between
primary and secondary qualities. This view is old,
but, I need hardly say, is far from obsolete, nor can
it ever disappear. From time to time, without
doubt, so long as there are human beings, it will
reappear as the most advanced and as the one
scientific theory of first principles. And I begin
with it, because it is so simple, and in the main so
easily disposed of The primary qualities are those
aspects of what we perceive or feel, which, in a
word, are spatial ; and the residue is secondary. -
The solution of the world's enigma lies in taking the
former as reality, and everything else somehow as
derivative, and as more or less justifiable appear-
ance.

The foundation of this view will be known to the
reader, but for the sake of clearness I must trace it
in outline. We assume that a thing must be self-

APPEARANCE.

consistent and self-dependent It either has a
quality or has not got it And, if it has it, it can
not have it only sometimes, and merely in this or
that relation. But such a principle is the condem-
nation of secondary qualities.

It matters very little how in detail we work with
it. A thing is coloured, but not coloured in the
same way to every eye ; and, e-\cept to some eye, it
seems not coloured at all. Is it then coloured or
not ? And the eye — relation to which appears
somehow to make the quality — does that itself
possess colour ? Clearly not so, unless there is
another eye which sees it. Nothing therefore is
really coloured ; colour seems only to belong to
what itself is colourless. And the same result holds,
again, with cold and heat. A thing may be cold or
hot according to different parts of my skin ; and,
without some relation to a skin, it seems without any
such quality. And, by a like argument, the skin is
proved not itself to own the quality, which is hence
possessed by nothing. And sounds, not heard, are
hardly real ; while what hears them is the ear, it-
self not audible, nor even always in the enjoyment
of sound. With smell and with taste the case seems
almost worse ; for they are more obviously mixed
up with our pleasure and pain. If a thing tastes
only in the mouth, is taste its quality ? Has it
smell where there is no nose ? But nose and
tongue are smelt or tasted only by another nose or
tongue ; nor can either again be said to have as a
quality what they sometimes enjoy. And the
pleasant and disgusting, which we boldly locate in
the object, how can they be there ? Is a thing
delightful or sickening really and in itself ? Am
even I the constant owner of these wandering
adjectives .-' — But 1 will not weary the reader by
insistence on detail. The argument shows every-
where that things have secondary qualities only for
an organ ; and that the organ itself has these

PRIMARY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES.

•3

qualities in no other way. They are found to be
adjectives, somehow supervening on relations of the
extended. The extended only is real. And the
facts of what is called subjective sensation, under
which we may include dream and delusion of all
kinds, may be adduced in support. They go to
show that, as we can have the sensation without the
object, and the object without the sensation, the
one cannot possibly be a quality of the other. The
secondary qualities, therefore, are appearance,
coming from the reality, which itself has no quality
but extension.

This argument has two sides, a negative and a
positive. The first denies that secondary qualities
are the actual nature of things, the second goes on
to make an affirmation about the primary. I will
enquire first if the negative assertion is justified. I
will not dispute the truth of the principle that, if a
thing has a quality, it must have it ; but I will ask
whether on this basis some defence may not be
made. And we may attempt it in this way. All the
arguments, we may protest, do but show defect in, or
interference with, the organ of perception. The
fact that I cannot receive the secondary qualities,
except under certain conditions, fails to prove that
they are not there and existing in the thing. And,
supposing that they are there, still the argument
proves their absence, and is hence unsound. And
sheer delusion and dreams do not overthrow this
defence. The qualities are constant in the things
themselves ; and, if they fail to impart themselves,
or impart themselves wrongly, that is always due to
something outside their nature. If we could per-
ceive them, they are there.

But this way of defence seems hardly tenable.
For, if the qualities impart themselves never except
under conditions, how in the end are we to say
what they are when unconditioned ? Having once
begun, and having been compelled, to take their

APPEARANCE.

appearance into the account, we cannot afterwards
strike it out. It being admitted that the qualities
come to us always in a relation, and always as
appearing, then certainly we know them only as
appearance. And the mere supposition that in
themselves they may really be what they are, seems
quite meaningless or self-destructive. Further, we
may enforce this conclusion by a palpable instance.
To hold that one's mistress is charming, ever and in
herself, is an article of faith, and beyond reach of
question. But, if we turn to common things, the
result will be otherwise. We observed that the
disgusting and the pleasant may make part of the
character of a taste or a smell, while to take these
aspects as a constant quality, either of the thing or
of the organ, seems more than unjustifiable, and

. even almost ridiculous. And on the whole we
must admit that the defence has broken down. The
secondary qualities must be judged to be merely
appearance.

But are they the appearance of the primary, and
are these the reality .'' The positive side of the
contention was that in the extended we have the

^ essence of the thing ; and it is necessary to ask if
this conclusion is true. The doctrine is, of course,
materialism, and is a very simple creed. What is
extended, together with its spatial relations, is sub-
stantive fact, and the rest is adjectival. We have
not to ask here if this view is scientific, in the sense
of being necessarily used for work in some sciences.
That has, of course, nothing to do with the ques-
tion now before us, since we are enquiring solely
whether the doctrine is true. And, regarded in this
way, perhaps no student would call materialism
scientific.

1 will indicate briefly the arguments against the
sole reality of primary qualities, {/i) In the first place,
we may ask how, in the nature of the extended, the
qualities stand to the relations which have to hold

PRIMARY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES.

'between them. This is a problem to be handled
later (Chapter iv.), and I will only remark here that its
result is fatal to materialism. And, (A) in the second
place, the relation of the primary qualities to the
secondary — in which class feeling and thought have
presumably to be placed — seems wholly unin-
telligible. F"or nothing is actually removed from
existence by being labelled "appearance." What
appears is there, and must be dealt with ; but
materialism has no rational way of dealing with
appearance. Appearance must belong, and yet can-
not belong, to the extended. It neither is able to
fall somewhere apart, since there is no other real
place ; nor ought it, since, if so, the relation would
vanish and appearance would cease to be derivative.
But, on the other side, if it belongs in any sense to
the reality, how can it be shown not to infect that
with its own unreal character."' Or we may urge
that matter must cease to be itself, if (qualified
essentially by all that is secondary. But, taken
otherwise, it has become itself but one out of two
elements, and is not the reality.

And, (f) thirdly, the line of reasoning, which
showed that secondary qualities are not real, has
equal force as applied to primary. The extended
comes to us only by relation to an organ ; and,
whether the organ is touch or is sight or muscle-
feeling — or whatever else it may be — makes no
difference to the argument. For, in any case, the
thing is perceived by us through an affection of our
body, and never without that. And our body itself
is no exception, for we perceive that, as extended,
solely by the action of one part upon another per-
cipient part. That we have no miraculous intuition
of our body as spatial reality i« perfectly certain.
But, if so, the extended thing will have its quality
only when perceived by something else ; and the
percipient something else is again in the same case.
Nothing, in short, proves extended except in relation

APPEARANCE.

to another thing, which itself does not possess the
quality, if you try to take it by itself. And, further,
the objection from dream and delusion holds again.
That objection urges that error points to a necessary
relation of the object to our knowledge, even where
error is not admitted. But such a relation would
reduce every quality to appearance. We might,
indeed, attempt once more here to hold the former
line of defence. We might reply that the extended
thing is a fact real by itself, and that only its relation
to our percipience is variable. But the inevitable
conclusion is not so to be averted. If a thing is
known to have a quality only under a certain con-
dition, there is no process of reasoning from this
which will justify the conclusion that the thing, if
unconditioned, is yet the same. This seems quite
certain ; and, to go further, if we have no other
source of information, if the quality in question is
non-existent for us except in one relation, then for
us to assert its reality away from that relation is more
than unwarranted. It is, to speak plainly, an attempt
in the end without meaning. And it would seem
that, if materialism is to stand, it must somehow get
to the existence of primary qualities in a way which
avoids their relation to an organ. But since, as we
shall hereafter see (Chapter iv.), their very essence is
relative, even this refuge is closed.

(r/) But there is a more obvious argument against
the sole reality of spatial qualities ; and, if I were
writing;,' for the people an attack upon materialism,
I should rest great weight on this point. Without
secondary quality extension is not conceivable, and
no one can bring it, as existing, before his mind if
he keeps it quite pure. In short, it is the violent
abstraction of one aspect from the rest, and the
mere confinement of our attention to a single side
of things, a fiction which, forgetting itself, takes a
ghost for solid reality. And I will say a few words
on this obvious answer to materialism.

■

PRIMARY AND SECONDAI

That doctrine, of course, holds that the extended
can be actual, entirely apart from every other
quality. B.ut extension is never so given. If it is
visual, it must be coloured ; and if it is tactual, or
acquired in the various other ways which may fall
under the head of the " muscular sense," — then it is
never free from sensations, coming from the skin, or
the joints, or the muscles, or, as some would like to
add, from a central source. And a man may say
what he likes, but he cannot think of extension
without thinking at the same time of a " what " that
is extended. And not only is this so, but particular
differences, such as " up and down," " right and
left," are necessary to the terms of the spatial re-
lation. But these differences clearly are not merely
spatial. Like the general " what," they will consist
in all cases of secondary quality from a sensation of
the kinds I have mentioned above. Some psycho-
logists, indeed, could go further, and could urge that
the secondary qualities are original, and the primary
derivative ; since extension (in their view) is a con-
struction or growth from the wholly non-extended.
I could not quite say that, but I can appeal to what
is indisputable. Extension cannot be presented, or
thought of, except as one with quality that is
secondary. It is by itself a mere abstraction, for
some purposes necessary, but ridiculous when taken
as an existing thing. Yet the materialist, from
defect of nature or of education, or probably both,
worships without justification this thin product of
his untutored fancy.

" Not without justification," he may reply, "since
in the procedure of science the secondary qualities
are explained as results from the primary. Obviously,
therefore,, tfffise latter are independent and prior."
But this is a very simple error. For suppose that
you ha've shown that, given one element, ^, an-
other, d, does in fact follow on it ; suppose that you
can prove that d comes just the same, whether A is

A R. c

1 8 APPEARANCE.

attended by c, or d, or e, or any one of a number
of other qualities, you cannot go from this to the re-
sult that A exists and works naked. The secondary
b can be explained, you urge, as issuing from the
primary A, without consideration of aught else. Let
it be so ; but all that could follow is, that the special
natures of A's accompaniments are not concerned
in the process. There is not only no proof, but there
is not even the very smallest presumption, that ^
could act by itself, or could be a real fact if alone.
It is doubtless scientific to disregard certain aspects
when we work ; but to urge that therefore such as-
pects are not fact, and that what we use without
r^jard to them is an independent real thing, — this
is barbarous metaphysics.

We have found then that, if the secondary quali-
ties are appearance, the primary are certainly not
able to stand by themselves. This distinction, from
which materialism is blindly developed, has been
seen to bring us no nearer to the true nature of
reality.

CHAPTER 11.

• SUBSTANTIVE AND ADJECTIVE.

We have seen that the distinction of primary from
secondary qualities has not taken us far. Let us,
without regard to it, and once more directly turning
to what meets us, examine another way of making
that intelligible. We find the world's contents
grouped into things and their qualities. The sub-
stantive and adjective is a time-honoured distinction
and arrangement of facts, with a view to understand
them, and to arrive at reality. I must briefly point
out the failure of this method, if regarded as a serious
attempt at theory.

We may take the familiar instance of a lump of
sugar. This is a thing, and it has properties, adjec-
tives which qualify it. It is, for example, white, and
hard, and sweet. The sugar, we say, is all that ; but
what the is can really mean seems doubtful. A thing
is not any one of its qualities, if you take that quality
by itself; if "sweet" were the same as "simply
sweet," the thing would clearly be not sweet. And,
again, in so far as sugar is sweet it is not white or
hard ; for these properties are all distinct. Nor,
again, can the thing be all its properties, if you take
them each severally. Sugar is obviously not mere
whiteness, mere hardness, and mere sweetness ; for
its reality lies somehow in its unity. But if, on the
other hand, we inquire what there can be in the
thing beside its several qualities, we are baffled once
more. We can discover no real unity existing out-
side these qualities, or, again, existing within them.

20 APPEARANCE.

But it is our emphasis, perhaps, on the aspect of
unity which has caused this confusion. Sugar is, of
course, not the mere plurality of its different adjec-
i tives ; but why should it be more than its properties
I in relation ? When " white," " hard," " sweet," and
the rest co-exist in a certain way, that is surely the
secret of the thing. The qualities are, and are in re-
lation. But here, as before, when we leave phrases
we wander among puzzles. " Sweet," " white," aqd
" hard " seem now the subjects about which we are
j saying something. We certainly do not predicate
■ one of the other ; for, if we attempt to identify them,
they at once resist. They are in this wholly incom-
patible, and, so far, quite contrary. Apparently,
then, a relation is to be asserted of each. One
quality, A, is in relation with another quality, B.
But what are we to understand here by is ? We
do not mean that " in relation with B " is A, and yet
we assert that A is "in relation with B." In the
same way C is called " before D," and E is spoken of
as being " to the right of /^" We say all this, but
from the interpretation, then " before D" is C, and
" to the right of F"is £, we recoil in horror. No, we
should reply, the relation is not identical with the
thing. It is only a sort of attribute which inheres
or belongs. The word to use, when we are pressed,
should not be is, but only Aas. But this reply comes
to very little. The whole question is evidently as to
the meaning of Aas ; and, apart from metaphors not
taken seriously, there appears really to be no answer.
And we seem unable to clear ourselves from the old
dilemma, If you predicate what is different, you as-
cribe to the subject what it is noi ; and if you predi-
cate what is uoi different, you say nothing at all.

Driven forward, we must attempt to modify our
statement. We must assert the relation now, not of
one term, but of both. A and B are identical in such
a point, and in such another point they differ ; or,
again, they are so situated in space or in time. And

SUnSTANTIVE AND ADJECTIVE.

thus we avoid is, and keep to are. But, seriously,
that does not look like the explanation of a difficulty ;
it looks more like trifling with phrases. For, if you
mean that A and B, taken each severally, even
" have " this relation, you are asserting what is false.
But if you mean that A and B in such a relation are
so related, you appear to mean nothing. For here,
as before, if the predicate makes no difference, it is
idle ; but, if it makes the subject other than it is, it is
false.

But let us attempt another exit from this be-
wildering circle. Let us abstain from making the
relation an attribute of the related, and let us make it
more or less independent. " There is a relation C,
in which A and B stand ; and it appears with both
of them." But here again we have made no pro-
gress. The relation C has been admitted different
from A and B, and no longer is predicated of them.
Something, however, seems to be said of this relation
C and said, again, of A and B. And this something
is not to be the ascription of one to the other. If so,
it would appear to be another relation, D, in which
C, on one side, and, on the other side, A and B,
stand. But such a makeshift leads at once to the in-
finite process. The new relation D can be predicated
in no way of C, or of A and B ; and hence we must
have recourse to a fresh relation, E, which comes
between D and whatever we had before. But this
must lead to another, F\ and so on, indefinitely.
Thus the problem is not solved by taking relations
as independently real. For, if so, the qualities and
their relation fall entirely apart, and then we have
said nothing. Or we have to make a new relation
between the old relation and the terms ; which, when
it is made, does not help us. It either itself demands
a new relation, and so on without end, or it leaves
us where we were, entangled in difficulties.

The attempt to resolve the thing into properties,

somehow

each a real thing, taken

together with in-

APPEARANCE.

dependent relations, has proved an obvious failure.
And we are forced to see, when we reflect, that a
relation standing alongside of its terms is a delu-
sion.. If it is to be real, it must be so somehow at
the expense of the terms, or, at least, must be some-
thing which appears in them or to which they belong.
A relation between A and -/? implies really a substan-
tial foundation within them. This foundation, if we
say that A is like to B, is the identity A' which holds
these difterences together. And so with space and
time — everywhere there must be a whole embracing
what is related, or there would be no differences and
no relation. It seems as if a reality possessed differ-
ences, A and B, incompatible with one another and
also with itself. And so in order, without contra-
diction, to retain its various properties, this whole
consents to wear the form of relations between them.
And this is why qualities are found to be some in-
compatible and some compatible. They are all
different, and, on the other hand, because belonging
to one whole, are all forced to come together. And
it is only where they come together distantly by the
help of a relation, that they cease to conftict. On the
other hand, where a thing fails to set up a relation
between its properties, they are contrary at once.
Thus colours and smells live together at peace in the
reality ; for the thing divides itself, and so leaves
them merely side by side within itself. But colour
collides with colour, because their special identity
drives them together. And here again, if the iden-
tity becomes relational by help of space, they are
outside one another, and are peaceful once more.
The "contrary," in short, consists of differences pos-
sessed by that which cannot find the relation which
serves to couple them apart. It is marriage at-
tempted without a modus Vivendi. But where the
whole, relaxing its unity, takes the form of an ar-
rangement, there is co-existence with concord.

I have set out the above mainly because of the

SUBSTANTIVE AND ADJECTIVE.

light which it throws upon the nature of the " con-
trary." It affords no solution of our problem of inher-
ence. It tells us how we are forced to arrange things
in a certain manner, but it does not justify that ar-
rangement. The thing avoids contradiction by its dis-
appearance into relations, and by its admission of the
adjectives to a standing of their own. But it avoids
contradiction by a kind of suicide. It can give no
rational account of the relations and the terms which
it adopts, and it cannot recover the real unity, with-
out which it is nothing. The whole device is a clear
makeshift. It consists in saying to the outside
world, " I am the owner of these my adjectives,"
and to the properties, " 1 am but a relation, which
leaves you your liberty." And to itself and for itself
it is the futile pretence to have both characters at
once. Such an arrangement may work, but the
theoretical problem is not solved.

The immediate unity, in which facts come to us,
has been broken up by experience, and later by
reflection. The thing with its adjectives is a device
for enjoying at once both variety and concord.
But the distinctions, once made, fall apart from the
thing, and away from one another. And our
attempt to understand their relations brought us
round merely to an unity, which confesses itself a
pretence, or else falls back upon the old undivided
substance, which admits of no distinctions. We
shall see the hopelessness of its dilemma more
clearly when we have examined how relation stands
to quality. But this demands another chapter.

I will, in conclusion, dispose very briefly of a
possible suggestion. The distinctions taken in the
thing are to be held only, it may be urged, as the
ways in which we regard it The thing itself
maintains its unity, and the aspects of adjective
and substantive are only our points of view.
Hence they do no injury to the real. But this
defence is futile, since the question is how without

24 APPEARANCE.

error we may think of reality. If then your col-
lection of points of view is a defensible way of so
thinking, by all means apply it to the thing, and
make an end of our puzzle. Otherwise the thing,
without the points of view, appears to have no
character at all, and they, without the thing, to
possess no reality — even if they could be made
compatible among themselves, the one with .the
other. In short, this distinction, drawn between
the fact and our manner of regarding it, only serves
to double the original confusion. There will now
be an inconsistency in my mind as well as in the
thing; and, far from helping, the one will but
aggravate the other.

CHAPTER III.

RELATION AND QUALITY.

It must have become evident that the problem,
discussed in the last chapter, really turns on the
respective natures of quality and relation. And the
reader may have anticipated the conclusion we are
now to reach. The arrangement of given facts into^
relations and qualities may be necessary in practice,
but it is theoretically unintelligible. The reality, so
characterized, is not true reality, but is appearance. ;;

And it can hardly be maintained that this char-
acter calls for no understanding — that it is an unique
way of being which the reality possesses, and which
we have got merely to receive. For it most evid-
ently has ceased to be something quite immediate.
It contains aspects within itself which plainly are
differences, and which tend, so far as we see, to a
further separation. And, if the reality really has a
way of uniting these in harmony, that way assuredly
is not manifest at first siofht. On our own side
those distinctions, which even consciously we make,
may possibly in some way give the truth about
reality. But, so long as we fail to justify them and
to make them intelligible to ourselves, we are
bound, so far, to set them down as mere appear-
ance

The object of this chapter is to show that the
very essence of these ideas is infected and con-
tradicts itself. Our conclusion briefly will be
this. Relation presupposes quality, and quality
relation. Each can be something neither together

•1

API'EARANCE.

apart

from,

the

other ;

and

the ^

iricious

which

they

turn

is not

the

truth

about

with, nor
circle in
reality.

C 1. Qualities are nothing without relations. In
trying to exhibit the truth of this statement, I will
lay no weight on a considerable mass of evidence.
This would be furnished by psychology, and would
show how qualities are variable by changes of rela-
tion. The differences we perceive are in many
cases created by such changes. But I will not
appeal to such an argument, since I do not see that
it could prove wholly the non-existence of original
and independent qualities. And the line of proof
through the necessity of contrast for perception
has, in my opinion, been carried beyond logical
limits. Hence, though these considerations have
without doubt an important bearing on our problem,
I prefer here to disregard them. And I do not
think that they are necessary.

We may proceed better to our conclusion in the
following way. You can never, we may argue, find
qualities without relations. Whenever you take
them so, they are made so, and continue so, by
an operation which itself implies relation. Their
plurality gets for us all its meaning through rela-
tions ; and to suppose it otherwise in reality is
wholly indefensible. I will draw this out in greater
detail.

To find qualities without relations is surely im-
possible. In the field of consciousness, even when
we abstract from the relations of identity and dif-
ference, they are never independent. One is to-
gether with, and related to, one other, at the least,
— in fact, always to more than one. Nor will an
appeal to a lower and undistinguished state of mind,
where in one feeling are many aspects, assist us in
I admit the existence of such states with-
relation, but I wholly deny there the
of qualities. For if these felt aspects,

any way.
out any
presence

RELATION AND QUALITY.

•while merely felt, are to be called qualities at all,
they are so only for the observation of an outside
observer. And then for him they are given as
aspects — that is, together with relations. In short, if
you go back to mere unbroken feeling, you have no
relations and no qualities. But if you come to what
is distinct, you get relations at once.

I presume we shall be answered in this way —
Even though, we shall be told, qualities proper can
not be discovered apart from relations, that is no
real disproof of their separate existence. Por we
are well able to distinguish them and to consider
them by themselves. And for this perception
certainly an operation of our minds is required. So
far, therefore, as you say, what is different must be
distinct, and, in consequence, related. But this
relation does not really belong to the reality. The
relation has existence only for us, and as a way of
our getting to know. But the distinction, for all
that, is based upon differences in the actual ; and
these remain when our relations have fallen away
or have been removed.

But such an answer depends on the separation of
product from process, and this separation seems
indefensible. The qualities, as distinct, are always \
made so by an action which is admitted to imply \
relation. They are made so, and, what is more, '
they are emphatically kept so. And you cannot
ever get your product standing apart from its
process. Will you say, the process is not essential ?
But that is a conclusion to be proved, and it is
monstrous to assume it. Will you try to prove it
by analogy .'' It is possible, no doubt, to have a
process which does not affect, and is not necessary
to, the inner nature of an object. But has such a
generality much application here ? Will you in-
stance mental operations, such as comparison of the
distinct, and urge that in these the results are
independent of the processes .'' Here, while for

APPEARANCE.

argument's sake admitting what it would be easy to
dispute, I must point out that the result of the
process is a relation. But I cannot believe that
this is a matter to be decided by analogy, for the
whole case is briefly this. There is an operation
which, removing one part of what is given, presents
the other part in abstraction. This result is never
to be found anywhere apart from a persisting ab-
straction. And, if we have no further information,
I can find no excuse for setting up the result as
being fact without the process. The burden lies
wholly on the assertor, and he fails entirely to
support it. The argument that in perception one
quality must be given first and before others, and
therefore cannot be relative, is hardly worth
mentioning. What is more natural than for quali-
ties always to have come to us in some conjunction,
and never alone .■*

We may go further. Not only is the ignoring of
the process a thing quite indefensible — even if it
blundered into truth — but there is evidence that it
gives falsehood. For th^ result bears internally
the character of the process. The manyness of the
qualities cannot, in short, be reconciled with their
simplicity. Their plurality depends on relation,
and, without that relation, they are not distinct.
But, if not distinct, then not different, and therefore
not qualities.

I am not urging that quality without difference is
in every sense impossible. For all I know, creatures
may exist whose life consists, for themselves, in one
unbroken simple feeling ; and the arguments urged
against such a possibility in my judgment come
short. And, if you want to call this feeling a
quality, by all means gratify your desire. But then
remember that the whole point is quite irrelevant.
For no one is contending whether the universe is
or is not a quality in this sense ; but the question
is entirely as to qualities. And a universe con-

RELATION AND QUALITY.

fined to one feeling would not only not be qualities,
but it would fail even to be one quality, as different

from others and
question is really
differences.
We have
found apart.

as distinct from relations. Our
whether relation is essential to-

seen
We

that in fact the two are never
have seen that the separation by
abstraction ig no proof of real separateness. And
now we have to urge, in short, that any separateness
implies separation, and so relation, and is therefore,
when made absolute, a self-discrepancy. For con-
sider, the qualities A and B are to be different from
each other ; and, if so, that difference must fall some-
where. If it falls, in any degree or to any extent,
outside A or B, we have relation at once..< But, on
the other hand, how can difference and otherness
fall inside ? If we have in A any such otherness,
then inside A we must distinguish its own quality
and its otherness. And, if so, then the unsolved
problem breaks out inside each quality, and sepa-
rates each into two qualities in relation. In brief,
diversity without relation seems a word without
meaning. And it is no answer to urge that plurality
proper is not in question here. I am convinced of
the opposite, but by all means, if you will, let us
confine ourselves to distinctness and difference. I
rest my argument upon this, that if there are no
differences, there are no qualities, since all must fall
into one. But, if there is any difference, then that
implies a relation. Without a relation it has no
meaning ; it is a mere word, and not a thought ; and
no one would take it for a thought if he did not, in
spite of his protests, import relation into it. And
this is the point on which all seems to turn, Is it
possible to think of qualities without thinking ol
distinct characters ? Is it possible to think of these
without some relation between them, either explicit,
or else unconsciously supplied by the mind that
tries only to apprehend ? Have qualities without

APPEARANCE.

relation any meaning for thought ? For myself, I
am sure that they have none.

And I find a confirmation in the issue of the most
thorough attempt to build a system on this ground.
There it is not too much to say that all the content
of the universe becomes something very like an
impossible illusion. The Reals are secluded and
simple, simple beyond belief if they never suspect
that they are not so. But our fruitful life, on the
other hand, seems due to their persistence in imagin-
ary recovery from unimaginable perversion. And
they remain guiltless of all real share in these ambi-
guous connections, which seem to make the world.
They are above it, and fixed like stars in the firma-
ment — if there only were a firmament.

/^ 2, We have found that qualities, taken without
I ~ relations, have no intelligible meaning. Unfortun-
I ately, taken together with them, they are equally
\ -unintelligible. They cannot, in the first place, be
I wholly resolved into the relations. You may urge,
indeed, that without distinction no difference is left ;
but, for all that, the differences will not disappear
into the distinction. They must come to it, more
or less, and they cannot wholly be made by it. I
still insist that for thought what is not relative is-
nothing. But I urge, on the other hand, that
nothings cannot be related, and that to turn quali-
ties in relation into mere relations is impossible.
Since the fact seems constituted by both, you may
urge, if you please, that cither one of them consti-
tutes it. But if you mean that the other is not
wanted, and that relations can somehow make the
terms upon which they seem to stand, then, for my
mind, your meaning is quite unintelligible. So far
as I can see, relations must depend upon terms, just
as much as terms upon relations. And the partial
failure, now manifest, of the Dialectic Method seems
connected with some misapprehension on this point.

RELATION AND QUALITY.

Hence the qualities must be, and must also be
related. But there is hence a diversity which falls
inside each quality. It has a double character, as
both supporting and as being made by the relation.
It may be taken as at once condition and result, and
the question is as to how it can combine this variety.
For it must combine the diversity, and yet it fails to
do so. A is both made, and is not made, what it is
by relation ; and these different aspects are not each
the other, nor again is either A. If we call its
diverse aspects a and «, then A is partly each of
these. As a it is the difference on which distinction
is based, while as a it is the distinctness that results
from connection. A is really both somehow together
as A (a — a). But (as we saw in Chapter ii.) without
the use of a relation it is impossible to predicate this
variety o{ A. And, on the other hand, with an in-
ternal relation y4's unity disappears, and its contents
are dissipated in an endless process of distinction.
A at first becomes a in relation with u. but these
terms themselves fall hopelessly asunder. We have
got, against our will, not a mere aspect, but a new
quality a, which itself stands in a relation ; and
hence (as we saw before with A) its content must
be manifold. As going into the relation it itself is
a', and as resulting from the relation it itself is a*.
And it combines, and yet cannot combine, these
adjectives. We, in brief, are led by a principle of
fission which conducts us to no end. Every quality
in relation has, in consequence, a diversity within
its own nature, and this diversity cannot immedi-
ately be asserted of the quality. Hence the quality
must e.xchange its unity for an internal relation.
But, thus set free, the diverse aspects, because each
something in relation, must each be something also
beyond. This diversity is fatal to the internal unity
of each ; and it demands a new relation, and so
on without limit. In short, qualities in a relation
have turned out as unintelligible as were qualities

APPEARANCE.

without one. The problem from both sides has
baffled us.

3. We may briefly reach the same dilemma from
the side of relations. They are nothing intelligible,
either with or without their qualities. In the first
place, a relation without terms seems mere verbiage;
and terms appear, therefore, to be something beyond
their relation. At least, for myself, a relation which
somehow precipitates terms which were not there
before, or a relation which can get on somehow
without terms, and with no differences beyond the
mere ends of a line of connection, is really a plirase
without meaning. It is, to my mind, a false abstrac-
tion, and a thing which loudly contradicts itself ;
and I fear that 1 am obliged to leave the matter so.
As I am left without information, and can discover
with my own ears no trace of harmony, I am forced
to conclude to a partial deafness in others. And
hence a relation, we must say, without qualities is
nothing.

But how the relation can stand to the qualities is,
on the other side, unintelligible. If it is nothing to
the qualities, then they are not related at all ; and,
if so, as we saw, they have ceased to be qualities,
and their relation is a nonentity. But if it is to be
something to them, then clearly we now shall require
a neiv connecting relation. For the relation hardly
can be the mere adjective of one or both of its
terms; or, at least, as such it seems indefensible.'
And, being something itself, if it does not itself bear
a relation to the terms, in what intelligible way will
it succeed in being anything to them .'' But here

• The relation is not the adjective of one term, for, if so, it
does not relate. Nor for the same reason is it the adjective of
each term taken apart, for then again there is no relation between
them. Nor is the relation their common property, for then what
keeps them apart ? They are now not two terms at all, because
not separate. And within this new whole, in any case, the pro-
blem of inherence would break out in an aggravated form. But
it seems unnecessary to work this all out in detail.

Rr.LATION AND QUALITY.

again we are hurried ofif into the eddy of a hopeless
process, since we are forced to go on finding new
relations without end. The links are united by a
link, and this bond of union is a link which also has
two ends ; and these require each a fresh link to
connect them with the old. The problem is to find
how the relation can stand to its qualities ; and this
problem is insoluble. If you take the connection as
a solid thing, you have got to show, and you can-
not show, how the other solids are joined to it.
And, if you take it as a kind of medium or unsub-
stantial atmosphere, it is a connection no longer.
You find, in this case, that the whole question of
the relation of the qualities (for they certainly in
some way are related) arises now outside it, in
precisely the same form as before. The original
relation, in short, has become a nonentity, but, in
becoming this, it has removed no element of the
problem.

I will bring this chapter to an end. It would be
easy, and yet profitless, to spin out its argument
with ramifications and refinements. And for me
to attempt to anticipate the reader's objections would
probably be useless. I have stated the case, and 1
must leave it. The conclusion to which I am
brought is that a relational way of thought — any one
that moves by the machinery of terms and relations —
must give appearance, and not truth. It is a make-
shift, a device, a mere practical compromise, most
necessary, but in the end most indefensible. We
have to take reality as many, and to take it as one,
and to avoid contradiction. We want to divide it,
or to take it, when we please, as indivisible ; to go
as far as we desire in either of these directions, and
to stop when that suits us. And we succeed, but
succeed merely by shutting the eye, which if left
open would condemn us ; or by a perpetual oscilla-
tion and a shifting of the ground, so as to turn our
back upon the aspect we desire to ignore. But

A. R. D

34 APPEARANCE.

when these inconsistencies are forced together, as
in metaphysics they must be, the result is an open
and staring discrepancy. And we cannot attribute
this to reality ; while, if we try to take it on our-
selves, we have changed one evil for two. Our
intellect, then, has been condemned to confusion
and bankruptcy, and the reality has been left outside
uncomprehended. Or rather, what is worse, it has
been stripped bare of all distinction and quality.
It is left naked and without a character, and we are
covered with confusion.

The reader, who has followed and has grasped
the principle of this chapter, will have little need to
spend his time upon those which succeed it He
will have seen that our experience, where relational,
is not true ; and he -will have condemned, almost
without a hearing, the great mass of phenomena. I
feel, however, called on next to deal very briefly
with Space and Time.

CHAPTER IV.

SPACE AND TIME.

Thk object of this chapter is far from being an
attempt to discuss fully the nature of space or of
time. It will content itself with stating our main
justification for regarding them as appearance. It
will explain why we deny that, in the character
which they exhibit, they either have or belong to
reality, I will first show this of space.

We have nothing to do here with the psychologi-
cal origin of the perception. Space may be a pro-
duct developed from non-spatial elements ; and, if
so, its production may have great bearing on the
question of its true reality. But it is impossible
for us to consider this here. For, in the first place,
every attempt so to explain its origin has turned out
a clear failure.' And, in the second place, its reality
would not be necessarily affected by the proof of
its development. Nothing can be taken as real
because, for psychology, it is original ; or, again, as
unreal, because it is secondary. If it were a legiti-

' I do not mean to say that I consider it to be original. On
the contrary, one may have reason to believe something to be
secondary, even though one cannot point out its foundation and
origin. \Vhat has been called " extensity " appears to me in the
main to consist in confusion. When you know what you mean
by it, it seems to turn out to be either spatial at once and down-
right, or else not spatial at all. It is useful, in short, only as long
as you allow it to be obscure. Does all perception, of more ami
less (or all which does not involve degree in the strict sense >
imply space, or not? Any answer to this question would, I think,
dispose of " extensity."

APPEARANCE.

mate construction from elements that were true, then
it might be derived only for our knowledge, and be
original in fact. But so long as its attempted deri-
vation is in part obscure and in part illusory, it is
better to regard this whole question as irrelevant.

Let us then, taking space or extension simply as
it is, enquire whether it contradicts itself. The
reader will be acquainted with the difficulties that
-have arisen from the continuity and the discrete-
ness of space. These necessitate the conclusion
that space is endless, while an end is essential to its
being. Space cannot come to a final limit, either
within itself or on the outside. And yet, so long as
it remains something always passing away, internally
or beyond itself it is not space at all. This dilemma
has been met often by the ignoring of one aspect,
but it has never been, and it will never be, con-
fronted and resolved. And naturally, while it
stands, it is the condemnation of space.

I am going to state it here in the form which
exhibits, I think, most plainly the root of the con-
tradiction, and also its insolubility. Space is a
relation — which it cannot be ; and it is a quality or
substance — which again it cannot be. It is a
peculiar form of the problem which we discussed in
the last chapter, and is a special attempt to combine
the irreconcilable. I will set out this puzzle
antithetically.

I. Space is not a mere relation. For any space
must consist of extended parts, and these parts
clearly are spaces. So that, even if we could take
our space as a collection, it would be a collection of
solids. The relation would join spaces which would
not be mere relations. And hence the collection,
if taken as a mere inter-relation, would not be space.
We should be brought to the proposition that space
is nothing but a relation of spaces. And this pro-
position contradicts itself

Again, from the other side, if any space is taken

SPACE AND TIME.

as a whole, it is evidently more than a relation. It
is a thing, or substance, or quality (call it what you
please), which is clearly as solid as the parts which
it unites. From without, or from within, it is quite
as repulsive and as simple as any of its contents.
The mere fact that we are driven always to speak
of its parts should be evidence enough. What -
could be the parts of a relation .'' '

2. But space is nothing but a relation. F"or, in
the first place, any space must consist of parts ; and,
if the parts are not spaces, the whole is not space.
Take then in a space any parts. These, it is
assumed, must be solid, but they are obviously
extended. If extended, however, they will them-
selves consist of parts, and these again of further
parts, and so on without end. A space, or a part
of space, that really means to be solid, is a self-
contradiction. Anything extended is a collection, a
relation of extendeds, which again are relations
of extendeds, and so on indefinitely. The terms
are essential to the relation, and the terms do not
exist. Searching without end, we never find any-
thing more than relations ; and we see that we can-
not. Space is essentially a relation of what vanishes
into relations, which seek in vain for their
terms. It Is lengths of lengths of — nothing that we
can find.

And, from the outside again, a like conclusion is
forced on us. We have seen that space vanishes
internally into relations between units which never
can exist. But, on the other side, when taken it-
self as an unit, it passes away into the search for an -
illusory whole. It is essentially the reference of
itself to something else, a process of endless passing
beyond actuality. As a whole it is, briefly, the -
relation of itself to a non-existent other. For take
space as large and as complete as you possibly can.
Still, if it has not definite boundaries, it is not
space ; and to make it end in a cloud, or in nothing,

APPEARANCE.

is mere blindness and our mere failure to perceive.
A space limited, and yet without space that is out-
side, is a self-contradiction. But the outside, un-
fortunately, is compelled likewise to pass beyond
itself; and the end cannot be reached. And it is
not merely that we fail to perceive, or fail to under-
stand, how this can be otherwise. We perceive
and we understand that it cannot be otherwise, at
least if space is to be space. We either do not know
what space means ; and, if so, certainly we cannot
say that it is more than appearance. Or else, know-
ing what we mean by it, we see inherent in that
meaning the puzzle we are describing. Space, to
be space, must have space outside itself It for
ever disappears into a whole, which proves never
to be more than one side of a relation to something
beyond. And thus space has neither any solid
parts, nor, when taken as one, is it more than the
relation of itself to a new self As it stands, it is
not space ; and, in trying to find space beyond it,
we can find only that which passes away into a
relation. Space is a relation between terms, which
can never be found.

It would not repay us to dwell further on the
contradiction which we have exhibited. The reader,
who has once grasped the principle, can deal him-
self with the details, I will refer merely in passing
to a supplementary difificulty. Empty space — space
without some quality (visual or muscular) which in it-
self is more than spatial — is an unreal abstraction. It
cannot be said to exist, for the reason that it cannot
by itself have any meaning. When a man realizes
what he has got in it, he finds that always he has a
quality which is more than extension (cp. Chapter
j.). But, if so, how this quality is to stand to the
extension is an insoluble problem. It is a case of
" inherence," which we saw (Chapter ii.) was in
principle unintelligible. And, without further delay,
I will proceed to consider time. I shall in this

SPACE AND TIME.

chapter confine myself almost entirely to the diffi-
culties caused by the discretion and the continuity
of time. With regard to change, I will say some-
thing further in the chapter which follows.

Efforts have been made to explain time psycho-
logically — to exhibit, that is to say, its origin from •
what comes to the mind as timeless. But, for the
same reason which seemed conclusive in the case of
space, and which here has even greater weight, I
shall not consider these attempts. I shall inquire
simply as to time's character, and whether, that
being as it is, it can belong to reality.

It is usual to consider time under a spatial form.
It is taken as a stream, and past and future are re- -
garded as parts of it, which presumably do not co-
exist, but are often talked of as if they did. Time,
apprehended in this way, is open to the objection
we have just urged against space. It is a relation
— and, on the other side, it is not a relation ; and it
is, again, incapable of being anything beyond a re-
lation. And the reader, who has followed the
dilemma which was fatal to space, will not require
much explanation. If you take time as a relation
between units without duration, then the whole time
has no duration, and is not time at all. But, if
you give duration to the whole time, then at once
the units themselves are found to possess it ; and
they thus cease to be units. Time in fact is " be-
fore " and " after '' in one ; and without this diversity
it is not time. But these differences cannot be
asserted of the unity ; and, on the other hand and
failing that, time is helplessly dissolved. Hence
they are asserted under a relation. " Before in re-
lation to after " is the character of time ; and here
the old difficulties about relation and quality recom-
mence. The relation is not an unity, and yet the
terms are nonentities, if left apart. Again, to import
an independent character into the terms is to make

APPEARANCE.

each somehow in itself both before and after. But
this brings on a process which dissipates the terms
into relations, which, in the end, end in nothing.
And to make the relation of time an unit is, first of
all, to make it stationary, by destroying within it the
diversity of before and after. And, in the second
place, this solid unit, existing only by virtue of
external relations, is forced to expand. It perishes
in ceaseless oscillation, between an empty solidity
and a transition beyond itself towards illusory com-
pleteness.

And, as with space, the qualitative content — which
is not merely temporal, and apart from which the
terms related in time would have no character —
presents an insoluble problem. How to combine
this in unity with the time which it fills, and again
how to establish each aspect apart, are both beyond
our resources. And time so far, like space, has
turned out to be appearance.

But we shall be rightly told that a spatial form is
not essential to time, and that, to examine it fairly,
we should not force our errors upon it. Let us then
attempt to regard time as it stands, and without
extraneous additions. We shall only convince our-
selves that the root of the old dilemma is not torn up.

If we are to keep to time as it comes, and are to
abstain at first from inference and construction, we
must confine ourselves, I presume, to time as pre-
sented. But presented time must be time present,
and we must agree, at least provisionally, not to go
beyond the " now." And the question at once be-
fore us will be as to the " now's " temporal con-
tents. First, let us ask if they exist. Is the "now"
simple and indivisible ? We can at once reply in
the negative. For time implies before and after,
and by consequence diversity ; and hence the simple
is not time. We are compelled then, so far, to take
the present as comprehending diverse aspects.

How many aspects it contains is an interesting

SPACE ANU TIME.

4»

question. According to one opinion, in the " now "
we can observe both past and future ; and, whether
these are divided by the present, and, if so, pre-
cisely in what sense, admits of further doubt. In
another opinion, which I prefer, the future is not
presented, but is a product of construction ; and the
" now " contains merely the process of present turn-
ing into past. But here these diflferences, if indeed
they are such, are fortunately irrelevant. All that
we require is the admission of some process within
the " now." '

For any process admitted destroys the " now "
from within. Before and after are diverse, and their
incompatibility compels us to use a relation between
them. Then at once the old wearisome game is
played again. The aspects become parts, the "now"
consists of " nows," and in the end these " nows "
prove undiscoverable. For, as a solid part of time,
the " now " does not exist. Pieces of duration may
to us appear not to be composite ; but a very little
reflection lays bare their inherent fraudulence. If
they are not duration, they do not contain an after
and before, and they have, by themselves, no begin-
ning or end, and are by themselves outside of time.
But, if so, time becomes merely the relation between
them ; and duration is a number of relations of the
timeless, themselves also, I suppose, related some-
how so as to make one duration. But how a rela-
tion is to be an unity, of which these differences are
predicable, we have seen is incomprehensible. And,
if it fails to be an unity, time is forthwith dissolved.
But why should I weary the reader by developing
in detail the impossible consequences of either alter-
native ? If he has understood the principle, he is
with us ; and, otherwise, the uncertain argiimenlum
ad homitutn would too certainly pass into argumen-
turn ad nauseam.

' On tlie different meanings of the " present " I have said some-
thing in my PrindpUi of Logit, pp. 51, foil.

APPEARANCE.

I will, however, instance one result which follows
from a denial of time's continuity. Time will in
this case fall somehow between the timeless, as
A — C — E. But the rate of change is not uniform
for all events ; and, I presume, no one will assert
that, when we have arrived at our apparent units,
that sets a limit to actual and possible velocity. Let
us suppose then a,nother series of events, which,
taken as a whole, coincides in time with A — C — E,
but contains the si.x units a — b — c — d — e^f. Either
then these other relations (those, for example, be-
tween a and b, c and d) will fail between A and C,
C and E, and what that can mean I do not know ;
or else the transition a — b will coincide with A,
which is timeless and contains no possible lapse.
And that, so far as I can perceive, contradicts itself
outright. But I feel inclined to add that this whole
question is less a matter for detailed argument than
for understanding in its principle. I doubt if there
is any one who has ever grasped this, and then has
failed to reach one main result. But there are too
many respectable writers whom here one can hardly
criticise. They have simply never got to under-
stand.

Thus, if in the time, which we call presented,
there exists any lapse, that time is torn by a dilem-
ma, and is condemned to be appearance. But, if
the presented is timeless, another destruction awaits
us. Time will be the relation of the present to a
future and past ; and the relation, as we have seen,
is not compatible with diversity or unity. Further,
the existence, not presented, of future and of past
seems ambiguous. But, apart from that, time
perishes in the endless process beyond itself. The
unit will be for ever its own relation to somethino;
beyond, something in the end not discoverable. And
this process is forced on it, both by its temporal
form, and again by the continuity of its content,
which transcends what is given.

SPACE AND TIME. 43

Time, like space, has most evidently proved not
to be real, but to be a contradictory appearance. I
will, in the next chapter, reinforce and repeat this
conclusion by some remarks upon change.

CHAPTER V.

MOTION AND CHANGE AND ITS PERCEPTION.

I AM sensible that this chapter will repeat much of
the former discussion. It is not for my own pleasure
that I write it, but as an attempt to strengthen the
reader. Whoever is convinced that change is a
self-contradictory appearance, will do well perhaps
to pass on towards something which interests him.

