Google
This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on Hbrary shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project
to make the world's books discoverable online.
It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject
to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books
are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.
Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the
publisher to a library and finally to you.
Usage guidelines
Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we liave taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.
We also ask that you:
+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.
+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.
+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.
+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe.
About Google Book Search
Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web
at |http : //books . google . com/|
L
;j«iuv^-v A^-of^
0«MX<4^-^V*^
f^i
llbrari? of pbiloaopb?. Ir^^ ^ 7Lh^.
EDITED BY J. H. MUIRHEAD. LL.D.
THE LIBRARY OF PHILOSOPHY.
The library OF PHILOSOPHY is in the first instance a
contribution to the History of Thought, While much has been
done in England in tracing the course of evolution in nature,
history, religion and morabty, comparatively little has been
done in tracing the development of Thought upon these and
kindred subjects, and yet " the evolution of opinion is pait of
the whole evolution."
This Library will deal mainly with Modem Pliilosophy,
partly because Ancient Philosophy has already had a fair share
of attention in this country tlirough the labours of Grote, Fer-
rier, Eenn and others, and through translations from Zeller ;
partly because the Library does not profess to give a complete
history of thought.
By the co-operation of different writers in carrying out tliis
plan, it is hoped that a completeness and thoroughness of treat-
ment otherwise unattainable will be secured. It is believed,
also, that from writers mainly Enghsh and American fuller con-
sideration of Enghsh Philosophy than it has hitherto received
from the great German Histories of Philosophy may be looked
for. In the departments of Ethics, Economics and Politics,
for instance, the contributions of English writers to the common
stock of theoretic discussion have been especially valuable, and
these subjects will accordingly have special prominence in this
undertaking.
Another feature in the plan of the Library is its arrangement
according to subjects rather than authors and dates, enabling the
writers to follow out and exhibit in a way hitherto unattempted
the results of the logical development of particular lines of
thought.
The historical portion of the Library is divided into two
sections, of which the first contains works upon the develop-
ment of particular schools of Philosophy, while the second
exhibits the history of theory in particular departments.
To these have been added, by way of Introduction to the
whole Library, (i) an Enghsh translation of Erdmann's His-
tory of Philosophy, long since recognised in Germany as the best ;
(2) translations of standard foreign works upon Philosophy.
J. H. MUIRHEAD,
duaal Editor.
Walreadv published.
mine HisTORv OF Philasopby. By Dr. Johakn Eddabd Ekdhaks.
English Translation. Edited by Williston S. Hough. M.Ph., Pro-
fessor of McntaJ and Moral Philosophy and Logic in the University oi Min-
In 3 vols., medium 8vo, cloth.
Vol. 1. Aocient and Medixva) Philosophy, 15s. Third EdUion.
Vol. 11. Modem Philosophy, 15s. .... Fifth Edition.
Vol. 111. Modern Philosophy, since Hi^el, IM. . Third Edition.
The History of -Esthetic. By Bernard Bosanqdet, M.A., LL.D., late
Fellow of University College, Oxford, loi. 6d. net. Second Edition,
e Kant. By Professor Otto
Third Edition.
Sigwart's Logic. Translated by Helen Dendy. 3 vols. 21s. net.
Analytic Psychology. By G. F. Stout, M.A., Fellow of St John's College,
Cambridge, Wilde Bender in Mental Philosophy, Oxford, z vols. 21s.
net. Third Edition. ^
A History of English Utilitarianism. By Ernest Albee, Ph.D., Instroctor
in the Sage School of Philosophy, Cornell University. los. 6d. net.
iXsouGHi AND Things : a Study of the Development and Meaning of Thonght
I or Genetic Logic. By Jakes Mark Baldwin. Ph.D., Hon. D.Sc. (Oxon.J,
I LL.D. (Glasgow), Professor in the Johns Hopkins University. Vol. 1,
Vol. II., Experimental Logic, iw. td.
Vol. III., Heal Logic [in preparation).
Its Nature and Laws. Being an Introduction to the General
Theory of Value. By Wilbur Marshall Urban. Ph.D., Professor of
Philosophy, Trinity CoUckc, Hartford, Conn. los. bd. net.
Attention. By Prof. W. B, Pillsbuhy, University of Michigan. loi. isd. net.
^TljjE AND Free Will. By Prof. Henri Bbrcson. Translated from the French
by F. L. PoosoN, St. John's College. Oxford. los. 6d. net.
Mind. Translated by Prof. J. B. Baillib.
SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO., Lm., LONDON.
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, NEW YORK.
ERDMANN'S HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY.
NOTICES OF THE PRESS.
" A spiesniD monument of patient labour, critical acumen and a.dmimbls
lDethodica.1 treatment. ... It is not too much to predict that, for the library
ot the iovant, loi the academical Btudeut. whose business it is to be primed in.
the wisdom of the ages, and for the Uterary dilettante, who is nothing ii not
well up in ' things that everybody ought to know,' these volumes will at once
becomeanecessity for purposes, at least, of reference, if not of actual study. . . .
We possess nothing that can bear any comparison with it in point of complete-
ness."— Pa;/ Mall Gaiette.
" tt is not necessary to speak of the great merits of Erdmaun's History of
FMosophy. Itsremarkableclearoessandconiprehensivenessarewell known. . . .
The translation is a good, faithful rendering, and in some parts even reaches a
high literary level." — Professor John Watsow, in The Wfek, of Canada,
" ft is matter of real congratulation, in the dearth still of original English or
American work over the whole field ot historical philosophy, that by the side of
the one important German compend of this generahon. the other, so well fitted
to serve as its complement, is now made accessible to the English-speaking
8t udent. " — M ind.
" It has been long known, highly esteemed, and in its successive editioni
has sought to make itself more worthy of the success it has justly achieved.
Etdmann's work is excellent. His liistory ot mediicval philosophy especially
deserves attention and praise for its comparative fulness and its admirabla
scholarship. ... It must prove a valuable and much needed addition to our
philosophical works." — Scotsmoti.
" The combination of quaUties necessary to produce a work of the scope
and grade of Erdmann's is rare. Industry, accuracy, and a fair degree of philo-
sophic understanding may give us a work like Ueberweg's ; but Erdmann's
history, while in no way superseding Ueberweg's as a handbook for general
ose. yet occupies a different position. Erdmann wrote his book, not as a refer-
ence book, to give in brief compass a digest of the wriHngs of various authors, but
as a genuine history of philosophy, tracing in a genetic way the development
of thought io its treatment of philosophic problems. Its purpose is to develop
philosophic intelligence rather tiian to furnish informatioa. When we add that,
to the successful execution of tliis intention, Erdmann unites a minute and
exhanstive knowledge of philosophic sources at first hand, equalled over the
"ire field of philosophy probably by no other one man, we are in a condition
to form some idea of the value of the book. To the student who wishes, not
•imply a general idea of the course ot philosophy, nor a summary of what this
and tiiat man has said, tnit a somewhat detailed knowledge of the evolution
of thought, and of what this and the other writer have contributed to it, Erd-
mann is indispensable ; there is no substitute." — Professor John Dewey, in
Tlu Andover Review.
" It is a work that is at once compact enough for the ordinary student, and
full enough for the reader of Uterature. ... AI once systematic and interest-
ing." — Journal of Education.
" The translation into English of Erdmann's History of Philosophy is an
important event in itself, and in the fact that it is the first instalment of an under-
taking of great significance for the study of philosophy in this country. Apart,
however, from its relation to the Library to which it is to serve as an intrcKluc-
tion. the translation of Erdmann's Hiilory of Philosophy is something for which
the English student ought to be thankful. ... A History of past endeavours,
achievements and failures cannot but be of great use to the student. Such a
History, able, competent, trustworthy, we have now in our hands, adequately
aad worthily rendered into our mother -tongue." — Spectator.
Xibran^ of |>biIodopbi?.
EDITED BY J. H. MUJRHEAD, LL.D.
TIME AND FREE WILL
TIME
AND FREE, WILL
An Essay
the Immediate Data
of Consciousness
HENRI BERGSON
Authorized Transition by
F.L.POGSON,M.A.
NOTE TO THE READER
The paper in thu volume is brittle or the
iDDCi mufpiu arc eitrttndy narrow.
We have bound or rdiound the volume
utUliinK the best mean* postible.
PLEASE HANDLE WVTH CARE
GcNcnju. BooKBiNoma Co_ CMsaTtRUuiD. Owo ^IM
>r
TIME
AND FREE WILL
An Essay on the Immediate Data
of Consciousness
HENRI BERGSON
UEUBEK or THE INSTITUTE
PKOFEBtOK AT THE COLLEGE DE FRANCE
Authorized Translation by
F. L. POGSON, MJV.
LONDON
SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO., LIM
New Yore: THE MACMILLAN CO
1910
>r
Kcu €i Tis 8c r^i' <l>wnv €poiTo rivos ci^cKa ttoici,
€t Tov ^porrcoKros c^c\oi CTroiciv Kai Xeyciv, ctTrot
o[k* ** €\pifjy fi€V firj ipwrav, dXXa (rwUvan Koi avrov
(ruinrjji Sxrirtp iyio (nunrto koX ovk €WiafJLai Xcyciv.'*
Plotinus.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
Henri Louis Bergson was born in Paris, October
i8, 1859. He entered the Ecole normale in
1878. and was admitted agrege de philosophic
in 1881 and docteur es lettres in 1889. After
holding professorships in various provincial and
Parisian lycees, he became maitre de conferences
at the Ecole normale superieure in 1897, and
since 1900 has been professor at the College de
France. In 1901 he became a ihember of the
Institute on his election to the Academie des
Sciences morales et pohtiqucs.
A full list of Professor Bergson's works is given
in the appended bibhography. In making the
following translation of his Essai sur les donnecs
immldiaies de la conscience 1 have had the great
advantage of his co-operation at every stage,
and the aid which he has given has been most
generous and untiring. The book itself was
worked out and written during the years 1883
to 1887 and was originally published in 1889.
The foot-notes in the French edition contain a
certain number of references to French trans-
lations of English works. In the present trans-
lation I am responsible for citing these references
from the original English. This will account
VI TRANSLATORS PREFACE
for the fact that editions are sometimes referred
to which have appeared subsequently to i88g.
I have also added fairly extensive marginal
summaries and a full index.
In France the Essai is already in its seventh
edition. Indeed, one of the most striking facts
about Professor Bergson's works is the extent
to which they have appealed not only to the
professional philosophers, but also to the ordinary
cultivated public. The method which he pursues
is not the conceptual and abstract method which
has been the dominant tradition in pliilosophy.
For liim reality is not to be reached by any
elaborate construction of thought : it is given
in immediate experience as a flux, a continuous
process of becoming, to be grasped by intuition,
by sympathetic insight. Concepts break up the
continuous flow of reality into parts external to
one another, they further the interests of language
and social Ufe and are useful primarily for prac-
tical purposes. But they give us nothing of the
life and movement of reaUty ; rather, by sub-
stituting for this an artificial reconstruction, a
patchwork of dead fragments, they lead to the
difficulties which have always beset the intel-
lectualist philosophy, and which on its premises
are insoluble. Instead of attempting a solution
in the intellectualist sense. Professor Bergson
calls upon his readers to put these broken frag-
ments of reahty behind them, to immerse them-
selves in the Uving stream of things and to
TRANSLATOR S PREFACE Vll
find their difficulties swept away in its resistless
flow.
In the present volume Professor Bergson first
deals with the intensity of conscious states. He
shows that quantitative differences are apphcable
only to magnitudes, that is, in the last resort,
to space, and that intensity in itself is purely
qualitative. Passing then from the consideration
of separate conscious states to their multiplicity,
he finds that there are two forms of multiplicity ;
quantitative or discrete multiplicity involves the
intuition of space, but the multiplicity of conscious
states is wholly qualitative. This unfolding
multiplicity constitutes duration, which is a
succession without distinction, an interpenetration
of elements so heterogeneous that former states
can never recur. The idea of a homogeneous
and measurable time is showai to be an artificial
concept, formed by the intrusion of the idea of
space into the realm of pure duration. Indeed,
the whole of Professor Bergson's philosophy
centres round his conception of real concrete
duration and the specific feeling of duration which
our consciousness has when it does away with
convention and habit and gets back to its natural
attitude. At the root of most errors in philosophy
he finds a confusion between this concrete duration
and the abstract time which mathematics, physics,
and even language and common sense, substitute
for it. Applying these results to the problem
of free will, he shows that the difficulties arise
VIU TRANSLATOR S PREFACE
from taking up one's stand after the act has been
performed, and applying the conceptual method
to it. From the point of view of the living,
developing self these difficulties are shown to be
illusory, and freedom, though not definable in
abstract or conceptual terms, is declared to be
one of the clearest facts established by observa-
tion.
It is no doubt misleading to attempt to sum
up a system of philosophy in a sentence, but
perhaps some part of the spirit of Professor Berg-
son's philosophy may be gathered from the motto
which, with his permission, I have prefixed to
this translation : — " If a man were to inquire
of Nature the reason of her creative activity,
and if she were willing to give ear and answer,
she would say — ' Ask me not, but understand
in silence, even as I am silent and am not wont
to speak.' "
F. L. POGSON.
Oxford,
June, 1 9 10.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
I. Works bv Bergson.
{a) Books.
Quid Aristoteles de loco senserit, (Thesis), Paris, i88g.
Essai sur les doimfes inrniMiates de la conscience, Paris,
1889, 1910.'
Matigre et Mtooire, Essai sur la relation du corps avec
I'esprit, Paris, 1896. 1910.'
Le Rire. Essai sur la signification du comique, Paris, 1900,
igio." (First published in the Revtte de Paris, 1900,
Vol. I., pp. 512-545 and 759-791-)
L'Evolution cr^atrice, Paris, 1907. 1910.'
(b) Articles.
La Sp^alit^. (Address at the distribution of prizes at
the lycfe of Angers, Aug. 1882,)
De la simulation inconsciente dans I'^tat d'hypnotisme.
Revue philosopkique. Vol. 22. 1886, pp. 525-531.
Le bon sens et les etudes classiques. (Address at the
distribution of prizes at the " Concours g^n^ral des
lyc^es et colldges," 1895,)
M^moire et reconnaissance. (Revue philos. Mar., Apr.
1896, pp. 225-248 and 380-399. Republished in Mali&re
et Mimoife.)
Perception et mati^e. {Rev. de Met. et de Mor. May
1896, pp. 257-277. Republished in Matiire et Mimoire.)
Note sur les origines psychologiques de notre croyance d la
loi de causahl^. (Lecture at the Philosophical Con-
gress in Paris, 1900, published in the Bibliotkique du
Congris International de Philosopkie : cf. Revue de Mela-
physique et de Morale. Sept. 1900. p. 655.)
Le Reve. (Lecture at the Institut psychologique interna-
tional : published in the Bulletin de I'lttstitul psych, intern.
May 1901 ; cf. Revue scientifique, 4* S., Vol. 15, June 8,
1901, pp. 705-713, and Revue de Philosopkie, 1901, pp.
486-489.)
K BIBLIOGRAPHY
Le Parallflisme psycho-physique et la mdtaphysique posi-
tive. Bulletin de la Sodete franfaise de Philosophte,
June 1901.
L'Effort intellectuel. Revue philosopkigue, Jan. 1902.
Introduction a la mfitaphysique. Revue de Mil. el de Mori
Jan. 1903.
Le Paralogisme psycho-physio! ogique. (Lecture at the
Philosophical Congress in Geneva, 1904. published in the
Revue de Mel. et de Mor. Nov. 1904, pp. 895-908; see
also pp. 1027-1036.
L'Idte de n&uit, Rev. pkilos. Nov. 1906, pp. 449-j
(Part of Chap. 4 of L'Evolution criatrice).
Notice sur la vie et les oeuvxes de M. F^lix Ravaisson-
Mollien. (Lecture before the Acad^ie des Sciences
morales et politiques : published in the Proceedings of
the Academy, Vol, 25, pp. i ff. Paris, 1907.)
Le Souvenir du prfeent et la fausse reconnaissance. Reo.
pkilos. Dec. 1908, pp. 561-593.
(c) Miscellaneous.
Lucrice : Extraits . . . avec une ^tude sur la pofeie, la'
philosophic, la physique, le texte et la langue de Lucrfeoe.
Paris, 1884.
Prindpes de m^taphysique et de psychologie d'aprte!
M. Paul Janet. Revue pkilos.. Vol. 44, Nov. 1897, pp.
525-551-
Sur sa relation i W. James, Revue philosophique, Vol.
1905, p. 229 f.
Sur sa throne de la perception, BuUeHn de la Soc. jr.
Pkilos. Mar. 1905, pp. 94 ff.
Rapport sur le concours pour le prix Bordin, 1905, ayant'
pour sujet Maine de Biran. {Memoires de I' AcadSmiS-
des Sciences morales et politiques, Vol. 25, pp, 809 B.
Paris, 1907).
Rapport sur le concours pour le prix Le Dissez de Penarnim,
1907. (Mhnoires de I'Academie des Sciences morales et
politiques. Vol. 26, pp. 771 H. Paris, 1909.)
S\it I' Evolution criatrice, Revue duMois. Sept. 1907, p. 351.
A propos de revolution de I'intelligence gfomfitrlque.
Revue de Mil. et de Mor. Jan. 1908, pp. 28-33.
4
e
e
e
BIBLIOGRAPHY XI
Sur I'influence de sa philosophic sur les dives des lycfes.
Bulletin de la Soc. jr. de Pkilos., Jan. igo8, p. 21; cf.
L'Annie psychologique, 1908, pp. 229-231.
Note sur le mot " immMiat," Bulletin de la Soc. jr. de
Pkilos. Aug. 1908, p. 341.
Preface 4 un volume de la collection Les grands philosophes,
(G. Tafde, par ses fils). Paris. Michaud, 1909.)
Remarques a propos d'une th^se soutenue par M. Dwel-
shauvers " L'inconscient dans la vie mentale." Bulletin,
de la Soc. fr. de Phil., Feb. 1910.
II. Select List of Books and Articles dealing in Whole
OB IN Part with Bergson and his Philosophy.
(Arranged alphabetically under each language.)
5. Alexander, Matiire et Mimoire, (Mind, Oct. 1897, pp.
572-3)-
B. H. Bode, L'Evolution crcatrice. {Philosophical Review,
1908, pp. 84-89).
W. Boyd, L'Evolution creatrice, {Review of Theology and
Philosophy, Oct., 1907. pp. 249-251),
H. Wildon Can, Bergson's Theory of Knowledge, {Pro-
ceedings of the Aristotelian Society, London, 1909. New
Series, Vol. IX, pp. 41-60).
H. Wildon Carr. Bergson's Theory of Instinct, (Proceedings
of ike Aristotelian Society. London, 1910, New Series,
Vol. X.).
H. Wildon Carr, The Philosophy of Bergson, (Hibberl
Jottmal, July 1910, pp. S73-883),
H. N. Gardiner, Memoire et reconnaissance, (Psychological
Review, 1896, pp. 578-580).
T. E. Hulme, The New Philosophy, (New Age, July i, 29,
1909).
William James, A Pluralistic Universe, London, 1909,
pp. 225-273.
William James. The Philosophy of Bergson, (Hibberl
Journal, April 1909, pp. 562-577. Reprinted in A
Pluralistic Universe ; see above).
xu
BIBLIOGRAPHY
William fames, Bradley or Bergson ? (Journal of Philosophy,
Psychology and Scientific Met'iods, Vol. VII.No. 2, Jan. 20,
1910. pp. 29-33).
A. Lalande, Philosophy in France, 1907, (Pkilosopkicat
Review, May, igo8).
T. Loveday, L'EvoUiHon creatrtce, (Mind, July 1908, pp.
402-8).
A. 0. Lovefoy, The Metaphysician of the Lite-Force, [Nation,
New York, Sept. 30, 1909).
A. Mitchell, L'Evolution creatrice, (Journal of Philosophy,
Psychology and Scientific Methods, Vol. V, No. 22, Oct.
22, 1908, pp. 603-612).
W. Scott Palmer, Presence and Omnipresence, (ConUm-
porary Review, June 1908, pp. 734-742).
W. Scott Palmer, Thought and Instinct, (Nation, June 5,
1909).
W.Scotl Palmer, Life and the Brain, (Contemporary Review ,
Oct., 1909. pp. 474-484).
IF. B. Pitkin, James and Bergson ; or. Who is against
Intellect ? [Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and
Scientific Methods, Apr. 28, igro.)
G. R. T. Ross, A New Theory of Laughter, (Nation, Nov.
28, 1908).
G. R. T. Ross, The Philosophy of Vitalism, (Nation. Mar,
13, 1909)-
G. M. Sauvage, The New Philosophy in France, (Catholic
University Bulletin. Washington, Apr. 1906,
1908).
Norman Smith, Subjectivism and Reahsm in Modem Philo-
sophy, (Philostyphical Review, Vol. XVII, 1908, pp.
138-148).
G. F. Stout, Free Will and Determinism, (Speaker,
London, May 10, 1890).
/. H. Tufts, Humor, (Psychological Review, 1901,
98-99).
G. Tyrrell, Creative Evolution, (Hibbert Journal, Jan. 1908,
pp. 435-442).
T. Whittaker, Essai sur les donnees immHiates de la con-
science. (Mind, Apr. 1890, pp. 292-3).
J
BIBLIOGRAPHY XUl
G. Aimel, Individualisrae et philosophic Iwrgsonienne,
(Revue de Philos., June, 1908).
Bahhasar, Le probleme de Dieu d'apres la philosophie
nouvelle, (Revue neo-scolaslique, Nov. 1907).
0. Belot, Une thtorie nouvelle de la WhcTt^, {Revue pkiloso-
phigue. Vol. XXX. 1890. pp. 360-392).
G. Belot, Un nouveau spiritualisme, Maliire et Memotre,
{Rev. Philos. Vol. XLIV. 1897, pp. 183-199).
Jean Blum, La philosophie de M. Bergson et la pofeie
symboliste, {Mercure de France, Sept. 15, 1906).
C. BouglS, Syndicalistes et Bergsoniens, {Revue du Mots.
Apr. 1909, pp. 403-416).
L. Brunschvicg, L'ld^alisme contemporain, Paris, 1905.
G. Cantecor, La philosophie nouvelle et la vie de I'esprit,
{Rev. philos. Mar. 1903, pp, 252-277).
A. Chaumeix, La philosophie de Bergson, {Journal des
Debats, May 24, 1908. Reprinted in Pragmalisme el
Modemisme, Paris, Alcan, 1909).
A. Chaumeix, Les critiques du rationalisme, {Revue Heb-
domadaire, Paris, Jan. i, 1910, pp. 1-33).
A. Chide, Le mobilisme modeme. Paris. Alcan, 1908. (See
also Revue philos.. Apr. 1908, Dec. 1909.)
C. Coignet, Kant et Bergson, {Revue Chretienne. July, I904),
L. Conslanl, Cours de M. Bergson sur I'histoire de I'id^
de temps, (Revue de Philos. Jan. 1904, pp. 105-111.
Summary of lectures}.
P. L. Couchoud, La m^taphysique nouvelle. i propos de
Matiire et Mimotre de M. Bergson. (Revue deMitaphysigue
et de Morale, Mar. 1902, pp. 225-243).
L. Couturat, La thferie du temps de Bergson, {Rev. de
Met. et de Mor. 1S96).
Lion CrisHatti, Le problfime de Dieu et le pragmatisme,
Paris. Bloud et Cie., 1908.
F. Le Danlec, L'Evolutton crialrice, (Revuedu Mois, Aug.
1907 Reprinted in Science et Conscience, Paris, Flam-
marion, 1908).
L. Dauriac, Le Rire, (Revue philos. Dec. 1900, pp. 665-670).
V. Delbos, Maliire el Mimoire, {Rev. de Mil. et de Mor.
May 1897, pp, 353-389)-
XIV
BIBLIOGRAPHY
G. L. Duprat, La spatialite des fails psychiques, {Rev.
pkilos.. May 1907, pp. 492-501),
G. Dwelshauvers, Raison et Intuition, Etude sur la philo-
Sophie de M. Bergson, (La Belgiquc artistique et tiltcraire,
Nov. Dec. 1905, Apr. igo6).
G. DwdihauviTi. M. Bergson et la m6thode intuitive,
{Revue du Mots, Sept. 1907, pp. 33fr-35o).
G. Dwelshauvers. De I'intuition dans I'acte de Tesprit, {Rev.
de Mel. el de Mor. Jan. 1908).
A. Farges, Le problSme de la contingence d'apres M. Berg-
son, {Revue pratique d'apologiligue, Apr. 15, 1909).
A. Farges. L'erreur fondamentale de la philosophic nouvelle.
{Revue thomisle, May-June, 1909).
A. Farges, Throne fondamentale de I'acte, avec la critique
de la philosophic nouvelle de M. Bergson, Paris, Berche
et Tralin, 1909.
Alfred FoutUee, Le mouvement Idealiste et la reaction centre
la science positive, Paris, Alcan, 1896, pp. 198-206.
Fr. Garrigou-Lagrange, Le sens commun. la philosophic de
r^tre et les foimules dogmatiques, Paris, Beauchesne, 1909.
Reni Gillomn, Henri Bergson, Paris, 1910. (A volume in
the series Les grands philosopkes).
A. Joussain, Eomantisme et Religion, Paris, Alcan, 1910.
P. Landormy, Remarques sur la philosophic nouvelle et
sur ses rapports avec rintcUectuaiisme, {Rev. de Mel.
et de Mor. July, 1901).
Legendre, M. Bergson et son Evolution creatrice, (Bulletin de
la Scmaine, May 6, 1908).
Lenoble, L'Evolution cri-atrice, {Revtte du Clerge frattfais,
Jan., 1908),
f . ie Roy. Science et Philosophic, (A series of articles in
the Rev. de Met. et de Mor. 1899 and 1900).
L. Levy-Bruhl, L'Essai sur les donnas immediates de la
conscience, (Rev. pkilos.. Vol, 29, 1S90, pp, 519-538).
G. H. Luquct, Id6es g^n^rales de psychologic, Paris, Alcan.
/. Lux, Kos philosophes, M. Henri Bergson, {Rerue Bleue,
Dec. I, 1906).
X. Moisanl, La notion de multiplicity dans la philosopliie
de M. Bergson, (Revue de Plulos., June, 1902).
BIBLIOGRAPHY
XV
X. Moisant, Dieu dans la philosophic de M. Bergson, [Revue
de Philos., May, 1905).
D. Parodi, Le Hire, par H. Bergsoo, {Rev. de Mil. el de Mor.
Mar. 1901, pp. 224-236).
T. M. Pigues, L'Evolulioti crealrice, {Revue Ihotniste, May-
June, 1908, pp. 137-163).
C. Piat, De Tinsuffisance des philosophies de rintuition,
Paris, 1908.
G. Rageot, L'Evolulion crealrice. {Rev. philos., July, 1907),
Reprinted and enlarged in Les savants et la philosophie,
Paris, Alcan, 1907.
F. Rank. La conscience du devenir, {Rev. de Mel. et de Mor.
Nov. 1897, pp. 659 ff. and Jan. 1898).
F. Ratih, Sur la position du libre arbitre, (Rev. de Mil. el de
Mor. Nov., 1904).
P. P. Raymond, La philosophie de I'intuition et la philo-
sophie du concept, (Fludes fratifaises. June, 1909).
E. Se'lliire, L'Allemagne et la philosophie bergsonienne,
{L'Opinion, July 3, 1909).
G. Sorel, L'Evolulion crealrice. {Le Mouvement socialisle,
Oct. Dec. 1907, Jan. Mar. Apr, 1908).
T. Sleeg, Henri Bergson : Notice biographique avec por-
trait, (Revue universelU, Jan. 1902, pp. 15-16).
/. de Tonquibec, La notion de la v6it^ dans la philosophie
nouvelle, Paris. 1908.
/. de Tonquibec, Comment interpreter I'ordre du monde 4
propos du dernier ouvrage de M, Bergson, Paris, Beaii-
chesne, 1908.
H. Trouche, L'Evolulion crealrice, [Revut de Philos. Nov.,
1908).
H. Villasshre, L'Evolulion criairice, {BuUetin critique, pp.
392-411).
L. Weber, L'Evolulion crealrice, {Rev. de Mil. et de Mor.
Sept. 1907.
/. Benrubi, Henri Bergson, (Die Zukunjt, June 4, 1910).
K. Bornkausen, Die Philosophie Henri Bergsons und ihre
Bedeutung fiir den Religions begr iff, {Zeitschrijl jUr
Theolagie und Kircke, Tubingen, Jahrg. XX, Heft i,
1910, pp. 39-77.
XVI BIBLIOGRAPHY
0. Braun, Materie und Ceddchtnis, {Archiv fiir die gesamte
Psychologie, Vol. 15, 1909, Heft 4, pp. 13-15).
Hans Driesch, H. Bergson, der biologische Philosoph,
{Zeilschrifl fiir den Aitsbau der Eniwickelungslehre, Jahrg.
II, Heft 1/2, Stuttgart, 1908).
V. Eschbach, Henri Bergson, (Kotnische Volkszeilung, Jan.
20, I910),
Ciessler, Le Rive, {Zeilschrifl fiir Psychologie und Physio-
logie der Sinnesorgane, Vol. 29, 1902, p. 231).
Ciessler. L'Effort itUellecluel, [Zeilsch. /. Psychol. «. Physiol.
d. Sinnesorgane, Vol. 32, 1903, pp. 128-9).
J, GoWsfem, Henri Bergson und der Zeitlosigkeitsidealismus,
{FrankfurUr Zeitung, May 2, 1909).
A, Gurewitsch, Die franzosische Metaphysik der Gegenwart
[Archiv fiir system. Philos. IX, pp. 463 U.).
Heymans, Le Rire, (Zeilsch. f. Psychol, u. Physiol, d. Sin-
nesorgane, Vol. 25, 1901, pp. 155-6).
K. Joel, Neues Denken, {Neue Rundschau, Apr. 1910, pp.
549-558).
Ji. von Keyserling, Seigson, (A Ugemeine Zeilung, Munchen,
Nov. 28, 1908),
R. Kroner, Henri Bergson, {Logos, Bd. I, Heft i, Tubingen
igio).
A Lasson, Henri Bergson, {Deutsche Lileralur-Zeilung, May
28, 1910).
R. MiUUr-Freienfels. Malerie und Geddchlnis, {Zeilsch. f. Psy-
chol. M. Physiol, d. Sinnesorgane, May 1910, Vol. 56, Heft
i/z, pp. 126-129).
A. Pilzecker, Mimoire el reconnaissance, {Zeilschrifl fiir
Psychologie und Physiologic der Sinnesorgane, Vol. 13,
1897, pp. 229-232).
0. Seliber, Der Pragraatismus und seine Gegner, (Archiv far
system. Philos. 1909, pp. 287-298).
A. Steenbergen, Henri Bergsons Intuitive Philosophie,
Jena, 1909.
W. WindeWand, Preface to Materie und Geddchlnis, Jena,
1908, pp. I-XV.
Th. Ziehen. Mattire el Mimoire, (Zeilschrifl fiir Philosophie
und philos. Kritik, Dec. 1898, pp. 295-299).
BIBLIOGRAPHY XVU
Roberto Ardigo, Una pretesa pregiudiziale contro il posi-
tivismo, (Rivista di Filosofia e Scicnze affirti, Jan. -Feb.,
Mar-Apr. 1908. Reprinted in Vol. 10 of his Collected
Works).
A. Cres-pi, La metafisica di H. Bergson, (CoCTio6i«m, July-
Aug. 1908).
L. Ferri. Essai sur les donnees immidiates de la conscience,
(Rivista Italiana di Filosofia, Mar. -Apr. 1890. pp, 248-9}.
A. Levi, SuUe ultime forme dell' indeterminismo francese,
Firenze, Civelli, 1903.
A. Levi. L'lndeterminismo nella filosofia francese con-
temporanea. Firenze, Seeber, 1905.
F. Masci, L'idealisnio indeterminista, Napoli, 1899,
E. Morselli, Un nuovo idealismo, (H. Bergson), Udine,
Tosolinj, 1900.
/. Pelrone, Sui Umiti del detenninismo sdentifico, Modena,
1900 ; Roma, 1903.
G. Prezzolini, Del linguaggio come causa di errore, (H.
Bergson), Firenze, Spinelli, 1904.
G. Prezzolini, La filosofia di H. Bergson, (in La Teoria
Sindicalista, Napoli, Perrella, 1909. pp. 283-335).
F. de Sarla, Le correnli filosofiche del secolo XIX, (FUgrea,
III, 6; Sept. 20, 1901, pp. 531-554).
G. Tarozzi, Delia necessity nel fatto naturale ed umano,
Torino, Loescher, 1896-97.
B. Varisco, La Creazione, (Rivista filosofica, Mar.-Apr.
1908, pp. 149-180).
C. Antoniade, Filosofia lui Henri Bergson, (Sh*iH ^so^e,
Bucarest, 1908, Vol. 11, pp. 161-192 and 259-278).
F. Garcia Caldcrdn, Dos fllosofos franceses, Bergson y
Boutroux, (£/ Comcrcio, Lima, May 5, 1907).
E. Duprat, EstudJos de Filosofia contemporanea : la
Filosofia de H. Bergson, (Cultura Espanola, Madrid, 1908,
pp. 185-202 and 567-584).
Silberstein, L' Evolution creatrice, (Przeglad Filozoficzny,
1908).
Michal Sobeski. H. Bergson, (Kurier Warsxawski, 20
stycznJa, 1910), ^.^
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
I
We necessarily express ourselves by means of
words and we usually think in terms of space.
That is to say, language requires us to establish
between our ideas the same sharp and precise
distinctions, the same discontinuity, as between
material objects. This assimilation of thought to
things is useful in practical life and necessary in
most of the sciences. But it may be asked whether
the insurmountable difficulties presented by certain
philosophical problems do not arise from our
placing side by side in space phenomena which
do not occupy space, and whether, by merely
getting rid of the clumsy symbols round which
we are fighting, we might not bring the fight to
an end. When an illegitimate translation of the
unextended into the extended, of quaUty into
quantity, has introduced contradiction into the
very heart of the question, contradiction must,
of course, recur in the answer.
The problem which I have chosen is one which
is common to metaphysics and psychology, the
problem of free will. What I attempt to prove
is that all discussion between the determinists
and their opponents implies a previous confusion
XX author's preface
of duration with extensity, of succession with
simultaneity, of quality with quantity : this
confusion once dispelled, we may perhaps witness
the disappearance of the objections raised against
free will, of the definitions given of it, and, in a
certain sense, of the problem of free will itself.
To prove this is the object of the third part of
the present volume : the first two chapters,
which treat of the conceptions of intensity and
duration, have been written as an introduction
to the third.
H. BERGSON.
February, 1888.
CONTENTS
The Intensity of Psychic States
Quantitative differences applicable to magnitudes but not
to intensities, 1-4 ; Attempt to estimate intensities by
objective causes or atomic movements, 4-7 ; Different
kinds of intensities, 7 ; Deep-seated psychic states :
desire, 8, hope, 9, joy and sorrow, 10 ; Aesthetic feelings,
11-18 : grace, 12, beauty, 14-18, music, poetry, art,
15-18; Moral feelings, pity, 19 ; Conscious states involv-
ing physical symptoms, zo : muscular effort, 21-26,
attention and muscular tension, 27-28 ; Violent emotions,
29-31 : rage, 291 fear, 30 : AITective sensations. 32-39 :
pleasure and pain, 33-39, disgust, 36; Representative
sensations, 39-60 : and external causes, 42, sensation of
sound, 43, intensity, pitch and muscular effort, 45-6.
sensations of heat and cold, 46-7, sensations of pressure
and weight, 47-50, sensation of light, 50-60, photometric
experiments, 52-60, Delbceuf's experiments, 56-60 ;
Psychophysics, 60-72 : Weber and Fechner, 61-65,
Delbceuf, 67-70, the mistake of regarding sensations as
magnitudes, 70-72 ; Intensity in (1) representative, (2)
affective states, intensity and multiplicity, 72-74.
pp. 1-74
CHAPTER II
The Multiplicity of Conscious States
The Idea of Duration
Number and its units, 75-77, number and accompanying
intuition of space, 78-85 ; Two kinds of multiplicity, of
XXll CONTENTS
material objects and conscious states, 85-87, impene-
trability oi matter, 88-89, homogeneous time and pure
duration, 90-91 ; Space and its contents, 92, empirical
theories ot space, 93-94, intuition of empty homogeneous
medium pecuhar to man, 95-97, time as homogeneous
medium reducible to space, 98-99 ; Duration, succession
and space, 100-104, pure duration, 105-I06 ; Is duration
measurable? 107-110; Is motion measurable? 111-
112 ; Paradox of the Eleatics, 113-115 ; Duration and
simultaneity, 115-116; Velocity and simultaneity, 117-
119 ; Space alone homogeneous, duration and succes-
sion belong to conscious mind, 120-121 ; Two kinds of
multiplicity, quahtative and quantitative, 12 i-i 23, super-
ficial psychic states invested with discontinuity of their
external causes, 124-126, these eliminated, real duration
is felt as a quality, 127-128 ; The two aspects of the self,
on the surface well-defined conscious states, deeper down
states which interpenetrate and form organic whole,
129-139, sohdifying influence of language on sensation,
129-132, analysis distorts the feehngs, 132-134, deeper
conscious states forming a part of ourselves, 134-136 ;
Problems soluble only by recourse to the concrete and
hving self. 137-139.
PP- 75-139
CHAPTER III J
The Organization of Conscious States I
Free Will ^
Dynamism and mechanism, 140-142; Two kinds of deter-
minism, 142 ; Physical determinism, 143-155 : and
molecular theory of matter, 143, and conservation of
energy, 144, if conservation universal, physiological and
nervous phenomena necessitated, but perhaps not con-
scious states, 145-148, but is principle of conversation
universal ? 149, it may not apply to living beings and
conscious states, 150-154, idea of its universality depends
on confusion between concrete duration and abstract
time, 154-155 ; Psychological determinism, 155-163 :
CONTENTS XXlll
implies associationist conception of mind, 155-158, this
involves defective conception of self, 159-163 : The free
act : freedom as expressing the fundamental self, 165-
170; Real duration and contingency, 172-182: could
our act have been different ? 172-175, geometrical repre-
sentation of process of coming to a decision, 175-178,
the fallacies to which it leads determinists and hbertarians,
179-183 ; Real duration and prediction, 183-19S : con-
ditions of Paul's prediction of Peter's action (i) being
Peter (z) knowing already his final act, 184-189, the three
fallacies involved, 190-192. astronomical prediction de-
pends on hypothetical acceleration of movements, 193-
195, duration cannot be thus accelerated, 196-198 ;
Real duration and causality, 199-221 : the law "' same
antecedents, same consequents," 199-201, causality as
regular succession, 202-203, causality as prefiguring : two
kinds (1) prefiguring as mathematical pre-existence ;
implies non-duration, but we endure and therefore may be
free, 204-210, (2) prefiguring as having idea of future act
tobe realized by effort; doesnot involve determinism, 211-
214, determinism results from confusing these two senses,
215-218 ; Freedom real but indefinable, 219-221.
pp. 140-221
Conclusion
States of self perceived through forms borrowed from external
world, 223 ; Intensity as quality, 225 ; Duration as
qualitative multiplicity, 226 ; No duration in the external
world, 227 ; Extensity and duration must be separated,
229 ; Only the fundamental self free, 231 ; Kant's mis-
taken idea of time as homogeneous, 232, hence he put the
self which is free outside both space and time, 233 ; Dura-
tion is heterogeneous, relation of psychic state to act is
unique, and act is free, 235-240. pp. 222-240
Indsx
241
CHAPTER I
THE INTENSITY OF PSYCHIC STATES
It is usually admitted that states of consciousness,
sensations, feelings, passions, efforts, are capable
of growth and diminution ; we are
I
to be twice, thrice, four times as intense
""' as another sensation of the same kind.
This latter thesis, which is maintained by psycho-
physicists, we shall examine later ; but even the
opponents of psychophysics do not see any harm
in speaking of one sensation as being more intense
than another, of one effort as being greater than
another, and in thus setting up diiferences of
quantity between purely internal states. Com-
mon sense, moreover, has not the slightest hesita-
tion in giving its verdict on this point ; people
say they are more or less warm, or more or less
sad, and this distinction of more and less, even
when it is carried over to the region of subjec-j
ti ve facts and unextended objects, surprises nobody J
But this involves a very obscure point and a
much more important problem than is usually
supposed.
When we assert that one number is greater than
3 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
another number or one body greater than another
body, we know very well what we mean.
MioM »iipiic»- For in both cases we allude to unequal
todn bat not spaces. OS shall be shown in detail a
little further on, and we call that space
the greater which contains the other. But how
can a more intense sensation contain one of less
intensity ? Shall we say that the first imphes the
second, that we reach the sensation of higher
intensity only on condition of having first passed
through the less intense stages of the same sensa-
tion, and that in a certain sense we are concerned,
here also, with the relation of container to con-
tained ? This conception of intensive magnitude
seems, indeed, to be that of common sense, but we
cannot advance it as a philosophical explanation
without becoming involved in a vicious circle.
For it is beyond doubt that, in the natural series of
numbers, the later number exceeds the earUer,
but the very possibility of arranging the numbers
in ascending order arises from their having to
each other relations of container and contained,
so that we feel ourselves able to explain precisely
in what sense one is greater than the other. The
,'question, then, is how we succeed in forming a
'series of this kind with intensities, which cannot
be superposed on each other, and by what sign
,we recognize that the members of this series in-
I crease, for example, instead of diminishing: but
this always comes back to the inquiry, why an
I intensity can be assimilated to a magnitude.
A
I
CHAP. 1 INTENSITY AND EXTENSITY 3
It is only to evade the difficulty to distinguish,
as is usually done, between two species of quantity,
the first extensive and measurable, the
AUee«ddl)tiiu:- , . , , - .
tiaa betwMD sccond intensive and not admittine of
two kindi of i_ . r , ■ , -^ ,,
auanutr ; ei- measure, but of which it can neverthe-
intnuinnuc- less be Said that it is greater or less than
another intensity. For it is recognized
thereby that there is something common to these
two forms of magnitude, since they are both
termed magnitudes and declared to be equally
capable of increase and diminution. But, from
the point of view of magnitude, what can there
be in common between the extensive and the
intensive, the extended and the unextended ?
If, in the first case, we call that which contains
the other the greater quantity, why go on speak-
ing of quantity and magnitude when there is
no longer a. container or a contained ? If a
quantity can increase and diminish, if we
perceive in it, so to speak, the less inside
the more, is not such a quantity on this very
account divisible, and thereby extended ? Is
it not then a contradiction to speak of an inex-
tensive quantity ? But yet common sense agrees'
with the philosophers in setting up a pure inten-j
sity as a magnitude, just as if it were something!
extended. And not only do we use the same word,
but whether we think of a greater intensity or a
greater extensity, we experience in both cases
an analogous impression ; the terms " greater "
and " less " call up in both cases the same idea.
4 TIME AND FREE WILL cmap. i
If we now ask ourselves in what does this idea
consist, our consciousness still offers us the image
of a container and a contained. We picture to
ourselves, for example, a greater intensity of effort
as a greater length of thread rolled up, or as a
spring which, in unwinding, will occupy a greater
space. In the idea of intensity, and even in the
word which expresses it, we shall find the image
of a present contraction and consequently a future
expansion, the image of something virtually
extended, and, if we may say so, of a compressed
space. We are thus led to believe that we
translate the intensive into the extensive, and
that we compare two intensities, or at least
express the comparison, by the confused intuition
of a relation between two extensities. But it is
just the nature of this operation which it is diffi-
cult to determine.
The solution which occurs immediately to the
mind, once it has entered upon this path, consists
in defining the intensity of a sensation,
SwS'hiSte^ or of any state whatever of the ego, by
ti^^w^' ^'^^ number and magnitude of the objec-
SitoStr"^th- *'^'^' ^"^ therefore measurable, causes
JSwniwiT^? which have given rise to it. Doubtless,
DUore oi the ^ jnoTB intense sensation of light is the
one which has been obtained, or is
obtainable, by means of a larger number of lumi-
nous sources, provided they be at the same dis-
tance and identical with one another. But, in
the immense majority of cases, we decide about
I
CHAP. 1 INTENSITY AND EXTENSITY 5
the intensity of the effect without even knowing
the nature of the cause, much less its magnitude :
indeed, it is the very intensity of the effect which
often leads us to venture an h5qx)theais as to the
number and nature of the causes, and thus to
revise the judgment of our senses, which at first
represented them as insignificant. And it is no use
arguing that we are then comparing the actual
state of the ego with some previous state m which
the caxise was perceived in its entirety at the same
time as its effect was experienced. No doubt
this is our procedure in a fairly large number of
cases ; but we cannot then explain the differences
of intensity which we recognize between deep-
seated psychic phenomena, the cause of which is ^
within us and not outside. On the other hand,
we are never so bold in judging the intensity of a
psychic state as when the subjective aspect of
the phenomenon is the only one to strike us, or
when the external cause to which we refer it does
not easily admit of measurement, Thus it seems
evident that we experience a more intense pain
at the pulling out of a tooth than of a hair ; the
artist knows without the possibility of doubt that
the picture of a master affords him more intense
pleasure than the signboard of a shop ; and there
is not the slightest need ever to have heard of
forces of cohesion to assert that we expend less
effort in bending a steel blade than a bar of iron.
Thus the comparison of two intensities is usually
made without the least appreciation of the
6-
TIME AND FREE WILL
number of causes, their mode of action or their
extent.
There is still room, it is true, for an hypothesis
of the same nature, but more subtle. We know
that mechanical, and especially kinetic,
SwrSrt fotw- t'^^o^^^s ^^ ^t explaining the visible
■"^'""■^and sensible properties of bodies by i
Mi^Mi.'^ mate parts, and many of us foresee the'|
nrttiio more- time when the intensive differences of
qualities, that is to say, of our sensa-i
tions, will be reduced to extensive differences'
between the changes taking place behind them.
May it not be maintained that, without knowing
these theories, we have a vague surmise of them,
that behind the more intense sound we guess the
presence of ampler vibrations which are propa-;
gated in the disturbed medium, and that it is
with a reference to this mathematical relation,
precise in itself though confusedly perceived, that
we assert the higher intensity of a particular
sound ? Without even going so far, could it not
be laid down that every state of consciousness
corresponds to a certain disturbance of the mole-
cules and atoms of the cerebral substance, and
that the intensity of a sensation measures the
amplitude, the compUcation or the extent of these
molecular movements ? This last hypothesis is
at least as probable as the other, but it no more
solves the problem. For, quite possibly, the in-
tensity of a sensation bears witness to a more or
CHAP. I DEEP-SEATED FEELINGS 7
less considerable work accomplished in our or-
ganism ; but it is the sensation which is given to
us in consciousness, and not this mechanical work.
Indeed, it is by the intensity of the sensation
that we judge of the greater or less amount of
work accomplished : intensity then remains, at
least apparently, a property of sensation. And /
still the same question recurs : why do we say i
of a higher intensity that it is greater ? Wliy
do we think of a greater quantity or a greater
space ?
Perhaps the difficulty of the problem Ues chiefly
in the fact that we call by the same name, and
picture to ourselves in the same way,
kind! ot in- intensities which are very different in
nature, e.g. the intensity of a feeling
and that of a sensation or an effort.
tit7i«more * The effort is accompanied by a muscular
Weintiwfor- sensation, and the sensations themselves
are connected with certain physiciil con-
ditions which probably count for something in
the estimate of their hitensity : we have here to
do with phenomena wliich take place on the surface
of consciousness, and which are always connected,
as we shall see further on, with the perception
of a movement or of an external object. But
certain states of the soul seem to us, rightly or
wrongly, to be self-sufficient, such as deep joy or
sorrow, a reflective passion or an aesthetic emo-
tion. Pure intensity ought to be more easily
8 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
definable in these simple cases, where no extensive
element seems to be involved. We shall see, in
fact, that it is reducible here to a certain quahty
or shade which spreads over a more or less con-
siderable mass of psychic states, or, if the expres-
sion be preferred, to the larger or smaller number
of simple states which make up the fundamental
emotion.
