d
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a
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GENERAL EDITOR
MUIRHEAD LIBRARY OF PHILOSOPHY
ANALYTIC PSYCHOLOGY By Prof. G. F. Stout. Two Vols.
$th Impression.
ATTENTION By Prof. W. B. Pillsbury. -2nd Impression.
HISTORY OF AESTHETIC By B. Bosanquet. 6th Impression.
2nd Edition.
HISTORY OF ENGLISH UTILITARIANISM By Prof. E. Albee.
HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY By J. E. Erdmann.
Vol. I. ANCIENT AND MEDIAEVAL, tfh Impression.
Vol. II. MODERN. 6th Impression.
Vol. III. SINCE HEGEL, jth Impression.
HISTORY OF PSYCHOLOGY By Prof. G. S. Brett.
Vol. I. ANCIENT AND PATRISTIC.
Vol. II. MEDIAEVAL AND EARLY MODERN PERIOD.
Vol. III. MODERN PSYCHOLOGY.
MATTER AND MEMORY By Henri Bergson. Translated by
N. M. Paul and W. S. Palmer. 6th Impression.
NATURAL RIGHTS By D. G. Ritchie, yd Edition.
PHILOSOPHY AND POLITICAL ECONOMY By J. Bonar.
^th Impression.
DEVELOPMENT OF THEOLOGY SINCE KANT By O.
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THE PHENOMENOLOGY OF MIND By G. W. F. Hegel.
Translated by Prof. J. B. Baillie.
TIME AND FREE WILL By Prof. Henry Bergson. Trans
lated by F. G. Pogson. 6th Impression.
VALUATION : THE THEORY OF VALUE By Prof. W. M.
Urban.
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE RELIGIOUS LIFE By Prof.
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THE GREAT PROBLEMS By Bernardino Varisco. Trans
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KNOW THYSELF By Bernardino Varisco. Translated by
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ELEMENTS OF FOLK PSYCHOLOGY By W. Wundt.
Translated by Prof. Edward L. Schaub. yd Impression.
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FUNDAMENTAL PROBLEMS OF LIFE: AN ESSAY ON
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r G Mackenzie
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LANGUAGE AND REALITY By Wilbur Marshall Urban
flftutrbeafr Xfbrarv of
TIME AND FREE WILL
by HENRI BERGSON
MATTER AND MEMORY
HENRI BERGSON
TIME AND FREE WILL
An Essay on the Immediate Data
of Consciousness
Authorised Translation by
F. L. POGSON
M.A.
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TRANSLATOR S PREFACE
HENRI Louis BERGSON was born in Paris, October
18, 1859. He entered the Ecole normale in
1878, and was admitted agrege de philosophie
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 member of the
Institute on his election to the Academic des
Sciences morales et politiques.
A full list of Professor Bergson s works is given
in the appended bibliography. In making the
following translation of his Essai sur les donnees
immediate^ de la conscience I 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
ix
x TRANSLATOR S PREFACE
for the fact that editions are sometimes referred
to which have appeared subsequently to 1889.
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 philosophy.
For him 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 life and are useful primarily for prac
tical purposes. But they give us nothing of the
life and movement of reality ; 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 reality behind them, to immerse them
selves in the living stream of things and to
TRANSLATOR S PREFACE xi
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 applicable
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 shown 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
xii 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, 1910.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
I. WORKS BY BERGSON.
(a) Books.
Quid Aristoteles de loco senserit, (Thesis), Paris, 1889.
Essai sur les donne"es immediates de la conscience, Paris,
1889, 1910.
Matire et M6moire, Essai sur la relation du corps avec
1 esprit, Paris, 1896, 1910. 6
Le Rire, Essai sur la signification du comique, Paris, 1900,
1910. (First published in the Revue de Paris, 1900,
Vol. I., pp. 5 T 2-545 and 759-791-)
L E volution cre atrice, Paris, 1907, 1910.
(b) Articles.
La Spe cialite . (Address at the distribution of prizes at
the lyce"e of Angers, Aug. 1882.)
De la simulation inconsciente dans l 6tat d hypnotisme.
Revue philosophique, Vol. 22, 1886, pp. 525-531.
Le bon sens et les eludes classiques. (Address at the
distribution of prizes at the " Concours general des
lyce es et colleges," 1895.)
Memoire et reconnaissance. (Revue philos. Mar., Apr.
1896, pp. 225-248 and 380-399. Republished in Matiere
et Memoire.}
Perception et matiere. (Rev. de Met. et de Mor. May
1896, pp. 257-277. Republished in Matiere et Memoire.)
Note sur les origines psychologiques de notre croyance a la
loi de causalite". (Lecture at the Philosophical Con
gress in Paris, 1900, published in the Bibliotheque du
Congres International de Philosophic ; cf. Revue de Meta-
physique et de Morale, Sept. 1900, pp. 655 f.)
Le Reve. (Lecture at the Institut psychologique interna
tional : published in the Bulletin de I Institut psych, intern.
May 1901 ; cf. Revue scientifique , 4* S., Vol. 15, June 8,
1901, pp. 705-713, and Revue de Philosophic, June 1901,
pp. 486-488.)