Motion has from an early time been criticised
severely, and it has never been defended with much
success. I will briefly point to the principle on which
these criticisms are founded. Motion implies that
what is moved is in two places in one time ; and this
seems not possible. That motion implies two places
is obvious ; that these places are successive is no less
obvious. But, on the other hand, it is clear that the
process must have unity. The thing moved must
be one ; and, again, the time must be one. If the
time were only many times, out of relation, and not
parts of a single temporal whole, then no motion
would be found. But if the time is one, then, as we
have seen, it cannot also be many.

A common " explanation " is to divide both the
space and the time into discrete corresponding
units, taken literally ad libitum. The lapse in this
case is supposed to fall somehow between them.
But, as a theoretical solution, the device is childish.
Greater velocity would in this case be quite im-
possible ; and a lapse, falling between timeless units,
has really, as we have seen, no meaning. And
where the unity of these lapses, which makes the

MOTION AND CHANGE AND ITS PERCEPTION. 45

of course, are
And how this
identity of the
What becomes

one duration, is to be situated, we,
not, and could not be. informed.
inconsistent mass is related to the
body moved is again unintelligible.
clear is merely this, that motion in space gives no
solution of our former difficulties. It adds, in
space, a further detail which throws no light on the
principle. But, on the other side, it makes the dis-
crepancies of change more palpable ; and it forces
on all but the thoughtless the problem of the identity
of a thing which has changed. But change in time,
with all its inconsistencies, lies below motion in
space; and, if this cannot be defended, motion at
once is condemned.

The problem of change underlies that of motion,
but the former itself is not fundamental. It points
back to the dilemma of the one and the many, the
differences and the identity, the adjectives and the
thing, the qualities and the relations. How any-
thing can possibly be anything else was a question
which defied our efforts. Change is little beyond
an instance of this dilemma in principle. It either
adds an irrelevant complication, or confuses itself in
a blind attempt at compromise. Let us, at the cost
of repetition, try to get clear on this head.

Change, it is evident, must be change of some-
thing, and it is obvious, further, that it contains
diversity. Hence it asserts two of one, and so falls
at once under the condemnation of our previous
chapters. But it tries to defend itself by this dis-
tinction : "Yes, both are asserted, but not both in
one ; there is a relation, and so the unity and plur-
ality are combined." But our criticism of relations
has destroyed this subterfuge beforehand. We
have seen that, when a whole has been thus broken
up into relations and terms, it has become utterly
self-discrepant. You can truly predicate neither
one part of the other part, nor any, nor all, of the
whole. And, in its attempt to contain these ele-

APPEARANCE.

ments, the whole commits suicide, and destroys
them in its death. It would serve no purpose to
repeat these inexorable laws. Let us see merely how
change condemns itself by entering their sphere.

Something, A, changes, and therefore it cannot
be permanent. On the other hand, if A is not
permanent, what is it that changes.' It will no
longer be A, but something else. In other words,
let A be free from change in time, and it does not
change. But let it contain change, and at once it
becomes A', A', A^. Then what becomes of A,
and of its change, for we are left with something
else ? Again, we may put the problem thus. The
diverse states of A must exist within one time ; and
yet they cannot, because they are successive.

Let us first take A as timeless, in the sense of
out of time. Here the succession of the change
must belong to it, or not. In the former case, what
is the relation between the succession and A ? If
there is none, A does not change. If there is any,
it forces unintelligibly a diversity on to A, which is
foreign to its nature and incomprehensible. And
then this diversity, by itself, will be merely the
unsolved problem. If we are not to remove change
altogether, then we have, standing in unintelligible
relation with the timeless A, a temporal change
which offers us all our old difficulties unreduced.

A must be taken as falling within the time-series ;
and, if so, the question will be whether it has or
has not got duration. Either alternative is fatal.
If the one time, necessary for change, means a
single duration, that is self-contradictory, for no
duration is single. The would-be unit falls asunder
into endless plurality, in which it disappears. The
pieces of duration, each containing a before and an
after, are divided against themselves, and become
mere relations of the illusory. And the attempt to
locate the lapse within relations of the discrete leads
to hopeless absurdities. Nor, in any case, could we

MOTION AND CHANGE AND ITS PERCEPTION.

unite intelligibly the plurality of these relations so
as to make one duration. In short, therefore, if the
one time required for change means one duration,
that is not one, and there is no change.

On the other hand, if the change actually took
place merely in om time, then it could be no change
at all. A is to have a plurality in succession, and yet
simultaneously. This is surely a Hat contradiction.
If there is no duration, and the time is simple, it is
not time at all. And to speak of diversity, and of a
succession of before and after, in this abstract point,
is not possible when we think. Indeed, the best
excuse for such a statement would be the plea that
it is meaningless. But, if so, change, upon any
hypothesis, is impossible. It can be no more than
appearance.

And we may perceive its main character. It
contains both the necessity and the impossibility of
uniting diverse aspects. These differences have
broken out in the whole which at first was im-
mediate. But, if they entirely break out of it, they
are dissipated and destroyed ; and yet, by their
presence within the whole, that already is broken,
and they scattered into nothings. The relational
form in general, and here in particular this form of
time, is a natural way of compromise. It is no solu-
tion of the discrepancies, and we might call it rather
a method of holding them in suspension. It is an
artifice by which we become blind on either side, to
suit the occasion ; and the whole secret consists in
ignoring that aspect which we are unable to use.
Thus it is required that A should change ; and, for
this, two characters, not compatible, must be present
at once. There must be a successive diversity, and
yet the time must be one. The succession, in other
words, is not really successive unless it is present.
And our compromise consists in regarding the pro-
cess mainly from whichever of its aspects answers
to our need, and in ignoring — that is, in failing or in

APPEARANCE.

refusing to perceive — the hostility of the other side.
If you want to take a piece of duration as present
and as one, you shut your eyes, or in some way are
blind to the discretion, and, attending merely to the
content, take that as an unity. And, on the other
hand, it is as easy to forget every aspect but that of
discreteness. But change, as a whole, consists in
. the union of these two aspects. It is the holding
both at once, while laying stress upon the one which
for the time is prominent, and while the difficulties
are kept out of sight by rapid shuffling. Thus, in
asserting that A alters, we mean that the one thing
is different at different times. We bring this di-
versity into relation with A'% qualitative identity,
and all seems harmonious. Of course, as we know,
even so far, there is a mass of inconsistency, but
that is not the main point here. The main point is
that, so far, we have not reached a change of A.
The identity of a content A, in iome sort ^relation
with diverse moments and with varying states — if it
means anything at all — is still not what we under-
stand by change. That the mere oneness of a
quality can be the unity of a duration will hardly
be contended. For change to exist at all, this one-
ness must be in temporal relation with the diversity.
In other words, if the process itself is not one state,
the moments are not parts of it ; and, if so, they
cannot be related in time to one another. On the
one hand, A remains A through a period of any
length, and is not chantjed so far as A. Considered
thus, we may say that its duration is mere presence
and contains no lapse. But the same duration, if
regarded as the succession oi A's altered states, con-
sists of many pieces. On the other hand, thirdly,
this whole succession, regarded as one sequence or
period, becomes an unity, and is again present.
" Through the present period," we should boldly
say, " y4's processes have been regular. His rate
of growth is normal, and his condition is for the

MOTION AND CHANGE >ND ITS PERCEPTIOV. 49

present identical. But, during the lapse of this
one period, there have been present countless
successive differences in the state of B ; and the
coincidence in time, of ^'s unchanging excitement
with the healthy succession of A''i changes,
shows tliat in the same interval we may have
present either motion or rest." There is hardly
e.xaggeration here ; but the statement exhibits a
palpable oscillation. We have the dwelling, with
emphasis and without principle, upon separate
aspects, and the whole idea consists essentially
in this oscillation. There is total failure to unite
the differences by any consistent principle, and the
one discoverable system is the systematic avoidance
of consistency. The single fact is viewed alternately
from either side, but the sides are not combined into
an intelligible whole. And I trust the reader may
agree that their consistent union is impossible. The
problem of change defies solution, so long as change
is not degraded to the rank of mere appearance.

I will end this chapter by some remarks on the
perception of succession, or, rather, one of its main
features. And I will touch upon this merely in the
interest of metaphysics, reserving what psychological
opinions I may have formed for another occasion.
The best psychologists, so far as I know, are be-
coming agreed that for this perception some kind of
unity is wanted. They see that without an identity.
to which all its members are related, a series is not
one, and is therefore not a series. In fact, the
person, who denies this unity, is able to do so merely
because he covertly supplies it from his own un-
rellecting mind. And I shall venture to regard this
general doctrine as established, and shall pass to
the point where I think metaphysics is further in-
terested.

It being assumed that succession, or rather, here,
perceived succession, is relative to an unity, a ques-

A. R. E

tion arises as to the nature of this unity, generally
and in each case. The question is both difficult
and interesting psychologically ; but I must confine
myself to the brief remarks which seem called for in
this place. It is not uncommon to meet the view
that the unity is timeless, or that it has at any rate
no duration. On the other hand, presumably, it
has a date, if not a place, in the general series of
phenomena, and is, in this sense, an event. The
succession I understand to be apprehended some-
how in an indivisible moment, — that is, without any
lapse of time, — and to be so far literally simultaneous.
Any such doctrine seems to me open to fatal ob-
jections, some of which 1 will state.

1. The first objection holds good only against
certain persons. If the timeless act contains a re-
lation, and if the latter must be relative to a real
unity, the problem of succession appears again to
break out without limit inside this timeless unit.

2. But those, who would deny the premises of
this first objection, may be invited to explain them-
selves on other points. The act has no duration,
and yet it is a psychical event. It has, that is, an
assignable place in history. If it does not possess
the latter, how is it related to my perception ? But,
if it is an event with a before and an after in time,
how can it have no duration.'' It occurs in time,
and yet it occupies no time ; or it does not occur in
lime, though it happens at a given date. This does
not look like the account of anything real, but it is
a manufactured abstraction, like length without
breadth. And if it is a mere way of stating the
problem in hand — viz., that from one point of view
succession has no duration — it seems a bad way
of stating it. But if it means more, its meaning
seems quite unintelligible.

3. And it is the more plainly so since its content
is certainly successive, as possessing the distinction
gf after and before. This distinction is a fact ; and,

MOTION AND CHANGE AND ITS PERCEPTION.

if so, the psychical lapse is a fact ; and, if so, this
fact is left in flat contradiction with the timeless
unity. And to urge that the succession, as used,
is ideal — is merely content, and is not psychical
fact — would be a futile attempt to misapply a
great principle. It is not wholly true that "ideas
are not what they mean," for if their meanin^r is not
psychical fact. I should like to know how and where
it exists. And the question is whether succession
can, in any sense, come before the mind without
some actual succession entering into the very ap-
prehension. If you do not iman a lapse, then you
have given up your contention. But, if you do
mean it, then how, except in the form of some
actual mental transition, is it to come ideally before
your mind ? I know of no intelligible answer; and
I conclude that, in this perception, what is perceived
is an actual succession ; and hence the perception
itself must have some duration.

4. And, if it has no duration, then I do not see
how it is related to the before and after of the time
perceived ; and the succession of this, with all its
un.solved problems, seems to me to fall outside it
(cp. No. i).

5. And, lastly, if we may have one of these occur-
rences without duration, apparently we may also
have many in succession, all again without duration.
And I do not know how the absurd consequences
which follow can be avoided or met.

In short, this creation is a monster. It is not a
working fiction, entertained for the sake of its work.
For, like most other monsters, it really is impotent.
It is both idle and injurious, since it has diverted
attention from the answer to its problem.

And that, to the reader who has followed our
metaphysical discussion, will, I think, be apparent.
We found that succession required both diversity
and unity. These could not intelligibly be com-

APPEARANCE.

bined, and their union was a mere junction, with
oscillation of emphasis from one aspect to the other.
And so, psychically also, the timeless unity is a
piece of duration, not experienced as successive.
Assuredly everything psychical is an event, and it
really contains a lapse ; but so far as you do not use,
or notice, that lapse, it is not there for you and for
the purpose in hand. In other words, there is a
permanent in the perception of change, which goes
right through the succession and holds it together.
The permanent can do this, on the one hand, be-
cause it occupies duration and is, in its essence,
divisible indefinitely. On the other hand, it is one
and unchanging, so far as it is regarded or felt, and
is used, from that aspect. And the special concrete
identities, which thus change, and again do not
change, are the key to the particular successions that
are perceived. Presence is not absolute timelessness ;
it is any piece of duration, so far as that is con-
sidered from or felt in an identical aspect. And
this mere relative absence of lapse has been per-
verted into the absolute timeless monstrosity which
we have ventured to condemn.

But it is one thing to see how a certain feature of
our time-perception is possible. It is quite another
thing to admit that this feature, as it stands, gives
the truth about reality. And that, as we have learnt,
is impossible. We are forced to assert that A is
both continuous and discrete, both successive and
present. And our practice of taking it, now as one
in a certain respect, and now again as many in
another respect, shows only how we practise. The
problem calls upon us to answer how these aspects
and respects are consistently united in the one thing,
either outside of our minds or inside — that makes
no difference. And if we fail, as we shall, to bring
these features together, we have left the problem
unsolved. And, if it is unsolved, then change and
motion are incompatible internally, and are set down

MOTION AND CHANGE AND ITS PERCEPTION. 53

to be appearance. And if, as a last resource, we
use the phrases " potential " and " actual," and
attempt by their aid to reach harmony, we shall
have left the case as it stands. We shall mean by
these phrases that the thing is, and yet that it is
not, and that we choose for our own purpose to
treat these irreconcilables as united. But that is
only another, though perhaps a more polite, way of
saying that the problem is insoluble.

In the chapter which comes next, we must follow
the same difhculties a little further into other appli-
cations.

CHAPTER VI.

CAUSATION.

The object of this chapter is merely to point out.
first, the main discrepancy in causation, and, in the
second place, to exhibit an obstacle coming from
time's continuity. Some other aspects of the gene-
ral question will be considered in later chapters.*

VVe may regard cause as an attempt to account
rationally for change. A becomes B, and this alter-
ation is felt to be not compatible with A. Mere A
would still be mere A, and, if it turns to something
different, then something else is concerned. There
must, in other words, be a reason for the change.
But the endeavour to find a satisfactory reason is
fruitless.

We have seen that A is not B, nor, again, a
relation to B. " Followed by B," " changing into
A B," are not the same as A ; and we were able to
discover no way of combining these with A which
could be more than mere appearance. In causation
we must now consider a fresh effort at combination,
and its essence is very simple. U " A becomes B"
is a self-contradiction, then add something to A
which will divide the burden. In " A + C becomes
B" we may perhaps find relief. But this relief,
considered theoretically, is a mass of contradictions.

It would be a thankless task to work these out
into detail, for the root of the matter may be stated
at once. If the sequence of the effect is different

' I have touched on the Law of Causation in Chapter xxiii.

CAUSATION.

from the cause, how is the ascription of this differ-
ence to be rationally defended ? If, on the other
hand, it is not different, then causation does not
exist, and its assertion is a farce. There is no
escape from this fundamental dilemma.

We have in the cause merely a fresh instance of
compromise without principle, another case of pure
makeshift. And it soon exhibits its nature. The
cause was not mere A ; that would be found too
intolerable. The cause was A + C\ but this com-
bination seems meaningless. It is offered in the
face of our result as to the nature of relations
(Chapter iii.); and by that result it has already been
undermined and ruined. But let us see how it pro-
poses to go about its business. In " A + C followed
by B" the addition of C makes a difference to A,
or it makes no difference. Let us suppose, first, that
it does make a difference to A. But, if so, then A
has already been altered ; and hence the problem of
causation breaks out within the very cause. A and
C become A + C, and the old puzzle begins about
the way in which A and C become other than they
are. We are concerned here with A, but, of course,
with C there is the same difficulty. We are, there-
fore, driven to correct ourselves, and to say that,
not A and C merely, but A and C+D become
A + C, and so B. But here we perceive at once
that we have fallen into endless regress within the
cause. If the cause is to be the cause, there is some
reason for its being thus, and so on indefinitely.

Or let us accept the other alternative. Let us
assert boldly that in A + C, which is the cause of B,
their relation makes no difference either to A or to
C, and yet accounts for the effect. Although the
conjunction makes no diflerence, it justifies appar-
ently our attribution to the cause of the difference
expressed by the effect. But (to deal first with the
cause) such a conjunction of elements has been
shown (Chapter iii.) to be quite unintelligible. And

APPEARANCE,

to the defence that it is only our own way of going
on, the answer is twofold. If it is only our way,
then, either it does not concern the thing at all. or
else is admitted to be a mere practical makeshift.
If, on the other hand, it is a way of ours with the
thing which we are prepared to justify, let the justi-
fication be produced. But it cannot be produced
in any form but in the proof that our thinking is
consistent. On the other hand, the only reason for
our hesitation above to attribute our view to reality
seemed to lie in the fact that our view was not con-
sistent. But, if so, it surely should not be our view.
And, to pass now to the effect, the same reasoning
there holds good. The sequence of a difference
still remains entirely irrational. And, if we attempt
here to take this difterence upon ourselves, and to
urge that it docs not attach to the thing, but only to
our view, the same result follows. For what is
this but a manner of admitting politely that in real-
ity there is no difference and is no causation, and
that, in short, we are all agreed in finding causation
to be makeshift and merely appearance ? We are
so far agreed, but we differ in our further conclu-
sions. For I can discover no merit in an attitude
which combines every vice of theory. It is forced
to admit that the real world is left naked and
empty; while it cannot pretend itself to support
and to own the wealth of e.vistence. Each party is
robbed, and both parties are beggared.

The only positive result which has appeared from
our effort to justify causation, seems to be the im-
possibility of isolating the cause or the effect. In
endeavouring to make a defensible assertion, we
have had to go beyond the connection as first we
stated it. The cause ^ not only recedes backwards
in time, but it attempts laterally to take in more and
more of e.xistence. And we are tending to the
doctrine that, to find a real cause, we must take the
complete state of the world at one moment as this

CAUSATION.

passes into another state also complete. The several
threads of causation seem, that is, always to imply
the action of a background. And this background
may, if we arc judicious, be irrelevant practically.
It may be practically irrelevant, not because it is
ever idle, but because often it is identical, and so
makes no special difference. The separate causes
are, therefore, legitimate abstractions, and they con-
tain enough truth to be practically admissible. But
it will be added that, if we require truth in any
strict sense, we must confine ourselves to one entire
state of the world. This will be the cause, and the
next entire state will be the effect.

There is much truth in this conclusion, but it
remains indefensible. This tendency of the separ-
ate cause to pass beyond itself cannot be .satisfied,
while we retain the relational form essential to
causation. And we may easily, I think, convince
ourselves of this. For, in the first place, a complete
state of existence, as a whole, is at any one moment
utterly impossible. Any state is forced by its con-
tent to transcend itself backwards in a regress with-
out limit. And the relations and qualities of which
it is composed will refer themselves, even if you
keep to the moment, for ever away from themselves
into endless dissipation. Thus the complete state,
which is necessary, cannot be reached. And, in
the second place, there is an objection which is
equally fatal. Even if we could have one self-
comprised condition of the world preceding another,
the relation betwen them would still be irrational.
We assert something of something else ; we have to
predicate B of A, or else its sequence of A, or else
the one relation of both. But in these cases, or in
any other case, can we defend our assertion ? It is
the old puzzle, how to justify the attributing to a
subject something other than itself, and which the
subject is not. If " followed by B" is not the nature
of A, then justify your predication. If it is essen-

APPEARANCE.

tial to A, then justify, first, your taking A without
it; and in the next place show how, with such an
incongruous nature, A can succeed in being more
than unreal appearance.

And we may perhaps fancy at this point that a
door of exit is opened. How will it be, since the
difference is the source of our trouble, if we fall
back upon the identity of cause and effect .'' The
same essence of the world, persisting in unchanged
self-conservation from moment to moment, and
superior to diversity — this is perhaps the solution.
Perhaps; but, if so, what has been done with cau.sa-
tion ? So far as I am able to understand, //uii con-
sists in the differences and in their sequence in time.
Mere identity, however excellent, is emphatically
itol the relation of cause and effect. Either then
once more you must take up the problem of recon-
ciling intelligibly the diversity with the unity, and
this problem so far has shown itself intractable. Or
you yourself have arrived at the same conclusion
with ourselves. You liave admitted that cause and
effect is irrational appearance, and cannot be reality.

I will add here a difficuity, in itself superfluous,
which comes from the continuity of causal change.
Its succession, on the one hand, must be absolutely
without pause ; while, on the other hand, it cannot be
so. This dilemma is based upon no new principle,
but is a mere application of the insoluble problem of
duration. The reader who is not attracted may
pass on.

For our perception change is not properly con-
tinuous. It cannot be so, since there are durations
which do not come to us as such ; and however our
faculties were improved, there must always be a
point at which they would be transcended. On the
other hand, to speak of our succession as being pro-
perly discrete seems quite as indefensible. It is in
fact neither the one nor the other. I presume that

CAUSATION.

what we notice is events with time between them,
whatever that may mean. But, on the other hand,
when we deal with pieces of duration, as wholes
containing parts and even a variable diversity of
parts, the other aspect comes up. And, in the end,
reflection compels us to perceive that, liowever else
it may appear, all change must really be continuous.
This conclusion cannot imply that no state is ever
able to endure for a moment. Fur, without some
duration of the identical, we should have meaning-
less chaos, or, rather, should not have even that.
States may endure, we have seen, so long as we
abstract. We take some partial state, or aspect of a
stale, which in itself does not alter. We fix one eye
upon this, while we cast, in fear of no principle, our
other eye upon the succession that goes with it, and
so is called simultaneous. And we solve practically
in this way the problem of duration. We have en-
during aspects, A, B, C, one after the other. Along-
side of these there runs on a current of changes
minutely subdivided. This goes on altering, and
in a sense it alters A, B, C, while in another sense
they are unchanged pieces of duration. They do
not alter in themselves, but in relation to other
changes they are in constant internal lapse. And,
when these other changes have reached a certain
point of alteration, then A passes into B, and so
later B into C. This is, I presume, the proper way
of taking causation as continuous. We may perhaps
use the following figure : —

ABC

/ I \ /I \ / I \

A~A—A—B~B~^B—C—C—C

I I I I I I I I I

Here A, B, C, is the causal succession of enduring
states. The Greek letters represent a flow of other
events which are really a determining element in
the succession oi A , B, C. And we understand at
once how A, B, and C both alter and do not alter.
But the Greek letters represent much more which
cannot be depicted. In the first place, at any
given moment, there are an indefinite number of
them ; and, in the second place, they themselves are
pieces of duration, placed in the same difficulty
as were A, B, C. Coincident with each must be a
succession of events, which the reader may try to
represent in any character that he prefers. Only
let him remember that these events must be divided
indefinitely by the help of smaller ones. He must
go on until he reaches parts that have no divisibility.
And if we may suppose that he could reach them,
he would find that causation had vanished with his
success.

The dilemma, I think, can now be made plain,
(fl) Causation must be continuous. For suppose that
it is not so. You would then be able to take a solid
section from the flow of events, solid in the sense of
containing no change. I do not merely mean that
you could draw a line without breadth across the
flow, and could find that this abstraction cut no
alteration. I mean that you could take a slice off,
and that this slice would have no change in it. But
any such slice, being divisible, must have duration.
If so. however, you would have your cause, en-
during unchanged through a certain number of
moments, and then suddenly changing. And this
is clearly impossible, for what could have altered it?
Not any other thing, for you have taken the whole
course of events. And, again, not itself, for you
have got itself already without any change. In
short, if the cause can endure unchanged for any
the very smallest piece of duration, then it must
endure for ever. It cannot pass into the effect,

CAUSATION.

and it therefore is not a cause at all. On the
other hand, {5) Causation cannot be continuous. For
this would mean that the cause was entirely without
duration. It would never be itself except in the
time occupied by a line drawn across the succession.
And since this time is not a time, but a mere ab-
straction, the cause itself will be no better. It is
unreal, a nonentity, and the whole succession of the
world will consist of these nonentities. But this is
much the same as to suppose that solid things are
made of points and lines and surfaces. These may
be fictions useful for some purposes, but still fictions
they remain. The cause must be a real event,
and yet there is no fragment of time in which it
can be real. Causation is therefore not continuous;
and so, unfortunately, it is not causation, but mere
appearance.

The reader will understand at once that we have
repeated here the old puzzle about time. Time, as
we saw, must be made, and yet cannot be made,
of pieces. And he perhaps will not be sorry to
have reached an end of these pages through which I
have been forced to weary him with continuity and
discreteness. In the ne.\t chapter we shall arrive at
somewhat different matter.

CHAPTER VII.
ACT/y/rv.

In raising the question if activity is real or is only
appearance, I may be met by the assertion that it is-
original, ultimate, and simple. I am satisfied my-
self that this assertion is incorrect, and is even quite
groundless ; but I prefer to treat it here as merely
irrelevant. If the meaning of activity will not bear
examination, and if it fails to exhibit itself intel-
ligibly, then that meaning cannot, as such, be true of
reality. There can be no origin, or want of origin,
which warrants our predicating nonsense. And if I
am told that, being simple, activity can have no
meaning, then it seems a quality like one of our
sensations or pleasures, and we have dealt with it
already. Or I may possibly be answered, No, it is
not simple in that sense, nor yet exactly composite.
It somehow holds a variety, and is given in that
character. Hence its idea may be indefensible,
while itself Is real. But the business of metaphysics
is surely to understand; and If anything is such that,
when thought of and not simply felt, it goes to
pieces in our hands, we can find but one verdict.
Either its nature is nonsensical, or we have got
wrong Ideas about it. The assertor of the latter
alternative should then present us with the right
ideas — a thing which, I need not add, he is not
forward to perform. But let us leave these poor
excuses to take care of themselves, and let us turn
to the facts. There, if we examine the way in
which the term activity is employed, the result is

ACTIVITY.

not doubtful. Force, energy, power, activity, these
phrases certainly are used too often without clear
understanding. But no rational man employs them
except to convey some kind of meanin,c,^ which is
capable of being discovered and subjected to ana-
lysis. And if it will not bear scrutiny, then it
clearly does not represent reality.

There is a sense in which wonls like power, force,
or energy, are distinguished from activity. They
may be used to stand for something that does not
happen at all, but somehow remains in a state of
suspended animation, or in a region between non-
existence and existence. I do not think it worth
while to discuss this at present, and shall pass at
once to the signification in which force means force
in exercise — in other words, activity.

The element in its meaning, which comes to light
at once, is succession and change. In all activity
something clearly becomes something else. Activity
implies a happening and a sequence in time. And,
when I spoke of this meaning as coming to the
light, I might have added that it positively stares us
in the face, and it is not to be hidden. To deal
frankly, I do not know how to argue this question.
I have never seen a use of the term which to my
mind retained its sense if time-sequence is removed.
We can, of course, talk of a power sustaining or pro-
ducing effects, which are subordinate and yet not
subsequent; but to talk thus is not to think. And
unless the sequence of our thought, from the power
to its manifestation, is transferred to the fact as a
succession there, the meaning is gone. We are left
with mere co-existence, and the dependence, either
of adjective on substantive, or of two adjectives on
one another and on the substance which owns them.
And I do not believe that anyone, unless inlluenced
by, and in the service of, some theory, would attempt
to view the matter otherwise. And I fear that I
must so leave it.

APPEARANCE.

Activity implies the change of something into
something dift'erenL So much, 1 think, is clear ;
but activity is not a mere uncaused alteration. And
in fact, as we have seen, that is really not conceiv-
able. For Ab to become Ac, something else be-
side Ab is felt to be necessary ; or else we are left
with a flat self-contradiction. Thus the transition of
activity implies always a cause.

Activity is caused change, but it also must be
more. For one thinjj. altered by another, is not
usually thought active, but, on the contrary, passive.
Activity seems rather to be self-caused change. A
transition that begins with, and comes out of, the
thing itself is the process where we feel that it is
active. The issue must, of course, be attributed to
the thing as its adjective; it must be regarded, not
only as belonging to the thing, but as beginning in
it and coming out of it. If a thing carries out its
own nature we call the thing active.

But we are aware, or may become aware, that we
are here resting on metaphors. These cannot quite
mean what they say, and what they intimate is still
doubtful. It appears to be something of this kind:
the end of the process, the result or the effect,
seems part of the nature of the thing which we had
at the beginning. Not only has it not been added
by something outside, but it is hardly to be taken as
an addition at all. So far. at least, as the end is
considered as the thing's activity, it is regarded as
the thing's character from the first to the last. Thus
it somehow was before it happened. It did not
exist, and yet, for all that, in a manner it was there,
and so it became. We should like to say that the
nature of the thing, which was ideal, realized itself,
and that this process is what we mean by activity.
And the idea need not be an idea in the mind of the
thing ; for the thing, perhaps, has no mind, and so
cannot have that which would amount to volition.
On the other hand, the idea in the thing is not a

ACTIVITY.

mere idea in our minds which rue have merely about
the thing. We are sure of this, and our meaning
falls between these extremes. But where precisely
it falls, and in what exactly it consists, seems at
present far from clear. Let us, however, try to go
forwards.

Passivity seems to imply activity. It is the alter-
ation of the thing, in which, of course, the thing
survives, and acquires a fresh adjective. This
adjective was not possessed by the thing before the
change. It therefore does not belong to its nature,
but is a foreign importation. It proceeds from, and
is the adjective of, another thing which is active
— at the expense of the first. Thus passivity is
not po.ssible without activity ; and its meaning is
obviously still left unexplained.

It is natural to ask next if activity can exist by
itself and apart from passivity. And here we begin
to involve ourselves in further obscurity. We have
spoken so far as if a thing almost began to be active
without any reason ; as if it exploded, so to speak,
and produced its contents entirely on its own motion.
and quite spontaneously. But this we never really
meant to say. for this would mean a happening and
a change without any cause at all ; and this, we
agreed long ago, is a self-contradiction and im-
possible. The thing, therefore, is not active without
an occasion. This, call it what you please, is some-
thing outside the standing nature of the thing, and is
accidental in the sense of happening to that essential
disposition. But if the thing cannot act unless the
act is occasioned, then the transition, so far, is im:
ported into it by the act of something outside. But^
this, as we saw, was passivity. Whatever acts then
must be passive, so far as its change is occasioned.
If we look at the process as the coming out of its
nature, the process is its activity. If we regard the
same process, on the other hand, as due to the
occasion, and, as we say, coming from that, we

A. K. 1-

APPEARANCE.

Still have activity. But the activity now belongs to
the occasion, and the thing is passive. We seem to
have diverse aspects, of which the special existence
in each case will depend on our own minds.

We find this ambiguity in the common distinction
between cause and condition, and it is worth our
while to examine this more closely. Both of these
elements are taken to be wanted for the production
of the effect ; but in any given case we seem able to
apply the names almost, or quite, at discretion. It
is not unusual to call the last thing which happens
the cause of the process which ensues. But this is
really just as we please. The body fell because the
support was taken away ; but probably most men
would prefer to call this " cause " a condition of a
certain kind. But apparently we may gratify what-
ever preference we feel. And the well-meant
attempt to get clear by defining the cause as the
" sum of the conditions " does not much enlighten
us. As to the word " sum," it is, I presume,
intended to carry a meaning, but this meaning is
not stated, and 1 doubt if it is known. And, further,
if the cause is taken as including every single con
dition, we are met by a former difficulty. Either
this cause, not existing through any part of duration,
is really non-existent ; or else a condition will be
wanted to account for its change and its passing into
activity. But if the cause already includes all. then,
of course, none is available (Chapter vi.). But, to
pass this point by, what do you mean by these condi-
tions, that all fall within the cause, so as to leave none
outside ? Do you mean that what we commonly
call the " conditions " of an event are really com-
plete ? In practice certainly we leave out of the
account the whole background of existence ; we
isolate a group of elements, and we say that,
whenever these occur, then something else always
happens ; and in this group we consider ourselves
to possess the " sum of the conditions." And this

ACTIVITY.

assumption may be practically defensible, since the
rest of existence may, on sufficient ground, be taken
as irrelevant. We can therefore treat this whole
mass as if it were inactive. Yes, but that is one
thing, and it is quite another thing to assert that
really this mass does nothing. Certainly there is no
logic which can warrant such a misuse of abstraction.
The background of the whole world can be elimin-
ated by no sound process, and the furthest conclusion,
which can be logical, is that we need not consider it
practically. As in a number of diverse cases it
seems to add nothing special, we may for each
purpose consider that it adds nothing at all. But
to give out this working doctrine as theoretically
true is quite illegitimate.

The immediate result of this is that the true " sum
of conditions" must completely include all the
contents of the world at a given time. And here
we run against a theoretical obstacle. The nature
of these contents seems such as to be essentially
incomplete, and so the " sum " to be nothing attain-
able. This appears fatal so far, and, having stated
it, I pass on. Suppose that you /lavegot a complete
sum of the facts at one moment, are you any nearer
a result ? This entire mass will be the '■ sum of
conditions," and the cause of each following event.
For there is no process which will warrant your
taking the cause as /ess. Here there is at once
another theoretical trouble, for the same cause
produces a number of different effects ; and how will
you deal with that consequence .'' But, leaving this.
we are practically in an equal dilemma. For the
cause, taken so widely, is the cause of everything
alike, and hence it can tell us nothing about any-
thing special ; and, taken less widely, it is not the
sum, and therefore not the cause. And by this
time it is obvious that our doctrine must be given
up. If we want to discover a particular cau.se (and
nothing else is a discovery), we must make a dis

APPEARANCE.

tinction in the "sum." Then, as before, in every
case we have conditions beside the cause ; and, as
before, we are asked for a principle by which to
effect the distinction between them. And, for myself.
I return to the statement that I know of none which
is sound. We seem to effect this distinction always
to suit a certain purpose ; and it appears to consist
in our mere adoption of a special point of view.

But let us return to the consideration of passivity
and activity. It is certain that nothing can be active
without an occasion, and that what is active, being
made thus by the occasion, is so far passive. The
occasion, again, since it enters into the causal process
— a thing it never would have done if left to itself —
suffers a change from the cause ; and it therefore
itself is passive in its activity. If the cause is A,
and the occasion B. then each is active or passive,
according as you view the result as the expression
of its nature, or as an adjective Imported from out-
side.

And we are naturally brought here to a case
where both these aspects seem to vanish. For
suppose, as before, that we have A and B, which
enter into one process, and let us call the result
A CB. Here A will suffer a change, and so also will
B ; and each again may be said to produce change
in the other. But if the nature of A was, before,
A elf, and the nature of B was, before, Bca, we are
brought to a pause. The ideas which we are
applying are now plainly inadequate and likely to
confuse us. To A and B themselves they might
even appear to be ridiculous. How do I suffer a
change, each would answer, if it is nothing else but
what I will ? We cannot adopt your points of
view, since they seem at best quite irrelevant.

To pass to another head, the conclusion, which so
far we have reached, seems to e.xclude the possibility
of one thing by itself being active. Here we must

ACTIVITY.

make a distinction. If this supposed thing had no
variety in its nature, or, again, if its variety did not
change in time within it, then it is impossible that it
should be active. The idea, indeed, is self-contra-
dictory. Nor could one thing again be said to be
active as a whole ; for that part of its nature which,
changing, served as the occasion could not be in-
cluded. I do not propose to argue these points, for
I do not perceive anything on the other side beyond
confusion or prejudice. And hence it is certain that
activity implies finitude, and otherwise possesses no
meaning. But, on the other hand, naturally where
there are a variety of elements, changing in time, we
may have activity. For part of these elements may
suffer change from, and may produce it in, others.
Indeed, the question whether this is to go on inside
one thing by itself, appears totally irrelevant, until
at least we have some idea of what we mean by one
thing. And our enquiries, so far, have not tended
to establish any meaning. It is as if we enquired
about hermaphroditism, where we do not know what
we understand by a single animal. Indeed, if we
returned at this point to our A and B connected in
one single process, and enquired of them if they both
were parts of one thing, or were each one thing con-
taining a whole process of change, we should
probably get no answer. They would once more
recommend us to improve our own ideas before we
went about applying them.

Our result up to this point appears to be much
as follows. Activity, under any of the phrases used
to carry that idea, is a mass of inconsistency. It is,
in the first place, riddled by the contradictions of the
preceding chapters, and if it cannot be freed from
these, it must be condemned as appearance. And
its own special nature, so far as we have discovered
that, seems certainly no better. The activity of
anything seems to consist in the way in which we
choose to look at that which it is and becomes. For,

~0 APPEARAXCE.

apart firom the inner nature which comes out in the
result, activity has no meanii^. If this nature was
not there, and was not real in the thing, is the thing
really active ? But when we press this question
home, and insist on having something more tl^n
insincere metaphors, we find either nothu^. or else
the idea which m are fJeased to oitertain. And
this, as an idea, we dare not attribute to the thing,
and we do not know how to attribute it as anything
else. But a confusion of this kind cannot belong to
reality.

Throughout this chapter I have ignored a certain
view about activity. This view would admit that
activity', as we have discussed it, is untenable ; but
it would add that we have not even touched the real
facL And this fact, it would urge, is the activit>'
of a self, while outside self the application of die
term is metaphorical. And, with this question in
prospect, we may turn to another series of con-
siderations about reality.

»• -

CHAPTER VIII.

THINGS.

Before proceeding further we may conveniently
pause at this point. The reader may be asked to
reflect whether anything of what is understood by
a thing is left to us. It is hard to say what, as a
matter of fact, is generally understood when we use
the word " thing." But, whatever that may be,
seems now undermined and ruined. I suppose we
generally take a thing as possessing some kind of
independence, and a sort of title to exist in its own
right, and not as a mere adjective. But our ideas
are usually not clear. A rainbow probably is not
a thing, while a waterfall might get the name, and
a flash of lightning be left in a doubtful position.
Further, while many of us would assert stoutly that
a thing must exist, if at all, in space, others would
question this and fail to perceive its conclusiveness.
VVe have seen how the attempt to reconstitute
our ideas by the help of primary qualities broke
down. And, since then, the results, which we have
reached, really seem to have destroyed things from
without and from within. If the connection of sub-
stantive and adjective, and of quality and relation,
have been shown not to be defensible ; if the forms
of space and of time have turned out to be full of
contradictions ; if, lastly, causation and activity have
succeeded merely in adding inconsistency to incon-
sistency, — if, in a word, nothing of all this can, as
such, be predicated of reality, — what is it that is
left .'' If things are to exist, then where and how .•*

72 AFPEAKAJ9CE.

Bat if ihese two qnestians are unansveraUe, tben
we seesn dnven to the coDctnaoD that tMngs are
but appearances. And I wiQ add a few remaiics,
iM}t so much IB sn|:^xxrt of this conclusion as in order
to snake it possably more plain.

I wis come to liie point at once. For a tiling to
lexist it most po»es identity ; and identity seems
;a possesion widi a character at best doubdiiL If
it is merdy ideal, the tiling itseM can hardly be real
Fast, tiieo, kt us inquire if a thing can exist vitlioat
idmtrty. To as^ t£is question is at once to answer
it ; unless, inde^ a tiling is to exist, and is to faa3d
its divessity combated tn an unity, somebow quite
outside of time. And tliis seems untenable. A
thing, if it is to be cafied soch, must occupy soane
duration be3;a>nd tbe present moment, and bence
succesaon is essentiaL Tbe thing, to be at all, most
be tbe same after a change, and tbe cbange must,
to some extent, be predicated of tbe tMng. If yon
suppose a case so sinqiHe as tbe moTement of an
atom, tbat is enough ibr our purpose. For, if tbis
^ thing " does not move, tbere is no motion. But.
if it mores, tben snccession is predicated of it, and
the thing is a bond of identity in diffisrenoes. And,
further, this ideality is ideal, ance it consists in the
content, or in tbe ■" what we are able to say of the
thing.^ For raise die doubt at tbe end of oar
atom's process, if tbe atom is tbe same. Tbe ques-
tion raised cannot be answered without an ajipeal
to its character. It is different in one respect —
namely, the change of place ; but in another res^xxt
— ^that of its own character — it remains tbe same.
.And this respect is obviously identical cxmtent. Or,
if any one objects that an atom has no content, let
him throughout substitute tbe word "body," and
settle with himseJf how, without any qualitative dif-
ference (such as right and left), he distingui^ies
atoms. And this identical content is called ideal
because it transcends given existence. Existence

THINGS.

is given only in presentation; and, on the other hand,
the thing is a thing only if its existence goes beyond
the now, and extends into the past. I will not here dis-
cuss the question as to the identity of a thing during
a presented lapse, for I doubt if any one would
wish to except to our conclusion on that ground.

Now I am not here raising the whole question
of the Identity of Indiscernibles. I am urging
rather that the continuity, which is necessary to a
thing, seems to depend on its keeping an identity
of character. A thing is a thing, in short, by being
what it ivas- And it does not appear how this /
relation of sameness can be real. It is a relation '
connecting the past with the present, and this con-
nection is evidently vital to the thing. But, if so,
the thing has become, in more senses than one, the
relation of passages in its own history. And if we
assert that the thing is this inclusive relation, which
transcends any given time, surely we have allowed
that the thing, though not wholly an idea, is an idea
essentially. And it is an idea which at no actual
time is ever real.

And this problem is no mere abstract invented
subtlety, but shows itself in practice. It is often
impossible to reply when we are asked if an object
is really the same. If a manufactured article has
been worked upon and partly remade, such a ques-
tion may have no sense until it has been specified.
You must go on to mention the point or the par-
ticular respect of which you are thinking. For
questions of identity turn always upon sameness
in character, and the reason why here you cannot
reply generally, is because you do not know this
general character which is taken to make the thing's
essence. It is not always material substance, for
we might call an organism identical, though its par-
ticles were all different. It is not always shape, or
size, or colour, or, again, always the purpose which
the thing fulfils. The general nature, in fact, of a

74 APPEAKAXCE.

thing's identit>' seems to lie, first, in the avoidance
of any absolute break in its existence, and, beyond
that, to consist in some qualitative sameness which
differs with different things^ And with some things
— because literally we do not know in what charac-
ter their sameness lies — we are helpless when asked
if identity' has been preserved. If any one wants
an instance of the value of our ordinary notions,
he may find it, perhaps, in Sir John Cutler's silk
stockings. These were darned with worsted until
no particle of the silk was left in them, and no one
could agree whether they were the same old stock-
ings or were new ones. In brief, the identity of
a thing lies in the view which you take of it. That
view seems often a mere chance idea, and, where
it seems necessary, it still remains an idea. Or, if
you prefer it, it is a character, which exists outside
of and beyond any fact which you can take. But
it is not easy to see how, if so, any thing can be
real. And diings have, so far, turned out to be
merely appearances.

CHAPTER IX.

THE MEANINGS OF SELF.

Our facts have, up to the present, turned out to be
illusory. We have seen our things go to pieces,
crumbled away into relations that can find no terms.
And we have begun, perhaps, to feel some doubt
whether, since the plague is so deep-rooted, it can
be stayed at any point. At the close of our seventh
chapter we were naturally led beyond the inanimate,
and up to the self. And here, in the opinion of
many, is the end of our troubles. The self, they
will assure us, is not apparent, but quite real. And
it is not only real in itself, but its reality, if I may
say so, spreads beyond its own limits and rehabili-
tates the selfless. It provides a fixed nucleus round
which the facts can group themselves securely. Or
it, in some way. at least provides us with a type,
by the aid of which we may go on to comprehend
the world. And we must now proceed to a serious
examination of this claim. Is the self real, is it
anything which we can predicate of reality ^ Or
is it, on the other hand, like all the preceding, a
mere appearance — something which is given, and,
in a sense, most certainly exists, but which is too
full of contradictions to be the genuine fact ? I
have been forced to embrace the latter conclusion.

There is a great obstacle in the path of the pro-
posed inquiry. A man commonly thinks that he
knows what he means by his self He may be in
doubt about other things, but here he seems to be
at home. He fancies that with the self he at once

APPEARANCE.

comprehends both that it is and what it is. And
of course the fact of one's own existence, in some
sense, is quite beyond doubt. But as to the sense
in which this existence is so certain, there the case
is far otherwise. And I should have thought that
no one, who gives his attention to this question,
could fail to come to one preliminary result. We
are all sure that we exist, but in what sense and
what character — as to that we are most of us in help-
less uncertainty and in blind confusion. And so
far is the self from being clearer than things out-
side us that, to speak generally, we never know
what we mean when we talk of it. But the mean-
ing and the sense is surely for metaphysics the vital
point For, if none defensible can be found, such
a failure, I must insist, ought to end the question.
Anything the meaning of which is inconsistent and
unintelligible is appearance, and not reality.