I For example, an obscure desire gradually be-
/comes a deep passion. Now, you will see that
lTa^ lot e«-tli*^ feeble intensity of this desire con-
^^^", 4 sisted at first in its appearing to be
''*"*^ isolated and, as it were, foreign to the
, remainder of your inner life. But little by little
I it permeates a larger number of psychic elements,
tingeing them, so to speak, with its own colour :
and lo ! your outlook on the whole of your
'^^^ surroundings seems now to have changed radi-
ically. How do you become aware of a deep
passion, once it has taken hold of you, if
not by perceiving that the same objects no
longer impress you in the same manner ? All
your sensations and all your ideas seem to brighten
up : it is Uke childhood back again. We experi-
ence something of the kind in certain dreams, in
which we do not imagine anything out of the
ordinary, and yet through which there resoiinds
an indescribable note of originality. The fact is
that, the further we penetrate into the depths
«f consciousness, the less right we have to treat
Ipsychic phenomena as things which are set side
CHAP. I DEEP-SEATED FEELINGS g
by side. When it is said that an object occupiesj
a large space in the soul or even that it fills it
entirely, we ought to understand by this simply
that its image has altered the shade of a thousand
perceptions or memories, and that in this sense
it pervades tliem, although it does not itself come
into view. But this wholly dynamic way of
looking at things is repugnant to the reflective ,
consciousness, because the latter delights in clean ,
cut distinctions, which are easily expressed in j
words, and in things with well-defined outlines, ,
Uke those which are perceived in space. It will
assume then that, everything else remaining
identical, such and such a desire has gone up a
scale of magnitudes, as though it were permissible
still to speak of magnitude where there is neither
multiplicity nor space ! But just as consciousness I
(as will be shown later on) concentrates on a given
point of the organism the increasing number of
muscular contractions which take place on the
surface of the body, thus converting them into
one single feeling of effort, of growing intensity,
so it will hypostatize under the form of a growing
desire the gradual alterations which take place
in the confused heap of co-existing psychic states.
But that is a change of quality rather than of
magnitude.
What makes hope such an intense pleasure!
is the fact that the future, which we dispose of to
our liking, appears to us at the same time under
a multitude of forms, equally attractive and equally\
10 TIME AND FREE WILL c
possible. Even if the most coveted of these be-
comes realized, it will be necessary to give up the
others, and we shall have lost a great deal. The
idea of the future, pregnant with an infinity of
possibilities, is thus more fruitful than the future
_ itself, and this is why we find more charm in hope
than in possession, in dreams than in reality.
Let us try to discover the nature of an increasing
intensity of joy or sorrow in the exceptional
The smotioiu cascs wlierc no physical symptom inter-
»ortow."Their veucs. Neither inner joy nor passion
JSwS^Mrres- '^ an isolated inner state which at first
uBw'cii^wi occupies a corner of the soul and gradu-
So^PwuSally spreads. At its lowest level it is
ii»t«. very like a turning of our states of con-
sciousness towards the future. Then, as if their
weight were diminished by this attraction, our ideas
and sensations succeed one another with greater
rapidity ; our movements no longer cost us
the same effort. Finally, in cases of extreme
joy, our perceptions and memories become tinged
with an indefinable quality, as with a kind of heat
or light, so novel that* now and then, as we stare
at our own self , we wonder how it can really exist.
Thus there are several characteristic forms of
purely inward joy, all of which are successive
stages corresponding to qualitative alterations
in the whole of our psychic states. But the nxmi-
ber of states which are concerned with each of
these alterations is more or less considerable, and,
without explicitly counting them, we know very
CHAP.i THE AESTHETIC FEELINGS II
well whether, for example, our joy pervades all
the impressions which we receive in the course of
the day or whether any escape from its influence.
We thus set up points of division in the interval
which separates two successive forms of joy, and
this gradual transition from one to the other makes
them appear in their turn as different intensities
of one and the same feeling, which is thus sup-
posed to change in magnitude. It could be easily
shown that the different degrees of sorrow also
correspond to qualitative changes. Sorrow begins
by being nothing more than a facing towards the
past, an impoverishment of our sensations and
ideas, as if each of them were now contained
entirely in the Uttle which it gives out, as if the
future were in some way stopped up. And it
ends with an impression of crushing failure, the
effect of which is that we aspire to nothingness,
while every new misfortune, by making us under-
stand better the uselessness of the struggle,
causes us a bitter pleasure.
The aesthetic feelings offer us a still more
striking example of this progressive stepping in
The Mjthetic ^f new elements, which can be detected
taS^iig*to^ in the fundamental emotion and which
Jj^"j5y„. seem to increase its magnitude, although
ani leeiinsi. [jj reality they do nothing more than
alter its nature. Let us consider the simplest
of them, the feeling of grace. At first it is only
the perception of a certain ease, a certain facility
in the outward movements. And as those move-
12 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
ments are easy which prepare the way for others,
we are led to liiid a superior ease in the movements
which can be foreseen, in the present attitudes
in which future attitudes are pointed out and, as
it were, prefigured. If jerky movements are
wanting in grace, the reason is that each of them
is self-sufficient and does not announce those
which are to follow. If curves are more graceful
than broken lines, the reason is that, while a curved
line changes its direction at every moment, every
new direction is indicated in the preceding one.
Thus the perception of ease in motion passes over
into the pleasure of mastering the flow of time
and of holding the future in the present. A third
element comes in when the graceful movements
submit to a rhythm and are accompanied by music.
For the rhythm and measure, by allowing us to fore-
see to a still greater extent the movements of the
dancer, make us believe that we now control them.
As we guess almost the e.xact attitude which
the dancer is going to take, he seems to obey us
when he really takes it : the regularity of the
rhythm establishes a kind of communication be-
tween him and us, and the periodic returns of the
measure are Uke so many invisible threads by
means of which we set in motion this imaginary
puppet. Indeed, if it stops for an instant, our
hand in its impatience cannot refrain from making
a movement, as though to push it, as though to
replace it in the midst of this movement, the
rhythm of which has taken complete possession
THE AESTHETIC FEELINGS
13
of oxir thought and will. Thus a kind of physical
sympathy enters into the feeUng of grace. Now,
in analysing the charm of this sympathy, you will
find that it pleases you through its affinity with
moral sympathy, the idea of which it subtly sug-
gests. This last element, in which the others are
merged after having in a measure ushered it in,
explains the irresistible attractiveness of grace.
We could hardly make out why it affords us such
pleasure if it were nothing but a saving of effort,
as Spencer maintains.^ But the truth is that
in anything which we call very graceful we imagine |
ourselves able to detect, besides the lightness]
which is a sign of mobility, some suggestion of a
possible movement towards ourselves, of a virtual '
and even nascent sympathy. It is this mobile
sjmipathy, always ready to offer itself, which is'
just the essence of higher grace. Thus the in-
creasing intensities of aesthetic feeling are here!
resolved into as many different feelings, each one
of which, already heralded by its predecessor,
becomes perceptible in it and then completely
eclipses it. It is this qualitative progress which
we interpret as a change of magnitude, because
we like simple thoughts and because our language
is ill-suited to render the subtleties of psychological
analysis.
To understand how the feeling of the beautiful
itself admits of degrees, we should have to submit
* Essays. (Library Edition, 1891}, Vol. ii, p. j8i
14 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
it to a minute analysis. Perhaps the difficulty
The tMitiat of which We experience in defining it is
pu"to"rt^ largely owing to the fact that we look
uid resisunt upou the beauties of nature as an-
roAkw Di ra- terior to those of art : the processes
inffiBsuon. of art are thus supposed to be nothing
more than means by which the artist expresses
the beautiful, and the essence of the beautiful
remains unexplained. But we might ask our-
selves whether nature is beautiful otherwise than
through meeting by chance certain processes of
»J our art, and whether, in a certain sense, art is not
prior to nature. Without even going so far, it
seems more in conformity with the rules of a sound
method to study the beautiful first in the works
in which it has been produced by a conscious effort,
and then to pass on by imperceptible steps from
art to nature, which may be looked upon as an
artist in its own way. By placing ourselves at this
point of view, we shall perceive that the object of
art is to put to sleep the active or rather resistant
. powers of our personality, and thus to bring us
into a state of perfect responsiveness, in which
we realize the idea that is suggested to us and sym-
pathize with the feeling that is expressed. In the
iprocesses of art we shall find, in aweakenedform.a
refmed and in some measure spiritualized version
of the processes commonly used to induce the state
of hypnosis. Thus, in music, the rhythm and
measure suspend tlie normal flow of our sensations
and ideas by causing our attention to swing to and
J
THE AESTHETIC FEELINGS
15
I
fro between fixed points, and they take hold of us
with iuch force that even the faintest imitation
of a groan will suffice to fill us with the utmost
sadness. If musical sounds affect us more power-
fully than the sounds of nature, the reason is that
nature confines itself to expressing feelings, where-
as music suggests them to us. Whence indeed
comes the charm of poetry ? The poet is he with
whom feelings develop into images, and the images
themselves into words which translate them while
obeying the laws of rhythm. In seeing these
images pass before our eyes we in our turn experi-
ence the feehng which was, so to speak, their
emotional equivalent : but we should never realize
these images so strongly without the regular move-
ments of the rhythm by which our soul is lulled
into self- forget fulness, and, as in a dream, thinks
and sees with the f)oet. The plastic arts obtain
an effect of the same kind by the fixity which
they suddenly impose upon life, and which a
physical contagion carries over to the attention of
the spectator. While the works of ancient sculp-
ture express faint emotions which play upon them
like a passing breath, the pale immobility of the
stone causes the feeling expressed or the move-
ment just begun to appear as if they were fixed for
ever, absorbing our thought and our will in their
own eternity. We find in architecture, in the
very midst of this startling immobility, certain
effects analogous to those of rhythm. The sjTn-
metry of form, the indefinite repetition of the same
l6 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, r
architectural motive, causes our faculty of percep-
tion to oscillate between the same and the same
again, and gets rid of those customary incessant
changes which in ordinary life bring us back with-
out ceasing to the consciousness of our personality :
even the faint suggestion of an idea will then be
enough to make the idea fill the whole of our mind.
'Thus art aims at impressing feelings on us rather
[than expressing them ; it suggests them to us, and
Willingly dispenses with the imitation of nature
fwhen it finds some more efficacious means. Nature,
Uke art, proceeds by suggestion, but does not com-
mand the resources of rhythm. It supplies the
deficiency by the long comradeship, based on
influences received in common by natiu"e and by
ourselves, of which the effect is that the slightest
indication by nature of a feeling arouses sympathy
in our minds, just as a mere gesture on the
part of the hypnotist is enough to force the
intended suggestion upon a subject accus-
tomed to his control. And this sympathy is
shown in particular when nature displays to us
beings of normal proportions, so that our atten-
tion is distributed equally over all the parts of the
figure without being fixed on any one of them :
our perceptive faculty then finds itself lulled and
soothed by this harmony, and nothing hinders
any longer the free play of sympathy, which is
Jever ready to come forward as soon as the obstacle
'in its path is removed.
It follows from this analysis that the feeling of
J
THE AESTHETIC FEELINGS
T7
I
I
I
I
the beautiful is no specific feeling, but that every
^^ feeling experienced by us will assume
Mitbrtic emo- an aesthetic character, provided that it
has been suggested, and not caused. It
will now be understood why the aesthetic emotion
seems to us to admit of degrees of intensity, and
also of degrees of elevation. Sometimes the feel-
ing which is suggested scarcely makes a break in
the compact texture of psychic phenomena of
which our history consists ; sometimes it draws
our attention from them, but not so that they
become lost to sight ; sometimes, finally, it puts
itself in their place, engrosses us and completely
monopolizes our soul. There are thus distinct'
phases in the progress of an aesthetic feeHng,i
as in the state of hypnosis ; and these phases
correspond less to variations of degree than to
differences of state or of nature. But the merit
of a work of art is not measured so much by the
power with which the suggested feeling takes hold
of us as by the richness of this feeling itself ; in
other words, besides degrees of intensity we,
instinctively distinguish degrees of depth or eleva-
tion. If this last concept be analysed, it will be
seen that the feeMngs and thoughts which the artist
suggests to us express and sum up a more or less
considerable part of his history. If the art which
gives only sensations is an inferior art, the reason
is that analysis often fails to discover in a sensa-
tion anything beyond the sensation itself. But
the greater number of emotions are instinct with a
f
l8 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
thousand sensations, feelings or ideas which pervade
them : each one is then a state unique of its kind
and indefinable, and it seems that we should have
to re-live the life of the subject who experiences it
if we wished to grasp it in its original complexity.
Yet the artist aims at giving us a share in this
emotion, so rich, so personal, so novel, and at
enabling us to experience what he cannot make us
understand. This he will bring about by choos-
ing, among the outward signs of his emotions,
those which our body is likely to imitate mechani-
cally, though slightly, as soon as it perceives them
so as to transport us all at once into the indefin
able psychological state which called them forth.
I Thus will be broken down the barrier interposed
|by time and space between his consciousness and
ours : and the richer in ideas and the more preg-
inant with sensations and emotions is the feeling
within whose limits the artist has brought us, the
ideeper and the higher shall we find the beauty thus
lexpressed. The successive intensities of the ses-
thetic feeUng thus correspond to changes of state
|0ccurring in us, and the degrees of depth to the
'larger or smaller number of elementary psychic
;phenomena which we dimly discern in the funda-
(mental emotion.
The moral feelings might be studied in the same
way. Let us take pity as an example.
Tlw mml , -^ . , _*^ ^ , .
iMiimn. Pity. It consists m the first place m puttmg
lu incrauinK ., . , , , , ■
oneself mentally m the place of others, m
suffering their pain. But if it were
J
I
CHAP. I THE MORAL FEELINGS I9
nothing more, as some have maintained, it would
inspire us with the idea of avoiding the wretched
rather than helping them, for pain is naturally
abhorrent to us. This feeling of horror may indeed
be at the root of pity ; but a new element soon
comes in, the need of helping our fellow-men and of
alleviating their suffering. Shall we say with La
Rochefoucauld that this so-called sympathy is a
calculation, " a shrewd insurance against evils to
come " ? Perhaps a dread of some future evil
to ourselves does hold a place in our compassion
for other people's evil. These however are but
lower forms of pity. True pity consists not so'
much in fearing suffering as in desiring it. The
desire is a faint one and we should hardly wish to
see it realized ; yet we form it in spite of ourselves,
as if Nature were committing some great injustice
and it were necessary to get rid of all suspicion
of complicity with her. Theessenceof pity is thuSi
a need for self-abasement, an aspiration down-]
wards. This painful aspiration nevertheless has a
charm about it, because it raises us in our own
estimation and makes us feel superior to those
sensuous goods from which our thought is tem-
porarily detached. The increasing intensity ofi
pity thus consists in a qualitative progress, in aj
transition from repugnance to fear, from fearl
to sympathy, and from sympathy itself to hu-'
mility.
We do not propose to carry this analysis any fur-
20
TIME AND FREE WILL
ther. The psychic states whose intensity we have
just defined are deep-seated states which
''™^'"" ,. do not seem to have any close relation to
states are rare. There is hardly any pas-
sion or desire, any joy or sorrow, which is not accom-
panied by physical symptoms ; and, where these
symptoms occur, they probably count for some-
thing in the estimate of intensities. As for the
sensations properly so called, they are manifestly
connected with their external cause, and though
the intensity of the sensation cannot be defined
by the magnitude of its cause, there undoubtedly
exists some relation between these two terms.
In some of its manifestations consciousness even
appears to spread outwards, as if intensity were
being developed into extensity, e.g. in the case of
muscular effort. Let us face this last phenomenon
at once : we shall thus be transported at a bound
to the opposite extremity of the series of psychic
phenomena.
If there is a phenomenon which seems to be
presented immediately to consciousness under the
HoMuUr ot- form of quantity or at least of raagni-
l^^i^ojj tude, it is undoubtedly muscular effort.
onintitatiTB. \yg picture to our minds a psychic force
imprisoned in the soul like the winds in the cave
of Aeolus, and only waiting for an opportunity to
burst forth : our will is supposed to watch over
A
CHAP.r MUSCULAR EFFORT ^ 21
this force and from time to time to open a passage
for it, regulating tlie outflow by the effect which
it is desired to produce. If we consider the matter
carefully, we shall see that this somewhat crude
conception of effort plays a large part in our belief
in intensive magnitudes. Muscular force, whosei
sphere of action is space and which manifests itself,'
in phenomena admitting of measure, seems to us'
to have existed previous to its manifestations, but
in smaller volume, and, so to speak, in a compressed
state : hence we do not hesitate to reduce this
volume more and more, and finally we believe that
we can understand how a purely psychic state,,
which does not occupy space, can nevertheless;
possess magnitude. Science, too, tends to strength-
en the illusion of common sense with regard to
this point. Bain, for example, declares that " the
sensibility accompanying muscular movement
coincides with the outgoing stream of nervous
energy : " • it is thus just the emission of nerv-
ous force which consciousness perceives. Wundt
also speaks of a sensation, central in its origin,
accompanying the voluntary innervation of the
muscles, and quotes the example of the paralytic
"who has a very distinct sensation of the force
which he employs in the effort to raise his leg,
although it remauis motionless." = Most of the
' The Senses and tht tnielkci, 4th ed., (1894), p. 79.
' Grutuizuge der I'hyswlogischen Psyckoiogie, 2nd ed.
(iSSo), Vol. i, p. 375
22 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
authorities adhere to this opinion, which would
be the unanimous view of positive science were it
not that several years ago Professor William James
drew the attention of physiologists to certain
phenomena which had been but little remarked,
although they were very remarkable.
When a paralytic strives to raise his useless
limb, he certainly does not execute this move-
■n,. iMiinB oi "^^"^' ^^^' ^t^ °^ without his will,
executes another. Some movement
- - is carried out somewhere : otherwise
pendiluie ol , , . , . . ■
tore* but oi there is no sensation of effort.^ Vulpian
tbe rejuJuiig
nwjoaiw had already called attention to the
fact that if a man affected with hemi-
plegia is told to clench his paralysed fist, he
unconsciously carries out this action with the
fist which is not affected. Ferrier described a
still more curious phenomenon.' Stretch out
your arm while slightly bending your forefinger,
as if you were going to press the trigger of a
pistol ; without moving the finger, without
contracting any muscle of the hand, without
producing any apparent movement, you will yet
be able to feel that you are expending energy.
On a closer examination, however, you will
perceive that this sensation of effort coincides
' W. James, L« sentiment de I'effort (Critique philosophique,
l88o. Vol. ii,) [cf. Principles of Psychology. {1891), Vol. ii,
chap, xxvi.]
• Functions of the Brain. 2nd ed. (18S6), p. 386.
386. I
MUSCULAR EFFORT
23
with the fixation of the muscles of your chest,
that you keep your glottis closed and actively
contract your respiratory muscles. As soon as
respiration resumes its normal course the con-
sciousness of effort vanishes, unless you really
move your finger. These facts already seemed/
to show that we are conscious, not of an expendi- ■
ture of force, but of the movement of the musclesi
which results from it. The new feature in Pro-
fessor James's investigation is that he has verified
the hypothesis in the case of examples which
seemed to contradict it absolutely. Thus when
the external rectus muscle of the right eye is
paralysed, the patient tries in vain to turn his
eye towards the right ; yet objects seem to him
to recede towards the right, and since the act of
volition has produced no effect, it follows, said
Helmholtz,' that he is conscious of the effort of
volition. But, rephes Professor James, no account
has been taken of what goes on in the other eye.
This remains covered during the experiments ;
nevertheless it moves and there is not much trouble
in proving that it does. It is the movement of
the left eye, perceived by consciousness, which
produces the sensation of effort together with the
impression that the objects perceived by the right
eye are moving. These and similar observations
lead Professor James to assert that the feeling
> Handbuch der Physiologischen Oplik, ist ed. (1867), pp.
600-601.
24 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
of effort is centripetal and not centrifugal. We
are not conscious of a force which we are supposed
lo launch upon our organism : our feeling of
muscular energy at work " is a complex afferent
sensation, which comes from contracted muscles,
stretched ligaments, compressed joints, an immo-
bilized chest, a closed glottis, a knit brow, clenched
jaws," in a word, from all the points of the periphery
[Where the effort causes an alteration.
It is not for us to take a side in the dispute.
After all, the question with which we have to
deal is not whether the feeling of effort
liwS^ oi" our ^"^ ^ wliat does our perception of its
body aflected. intensity exactly consist ? Now, it is
sufficient to observe oneself attentively to reach
a conclusion on this point which Professor James
has not formulated, but which seems to us quite
in accord with the spirit of his teaching. We
maintain that the more a given effort seems to us
to increase, the greater is the number of muscles
which contract in sympathy with it, and that the
apparent consciousness of a greater intensity of
effort at a given point of the organism is reducible,
I'm reality, to the perception of a larger surface of
I the body being affected.
Try, for example, to clench the fist with increas-
ing force. You will have the impression of a
sensation of effort entirely localized in your
hand and running up a scale of magnitudes.
In reahty, what you experience in your hand
J
MUSCULAR EFFORT
25
remains the same, but the sensation which was ,
at first localized there has affected !
(ciooiiuiu oi your arm and ascended to the shoulder ;
mnsciiiat el- finally, the other arm stiffens, both legs,
the pwoflpiion do the same, the respiration is checked;,
Diuugg in coHcomitant movements unless you are
warned of them :
toma ol thain.
till then you thought
you were dealing with a single state of consciousness
which changed in magnitude. When you press
your lips more and more tightly against one another,
you beheve that you are experiencing ui your lips
one and the same sensation which is continually
increasing in strength : here again further reflec-
tion will show you that this sensation remains
identical, but that certain muscles of the face and
the head and then of all the rest of the body have
taken part in the operation. You felt this gradual]
encroachment, this increase of the surface affected,
which is in truth a change of quantity ; but, as ,
your attention was concentrated on your closed '
lips, you locaUzed the increase there and you
made the psychic force there expended into aj
magnitude, although it possessed no extensity.j
Examine carefully somebody who is lifting heavier
and heavier weights : the muscular contraction
gradually spreads over his whole body. As for
the special sensation which he experiences in the
arm which is at work, it remains constant for a
very long time and hardly changes except in
26
TIME AND FREE WILL
quality, the weight becoming at a certain moment
fatigue, and the fatigue pain. Yet the sub-
ject will imagine that he is conscious of a con-
tinual increase in the psychic force flowing
into his arm. He will not recognize his mistake
unless he is warned of it, so incUned is he to measure
a given psychic state by the conscious movements
which accompany it ! From these facts and from
many others of the same kind we beUeve we can
deduce the following c oncl usion : our conscious-
Iness of an increase of muscular effort is reducible
to the twofold perception of a greater number
of peripheral sensations, and of a qualitative
change occurring in some of them.
We are thus led to define the intensity of a?
superficial effort in the same way as that of a
deep-seated psychic feeling. In both
anitfon oi in- cases there is a qualitative progress an<
" 1 an increasmg complexity, indistmctl;
But consciousness, accus- ,
M^s^u lie^ toraed to think in terms of space and to
translate its thoughts into words, will
denote the feeling by a single word and will
localize the effort at the exact point where it ,
yields a useful result : it will then become aware ,
of an effort which is always of the same nature
and increases at the spot assigned to it, and a ■,
feeling which, retaining the same name, grows ;
without changing its nature. Now, the same
illusion of consciousness is likely to be met with
again in the case of the states which are inter-
J
ATTENTION AND .TENSION
27
mediate between superficial efforts and deep-
seated feelings. A large number of psychic states
are accompanied, in fact, by muscular contractions
and peripheral sensations. Sometimes these super- )
ficial elements are co-ordinated by a purely specu- 1
lative idea, sometimes by an idea of a practical J
order. In the first case there is intellectual effort '
or attention ; in the second we have the emotions /
which may be called violent or acute : anger, terror, I
and certain varieties of joy, sorrow, passion and I
desire. Let us show briefly that the same da- I
finition of intensity applies to these intermediate 1
states.
Attention is not a purely physiological pheno-
menon, but we cannot deny that it is accompanied
The intarme- ^Y movemcnts. Thcse movements are
AitMiiion''(ind neither the cause nor the result of the
mJ^^wi- phenomenon ; they are part of it, they
irictioii. express it in terms of space, as Ribot
lias so remarkably proved. ' Fechner had already
reduced the effort of attention in a sense-organ to
the muscular feeling " produced by putting in
motion, by a sort of reflex action, the muscles
which are correlated with the different sense
organs." He had noticed the very distinct sen-
sation of tension and contraction of the scalp, the
pressure from without inwards over the whole
skull, which we experience when we make a great
effort to recall something. Ribot has studied
' Le mecanisme de Vaiiention. Alcan, i
28
TIME AND FREE WILL
more closely the movements which are character-:
istic of voluntary attention. " Attention con-j
tracts the frontal muscle : this muscle
draws the eyebrow towards itself, raises it ant
causes transverse wrinkles on tlie forehead.
In extreme cases the mouth is opened wide. With
children and with many adults eager attention gives
rise to a protrusion of the lips, a kind of pout."
Certainly, a purely psychic factor will always
enter into voluntary attention, even if it be
nothing more than the exclusion by the will of alt
ideas foreign to the one with which the subject
wishes to occupy himself. But, once this exclusion
is made, we beheve that we are still conscious of a
growing tension of soul, of an immaterial effort
wliich increases. Analyse this impression and
lyou will find nothing but the feeUng of a muscular
I contraction which spreads over a wider surface or
changes its nature, so that the tension becomes
pressure, fatigue and pain.
( Now, we do not see any essential difference
jbetween the effort of attention and what may be
The iattBMHj Called the effort of psychic tension :
lom"!?*^^ acute desire, uncontrolled anger, passion-
ouur woii™. ^^g jQ^g^ violent hatred. Each of these
states may be reduced, we believe, to a system of
muscular contractions co-ordinated by an idea ; but
in the case of attention, it is the more or less reflec-
tive idea of knowing ; in the case of emotion, the
lunreflectiveidea of acting. The intensity of these
violent emotions is thus likely to be nothing but
[
i
VIOLENT EMOTIONS
29
the muscular tension which accompanies them.
Darwin has given a remarkable description of the
physiological symptoms of rage. " The action of
the heart is much accelerated. . . . The face red-
dens or may turn deadly pale. The respiration is
laboured, the chest heaves, and the dilated nostrils
quiver. The whole body often trembles. The
voice is affected. The teeth are clenched or ground
together and the muscular system is commonly
stimulated to violent, almost frantic action. The
gestures . . . represent more or less plainly the
act of striking or fighting with an enemy." * We
shall not go so far as to maintain, with Professor
James, 'that the emotion of rage is reducible to the
sum of these organic sensations : there will always
be an irreducible psychic element in anger, if this
be only the idea of striking or fighting, of which
Darwin speaks, and which gives a common direction
to so many diverse movements. But, though thiTi
idea determines the direction of the emotional state I
and the accompanying movements, the growing in-i
tensity of the state itself is, we beUeve, nothing but
the deeper and deeper disturbance of the organism,
a disturbance which consciousness has no difficulty
in measuring by the number and extent of the
bodily surfaces concerned. It will be useless to
assert that there is a restrained rage which is all
the more intense. The reason is that, where
emotion has free play, consciousness does not
• The Expression of the Emotions, ist ed., (1872). p. 74,
' ■' What is an Emotion ? " Mind, 1884, p. 189.
30 TIME AND FREE WILL chap.i
dwell on the details of the accompanjdng move-
ments, but it does dwell upon them and is concen-
trated upon them when its object is to conceal them.
'Eliminate, in short, all trace of organic disturbance,
jail tendency towards muscular contraction, and
! all that will be left of anger will be the idea, or, if
you still insist on making it an emotion, you will
be unable to assign it any intensity.
" Fear, when strong," says Herbert Spencer,
"expresses itself in cries, in efforts to escape, in
palpitations, in trembUngs." ' We go
reaM* mo", further, and maintain that these move-
^Mihi "m- ments form part of the terror itself : by
t^n* inien- their means the terror becomes an
iwted (Mi^ emotion capable of passing through
Tiotont emo- different degrees of intensity. Suppress
""^ them entirely, and the more or less
intense state of terror will be succeeded by an
idea of terror, the wholly intellectual representation
of a danger which it concerns us to avoid. There
are also high degrees of joy and sorrow, of desire,
aversion and even shame, the height of which will
be found to be nothing but the reflex movements
begun by the organism and perceived by conscious-
ness. "When lovers meet," says Darwin, "we
know that their hearts beat quickly, their breathing
is hurried and their faces flushed." ' Aversion
is marked by movements of repugnance which we
repeat without noticing when we think of the
* Principles of Psychology, 3rd. ed.. (1890), Vol. i, p. 482.
' Tke Expression of the Emolions. ist ed., p. 78.
A
VIOLENT EMOTIONS
31
object of our dislike. We blush and involuntarily
clench the fingers when we feel shame, even if it be
retrospective. The acuteness of these emotions
is estimated by the number and nature of the
peripheral sensations which accompany them.
Little by little, and in proportion as the emotion^
state loses its violence and gains in depth, thel
peripheral sensations will give place to inneri
states ; it will be no longer cm" outward move-
ments but our ideas, our memories, our states of
consciousness of every description, which will
turn in larger or smaller numbers in a definite
direction. There is, then, no essential difference
from the point of view of intensity between the
deep-seated feelings, of which we spoke at the
beginning, and the acute or violent emotions
which we have just passed in review. To say that
love, hatred, desire, increase in violence is to 1
assert that they are projected outwards, that they/
radiate to the surface, that peripheral sensations]
are substituted for inner states : but super- 1
ficial or deep-seated, violent or reflective, the |
intensity of these feelings always consists in the \
multiplicity of simple states which consciousness]
dimly discerns in them.
We have hitherto confined ourselves to feelings
and efforts, complex states the intensity of which
Munitnde oi docs not absolutely depend on an ex-
Meoii?B wid temal cause. But sensations seem to us
simple states : in what will their magnitude
32
TIME AND FREE WILL
consist ? The intensity of sensations varies with
the external cause of which they are said to be
the conscious equivalent : how shall we explain the
presence of quantity in an effect which is inexten-
sive, and in this case indivisible ? To answer this
question, we must first distinguish between the
so-called affective and the representative sensa-
tions. There is no doubt that we pass gradually
from the one to the other and that some affective
element enters into the majority of our simple
representations. But nothing prevents us from
isolating this element and inquiring separately,
lin what does the intensity of an aifective sensation,
a pleasure or a pain, consist ?
Perhaps the difficulty of the latter problem is prin.
dpallydue to the fact that we are unwilling to see
AfteoUvB Mn-'" the affcctivc state anything but the
uUoni mnd
orguiic dii-
ance, the inward echo of an outward cause.
We notice that a more intense sensation generally
corresponds to a greater nervous disturbance ;
but inasmuch as these disturbances are uncon-
scious as movements, since they come before con-
sciousness in the guise of a sensation which has
no resemblance at all to motion, we do not see
how they could transmit to the sensation anything
of their own magnitude. For there is nothing
in common, we repeat, between superposable
magnitudes such as, for example, vibration-
amplitudes, and sensations which do not occupy
d
AFpECTIVE SENSATIONS
33
I
I
space. If the more intense sensation seems to
us to contain the less intense, if it assumes for
us, Uke the physical impression itself, the form of a
magnitude, the reason probably is that it retains
something of the physical impression to which it
corresponds. And it will retain nothing of it if it
is merely the conscious translation of a movement
of molecules ; for, just because this movement is
translated into the sensation of pleasure or pain,
it remains unconscious as molecular movement.
But it might be asked whether pleasure and
pain, instead of expressing only what has just
piaunn ud occurred, or what is actually occurring,
Jj^^i^in the organism, as is usually beheved,
rS«*Ihtn could not also point out what is going to,
lSS^ o^'S; 01" what is tending to take place. Itj
put (limoiM. seems indeed somewhat improbable that:
nature, so profoundly utilitarian, should have here;
assigned to consciousness the merely scientific task
of informing us about the past or the present,
which no longer depend upon us. It must be
noticed in addition that wc rise by imperceptible
stages from automatic to free movements, and
that the latter differ from the former principally
in introducing an affective sensation between the
external action which occasions them and the
volitional reaction which ensues. Indeed, all our
actions might have been automatic, and we can
surmise that there are many organized beings in
whose case an external stimulus causes a definite
reaction without calUng up consciousness as an
34 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
intermediate agent. If pleasure and pain make
, their appearance in certain privileged beings, it is
' probably to call forth a resistance to the automatic
' reaction which would have taken place : either
, sensation has nothing to do, or it is nascent free-
dom. But how would it enable us to resist the
reaction which is in preparation if it did not
acquaint us with the nature of the latter by some
definite sign ? And what can this sign be except
the sketching, and, as it were, the prefiguring of
the future automatic movements in the very
midst of the sensation which is being experienced ?
iThe affective state must then correspond not merely
to the physical disturbances, movements or phe-
nomena which have taken place, but also, and
jespecially, to those which are in preparation, those
'which are getting ready to be.
It is certainly not obvious at first sight how this
hypothesis simplifies the problem. For we are;
iat«MitT oi trying to find what there can be in
MUro/"wmiw common, from the point of xiewof magni-;
^'JJJJ^o^^' tudc, between a physical phenomenon^
u^'J^^""' 3.nd a state of consciousness, and we'
M^touJw^i" seem to have merely turned the difficulty
tUmaiD*. round by making the present state of
consciousness a sign of the future reaction, rather
than a psychic translation of the past stimulus.
But the difference between the two hypotheses is
considerable. For the molecular disturbances
which were mentioned just now are necessarily
unconscious, since no trace of the movements
CHAP. I AFFECTIVE SENSATIONS 35
themselves can be actually perceived in the
sensation which translates them. But the auto-
matic movements which tend to follow the stimulus
as its natural outcome are likely to be conscious
as movements : or else the sensation itself, whose
function is to invite us to choose between this
automatic reaction and other possible movements,
would be of no avail. The intensity of affective
sensations might thus be nothing more than our
consciousness of the involuntary movements which
are being begun and outlined, so to speak, within
these states, and which would have gone on in
their own way if nature had made us automata
instead of conscious beings.
If such be the case, we shall not compare a pain
of increasing intensity to a note which grows
louder and louder, but rather to a
symphony, in which an increasing num-
of instruments make themselves
heard. Within the characteristic sen-
sation, which gives the tone to all the others,
consciousness distinguishes a larger or smaller
number of sensations arising at different points
of the periphery, muscular contractions, organic
movements of every kind : the choir of these
elementary psychic states voices the new demands
of the organism, when confronted by a new situa-
tion. In other words, we estimate the intensity
of a pain by the larger or smaller part of the
organism which takes interest in it. Richet '
' L'komme et I' intelligence, p. 36.
■led by eileot
Hi ornaum ber
•SecMd.
36 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
I has observed that the slighter the pain, the more
precisely is it referred to a particular spot ; if it
becomes more intense, it is referred to the whole
of the member affected. And he concludes by
saying that " the pain spreads in proportion as
it is more intense." ^ We should rather reverse
the sentence, and define the intensity of the pain
by the very number and extent of the parts of
I'the body which sympathize with it and react,
land whose reactions are perceived by conscious-
Lness. To convince ourselves of this, it will be
enough to read the remarkable description of
disgust given by the same author : "If the stimu-
lus is slight there may be neither nausea nor
vomiting. ... If the stimulus is stronger, in-
stead of being confined to the pneumo-gastric
nerve, it spreads and affects almost the whole
organic system. The face turns pale, the smooth
muscles of the skin contract, the skin is covered
with a cold perspiration, the heart stops beating :
in a word there is a general organic disturbance
following the stimulation of the medulla oblongata,
and this disturbance is the supreme expression
of disgust." ' But is it nothing more than
its expression ? In what will the general sensa-
tion of disgust consist, if not in the sum of these
elementary sensations ? And what can we un-
derstand here by increasing intensity, if it is not
the constantly increasing number of sensations
' Ibid. p. 37.
* Ibid, p. 43.
CHAP. I AFFECTIVE SENSATIONS 37
which join in with the sensations already experi-
enced ? Darwin has drawn a striking picture
of the reactions following a pain which becomes
more and more acute. " Great pain urges all
animals ... to make the most violent and
diversified efforts to escape from the cause of
suffering. . , . With men the mouth may
be closely compressed, or more commonly the
lips arc retracted with the teeth clenched or
groimd together. . . . The eyes stare wildly
... or the brows are heavily contracted.
Perspiration bathes the body. . . . The cir-
culation and respiration are much affected." '
Now, is it not by this very contraction of the
muscles affected that we measure the intensity
of a pain ? Analyse your idea of any suffering
which you call extreme : do you not mean that
it is unbearable, that is to say, that it urges the
organism to a thousand different actions in order
to escape from it ? I can picture to myself a
nerve transmitting a pain which is independent
of all automatic reaction ; and I can equally
understand that stronger or weaker stimulations
influence this nerve differently. But I do not
see how these differences of sensation would
be interpreted by our consciousness as diiferences
of quantity unless we connected them with the
reactions which usually accompany them, and
which are more or less extended and more or
' The Expression of the Emotions, ist ed., pp. 72, 69, 70.
38 TIMK AND FREE WILL chap, i
less important. Without these subsequent re-
actions, the intensity of the pain would be a
quality, and not a magnitude.
We have hardly any other means of comparing
several pleasures with one another. Wliat do
ptoMnmcom- ^^ mean by a greater pleasure except a
^taSttl" pleasure that is preferred ? And what
can our preference be, except a certain
disposition of our organs, the effect of which
is that, when two pleasures are offered simultane-
ously to our mind, our body inchnes towards one
of them ? Analyse this inchnation itself and
you will find a great many Uttle movements which
begin and become perceptible in the organs con-
cerned, and even in the rest of the body, as if the
organism were coming forth to meet the pleasure
as soon as it is pictured. When we define inclina-
tion as a movement, we are not using a metaphor.
When confronted by several pleasures pictured
by our mind, our body turns towards one of them
spontaneously, as though by a reflex action.
It rests with us to check it, but the attraction
of the pleasure is nothing but this movement
that is begun, and the very keenness of the plea-
sure, while we enjoy it, is merely the inertia
of the organism, which is immersed in it and
rejects every other sensation. Without this vis
inertiae of which we become conscious by the
very resistance which we offer to anything that
might distract us, pleasure would be a state,
but no longer a magnitude. In the moral as in
A
CHAP. I REPRESENTATIVE SENSATIONS 39
the physical world, attraction serves to define
movement rather than to produce it.
We have studied the affective sensations separ-
ately, but we must now notice that many repre-
Ths intaniitj sentative sensations possess an affective
i. character, and thus call forth a reaction
■ctloD C4l]ed . ^ , , . , ,. , . ,
lorth. to siderable mcrease of light is represented
element entni- for US by a Characteristic sensation
which is not yet pain, but which is analogous
to dazzling. In proportion as the amplitude
of sound-vibrations increases, our head and
then our body seem to us to vibrate or to receive
a shock. Certain representative sensations,
those of taste, smell and temperature, have a
fixed character of pleasantness or unpleasantness.
Between flavours which are more or less bitter
you will hardly distinguish anything but differ-
ences of quality ; they arc like different shades
of one and the same colour. But these differ-
ences of quality are at once interpreted as differ-
ences of quantity, because of their affective char-
acter and the more or less pronounced movements
of reaction, pleasure or repugnance, whicli they
suggest to us. Besides, even when the sensation
remains purely representative, its external cause
cannot exceed a certain degree of strength or
weakness without inciting us to movements which
enable us to measure it. Sometimes indeed
40 Time and free will chap, i
we have to make an effort to perceive this sensa-
tion, as if it were tr5'ing to escape notice ; some-
times on the other hand it obsesses us, forces
itself upon us and engrosses us to such an extent
that we make every effort to escape from it and
to remain ourselves. In the former case the
sensation is said to be of sUght intensity, and in
the latter case very intense. Thus, in order to
perceive a distant sound, to distinguish what
we call a faint smell or a dim hght, we strain all
our faculties, we " pay attention." And it is
just because the smell and the light thus require
to be reinforced by our efforts that they seem
to us feeble. And, inversely, we recognize a
sensation of extreme intensity by the irresistible
reflex movements to which it incites us, or by
the powerlessness with which it affects us. When
a cannon is fired off close to our ears or a dazzling
light suddenly flares up, we lose for an instant
the consciousness of our personality ; this state
may even last some time in the case of a very
nervous subject. It must be added that, even
within the range of the so-called medium inten-
sities, when we are dealing on even terms with a
representative sensation, we often estimate its
importance by comparing it with another which
it drives away, or by taking account of the per-
sistence with which it returns. Thus the ticking
of a watch seems louder at night because it easily
monopolizes a consciousness almost empty of
sensations and ideas. Foreigners talking to one
CHAP. I REPRESENTATIVE SENSATIONS 4I
another in a language which we do not under- 1
stand seem to us to speak very loudly, because |
their words no longer call up any ideas in our
mind, and thus break in upon a kind of intellectual
silence and monopolize our attention like the
ticking of a watch at night. With these so-called
medium sensations, however, we approach a
series of psychic states, the intensity of which
is likely to possess a new meaning. For, in
most cases, the organism hardly reacts at all, at
least in a way that can be perceived ; and yet
we still make a magnitude out of the pitch of
a sound, the intensity of a light, the saturation
of a colour. Doubtless, a closer observation of
what takes place in the whole of the organism
when we hear such and such a note or perceive
such and such a colour has more than one sur-
prise in store for us. Has not C. Fere shown
that every sensation is accompanied by an in-
crease in muscular force which can be measured
by the dynamometer ? ^ But of an increase of this
kind there is hardly any consciousness at all,
and if we reflect on the precision with which we
distinguish sounds and colours, nay, even weights
and temperatures, we shall easily guess that
some new element must come into play in our
estimate of them.
Now, the nature of this element is easy to deter-
' C, F^r^, Sensation ct Mouvcmeni. Paris, 1887.
42 TIME AND FREE WILL
mine. For, in proportion as a sensation loses
rh* woj n- ^ts affective character and becomes
, representative, the reactions which it
th^"«j2 called forth on our part tend to dis-
""**■ appear, but at the same time we per-
ceive the external object which is its cause, or
if we do not now perceive it, we have perceived
it, and we think of it. Now, this cause is ex-
tensive and therefore measurable : a constant
lexperience, which began with the first glimmer-
ings of consciousness and which continues
throughout the whole of our life, shows us a
Idefinite shade of sensation corresponding to a
[definite amount of stimulation. We thus associ-
'ate the idea of a certain quantity of cause with a
certain quality of effect ; and finally, as happens
in the case of every acquired perception, we trans-
fer the idea into the sensation, the quantity of
the cause into the quality of the effect. At this
very moment the intensity, which was nothing
but a certain shade or quality of the sensation,
becomes a magnitude. We shall easily understand
Ifiis process if, for example, we hold a pin in our
right hand and prick our left hand more and
more deeply. At first we shall feel as it were a
tickling, then a touch which is succeeded by a
prick, then a pain localized at a point, and finally
the spreading of this pain over the surrounding
zone. And the more we reflect on it, the more
.clearly shall we see that we are here dealing
y/ith so many qualitatively distinct sensations.
SENSATION OF SOUND
43
so many varieties of a single species. But yetJ
we spoke at first of one and the same sensatiora
which spread further and further, of one pricB
which increased in intensity. The reason is that,;
without noticing it, we locahzed in the sensation
of the left hand, which is pricked, the progressive
effort of the right hand, which pricks. We thus
_ introduced the cause into the effect, and uncon--
sciously interpreted quality as quantity, intens?
ity as magnitude. Now, it is easy to see thati
the intensity of every representative sensationj
ought to be understood in the same way.
The sensations of sound display well marked
degrees of intensity. We have already spoken
of the necessity of taking into account
aonioiioimd. the affective character of these sensa-
*iired bjr eSort tions, the shock rcceivcd by the whole
prodnMnim- of the organism. We have shown that
0*1 (oond. , " , . i_ ■ i_
a very mtense sound is one which en-
grosses our attention, which supplants all the
others. But take away the shock, the well-
marked vibration, which you sometimes feel
in your head or even throughout your body :
take away the clash which takes place between
sounds heard simultaneously : what will be left
except an indefinable quality of the sound which
is heard ? But this quality is immediately inter-
preted as quantity because you have obtained
it yourself a thousand times, e.g. by striking
some object and thus expending a defhiite quan-
tity of effort. You know, too, how far you would
44
TIME AND FREE WILL
have to raise your voice to produce a similar
sound, and the idea of this effort imme'diately
comes into your mind when you transform the
intensity of the sound into a magnitude. Wundt *
has drawn attention to the quite special con-
nexions of vocal and auditory nervous filaments
which are met with in the human brain. And has
it not been said that to hear is to speak to one-
self ? Some neuropaths cannot be present at
a conversation without moving their hps ; this
is only an exaggeration of what takes place in
the case of every one of us. How will the ex-
pressive or rather suggestive power of music be
explained, if not by admitting that we repeat
to ourselves the sounds heard, so as to carry
ourselves back into the psychic state out of which
they emerged, an original state, which nothing
will express, but which something may suggest,
viz., the very motion and attitude which the
sound imparts to our body ?
Thus, when we speak of the intensity of aj
sound of medium force as a magnitude, we alludei
principally to the greater or less effortj
w^'rhr" which we should have ourselves toj
l^^^^rf! expend in order to summon, by ouij
*°^ own effort, the same auditory sensationj
Now, besides the intensity, we distinguish another
characteristic property of the sound, its pitch.
' Grundxuge der Physiologischen Psychologic, 2nd ed-,
SENSATION OF SOUND
45
Are the differences in pitch, such as our ear
perceives, quantitative differences ? I grant that
a sharper sound calls up the picture of a higher
position in space. But does it follow from
this that the notes of the scale, as auditory
sensations, differ otherwise than in quality ?
Forget what you have leamt from physics, exa-
mine carefully your idea of a higher or lower note,
and see whether you do not think simply of the
greater or less effort which the tensor muscle
of your vocal chords has to make in order to
produce the note ? As the effort by which your
voice passes from one note to another is discon-
tinuous, you picture to yourself these successive
notes as points in space, to be reached by a series
of sudden jumps, in each of which you cross an
empty separating interval : this is why you
establish intervals between the notes of the scale.
Now, why is the line along which we dispose
them vertical rather than horizontal, and why
do we say that the sound ascends in some cases
and descends in others? It must be remembered
that the high notes seem to us to produce some
sort of resonance in the head and the deep notes
in the thorax : this perception, whether real or
illusory, has undoubtedly had some effect in
making us reckon the intervals vertically. But
we must also notice that the greater the tension
of the vocal chords in the chest voice, the greater
is the surface of the body affected, if the singer
is inexperienced ; this is just the reason why the
46 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
effort is felt by him as more intense. And as
he breathes out the air upwards, he will attribute
the same direction to the sound produced by the
current of air ; hence the sympathy of a larger
part of the body with the vocal muscles will be
represented by a movement upwards. We shall
thus say that the note is higher because the body
makes an effort as though to reach an object which
is more elevated in space. In this way it became
customary to assign a certain height to each note
of the scale, and as soon as the physicist was able
to define it by the number of vibrations in a given
time to which it corresponds, we no longer hesi-
tated to declare that our ear perceived differ-
ences of quantity directly. But the sound would
remain a pure quality if we did not bring in the
muscular effort which produces it or the vibra-
tions which explain it.
The experiments of BUx, Goldscheider and
Donaldson ' have shown that the points on the
surface of the body which feel cold are
^ii,^3 Physiology is thus disposed to set up a
^ rSSSM distinction of nature, and not merely of
outdiorth. (jggree, between the sensations of heat
and cold. But psychological observation goes
further, for close attention can easily discover
specific differences between the different sensa-
tions of heat, as also between the sensations of
" On the Temperature Sense " Mimi, i8{
SENSATION OF HEAT
47
cold. A more intense heat is really another kind of i
heat. We call it more intense because we have
experienced this same change a thousand times
when we approached nearer and nearer a source of
heat, or when a growing surface of our body was
affected by it. Besides, the sensations of heat
and cold very quickly become affective and incite
us to more or less marked reactions by which we
measure their external cause : hence, we are
inclined to set up similar quantitative differences
among the sensations which correspond to lower
intensities of the cause. But I shall not insist
any further ; every one must question himself
carefully on this point, after making a clean sweep
of everything which his past experience has taught
him about the cause of his sensations and coming
face to face with the sensations themselves. The
result of this examination islikely to be as follows :
it will be perceived that the magnitude of a repre-
sentative sensation depends on the cause having
been put into the efiect, while the intensity of the
affective element depends on the more or less
important reactions which prolong the external i
stimulations and find their way into the sensation^
itself.