I must use nearly the whole of this chapter in
trying to fix some of the meanings in which self is
used. And I am forced to trespass inside the limits
of psychology ; as, indeed, I think is c^uite necessary
in several parts of metaphysics. I do not mean that
metaphysics is based upon psychology. 1 am quite
convinced that such a foundation is impossible, and
that, if attempted, it produces a disastrous hybrid
which possesses the merits of neither science. The
metaphysics will come in to check a resolute analysis,
and the psychology will furnish excuses for half-
hearted metaphysics. And there can be really no
such science as the theory of cognition. But, on the
other hand, the metaphysician, who is no psycholo-
gist, runs great dangers. For he must take up, and
must work upon, the facts about the soul ; and, if he
has not tried to learn what they are, the risk is very
serious. The psychological monster he may adopt
is certain also, no doubt, to be monstrous metaphys-
ically ; and the supposed fact of its existence does
not prove it less monstrous. But experience shows

THE MEANINGS OF S

that human beings, even when metaphysical, lack
courage at some point. And we cannot afford to
deal with monsters, who in the end may seduce us, and
who are certain sometimes, at any rate, to be much
in our way. But I am only too sensible that, with
all our care, the danger nearest each is least seen.

I will merely mention that use of self which
identifies it with the body. As to our perception of
our own bodies, there, of course, exists some psycho-
logical error. And this may take a metaphysical
form if it tries to warrant, through some immediate
revelation, the e.xistence of the organism as some-
how the real expression of the self. But I intend
to pass all this by. For, at the point which we
have reached, there seems no exit by such a road
from familiar difficulties.

1. Let lis then, excluding the body as an outward
thing, go on to inquire into the meanings of self.
And the first of these is pretty clear. By asking
what is the self of this or that individual man, I
may be enquiring as to the present contents of his
experience. Take a section through the man at
any given moment. You will then find a mass of
feelings, and thoughts, and sensations, which come
to him as the world of things and other persons,
and again as himself; and this contains, of course,
his views and his wishes about everything. Every-
thing, self and not-self, and what is not distinguished
as either, in short the total filling of the man's
soul at this or that moment — we may understand
this when we ask what is the individual at a given
time. There is no difficulty here in principle,
though the detail would naturally (as detail) be
unmanageable. But, for our present purpose, such
a sense is obviously not promising.

2. The congeries inside a man at one given
moment does not satisfy as an answer to the
question what is self. The self, to go no further,
must be something beyond present time, and it

APPEARANCE.

cannot contain a sequence of contradictory varia-
tions. Let us then modify our answer, and say.
Not the mass of any one moment, but the constant
average mass, is the meaning of self. Take, as
before, a section completely through the man, and
expose his total psychical contents ; only now take
this section at different times, and remove what
seems exceptional. The residue will be the normal
and ordinary matter, which fills his experience ; and
this is the self of the individual. This self will
contain, as before, the perceived environment — in
short, the not-self so far as that is for the self —
but it will contain now only the usual or average
not-self. And it must embrace the habits of the
individual and the laws of his character — whatever
we mean by these. His self will be the usual
manner in which he behaves, and the usual matter
to which he behaves, that is, so far as he behaves
to it.

We are tending here towards the distinction of
the essential self from its accidents, but we have
not yet reached that point. We have, however, left
the self as the whole individual of one moment, or
of succeeding moments, and are trying to find it as
the individual's normal constituents. What is that
which makes the man his usual self.-* We have
answered. It is his habitual disposition and con-
tents, and it is not his changes from day to day and
from hour to hour. These contents are not merely
the man's internal feelings, or merely that which he
reflects on as his self. They consist quite as essen-
tially in the outward environment, so far as relation
to that makes the man what he is. For, if we try
to take the man apart from certain places and
persons, we have altered his life so much that he is
not his usual self. Again, some of this habitual
not-.self, to use that expression, enters into the
man's life in its individual form. His wife possibly,
or his child, or, again, some part or feature of his

THE MEANINGS OF SELF.

inanimate environment, could not, if destroyed, be
so made good by anything else that the man's self
would fail to be seriously modified. Hence we
may call these the constituents which are indi-
vidually necessary ; requisite for the man, that is,
not in their vague, broad character, but in their
specialty as this or that particular thing. But
other tracts of his normal self are filled by con-
stituents necessary, we may say, no more than
generically. His usual life gets its character, that
is, from a large number of details which are variable
within limits. His habits and his environment have
main outlines which may still remain the same,
though within these the special features have been
greatly modified. This portion of the man's life is
necessary to make him his average self, but, if the
generic type is preserved, the special details are
accidental.

This is, perhaps, a fair account of the man's usual
self, but it is obviously no solution of theoretical
difficulties. A man's true self, we should be told,
cannot depend on his relations to that which fluctu-
ates. And fluctuation is not the word; for in the
lifetime of a man there are irreparable changes. Is
he literally not the same man if loss, or death, or
love, or banishment has turned the current of his
life? And yet, when we look at the facts, and
survey the man's self from the cradle to the coffin,
we may be able to find no one average. The usual
self of one period is not the usual self of another,
and it is impossible to unite in one mass these con-
flicting psychical contents. Either then we accept
the man's mere history as his self, and, if so, why
call it one .■* Or we confine ourselves to periods,
and there is no longer any single self. Or, finally,
we must distinguish the self from the usual con-
stituents of the man's psychical being. We must
try to reach the self which is individual by finding
the self which is essential.

APPEARANCE.

3, Let US then take, as before, a man's mind, and
inspect its furniture and contents. We must try to
find that part of them in which the self really
consists, and which makes it one and not another.
And here, so far as I am aware, we can get no
assistance from popular ideas. There seems, how-
ever, no doubt that the inner core of feeling, resting
mainly on what is called Coenesthesia, is the founda-
tion of the self.'

But this inner nucleus, in the first place, is not
separated from the average self of the man by any
line that can be drawn ; and, in the second place,
its elements come from a variety of sources. In
some cases it will contain, indivisibly from the rest,
relation to a not- self of a certain character. Where
an individual is such that alteration in what comes
from the environment completely unsettles him,
where this change may produce a feeling of self-
estrangement so severe as to cause sickness and
even death, we must admit that the self is not
enclosed by a wall. And where the essential self
is to end, and the accidental self to begin, seems a
riddle without an answer.

For an attempt to answer it is baffled by a fatal
dilemma. If you take an essence which can change,
it is not an essence at all ; while, if you stand on
anything more narrow, the self has disappeared.
What is this essence of the self which never is
altered .'' Infancy and old age, disease and madness,
bring new features, while others are borne away.
It is hard indeed to fix any limit to the selPs
mutability. One self, doubtless, can sufler change
in which another would perish. But, on the other
hand, there comes a point in each where we should
agree that the man is no longer himself This

' I may refer here to a few further remarks in Mind, 12, p. 368
and foil. I am not suggesting that ideas may not form part of the
innermost self. One thinks here naturally of the strange selves
suggested in hypnotism.

THE MEANINGS OF SELF.

creature lost in illusions, bereft of memory, trans-
formed in mood, with diseased feelings enthroned
in the very heart of his being — is this still one self
with what we knew ? Well, be it so, assert, what
you are unable to show, that there is still a point
untouched, a spot which never has been invaded.
I will not ask you to point this out, for I am sure
that is impossible. But I urge upon you the
opposite side of the dilemma. This narrow per-
sisting element of feeling or idea, this fixed essence
not " servile to all the skyey influences," this
wretched fraction and poor atom, too mean to be in
danger — do you mean to tell me that this bare
remnant is really the self ? The supposition is pre-
posterous, and the question wants no answer. If
the self has been narrowed to a point which does
not change, that point is less than the real self.
But anything wider has a " complexion " which
" shifts to strange effects," and therefore cannot be
one self. The riddle has proved too hard for
us.

We have been led up to the problem of
personal identity, and any one, who thinks that he
knows what he means by his self, may be invited
to solve this. To my mind it seems insoluble,
but not because all the questions asked are essen-
tially such questions as cannot be answered. The
true cause of failure lies in this — that we will persist
in asking questions when we do not know what
they mean, and when their meaning perhaps pre-
supposes what is false. In inquiries about identity,
as we saw before in Chapter viii., it is all-important
to be sure of the aspect about which you ask. A
thing may be identical or different, accordingly as
you look at it. Hence in personal identity the
main point is to fix the meaning of person ; and it
is chiefly because our ideas as to this are confused,
that we are unable to come to a further result.

In the popular view a man's identity resides

A. R. G

APrEARAMCX.

mainly in his body.' There, before we reflect much,
lies the crucial point. Is the body the same ? Has
it existed continuously ? If there is no doubt about
this, then the man is the same, and presumably he
has preser\-ed his personal identity, whatever else
we like to say has invaded or infected iL But, of
course, as we have seen, this identity of the body
is itself a doubtful problem (p. 73). And even
apart from that, the mere oneness of the organism
must be allowed to be a very crude way of settling
personal sameness. Few of us would venture to
maintain that the self is the body.

Now. if we add the requirement of psychitcU
continuity, have we ad\'anced much further .' For
obviously it is not known, and there seems hardly
any way of deciding, whether the psychical current
is without any break. Apparently, during sleep or
otherwise, such intervals are at least possible ; and,
if so, continuity', being doubtful, cannot be used to
prove identity. And further, if our psychical con-
tents can be more or less transformed, the mere
absence of an interval will hardly be thought enough
to guarantee sameness. So far as I can judge, it is
usual, for (lersonal identity, to require both con-
tinuity and qualitative sameness. But how much of
each is wanted, and how the two stand to one
another, — as to this I can find little else but sheer
confusion. Let us examine it more closely.

We should perhaps say that by one self we under-
stand one experience. And this may either mean
one for a supposed outside observer, or one for the
consciousness of the self in question, the latter kind
of unity being added to or apart from the first kind.
And the self is not one unless within limits its
quality is the same. But we have already seen that
if the individual is simply viewed from outside, it is
quite impossible to find a limit within which change

' In the Furlnii^htly Revinu, ccxxviii., p. 820, I have further
discussed this question.

THE MEANINGS OF SELF.

may not come, and which yet is wide enough to
embrace a real self. Hence, if the test is only same-
ness for an outside observer, it seems clear that
sometimes a man's life must have a series of selves.
But at what point of difference, and on what precise
principle, that succession takes place seems not de-
finable. The question is important, but the decision,
if there is one, appears quite arbitrary. But per-
haps, if we quit the view of the outside observer, we
may discover some principle. Let us make the
attempt

We may take memory as the criterion. The self,
we may hold, which remembers itself is so far one ;
and in this lies personal identity. We perhaps may
wish also to strengthen our case by regarding memory
as something entirely by itself, and as, so to speak,
capable of anything whatever. But this is, of course,
quite erroneous. Memory, as a special application
of reproduction, displays no exceptional wonders to a
sane psychology, nor does it really offer greater diffi-
culties than we find in several other functions. And
the point I would emphasize here is its limits and
defects. Whether you take it across its breadth, or
down its length, you discover a great want of
singleness. This one memory of which we talk is
very weak for many aspects of our varied life, and
is again disproportionately strong for other aspects.
Hence it seems more like a bundle of memories run-
ning side by side and in part unconnected. It is
certain that at any one time what we can recall is
most fragmentary. There are whole sides of our life
which may be wanting altogether, and others which
will come up only in various degrees of feebleness.
This is when memory is at its best ; and at other
times there hardly seems any limit to its failure.
Not only may some threads of our bundle be want-
ing or weak, but, out of those that remain, certain
lengths may be missing. Pieces of our life, when we
were asleep, or drugged, or otherwise distempered.

ATT E-UtAKCX.

iAV

are not represented. Doubtless the current, for all
that, comes to us as ooatiniious. But so it does
when things go further, and when in present disease
our recollection becomes partial and distorted. Nay,
when in one single man diere are periodic returns
of two disconnected memories, the faculty still keeps
its nature and proclaims its identity-. And psycho-
logy explains how this is so*. Memory depends on
reproduction from a basis that is present — a basis
that may be said to consist in self-feeling. Hence, so
far as this basis remains the same through life, it
may, to speak in general, recall anything once as-
sociated with it And, as this basis changes, we
can understand how its connections with past events
will vary indefinitely, both in fulness and in strength.
Hence, for the same reason, when self- feeling has
been altered beyond a limit not in general to be
'defined, the base required for reproduction of our

' past is removed. And, as these different bases
alternate, our past life will come to us differently,
not as one self, but as diverse selves alternately.
And of course these " reproduced " selves may, to a

( very considerable extent, have never existed in the
past'

Now I would invite the person, who takes his
sameness to consist in bare memory, to confront his
view with these facts, and to show us how he under-
stands them. For apparently, though he may not
admit that personal identity has degrees, he at least
cannot deny that in one life we are able to have
more than one self. And, further, he may be com-
pelled to embrace self-sameness with a past which
exists, for him only sometimes, and for others not at
all. And under these conditions it is not easy to
see what becomes of the self. I will, however, go
further. It is well known that after an injury fol-
d by unconsciousness which is removed by an
ion, our mental life may begin again from the
tpare here once again the suggested selves of hypnotism.

THE MEANINGS OF SELF.

moment of the injury. Now if the self remembers
because and according as it is now, misfht not
another self be made of a quality the same, and
hence possessing the same past in present recollec-
tion ? And if one could be made thus, why not also
two or three ? These might be made distinct at the
present time, through their differing quality, and
again through outward relations, and yet be like
enough for each to remember the same past, and so,
of course, to be the same. Nor do I see how this
supposition is to be rejected as theoretically impos-
sible. And it may help us to perceive, what was
evident before, that a self is not thought to be the
same because of bare memory, but only so when
that memory is considered not to be deceptive.
But this admits that identity must depend in the end
upon past existence, and not solely upon mere pre-
sent thinking. And continuity in some degree, and
in some unintelligible sense, is by the popular view
required for personal identity. He who is risen
from the dead may really be the same, though we
can say nothing intelligible of his ambiguous eclipse
or his phase of half-existence. But a man wholly
like the first, but created fresh after the same lapse
of time, we might feel was too much to be one, if
not quite enough to make two. Thus it is evident
that, for persona! identity, some continuity is requi-
site, but how much no one seems to know. In fact,
if we are not satisfied with vague phrases and mean-
ingless generalities, we soon discover that the best
way is not to ask questions. But if we persist, we
are likely to be left with this result. Personal iden-
tity is mainly a matter of degree. The question has
a meaning, if confined to certain aspects of the self,
though even here it can be made definite in each
case only by the arbitrary selection of points of view.
And in each case there will be a limit fixed in the
end by no clear principle. But in what the. general
sameness of one self consists is a problem insoluble

sf.

IjX^

APPEARANCE.

because it is meaningless. This question, I repeat
it, is sheer nonsense until we have got some clear
idea as to what the self is to stand for. If you ask
me whether a man is identical in this or that respect,
and for one purpose or another purpose, then, if
we do not understand one another, we are on the
road to an understanding. In my opinion, even
then we shall reach our end only by more or less of
convention and arrangement But to seek an answer
in general to the question asked at large is to pur-
sue a chimera.

We have seen, so far, that the self has no definite
meaning. It was hardly one section of the indi-
vidual's contents ; nor was it even such a section, if
reduced to what is usual and taken somehow at an
average. The self appeared to be the essential por-
tion or function, but in what that essence lies no one
really seemed to know. We could find nothing but
opinions inconsistent with each other, not one of
which would presumably be held by any one man, if
he were forced to realize its meaning.

(4) By selecting from the individual's contents, or
by accepting them in the gross, we have failed to
find the self. We may hence be induced to locate
it in some kind of monad, or supposed simple being.
By this device awkward questions, as to diversity
and sameness, seem fairly to be shelved. The unity
exists as an unit, and in some sphere presumably
secure from chance and from change. I will here
first refer to our result which turned out adverse to
the possibility of any such being (Chapters iii. and
v.). And 1 will then go on to point out in a few
words that its nature is most ambiguous. Is it the
self at all, and, if so, to what extent and in what
sense ?

If we make this unit something moving parallel
with the life of a man, or, rather, something not mov-
ing, but literally standing in relation to his successive

THE MEANINGS OF SELF.

variety, this will not give us much help. It will be
the man's self about as much as is his star {if he has
one), which looks down from above and cares not
when ite perishes. And if the unit is brought down
into the life of the person, and so in any sense suffers
his fortunes, then in what sense does it remain any
longer an unit .'' And if we will but look at the ques-
tion, we are forced to this conclusion. If we knew
already what we meant by the self, and could point
out its existence, then our monad might be offered
as a theory to account for that self. It would be an
indefensible theory, but at least respectable as being
an attempt to explain something. But, so long as
we have no clear view as to the limits in actual fact
of the selfs existence, our monad leaves us with alt
our old confusion and obscurity. But it further
loads us with the problem of its connection with
these facts about which we are so ignorant. What
1 mean is simply this. Suppose you have accepted
the view that self consists in recollection, and then
offer me one monad, or two or three, or as many as
you think the facts call for, in order to account for
recollection. I think your theory worthless, but, to
some extent, I respect it, because at least it has
taken up some fact, and is trying to account for it.
But if you offer me a vague mass, and then an unit
alongside, and tell me that the second is the self of
the first, I do not think that you are saying any-
thing. All I see is that you are drifting towards
this dilemma. If the monad owns the whole diver-
sity, or any selected part of the diversity, which we
find in the individual, then, even if you had found
in this the identity of the self, you would have to
reconcile it all with the simplicity of the monad.
But if the monad stands aloof, either with no
character at all or a private character apart, then it
may be a fine thing in itself, but it is mere mockery
to call it the self of a man. And, with so much for
the present, I will pass away from this point

ATPEARAMCE.

(5) It may be suggested that the self is the matter
in which I take personal interest. The elements
felt as mine may be regarded as the self, or, at all
events, as all the self which exists. And interest
consists mainly, though not wholly, in pain and plea-
sure. The self will be therefore that group of feel-
ings which, to a greater or less extent, is constantly
present, and which is always attended by pleasure
or pain. And whatever from time to time is united
with this group, is a personal affair and becomes
pari of sell. This general view may serve to lead
us to a fresh way of taking self; but it obviously
promises very little result for metaphysics. For the
t ontcnts of self are most variable from one time to
anolhrr. and are largely conflicting ; and they are
drawn froni many heterogeneous sources. In fact, if
the sell nteans merely what interests us personally,
ihru at any one time it is likely to be too wide, and
perhaps also to be loo narrow ; and at different
times it seems quite at variance with itself.

(0) We are now brought naturally to a most im-
poi'lant way of understanding the self. We have,
up to the present, ignored the distinction of subject
and object. We have n\ade a start from the whole
psychical individual, and have tried to find the self
there or in connection with that. But this individual,
we saw, contained both object and subject, both not-
Hclf unvl self. At least, the not-self must clearly be
allowevi to Ix; in it, so far as that enters into relation
with ihc self and apjH'ars as an object. The reader
inuy prefer another lorm of expression, but he must,
I think, agree as to the fact If you take what in
the widest Kcnse is inside a man's mind, you will
finvl there Innh subject and object and their relation.
This will, rtl all events, l)e the case both in percep-
tion Miul thought, and ag2\in in desire and volition.
And this srll, which is opiKtsed to the not-self, will
nuMt entphatkcMlly not ctiincidc with the self, if that

THE MEANINGS OF SELF.

is taken as the individual or the essential individual.
The deplorable confusion, which is too prevalent on
this head, compels me to invite the reader's special
attention.

The psychical division of the soul into subject and
object has, as is well known, two main forms. The
relation of the self to the not-self is theoretical and
practical. In the first we have, generally, perception
or intelligence ; in the second we have desire and will.
It is impossible for me here to point out the distinct
nature of each ; and still less can I say anything on
their development from one root. What seems
to me certain is that both these forms of relation
are secondary products. Every soul either exists
or has existed at a stage where there was no self
and no not- self, neither Ego nor object in any sense
whatever. But in what way thought and will have
emerged from this basis — this whole of feeling given
without relation — I cannot here discuss.' Nor is
the discussiolJ necessary to an understanding of
the crucial point here. /That point turns upon the
contents of the self and the not-self; and we may
consider these apart from the question of origin.

Now that subject and object have contents and
are actual psychical groups appears to me evident.
I am aware that too often writers speak of the Ego
as of something not essentially qualified by this or
that psychical matter. And 1 do not deny that in a
certain use that language might be defended. But if
we consider, as we are considering here, what we are
to understand by that object and subject in relation,
which at a given time we find existing in a soul, the
case is quite altered. The Ego that pretends to be
anything either before or beyond its concrete psychical
filling, is a gross fiction and mere monster, and for
no purpose admissible. And the question surely

' On this and other kindred points, compare my articles in
Mindy Nos. 47 and 49. .\nd see below (Chapters xix., xxvi.,

xxvii).

APPEARANCE.

may be settled by observation. Take any case of
perception, or whatever you please, where this rela-
tion of object to subject is found as a fact. There,
I presume, no one will deny that the object, at all
events, is a concrete phenomenon. It has a char-
acter which exists as, or in, a mental fact And, if
we turn from this to the subject, is there any more
cause for doubt ? Surely in every case that con-
tains a mass of feeling, if not also of other psychical
existence. When I see, or perceive, or understand,
I (my term of the relation) am palpably, and perhaps
even painfully, concrete. And when I will or desire,
it surely is ridiculous to take the self as not qualified
by particular psychical fact Evidently any self
which we can find is some concrete form of unity of
psychical existence. And whoever wishes to intro-
duce it as something (now or at any time) apart or
beyond, clearly does not rest his case upon observa-
tion. He is importing into the facts a metaphysical
chimera, which, in no sense existing, can do no work ;
and which, even if it existed, would be worse than
useless.

The self and not-self, as discoverable, are concrete
groups,' and the question is as to the content of these.
What is that content, if any, which is essentially not-
self or self ? Perhaps the best way of beginning this
inquiry is to ask whether there is anytkinfr which
may not become an object and, in that sense, a not-
self. We certainly seem able to set everything over
against ourselves. We begin from the outside, but
the distinguishing process becomes more inward,
until it ends with deliberate and conscious intro-
spection. Here we attempt to set before, and so
opposite to, self our most intimate features. We
cannot do this with all at any one time, but with
practice and labour one detail after another is de-
tached from the felt background and brought before

' I am not saying that the whole soul is divided into two groups.
That is really not possible. See more below.

THE MEANINGS OF SELF.

our view. It is far from certain that at some one
time et'ery feature of the self has, sooner or later,
taken its place in the not-self. But it is quite certain
that this holds of by far the larger part. And we
are hence compelled to admit that very little -of the
self can belong to it essentially. Let us now turn
from the theoretical to the practical relation. Is
there here anything, let us ask, which is incapable of
becoming an object to my will or desire .'' But what
becomes such an object is clearly a not-self and
opposed to the self. Let us go at once to the region
that seems most internal and inalienable. As intro-
spection discloses this or that feature in ourselves,
can we not wish that it were otherwise .'* May not
everything that we find within us be felt as a limit
and as a not-self, against which we either do, or con-
ceivably might, react. Take, for instance, some
slight pain. We may have been feeling, in our
dimmest and most inward recesses, uneasy and dis-
composed ; and, so soon as this disturbing feature is
able to be noticed, we at once react against it. The
disquieting sensation becomes clearly a not-self, which
we desire to remove. And, I think, we must accept
the result that, if not everything may become at
times a practical not-self, it is at least hard to find
exceptions

Let us now, passing to the other side of both these
relations, ask if the not-self contains anything which
belongs to it exclusively. It will not be easy to dis-
cover many such elements. In the theoretical rela-
tion it is quite clear that not everything can be an
object, all together and at once. At any one moment
that which is in any sense before me must be limited.
What are we to say then becomes of that remainder
of the not-self which clearly has not, even for the
time, passed wholly from my mind .'' I do not mean
those features of the environment to which I fail to
attend specially, but which I still go on perceiving
as something before me. I refer to the features

9»

APPEARANCE.

•1:

which have now sunk below this level. These are
not even a setting or a fringe to the object of my
mind. They have passed lower into the general
background of feeling, from which that distinct ob-
ject with its indistinct setting is detached. But this
means that for the time they have passed into the
self A constant sound will afford us a very good
instance.' That may be made into the principal
object of my mind, or it may be an accompaniment
of that object more or less definite. But there is a
further stage, where you cannot say that the sensa-
tion has ceased, and where yet it is no feature in
what comes as the not-self. It has become now one
among the many elements of my feeling, and it has
passed into that self for which the not-self exists. I
will not ask if with any, or with what, portions of the
not-self this relapse may be impossible, for it is
enough that it should be possible with a very great
deal. Let us go on to look at the same thing from
the practical side. There it will surely be very
difficult to fix on elements which essentially must
confront and limit me. There are some to which in
fact I seem never to be practically related ; and
there are others which are the object of my will or
desire only from occasion to occasion. And if we
cannot find anything which is essential to the not-
self, then everything, it would appear, so far as it
enters my mind, may form part of the felt mass.
But if so, it would seem for the time to be connected
with that group against which the object of will
comes. And thus once again the not-self has be-
come self.

The reader may have observed one point on which
my language has been guarded. That point is the
extreme limit of this interchange of content between
the not-self and the self. I do not for one moment
deny the existence of that limit. In my opinion it

' Another instance would be the sensations from my own
clothes.

THE MEANINGS OF SELF.

is not only possible, but most probable, that in every
man there are elements in the internal felt core
which are never made objects, and which practically
cannot be. There may well be features in our
Ccenesthesia which lie so deep that we never succeed
in detaching them ; and these cannot properly be
said to be ever our not-self. Even in the past we
cannot distinguish their speciality. But I presume
that even here the obstacle may be said to be prac-
tical, and to consist in the obscurity, and not other-
wise in the essence, of these sensations.' And I will
barely notice the assertion that pleasure and pain
are essentially not capable of being objects. This
assertion seems produced by the straits of theory,
is devoid of all basis in fact, and may be ignored.
But our reason for believing in elements which
never are a not-self is the fact of a felt surplus in
our undistinguished core. What I mean is this :
we are able in our internal mass of feeling to distin-
gfuish and to recognise a number of elements ; and
we are able, on the other side, to decide that our
feeling contains beyond these an unexhausted mar-
gin.' It contains a margin which, in its general idea
of margin, can be made an object, but which, in its
particularity, cannot be. But from time to time this
margin has been encroached upon ; and we have not
the smallest reason to suppose that at some point in
its nature lies a hard and fast limit to the invasion
of the not-self

' Notice that our emotional moods, where we hardly could
analyse thera, may qualify objects aesthetically.

* How the existence of this margin is observed is a question I
cannot discuss here. The main point lies in our ability to feel a
discrepancy between our felt self and any object before it. This,
reflected on and made an object — as, of course, in its main vague
type is always possible with past feeling — gives us the idea of an
unreduced residue. The same ability to feel discrepancy is the
ground of our belief as to difference or identity between past and
present feeling. But the detail of this discussion does not belong
to metaphysics.

APPEARANCE.

On the side of the not-self, once more, I would
not assert that every feature of content may lapse
into mere feeling, and so fuse itself with the back-
ground. There may be features which practically
manage never to do this. And, again, it may be
urged that there are thought-products not capable ol
existence, save when noticed in such a way as must
imply opposition to self. I will not controvert this ;
but will suggest only that it might open a question,
as to the existence in general of thought-products
within the feeling self, which might further bewilder
us. 1 will come to the conclusion, and content
myself with urging the general result. Both on the
side of the self and on the side of the not-self, there
are, if you please, admitted to be features not capable
of translocation. But the amount of these will be so
small as to be incapable of characterizing and con-
stituting the self or the not-self The main bulk of
the elements on each side is interchangeable.

If at this point we inquire whether the present
meaning of self will coincide with those we had be-
fore, the answer is not doubtful, for clearly well-
nigh everything contained in the psychical individual
may be at one time part of self and at another time
part of not-self Nor would it be possible to find
an essence of the man which was incapable of being
opposed to the self, as an object for thought and for
will. At least, if found, that essence would consist
in a residue so narrow as assuredly to be insufficient
for making an individual. And it could gain con-
creteness only by receiving into its character a
mortal inconsistency. The mere instance of in-
ternal volition should by itself be enough to compel
reflection. There you may take your self as deep-
lying and as inward as you please, and may narrow
it to the centre ; yet these contents may be placed
in opposition to your self, and you may desire their
alteration. And here surely there is an end of any
absolute confinement or exclusive location of the self.

THE MEANINGS OF SELF.

For the self is at one moment the whole individual,
inside which the opposites and their tension is con-
tained ; and, again, it is one opposite, limited by and
struggling against an opponent.

And the fact of the matter seems this. The
whole psychical mass, which fills the soul at any mo-
ment, is the self so far as this mass is only felt So
far, that is, as the mass is given together in one
whole, and not divisible from the group which is
especially connected with pleasure and pain, this
entire whole is felt as self. But, on the other side,
elements of content are distinguished from the mass,
which therefore is, so far, the background against
which perception takes place. But this relation of
not-self to self does not destroy the old entire self.
This is still the whole mass inside which the dis-
tinction and the relation falls. And self in these
two meanings coexists with itself, though it certain-
ly does not coincide. Further, in the practical
relation a new feature becomes visible. There we
have, first of all, self as the whole felt condition.
We have, next, the not-self which is felt as opposing
the self. We have, further, the group, which is limi-
ted and struggles to expand, so causing the tension.
This is, of course, felt specially as the self and with-
in this there falls a new feature worth noticing. In
desire and volition we have an idea held against
the existing not-self, the idea being that of a change
in that not-self. This idea not only is felt to be a
part of that self which is opposed to the not-self, —
it is felt also to be the main feature and the pro-
minent element there. Thus we say of a man that
his whole self was centred in a certain particular
end. This means, to speak psychologically, that
the idea is one whole with the inner group which
is repressed by the not self, and that the tension is
felt emphatically in the region of the idea. The
idea becomes thus the prominent feature in the con-
tent of self. And hence its expansion against, or

APPEARANCE.

contraction by, the actual group of the not-self is
felt as the enlargement or the restraint of myself.
Here, if the reader will call to mind that the exist-
ing not-self may be an internal state, whose alteration
is desired, — and, again, if he will reflect that the idea,
viewed theoretically, itself is a not-self, — he may
realize the entire absence of a qualification attached
to, and indivisible from, one special content

We have yet to notice even another meaning
which is given to "self." But I must first attempt
at this point to throw further light on the subject of
our seventh chapter. The perception by the self
of its own activity is a corner of psychology which
is dangerous if left in darkness. We shall realize
this danger in our next chapter ; and I will attempt
here to cut the ground from beneath some blind
prejudices. My failure, if I fail, will not logically
justify their existence. It may doubtless be used in
their excuse, but I am forced to run that risk for
the sake of the result.

The perception of activity comes from the expan-
sion of the self against the not-self, this expansion
arising from the self And by the self is not meant
the whole contents of the individual, but one term
of the practical relation described above. We saw
there how an idea, over against the not-self, was
the feature with which the self-group was most iden-
tified. And by the realization of this idea the self
therefore is expanded ; and the expansion, as suc/t,^
is always a cause of pleasure. The mere expansion,
of course, would not be felt as activity, and its origi-

' I may refer the reader hereto Mind, 43, pp. 119-320; 47, pp.
371-372; and 49, p. 33. I have not answered Mr. Ward's criticisms
{Atinii 48, pp. 572-575) in detail, because in my opinion they are
mere misunderstandings, the removal of which is not properly
my concern.

* For a further distinction on this point see Mind, 49, pp. 6
and foil.

TlIK MEANINGS OF SELF.

nation from within the self is of the essence of the
matter.

But tliere are several points necessary for the
comprehension of this view. f. The reader must
understand, first of all, that the expansion is not
necessarily the enlargement of the self in the sense
of the whole individual. Nor is it even the enlarge-
ment of the self as against the not-self, in every
meaning of those terms. It is the expansion of the
self so far as that is identified with the idea of the
change. If, for example, I wished to produce self-
contraction, then that also would be enlargement
■because in it the idea, before limited by the fact of
a greater area, would transcend that limit. Thus
even self-destruction is relative expansion, so long
as the activity lasts. And Wvi may say, generally,
the self here is that in which it feels its chief interest
For this is both indivisible from and prominent in
its inmost being. No one who misses this point
can understand what activity means.

2. This leads us to a difficulty. For sometimes
clearly I am active, where there is no idea proper,
and, it might be added, even no limiting not-self.
I will take the last point first, {a) Let us^ for argu-
ment's sake, imagine a case where, with no outside
Other.and noconsciousness of an emptyenvironment,
the self feels expansion. In what .sense can we dis-
cover any not-self here .■* The answer is simple.
The self, as existing, is that limit to itself which it
transcends by activity. Let us call the self, as it is
before the activity. A, and, while active, A/J. But
we have a third feature, the inner nature of A, which
emerges in AB, This, as we saw, is the idea of
the change, and we may hence write it d. We
have, therefore, at the beginning not merely A, but
in addition .-/ qualified by d ; and these are opposite
to one another. The unqualified A is the not-self
of ^-^ as identified with d; and the tension between
Ad and A is the inner source of the cliange,

A. R. II

APPEARANCE.

which, of course, expands b to B, and by consequence,
so far, A. We may. if we hi<e these phrases, call
activity the ideaHty of a thing carrying the thing be-
yond its actual limit. But what is really important
is the recognition that activity has no meaning, un-
less in some sense we suppose an idea of the change ;
and that, as against this idea in which the self feels
its interest, the actual condition of the self is a not-
self {b) And this, of course, opens a problem. For
in some cases where the self apprehends itself as
active, there seems to be no discoverable idea. But
the problem is solved by tlie distinction between an
idea which is explicit and an idea not explicit. The
latter is ideal solely in the sense that its content is
used beyond its existence.' It might indeed be ar-
gued that, when we predicate activity, the end is
always transferred in idea to the beginning. That
is doubtle.ss true ; but. when activity is merely felt,
there will never be there an explicit idea. And, in
the absence; of this, 1 will try to explain what takes
place. We have first a self which, as it exists, may
be called Ac. This self becomes Acd, and. is there-
fore expanded. But bare expandedness is, of course,
by itself not activity, and could not be so felt. And
the mere alteration consequently, of Ac to Acd,
would be felt only as a change, and as an addition
made to the identical A. When these differences,
c and d, are connected before the mind by the iden-
tical A — and for the perception of change they must
be connected — -there is, so far, no action or passiv-
ity, but a mere change which happens. This is not
enough for activity, since we require also the idea
of d in Ac ; and this idea we do not have in an ex-
plicit form. Hut what, I think, suffices is this. Ac,
which as a fact passes into Acd, and is felt so to
pass by the perception of a relation of sequence, is
also previously felt as Acd. That is, in the A,

jUind, 49, p, 23. And see below, Chapter xv.

•I'iri: MEANINGS OF SELF.

apart from ami before its actual change to d, we
have the qualification Aid wavering and strugglinpf
aofainst Ac. Ac suorcrests Acd, which is felt as one
with it, and not as given to it by anything else. But
this suggestion Acd, as soon as it arises, is checked
by the negative, mere Ac, which maintains its posi-
tion. A is therefore the site of a struggle of Acd
against Ac. Each is felt in A as belonging to it and
therefore as one ; and there is no relation yet which
serves as the solution of this discrepancy. Hence
comes the feeling that - / is, and yet is not, Acd.
But when the relation of sequence seems to solve
this contradiction, then the ensuing result is not felt
as mere addition to .-\c. It is felt as the success of
Acd, which before was kept back by the stronger Ac.
Antl thus, without any explicit idea, an idea is ac-
tually applied ; for there is a content which is used
beyond and against existence. And this, 1 think,
is the explanation of the earliest felt activity.

This brief accoimt is naturally o[)en to objections,
but all that are not mere misunderstanding can, I
believe, be fully met. The subject, however, belongs
to j)sycho!ogy, and I must not here pursue it. The
reader will have seen that I assume, for the percep-
tion of change, the necessity of connecting the end
with the beginning. This is effected by redintegra-
tion from the identical .?, and it is probably assisted
at first by the after-sensation of the starting- place,
persisting together with tlie result. And this I am
obliged here to assume. Further, the realization of
Acd must not be attached as an adjective to any-
thing outside A, such as E. This would be fatal
to the appearance of a feeling of activity. A must,
for our feeling, be Acd; and, again, that must be
checked by the more dominant Ac. It must be
unable to establish itself, and yet must struggle, —
that is, oscillate and waver. Hence a wavering
Acd, causing pleasure at each partial success, and re-
sisted by Ac, which you may take, as yt)u prefer,

lOO

APPEARANCE.

for its negative or its privation^this is what after-
wards turns into that strange scandalous hybrid,
potential existence. And d, as a content that is re-
jected by existence, is on the highway to become
an explicit idea. And with these too scanty ex-
planations I must return from the excursion we
have made into psychology.

(7) There is still another meaning of self which
wo can hardly pass by, though we need say very
little about it at present.' 1 refer to that use in
which self is the same as the " mere self " or the
" simply subjective." This meaning is not difficult
to fix in general. Everything which is part of the
individual's psychical content.s, and which is not re-
levant to a certain function, is mere self to that
function. Thus, in thinking, everything in my
mind — all sensations, feelings, ideas which do not
subserve the thought in question — is unessential ;
and, because it is self, it is therefore mere self. So,
again, in morality or in ccsthetic perception, what
stands outside these processes (if they are what they
should be) is simply "subjective," because it is not
concerned in the "object" of the process. Mere
self is whatever part of the psychical individual is,
for the purpose in hand, negative. It, at lea.st, is
irrelevani", and it may be even worse.

This in general is clearly the meaning, and it
surely will give us no help in our present difficulties.
The point which should be noticed is that it" has no
fixed application, l-'or that which is "objective"
and essential to one kind of purpose, may be irrele-
vant and " subjective " to every other kind of pur-
pose. And this distinction holds even among cases
of the same kind. That feature, for example, which
is essential to one moral act may be without signifi-
cance for another, and may therefore be merely

* See Chapter xix.

THE MEANINGS OF SELF.

myself. In brief, there is nothing in a man which
is not thus "objective " or "subjective," as the end
which we are considering is from time to time
chanored. The self here stands for that which, for
a present purpose, is the eka/ue self And it is
obvious, if we compare tliis meaning with those
which have preceded, that it does not coincide with
them. It is at once too wide and too narrow. It
is too wide, because nothing falls essentially outside
it ; and yet it is too narrow, because anything, so
soon as you have taken that in reference to any
kind of system, is at once excluded from the mere
self. It is not the simply felt ; for it is essentially
qualified by negation. It is that which, as against
anything transcending mere feeling, remains outside
as a residue. We might, if we pleased, call it what,
by contrast, is only the felt. But then we must
include under feeling every psychical fact, if con-
sidered merely as such and as existing immediately.
There is, however, here no need to dwell any
further on this point.

I will briefly resume the results of this chapter.
We had found that our ideas as to the nature of
things — as to substance and adjective, relation and
quality, space antl time, motion and activity — were
in their essence indefensible. But we had heard
somewhere a rumour that the self was to bring order
into chaos. And we were curious first to know
what this term might stand for. The present
chapter has supplied us with an answer too plentiful.
Self has turned out to mean so many things, to
mean them so ambiguously, and to be so wavering
in its applications, that we do not feel encouraged.
We found, first, that a man's self might be his total
present contents, discoverable on making an im-
aginary cross section. Or it might be the average
contents we should presume ourselves likely to find,
together with something else which we call dis-

I02 APPEARANCE.

positions. From this we drifted into a search for
the self as the essential point or area within the self;
and we discovered that we really did not know what
this was. Then we went on to perceive that, under
personal identity, we entertained a confused bundle
of conflicting ideas. Again the self, as merely that
which for the time being interests, proved not satis-
factory ; and from this we passed to the distinction
and the division of self as against the not-self Here,
in both the theoretical and again in the practical
relation, we found that the self had no contents that
were fixed ; or it had, at least, none sufficient to
make it a self. And in that connection we per-
ceived the origin of our perception of activity.
Finally, we dragged to the light another meaning of
self, not coinciding with tlie others ; and we saw
that this designates any psychical fact which remains
outside any purpose to which at any time psychical
fact is being applied. In this sense self is .the
unused residue, defined negatively by want of use,
and positively by feeling in the sense of mere
psychical existence. And there was no matter
which essentially fell, or did not fall, under this
heading.

CHAPTER X.

THE REALITY OF SELF.

In the present chapter we must brielly inquire into
the selfs reality. Naturally the self is a fact, to/
some extent and in some sense ; and this, of course,
is not the issue. The question is whether the self
in any of its meanings can, as such, be real. We
have found above that things seem essentially made
of inconsistencies. And there is understood now to
be a claim on the part of the self, not only to main-
tain and to justify its own proper beings, hut, in
addition, to rescue things from the condemnation we
have passed on them. But the latter part of the ,
claim may be left undiscussed. We shall find that
the self has no power to defend its own reality from
mortal objections.

It is the old puzzle as to the connection of diver-
sity with unity. As the diversity becomes mon
complex and the unity grows more concrete, wc
have, so far, found that our difliculties steadily
increase. And the expectation of a sudden change
and a happy solution, when wc arrive at the self,
seems hence little warranted. And if we glance at
the individual self, as we find it at one time, there
seems at first sight no clear harmony which orders
and unites its entangled confusion. At least,
popular ideas are on this point visibly unavailing.
The complexity of the phenomena, exhibited by a
cross section, must be admitted to exist. But how
in any sense they can be one, even apart from

I04 APPEARAXCF.

alteration, is a problem not attempted. And when
the self changes in time, are we able to justify the
inconsistency which most palpably appears, or, rather,
stares us in the face ? You may say that we are each
assured of our personal identity in a way in which
we are not assured of the sameness of things. But
this is, unfortunately, quite irrelevant to the question.
That selves exist, and are identical in some sense, is
indubitable. But the doubt is whether their same-
ness, as we apprehend it, is really intelligfible, and
whether it can be true in the character in which it
comes to us. Because otherwise, while it will be
certain that the self and its identity somehow belong
to reality, it will be equally certain that this fact has
someAow been essentially misapprehended. And
our conclusion must be that, since, as such, it con-
tradicts itself, this fact must, as such, be unreal.
The self also will in the end be no more than ap-
pearance.

This question turns, I presume, on the possibility
of finding some spiecial experience which will
furnish a new point of view. It is, of course, ad-
mitted that the self presents us with fresh matter,
and with an increased complication. The point in
debate is whether at the same time it supplies us'
with any key to the whole puzzle about realit)'.
Does it give an experience by the help of which we
can understand the way in which diversity is har-
monized ? Or, failing that, does it remove all
necessity for such an understanding } I am con-
vinced that both these questions must be answered
in the negative.

{a) For mere feeling, to begin the inquiry with
this, gives no answer to our riddle. It may be said
truly tliat in feeling, if you take it low enough
down, there is plurality with unity and without
contradiction. There being no relations and no
terms, and yet, on the other side, more than bare
simplicity, we experience a concrete whole as

THE REALITY OF SELK

105

actual fact. And this fact, it may be alleged, is the
understanding of our self, or is, at least, that which is
superior to and over-rides any mere intellectual
criticism. It must be accepted for what it is, and
its reality must be admitted by the intelligence as
an unique revelation,

But no such claim can be maintained. I will
begin by pointing out that feeling, if a revelation, is
not exclusively or even specially a revelation of the
self. For you must choose one of two things.
Either you do not descend low enough to get rid of
relations with all their inconsistency, or else you
have reached a level where subject and object are
in no sense distinguished, and where, therefore,
neither self nor its opposite exists. Feeling, if 1
taken as immediate presentation, most obviously
gives features of what later becomes the environ-
ment. And these are indivisibly one thing with i
what later becomes the self. Feeling, therefore,
can be no unique or special revelation of the self, in
distinction from any other element of the universe.
Nor, even if feeling be used wrongly as equivalent
to the aspect of pleasure or pain,' need we much
modify our conclusion. This is a point on which
naturally I have seen a good many dogmatic asser-
tions, but I liave found no argument worth serious
consideration. Why in the case of a pleasant feel-
ing — for example, that of warmth — the sideof pleasure
should belong to the self, and the side of sensation
to the not-self (psychologically or logically). I really
do not know. If we keep to facts, it seems clear
that at the beginning no such distinction exists at
all ; and it is clear too that at the latest stage there
are some elements within the not-self which retain
their original aspect of pleasure or pain. And
hence we must come to this result. We could

• I think this confined use wrong, but it is, of course, legitimate.
To ignore the existence of other uses is, on the otiier hami, in-
excusable.

io6

APPEARANCE.

make little metaphysical use of the doctrine that
pleasure and pain belong solely to the self as
distinct from the not-self And the doctrine itself
is quite without foundation. It is not even true
that at first self and not-self exist. And though
it is true that pleasure and pain are the main feature
on which later this distinction is based, yet it is
even then false that they may not belong to the
object.

But, if we leave this error and return once more
to feeling. In the sense of that which comes undif-
ferentiated, we are forced to see that it cannot give
the knowledge which we seek. It is an apprehen-
sion too defective to lay hold on reality. In the
first place, its content and its form are not in agree-
ment ; and tliis is manifest when feeling changes
from moment to moment. Then the matter, which
ought to come to us harmoniously and as one whole,
becomes plainly discrepant within itself The
content exhibits its essential relativity. It depends,
that is to say — in order to be what it Is — upon some-
thing not itself. Feeling ought to be something all
In one and self-contained, if not simple. Its essence
ought not to include matter the adjective of, and
with a reference to, a foreign existence. It should
be real, and should not be, in this sense, partly ideal.
And the form of imn\ediacy, in which it offers
itself, implies this self-subslstent cliaracter. But in
change the content slips away, and becomes some-
thing else ; while, again, change appears necessary
and implied in its being. Mutability is a fact in the
actual feeling which we experience, for that never
continues at rest. And, If we examine the content
at any one given moment, we perceive that, though
it presents itself as self-subslstent, it Is Infected by
a deep-seated relativity. And this will force itself
into view, first in the experience of change, and
later, for reflection. Again, In the second place,
apart from this objection, and even if feeling were

THE REALITY OF SELF.

!07

self-conslstcnt. it would not suffice for a knowledge
of reality. Reality, as it commonly appears, con-
tains terms and relations, and indeed may be said to
consist in these mainly. But the form of fee-ling (on
the other side) is not above, but is below, the level
of relations ; and it therefore cannot possibly ex-
press them or explain them. Hence it is idle to
suppose, given relational matter as the object to be
understood, that feeling will supply any way of
understanding it. And this objection seems quite
fatal. Thus we are forced beyond feeling, first by
change, and then further by the relational form
which remains obstinately outstanding. But, when
once more we betake ourselves to reflection, we
seem to have made no advance. For the incom-
pleteness and relativity in the matter given by feeling
become, when we reflect on them, open contradic-
tion. The limitation is seen to be a reference to
something beyond, and the self-subsistent fact shows
ideality, and turns round into mere adjectives whose
support we cannot find. Feeling can be, therefore, no
solution of the puzzles which, so far, have proved to
be insoluble, its content is vitiated throughout by
the old inconsistencies. It may be said even to
thrust upon us, in a still more apparent form, the
discrepancy that lies between identity and diversity,
immediate oneness and relation.

(d) Thus mere feeling has no power to justify the
self's reality, and naturally none to solve the prob-
lems of the universe at large. But we may perhaps
be more fortunate with some form of self-conscious-
ness. That possibly may furnish us with a key to
the self, and so also to the world ; and let us briefly
make an attempt. The prospect is certainly at first
sight not very encouraging. For (i.) if we take the
actual matter revealed by self-consciousness, that (in
any sense in which it pleases us to understand self)
seems quite inconsistent internally. If the reader
will recall the discussions of the preceding chapter,

io8

APPEARANCE.

he may, I think, convince himself on this point.
Take the self, either at one time or throughout any
duration, and its contents do not seem to arrange
themselves as a harmony. Nor have we, so far,
found a principle by the application of which we arc
enabled to arrange them without contradiction,
(ii.) But self-consciousness, we may be told, is a
(special way of intuition, or perception, or what you
jwili. And this experience of both subject and object
in one self, or of the identity of the Ego through and
in the opposition of itself to itself, or generally the
self-apprehension of the self as one and many, is at
last the full answer to our whole series of riddles.
But to my mind such an answer brings no satisfac-
tion. For it seems liable to the objections which
proved fatal to mere feeling. Suppose, for argu-
ment's sake, that the intuition (as you describe it)
actually exists ; suppose that in this intuition, while
you keep to it, you possess a diversity without dis-
crepancy. This is one thing, but it is quite another
thing to possess a principle which can serve for the
understanding of reality. For how does this way of
apprehension suffice to take in a long series ol
events ? How again does it embrace, and transcend,
and go beyond, the relational form of discursive in-
telligence? The world is surely not understood if
understanding is left out. And in what manner
can your intuition satisfy the claims of understand-
ing .'' This, to my mind, forms a wholly insuperable
obstacle. For the contents of the intuition (this
many in one), if you try to reconstruct them relation-
ally, fall asunder forthwith. And the attempt to
find in self-consciousness an apprehension at a level,
not below, but above relations — a way of apprehen-
sion superior to discursive thought, and including its
mere process in a higher harmony — appears to me
not successful. I am, in short. com[ielled to this
I conclusion, even if your intuition is a fact, it is not
an understanding of the self ur of the world. It is a

•1

V^ THE REALITY OF SELF. lOQ

Qe> mere experience, and it furnishes no consistent view
j ^ I about itself or about reality in general. An experi-
sJ^ I ence, I suppose, can override understanding only in
. I one way, by including it, that is, as a subordinate
V ' element somehow within itself. And such an ex-
< , perience is a thing which seems not discoverable in
j self-consciousness.

* ■ And (iii.) I am forced to urge this last objection

'^ against the whole form of self-consciousness, as it
* was described above. There does not really exist
any perception, either in which the object and the
subject are quite the same, or in which their same-
ness amid difference is an object for perception.
Any such consciousness would seem to be impossible
psychologically. And, as it is almost useless for me
to try to anticipate the reader's views on this point,
I must content myself with a very brief statement.
Self-consciousness, as distinct from self-feeling, im-
plies a relation. It is the state where the self has
become an object that stands before the mind. This
means that an element is in opposition to the felt
mass, and is disting^iished from it as a not-self. And
there is no doubt that the self, in its various mean-
ings, can become such a not-self. But, in whichever
of its meanings we intend to consider it, the result
is the same. The object is never wholly identical
with the subject, and the background of feeling must
contain a great deal more than what we at any time
can perceive as the self. And I confess that I
scarcely know how to argue this point. To me the
idea that the whole self can be observed in one per-
ception would be merely chimerical. I find, first,
that in the felt background there remains an obscure
residue of internal sensation, which I perhaps at no
time can distinguish as an object. And this felt
background at any moment will almost certainly
contain also elements from outer sensation. On the
other hand, the self, as an object, will at any one
time embrace but a poor extent of detail. It is

I lO

APPEARANCE.

palpably and flagrantly much more narrow than the
background felt as self. And in order to exhaust
this felt mass (if indeed exhaustion is possible) we
require a series of patient observations, in none of
which will the object be as full as the subject.' To
have the felt self in its totality as an object for con-
sciousness seems out of the question. And I would
further ask the reader to bear in mind that, where
the self is observed as in opposition to the not-self,
this whole relation is included within that felt back-
ground, against which, on the other hand, the
distinction takes place.

And this suggests an objection. How, I may be
asked, if self-consciousness is no more than you say,
do we take one object as self and another as not-
self ? Why is the observed object perceived at all
in the character of self ? This is a question, I think,
not difficult to answer, so far at least as is required
for our purpose here. The all-important point is
this, that the unity of feeling never disappears. The
mass, at first undifferentiated, groups itself into
objects in relation to me ; and then again further
the " me " becomes explicit, and itself is an object in
relation to the background of feeling. But, none
the less, the object not-self is still a part of the indi-
vidual soul, and the object self likewise keeps its
place in this felt unity. The distinctions have super-
vened upon, but they have not divided, the original
whole ; and, if they had done so, the result would
have been mere destruction. Hence, in self-con-
sciousness, those contents perceived as the self
belong still to the whole individual mass. They,
in the first place, are features in the felt totality ;
then again they are elements in that inner group
from which the not-self is distinguished ; and finally
they become an object opposed to the internal back-

' The possibility of this series rests on the fact that sameness
and alleratioii can be/<"// where they are not pent hxd. Cp. p. 93.

THK REALITY OF SELF.

! 1 I

ground. Aiul these contents exist thus in several
forms all at once. And so, just as the not-self is I
felt as still psychically my state, the self, when made \
an object, is still felt as individually one with me.
Nay, we may reilect upon this unity of feeling, and
may say that the self, as self and as not-self all in one,
IS our object And this is true if we mean that it is
an object yor rfjleclion. Out in that reflection once
more there is an actual subject ; and that actual sub
ject is a mass of feelings much fuller than the object ;
and it is a subject which in no sense is an object y<7r
the reflection. The feature, of being not-self and
self in one self can indeed be brought before the
present subject, and can be felt to be its own. The
unity of feeling can become an object for perception
and thought, and can also be felt to belong to the
self which is present, and which is the subject that
perceives. But, without entering into psychological
refinements and difficulties, we may be sure of this
main result. The actual subject is never, in any
state of mind, brought before itself as an object. It
has that before it which it feels to be itself, so far at
least as to fall within its own area, and to be one
thing with its felt unity. But the actual subject
never feels that it is all out there in its object, that
there is nothing more left within, and that the differ-
ence has disappeared. And of this we can surely
convince ourselves by observation. The subject in
the end must be felt, and it can never (as it is) be
perceived.

But, if so, then self-consciousness will not solve
our former difficulties. For these distinctions, of
self and of not-self in one whole, are noi presented
as the reality even of my self. They are given as
found within it, but not as exhausting it. But even
if the self did, what it cannot do, and guaranteed
this arrangement as its proper reality, that would
still leave us at a loss. For unless we could think
the arrangement so as to be consistent with itself

I 12

APPEARANCE.

we could not admit it as beingf the truth about
reality. It would merely be an experience, unin-
telligible or deceptive. And it is an experience
which, we have now seen, has no existence in fact.

(c) We found the self, as mere feeling, gave us no
key to our puzzles, and we have not had more suc-
cess in our attempt with self-consciousness. So far
as that transcends mere feeling, it is caught in, and
is dissipated by, the old illusory play of relations
and qualities. It repeats this illusion, without doubt,
at a higher level than before; the endeavour is more
ambitious, but the result is still the same. For we
have not been taught how to understand diversity
in unity. And though, in my judgment, the further
task should now be superfluous, I will briefly touch
upon some other claims made for the self The
first rests on the consciousness of personal identity.
This may be supposed to have some bearing on the
reality of the self, but to my mind it appears to be
almost irrelevant. Of course the self, within limits
and up to a certain point, is the same ; and I will
leave to others the attempt to fix those limits by a
principle. For, in my opinion, there is none which
at bottom is not arbitrary. But what I fail to per-
ceive is the metaphysical conclusion which comes
from a consciousness of self-sameness. I quite
understand that this fact disproves any doctrine of
the selfs mere discreteness. Or, more correctly,
it is an obvious instance against a doctrine which
evidently contradicts itself in principle. The self is
iiol merely discrete ; and therefore (doubtless by
some wonderful alternative) we are carried to a
positive result about its reality. But the facts of
the case seem merely to be thus. As long as there
remains in the self a certain basis of content, ideally
the same, so long may the self recall anything once
associated with that basis. And this identity of
content, working by redintegration and so bringing

THE REALITY OF SELF.

I r

up the past as the history of one self — really this is
all which we have to build upon. Now this, of
course, shows that self-sameness e.xists as a fact,
and that hence somehow an identical self must be
real. But then the question is how ? The question
is whether we can state the existence and the con-
tinuity of a real self in a way which is intelligible,
and which is not ruined by the difficulties of previous
discussions. Because, otherwise, we may have found
an interesting fact, but most assuredly we have not
found a tenable view about reality. That tenable
view, if we got sight of it, might show us that our
fact had been vitally misapprehended. At all
events, so long as we can offer only a bundle of
inconsistencies, it is absurd to try to believe that
these are the true reality. And, if any one likes to
fall back upon a miraculous faculty which he dis-
covers in memory, the case is not altered. For the
issue is as to the truth either of the message con-
veyed, or of our conclusion from that message.
And, for myself, I stand on this. Present your
doctrine {whatever it is) in a form which will bear
criticism, and which will enable me to understand
this confused mass of facts which I encounter on all
sides. Do this, and I will follow you, and I will
worship the source of such a true revelation. But I
will not accept nonsense for reality, though it be
vouched for by miracle, or proceed from the mouth
of a psychological monster.

And I am compelled to adopt the same attitude
towards another supposed fact. I refer to the unity
in such a function as, for instance. Comparison.
This has been assumed to be timeless, and to serve
as a foundation for metaphysical views about the self.
But I am forced to reject alike both basis and result,
if that result be offered as a positive view. It is in
the first place (as we have seen in Chapter v.)
psychologically untenable to take any mental fact j
as free from duration. And, apart from that, what'

A. R. I

114

APPEARANCE.

works in any function must be something concrete
and specially relevant to that function. In com-
parison it must be, for instance, a special basis of
identity in the terms to be compared.^ A timeless
self, acting in a particular way from its general time-
less nature, is to me, in the first place, a psycho-
logical monster. And, in the second place, if this
extraordinary fact did exist, it would indeed serve to
show that certain views were not true ; but, beyond
that, it would remain a mere extraordinary fact. At
least for myself 1 do not perceive how it supplies
us with a conclusion about the self or the world,
which is consistent and defensible. And here once
again we have the same issue. We have found
puzzles in reality, besetting every way in which we
have taken it. Now give me a view not obnoxious
to these mortal attacks, and combining differences
in one so as to turn the edge of criticism — and then
1 will thank you. But I cannot be grateful for an
assertion which seems to serve merely as an object-
tion to another doctrine, otherwise known to be
false ; an assertion, which, if we accepted it as we
cannot, would leave us simply with a very strange
fact on our hands. Such a fact is certainly no
principle by which we could solve the riddle of the
universe.

{(/) I must next venture a few words on an
embarrassing topic, the supposed revelation of
reality within the self as force or will. And the
difificulty comes, not so much from the nature of the
subject, as from the manner of its treatment. If we
could get a clear statement as to the matter revealed,
we could at this stage of our discussion dispose of it
in a few words, or rather point out that it has been
already disposed of. But a clear statement is pre-
cisely that which (so far as my experience goes) is
not to be had.

' There are some further remarks in MinJ, Nos. 41 and 43.

THE REALITY OF SELF.

115

The reader who recalls our discussions on activity,
will remember how it literally was riddled by con-
tradictions. All the puzzles as to adjectives and
relations and terms, every dilemma as to time and
causation, seemed to meet in it and there even to
find an addition. Far from reducing these to
harmony, activity, when we tried to ihmk it, fell
helplessly asunder or jarred with itself. .And to
suppose that the self is to bring order into this
chaos, after our experience hitherto of tlie self's
total impotence, seems more sanguine than rational.

If now we take force or cause, as it is revealed in
the self, to be the same as volition proper, that
clearly will not help us. For in volition we have an
idea, determining change in the self, and so produc-
ing its own realization.' Volition, perhaps at first
sight may seem to promise a solution of our meta-
physical puzzles. For we seem to find at last some-
thing like a self-contained cause with an effect within
itself. But this surely is illusory. The old difficulties
about the beginning of change and its process in time,
the old troubles as to diversity in union with same-
ness — how is any one of these got rid of, or made
more tractable ? It is bootless to enquire whether
we have found a principle which is to explain the
universe. For we have not even found anything
which can bear its own weight, or can endure for
one moment the most superficial scrutiny. Volition
gives us, of course, an intense feeling of reality ; and
we may conclude, if we please, that in this lies the
heart of the mystery of things. Yes, perhaps ; here
lies the answer — for those who may have understood ;
and the whole question turns on whether we have
reached an imderstanding. But what you offer me
appears much more like an experience, not under-
stood but interpreted into hopeless confusion. It is
with you as with the man who, transported by his

' I have discussed the nature of will psychologically in AiinJ,
No. 49.

Il6

APPEARANCE.

passion, feels and knows that only love gives the
secret of the universe. In each case the result is
perfectly in order, but one hardly sees why it should
be called metaphysics.

And we shall make no advance, if we pass from
will proper where an idea is realized, and fall back
on an obscurer revelation of ener^. In the ex-
perience of activity, or resistance, or will, or force
(or whatever other phrase seems most oracular), we
are said to come at last down to the rock of reality.
And I am not so ill-advised as to ofiler a disproof
of the message revealed. It is doubtless a mystery,
and hence those who could inform the outer world
of its meaning, are for that very reason compelled
to be silent and to seem even ignorant. What I can
do is to set down briefly the external remarks of one
not initiated.

In the first place, taken psychologically, ihe revela-
tion is fraudulent. There is no original experience
of anything like activity, to say nothing of resistance.
This is quite a secondary product, the origin of
which is far from mysterious, and on which I have
said something in the preceding chapter.' You
may, doubtless, point to an outstanding margin of
undetermined sensations, but these will not contain
the essence of the matter. And I do not hesitate
to say this : Where you meet a psychologist who
takes this experience as elementary, you will find a
man who has not ever made a serious attempt to
decompose it, or ever resolutely faced the question
as to what it contains. And in the second place,
taken metaphysicall)', these tidings, given from
whatever source, are either meaningless or false.
And here once again we have the all-important
point. I do not care what your oracle is, and your

' I have touched the question only in its general form. As to
the special source from which come the elements of this or that
perception of activity, I have not said anything. This is a matter
for psychology.

THE REALITY OF SELF.

117

preposterous psychology may here be gospel if you
please ; the real question is whether your response
(so far as it means anythino^) is not appearance and
illusion. If it means nothing, that is to say, if it
is merely a datum, which has no complex content
that can be taken as a principle — then it will be
much what we have in, say, pleasure or pain. But
if you offered me one of these as a theoretical
account of the universe, you would not be even
mistaken, but simply nonsensical. And it is the
same with activity or force, if these also merely are,
and say nothing. But if, on the other hand, the
revelation does contain a meaning, I will commit
myself to this : either the oracle is so confused that
its signification is not discoverable, or, upon the
other hand, if it can be pinned down to any definite
statement, then that statement will be false. When
we drag it out into the light, and e.\pose it to the
criticism of our foregoing discussions, it will e.vhibit
its helplessness, it will be proved to contain mere
unsolved discrepancies, and will give us therefore,
not truth, but in the end appearance And I intend
to leave this matter so without further remark.

(e) 1 will in conclusion touch briefly on the theory
of Monads. A tenable view of reality has been
sought in the doctrine that each self is an indepen-
dent reality, substantial if not simple. But this
attempt does not call for a lengthy discussion. In
the first place, if there is more than one self in the
universe, we are met by the problem of their rela-
tion to each other. And the reply, " Why there is
none," we have already seen in Chapter iii., is no
sufficient defence. For plurality and separateness
without a relation of separation seem really to have
no meaning. And, from the other side, without
relations these poor monads would have no process
and would serve no purpose. But relations admitted,
again, are fatal to the monads' independence. The
substances clearly become adjectival, and mere

Ii8

APPEARANCE.

elements within an all-comprehending whole. And
hence there is left remaining for their internal con-
tents no solid principle of stability.' And in the
second place, even if this remained, it would be no
solution of our difificulties. For consider : we have
found, so far, that diversity and unity can not be
reconciled. Both in the existence of the whole self
in relation with its contents, and in the various
special forms which that existence takes, we have
encountered everywhere the same trouble. We
have had features which must come together, and
yet were wilting to do so in no way that we could
find. In the self there is a variety, and in the self
there is an unity ; but, in attempting to understand
how, we fall into inconsistencies which, therefore, can-
not be truth. And now in what way is the monadic
character of the self — with whatever precise mean-
ing (if with any) we take this up — about to assist
us ? Will it in the least show us hozv the diversity
can exist in harmony with the oneness.' If it
can do this, then I would respectfully suggest that
it should do it. Because, otherwise, the unity
seems merely stated and emphasized ; and the
problem of its diverse content is either wholly
neglected or hidden under a confusion of fictions
and metaphors, But if more than an emphasis
on the unity is meant, that more is even positively
objectionable. For while the diversity is slurred
over, instead of being explained, there will be a
negative assertion as to the limits within which
the self's true unity falls. And this assertion can-
not stand criticism. And lastly the relation of
the self to its contents in time will tend to become
a new insoluble enigma. Monadism, on the whole.

* The attentive reader of Lotze must, I think, have found it
hard to discover why individual selves with him are more than
phenomenal adjectives. For myself 1 discern plainly his resolve
that somehow they have got to be more. But 1 do not find that
he is ever willing to face this question fairly.

THE REALITV OF SELF.

I 19

will increase and will add to the difficulties which
already exist, and it will not supply us with a solu-
tion of any single one of them. It would be strange
indeed if an explanation of all sides of our puzzle
were found in mere obstinate emphasis upon one
of those sides.

And with this result I will bring the present
chapter to a close. The reader, who lias followed our
discussions up to this point, can, if he pleases, pursue
the detail of the subject, and can further criticise the
claims made for the self's reality. But if he will drive
home the objections which we have come to know
in principle, the conclusion he will reach is assured
already. In whatever way the self is taken, it will
prove to be' appearance. It cannot, if finite, main-
tain itself against external relations. For these will
enter its essence, and so ruin its independency.
And, apart from this objection in the case of its
finitude, the self is in any case unintelligible. For,
in considering it, we are forced to transcend mere
feeling, itself not satisfactory ; and yet we can-
not reach any defensible thought, any intellectual
principle, by which it is possible to understand how
diversity can be comprehended in unity. But, if
we cannot understand this, and if whatever way we
have of thinking about the self proves full of incon-
sistency, we should then accept what must follow.
The self is no doubt the highest form of experience
which we have, but, for all that, is not a true form.
It does not give us the facts as they are in reality ;
and, as it gives them, they are appearance, appear-
ance and error.

And one of the reasons why this result is not ad-
mitted on all sides, seems to lie in that great
ambiguity of the self which our previous chapter
detailed. Apparently distinct, this phrase wavers
from one meaning to another, is applied to various
objects, and in argument is used too seldom in a

I20

APPEARANCE.

well-defined sense. But there is a still more funda-
mental aid to obscurity. The end of metaphysics
is to understand the universe, to find a way of
thinking about facts in general which is free from
contradiction. But how few writers seem to trouble
themselves much about this vital issue. Of those who
take their principle of understanding from the self,
how few subject that principle to an impartial
scrutiny. But it is easy to argue from a foregone
alternative, to disprove any theory which loses sight
of the self, and then to offer what remains as the
secret of the universe — whether what remains is
thinkable or is a complex which refuses to be under-
stood. And it is easy to survey the world which is
selfless, to find there vanity and illusion, and then
to return to one's self into congenial darkness and
the equivocal consolation of some psychological
monster. But, if the object is to understand, there
can be only one thing which we have to consider.
It does not matter from what source our principle Is
derived. It may be the refutation of something
else — it Is no worse for that. Or it may be a re-
sponse emitted by some kind of internal oracle, and
it is no worse for that But for metaphysics a
principle, if it Is to stand at all, must stand absolutely
by itself While wide enough to cover the facts, it
must be able to be thought without jarring internally.
It is this, to repeat It once more, on which every-
thing turns. The diversity and the unity must be
brought to the light, and the principle must be seen
to comprehend these. It must not carry us away
into a maze of relations, relations that lead to
Illusory terms, and terms disappearing into endless
relations. But the self Is so far from supplying
such a principle, that It seems, where not hiding
itself In obscurity, a mere bundle of discrepancies.
Our search has conducted us again not to reality but
mere appearance.

CHAPTER XI.

PHE NOMENAL ISM.

Our attempts, so far, to reduce the world's diverse
contents to unity have ended in failure. Any sort
of group which we could find, whether a thing or a
self, proved unable to stand criticism. And, since
it seems that what appears must somewhere certainly
be one, and since this unity is not to be discovered
in phenomena, the reality threatens to migrate to
another world than ours. We have been driven
near to the separation of appearance and reality ;
we already perhaps contemplate their localization in
two different hemispheres — the one unknown to us
and real, and the other known and mere appearance.
But, before we take this step, 1 will say a few words
on a proposed alternative, stating this entirely in
my own way and so as to suit my own convenience.
" Why," it may be said, " should we trouble our-
selves to seek for a unity ? Why do things not go
on very well as they are ? We really want no sub-
stance or activity, or anything else of the kind. For i
phenomena and their laws are all that science
requires." Such a view maybe called Phenomenal-
ism. It is superficial at its best, and it is held of
course with varying degrees of intelligence. In its
most consistent form, I suppose, it takes its pheno-
mena as feelings or sensations. These with their
.relations are the elements ; and the laws somewhere
and somehow come into this view. And against its
opponents Phenomenalism would urge. What else
exists ? " Show me anything real," it would argue,

122

APPEARANCE.

"and I will show you mere presentation; more is
not to be discovered, and really more is meaning-
less. Things and selves are not unities in any sense
whatever, except as given collections or arrange-
ments of such presented elements. What appears
is. as a matter of fact, grouped in such and such
manners. And then, of course, there are the laws.
When we have certain things given, then certain
other things are given too ; or we know that certain
other occurrences will or may take place. There
is hence nothing but events, appearances which
happen, and the ways which these appearances have
of happening. And how, in the name of science,
can any one want any more .'' "

The last question suggests a very obvious criti-
cism. The view either makes a claim to take
account of all the facts, or it makes no such claim.
In the latter case there is at once an end of its
pretensions. But in the former case it has to meet
this fatal objection. Ail the ways of thinking which
introduce an unity into things, into the world or the
self — and there clearly is a good deal of such
thinking on hand — are of course illusory. But, none
the less, they are facts entirely undeniable. And
Phenomenalism is invited to take some account of
these facts, and to explain how on its principles
their existence is possible. How, for example, with
only such elements and their laws, is the theory of
, Phenomenalism itself a possible fact ? The theory
\ seems an unity which, if it were true, would be im-
possible. And an objection of this sort has a very
wide range, and applies to a considerable area of
appearance. But I am not going to ask how
Phenomenalism is prepared to reply. 1 will simply
say that this one objection, to those who understand,
makes an end of the business. And if there ever
has been so much as an attempt to meet this fairly,
it has escaped my notice. We may be sure before-
hand that such an effort must be wholly futile.

PHENOMENALISM.

12:

Thus, without our entering into any criticism on
the positive doctrine, a mere reference to what it
must admit, and yet blindly ignores, is a sufficient
refutation. But I will add a few remarks on the
inconsistencies of that which it offers us.

What it states, in the first place, as to its
elements and their relations, is unintelligible. In
actual fact, wherever you get it, these distinctions
appear and seem even to be necessary. At least
I have no notion of the way in which they could be
dispensed with. But if so, there is here at once a
diversity in unity ; we have somehow together, per-
haps, several elements and some relations ; and
what is the meaning of " together," when once
distinctions have been separated ? And then what
sort of things are relations } Can you have
elements which are free from them even internally }
And are relations themselves not given elements,
another kind of phenomena ? But, if so, what is
the relation between the first kind and the second
(Cf. Chapter iii.) ? Or, if that question ends in
sheer nonsense, who is responsible for the nonsense.'
Consider, for instance, any fact of sense, it does
not matter what ; and let Phenomenalism attempt
to state clearly what it means by its elements and
relations ; let it tell us whether these two sides are
in relation with one another, or, if not that, what
else is the case. But I will pass to another point.

An obvious question arises as to events past and
future. If these, and their relations to the present,
are not to be real and in some sense to exist — then
difficulties arise into which I will not enter. But,
if past and future (or either of them) are in any
sense real, then, in the first place, the unity of this
series will be something inexplicable. And, in the
second place, a reality, not presented and not given
(and even the past is surely not given), was pre-
cisely that against which Phenomenalism set its
face. This is another inconsistency.

i^-

APPEARANCE.

Let us go on to consider the question as to identity,
fhis Phenomenalism should deny.Jaecauseidentity
1^ a rn^l union of fhf- djyf^rtp- But change^is not to
be denied, for obviously it must be there when
something happens. Now, if there is change, there
is by consequence something which changes. But
if it changes, it is the same throughout a diversity.
It is, in other words, a real unity, a concrete uni-
versal. Take, for example, the fact of motion ;
evidently here something alters its place. Hence a
variety of places, whatever that means — in any case
a variety — must be predicated of one something. If
so, we have at once on our hands the One and the
Many, and otherwise our theory declines to deal
with ordinary fact.

In brief, identity— being that which the doctrine
excluded — is essential to its being. And now how
far is this to go } Is the series of phenomena, with
its differences, one series .'' If it Is not one, why
treat it as if it were so ? If it is one, then here
indeed is an unity which gives us pause. Again, are
the elements ever permanent and remaining identical
from one time to another .•' But, whether they are
or are not identical, how are facts to be explained .''
Suppose, in the first place, that we do have identical
elements, surviving amid change and the play of
variety. Here are metaphysical reals, raising the
old questions we have been discussing through this
Book. But perhaps nothing is really permanent
except the laws. The problem of change is given
up, and we fall back upon our laws, persisting and
appearing in successions of fleeting elements. If so,
phenomena seem now to have become temporal
illustrations of laws.

And it is perhaps time to ask a question con-
cerning the nature of these last-mentioned creatures.
Are they permanent real essences, visible from time
to time in their fleeting illustrations .'' If so, once
more Phenomenalism has adored blindly what it

rHENOMENALlSM.

125

rejected. And, of course, the relations of these
essences — the one to the other, and each to the
phenomena which in some way seem its adject-
ives — take us back to those difficulties which
proved too hard for us. But I presume that the
reality of the laws must be denied, or denied, that
is, not quite, but with a reservation. The laws are
hypothetical ; they are in themselves but possibilities,
and actual only when found in real presentation.
Apart from this, and as mere laws, they are con-
nections between terms which do not exist ; and, if
so, as connections, they are not strictly anything
actual. In short, just as the elements were nothing!
outside of presentation, so again, outside of preserw
tation, the laws really are nothing. And in pre'
sentation then — what is either side, the elements or
the laws, but an unreal and quite indefensible
thought.'' It seems that we can say of them only
that we do not know what they are ; and all that we
can be certain of is this, that they are 7ioi what we
know, namely, given phenomena.

And here we may end. The view has started
with mere presentation. It, of course, is forced to
transcend this, and it has done so ignorantly and
blindly. A little criticism has driven it back, and
has left it with an universe, which must either
be distinctions within one presentation, or else
mere nonsense. And then these distinctions them-
selves are quite indefensible. If you admit them,
you have to deal with the metaphysical problem of
the Many in One ; and you cannot admit them, be-
cause clearly they are not given and presented, but
at least more or less made. And what it must come
to is that Phenomenalism ends in this dilemma. It
must either keep to the moment's presentation, and
must leave there the presented entirely as it is
given — and, if so, then surely there could be no
more science; or it must "become transcendent"
(as the phrase goes), and launch out into a sea of

1 26 APPEARANCE.

more preposterous inconsistencies than are perhaps
to be found in any other attempt at metaphysics.
As a working point of view, directed and confined
to the ascertainment of some special branch of truth,
Phenomenalism is of course useful and is indeed
quite necessary. And the metaphysician, who
attacks it when following its own business, is likely
to fare badly. But when Phenomenalism loses its
head and, becoming blatant, steps forward as a
theory of first principles, then it is really not re-
spectable. The best that can be said of its preten-
sions is that they are ridiculous.

CHAPTER XII.

THINGS IN THEMSEL VES.

We have found, so far, that we have not been able
to arrive at reality. The various ways, in which
things have been taken up, have all failed to give
more than mere appearance. Whatever we have
tried has turned out something which, on investiga-
tion, has been proved to contradict itself. But that,
which does not attain to internal unity, has clearly
stopped short of genuine reality. And, on the other
hand, to sit down contented is impossible, unless,
that is, we are resolved to put up with mere confu-
sion. For to transcend what is given is clearly
obligatory, if we are to think at all and to have
any views whatever. But, the deliverance of the
moment once left behind, we have succeeded in
meeting with nothing that holds together. Every
view has been seen only to furnish appearance, and
the reality has escaped. It lias baffled us so con-
stantly, so persistently retreated, that in the end we
are forced to set it down as unattainable. It seems
to have been discovered to reside in another world
than ours.

We have here reached a familiar way of regard-
ing the universe, a doctrine held with very different
degrees of comprehension. The universe, upon
this view (whether it understands itself or not), falls
apart into two regions, we may call them two hemi-
spheres. One of these is the world of experience
and knowledge — in every sense without reality.
The other is the kingdom of reality — without either

128

APPEARANCE.

knowledge or experience. Or we have on one side
phenomena, in other words, things as they are to us,
and ourselves so far as we are anything to our-
selves ; while on the other side are Things as they
are in themselves and as they do not appear ; or, if
we please, we may call this side the Unknowable.
And our attitude towards such a divided universe
varies a good deal. We may be thankful to be rid
of that which is not relative to our affairs, and which
cannot in any way concern us ; and we may be glad
that the worthless is thrown over the wall. Or we
may regret that Reality is too good to be known,
and from the midst of our own confusion may revere
the other side in its inaccessible grandeur. We may
even naively felicitate ourselves on total estrange-
ment, and rejoice that at last utter ignorance has
removed every scruple which impeded religion.
Where we know nothing we can have no possible
objection to worship.'

This view is popular, and to some extent is even
plausible. It is natural to feel that the best and the
highest is unknowable, in the sense of being some-
thing which our knowledge cannot master. And
this is probably all that for most minds the doctrine
signifies. But of course this is not what it says,
nor what it means, when it has any definite meaning.
For it does not teach that our knowledge of reality
is imperfect ; it asserts that it does not exist, and
that wc have no knowledge at all, however imper-
fect. There is a hard and fast line, with our ap-
prehension on the one side and the Thing on the
other side, and the two hopelessly apart. This
is the doctrine, and its plausibility vanishes before
criticism.

' I do not wish to be irreverent, but Mr. Spencer's auitude
towards his Unknowable strikes me as a pleasantry, the point of
which lies in its unconsciousness. It seems a proposal to take
something for God simply and solely because we do not know
what the devil it can be. But I am far from attributing to Mr.
I Spencer any one consistent view.

THINGS IN THEMSELVES.

129

Its absurdity may be shown in several ways.
Tile Unknowable must, of course, be prepared
either to deserve its name or not. But, if it actually
were not knowable, we could not know that such a
thing even existed. It would be much as if we said,
" Since all my faculties are totally confined to my
garden, I cannot tell if the roses next door are in
flower." And this seems inconsistent. And we
may push the line of attack which we mentioned in
the last chapter. If the theory really were true,
then it must be impossible. There is no reconciling
our knowledge of its truth with that general condi-
tion which exists if it is true. But I propose to
adopt another way of criticism, which perhaps may
be plainer.

I will first make a remark as to the plurality
involved in Things in themselves. If this is meant,
then within their secluded world we have a long
series of problems. Their diversity and their rela-
tions bring us back to those very difficulties which
we were endeavouring to avoid. And it seems clear
that, if we wish to be consistent, the plural must be
dropped. Hence in future we shall confine our-
selves to the Thing in itself.

We have got this reality on one side and our
appearances on the other, and we are naturally led to
enquire about their connection. Are they related, I
the one to the other, or not.'' If they are related,^
and if in any way the appearances are made the
adjectives of reality, then the Thing has become
qualilied by them. It is qualified, but on what
principle ? That is what we do not know. We
have in effect every unsolved problem which vexed
us before ; and we have, besides, this whole confu-
sion now predicated of the Thing, no longer, there-
fore, something by itself But this perplexed
attribution was precisely that which the doctrine
intended to avoid. We must therefore deny any
relation of our appearances to the Thing. But, if

A. R. K

I30

APPEARANCE.

SO, Other troubles vex us. Either our Thing has
quahties, or it has not. If it has them, then within
itself the same puzzles break out which we intended
to leave behind, — to make a prey of phenomena and
to rest contented with their ruin. So we must
correct ourselves and assert that the Thing is
unqualified. But, if so, we are destroyed with no
less certainty. For a Thing without qualities is
clearly not real. It is mere Being, or mere No-
thing, according as you take it simply for what it is,
or consider also that which it means to be. Such
an abstraction is palpably of no use to us.

And. if we regard the situation from the side of
phenomena, it is not more encouraging. We must
take appearances in connection with reality, or not.
In the former case, they are not rendered one whit
less confused. They offer precisely the old jungle
in which no way could be found, and which is not
cleared by mere attribution to a Thing in itself.
But, if we deny the connection of phenomena with
the Real, our condition is not improved. Either
we possess now two realms of confusion and dis-
order, existing side by side, or the one above the
other. And. in this case, the "other world" of the
Thing in itself only serves to reduplicate all that
troubles us here. Or, on the other hand, if we
/ suppose the Thing to be unqualified, it still gives us
no assistance. Everything in our concrete world
remains the same, and the separate existence some-
where of this wretched abstraction, serves us only
^as a poor and irrelevant excuse for neglecting our
own concerns.

And I will allow myself to dwell on this last
feature of the case. The appearances after all,
being what we e.xperience, must be what matters for
us. They are surely the one thing which, from the
nature of the case, can possess human value.
Surely, the moment we understand what we mean
by our words, the Thing in itself becomes utterly

THINGS IN THEMSELVES.

13'

worthless and devoid of all interest. And we dis-
cover a state of mind which would be ridiculous to
a degree, if it had not unfortunately a serious side.
It is contended that contradictions in phenomena
are something quite in order, so long as the Thing
in itself is not touched. That is to say that every-
thing, which we know and can experience, does not
matter, however distracted its case, and that this
purely irrelevant ghost is the ark of salvation to be
preserved at all costs. But how it can be anything
to us whether something outside our knowledge
contradicts itself or not — is simply unintelligible.
What is too visible is our own readiness to sacrifice
everything which possesses any possible claim on
us. And what is to be inferred is our confusion,
and our domination by a theory which lives only in
the world of misunderstanding.

We have seen that the doctrine of a Thing in
itself is absurd. A reality of this sort is assuredly
not something un verifiable. It has on the contrary
a nature which is fully transparent, as a false and
empty abstraction, whose generation is plain. We
found that reality was not the appearances, and
that result must hold good ; but, on the other hand,
reality is certainly not something else which is
unable to appear. For that is sheer self-contradic-
tion, which is plausible only so long as we do not
realize its meaning. The assertion of a reality
falling outside knowledge, is quite nonsensical.

And so this attempt to shelve our problems, this
proposal to take no pains about what are only
phenomena, has broken down. It was a vain
notion to set up an idol apart, to dream that facts
for that reason had ceased to be facts, and had
somehow become only something else. And this
false idea is an illusion which we should attempt to
clear out of our minds once for all. We shall have
hereafter to enquire into the nature of appearance ;
but for the present we may keep a fast hold upon

132

APPEARANCE.

this, that appearances exist. That is absolutely
certain, and to deny it is nonsense. And whatever
exists must belong to reality. That is also quite
certain, and its denial once more is self-contradic-
tory. Our appearances no doubt may be a beggarly
show, and their nature to an unknown extent may be
something which, as it is, is not true of reality.
That is one thing, and it is quite another thing to
speak as if these facts had no actual existence, or
as if there could be anything but reality to which
they might belong. And I must venture to repeat
that such an idea would be sheer nonsense. What
appears, for that sole reason, most indubitably is ;
and there is no possibility of conjuring its being
away from it. And, though we ask no question at
present as to the exact nature of reality, we may be
certain that it cannot be less than appearances ; we
may be sure that the least of these in some way con-
tributes to make it what it is. And the whole result
of this Book may be summed up in a few words.
Everything so far, which we have seen, has turned
out to be appearance. It is that, which, taken as it
stands, proves inconsistent with itself, and for this
reason cannot be true of the real. But to deny its
existence or to divorce it from reality is out of the
question. For it has a positive character which is
indubitable fact, and. however much this fact may
be pronounced appearance, it can have no place in
whicli to live except reality. And reality, set on
one side and apart from all appearance, would
assuredly be nothing. Hence what is certain is
that, in some way, these inseparables are joined.
This is the positive result which has emerged Jrom
our discussion. Our failure so far lies in this, that
we have not found the way in which appearances
can belong to reality. And to this further task we
must now address ourselves, with however little
hope of more than partial satisfaction.

BOOK II.
REALITY.

«33

CHAPTER XIII.

THE GENERAL NATURE OF REALITY.

The result of our First Book has been mainly nega-
tive. We have taken up a number of ways of re-
garding reality, and we have found that they all
arc vitiated by self-discrepancy. The reality can
accept not one of these predicates, at least in the
character in which so far they have come. We cer-
tainly ended with a reflection which promised some-
thing positive. Whatever is rejected as appearance
is, for that very reason, no mere nonentity. It
cannot bodily be shelved and merely got rid of, and,
therefore, since it must fall somewhere, it must
belong to reality. To take it as existing somehow
and somewhere in the unreal, would surely be quite
meaningless. F"or reality must own, and it cannot Jf
be Jess than appearance. That is the one positive/
result which, .so far, we have reached. But as to'
the character which, otherwise, the real possesses,
we at present know nothing ; and a further know-
ledge is what we must aim at through the remainder
of our search. The present Book, to some extent,
falls into two divisions. The first of these deals
mainly with the general character of reality, and
with the defence of this against a number of objec-
tions. Then from this basis, in the second place,
1 shall go on to consider mainly some special fea-
tures. But I must admit that I have kept to no
strict principle of division. I have really observed
no rule of progress, except to get forward in the
best way that I can.

>»

136

REALITY.

At the beginning of our inquiry into the nature
of the real we encounter, of course, a general doubt
or denial.' To know the truth, we shall be told,
is impossible, or is, at all events, wholly impractic-
able. We cannot have positive knowledge about
first principles ; and, if we could possess it, we should
not know when actually we had got it. What, is
denied is, in short, the existence of a criterion, * I
shall, later on, in Chapter xxvii., have to deal more
fully with the objections of a thorough-going scep-
ticism, and I will here confine myself to what seems
requisite for the present.

Is there an absolute criterion ? This question,
to my mind, is answered by a second question :
How otherwise ghnnlfl wp h^ flh| e. tn say anything
at a]l .about appearance? For through the last
Book, the reader will remember, we were for the
most part criticising. We were judging phenomena
and were condemning them, and throughout we pro-
ceeded as if the self-contradictory could not be real.
But this was surely to have and to apply an ab-
solute criterion. For consider : you can scarcely
propose to be quite passive when presented with
statements about reality. You can hardly take the
position of admitting any and every nonsense to
be truth, truth absolute and entire, at least so far
as you know. For, if you think at all so as to dis-
criminate between truth and falsehood, you will
find that you cannot accept open self-contradiction.
Hence to think is to judge, and to judge is to
criticise, and to criticise is to use a criterion of
reality. And surely to doubt this would be mere
blindness or confused self-deception. But, if so, it
is clear that, in rejecting the inconsistent as appear-
ance, we are applying a positive knowledge of the
ultimate nature of things. Ultimate reality is such
that it does not contradict itself; here is an abso-
lute criterion. And it is proved absolute by the
' See the Introduction, p. z.

THE GENERAL NATURE OF REALITY.

137

fact that, either in end

eavou

doubt it,

rincT to de

ny
tacitly

It, or even
assume its

in attempting
validity.

One of these essays in delusion may be noticed
briefly in passing. We may be told that our cri-
terion has been developed by experience, and that
therefore at least it may not be absolute. But why
anything should be weaker for having been de-
veloped is, in the first place, not obvious. And,
in the second place, the whole doubt, when under-
stood, destroys itself. For the alleged origin of our
criterion is delivered to us by knowledge which
rests throughout on its application as an absolute
test. And what can be more irrational than to try
to prove that a principle is doubtful, when the proof
through every step rests on its unconditional truth ?
It would, of course, not be irrational to take one's
stand on this criterion, to use it to produce a con-
clusion hostile to itself, and to urge that therefore
our whole knowledge is self-destructive, since it
essentially drives us to what we cannot accept. But
this is not the result which our supposed objector
has in view, or would welcome. He makes no
attempt to show in general that a psychological
growth is in any way hostile to metaphysical validity.
And he is not prepared to give up his own psycho-
logical knowledge, which knowledge plainly is ruined
if the criterion is not absolute. The doubt is seen,
when we reflect, to be founded on that which it
endeavours to question. And it has but blindly
borne witness to the absolute certainty of our know-
ledge about reality.

Thus we possess a criterion, and our criterion is
supreme. 1 do not mean to deny that we might
have several standards, giving us sundry pieces of
information about the nature of things. But, be
that as it may, we still have an over-ruling test of
truth, and the various standards (if they e.xist) are
certainly subordinate. This at once becomes evid-

'38

REALITY.

ent, for we cannot refuse to bring such standards
together, and to ask if they agree. Or. at least, if
a doubt is suggested as to their consistency, each
with itself and with the rest, we are compelled, so
to speak, to assume jurisdiction. And if they were
guilty of self-contradiction, when examined or com-
pared, we should condemn them as appearance.
But we could not do that if they were not subject
all to one tribunal. And hence, as we find nothing
not subordinate to the test of self-consistency, we
are forced to set that down as supreme and absol-
ute.

But it may b'e said that this supplies us with no
real information. If we think, then certainly we
are not allowed to be inconsistent, and it is admitted
that this test is unconditional and absolute. But it
will be urged that, for knowledge about any matter,
we require something more than a bare negation.
The ultimate reality {we are agreed) does not per-
mit self-contradiction, but a prohibition or an absence
(we shall be told) by itself does not amount to
positive knowledge. The denial of inconsistency,
therefore, does not predicate any positive quality.
But such an objection is untenable. It may go so
far as to assert that a bare denial is possible, that
we may reject a predicat"though we stand on no
positive basis, and though there is nothing special
which serves to reject. This error has been refuted
in my Principles of Logic (Book I., Chapter iii.),'
and I do not propose to discuss it here. I will pass
to another sense in which the objection may seem
more plausible. The criterion, it may be urged, in
itself is doubtless positive ; but, for our knowledge
and in effect, is merely negative. And it gives us
therefore no information at all about reality, for,
although knowledge is there, it cannot be brought
out. The criterion is a basis, which serves as the

' The word "not" here, on p. 120, line 12, is an error, and
should be struck out.

THE GENERAL NATURE OF REALITY.

139

foundation of denial ; but, since this basis cannot
be exposed, we are but able to stand on it and
unable to see it. And it hence, in effect, tells us
nothinsjf, thouijh there are assertions which it does
not allow us to venture on. This objection, when
stated in such a form, may seem plausible, and there
is a sense in which I am prepared to admit that it
is valid. If by the nature of reality we understand
its full nature, I am not contending that this in a
complete form is knowable. But that is very far
from being the point here at issue. For the objec-
tion denies that we have a standard which gives
any positive knowledge, af/y information, complete
or incomplete, about the genuine reality. And this
dental assuredly is mistaken.