The same thing will be experienced in the case
of pressure and even weight. When you say
Tha toiM- that a pressure on your hand becomes
■DK tnd stronger and stronger, see whether you
nind by oi- do uot mean that there first was a
iim iaoiS"* contact, then a pressure, afterwards a
48 TIME AND FREH WIIX chap, i
pain, and that this pain itself, after having gone
through a series of qualitative changes, has spread
further and further over the surrounding region.
Look again and see whether you do not bring in
the more and more intense, i.e. more and more
extended, effort of resistance which you oppose to
the external pressure. When the psychophysi-
cist lifts a heavier weight, he experiences, he
-says, an increase of sensation. Examine whether
this increase of sensation ought not rather to be
tailed a sensation of increase. The whole question
is centred in this, for in the first case the sensation
would be a quantity hke its external cause, whilst
in the second it would be a quality which had
become representative of the magnitude of its
cause. The distinction between the heavy and
the light may seem to be as old-fashioned and as
childish as that between the hot and the cold.
But the very childishness of this distinction makes
it a psychological reality. And not only do the
heavy and the light impress our consciousness as
generically different, but the various degrees of
lightness and heaviness are so many species of
these two genera. It must be added that the
difference of quality is here translated spontane-
ously into a difference of quantity, because of the
;more or less extended effort which our body makes
jin order to Uft a given weight. Of this you will
soon become aware if you are asked to lift a basket
which, you are told, is full of scrap-iron, whilst
in fact there is nothing in it. You will think you
SENSATION OF WEIGHT
49
are losing your balance when you catch hold of
it, as though distant muscles had interested them-
selves beforehand in the operation and experi-
enced a sudden disappointment. It is chiefly
by the number and nature of these s3Tnpathetic
efforts, which take place at different points of the
organism, that you measure the sensation of
weight at a given point ; and this sensation would j
be nothing more than a quality if you did not thus]
introduce into it the idea of a magnitude. Wliat '
strengthens the illusion on this point is that we
have become accustomed to beheve in the immedi-
ate perception of a homogeneous movement in a
homogeneous space. When I lift a light weight
with my arm, all the rest of my body remaining
motionless, I experience a series of muscular sensa-
tions each of which has its " local sign," its pecu-
liar shade : it is this series which my conscious-
ness interprets as a continuous movement in space.
If I afterwards lift a heavier weight to the same
height with the same speed, I pass through a new
series of muscular sensations, each of which differs
from the corresponding term of the preceding
series. Of this I could easily convince myself
by examining them closely. But as I interpret ■
this new series also as a continuous movement,
and as this movement has the same direction, the ■
same duration and the same velocity as the pre- '
ceding, my consciousness feels itself bound to
locaUze the difference between the second scries
of sensations and the first elsewhere than in the
E Vr
50 TIME AND FRRE WILL '
movement itself. It thus materializes this differ-
ence at the extremity of the arm which moves ;
it persuades itself that the sensation of movement
has been identical in both cases, while the sensa-
tion of weight differed in magnitude. But move-
ment and weight are but distinctions of the reflec-
tive consciousness : what is present to conscious-
ness immediately is the sensation of, so to speak,
a heavy movement, and this sensation itself can
be resolved by analysis into a series of muscular
sensations, each of which represents by its shade
its place of origin and by its colour the magnitude
of the weight lifted.
I Shall we call the intensity of light a quantity, or
'shall we treat it as a quality ? It has not perhaps
been sufficiently noticed what a large
number of different factors co-operate in
daily life in giving us information about
the nature of the luminous source. We
chaosM in know from long experience that, when we
inminoDi have a difficulty in distinguishing the
outlines and details of objects, the light
is at a distance or on the point of going out.
Experience has taught us that the affective sensa-
tion or nascent dazzling that we experience in cer-
tain cases must be attributed to a higher intensity
of the cause. Any increase or diminution in the
number of luminous sources alters the way in
which the sharp lines of bodies stand out and also
the shadows which they project. Still more
important are the changes of hue which coloured
ol light Qi
UtatiTB
CbUlgH ol
CHAP. I SENSATION OF LIGHT 5 1
surfaces, and even the pure colours o£ the spec-
tnun, undergo under the influence of a brighter
or dimmer light. As the luminous source is
brought nearer, violet takes a bluish tinge, green
tends to become a whitish yellow, and red a bril-
liant yellow. Inversely, when the light is moved
away, ultramarine passes into violet and yellow
into green ; finally, red, green and violet tend to be-
come a whitish yellow. Physicists have remarked
these changes of hue for some time ;' but what
is still more remarkable is that the majority of men
do not perceive them, unless they pay attention to
them or are warned of them. Having made up
our mind, once for all, to interpret changes ofj
quality as changes of quantity, we begin by assert-
ing that every object has its own peculiar colour,
definite and invariable. And when the hue of
objects tends to become yellow or blue, instead of
saying that we see their colour change under the
influence of an increase or diminution of light, we
assert that the colour remains the same but that i
our sensation of luminous intensity increases or
diminishes. We thus substitute once more, for)
the qualitative impression received by our con-
sciousness, the quantitative interpretation given
By our understanding. Helmholtz has described
a case of interpretation of the same kind, but still
more complicated : " If we form white with two
colours of the spectrum, and if we increase or
* Rood, Modem Chromatics, (1879), pp. 181-187.
52 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
diminish the intensities of the two coloured lights
in the same ratio, so that the proportions of the
combination remain the same, the resultant
colour remains the same although the relative
intensity of the sensations undergoes a marked
change. . . . This depends on the fact that the
light of the sun, which we consider as the normal
white light during the day, itself undergoes simi-
lar modifications of shade when the luminous inten-
sity varies." '■
But yet, if we often judge of variations in the
luminous source by the relative changes of hue of
the objects which surround us, this is no
meat prove longer the case in simple instances where
a smgle object, e.g. a white surface,
passes successively through different de-
grees of luminosity. We are bound to
insist particularly on this last point. For the
physicist speaks of degrees of luminous intensity
as of real quantities : and, in fact, he measures
them by the photometer. The psychophysicist
goes still further : he maintains that our eye
itself estimates the intensities of light. Experi-
ments have been attempted, at first by Delboeuf,'
and afterwards by Lehmann and Neighck,' with
reel^ont Ben-
uUoni ol
' Handbuch der Physiologitchcn Oplik. ist ed. {iSOy), pp.
318-319.
' £li-mfnls de psydiophysiqtte. Paris, 1883. |
' See the account given of these experiments in the Revue
phihsophique, 1887, Vol. i, p. 71, and Vol. ii. p. 180.
SENSATION OF LIGHT
53
the view of constructing a psychophysical formula
from the direct measurement of our luminous
sensations. Of these experiments we shall not
dispute the result, nor shall we deny the value
of photometric processes ; but we must see how
we have to interpret them.
Look closely at a sheet of paper lighted e.g. by
four candles, and put out in succession one, two,
photometrie three of them. You say that the surface
But you are aware that
vTa*\hm"l* '^"^ candle has just been put out ; or, if
Jj^^j'^'you do not know it, you have often
while light, observed a similar change in the appear-
ance of a white surface when the illumination was
diminished. Put aside what you remember of
your past experiences and what you are accus-
tomed to say of the present ones ; you will find
that what you really perceive is not a diminished
illumination of the white surface, it is a layer of
shadow passing over this surface at the moment
the candle is extinguished. This shadow is a
reality to your consciousness, like the light itself.
If you call the first surface in all its brilliancy
white, you will have to give another name to what
you now see, for it is a different thing : it is, if
we may say so, a new shade of white. We havei
grown accustomed, through the combined influence i
ol our past experience and of physical theories,'
to regard black as the absence, or at least as the i
minimum, of luminous sensation, and the succes- 1
54 TIME AND FREE WILL cK
[sive shades of grey as decreasing intensities
(white hght. But, in point of fact, black has j
as much reahty for our consciousness as white, and
the decreasing intensities of white hght illuminat-
)ing a given surface would appear to an unpre-
I judiced consciousness as so many different shades,
/not unlike the various colours of the spectrum
This is the reason why the change in the sensatioa
is not continuous, as it is in the external cause,
and why the light can increase or decrease for a
certain period without producing any apparent
change in the illumination of our white surface :
the illumination will not appear to change until the
increase or decrease of the external Ught is sufh-
cient to produce a new quality. The variations in
brightness of a given colour — the affective sensa-
tions of which we have spoken above being left
aside — would thus be nothing but qualitative
changes, were it not our custom to transfer the
cause to the effect and to replace our immediate
impressions by what we learn from experience and
science. The same thing might be said of degrees
of saturation. Indeed, if the different intensities
of a colour correspond to so many different
shades existing between this colour and black, the
degrees of saturation are hke shades intermediate
between this same colour and pure white. Every
colour, we might say, can be regarded under two
aspects, from the point of view of black and from
the point of view of white. And black is tlien to
intensity what white is to saturation.
n
I
SENSATION OF LIGHT
55
The meaning of the photometric experiments
will now be understood. A candle placed at a
In Dhotome- Certain distance £rom a sheet of paper
mmuSe'phj- Hluminates it in a certain way : you
Ii!SS.''°not double the distance and find that four
bS^phjSc*! candles are required to produce the same
ifleou. sensation. From this you conclude that
if you had doubled the distance without increas-
ing the intensity of the luminous source, the result-
ant illumination would have been only one-fourth
as bright. But it is quite obvious that you are
here dealing witli the physical and not the psy-
chological effect. For it cannot be said that you
have compared two sensations with one another :
you have made use of a single sensation in order
to compare two different luminous sources with
each other, the second four times as strong as the
first but twice as far off. In a word, the physicist
never brings in sensations wliich are twice or three
times as great as others, but only identical sensa-
tions, destined to serve as intermediaries between
two physical quantities which can then be equated
with one another. The sensation of light here
plays the part of the auxiliary unknown quantity
which the mathematician introduces into his calcu-
lations, and which is not intended to appear in
the final result.
But the object of the psychophysicist is entirely
different : it is the sensation of hght itself which,
he studies, and claims to measure. Some-
times he will proceed to integrate infinitely small
56 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
differences, after the method of Fechner ; some-
The Mioiio- times he will compare one sensation
ffiwcom- di'"cctly with another. The latter
^^Li^Lu- method, due to Plateau and Delbceuf,
1^,°^: differs far less than has hitherto been
''•™°*°'^ believed from Fechner's : but, as it bears
more especially on tlie luminous sensations, we shall
deal with it first. Delbceuf places an observer
in front of three concentric rings which vary in
brightness. By an ingenious arrangement he can
cause each of these rings to pass through all tlie
shades intermediate between white and black.
Let us suppose that two hues of grey are simul-
taneously produced on two of the rings and kept
unchanged ; let us call them A and B. Delbceuf
alters the brightness, C, of the third ring, and asks
the observer to tell him whether, at a certain
moment, tlie grey, B, appears to him equally dis-
tant from the other two. A moment comes, in
fact, when the observer states that the contrast
A B is equal to the contrast B C, so that, according
to Delbceuf, a scale of luminous intensities could
be constructed on which we might pass from each
sensation to the following one by equal sensible
contrasts : our sensations would thus be measured
by one another. I shall not follow Delbceuf
into the conclusions which he has drawn from
these remarkable experiments : the essential ques-
tion, the only question, as it seems to me, is whether
a contrast A B, formed of the elements A and B, is
really equal to a contrast B C, wliich is differently
4
I
I
CHAP. I SENSATION OF LIGHT 57
composed. As soon as it is proved that two sen-
sations can be equal without being identical, psy-
chophysics will be established. But it is this
equality which seems to me open to question : it
is easy to explain, in fact, how a sensation of
luminous intensity can be said to be at an equal 1
distance from two others.
Let us assume for a moment that from our birth
onwards the growing intensity of a luminous source
In whftt cue had always called up in our conscious-
^'Sr^ht ness. one after the other, the different
M diffBrraM colours of the spectrum. There is no
oiiiMgnihide. ^joybt that these colours would then
appear to us as so many notes of a gamut, as
higher or lower degrees m a scale, in a word, as
magnitudes. Moreover it would be easy for us to
assign each of them its place in the series. For
although the extensive cause varies continuously,
the changes in the sensation of colour are discon-
tinuous, passing from one shade to another shade.
However numerous, then, may be the shades inter-
mediate between the two colours, A and B, it
will always be possible to count them in thought,
at least roughly, and ascertain whether this num-
ber is almost equal to that of the shades wliich
separate B from another coloiu: C. In the latter
case it will be said that B is equally distant from
A and C, that the contrast is the same on one
side as on the other. But this will always be
merely a convenient interpretation : for although
the number of intermediate shades may be equal
58 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
on both sides, although we may pass from one to
the other by sudden leaps, we do not know
whether these leaps are magnitudes, still less
whether they are equal magnitudes : above all it
would be necessary to show that the intermedi-
aries which have helped us throughout our
measurement could be found again inside the
object which we have measured. If not, it is
only by a metaphor that a sensation can be said
to be an equal distance from two others.
Now, if the views which we have before enu-
merated with regard to luminous intensities are
TMiiijuiithe accepted, it will be recognized that the
taracS'^il^- different hues of grey which Delbceuf
laSImo^ught displays to us are strictly analogous,
Mtoi^ for our consciousness, to colours, and
p*^"^"- that if we declare that a grey tint is
equi-distant from two other grey tints, it is in
the same sense in which it might be said that
orange, for example, is at an equal distance from
green and red. But there is this difference, that
in all our past experience the succession of grey
tints has been produced in connexion with a
progressive increase or decrease in illumination.
Hence we do for the differences of brightness what
we do not think of doing for the differences of
colour : we promote the changes of quaUty into
variations of magnitude. Indeed, there is no
difficulty here about the measuring, because the
successive shades of grey produced by a continuous
decrease of illumination are discontinuous, as being
J
I
I
CHAP. I SENSATION OF LIGHT 5g
qualities, and because we can count approximately
the principal intermediate shades which separate
any two kinds of grey. The contrast A B will
thus be declared equal to the contrast B C when
our imagination, aided by our memory, inserts
between A and B the same number of intermediate
shades as between B and C. It is needless to say
that this will necessarily be a very rough estimate.
We may anticipate that it will vary considerably
with different persons. Above all it is to be ex-
pected that the person will show more hesitation
and that the estimates of different persons will
differ more widely in proportion as the difference
in brightness between the rings A and B is increased,
for a more and more laborious effort will be required
to estimate the number of intermediate hues.
This is exactly what happens, as we shall easily
perceive by glancing at the two tables drawn up
by Delbceuf.' In proportion as he increases the
difference in brightness between the exterior
ring and the middle ring, the difference between
the numbers on which one and the same observer
or different observers successively fix increases
almost continuously from 3 degrees to 94, from
5 to 73, from 10 to 25, from 7 to 40. But let
us leave these divergences on one side : let
us assume that the observers are always consist-
ent and always agree with one another ; will it
then be established that the contrasts A B and
B C are equal ? It would first be necessary to
^ Elemenis de psychophysique, pp. 61, 69.
6o
TIME AND FREE WILL
prove that two successive elementary contrasts
are equal quantities, whilst, in fact, we only know
that they are successive. It would then be neces-
sary to prove that inside a given tint of grey we
perceive the less intense shades which our imagina-
tion has run through in order to estimate the
objective intensity of the source of light. In a
Iword, Delboeuf's psychophysics assumes a the-
oretical postulate of the greatest importance,
I which is disguised under the cloak of an experi-
I mental result, and which we should formulate as
follows: " Wlxen the objective quantity of light
,'is continuously increased, the differences between
> the hues of grey successively obtained, each of
I which represents the smallest perceptible increase
i of physical stimulation, are quantities equal to one
another. And besides, any one of the sensations
i obtained can be equated with the sum of the
I differences which separate from one another all
, previous sensations, going from zero upwards."
Now, this is just the postulate of Fechner's psy-
chophysics, which we are going to examine.
Fechner took as his starting-point a law,
discovered by Weber, according to which, given i
a certain stimulus which calls forth '
Peohner'i |»y- ^ . ,. ,, , , I
chophriioi. a certain sensation, the amount by ■
" which the stimulus must be increased
for consciousness to become aware of any change
bears a fixed relation to the original stimulus.
Thus, ii we denote by E the stimulus which
corresponds to the sensation S, and by AE
PSYCHOPHYSICS
6l
t
the amount by which the original stimulus must
be increased in order that a sensation of difference
may be produced, we shall have ^^^=const.
This formula has been much modified by the
disciples of Fechner, and we prefer to take no
part in the discussion ; it is for experiment to
decide between the relation established by Weber
and its substitutes. Nor shall we raise any
difficulty about granting the probable existence
of a law of this nature. It is here really a question
not of measuring a sensation but only of deter-
mining the exact moment at which an increase
of stimulus produces a change in it. Now, if a
definite amount of stimulus produces a definite
shade of sensation, it is obvious that the minimum
amount of stimulus required to produce a change
in this shade is also definite ; and since it is not
constant, it must be a function of the original
stimulus. But how are we to pass from a re-
lation between the stimulus and its minimum
increase to an equation which connects the " amount
of sensation " with the corresponding stimulus ?
The whole of psychophysics is involved in this
transition, which is therefore worthy of our closest
consideration.
We shall distinguish several different artifices
Tbt nndBTir- in the process of transition from We-
^*?^?hB ber's experiments, or from any other
wh£ih* Fech- series of similar observations, to a psy-
rMdwd. " chophysical law like Fechner's. It is
62 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
first of all agreed to consider our consciousness
of an increase of stimulus as an increase of the
sensation S : this is therefore called S. It is the n
asserted that all the sensations AS, which corre-
spond to the smallest perceptible increase of stimu-
lus, are equal to one another. They are therefore
treated as quantities, and while, on the one hand,
these quantities are supposed to be always equal,
and, on the other, experiment has given a certain
relation AE — f (E) between the stimulus E
and its minimum increase, the constancy of AS
is expressed by writing AS = C -r-pr ■ "^^S ^
constant quantity. Finally it is agreed to replace
the very small differences AS and AE by the
infinitely small differences rfS and rfE, whence
an equation which is, this time, a differential
. dE
one ; dS=C
7(E)
We shall now simply have to in-
tegrate on both sides to obtain the desired rela-
tion^: S=C ( ;;;=-. And the transition will thus be
•'"/(E)
made from a proved law, which only concerned
the occurrence of a sensation, to an unprovable
law which gives its measure.
Without entering upon any thorough discussion
* In the particular case where we admit without restriction
Weber's Law -^ ^eonst.. integration gives S=C log. -.
Q being a constant. This is Fechner's " logarithmic law.'*
J
I
CHAP. I PSYCHOPHYSICS 63
of this ingenious operation, let us show in a few
words how Fechner has grasped the real difficulty
of the problem, how he has tried to overcome it,
and where, as it seems to us, the flaw in his reason-
ing Ues.
Fechner realized that measurement could not be
introduced into psychology without first defining
what is meant by the equaUty and
utiou bB addition of two simple states, e.g. two
being idanti- scnsatioHs. But, unless they are identi-
cal, we do not at first see how two
eensations can be equal. Undoubtedly in the
physical world equality is not synonymous with
identity. But the reason is that every phenomenon,
every object, is there presented under two aspects,
the one qualitative and the other extensive :
nothing prevents us from putting the first one
aside, and then there remains nothing but terms
which can be directly or indirectly superposed on
one another and consequently seen to be identical.
Now, this qualitative element, which we begin by
eliminating from external objects in order to
measure them, is the very thing which psycho-
physics retains and claims to measure. And it is
no use trying to measure this quality Q by some
physical quantity Q' which lies beneath it : for
it would be necessary to have previously shown
that Q is a function of Q', and this would not be
possible unless the quality Q had first been measured
with some fraction of itself. Thus nothing pre-
vents us from measuring the sensation of heat by
64 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
the degree of temperature ; but this is only a
convention, and the whole point of psychophysics
lies in rejecting this convention and seeking how
the sensation of heat varies when you change the
temperature. In a word, it seems, on the one hand,
that two different sensations cannot be said to
be equal unless some identical residuum remains
after the elimination of their qualitative difference ;
but, on the other hand, this qualitative difference
being all that we perceive, it does not appear
what could remain once it was eliminated.
The novel feature in Fechner's treatment is
that he did not consider this difficulty insur-
FeohiiM'i mountable. Taking advantage of the
J^i^y^ fact that sensation varies by sudden
dUtawicM. jumps while the stimulus increases con-
tinuously, he did not hesitate to call these differ-
ences of sensation by the same name : they are
all, he says, minimum differences, since each cor-
responds to the smallest perceptible increase in
the external stimulus. Therefore you can set
aside the specific shade or quality of these suc-
cessive differences ; a common residuum will
remain in virtue of which they will be seen to be
in a manner identical : they all have the common
character of being minima. Such will be the defini-
tion of equality which we were seeking. Now, the
definition of addition will follow naturally. For if
we treat as a quantity the difference perceived by
consciousness between two sensations which succeed
one another in the course of a continuous increase
CHAP. I PSYCHOPHYSICS 65
of stimulus, if we call the first sensation S, and the
second S+AS, we shall have to consider every
sensation S as a sum, obtained by the addition
of the minimum differences through which we
pass before reaching it. The only remaining
step will then be to utiHze this twofold definition
in order to establish, first of all, a relation between
the differences AS and AE, and then, through
the substitution of the differentials, between the
two variables. True, the mathematicians may
here lodge a protest against the substitution of
differential for difference ; the psychologists may
ask, too, whether the quantity AS, instead of
being constant, does not vary as the sensation
S itself ; * finally,'! aking the psychophysical law
for granted, we may all debate about its real
meaning. But, by the mere fact that AS is re-
garded as a quantity and S as a sum, the funda-,
mental postulate of the whole process is accepted.'
Now it is just this postulate which seems to,
us open to question, even if it can be understood.
Braak-down Assumc that I experience a sensation
aolf'tK^X S. and that, increasing the stimulus
Jg continuously, I perceive this increase
after a certain time. I am now notified
of the increase of the cause : but why
should I call this notification an arithmetical
difference ? No doubt the notification consists
in the fact that the original state S has changed :
' Latterly it has been assumed that AS is proportional to S.
66
TIME AND FREE WILL
it has become S' ; but the transition from S to S'
could only be called an arithmetical difference
if I were conscious, so to speak, of an interval
between S and S', and if my sensation were felt
to rise from S to S' by the addition of something.
By giving this transition a name, by calling it AS.
you make it first a reality and then a quantity.
I Now, not only are you unable to explain in what
icA I sense this transition is a quantity, but reflection
* -vi will show you that it is not even a reality ; the
1 only realities are the states S and S' through which
I pass. No doubt, if S and S' were numbers,
I could assert the reality of the difference S' — S
even though S and S' alone were given ; the
reason is that the number S' — S, which is a certain
sum of units, will then represent just the successive
moments of the addition by which we pass from
S to S'. But if S and S' are simple states, in
what will the interval which separates them con-
sist ? And what, then, can the transition from
the first state to the second be, if not a mere act
of your thought, which, arbitrarily and for the
sake of the argument, assimilates a succession of
two states to a differentiation of two magnitudes ?
Either you keep to what consciousness presents
to you or you have recourse to a conventional
w« ou ipcik mode of representation. In the first
SJjj"^^^ case you will find a difference between
■ MUf^Siuu ^ ^""^ ^' ''*^^ ^^^^ between the shades
■■°"- of the rainbow, and not at all an interval
of magnitude. In the second case you may intro-
. I PSYCHOPH YSICS 67
duce the symbol AS if you like, but it is only
in a conventional sense that you will speak here
of an arithmetical difference, and in a conventional
sense, also, that you will assimilate a sensation
to a sum. Tlie most acute of Fechner's critics,
Jules Tannery, has made the latter point per-
fectly clear. " It will be said, for example, that
a sensation of 50 degrees is expressed by the num-
ber of differential sensations which would succeed
one another from the point where sensation is
absent up to the sensation of 50 degrees. ... I
do not see that this is anything but a definition,
which is as legitimate as it is arbitrary," '
We do not believe, in spite of all that has been
said, that the method of mean gradations has
DeibanTi re- ^6* psychophysics on a new path. The
morepE'Sbte, novel feature in Delboeuf's investi-
»« w^o^- g^tion was that he chose a particular
Uf* J^^fJ^jCase, in which consciousness seemed to
circle. decide in Fechner's favour, and in which
common sense itself played the part of the psycho-
physicist. He inquired whether certain sensa-
tions did not appear to us immediately as equal
although different, and whether it would not be
possible to draw up, by their help, a table of
sensations which were double, triple or quadruple
those which preceded them. The mistake which\
Fechner made, as we have just seen, was thatl
he believed in an interval between two successive
Revue scienlifique, March 13 and April 24, 1875,
68 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
I sensations S and S', when there is simply a passing
from one to the other and not a difference in
the arithmetical sense of the word. But if the
two terms between which the passing takes place
could be given simultaneously, there would then
be a contrast besides the transition ; and al-
though the contrast is not yet an arithmetical
difference, it resembles it in a certain respect ;
for the two terms which are compared stand here
side by side as in a case of subtraction of two
numbers. Suppose now that these sensations
belong to the same genus and that in our past
experience we have constantly been present at
their march past, so to speak, while the physical
stimulus increased continuously : it is extremely
probable that we shall thrust the cause into the
effect, and that the idea of contrast will thus
melt into that of arithmetical difference. As
we shall have noticed, moreover, that the sen-
sation changed abruptly while the stimulus rose
continuously, we shall no doubt estimate the dis-
tance between two given sensations by a rough
guess at the number of these sudden jumps,
or at least of the intermediate sensations which
usually serve us as landmarks. To sum up, the
contrast will appear to us as a difference, the
stimulus as a quantity, the sudden jump as an
element of equality : combining these three fac-
tors, we shall reach the idea of equal quantitative
differences. Now, these conditions are nowhere
so well realized as when surfaces of the same
CHAP. I PSYCHOPHYSICS 69
colour, more or less illuminated, are simultaneously
presented to us. Not only is there here a con-
trast between similar sensations, but these sen-
sations correspond to a cause whose influence
has always been felt by us to be closely connected
with its distance ; and, as this distance can vary
continuously, we cannot have escaped noticing
in our past experience a vast number of shades
of sensation which succeeded one another along
with the continuous increase in the cause. We
are therefore able to say that the contrast between
one shade of grey and another, for example, seems
to us almost equal to the contrast between the
latter and a third one ; and if we define two equal
sensations by saying that they are sensations
which a more or less confused process of reasoning
interprets as such, we shall in fact reach a law
like that proposed by Delboeuf. But it must
not be forgotten that consciousness has here
passed through the same intermediate steps as
the psychophysicist, and that its judgment is
worth here just what psychophysics is worth ;
it^is a symbolioU interpretation oi quaUty as
tjuantity, a more or less rough estimate of the
number of sensations which can come in between
two given sensations. The difference is thus
not as great as is believed between the method of
least noticeable differences and that of mean
gradations, between the psychophysics of Fechner
and that of Delbceuf. Tlie first led to a con-
ventional measurement of sensation ; the second
70 TIME AND FREE WILL c
appeals to common sense in the particular cases
where common sense adopts a similar convention.
In a word, all psychophysics is condemned by
its origin to revolve in a vicious circle, for the
theoretical postulate on which it rests condemns
, it to experimental verification, and it cannot
1 be experimentally verified unless its postulate
lis first granted. The fact is that there is no
ipoint of contact between the unextended and
ithe extended, between quality and quantity.
I We can interpret the one by the other, set up
the one as the equivalent of the other ; but sooner
or later, at the beginning or at the end, we shall
have to recognize the conventional character of
this assimilation.
In truth, psychophysics merely formulates with
precision and pushes to its extreme consequences
Poohjjto- a conception famiUar to common sense. ;
puAMtoiti As speech dominates over thought.
qnnwH tho as external objects, which are common
buinatorai to US all, are more important to us
nrding MOW- than the subjective states through'
DiindBc which each of us passes, we have every-
thing to gain by objectifying these states, by
introducing into them, to the largest possible
extent, the representation of their external cause.,
And the more our knowledge increases, the more
we perceive the extensive behind the intensive,
quantity behind quality, the more also we tend
to thrust the former into the latter, and to
treat our sensations as magnitudes. Physics,
CHAP. I PSYCHOPHYSICS 7I
whose particular function it is to calculate the
external cause of our internal states, takes the
least possible interest in these states themselves :
constantly and deUberately it confuses them with'
their cause. It thus encourages and even exag-
gerates the mistake which common sense makes
on the point. The moment was inevitably bound
to come at which science, familiarized with this
confusion between quality and quantity, between
sensation and stimulus, should seek to measure
the one as it measures the other : such was the
object of psychophysics. In this bold attempt
Fechner was encouraged by his adversaries them-
selves, by the philosophers who speak of intensive
magnitudes while declaring that psychic states can-
not be submitted to measurement . For if we grant
that one sensation can be stronger than another,
and that this inequahty is inherent in the sensa-
tions themselves, independently of all association
of ideas, of all more or less conscious consideration
of number and space, it is natural to ask by how
much the first sensation exceeds the second,
and to set up a quantitative relation between
their intensities. Nor is it any use to reply,
as the opponents of psychophysics sometimes do,
that all measurement implies superposition, and
that there is no occasion to seek for a numerical
relation between intensities, which are not supcr-
posable objects. For it will then be necessary
to explain why one sensation is said to be more
intense than another, and how the conceptions
72
TIME AND FREE WILL
of greater and smaller can be applied to things
which, it has just been acknowledged, do not
admit among themselves of the relations of con-
tainer to contained. If, in order to cut short
any question of this kind, we distinguish two
kinds of quantity, the one intensive, which admits
only of a " more or less," the other extensive,
which lends itself to measurement, we axe not far
from siding with Fechner and the psychophysicists.
For, as soon as a thing is acknowledged to be
capable of increase and decrease, it seems natural
to ask by how much it decreases or by how much
it increases. And, because a measurement of
this kind does not appear to be possible directly,
it does not follow that science cannot successfully
accomplish it by some indirect process, either by
an integration of infinitely small elements, as
Fechner proposes, or by any other roundabout
I way. Either, then, sensation is pure quahty, or,
if it is a magnitude, we ought to try to measure it.
To sum up what precedes, we have found the
notion of intensity to present itself under a double
That intra- aspect, according as we study the states
a^ io"*?^*- of consciousness which represent an
lutM""? u external cause, or those which are self-
Sl!S?tSd°'*^! sufficient. In the former case the per-
theo«n»lB)In „ ....
aS«ctiTc lUtM ^
hjr moltipli- .
dtr ot pQ-
(tio^p^mo- i,y means of a certain quaUty in the
"''^ effect : it is, as the Scottish philoso-
CHAP. I INTENSITY AND MULTIPLICITY 73
phers would have said, an acquired perception.
In the second case, we give the name of intensity
to the larger or smaller number of simple psychic
phenomena which we conjecture to be involved
in the fundamental state : it is no longer an
acquired perception, but a confused perception.
In fact, these two meanings of the word usually
intermingle, because the simpler phenomena in-
volved in an emotion or an effort are generally
representative, and because the majority of re-
presentative states, being at the same time affect-
ive, themselves include a multiplicity of element-
ary psychic phenomena. The idea of intensity
is thus situated at the junction of two streams,
' ^one of which brings us the idea of extensive mag-
nitude from without, while the other brings us
from within, in fact from the very depths of
consciousness, the image of an inner multiplicity.
Now, the point is to determine in what the latter
image consists, whether it is the same as that of
number, or whether it is quite different from it.
In the following chapter we shall no longer con-
sider states of consciousness in isolation from
one another, but in their concrete multiplicity,
in so far as they unfold themselves in pure duration.
And, in the same way as we have asked what
would be the intensity of a representative sen-
sation if we did not introduce into it the idea of
its cause, we shall now have to inquire what the
multipUcity of our inner states becomes, what
form, duration assumes, when the space in which
74 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, i
ft xm folds is eliminated. This second question
is even more important than the first. For, if
the confusion of quality with quantity were
confined to each of the phenomena of conscious-
ness taken separately, it would give rise to obscuri-
ties, as we have just seen, rather than to problems.
But by invading the series of our psychic states,
by introducing space into our perception of dura-
tion, it corrupts at its very source our feeling
of outer and inner change, of movement, and
of freedom. Hence the paradoxes of the Eleatics,
hence the problem of free will. We shall insist
rather on the second point ; but instead of seeking
to solve the question, we shall show the mistake
of those who ask it.
CHAPTER II
I
THE MULTIPLICITY OF CONSCIOUS STATES *
THE IDEA OF DURATION
Number maybe defined in general as a collection
of units, or, speaking more exactly, as the synthesis
wiutijnnm- ^^ t^e One and the many. Every num-
*"'' ber is one, since it is brought before the
' I had already completed the present work when I read
in the Critique pkilosophique (lor 1883 and 1884) F. Pillon's
very remarkable refutation of an interesting article by G. Noel
on the interconnexion of the notions of number and space.
But I have not found it necessary to make any alterations in
the following pages, seeing that Pillon does not distinguish
between time as quahty and time as quantity, between the mul-
tiphcity of juxtaposition and that of interpenetration. With-
out this vital distinction, which it is t!ie chief aim of the present
chapter to establish, it would be possible to maintain, with
Pillon, that number may be built up from the relation of
co-existence. But what is here meant by co-existence ? If \
the co-existing terms form an organic whole, they will never |
lead us to the notion of number ; if tTiey remain distinct, I
they are in juxtaposition and we are dealing with space. It (
is no use to quote the example of simultaneous impressions
received by several senses. We either leave these sensations
their specific differences, which amounts to saying that we do
not count them ; or else we eliminate their differences, and
then how are we to distinguish them if not by their position or
that of their symbols ? We shall see that the verb " to dis-
tinguish " has two meanings, the one quahtative, the other
76 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, ii
mind by a simple intuition and is given a name;
but the unity which attaches to it is that of a sum,
it covers a multipUcity of parts which can be con-
sidered separately. Without attempting for the
present any thorough examination of these con-
ceptions of unity and multiphcity, let us inquire
whether the idea of number does not imply the
representation of something else as well.
It is not enough to say that number is a collec-
tion of units ; we must add that these units are
identical with one another, or at least
wucb make that they are assumed to be identical
rnuit be iden- when they are counted. No doubt we
can count the sheep in a flock and say
that there are fifty, although they are all different
from one another and are easily recognized by the
shepherd : but the reason is that we agree in that
case to neglect their individual differences and to
take into account only what they have in common.
On the other hand, as soon as we fix our attention
on the particular features of objects or individuals,
we can of course make an enumeration of them,
but not a total. We place ourselves at these two
very different points of view when we count the
soldiers in a battalion ajid when we call the roll.
Hence we may conclude that the idea of number
implies the simple intuition of a multipUcity of
parts or units, which are absolutely alike.
quantitative : these two meanings have been confused, in ray
opinion, by the philosophers who have dealt with the relations
between number and space.
I
I
CHAP. II NUMERICAL MULTIPLICITY AND SPACE 77
And yet they must be somehow distinct from i
one another, since otherwise they would merge
into a single unit. Let us assume that |
■1*0 b« dii- all the sheep in the flock are identical ;
they differ at least by the position which
they occupy in space, otherwise they would not
form a flock. But now let us even set aside the
fifty sheep themselves and retain only the idea
of them. Either we include them all in the same
image, and it follows as a necessary consequence
that we place them side by side in an ideal space,
or else we repeat fifty times in succession the
image of a single one, and in that case it does
seem, indeed, that the series lies in duration
rather than in space. But we shall soon find out
that it cannot be so. For if we picture to ourselves
each of the sheep in the flock in succession and
separately, we shall never have to do with more
than a single sheep. In order that the number
should go on increasing in proportion as we
advance, we must retain the successive images
and set them alongside each of the new units
which we picture to ourselves : now, it is in space
that such a juxtaposition takes place and not in
pure duration. In fact, it will be easily granted
that counting material objects means thinking all
these objects together, thereby leaving them in
space. But does this intuition of space accom-
pany every idea of number, even of an abstract
number ?
Any one can answer this question by reviewing
78
TIME AND FREE WILL
^H the various forms which the idea of number has
^H w« eumot assumed for him since his childhood.
^H o?Tdw "T" It will be seen that we began by imagin-
^H Snfai'lS' ing e.g. a row of balls, that these balls
^H SW afterwards became points, and, finally,
^H f^ this image itself disappeared, leaving
^H behind it, as we say, nothing but abstract number.
^B But at this very moment we ceased to have an
^H image or even an idea of it ; we kept only the
^H syrnbol which is necessary for reckoning and
^H which is the conventional way of expressing num-
^H ber. For we can confidently assert that 12 is
^H half of 24 without thinking either the number 12
^H or the number 24 : indeed, as far as quick calcu-
^H lation is concerned, we have everything to gain
^H by not doing so. But as soon as we wish to picture
^H number to ourselves, and not merely figxires or
^H words, we are compelled to have recourse to an
^H extended image. What leads to misunderstanding
^H on this point seems to be the habit we have fallen
^M , into of counting in time rather than in space. In
^H order to imagine the number 50, for example,
^H we repeat all the numbers starting from unity,
^H and when we have arrived at the fiftieth, we
^V believe we have built up the number in duration
^B and in duration only. And there is no doubt that
H in this way we have counted moments of duration
5 t^^^T^'j rather than points in space ; but the question is
iJUS*~^whether we have not counted the moments of
ftV^ duration by means of points in space . It is cer-
»-<y* ' tainly possible to perceive in time, and in time
I
citAP. II NUMI-RICAL MULTIPLICITV AND SPACE 79
only, a succession which is nothing but a succes-
sion, but not an addition, i.e. a succession which
culminates in a sum. For though we reach a
sum by taking into account a succession of different
terms, yet it is necessary that each of these terms
should remain when we pass to the following,
and should wait, so to speak, to be added to the
others : how could it wait, if it were nothing but
an instant of duration ? And where could it wait
if we did not localize it in space ? We involun-
tarily fix at a point in space each of the moments
which we count, and it is only on this condition
that the abstract units come to form a sum. No
doubt it is possible, as we shall show later, to con-
ceive the successive moments of time independently
of space ; but when we add to the present moment
those which have preceded it, as is the case when
we are adding up units, we are not dealing with
these moments themselves, since they have van-
ished for ever, but with the lasting traces which
they seem to have left in space on their passage
through it. It is true that we generally dispense
with this mental image, and that, after having
used it for the first two or three numbers, it is
enough to know that it would serve just as well
for the mental picturing of the others, if we needed
it. But every clear idea of number implies a
visual image in space ; and the direct study of the
units which go to form a discrete multiplicity will
lead us to the same conclusion on this point as the
examination of number itself.
TIME AND FREE WILL
Every number is a collection of units, as we have
said, and on the other hand every number is itself
■^ np.*AV^ a unit, i n so far as it is a synthesis of
if^"**^ the unitT oi > the units which co mpose i t. But is the
■ImDiA lut of — — — ■ — '^^ " f
rv^v-
.V^'^
'**^ ^^ ooij bMBDie botli cases ?
. ^ ^ K "^ ti»»rdail u
vA*^ iitend
When we assert that num-
ber is a unit, we understand by this
^ tf^ '- - tijat we master the whole of it by a
^^J^"^ simpl e and indivisible intuj tion o f the mind ; this
^J-s*^ unity thus includes a multiplicity , since it is the ,-
.'M
■ ^ ^ t* unity of a whole. But when we speak of the unitsf^.-^
.,Jitv**\]^ which go to form number, we no longer think ofc-C, •
these units as sums, but as pure, simple, irreducible ^jl^
\mits, intended to yield the natural series of num- ^
^^^- bers by an indefinitely continued process of ac- ;
^E cumulation. It seems, then, that there are two'^\^
^B kinds of units, the one ultimate, out of which a"^^
number is forme d by a process of addition, and
1 „/v**' the other provisional , the number so f ormed ,
' u ^^'iV* which is multiple m itself, and o wes its unity to
j^^^^'^the simplicity of the act by which the mind per-
^^/eu- ■^ ^ ^xceives it. And there is no doubt that, when we
-J S*''; ^ picture the units which make up number, we be -
^ j>/»^ l ieve that we are thinking of indivisible com -
rlrx^\^-' ponents : this belief has a great deal to do with
^ ^^v^ ^"^ •'^^^ *^^*^ '* '^ possible to conceive number
v^ ^ , independently of space. Nevertheless, by looking
^ A y"*^ more closely into the matter, we shall see that all
(^"^ •^. unity is the unity of a simple act of the mind, and
,^>v^'^ ^." that, as this is an act of unification , there must be
^j^}- • some multiplicity for it to unify. No doubt, at
\
^
CHAP, II NUMERICAL MULTIPLICITY AND SPACE 8l
the moment at which I think each of these units
separately, I look up>on it as indivisible, since I
am determined to think of its unity alone. But
as soon as I put it aside in order to pass to the
next, I objectify it, and by that very deed I make
it a thing, that is to say, a multiplicity. To con
vince oneself of this, it is enough to notice that
the units by means of which arithmetic forms
numbers are provisional units, which can be sub-
divided without limit, and that each of them is
the sum of fractional quantities as small and as
numerous as we like to imagine. How could we
divide the unit, if it were here that ultimate unity
which characterizes a simple ac t of the mind
How could we split it up into fractions whilst
affirming its unity, if we cHd nqtregard it implicitly
as an extended object, one in intuition but multiple
in space ? You will never get out of an idea
which you have formed anything which you
have not put into it ; and if the unity by means of
which you make up your number is tlie unity of
an act and not of an object, no effort of analysis
will bring out of it anything but unity pure and
simple. No doubt, when you equate the number
3 to the sum of i + i + i, nothing prevents you
from regarding the units which compose it as
indivisible : but the reason is that you do not
choose to make use of the multiplicity which is
enclosed within each of these units. Indeed, it
is probable that the number 3 first assumes to
our mind this simpler shape, because we think
82 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, ii
rather of the way in which we have obtained it
than of the use which we might make of it. But we
■ soon perceive that, while all multiplication implies
'the possibility of treating any number whatever
as a provisional unit which can be added to itself,
inversely the units in their turn are true numbers
which are as big as we Hke, but are regarded as
provisionally indivisible for the purpose of com-
pounding them with one another. Now, the very
admission that it is possible to divide the unit
into as many parts as we like, shows that we regard
it as extended.
For we must understand what is meant by the
discofUinuity of number. It cannot be denied
that the format ion or construction of
DTooeu ot lor- a number implies discontinuity. In
nution is iis- , , ^ , , ,
coatiDuoiu. other words, as we remarked above,
loraed. ii In- each of the units with which we form^
lbs oDQtinDiiT the number 3 seems to be indivisible
while we are dealing with it, and we
pass abruptly from one to the other. Again, if
we form the same number with halves, with
quarters, with any units whatever, these units,
in so far as they serve to form the said number,
will still constitute elements which are provision-
ally indivisible, and it is always by jerks, by sudden
.jumps, so to speak, that we advance from one to
/the other. And the reason is that, in order to get
la number, we are compelled to fix our attention
successively on each of the units of which it is com-
I pounded. The indivisibility of the act by which
CHAP.n NUMERICAL MUXTIPLICITY AND SPACE 83
we conceive any one of them is then represented
under the form of a mathematical point which is
separated from the following point by an interval of
space. But, while a series of mathematical points
arranged in empty space expresses fairly well the ,
process by which we form the idea of number,
these mathematical points have a tendency to
develop into lines in proportion as our attention
is diverted from them, as if they were trying to
reunite with one another. And when we look at
number in its finished state, this union is an accom-
plished fact : the points have become lines, the
divisions have been blotted out, the whole displays
all the characteristics of continuity. This is why
number, although we have formed it according
to a definite law, can be split up on any system
we please. In a word, we must distinguish be-
tween the unity which we think of and the unity
which we set up as an object after having thought
of it, as also between number in process of forma-
tion and number once formed. The unit is irre-
ducible while we are thinking it and number is
discontinuous while we are building it up : but,,
as soon as we consider number in its finished state,
we objectify it, and it then appears to be divisible
to an unlimited extent. In fact, we apply the
term subjective to what seems to be completely
and adequately known, and the term objective
to what is known in such a way that a constantly
increasing number of new impressions could be
substituted for the idea which we actually Jiave
84
TIME AND FREE WITX
of it. Thus, a complex feeling will contain a
fairly large number of simple elements ; but, as
long as these elements do not stand out with per-
fect clearness, we cannot say that they were com-
pletely realized, and. as soon as consciousness has
a distinct perception of them, the psychic state
which results from their synthesis will have changed
for this very reason. But there is no change in
the general appearance of a body, however it is
analysed by thought, because these different
analyses, and an infinity of others, are already
visible in the mental image which we form of
the body, though they are not realized : this actual
and not merely virtual perception of subdivisions
in what is undivided is just what we call objectivity.
It then becomes easy to determine the exact part
played by the subjective and tlie objective in the
idea of number. What properly belongs to the
mind is the indivisible process by which it con-
centrates attention successively on the different
parts of a given space ; but the parts which have
thus been isolated remain in order to join with the
'others, and, once the addition is made, they may
[be broken up in any way whatever. They are
■ T (therefore parts^f space, and space is, accordingly,
Jthc material with which the mind builds up number^
jthe medium in which the mind pJaces it.
Properly speaking, it is arithmetic which teaches
us to spht up without limit the units of which
number consists. Common sense is very much
inclined to build up number with indivisibles.
CHAP. II NUMERICAL MULTIPLICITY AND SPACE 85
And this is easily understood, since the pro-
it toUoM visional simplicity of the component units
ta^tMUj" ^^ i'^^*^ what they owe to the mind, and
]mi«D<iiYti"a* t'**^ latter pays more attention to its
in ip»c«. own acts than to the material on which it
works. Science confines itself, here, to drawing
our attention to this material : if we did not
already locaUze number in space, science would
certainly not succeed in making us transfer it/
thither. From the beginning, therefore, we musn
have thought of number as of a juxtapositioniii/
^pace. This is the conclusion which we reached]
at first, basing ourselves on the fact that a ll addi- j
tion imphes a multipUcity of parts aniultanfiQualji
perceived. '
Two kiodi ot
mnltiDUoilr : verv
(1) malwl*] ■'-
oountAd In
■WW.; IS)
Now, if this conception of number is granted,
it will be seen that everything is not counted in
the same way, and that there are two
_ diifereat-Jdnds of multiplicity.
When we speak of material objects, we
refer to the possibility of seeing and
touching them ; we localize them in
space. In that case, no effort of the
inventive faculty or of symbolical repre-
sentation is necessary in order to count
them ; we have only to think them, at first separ-
ately, and then simultaneously, within the very I
medium in which they come under our observation, i
The case is no longer the same when we consider
purely afiective psychic states, or even mental
86 TIJIE AND FREE WILL chap, u
I images other than those built up by means of
I sight and touch. Here, the terms being no longer
' given in space, it seems, a priori, that we can
hardly count them except by some process of
S3Tnbolical representation. In fact, we are well
aware of a representation of this kind when
we are dealing with sensations the cause of
which is obviously situated in space. Thus, when
we hear a noise of steps in the street, we have
a confused vision of somebody walking along :
each of the successive sounds is then localized at
a point in space where the passer-by might tread :
we count our sensations in the very space in which
their tangible causes are ranged. Perhaps some
people count the successive strokes of a distant
bell in a similar way, their imagination pictures
the bell coming and going ; this spatial sort of
image is sufficient for the first two units, and the
others follow naturally. But most people's minds
do not proceed in this way. They range the suc-
cessive sounds in an ideal space and then fancy
that they are counting them in pure duration.
Yet we must be clear on this point. The sounds
of the bell certainly reach me one after the other ;
but one of two alternatives must be true. Either
I retain each of these successive sensations in order
to combine it with the others and form a group
which reminds me of an air or rhythm which I
know : in that case I do not count the sounds, I
limit myself to gathering, so to speak, the qualita-
tive impression produced by the whole series. Or
CHAP. II NUMERICAL MULTIPLICITY AND SPACE 87
else I intend explicitly to count them, and then I
shall have to separate them, and this separation
must take place within some homogeneous medium
in which the sounds, stripped of their qualities,
and in a manner emptied, leave traces of their
presence which are absolutely alike. The questioni
now is, whether this medium is time or space. I
But a moment of time, we repeat, cannot persist)
in order to be added to others. If the sounds are
separated, they must leave empty intervals between
them. If we count them, the intervals must
remain though the sounds disappear : how could
these intervals remain, if they were pure duration
and not space ? It is in space, therefore, that the I
.operation takes place. It becomes, indeed, more
and more difficult as we penetrate further into the
depths of consciousness. Here we find ourselves
confronted by a confused multiplicity of sensa-
tions and feelings wliich analysis alone can dis-
tinguish. Their number is identical with the
number of the moments which wc take up when
we count them ; but these moments, as they
can be added to one another, are again points
in space. Our final conclusion, therefore, is tliat
there are two kinds of multiplicity : that of
\ material objects, to which the conception of num-Jj,
ber is immediately applicable ; and the multiplicity
of states of consciousness, which cannot be re-
garded as numerical without the help of some
symbolical representation, in which a necessary
element is space.
88 TIME AND FREE WILL
As a matter of fact, each of us makes a distinc-
tion between these two kinds of multiplicity
Th» imptn*- whenever he speaks of the impenetra-
We sometimes set up
perty of bodies, known in the same way
and put on the same level as e.g. weight or resist-
ance. But a purely negative property of this kind
cannot be revealed by our senses ; indeed, cer-
tain experiments in mixing and combining things
might lead us to call it in question if our minds
were not already made up on the point. Try to
picture one body penetrating another : you will
at once assume that there are empty spaces in the
one which will be occupied by the particles of the
other ; these particles in their turn cannot pene-
trate one another unless one of them divides in
order to fill up the interstices of the other ; and our
thought will prolong this operation indefinitely in
preference to picturing two bodies in the same
place, Now, if impenetrability were really a
quality of matter which was known by the senses,
it is not at all clear why we should experience more
difficulty in conceiving two bodies merging into
one another than a surface devoid of resistance or
a weightless fluid. In reality, it is not a physical
but a logical necessity which attaches to the
proposition : " Two bodies cannot occupy the
same place at the same time." The contrary
assertion involves an absurdity which no con-
ceivable experience could succeed in dispelling.
CHAP. It NUMERICAL MULTIPLICITY AND SPACE 8g
In a word, it implies a contradiction. But does
not this amount to recognizing that the very
idea of the number 2, or, more generally, of any'
number whatever, involves the idea of juxtaposi-
tion in space ? If impenetrability is generally
regarded as a quality of matter, the reason is that
the idea of number is thought to be independent
of the idea of space. We thus believe that we are
adding something to the idea of two or more
objects by saying that they cannot occupy the
same place : as if the idea of the number 2, even
the abstract number, were not already, as we have
shown, that of two different positions in space
Hence to assert the impenetrability of matter is
simply to recognize the inter-connexion between
the notions of number and space, it is to state a|
property of number rather than of matter. — Yet.I
it will be said, do we not count feelings, sensations,'
ideas, all of which permeate one another, and each
of which, for its part, takes up the whole of the
soul ? — Yes, undoubtedly ; but, just because they
permeate one another, we cannot count them unless
we represent them by homogeneous units which
occupy separate positions in space and conse-
quently no longer permeate one another. Im-
4jenetrability thus makes its appearance at the
same time asnumber ; and when we attribute this
quality to matter in order to distinguish it from
everything which is not matter, we simply state
under another form the distinction established
above between extended objects, to which the
J
90
TIMli AND FREE WILL
conception of number is immediately applicable,
and states of consciousness, which have first of
all to be represented symbolically in space.
It is advisable to dwell on the last point. If,
in order to count states of consciousness, we have i
HomogGowiu to represent them symbolically in space/
mediiini in is it not likely that this symbolical repre-
•oioM iU(«i sentation will alter the normal con-
lonn diMcrte ,., . ^ ■ - i »
letiM. Thu ditions of mner perception ? Let us
lime iJ no- , , . ■ . ,
twnB hut recall what we said a short time ago
para 'daration about the intensity of certain psychic
different. states. ^Repiesentativesensation, looked
at in itself, is pure quality ; but, seen through the
medium of extensity, this quality becomes in a
certain sense quantity, and is called intensity. In
ithe same way, our projection of our psychic states
into space in order to form a discrete multiplicity
is Ukely to influence these states themselves and
'to give them in reflective consciousness a new
[form, which immediate perception did not at-
tribute to them. Now, let us notice that when
we speak of titne, we generally think of a homo-
geneous medium in which our conscious states are
ranged alongside one another as in space, so as
to form a discrete multiplicity. Would not time,
/thus understood, be to the multiplicity of our
I psychic states what intensity is to certain of them,
I — a sign, a symbol, absolutely distinct from true
' duration ? ^et us ask consciousness to isolate
itself from the external world, and, by a vigorous
effort of abstraction, to become itself againj We
SPACE AND HOMOGENEITY
91
I
shall then put this question to it : does the multi-
plicity of our conscious states bear the slightest
resemblance to the multiplicity of the units of a
number ? Has true duration anything to do I
with space ? Certainly, our analysis of the idea
of number could not but make us doubt this
analogy, to say no more. For if time, as thet
reflective consciousness represents it, is a medium i
in which our conscious states form a discrete series
so as to admit of being counted, and if on the otheri
hand our conception of number ends in spreadingj
out in space everything which can be directlyl
counted, it is to be presumed that time, under-/
stood in the sense of a medium in which we make \
distinctions and count, is nothing but space. That
which goes to confirm this opinion is that we are
compelled to borrow from space the images by'
which we describe what the reflective consciousness
feels about time and even about succession ; it I
follows that pure duration must be something I
different. Such are the questions which we have
been led to ask by the very analysis of the notion
of discrete multiphcity. But we cannot tlirow any
light upon them except by a direct study of the
ideas of space and time in their mutual relations.
We shall not lay too much stress on the question
of the absolute reahty of space : perhaps we might
Dow nwoa as well ask whether space is or is not in
wltanuroi space. In short, our senses perceive
KuTh^ r ** the qualities of bodies and space along
g2 TIME AND FREE WILL cuap. u
with them : the great difficulty seems to
have been to discover whether extensity is an
aspect of these physical qualities — a quality of
quality — or whether these quahties are essentially
unextended, space coming in as a later addition,
but being self-sufficient and existing without
them. On the first hypothesis, space would be
reduced to an abstraction, or, speaking more
correctly, an extract ; it would express the com-
mon element possessed by certain sensations called
representative. In the second case, space would
be a reality as solid as the sensations themselves,
although of a different order. We owe the exact
formulation of this latter conception to Kant :
the theory which he works out in the Transcen-
dental Aesthetic consists in endowing space
with an existence independent of its content, in
! laying down as de jure separable what each of
us separates de facto, and in refusing to regard
extensity as an abstraction like the others. In
this respect the Kantian conception of space differs
less than is usually imagined from the popular be-
lief. Far from shaking our faith in the reaUty of
space, Kant has shown what it actually means
and has even justified it.
Moreover, the solution given by Kant does not
seem to have been seriously disputed since his
time : indeed, it has forced itself, sometimes
without their knowledge, on the majority of
those who have approached the problem anew,
whether nativists or empiricists. Psychologists
SPACE AND HOMOGENEITY
93
agree in assigning a Kantian origin to the na-
The empiri- tivistic explanation of Johann Miiller ;
wtm'^ but Lotze's hypothesis of local signs,
KMt. lor Bain's theory, and the more comprehen-
iMid^ MMi- rnay seem at first sight quite independent
*■"« .'{,"'"'" of the Transcendental Aesthetic. The
an act of lat
°"^- authors of these theories seem indeed to
have put aside the problem of the nature of space, in
order to investigate simply by what process our
sensations come to be situated in space and to be
set, so to speak, alongside one another : but this
very question shows that they regard sensations
as inextensive and make a radical distinction, just
as Kant did, between the matter of representation
and its form. The conclusion to be drawn from
the theories of Lotzc and Bain, and from Wundt's
attempt to reconcile them, is that the sensations
by means of which we come to form the notion of
space are themselves unextended and simply
qualitative : extensity is supposed to result from
their synthesis, as water from the combination of
two gases. The empirical or genetic explanations
have thus taken up the problem of space at the
very point where Kant left it : Kan t_ separated '
space from its contents : the empiricists ask how
these contents, which are taken out of space by '
our thought, manage to get back again. It is true
that they have apparently disregarded the activity
of the mind, and that they are obviously inclined
to regard the extensive form under which we repre-
94 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, h
sent things as produced by a kind of alliance of the
sensations with one another : space, without being
extracted from the sensations, is supposed to
result from their co-existence. But how can we
explain such an origination without the active
intervention of the mind ? The extensive differs
by hypothesis from the inextensive : and even if
we assume that extension is nothing but a relation
between inextensive terms, this relation must still
be established by a mind capable of thus associ-
ating several terms. It is no use quoting the
example of chemical combinations, in which the
whole seems to assume, of its own accord, a form
and qualities which did not belong to any of the
elementary atoms. This form and these qualities
owe their origin just to the fact that we gather up
the multiplicity of atoms in a single perception :
get rid of the mind which carries out this synthesis
and you will at once do away with the qualities,
that is to say, the aspect under which the synthesis
of elementary parts is presented to our conscious-
ness. Thus inextensive sensations will remain
what they are. viz., inextensive sensations, if
nothing be added to them. For their co-existence
to give rise to space, there must be an act of the
mind which takes them in all at the same time and
sets them in juxtaposition : this unique act is
very like what Kant calls an a priori form of
sensibiUty.
If we now seek to characterize this act, we see
that it consists essentially in the intuition, or
SPACE AND HOMOGENEITY
95
I
I
I
rather the conception, of an empty homo-
TWi Mt COB- geneous medium. For it is scarcely
SSiiM oi"" possible to give any other definition of
homw^u space : space is what enables us to dis-
I^'^pmh- tinguish a number of identical and
bS'iIuSS"* simultaneous sensations from one an-
"""^ other; it is thus a principle of differentia-
tion other than that of qualitative differentiation,
and consequently it is a reality with no quality.)
Someone maysay, withthe believers in the theory of
local signs, that simultaneous sensations are never
identical, and that, in consequence of the diversity
of the organic elements which they affect, there
are no two points of a homogeneous surface which
make the same impression on the sight or the
touch. We are quite ready to grant it, for if these
two points affected us in the same way, there would
be no reason for placing one of them on the right
rather than on the left. But, just because we after-
wards interpret this difference of quahty in the sense
of a difference of situation, it follows that we must
have a clear idea of a homogeneous medium, i.e.
of a simultaneity of terms which, although identical
in quality, are yet distinct from one another. The
more you insist on the difference between the
impressions made on our retina by two points
of a homogeneous surface, the more do you
thereby make room for the activity of the mind,
which perceives under the form of extensive
homogeneity what is given it as qualitative
heterogeneity. No doubt, though the repre-
96 TIME AND FREE WILL chap. 11
sentation of a homogeneous space grows out of
an effort of the mind, there must be within
the qualities themselves which differentiate two
sensations some reason why they occupy this
or that definite position in space. We must
thus distinguish between the perception of
extensity and the conception of space : they
are no doubt implied in one another, but, the
higher we rise in the scale of intelligent beings,
/the more clearly do we meet with the independent
[idea of a homogeneous space. It is therefore
doubtful whether animals perceive the external
world quite as we do, and especially whether they
represent externality in the same way as ourselves.
Naturalists have pointed out, as a remarkable
fact, the surprising ease with which many verte-
brates, andevensome insects, manage to find their
way through space. Animals have been seen to
return almost in a straight line to their old home,
pursuing a path which was "hitherto unknown to
them over a distance which may amount to several
hundreds of miles. Attempts have been made to
explain this feeling of direction by sight or smell,
and, more recently, by the perception of magnetic
currents which would enable the animal to take
its bearings like a living compass. This amounts
to saying that space is not so homogeneous for the
animal as for us, and that determinations of space,
or directions, do not assume for it a purely geome-
trical form. Each of these directions might appear
to it with its own shade, its peculiar quality. We
SPACE AND HOMOGENEITY
97
I
shall understand how a perception of this kind is
possible if we remember that we ourselves distin-
guish our right from our left by a natural feeling,
and that these two parts of our own extensity do
then appear to us as if they bore a different quality ;
in fact, this is the very reason why we cannot give
a proper definition of right and left. In truth,
qualitative differences exist everywhere in nature.
and I do not see wliy two concrete directions should
not be as marked in immediate perception as two
colours. But the conception of an empty homo- ',
geneous medium is something far more extraordi-
nary, being a kind of reaction against that hetero-
geneity which is the very ground of our experience.
Therefore, instead of saying that animals have ai'
special sense of direction, we may as well say thati
men have a special faculty of perceiving or con-
ceiving a space without quality. This faculty is
not the faculty of abstraction : indeed, if we notice
that abstraction assumes clean-cut distinctions
and a kind of externality of the concepts or their
symbols with regard to one another, we shall find
that the faculty of abstraction already impHes the
intuition of a homogeneous niedium. What wel
must say is that we have to do with two|
different kinds of reality, the one heterogene-
ous, that of sensible qualities, the other homo-'
geneous, namely space. This latter, clearly con-
ceived by the human intellect, enables us to use|
'clean-cut distinctions, to count, to abstract, and'
" perh^fs also to speak.
TIME AND FREE WILL
Now, if space is to be defined as the homogene-
I C^ ous, it seems that inversely every homogeneous
B ^ and unbounded medium will be space.
* absence of every quality, it is hard to
fS^i jj see how two forms of the homogeneous
***■ could be distinguished from one anotlier.
^■''^ Nevertheless it is generally agreed to regard time
as an unbounded medium, different from space
but homogeneous like the latter : the homogene-
v^//ji.. ■•' . ous is thus supposed to take two forms, according
I ^ as its contents co-exist or follow one another. It
is true that, when we make time a homogeneous
medium in which conscious states unfold them-
selves, we take it to be given all at once, which
amounts to saying that we abstract it from dura-
tion. This simple consideration ought to warn us
that we are thus unwittingly falling back upon
space, and really giving up time. Moreover, we
can understand that material objects, being ex-
terior to one another and to ourselves, derive both
exteriorities from the homogeneity of a medium
which inserts intervals between them and sets off
their outlines: but states of consciousness, even;
when successive, permeate one another, and in thej
simplest of them the whole soul can be reflected,
We may therefore surmise that time, conceived
under the form of a homogeneous medium,
some spurious concept, due to the trespassing of
the idea of space upon the field of pure conscious-
ness. At any rate we cannot finally admit two
HOMOGENEOUS TIME AND SPACE
99
fonns of the homogeneous, time and space, without
first seeking whether one of them cannot be re-
duced to the other. Now, externality is the dis-
tinguishing mark of things which occupy space,
while states of consciousness are not essentially
external to one another, and become so only by
being spread out in time, regarded as a homogene-
ous medium. If, then, one of these two supposed;
forms of the homogeneous, namely time and space,
is derived from the other, we can surmise a priori]
that the idea of space is the fundamental datum. '
But, misled by the apparent simphcity of the idea
of time, the philosophers who have tried to reduce
one of these ideas to the other have thought that
they could make extensity out of duration. While ^
showing how they have been misled, we shall see I
that time, conceived under the form of an un-l
bounded and homogeneous medium, is nothing buti
the ghost of space Iiaunting the reflective conscious-
ness.
The English school tries, in fact, to reduce
relations of extensity to more or less complex
kiitake of relations of succession in time. When,
J^JJ""^^"' with our eyes shut, we run our hands
ti^tT°bom' along a surface, the rubbing of our
oSSoil't™" fingers against the surface, and especially
^^'p^'diirt' *^''^ varied play of our joints, proWde
''™-" a series of sensations, which differ only
by their qualities and which exhibit a certain order
in time. Moreover, experience teaches us that
this series can be reversed, that we can, by an
lOO
TIME AND FREE WILL
effort of a different kind {or, as we shall call it
later, in an opposite direction), obtain the same
sensations over again in an inverse order : relations
of position in space might then be defined as
reversible relations of succession in time. But
such a definition involves a vicious circle, or at
least a very superficial idea of time. There are.
indeed, as we shall show a little later, two possible
conceptions of time, the one free from all alloy,
the other surreptitiously bringing in the idea of
I space. Pure duration is the form which the suc-
cession of our conscious states assumes when our
ego lets itself live, when it refrains from separat-
ing its present state from its former states. For
this purpose it need not be entirely absorbed in the
jpassing sensation or idea ; for then, on the con-
trary, it would no longer endure. Nor need
it forget its former states : it is enough that,
in recalUng these states, it does not set them
alongside its actual state as one point along-
side another, but forms both the past and the
present states into an organic whole, as happens
when we recall the notes of a tune, melting,
so to speak, into one another. Might it not
be said that, even if these notes succeed one
another, yet we perceive them in one another, and
that their totality may be compared to a Hving
being whose parts, although distinct, permeate
one another just because they are so closely con-
nected ? The proof is that, if we interrupt the
rhythm by dwelling longer than is right on one
CHAP. II DURATION, SUCCESSION AND SPACE lOI
note of the tune, it is not its exaggerated length,
as length, which will warn us of our mistake, but
the qualitative change thereby caused in the
whole of the musical phrase. We can thus con-'
ceive of succession without distinction, and think
of it as a mutual penetration, an interconnexion
and organization of elements, each one of which
represents the whole, and cannot be distinguished
or isolated from it except by abstract thought.
Such is the account of duration whicli would be
given by a being who was ever the same and ever;
changing, and who had no idea of space. But,
familiar with the latter idea and indeed beset by
it, we intr oduce it unwittingly into our feeUng of
pure succession ; we set our states of consciousness
side by side in such a way as to perceive them
simultaneously, no longer in one another, but
alongside one another ; in a word, we project
time into space, we express duration in terms of
extensity, and succession thus takes the form of a
continuous hne or a chain, the parts of which touch
without penetrating one another. Note that the
mental image thus shaped impUes the perception,
no longer successive, but simultaneous, of a before
and after, and that it would be a contradiction to
suppose a succession which was only a succession,
and which nevertheless was contained in one and
the same instant. Now, when we speak of an
order of succession in duration, and of the reversi-
bihty of this order, is the succession we are dealing
with pure succession, such as we have just defined
102 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, ii
it, without any admixture of extensity, or is it
succession developing in space, in such a way that
we can take in at once a number of elements which
are both distinct and set side by side ? There is no
doubt about the answer : we could not introduce
[order among terms without first distinguishing
ithem and then comparing the places which they
'occupy ; hence we must perceive them as multiple,
i simultaneous and distinct ; in a word, we set them
I side by side, and if we introduce an order in what
i is successive, the reason is that succession is con-
verted into simultaneity and is projected into
; space. In short, when the movement of my
finger along a surface or a line provides me with
a series of sensations of different qualities, one
of two things happens : either I picture these
sensations to myself as in duration only, and in
that case they succeed one another in such a way
that I cannot at a given moment perceive a number
of them as simultaneous and yet distinct ; or else
I make out an order of succession, but in that case
I display the faculty not only of perceiving a suc-
cession of elements, but also of setting them out in
line after having distinguished them : in a word,
I I already possess the idea of space. Hence the
idea of a reversible series in duration, or even
simply of a certain order of succession in time, itself
implies the representation of space, and cannot
be used to define it.
To give this argument a stricter form, let us
imagine a straight line of imlimited length, and
I
I
CHAP. It DURATION, SUCCESSION AND SPACE I03
on this line a material point A, which moves.
snccewioB ^^ ^^^^ pouit Were conscious of itself, it
ranncjiMiro. would feel itself change, since it moves :
iwredMtag'' 't would perceive a succession ; but
SSoe'rtUuBB would tills succession assume for it the
**™™"'*™- form of a line ? No doubt it woidd, if
it could rise, so to speak, above the line which it
traverses, and perceive simultaneously several
points of it in juxtaposition : but by doing so it
would form the idea of space, and it is in space and
not in pure duration that it would see displayed
the changes which it undergoes. We here put I
our finger on the mistake of those who regard pure
duration as something similar to space, but of af
simpler nature. They are fond of setting psychic
states side by side, of forming a chain or a
line of them, and do not imagine that they are
introducing into this operation the idea of space
properly so called, the idea of space in its totality,
because space is a medium of three dimensions.!
But how can they fail to notice that, in order
to perceive a line as a line, it is necessary to take
up a pwsition outside it, to take account of the
void which surrounds it, and consequently to think
a space of three dimensions ? If our conscious ■
point A does not yet possess the idea of space —
and this is the hypothesis which we have agreed
to adopt — the succession of states through which
it passes cannot assume for it the form of a line ;
but its sensations will add themselves dynamically
to one another and will organize themselves, like
1.:
104
TIME AND FREE WILL
\[
the successive notes of a tune by which we ;
ourselves to be lulled and soothed. In a \
pure duration might well be nothing but a suc-
cession of quahtative changes, which melt into
and permeate one another, without precise out-
lines, without any tendency to externalize them-
selves in relation to one another, without any
affiliation with number : it would be pure hetero-
geneity. But for the present we shall not insist
upon this point; it is enough for us to have shown
I that, from the moment when you attribute the
least homogeneity to duration, you surreptitiously
introduce space.
It is true that we count successive moments
of duration, and that, because of its relations with
Pure dam- number, time at first seems to us to be
XiSqiwu- ^ measurable magnitude, just like space.
SS^ot be But there is here an important dis-
SST'i^brf^' tinction to be made. I say, e.g., that
Jjjjjjj"{^'" a minute has just elapsed, and I mean
■"** by this that a pendulum, beating the
seconds, has completed sixty oscillations. If I
picture these sixty oscillations to myself all at
once by a single mental perception, I exclude by
hypothesis the idea of a succession. I do not think
of sixty strokes which succeed one another, but
of sixty points on a fixed line, each one of which
symbolizes, so to speak, an oscillation of the
pendulum. If, on the other hand, I wish to picture
these sixty oscillations in succession, but without
altering the way they are produced in space, I shall J
I
I
CHAP. II PURE DURATION I05
be compelled to think of each oscillation to the
exclusion of the recollection of the preceding one,
for space has preserved no trace of it ; but by
doing so I shall condemn myself to remain for
ever in the present ; I shall give up the attempt
to think a succession or a duration. Now if,
finally, I retain the recollection of the preceding
oscillation together with the image of the present
oscillation, one of two things will happen. Either
I shall set the two images side by side, and we then
fall back on our first hypothesis, or I shall per-
ceive one in the other, each permeating the other and
organizing themselves like the notes of a tune, so
as to form what we shall call a continuous or
qualitative multiplicity with no resemblance to '
number. I shall thus get the image of pure d^urarj
tion ; but I shall have entirely got rid of the idea
of a homogeneous medium or a measurable quan-
tity. By carefully examining our consciousness
we shall recognize that it proceeds in this way
whenever it refrains from representing duration
syrabohcally. When the regular oscillations of the
pendulum make us sleepy, is it the last sound
heard, the last movement perceived, which pro-
duces this effect ? No, undoubtedly not, for why
then should not the first have done the same ?
Is it the recollection of the preceding sounds or
movements, set in juxtaposition to the last one ?
But this same recollection, il it is later on set in
juxtaposition to a single sound or movement, will
remain without effect. Hence we must admit
io6
TIME AND FREE WILL
that the sounds combined with one another and
acted, not by their quantity as quantity, but by
the quality which their quantity exhibited, i.e.
by the rhythmic organization of the whole. Could
the effect of a shght but continuous stimulatioa
be understood in any other way ? If the sensa^
/tion remained always the same, it would continm
to be indefinitely slight and indefinitely bearable.
But the fact is that each increase of stimulation is
taken up into the preceding stimulations, and that
the whole produces on us the effect of a musical
phrase which is constantly on the point of ending
\ and constantly altered in its totality by the addi-
tion of some new note. If we assert that it is
if' always the same sensation, the reason is that we
^*' are thinking, not of the sensation itself, but of its
objective cause situated in space. We then set
it out in space in its turn, and in place of an
organism which develops, in place of changes which
permeate one another, we perceive one and the
' same sensation stretching itself out lengthwise,
so to speak, and setting itself in juxtaposition to
itself without limit. Pure duration, tliat which
consciousness perceives, must thus be reckoned
among the so-called intensive magnitudes, if inten-
sities can be called magnitudes : strictly speaking,
however, it is not a quantity, and as soon as we
, try to measure it, we imwittingly replace it by
space.
But we find it extraordinarily difficult to think
of duration in its original purity ; this is due,
d
IS DURATION MEASURABLE ?
107
no doubt, to the fact that we do not endure
Tim*. M iwit ^^0"^' ^^t^"^^^ objects, it seems, endure
rrtron^Br"" ^ ^6 do, and time, regarded from
^*dS«i'!?' this point of view, has every appear-
bTawMtt^- ^"ce of a homogeneous medium. Not
lire'konKh^ only do the moments of this duration
•'■**°*^ seem to be external to one another, like
bodies in space, but the movement perceived by
our senses is the, so to speak, palpable sign of a
homogeneous and measurable duration. Nay
more, time enters into the formulae of mechanics,
into the calculations of the astronomer, and even!
of the physicist, under the form of a quantity.
We measure the velocity of a movement, implying
that time itself is a magnitude. Indeed, the
analysis which we have just attempted requires
to be completed, for if duration properly so-called
cannot be measured, what is it that is measured
by the oscillations of the pendulum ? Granted
that inner duration, perceived by consciousness,
is nothing else but the melting of states of
consciousness into one another, and the gradual
growth of the ego, it will be said, notwithstanding,
that the time which the astronomer introduces
into his formulae, the time which our clocks
divide into equal portions, this time, at least, is
something different : it must be a measurable
and therefore homogeneous magnitude.^It is
nothing of the sort, however, and a close examina-
tion will dispel this last illusion.
When I follow with my eyes on the dial of a
I08 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP.tf|
clock the movement of the hand which corre-
t-^ Bat what wa sponds to the osciUations of the pen-
J^'g°JJ^;j^^ dulum, I do not measure duration, as
/7 iSJriSiduSS" seems to be thought ; I merely count
SSJ'm'M^ simultaneities, which is very different,
iiinitratian. Qutside of me, in space, there is never
more than a single position of the hand and
the pendulum, for nothing is left of thel
ptist positions. Within myself a process of ,
organization or interpenetration of conscious)
states is going on, which constitutes true duration.
It is because I endure in this way that I picture]
to myself what I call the past oscillations of the\
pendulum at the same time as I perceive the i
present oscillation. Now, let us withdraw for a
moment the ego which thinks these so-called suc-
cessive oscillations : there will never be more
than a single oscillation, and indeed only a single
position, of the pendulum, and hence no duration.
Withdraw, on the other hand, the pendulum and
its oscillations ; there will no longer be anything
but the heterogeneous duration of the ego,
without moments external to one another, wUh-
put relation to number. Thus, within our ego,
[ there is succession without mutual externality ;
ii outside the ego, in pure space, mutual externality
( without succession : mutual externality, since
the present oscillation is radically distinct from
the previous oscillation, which no longer exists ;
but no succession, since succession exists solely
for a conscious spectator who keeps the past in
IS DURATION MEASURABLE ?
109
I
I
mind and sets the two oscillations or their sym-J
bols side by side in an auxiliary space. Now.
between this succession without externality and
this externality without succession, a kind of
exchange takes place, very similar to what physi-
cists call the phenomenon of endosmosis. As the
successive phases of our conscious life, although,
interpenetrating, correspond individually to an,
oscillation of the pendulum which occurs at the|
same time, and as, moreover, these oscillations ^
are sharply distinguished from one another, we I
get into the habit of setting up the same distinc-J f%iLf
tion between the successive moments of our con-i j* -*-
scious life : the oscillations of the pendulum
break it up. so to speak, into parts external to
one another : hence the mistaken idea of a homo-
geneous inner duration, similar to space, the'
moments of which are identical and follow, with-
out penetrating, one another. But, on the other
hand, the oscillations of the pendulum, which
are distinct only because one has disappeared
when the other appears on the scene, profit, as
it were, from the influence which they have thus
exercised over our conscious life. Owing to the
fact that our consciousness has organized them
as a whole in memory, they are first preserved
and afterwards disposed in a series : in a word, c^^*
we create for them a fourth dimension of space,_ 9>^ ^
which we call homogeneous time, and which
enables the movement of the pendulum, although
taking place at one spot, to be continually set in
'-f
110 TIME AND FREE WILL
juxtaposition to itself. Now, if we try to deta
mine the exact part played by the real and tb
imaginary in this very complex process, this is"
what we find. There is a real space, without
duration, in which phenomena appear and disap-
'pear simultaneously with our states of conscious-
,' ness. There is a real duration, the heterogeneous
moments of which permeate one another ; each
I moment, however, can be brought into relation with
; a state of the external world which is contemfmr-
' aneous with it, and can be separated from the
/other moments in consequence of this very pro-
j cess. The comparison of these two realities gives
J rise to a symbolical representation of duration,
I derived from space. Duration thus assumes the
illusory form of a homogeneous medium, and
the connecting link between these two terms, space
and duration, is simultaneity, which might be
defined as the intersection of time and space.
If we analyse in the same way the concept of
motion, the living symbol of this seemingly homo-
Two Biameiiti g^neous duration, we shall be led to
thB°wl« iri' "lake a distinction of the same kind.
uTomoTm^ We generally say that a movement
ribie"1eMiB tal^es place in space, and when we assert
j^"'^''^ that motion is homogeneous and divis-
^^^J^ible, it is of the space traversed that
KioninMi. ^g -^pg thinking, as if it were inter-
changeable with the motion itself. Now, if we
reflect further, we shall see that the successive
positions of the moving body realJy do occupy
p. n IS MOTION MEASURABLE ? Ill
space, but that the process by which it passes
from one position to the other, a process which
occupies duration and which has no reality ex-
cept for a conscious spectator, eludes space. We
have to do here not with an object but with a
progress : motion, in so far as it is a passage from]
one point to another, is a mental synthesis, a I
psychic and therefore unextended process. Space
contains only parts of space, and at whatever point
of space we consider tlie moving body, we shall
get only a position. If consciousness is aware
of anything more .than positions, the reason is
that it keeps the successive positions in mind and
synthesizes them. But how does it carry out a
synthesis of this kind ? It cannot be by a fresh
setting out of these same positions in a homo-
geneous medium, for a fresh synthesis would be
necessary to connect the positions with one
another, and so on indefinitely. We are thus com-
pelled to admit that we have here to do with a
synthesis which is, so to speak, qualitative, a
gradual organization of our successive sensations,
a unity resembling that of a phrase in a melody.
This is just the idea of motion which we form
when we think of it by itself, when, so to speak,
from motion we extract mobility. Think of
what you experience on suddenly perceiving a
shooting star : in this extremely rapid motion
there is a natural and instinctive separation be-
tween the space traversed, which appears to you
under the form of a line of tire, and the absolutely
/"'
?■
TIME AND FREE WILL
V
indivisible sensation of motion or mobility. A
rapid gesture, made with one's eyes shut, will
assume for consciousness the form of a purely
qualitative sensation as long as there is no thought
J of the space traversed. In a word, there are
two elements to be distinguished in motion, the
' space traversed and the act by which we traverse
I it, the successive positions and the synthesis of
. these positions. The first of these elements is a
' Tioraogeneons quantity : the second has no reality
except in a consciousness : it is a quahty or an
intensity, whichever you prefer. But here again
we meet with a case of endosmosis, an inter-
mingling of the purely intensive sensation of
mobility with the extensive representation of the
space traversed. On the one hand we attribute
to the motion the divisibility of the space which
it traverses, forgetting that it is quite possible
to divide an object, but not an act : and on the
I other hand weaccustom ourselves to'projecting this
1 act itself into space, to applying it to the whole
' of the line which the moving body traverses, in a
word, to solidifying it : as if this localizing of a
progress in space did not amount to asserting that,
i even outside consciousness, the past co-exists
along with the present !
It is to this confusion between motion and the
space traversed that the paradoxes of the Eleatics
■^^\^ are due ; for the interval which separates two
T points is infinitely divisible, and if motion con-
sisted of parts like those of the interval itself,
I
u>.n THE ELEATIC PARADOX II3
the interval would never be crossed. But the \ *
The common truth Is that each of Achilles' steps is
^^rnofa^ a simple indivisible act, and that, after
S^wSri'S™ ^ given number of these acts, Achilles
ikwidoMi 'oi ^^^ ha.ve passed the tortoise. The mis^
tbe Eiestici. t^ke of the Elcatics arises from their ^
identification of this series of acts, each of which is- W^
of a definite kind and indivisible, with the homo-
geneous space which underlies them. As this
space can be divided and put together again accord-
ing to any law whatever, they think they are
justified in reconstructing Achilles' whole move-
ment, not with Achilles' kind of step, but with the
tortoise's kind : in place of Achilles pursuing the
tortoise thpy really put twn tnrtni f j^ ^ regulated
by each other, two tortoises which agree to make
the same kind of steps or simultaneous acts, so as
never to catch one another. Wliy does Achilles
outstrip the tortoise ? Because each of Achilles'
steps and each of the tortoise's steps are indivisible
acts in so far as they are movements, and are
different magnitudes in so far as they are space :
so that addition will soon give a greater length
for the space traversed by Achilles than is obtained
by adding together the space traversed by the -
tortoise and the handicap with which it started.
This is what Zeno leaves out of account when hej
reconstructs the movement of Achilles according'
to the same law as the movement of the tortoise,
forgetting that space alone can be divided and
put together again in any way we like, and thus
114
TIME AND FREE WILL
confusing space with motion. Hence we do not
think it necessary to admit, even after the acute
and profound analysis of a contemporary thinker,'
that the meeting of the two moving bodies
implies a discrepancy between real and imaginary
motion, between space in itself and indefinitely
divisible space, between concrete time and abstract
,time. Why resort to a metaphysical hypothesis,
■ however ingenious, about the nature of space,
I time, and motion, when immediate intuition shows
lus motion within duration, and duration outside
1 space ? There is no need to assume a limit to
the divisibility of concrete space ; we can admit
that it is infinitely divisible, provided that we
make a distinction between the simultaneous
positions of the two moving bodies, which are in
fact in space, and their movements, which cannot
occupy space, being duration rather than extent,
quality and not quantity. To measure the velo-
'city of a movement, as we shall see, is simply to
ascertain a simultaneity ; to introduce this velo-
city into calculations is simply to use a convenient
means of anticipating a simultaneity. Thus mathe-
matics confines itself to its own province as long
as it is occupied with determining the simul-
taneous positions of Achilles and the tortoise at a
given moment, or when it admits a priori that
the two moving bodies meet at a point X — a
meeting which is itself a simultaneity. But it goes
Evelliii, Infini el qunnlUi': Paris, ;
DURATION AND SIMULTANEITY
"5
I
beyond its province when it claims to reconstruct
what takes place in the interval between two
simultaneities ; or rather it is inevitably led,
even then, to consider simultaneities once more,
fresh simultaneities, the indefinitely increasing
number of which ought to be a warning that we
cannot make movement out of immobilities, nor;
tiine out of space. In short, just as nothing will
be found homogeneous in duration except a sym-
bolical medium with no duration at all, namely
space, in which simultaneities are set out in line,,
in the same way no homogeneous element will be^
(found in motion except that which least belongs^
to it, the traversed space, which is motionless, l
Now, just for this reason, science cannot deal]
with time and motion except on condition of first
BciHtMhuto eliminating the essential and quaUta-
•to^ft^m"'" *^^^ element — of time, duration, and of
J^^f£*^°" motion, mobility. We may easily conA
motion bJiMB vjiK-e oufselvcs of this by examining the
witii them, p^j-^ pjaygd In astronomy and mechanics
by considerations of time, motion, and velocity.
Treatises on mechanics are careful to announce
that they do not intend to define duration itself
but only the equality of two durations. " Two
intervals of time are equal when two identical
bodies, in identical conditions at the beginning
of each of these intervals and subject to the same
actions and influences of every kind, have traversed
the same space at the end of these intervals." In
other words, we are to note the exact moment at
S
.>
Il6 TIME AND FREE WILL ci
which the motion begins, i.e. the coincidence of an
external change with one of our psychic states ;
we are to note the moment at which the motion
ends, that is to say, another simultaneity ; finally
we are to measure the space traversed, the only
[thing, in fact, which is really measurable. Hence
/there is no question here of duration, but only of
> space and simultaneities. To announce that some-
thing will take place at the end of a time i is to
declare that consciousness will note between now :
and then a number t of simultaneities of a certaini
kind. And we must not be led astray by thei
words " between now and then," for the interval 1
of duration exists only for us and on account of 1
ithe interpenetration of our conscious states.
Outside ourselves we should find only space, and
consequently nothing but simultaneities, of which
we could not even say that they are objectively
'successive, since succession can only be thought
[through comparing the present with the past. — That
the interval of duration itself cannot be taken into
account by science is proved by the fact that, if
all the motions of the universe took place twice or
thrice as quickly, there would be nothing to alter
( either in our formulae or in the figures which are
to be found in them, Consciousness would have
' an indefinable and as it were qualitative impression
of the change, but the change would not make
itself felt outside consciousness, since the same
I number of simultaneities would go on taking place
in space. We shall see, later on, that when the
VELOCITY AND SIMULTANEITY
117
I
I
astronomer predicts, e.g., an eclipse, he does some-
thing of this kind : he shortens infinitely the inter-
vals of duration, as these do not count for science,
and thus perceives in a very short time — a few
seconds at the most — a succession of simultaneities
which may take up several centuries for the con-
crete consciousness, compelled to live through the
intervals instead of merely counting their extrem-
ities.
A direct analysis of the notion of velocity will
bring us to the same conclusion. Mechanics gets
, . this notion through a series of ideas, the
tba driiititjoa connexion of whicli it is easy enough to
ot vtloctiy. '' ^
trace. It first builds up the idea of
uniform motion by picturing, on the one hand,
the path AB of a certain moving body, and, on
the other, a physical phenomenon which is re-
peated indefinitely under the same conditions, e.g.,
a stone always falling from the same height on to
the same spot. If we mark on the path AB the
points M, N, P . . . reached by the moving
body at each of the moments when the stone
touches the ground, and if the intervals AM, MN
and NP are found to be equal to one another, the
motion will be said to be unifonn : and any one
of these intervals will be called the velocity of the
moving body, provided that it is agreed to adopt
as unit of duration the physical phenomenon which
has been chosen as the term of comparison. Thus,
the velocity of a uniform motion is defined by
mechanics without appealing to any other notions
Il8 TIME AND FREE WILL ch
than those of space and simultaneity. Now let us
turn to the case pfa variable motion, that is, to the
case when the elements AM, MN, NP . . . are
found to be unequal. In order to define the
velocity of the moving body A at the point M, we
shall only have to imagine an unlimited number of
moving bodies A„ Aj, Aj . . . all moving uni-
formly with velocities W[, v^, v, . . . which are
arranged, e.g., in an ascending scale and which
correspond to all possible magnitudes. Let us
then consider on the path of the moving body A
two points M' and M", situated on either side of
the point M but very near it. At the same time
as this moving body reaches the points M', M, M",
the other moving bodies reach points M', M, W^,
M', M, M", ... on their respective paths ; and
there must be two moving bodies A* and Ap such
that we have on the one hand M' M= M'» M» and
on the other hand MM''=Mp M",. We shall then
agree to say that the velocity of the moving body
A at the point M lies between y* and Vp. But
nothing prevents our assuming that the points
M' and M' are still nearer the point M, and it will
then be necessary to replace v» and v, by two
fresh velocities v, and v^, the one greater than
Vi, and the other less than Vp. And in proportion
as we reduce the two intervals M'M and MM", we
shall lessen the difference between the velocities
of the uniform corresponding movements. Now,
the two intervals being capable of decreasing right
down to zero, there evidently exists between v,
VELOCITY AND SIMULTANEITY
119
and u, a certain velocity i'„, such that the differ-
ence between this velocity and u*. u^ ... on the
one hand, and Vp, y, ... on the other, can be-
come smaller than any given quantity. It is this
common limit v„ which we shall call the velocity
of the moving body A at the point M. — Now, in *
this analysis of variable motion, as in that of
uniform motion, it is a question only of spaces once
traversed and of simultaneous positions once
— reacfie3. We were thus justified in saying that,
while all th at mechanics retains of time is siniulA
taneity, ;dl that it retains of motion itself — j
restricted, as it is, to a measurement of motion —
jSJnjmobjlily. «
This result might have been foreseen by noticing
that mechanics necessarily deals with equations,
Beohwiici ^"*^ that an algebraic equation always
Bwtio^ expresses something already done. Now,
Kmsui^to! '*^ is of the very essence of duration and
^^c^^" ""' motion, ^s they appear to our conscious- 1
am Mfl^roo^ ^^^^' *° ^^ something that is unceasingly '
'''™- being done ; thus algebra can represent
the results gained at a certain moment of duration
and the jwsitions occupied by a certain moving
body in space, but not duration and motion them-
selves. Mathematics may, indeed, increase the
number of simultaneities and positions which it
takes into consideration by making the intervals
very small : it may even, by using the differential
instead of the difference, show that it is possible
to increase without limit the number of these
-r
120 TIME AND FREE WILL c
intervals of duration . Nevertheless, however
small the interval is supposed to be, it is the
extremity of the interval at which mathematics
always places itself. As for tlie interval itself,
as for the duration and the motion, they are neces-
sarily left out of the equation. The reason is that
^duration and motion are mental syntheses, and
not objects ; that, although the moving body
occupies, one after the other, points on a line,
motion itself has nothing to do with a hne ; and
finally that, although the positions occupied by
the moving body vary with the different moments
of duration, though it even creates distinct mo-
ments by the mere fact of occupyhig different
positions, duration properly so called has no
.moments which are identical or external to one
, another, bemg essentially heterogeneous, continu-
ous, and with no analogy to number.
It follows from this analysis that space alone isi
'homogeneous, that objects in space form a discrete'
.' multiplicity, and that every discrete'
ipMM aiaiie ii multiphcity IS got by a process of un-
Du: dnn- folding in space. It also follows that
oeuioQ belong tliere IS neither duration nor even sue-
not w tue ei- . r - . . I 1
tcnui world, ccssion in space, 11 we give to these words
bat to the ., f . ,° ,
mudoiu the meaning in which consciousness
takes them : each of the so-called suc-
cessive states of the external world exists alone ;
their multiphcity is real only for a consciousness
that can first retain them and then set them
side by side by externalizing them in relation '
I
CHAP. II TWO KINDS OF MULTIPLICITY 121
to one another. If it retains them, it is because
these distinct states of the externa] world give rise
to states of consciousness which permeate one
another, imperceptibly organize themselves into
a whole, and bind the past to the present by
this very process of connexion. If it externaJizes
them in relation to one another, the reason is that,
thinking of their radical distinctness {the one
having ceased to be when the other appears on the
scene) , it perceives them under the form of a discrete
multipHcity, which amounts to settingthem out in
line, in the space in which each of them existed
separately. The space employed for this purpose
is just that which is called homogeneous time.
But another conclusion results from this analysis,
namely, that the multipUcity of conscious states,
regarded in its original purity, is not at
muiuniiciw : all hke the discrete multiplicity which
the word "du- goes to form a number. In such a case
tin«uiih," the 7, , . , ,-. ,■ i
one qiuiita- there IS, as we said, a qualitative mul-
other qunti- tiphcity. In short, we must admit two
"■ kinds of multiplicity, two possible senses
of the word " distinguish," two conceptions, the
one qualitative and the other quantitative, of the
difference between same and other. Sometimes
this multiplicity, this distinctness, this hetero-
geneity contains number only potentially, as
Aristotle would have said. Consciousness, then,
makes a qualitative discrimination without any
further thought of counting the qualities or
even of distinguishing them as several. In such
J]
122 TIME AND FREE WILL cha
a case we have multiplicity without quantity.
Sometimes, on the other hand, it is a question of a
multiplicity of terms which are counted or which
are conceived as capable of being counted ; but
we think then of the possibility of externalizing
them in relation to one another, we set them out
in space. Unfortunately, we are so accustomed to
illustrate one of these two meanings of the same
word by the other, and even to perceive the one
in the other, that we find it extraordinarily difficult
to distinguish between them or at least to express
this distinction in words. Thus I said that several
conscious states are organized into a whole, per-
meate one another, gradually gain a richer con-
sent, and might thus give any one ignorant of
[space the feeling of pure duration ; but the very
use of the word " several " shows that I had already
lisolated these states, externalized them in relation
Ito one another, and, in a word, set them side by
fside ; thus, by the very language which I was
I compelled to use, I betrayed the deeply ingrained
'habit of setting out tima in space. From this
I spatial setting out, already accomplished, we are
, compelled to borrow the terms which we use to
/describe the state of a mhid which has not yet
accomplished it : these terms are thus misleading
■ from the very beginning, and the idea of a mul-
' tiplicity without relation to number or space,
.'although clear for pure reflective thought, cannot
Ibe translated into the language of common sense.
And yet we cannot even form the idea of discrete
TWO KINDS OF MULTIPLICITY
123
multiplicity without considering at the same time
a qualitative multiplicity. When we explicitly
count units by stringing them along a spatial
line, is it not the case that, alongside this addition
of identical terms standing out from a homogene-
ous background, an organization of these units
is going on in the depths of the soul, a wholly
dynamic process, not unhke the purely qualitative
way in which an anvil, if it could feel, would
reahze a series of blows from a hammer ? In
this sense we might almost say that the numbers
in daily use have each their emotional equivalent.
Tradesmen are well aware of it, and instead of
indicating the price of an object by a round number
of shillings, they will mark the next smaller
number, leaving themselves to insert afterwards
a sufficient number of pence and farthings. In a,
word, the process by which we count units and'
make them into a discrete multipUcity has two
sides ; on the one hand we assume that they
are identical, which is conceivable only on con-
dition that these units are ranged alongside each
other in a homogeneous medium ; but on the
other hand the third unit, for example, when
added to the other two, alters the nature, the
appearance and, as it were, the rhythm of the
whole ; without this interpenetration and this,
so to speak, qualitative progress, no addition
would be possible. Hence it is through thei
quahty of quantity that we form the idea oi\
quantity without quality.
124 TIME AND FREE WILL
It is therefore obvious that, if it did not betake
itself to a symbolical substitute, our consciousness
Our luccewiye would ncver regard time as a homogene-
>r
' ous medium, in which the terms of a
SmS^'uk"' succession remain outside one another.
M^"^*^ But we naturally reach this symbolical
tt S^o i"ep'"esentation by the mere fact that,
***•■ in a series of identical terms, each term
assumes a double aspect for our consciousness :
one aspect which is the same for all of them,
since we are thinking then of the sameness of the
external object, and another aspect which is
characteristic of each of them, because the super-
vening of each term brings about a new organiz-
ation of the whole. Hence the possibility of
setting out in space, under the form of numerical
multiphcity, what we have called a qualitative
multiplicity, and of regarding the one as the
equivalent of the other. Now, this twofold pro-
cess is nowhere accompUshed so easily as in the
perception of the external phenomenon which
takes for us the form of motion. Here we cer-
tainly have a series of identical terms, since it is
always the same moving body ; but, on the other
hand, the synthesis carried out by our consciousness
between the actual position and what our memory
calls the former positions, causes these images to
permeate, complete, and, so to speak, continue
one another. Hence, it is principally by the help
of motion that duration assumes the form of a
homogeneous medium, and that time is projected
REAL DURATION
125
I
into space. But, even if we leave out motion,
any repetition of a well-marked external pheno-
menon would suggest to consciousness the same
mode of representation. Thus, when we heaT
a series of blows of a hammer, the sounds form
an indivisible melody in so far as they are pure
sensations, and, here again, give rise to a djTiamic
progress ; but, knowing that the same objectivej
cause is at work, we cut up this progress into
phases which we then regard as identical ; andi
this multiplicity of elements no longer being con-
ceivable except by being set out in space, since
they have now become identical, we are necessarily
led to the idea of a homogeneous time, the sym-
bolical image of real duration. In a word, our
ego comes in contact with the external world at
its surface ; our successive sensations, although
dissolving into one another, retain something of the
mutualexternality which belongs to their objective
causes ; and thus our superficial psychic life
comes to be pictured without any great effort as
set out in a homogeneous medium. But the
symbolical character of such a picture becomes
more striking as we advance further into the
depths of consciousness : the deep-seated self whicH
ponders and decides, which heats and blazes up,
is a self whose states and changes permeate one
another and undergo a deep alteration as soon as we
separate them from one another in order to set
them out in space. But as this deeper self forms,
one and the same person with the superficial ego.