The objection admits that we know what reality
/ioes, but it refuses to allow us any understanding
of what reality is. The standard (it is agreed) both
exists and possesses a positive character, and it is
agreed that this character rejects inconsistency. It
is admitted that we know this, and the point at issue
is whether such knowledge supplies any positive
information And to my mind this question seems
not hard to answer. For I cannot see how, when
I observe a thing at work^I am to stand there and j
to insist that 1 know notlmig of its nature. I fail/
to perceive how a function is nothing at all, or how
i( does not positively qualify that to which I attri-
bute it. To know only so much, I admit, may very
possibly be useless ; it may leave us without the
information which we desire most to obtain ; but,
for all that, it is not total ignorance.
I Our standard denies inconsistency, and therefore/
'asserts consistency. If we can be sure that the
inconsistent is unreal, we must, logically, be just as
sure that the reality is consistent. The question
is solely as to the meaning to be given to con-
sistency. We have now seen that it is not the bare
exclusion of discord, for that is merely our abstrac-

140

REALITY.

tion, and is otherwise nothinor. And our result, so
(ar, is this. Realfty is known to possess a positive
character, but this character is at present determined
only as that which excludes contradiction.

But we may make a further advance. We saw
(in the preceding chapter) that all appearance must
belong to reality. For what appears is, and what-
ever is cannot fall outside the real. And we may
now combine this result with the conclusion just
reached. We may say that everything, which
appears, is somehow real in such a way as to be
self-consistent. The character of the real is to
possess everything phenomenal in a harmonious
form.

I will repeat the same truth in other words.
Reality is one in this sense that it has a positive
nature exclusive of discord, a nature which must
hold throughout everj'thing that is to be real. Its
diversity can be diverse only so far as not to clash,
and what seems otherwise anywhere cannot be real.
And, from the other side, everything which appears
must be real. Appearance must belong to reality,
and it must therefore beconcordant and other than
it seems. The bewildering mass of phenomenal
diversity must hence somehow be at unity and self-
consistent ; for it cannot be elsewhere than in reality,
and reality excludes discord. Or again we may put
it so : the real is individual. It is one in the sense
that its positive character embraces all differences
in an inclusive harmony. And this knowledge,
poor as it may be, is certainly marc than bare
negation or simple ignorance. So far as it goes,
it gives us positive news about absolute reality.

Let us try to carry this conclusion a step farther
on. We know that the real is one ; but its oneness,
so far, is ambiguous. Is it one system, possessing
diversity as an adjective ; or is its consistency, on
the other hand, an attribute of independent realities ?

THE GENERAL NATURE OF REALITY.

We have to ask, in short, if a plurality of reals is
possible, and if these can merely co-exist so as not
to be discrepant ? Or the same question might be
raised in another form. We might enquire if in one
experience there can be many qualities, each self-
subsistent and all different apart from distinction,
We have already disposed of this matter in our
second, third, and tenth chapters, but I will repeat
some part of the discussion here.

A plurality of reals would mean a number of
beings not dependent on each other. On the one
hand they would possess somehow the phenomenal
diversity, for that possession, we have seen, is quite
■essential. And, on the other hand, they would be
free from external interference and from inner dis-
crepancy. We have to ask if such a state of things
is possible, but after the discussions of our I'^irst
Book the question hardly needs an answer. For the
internal states of each real give rise to hopeless
difficulties. And, even if it were possible to deal
with these, yet the plurality of the rt;als cannot be
reconciled with their independence. I will briefly
point out once more the discrepancy which enters
into them from what we may call their external
aspect

Standing upon this aspect, we urge at once that
plurality must contradict independence. If the
beings are not in relation, they cannot be many ;
J>ut if they are in relation, they cease forthwith to
fce absolute. For, on the one hand, plurality has
no meaning, unless the units are somehow taken
together, if you abolish and remove all relations,
there seems no sense left in which you can speak
■of plurality. But, on the other hand, relations de-
stroy the reals' self-dependence. For it is impos-
sible to treat relations as ailjectives, falling simply
inside the many beings. And it is impossible to take
them as falling outside somewhere in a sort of unreal
void, which makes no dift'erence to anything. Hence

142

REALITY.

(as we have seen in our First Book) the essence of
the related terms is carried beyond their proper
selves by means of their relations. And, again, the
relations themselves must belong to a larger reality.
To stand in a relation and not to be relative, to
support it and yet not to be infected and undermined
by it, seem out of the question. Diversity in the
real cannot be the plurality of independent beings.
And the oneness of the Absolute must hence be
more than a mere diffused adjective. It possesses
unity, as a whole, and is a single system.

We cannot evade this result by any attempt to
banish plurality and relations. We may wish per-
haps to contend for the possibility of a several exist-
ence apart from all relativity. " For why," we may
enquire, " need our distinctions infect the reality ?
If we distinguish, we maintain, so far, a relation to
the whole ; but why should not something, all the
same, exist independent and without any need of
foreign maintenance .'' Such a being will be subject
to our test of non-contradiction ; yet it will satisfy
that test by a simple abstinence. Its nature must
be such as to admit of examination with reference
to the rest of the universe. But this reference, and
its results, may remain altogether alien to our
being's essence. And hence that being may pos-
sess difference without distinction."

But the issue involved in this contention has
already been decided by our First Book. We cannot
regard such a being as anything which is possible.
For, in the first place, if we are to consider any
being to be possible, we must rest on some positive
justification. But a separate real, which is wholly
self-dependent, must, on the other hand, fall entirely
beyond our knowledge. We can have therefore no
ground, and hence no right, to suppose it possible.

outside of all knowledge,
\nd, if it knows

1 redly

mg.

itself as what it is, then, since it falls within itself.

THE GENERAL NATURE OF REALITV.

143

it so far is the universe, and certainly is not one
being among others. But if it is known by another,
then forthwith it cannot be self-existent, since this
relation must clearly belong to its essence. And it is
useless to distinguish its existence for another from
its existence in itself. For the being, as it is in
itself, turns out to be unknowable ; and we can have
no right to regard it as better than nothing.
I Or, in the second place, to state the dilemma other-
wise, this .supposed real is either different from the
Whole, or not different. If it is not different, then
at once the question is settled. But if it differs, then
its difference implies a relation ; and that relation
turns the real into an adjective of Reality. We
have seen, in the previous Book, that though dis-
tinction involves difference, difference no less implies
distinction. And taking our stand throughout on
this result, we can insist that independent beings
are impossible. Reals, not different from each other,
are not several at all ; but to be different, and yet
not essentially relative, is to be a self-contradiction.
And so we conclude that the Reality must be a single
whole.

CHAPTER XIV.

-i-

THE GENERAL NATURE OF REALITY (continued).

Our result so far is this. Everything phenomenal
is somehow real ; and the absolute must at least be
as rich as the relative. And, further, the Absolute
is not many ; there are no independent reals. The
universe is one in this sense that its differences exist
harmoniously within one whole, beyond which there
is nothing. Hence the Absolute is, so far, an in-
dividual and a system ; but if we stop here, it
remains but formal and abstract. Can we then,
the question is, say anything about the concrete
nature of the system .■* ' "

Certainly, I think, this is possible. When we
ask as to the matter which fills up the empty out-
line, we can reply in one word, that this matter is
^fyperignce. And experience means something much
the same as given and present fact. We perceive,
on reflection, that to be real, or even barely to exist,
must be to fall within sentience. Sentient ex-
perience, in short, is reality, and what is not this is
not real. We may say, in other words, that there
is no being or fact outside of that which is commonly
called psychical existence. Feeling, thought, and
volition (any groups under which we class psychical
phenomena) are all the material of existence. And
there is no other material, actual or even possible.
This result in its general form seems evident at
once ; and, however serious a step we now seem to
have taken, there would be no advantage at this
point in discussing it at length. For the test in the
main lies ready to our hand, and the decision rests

THE GENERAL NATURE OK REALITY.

'45

on the manner in which it is applied. I will state
the case briefly thus. Find any piece of existence,
take up anything that any one could possibly call a
fact, or could in any sense assert to have being, and
then judge if it does not consist j^ sentient ex-
perience. Try to discover any sense in which you
can still continue to speak of it, when all perception
and feeling have been removed ; or point out any
fragment of its matter, any aspect of its being, which
is not derived from and is not still relative to this
source. When the experiment is made strictly, I
can myself conceive of nothing else than the ex-
perienced. Anything, in no sense felt or perceived,
becomes to me quite unmeaning. And as I cannot
try to think of it without realizing either that I am
not thinking at all, or that I am thinking of it against;^
my will as being experienced, I am driven to the \
conclusion that for me experience is the same as
reality. The fact that falls elsewhere seems, in my
mind, to be a mere word and a failure, or else an
attempt at self-contradiction. It is a vicious ab-
straction whose existence is meaningless nonsense,
and is therefore not possible.

This conclusion is open, of course, to grave ob-
jection, and must in its consequences give rise to
serious difficulties. I will not attempt to anticipate
the discussion of these, but before passing on, will
try to obviate a dangerous mistake. For, in asserting
that the real is nothing but experience, I may be
understood to endorse a common error. I may be
taken first to divide the percipient subject from the
universe ; and then, resting on that subject, as on a
thing actual by itself, I may be supposed to urge
that it cannot transcend its own states. ' Such an
argument would lead to impossible results, and
would stand on a foundation of vicious abstraction.
To set up the subject as real independently of the
whole, and to make the whole into experience ia

1 This matter is discussed in Chapter xxi.
A. R. L

146

REALITY.

-f,

the sense of an adjective of that subject, seems to
me indefensible. And when I contend that reahty
must be sentient, my conclusion almost consists in
the denial of this fundamental error. For if, seeking
for reality, we go to experience, what we certainly
do tiof find is a subject or an object, or indeed any
other thing whatever, standing separate and on its
own bottom. What we discover rather is a whole
in which distinctions can be made, but in which
divisions do not exist. And this is the point on
which I insist, and it is the very ground on which I
stand, when I urge that reality is sentient experience.
I mepn that, to be.xeal is to be indissolubly one thing_
with jgntience. It is to be something which comes
as a feature and aspect within one whole of feeling,
something which, except as an integral element of
such sentience, has no meaning at all. And what 1
repudiate is the separation of feeling from the felt,
ojlfiLtlie desired from desire^ or of what is thought
from thinking, or the division — I might add — of
arj^'thing from anything else. Nothing is ever so

"presented as real by itself, or can be argued so to
exist without demonstrable fallacy, And in asserting
that the reality is experience, I rest throughout on
this foundation. You cannot find fact unless in
unity with sentience, and one cannot in the end be
divided from the other, either actually or in idea.
But to be utterly indivisible from feeling or percep-
tion, to be an integral element in a whole which is
experienced, this surely is itself to de experience.
Being and , reality are, in brief, one thing with

, seh'tl6'rtce ;^'tTieY can neither be opposed to, nor even
in the end, distinguished from it.

I am well aware that this statement stands in
need of explanation and defence. This will, 1 hope,
be supplied by succeeding chapters, and I think it
better for the present to attempt to go forward.
Our conclusion, so far, will be this, that the Absolute
is one system, and that its contents are nothing but

THE GENERAL NATURE OF REALITY. 1 47

sentient experience. It will hence be a single and
^ILirjglus ive e xperience, which embraces every
partial diversity in concord. For it cannot be less
than appearance, and hence no feeling or thought,
oTany kind, can fall outside its limits. And if it is
more than any feeling or thought which we know, it
must still remain more of the same nature. It
cannot pass into another region beyond what falls
under the general head of sentience. For to assert
that possibility would be in the end to use words
without a meaning. We can entertain no such
suggestion except as self-contradictory, and as there-
fore impossible.

This conclusion will, I trust, at the end of my
work bring more conviction to the reader; for we
shall find that it is the one view which will har-
monize all facts. And the objections brought
against it, when it and they are once properly
defined, will prove untenable. But our general
result is at present seriously defective ; and we
must now attempt to indicate and remedy its failure
in principle.

^ _What we have secured, up to this point, may be
called mere theoretical consistency. The Absolute
holds all possible content in an individual experience
where no contradiction can exist. And it seems, at
first sight, as if this theoretical perfection could exist
together with practical defect and misery. For
apparently, so far as we have gone, an experience
might be harmonious, in such a way at least as not
to contradict itself, and yet might result on the whole
in a balance of suffering. Now no one can
genuinely believe that sheer misery, however self-
consistent, is good and desirable. And the question
is whether in this way our conclusion is wrecked.

There may be those possibly who here would join
issue at once. They might perhaps wish to contend
that the objection is irrelevant, since pain is no evil.

«4«

REALITY.

I shall discuss the general question of good and
evil in a subsequent chapter, and will merely say
here that for myself I cannot stand upon the ground
that pain is no evil. 1 admit, or rather 1 would
assert, that a result, if it fails to satisfy our whole
nature, comes short of perfection. And I could not
rest tranquilly in a truth if I were compelled to
regard it as hateful. While unable, that is, to denyA
it, I should, rightly or wrongly, insist that the
enquiry was not yet closed, and that the result was>
but partial. And if metaphysics is to stand, it must,
I think, take account of all sides of our being. 1
do not mean that every one of our desires must be
met by a promise of particular satisfaction ; for that
would be absurd and utterly imf>ossible. But if the
main tendencies of our nature do not reach consum-
mation in the Absolute, we cannot believe that we
have attained to perfection and truth. And we
shall have to consider later on what desires must be
taken as radical and fundamental. But here we
have seen that our conclusion, so far, has a serious
defect, and the question is whether this defect can
be directly remedied. We have been resting on the
theoretical standard which guarantees that Reality
is a self-consistent system. Have we a practical ''
standard which now can assure us that this system
will satisfy our desire for perfect good ? An affirm-
ative answer seems plausible, but I do not think it
would be true. Without any doubt we possess a
practical standard ; but that does not seem to me to
yield a conclusion about reality, or it will not give us
at least directly the result we are seeking. I will
attempt briefly to e.xplain in what way it comes
short.

That a practical end and criterion e.xists I shall
assume, and I will deal with its nature more fully
hereafter (Chapter xxv.). I may say for the
present that, taken in the abstract, the practical
standard seems to be the same as what is used for

THE GENERAL NATURE OK REALITY.

149

theory. It is individuality, the harmonious or con-
sistent existence of our contents ; an existence,
further, which cannot be limited because, if so, it
would contradict itself internally (Chapters xx. and
xxiv.). Nor need I separate myself at this stage
from the intelligent Hedonist, since, in my judgment.
pract ical perfection will carry a balance of pleasure
These pomts I shall have to discuss, and for the
present am content to assume them provisionally
and vaguely. Now taking the practical end as in-
dividuality, or as clear pleasure, or rather as both in
one, the question is whether this end is known to be
realized in the Absolute, and, if so, upon what
foundation such knowledge can rest. It apparently
cannot be drawn directly from the theoretical
criterion, and the question is whether the practical
standard can supply it. I will explain why I
believe that this cannot be the case.

I will first deal briefly with the " ontological "
argument. The essential nature of this will, I hope.
be more clear to us hereafter (Chapter xxiv.)
and I will here merely point out why it fails to give
us help. This argument might be stated in several
forms, but the main point is very simple. We have
the idea of perfection — there is no doubt as to that
— and the question is whether perfection also actually
exists. Now the ontological view urges that the fact
of the idea proves the fact of the reality ; or, to put
it otherwise, it argues that, unless perfection existed,
you could not have it in idea, which is agreed to be
the case. I shall not discuss at present the general
validity of this argument, but will confine myself to
denying its applicability. For, if an idea has been
manufactured and is composed of elements taken up
from more than one source, then the result of manu-
facture does not necessarily exist out of my thought,
however much that is the case with its separate
elements. Thus we might admit that, in one sense,
perfection or completeness would not be present in

"50

REALITY.

idea unless also it were real. We might admit this,
and yet we might deny the same conclusion with
respect to pratlical perfection. For the perfection
that is real might simply be theoretical. It might
mean system so far as system is mere theoretical
harmony and does not imply pleasure. And the
element of pleasure, taken up from elsewhere, may
then have been added in our minds to this valid idea.
But, if so, the addition may be incongruous, incom-
patible, and really, if we knew it, contradictory.
Pleasure and system perhaps are in truth a false
compound, an appearance which exists, as such, only)
in our heads ; just as would be the case if we thought '
for example, of a perfect finite being. Hence the
ontological argument cannot prove the existence o
practical perfection ; ' and let us go on to enquire i
any other proof exists.

It is in some ways natural to suppose that the
practical end somehow postulates its existence as a
fact. But a more careful examination tends to dis-
sipate this idea. The moral end, it is clear, is not
pronounced by morality to have actual existence.
This is quite plain, and it would be easier to contend
that morality even postulates the opposite (Chapter
XXV.). Certainly, as we shall perceive hereafter,
the religious consciousness does imply the reality of
that object, which also is its goal. But a religion,
whose object is perfect, will be founded on inconsist-
ency, even more than is the case with mere morality.
For such a religion, if it implies the existence of its
ideal, implies at the same time a feature which is
quite incompatible. This we shall discuss in a later
chapter, and all ihat I will urge here is that the
religious consciousness cannot prove that perfection
really exists. For it is not true that in all religions
the object is perfection ; nor, where it is so, does

' The objection that, after all, the compound is there, will be
met in Chapter xxiv. Notice also that I do not distinguish as yei
and "reality." But see p. 317.

between "existence"

THK GENERAL NATURE OF REALITY.

I SI

[

religion possess any right to dictate to or to dominate
over thought. It does not follow that a belief must
be admitted to be true, because, given a certain .
influence, it is practically irresistible. JXliere- is_a_^
^ndency in religioii to take the ideal as existingj
and this tendency sways our minds and, under cer-
tain conditions, may amount to compulsion. But
it does not, therefore, and merely for this reason,
give us truth, and we may recall other experience
which forces us to doubt. A man, for instance, may
love a. woman whom, when he soberly considers, he
cannot think true, and yet, in the into.xication of her
presence, may give up his whole mind to the sugges-
tions of blind passion. But in all cases, that alone
is really valid for the intellect, which in a calm
moment the mere intellect is incapable of doubting.
It is only that which for thought is compulsory and
irresistible — only that which thought must assert in
attempting to deny it — which is a valid foundation
for metaphysical truth.

" But how," I may be asked, " can you justify this
superiority of the intellect, this predominance ot
thought ? On what foundation, if on any, does such
a despotism rest ? For there seems no special force
in the intellectual axiom if you regard it impartially.
Nay, if you consider the question without bias, and
if you reflect on the nature of axioms in general, you
may be brought to a wholly different conclusion.
For a// axioms, as a matter of fact, are practical.
They all depend upon the will. They none of them
in the end can amount to more than the impulse to
behave in a certain way. And they cannot express
more than this impulse, together with the impossi-
bility of satisfaction unless it is complied with.
And hence, the intellect, far from possessing a right
to predominate, is simply one instance and one
symptom of practical compulsion. Or (to put the
case more psychologically) the intellect is merely one
result of the general working of pleasure and pain.

152

REALITY.

It is even subordinate, and therefore its attempt at J
despotism is founded on baseless pretensions." /

Now, apart from its dubious psychological setting,
I can admit the general truth contained in this objec-
tion. The theoretical axiom is the statement of an
impulse to act in a certain manner. When that
impulse is not satisfied there ensues disquiet and
movement in a certain direction, until such a char-
acter is given to the result as contents the impulse
and produces rest. And the e,\pression of this
fundamental principle of action is what we call an
axiom. Take, for example, the law of avoiding
contradiction. When two elements will not remain
quietly together, but collide and struggle, we cannot
rest satisfied with that state. Our impulse is to
alter it, and, on the theoretical side, to bring the
content to such a shape that the variety remains
peaceably in one. And this inability to rest other-
wise, and this tendency to alter in a certain way
and direction, is, when reflected on and made ex-
plicit, our axiom and our intellectual standard.

" But is not this," I may be asked further, " a sur-
render of your position ? Does not this admit that
the criterion used for theory is merely a practical
impulse, a tendency to movement from one side of
our being ? And, if so, how can the intellectual
standard be predominant .'' " But it is necessary'
here to distinguish. The whole question turns on
the difference between the several impulses of our
being.' You may call the intellect, if you like, a
mere tendency to movement, but you must remember
that it is a movement of a very special kind. I shall
enter more fully into the nature of thinking hereafter,
but the crucial point may be stated at once. In
thought the standard, you may say, amounts merely to
" act so " ; but then "act so" means "think so," and
" think so " means " it is." And the psychological
origin and base of this movement, and of this inability
' Compare here CKapter xxvi.

TUt GENERAL NATURE OF KEALITV.

'53

to act otherwise, may be anything you please ; for
that is all utterly irrelevant to the metaphysical issue.
Thinking is the attempt to satisfy a special impulse,
and the attempt implies an assumption about reality.
You may avoid the assumption so far as you decline
to think, but, if you sit down to the game, there is
only one way of playing. In order to think at all
you must subject yourself to a standard, a standard
which implies an absolute knowledge of reality ; and
while you doubt this, you accept it, and obey while/
you rebel. You may urge that thought, after all, Is
inconsistent, because ajipearance is not got rid of
but merely shelved. That is another question which
will engage us in a future chapter, and here may be
dismissed. For In any case thinking means the
acceptance of a certain standard, and that standard,
in any case, is an assumption as to the character of
reality.

" But why," It may be objected, 'is this assump-
tion better than what holds for practice ? Why is
the theoretical to be superior to the practical end ? "
I have never said that this is so. Only here, that is]
in metaphysics, I must be allowed to reply, we are/
acting theoretically. We are occupied specially, andj
are therefore subject to special conditions ; and the
theoretical standard within theory must surely be
absolute. We have no right to listen to morality
when it rushes In blindly. " Act so," urges morality,
that is " 6e so or be dissatisfied." But if I am dis-
satisfied, still apparently I may be none the less real.
" Act so," replies speculation, that is, "think so or
be dissatisfied; and if you do not think so, what you
think is certainly not real." And these two com
mands do not seem to be directly connected. If I
am theoretically not satisfied, then what appears
must in reality be otherwise ; but, if I am dissatis-
fied practically, the same conclusion does not hold.
Thus the two satisfactions are not the same, nor does
there appear to be a straight way from the one to the

•54

REALITY.

world is quite other
unable theoretically
morality acquiesce ?

other. Or consider again the same question from a
different side. Morality seemed anxious to dictate
to metaphysics, but is it prepared to accept a corre-
sponding dictation ? If it were to hear that the real

than its ideal, and, if it were
to shake this result, would
Would it not, on the other
hand, regardless of this, still maintain its own ground ?
Facts may be as you say, but none the less they
should not be so, and something else ought to be.
Morality, I think, would take this line, and, if so, it
should accept a like attitude in theory. It must not
dictate as to what facts are, while it refuses to admit
dictation as to what they should be.

Certainly, to any one who believes in the unity of
our nature, a one-sided satisfaction will remain in-
credible. And such a consideration to my mind
carries very great weight. But to stand on one side
of our nature, and to argue from that directly to the
other side, seems illegitimate. 1 will not here ask
how far morality is consistent with itself in demand-
ing complete harmony (Chapter xxv.). What seems
clear is that, in wishing to dictate to mere theory, it
is abandoning its own position and is courting
foreign occupation. And it is misled mainly by a
failure to observe essential distinctions. "Be so"
does not mean always " think so," and " think so,"
in its main signification, certainly does not mean "be
so." Their difference is the difference between " you
ought " and " it is " — and I can see no direct road
from the one to the other. If a theory could be made
by the will, that would have to satisfy the will, and,
if it did not, it would be false. But since meta-
physics is mere theory, and since theory from its
nature must be made by the intellect, it is here the
intellect alone which has to be satisfied. Doubtless
a conclusion which fails to content all the sides of
my nature leaves me dissatisfied. But I see no
direct way of passing from " this does not satisfy my

THE GENERAL NATURE OK REALITY.

«55

nature " to " therefore it is false." For false is the
same as theoretically untenable, and we are suppos-
ing a case where mere theory has been satisfied, and
where the result has in consequence been taken as
true. And, so far as I see, we must admit that, if
the intellect is contented, the question is settled.
For we may feel as we please about the intellectual
conclusion, but we cannot, on such external ground.
protest that it is false.

Hence if we understand by perfection a state of
harmony with pleasure, there is no direct way of
showing that reality is perfect. For, so far as the In-
tellectual standard at present seems to go, we might
have harmony with pain and with partial dissatisfac-
tion. But I think the case is much altered when we
consider it otherwise, and when we ask if on an-
other ground such harmony is possible. The intel-
lect is not to be dictated to ; that conclusion is irre-
fragable. But is it certain, on the other hand, that
the mere intellect can be self-satisfied, if other ele-
ments of our nature remain not contented .'* Or
must we not think rather that indirectly any partial
discontent will bring unrest and imperfection into
the intellect itself? If this is so, then to suppose
any imperfection in the Absolute is inadmissible.
Fo fail in any way would introduce a discord into
perception itself. And hence, since we have found
that, taken perceptively, reality is harmonious, it must
be harmonious altogether, and must satisfy our
whole nature. Let us see if on this line we can
make an advance.

If the Absolute is to be theoretically harmonious,
its elements must not collide. Idea must not dis-
agree with sensation, nor must sensations clash. In
every case, that is, the struggle must not be a mere
struggle. There must be a unity which it subserves,
and a whole, taken in which, it is a struggle no
longer. How this resolution is possible we may be

•56

REALITY.

ible to see partly i

able to see partly in our subsequent chapters, but for
the present I would insist merely that somehow it
must exist. Since reality is harmonious, want of
harmony is not possible, and a mere collision of per-
ceptive elements is assuredly want of harmony.
But, if idea must not clash with sensation, then there
cannot in the Absolute be unsatisfied desire or any
practical unrest. For in these there is clearly an ideal
element not concordant with presentation but strug-
gling against it, and, if you remove this discordance,
then with it all unsatisfied desire is gone. In order
for such a desire, in even its lowest form, to persist,
there must (so far as I can see) be an idea, standing
over against sensation and fixed for the moment in
discord. And any such state is not compatible with
theoretical harmony.

But this result perhaps has ignored an outstanding
possibility. Unsatisfied desires might, as such, not
exist in the Absolute, and yet seemingly there might
remain a clear balance of pain. For, in the first
place, it is not proved that all pain must arise from
an unresolved struggle ; and, it may be contended,
in the second place, that possibly the discord might
be resolved, and yet, so far as we know, the pain
might remain. In a painful stniggle it maybe urged
that the pain can be real, though the struggle is
apparent. For we shall see, when we discuss error
(Chapter xvi.), how discordant elements may be
neutralized in a wider complex. We shall find how,
in that system, they can take on a different arrange-
ment, and so result in harmony. And the question
here as to unsatisfied desires will be this. Can they
not be merged in a whole, so as to lose their charac-
ter of discordance, and thus cease to be desires,
while their pain none the less survives in reality ?
If so, that whole, after all, would be imperfect For,
while possessor of harmony, it still might be sunk in
misery, or might suffer at least with a balance of
pain. This objection is serious, and it calls for

THE GliNERAI. NATURE OF REALl I Y.

157

some discussion here. I shall have to deal with it
once more in our concluding chapter.

I feel at this point our want of knowledge with
regard to the conditions of pleasure and pain.' It
is a tenable view, one at least which can hardly be
refuted, that pain is caused, or conditioned, by an
unresolved collision. Now, if this really is the case,
then, given harmony, a balance of pain is impos-
sible. Pain, of course, is a fact, and no fact can be
conjured away from the universe ; but the question
here is entirely as to a balance of pain. Now it is
common experience that in mixed states pain may
be neutralized by pleasure in such a way that the
balance is decidedly pleasant. And hence it is
possible that in the universe as a whole we may
have a balance of pleasure, and in the total result
no residue of pain. This is possible, and if an un-
resolved conflict and discord is essential to pain, it is
much more than possible. Since the reality is har-
monious, and since harmony excludes the conditions
which are requisite for a balance of pain, that bal-
ance is impossible. I will urge this so far as to
raise a very grave doubt. I question our right even
to suppose a state of pain in the Absolute.

And this doubt becomes more grave when we
consider another point. When we pass from the
conditions to the effects of painful feeling, we are
on surer ground. For in our experience the result
of pain is disquietude and unrest. Its main action
is to set up change, and to prevent stability. There
is authority, I am aware, for a different view, but,
so far as 1 see, that view cannot be reconciled with
facts. This effect of pain has here a most impor-
tant bearing. Assume that in the Absolute there is
a balance of pleasure, and all is consistent. For
the pains can condition those processes which, as
processes, disappear in the life of the whole ; and
these pains can be neutralized by an overplus of
' Cf. Mindf xiiL pp. 3-14.

«58

REALITY.

^^^

pleasure. But if you suppose, on the other hand, a
balance of pain, the difficulty becomes at once in-
superable. We have postulated a state of harmony,
and, together with that, the very condition of in-
stability and discord. We have in the Absolute, on
one side, a state of things where the elements can-
not jar, and where in particular idea does not con-
flict with presentation. But with pain on the other
side we have introduced a main-spring of change
and unrest, and we thus produce necessarily an idea
not in harmony with existence. And this idea of
a better and of a non-e.\isting condition of things
must directly destroy theoretical rest. But, if so,
such an idea must be called impossible. There is
no pain on the whole, and in the Absolute our
whole nature must find satisfaction. For otherwise
there is no theoretical harmony, and that harmony
we saw must certainly exist. I shall ask in our
last chapter if there is a way of avoiding this con-
clusion, but for the present we seem bound to accept
it as true. We must not admit the possibility of an
Ab.solute perfect in apprehension yet resting tran-
quilly in pain. The question as to actual evidence
of defect in the universe will be discussed in
Chapter xvii. ; and our position so far is this.
We cannot argue directly that all sides of our nature
must be satisfied, but indirectly we are led to the
same result. For we are forced to assume theo-
retical satisfaction ; and to suppose that existing
one-sidedly, and together with practical discomfort,
appears inadmissible. Such a state is a possibility
which seems to contradict itself It is a supposition
to which, if we cannot find any ground in its favour,
we have no right. For the present at least it is
better to set it down as inconceivable.'

And hence, for the present at least, we must be-

' In our last chapter this conclasion will be slightly modified.
The supposition will appear there to be barely possible.

THE GENERAL NATURE OF REALITY.

159

Jie ve th at reality satisfies our whole being. Our
main wants — for truth and life, and for beauty and
goodness — must all find satisfaction. And we have
seen that this consummation must somehow be
experience, and be individual. Every element of
the universe, sensation, feeling, thought and will,
must be included within one comprehensive sen-
tience. And the question which now occurs is
whether really we have a positive idea of such sen-
tience. Do we at all know what we mean when
we say that it is actual ."*

Fully to realize the existence of the Absolute is
for finite beings impossible. In order thus to know
we should have to be, and then %ve should not exist.
This result is certain, and all attempts to avoid it
are illusory. But then the whole question turns on
the sense in which we are to understand " know-
ing." What is impossible is to construct absolute
life in its detail, to have the specific experience in
which it consists. But to gain an idea of its main
features — an idea true so far as it goes, though
abstract and incomplete — is a different endeavour.
And it is a task, so far as I see, in which we may
succeed. For these main features, to some extent,
are within our own experience ; and again the idea
ot their combination is, in the abstract, quite intellig-
ible. And surely no more than this is wanted for
a knowledge of the Absolute. It is a knowledge
which of course differs enormously from the fact.
But it is true, for all that, while it respects its own
limits ; and it seems fully attainable by the finite
intellect.

I will end this chapter by briefly mentioning the /
sources of such knowledge. First, in mere feeling,/
or immediate presentation, we have the experience
of a whole (Chapters ix., xix., xxvi., xxvii.)/
This whole contains diversity, and, on the othef-
hand, is not parted by relations. Such an experi-
ence, we must admit, is most imperfect and uii-

i6o

REALITY.

Stable, and its inconsistencies lead us at once to
transcend it. Indeed, we hardly possess it as more
than that which we are in the act of losing. But it
serves to suggest to us the general idea of a total
experience, where will and thought and feeling may
all once more be one. Further, this same unity,
felt below distinctions, shows itself later in a kind of
hostility against them. We find it in the efforts
made both by theory and practice, each to complete
itself and so to pass into the other. And. again, the
relational form, as we saw, pointed everywhere to
an unity. It implies a substantial totality beyond
relations and above them, a whole endeavouring
without success to realize itself in their detail. P'ur-
ther, the ideas of goodness, and of the beautiful,
suggest in different ways the same result. They
more or less involve the experience of a whole be-
yond relations though full of diversity. Now, if we
gather (as we can) such considerations into one,
they will assuredly supply us with a positive idea.
We gain from them the knowledge of a unity
which transcends and yet contains every manifold
appearance. They supply not an experience but an
abstract idea, an idea which we make by uniting
given elements. And the mode of union, once more
in the abstract, is actually given. Thus we know
what is meant by an experience, which embraces all
divisions, and yet somehow possesses the direct
nature of feeling. We can form the general idea
of an absolute intuition in which phenomenal dis-
tinctions are merged, a whole become immediate at
a higher stage without losing any richness. Our
complete inability to understand this concrete unity
in detail is no good ground for our declining to
entertain it. Such a ground would be irrational,
and its principle could hardly everywhere be ad-
hered to. But if we can realize at all the general
features of the Absolute, if we can see that some-
how they come together in a way known vaguely

THE GENERAL NATURE OF REALITY. l6l

and in the abstract, our result is certain. Our con-
clusion, so far as it goes, is real knowledge of the
Absolute, positive knowledge built on experience,
and inevitable when we try to think consistently.
We shall realize its nature more clearly when we
have confronted it with a series of objections and
difficulties. If our result will hold against them all,
we shall be able to urge that in reason we are bound
to think it true.

A. R. M

CHAPTER XV.

THOUGHT AND REALITY.

There is a natural objection which the reader will
raise against our account of the Absolute. The
difficulty lies, he may urge, not in making a state-
ment, which by itself seems defensible, but rather in
reconciling any view with obvious inconsistencies.
The real problem is to show how appearance and
evil, and in general finite existence, are compatible
with the Absolute. These questions, however, he
will object, have been so far neglected. And it is
these which in the next chapter must begin to
engage our serious attention. Still it is better not
to proceed at once ; and before we deal with error
we must gain some notion of what we mean by
truth. In the present chapter I will try to state
briefly the main essence of thought, and to justify
its distinction from actual existence. It is only by
misunderstanding that we find difficulty in taking
diought to be something less than reality.

If we take up anything considered real, no
matter what it is, we find in it two aspects. There
are always two things we can say about it ; and, it
we cannot say both, we have not got reality. There
is a " what" and a " that," an existence and a con-
tent, and the two are inseparable. That anything
should be, and should yet be nothing in particular,
or that a quality should not qualify and give a
character to anything, are obviously impossible, it
we try to get the " that " by itself, we do not get it.
For either we have it qualified, or else we fail

i6a

THOUGHT AND REALITY.

163

Utterly. If we try to get the " what" by itself, we
find at once that it is not all. It points to some-
thing beyond, and cannot exist by itself and as a
bare adjective. Neither of these aspects, if you
isolate it, can be taken as real, or indeed in that
case is itself any longer. They are distinguishable
only and are not divisible.

And yet thought seems essentially to consist in
their division. For thought is clearly, to some
extent at least, ideal. Without an idea there is no
thinking, and an idea implies the separation of con-
tent from existence. It is a " what " which, so far
as it is a mere idea, clearly is not. and if it also
were, could, so far, not be called ideal, j^^r ideality
lies in the disjoining of quality from being. Hence
the common view, which identifies image and idea,
is fundamentally in error. For an image is a fact,
just as real as any sensation ; it is merely a fact of
another kind and it is not one whit more ideal. But
an idea is any part of the content of a fact so far as
that works out of immediate unity with its existence.
.And an idea's factual existence may consist in a
sensation or perception, just as well as in an image.
The main point and the essence is that some feature
in the " what " of a given fact should be alienated
from its " that " so far as to work beyond it, or at
all events loose from it. Such a movement is ideal-
ity, and, where it is absent, there is nothing ideal.

We can understand this most clearly if we con-
sider the nature of judgment, for there we find
thought in its completed form. In judgment an idea
is predicated of a reality. Now, in the first place,
what is predicated is not a mental image. It is not
a fact inside my head which the judgment wishes to
attach to another fact outside. The predicate is a
mere " what," a mere feature of content, which is
used to qualify further the " that " of the subject.
And this predicate is divorced from its psychical
existence in my head, and is used without any

164

REALITY.

regard to its being there. When I say " this horse
is a mammal," it is surely absurd to suppose that I
am harnessing my mental state to the beast between
the shafts. Judgment adds an adjective to reality,
and this adjective is an idea, because it is a quality
' made loose from its own existence, and is working
free from its implication with that. And, even
when a fact is merely analysed, — when the predicate
appears not to go beyond its own subject, or to have
been imported divorced from another fact outside —
our account still holds good. For here obviously
our synthesis is a re-union of the distinguished, and
it implies a separation, which, though it is over-
ridden, is never unmade. The predicate is a con-
tent which has been made loose from its own
immediate existence and is used in divorce from
that first unity. And, again, as predicated, it is
applied without regard to its own being as abstracted
and in my head. If this were not so, there would be
no judgment ; for neither distinction nor predication
would have taken place. But again, if it is so, then
once more here we discover an idea.

And in the second place, when we turn to the
subject of the judgment, we clearly find the other
aspect, in other words, the " that." Just as in " this
horse is a mammal" the predicate was not a fact, so
most assuredly the subject is an actual existence.
And the same thing holds good with every judg-
ment. No one ever means to assert about anything
but reality, or to do anything but qualify a "that" by
a "what" And, without dwelling on a point which
I have worked out elsewhere,' I will notice a source
of possible mistake. " The subject, at all events," I
maybe told, "is in no case a mere'\\\ax! It is
never bare reality, or existence without character."
And to this I fully assent. I agree that the subject
which we mean— even before the judgment is com-

' Principles of Logic, l&ooV. 1.

THOUGHT AND REALITY.

>65

L-yO-

plete, and while still we are holding its elements ,
apart — is more than a mere " that." But then this
is not the point. The point is whether with every
judgment we do not find an aspect of existence,
absent from the predicate but present in the subject,
and whether in the synthesis of these aspects we
have not got the essence of judgment. And for
myself I see no way of avoiding this conclusion. I
Judgment is essentially the re-union of two sides,!
" what " and " that," provisionally estranged. But
it is the alienation of these aspects in whicl"
thought's ideality consists.

Truth is the object of thinkinff, and the aim o f
truth is to qualify e.xistence ideallvT Its end, that
2^ ■'1 rn S'^"' =■ f-hirnrtf-r ^^ reality "in which it can
resL. Truth is the predication of such content as,
when predicated, is harmonious, and removes incon-
sistency and with it unrest. And because the given! Jio*^
reality is never consistent, thought is compelled toj"',*'**'*' ,
take the road of indefinite expansion. If thought ]f ^

were successful, it would have a predicate consistent''^ yf^^
in itself and agreeing entirely with the subject. ^^^-J^^^^Zri^J
on the other hand, the predicate must be alvvayst x t*4^_j=C|
ideal. It must, that is, be a "what" not in unity ''J
with its own " that," and therefore, in and by itself,
' devoid of existence. Hence, so far as in thought I
I this alienation is not made good, thought can never)
I be more than merely ideal.

I I shall very soon proceed to dwell on this last con-
isideration, but will first of all call attention to a most
/important point. There exists a notion that ideality
j is something outside of facts, something imported
into them, or imposed as a sort of layer above them ;
and we talk as if facts, when let alone, were in no,
sense ideal. But any such notion is illusory. For
facts which are not ideal, and which show no loose-
ness of content from existence, seem hardly actual
They would be found, if anywhere, in feelings with-
out internal lapse, and with a content wholly single.

1 66

REALITY.

But if we keep to fact which is given, this changes
in our hands, and it compels us to perceive incon-
sistency of content. And then this content cannot
be referred merely to its given "that," but is forced
beyond it, and is made to qualify something outside.
But, if so, in the simplest change we have at once
ideality — the use of content in separation from its
actual existence. Indeed, in Chapters ix. and x. we
have already seen how this is necessary. For the
content of the given is for ever relative to something
not given, and the nature of its "what" is hence es-
sentially to transcend its " that." This we may callj
the ideality of the given finite. It is not manufac-
tured by thought, but thought itself is its develop-
ment and product. The essentia! nature of the finite
is that everywhere, as it presents itself, its character
should slide beyond the limits of its existence.

And truth, as we have seen, is the effort to heal
this disease, as it were, homoeopathically. Thought
has to accept, without reserve, the ideality of the
" given," its want of consistency and its self-transcen-
dence. And by pushing this self-transcendence to
the uttermost point, thought attempts to find there
consummation and rest. The subject, on the one
b3J>d, is expanded u ntil it is no longe r what is given.
It becomes the whole universe which presents it-
self and which appears in each given moment with
but part of its reahty. It grows into an all-inclusive
whole, existing somewhere and somehow, if we only
could perceive it. But on the other hand, in quali-
fying this reality, thought consents to a partial ab-
negation. It has to recognise the division of the
" what " from the " that," and it cannot so join
. these aspects as to get rid of mere ideas and arrive
/ at actual reality. For it is in and by ideas only that
thought moves and has life. The content it applies
to the reality has, as applied, no genuine existence.
It is an adjective divorced from its " that," and never
in judgment, even when the judgment is complete,

THOUGHT AND REALITY.

167

restored to solid unity. Thus the truth belongs to
existence, but it does not as such exist. It is a
character which indeed reality possesses, but a char-
acter which, as truth and as ideal, has been set loose
from existence; and it is never rejoined to it in such
a way as to come together singly and make fact.
Hence, truth shows a dissection and never an actual
life. Its predicate can never be equivalent to its
subject. And if it became so, and if its adjectives
could be at once self-consistent and re-welded to ex-
istence, it would not be truth any longer. It would
have then passed into another and a higher reality.

And I will now deal with the misapprehension to
which I referred, and the consideration of which may,
I trust, help us forward.'

There is an erroneous idea that, if reality is more
than thought, thought itself is, at least, quite unable
to say so. To assert the existence of anything in
any sense beyond thought suggests, to some minds,
the doctrine of the Thing- in-itself And of the

/ Thing-in-itself we know (Chapter xii.) that if it ex-
isted we could not know of it ; and, again, so far as

I we know of it, we know that it does not exist. The

\ attempt to apprehend this Other in succeeding would
|be suicide, and in suicide could not reach anything
Ibeyond total failure. Now, though I have urged
)this result, 1 wish to keep it within rational limits,
and I dissent wholly from the corollary that nothing
mor? than thought exists. But to think of anything
which can exist quite outside of thought 1 agree is im-
possible. If thought is one element in a whole, you
cannot argue from this ground that the remainder of

\such a whole must stand apart and independent.
From this ground, in short, you can make no infer-
ence to a Thing-in-itself And there is no impossi-
bility in thought's existing as an element, and no

' The remainder of this chapter has been reprinted, with some
.^Iterations and omissions, from J//W, No. 51.

i68

REALITY.

self-contradiction in its own judgment that it is less k,
than the universe. ^

We have seen that anything real has two aspects, ■
existence and character, and that tlwught always /
must work within this distinction. X'^ought, in its ^
actual processes and results, cannot transcend the
dualism of the " that " and the " what." I do not
mean that in no sense is thought beyond this dualism,
or that thought is satisfied with it and has no desire
for something better. But taking judgment to be
completed thought, I mean that in no judgment are 1
the subject and predicate the same. In every |
judgment the genuine subject is reality, which goes
beyond the |)redicate and of which the predicate is
an adjective. And I would urge first that, in desir-
ing to transcend this distinction, thought is aiming at
suicide. We have seen that in judgment we find
always the distinction of fact and truth, of idea and
reality. Truth and thought are not the thing itself,
but are of it and about it. Thought predicates an
ideal content of a subject. This idea is not the same
as fact, for in it existence and meaning are neces-
sarily divorced. And the subject, again, is neither
the mere " what " of the predicate, nor is it any other
mere " what." Nor, even if it is proposed to take up
a whole with both its aspects, and to predicate the
ideal character of its own proper subject, will that
' proposal assist us. For if the subject is the same as
the predicate, why trouble oneself to judge i* But if
it is not the same, then what is it, and how is it dif-
ferent .'' Hither then there is no judgment at all, and
but a pretence of thinking without thought, or there
is a judgment, but its subject is more than the predi-
cate, and is a "that" beyond a mere "what." The
subject, I would repeat, is never mere reality, or bare
existence without character. The subject, doubtless,
has unspecified content which is not stated in the
predicate. For judgment is the differentiation of a
complex whole, and hence always is analysis and

THOUGHT AND REALITY.