Ma^
-^v.
126 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, ii
'the two seem to endure in the same way. And as
the repeated picture of one identical objective
phenomenon, ever recurring, cuts up our super-
ficial psychic Ufe into parts external to one another,
the moments which are thus determined deter-
mine in their turn distinct segments in the dynamic
/and undivided progress of our more personal con-
scious states. Thus the mutual externality which
material objects gain from their juxtaposition in
[homogeneous space reverberates and spreads into
I the. depths of consciousness : little by ht tie our
sensations are distinguished from one another like
the external causes which gave rise to them, and
our feelings or ideas come to be separated like the
1 sensations with which they are contemporaneous.
That our ordinary conception of durationi
depends on a gradual incursion of space into the)
EUnUute tba domain of pure consciousness is proved by j
Syohio »t«tM, the fact that, in order to deprive the ego
doMtion. bni it this outer circle of psychic states which
guaiity. it uses as a balance-wheel. These con-
ditions are realized when we dream ; for sleep, by
relaxing the play of the organic functions, alters
the communicating surface between the ego and
external objects. Here we no longer measure
duration, but we feel it ; from quantity it returns
to the state of quality ; we no longer estimate
past time mathematically : the mathematical
estimate gives place to a confused instinct,
REAL DURATION
127
capable, like all instincts, of committing gross
errors, but also of acting at times with extraordin-
ary skill. Even in the waking state, daily experi-
ence ought to teach us to distinguish between
dura tion as qua Jity, that which consciousness
reaches immediately and which is probably what
animals perceive, and time so to speak materialized,
tun e that h as become quantity bv bein^ set out in
space. Whilst I am writing these lines, the hour ,
strikes on a neighbouring clock, but my inatten-/
tive ear does not perceive it until several strokes
have made themselves heard. Hence I have not
counted them ; and yet I only have to turn my
attention backwards to count up the four strokes
which have already sounded and add them to
those which I hear. If, then, I question myself
carefully on what has just taken place, I perceive
that the first four sounds Iiad struck my ear and
even affected my consciousness, but that the sen-
sations produced by each one of them, instead of
being set side by side, had melted into one another ■
in such a way as to give the whole a peculiar quality,
to make a kind of musical phrase out of it. In
order, then, to estimate retrospectively the number
of strokes sounded, I tried to reconstruct this phrase
in thought : my imagination made one stroke, then
two, then three, and as long as it did not reach the
exact number four, my feeling, when consulted,
answered that the total effect was qualitatively
different. It had thus ascertained in its own
way the succession of four strokes, but quite other-
J
C/.J
128
TIME AND FRRE WILL
wise than by a process of addition, and without
bringing in the image of a juxtaposition of dis-
tinct terms. In a word, the number of strokes
^ was perceived as a quality and not as a quantity :
it is thus that duration is presented to immediate
consciousness, and it retains this form so long as it
does not give place to a symbolical representation
derived from extensity.
We should therefore distinguish two forms of
multiplicity, two very different ways of regarding
ThBM tn duration, two aspects of conscious life,
lo^*^^ Below homogeneous duration, which is
SS^'^Md'*"" the extensive symbol of true duration,
aanxdooB liiB. g^ ^jQgg psychological analysis distin-
guishes a duration whose heterogeneous moments
permeate one another ; below the numerical
multiplicity of conscious states, a qualitative
multiplicity ; below the self with well-defined j
states, a self in which succeeding each other means)
melting into one another and forming an organic [
whole. But we are generally content with the
first, i.e. with the shadow of the self projected
into homogeneous space. Consciousness, goaded
by an insatiable desire to separate, substitutes the
^<^/, symbol for the reality, or perceives the reality
only through the symbol. As the self thus
refracted, and thereby broken to pieces, is much
— jr-^e./ better adapted to the requirements of social life
//;^(_ in general and language in particular, consciousness
prefers it, and gradually loses sight of the funda-.
mental self.
THE TWO ASPECTS OF THE SELF
I2g
In order to recover this fundamental self, as
the unsophisticated consciousness would perceive'
Th» two u- ^t' ^ vigorous effort of analysis is neces-^
^^ooM *"" sary, which will isolate the fluid inner
•'■'** states from their image, first refracted^
then solidified in homogeneous space. In other
words, our perceptions, sensations, emotions and
ideas occur under two aspects : the one clear and
precise, but impersonal ; the other confused, ever
changing, and inexpressible, because language
cannot get hold of it without arresting its mobility
or fit it into its common-place forms without
making it into public property. If we have been
led to distinguish two forms of multiplicity, two
forms of duration, we must expect each conscious
state, taken by itself, to assume a different aspect
according as we consider it within a discrete
multiplicity or a confused multiplicity, in the
time as quality, in which it is produced, or in the
time as quantity, into which it is projected.
When e.g. I take my first walk in a town in
which I am going to live, my environment pro-
on» oi which duces ou me two impressions at the
louduyins in- Same time, one of which is destined to
tenai obiecu last while the other will constantly
QD DDi oon- change. Every day I perceive the
tng teBiinn. samc houscs, and as I know that they
are the same objects, I always call them by
the same name and I also fancy that they always
look the same to me. But if I recur, at the
end of a sufficiently long period, to the impression
\/hA
130
TIME AND FREE WILL
r
which I experienced during the first few years,
I am surprised at the remarkable, inexplicable,
and indeed inexpressible change which has taken
place. It seems that these objects, continually
perceived by me and constantly impressing them-
selves on my mind, have ended by borrowing
from me something of my own conscious existence ;
like myself they have lived, and like myself they
have grown old. This is not a mere illusion ;
for if to-day's impression were absolutely identical
with that of yesterday, what difference would
there be between perceiving and recognizing,
between learning and remembering ? Yet this
difference escapes the attention of most of us ; we
shall hardly perceive it, unless we are warned of
it and then carefully look into ourselves. The
reason is that our outer and, so to speak, social
life is more practically important to us than our
inner and individual existence. We instinctively
tend to solidify our impressions in order to express
them in language. Hence we confuse the feeling
itself, which is in a perpetual state of becoming,
with its permanent external object, and especially
with the word which expresses this object. In
the same way as the fleeting duration of our ego
is fixed by its projection in homogeneous space,
our constantly changing impressions, wrapping
themselves round the external object which is
their cause, take on its definite outlines and its
immobility.
Our simple sensations, taken in their natural
THE TWO ASPECTS OF THE SELF
131
state, are still more fleeting. Such and such a
flavour, such and such a scent, pleased
guagt givM t me when I was a child though I disUke
itenas^M- them to-day. Yet I still give the same
name to the sensation experienced, and
I speak as if only my taste had changed, whilst the
scent and the flavour have remained the same.
Thus I again solidify the sensation ; and when ^
its changeableness becomes so obvious that I cannot
help recognizing it, I abstract this changeableness
to give it a name of its own and solidify it in the
shape of a laste. But in reality there are neither^
identical sensations nor multiple tastes : for (
"sensations and tastes seem to me to be objects as
soon as I isolate and name them, and in the
human soul there are only processes. What I
ought to say is that every sensation is altered by
repetition, and that if it does not seem to me to
change from day to day, it is because I perceive
it through the object which is its cause, through
the word which translates it. This influence ofi
language on sensation is deeper than is usually I
thought. Not only does language make us believe /
in_the un changeableness of our sensations, but it j
will sometimes deceive us as to the nature of the f
sensation felt. Thus, when I partake of a dish
that is supposed to be exquisite, the name which
it bears, suggestive of the approval given to it,
comes between my sensation and ray consciousness;
I may believe that the flavour pleases me when a
slight effort of attention would prove the contrary.
"»-
132
TIME AND FREE WILL
)[n short, the word with well-defined outlines,
the rough and ready word, which stores up the
Stable, common, and consequently impersonal
element in the impressions of mankind, over-
Iwhelms or at least covers over the delicate and
fugitive impressions of our individual conscious-
ness. To maintain the struggle on equal terms,
the latter ought to express themselves in precise
words : but these words, as soon as they were
formed, would turn against the sensation which
gave birth to them, and, invented to show that
the sensation is unstable, they would impose on
it their own stability.
This overwhelming of the immediate conscious-
ness is nowhere so striking as in the case of our
EDO uuiriii feelings. A violent love or a deep
[^ ^S^JT melancholy takes possession of our
Uke iMiinp. gQy] . ]^gj.g ^g fggi 3^ thousand different
elements which dissolve into and permeate one
another without any precise outlines, without
the least tendency to externalize themselves in
relation to one another ; hence their originality.
We distort them as soon as we distinguish a
numerical multiphcity in their confused mass :
what will it be, then, when we set them out,
isolated from one another, in this homogeneous
medium which may be called either time or space,
whichever you prefer ? A moment ago each
of them was borrowing an indefinable colour from
its surroundings : now we have it colourless, and
' ready to accept a name. The feeling itself is a
being which Hves and develops and is therefore con-
stantly changing ; otherwise liow could it gradually
lead us to form a resolution ? Our resolution
would be immediately taken. But it lives because
the duration in which it develops is a duration
whose moments permeate one another. By
separating these moments from each other, by
^. spreading out time in space, we have caused this
ll feeling to lose its life and its colour. Hence, we
f ' are now standing before our own shadow : we
I ^ believe that we have analysed our feeling, while
■ we have really replaced it by a juxtaposition
of lifeless states which can be translated into words,
and each of which constitutes the common element,
the impersonal residue, of the impressions felt in a
given case by the whole of society. And this is
why we reason about these states and apply our
simple logic to them : having set them up as
genera by the mere fact of having isolated them
from one another, we have prepared them for
I use in some future deduction. Now, if some bold
novehst, tearing aside the cleverly woven curtain
of our conventional ego, shows us under this
appearance of logic a fundamental absurdity,
under this juxtaposition of simple states an
infinite permeation of a thousand different im-
pressions which have already ceased to exist the
instant they are named, we commend him for
having known us better than we knew ourselves.
This is not the case, however, and the very fact
that he spreads out our feeling in a homogeneous
134 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, ii
/time, and expresses its elements by words, shows
ithat he in his turn is only offering us its shadow :
but he has arranged this shadow in such a way as
to make us suspect the extraordinary and illogical
nature of the object which projects it ; he has
made us reflect by giving outward expression to
something of that contradiction, that interpene-
tration, which is the very essence of the elements
expressed. Encouraged by him, we have put
aside for an instant the veil which we interposed
between our consciousness and ourselves. He
has brought us back into our own presence.
We should experience the same sort of surprise
if we strove to seize our ideas themselves in their
• On the fur- "atural State, as our consciousness would
•dMi'lrttt^' perceive them if it were no longer beset
rtSiSSfitro? by space. This breaking up of the
Si«jSt«p*ni^ constituent elements of an idea, which
{JJ{2 ^^Jjj p, issues in abstraction, is too convenient
ouHitM. fQf yg (q (Jq without it in ordinary life
and even in philosophical discussion. But when
;we fancy that the parts thus artificially separ-
(ated are the genuine threads with which the
jconcrete idea was woven, when, substituting for
/the interpenetration of the real terms the jux-
taposition of their symbols, we claim to make
I duration out of space, we unavoidably fall into the
I mistakes of associationism. We shall not insist
on the latter point, which will be the subject of a
thorough examination in the next chapter. Let
it be enough to say that the impulsive zeal with
^
CHAj-.n THE TWO ASPECTS OF THE SELF I35
which we take_sides on certain questions shows how
our intellect has its instincts — and what can an
instinct of this kind be if not an impetus common
to all our ideas, i.e. their very interpenetration ?
The beliefs to which we most strongly adhere are
those of which we should find it most difficult to
Rive an account, and the reasons by which we
justify them are seldom those which have led us to
_adopt them. In a certain sense we have adopted
them without any reason, for what makes them
valuable in our eyes is that they match the colour
of all our other ideas, and that from the very
first we have seen in them something of ourselves.
Hence they do not take in our minds that common
looking form which they will assume as soon as we
try to give expression to them in words; and,
although they bear the same name in other minds,
they are by no means the same thing. Tlie fact
is that each of tliem has the same kind of life as a
ceU. in an organism : everything which affects the
general state of the self affects it also. But while
the cell occupies a definite point in the organism,
an idea which is truly ours fills the whole of our
self. Not all our ideas, however, are thus incor-
porated in the fluid mass of our conscious states.
Many float on the surface, hke dead leaves on the
water of a pond: the mind, when it thinks
them over and over again, finds them ever the
same, [as if they were external to it. Among
these are the ideas which we receive ready made,
and which remain in us without ever being
136 TIME AND FREE WILL
/properly assimilated, or again the ideas which '
'have omitted to cherish and which have withered
in neglect. If, in proportion as we get away
from the deeper strata of the self, our conscious
states tend more and more to assume the form of a
numerical multiplicity, and to spread out in a
ihomogeneous space, it is just because these con-
}scious states tend to become more and more
(lifeless, more and more impersonal. Hence we
need not be surprised if only those ideas which leastj
belong to us caii be adequately expressed
words : only to these, as we shall see, does th^
associationist theory apply. External to one
another, they keep up relations among themselves
in which the inmost nature of each of them counts ,
for nothing, relations which can therefore be classi-J
fied. It may thus be said that they are associated^
by contiguity or for some logical reason. But if,
.digging below the surface of contact between the
fself and external objects, we penetrate into the
■ depths of the organized and Uving intelligence, we
shall witness the joining together or rather the
blending of many ideas which, when once dis-
sociated, seem to exclude one another as logically
.contradictory terms. The strangest dreams,
which two images overlie one another and show 1
us at the same time two different persons, who
yet make only one, will hardly give us an idea of the
interweaving of concepts which goes on when j
we are awake. The imagination of the dreamer,
cut off from the external world, imitates with |
th^^^
3ne 1
es
edV
if. ~
THE TWO ASPECTS OF THE SELF
137
mere images, and parodies in its own way, the
process which constantly goes on with regard
to ideas in the deeper regions of the intellectual life.
Thus may be verified, thus, too, will be illus-
trated by a further study of deep-seated psychic
phenomena the principle from which
started ; conscious hfe displays two
tnoi« tociai aspccts according as we perceive it
life, bul nuM ' I .■ .LI
problems loi- dircctly or by refraction through space.
reooutM to Considered in themselves, the deep-
ud uving seated conscious states have no relation'
to quantity, they are pure quality ; they
intermingle in such a way that we cannot tell
whether they are one or several, nor even examine
them from this point of view without at once
altering their nature. The duration which they
thus create is a duration whose moments do not
constitute a numerical multiplicity : to character-
ize these moments by saying that they encroach
on one another would still be to distinguish them.
If each of us lived a purely individual life, if there
were neither society nor language, would our
consciousness grasp the series of inner states in
this unbroken form ? Undoubtedly it would not
quite succeed, because we should still retain the
idea of a homogeneous space in which objects are
sharply distinguished from one another, and
because it is too convenient to set out in such a
medium the somewhat cloudy states which first
attract the attention of consciousness, in order to
138 TIME AND FREE WILL c
resolve them into simpler terms. But mark that
/the intuition of a homogeneous space is already
I a step towards social life. Probably animals do
not picture to themselves, beside their sensations,
as we do, an external world quite distinct from
themselves, which is the common property of all
conscious beings. Our tendency to form a clear
picture of this externality of things and the homo-
geneity of their medium is the same as the im-
pulse which leads us to live in common and to
speak. But, in proportion as the conditions of
social life are more completely realized, the cur-
rent which carries our conscious states from
within outwards is strengthened ; httle by little
these states are made into objects or things ; they
break off not only from one another, but from
ourselves. Henceforth we no longer perceive
them except in the homogeneous medium in which
we Iiave set their image, and through the word
which lends them its commonplace colour. Thus
a_second self is formed which obscures the first,
aself whose existence is made up of distinct
moments, whose states are separated from one
another and easily expressed in words. I do not
mean, here, to split up the personality, nor to
bring back in another form the numerical multi-
plicity which I shut out at the beginning. It is
the same self which perceives distinct states at
first, and which, by afterwards concentrating its
attention, will see these states melt into one an-
other like the crystals of a snow-flake when touched
CHAP, ti THE TWO ASPECTS OF THE SELF 139
for some time with the finger. And, in truth, for
the sake of language, the self has everything to
gain by not bringing back confusion where order
reigns, and in not upsetting this ingenious arrange-
ment of almost impersonal states by which it has
ceased to form '' a kingdom within a kingdom."
An inner life with well distinguished moments
and with clearly characterized states will answer
better the requirements of social life. Indeed, a
superficial psychology may be content with de-
scribing it without thereby falling into error, on
condition, however, that it restricts itself to the
study of what has taken place and leaves out what
is going on. But if, passing from statics to dynam-;
ics, this psychology claims to reason about,
things in the making as it reasoned about things]
made, if it offers us the concrete and living self as
an association of terms which are distinct from/
one another and are set side by side in a homo-^
geneous medium, it will see difficulty after difii-j
culty rising in its path. And these difficulties
will multiply the greater the efforts it makes to
overcome them, for all its efforts will only bring
into clearer light the absurdity of the fundamental
hypothesis by which it spreads out time in space and
puts succession at the very centre of simultaneityJ
We shall see that the contradictions implied in thei
problems of causality, freedom, personality, spring!
from no other source, and that, if we wish to get
ridof them.we have only to go back to the real and,'
concrete self and give up its symboUcal substitute.
It is easy to see why the question of free
brings into conflict these two rival systems of
nature, mechanism and dynamism. Dyn<*-
tary activity, given by consciousness,
and comes to represent inertia by gradually empty-
ing this idea : it has thus no difficulty in conceiving
free force on the one hand and matter governed
by laws on the other. Mechanism follows the
opposite course. It assumes that the materials
which it synthesizes are governed by necessary
laws, and although it reaches richer and richer
combinations, which are more and more difficult
to foresee, and to all appearance more and more
contingent, yet it never gets out of the narrow
circle of necessity within which it at first shut
itself up.
A thorough examination of these two conce]
tions of nature will show that they involve two"
Por dynsm- very different hypotheses as to the rela-
iraiMtomoM ^j^^^ between laws and the facts which
SSiiim "e^ they govern. As he looks higher and
M^.'rh''' higher, the believer in dynamism thinks
taSi^'iim-"' that he perceives facts which more and
iTia'.'iS.."*' more elude the grasp of laws : he thuj "
la- I
DYNAMISM AND MFXHANISM
141
I
sets up the fact as the absolute reality, and the
law as the more or less symbolical expression of
this reality. Mechanism, on the contrary, dis-
covers within the particular fact a certain num-
ber of laws of which the fact is thus made to be the
meeting point, and nothing else : on this hypothe-
sisit is the law which becomes the genuine reality.
Now, if it is asked why the one party assigns a
higher reality to the fact and the other to the
law, it will be found that mechanism and dyna-
mism take the word sim/'/ifiiy in two very different
senses. For the first, any principle is simple of
which the effects can be foreseen and even calcu-
lated : thus, by the very definition, the notion of
inertia becomes simpler than that of freedom, the
homogeneous simpler than the heterogeneous, the
abstract simpler than the concrete. But dynamism
is not anxious so much to arrange the notions
in the most convenient order as to find out their
real relationship : often, in fact, the so-called
simple notion — that which the believer in mechan-
ism regards as primitive — has been obtained by the
blending together of several richer notions which
seem to be derived from it, and which have
more or less neutralized one another in this very
process of blending, just as darkness may be pro-
duced by the interference of two lights. Re-
garded from this new point of view, the idea of
spontaneity is indisputably simpler than that of
inertia, since the second can be understood and
defined only by means of the first, while the first
142 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, ni
is self-sufficient. For each of us has the immedi-
ate knowledge (be it thought true or fallacious)
of his free spontaneity, without the notion
of inertia having anything to do with this
knowledge. But, if we wish to define the inertia
of matter, we must say that it cannot move or
stop of its own accord, that every body perseveres
in the state of rest or motion so long as it is not
acted upon by any force : and in both cases we are
unavoidably carried back to the idea of activity.
It is therefore natural that, a priori, we should
reach two opposite conceptions of human activity,
according to the way in which we understand the
relation between the concrete and the abstract,
the simple and the complex, facts and laws.
A posteriori, however, definite facts are appealed
to against freedom, some physical, others psycho-
logical. Sometimes it is asserted that
' our actions are necessitated by our
: feelings, our ideas, and the whole pre-
irrtM'""ww'oii ceding series of our conscious states ;
in>coni»t8 sometimes freedom is denounced as being
mnitipiicitj oi incompatible with the fundamental pro-
■t>tM at da> perties of matter, and in particular with
the principle of the conservation of
.energy. Hence two kinds of determinism, two
^apparently different empirical proofs of universal
t necessity. We shall show that the second of these
Jtwo forms is reducible to the first, and that all
determinism, even physical determinism, involves
I a psychological hypothesis: we shall then prove
Detarminlun :
<1) physical
(81 Dsyoholo-
PHYSICAL DETERMINISM
143
that psychological determinism itself, and the^^
refutations which are given of it, rest on an inac-\
curate conception of the multiplicity of conscious/
states, or rather of duration. Thus, in the lightV
of the principles worked out in the foregoing/
chapter, we shall see a self emerge whose activ-
ity cannot be compared to that of any other'
force.
I
Physical determinism, in its latest form, is
closely bound up with mechanical or rather kinetic
phrtMj a»- theories of matter. The universe is
ftftMd In the pictured as a heap of matter which the
ths moivcniu imagination resolves into molecules and
ttt. atoms. These particles are supposed to
carry out unceasingly movements of every kind,
sometimes of vibration, sometimes of translation ;
and physical phenomena, chemical action, the
qualities of matter which our senses perceive, heat,
sound, electricity, perhaps even attraction, are
thought to be reducible objectively to these
elementary movements. The matter which goes
to make up organized bodies being subject to the
same laws, we find in the nervous system, for
example, only molecules and atoms which are in
motion and attract and repel one another. Now
if all bodies, organized or unorganized, thus act
and react on one another in their ultimate parts,
it is ob\'ious that the molecular state of the brain
at a given moment will be modified by the shocks
which the nervous system receives from the sur-
144 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, hi
rounding matter, so that the sensations, feelings
and ideas which succeed one another in us can be
defined as mechanical resultants, obtained by the
compounding of shocks received from without
with the previous movements of the atoms of the
nervous substance. But the opposite phenomenon
may occur ; and the molecular movements which
go on in the nervous system, if compounded with
one another or with others, will often give as result-
ant a reaction of our organism on its environment :
hence the reflex movements, hence also the so-
called free and voluntary actions. As, moreover,
the principle of the conservation of energy has
been assumed to admit of no exception, there is
not an atom, either in the nervous system or in
the whole of the universe, whose position is not
determined by the sum of the mechanical actions
which the other atoms exert upon it. And the
mathematician who knew the position of the
molecules or atoms of a human organism at a
given moment, as well as the position and motion
of all the atoms in the universe capable of
influencing it, could calculate with unfailing
certainty the past, present and future actions
of the person to whom this organism belongs,
just as one predicts an astronomical phenom-
enon.^
We shall not raise any difficulty about recog-
' On this point see Lange, History of Materialism, Vol. ii,
CHAP, m PHYSICAL DETERMINISM I45
nizing that this conception of physiological phe-
n prinoiph oi nouiena in general, and nervous phe-
couamtian . ,. , . , ,
oi anercT ii nomena in particular, is a very natural
phTiioioBicii deduction from the law of the conserva-
phenomeiuuG tion of energy. Certainly, the atomic
DMBUlUUd. ,, , °-i. .... , ,, .
baiparbkMDot theory of matter is still at the hypo-
lUtM.'" thetical stage, and the purely kinetic ex-
planations of physical facts lose more than they
gain by beuig too closely bound up with it. We
must observe, however, that, even if we leave aside
the atomic theory as well as any other hypothesis
as to the nature of the ultimate elements of matter,
the necessitating of physiological facts by their'
antecedents follows from the theorem of the con-(
servation of energy, as soon as we extend this'
theorem to all processes going on in all living bodies, f
For to admit the universality of this theorem is to
assume, at bottom, that the material points of
which the universe is composed are subject solely
to forces of attraction and repulsion, arising from
these points themselves and possessing intensities
which depend only on their distances : hence the
relative position of these material points at a given
moment — whatever be their nature — would be
strictly determined by relation to what it was at
the preceding moment. Let us then assume for
a moment that this last hypothesis is true : vte\
propose to show, in tlie first place, that it does not
involve the absolute determination of our conscious
states by one another, and then that the very
universahty of the principle of the conservation
146 TIME AND FREE WILL ci
[of energy cannot be admitted except in virtue ofl
I some psychological hypothesis.
Even if we assumed that the position, the direc-
tion and the velocity of each atom of cerebral
To vton eon- matter are determined at every moment
^^^*in of time, it would not at all foUow that our
S^»1?ra»^ psychic hfe is subject to the same neces-
i^ taSSra sity. For we should first have to prove
imTrSSw*'*' *^3.t a strictly determined psychic state
**"^ ***•'■ corresponds to a definite cerebral state,]
and the proof of this is still to be given. As a rule
we do not think of demanding it, because we
know that a definite vibration of the tympanum,
a definite stimulation of the auditory nerve, gives
a definite note on the scale, and because the
parallelism of the physical and psychical series
has been proved in a fairly large number of cases.
But then, nobody has ever contended that we were
free, under given conditions, to hear any note or
perceive any colour we liked. Sensations of this
kind, like many other psychic states, are obvi-
ously bound up with certain determining condi-
tions, and it is just for this reason that it has been
possible to imagine or discover beneath them a
system of movements which obey our abstract
mechanics. In short, wherever we succeed in
giving a mechanical explanation, we observe a
fairly strict parallelism between the physiological
and the psychological series, and we need not be
surprised at it. since explanations of this kind will
assuredly not be met with except where the two
PHYSICAL DETERMINISM
147
series exhibit parallel tenns. But to extend this
parallelism to the series themselves in their totality
is to settle a priori the problem of freedom.'
Certainly this may be done, and some of the
greatest thinkers have set the example ; but
then, as we said at first, it was not for reasons of a
physical order that they asserted the strict corre-
spondence between states of consciousness and
modes of extension. Leibniz ascribed it to a pre-
established harmony, and would never have
admitted that a motion could give rise to a per-
ception as a cause produces an effect. Spinoza
said that the modes of thought and the modes ofj
extension correspond with but never influence
one another : they only express in two different]
languages the same eternal truth. But the theories
of physical determinism which are rife at the
present day are far from displaying the same
clearness, the same geometrical rigour. They
point to molecular movements taking place in the
brain : consciousness is supposed to arise out of
these at times in some mysterious way, or rather
to follow their track like the phosphorescent line
which results from the rubbing of a match. Or
yet again we are to think of an invisible musician
playing behind the scenes" while the actor strikes
a keyboard the notes of which yield no sound :
consciousness must be supposed to come from an
unknown region and to be superimposed on the
molecular vibrations, just as the melody is on the
rhythmical movements of the actor. But, what-
148 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, hi
ever image we fall back upon, we do not prove
Ed we never shall prove by any reasoning that
e psychic fact is fatally determined by the mole-
lar movement. For in a movement we may
f find the reason of another movement, but not the
Weason of a conscious state : only observation
can prove that the latter accompanies the former.
Now the imvarying conjunction of the two
terms has not been verified by experience except
in a very limited number of cases and with regard
to facts which all confess to be almost independent
of the will. But it is easy to understand why
physical determinism extends this conjunction to
all possible cases.
Consciousness indeed informs us that the ma-
jority of our actions can be explained by motives.
phniMi But it does not appear that determina-
whenuiiuned tion here means necessity, smce common
DoitniatM ■ sense believes in free will. The deter-l
datmmiiiiini minist, however, led astray by a concep-i
tion of duration and causality which we shall
criticise a httle later, holds that the determina-J
tion of conscious states by one another is absolutej
This is the origin of associationist determinism,
an hypothesis in support of which the testimony
of consciousness is appealed to, but which cannot,
in the beginning, lay claim to scientific rigour. It
seems natural that this, so to speak, approximate
determinism, this doterminism of quality, should
seek support from the same mechanism that
imderlies the phenomena of nature : -the latter
PHYSICAL DETERMINISM
149
would thus convey to the former its own
geometrical character, and the transaction would
be to the advantage both of psychological
determinism, which would emerge from it in a
stricter form, and of physical mechanism, which
would then spread over everything. A fortunate
circumstance favours this alliance. The simplest
psychic states do in fact occur as accessories
to well-defined physical phenomena, and the
greater number of sensations seem to be bound
up with definite molecular movements. This
mere beginning of an experimental proof is
quite enough for the man who, for psychological
reasons, is already convinced that our conscious
states are the necessary outcome of the circum-
stances under which they happen. Henceforth
he no longer hesitates to hold that the drama
enacted in the theatre of consciousness is a literal
and even slavish translation of some scenes per-
formed by the molecules and atoms of organized
matter. The physical determinism which is
reached in this way is nothing but psychological
determinism, seeking to verify itself and fix its
own outhnes by an appeal to the sciences of nature.
But we must own that the amount of freedom
which is left to us after strictly complying with the
u ow prind- principle of the conservation of energy
iitioo oi is rather Umited. For, even if this law
™n«nT»adp does not exert a necessitating influence
over the course of our ideas, it will at least
determine our movements. Oux irmer hfe will
ISO
TIME AND FREE WILL
still depend upon ourselves up to a certain j
pwint ; but, to an outside observer, there will be
nothing to distinguish our activity from absolute
automatism. We are thus led to inquire whether
the very extension of the principle of the conserva-
tion of energy to all the bodies in nature does
not itself involve some psychological theory, and
whether the scientist who did not possess a priori ■
any prejudice against human freedom would!
think of setting up this principle as a universal J
law.
We must not overrate the part played by the'
principle of the conservation of energy in the his-
tory of tiie natural sciences. In its
iectidnration.it has not been the governing factor in
•bi« to U¥iii< this evolution and we should be wrong
cQucioiu in making it the indispensable postulate
of all scientific research. Certaijily,
every mathematical operation which we carry out
on a given quantity implies the permanence of this
quantity throughout the course of the operation,
in whatever way we may spHt it up. In other
words, what is given is given, what is not given is not
given, and in whatever order we add up the same
terms we shall get the same result. Science will
for ever remain subject to this law, which is nothing
but the law of non-contradiction ; but this law
does not involve any special hypothesis as to the
nature of what we ought to take as given, or what
PHYSICAL DETERMINISM
151
will remain constant. No doubt it informs us
that something cannot come from nothing ; but
experience alone will tell us which aspects or
functions of reality must count for something, and
which for nothing, from the point of view of posi-
tive science. In short, in order to foresee the
state of a determinate system at a determinate
moment, it is absolutely necessary that something
should persist as a constant quantity throughout
a series of combinations ; but it belongs to experi-
ence to decide as to the nature of this something,
and especially to let us know whether it is found
in all possible systems, whether, in other words,
all possible systems lend themselves to our calcula-
tions. It is not certain that all the physicists before
Leibniz beheved, like Descartes, in the conservation
of a fixed quantity of motion in the universe :
were their discoveries less valuable on this account
or their researches less successful ? Even when
Leibniz had substituted for this principle that of
the conservation of vis viva, it was not possible
to regard the law as quite general, since it admitted
of an obvious exception in the case of the direct
impact of two inelastic bodies. Thus science has
done for a very long time without a universal
conservative principle. In its present form, and
since the development of the mechanical theory
of heat, the principle of the conservation of energy
certainly seems to apply to the whole range of
physico-chemical phenomena. But no one can
tell whether the study of physiological pheno-
152 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, m
mena in general, and of nervous phenomena in
particular, will not reveal to us, besides the vis
viva or kinetic energy of which Leibniz spoke, and
the potential energy which was a later and neces-
sary adjunct, some new kind of energy which
may differ from the other two by rebelling against
calculation. Physical science would not thereby
lose any of its exactitude or geometrical rigour,
as has lately been asserted : only it would be
realized that conservative systems are not the
only systems possible, and even, perhaps, that in
the whole of concrete reality each of these systems
plays the same part as the chemist's atom in bodies
and their combinations. Let us note that the
most radical of mechanical theories is that which
makes consciousness an cpiphenomenon which,
in given circumstances, may supervene on certain
molecular movements. But, if molecular move-
ment can create sensation out of a zero of con-
sciousness, why should not consciousness in its
turn create movement either out of a zero of kinetic
and potential energy, or by making use of this
energy in its own way ? Let us also note that the
law of the conservation of energy can only be
intelligibly applied to a system of which tlie points,
after moving, can return to their former positions.
This return is at least conceived of as possible, and
it is supposed that under these conditions nothing
would be changed in the original state of the
system as a whole or of its elements. In short,
time cannot bite into it ; and the instinctive.
PHYSICAL DETERMINISM
153
I
though vague, belief of mankind in the conserva-
tion of a fixed quantity of matter, a fixed quantity
of energy, perhaps has its root in the very fact that
inert matter does not seem to endure or to preserve
any trace of past time. But this is not the case
in the realm of life. Here duration certainly seems
to act like a cause, and the idea of putting things
back in their place at the end of a certain time
involves a kind of absurdity, since such a turning
backwards has never been accomphshed in the
case of a living being. But let us admit that the
absurdity is a mere appearance, and that the
impossibility for living beings to come back to the
past is simply owing to the fact that the physico-
chemical phenomena which take place in living
bodies, being infinitely complex, have no chance
of ever occurring again all at the same time : at
least it will be granted to us that the hypothesis of
a turning backwards is almost meaningless in the
sphere of conscious states. A sensation, by the
mere fact of being prolonged, is altered to the
point of becoming unbearable. The same does
not here remain the same, but is reinforced and
swollen by the whole of its past. In short, while
the material point, as mechanics understands it,
remains in an eternal present, the past is a reality
perhaps for Uving bodies, and certainly for con-
scious beings. While past time is neither a gain
nor a loss for a system assumed to be conservative,
it may be a gain for the living being, and it is
indisputably one for the conscious being. Such
154 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, hi
being the case, is there not much to be said for the
hypothesis of a conscious force or free will, which,
subject to the action of time and storing up dura-
tion, may thereby escape the law of the conserva-
tion of energy ?
In truth, it is not a wish to meet the requirements
of positive science, but rather a psychological
The idea oi mistake which has caused this abstract
ii/ o'i°'^Str- principle of mechanics to be set up as a
In "Soij^SrtoD universal law. As we are not accustomed
ccet^^Kaiim to obscrve oursclves directly, but per-
"me. ""''*"' ceive ourselves through forms borrowed
from the external world, we are led to believe that
real duration, the duration lived by consciousness,
is the same as the duration which glides over the
inert atoms without penetrating and altering
them. Hence it is that we do not see any absurd-
ity in putting things back in their place after a
lapse of time, in supposing the same motives
acting afresh on the same persons, and in conclud-
ing that these causes would again produce the
same effect. That such an hypothesis has no real
meaning is what we shall prove later on. For the
present let us simply show that, if once we enter
upon this path, we are of course led to set up
the principle of the conservation of energy as a
universal law. For we have thereby got rid of
just that difference between the outer and the inner
world which a close examination shows to be the
main one : we have identified true duration with
apparent duration. After this it would be absurd
PSYCHOLOGICAL DETERMINISM
155
I
to consider time, even our time, as a cause of gain
or loss, as a concrete reality, or a force in its own
way. Thus, while we ought only to say {if we
kept aloof from all presuppositions concerning free
will) that the law of the conservation of energy
governs physical phenomena and may, one day,
be extended to all phenomena if psychological
facts also prove favourable to it, we go far beyond
this, and, under the influence of a metaphysical
prepossession, we lay down the principle of the
conservation of energy as a law which should
govern all phenomena whatever, or must be sup-
posed to do so until psychological facts have
actually spoken against it. Science, properly so
called, has therefore nothing to do with all this.
We are simply confronted with a confusion between
concrete duration and abstract time, two very
different things. In a word, the so-called physical!
determinism is reducible at bottom to a psycho-f
logical determinism, and it is this latter doctrine, j
as we hinted at first, that we have to examine.
Psychological determinism, in its latest and
most precise shape, implies an association ist
Pwoiioio«io»i conception of mind. The existing state
dl^^^nV <^f consciousness is first thought of as
SS^M^^' oi necessitated by the preceding states, but
™"^ it is soon realized that this cannot be
a geometrical necessity, such as that which con-
nects a resultant, for example, with its components.
For between successive conscious states there
156 TIME ANO free will
exists a difference of quality which will always
frustrate any attempt to deduce any one of them
a priori from its predecessors. So experience is
appealed to, with the object of showing that the
transition from one psychic state to another can
always be explained by some simple reason, the
second obeying as it were the call of the first.
Experience really does show this : and, as for our-
selves, we shall willingly admit that there always
is some relation between the existing state of
consciousness and any new state to which
consciousness passes. But is this relation,
which explains the transition, the cause of
it?
May we here give an account of what we have
personally observed ? In resuming a conversation
Th* leriw oi wliich had been interrupted for a few
uiocUtioiu 111
mub«m«reif moments we have happened to notice
■tMmpt to that both we ourselves and our friend
accouat lor ■ , . , . . , .
new idea. were thuiKing of some new object at the
same time. — The reason is, it will be said, that
each has followed up for his own part the natural
development of the idea at which the conversation
had stopped : the same series of associations has
been formed on both sides. — No doubt this inter-
pretation holds good in a fairly large number of
cases ; careful inquiry, however, has led us to an
unexpected result. It is a fact that the two
speakers do connect the new subject of conversa-
tion with the former one : they will even point
out the intervening ideas ; but, curiously enough.
PSYCHOLOGICAL DETERMINISM
157
I
they will not always connect the new idea, which
they have both reached, with the same point of
the preceding conversation, and the two series
of intervening associations may be quite different.
What are we to conclude from this, if not that this
common idea is due to an unknown cause — per-
haps to some physical influence — and that, in
order to justify its emergence, it has called forth
a series of antecedents which explain it and
which seem to be its cause, but are really its
effect ?
When a patient carries out at the appointed time
the suggestion received in the hypnotic state,
the act which he performs is brought
tram hjpiwtio about, according to him, by the preced-
ing series of his conscious states. Yet
these states are really effects, and not causes;!
it was necessary that the act should take place ; i
it was also necessary that the patient should
explain it to himself ; and it is the future act
which determined, by a kind of attraction, the
whole series of psychic states of which it is to be
the natural consequence. The determinists will
seize on this argument : it proves as a matter of
fact that we are sometimes irresistibly subject
to another's will. But does it not also show us
how our own will is capable of willing for wilUng's
sake, and of then leaving the act which has been
performed to be explained by antecedents of which
it has really been the cause ?
If we question ourselves carefully, we shall see
158 TIME AND FREE WILI chap, in
that we sometimes weigh motives and dehberate
over them, when our mind is aheady made
tromdriibef*- up. An inner voice, hardly perceivable,
°^ whispers : " Why this dehberation?
You know the result and you are quite certain of
what you are going to do." But no matter ! it
seems that we make a point of safe-guarding the
principle of mechanism and of conforming to the
laws of the association of ideas. The abrupt inter-
vention of the will is a kind of cottp d'etat which
our mind foresees and which it tries to legitimate
beforehand by a formal deliberation. True, it
could be asked whether the will, even when it
wills for willing's sake, does not obey some
decisive reason, and whether willing for willing's
sake is free willing. We shall not insist on
this point for the moment. It will be enough
for us to have shown that, even when adopt-
ing the point of view of associationism, it is
difficult to maintain that an act is absolutely
determined by its motive and our conscious states
by one another. Beneath these deceptive appear-
ances a more attentive psychology sometimes
reveals to us effects which precede their causes,
and phenomena of psychic attraction which elude
tlie known laws of the association of ideas. But
she time has come to ask whether the very point
I of view which associationism adopts does not
involve a defective conception of the self and of the
midtiplicity of conscious states.
Associationist determinism represents the self as
PSYCHOLOGICAL DETERMINISM
159
I
I
I
a collection of psychic states, the strongest of
Anoeutioii- which exerts a prevailing influence and
dSs^w con- carries the others with it. This doctrine
wtioo 01 th« j,^^^ sharply distinguishes co-existing
psychic phenomena from one another. " I could
have abstained from murder," says Stuart Mill,
" if my aversion to the crime and my dread of its
consequences had been weaker than the temptation
which impelled me to commit it."' And a Httle
further on : " His desire to do right and his
aversion to doing wrong are strong enough to
overcome . . . any other desire or aversion which
may conflict with them." ^ Thus desire, aversion,
fear, temptation are here presented as distinct
things which there is no inconvenience in naming
separately. Even when he connects these states
with the self which experiences them, the English
philosopher still insists on setting up clear-cut
distinctions : " The conflict is between me and
myself ; between (for instance) me desiring a
pleasure and me dreading self-reproach." ' Bain,
for his part, devotes a whole chapter to the " Con-
flict of Motives." * In it he balances pleasures
and pains as so many terms to which one might
attribute, at least by abstraction, an existence of
their own. Note that the opponents of determin-
ism agree to follow it into this field. They too
speak of associations of ideas and' conflicts of
* Ct. Examination of Sir W. Hamillon's Philosophy, sthed.,
(1878), p. 583. * Ibid. p. 585. " Ibid. p. 585.
* Tlie Emotions and the Will, Chap. vi.
sldad br Un-
160 TIME AND FREE WILL ci
motives, and one of the ablest of these philosophers,
Alfred Fouill^e, goes so far as to make the idea of
freedom itself a motive capable of counterbalan-
cing others.! Here, however, lies the danger. Both
parties commit themselves to a confusion which
arises from language, and which is due to the
fact that language is not meant to convey all the
delicate shades of inner states.
I rise, for example, to open the window, and I
have hardly stood up before I forget what I had
to do. — All right, it will be said ; vou
ave associated two ideas, that of an
niM- end to be attained and that of a move-
ment to be accomplished : one of the
ideas has vanished and only the idea of the move-
ment remains. — However, I do not sit down again ;
I have a confused feeling that something remains
to be done. This particular standing still, therefore,
is not the same as any other standing still ; in the
position which I take up the act to be performed
is as it were prefigured, so that I have only to
keep this position, to study it, or rather to feel it
intimately, in order to recover the idea which had
vanished for a moment. Hence, this idea must
have tinged with a certain particular colouring
the mental image of the intended movement and
the position taken up, and this colouring, without
doubt, woultf not have been the same if the end
to be attained had been different. Nevertheless
' FouiI16e, ill Liberie el U DeUrtninismo.
PSYCHOLOGICAL DETERMINISM
l6l
language would have still expressed the move-
ment and the position in the same way ; and
associationism would have distinguished the two
cases by saying that with the idea of the same
movement there was associated this time the idea
of a new end : as if the mere newness of the end
to be attained did not alter in some degree the
idea of the movement to be performed, even though
the movement itself remained the same t We
should thus say, not that the image of a certain
position can be connected in consciousness with
images of different ends to be attained, but rather
that positions geometrically identical outside look
different to consciousness from the inside, accord-
ing to the end contemplated. The mistake of
associationism is that it first did away with the
qualitative element in the act to be pe'^ormed and
retained only the geometrical and impersonal
element : with the idea of this act, thus rendered
colourless, it was then necessary to associate some
specific difference to distinguish it from many
other acts. But this association is the work of
the associationist philosopher who is studying my
mind, rather than of my mind itself.
I smell a rose and immediately confused recol~r
lections of childhood come back to my memory,
niMtmuoB I" truth, these recollections have noti
J^^",,"^' been called up by the perfume of the!
'""'^ rose : I breathe them in with the very j
scent ; it means all that to me. To others it will I
smell differently. — It is always the same ?cent,
l62
TIME AND FREE WILL
j you will say, but associated with different ideas. —
I am quite willing that you should express your-
self in this way ; but do not forget that you have
first removed the personal element from the differ-
ent impressions which the rose makes on each one
of us ; you have retained only the objective aspect,
that part of the scent of the rose which is public
property and thereby belongs to space. Only thus
was it possible to give a name to the rose and its
perfume. You then found it necessary, in order
to distingxiish our personal impressions from one
another, to add specific characteristics to the
general idea of rose-scent. And you now say
that our different impressions, our personal impres-
sions, result from the fact that we associate differ-
ent recollections with rose-scent. But the asso-
ciation of which you speak hardly exists except
for you, and as a method of explanation. It is
in this way that, by setting side by side certain
letters of an alphabet common to a number of
known languages, we may imitate fairly well such
and such a characteristic sound belonging to a
new one ; but not with any of these letters, nor
with all of them, has the sound itself been built up.
We are thus brought back to the distinction
which we set up above between the multipUcity
AnodBtioii- of juxtaposition and that of fusion or
I ^i^^** interpenetration. Such and such a feel-
mSwuoi*' '"S- ^"^'^ ^^^ ^""^^^ ^" '^^^' contains an
J indefinite plurality of conscious states :
but the plurality will not be observed
CHAP. Ill PSYCHOLOGICAL DETERMINISM 163
unless it is, as it were, spread out in this homogene-
ous medium which some call duration, but which is
in reality space. We shall then perceive terms
external to one another, and these terms will no
longer be the states of consciousness themselves,
but their symbols, or, speaking more exactly, the
words which express them. There is, as we have
pointed out, a close connexion between the faculty
of conceiving a homogeneous medium, such as
space, and that of thinking by means of general
ideas. As soon as we try to give an account of
conscious state, to analyse it, this state, which is
above all personal, will be resolved into imper-
sonal elements external to one another, each of
which calls up the idea of a genus and is expressed,
by a word. But because our reason, equipped
with the idea of space and the power of creating
symbols, draws these multiple elements out of the
whole, it does not follow that they were con-
tained in it. For within the whole they did not
occupy space and did not care to express them-
selves by means of symbols ; they permeated
and melted into one another. Associationism
thus makes the mistake of constantly replacing
the concrete phenomenon which takes place in
the mind by the artificial reconstruction of it
given by philosophy, and of thus confusing the
explanation of the fact with the fact itself. We
shall perceive this more clearly as we consider
deeper and more comprehensive psychic states.
The self comes into contact with the external
FftUnie ol u-
164 TIME AND FREE WILL chap
world at its surface ; and as this surface retains
the imprint of objects, the self will
associate by contiguity terms which it
has perceived in juxtaposition ; it is
connexions of this kind, connexions
of quite simple and so to speak impersonal sensa-
tions, that the associationist theory fits. But,
just in proportion as we dig below the surface and
get down to the real self, do its states of conscious-
ness cease to stand in juxtaposition and begin to
permeate and melt into one another, and each to be
tinged with the colouring of all the others. Thus
each of us has his own way of loving and hating ;
and this love or this hatred reflects his whole
personality. Language, however, denotes these
states by the same words in every case : so that
it has been able to fix only the objective and
impersonal aspect of love, hate, and the thousand
lemotions which stir the soul. We estimate the
talent of a novelist by the power with which he
lifts out of the common domain, to which language
had thus brought them down, feelings and ideas 1
to which he strives to restore, by adding detail to
detail, their original and living individuality.
But just as we can go on inserting points between
two positions of a moving body without ever filling
up the space traversed, in the same way, by the
mere fact that we associate states with states and
that these states are set side by side instead of
permeating one another, we fail to translate
completely what our soul experiences ; there ,
CHAP. Ill THE FREE ACT 165
is no c ommoji .measure between— miud^-aaiLlaiu-
Therefore, it is only an inaccurate psychology,\
misled by language, which will show us the scull
j^^^^^j^^j determined by sympathy, aversion, orj
ofoomSSS'* '^^"-^ ^ though by so many forces/
»ut««. Free- pressing upon it. These feelings, pro-'
wrMiion.'»d- vided that they go deep enougli, each
peei.udmftr make up the whole soul, since the whole
DO DDituled by ' .
•daouioii. content of the soul is reflected m each
of them. To say that the soul is determined
under the influence of any one of these feelings
is thus to recognize that it is self-determined. The]
associationist reduces the self to an aggregated
of conscious states : sensations, feelings, and
ideas. But if he sees in these various states no
more than is expressed in their name, if he retains
only their impersonal aspect, he may set them side
by side for ever without getting anything but a
phantom self, the shadow of the ego projecting
itself into space. If, on the contrary, he takes
these psychic states with the particular colouring
which they assume in the case of a delinite person,
and which comes to each of them by reflection
from all the others, then there is no need to asso-
ciate a number of conscious states in order to
rebuild the person, for the whole personality is in
a single one of them, provided that we know how
to choose it. And the outward manifestation
of this inner state will be just what is called a free
act, since the self alone will have been the author
l66 TIME AND FREE WILL chap.
of it, and since it will e?{Diess the.whole of the sel f.
Freedom, thus understood, is not absolute, as a
radically libertarian philosophy would have it ;
it adniits of degrees. For it is by no means the
case that all conscious states blend with one an-
other as raindrops with the water of a lake. The
self, in so far as it has to do with a homogeneous
space, develops on a kind of surface, and on this
surface independent growths may form and float.
Thus a suggestion received in the hypnotic state
is not incorporated in the mass of conscious states,
but, endowed with a Ufe of its own, it will usurp
the whole personality when its time comes. A
violent anger roused by some accidental circum-
stance, an her editary v ice suddenly emerging
from the obscure depths of the organism to the
' surface of consciousness, will act almost like a
hy pnotic s uggestion. Alongside these independ-
ent" elements" there may be found more complex
series, the terms of which do permeate one another,
but which never succeed in blending perfectly
with the whole mass of the self. Such is the
system of feelings and ideas which are the result
of an education not properly assimilated, an
education which appeals to the memory ratlier
than to the judgment. Here will be found, within
the fundamental self, a parasitic self which con-
jtinually encroaches upon the other. Many live
I'this kind of life, and die without having known
true freedom. But suggestion would become
jpersuasion if the entire self assimilated it ; pas-
I
CHAP. HI THE FREE ACT 167
sion, even sudden passion, would no longer bear
the stamp of fatality if the whole history of the
person were reflected in it, as in the int^gnation
of Alceste ; ^ and the most authoritative education
would not curtail any of our freedom if it only
imparted to us ideas and feelings capable of impreg-
nating the whole soul. It is the whole soul, in
£ajct,_whidLgives rise to the free decision ; and the
act \^1 be so much, the freer the more the dynainic
series with which it. is connected tends Xo be the
fundamental self.
Thus understood, free acts are exceptional,
even on the part of those who are most given to
Our ewy-d»i Controlling and reasoning out what they
il^'rt'JS^do. It has been pointed out that we
pt«?"crtMi generally perceive our own self by
^,^ig^ refraction through space, that our con-
gj^Jj^^J* scious states crystallize into words, and
ui wu. (^i^a^t Q^j. living and concrete self thus
gets covered with an outer crust of clean-cut
psychic states, which are separated from one
another and consequently fixed. We added that,
for the convenience of language and the promotioni
of social relations, we have everything to gain by
not breaking through this crust and by assumingi
it to give an exact outline of tlic form of the object ]
which it covers. It should now be added thatJ
our daily actions are called forth not so much
by our feelings themselves, which are constantly '
' In Moliere's comedy Le Misanthrope, {Tr.).
i68
TIME AND FREE WILL
changing, as by the unchanging images with which
these feelings are bouad up. In the morning,
when the hour strikes at which I am accustomed
to rise, I might receive this impression a-'w oXg
"^ ^"X^, as Plato says ; I might let it blend with
the confused mass of impressions which fill my
mind ; perhaps in that case it would not determine
me to act. But generally this impression, instead
of disturbing my whole consciousness like a stone
which falls into the water of a pond, merely stirs
up an idea which is, so to speak, solidified on the
surface, the idea of rising and attending to my
usual occupations. This impression and this
E" ' ;a have in the end become tied up with one
other, so that the act follows the impression
thout the self interfering with it. In this in-i
I stance I am a conscious automaton, and I am soij
because I have everything to gain by being sO;
/It will be found that the majority of our daily]
factions are performed in this way and that,
/owing to the solidification in memory of such and
such sensations, feelings, or ideas, impressions,
Ifrom the outside call forth movements on our
part which, though conscious and even intelligent,
have many points of resemblance with reflex acts.
It is to these acts, which are very numerous but
for the most part insignificant, that the associa-
tionist theory is applicable. They are, taken all
together, the substratum of our free activity, and
with respect to this activity they play the same
part as our organic functions in relation to the
I
CHAP.BJ THE FREE ACT l6g
whole of our conscious life. Moreover we will
grant to determinism that we often resign our
freedom in more serious circumstances, and that,
by sluggishness or indolence, we allow this same
local process to run its course when our whole
personality ought, so to speak, to vibrate. When
our most trustworthy friends agree in advising us
to take some important step, the sentiments
which they utter with so much insistence lodge
on the surface of our ego and there get solidified
in the same way as the ideas of which we spoke
just now. Little by little they will form a thick
crust which will cover up our own sentiments ;
we shall believe that we are acting freely, and it
is only by looking back to the past, later on, that
we shall see how much we were mistaken. But
then, at the very minute when the act is going
to be performed, something may revolt against it.
It is the deep-seated self rushing up to the surface.'
It is the outer crust bursting, suddenly giving
way to an irresistible thrust. Hence in the depths
of the self, below this most reasonable pondering
over most reasonable pieces of advice, something
else was going on — a gradual heating and a sudden
boiling over of feelings and ideas, not unperceived,
but rather unnoticed. If we turn back to them
and carefully scrutinize our memory, we shall see
that we had ourselves shaped these ideas, ourselves
lived these feelings, but that, through some strange
reluctance to exercise our will, we had thrust
them back into the darkest depths of our soul
170
TIME AND FREE WILL
I whenever they came up to the surface. And th
lis why we seek in vain to explain our suddei
Ichange of mind by the visible circumstances whid
preceded it. We wish to know the reason why!
we have made up our mind, and we find that we '
have decided without any reason, and perhaps
even against every reason. But, in certain cases,
/that is the best of reasons. For the action which
has been performed does not then express some
I superficial idea, almost external to ourselves,
I distinct and easy to account for : it agrees with
the whole of our most intimate feelings, thoughts
and aspirations, with that particular conception
of hfe which is the equivalent of all our past
, experience, in a word, with our personal idea of
'happiness and of honour. Hence it has been a
mistake to look for examples in the ordinary and
even indifferent circumstances of life in order
to prove that man is capable of choosing without
a motive. It might easily be shown that these
insignificant actions are bound up with some
determining reason. It is at the great and solemn
crisis, decisive of our reputation with others, and
yet more with ourselves, that we choose in defiance
'of what is conventionally called a motive, and
I this absence of any tangible reason is the more
'striking the deeper our freedom goes.
But the determinist, even when he refrains
from regarding the more serious emotions or deep-
seated psychic states as forces, nevertheless dis-
tinguishes them from one another and is thus
r
THE FREE ACT I7I
led to a mechanical conception of the self. He
,^ will show us this self hesitating between
<m«nd<ith« two contrary feelings, passing from
Sj-idMaSl °"^ *° th^ other and finally deciding in
^8r°"oo'n^ favour of one of them. The self and the!
^ J^'^S", feeUngs which stir it are thus treated!
ijrmboiiun. ^5 yjf,\\ defined objects, which remain
identical during the whole of the process. But if
it is always the same self which deliberates, and
if the two opposite feelings by which it is moved
do not change, how, in virtue of this very principle
of causality which determinism appeals to, will
the self ever come to a decision ? The truth isi
that the self, by the mere fact of experiencing
the first feeling, has already changed to a slight!
extent when the second supervenes : all the time
that the deliberation is going on, the self is changing i
and is consequently modifying the two feelings ;
which agitate it. A dynamic series of states isj
thus formed which permeate and strengthen one
another, and which will lead by a natural evolu-*
tion to a free act. But determinism, ever craving
for symbolical representation, cannot help sub-i
stituting words for the opposite feelings which
share the ego between them, as well as for the ego'
itself. By giving first the person and then the
feehngs by which he is moved a fixed form by
means of sharply defined words, it deprives them
in advance of every kind of living activity. It
will then see on the one side an ego always self-
identical, and on the other contrary feelings, also
173 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, in
self-identical, which dispute for its possession ;
victory will necessarily belong to the stronger.
But this mechanism, to which we have condemned
ourselves in advance, has no value beyond that
of a symbolical representation : it cannot hold
good against the witness of an attentive conscious-
ness, which shows us inner dynamism as a fact.
/ In short, we are free when our acts spring from
' our whole personality, when they express it, when
Fr«*dDm knd ^^^Y ^^"^^ that indefinable resemblance
SiwndSjt"" to it which one sometimes finds between
°^^jj'„, the artist and his work. It Is no use
imot" M* OM asserting that we are then yielding to
it b* loMtoid r ^l^Q all-powerful influence of our char-
acter. Our character is still ourselves ; and because
we are pleased to spht the person into two parts so
that by an effort of abstraction we may consider
in turn the self which feels or thinks and the self
which acts, it would be very strange to conclude
that one of the two selves is coercing the other.
Those who ask whether we are free to alter our
character lay themselves open to the same objec-
tion. Certainly our character is altering imper-i
ceptibly every day, and our freedom would suffer
if these new acquisitions were grafted on to our/
self and not blended with it. But, as soon as
this blending takes place, it must be admitted that
the change which has supervened in our character
belongs to us, that we have appropriated it. In|
word, if it is agreed to call every act free which j
springs from the self and from the self alone, the ,
REAL DURATION AND CONTINGENCY
173
I
act which bears the mark of our personality is
truly free, for our self alone will lay claim to its
gatemity. It would thus be recognized that'
free~Wfll ts-u fact, if it were agreed to look for it
in a certain characteristic of the decision which is
taken, in the free act itself. But the determinist^.
feeUng that he cannot retain his hold on this posi-^
tion, takes refuge in the past'or the future. Some-
times he transfers himself in thought to some
earlier period and asserts the necessary determina-
tion, from this very moment, of the act which is
to come ; sometimes, assuming in advance that
the act is already performed, he claims that it
could not have taken place in any other way.
The opponents of determinism themselves will-
ingly follow it on to this new ground and agree
to introduce into their definition of our free act
— perhaps not without some risk — the anticipation
of what we might do and the recollection of some
other decision which we might have taken. It is
advisable, then, that we should place ourselves
at this new point of view, and, setting aside all
translation into words, all symbolism in space,
attend to what pure consciousness alone shows
us about an action that has come to pass or an
action which is still to come. The original error
of determinism and the mistake of its opponents
will thus be grasped on another side, in so far as
they bear explicitly on a certain misconception
of duration.
" To' be conscious of free will," says Stuart
?^
174
TIME AND FREE WILL
Mill, " must mean to be conscious, before I have
D«t«roiioiit decided, that I am able to decide either
aoctrines ot way. ^ 1 his IS really the way m which
Mtt." the defenders of free will understand it ;
and they assert that when we perform an action
freely, some other action would have been "equally
possible." On this point they appeal to tlie testi-
mony of consciousness, which shows us, beyond
the act itself, the power of deciding in favour of
the opposite course. Inversely, determinism claims
that, given certain antecedents, only one resultant
action was possible. " When we think of our-
selves hypothetically," Stuart Mill goes on, "as
having acted otherwise than we did, we alwajra
suppose a difference in the antecedents. We pic-
ture ourselves as having known something that
we did not know, or not known something that
we did know." * And, faithful to his principle,
the English philosopher assigns consciousness the
r6Ie of informing us about what is, not about what
might be. We shall not insist for the moment on
this last point : we reserve the question in what
sense the ego perceives itself as a determining
cause. But beside this psychological question
there is another, belonging rather to metaphysics,
which the determinists and their opponents solve
a priori along opposite lines. The argument of
' Examinalion of Sir W. Hamilton's Philosophy. 5th ed.,
(1878), p. 580.
» Ibid. p. 583.
I
CHAP, ni REAL DURATION AND CONTINGENCY 175
the former implies that there is only one possible i
act corresponding to given antecedents : the
believers in free will assume, on the other hand, J
that the same series could issue in several differenti
acts, equally possible. It is on this question of
the equal possibility of two contrary actions or
volitions that we shall first dwell : perhaps we
shall thus gather some indication as to the nature
of the operation by which the will makes its choice.
I hesitate between two possible actions X and
Y, and I go in turn from one to the other. This
means that I pass through a series of
(udtherfbr states, and that these states can be
- • 1 divided into two groups according as I
direction. Indeed, these opposite incUna-
tions alone have a real existence, and X and Y
are two symbols by which I represent at their
arrival- or termination-points, so to speak, two
different tendencies of my personality at succes-
sive moments of duration. Let us then rather
denote the tendencies themselves by X and Y ;
will this new notation give a more faithful image
of the concrete reality ? It must be noticed, as
we said above, that the self grows, expands, and,
changes as it passes through the two contrary!
states : if not, how would it ever come to a deci-|
sion ? Hence there are not exactly two contrary
states, but a large number of successive and differ-
ent states within which I distinguish, by an effort
176 TIME AND FREE WILL
of imagination, two opposite directions. Thus
we shall get still nearer the reality by agreeing to
use the invariable signs X and Y to
denote, not these tendencies or states
themselves, since they are constantly
changing, but the two different di-
rections which our imagination ascribes
to them for the greater convenience
of language. It will also be under-
stood that these are symbolical repre- '
sentations, that in reality there are:
not two tendencies, or even two di-
rections, but a self wliich lives and
■^ ^ develops by means of its very hesita-
tions, xmtil the free action drops from it like an^
ovar-ripe fruit.
But this conception of voluntary activity does
not satisfy common sense, because, being essen-
The only M»i- tially a devotee of mechanism, it loves
deveioiitog"" clear-cut distinctions, those which are
we diStaJoiiii expressed by sharply defined words or
iwo' oppoiitS by different positions in space. Hence
dirtouotw. it will picture a self which, after having
traversed a series M O of conscious states, when
it reaches the point O finds before it two
directions O X and O Y, equally open. These
directions thus become things, real paths into
which the highroad of consciousness leads, and
it depends only on the self which of them is
entered upon. In short, the continuous and
living activity of this self, in which we have dis-
CHAP, m REAL D0PATION AND CONTINGENCY I77
tinguished, by abstraction only, two opposite
directions, is replaced by these directions them-
selves, transformed into indifferent inert things
awaiting our choice. But then we must certainly
transfer the activity of the self somewhere or
other. We will put it, according to this hypo-
thesis, at the point : we will say that the self,
when it reaches O and finds two courses open to
it, hesitates, deliberates and finally decides in
favour of one of them. As we find it difficult
to picture the double direction of the conscious
activity in all the phases of its continuous develop-
ment, we separate off these two tendencies on
the one hand and the activity of the self on the
other : we thus get an impartially active ego
hesitating between two inert and, as it were,
soUdified courses of action. Now, if it decides
in favour of O X, the line O Y will nevertheless
remain ; if it chooses O Y, the path O X will
remain open, waiting in case the self retraces its
steps in order to make use of it. It is in this sense'
that we say, when speaking of a free act, that
the contrary action was equally possible. And,
even if we do not draw a geometrical figure on
paper, we involuntarily and almost unconsciously
think of it as soon as we distinguish in the free'
act a number of successive phases, the conception'
of opposite motives, hesitation and choice — thus:
hiding the geometrical symbolism under a kind'
of verbal crystallization. Now it is easy to seei
that this really mechanical conception of freedom!
178 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, m
(issues naturally and logically in the most unbend-
|ing determinism.
The living activity of the self, in which we
distinguish by abstraction two opposite tend-
n thi* trm- encies, wiU finally issue either at X or
wnte'uifl'tota* Y. Now, since it is agreed to localize
thS "SS?"!^ the double activity of the self at the
5^^, 'dk^ point O, there is no reason to separate
b^^m it *h^5 activity from the act in which it
■niti. ^yji] issue and which forms part and
parcel of it. And if experience shows that the
decision has been in favour of X, it is not a neutral
activity which should be placed at the point O,
but an activity tending in advance in the direction
O X, in spite of apparent hesitations. If, on the
contrary, observation proves that the decision
has been in favour of Y, we must infer that the
activity localized by us at the point O was bent
in this second direction in spite of some oscillations
towards the first. To assert that the self, when
it reaches the point O, chooses indifferently be-
tween X and Y, is to stop half way in the course
I of our geometrical symbolism ; it is to separate
(off at the point O only a part of this continuous
(activity in which we undoubtedly distinguished
itwo different directions, but which in addition
I has gone on to X or Y : why not take this last
' fact into account as well as the other two ? Why
not assign it the place that belongs to it in the
symbolical figure which we have just constructed ?
But if the self, when it reaches the point O, is already
REAL DURATION AND CONTINGENCY
179
determined in one direction, there is no use in the
other way remaining open, the self cannot take it.
And the same rough symbolism which was meant
to show the contingency of the action performed,
ends, by a natural extension, in proving its abso-
lute necessity.
In short, defenders and opponents of free will
agree in holding that the action is preceded by a
ub«rurttuii kind of mechanical oscillation between
l£?"ne%'i!ui the two points X and Y. If I decide
tm.''M'ii'^^t '"^ favour of X.the former will tell me :
the othw. yoii hesitated and deliberated, therefore
Y was possible. The others will answer : you
chose X, therefore you had some reason for doing
so, and those who declare that Y was equally
possible forget this reason : they leave aside one
of the conditions of the problem. Now, if I dig
deeper underneath these two opposite solutions,
I discover a common postulate : both take up
their position after the action X has been per-,
formed, and represent the process of my voluntaryj
activity by a path M O which branches off at the
point O, the lines O X and O Y sjonbolizing the
two directions which abstraction distinguishes)
within the continuous activity of which X is the'
goal. But while the determinists take account
of all that they know, and note that the path
M O X has been traversed, their opponents mean
to ignore one of the data with which they have
constructed the figure, and after having traced
out the lines O X and O Y, which should together
l8o TIME AND FREE WILL chap, iii
represent the progress of the activity of the self,
they bring back the self to the point O to oscillate
there until further orders.
It should not be forgotten, indeed, that the
figure, which is really a splitting of our psychic
Bat the flgnre 3-<^tivity in space, is purely symbolical,
Srtwreo^™ and, as such, cannot be constructed
Sr1hr^?S'- unless we adopt the hypothesis that
^dnwSSc our deliberation is finished and ourmind
taSTta^'uiS "lade up. If you trace it beforehand,
•*■ you assume that you have reached the
end and are present in imagination at the final
act. In short this figure does not show me the '
^ deed in the doing but the deed already done. .
Do not ask me then whether the self, having
traversed the path M O and decided in favour of
X, could or could not choose Y : I should answer
that the question is meaningless, because there
is no line M O, no point O, no path O X, no direction
O Y. To ask such a question is to admit the possi-
bility of adequately representing time by space
and a succession by a simultaneity. It is to
ascribe to the figure we have traced the value
of a description, and not merely of a sjonbol ;
it is to believe that it is possible to follow thel
process of psychic activity on this figure like thai
march of an army on a map. We have been
present at the deliberation of the self in all its
phases until the act was performed : then, reca-
pitulating the terms of the series, we perceive suc-
cession under the form of simultaneity, we project
CHAP. Ill REAL DURATION AND CONTINGENCY
l8l
time into space, and we base our reasoning, con-
sciously or unconsciously, on this geometrical
figure. But this figure represents a thing and not /
a progress ; it corresponds, in its inertness, to a
kind of stereotyped memory of the whole process]
of deUberation and the final decision arrived at :j
how could it give us the least idea of the concrete
movement, the dynamic progress by which the!
deliberation issued in the act ? And yet, once '
the figure is constructed, we go back in imagina-
tion into tlie past and will have it that our psychic
activity has followed exactly the path traced out
by the figure. We thus fall into the mistake which]
has been pointed out above : we give a mechanical!
explanation of a fact, and then substitute the
explanation for the fact itself. Hence we encoun-'
ter insuperable difficulties from the very begin-
ning : if the two courses were equally possible, how |
have we made our choice ? If only one of them
was possible, why did we believe ourselves free ? ,
And we do not see that both questions come backj
to this : Is time space ?
If I glance over a road marked on the map
and follow it up to a certain point, there is
Fnndunnitai nothing to prevent my turning back and
iD^an oi tiia« trying to find out whether it branches
The Kdi inui- off anvwhcre. But time is not a line
Ubia In kfflrm- , , . , . „
int inunBdi- along which one can pass agam. Cer-
ate experience , . , . , , ■, • .■
oi fTMdom. tanily, once it has elapsed, we are justi-
bnl cannot «-,-,-. ^ . . , .
plain it. fied m picturing the successive moments
as external to one another and in thus thinking
l82
TIME AND FREE WILL
of a line traversing space ; but it must then be
understood that this line does not symbolize the
time which is passing but the time which has
passed. Defenders and opponents of free will
alike forget this — the former when they assert,
and the latter when they deny the possibiUty
of acting differently from what we have done.
The former reason thus : " The path is not yet
traced out, therefore it may take any direction
whatever." To which the answer is : " You
forget that it is not possible to speak of a path till
the action is performed ; but then it will have
been traced out." The latter say : " The path
has been traced out in such and such a way :
therefore its possible direction was not any direc-
tion whatever, but only this one direction." To
which the answer is: "Before the path was
traced out there was no direction, either possible
or impossible, for the very simple reason that there
could not yet be any question of a path." Get
rid of this clumsy symbolism, the idea of which
{ besets you without your knowing it ; you will see
|i:hat the argument of the determinists assumes
this puerile form : " The act, once performed, is
Iperformed," and that their opponents reply ;
i" The act, before being performed, was not yet
',performed." In other words, the question of
.'freedom remains after this discussion exactly
'. where it was to begin with ; nor must we be sur-
■ prised at it, since freedom must be sought in a
^certain, shade or quaUty of the action itself and
CHAP. HI REAL DURATION AND PREDICTION 183
not in the relation of this act to what it is not]
or to what it might have been. All the difficulty
arises from the fact that both parties picture thel
deliberation under the form of an oscillation in\
space, while it really consists in a dynamic pro-
gress in which the self and its motives, like real
living beings, are in a constant state of becoming, r,^
The self, infallible when it atlirms Hi Immediate
experiences, feels itself free and says so ; but, as
soon as it tries to explain its freedom to itself, it
no longer perceives itself except by a kind of'
refraction through space. Hence a symbolism,
of a mechanical kind, equally incapable of proving,
disproving, or illustrating free will.
But determinism will not admit itself beaten,
and, putting the question in a new form, it will
u prMUctioD say ; " Let us leave aside actions al-
nbi" 'probi^ ready performed : let us consider only
^ie""ociBc^n- S-Ctions that are to come. The ques-
tioni. jjQj^ is whether, knowing from now
onwards all the future antecedents, some higher
intelligence would not be able to predict with
absolute certainty the decision which will result."
— We gladly agree to the question being put in
these terms : it will give us a chance of stating
our own theory with greater precision. But we
shall first draw a distinction between those who
think that the knowledge of antecedents would
enable us to state a probable conclusion and those
who speak of an infallible foresight. To say that
184 TIME AND FltliE WILL chap, iil
a certain friend, under certain circumstances,
will very probably act in a certain way, is not so
much to predict the future conduct of our friend
as to pass a judgment on his present character,
that is to say, on his past. Although our feelings,
jour ideas, our character, are constantly altering,
ja sudden change is seldom observed ; and it is
fstili more seldom that we cannot say of a person
whom we know that certain actions seem to
I accord fairly well with his nature and that certain
/others are absolutely inconsistent with it. All
philosophers will agree 011 this point ; for to say
■that a given action is consistent or inconsistent
with the present character of a person whom one
knows is not to bind the future to the present. But
jthe determinist goes much further : he asserts
that our solution is provisional simply because
!we never know all the conditions of the pro-
Iblem ; that our forecast would gain in probability
,in proportion as we were provided with a larger
number of these conditions ; that, therefore,
complete and perfect knowledge of all the ante-
cedents without any exception would make our
forecast infallibly true. Such, then, is the hypo-
', thesis which we have to examine.
For the sake of greater definiteness, let us
imagine a person called upon to make a seemingly
To know com- free decision under serious circumstances;
utaoedenu wc shall call him Peter. The question
otftnactioDii is whether a philosopher Paul, living at
periormingii; the Same pcHod as Peter, or, if you
CiiAP.m REAL DURATION AND PREDICTION 185
prefer, a few centuries before, would have been
able, knowing all the conditions under which
Peter acts, to foretell with certainty the choice
which Peter made.
There are several ways of picturing the mental
condition of a person at a given moment. We
try to do it when e.g. we read a novel ; but
whatever care the autlior may have taken in
depicting the feelings of his hero, and even in trac-
ing back his history, t he en d, foreseen or unfore-'
seen, will add something to the idea which we had
formed of the character : the character, therefore,
was only imperfectly known to us. In truth, thei
deeper psychic states, those which are translated
by free acts, express and sum up the whole of our/
past history : if Paul knows all the conditions
under which Peter acts, we must suppose that no
detail of Peter's life escapes him, and that his
imagination reconstructs and even lives over again
Peter's history. But we must here make a vital
distinction. When I myself pass through a cer-
tain psychic state, I know exactly the intensity of
this state and its importance in relation to the
others, not by measurement or comparison, but
because the mtensity of e.g. a deep-seated feeling
is nothing else than the feeling itself. On the
other hand, if I try to give you an account of this
psychic state, I shall be unable to make you realize
its intensity except by some definite sign of a
mathematical kind : I shall have to measure its
importance, compare it with what goes before and
l86 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, hi
what follows, in short determine the part which
it plays in the final act. And I shall say that it
is more or less intense, more or less important,
according as the final act is explained by it or
apart from it. On the other hand, for my own
consciousness, which perceived this inner state,
there was no need of a comparison of this kind :
the intensity was given to it as an inexpressible
.quality of the state itself. In other words, the
'intensity of a psychic state is not given to con-
Isciousness as a special sign accompanying this
jstate and denoting its power, like an exponent in
/algebra ; we have shown above that it expresses
■ rather its shade, its characteristic colouring, and
/that, if it is a question of a feeling, for example, its
I intensity consists in being felt. Hence we have
to distinguish two ways of assimilating the con-
scious states of other people ; the ond .-dynamic,
which consists in experiencing them oneself ; the
other static, which consists in substituting for the
consciousness of these states their image or rather
their intellectual symbol, their idea. In this case
the conscious states are imagined instead of being
reproduced ; but, then, to the image of the psychic
states themselves some indication of their iniensity
should be added, since they no longer act on the
person in whose mind they are pictured and the
latter has no longer any chance of experiencing
their force by actually feeling them. Now, this
indication itself will necessarily assume a quan-
titative character : it will be pointed out, for
CHAP. Ill REAL DURATION AND PREDICTION 1S7
example, that a certain feeling has more strength
than another feeUng, that it is necessary to take
more account of it, that it has played a greater
part ; and how could this be known xmless the
later history of the person were known in advance,
with the precise actions in which this multiplicity
of states or inclinations has issued ? Therefore, if
Paul is to have an adequate idea of Peter's state
at any moment of his history, there are only
two courses open ; either, like a novelist who
knows whither he is conducting his characters,
Paul must already know Peter's final act, and
must thus be able to supplement his mental image
of the successive states through which Peter is
going to pass by some indication of their value
in relation to the whole of Peter's history ; or he
must make up his mind to pass through these
different states, not in imagination, but in reahty.
The former hypothesis must be put on one side
since the very point at issue is whether, the ante-
cedents alone being given, Paul will be able to
foresee the final act. We find ourselves compelled,
therefore, to alter radically the idea which we had
formed of Paul : he is not, as we had thought at
first, a spectator whose eyes pierce the future, but
an actor who plays Peter's part in advance. And
notice that you cannot exempt him from any
detail of this part, for the most common-place
events have their importance in a life-story ;
and even supposing that they have not, you can-
not decide that they are insignificant except in
i88
TIME AND FREE WILL
relation to the final act, which, by hypothesis, is
not given. Neither have you the right to cut
short — were it only by a second — the different
states of consciousness through which Paul is
jgoing to pass before Peter ; for the effects of the
same feeling, for example, go on accumulating at
levery moment of duration, and the sum total of
I these effects could not be reaUzed all at once un-
' less one knew the importance of the feeling, taken
in its totality, in relation to the final act, which is
/ the very thing that is supposed to remain unknown.
But if Peter and Paul have experienced the same
feelings in the same order, if their minds have the
same history, how will you distinguish one from
the other ? Will it be by the body in which they
dwell ? They would then always differ in some
respect, viz., that at no moment of their history
would they have a mental picture of the same
body. Will it be by the place which they occupy
in time ? In that case they would no longer be
present at the same events : now, by hypothesis,
they have the same past and the same present,
having the same experience. You must now
make up your mind about it : Peter and Paul
are one and the same person, whom you call Peter
when he acts and Paul when you recapitulate
his history. The more complete you made the
sum of the conditions which, when known, would
have enabled you to predict Peter's future action,
the closer became your grasp of his existence and
the nearer you came to living his life over again
CHAP, m REAL DURATION AND PREDICTION 189
down to its smallest details : you thus reached the
very moment when, the action taking place, there
was no longer anything to be foreseen, but only
something to be done. Here again any at- ,
tempt to reconstruct ideally an act really willed i
ends in the mere witnessing of the act whilst
it is being performed or when it is alreadyi'
done.
Hence it is a question devoid of meaning to
ask ; Could or could not the act be foreseen, given
Henoe mewi- ^^^ ^1^™ total of its antecedents ?
irtrttoM*Mt ^^'^ there are two ways of assimilating
dw^wr other static. In the first case we shall
liven. ije ig^ ijy imperceptible steps to identify
ourselves with the person we are dealing with,
to pass through the same series of states, and thus
to get back to the very moment at which the act
is performed ; hence there can no longer be
any question of foreseeing it. In the second
case, we presuppose the final act by the mere fact
of annexing to the qualitative description of the
previous states the quantitative appreciation of
their importance. Here again the one party is
led merely to realize that the act is not yet per-
formed when it is to be performed, and the other,
that when performed it is performed. This,
Uke the previous discussion, leaves the ques-
tion of freedom exactly where it was to begin
with.
By going deeper into this twofold argument, we
igo
TIME AND FREE WILL
shall find, at its very root, the two fundamental
illusions of the reflective consciousness,
du jiiToivBd: The first consists in reeardine intensity
inunutj M » as a mathematical property oi psychic
noT* an^iy : states and not, as we said at the beein-
nutoriKi nine of this essay, as a special quality,
■nnbol for ° i- 1 L J (^1, ■
tonsmio pro- as a particular shade of these various
"'^ states. The second consists in substitut-
ing for the concrete reality or dynamic progress,
which consciousness perceives, the material symbol
of this progress when it has already reached its
end, that is to say, of the act already accomplished
together with the series of its antecedents. Cer-
tainly, once the final act is completed, I can ascribe
to all the antecedents their proper value, and pic-
ture the interplay of these various elements as a
conflict or a composition of forces. But to ask
j whether, the antecedents being known as well as
; their value, one could foretell the final act, is to
|beg the question ; it is to forget that we cannot
jknow the value of the antecedents without knowing
!the final act, which is the very thing that is not yet
[known ; it is to suppose wrongly that the sym-
Ibolical diagram which we draw in our own way
for representing the action when completed has
ibeen drawn by the action itself whilst progressing,
and drawn by it in an automatic manner.
Now, in these two illusions themselves a third
one is involved, and you will see that the question
whether the act could or could not be foreseen
always comes back to this : Is time space ?
CHAP. Ill REAL DURATION AND PREDICTION IQI
You begin by setting side by side in some ideal
space the conscious states which suc-
OlkimiDg to ^
tortiMui ceed one another in Peter's mind, and
BcUoa •lwM» , ■ ,., , ■ , ,
oomei back you percBive his hie as a kind of path
to canln^c "^ ^
tims with M O X Y traced out by a moving body M
in space. You then blot out in thought
the part O X Y of this curve, and you inquire
whether, knowing M O, you would have been able
to determine the portion O X of the curve which
the moving body describes beyond O. Such is,
in the main, the question which you put when you
. bring in a philo-
M ^^^v ^ . ^ -^•tT^ ^ sopher Paul, who
lives before Peter
and has to picture to himself the conditions under
which Peter will act. You thus materialize these
conditions ; you make the time to come into a
road already marked out across the plain, which
we can contemplate from the top of the mountain,
even if we have not traversed it and are never to
do so. But, now, you soon notice that the know-
ledge of the part M O of the curve would not be
enough, unless you were shown the position of the
points of this Une, not only in relation to one
another, but also in relation to the points of the [
whole Hne M O X Y ; which would amount to twing
given in advance the very elements which have
to be determined. So you then alter your hypo-
thesis ; you realize that time does not require to
be seen, but to be Hved ; and hence you conclude
that, if your knowledge of the line M O was not
192 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, m
a sufficient datum, the reason must have been that
you looked at it from the outside instead of identi-
fying yourself with the point M, which describes
not only M O but also the whole curve, and thus
making its movement your own. Therefore, you
persuade Paul to come and coincide with Peter ;
and naturally, then, it is the line M O X Y which
Paul traces out in space, since, by hypothesis,
iPeter describes this line. But in no wise do you
'prove thus that Paul foresaw Peter's action ; you
[only show that Peter acted in the way he did, since
I Paul became Peter. It is true that you then come
back, unwittingly, to your former hypothesis,
because you continually confuse the line M O XY
in its tracing with the hue M O X Y already traced,
that is to say, time with space. After causing
Paul to come down and identify himself with
Peter as long as was required, you let him go up
again and resume his former post of observation.
No wonder if he then perceives the line M O X Y
complete : he himself has just been completing it.
What makes the confusion a natural and almost
an unavoidable one is that science seems to point
to many cases where we do anticipate
uiBJif trom the future. Do we not determine be-
bodies, solar and lunar eclipses, in short
the greater number of astronomical phenomena ?
Doesnot, then, the human intellect embrace in the
present moment immense intervals of duration
still to come ? No doubt it does ; but an anticipa-
CHAP. HI REAL DURATION AND PREDICTION I93
tion of this kind has not the slightest resemblance
to the anticipation of a voluntary act. Indeed,;
as we shall see, the reasons which render it possibles
to foretell an astronomical phenomenon are thi
very ones which prevent us from determining in
advance an act which springs from our free ac-
tivity. For the future of the material universe,
although contemporaneous with the future of a I
conscious being, has no analogy to it.
In order to put our finger on this-vital difference,
let us assume for a moment that some mischievous
niiutntioii genius, more powerful still than the
ticS iSmSwii^ mischievous genius conjured up by Des-
oyj" mo»i'"" cartes, decreed that all the movements
°^'* of the universe should go twice as fast.
There would be no change in astronomical phe-
nomena, or at any rate in the equations which
enable us to foresee them, for in these equations
the symbol / does not stand for a duration, but
for a relation between two durations, for a certain
number of units of time, in short, for a certain
number of simultaneities : these simultaneities,
these coincidences would still take place in equal
number : only the intervals which separate them
would have diminished, but these intervals
never make their appearance in our calculations.
Now these intervals are just duration lived,
duration which our consciousness perceives, and
our consciousness would soon inform us of a short-
ening of the day if we had not experienced the
usual amount of duration between sunrise and
194 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, n I
sunset. No doubt it would not measure this
shortening, and perhaps it would not even per-
ceive it immediately as a change of quantity ; but
it would realize in some way or other a decline in
the usual storing up of experience, a change in
the progress usually accomplished between sun-
rise and sunset.
Now, when an astronomer foretells e.g. a lunari
eclipse, he merely exercises in his own way the)
power which we have ascribed to our
Aitronomical . . tt i • '
propheoi BDoh mischievous genms. He decrees that
Hon. time shall go ten times, a hundred times,
a thousand times as fast, and he has a right to do
so, since all that he thus changes is the nature of
the conscious intervals, and since these intervals,
by hypothesis, do not enter into the calculations.
Therefore, into a psychological duration of a few
seconds he may put several years, even several,'!
centuries of astronomical time : that is his pro-^'
cedure when he traces in advance the path of a)
heavenly body or represents it by an equation.
What he does is nothing but establishing a series
of relations of position between this body and
other given bodies, a series of simultaneities and
coincidences, a series of numerical relations :
as for duration properly so called, it remains out-
side the calculation and could only be perceived
by a consciousness capable of living through the
intervals and, in fact, living the intervals them-
selves, instead of merely perceiving their extremi-
ties. Indeed it is even conceivable that this
CHAP. Ill REAL DURATION AND PREDICTION I95
consciousness could live so slow and lazy a life as
to take in the whole path of the heavenly body
in a single perception, just as we do when we per-
ceive the successive positions of a shooting star
as one line of fire. Such a consciousness would
find itself really in the same conditions in which
the astronomer places himself ideally ; it would
see in the present what the astronomer perceives
in the future. In truth, if the latter foresees a
future phenomenon, it is only on condition of
making it to a certain extent a present pheno-
menon, or at least of enormously reducing the
interval which separates us from it. In short, the
time of which we speak in astronomy is a number,
and the nature of the units of this number cannot
be specified in our calculations ; we may therefore
assume them to be as small as we please, provided
that the same hypothesis is extended to the whole
series of operations, and that the successive rela-
tions of position in space are thus preserved. We
shall then be present in imagination at the phe-
nomenon we wish to foretell ; we shall know ex-
actly at what point in space and after how many
units of time this phenomenon takes place ; if we
then restore to these units their psychical nature,
we shall thrust the event again into the future and
say that we have foreseen it, when in reality we
have seen it.
But these units of time which make up Uving
duration, and which the astronomer can dispose
of as he pleases because they give no handle to
196 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, hi
science, are just what concern the psychologist,
la dttiint ^or psychology deals with the intervals
M^'S^wS' themselves and not with their extrem-
™V"air Jo- '^'^s. Certainly pure consciousness does
^lirinr^tSr' "o*^ perceive time as a sum of units of
MtDie. duration : left to itself, it has no means
and even no reason to measure time ; but a feeling
which lasted only half the number of days, for
example, would no longer be the same feeling
for it ; it would lack thousands of impressions
which gradually thickened its substance and
altered its colour. True, when we give this feeling
a certain name, when we treat it as a thing, we
believe that we can diminish its duration by half,
for example, and also halve the duration of all the
rest of our history : it seems that it would still
be the same Ufe, only on a reduced scale. But we
(forget that states of consciousness are processes^
and not things ; that if we denote them each by a
'single word, it is for the convenience of language ;
that they are alive and therefore constantly chang-
ing ; that, in consequence, it is impossible to cut
off a moment from them without making them
poorer by the loss of some impression, and thus
altering their quality. I quite understand that
the orbit of a planet might be perceived all at
once or in a very short time, because its successive
positions or the results of its movement are the
only things that matter, and not the duration of
the equal intervals which separate them. But
when we have to do with a feeling, it has no precise
CHAP. Ill REAL DURATION AND PREDICTION ig7
result except its having been felt ; and, to estimate
this result adequately, it would be necessary to
have gone through all the phases of the feeling
itself and to have taken up the same duration.
Even if this feeling has finally issued in some defi-
nite action, which might be compared to the
definite position of a planet in space, the know-
ledge of this act will hardly enable us to estimate
the influence of the feeling on the whole of a life-
story, and it is this very influence which we want
to know. All foreseeing is in reaUty seeing, and
this seeing takes place when we can reduce as
much as we please an interval of future time while
preserving the relation of its parts to one another,
as happens in the case of astronomical predictions. ,
But what does reducing an interval of time mean, 1
except emptying or impoverishijig the conscious
states which fiil it ? And does not the very
possibility of seeing an astronomical period in
miniature thus imply the impossibility of modify-
ing a psychological series in the same way, since |
it is only by taking this psychological series as an '
invariable basis that we shall be able to make an
astronomical period vary arbitrarily as regards [
the unit of duration ?
Thus, when we ask whether a future action i
could have been foreseen, we unwittingly identify]
that time with which we have to do in I
Dill«r*nca be- ,, , . , , - , - , .1 ," /
tweenputiud the exact sciences, and which is reducible
tnlura dorm- , . , 11. • I
tioD in thii to a number, with real duration, whose
so-called quantity is really a quality.
ig8 TIME AND FREE WILL <
and which we cannot curtail by an instant withori
altering the nature of the facts which fill it.
doubt the identification is made easier by the fact
that in a large number of cases we are justified in
dealing with real duration as with astronomical
time. Thus, when we call to mind the past, i.e.
a series of deeds done, we always shorten it, with-
out however distorting the nature of the event
which interests us. The reason is that we know
it already ; for the psychic state, when it reaches
the end of the progress which constitutes its very
existence, becomes a thing which one can picture
to oneself all at once. Here we find ourselves
in the same position as the astronomer, when he
takes in at a glance the orbit which a planet
will need several years to traverse. In fact,
astronomical prediction should be compared with
the recollection of the past state of consciousness,
not with the anticipation of the future one. But
when we have to determine a future state of con-
sciousness, however superficial it may be, we can
no longer view the antecedents in a static condition
as things ; we must view them in a dynamic
condition as processes, since we are concerned
with their influence alone. Now their duration
is this very influence. Therefore it will no longer
do to shorten futiu-e duration in order to picture
its parts beforehand ; one is bound to live this
[duration whilst it is unfolding. As far as
deep-seated psychic states are concerned, there
is no perceptible difference between foreseeing,
{seeing, and acting.
CHAF. Ill REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY I99
Qplyjinp course will remain open to the deter-
minist. He will probably give up asserting the.
possibility of foreseeing a certain future
act or state of consciousness, but will
I
pbenomBna maintain that every act is determined
theuwwms by its psychic antecedents, or, in other'
Mraa ^conse- words, that the facts of consciousness,
like the phenomena of nature, are sub-|
ject to laws. This way of arguing means, at
bottom, that he will leave out the particular
features of the concrete psychic states, lest he
find himself confronted by phenomena which
defy all symbolical representation and therefore
all anticipation. The particular nature of these
phenomena is thus thrust out of sight, but it is
asserted that, being phenomena, they must remain !
subject to the law of causality. Now, it is
argued, this law means that every phenomenon
is determined by its conditions, or, in other words,
that the same causes produce the same effects.
Either, then, the act is inseparably bound to its
antecedents, or the principle of causality admits
of an incomprehensible exception.
This last form of the determinist argument
differs less tlian might be thought from all the
others which have been examined above.
Bat u tefudi
mau luut To say that the same mner causes will
twedeati wUi reproduce the same effects is to as-
neret ncoi.
sume that the same cause can ap-
pear a second time on the stage of conscious-
ness. Now, if duration is what we say, deep-
200 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, hi
i seated psychic states are radically heterogeneous
to each other, and it is impossible that any two of
them should be quite alike, since they are two
/different moments of a life-story. While the
external object does not bear the mark of the time
that has elapsed and thus, in spite of the differ-
ence of time, the physicist can again encounter
identical elementary conditions, duration is some-
thing real for the consciousness which preserves
)the trace of it, and we cannot here speak of iden-
)tical conditions, because the same moment does
"not occur twice. It is no use arguing that, even
if there are no two deep-seated psychic states
which are altogether alike, yet analysis would
resolve these different states into more general
and homogeneous elements which might be com-
pared with each other. This would be to forget
that even the simplest psychic elements possess
a personality and a life of their own, however
superficial they may be ; they are in a constant
state of becoming, and the same feeling, by
the mere fact of being repeated, is a new feeling.
Indeed, we have no reason for calling it by its
former name save that it corresponds to the same
external cause or projects itself outwardly into
similar attitudes : hence it would simply be beg-
ging the question to deduce from the so-called
.likeness of two conscious states that the same cause
'produces the same effect. In short, if the causal
I relation still holds good in the realm of inner states,
it cannot resemble in any way what we call
CfiAi-, m REAL DUR-'VTION AND CAUSALITY 201
causality in nature. For the physicist, the same I
cause always produces the same effect : for a \
psychologist who does not let himself be misled )
by merely apparent analogies, a deep-seated inner (
cause produces its effect once for all and will'
never reproduce it. And if it is now asserted that
this effect was inseparably bound up with this
particular cause, such^an assertion will mean one
of two things : eithcMhat, the antecedents being
given, the future action might have been foreseen ;
or thatC^Xhe action having once been performed,
any other actiorv'is seen, under the given conditions,
to have been impossible. Now we saw tliat botly
these assertions were equally meaningless, and that
they also involved a false conception of duration.
Nevertheless it will be worth while to dwell on
this latter form of the determinist argument, even
though it be only to explain from our
couMpiion oi ponit 01 vicw tlic meauuig of the two
■mderiiM Uia words " determination " and " causal-
mi^iMcn- ity." In vain do we argue that there
cannot be any question either of fore-
seeing a future action in the way that an astro-
nomical phenomenon is foreseen, or of asserting,
when once an action is done, that any other action
would have been impossible under the given con-
ditions. In vain do we add that, even when it[
takes this form :. " The same causes produce the i
same effects." the principle of universal determina-
tion loses every shred of meaning m the inner world ■
of conscious states. The determinist will perhaps
202 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, hi
yield to our arguments on each of tliese three
points in particular, will admit that in the psy-
chical field one cannot ascribe any of these three
meanings to the word determination, will probably
fail to discover a fourth meaning, and yet will go
on repeating that the act is inseparably bound
up with its antecedents. We thus find ourselves
here confronted by so deep-seated a raisapprehen-
/sion and so obstinate a prejudice that we cannot
jget the better of them without attacking them at
their root, which is the principle of causality. By
analysing the concept of cause, we shall show the
(ambiguity which it involves, and, though not
Jaiming at a formal definition of freedom, we shall
/perhaps get beyond the purely negative idea of
jit which we have framed up to the present.
We perceive physical phenomena, and these
phenomena obey laws. This means : (i) that
phenomena a, b, c, d, previously per-
■■^wuiM ino- ceived, can occur agam in the same
shape ; {2) that a certain phenomenon
P, which appeared after the conditions
prow tTM a, b, c, d, and after these conditions
only, will not fail to recur as soon as the
same conditions are again present. If the princi-
ple of causality told us nothing more, as the em-
piricists claim, we should willingly grant these
philosophers that their principle is derived from
I experience ; but it would no longer prove anything
iagainst our freedom. For it would then be un-
iderstood that definite antecedents give rise to a
CHAP, til REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY 203
definite consequent wherever experience shows usj
this regular succession ; but the question isi
whether this regularity is found in the domain
of consciousness too, and that is the whole pro-j
blem of free will. We grant you for a moment
that the principle of causality is nothing but the
summing up of the uniform and unconditional
successions observed in the past : by what right, ;
then, do you apply it to those deep-seated states!
of consciousness in which no regular succession ,
has yet been discovered, since the attempt to |
foresee them ever fails ? And how can you base
on this principle your argument to prove the
determinism of inner states, when, according,
to you, the determinism of observed facts is|
the sole source of the principle itself ? In truth,
when the empiricists make use of the principle
of causality to disprove human freedom, they take
the word cause in a new meaning, which is the
very meaning given to it by common sense.