169

synthesis in one. It separates an element from, and
restores it to, the concrete basis ; and this basis of
necessity is richer than the mere element by itself.
But then this is not the question which concerns us
here. That question is whether, in any judgment
which really says anything, there is not in the sub-
ject an aspect of existence which is absent from the
bare predicate. And it seems clear that this ques-
tion must be answered in the affirmative. And if it
is urged that the subject itself, being in thought,
can therefore not fall beyond, I must ask for more
accuracy ; for " partly beyond " appears compatible
with " partly within." And, leaving prepositions to
themselves, I must recall the real issue. For I do
not deny that reality is an object of thought ; I deny
that it is barely and ?ncn'/y so. If you rest here on
a distinction between thought and its object, that
opens a further question to which I shall return
(p. 174). But if you admit that in asserting reality
to fall within thought, you meant that in reality
there is nothing beyond what is made thought's
object, your position is untenable. Reflect upon any
judgment as long as you please, operate upon the
subject of it to any e.xtent which you desire, but then
(when you have finished) make an actual judgment.
And when that is made, see if you do not discover, be-
yond the content of your thought, a subject of which
it is true, and which it does not comprehend. You
will find that the object of thought in the end must
be ideal, and that there is no idea which, as such, con-
tains its own existence. The " that " of the actual
subject will for ever give a something which is not a
mere idea, something which is different from any
truth, something which makes such a difference to
your thinking, that without it you have not even
thought completely.

" But," it may be answered, " the thought you
speak of is thought that is not perfect. Where
thought is perfect there is no discrepancy between

170

REALITY.

subject and predicate. A harmonious system of
content predicating itself, a subject self-conscious in
that system of content, this is what thought should
mean. And here the division of existence and char-
acter is quite healed up. If such completion is not
actual, it is possible, and the possibility is enough."
But it is not even possible, I must persist, if it really
is unmeaning. And once more I must urge the
former dilemma. If there is no judgment, there is
no thought ; and if there is no difference, there is no
judgment, or any self-consciousness. But if, on the
other hand, there is a difference, then the subject is
beyond the predicated content.

Still a mere denial, I admit, is not quite satisfac-
tory. Let us then suppose that the dualism inherent
in thought has been transcended. Let us assume
that existence is no longer different from truth, and
let us see where this takes us. It takes us straight
to thought's suicide. A system of content is going
to swallow up our reality ; but in our reality we
have the fact of sensible experience, immediate pre-
sentation with its colouring of pleasure and pain.
Now I presume there is no question of conjuring
this fact away ; but how it is to be exhibited as an
element in a system of thought- content, is a problem
not soluble. Thought is relational and discursive,
and, if it ceases to be this, it commits suicide ; and
yet, if it remains thus, how does it contain immediate
presentation .'' Let us suppose the impossible ac- ,
complished ; let us imagine a harmonious system ol
ideal contents united by relations, and reflecting it-
self in self-conscious harmony. This is to berealit)",
all reality ; and there is nothing outside it. The
delights and pains of the flesh, the agonies and rap-
tures of the soul, these are fragmentary meteors
fallen from thought's harmonious system. But these
burning experiences — how in any sense can they be
mere pieces of thought's heaven .■* For, if the fall

THOUGHT AND REALITY.

J71

is real, there is a world outside tiiought's region,
and, if the fall is apparent, then human error itself is
not included there. Heaven, in brief, must either
not be heaven, or else not all reality. Without a
metaphor, feeling belongs to perfect thought, or it
does not If it does not, there is at once a side of
existence beyond thought. But if it does belong,
then thought is different from thought discursive
and relational. To make it include immediate ex
perience, its character must be transformed. Itl
must cease to predicate, it must get beyond mere
relations, it must reach something other than truth.
Thought, in a word, must have been absorbed into
a higher intuition. Now such an experience may
be called thought, if you choose to use that word.
But if any one else prefers another term, such as
feeling or will, he would be equally justified. For
the result is a whole state which both includes and
goes beyond each element ; and to speak of it as
simply one of them seems playing with phrases.
For (I must repeat it) when thought begins to be
more than relational, it ceases to be mere thinking.
A basis, from which the relation is thrown out and
into which it returns, is something not exhausted by
that relation. It will, in short, be an existence
which is not mere truth. Thus, in reaching a whole
which can contain every aspect within it, thought
must absorb what divides it from feeling and will.
But when these all have come together, then, since
none of them can perish, they must be merged in a
whole in which they are harmonious. But that
whole assuredly is not simply one of its aspects.
And the question is not whether the universe is in
any sense intelligible. The question is whether, if
you thought it and understood it, there would be no
difference left between your thought and the thing
And, supposing that to have happened, the question
is then whether thought has not changed its nature.
Let us try to realize more distinctly what thia|

•'f'

REALITY.

supposed consummation would involve. Since both
truth and fact are to be there, nothing must be lost,
and in the Absolute we must keep every item of our
experience. We cannot have less, but, on the other
hand, we may have much more; and this more may
so supplement the elements of our actual experience
that in the whole they may become transformed.
But to reach a mode of apprehension, which is quite
identical with reality, surely predicate and subject,
and subject and object, and in short the whole rela-
tional form, must be merged. The Absolute does
not want, I presume, to make eyes at itself in a
mirror, or, like a squirrel in a cage, to revolve the
circle of its perfections. Such processes must be
dissolved in something not poorer but richer thar»
themselves. And feeling and will must also be
transmuted in this whole, into which thought has
entered. Such a whole state would possess in a
superior form that immediacy which we find (more
or less) in feeling ; and in this whole all divisions
would be healed up. It would be experience entire,
containing all elements in harmony. Thought would
be present in a higher intuition ; will would be there
where the ideal had become reality ; and beauty and
pleasure and feeling would live on in this total fulfil-
ment. Every flame of passion, chaste or carnal,
would still burn in the Absolute unquenched and
unabridged, a note absorbed in the harmony of its
higher bliss. We cannot imagine, I adniit, how in
detail this can be. But if truth and fact are to be
one, then in some such way thought must reach its
consummation. But in that consummation thought
has certainly been so transformed, that to go oiv
calling it thought seems indefensible.

I have tried to show first that, in the proper sense
of thought, thought and fact are not the same. I
have urged, in the second place, that, if their iden-
tity is worked out, thought ends in a reality which

THOUGHT AND REAXITY.

swallows up its character. I will ask next whether
thought's advocates can find a barrier to their client's
happy suicide.

They might urge, first, that our consummation is
the Thing-in-itself, and that it makes thought know
■what essentially is not knowable. But this objection
forgets that our whole is not anything but sentient
experience. And it forgets that, even when we
understand by " thought " its strict discursive form,
our reality does not exist apart from this. Empha-
tically the Absolute is nothing if taken apart from
any single one of its elements. But the Thing-in-
self, on the other hand, must exist apart.

Let us pass to another objection against our view.
We may be told that the End, because it is that
which thought aims at, is therefore itself (mere)
thought. This assumes that thought cannot desire
a consummation in which it is lost. But does not
the river run into the sea, and the self lose itself in
love ? And further, as good a claim for predomin-
ance might be made on behalf of will, and again on
behalf of beauty and sensation and pleasure. Where
all elements reach their end in the Absolute, that
end can belong to no one severally. We may illus-
trate this principle by the case of morality. That
essentially desires an end which is not merely moral
because it is super-moral. Nay, even personality
itself, our whole individual life and striving, tends to
something beyond mere personality. Of course,
the Absolute has personality, but it fortunately
possesses so much more, that to call it personal
> would be as absurd as to ask if it is moral.'

But in self-consciousness, I may be told, we
actually experience a state where truth and being
are identical ; and here, at all events, thinking is not
different from reality. But in our tenth chapter we
have seen that no such state exists. There is no

See further, Chapters xxv. and xxvii.

'74

REALITY.

self-consciousness in which the object is the same as
the subject, none in which what is perceived ex-
hausts the whole self. In self-consciousness a part
or element, or again a general aspect or character,
becomes distinct from the whole mass and stands over
against the felt background. But the background is
never exhausted by this object, and it never could be
so. An experiment should convince any man that in
self-consciousness what he feels cannot wholly come
before him. It can be exhausted, if at all, only by
a long series of observations, and the summed result
of these observations cannot be experienced as a
fact Such a result cannot ever be verified as quite
true at any particular given moment. In short con-
sciousness implies discrimination of an element from
the felt mass, and a consciousness that should dis-
criminate every element at once is psychological!)
impossible. And this impossibility, if it became
actual, would still leave us held in a dilemma. Foi
there is either no difference, and therefore no dis-
tinction, and no consciousness ; or there is a distinc-
tion, and therefore a difference between object and
[reality. But surely, if self-consciousness is appealed
Ito, it is evident that at any moment I am more than
'the self which I can think of. How far everything
in feeling may be called intelligible, is not the ques-
tion here. But what is felt cannot be understood sc
that its truth and its existence become the same.
And, if that were possible, yet such a process would
certainly not be thinking.

In thinking the subject which thinks is more than
thought. And that is why we can imagine that in
thinking we find all reality. But in the same way
the whole reality can as well be found in feeling or
in volition. Each is one element in the whole, or
the whole in one of its aspects ; and hence, when
you get an aspect or element, you have the whljle
with it. But because, given one aspect (whichever
it may be), we find the whole universe, to conclude

THOUGHT AND REALITY.

175

that in the universe there is nothing beyond this
single aspect, seems quite irrational.

But the reader may agree that no one really can
believe that mere thought includes everything. The
difficulty lies, he may urge, in fnaintaining the oppo-
site. Since in philosophy we must think, how is it
possible to transcend thought without a self-contra-
diction ? For theory can reflect on, and pronounce
about, all things, and in reflecting on them it there
fore includes them. So that to maintain in thought
an Other is by the same act to destroy its otherness
and to persist is to contradict oneself. While admit
ting that thought cannot satisfy us as to reality's
falling wholly within its limits, we may be told that,
so long as we think, we must ignore this admission.
And the question is, therefore, whether philosophy
does not end in sheer scepticism — in the necessity,
that is, of asserting what it is no less induced to
deny. The problem is serious, and I will now at-
tempt to exhibit its solution.

We maintain an Other than mere thought. Now
in what sense do we hold this .■' Thought being a
judgment, we say that the predicate is never the same
as the subject ; for the subject is reality presented as
" this " (we must not say as mere " this "). You
can certainly abstract from presentation its character
of " thisness," or its confused relatedness ; and you
can also abstract the feature of presentation. Of
these you can make ideas,' for there is nothing
which you cannot think of. But you find that these
ideas are not the same as the subject of which you
must predicate them. You can think of the subject,
but you cannot get rid of it, or substitute mere
thought-content for it. In other words, in practice
\ thought always is found with, and appears to de-
' mand, an Other.

•\

PrincipUi oj Logic, pp. 64-69.

176

REALITY.

Now the question is whether this leads to self-
contradiction. If thought asserted the existence of
any content which was not an actual or possible
object of thought — certainly that assertion in my
judgment would contradict itself. But the Other,
which I maintain, is not any such content, nor is it
another separated " what," nor in any case do I
suggest that it lies outside intelligence. Everything,
all will and feeling, is an object for thought, and
must be called intelligible.' This is certain ; but, if
so, what becomes of the Other ? If we fall back on
the mere "that," thatness itself seems a distinction
made by thought. And we have to face this diffi-
culty : If the Other exists, it must be something ;
and if it is nothing, it certainly does not exist.

Let us take an actual judgment and examine the
subject there with a view to find our Other. In this
we at once meet with a complication. We always
have more content in the presented subject than in
the predicate, and it is hence harder to realize what,
beside this overplus of content, the subject possesses.
However, passing this by, we can find in the sub-
ject two special characters. There is first (a) sensu-
ous infinitude, and (3) in the second place there is
immediacy.

(a) The presented subject has a detail which is
unlimited. By this I do not mean that the actual
plurality of its features exceeds a finite number. I
mean that its detail always goes beyond itself, and
is indefinitely relative to something outside.^ In its
given content it has relations which do not terminate
within that content ; and its existence therefore is
not exhausted by itself, as we ever can have it. If
I I may use the metaphor, it has always edges which
are ragged in such a way as to imply another exist-
ence from which it has been torn, and without which

I On this point see below, Chapters xix. and xxvi.
' This sensible " infinite " is the s.ime as the finite, which we
Just saw was in its essence " ideal."

THOUGHT AND KEALITV.

177

it really does not exist. Thus the content of the\
subject strives, we may say, unsuccessfully towards '
an all-inclusive whole. Now the predicate, on its
side, is itself not free from endlessness. For its
content, abstracted and finite, necessarily depends on
relation to what is beyond. But it lacks the sensible
and compulsory detail of the subject. It is not
given as one thing with an actual but indefinite con-
text. And thus, at least ostensibly, the predicate is
hostile to endlessness.

(1^) This is one difference, and the second consists
in immediacy. The subject claims the character of
a single self-subsistent being. 1 n it the aspects of
" what " and " that " are not taken as divorced, but
it is given with its content as forming one integral
whole. The "what" is not sundered from the
" that," and turned from fact into truth. It is not
predicated as the adjective of another " that," or
even of its own. And this character of immediacy
is plainly not consistent with endlessness. They
are, in truth, each an imperfect appearance of Indi-
viduality.' But the subject clearly possesses both
these discrepant features, while the predicate no less
clearly should be without them. For the predicate
seeks also for individuality but by a different road.

Now, if we take the subject to have these two
characters which are absent from the predicate, and
if the desire of thought implies removal of that
which makes predicate and subject differ — we begin
to perceive the nature of our Other. And we may
see at once what is required in order to extinguish
its otherness. Subject and predicate alike must
accept reformation. The ideal content of the predi-
cate must be made consistent with immediate indi-
viduality ; and, on its side, the subject must be
changed so as to become consistent with itself. It
must become a self-subsistent, and that means an

* Compare here the doctrine of CLapters xix. and xxiv.

A. R. N

178

REALITY.

all-inclusive, individual. But these reforms are im-
I possible. The subject must pass into the judgment,
/ and it becomes infected with the relational form.
/ The self-dependence and immediacy, which it claims,
/ are not possessed by its content. Hence in the
/ attempted self-assertion this content drives the sub-
/ ject beyond actual limits, and so begets a process
/ which is infinite and cannot be exhausted. Thus
\ thought's attempt wholly to absorb the subject must
v. fail. It fails because it cannot reform the subject
so as to include and exhaust its content. And, in
the second place, thought fails because it cannot re-
form itself For, if per impossibile the exhausted
content were comprised within a predicate, that
predicate still couid not bear the character of im-
mediacy. I will dwell for a little on both points.

Let us consider first the subject that is presented.
It is a confused whole that, so far as we make it an
object, passes into a congeries of qualities and rela-
tions. And thought desires to transform this con-
geries into a system. But, to understand the subject.
we have at once to pass outside it in time, and
again also in space. On the other hand these
external relations do not end, and from their own
nature they cannot end. Exhaustion is not merely
impracticable, it is essentially impossible. And this
obstacle would be enough ; but this is not all. In-
side the qualities, which we took first as solid end-
points of the relations, an infinite process breaks
out. In order to understand, we are forced to dis-
tinguish without end ; for we never get to that which
is apart from further distinction. Or we may put
the difficulty otherwise thus. We can neither take
the terms with their relations as a whole that is self-
evident, that stands by itself, and that calls for no
V further account ; nor, on the other side, when we
distinguish, can we avoid the endless search for the
relation between the relation and its terms.'

• For this see above, Chapter iii. »

THOUGHT AND REALITl^l

Thus thought cannot get the content into a har-
monious system. And in the next place, even if it
did so, that system would not be the subject It
would either be a maze of relations, a maze with
a plan, of which for ever we made the circuit ; or
otherwise it would wholly lose the relational form.
Our impossible process, in the first place, would
assuredly have truth distinguished from its reality.
For it could avoid this only by coming to us bodily
and all at once, and, further, by suppressing entirely
any distinction between subject and predicate. But, \
if in this way thought became immediate, it would I
lose its own character. It would be a system of I
relations no longer, but would have become an in-y
tuition. In this case the Other would certainly have
been absorbed ; but thought itself no less would
have been swallowed up and resolved into an
Other.

Thought's relational content can never be the
same as the subject, either as that subject appears
or as it really is. The reality that is presented is
taken up by thought in a form not adequate to its
nature, and beyond which its nature must appear a
an Other. But, to come at last in full view of th
solution of our problem, this nature also is the natur
which thought wants for itself. It is the characte
which even mere thinking desires to possess, an
which in all its aspects exists within thought already,
though in an incomplete form. And our main result
is briefly this. The end, which would satisfy mere
truth-seeking, would do so just because it had the
features possessed by reality. It would have to be
an immediate, self-dependent, all-inclusive individ
ual. But, in reaching this perfection, and in tb
act of reaching it, thought would lose its own charj
acter. Thought does desire such individuality, thai
is precisely what it aims at. But individuality, on
the other hand, cannot be gained while we are con
fined to relations.

i8o

KtALlTY.

Still we may be told that we are far from the solu-
tion of our problem. The fact of thought's desiring i
a foreign perfection, we may hear, is precisely the I
old difficulty. If thought desires this, then it is no/
Other, for we desire only what we know. The/
object of thought's desire cannot, hence, be a foreign
object ; for what is an object is, therefore, not
foreign. But we reply that we have penetrated
below the surface of any such dilemma. Thought
desires for its content the character which make
reality. These features, if realized, would destroy
mere thought ; and hence they are an Other beyonc
thought. But thought, nevertheless, can desire
them, because its content has them already in an
incomplete form. And in desire for the completior*
of what one has there is no contradiction. Here is
the solution of our difficulty.

The relational form is a compromise on which
thought stands, and which it developes. It is an
attempt to unite differences which have broken out
of the felt totality.' Differences forced together bj'
an underlying identity, and a compromise between
the plurality and the unity — this is the essence of
relation. But the differences remain independent,
for they cannot be made to resolve themselves into
their own relation. For, if so, they would perish,
and their relation would perish with them. Or,
otherwise, their outstanding plurality would still
remain unreconciled with their unity, and so within
the relation would beget the infinite process. The
relation, on the other side, does not exist beyond the
terms ; for, in that case, itself would be a new term
which would aggravate the distraction. But again,
it cannot lose itself within the terms ; for, if so,
where is their common unity and their relation .■*
They would in this case not be related, but would
fall apart. Thus the whole relational perception

' On tliis point see Chapter iii.

THOUGHT AND KEALITV.

181

joins various characters. It has the feature of im-
mediacy and self-dependence ; for the terms are
i(iven to it and not constituted by it It possesses
again the character of plurality. And as represent-
ing the primitive felt whole, it has once more the
character of a comprehending unity — a unity, how-
I ver, not constituted by the differences, but added
from without. And, even against its wish, it has
turther a restless infinitude ; for such infinitude is
the very result of its practical compromise. And
thought desires, retaining these features, to reduce
them to harmony. It aims at an all inclusive whole,
not in conflict with its elements, and at elements
subordinate to a self-dependent whole. Hence
neither the aspect of unity, nor of plurality, nor of
both these features in one, is really foreign to
thought. There is nothing foreign that thought
■wants in desiring to be a whole, to comprehend
•everything, and yet to include and be superior to
discord. But, on the other hand, such a completion,
as we have seen, would prove destructive ; such an
■end would emphatically make an end of mere
thought It would bring the ideal content into a
form which would be reality itself, and where mere
truth and mere thought would certainly perish.
Thought seeks to possess in its object that whole
character of which it already owns the separate
features. These features it cannot combine satis-
factorily, though it has the idea, and even the partial
experience, of their complete combination. And, if
the object were made perfect, it would forthwith
becotne reality, but would cease forthwith to be
an object. It is this completion of thought be-
yond thought which remains for ever an Other.
Thought can form the idea of an apprehension,
something like feeling in directness, which contains
all the character sought by its relational efforts.
Thought can understand that, to reach its goal, it
must get beyond relations. Yet in its nature it can

l82

REALITY.

find no other working means of progress. Hence it
perceives that somehow this relational side of its
nature must be merged and must include somehow
the other side. Such a fusion would compel thought
to lose and to transcend its proper self And the
nature of this fusion thought can apprehend in
vague generality, but not in detail ; and it can see
the reason why a detailed apprehension is impos-
sible. Such anticipated self-transcendence ts an
Other : but to assert that Other is noi a self-con-
tradiction. V
Hence in our Absolute thought can find its OtheAXj> >
without inconsistency. The entire reality wilt be
merely the object thought out, but thought out in
such a way that mere thinking is absorbed. This
same reality will be feeling that is satisfied com-
pletely. In its direct experience we get restored
with interest every feature lost by the disruption of
our primitive felt whole. We possess the immediacy
and the strength of simple apprehension, no longer
forced by its own inconsistencies to pass into the
infinite process. And again volition, if willed out,
becomes our Absolute. For we reach there the
identity of idea and reality, not too poor but too rich
for division of its elements. Feeling, thought, and
volition have all defects which suggest something
higher. But in that higher unity no fraction of any-
thing is lost. For each one-sided aspect, to gain
itself, blends with that which seemed opposite, and
the product of this fusion keeps the riches of all.
The one reality, we may say from our human point
of view, was present in each aspect, in a form which
does not satisfy. To work out its full nature it has
sunk itself Into these differences. But in each it
longs for that absolute self-fruition which comes
only when the self bursts its limits and blends with
another finite self. This desire of each element for
a perfection which implies fusion with others, is not
self-contradictory. It is rather an effort to remove

THOUGHT AND REALITY.

'83

a present state of inconsistency, to remain in which
would indeed be fixed self-contradiction.

Now, if it is objected that such an Absolute is the
Thing-in-itself, 1 must doubt if the objector can
understand. How a whole which comprehends
everything can deserve that title is past my conjec-
ture. And, if I am told that the differences are lost
in this whole, and yet the differences are, and must
therefore be left outside — I must reply to this charge
by a counter-charge of thoughtless confusion. For
the differences are not lost, but are all contained in
the whole. The fact that tnore is included there
than these several, isolated, differences hardly proves
that these differences are not there at all. When an
element is joined to another in a whole of experi-
ence, then, on the whole, and for the whole, their
mere specialities need not exist ; but, none the less,
each element in its own partial experience may rei
tain its own speciality. " Yes ; but these partia
experiences," I may be told, " will at all events fall
outside the whole." Surely no such consequence
follows. The self-consciousness of the part, its con-
sciousness of itself even in opposition to the whole —
all will be contained within the one absorbing
experience. For this will embrace all self-con-
sciousness harmonized, though, as such, transmuted
and suppressed. We cannot possibly construe, I
admit, such an experience to ourselves. We cannot
imagine how in detail its outline is filled up. But to
say that it is real, and that it unites certain general
characters within the living system of one undivided
apprehension, is within our power. The assertion
of this Absolute's reality I hope in the sequel to
justify. Here (if I have not failed) I have shown
that, at least from the point of view of thinking, it
is free from self-contradiction. The justification for
thought of an Other may help both to explain and
to bury the Thing-in-itself.

CHAPTER XVI.

ERROR.

We have so far sketched in outline the Absolute
which we have been forced to accept, and we have
pointed out the general way in which thought may
fall within it. We must address ourselves now to a
series of formidable objections. If our Absolute is
possible in itself, it seems hardly possible as things
are. For there are undeniable facts with which it
does not seem compatible. Error and evil, space,
time, chance and mutability, and the unique particu-
larity of the "this" and the "mine" — all these
appear to fall outside an individual Intuition. To
explain them away or to e.xplain them, one of these
courses seems necessary, and yet both seem impos-
sible. And this is a point on which I am anxious
to be clearly understood. I reject the offered
dilemma, and deny the necessity of a choice be-
tween these two courses. I fully recognise the
facts, I do not make the smallest attempt to explain
their origin, and I emphatically deny the need for
such an explanation. In the first place to show how
and why the universe is so that finite existence
belongs to it. is utterly impossible. That would
imply an understanding of the whole not practicable
for a mere part It would mean a view by the finite
from the Absolute's point of view, and in that con-
summation the finite would have been transmuted
and destroyed. But, in the second place, such an
understanding is wholly unnecessary. We have
not to choose between accounting for everything

ERROR.

'«5

(

on one side and on the other side admitting it as a
disproof of our doctrine of the Absolute. Such an
alternative is not logical. If you wish to refute a
wide theory based on general grounds, it is idle
merely to produce facts which upon it are not ex-
plained. For the inability to explain these may be
simply our failure in particular information, and it
need imply nothing worse than confirmation lacking
to the theory. The facts become an objection to the
doctrine when they are incompatible with some part
of it ; white, if they merely remain outside, that points
to incompleteness in detail and not falsity in prin-
ciple. A general doctrine is not destroyed by what
we fail to understand. It is destroyed only by that
which we actually do understand, and can show to
be inconsistent and discrepant with the theory
adopted.

And this is the real issue here. Error and evil
are no disproof of our absolute intuition so long as
we merely fail to see how in detail it comprehends
them. They are a disproof when their nature is
understood in such a way as to collide with the
Absolute. And the question is whether this under-
standing of them is correct. It is here that I
confidently join issue. If on this subject there
exists a false persuasion of knowledge, I urge that
it lies on the side of the objector. I maintain that
we know nothing of these various forms of the
finite which shows them incompatible with that
Absolute, for the accepting of which we have
general ground. And I meet the denial of this
position by pointing out assumed knowledge where
really there is ignorance. It is the objector who,
if any one, asserts omniscience. It is he who claims
to understand both the infinite and the finite, so
as to be aware and to be assured of their incompati-
bility. And I think that he much overestimates
the extent of human power. We cannot know that
the finite is in collision with the Absolute. And if

1 86

REALITY.

we cannot, and if, for all we understand, the two-
are at one and harmonious — then our conclusion is-
proved fully. For we have a general assurance I
that reality has a certain nature, and, on the other j
side, against that assurance we have to set nothing, ,
nothing other than our ignorance. But an assur-/
ance, against which there is nothing to be set, must/
surely be accepted. And 1 will begin first with Error.

Error is without any question a dangerous sub-
ject, and the chief difficulty is as follows. We
cannot, on the one hand, accept anything between
non-existence and reality, while, on the other hand,
error obstinately refuses to be either. It persistently
I attempts to maintain a third position, which appears
nowhere to e.xist, and yet somehow is occupied. In
false appearance there is something attributed to
the real which does not belong to it. But if the
appearance is not real, then it is not false appear-
ance, because it is nothing. On the other hand, if
it is false, it must therefore be true reality, for it i&
something which is. And this dilemma at first
■ sight seems insoluble. Or, to put it otherwise, an
appearance, which is, must fall somewhere. But
error, because it is false, cannot belong to the
Absolute ; and, again, it cannot appertain to the
finite subject, because that, with all its contentSr
cannot fall outside the Absolute ; at least, if it did,
it would be nothing. And so error has no home,
it has no place in existence ; and yet, for all that, it
exists. And for this reason it has occasioned much
doubt and difficulty.

For Psychology and for Logic the problem is
much easier. Error can be identified with wrong
inference, and can be compared on one side with a
typical model ; while, on the other side, we can
show by what steps it originates. But these en-
quiries, however interesting, would not much assist
us, and we must endeavour here to face the problem

ERROR.

187

more directly. We must take our stand on the
distinction between idea and reality.

Error is the same as false appearance,' or (if the
reader objects to this) it is at any rate one kind of
false appearance. Now appearance is content not
at one with its existence, a " what " loosened from
its " that." And in this sense we have seen that
every truth is appearance, since in it we have
divorce of quality from being (p. 163). The idea,
which is true, is the adjective of reality so far as its
content goes. It, so far, is restored, and belongs,
to existence. But an idea has also another side,
its own private being as something which is and
happens. And an idea, as content, is alienated
from this its own existence as an event. Even
where you take a presented whole, and predicate
one or more features, our account still holds good.
For the content predicated has now become alien
to its existence. On the one side it has not been
left in simple unity with the whole, nor again, as
predicated, is it a feature, so far. that is, as made inta
another and separate fact. In "sugar is sweet"
the sweetness asserted of the sugar is not the
sweetness so far as divided from it and turned into
a second thing in our minds. This thing has its
own being there, and to predicate it, as such, of the
sugar would clearly be absurd. In respect of its
own existence the idea is therefore always a mere
appearance. And this character of divorce fron>
its private reality becomes usually still more patent,
where the idea is not taken from presentation but
supplied by reproduction. Wherever the predicate
is seen to be supplied from an image, the existence
of that image can be seen at once not to be the
predicate. It is something clearly left outside of
the judgment and quite disregarded.*

Appearance then will be the looseness of char-

' See more, Chapter xxvi.
* Compare p. 164.

i88

REALITY.

acter from being, the distinction of immediate oneness
into two sides, a "that" and a "what." And this
looseness tends further to harden into fracture and
into the separation of two sundered existences.
Appearance will be truth when a content, made
alien to its own being, is related to some fact which
accepts its qualification. The true idea is appear-
ance in respect of its own being as fact and event,
liut is reality in connection with other being which
it qualifies. Error, on the other hand, is content
made loose from its own reality, and related to a
reality with which it is discrepant. It is the re-
jection of an idea by existence which is not the
existence of the idea as made loose. It is the
repulse by a substantive of a liberated adjective.'
Thus it is an appearance which not only appears,
but is false. It is in other words the collision of a
mere idea with reality.

There are serious problems with regard both to
■error and truth, and the distinction between them,
which challenge our scrutiny. I think it better
however to defer these to later chapters. I will
therefore limit here the enquiry, so far as is possible,
and will consider two main questions. Error is
content neither at one with its own being, nor
otherwise allowed to be an adjective of the real.
If so, we must ask (i) why it cannot be accepted
by reality, and (2) how it still actually can belong
to reality ; for we have seen that this last conclusion
is necessary.

I. Error is rejected by reality because that is
harmonious, and is taken necessarily to be so, while
error, on the other hand, is self-contradictory. I do
not mean that it is a content merely not at one (if
that were possible) with its own mere being.* I

' Whether the adjective has been liberated from this substan-
tive or from another makes no difference.

* In the end no finite predicate or subject can possibly We
harmonious.

ERROR.

189

mean that its inner character, as ideal, is itself dis-
cordant and self-discrepant. But I should prefer
not to call error a predicate which contradicts itself.
For that might be taken as a statement that the
contradiction already is present in the mere pre-
dicate, before judgment is attempted ; and this, if
defensible, would be misleading. Error is the
qualification of a reality in such a way that in
the result it has an inconsistent content, which for
that reason is rejected. Where existence has a
"what" colliding within itself, there the predication
of this "what" is an erroneous judgment. If a
reality is self-consistent, and its further determina-
tion has introduced discord, there the addition is
the mistake, and the reality is unaffected. It is
unaffected, however, solely on the assumption that
its own nature in no way suggested and called in the
discordant. For otherwise the whole result is in-
fected with falseness, and the reality could never
have been pure from discrepancy.'

It will perhaps tend to make clearer this general
view of error if I defend it against some possible
objections. Error is supposed by some persons to
be a departure from e.xperience, or from what is
given merely. It is again taken sometimes as the
confusion of internal image with outward sensation.
But any such views are of course most superficial.
Quite apart from the difficulty of finding anything
merely given, and the impossibility of always using
actual present sensation as a test of truth — without
noticing the strange prejudice that outward sensa-
tions are never false, and the dull blindness which
fails to realize that the " inward " is a fact just as
solid as the "outward " — we may dismiss the whole
objection. For, if the given has a content which is
not harmonious, then, no matter in what sense we

* The doctrine here is stated subject to correction in Chapter
xxiv. No finite predicate or subject can really be self-consistent.

igo

REALITY.

like to take "given," that content is not real. And
any attempt, either to deny this, or to maintain that
in the given there is never discrepancy, may be
left to itself. But I will go on to consider the
same view as it wears a more plausible form. " We
do not," I may be told, "add or take away predic-
ates simply at our pleasure. We do not, so long
as this arbitrary result does not visibly contradict
itself, consider it true." And I have not said that
we should do this.

Outside known truth and error we may, of course,
have simple ignorance.' An assertion, that is, must
in every case be right or be wrong ; but, for us and
for the present, it may not yet be either. Still, on
the other hand, we do know that, if the statement
is an error, it will be so because its content collides
internally. " But, no," I may hear the reply, " this
is really not the case. Take the statement that at
a certain time an event did or did not happen.
This would be erroneous because of disagreement
with fact, and not always because it is inconsistent
with itself." Still I must insist that we have some
further reason for condemning this want of corre-
spondence with fact. For why, apart from such a
reason, should either we or the fact make an ob-
jection to this defect ? Suppose that when William
has been hung, I assert that it was John. My
assertion will then be false, because the reality does
not admit of both events, and because William is
certain. And if so, then after all my error surely
will consist in giving to the real a self-discrepant
content. For otherwise, when John is suggested,
I could not reject the idea. I could only say that
certainly it was William, and might also, for all that
I knew, be John too. But in our actual practice we
proceed thus : since " both John atui William "
forms a discordant content, that statement is in

' For further explanation, see Chapter xxvii.

ERROR.

191

-error — here to the extent of John.' In the same
way, if where no man is you insist on John's
presence, then, without discussing here the nature
of the privative judgment,* we can understand tlie
mistake. You are trying to force on the reality
something which would make it inconsistent, and
which therefore is erroneous. But it would be alike
easy and idle to pursue the subject further ; and I
must trust that, to the reader who reflects, our
main conclusion is already made good. Error is
qualification by the self-discrepant. We must not,
if we take the predicate in its usual sense, in all
cases place the contradiction within that. But where
■discrepancy is found in the result of qualification, it
is there that we have error. And I will now pass
to the second main problem of this chapter.

2. The question is about the relation of error
to the Absolute. HojAr_is^ it possible for false ^'
appearance to take its place^wlttiTn reality ? We
have to some extent perceived in what error consists,
but we still are confronted by our original problem.
Qualification by the self- discrepant exists as a fact,
and yet how can it be real ? The self-contradiction
in the content both belongs, and is unable to
belong, to reality. The elements related, and their
synthesis, and their reference to existence — these
are things not to be got rid of You may condemn
them, but your condemnation cannot act as a spell
to abolish them wholly. If they were not there,
you could not judge them, and then you judge them
not to be; or you pronounce them apparently some-
how to exist without really existing. What is the
exit from this puzzle ?

There is no way but in accepting the whole mass
of fact, and in then attempting to correct it and

' I do not here touch the question why John is sacrificed
rather than William (or both). On this, see Chapter xxiv.
' See Chapter xxvii.

192

REALITY,

make

it good. Error is truth, it is partial truth, t
that is false only because partial and left incomplete. I
The Absolute has without subtraction all those
qualities, and it has every arrangement which we
seem to confer upon it by our mere mistake. The
only mistake lies in our failure to give also the
complement. The reality owns the discordance and
the discrepancy of false appearance ; but it pos-
sesses also much else in which this jarring character
is swallowed up and is dissolved in fuller harmony.
I do not mean that by a mere re-arrangement of
the matter which is given to us, we could remove
its contradictions. For. being limited, we cannot
apprehend all the details of the whole. And we
must remember that every old arrangement, con-
demned as erroneous, itself forms part of that
detail. To know all the elements of the universe,

\ with all the conjunctions of those elements, good
and bad, is impossible for finite minds. And hence
obviously we are unable throughout to reconstruct
our discrepancies. But we can comprehend in
general what we cannot see exhibited in detail.
We cannot understand how in the Absolute a rich
harmony embraces every special discord. But, on
the other hand, we may be sure that this result is
reached ; and we can even gain an imperfect view
of the effective principle. I will try to explain this
latter statement.

There is only one way to get rid of contradiction,

land that way is by dissolution. Instead of one subject
distracted, we get a larger subject with distinctions,
and so the tension is removed. We have at first
A, which possesses the qualities c and b, incon-
sistent adjectives which collide ; and we go on to
produce harmony by making a distinction within
this subject. That was really not mere A, but
either a complex within A, or (rather here) a wider
whole in which A is included, The real subject
is A -f- D ; and this subject contains the contradic-

ERROR.

'93

tion made harmless by division, since A is f and D
is b. This is the general principle, and I will
attempt here to apply it in particular. Let us
suppose the reality to\i^Y^ (a b c d e f g . . . ),
and that we are able only to get partial views of
this reality. Let us first take such a view as
" X {a b) is A." This (rightly or wrongly) we should
probably call a true view. For the content b does
plainly belong to the subject ; and, further, the
appearance also — in other words, the separation of
b in the predicate — can partly be explained. For,
answering to this separation, we postulate now
another adjective in the subject; let us call it jS.
The " thatness," the psychical existence of the pre-
dicate, which at first was neglected, has now also
itself been included in the subject. We may hence
write the subject as X {a b 13) ; and in this way we
seem to avoid contradiction. Let us go further on
the same line, and, having dealt with a truth, pass
next to an error. Take the subject once more as
\ (a b c d e . . . ), and let us now say " X {a b)
is d." This is false, because d is not present in the
subject, and so we have a collision. But the collision
is resolved if we take the subject, not as mere X
{a b), but more widely as K {a b c d). In this case
the predicate rt^ becomes applicable. Thus the error
consisted in the reference of d to a b ; 3.s it might
have consisted in like manner in the reference of
a b to c, or again of c to d. All of these exist in
the subject, and the reality possesses with each both
its " what " and its " that." But not content with a
provisional separation of these indissoluble aspects,
not satisfied (as in true appearance) to have aa, b^,
and d^ — forms which may typify distinctions that
bring no discord into the qualities — we have gone
on further into error. We have not only loosened
"what" from "that," and so have made appear-
ance ; but we have in each case then bestowed the
" what " on a wrong quality within the real subject.
A. R. o

194

REALITY.

We have crossed the threads of the connection
between our " whats " and our " thats," and have
thus caused collision, a collision which disappears
when things are taken as a whole.

I confess that I shrink from using metaphors,
since they never can suit wholly. The writer
tenders them unsuspiciously as a possible help in a
common difficulty. And so he subjects himself,
perhaps, to the captious ill-will or sheer negligence
of his reader. Still to those who will take it for what
it is, I will offer a fiction. Suppose a collection of
beings whose souls in the night walk about without
their bodies, and so make new relations. On their
return in the morning we may imagine that the pos-
sessors feel the benefit of this divorce ; and we may
therefore call it truth. But, if the wrong soul with
its experience came back to the wrong body, that
might typify error. On the other hand, perhaps the
ruler of this collection of beings may perceive very
well the nature of the collision. And it may even
be that he provokes it. For how instructive and
how amusing to observe in each case the conflict of
sensation with imported and foreign experience.
Perhaps no truth after all could be half so rich and
half so true as the result of this wild discord — to one
who sees from the centre. And, if so, error will
come merely from isolation and defect, from the
limitation of each being to the " this " and the
" mine."

But our account, it will fairly be objected, is
untenable because incomplete. For error is tio/\
merely negative. The content, isolated and so '
discordant, is after all held together in a positive
discord. And so the elements may exist, and their
relations to their subjects may all be there in the
Absolute, together with the complements which
make them all true, and yet the problem is not
solved. For the point of error, when all is said, lies

ERROK.

in this ver)'^ insistence on the partial and discrepant,
and this discordant emphasis will fall outside of

every possible rearrangement. I admit this objec--^
ti'on. and I endorse it. The problem of error can- '^^^-V
not be solved by an enlarged scheme of relations.^^" < ]
Each misarrangement cannot be taken up wholly ^
as an element in the compensations of a harmonious ~\.:^
mechanism. For there is a positive sense and a ^ C,
specific character which marks each appearance, and^TS ', _J?
this will still fall outside. Hence, while all thatjT^
appears somehow is, all has not been accounted for/
by any rearrangement.

But on the other side the Absolute is not, and can
not be thought as, any scheme of relations. If we
keep to these, there is no harmonious unity in the i
whole. The Absolute is beyond a mere arrange- '
ment, however well compensated, though an
arrangement is assuredly one aspect of its being.x '

I Reality, consists, as we saw, in a higher experience,!
superior to the distinctions which it includes and
overrides. And. with this, the last objection to the
transformation of error has lost its basis. The one-
sided emphasis of error, its isolation as positive and
as not dissoluble in a wider connection — this agpin
will contribute, we know not how, to the harmony
of the Absolute. It will be another detail, which,
together with every " what " and " that " and their
relations, will be absorbed into the whole and will
subserve its perfection.

On this view there still are problems as to error
and truth which we must deal with hereafter. But
the main dilemma as to false appearance has, I
think, been solved. That both exists and is, as
such, not real. Its arrangement becomes true in a
wider rearrangement of *' what " and of " that."
Error is truth when it is supplemented. And its
positive isolation also is reducible, and exists as a
mere element within the whole. Error is, but is not
barely what it takes itself to be. And its mere

196

REALITY.

onesidedness again is but a partial emphasis, a note
of insistence which contributes, we know not how,
to greater energy of life. And, if so, the whole
problem has, so far. been disposed of.

Now that this solution cannot be verified, in the
sense of being made out in detail, is not an ad-
mission on my part It is rather a doctrine which
1 assert and desire to insist on. It is impossible for
us to show, in the case of every error, how in the
whole it is made good. It is impossible, even
apart from detail, to realize how the relational form
is in general absorbed. But, upon the other hand.
I deny that our solution is either unintelligible or
impossible. And possibility here is all that wei
want. For we have seen that the Absolute must be\
a harmonious system. We have first perceived!
this in general, and here specially, in the case of
error, we have been engaged in a reply to an alleged
negative instance. Our opponent's case has been
this, that the nature of error makes our harmony
impossible. And we have shown, on the other
side, that he possesses no such knowledge. We
have pointed out that it is at least possible for
errors to correct themselves, and, as such, to dis-
appear in a higher experience. But, if so, we ?nust
affirm that they are thus absorbed and made good.
For what impossible, and what a general principle
compels us to say must be. that certainly is.

CHAPTER XVII.

EVIL.

We have seen that error is compatible with absolute
perfection, and we now must try to reach the same i
result in the case of evil. Evil is a problem which
of course presents serious difficulties, but the worst
have been imported into it and rest on pure mistake.
It is here, as it is also with what is called " Free
Will." The trouble has come from the idea that
the Absolute is a moral person. If you start from
that basis, then the relation of evil to the Absolute
presents at once an irreducible dilemma. The
problem then becomes insoluble, but not because
it is obscure or in any way mysterious. To any
one who has sense and courage to see things as
they are, and is resolved not to mystify others or
himself, there is really no question to discuss. The
dilemma is plainly insoluble because it is based on a
clear self-contradiction, and the discussion of it here
would be quite uninstructive. It would concern us
only if we had reason to suppose that the Absolute
is (properly) moral. But we have no such reason,
and hereafter we may hope to convince ourselves
(Chapter xxv.). that morality cannot (as such) be
ascribed to the Absolute. And, with this, the
problem becomes certainly no worse than many
others. Hence I would invite the reader to dis-
miss all hesitation and misgiving. If the questions
we ask prove unanswerable, that will certainly not
be because they are quite obscure or unintelligible.
It will be simply because the data we possess are

198

KEAHTY.

insufficient. But let us at all events try to under-
stand what it is that we seek.

Evil has, we all know, several meanings. It may
be taken (I.) as pain, (II.) as failure to realize end,
and (HI.), specially, as immorality. The fuller
consideration of the last point must be postponed to
a later chapter, where we can deal better with the
relation of the finite person to the Absolute.

I. No one of course can deny that pain actually
exists, and I at least should not dream of denying
that it is evil. But we failed to see, on the other
hand, how pain, as such, can possibly exist in the
Absolute.' Hence, it being admitted that pain has
actual existence, the question is whether its nature
can be transmuted. Can its painfulness disappear
in a higher unity ? If so, it will e.\ist, but will have
ceased to be pain when considered on the whole.

We can to some extent verify in our actual ex-
perience the neutralization of pain. It is quite
certain that small pains are often wholly swallowed
up in a larger composite pleasure. And the asser-
tion that, in all these cases, they have been destroyed
and not merged, would most certainly be baseless.
To suppose that my condition is never pleasant on
the whole while I still have an actual local pain, is
directly opposed to fact. In a composite state the
pain doubtless will detract from the pleasure, but
still we may have a resultant which is pleasurable
wholly. Such a balance is all that we want in the
case of absolute perfection.

We shall certainly so far have done nothing to
confute the pessimist. " I accept," he will reply,
" your conclusion in general as to the existence of a
balance. I quite agree that in the resultant one

' Chapter xiv. This conclusion is somewhat modified in
Chapter xxvii., but, for the sake of clearness, I state it here
unconditionally. The reader can correct afterwards, so far as is
required, the results of the present chapter.

EVIL.

199

feature is submerged. But, unfortunately for your
view, that feature really is not pain but pleasure
The universe, taken as a whole, suffers therefore
sheer pain and is hence utterly evil." But 1 do not
propose to undertake here an examination of pes-
simism. That would consist largely in the weighing
of psychological arguments on either side, and the
result of these is in my opinion fatal to pessimism.
In the world, which we observe, an impartial-
scrutiny will discover more pleasure than pain, '
though it is difficult to estimate, and easy to exag-
gerate, the amount of the balance. Still I must
confess that, apart from this, I should hold to my
conclusion. I should still believe that in the
universe there is preponderance of pleasure. The
presumption in its favour is based on a principle
from which I see no escape (Chapter xiv.), while
the world we see is probably a very small part of
the reality. Our general principle must therefore
be allowed to weigh down a great deal of particular
appearance ; and, if it were necessary, I would with-
out scruple rest my case on this argument But, on
the contrary, no such necessity exists. The ob-
served facts are clearly, on the whole, in favour of
some balance of pleasure. They, in the main, serve
to support our conclusion from principle, and pess-
imism may, without hesitation, be dismissed.