To assert the regular succession of two pheno-
mena is, indeed, to recognize that, the first being
given, we already catch sight of the second. But
this wholly subjective connexion between two ideas
is not enough for common sense. It seems to
common sense that, if the idea of the second
phenomenon is already impUedin that of the first,
the second phenomenon itself must exist objec-
tively, in some way orother, within the first pheno-
menon. And common sense was bound to come
to this conclusion, because to distinguish exactly
204
TIME AND FREE WILL
between an objective connexion of phenomena
and a subjective association between their ideas
presupposes a. fairly high degree of philosophical
culture. We thus pass imperceptibly from the
1 first meaning to the second, and we picture the
'causal relation as a kind of prefiguring of the
/future phenomenon in its present conditions.
Now this prefigtiring can be understood in two
I very different ways, and it is just here that the
' ambiguity, begins.
In the -first place, mathematics furnishes us
with one type of this kind of prefiguring. The
o«u>»iitr, as ^'^""y movement by which we draw the
log 'oi^'th. circumference of a circle on a sheet of
mmaa "ui^'iu P^per generates all the mathematical
thS^to"'one properties of this figure : in this sense
craoTBtT^^ an unlimited number of theorems can
nomeoB. \jq ^^jj ^^ pre-exist within the definition,
although they will be spread out in duration for the
mathematician who deduces them. It is true that
we are here in the realm of pure quantity and that,
as geometrical properties can be expressed in the
form of equations, it is easy to understand how the
original equation, expressing the fundamental
property of the figure, is transformed into an
unlimited number of new ones, all virtually con-
tained in the first. On the contrary, physical
phenomena, which succeed one another and are
perceived by our senses, are distinguished by
quality not less than by quantity, so that there
would be some difficulty in at once declaring them
REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY
205
I
equivalent to one another. But, just because
they are perceived through our sense-organs, we
seem justified in ascribing their qualitative differ-
ences to the impression which they make on us and
in assuming, behind the heterogeneity of our sen-
sations, a homogeneous physical universe. Thus,
we shall strip matter of the concrete qualities
with which our senses clothe it, colour, heat, re-
sistance, even weight, and we shall finally find
ourselves confronted with homogeneous extensity,
space without body. The only step then remain-
ing will be to describe figures in space, to make
them move according to mathematically formu-
lated laws, and to explain the apparent qualities
of matter by the shape, position, and motion of
these geometrical figures. Now, position is given
by a system of fixed magnitudes and motion is
expressed by a law, i.e. by a constant relation
between variable magnitudes ; but shape is a
mental image, and, however tenuous, however
transparent we assume it to be, it still constitutes,
in so far as our imagination has, so to speak, the
visual perception of it, a concrete and therefore
irreducible quality of matter. It will therefore
be necessary to make a clean sweep of this image
itself and replace it by the abstract formula of the
movement which gives rise to the figure. Pic-
ture then algebraical relations getting entangled
in one another, becoming objective by this very
entanglement, and producing, by the mere effect
of their complexity, concrete, visible, and tangible
206 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, nt
! reality, — you will be merely drawing the conse-
, quences of the principle of causality, understood
1 in the sense of an actual prefiguring of the future
/ in the present. The scientists of our time do not
seem, indeed, to have carried abstraction so far,
except perhaps Lord Kelvin. This acute and pro-
found physicist assumed that space is filled with
a homogeneous and incompressible fluid in which
vortices move, thus producing the properties of
matter : these vortices are the constituent ele-
ments of bodies ; the atom thus becomes a move-
ment, and physical phenomena are reduced to
regular movements taking place within an incom-
pressible fluid. But, if you will notice that this
fluid is perfectly homogeneous, that between its
parts there is neither an empty interval which
separates them nor any difference whatever by
which they can be distinguished, you will see that
all movement taking place within this fluid is
really equivalent to absolute immobility, since
before, during, and after the movement nothing
changes and nothing has changed in the whole,
The movement which is here spoken of is thus not
a movement which actually takes place, but only
a movement which is pictured mentally : it is a
relation between relations. It is implicitly sup-
posed, though perhaps not actually realized, that
motion has something to do with consciousness,
that in space there are only simultaneities, and
that the business of the physicist is to provide
us with the means of calculating these relations
I
I
CHAP. Ill REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY 207
of simultaneity for any moment of our duration.
Nowhere has mechanism been carried further'
than in this system, since the very shape of the
ultimate elements of matter is here reduced to a
movement. But the Cartesian physics already
anticipated this interpretation ; for if matter is
nothing, as Descartes claimed, but homogeneous
extensity, the movements of the parts of this
extensity can be conceived through the abstract
law which governs them or through an algebraical
equation between variable magnitudes, but can-
not be represented under the concrete form of an
image. And it would not be difficult to provel
that the more the progress of mechanical explana-
tions enables us to develop this conception of
causahty and therefore to relieve the atom of the
weight of its sensible qualities, the more the con-1
Crete existence of the phenomena of nature tends
to vanish into algebraical smoke.
Thus understood, the relation of causality is a,
necessary relation in the sense that it will inde-,
It thni iMdi finitely approach the relation of identity, '
"h^M^d*' ^^ ^ curve approaches its asymptote.
u^iSi'boi "^''^^ principle of identity is the absolute
?2"",^'?i. law of our consciousness: it asserts
IntarB to ine-
I^eeBng'da- *^^*- ^^at is thought is thought at the
ration. moment when we think it : and what
gives this principle its absolute necessity is that it
does not bind the future to the present, but only
the present to the present : it expresses the
unshakable confidence that consciousness feels in
208 TIME AND FREE WIl-L cirAP, in
itself, so long as, faithful to its duty, it confines
itself to declaring the apparent present state of
[the mind. But the principle of causahty. in so
far as it is supposed to bind the future to the pre-
sent, could never take the form of a necessary
Jprinciple ; for the successive moments of real
time are not bound up with one another, and no
effort of logic will succeed in proving that what
has been will be or will continue to be, that the
same antecedents wiU always give rise to identical
consequents. Descartes understood this so well
that he attributed the regularity of the physical
world and the continuation of the same effects to
the constantly renewed grace of Providence ; he
built up, as it were, an instantaneous phj^ics,
intended for a universe the whole duration of
which might as well be confined to the present
moment. And Spinoza maintained that the inde-
finite series of phenomena, which takes for us the
form of a succession in time, was equivalent, in the
absolute, to the divine unity : he thus assumed,
on the one hand, that the relation of apparent
causality between phenomena melted away into
a relation of identity in the absolute, and, on the
other, that the indefinite duration of things was
all contained in a single moment, which is eternity.
In short, whether we study Cartesian physics,
Spinozistic metaphysics, or the scientific theories
of our own time, we shall find everywhere the same
anxiety to establish a relation of logical necessity
between cause and effect, and we shall see that
CHAP, m REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY 209
this anxiety shows itself in a tendency to trans-
form relations of succession into relations of
inherence, to do away with active duration, and to
substitute for apparent causality a fundamental
identity.
Now, if the development of the notion of
causality, understood in the sense of necessary
ThB DsoeuuT connexion, leads to the Spinozistic or Car-
ot"^mBM t^sian conception of nature, inversely,
auSL'on "boT ^^' relation of necessary determination
tn^^vt^n established between successive pheno- ,
"•* mena may be supposed to arise fromi
our perceiving, in a confused form, some mathe-
matical mechanism behind their heterogeneity,'
We do not claim that common sense has any
intuition of the kinetic theories of matter, still
less perhaps of a Spinozistic mechanism ; but it
will be seen that the more the effect seems neces-l
sarily bound up with the cause, the more we tend'
to put it in the cause itself, as a mathematical'
consequence in its principle, and thus to cancel
the effect of duration. That under the influence
of the same external conditions I do not behavei
to-day as I behaved yesterday is not at all sur-'
prising, because I change, because I endure. But )
things considered apart from our perception do '
not seem to endure ; and the more thoroughly we
examine this idea, the more absurd it seems to us ,
to suppose that the same cause should not produce ^
to-day the effect which it produced yesterday. We '
certainly feel, it istrue, thatalthoughthingsdonot
2IO TIME AND FREE WILL
I endure as we do ourselves, nevertheless there must
ibe some reason why phenomena are seen to succeed
lone another instead of being set out all at once.
And this is why the notion of causality, although
it gets indefinitely near that of identity, will never
seem to us to coincide with it, unless we conceive
clearly the idea of a mathematical mechanism or
unless some subtle metaphysics removes our very
legitimate scruples on the point. It is no less
, obvious that our beUef in the necessary determina-
tion of phenomena by one another becomes
stronger in proportion as we are more inclined to
regard duration as a subjective form of our con-
sciousness. In other words, the more we tend to
set up the causal relation as a relation of necessary
determination, the more we assert thereby that
things do not endure like ourselves. This amounts
to saying that the more we strengthen the prin-
ciple of causality, tlie more we emphasize the
difference between a physical series and a psychical
one. Whence, finally, it would result (however para-
doxical the opinion may seem) that the assump-
tion of a relation of mathematical inherence be-
tween external phenomena ought to bring with it,
as a natural or at least as a plausible consequence,
the belief in human free will. But this last conse-
quence will not concern us for the moment : we
are merely trying here to trace out the first mean-
ing of the word causality, and we think we have
shown that the prefiguring of the future in the
present is easily conceived under a mathematical
uaj detar-
mioBtian.
CHAP- III REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY 211
Jorm, thanks to a certain conception of duration
which, without seeming to be so, is fairly familiar
to common sense.
But there is a prefiguring of another kind, stiU(y
more familiar to our mind, because immediate
PrBflgnring. M consciousness gives us the type of it.
(?aiutm ■« W^ gO' i" f^*^t' through successive states
ro't°'w»UM°' ^^ consciousness, and although the later
dSiS" 00*"%- ^^-^s not contained in the earUer, we had
before us at the time a more or less con- ,
fused idea of it. The actual realization [
of this idea, however, did not appear as certain 1
but merely as possible. Yet, between the idea and I
the action, some hardly perceptible intermediate |
processes come in, the whole mass of which takes
for us a form sui generis, which is called the feeling [
of effort. And from the idea to the effort, from ■
the effort to the act, the progress has been so
continuous that we cannot say where the idea and
the effort end, and where the act begins. Hence
we see that in a certain sense we may still say here
that the future was prefigured in the present ;
but it must be added that this prefiguring is very
imperfect, since the future action of which we
have the present idea is conceived as reahzablebut
not as realized, and since, even when we plan the
effort necessary to accomplish it, we feel that there
is still time to stop. If, then, we decide to picture
the causal relation in this second form, we can
assert a priori that there will no longer be a relation
of necessary determination betw ee n the cause and
212
TIME AND FREE WILL
[or the effect will no longer be
fin the cause. It will be there only in the state I
;of pure possibility and as a vague idea which
' perhaps will not be followed by the corresponding
/action. But we shall not be surprised that this
approximation is enough for common sense if we
think of the readiness with which children and
primitive people accept the idea of a whimsical
Nature, in which caprice plays a part no less
important than necessity. Nay, this way of
.conceiving causality will be more easily understood
I by the general run of people, since it does not
■ demand any effort of abstraction and only implies
i a certain analogy between the outer and the inner
I world, between the succession of objective pheno-
mena and that of our subjective states.
In truth, this second way of conceiving the rela-
tion of cause to effect is more natural than the first
Thii fscond '" ^'^^^ it immediately satisfies the need
^SS2it°i.^ of a mental image. If we look for the!
lSe''^'*iBd* phenomenon B within the phenomenon',
to spinoM. ^^ which regularly precedes it, the reason
is that the habit of associating the two imagesi
ends in giving us the idea of the second pheno-)
menon wrapped up, as it were, in that of the first.f
It is natural, then, that we should push this objecti-j
fication to its furthest limit and that we should!
make the phenomenon A itself into a psychic state,
in which the phenomenon B is supposed to be
contained as a very vague idea. We simply
suppose, thereby, that the objective connexion
REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY
213
of the two phenomena resembles the subjective
association which suggested the idea of it to us.
ilie qualities of things are thus set up as actual
states, somewhat analogous to those of our own
self ; the material universe is credited with a vague
personaUty which is diffused through space and
which, although not exactly endowed with a con-
scious will, is led on from one state to another by
an inner impulse, a kind of effort. Such was
ancient hylozoism, a half-hearted and even con-
tradictory hypothesis, which left matter its exten-
sity although attributing to it real conscious states,
and which spread the qualities of matter through-
out extensity while treating these qualities as
inner i.e. simple states. It was reserved for
Leibniz to do away with this contradiction and to 1
show that, if the succession of external quaUtles
or phenomena is understood as the succession of
our own ideas, these qualities must be regarded
as simple states or perceptions, and the matter
which supports them as an unextended monad,
analogous to our soul. But, if such be the case,
the successive states of matter cannot be per-
ceived from the outside any more than our own
psychic states ; the hypothesis of pre-established I
harmony must be introduced in order to explain
how these inner states are representative of onel
another. Thus, with our second conception of the
relation of causahty we reach Leibniz, as with the
first we reached Spinoza. And in both cases we
merely push to their extreme limit or formulate
214 TIME AND FREE WILL
with greater precision two half-hearted dsid <
fused ideas of common sense.
Now it is obvious that the relation of causality,
understood in this second way, does not involve
It doe* not In- ^^^ necessary determination of the effect
mj'jet^' '^y *^^ cause. History indeed proves it.
minstioii. "^g ggg ^jj^t ancient hylozoism, the first
outcome of this conception of causality, explained
the regular succession of causes and effects by a
real deus ex machitia : sometimes it was a Necessity
external to things and hovering over them, some-
times an inner Reason acting by rules somewhat
similar to those which govern our own conduct.
Nor do the perceptions of Leibniz's monad neces-
sitate one another ; God has to regulate their order
in advance. In fact, Leibniz's determinism does
not spring from his conception of the monad, but
from the fact that he builds up the universe with
monads only. Having denied all mechanical
influence of substances on one another, he had to
explain how it happens that their states corre-
ispond. Hence a determinism which arises from
'the necessity of positing a pre-established harmony,
and not at all from the djmamic conception of
[the relation of causahty. But let us leave
history aside. Consciousness itself testifies that*
the abstract idea of force is that of indetCT-j
minate effort, that of an effort which has
yet issued in an act and in which the act
still only at the stage of an idea. In otha
words, the dynamic conception of the caui
REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY
215
dMtror it
relation ascribes to things a duration absolutely
like our own, whatever may be the nature of this
juration ; to picture in this way the relation of
cause to effect is to assume that the future is not
more closely bound up with the present in the
external world than it is in our own inner life.
It follows from this twofold analysis that the
principle of causality involves two contradictory
conceptions of duration, two mutually
coniTBdictonr exclusivc wavs of prefifjurinfi the future
o! c«n.«utr m the present. Sometimes all phenoH*.
bT itwu mena, physical or psychical, are pictured;
ufKCiunli j ■ - ., J ... 1
bssdom: as cudiirtng m the same way, and there-
fore in the way that we do : in this/
case the future will exist in the present/
only as an idea, and the passing from the present
to the future will take the form of an effort which
does not always lead to the realization of the ideaj
conceived. Sometimes, on the other hand, dura-iT..
tion is regarded as the characteristic form of con-1
scious states ; in this case, things are no longer
supposed to endure as we do, and a mathematical
pre-existence of their future in their present isj
admitted. Now, each oi these two hypotheses,
when taken by itself, safeguards human freedom ;
for the first would lead to the result that even the
phenomena of natureuvere contingent, and the
second, by attributing the necessary determina-
tion of physical phenomena to the fact that
things do not endure as we do, invites us to
regard the self which is subject to duration
2l6 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, ui
as a free force. Therefore, every clear con-
ception of causality, where we know our own
meaning, leads to the idea of human freedom
a^ a natural consequence- Unfortunately, the
I habit has grown up of taking the principle of cau§-
I ality in both senses at the same time, because tlie
one is more flattering to our imagination and the
other is more favourable to mathematical reason-
ing. Sometimes we think particularly of the
regular succession of physical phenomena and of
the kind of inner effort by which one becomes
another ; sometimes we fix our mind on the absolute
regularity of these phenomena, and from the idea
of regularity we pass by imperceptible steps to
that of mathematical necessity, which excludes
duration understood in the first way. And we
do not see any harm in letting these two concep-
itions blend into one another, and in assigning
.' greater importance to the one or the other accord-
I ing as we are more or less concerned with the
( interests of science. But to apply the principle
of causaUty, in this ambiguous form, to the suc-
cession of conscious states, is uselessly and wan?
tonly to run into inextricable difficulties. The
idea of force, which really excludes that of neces-
sary determination, has got into the habit, so to
speak, of amalgamating i^th that of necessity, in
consequence of the very use which we make of
the principle of causality in nature. On the one
hand, we know force only through the witness of
consciousness, and consciousness does not assert.
REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY
217
does not even understand, the absolute determina-
tion^ now. of actions that are still to come : that
isjdl that experience teaches us, and if we hold by'
experience we should say that we feel ourselvesj
free, that we perceive force, rightly or wrongly,/
as a free spontaneity. But, on the other hand,'
this idea of force, carried over into nature, travel-
ling there side by side witli the idea of necessity,
has got corrupted before it returns from the jour-;
ney. It returns impregnated with the idea off
necessity : and in the light of the role which we^
have made it play in the external world, we regard;
force as determining with strict necessity the effects'
which flow from it. Here again the mistake made [
by consciousness arises from the fact that it looks
at the self, not directly, but by a kind of refraction
through the forms which it has lent to external
perception, and wliich the latter does not give
back without having left its mark on them. A
compromise, as it were, has been brought about
between the idea of force and that of necessary
determination. The wholly mechanical deter-
mination of two external phenomena by one
another now assumes in our eyes the same form
as the dynamic relation of our exertion of force to
the act which springs from it ; but, in return, this
latter relation takes the form of a mathematical
derivation, the human action being supposed to
issue mechanically, and tlierefore necessarily,
from the force which produces it. There is no ,
doubt that this mingling of two different and
2l8
TIME AND FREE WILL
almost opposite ideas offers advantages to com-
mon sense, since it enables us to picture in the
same way. and denote by one and the same word,
both the relation which exists between two mo-
ments of our life and that which binds together the
successive moments of the external world. We
have seen that, though our deepest conscious states
exclude numerical multiplicity, yet we break them
up into parts external to one another ; that though
the elements of concrete duration permeate one
another, duration expressing itself in extensity
exhibits moments as distinct as the bodies
scattered in space. Is it surprising, then, that
between the moments of our life, when it has
been, so to speak, obj^tified, we set up a relation
ajialogous to the objective relation of causality,
and that an exchange, which again may be com-
pared to the phenomenon of endosmosis, takes
place between the dynamic idea of free effort and
the mathematical concept of necessary deter-
mination ?
But the sundering of these two ideas is an accom-
plished fact in the natural sciences. The physicist
Ti,o«h(miud™ay speak of /orecs, and even picture
their mode of action by analogy with an
inner effort, but he will never introduce
this hypothesis into a scientific explana-
»J'"iihi«cii ^^^^^- Even those who, with Faraday,
fdenca. replace the extended atoms by dynamic
points, will treat the centres of force and the lines
of force mathematically, without troubhng about
a popuiu
tbongbt. tha
idsBl dI bM
eflort and ne-
ceMVT detet-
I
CHAP. HI REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY 219
force itself considered as an activity or an effort.
It thus comes to be understood that the relation
of external causality is purely mathematical, and
has no resemblance to the relation between psy-
chical force and the act which springs from it.
It is now time to add that the relation of inner,
causahty is purely dynamic, and has no analogy ,
ThoT ibonid with the relation of two external phe- 1
l^*^'*"'' ndniena which condition one another. |
piychoioBT. por^ as the latter are capable of recurring
in a homogeneous space, their relation can be
expressed in terms of a law, whereas deep-seated
psychic states occur once in consciousness and will
never occur again. A careful analysis of the
psychological phenomenon led us to this con-
clusion in the beginning : the study of the notions I
of causahty and duration, viewed in themselves, '
has merely confirmed it.
We can now formulate our conception of
freedom. Freedom is the relation of the concrete
self to the act which it performs. This
bot indafln- relation is indefinable, just because we
are free. For we can ajialyse a thing,
but not a process ; we can break up extensity. but ,
not duration. Or, if we persist in analysing it,
we unconsciously transform the process into a
thing and duration into extensity. By the very
fact of breaking up concrete time we set out its
moments in homogeneous space ; in place of the
doing we put the already done ; and, as we have
begun by, so to speak, stereotyping the activity
220 TIME AND FREE WILL chap, m
iof the self, we see spontaneity settle down into
inertia and freedom into necessity. Thus, any
positive definition of freedom will ensure the
victory of determinism.
Q Shall we define the free act bysajangof this act,
when it is once done, that it might have been left
undone ? But this assertion, as also its opposite,
implies the idea of an absolute equivalence between
concrete duration and its spatial symbol : and
as soon as we admit this equivalence, we are led
on, by the very development of the formula which
we have just set forth, to the most rigid deter-
minism.
f\ Shall we defuie the free act as " that which could
not be foreseen, even when all the conditions were
known in advance ? " But to conceive all the
conditions as given, is, when deahng with concrete
duration, to place oneself at the very moment at
which the act is being performed. Or else it is
admitted that the matter of psychic durationcan be
pictured symbolically in advance, which amounts,
as we said, to treating time as a homogeneous
medium, and to reasserting in new words the
absolute equivalence of duration with its symbol.
A closer study of this second definition of freedom
will thus bring us once more to determinism.
' Shall we finally define the free act by saying
that it is not necessarily determined by its cause ?
But either these words lose their meaning or we
imderstand by them that the same inner causes will
not always call forth the same effects. We admit,
I
I
CHAP. Ill REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY 221
then, that the psychic antecedents of a free act
can be repeated, that freedom is displayed in a
duration whose moments resemble one another,
and that time is a homogeneous medium, like
space. We shall thus be brought back to the idea
of an equivalence between duration and Its spatial
symbol ; and by pressing the definition of freedom
which we have laid down, we shall once more get
determinism out of it.
To sum up ; every demand for explanation
in regard to freedom comes back, without our
suspecting it, to the following question : " Can
time be adequately represented by space ? "
To which we answer : Yes, if you are dealing with
time flown ; No, if you speak of time flowing.
Now, the free act takes place in time which is
flowing and not in time which has already flown.
Freedom is therefore a fact, and among the facts
which we observe there is none clearer. All the
difficulties of the problem, and the problem itself, ,
arise from the desire to endow duration with the I
same attributes as extensity, to interpret a suc-
cession by a simultaneity, and to express the idea
of freedom in a language inta which it is obviously
untranslatable.
CONCLUSION
To sum up the foregoing discussion, we shall put
aside for the present Kant's terminology and also
his doctrine, to which we sliall return
ohoiogy holds later, and we shall take the point of
cBivo'iSngi view of common sense. Modern psy-
lormsbor- chology secms to us particularly con-
on? owe MO- cerned to prove that we perceive things
through the medium of certain forms,
borrowed from our own constitution. This tend-
ency has becoiVie moffi and more marked since
Kant : while the German philosopher drew a
sharp line of separation between time and space,
the extensive and the intensive, and, as we should
say to-day, consciousness and external percep-
tion, the empirical school, carrying analysis still,
further, tries to reconstruct the extensive out of
the intensive, space out of duration, and exter-
nality out of inner states. Physics, moreover,
comes in to complete the work of psychology in ,
this respect : it shows that, if we wish to forecast '
CONCLUSION
223
phenomena, we must make a clean sweep of the]
impression which they produce on consciousness
and treat sensations as signs of reality, not as|
reality itself.
It seemed to us that there was good reason to
set ourselves the opposite problem and to ask
Bnt tn not whether the most obvious states of the
th! mu^m? ^g"^ itself, which we believe that we
are not mostly per-
which thus gives us back what we have lent it.
A priori it seems fairly probable that this is what
happens. For, assuming that the forms alluded
to, into which we fit matter, come entirely from
the mind, it seems difficult to apply them con-
stantly to objects without the latter soon leaving
a mark on them : by then using these forms to
gain a knowledge of our own person we run the
risk of mistaking for the colouring of the self
the reflection of the frame in which we place it,
fe. the external world. But one can go further
still and assert that forms applicable to things
cannot be entirely our own work, that they must
result from a compromise between matter and
mind, that if we give much to matter we probably
receive something from it, and that thus, when
we try to grasp ourselves after an excursion into
the external world, we no longer have our hands
free.
Now just as, in order to ascertain the real rela-
224 TIME AND FREE WILL
tions of physical phenomena to one another, we
. ^ A abstract whatever obviously clashes with
To nndenUna -^
tha mteniitr. them m our way of perceivm? and
voinntary je- thinking, SO, in Order to view the selfi
temimation ol . . 1
piychic lutea. m its Original punty, psychology oughtf
intutheidu to eliminate or correct certain forms]
which bear the obvious mark of the!
external world. What are these forms ? When
isolated from one another and regarded as so many
distinct units, psychic states seem to be more or
less intense. Next, looked at in their multipli-
city, they unfold in time and constitute duration.
Finally, in their relations to one another, and in so
far as a certain unity is preserved throughout their
multiplicity, they seem to determine one another.
^Intensity, '".duration, ■'. voluntary determination,
thse are the three ideas which had to be clarified
byjidding them of all that they owe to the intru-
: sign of the sensible world and, in a word, to the
I otKession of the idea of space.
Q Examining the first of these ideas, we found
that psychic phenomena were in themselves pure
intouitT ii quality or qualitative multiphcity, and
2Sf"'^u"utr that, on the other hand, their cause
w nuvutode. situated in space was quantity. In so
far as this quality becomes the sign of the
quantity and we suspect the presence of the
latter behind the former, we call it i ntensity.
The intensity of a simple state, therefore, is
not quantity but its qualitative sign. You will
find that fit arises from a compromise between
CONCLUSION
225
pure quality, which is the state of consciousness,
and pure quantity, which is necessarily space.
Now you give up this compromise without the least
scruple when you study external things, since you
then leave aside the forces themselves, assuming
that they exist, and consider only their measurable
and extended effects. Why, then, do you keep
to this hybrid concept when you analyse in its
turn the state of consciousness? Jf magnitude, r
outside you, is never intensive, intensity, within j
you, is never magnitude. It is through having)
overlooked this that philosophers have been \
compelled to distinguish two kinds of quantity,
the one extensive, the other intensive, without
ever succeeding in explaining what they had in
common or how the same words " increase " and
" decrease " could be used for things so unlike.
In the same way they are responsible for the exag-
gerations of psychophysics, for as soon as the
power of increasing in magnitude is attributed
to sensation in any other than a metaphorical
sense, we are invited to find out by how much it
increases. And, although consciousness does not
measure intensive quantity, it does not follow that
science may not succeed indirectly in doing so,
if it be a magnitude. Hence, either a psycho-
physical formula is possible or the intensity of a
simple psychic state is pure quality.
Turning then to the concept of multiplicity, we
saw that to construct a number we must first
have the intuition of a homogeneous medium.
326 TIME AND FREE WILL
viz. space, in which terms distinct from one
Odi oontoioiu
another could be set out in line, and,
diMraia mni- sccondly, a process of permeation and or-
tipiicitr. ganization by which these units are dy-
namically added together and form what we called
a qualitative multiphcity. It is owing to this
dynamic process that the units gd added, but it is
because of their presence in space that they re-
main distinct. Hence number or discrete multi-
plicity also results from a compromise. Now,
when we consider material objects in themselves,
we give up this compromise, since we regard them
as impenetrable and divisible, i.e. endlessly distinct
from one another. Therefore, we must give it
I up, too, when we study our own selves. It is
through having failed to do so that associationism
has made many mistakes, such as trying to recon-
struct a psychic state by the addition of distinct
states of consciousness, thus substituting the
'symbol of the ego for the ego itself.
These preliminary considerations enabled us to
approach the principal object of this work, the
analysis of the ideas of duration and voluntary
determination.
' What is duration within us ? A_4ualitative
multiplicity, with no likeness to number ; an
tnDw don. organic evolution which is yet not an
MiiittSTs increasing quantity ; a pure hetero-
mniHiiiioitT. geucity within which there are no distinct
qualities. In a word, the moments of inner
duration are not external to one another,
I
CONCLUSION 227
What duration is there existing outside us ?
The present only, or, if we prefer the expression,
la the «ur- simultaneity. No doubt external things
ail worW «« , 11- ,
find not dur«. change, Dut their moments do not
nittaeitT. succeed one another, if we retain the
ordinary meaning of the word, except for a con-
sciousness which keeps them in mind. We ob-
serve outside us at a given moment a whole
system of simultaneous jwsitions ; of the simul-
taneities which have preceded them nothing
remains. To put duration^ in_space is really to
contradict oneself and place succession within
simultaneity. Hence we must not say that exteij
nal things endure, but rather that there is in them
s ome inexpressible reaso n in virtue of which we
cannot examine them at successive moments of our
Q^m duration without observing that they have
changed. But this change does not involve suc-
cession unless the word is taken in a new meaning :
on this point we have noted the agreement of
science and common sense.
TTius in consciousness we find states which
succeed, without being distinguished from one)
another ; and in space simultaneities which^
without succeeding, are distinguished from one^
another, in the sense that one has ceased to exist
when the other appears. Outside us, mutual
externality without succession ; within us, suc-
cession without mutual externality.
Here again a compromise comes in. To the
simultaneities, which constitute the external
228 TIME AND FREE WILL
world, and, althougli distinct, succeed one an-j
The Mm o! ft othcf for OUT consctoustiess, we attribute I
succession in themselves. Hence thd'
^^"^ idea that things endure as we do our4
do?Md selves and that time may be brought]
within space. But while our consciousness
thus introduces succession into external things,
inversely these things themselves extemahze the
successive moments of our inner duration in
relation to one another. The simultaneities of
physical phenomena, absolutely distinct in the
sense that the one has ceased to be when the other
takes place, cut up into portions, which are also
distinct and external to one another, an inner life
in which succession implies in terpen et ration, just
as the pendulum of a clock cuts up into distinct
fragments and spreads out, so to speak, length-
wise, the dynamic and undivided tension of the
spring. Thus, by a real process of cndosmosis
we get the mixed idea of a measurable time,
which is space in so far as it is homogeneity, and
duration in so far as it is succession, that is to
say, at bottom, the contradictory idea of succes
sion in simultaneity.
Now. these two elements, extensity and du
tion, science tears asunder when it undertakes
the close study of external things.
For we have pointed out that science \
.^J^'jj^i retains nothing of duration but simul- /
J^^„ ,t, taneity, and nothing of motion itself |
iimw world, ^yt ^^Q position of the moving
Ai Kioice
•UmiutM dn-
ration trom
CONCLUSION
229
i.e. immobility. A very sharp separation is here
made and space gets the best of it.
Therefore the same separation will have to be,
made again, but this time to the advantage of
duration, when inner phenomena are studied,^
— not inner phenomena once developed, to be sure,
or after the discursive reason has separated them
and set them out in a homogeneous medium in
order to understand them, but inner phenomenal
in their developing, and in so far as they make up, I
by their interpenetration, the continuous evolution
of a free person. Duration, thus restored to its/
original purity, will appear as a wholly quali-\
tative multiplicity, an absolute heterogeneity/
of elements which pass over into one an-|
other. ,
Now it is because they have neglected to make|-^
this necessary separation that one party has been
iii« neiiwi to '^^ ^^ deny freedom and the other to
w^'',^' define it, and thereby, involuntarily,
^'"pwi"?; to deny it too. They ask in fact
^'h^Sth^ whether the act could or could not be
to dtfna it. foreseen, the whole of its conditions
being given ; and whether they assert it or deny it,
they admit that this totality of conditions could
be conceived as given in advance : which amounts,
as we have shown, to treating duration as a homo-
geneous thing and intensities as magnitudes.
They will either say that the act is determined by
its conditions, without perceiving that they are
playing on the double sense of the word causality.
-i^
230 TIME AND FREE WILL
and that they are thus giving to duration at the
same time two forms which are mutually exclu-
sive. Or else they will appeal to the principle of
the conservation of energy, without asking whether
this principle is equally appHcable to the moments
of the external world, whicli are equivalent to one
another, and to the moments of a living and
conscious being, which acquire a richer and richer
content. In whatever way, in a word, freedomjs,
viewed, it cannot be denied except on condition pf
identifying time with s])ace ; it cannot be defmed
'except on conditionof demanding that space should
.adequately represent time ; it cannot be argued
labout in one sense or the other except on condi-
tion of previously confusing succession and simul-
taneity. All determinism will thus be refuted by
experience, but every attempt to define freedom
will open the way to determinism.
Inquiring then why this separation of duration
and extensity, which science carries out so natur-
Thii Mp»r»- ^Hy i" the external world, demands such
BblatophTiical ''
tcimce, bat
•(•Init the in
luw iwd'w^ we were not long in perceiving the reason,
(da) lii*. -ffjg main object of science is to forecast
and measure : now we cannot forecast physical
phenomena except on condition that we assume
that they do not endure as we do ; and, on the
other hand, the only thing we are able to measure
is space. Hence the breach here comes about of
itself between quaUty and quantity, between true
CONCLUSION 231
duration and pure extensity. But when we turn
to our conscious states, we have everything to
gain by keeping up the illusion through which
we make them share in the reciprocal externality
of outer things, because this distinctness, and at
the same time this solidification, enables us to
give them fixed names in spite of their instability,
and distinct ones in spite of their interpenetration. )
It enables us to objectify them, to throw them]
out into the current of social life.
Hence there are finally two different selves,
one of which is, as it were, the external projection,'
of the other, its spatial and, so to speak;
HeoMtwodil- ''. , "^ ,
(ereut mWm : social representation. We reach the
meatai mu : former by deep mtrospection, which,
(2) iU ipatiil , . \ ^ t '
mi lociti te- leads us to grasp our mner states asj
oniitiKioriiiM living things, constantly becoming, asi
states not amenable to measure, which
permeate one another and of which the succession
in duration has nothing incommon with juxta-
position in homogeneous space. But the mo-
ments at which we thus grasp ourselves are rare,
and that is just why we are rarely free. The
greater part of the time we live outside ourselves,
hardly perceiving anything of ourselves but
our own ghost, a colourless shadow which pure /
duration projects into homogeneous space. Hence
our life unfolds in space rather than in time ;
we live for the external world rather than for
ourselves ; we speak rather than think ; we
" are acted " rather than act ourselves. To act
23* TIME AND FREE WILL
freely is to recover possession of oneself, and to
iget back into pure duration.
Kant's great mistake was to take time as a
homogeneous medium. He did not notice that
Kut Diimg to real duration is made up of moments
put tb« hu inside one another, and that when it
oDtiids both seems to assume the form of a homogene-
tini«. ous whole, it is because it gets expressed
in space. Thus the very distinction which he
makes between space and time amounts at bottom
to confusing time with space, and the symbolical
representation of the ego with the ego itself. He
thought that consciousness was incapable of
perceiving psychic states otherwise than by
juxtaposition, forgetting that a medium in which
these states are set side by side and distinguished
• from one another is of course space, and not
duration. He was thereby led to believe that
the same states can recur in the depths of con-
sciousness, just as the same physical phenomena
are repeated in space ; this at least is what he
(implicitly admitted when he ascribed to the
Icausal relation the same meaning and the same
jfunction in the inner as in the outer world. Thus
freedom was made into an incomprehensible
fact. And yet, owing to his unlimited though
unconscious confidence in this inner perception
whose scope he tried to restrict, his belief in
freedom remained unshakable. He therefore
raised it to the sphere of noumena ; and as he had
CONCLUSION 233
confused duration with space, he made this
genuine free self, which is indeed outside space,,
into a self which is supposed to be outside duration ,
too, and therefore out of the reach of our faculty of
knowledge. But the truth is that we perceive this
self whenever, by a strenuous effort of reflection,
we turn our eyes from the shadow which follows us
and retire into ourselves. Though we generally
live and act outside our own person, in space
rather than in duration, and though by this
means we give a handle to the law of causality,
which binds the same effects to the same causes, we
can nevertheless always get back into pure dura-
tion, of which the moments are internal and hetero-
geneous to one another, and in which a cause
cannot repeat its effect since it will never repeat
itself.
In this very confusion of true duration with
its symbol both the strength and tlie weakness
J of Kantianism reside. Kant imagines
bolh time ud
U^ on the one side " things in themselves,'
and on the other a homogeneous Time
and Space, through which the " things in them-
selves," are refracted : thus are supposed to
arise on the one hand the phenomenal self — a self
which consciousness perceives — and, on the other,
external objects. Time and space on this view
would not be any more in us than outside us ;
the very distinction of outside and inside would
be the work of time and space. This doctrine has
the advantage of providing our empirical thought
#
234 TIME AND FREE WILL
with a solid foundation, and of guaranteeing that
phenomena, as plienomena, are adequately know-
able. Indeed, we might set up these phenomena
as absolute and do without the incomprehensible
"things in themselves," were it not that the Prac-
tical Reason, the revealer of duty, came in, like the
Platonic reminiscence, to warn us that the " thing
in itself" exists, invisible but present. The con-
, trolhng factor in the whole of this theory is the
J very sharp distinction between the matter of
j consciousness and its form, between the homogene-
( ous and the heterogeneous, and this vital dls-
I tinction would probably never have been made
I unless time also had been regarded as a medium
/indifferent to what fills it.
But if time, as immediate consciousness per-
ceives it, were, like space, a homogeneous medium,
Bni ii time, as ^^•'^"'^^ would be able to deal with it,
t^re'i^'nio- ^^ ^^ *^^" ^th space. Now we havej
io^e«*'oouiii tried to prove that duration, as duration,
deal wiLh it. ^j^^^ motion, as motion, elude the grasp of
mathematics : of time everything slips through
its fingers but simultaneity, and of movement
everything but immobility. This is what the
Kantians and even their opponents do not seem
to have perceived : in this so-called phenomenal]
world, which, we are told, is a world cut out for
scientific knowledge, all the relations which cannot!
be translated into simultaneity, i.e. into space,
are scientifically unknowable.
In the second place, in a duration assumed to
CONCLUSION
235
be homogeneous, the same states could occur
over agam, causality would unply neces-
and all freedom
would become incomprehensible. Such,
And tretdom , , • •'
wonid be in- sary determmation,
compiebeDil'
ble. Kknl'i
ioiotion. indeed, is the result to which the Critique
of Pure Reason leads. But instead of concluding
from this that reaJ duration is heterogeneous,
which, by clearing up the second difficulty, would
have called his attention to the first, Kant pre-
ferred to put freedom outside time and to raise
an impassable barrier between the world of
phenomena, which he hands over root and branch
to our understanding, and the world of things
in themselves, which he forbids us to enter.
But perhaps this distinction is too sharply
drawn and perhaps the barrier is easier to cross
than he supposed. For if perchance
the moments of real duration, perceived
by an attentive consciousness, per-
meated one another instead of lying
side by side, and if these moments formed in
relation to one another a heterogeneity within
which the idea of necessary determination lost
every shred of meaning, then the self grasped
by consciousness would be a free cause, we should
have absolute knowledge of ourselves, and, on
the other hand, just because this absolute con-
stantly commingles with phenomena and, while
filling itself with them, permeates them, these
phenomena themselves would not be as amenable
as is claimed to mathematical reasonuig.
How
•d bT liking
rial duTBlioD
236 TIME AND FREE WILL
So we have assumed the existence of a homo-i
geneous Space and, with Kant, distinguished this!
wiih Kut. space from the matter which fills it. ^
hSmSSSwooi' With him we have admitted that homo-
i^iion ^i geneous space is a "form of our sensibil-
iTm w mM °" 'ty " : a"*i we understand by this simply
m w'*iSJ th^t other minds, e.g, those of animals,
socui uie. although they perceive objects, do not
distinguish them so clearly either from one another
or from themselves. Tliis intuition of a homogene-
ous medium, an intuition peculiar to man, enables
us to externalize our concepts in relation to one
another, reveals to us the objectivity of things,
and thus, in two ways, on the one hand by getting
everything ready for language, and on the other
by showing us an external world, quite distinct
from ourselves, in the perception of which all
minds have a common share, foreshadows and
prepares the way for social life.
Over against this homogeneous space we have
put the self as perceived by an attentive con-
Bot ii oon, sciousness, a living self, whose states,
um*u h«Mo- ^^ once undistinguished and unstable,
'^m oi"" cannot be separated without changing
S^St'i/'*'* t^^^ir nature, and cannot receive a fixed
Mt'" rirtuj ^o"""^ °^ ^^ expressed in words without
jsdc»d ttM. becoming public property. How could
this self, which distinguishes external objects so
sharply and represents them so easily by means of
symbols, withstand the temptation to introduce the
' same distinctions into its own life and to replace the
CONCLUSION 237
interpenetration of its psychic states, their wholly
qualitative multiplicity, by a numerical plurality
of terms which are distinguished from one another,
set side by side, and expressed by means of words ?
In place of a heterogeneous duration whose
moments permeate one another, we thus get a
homogeneous time whose moments are strung on a
spatial line. In place of an inner life whose suc-
cessive phases, each unique of its kind, cannot
be expressed in the fixed terms of language, we
get a self which can be artificially reconstructed,
and simple psychic states which can be added
to and taken from one another just like the letters
of the alphabet in forming words. Now, this
must not be thought to be a mode of symbolical
representation only, for immediate intuition and
discursive thought are one in concrete reality,
and the very mechanism by which we only meant
at first to explain our conduct will end by also
controlling it. Our psychic states, separating'
then from each other, will get solidified ; between'
oxu: ideas, thus crystallized, and our external,
movements we shall witness permanent associa-i
tions being formed ; and little by little, as our con-
sciousness thus imitates the process by which ner-'
vous matter procures reflex actions, automatism will
cover over freedom.* It is just at this point 1
' Renouvier has already spoken of these voluntary acts
which may be compared to reflex movements, and he has
restricted freedom to momenta of crisis. But he does not
seem to have noticed that the process of our free activity goes
238 TIME AND FREE WILL
that the associationists and the determinists come
in on the one side, and the Kantians on the other.
As they look at only the commonest aspect of
our conscious life, they perceive clearly marked
states, which can recur in time like physical
phenomena, and to which the law of causal deter-
mination applies, if we wish, in the same sense as
it does to nature. As, on the other hand, the
medium in which these psychic states are set side
by side exhibits parts external to one another,
in which the same facts seem capable of being
repeated, they do not hesitate to make time a
homogeneous medium and treat it as space.
Henceforth all difference between duration and
extensity, succession and simultaneity, is abolished :
the only thing left is to turn freedom out of doors,
or, if you cannot entirely throw off your traditional
respect for it, to escort it with all due ceremony
up to the supratemporal domain of " things in them-
selves," whose mysterious threshold your conscious-
ness cannot cross. But, in our view, there is a third
course which might be taken, namely, to carry
on, as it were, unknown to ourselves, in the obscure depths of
our consciousness at every moment of duration, that the very
feeling of duration comes from this source, and that without
this heterogeneous and continuous duration, in wliichourscU
evolves, there would be no moral crisis. The study, even the
close study, of a given free action will thus not settle the pro-
blem of freedom. The whole series of our heterogeneous
states of consciousness must be taken into consideration. In
other words, it is in a close analysis of the idea of duration
that the key to the problem must be sought.
CONCLUSION 239
ourselves back in thought to those momentsof our.
life when we made some serious decision, moments'
unique of their kind, which will never be repeated
— any more than the past phases in the history of a
nation will ever come back again. We should see
that if these past states cannot be adequately
expressed in words or artificially reconstructed
by a juxtaposition of simpler states, it is because^
in their dynamic unity and wholly qualitative]
multiplicity they are phases of our real and con- J
Crete duration, a heterogeneous duration and a
living one. We should see that, if our action iU- I
was pronounced by us to be free, it is because"^^" \
the relation of this action to the state from which
it issued could not be expressed by a law, this
psychic state being unique of its kind and unable
ever to occur again. We should see, finally, that
the very idea of necessary determination here
loses every shred of meaning, that there cannot be
any question either of foreseeing the act before
it is performed or of reasoning about the possibility
of the contrary action once the deed is done, for
to have all the conditions given is, in concrete
duration, to place oneself at the very moment of
the act and not to foresee it. But we should also
understand the illusion which makes the one party
think that they are compelled to deny freedom,
and the others that they must define it. It is
because the transition is made by imperceptible,
steps from concrete duration, whose elements per-
meate one another, to symbolical duration, whose|
240
TIME AND FREE WILL
Imoments are set side by side, and consequently
'from free activity to conscious automatism. It
is because, although we are free whenever we are
willing to get back into ourselves, it seldom
happens that we are willing. It is because, finally,
even in the cases where the action is freely per-
formed, we cannot reason about it without setting
out its conditions externally to one another,
therefore in space and no longer in pure duration.
[The problem of freedom has thus sprung from a
misunderstanding : it has been to the modems what
the paradoxes of the Eleatics were to the ancients,
jand, hke these paradoxes, it has its origin in
the illusion through which we confuse succession
and simultaneity, duration and extensity, quality
and quantity.
Absolute, nalily ol space, 91 ; free-
dom not, 166 ; law ot comcious-
--/; Spiooia and, 308;
knowledge of ourEclves, ijj.
Abstraction, implies homogeneoui
medium, gj ; breaks up elements
of idea, 1 34 ; and diagram of pro-
cess of reaching a decision, > 77 f ■ ;
and Lord Kelvfii's theory of matter.
Acceleration, hypothetical, of mo-
tions of univerM, IJ6 f., 193 (f.
Achilles, and tortoise, 73 I.
Act, not divisible like object, ill ;
free act*, i6j tt. ; '" possible acts,"
174 «•
Act, of mind : all unitv due to. So f ■ ;
neglected in empirical theory of
spare, 53 f. ; nature of, «.
Addition, of aensalion - differences,
64, 6j : process of. 80, 1*3, 126 ;
implies multiplicity of parls, tij.
Advice, relation ot, to freedom, 169.
Aalhttic, Kant's Ttatacettdental, 9a,
93-
Aesttaetic feelings, 1 1 (I. ; suggested,
not caused. 17 ; stages in, 17.
Alcesle, indignation of, 167.
Algebra, deals with results not pro-
Analysis, afcady visible in mental
image. 84; distorts feeliogs. 131 f. ;
of a tiling, not uf aprot^ss, 119.
Anger, psychic element in, 39 ; and
organic disturbance. 30.
Animals, ability to find their way
through space, 96 ; space not so
homogeneous for, 97 ; perceive
duration as quality. 137; do not
picture distinct eiternal world, 138,
336.
Antecedents, same, and same conse-
qnrnts. 199. ]o8.
Architecture, compared with rhythm,
Aristotle, distinguishes potential and
Arithmeti(v splits op units. 84.
Art, and beauty. 14 ; object of. 14 ;
and hypnotism, 14 ; the plastic
arts. 13; suggesting, not expres-
sing feelings, 16 : minit of work of,
1 7 ; yieldmg only aensations. 1 7 ;
aim and method ot artist, 18.
Aspect, twofold, ol terms in a series.
IZ4. 336; of the self, laS n.; of
conscious states, 119 fl. ; 137 fl.
Association, by contiguity, 136. 164;
sell cannot be constituted by, 139,
163, 336; ossociallonist <kter-
mioism, 148, ijj. 159 i ol idea* in
Interrupted conversatioo, ij6 ;
illustration from hypnotism, 137 ;
illustration from deliberatkn. ijS :
involves defective conceptiim of
self. IS9 S., tfij, 116 ; of end and
smell. 161 ; its mistafces, i6r fl. ;
fits simple sensations. 164: cannot
explain deeper states of self, 164 ;
everyday acts obey laws ol, 167 0,,
338.
Astronomy, measurement of time in,
107 ; prediction of celestial pbeno-
raena, 117. i^" *-. '9*
Attention, and muscular tension, *7 1
Fechneron, 37; RibotaQ,37; and
I«ychic tension, 18 ; and lorma-
tion of number, 8z, 84.
Beauty, feeling of. 14 ff. ; in nature
Beliefs, adopted without reason, 135 ;
compared to cell in organism. 133 ;
some not properly ass&iilaled, IJG.
Blii, experiments on lempenture
sense. 46.
Body, movements ol. as sug^estmg
Eiycbic state. iB ; inclinatioa of.
1 compaijng pleasures, 38.
Causality, law ot 199, loi : as
regular (uccessim, 101 f. ; common
sense and meaning ot 303 : as
prvflgurfng ot future phenomenal
m present conditiims. 304 If. ; not
a neoessary piindple, 308 ; Sf^Bota
on. 308 -. identity and. 109, 110 ;
■1 necessary detenninatWD of
o -, and seconid typa of pr»-
I t; this lead* "
, this does not in«o
, ir4 ; involves I
concepUoiu of duration, 315 : con-
fusion of these two senses, ai6;
tdatioD ot eitemal, as malbe-
matical, 119 ; relation of inner, as
dynamic, 2ig ; Kant ascribed same
neaalag to. in inner and outer
world, »3J.
Cause, external, and intensity. 4 f.,
xo, 41 S., 73 1 introduced into
effect. 43. 47, 54, fiS : cxlirnHl, and
separation of sensations, 109, 12s ;
effect ratlier than, i j6 ff. ; in inner
.,, ,_„, n that effect
bound up with, aoi ; analysis of
concept of, aoi ; self as free. 235.
Cell, in organism, beliefs compared
to, 135.
Change, but not duration, attributed
Character, freedom and, irs f. ; and
prediction of future actions, 184.
Clocks, measurement of time b^, loS
f ■ ; perception of strokM of without
expressly counting. 117.
Co-existence. Dumber and relations
of. 75 H. : can space result from
relation!) o(, <|4 ; of past and pres-
ent only in coc^ousness. 111.
Cold, perception of, 46.
Colour, changes of hue and invariable
colours, 51 while, grey and black,
J 3 f. : degrees of saturation, S4 ;
ileosity of, 54 ; colours of spec-
trum, ji, 54, S7 ; changes in sensa-
tion of. J7 ; can there be equi-
distant tints, sS.
Compromise, see also Endosmosis :
between idea of free force and
necessity, 217 T forms of percep-
tion result of, 223 ; inlensity as
compromise between quality and
quantity, 22s T number results
from B, 216 : idea of measurable
time results from a, 228.
Consciousness, compared to invisible
musician, 147 ; as epi phenomenon,
IS2 ; Kant separates external
perception and. 222 ; succession
without distinctiott In, 227 1 matter
and form of, 234.
Conservation, of energy,
of motion, iji ; of «. . . _, .
conservative systems not the only
ones possible, ija.
Continuity, of number when formed,
8«f.
Contradiction, law of non-. 89, rjo.
107; recondliallon of apparent at
deeper level, 136.
Counting, unit! must be identical, 76 ;
also distinct, 77 ; flock of sheep,
^6 f . ; battalion of soldiers. 76 ;
implies intuition of space, 77 fi. ;
material objects, Bj ; conscious
states, Se, Sg; strokes of a bell,
B6 ; moments of duration. 104 ;
oscillations of a pendulum. 104 f. ;
two sides of the process of, 123 ;
strokes of a clock by quahtativo
Crisis, freedom shown at, 170, »39.
CriU^ueo/ Pure Ration, result of, (351
Criliqut philosaphique, article in, 75 n.
Dancer, and feeling of grace. 12.
Darwiflj on rage, 29 ; on violent
emotions and reflex movements,
30 ; on pain and reactions. 37.
Definition, of equality of sensation-
differences, 64 ; of addition of
sensation-differences. 64. 63 ; of
number, 75 ; of mbjectivc and
objective, 83 ; of space, 9s. 98 ;
none of right and left. 97 : «f
aim)iltaneity. iro : of equal inter-
vals of time, trs ; of velocity. iiTjf- '•
of inertia of matter. 142; of free-
dom, leads to determinism, ito I.,
230, 139.
Delbceuf. his measurement of lumi-
nous sensation, 5*. S6 ff„ 67 fl. ;
his underlying postulate, 60.
Deliberation, process of, i}6. 171 ;
wrongly pictured as osciltatioa in
space, I S3.
Depth, of esthetic feeling. 17 f. : of
emotional slates. 31.
Descartes, and conservation of mo-
tion. IJI : his mischievous genius.
I9J ; hit view of matter, 207 ;
Cartesian physios. 207 ; and regu-
larity of physical world, 208.
Desire , progress of a, 8 ; conceived
as a distinct thing, tjg.
Determinism, two kinds of. 142 ;
physical. 143 fl- ; psychdogicaJ.
133 B. ; rests on misconception of
duration, 14:1. 1731 and molecular
theory of matter, 143 f., 147 ; of
psychic states does not follow bom
that of cerebral stales, 146 f. ;
associationlil, 148, 15}. tjg; and
hypnotism. 137 ; self-detennlna-
titm. 16;, 173 ; its mechanical con-
ception of self, 171 ; could act ha va
been different ? 173, aoi, 220, jjj ;
can act be predicted ? 173. 1B3 ff..
30J. 22D. 239: and "possible
acts." 174; and character, 1849.,
172 , and Bstronoaiical prediction,
192 IT. : and law of causality. 199
ff. : misunderstanding of catuolitr
Dndcrlin all. 101 fl. ; nfpbeDomena
03 involving buroan treedom, tto,
lis 0.: not [involved in McoDd
lyi>e of prefiguring, iii f., 2ij f. ;
Leibnii's, 3141 as conipromisn
between idea oi irae effort and
necessity, 317 ; attempt to define
frecdoin leads to, azo, ajo. ijg ;
all, refuted by experience. 130:
meaningless It dura lion hcteio-
geneous, 2 a. i]9-
Diagrams, geometrical. 176. tyi.
l]iffeTentials,expreMJne Fcchner'sLair,
63, 63 ; dealing wltb motion. 119.
Diniensioa. time ai tonrlh, 109.
Discontinuity, of number, Si I.
Disgust. Ridict's desciiptlnn of, 36-
Distinction, two meanings of, 7s ».,
itt : sueeestkot without, lot ; of
psychic slates, leads to mechanlcnl
conception of self, 171 ; Kant's.
between matter and form of
consciousness, 234.
Donaldson, expeiimeats on lempera-
lUIC HUF, 46,
Dreams, freshness In, 8 ; charm In,
10 ; superficial psychic states
removed m, 116; overlying Images
In. 136.
DuTBtioo, mccoenls counted t>y meani
ol points in space, Jt 1., 87 ; differs
frnn bomogeneous lime In having
nothing to do with space, 91 ; em-
Krical attempts to build up spare
xn, 9g 1., Ill ; conception of
Eurr, 100, t04 0., 119 : expressed
I terms of space, lot, 103, ajl ;
Older of suc«e»l0D in, loi f. : any
iMmogearily in, implies space, 104,
113; as inlerpenetration of con-
sciois slates 104. >07. to8, no,
118, ai8, 116^ 131 tl; 23i : pure, is
wholly qualitative, 106, 116 I.,
*19 : not measurabia, 107 fl. 1 not
meastved by clochs, loS f. : as
heterogeneous and with no relation
to number, 109, no, 120, 116, 329,
>3S> 239 ; how mistakco idea ot
homogeneity arises, 109 -, and mo-
tion. ICO, 114. 124: eliminated
IroDt time by science, its. 116, n";
and simultaneity, iij 1.; and
astronomical prediction, 117, 192
ff, ; cannot tie represented by
mathematical formulae, liq ; as
mental synthesis, 110; none in
space, ito, 1*7: as quality, 117,
><)3. 197, 226 ; felt as quality in
sleep. 12G ; perceived as quality by
animals, 117 ; homogeneous, as
symbolical represent atloa derived
from s[tace, 12S, 219. 339. 140 ; its
243
two forms, 13S ; constituted by
deep-seated conscious states, 137,
234 ; determinism rests on inaccu-
rate conception of, 143. 153, 173.
309, lis f., }lo, 335, 239: actshke
a cause in realm of Ute, IS3 ;
belctogeneity of, precludes return
to former state, 15*. »oo, 319, 333,
133, >39 ; re>l- "^ prediction, 183
fl. ; of conscious states unalterable,
196 f. : difference between past and
future, 198 ; applicable to persons,
not to external tbings, 200, 109 f.,
31J, 327; as contaliied in single
moment. 108 ; real, as leaiUng to
free will, 310, at) f. ; attributed to
thfai^ 215, 218; two conceptions
of, m causality, 215; separated
from exiensity by scirnce-, 218 f.,
930 : must similarly be separated
by philosophy, 119 f. ; Kant put
sell outside, 233: possible to get
back into pure, 233 ; Kant con-
futed with space, 233 ; science
cannot deal with, 234 ; if homo-
geneous, no freedom, 233 -. origfai
of feeling of, 338 n, ; no moral
crisis without, 2^8 n. : key to
problem of free will, 2)8 n.
Dynamism, as system of nature. 140 :
and relation between facts and
laws, 140 f. ; its view of simpliclly,
I4t ; inner, 173.
Eclipse, prediction of. t
7. 194.
Education, not properly assimilated,
t66 ; may curtail freedom, 167.
Efiort, intensity of, 7. 34, xi, 26:
muscular, 30 B. ; apparently quan-
titative, 21; feeling of, 21 ff., 211 :
experimental investigation of, 2)
ff. ; superficial, 36 ; In estimating
intensity and pitch of sound, 43 f. -
necessity to be kept apart, 217, 2
Eleatics, their paradoxes, 74, 140 ;
arise from confusion between mo-
tion and space, tii B. ; AchUlei
and tortoise, iij f.
ElevatloD, of aesthetic feeling. 17.
Emotloas. violent, intensity of, iS S.
Empiricist, theory of space. 93 f. ;
derivation ot extensive from inex-
Eadosmosis, see also Compromise : —
between succession and cilernality,
109, 2(8; between mobility and
space. 112 ; between free effort and
necessary delerminalioo, 2tB.
Energy, kinetic and potential, 15a ;
may be new kind ol, Ija.
244 i^i
Energy, conservation of : incom-
patible with freedom, 141, 144 ;
and deteiminalion of physiological
and nervous phenomena, 143 ;
does not involve determinism of
conscious states, 146 f. ; Is it
universal? 150, 154 ; in the natural
sciences, 150 ; implies return of
system to former state, 153 ; con-
scious force or free will may escape
law of, i;4 ; Illegitimate extension
of, 155. «3o.
Eogtish philosophers, on ex tensity
and succession. 99. (isi-
Epiphenomenon, consciousness as,
Equations, expressing Fecbner's
Law, Gz : express something fin-
ished.iig; transformability o^ 204.
£veltin,an space, time and motion. 114.
Experiinenls, and experimental ob-
servations : Wimdt on paralytic,
91 ; Vulplan on hemiplegia, 2a ;
Fertier on filing of effort. la I. ;
James on feeling of effort, 33 :
clenching the fist. 14 ; compressing
the lips, as ; lilting a weight, ai,
48 f. ; Ftxt on muscular force, 41 ;
pin pncks, 42 : an leroperature
sense, 46 ; Helmhollz on colour
and intensKy. 51 ; photometric,
5« S. : lehniann and Nelglick's,
ja ; DeibcBuf's on measurement
of luminous sensalion, ^1 B., 56 ff.
Explanation, confused with fact, 163,
Eitensity, Implies relation of con-
tainer to contained, 3 ; no point ot
contact between extended and mi-
extended, 70 ; as aspect of phydcal
qualities, 91 ; Kant on, oa, 148 ;
attempted derivation of, &Dm the
unexlended, 93 (., 99 f., zxa ; homo-
geneous, as result of stripping
matter of concrete qualities, jo; ;
Descartes' view of matter as homo-
geneous, ao7 ; byloiotsm and
qualitiesof matter, 213 ; confusion
with duraltoQ raises problem of
freedom, an, 140 ; teparated from
duration by science, 228 , 130.
Externality, of things in space, 99 ;
exists outside the ego, 108, az; ;
endosmosis between succession
and, io<>, zzS ; of things, helps to
cut up psychic lilc, 109, 12s f., 130,
218 ; animals have not some ten-
dency to picture, 138 : empirical
school attempts to bm1d up, from
Inner states, »ii ; external things
subject lo change but not duration,
ai7 I external world distinct from
Faraday, and centres ot 1
Fear, Spencer on, 30 ; coi
distinct state, 159.
Pechner. on attention and tension,
ij ; bis psycbopbysics, s6, 60 ft. ;
his formulae, 61, 62 ; his law, 61 ;
bis logarithmic law, 63 n. ; method
ot minimum dtSerences. G4, 64.
Feeling, Intensity of, 7, i8j ; Aeep-
seated, 7 (f. ; aesthetic, ill!.; of
grace, 11 f. : of beauty, 14 f. ;
lichoess of aesthetic. 17 r. ; moral,
18 f. ; and physical symptoms,
ao R. ; of effort, zi II., 211 ; dis-
torted by analysis, ijz f, ; some-
thing living and developing, 133 ;
leads to resolution, i
whole soul reflected In e;
change in duration ol
change in nature, 197 f.
Firt, C., on sensation and muscular |
Ferrier, on feeling of effort, 16.
Figure, see Diagram,
IHavour, changing, solidified by Ian- 1
guage, 131. I
Force, alleged psychic. 20 f., ij yU
muscular, »i ; nervous, *" - -■
sation of, ai ; conscious states
foTMs, 165, 170 ; idea of, as in
terminateeSort, 114 : self as a free, 4
216 ; idea of, and necessity, :~'
217; as free spontaneity, 3-.,
ideas of tree force and nec«s«it|'
separated by science, xil
" Form of Sensibility," Kant's tbeocTW
of, gt : bomogeneaus space as, ~ '
Forms, borrowed from external w
in perception of sell, 154. - .»«■
217, ZZ3 ; borrowed from self mM
perception of things, aaa ; of {
ception, result of compromise, 223 i I
elimination of those borrovM
from external world, 224 ; Kant's
distinction between matter aoJd,
93, 234.
Formulae. Weber's, Gi ; Fechner't,
62 ; dealing with velocity, i(8.
Fouill£c. on freedom as a motive. Ifo.
Fourth dimension, lime as, 109.
Freedom, Free Will, see also Deter-
minism : origin of problem. 74,
139, zai, 240; cause of cMifllct
between mechanism and dynam-
ism. 14a ; twofold objeclioa to,
14a ; and molecular theory of
143 f. ; and conservatloii
" strictly limitad I
energy.
veraal, 149 I. ; ai, cao&cii>us force,
exempt from law of conservation,
IS4 ; defenders of, mistakenly
apeo that conscious stales aic
distinct things, IS9 : Fouillde on,
160; as self-expression, 165, '72;
not absolute, but admits of decrees,
166 ; many live without rcaliiing,
166 ; may lie curtailed by educa-
tion, 167 ; free acts rare, 167, 131,
240 1 free decision springs fiom
whole or fundamental self, 167. 171,
331, 340 ; covered ov«i by aula-
resigned through Indolence, 169 ;
shown in times of crisis, 170, 139 ;
and diaractcr, 171 ; to be sought
in characteristic of the decision
or act, 173. 181 f. ; MIU on. 174;
and " possible acts," 174 ; free
action cxira pared to over- ripe Inilt,
17& ; distinction of succe^lvc
phases in, leads to determinism,
177 B- ; the self infallible in affirm-
ing its, 1B3 ; not disproved by
causality as regular succession,
201 t, ; safe-RUarded by difierent
conceptions ot causality taken by
themselves, 115 f. ; self as free
2tb, 13s 1 real but inde-
131, asj. 23s, 238; incompr
fii»n uniqueness of relatioo of
psychic state to act, ag.
Fusion, see Inlerpenetration.
Future, see Prediction.
Grace, feeling of, it f.
Himiillon, Will on, quoted, i.^u, I74-
Hiitmony, Leibniz on pre-established,
■ 47. ai3, «i4-
Heat, sensation of, 46 f. ; mechanical
theory of, iji.
HetmboItE, on effort of volition, 13 ;
on colour and intensity, Jl.
Hemiplegia, Vulpian on. ii.
Heterogeneity, qualitative, inter-
preted as extensive homogeneity.
Oi : of pure duration, 109. no,
no, IJ8. 116, sag. I3S, 239; of
deep-seated psychic states, loo :
homogeneous nni verse assumed
behind. 105 ; Kant's distinction
between homogeneity and. iji.
Homogeneity, of lime, 90, 98, 107,
134, 134. 137 ; of space, 9s f., 98,
1 20, 136 ; la all iiomogeocity
space ? t)8 ; supposed two forms
of, 98 ; none in duration, 104, iij ;
none in motion, no, iij ; bow
introduced into duration, 124 f.,
128 ; coimection between, and
Eeneral Ideas, 163 ; assumed
ehlnd heterogeneity, 205 ; Kant's
distinction' between heterogeneity
and, 2 34.
Hope, why pleasurable, 9 f.
Hylozoism, ancient, 213. 214.
Hypnotism, and art, 14 ; and
aesthetic feeling, 17 ; illustrating
incorporation of idea received
during, 166.
Ideas, analysis of, (34 ; interpene-
tration of, 13J ; uoreasoning ad-
herence to. 135 ; scnne not mcor-
porated, 13s ; assodationism fits
superficial, 1 36 ; reconciliation of,
at deeper level, 136 ; association
of, in interrupted conversation,
156 ; general, and perception of
homogeneous medium. 163,
Identity, principle of. 107 ; attempt
to replace causality by. 209 ;
causaht y does not coincide with,2 lo.
Illusion, as to psychic states possess-
ing magnitude, zi ; re&ecUve
leading to difficulties about f
Immobility, movement catmot be
made frinn, iij ; all that sdenui
retains of motion is, 119. 220, 234,
Impenetrability, at matter, 88 f.
Inertia, of organism, and pleasure,
38 ; vii itttrliai. 38 ; dynamism
derives. Iiom voluntary activity,
140; idea of spontaneity simpler
than, 141 ; spontaneity settling
down into. 210.
Instinct, perception of duration in
sleep compared to, 127 ; of Ihe
intellect. 135.
Intensity, of psychic states, i S., 224
f. ; of sensatimw, i B., 7. 20, 32, 40,
42, 47, 171 t. : alleged Intensive
magnitude, 2, 3 f.. 71 f.. 106, 22; ;
no pcdnt of contact with extensive.
3. 70 : estimated by external
causes, 4 f., 20, 32 f., 42, 72 -, esti-
mated by alotuk movements, 6 ;
diHerent kinds of. 7 ; of diwp-
seaied psychic states, a. 26 ; of a
growing desire, 8 C ; of joy, 10
246
oi sorrow, ii ; of aesthetic leeliags,
II fl,, 17 !., of moia) feelings, pity,
18 t. : of leeliog of effort, n t. ;
of super&cial efirat, 26 ; of inler-
of disgust
7(; at quality, 42, 90. 190, 114; of
Mnsatioo of sound, 43 I. ; o( lieal
and cold, 46 f. ; of sensalion ol
wclfsht, 48 1 of seD^tion of light.
30 fi. : of a odour, 34 ; two factors
coDtributinf! tn, 73 ; as qualitative
sign of quantity, 90, Z24 ; o( deep-
seated feeling, nothing but the
feeling, iSs ; how others made to
realize, 185 f. ; as compromise
between quality and quantity, 22).
IntejpcnetratioD. mulllpUcity of. 73
n., 161; o[ conscious stales, gg,
100 f., IJ2 !., 163, 164, 231, 237 ;
in pule duration, 104, 107, loB,
no, lit, itS, 233; of states of
deep-seated self, laj, 137, 164 ; of
strong feelings, 13a f. ; of Ideas,
133 ; of apparently contradictory
ideas at deeper level. 136 ; in pro-
cess of addition, 316 : replaced by
plurality. *37.
Introspection, as leading to funda-
mental self. 231.
Intuition, of space necresary to idea
of number, 77 ff., S4, 12; ; uf
homogeneous medium, perhaps
peculiar to man, 93 f., 336; of
motion and duration, 114 ; of
homogeneous space as step towards
social life, 13S, 163, 33G ; inune-
diate, and discursive thought, 337.
James, W. on feeling of effort, Ji, 23,
24 i on rage, 29,
Joy. feeling of. to.
JuKtapusitlon, see also Interpene-
tration : Inapplicable to mner
ttates, S f. : multiplicity uf, 7S «- .
162; implies intuition of apace,
77 I. ; number as a. S5, 89 ; of
:ious stales. lOl. 232 ; in
igeneous lime, JJi j of lifeless
5, replaces a feeling, 133.
scendental Aesthetic, 91, 93; dis-
tinguished matter and form ol
repiesentalion. 93 ; " lonn of
sensiUlity," 94. 936 ; separated
time and spue, 122, 233 ; mislaka
1 materialism and delcr-
144.
about time. 232 ; gave causality
same meaning in inner and outer
world, 231 ; clung to freedom
but made it noumenal, 332. 238 ;
putfreesclfontslde space and time.
space homogeneous, 233 ; and the
Practical Reason, 234 ; distin-
guished matter and /orm of con-
sciousness, 234 ; result of Critique
ol Pure Reason, 335 ; laisrd
barrier between phenomena and
things in themselves, 23s : dis-
tinguished space from matter. ij,6.
Kelvin,I.ord, his theory of matter, 206.
Lan^c,
Language, unequal to psychological
analysis, 9. '3. 160, (96. 237 ;
foreign, sounds louder. 41 ; domi-
nates thought. 70. 331 ; perhaps
implies intuition of space, 97, 163,
236 ; uses terms borrowed from
space, 132 : favours separation uf
states of self, 128, 137. 139, 167.
231 • solidifying influence of. on
impressions, 129 f. ; gives fixed
form to fleeting sensations, Iji f. ;
description distorts the feelings.
133 fi. ; only ideas which least
belong to us can be expressed by.
136, 164 ; and social life, 137. 167,
23I1 23G ; same Impulse to picture
citemality as to speak, 138 :
second self formed, whose states
expressed by, 138 ; illustration of
Inadequaci^ of, i6a f. ; general
ideas and intuition of space, 163 :
fixes cmly impersonal aspect of
favoured by avoiding separallu
duration and extensity. 330 f.
La KochefoucBUld. on sympathy, 19.
Law, Weber's, 60 ; Fechner's, 61 ;
Fochner's logarithmic. 62 n. ; of
non-contradiction, Bg, 130, 207 ;
of Nature, mechanism and dynam-
ism on, 140 [. ; relation between
facts and. 140 f. ; " same ante-
cedents, same consequents," 199.
308 ; of causality, 199 9. ; physical
phenomena obey, 202. 319 ; prin-
ciple of identity as absdule. ]07 :
relation of psychic state to act
cannot be expressed by, 139.
Lehmann. his photometric nperl-
ments, J2.
Leibniz, on pre-estabtishcd bannony,
1^7. "3, 214 ; and roaservali'>n ii(
vu viva, 151 ; oa qualities ol nat-
ter. 413 ; on matter asmonad, II],
Z14 ; conception of causality as lead-
ing to, 313; and dctecmiimm. 114.
Light, sensation of, jo 0.
Line, succession symbolized as a, 103 ;
inolioD nolo, 110 ; llmenola. iSi.
" Local signs," 49. as ; Lotie on, 93.
Loize, theory ol local signs, 93.
Magnitude, quantitative differences
applicable to, 2 B, ; alleged inten-
species of, 3 f. ; of grovring desire,
9 ; and muscular effort, 20 I. ;
of sensations, 31 ff., 72 ; intcDsity.
of pain as a, 37 : pleasure as a, 38 ;
of representative sensatloos, 47 ;
intetvai between coloun as, ;? 1. ;
interval between sensations as, 66.
68 f. ; intensity not a, iiy
Mathematics, represents result!, not
processes. 119. 134; ciempli&es
one type of prebgunng, 304 f.
Matter, Impenetrability of, 8S :
molecular theory of, and deter-
minism. 143 f., Z09 ; atomic theory
of. still hypothetical, 14J : has no
apparent duratioo, 153 ; stripped
of concrete qualities, zo} : shape
as quality of, 205 ; Lord Kelvin's
vortex theory of, 306 ; Descartes'
view of, Z07 ; hylofoUm and
qualities of, 113 ; Leibniz and
qualities of, 313; distinguished
tnnn fortn, 113, 134 ; distinguished
from space, J36.
Mean gradations, method of, j6, jg,
67. 69.
Mechanics, treatment of time and
duration ia,iis ; and notion of velo-
city. 117 ; deals with equations,! 19.
Mechanism, as system of aatiuv, 140 ;
and relation between facts and
laws, 140 f. ; its view of simplicity,
141; its influence on determiit-
titn, 14B, 309 ; makes conscious-
ness an epiphenomenoa, ija ; and
Lord Kelvin's theory of matter,
107 ; Spinozlstic, 109 ; and coin-
ddeaoe of causality with identity,
meant to explain conduct.
tatkn.
Uetbod.of mean gradations, 36, 59,67.
69;ofiDinimumdiScrenc«s,64t., 69.
Mill, 00 Hamilton, 159 h.. 171 i-:
on distinct states of alt, i}g ; oa
Mlud. act of. see Act.
Mind, articles In, quoted, 39 n., 46 h.
Hiuimum difiercnccs, method of.
64 f., 6g,
Mobility, and motion, inf.; elimin-
ated by scieuce, i]$. aiS.
MoUire, Le Miiatlhropt quoted, 167,
Monad, Leibniion matter as, 313, 314.
Motion, see also Movement : analysis
of concept of, no f. ; real only for
conscious spectator, 1 1 1 ; as ment!<l
synthesis, in, izo; mobility and.
Ill : of shooting star, iti : con-
fused with space in Elealic para-
doz, 113 f. ; intuition of. 114 ; not
derivable from immoldlities, 11;;
no homoReneous element in,n3 ;
science eliminates mobility from,
113, izS, Z34 : hypothetical acce-
leration of cosmic, 116 I., 193 a. ;
cannot be represented by mathe-
matical formulae, 119 f., 134 :
helps to form idea of homogeneoas
duration, 114 ; Descartes and
conservation of, i;t : and Lord
Kelvin's theory of matter. 106.
Motives, actions explained by, 148:
and process of deliberation, ijS :
act not detennlned by, ij8 ; Bain
on conflict of, ijg : FouillAe on
freedom as a, 160 ; choice without.
shown at crisis, 170.
Movement, see also Motion : atomic
and intensity, 6 ; molecular, and
sensation, 33, 34 ; automatic and
free, 31, 3s i in estimating sensa>
tios of weight, 49 f. ; measure-
ment of velocity of, 107, 117.
MUller, Johann, nativistlc theory of
3>ace. 93.
tiplicity, inner, 73 ; of conscious
states. 73 fl., 90 f. ; of juxlaposi-
tioii, 7i »., tG3 ; of interpcnetra-
tion, 73 n., l6z ; Implied In num-
ber. 76, Bo I. : implied in addition.
S3; twokindsof esf.,91. Ill, iiS.
139 ; discrete. 90, 91, izo f., iz6 ;
of number and of conscious stales,
91. Ill ; continuous or qualllalive,
103, III, lis, 114, jiG, 3ig, ijg ;
determinism rests 011 inaccurate
conception of. 14], 173; assoda-
tionism confuses the two kinds ot,
162 f. ; of psyclilc states as coo-
stitutiof; duration, zz4 ; duration
as qualitative, 116. 319.
Music, and suggestion, is. 44 ;
duration and musical rhythm, too :
increase of stimulus compared to
musical phrase. loG ; orgamxatJon
of setualioni compared to melodic
phrase, iii ; strokMof dock com-
2^
Paralysis, aod lecling oi eSort, t
Past, .
147.
Nativist thcocy ol space. 93.
Nature beauty in, 14 ; compared
with art, 16: profoundly utili-
tarian, 33 ; visw taken by mechan-
ism and dytuunism, 140 I. ; coo-
crete {ibenomena of, abolished,
307 ; view of. as whinislcal, 31a.
Necessity, see also Detenmnism :
mechanism cannot escape, 140 ;
as dens ci nuKhina in ancient
hylotoiam, Z14 ; and idea of force,
316 fi.
Neiglick, bis pbotomctric eipcn-
No*l,G., article on number and space,
NMcs, why classified as higher and
Noumenon, Ireedom as, 132.
Novelist, how eflects produced, 133.
164. i8s.
Number, natural series, x, So ; defi-
nition of, 7} : article on space and,
75 n. ; units of, identical, 7& 1
units of, distinct, 77, aa6 ; implies
intuition of space, 77ff., 83 f., zis ;
both unit and synthesas of units,
8a f. ; discontinuity of, 81 ; pro~
cess of forming a, Bl f. ; why divi-
sible at will, 83 : subjective and
objective in, 84 1 thought of as a
juxtaposition, 85 ; Inapplicable to
multiplicHyof conscious states, 87 ;
and impenetrability of matter,
89 : those in daily use have
emotional equivalents, 133 : time
as a, igj, 197 i results from a com-
promise, 336.
Objective, definition of, 83.
Objectivity, of things, 336.
Ob>ecla, contrasted with progress,
tii, til, 319; can be analysed,
112 ; belp to cut up our psychic
life, 114 f. ; seem to live and grow
old, 130; tend to tx changinK
feelings, 130 1 in human suul
Order, of succession, Implies space.
Fain, and pity. tS f, ; as sign of
future reaction, 33 ; intensity of,
35 f, ; Darwin on, 37 ; conceivedas
distinct thine, 139.
Paradox, the Eleatic, 74, m f- 34d.
Parallelism, of phyiical and psychical
MTtU, 146 I.
of. 134,
3 U]
n of Peter's actioo, ^
19. '31, 13;
Paul, his rai:^!
184 a.
Pendulum, ciiunting osallationi uf.
104 I. ; u-bat do oscillations of,
measure, 107 fl ; oscillations uf
help to cut up our psychic f"
109 ; spreads out undivided I
sion of spring, 33S.
Permeation, see Inltrpenetratian.
Peter, Paul's prediction of
action, 184 S.
Photometric experiments, 31
Physics, and sound- vibrations,
and degrees of luminous ' —
3 3 f. i interested in
cause, 71 ; physical pfai ._
and law, loi ; Cartesian, 107, aoS ;
Descartes' instantaneous, loS ; and
torccabting of phenomena, 33z. 330.
Pillon, F., article on number and
space, 73 ft.
Pitch, of a sound, 44 '-
Plateau, bis method of
luminous sensations, 36.
Plato, quoted, 1 68 ; Platonic remlnia-
Pleasure, as sign of future reaction,
33 f. ; and bodily inclination, 38 1
keenness of, as inertia of organism,
38 ; conceived as distinct thing, 159.
Poetry, how effects prodnccd, 13.
" Possible acts," 174 f., 333.
Postulate, Delbosuf'i. 60 ; Fechner's,
60 ; fundamental, of psychopbyiiics,
6$. 70 ; underlying geometrical
representation of voluntary acti-
vity. 179.
Prediction, astronomical, 117, iga fl..
198 ; determinism and, 173, 183 fl.,
120 1 real, duration and, i83ff. ; of
future actions, 185 fl., 229, 339:
probable and mfallible, 183 f.. and
character, 184, 173 ; hypothetical
case of Peter and Paul, 184 fl. ;
all foreseeing as seeing, 193, 197.
198 ; of phenomena, and physics,
3 23, sso-
Prefiguring, of future phenmnenDn In
present conditions, 204 fl., 210 ;
two kinds of. 304 B., 215 1 as in
mathematics. 304 f. ; as ha\ins
idea of possible future act. 3tt t.
Pressure, sensation of. 47 f.
Process, motion as a, 1 1 1 1 conscious
states not things but, 131, 196;
misleading to substitute mateiul
symbol lot, 190 J cr — ' *^
analysed. 219,
pEogrcsa. nioiiun as a.
divisible, III; cannot be repre-
lented by geonlelrieal figxire, iSi ;
nmleading to subslilute natenat
symtxil for. 190 j psychic state as
a. 19S ; bom idea to act, in.
Providence, Descartes and grace of,
loS.
Fsycbdogr, descriptive, liinits of,
139 : lometimes misled by lan-
guage, i6s ; doals witb intervals i>f
duration and not their rxiremities,
196 ; modem, and perception
through subjective lonns, iiz.
Riycbophysics, and measurctnenl o(
sensations, I, ss S. ; measurement
oi Intensity of light, Jj ff. ; Del-
btBul's experiments, 51, 56, s8 f.,
67 f, ; method «t mean gradations,
9^. S9. 67, 69 : method 01 minimum
diDerences, 64 f.. 69 ; DclbiBiiCs
postulate, 60 ; Weber's Law, 60 ;
all. involved in transition from
stimulus to amount of sensation,
61 ; Fechner's L^aw. 61 f. ; postu-
late of, 65, 70 ; (allacy of all, 6s f.,
70 1 exaggerations of, mj.
Quality, iatecpreled as quantity or
magiiitude, 9, 13, 39, 41, 43, ^S I,,
Ji, jB, 6g, 70 ; sound as a, 46 1
tensation of increase qualitative,
48 1 intensity of light as i, jo :
variations in brightness quditative,
S4 : psychophysics attempts to
measure, 63 ; no point of contact
with quantity, 70 ; sensation as a,
71. 90 ; confusion witb quantity
invades whole scries of psychic
stales. 74 ; space devoid of, 9s ;
qualitative muttiplicily, 105, 121,
iifl, a]4. 126. 119. 339 : sensalion
of mot>itity qualitative. Ill; qua-
lilBlive distinctlous, iii f., 104 ;
counting as a qualitative progress,
133 ; of quantity. 113 ; strokes
ol a dock estimated by quality of
musical phrase, i«7 ; time as.
. 119 : deep-seated coosdous slates
as pure. 137 f., 114 ; matter
J stripped of concrete, J03 : attempt
to explain apparent, of matter,
i loj : shape OS, of matter, zoj :
■ qualities ol things set up as stales,
i ai3 ; LeibniE and eitemal, 113 ;
t psychic phenomena as pure, 114 ;
intensily as compromise between
quantity and, 1125.
QuimUly, see also Magnitude : as
applied to inner states, i 0, ; alle^
two kinds of, 3 S: 71, 11.1 ; quality
interpreted as, q, ij, 39, - -
4B I., JI, jS, 69, 70; andn
i£
effort, 20 f.. 23 ; of cause, trans-
ferred to quality of effect, 42, 70 :
pitch and, 4}. 46 ; increase of
sensation as, 4B ; differmce be-
tween hues of a colour as, 60 ;
psychophy.'iics makes intervals be-
tween sensations iuto a, 6z, 6;, 66,
68 I. ; no point of contact between
quality and, 70 ; how quantitative
relations set up between sensations,
71 ; quantitative distinctions, lit
f,. lot: without quality, 123;
119; cause of psychic
a as, 124 : qu^ty as
sign of, 134 ; intensity as com-
promise between quality and, 123.
Rage, Darwin on, 29 ; James on. 29.
Reality, of space, 91 f.. gj, no;
two kinds of, 97, no; real dura-
tion, no, 12; H., 134 ; of facts for
dynamism, 141 ; of laws tor
mechanism, 141 ; time as a, 15; ;
attempt to produce, from al^-
braical relations, loj ; physics
treats sensations at signs of, 123.
Reason, beliefs adopted without, 135 ;
decisions taken without or against.
170 ; in ancient bylozoism, ~ ~
Crilifue 0/ Pure, 13;.
Refraction through space, self per-
ceived by. 118, JJ9, 137. 167, (83,
Z17, Mi; of "things in them-
selves" Kant's view, ijj.
RcRouvier, on freedom, 137 n.
Representation, see Symbolical Re-
presentation.
Resolution, bow feeling leads to. 133,
Revitt philoiophiqut, referred to. ji ».
Rivui scitnliliifiitt. Tannery's criti-
cism of Fecbncr in, 67.
Rhythm, connecllngdancer and spec-
tator, 11 ; effect in music, 14 ; in
poetry, ij ; and archlleclure. ij ;
Nature does not command. 16 ;
succession of conscious stales
compared to. loo.
"" " "' n and movements.
Saturation, of a crAaut. 54.
Scale, notes of, why classified as
higher and tower. 45 f.
Science, eliminates duration from
time and mobility Iram motion.
II) ff., iiB ; and faypolhetical
acceleration ol motions 01 universe.
250
ii6, 193 ^- '• altempts la do away
with duratioQ and causality, 908
f. ; separates Ideas of free eSort
and necessary de terminal ion. iiS ;
allempta to measure intensive
quantity, 215 ; separates exlensity
and duratiim, ai8, 330 ; main
object of, t3,o ; ciiuld deal with
time it bomogcDeous, 334.
Scottish philosopbers. 71,
Sculpture, ancient, tj.
Sell, whole, ceSected In each conscious
state, 98, 16s ; recovery of the
fundameDtal, loo, tiS, iz«, 331,
233, 236, 240 : introduces distinc-
tions derived from external objects
into its own states, 109. iij. I37 :
superficial, with mutually external
stales, I2S. 128, 136. 138. 167, 237 ;
deep-seated, with InterpenetratinE
states, IJ5, liS, 136, 164. 136;
with whole mass of, 13s, 166, 168 ;
perceived by reltaction through
space, ii3. 119, 137. 167, 183, 317.
233 : the two aspects of tbe, 119
S., 137, 331 ; tendency to form
secondary, 13B, 166 ; not an
BssodatioQ of tenns, 139. ij^ fl..
164, i6s, 226; recourse to living
and concrete, necessary to solve
problems of causality, freedum, etc..
139 : activity of, cannot be com-
pared to that of any other force,
143, 3i6 : perception of, through
forms borrowed frcoQ external
world. 154, J17, 223 ; self-detcr-
raination, i6j ; parasitic, as result
of education, 166 ; free decisions
spring from whole or fundamental,
167, 171, 331, 140 ; covered over
with crust of clean-cut psychic
slates, 167 : does not intervene iu
carryine out every-day acts, i6B ;
uprush of deep-seated, at moment
01 crisis. i6g 1 distinction ol psychic
Mates leads to mechanical concep-
tion of, 171 ; constantly changing
and growing, 171, 17J f. ; view of.
Involved In geometrical reprewn-
lation of process of deciding. 176 f . ;
infallible in affirming its immediate
experiences, 183 ; as a free force,
216, 335; KanI pul tree, outside
space and duration, 333 ; Kant
and pbenomenal, 133 ; as a free
cause, 23J-
Sensations. intensity of, i fl., 7 ff.,
ao B., 40. 41, 47, 71 f. ; art yielding
only, 17: and external causes,
io 0, ; peripheral, and muscular
eSorl. 14, 3<> ; peripheral, and
violent emotions. 31 ; magnitude
of. 31. 31. 47, 73 ; aflcclive and
representative : afleclive. 33 fi,,
73 f, ; and organic disturbance,
33 f. : pleasure and pain, 33 ff. ;
aHeclive, and free movements, 33 ;
representative, 39 ff.. 73, 90 ;
medium, 41 ; representative, mea-
sured by external causes. 42 ; of
sound, 43 f. ; ol heat and cold,
46 I., 64 ; of pressure and weigbt.
47 f. ; increase of, and sensaliun of
increase, 48 ; as quantity or qua-
lity. 48 ; of movement. Jo : of
light. 50 fl. ; measunmeni of
luminous, 53 ff. ; psycbophysics
attempts to measure, ss fl.. 63. 63,
333; equal and identical, 57, 61,
fij, 64. 69 ; law connecting stimu-
lus and, 6a f. ; as quantities. 61,
6s, 66 ; addition of, 64 ; considered
as a sum. 65, 67 ; how quantitative
differences set up between, 71 (. \
as pure quality, 7a ; and space,
9^1 93< 95 i can space be built up
from, 94 : simultaneous and iden-
tical, 93 ; of motion, indivisible,
113 ; mfluence of language on,
131 ; not objects but processes,
131 ; altered by repetition, 131 ;
physics treats, as signs c^ reality,
313.
Series, natural, of numbers, 3, 80 ;
double aspect of each t«m in a,
194. ai6 ; physical and psychical,
" Several." use of. implies space, 133.
Shape, as quality of matter, lo;.
Simplicity, different senses of, in
'. »4I.
Simullaneily, implies space,
measuring duration and counting,
loB I. ; as connecting link betwnrea
space and duration, no: deW-
tion of, no; In measuring velo-
city. ti4. 117; used in defining
equal intervals of lime. 116. 119;
in space nothiug but. 116, aoA,
827 ; and astronomical prediction,
116 f.. 1^3 fl. ; dealt with by
mathematics, 119; attempted ne-
piFsentation of succession by, iSo,
221 ; all relations not translatable
into, are scientifically unlmowable,
Z34.
Sleep, and perception of duration,
SmeU, illustration from associations
of, 161 f.
Social life, self with well-defined
states belter adapted lo, tiS, 137,
139. (^7. 331 ; more inportut
351
It lile
90, 1
106. 131;
^ but n
duraticn. as spatial, go f. ; reality
of, 91 f.p gj, no ; as common ele-
ment in certain sensations, 91 :
Kant's theory of, gi, gj ; nativlstic
and empirical theories of, 93 ;
MUUer's theory, 93 ; Lotze's tbeOTV,
93 : Bain's theory, 93 ; Wundt's
theory. 93 ; attempt to build up,
irnm Inextensive sensations, 93 f.,
99 f., Ill ; defimtiOQ of, 95, 98 ;
as a honiogeneous medium wllhout
(feneous for animals. 96 : intuition
o( homogeneous, prculiar to man.
97, 336 : intuition of. necessary to
counting, abstraction and speech,
97 : is time, as homogeneous
medium, reducible to. gS f, : time
as ghost of, 99 ; duration expressed
in terms of. loi. no: order of
lUccessJoB Implies. loi f. ; ayni-
bolical represent al ton of succession,
as line implies. 103 : lime as fourth
dimension of. 109 ; simultaneity
as connecting tink between time
projection of act into, iii, 181 ;
infinitely divisible, 113. 114: as
homogeneous element in motion.
lis; the only measurable element
in motion, 116, tl8, iig; nothing
but liiaultaDeities in, iiG, 106.
117; alone homogeneous, 120 i
towards, 13B. 163, ij6.
Solidification, of an act, in space,
nil of changing feelings, pro-
moted by language and external
objects, 119 1.1 of sensations
owing to language, 131 ; of ideas
on surface of consciousoess. 13s,
166, 168 ; of conscious slates,
promotes soda] life, 131 ; of con-
scious states, how brought about,
237-
Sorrow, an Increasing, 11,
Sound, sensations of, 43 ft. ; inten-
sity of, 43 fl. ; pitch of, 43 ; why
classified as higher and lower, 4] f.
Sfiace, and magnitude, t ; introduced
into perception of duration, 74 ;
article on number and. 75 h. ;
intuition of, implied in counting,
77 B.. 83 f., iij ; material objects
counted in, 83 f. : conscious slates
not countable unless symbolically
represented in, 86 f.. Sg, 90 : Idea
of impenetrability shows inter-
connexion of number and. 89 :
projection of psychic
117 : sell perceived by refractioa
through, 128, 119. 137, 167, 183,
317, 313 : intuition of homogene-
ous, as step towards social life,
138, 163, 336 : conneiion between
perception of, and general ideas.
163;
«?
190,
. lime confused with. _ ^.^
diction, 191 S, ; as result of
stripping matter of concrete quali-
ties, loj ; separated friwn time by
Kant, tzz ; must be eliminated
in studying inner phenomena, sig ;
Kant confused time with, 331 1
Kant put tbc tree self outside, 233 1
we usually live and act in. not in
duralion, 233 ; Kant on time and.
233 ; existence of homogeneous,
assumed, 336; as a "tona of
sensitulily," 336 ; intuition ol,
what It accomplishes. 136.
Spectrum, colours of the. ji, 34. 57.
Spencer. H., on gracefulness. 13;
on expression of fear. 30.
Spinoia, on modes of thought and
modes of . — ' — ' — —
I
causality and api
■- -■ — 108 ;
conceplidi
causalily which leads tt
Spinoxistlc mechanism. 109,
Spontaneity, idea of. limpleT than
that of inertia, 141 ; force as a
free. 117; settling down into
Stimulus, law connecting sensation
with, 60 fl. : eBect of silghl but
continuous, 106.
Subjective
; of conscious
1 rhythm of
time. 100 ; without distinction,
loi : order of. implies distinction
and therefore space, loi f. ; cannot
be symbolized as a line without
idea of space, 103 f. ; within the
ego succession, without, only
externality, 108, tij ; exists only
(or conscious spectator, 108, 110,
117 ; endosmosis between exter-
nality and, log. jiS ; none in
space, no, 227 ; attempt to repre-
sent by simultaneity. 180, iii ;
causality as regular, toz f . ; no
regular, in deep-seated psychic
states, 103 : attempt to transform
into intierence. 209 : apparent, of
phenomena, lol. 227 ; of pheno-
mena and conscious slates, jti.
ai6; Leibniz and, zt3; attributed
to things, ai3 i idea of in«a*uralile
252
Suggestion, in art, 14 fl. ; in music,
Symbolical ReprcseDtution, Dd^ssary
to coimting of conscioiis states,
86 !.. 89, 90 ; of a linp, implies
idea of space, to) 1 pure durntioa
cannot be measured without, 105 ;
of duration, derived from space,
no; of time as homogeneous
medium, 114 f. ; of elements of a
leelings, give
of t
self
„ bv
-- , isof c_
to a decision, 175 fl, ; leads to
determinism. 178 ; of time as a
line, 182 : cannot be substituted
for dynamic process. :go ; of ego,
confused by Kant with ego itself,
Sympathy, physical, aod grace. 13 1
with Nature, 16; with misfortune,
19-
Tanoery. J., as critic of Fechner, 67-
Tasle. as cbangeabte. 131.
'■ Things in themselves." Kant and,
"33, 134. 338.
lime, sounds not counted m, 87, gi ;
as homogeneous medium m which
conscious slates are ranged, 90,
III ; as homogeneous medium,
notblng but space. 91. 9B ; dis-
tinct nom pm^ duration, 91, 98 ;
is it unbounded medium distinct
from space ? 9S f. ; as ghost of
space, 99 ; alleoipt to derive
eitensity from succession in, 99 f. ;
two possible conceptions of, 100 1
is it measurable ? 107 I. ; appar-
ently homogetieous. 107 ; as dealt
with by the astronomer and
physicist, 107, 192 fl. ; as measured
by clocks. loS f. : as fourth dimen-
sion of space, 109 ; c<HiCrete and
abstract, 114; sdsnce eliminates
duration from, iij f. ; definition
of equal intervals of, ii;t ; how it
comes to be represented as homo-
geneous, 114 f., 137 ; assymbotical
ImaM of duration, ii.s f. ; as
quality and quantity, 199; con-
fusion of, with concrete duration,
IJ5 ; is lime space ? iBi, 190, 111 ;
not a line, 181 ; confused with
space, i6t I,, 191 f., J|a :
number, 195, 197 ; separated
space by Kanl. 331, 232 ; id
ajj; - -
homogeneous, 834 ; Kant
freedran outside. 114 : tu
geneous duration
homogeneous, 237.
Tortoise, and Achilles, 113 f.
Town, objects in, seem to liv<
grow old, 129 f.
Tradesmen, thetr avoidano
round numbers, 123.
TrKtscauUHlal Atslhaic. li
theory of space in his, ga, 5
Units, those farming a nu
identical, 76 ; also distinct,
space implied in countiiig,
every number both unit
synthesis of, 80 : two I
ultimate and provisiooal. 8
if divisible, then extended,
split up by arithmetic, 84
garded by common sense as
visible, 84.
Unity, attaching to number,
all, due Co simple act of tbt
80 f. ; of act and of object. 8
Spinoza and the divine, 108.
Universe, hypothetical accele
of motions of, 116. 193 S. \
cular theory of, 143 ; vagui
sonallly ascribed to, 213.
Velocity, i_.
Dolion of, analysed, i
and variable, 117 f.
Vulpian
n hemiplegia, 1
Weber, his law, 60 f.
Weight, sensation of, 2S f, -.47
Will, see also Free Will : wilU
willlng's sake, 157. i^B,
Words, see language,
Wundt. on paralytic':
a coimexlons of
Zeno. on Acbitlei and
%
a, Tb. Sdnocd fiiDlin, Workl, Prm
S3 ft
005
(UL. ?.^iv
i
3 tlOS DOH SSt 717
STANFORD UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES
CECIL H. GREEN LIBRARY
STANFORD, CALIFORNIA 94305-6004
(415) 723-1493
AN booka may be recollod after 7 days
DATE DUE
1
=1