We have found, so far, that there is a possibility
of pain ceasing, as such, to exist in the Absolute.
We have .shown that this possibility can to some
extent be verified in experience. And we have a
general presumption in favour of an actual balance
of pleasure. Hence once more here, as before with
error, possibility is enough. For what may be, if it"
also must be, assuredly is.

There are readers, perhaps, who will desire to go
farther. It might be urged that in the Absolute
pain not merely is lost, but actually serves as a kind
of stimulus to heighten the pleasure. And doubt-

200

REALITY.

less this possibly may be the case ; but I can see no
good reason for taking it as fact. In the Absolute
there probably is no pleasure outside of finite souls
(Chapter xxvii.) ; and we have no reason to sup-
pose that those we do not see are happier than those
which we know. Hence, though this is possible,
we are not justified in asserting it as more. For
we have no right to go farther than our principle
requires. But, if there is a balance of clear pleasure,
that principle is satisfied, for nothing then stands in
the way of the Absolute's perfection. It is a mistake
to think that perfection is made more perfect by
increase of quantity (Chapter xx.).

II. Let us go on to consider evil as waste, fail-
ure, and confusion. The whole world seems to a
large extent the sport of mere accident. Nature
and our life show a struggle in which one end per-
haps is realized, and a hundred are frustrated.
This is an old complaint, but it meets an answer in
an opposing doubt. Is there really any such thing
as an end in Nature at all .'' For, if not, clearly there
is no evil, in the sense in which at present we are
taking the word. But we must postpone the discus-
sion of this doubt until we have gained some under-
standing of what Nature is to mean.' I will for the
present admit the point of view which first supposes"^
ends in Nature, and then objects that they are fail-
ures. And I think that this objection is not hard
to dispose of. The ends which fail, we may reply, ,-''
are ends selected by ourselves and selected more
or less erroneously. They are too partial, as wt
have taken them, and, if included in a larger end to
which they are relative, they cease to be failures.
They, in short, subserve a wider scheme, and in
that they are realized. It is here with evil as it
was before with error. That was lost in higher

' For the question of ends in Nature see Chapters x.xii. and
xxvi.

EVIL.

20 1

truth to which it was subordinate, and in which, as
such, it vanished. And with partial ends, in Nature
or in human lives, the same principle will hold. Idea
and existence we find not to agree, and this dis-
cord we call evil. But, when these two sides are
enlarged and each taken more widely, both may well
come together. I do not mean, of course, that every
finite end, as such, is realized. I mean that it is
lost, and becomes an element, in a wider idea which
is one with e.vistence. And, as with error, even our
onesidedness, our insistence and our disappointment,
may somehow all subserve a harmony and go to
perfect it. The aspects of idea and of existence
may be united in one great whole, in which evil,
and even ends, as such, disappear. To verify this
consummation, or even to see how in detail it can
be, are both impossible. But, for all that, such per-
fection in its general idea is Intelligible and possible.
And, because the Absolute is perfect, this harmony
must also exist. For that which is both possible ||
and necessary we are bound to think real.

III. Moral evil presents us with further difficul-
ties. Here it is not a question simply of defect, and
of the failure in outward existence of that inner idea
which we take as the end. We are concerned fur-
ther with a positive strife and opposition. We have
an idea in a subject, an end which strives to gain
reality ; and on the other side, we have the exist-
ence of the same subject. This existence not merely
fails to correspond, but struggles adversely, and the
collision is felt as such. In our moral experience
we find this whole fact given beyond question. We
suffer within ourselves a contest of the good and
bad wills and a certainty of evil. Nay, if we please,
we may add that this discord is necessary, since
without it morality must wholly perish.

And this necessity of discord shows the road
into the centre of our problem. Moral evil exists

_. 202

REALITY.

only in moral experience, and that experience in its
essence is full of inconsistency. For morality I
desires unconsciously, with the suppression of evil, I
to become wholly non-moral. It certainly would
shrink from this end, but it thus unknowingly
desires the existence and perpetuity of evil. I
shall have to return later to this subject (Chapter
XXV.), and for the present we need keep hold merely
of this one point. Morality itself, which makes evil,
desires in evil to remove a condition of its own
being;. It labours essentially to pass into a super-
moral and therefore a non-moral sphere.

But, if we will follow it and will frankly adopt this
tendency, we may dispose of our difficulty. For the
content, willed as evil and in opposition to the good,
can enter as an element into a wider arrangement.
Evil, as we say (usually without meaning it), is over-
ruled and subserves. It is enlisted and it plays a
part in a higher good end, and in this sense, un-
knowingly is good. Whether and how far it is as
good as the will which is moral, is a question later
to be discussed. All that we need understand here
is that " Heaven's design," if we may speak so, can
realize itself as effectively in " Catiline or Borgia"
as in the scrupulous or innocent. For the higher
end is super-moral, and our moral end here has been
confined, and is therefore incomplete. As before
with physical evil, the discord as such disappears,
if the harmony is made wide enough.

But it will be said truly that in moral evil we have
something additional. We have not the mere fact
of incomplete ends and their isolation, but we have
in addition a positive felt collision in the self. And
this cannot be explained away, for it has to fall
within the Absolute, and it makes there a discord
which remains unresolved. But our old principle
may still serve to remove this objection. The col-
lision and the strife may be an element in some
fuller realization. Just as in a machine the resist-

EVIL.

203

ance and pressure of the parts subserves an end
beyond any of them, if regarded by itself — so at a
much higher level it may be with the Absolute.
Not only the collision but that specific feeling, by
which it is accompanied and aggravated, can be
taken up into an all-inclusive perfection. We do
not know how this is done, and ingenious metaphors
(if we could find them) would not serve to explain
it. For the explanation vi^ould tend to wear the
form of qualities in relation, a form necessarily (as
we have seen) transcended in the Absolute. Such
a perfect way of existence would, however, reconcile
our jarring discords ; and I do not see how we can
deny that such a harmony is possible. But, if pos-
sible, then, as before, it is indubitably real. For, 1
on the one side, we have an overpowering reason
for maintaining it ; while upon the other side, so
far as I can see, we have nothing.

I will mention in passing another point, the
unique sense of personality which is felt strongly in
evil. But I must defer its consideration until we
attack the problem of the "mine" and the "this"
(Chapter xix.). And I will end here with some
words on another source of danger. There is a
warning which I may be allowed to impress on the
reader. We have used several times already with
diverse subject-matters the same form of argument.
All differences, we have urged repeatedly, come to-
gether in the Absolute. In this, how we do not
know, all distinctions are fused, and all relations
disappear. And there is an objection which may
probably at some point have seemed plausible.
" Yes," I may be told, " it is too true that all differ-
ence is gone. First with one real existence, and
then afterwards with another, the old argument is
brought out and the old formula applied. There is
no variety in the solution, and hence in each case
the variety is lost to the Absolute. Along with

204

REALITY.

[

these distinctions all character has wholly disap-
peared, and the Absolute stands outside, an empty
residue and bare Thing-in-itself." This would be
a serious misunderstanding. It is true that we do
not know how the Absolute overrides the relational
form. But it does not follow from this that, when
the relational form is gone, the result is really poorer.
It is true that with each problem we cannot say
how its special discords are harmonized. But is
this to deny the reality of diverse contents in the
Absolute ? Because in detail we cannot tell in what
each solution consists, are we therefore driven to-
assert that all the detail is abolished, and that our
Absolute is a Hat monotony of emptiness .'' This
would indeed be illogical. For though we do not
know in each case what the solution can be, we know
that in every case it contains the whole of the
variety. We do not know how all these partial
unities come together in the Absolute, but we may
be sure that the content of not one is obliterated.
The Absolute is the richer for every discord, and
for all diversity which it embraces ; and it is our
ignorance only in which consists the poverty of our."\, 'j,
object. Our knowledge must be poor because it is i J
abstract. We cannot specify the concrete nature "^vj
of the Absolute's riches, but with every region of - «!
phenomenal existence we can say that it possesses
so much more treasure. Objections and problems,
one after the other, are not shelved merely, but each
is laid up as a positive increase of character in the
reality. Thus a man might be ignorant of the exact
shape in which his goods have been realized, and
yet he might be rationally assured that, with each
fresh alienation of visible property, he has somehow
corresponding wealth in a superior form.

CHAPTER XVIII.

TEMPORAL AND SPATIAL APPEARANCE.

Both time and space have been shown to be un-
real as such. We found in both such contradictions
that to predicate either of the reality was out of
the question. Time and space are mere appear-
ance, and that result is quite certain. Both, on the
other hand, exist ; and both must somehow in some
way belong to our Absolute. Still a doubt may be
raised as to this being possible.
To explain time and space,

showing how such appearances

in the sense of
come to be, and
again how without contradiction they can be real
in the Absolute, is certainly not my object. Any-
thing of the kind, I am sure, is impossible. And
what I wish to insist on is this, that such knowledge
is not necessary. What we require to know is only
that these appearances are not incompatible with
our Absolute. They have been urged as instances
fatal to any view such as ours ; and this objection,
we must reply, is founded on mistake. Space and
time give no ground for the assertion that our
Absolute is not possible. And, in their case once
more, we must urge the old argument. Since it is
possible that these appearances can be resolved into
a harmony which both contains and transcends
them ; since again it is necessary, on our main prin-
ciple, that this should be so — it therefore truly is
real. But let us examine these appearances more
closely, and consider time first.

It is unnecessary to take up the question of time's

206

REALITY.

origin. To show it as [produced psycholojjically
from timeless elements is, I should say, not possible.
Its perception generally may supervene at some
stage of our development ; and, at all events in its
complete form, that perception is clearly a result.
But, if we take the sense of time in its most simple
and undeveloped shape, it would be difficult to show
that it was not there from the first. But this whole
question, however answered, has little importance
for Metaphysics. We might perhaps draw, if we
could assume that time has been developed, some
presumption in favour of its losing itself once more
in a product which is higher. But it is hardly worth
while to consider this presumption more closely.

Passing from this point I will reply to an objec-
tion from fact. If time is not unreal, I admit that
our Absolute is a delusion ; but, on the other side
it will be urged that time cannot be mere appear-
ance. The change in the finite subject, we are told.
is a matter of direct experience ; it is a fact, and
hence it cannot be explained away. And so much
of course is indubitable. Change is a fact, and, fur-
ther, this fact, as such, is not reconcilable with the
Absolute. And, if we could not in any way per-l
ceive how the fact can be unreal, we shoidd be placed.
I admit, in a hopeless dilemma. For we should
have a view as to reality which we could not give
up, and should, on the other hand, have an exist-
ence in contradiction with that view. But our real
position is very different from this. For time has
been shown to contradict itself, and so to be appear-
ance. With this, its discord, we see at once, may
pass as an element into a wider harmony. And.j
with this, the appeal to fact at once becomes worth-1
less.

It is mere superstition to suppose that an appeal
to experience can prove reality. That I find some-
thing in existence in the world or in my self, shows
that this something exists, and it cannot show more.

TKMPORAL AND SPATIAL APPEARANCE.

207

Any deliverance of consciousness — whether original
or acquired — is but a deliverance of consciousness.
It is in no case an oracle and a revelation which we
have to accept. It is a fact, like other facts, to be
dealt with ; and there is no presumption anywhere
that any fact is better than appearance. The
"given" of course is given; it must be recognised,
and it cannot be ignored. But between recognising
a datum and receiving blindly its content as reality
is a very wide interval. We may put it thus once ■
for all — there is nothing given which is sacred.
Metaphysics can respect no element of experience
except on compulsion. It can reverence nothing
but what by criticism and denial the more unmis-
takably asserts itself.

Time is so far from enduring the test of criticism,
that at a touch it falls apart and proclaims itself
illusory. I do not propose to repeat the detail of
its self-contradiction ; for that I take as exhibited
once for all in our First Book. What I must at-
tempt here first is to show how by its inconsistency
time directs us beyond itself It points to some-
thing higher in which it is included and transcended.

I, In the first place change, as we saw (Chapter \^
v.), must be relative to a permanent. Doubtless
here was a contradiction which we found was not
soluble. But, for all that, the fact remains that change
demands some permanence within which succession
happens. I do not say that this demand is con-
sistent, and, on the contrary, I wish to emphasize
the point that it is not so. It is inconsistent, and
yet it is none the less essential. And I urge that
therefore change desires to pass beyond simple
change. It seeks to become a change which is
somehow consistent with permanence. Thus, in
asserting itself, time tries to commit suicide as
itself, to transcend its own character and to be taken
up in what is higher.

ao8

REALITY.

2. And we may draw this same conclusion from
another inconsistency. The relation of the present
to the future and to the past shows once more
time's attempt to transcend its own nature. Any''
lapse, that for any purpose you taice as one period,
becomes forthwith a present. And then this lapse
is treated as if it existed all at once. For how
otherwise could it be spoken of as one thing at all .■'
Unless it is, I do not see how we have a right to
regard it as possessing a character. And unless it
is present, I am quite unable to understand with
what meaning we can assert that it is. And, I
think, the common behaviour of science might have
been enough by itself to provoke reflection on this
head. We may say that science, recognising on the
one side, on the other side quite ignores the e.vist-
ence of time. For it habitually treats past and
future as one thing with the present (Chapter viii.).
The character of an existence is determined by
what it has been and by what it is (potentially)
about to be. But if these attributes, on the other
hand, are not present, how can they be real ? Again
in establishing a Law, itself without special relation
to time, science treats facts from various dates as all
possessing the same value. Yet how, if we seriously
mean to take time as real, can the past be reality ?
It would, I trust, be idle to expand here these ob-
vious considerations. They should suffice to point
out that for science reality at least irtcs to be time-
less, and that succession, as such, can be treated as
something without rights and as mere appearance.

3. This same tendency becomes visible in another
application. The whole movement of our mind
implies disregard of time. Not only does intellect
accept what is true once for true always, and thus
fearlessly take its stand on the Identity of Indiscern-
ibles — not only is this so, but the whole mass of
what is called "Association" implies the same prin-
ciple. For such a connection does not hold except

TEMPORAL AND SPATIAL APPEARANCE.

209

between universals.' The associated elements are
divorced from their temporal context ; they are set
free in union, and ready to form fresh unions without
regard for time's reality. This is in effect to de-
grade time to the level of appearance. But our
entire mental life, on the other hand, has its move-
ment through this law. Our whole being practically
implies it, and to suppose that we can rebel would
be mere self-deception. Here again we have found
the irresistible tendency to transcend time. We are
forced once more to see in it the false appearance
of a timeless reality.

It will be objected perhaps that in this manner
we do not get rid of time. In those eternal con-
nections which rule in darkness our lowest psychical
nature, or are used consciously by science, succes-
sion may remain. A law is not always a law of
what merely coexists, but it often gives the relation
of antecedent and sequent. The remark is true,
but certainly it could not show that time is self-
consistent. And it is the inconsistency, and hence
the self-transcendence of time which here we are
urging. This temporal succession, which persists
still in the causal relation, does but secure to the
end the old discrepancy. It resists, but it cannot
remove, time's inherent tendency to pass beyond
itself. Time is an appearance which contradicts
itself, and endeavours vainly to appear as an attri-
bute of the timeless.

It might be instructive here to mention other
spheres, where we more visibly treat mere existence
in time as appearance. But we perhaps have al-
ready said enough to establish our conclusion ; and
our result, so far, will be this. Time is not real as
such, and it proclaims its unreality by its inconsistent
attempt to be an adjective of the timeless. It is an
appearance which belongs to a higher character in

' On these points see my PriiuipUs of Logic, and, below,
Chapter xxiii.

A. R. P

2IO

REALITY.

which its special quality is merged. Its own tem-
poral nature does not there cease wholly to exist
but is thoroughly transmuted. It is counterbalanced
and, as such, lost within an all-inclusive harmony.
The Absolute is timeless, but it possesses time as
an isolated aspect, an aspect which, in ceasing to be
isolated, loses its special character. It is there, but
blended into a whole which we cannot realize.
But that we cannot realize it, and do not know how
in particular it can exist, does not show it to be
impossible. It is possible, and, as before, its possi-
bility is enough. For that which can be, and upon
, a general ground must be — that surely is real.

And it would be better perhaps if I left the
matter so. For, if I proceed and do my best to
bring home to our minds time's unreality, I may
expect misunderstanding. I shall be charged with
attempting to explain, or to explain away, the nature
of our fact; and no notice will be taken of my pro-
tests that I regard such an attempt as illusory.
For (to repeat it) we can know neither how time
comes to appear, nor in what particular way its
appearance is transcended. However, for myself
and for the reader who will accept them as what
ihey are, I will add .some remarks. There are con-
siderations which help to weaken our belief in
time's solidity. It is no mass which stands out
and declines to be engulfed. It is a loose image
confusedly thrown together, and that, as we gaze,
falls asunder,

I. The first point which will engage us is the
unity of time. We have no reason, in my opinion,
to regard time as one succession, and to take all
phenomena as standing in one temporal connection.
We have a tendency, of course, to consider all times
as forming parts of a single series. Phenomena, it
seems clear, are all alike events which happen ; '

1 On this point see Chapter xxiiL

TKMPORAL AND SPATIAL APPEARANCE.

and, since they happen, we go on to a further con
elusion. We regard them as members in one tem-
poral whole, and standing therefore throughout to
one another in relations of "before" and "after"
or "together." But this conclusion has no warrant.
For there is no valid objection to the existence of
any number of independent time-series. In these
the internal events would be interrelated tempor-
arily, but each series, as a series and as a whole,
would have no temporal connection with anything
outside. I mean that in the universe we might
have a set of diverse phenomenal successions. The
events in each of these would, of course, be related
in time, but the series themselves need not have
temporal relation to one another. The events, that
is, in one need not be after, or before, or together
with, the events in any other. In the Absolute they
would not have a temporal unity or connection ;
and, for themselves, they would not possess any
relations to other series,

I will illustrate my meaning from our own human
experience, When we dream, or when our minds
go wandering uncontrolled, when we pursue imag-
inary histories, or exercise our thoughts on some
mere supposed sequence — we give rise to a problem.
There is a grave question, if we can see it. For
within these successions the events have temporal
connection, and yet, if you consider one series with
another, they have no unity in time. And they are
not connected in time with what we call the course
of our " real " events. Suppose that I am asked how
the occurrences in the tale of Imogen are related
in time to each adventure of Sindbad the Sailor,
and how these latter stand to my dream-events both
of last night and last year — such questions surely
have no meaning. Apart from the chance of local
colour we see at once that between these temporal
occurrences there is no relation of time. You can-
not say that one comes before, or comes after, the

212

REALITY.

-1

Other. And again to date these events by their
appearance in my mental world would be surely
preposterous. It would be to arrange all events,
told of by books in a library, according to the various
dates of publication — the same story repeating itself
in fact with every edition, and to-day's newspaper
and history simultaneous throughout. And this
absurdity perhaps may help us to realize that the
successive need have no temporal connection.

" Yes, but," I may be told, " all these series,
imaginary as well as real, are surely dated as events
in my mental history. They have each their place
there, and so beyond it also in the one real time-
series. And, however often a story may be repeated
in my mind, each occasion has its own date and its
temporal relations." Indubitably so, but such an
answer is quite insufficient. For observe first that
it admits a great part of what we urge. It has to
allow plainly that the times within our " unreal "
series have no temporal interrelation. Otherwise,
for instance, the time-succession, when a story is
repeated, would infect the contents, and would so
make repetition impossible. I wish first to direct
notice to this serious and fatal admission.

But, when we consider it, the objection breaks
down altogether. It is true that, in a sense and
more or less, we arrange all phenomena as events
in one series. But it does not follow that in the
universe, as a whole, the same tendency holds
good. It does not follow that all phenomena are
related in time. What is true of my events need
not hold good of all other events ; nor again is my
imperfect way of unity the pattern to which the
Absolute is confined.

What, to use common language, I call "real"
events are the phenomena which I arrange in a
continuous time-series. This has its oneness in the
identity of my personal e.xistence. What is pre-
sented is " real," and from this basis I construct a

TEMPORAL AND SPATIAL APPEARANCE.

time-series, both backwards and forwards ; and I
use as binding links the identical points in any con-
tent suggested.' This construction I call the "real'T
series, and whatever content declines to take its
place in my arrangement, I condemn as unreal.
And the process is justifiable within limits. If we-
mean only that there is a certain group of pheno-
mena, and that, for reality within this group, a
certain time-relation is essential, that doubtless is
true. But it is another thing to assert that every,
possible phenomenon has a place in this series.
And it is once more another thing to insist that
every time-series has a temporal unity in the
Absolute.

Let us consider the first point. If no phenomenon
is " real," except that which has a place in my
temporal arrangement, we have, first, left on our
hands the whole world of " Imagination." The fact
of succession there becomes " unreal," but it is not
got rid of by the application of any mere label.
And I will mention in passing another difficulty,
the disruption of my " real " series in mental disease.
But — to come to the principle —it is denied that
phenomena can exist unless they are in temporal
relation with my world. And I am able to find no
ground for this assumption. When I ask why, and
for what, reason, there cannot be changes of event,
imperceptible to me and apart from my time-series,
jl can discover no answer. So far as I can see,
khere may be many time-series in the Absolute, not
related at all for one another, and for the Absolute
without any unity of time.

And this brings us to the second point. For
phenomena to exist without inter-connection and
unity, I agree is impossible. But I cannot perceive
that this unity must either be temporal or else
nothing. That would be to take a way of regard -

1 For this construction see p. 84, and Principles of Logic,
Chapter ii.

-1- ' * • .

214

REAi.rrv.

ing things which even we find imperfect, and to set
it down as the one way which is possible for the
Absolute. But surely the Absolute is not shut
up within our human limits. Already we have seen
that its harmony is something beyond relations.
And, if so, surely a number of temporal .series may,
without any relation in time to one another, find a
way of union within its all-inclusive perfection.
But, if so, time will not be one, in the sense of
forming a single series. There will be many times,
all of which are at one in the Eternal — the pos-
sessor of temporal events and yet timeless. We
have, at all events, found no shred of evidence for
any other unity of time.

2. I will pass now to another point, the direction
of time. Just as we tend to assume that all pheno-
mena form one series, so we ascribe to every series
one single direction. But this assumption too is
baseless. It is natural to set up a point in the
future towards which all events run, or from which
they arrive, or which may seem to serve in some
other way to give direction to the stream. But
examination soon shows the imperfection of this
natural view. For the direction, and the distinction
between past and future, entirely depends upon our
experience.' That side, on which fresh sensations
come in, is what we mean by the future. In our
perception of change elements go out, and some-
thing new comes to us constantly ; and we construct
the time-series entirely with reference to this ex-
perience. Thus, whether we regard events as
running forwards from the past, or as emerging
from the future, in any case we use one method of
taking our bearings. Our fixed direction is given
solely by the advent of new arrivals.

' See on this point Mind, xii. 579-82. We think forwards,
one may say, on the same principle on which fish feed with their
heads pointing up the stream.

TEMPORAL AND SPATIAL APPEARANCE,

215

But, if this is so, then direction is relative to our
world. You may object that it is fixed in the very
nature of things, and so imparts its own order to
our special sphere. Yet how this assumption can
be justified I do not understand. Of course there
is something not ourselves which makes this differ-
ence exist in our beings, something too which
compels us to arrange other lives and alt our facts
in one order. But must this something, therefore,
in reality and in itself, be direction ? I can find no
reason for thinking so. No doubt we naturally
regard the whole world of phenomena as a single
time-series ; we assume that the successive contents
' of every other finite being are arranged in this con-
struction, and we take for granted that their streams
all flow in one direction. But our assumption
clearly is not defensible. For let us suppose, first,
that there are beings who can come in contact in
no way with that world which we experience. Is
this supposition self- contradictory, or anything but
possible ? And let us suppose, next, that in the
Absolute the direction of these lives runs opposite
to our own, I ask again, is such an idea either
meaningless or untenable ? Of course, if in any
way / could experience /Aetr world, I should fail to
understand it. Death would come before birth, the
blow would follow the wound, and all must seem to
be irrational. It would seem to me so, but its
inconsistency would not exist except for my partial
experience. If I did not experience their order, to
me it would be nothing. Or, if I could see it from
a point of view beyond the limits of my life, I might
find a reality which itself had, as such, no direction.
And I might there perceive characters, which for
the several finite beings give direction to their lives,
which, as such, do not fall within finite experience,
and which, if apprehended, show do^A directions
harmoniously combined in a consistent intuition.
To transcend experience and to reach a world of

2l6

REALITY.

Things-in-themselves, I agree, is impossible. But
does it follow that the whole universe in every
sense is a possible object of my experience ? Is
the collection of things and persons, which makes
my world, the sum total of existence ? I know no
ground for an affirmative answer to this question.
That many material systems should exist, without a
material central-point, and with no relation in space
— where is the self-contradiction ? ' That various
worlds of experience should be distinct, and, for
themselves, fail to enter one into the other — where
is the impossibility ? That arises only when we
endorse, and take our stand upon, a prejudice.
That the unity in the Absolute is merely our kind
of unity, that spaces there must have a spatial
centre, and times a temporal point of meeting —
these assumptions are based on nothing. The
opposite is possible, and we have seen that it is also
necessary.

/ It is not hard to conceive a variety of time-series
ibxisting in the Absolute. And the direction of each
.series, one can understand, may be relative to itself,
and may have, as such, no meaning outside. And
we might also imagine, if we pleased, that these
directions run counter, the one to the other. Let
us take, for example, a scheme like this :

abed
bade
e d a b
d e b a

Here, if you consider the contents, you may suppose
the whole to be stationary. It contains partial views,
but, as a whole, it may be regarded as free from
change and succession. The change will fall in the
perceptions of the different series. And the diverse
directions of these series will, as such, not exist for

See Chapter xxii.

TEMPORAL AND SPATIAL APPEARANCE.

217

the whole. The greater or less number of the
various series, which we may imagine as present,
the distinct experience which makes each, together
with the direction in which it runs — this is all
matter, we may say, of individual feeling. You may
take, as one series and set of lives, a line going any
way you please, up or down or transversely. And
in each case the direction will be given to it by sen-
sation peculiar to itself. Now without any question
these perceptions must e.xist in the whole. They
must all exist, and in some way they all must qualify
the Absolute. But, for the Absolute, they can one
counterbalance another, and so their characters
be transmuted. They can, with their successions,
come together in one whole in which their special
natures are absorbed.

And, if we chose to be fanciful, we might imagine
something more. We might suppose that, corre-
sponding to each of our lives, there is another
individual. There is a man who traverses the same
history with ourselves, but in the opposite direction.
We may thus imagine that the successive contents,
which make my being, are the lives also of one or
more other finite souls.' The distinctions between
us would remain, and would consist in an additional
element, different in each case. And it would be
these differences which would add to each its own
way of succession, and make it a special personality.
The differences, of course, would have existence;
but in the Absolute, once more, in some way they
might lose exclusiveness. And, with this, diversity
of direction, and all succession itself, would, as such,
disappear. The believer in second sight and witch-
craft might find in such a view a wide field for his
vagaries. But I note this merely in passing, since
to myself fancies of this sort are not inviting. My
purpose here has been simple. I have tried to show

' On the possibility of this compare Chapter xxiii.

^/,-

2l8 _ REALITY.

• tj that neither for the temporal unity of all time-series,
MC^ nor for the community of their direction, is there
"^ , one shred of evidence. However great their variet)'.
■ ^ it may come together and be transformed in the
Absolute. And here, as before, possibility is all we
require in order to prove reality.

The Absolute is above relations, and therefore we

<;annot construct a relational scheme which could

^exhibit its unity. But that eternal unity is made

^sure by our general principle. And time itself, we

>^have now seen, can afford no presumption that the

universe is not timeless.'

There is a remaining difficulty on which perhaps
I may add a few remarks. I may be told that in
causation a succession is involved with a direction
not reversible. It will be urged that many of the
relations, by which the world is understood, involve
in their essence time sequent or co-existent. And
it may be added that for this reason time conflicts
with the Absolute. But, at the point which we have
reached, this objection has no weight.

Let us suppose, first, that the relation of cause
and effect is in itself defensible. Yet we have no
knowledge of a causal unity in all phenomena.
Different worlds might very well run on together
in the universe, side by side and not in one series
of effects and causes. They would have a unity in
the Absolute, but a unity not consisting in cause
and effect. This must be considered possible until
we find some good argument in favour of causal
unity. And then, even in our own world, how un-
satisfactory the succession laid down in causation.
It is really never true that mere a produces mere d.
It is true only when we bring in the unspecified
background, and, apart from that, such a statement
is made merely upon sufferance (Chapters vi.,

' I shall make some remarks on Progress in Chapter xxvi.

TEMPORAL AND SPATIAL APPEARANCE.

319

■xx'iu., xxiv.). And the whole succession itself,
if defensible, may admit of transformation. We
assert that {X)d is the effect which follows on (A')d!,
but perhaps the two are identical. The succession
and the difference are perhaps appearances, which
exist only for a view which is isolated and defective.
The successive relation may be a truth which, when
^lled out, is transmuted, and which, when supple-
mented, must lose its character in the Absolute. It
may thus be the fragment of a higher truth not
prejudicial to identity.

Such considerations will turn the edge of any
objection directed against our Absolute from the
i^'round of causation. But we have seen, in addition,
in our sixth chapter that this ground is indefensible.
13y its own discrepancy causation points beyond
itself to higher truth ; and I will briefly, here once
more, attempt to make this plain. Causation im-
plies change, and it is difficult to know of what we
may predicate change without contradiction. To
say "a becomes d, and there is nothing which
changes," is really unmeaning. For, if there is
change, something changes ; and it is able to
change because something is permanent. But then
how predicate the change ? "Xa becomes Xd " ; but,
if A' is a and afterwards d, then, since a has ceased
to qualify it, a change has happened within A'. But,
if so, then apparently we require a further per-
manent. But if, on the other side, to avoid this
•danger, we take Xa not to change, we are other-
wise ruined. For we have somehow to predicate
of X both elements at once, and where is the suc-
cession ? The successive elements co-exist unintel-
ligibly within X, and succession somehow is degraded
to mere appearance.

To put it otherwise, we have the statement " X
is first Xa, and later also Xb." But how can " later
also ^ " be the truth, if before mere a was true ?
Shall we answer " No, not mere a ; it is not —- **♦

220

REALITY.

Xa, but Xa (given c), which is later also 3 " ? But

still face to face with a like

t there is a dtnerence
is none, our assertion in
For we cannot justify the

leaves
obstacle ; for, if Xa {c)
separate these terms ?
between them, or if there
either case is untenable.

difference if it exists, or our making it, if it does not
exist. Hence we are led to the conclusion that
subject arid predicate are identical, and that the
separation and the change are only appearance.
They are a character assuredly to be added to the
whole, but added in a way beyond our compre-
hension. They somehow are lost except as
elements in a higher identity.

Or, again, say that the present state of the world
is the cause of that total state which follows next
on it. Here, again, is the same self-contradiction.
For how can one state a become a different state d ?
It must either do this without a reason, and that
seems absurd ; or else the reason, being additional,
forthwith constitutes a new a, and so on for ever.
We have the differences of cause and effect, with
their relation of time, and we have no way in which
it is possible to hold these together. Thus we are
drawn to the view that causation is but partial, and
that we have but changes of mere elements within
a complex whole. But this view gives no help until
we carry it still further, and deny that the whole
state of the world can change at all. So we glide
into the doctrine that partial changes are no change,
but counterbalance one another within a whole
which persists unaltered. And here certainly the
succession remains as an appearance, the special
value of which we are unable to explain. But the
causal sequence has drifted beyond itself and into
a reality which essentially is timeless. And hence,
in attempting an objection to the eternity of the
Absolute, causation would deny a principle implied
in its own nature.

TEMPORAL AND SPATIAL APPEARANCE.

221

At the end of this chapter, I trust, we may have
reached a conviction, We may be convinced, not
merely as before, that time is unreal, but that its
appearance also is compatible with a timeless uni-
verse. It is only when misunderstood that change
precludes a belief in eternity. Rightly apprehended
it affords no presumption against our doctrine.
Our Absolute must be ; and now, in another respect,
again, it has turned out possible. Surely therefore
it is real.

I shall conclude this chapter with a few remarks i
on the nature of space.' In passing to this from \
time, we meet with no difficulties that are new, and
a very few words seem all that is wanted. I am
not attempting here to e.vplain the origin of space ;
and indeed to show how it comes to e.xist seems to
me not possible. And we need not yet ask how,
on our main view, we are to understand the physical
world. That necessary question is one which it is
better to defer. The point here at issue is this.
Does the form of space make our reality inipossible.'
Is its existence a thing incompatible with the Abso-
lute } Such a question, in my judgment, requires
little discussion.

If we could prove that the spatial form were a
<levelopment, and so secondary, that would give us
little help. The proof could in no degree lessen the
reality of a thing which, in any case, does e.xist. It
would at most serve as an indication that a further
growth in development might merge the space- form
in a higher mode of perception. But it is better
not to found arguments upon that which, at most, is
hardly certain.

What I would stand upon is the essential nature \
of space. For that, as we saw in our First Book, 1
is entirely inconsistent It attempts throughout to

I must here refer back to Chapter iv.

222 REALITY.

reach something which transcends its powers. It
made an effort to find and to maintain a solid self-
existence, but that effort led it away into the infinite
process both on the inside and externally. And its .
evident inability to rest within itself points to the I
solution of its discords. Space seeks to lose itself I
in a higher perception, where individuality is gained
without forfeit of variety.^

And against the possibility of space being in this
way absorbed in a non-spatial consummation, I
know of nothing to set. Of course how in particular
this can be, we are unable to lay down. But our
ignorance in detail is no objection against the
general possibility. And this possible absorption,
we have seen, is also necessary.

* The question as to whether, and in what sense, space
possesses a unity, may be deferred to Chapter xxii. A dis-
cussion on this point was required in the case of time. But
an objection to our Absolute would hardly be based on the unity
of space.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE THIS AND THE MINE.

We have seen that the forms of space and time
supply no good objection to the individuality of the
Absolute. But we have not yet faced a difficulty
which perhaps may prove more serious. There is
the fact which is denoted by the title of the present
chapter. The particularity of feeling, it may be
contended, is an obstacle which declines to be en-
gulfed. The "this" and the "mine" are undeni-
able ; and upon our theory, it may be said, they are
both inexplicable.

The " this " and the " mine " are names which
stand for the immediacy of feeling, and each serves
to call attention to one side of that fact. There
is no " mine " which is not " this," nor any " this "
which fails, in a sense, to be " mine." The immed-
iate fact must always come as something felt in an
experience, and an experience always must be
particular, and, in a sense perhaps, " unique." But
I shall not enter on all the problems implied in
the last word. I am not going to inquire here how
we are able to transcend the " this-mine," for that
question will engage us hereafter {Chapter xxi.),
and the problem now before us is confined to a single
point. We are to assume that there does exist an
indefinite number of " this-mines," of immediate ex-
periences of the felt. And, assuming this fact, we
are to ask if it is compatible with our general view.

The difficulty of this inquiry arises in great part
from vagueness. The "this" and "mine" are

224

REALITY.

taken as both positive and negative. They are to
possess a singular reality, and they are to own in
some sense an exclusive character. And from this
shiftincT basis a rash conclusion is hastily drawn.
But the singular reality, after all, may not be single
and self-existenL And the exclusive character,
perhaps, may be included and taken up in the
Whole. And it is these questions which we must
endeavour to clear up and discuss. I will begin
with what we have called the positive aspect.

The " this " and the " mine " express the immed-
iate character of feeling, and the appearance of this
character in a finite centre. Feeling may stand for
a psychical stage before relations have been devel-
oped, or it may be used generally for an experience
which is not indirect (Chapters ix., xxvi., and
xxvii.). At any time all that we suffer, do, and
are, forms one psychical totality. It is experienced
all together as a co-existing mass, not perceived as
parted and joined by relations even of co-existence.
It contains all relations, and distinctions, and every
ideal object that at the moment exists in the soul.
It contains them, not specially as such and with
exclusive stress on their content as predicated, but
directly as they are and as they qualify the psychical
" that." And again any part of this co-existence,
to which we attend, can be viewed integrally as one
feeling.

Now whatever is thus directly experienced — so
far as it is not taken otherwise — is " this " and
" mine." And all such presentation without doubt
has peculiar reality. One might even contend that
logically to transcend it is impossible, and that there
is no rational way to a plurality of " this-mines."
But such a plurality we have agreed for the present
to assume. The " this," it is however clear, brings
a sense of superior reality, a sense which is far from
being wholly deceptive and untrue. For all our
knowledge, in the first place, arises from the " this."

THE THIS AND THE MINE.

22!

It is the one source of our experience, and every
element of the world must submit to pass through
it. And the " this," secondly, has a genuine feature
of ultimate reality. With however great imper-
fection and inconsistency it owns an individual
character. The " this " is real for us in a sense in
which nothing else is real.

Reality is being in which there is no division of
content from existence, no loosening of " what " from
"that." Reality, in short, means what it stands for.
and stands for what it means. And the "this"
possesses to some extent the same wholeness of
character. Both the " this " and reality, we may
say, are immediate. But reality is immediate be-1
cause it includes and is superior to mediation. It
developes, and it brings to unity, the distinctions it
contains. The "this" is immediate, on the other
side, because it is at a level below distinctions. Its
elements are but conjoined, and are not connected.
And its content, hence, is unstable, and essentially
tends to disruption, and by its own nature must pass
beyond the being of the " this." But every " this "
still shows a passing aspect of undivided singleness.
In the mental background specially such a fused
unity remains a constant factor, and can never be
dissipated (Chapters ix., x., xxvii.). And it is
such an unbroken wholeness which gives the sense
of individual reality. When we turn from mere
ideas to sensation, we experience in the " this " a
revelation of freshness and life. And that revela-
tion, if misleading, is never quite untrue.*

We may, for the present, take " this " as the
positive feeling of direct experience. In that sense
it will be either general or special. It will be the

' It is mere thoughtlessness th.it finds in Resistance the one
manifestation of reaUly. For resistance, in (he first pLice, is full
of unsolved contr.idictions, and is also fixed and consists in that
very character. And in the second ])lace, wh.it experienc
come as more actual than sensuous pain or pleasure ?

A. R. Q

226

REALITY.

character which we feel always, or again in union
with some particular content. And we have to ask
if, so understood, the " this " is incompatible with
our Absolute.

The question, thus asked, seems to call for but
little discussion. Since for us the Absolute is a
whole, the sense of immediate reality, we must sup-
pose, may certainly qualify it. And, again, I find
no difficulty when we pass to the special meaning of
" this." With every presentation, with each chance
mixture of psychical elements, we have the feeling
of one particular datum. We have the felt exist-
ence of a peculiar sensible whole. And here we
find beyond question a positive content, and a fresh
element which has to be included within our Abso-
lute. But in such a content there is, so far, nothing
which could repel or exclude. There is no feature
there which could resist embracement and absorp-
tion by the whole.

The fact of actual fragmentariness, I admit, we
cannot explain. That experience should take place
in finite centres, and should wear the form of finite
" thisness," is in the end inexplicable (Chapter
xxvi. ). But to be inexplicable, and to be incom-
patible, are not the same thing. And in such frag-
mentariness, viewed as positive, I see no objection
to our view. The plurality of presentations is a
iact, and it, therefore, makes a ditlerence to our
Absolute. It exists in. and it, therefore, must qualify
the whole. And the universe is richer, we may be
sure, for all dividedness and variety. Certainly in
detail we do not know how the separation is over-
come, and we cannot point to the product which is
gained, in each case, by that resolution. But our
ignorance here is no ground for rational opposition.
Our principle assures us that the Absolute is superior
to partition, and in some way is perfected by it.
And we have found, as yet, no reason even to

THE THIS AND THE MINE.

227

doubt
cove

if th

IS resu

pos

We have dis-

red, as yet, nothing which seems able from any
side to stand out. There is no element such as
could hesitate to blend with the rest and to be dis-
solved in a higher unity.

If the whole could be an arrangement of mere
ideas, if it were a system barely intellectual, the case
would be altered. We might combine such ideas, it
would not matter how ingeniously ; but we could
not frame, and we should not possess, a product con-
taining what we feel to be imparted directly by the
" this." I admit that inability, and I urge it, as yet
another confirmation and support of our doctrine.
For our Absolute was not a mere intellectual system.
It was an experience overriding every species of
one-sidedness, and it was a living intuition, an im-
mediate individuality. Hut, if so, the opposition of
the " this " becomes at once unmeaning. For feel-
ings, each possessing a nature of its own, may surely
come together, and be fused in the Absolute. And,
so far is such a resolution from appearing impossible,
that I confess to me it seems most natural and easy.
That partial experiences should run together, and
should unite their deliverances to produce one richer
whole — is there anything here incredible i* 1 1 would
indeed be strange if bare positive feelings proved
recalcitrant and solid, and stood out against absorp-
tion. F'or their nature clearly is otherwise, and
they must be blended in the one experience of the
Absolute. This consummation evidently is real,
because on our principle it is necessary, and because
again we have no reason to doubt that it is possible.
And with so much, we may pass from the positive
aspect of the " this."

For the "this" and " mine," it is clear, are taken
also as negative. They are set up as in some way
opposed to the Absolute, and they are considered, in
some sense, to own an exclusive character. And

228

REALITY.

that their character, in part, is exclusive cannot be
denied ; but the question is in what sense, and how
far, they possess it. For, if the repulsion is relative
and holds merely within the one whole, it is compat-

ible at

ith

if tht

iiverse.
immediate experience, viewed as positive, is

so far not exclusive. It is, so far, what it is, and it
does not repel anything. Hut the " this " certainly
is used also with a negative bearing. It may mean
" this one," in distinction from that one and the
other one. And here it shows obviously an exclu-
sive aspect, and it implies an external and negative
relation. But every such relation, we have found,
' is inconsistent with itself (Chapter iii.). For it
. exists within, and by virtue of an embracing unity,
and apart from that totality, both itself and its terms
would be nothing. And the relation also must
penetrate the inner being of its terms. " This," in
other words, would tio/ exclude " that," unless in
the exclusion " this," so far, passed out of itself.
Its repulsion of others is thus incompatible with self-
contained singleness, and involves subordination to
an including whole. But to the ultimate whole
nothing can be opposed, or even related.

And the self-transcendent character of the " this "
I is, on all sides, open and plain. Appearing as im-
mediate, it, on the other side, has contents which
are not consistent with themselves, and which refer
tliemselves beyond. Hence the inner nature of the
" this " leads it to pass outside itself towards a
higher totality. And its negative aspect is but one
appearance of this general tendency. Its very ex-
chisiveness involves the reference of itself beyond
itself, and is but a proof of its necessary absorption
in the Absolute.'

' The above conclusion applies emphaticaJly to the " this " as
signifying the point in which I am said lo encounter reality. All
contact necessarily implies a unity, in and through which it lakes
place, and my self and the reality are, here, but partial appear-

THE THIS AND THE MINE.

229

And if the "this" is asserted to be all-excUisive
because it is " unique," the discussion of that point
need not long detain us. The term may imply that
nothing else but the "this-mine" is real, and, in that
case, the question has been deferred to Chapter
xxi. And, if "unique" means that what is felt
once can never be felt again, such an assertion,
taken broadly, seems even untrue. For if feelings,
the same in character, do in fact not recur, we at
least hardly can deny that their recurrence is pos---
sible. The " this" is unique really so far as it is a
member in a series, and so far as that series is taken
as distinct from all others.' And only in this sense
can we call its recurrence impossible. But here
with uniqueness once more we have negative rela-
tions, and these relations involve an inclusive unity.
Uniqueness, in this sense, does not resist assimila-
tion by the Absolute. It is, on the other hand, itself
incompatible with exclusive singleness.

Into the nature of self-will I shall at present not
enter. This is opposition attempted by a finite
subject against its proper whole. And we may see
at once that such discord and negation can subserve
unity, and can contribute towards the perfection of
the universe. It is connection with the central fire
which produces in the element this burning sense
of selfness. And the collision is resolved within
that harmony where centre and circumference are
one. But I shall return in another place to the dis-
cussion of this matter (Chapter xxv.).

We have found that the "this," taken as exclu-
sive, proclaims itself relative, and in that relation
forfeits its independence. And we have seen that,

ances. And the "mine" never, we may say, could strike me as
" not-mine," unless, precisely so far as it does so, it is a mere
factor in my experience. I have spoken above on the true
meaning of ihat sense of reality which is given by the " this."
' On this point compire Principles oj Logic , Chapter ii.

REALITY.

as positive, the " this" is not exclusive at all. The
" this " is inconsistent always, but, so far as it
excludes, so far already has it begun internally to
suffer dissipation. We may now, with advantage
perhaps, view the matter in a somewhat different
way. There is, I think, a vague notion that some
content sticks irremovably within the " this," or
that in the " this," again, there is something which
is not content at all. In either case an element is
offered, which, it is alleged, cannot be absorbed by
the Whole. And an examination of these prejudices
may throw some light on our general view.

In the " this," it may appear first, there is some-
thing more than content. For by combining quali-
ties indefinitely we seem unable to arrive at the
" this." The same difficulty may be stated perhaps
in a way which points to its solution. The " this "
on one hand, we may say, is nothing at all beside
content, and, on the other hand, the " this " is not
content at all. For in the term " content " there
lies an ambiguity. It may mean a " what " that is,
or again, is not, distinct from its "that." And the
" this," we have already seen, has inconsistent
aspects. It offers, from one aspect, an immediate
undivided experience, a whole in which " that" and
" what " arc felt as one. And here content, as imply- ,
ing distinction, will be absent from the "this." But
such an undivided feeling, we have also seen, ii a
positive experience. It does not even attempt to
resist assimilation by our Absolute.

If, on the other hand, we use content generally,
and if we employ it in the sense of " what " without
distinction from "that" — if we take it to mean some-
thing which is experienced, and which is nothing
but experience — then, most emphatically, the "this"
is not anything but content. For there is nothing
in it or about it which can be more than experience.
And in it there is further no feature which cannot
be made a quality. Its various aspects can all be

THE THIS AND THE MINE.

23'

separated by distinction and analysis, and, one after
another, can thus be brought forward as ideal pre-
dicates. This assertion holds of that immediate
Sense of a special reality, which we found above in
the character of each felt complex. There is, in
brief, no fragment of the " this" such that it cannot
form the object of a distinction. And hence the
" this," in the first place, is mere e.xperience through-
out ; and, in the second place, throughout it may be
called intelligible. It owns no aspect which refuses
to become a quality, and in its turn to play the part
of an ideal predicate.'

But it is easy here to deceive ourselves and to fall
into error. For taking a given whole, or more prob-
ably selecting one portion, we begin to distinguish
and to break up its confused co-e.xistence. And,
having thus possessed ourselves of definite contents
and of qualities in relation, we call on our " this " to
identify itself with our discrete product. And, on
the refusal of the " this," we charge it with stub-
born e.xclusiveness. It is held to possess either in
its nature a repellent content, or something else, at
all events, which is intractable. But the whole con-
clusion is fallacious. For, if we have not mutilated
our subject, we have at least added a feature which
originally was not there — a feature, which, if intro-
. duced, must of necessity burst the " this," and de-
stroy it from within. The " this," we have seen, is
a unity below relations and ideas ; and a unity, able
to develope and to harmonize all distinctions, is not
found till we arrive at ultimate Reality. Hence the
" this " repels our offered predicates, not because its
nature goes beyond, but rather because that nature
comes short. It is not more, we may say, but less
than our distinctions.

And to our mistake in principle we add probably
an error in practice. For we have failed probably

' Compare here p. 175, and Principles 0/ Logic, chapter ii.

232

REALITY.

to exhaust the full dehvcrance of our "this," and the
residue, left there by our mere failure, is then as-
sumed blindly to stand out as an irreducible aspect.
For, if we have confined our "this" to but one por-
tion of the felt totality, we have omitted from our
analysis, perhaps, the positive aspect of its special
unity. Out our analysis, if so, is evidently incom-
plete and misleading. And then, perhaps again,
qualifyin<j our limited " this" by exclusive relations,
we do not see that in these we have added a factor
to its original content. And what we have added,
and have also overlooked, is then charged to the
native repellence of the " this." But if again, on
the other hand, our " this " is not taken as limited,
if it is to be the entire complex of one present,
viewed without relation even to its own future and
past — -other errors await us. For the detail here is
so great that complete exhaustion is hardly possible.
And so, setting down as performed that which is in
fact impracticable, we once more stumble against a
residue which is due wholly to our weakness. And
we are helped, perhaps, further into mistake by an-
other source of fallacy. We may confuse the feeling
which we study with the feeling which we are. At
tempting, so far as we can, to make an object of
some (past) psychical whole, we may unawares seek
there every feature which we now are and feel.
And we may attribute our ill success to the positive
obstinacy of the resisting object.'

The total subject of all predicates, which we feel
in the background, can be exhausted, we may say in
general, by no predicate or predicates. For the

* Success here is impossible because, apart from tlie difficulty
of analysis and exhaustion, our present observing attitude forms a
new and incompatible feature. It is an element in our state now,
which {^x h'f'.) was absent from our state then. In this connec-
tion 1 may remark that to observe a feeling is, to some extent,
aJw.iys to alter it. For the purjwse in hand that alteration may
not be material, but it will in all cases be there. I have touched
on this subject in Prindpks of Logic, p. 65, note.

THE THIS AND THE MINE.

subject holds all in one, while predication involves
severance, and so inflicts on its subject a partial loss
of unity. And hence neither ultimate Reality, nor
any " this," can consist of qualities. That is one
side of the truth, but the truth also has another side.
Reality owns no feature or aspect which cannot in
its turn be distinguished, none which cannot in this
way become a mere adjective and predicate. The
same conclusion holds of the " this," in whatever
sense you take it. There is nothing- there which
could form an intractable crudity, nothing which can
refuse to qualify and to be merged in the ultimate
Reality.

We have found that, in a sense, the " this" is not,
and does not own, content. But, in another sense,
we have seen that it contains, and is, nothing else.
We may now pass to the examination of a second
prejudice. Is there any content which is owned by
and sticks in the " this," and which thus remains
outstanding, and declines union with a higher system.^
We have perceived, on the contrary, that by its
essence the "this" is self-transcendenL But it may
repay us once more to dwell and to enlarge on this
topic. And I shall not hesitate in part to repeat
results which we have gained already.

If we are asked what content is appropriated by
the " this," we may reply that there is none. There
is no inalienable content which belongs to the " this"
or the "mine." My immediate feeling, when I say
" this," has a complex character, and it presents a
confused detail which, we have seen, is content.
But it has no "what" which belongs to it as a separ-
ate possession. It has no feature identified with
its own private exclusivity. That is first a negative
relation which, in principle, must qualify the internal
from outside. And in practice we find that each
element contained can refer itself elsewhere. Each
tends naturally towards a wider whole outside of the

234

REALITY.

" this." Its content, we may say, has no rest till it
has wandered to a home elsewhere. The mere
"this" can appropriate nothing.

The " this " appears to retain content solely
through our failure. I may express this otherwise
by calling it the region of chance ; for chance is
something given and for us not yet comprehended.'
So far as any. element falls outside of some ideal
whole, then, in relation with that whole, this element
is chance. Contingent matter is matter regarded as
that which, as yet, we cannot connect and include.
It has not been taken up, as we know that it must be,
within some ideal whole or system. Thus one and
the same matter both is, and is not, contingent. It
is chance for one system or end, while in relation
with another, it is necessary. All chance is relative ;
and the content, which falls in the mere "this," is
relative chance. So far as it remains there, that is
through our failure to refer it elsewhere. It is
merely " this " so far as it is not yet comprehended ;
and, so far as it is taken as a feature in any whole
beyond itself, it has to change its character. It is,
in that respect at least, forthwith not of the "this,"
but only in it, and appearing there. And such ap-
pearance, of course, is not always presentation to
outer sense. All that in any way we e.xperience,
we must experience within one moment of presenta-
tion. However ideal anything may be, it still must
appear in a " now." And everything present there,
so far as in any respect it is not subordinated to an
ideal whole — no matter what that whole is — in rela-
tion to that defect is but part of the given. It may
be as ideal otherwise as you please, but to that ex-
tent it fails to pass beyond immediate fact. Such an
element so far is still immersed in the " now," " mine,"
and " this." It remains there, but, as we have seen,

' For a further discussion of the meaning of Chance see Chapter
xxiv.

THK THIS AND THE MINE.

235

it is not owned and appropriated, ft lingers, we
may say, precariously and provisionally.

But at this point we may seem to have encoun-
tered an obstacle. For in the given fact there is
always a co-e.xistence of elements ; and with this
co-existence we may seem to ascribe positive content
to the "this," Property, we asserted, was lacking to
it, and that assertion now seems questionable. For
co-e.\istence supplies us with actual knowledge, and
none the less it seems given in the content of the
"' this." The objection, however, would rest on mis-
imderstanding. It is positive knowledge when I
judge that in a certain space or time certain features
co-e.\ist. But such knowledge, on the other hand, is
never the content of the mere " this." It is already
a synthesis, imperfect no doubt, but still plainly
ideal. And, at the cost of repetition, I will point
this out brielly.

{a) The place or time, first, may be .characterised
by inclusion within a series. We may mean that, in
some sense, the place or time is " this one," and not
another. But, if so, we have forthwith transcended
the given. We are using a character which implies
inclusion of an elefment within a whole, with a refer-
ence beyond itself to other like elements. And this
of course goes far beyond immediate experience.
To suppose that position in a series can belong to
the mere " this," is a misunderstanding.'

{i) And more probably the objection had some-
thing else in view. It was not conjunction in one
moment, as distinct from another moment, which it
urged was positive and yet belonged to the " this."
It meant mere coincidence within some " here " or
some "now," a co- presentation immediately given
without regard to any " there" or " then." Such a
bare conjunction seems to be something possessed
by the " this," and yet offering on the other side a

' See above, and compare also Ciiapter xxi.

236

REALITY.

positive character. But ag^ain, and in this form, the
objection would rest on a mistake.

The bare coincidence of the content, if you take
it as merely given within a presentation, and if you
consider it entirely without any further reference
beyond, is not a co-existence of elements. I do not
mean, of course, that a whole of feeling is not posi-
tive at all. I mean that, as soon as you have made
assertions about what it contains, as soon as you
have begun to treat its content as content, you have
transcended its felt unity. For consider a *' here "
or *' now." and observe anything of what is in it,
and you have instantly acquired an ideal synthesis
(Chapter xv.). You have a relation which, however
impure, is at once set free from time. You have
gained an universal which, so far as it goes, is true
always, and not merely at the present moment ; and
this universal is forthwith used to qualify reality be-
yond that moment. And thus the co-existence of rt
and b, we may say, does not belong to the mere
" this," but it is ideal, and appears there. Within
mere feeling it has doubtless a positive character,
but, excluding distinctions, it is not, in one sense,
coincidence at all. In observing, we are compelled
to observe in the form of relations. But these in-
ternal relations properly do not belong to the "this"
itself. For its character does not admit of separa-
tion and distinction. Hence to distinguish elements
within this whole, and to predicate a relation of co-
existence, is self-contradictory. Our operation, in
its result, has destroyed what it acted on ; and the
product which has come out, was, as such, never
there. Thus, in claiming to own a relation of co-
existence and a distinction of content, the mere
' this " commits suicide.

From another point of view, doubtless, the ob-
served is a mere coincidence, when compared, that
is, with a purer way of understanding. The rela-
tion is true, subject to the condition of a confused

THE THIS AND THE MINE.

context, which is not comprehended. And hence
the connection observed is, to this extent, bare con-
junction and mere co-existence. Or it is chance,
when you measure it by a higher necessity. It is a
truth conditioned by our ignorance, and so contin-
gent and belonging to the " this." But, upon the
other side, we have seen that the " this " can hold
nothing. As soon as a relation is made out, that is
universal knowledge, and has at once transcended
presentation. For within the merely " this " no
relation, taken as such, is possible. The content, if
you distinguish it, is to that extent set free from felt
unity. And there is no " what " which essentially
adheres to the bare moment. So far as any element
remains involved in the confusion of feeling, that is
but due to our defect and ignorance. Hence, to
repeat, the "this," considered as mere feeling, is
certainly positive. As the absence of universal
relations, the " this " again is negative. But, as an
attempt to make and to retain distinctions of content,
the "this " is suicidal.

It is so too with the *' mere mine." We hear in
discussions on morality, or logic, or cesthetics, that
a certain detail is '* subjective," and hence irrelevant.
Such a detail, in other words, belongs to the " mere
mine." And a mistake may be made, and we may
imagine that there is matter which, in itself, is
contingent.' It may be supposed that an element,
such perhaps as pleasure, is a fixed part of some-
thing called the " this-me." But there is no content
which, as such, can belong to the " mine." The
" mine " is my existence taken as immediate fact, as
an integral whole of psychical elements which simply
are. It is my content, so far as not freed from the
feeling moment. And it is merely my content,
because it is not subordinate to this or that ideal
whole. If I regard a mental fact, say, from the side

' Or again, having no clear ideas, we may try to help ourselves
with such phrases as " the individuality of the individual."

238

REALITY.

of its morality, then whatever is, here and now, not
relevant to this purpose, becomes bare existence.
It is something which is not the appearance of the
ideal matter in hand. And yet, because it exists
somehow, it exists as a fact in the mere •' mine."
The same thing happens also, of course, with
aesthetics, or science, or religion. The same detail
which, in one respect, was essential and necessary,
may. from another point of view, become immaterial.
And then at once, so far, it falls back into the
merely felt or given. It exists, but, for the end we
are regarding, it is nothing.

This is still more evident, perhaps, from the side
of psychology. No particle of my existence, on
the one hand, falls outside that science ; and yet,
on the other hand, for psychology the mere " mine"
remains. When I study my events so as to trace a
particular connection, no matter of what kind, then
at any moment the psychical "given" contains
features which are irrelevant. They have no bear-
ing on the point which I am endeavouring to make
good. Hence the fact of their co-existence is con-
tingent, and it is by chance that they accompany
what is essential. They exist, in other words, for
my present aim. in that self which is merely given,
and which is not transcended. On the other
hand, obviously, these same particulars are essential
and necessary, since (at the least) somehow they
are links in the causal sequence of my history.
Every particular in the same way has some end
beyond the moment Each can be referred to
an ideal whole whose appearance it is ; and nothing
whatever is left to belong merely to the " this-
mine," The simplest observation of what coexists
removes it from that region, and, chance has no
positive content, except in relation to our failure
and ignorance.

And any psychology, which is not blind or else
biassed by false doctrine, forces on our notice this

THE Tins AND TirE MINE.

'39

alienation of content. Our whole mental life moves
by a transcendence of tiie " this," by sheer disregard
of its claim to possess any property. The looseness
of some feature of the " what " from its fusion with
the "that" — its self-reference to, and its operation
on, something beyond — if you leave out this, you
have lost the mainspring of psychical movement.
But this is the ideality of the given, its non-possession
of that character with which it appears, but which
only appears in it. And Association — who could use
it as mere co-e.\istence within the "this" .'' But, if
anything more, it is at once the union of the ideal,
the synthesis of the eternal. Thus the " mine "
has no detail which is not the property of connections
beyond. The merest coincidence, when you observe
it, is a distinction which couples universal ideas.
And, in brief, the "mine" has no content e.xcept
that which is left there by our impotence. Its
character in this respect is, in other words, merely
negative.

Hence to urge such a character against our
Absolute would be unmeaning. It would be to turn
our ignorance of system into a positive objection, to
make our failure a ground for the denial of possi-
bility. We have no basis on which to doubt that all
content comes together harmoniously in the Absolute.
We have no reason to think that any feature adheres
to the " this," and is unable to transcend it. What
is true is that, for us, the incomplete diversity of
various sy.stems, the perplexing references of each
same feature to many ideal wholes, and again that
jiosilive special feeling, which we have dealt with
above — all this detail is not made one in any way
which we can verify. Tliat it all is reconciled we
know, but how, in particular, is hid from us. But
because this result must be, and because there is
nothing against it, we believe that it is.

We have seen that in the " this," on one side, there

240

REALITY.

is no element but content, and we have found that
no content, on the other side, is the possession of
the "this." Tliere is none that sticks within its
precincts, but all tends to refer itself beyond. What
remains there is chance, if chance is used in the sense
of our sheer ignorance. It is not opposition, but
blank failure in regard to the claim of an idea.' And
opposition and exclusiveness, in any sense, must
transcend the bare " this." For their essence
always implies relation to a something beyond self;
and that relation makes an end of all attempt at
solid singleness. Thus, if chance is taken as involv-
ing an actual relation to an idea, the " this " already
has, so far, transcended itself The refusal of some-
thing given to connect itself with an idea is a
positive fact. But that refusal, as a relation, is
evidently not included and contained in the " this."
On the other hand, entering into that relation, the
internal content has, so far, set itself free. It has
already transcended the " this " and become univer-
sal. And the exclusiveness of the " this " every-
where in the same way proves self-contradictory.

And we had agreed before that the mere "this"
in a sense is positive. It has a felt self-affirmation
peculiar and especial, and into the nature of that
positive being we entered at length. But we found
no reason why such feelings, considered in any
feature or aspect, should persist self-centred and
aloof It seemed possible, to say tJie least, that
they all might blend with one another, and be
merged in the experience of the one Reality. And
with that possibility, given on all sides, we arrive at
our conclusion. The " this" and "mine" are now
absorbed as elements within our Absolute. For
their resolution must be, and it may be, and so
certainly it is.

' Chance, in this sense of mere unperceived failure and pri-
vation, can hardly, except by a licence, be called chance. It can-
nol, at all events, be taken as qualifying the "this."

CHAPTER XX.

RECAPITULA TION.

It may be well at this point perhaps to look back on
the ground which we have traversed. In our First
Book we examined some ways of regarding reality,
and we found that each of them contained fatal
inconsistency, Upon this we forthwith denied that,
as such, they could be real. But upon reflection we
perceived that our denial must rest upon positive
knowledge. It can only be because we know, that
we venture to condemn. Reality therefore, we are
sure, has a positive character, which rejects mere
appearance and is incompatible with discord. On
the other hand it cannot be a something apart, a
position qualified in no way save as negative of
phenomena. For that leaves phenomena still contra-
dictory, while it contains in its essence the contradic-
tion of a something which actually is nothing. The
Reality, therefore, must be One, not as excluding
diversity, but as somehow including it in such a way
as to transform its character. There is plainly not
anything which can fall outside of the Real. That
must be qualified by every part of every predicate
which it rejects ; but it has such qualities as counter-
balance one another's defects. It has a super-
abundance in which all partial discrepancies are re-
solved and remain as hijjher concord.

And we found that this Absolute is experience,
because that is really what we mean when we pre-
dicate or speak of anything. It is not one-sided
experience, as mere volition or mere thought ; but it

A. K. »*' R

242

REALITY.

is a whole superior to and embracing all incomplete
forms of life. This whole must be immediate like
feeling, but not, like feeling, immediate at a level
below distinction and relation. The Absolute is
immediate as holding and transcending these difier-

\ences. And because it cannot contradict itself, and
does not suffer a division of idea from e.xistence, it
has therefore a balance of pleasure over pain. In
every sense it is perfect.

Then we went on to enquire if various forms of
the finite would take a place within this Absolute.
We insisted that nothing can be lost, and yet that
everything must be made good, so as to minister to
harmony. And we laid stress on the fact that the
how was inexplicable. To perceive the solution in
detail is not possible for our knowledge. But, on
the other hand, we urged that such an e-xplanation
is not necessary. We have a general principle
which seems certain. The only question is whether
any form of the finite is a negative instance which
serves to overthrow this principle. Is there any-
thing which tends to show that our Absolute is not
possible ? And, so far as we have gone, we have

I discovered as yet nothing. We have at present
not any right to a doubt about the Absolute. We

, have got no shred of reason for denying that it is
possible. But, if it is possible, that is all we need
seek for. For already we have a principle upon
which it is necessary ; and therefore it is certain.

In the following chapters I shall still pursue the
same line of argument. I shall enquire if there is
anything which declines to take its place within the
system of our universe. And, if there is nothing
that is found to stand out and to conflict, or to im-
port discord when admitted, our conclusion will be
attained. But I will first add a few remarks on the
ideas of Individuality and Perfection.

We have seen that these characters imply a

RECAPITULATION.

243

negation of the discordant and discrepant, and a
doubt, pcrliaps, may have arisen about their positive
aspect. Are they positive at all ? Wiien we pre-
dicate them, do we assert or do we only deny .-* Can
it be maintained that tliese ideas are negative simply ?
It might be urged against us that reality means
barely non-appearance, and that unity is the naked
denial of plurality. And in the same way individu-
ality might be taken as the barren absence of discord
and of dissipation. Perfection, again, would but
deny that we are compelled to go further, or might
signify merely the failure of unrest and of pain.
Such a doubt has received, I think, a solution be-
forehand, but I will point out once more its cardinal
mistake.

In the first place a mere negation is unmean-
ing (p. 138). To deny, except from a basis of posit-
ive assumption, is quite impossible. And a bare
negative idea, if we could have it, would be a relation
without a term. Hence some positive basis must
underlie these negations which we have mentioned.
And, in the second place, we must remember that
what is denied is, none the less, somehow (jredicated
of our Absolute. It i.s indeed because of this that we
have called it individual and perfect.

I. It is, first, plain that at least the idea of affir-
mative being supports the denial of discrepancy
and unrest. Being, if we use the term in a re-
stricted sense, is not positively definable. It will be
the same as the most general sense of experience.
It is different from reality, if that, again, is strictly
used. Reality (proper) implies a foregone distinc-
tion of content from existence, a separation which
is overcome. Being (proper), on the other hand,
is immediate, and at a level below distinctions ' ;
though I have not thought it necessary always to

' Compare here p. 225, and for the stricter meaning of some
other plirases see p. 317.

244

REALITV.

employ these terms in a confined meaning. How-
ever, in its general sense of experience, being under-
lies the ideas of individuality and perfection. And
these, at least so far, must be positive.

2. And, in the second place, each of them is
positively determined by what it excludes. The
aspect of diversity belongs to the essence of the in-
dividual, and is affirmatively contained in it. The
unity excludes what is diverse, so far only as that
attempts to be anything by itself, and to maintain
isolation. And the individual is the return of this
apparent opposite with all its wealth into a richer
whole. How in detail this is accomplished I repeat
that we do not know ; but we are capable, notwith-
standing, of forming the idea of such a positive union
[{Chapters xiv. and xxvii.). Feeling supplies us
with a low and imperfect example of an immediate
whole. And, taking this together with the idea of
qualification by the rejected, and together with the
idea of unknown qualities which come in to help —
we arrive at individuality. And, though depending
on negation, such a synthesis is positive.

And, in a different way, the same account is valid
of the Perfect. That does not mean a being which,
in regard to unrest and painful struggle, is a simple
blank. It means the identity of idea and existence,
attended also by pleasure. Now, so far as pleasure
goes, that certainly is not negative. But pleasure is
far from being the only positive element in perfec-
tion. The unrest and striving, the opposition of fact
to idea, and the movement towards an end — these
features are not left outside of that Whole which is
consummate. For all the content, which the struggle
has generated, is brought home and is laid to rest un-
diminished in the perfect. The idea of a being quali-
fied somehow, without any alienation of its "what"
from its "that" — a being at the same time fully
possessed of all hostile distinctions, and the richer
for their strife — this is a positive idea. And it can

RECAPITULATION.

245

be realised in its outline, though certainly not in
detail.

I will advert in conclusion to an objection drawn
from a common mistake. Quantity is often intro-
duced into the idea of perfection. For the perfect
seems to be that beyond which we cannot ^o, and this
tends naturally to take the form of an infinite num-
ber. But, since any real number must be finite,
we are at once involved here in a hopeless contra-
diction. And I think it necessary to say no more
on this evident illusion ; but will pass on to the
objection which may be urged against our view of
the perfect. If the perfect is the concordant, then
no growth of its area or increase of its pleasantness
could make it more complete. We thus, apparently,
might have the smallest being as perfect as the
largest ; and this seems paradoxical. But tlie para-
dox really, I should say, exists only through mis-
understanding. For we are accustomed to beings
whose nature is always and essentially defective.
And so we suppose in our smaller perfect a condition
of want, or at least of defect ; and this condition is
diminished by alteration in quantity. But, where a
being is really perfect, our supposition would be
absurd. Or, again, we imagine first a creature com-
plete in itself, and by the side of it we place a larger
completion. Then unconsciously we take the greater
to be, in some way, apprehended by the smaller ;
and, with this, naturally the lesser being becomes by
contrast defective. But what we fail to observe is
that such a being can no longer be perfect. For an
idea, which is not fact, has been placed by us within
it ; and that idea at once involves a collision of ele-
ments, and by consequence also a loss of perfection.
And thus a paradox has been made by our misun-
derstanding. We assumed completion, and then
surreptitiously added a condition which destroyed it.
And this, so far, was a mere error.

246 REALITY.

But the error may direct our attention to a truth.
It leads us to ask if two perfections, great and small,
can possibly exist side by side. And we must
answer in the negative. If we take perfection in its
full sense, we cannot suppose two such perfect exist-
ences. And this is not because one surpasses the
other in size ; for that is wholly irrelevant. It is
because finite existence and perfection are incom-
patible. A being, short of the Whole, but existing
within it, is essentially related to that which is not-
itself. Its inmost being is, and must be, infected
by the external. Within its content there are rela-
tions which do not terminate inside. And it is clear
at once that, in such a case, the ideal and the real
can never be at one. But their disunion is precisely
what we mean by imperfection. And thus incom-
pleteness, and unrest, and unsatisfied ideality, are
the lot of the finite. There is nothing which, to
•speak properly, is individual or perfect, except only
ithe Absolute.

CHAPTER XXI.

SOLIPSISM.

In our First Book we examined various ways of
taking facts, and we found that they all gave no more
than appearance. In the present Book we have
been engaged with the nature of Reality. We have
been attempting, so far, to form a general idea of its
character, and to defend it against more or less
plausible objections. Through the remainder of our
work we must pursue the same task. We must
endeavour to perceive how the main aspects of the
world are all able to take a place within our Absolute.
And, if we find that none refuses to accept a posi-
tion there, we may consider our result secure against
attack. I will now enter on the question which
gives its title to this chapter.

Have we any reason to believe in the existence of \
anything beyond our private selves ? Have we the
smallest right to such a belief, and is it more than
literally a self-delusion .•* We, I think, may fairly
say that some metaphysicians have shown unwilling-
ness to look this problem in the face. And yet it
cannot be avoided. Since we all believe in a world
beyond us, and are not prepared to give this up, it
would be a scandal if that were something which
upon our theory was illusive. Any view which will
not explain, and also justify, an attitude essential to
human nature, must surely be condemned. But we
shall soon see, upon the other hand, how the supposed
difficulties of the question have been created by false

248

REALITY.

doctrine. Upon our general theory they lose their
foundation and vanish.

The argument in favour of Solipsism, put most
simply, is as follows. " 1 cannot transcend experi-
ence, and experience must be my experience. From
this it follows that nothing beyond my self exists ;
for what is experience is its states."

The argument derives its strength, in part, from
false theory, but to a greater extent perhaps, from
thoughtless obscurity. I will begin by pointing out
the ambiguity which lends some colour to this appeal
to experience. Experience may mean experience
only direct, or indirect also. Direct experience I
understand to be confined to the given simply, to
the merely felt or presented. But indirect experi-
ence includes all fact that is constructed from the
basis of the " this " and the " mine." It is all that
is taken to exist beyond the bare moment. This is
a distinction the fatal result of which Solipsism has
hardly realized ; for upon neiiker interpretation of
experience can its argument be defended.

I. Let us first suppose that the experience, to which
it appeals, is direct. Then, we saw in our ninth
chapter, the mere "given" fails doubly to support that
appeal. It supplies, on the one hand, not enough,
and, on the other hand, too much. It offers us
a not-self with the self, and so ruins Solipsism by
that excess. But, upon the other side, it does not
supply us with any self at all, if we mean by self a
substantive the possessor of an object, or even its own
states. And Solipsism is, on this side, destroyed by
defect. But, before I develope this, I will state an
objection which by itself might suffice.

My self, as an existence to which phenomena
belong as its adjectives, is supposed to be given by
a direct experience. But this gift plainly is an illu-
sion. Such an experience can supply us with no
reality beyond that of the moment There is no
faculty which can deliver the immediate revelation

SOLIPSISM,

249

of a self beyond the present (Chapter x.). And so,
if Solipsism finds its one real thing in experience,
that thing is confined to the limits of the mere " this."
But with such a reflection we have already, so far,
destroyed Solipsism as positive, and as anything
more than a sufficient reason for total scepticism.
Let us pass from this objection to other points.

Direct experience is unable to transcend the mere
"this." But even in what that gives we are, even
so far, not supplied with the self upon which Solip-
sism is founded. We have always instead either too
much or too little. For the distinction and separa-
tion of subject and object is not original at all, and
is, in that sense, not a datum. And hence the self
cannot, without qualification, be said to be given
{ibid.). I will but mention this point, and will goon
to another. Whatever we may think generally of
our original mode of feeling, we have now verifiably
some states in which there is no reference to a sub-
ject at all {ibid.). And if such feelings are the mere
adjectives of a subject- reality, that character must
be inferred, and is certainly not given. But it is not
necessary to take our stand on this disputable
ground. Let us admit that the distinction of object
and subject is directly presented — and we have still
hardly made a step in the direction of Solipsism.
For the subject and the object will now appear in
correlation ; they will be either two aspects of one
fact, or (if you prefer it) two things with a relation
between them. And it hardly follows straight from
this than only one of these two things is real, and that
all the rest of the given total is merely its attribute.
I'hat is the result of reflection and of inference, a
process which first sets up one half of the fact as
absolute, and then turns the other half into an adjec-
tive of this fragment. And whether the half is
object or is subject, and whether we are led to
Materialism. or to what is called sometimes" Idealism,"
the process essentially is the same. It equally con-

250

REALITY.

sists. in each case, in a vicious inference. And the
result is emphatically not something which experience
presents. I will, in conclusion, perhaps needlessly,
remark on another point. We found (Chapter ix.)
that there prevailed great confusion as to the boun-
daries of self and not-self There seemed to be
features not exclusively assignable to either. And,
if this is so, surely that is one more reason for reject-
ing an experience such as Solipsism would suppose.
If the self is given as a reality, with all else as its
adjectives, we can hardly then account for the super-
vening uncertainty about its limits, and explain our
constant hesitation between too little and too
much.

What we have seen so far is briefly this. We
have no direct experience of reality as my self with
its states. If we are to arrive at that conclusion,
we must do so indirectly and through a process of
inference. Experience gives the " this-mine." It
gives neither the "mine" as an adjective of the
" this," nor the " this " as dependent on and belong-
ing to the "mine." Even if it did so for the moment,
that would still not be enough as a support for Solip-
sism. But experience supplies the character re-
quired, not even as existing within one presentation,
and, if not thus, then much less so as existing
beyond. And the position, in which we now stand,
may be stated as follows. If Solipsism is to be
proved, it must transcend direct experience. Let us
then ask, (a) first, if transcendence of this kind is
possible, and, [b) next, if it is able to give assistance
to Solipsism. The conclusion, which we shall reach,
may be stated at once. It is both possible and
necessary to transcend what is given. But this same
transcendence at once carries us into the universe at
large. Our private self is not a resting-place which
logic can justify.

II. (a) We are to enquire, first, if it is possible

SOLIPSISM.

25r

to remain within the limits of direct experience.

lid not be

("hat

It woiil

to US immediately. It would be hard to show what is
?ioi imported into the "this," or, at least, modified
there by transcendence. To fix with regard to the
past the precise limit of presentation, might at times
be very difficult. And to discount within the
present the result of ideal processes would, at least
often, be impossible. But I do not desire to base
any objection on this ground. I am content here to
admit the distinction between direct and indirect
experience. And the question is whether reality
can go beyond the former,'' Has a man a right to
say that something exists, beside that which at this
moment he actually feels.'' And is it possible,
on the other side, to identify reality with the im-
mediate present .■*

This identification, we have seen, is impossible ;
and the attempt to remain within the boundary
of the mere " this " is hopeless. The self-dis-
crepancy of the content, and its continuity with a
" what " beyond its own limits, at once settle the
question. We need not fall back for conviction
upon the hard shock of change. The whole move-
ment of the mind implies disengagement from the
mere " this " ; and to assert the content of the latter
as reality at once involves us in contradictions. But
it would not be profitable further to dwell on this
point. To remain within the presented is neither
defensible nor possible. We are compelled alike by
necessity and by logic to transcend it (Chapters xv.
and xix).

But, before proceeding to ask whither this tran-
scendence must take us, I will deal with a question
we noticed before (Chapter xix.). An objection may
be based on the uniqueness of the felt ; and it may
be urged that the reality, which appears in the " this-
mine" is unique and exclusive. Whatever, therefore,
its predicates may seem to demand, it is not possible

252

REALITY.

to extend the boundaries of the subject. That will,
in short, stick hopelessly for ever within the confines
of the presented. Let us examine this contention.

It will be more convenient, in the first place, to
dismiss the word " unique." For that seems (as we
saw) to introduce the idea of existence in a series,
together with a negative relation towards other
elements. And, if such a relation is placed within
the essence of the " this," then the "this" has be-
come part of a larger unity.

The objection may be stated better thus.' " All
reality must fall within the limits of the given. For,
however much the content may desire to go beyond,
yet, when you come to make that content a predicate
of the real, you are forced back to the ' this-mine,'
or the 'now-felt,' for your subject. Reality appears
to lie solely in what is presented, and seems not dis-
coverable elsewhere. But the presented, on the
other hand, must be the felt 'this.' And other
cases of 'this,' if you mean to take them as real,
seem also to fall within the ' now-mine.' If they
are not indirect predicates of that, and so extend it
adjectivally, then they directly will fall within its
datum. But, if so, they themselves become distinc-
tions and features there. Hence we have the ' this-
mine ' as before, but with an increase of special
internal particulars. And so we still remain within
the confines of one presentation, and to have two at
once seems impossible."

Now in answer, I admit that, to find reality, we
must betake ourselves to feeling. It is the real,
which there appears, which is the subject of all pre-
dicates. And to make our way to another fact,
quite outside of and away from the " this" which is
" mine," seems out of the question. But, while
admitting so much, I reject the further consequence.
I deny that the felt reality is shut up and confined

' On this whole matter compare my PrincipUs of Logic,
Chapter ii.

SOLIPSISM.

253

within my feeling. For the latter may, by addition,
be extended beyond its own proper hmits. It may
remain positively itself.and yet be absorbed in what is
larger. Just as in change we have a " now," which
contains also a "then"; just as, again, in what is
mine there may be diverse features, so, from the
opposite side, it may be with my direct experience.
There is no opposition between that and a wider
whole of presentation. The " mine " does not ex-
clude inclusion in a fuller totality. There may be a
further experience immediate and direct, something
that is my private feeling, and also much more.
Now the Reality, to which all content in the end
must belong, is, we have seen, a direct all-embracing
experience. This Reality is present in, and is my
feeling ; and hence, to that extent, what I feel ts the
all-inclusive universe. But, when I go on to deny
that this universe is more, I turn truth into error.
There is a "more " of feeling, the extension of that
which is " now mine " ; and this whole is both the
assertion and negation oi my "this." That extension
maintains it together with additions, which merge
and override it as exclusive. My " mine " becomes
a feature in the great "mine," which includes all
" mines."

Now, if within the "this" there were found any-
thing which could stand out against absorption —
anything which could refuse to be so lost by such
support and maintenance — an objection might be
tenable. But we saw, in our nineteenth chapter,
that a character of this kind does not exist. My in-
capacity to extend the boundary of my " this," my
inability to gain an immediate experience of that
in which it is subordinated and reduced — is my mere
imperfection. Because I cannot spread out my
window until all is transparent, and all windows dis-
appear, this does not justify me in insisting on my
window- frame's rigidity. For that frame has, as
such, no existence in reality, but only in our impo-

254

REALITY.

tence (Chapter xix.). I am aware of the miserable
inaccuracy of the metaphor, and of the thoujjhtless
objection which it may call up ; but I will still
put the matter so. The one Reality is what comes
directly to my feeling through this window of a
moment ; and this, also and again, is the only
Reality. But we must not turn the first " is " into
" is nothing at all but," and the second " is " into "is
all of." There is no objection against the disappear-
ance of limited transparencies in an all-embracing
clearness. We are not compelled merely, but we
are justified, when we follow the irresistible lead of
our content.

(d) We have seen, so far, that experience, if you
take that as direct, does not testify to the sole reality
of my self Direct experience would be confined to
a "this," which is not even pre-eminently a " mine,"
and still less is the same as what we mean by a
"self" And, in the second place, we perceived that
reality extends beyond such experience. And here,
once more, Solipsism may suppose that it finds its
opportunity. It may urge that the reality, which
goes beyond the moment, stops short at the self
The process of transcendence, it may admit, con-
ducts us to a "me "which embraces all immediate
experiences. But, Solipsism niay argue, this pro-
cess can not take us on further. By this road,
it will object, there is no way to a plurality of selves,
or to any reality beyond my private personality.
We shall, however, find that this contention is both
dogmatic and absurd. For, if you have a right to
believe in a self beyond the present, you have the
same right to maintain also the existence of other
selves.

I will not enquire how, precisely, we come by
the idea of other animates' existence. Metaphysics
has no direct interest in the origin of ideas, and its
business is solely to examine their claim to be true.

SOLIPSISM.

255

But, if I am asked to justify my belief that other
selves, beside my own, are in the worid, the answer
must be this. I arrive at other souls by means of
other bodies, and the argument starts from the
ground of my own body. My own body is one of
the groups which are formed in my experience.
And it is connected, immediately and specially, with
pleasure and pain, and a^jain with sensations and
volitions, as no other group can be.' But, since
there are other groups like my body, these must
also be qualified by similar attendants.^ With my
feelings and my volitions these groups cannot
correspond. For they are usually irrelevant and
indifferent, and often even hostile ; and they enter
into collision with one another and with my body.
Therefore these foreign bodies have, each of them,
a foreign self of its own. This is briefly the argu-
ment, and it seems to me to be practically valid. It
falls short, indeed, of demonstration in the following
way. The identity in the bodies is, in the first place,
not exact, but in various degrees falls short of com-
pleteness. And further, even so far as the identity
is perfect, its consequence might be modified by
additional conditions. And hence the other soul
might so materially differ from my own. that I should
hesitate, perhaps, to give it the name of soul.' But
still the argument, though not strict proof, seems
sufficiently good.

It is by the same kind of argument that we reach
our own past and future. And here Solipsism, in
objecting to the existence of other selves, is unawares
attempting to commit suicide. For my past self,
also, is arrived at only by a process of inference, and
by a process which also itself is fallible.

1 Compare Mind, XII. ,•570 foil. I do not think it is necessary
for present purposes to elaborate this argument.

* This step rests entirely on the principle of the Identity ot
Indiscernibles.

' Cf. ChaiJter x.xvii.

256

REALITY.

We are so accustomed each to consider his past
self as his own, that it is worth while to reflect how
very largely it may be foreign. My own past is, in
the first place, incompatible with my own present,
quite as much as my present can be with another
man's. Their difierence in time could not permit
them both to be wholly the same, even if their two
characters are taken as otherwise identical. But
this agreement in character is at least not always
found. And my past not only may differ so as to
be almost indifferent, but 1 may regard it even with
a feeling of hostility and hatred. It may be mine
mainly in the sense of a persisting incumbrance, a
compulsory appendage, joined in continuity and
fastened by an inference. And that inference, not
being abstract, falls short of demonstration.

My past of yesterday is constructed by a redin-
tegration from the present. Let us call the present
A' {B-C), with an ideal association x [a-b). The re-
production of this association, and its synthesis with
tlie present, so as to form X (a-B-C), is what we
call memory. And the justification of the process
consists in the identity of j: with A'.' Hut it is a
serious step not simply to qualify my present self,
but actually to set up another self at the distance of
an interval. I so insist on the identity that I ride
upon it to a difference, just as, before, the identity of
our bodies carried me to the soul of a different man.
And it is obvious, once more here, that the identity
is incomplete. The association does not contain all
that now qualifies A' ; x is different from A', and d is
different from B. And again, the passage, through
this defective identity to another concrete fact, may
to sonie extent be vitiated by unknown interfering
conditions. Hence I cannot prove that the yester-

• For the sake of simplicity I have omitted the process of cor-
recting memory. This is of course effected by the attempt to get
a coherent view of the past, and by the rejection of everything
which cannot be included.

SOLIPSISM.

257

day's self, which I construct, did, as such, have an
actual existence in the past. The concrete condi-
tions, into which my ideal construction must be
launched, may alter its character. They may, in
fact, unite with it so that, if I knew this unknown
fact, I should no longer care to call it my self. Thus
my past self, assuredly, is not demonstrated. We
can but say of it that, like other selves, it is practic-
ally certain. And in each case the result, and our
way to it, is in principle the same. Both other
selves and my own self are intellectual constructions,-^
each as secure as we can expect special facts to be.
But, if any one stands out for demonstration, then
neither is demonstrated. And, if this demand is
pressed, you must remain with a feeling about which
you can say nothing, and which is, emphatically,
not the self of any one at all. On the other hand,
if you are willing to accept a result which is not
strictly proved, botli results must be accepted. For
the process, which conducts you to other selves,
is not weaker sensibly, if at all, than the con-
struction by which your own self is gained. On
either alternative the conclusion of Solipsism, is
ruined.

And if memory, or some other faculty, is appealed
to, and is invoked to secure the pre-eminent reality ol
my self, I must decline to be persuaded. For I am
convinced that such convenient wonders do not
exist, and that no one has any sufficient excuse for
accepting them. Memory is plainly a construction
from the ground of the present. It is throughout
inferential, and is certainly fallible ; and its gross
mistakes as to past personal existence should be very
well known (pp. 84, 213). I prefer, in passing, to
notice that confusion as to the present limits of self,
which is so familiar a feature in hypnotic experi-
ments. The assumption of a suggested foreign
jiersonality is, I think, strong evidence for the
secondary nature of our own. Both, in short, are

A. k. s

258

REALITY.

results of manufacture ; and to account otherwise
for the facts seems clearly impossible.'

We have seen, so far, that direct experience is
no foundation for Solipsism. We have seen further
that, if at all we may transcend that experience,
we are no nearer Solipsism. For we can go to
foreign selves by a process no worse than the
construction which establishes our own self And,
before passing on, I will call attention to a minor
point Even if 1 had secured a right to the posses-
sion of my past self, and no right to the acceptance
of other selves as real, yet, even with this. Solipsism
is not grounded. It would not follow from this that
the not-myself is nothing, and that all the world is
merely a state of my self. The only consequence,
so far, would be that the not-myself must be in-
animate. But between that result and Solipsism
is an impassable gulf You can not, starting from
the given, construct a self which will swallow up and
own every element from which it is distinguished.

I will briefly touch on another source of mis-
tmderstanding. It is the old mistake in a form
which is slightly different. All I know, I may be
told, is what I experience, and I can experience
nothing beyond my own states. And it is argued
that hence my own self is the one knowable reality.
But the truth in this objection, once more, has been
jjressed into falsehood. It is true that all I ex-
perience is my state — so far as I experience it.
Even the Absolute, as my reality, is my state of
mind. But this hardly shows that my experience
l)Ossesses no other aspect. It hardly proves that
what is my state of mind is no more, and must be
taken as real barely from that one point of view.

' It is of course the intervention of the foreign body which
prevents my usually confusing foreign selves with ray own.
Another's body is, in the first place, not immediately connected
throughout with my pleasure and pain. And, in the second
jilace, its states are often positively incompatible with mine.

SOLIPSISM.

259

The Reality certainly must appear within my
psychical existence ; but it is quite another thing to
limit its whole nature to that field.

My thought, feeling, and will, are, of course, all
phenomena ; they all are events which happen.
From time to time, as they happen, they exist in
the felt " this," and they are elements within its
chance congeries. And they can be taken, further,
as states of that self-thing which I construct by an
inference. But, if you look at them merely so, then,
unconsciously or consciously, you mutilate their
character. You use a point of view which is
necessary, but still is partial and one-sided. And
we shall see more clearly, hereafter, the nature of
this view (Chapters .xxiii. and xxvii.). I will here
simply state that the import and content of these
processes does not consist in their appearance
in the pyschical series. In thought the important
feature is not our mental state, as such ; and the
same truth, if less palpable, is as certain with vo-
lition. My will is mine, but, none the less, it is also
much more. The content of the idea willed (to
put the matter only on that ground) may be some-
thing beyond me ; and, since this content is effective,
the activity of the process cannot simply be my
state. But I will not try to anticipate a point which
will engage us later on. It is sufficient here to lay
down generally, that, if experience is mine, that is
no argument for what I experience being nothing
but my state. And this whole objection rests
entirely on false preconceptions. My private self
is first set up, as a substantive which is real in-
dependent of the Whole; and then its palpable
community with the universe, which in experience
is forced on us, is degraded into the adjective of
our miserable abstraction. But, when these pre-
conceptions are exposed, Solipsism disappears.

Considered as the apotheosis of an abstraction,

26o

REALITY.

Solipsism is quite false. But from its errors we may
collect aspects of truth, to which we sometimes are
blind. And, in the first place, though my experience
is not the whole world, yet that world appears in my
experience, and, so far as it exists there, it is my
[state of mind. That the real Absolute, or God
himself, is also jfiy state, is a truth often forgotten
and to which later we shall return. And there is
a second truth to which Solipsism has blindly borne
witness. My way of contact with Reality is through
a limited aperture. For I cannot get at it directly
except through the felt "this," and our immediate
interchange and transfluence takes place through
one small opening. Everything beyond, though not
less real, is an expansion of the common essence
which we feel burningly in this one focus. And so,
in the end, to know the Universe, we must fall back
upon our personal experience and sensation.

But beside these two truths there is yet another
truth worth noticing. My self is certainly not the
Absolute, but, without it, the Absolute would not be
itself You cannot anywhere abstract wholly from
my personal feelings ; you cannot say that, apart
even from the meanest of these, anything else in the
universe would be what it is. And in asserting
this relation, this essential connection, of all reality
with my self, Solipsism has emphasized what should
not be forgotten. But the consequences, which
properly follow from this truth, will be discussed
liereafter.'

' I shall deal in Chapter xxvii. with the question whether,
in refuting Solipsism, we have removed any ground for our con-
clusion th