Le Parallelisme psycho-physique et la metaphysique posi-
xiii
XIV BIBLIOGRAPHY
tive. Bulletin de la Societe francaise de Philosophic^
June 1901.
L Effort intellectuel. Revue philosophique, Jan. 1902.
Introduction a la me taphysique. Revue de Met. et de Mor.
Jan. 1903.
Le Paralogisme psycho-physiologique. (Lecture at the
Philosophical Congress in Geneva, 1904, published in the
Revue de Met. et de Mor. Nov. 1904, pp. 895-908 ; see
also pp. 1027-1036.)
L Id6e de ne"ant, Rev. philos. Nov. 1906, pp. 449-466.
(Part of Chap. 4 of L Evolution creatrice.}
Notice sur la vie et les ceuvres de M. Felix Ravaisson-
Mollien. (Lecture before the Academie des Sciences
morales et politiques : published in the Proceedings of
the Academy, Vol. 25, pp. I ff. Paris, 1907.)
Le Souvenir du prdsent et la fausse reconnaissance. Rev.
philos. Dec. 1908, pp. 561-593.
(c) Miscellaneous.
Lucrece : Extraits . . . avec une e"tude sur la poe"sie, la
philosophic, la physique, le texte et la langue de Lucrece.
Paris, 1884.
Principes de me taphysique et de psychologic d apres
M. Paul Janet. Revue philos., Vol. 44, Nov. 1897, pp.
525-55I-
Collaboration au Vocabulaire philosophique, Bulletin de la
Soc. fr. de Phil. July 1902, Aug. 1907, Aug. 1908, Aug.
1909.
Remarques sur la place et le caractere de la Philosophic
dans 1 Enseignement secondaire, Bulletin de la Soc. fr. de
Phil. Feb. 1903, pp. 44 ff.
Remarques sur la notion de la liberte" morale, Bulletin de
la Soc. fr. de Phil. Apr. 1903; pp. 101-103.
Remarques a propos de la philosophic sociale de Cournot,
Bulletin de la Soc. fr. de Phil. Aug. 1903, p. 229.
Preface de la Psychologie rationnelle de M. Lubac, Paris,
Alcan, 1904.
Sur sa relation a W. James, Revue philosophique, Vol. 60,
I 95. P- 229 f.
Sur sa the~orie de la perception, Bulletin de la Soc. fr. d
Philos. Mar. 1905, pp. 94 ft
BIBLIOGRAPHY XV
Rapport sur le concours pour le prix Bordin, 1905, ayant
pour sujet Maine de Biran. (Memoires de I Academie
des Sciences morales et politiques, Vol. 25, pp. 809 f.
Paris, 1907.)
Rapport sur le concours pour le prix Le Dissez de Penanmn,
1907. (Memoires de V Academic des Sciences morales ei
politiques, Vol. 26, pp. 771 ff. Paris, 1909.)
Sur revolution creatrice, Revue du Mois, Sept. 1907, p. 351.
A propos de Involution de 1 intelligence geometrique,
Revue de Met. et de Mor. Jan. 1908, pp. 28-33.
Sur 1 influence de sa philosophic sur les eleves des lyce es,
Bulletin de la Soc. jr. de Philos., Jan. 1908, p. 21 ; cf.
L Annee psychologique, 1908, pp. 229-231.
R6ponse a une enquete sur la question religieuse (La
Question religieuse par Fre de ric Charpin, Paris, 1908).
Remarques sur 1 organisation des Congrs de Philosophic.
Bulletin de la Soc. fr. de Phil. Jan. 1909, p. u f.
Preface a un volume de la collection Les grands philosophes,
(G. Tarde, par ses fils). Paris. Michaud, 1909.
Remarques & propos d une these soutenue par M. Dwel-
shauvers " L inconscient dans la vie mentale." Bulletin
de la Soc. fr. de Phil., Feb. 1910.
A propos d un article de Mr. W. B. Pitkin intitule "James
and Bergson." Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and
Scientific Methods, Vol. VII, No. 14, July 7, 1910, pp.
385-388.
II. SELECT LIST OF BOOKS AND ARTICLES DEALING IN WHOLE
OR IN PART WITH BERGSON AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.
(Arranged alphabetically under each language.)
5. Alexander, Matiere et Memoir e, (Mind, Oct. 1897, pp.
572-3).
B. H. Bode, L Evolution creatrice, (Philosophical Review,
1908, pp. 84-89).
W. Boyd, L Evolution creatrice, (Review of Theology and
Philosophy, Oct. 1907, pp. 249-251).
H. Wildon Carr, Bergson s Theory of Knowledge, (Pro-
ctedings of the Aristotelian Society, London, 1909. New
Series, Vol. IX, pp. 41-60).
H. Wildon Carr, Bergson s Theory of Instinct, (Proceedings
of the Aristotelian Society, London, icuo, N.S., Vol. X).
BIBLIOGRAPHY
//. Wildon Can, The Philosophy of Bergson, (Hibberi
Journal, July 1910, pp. 873-883).
W. J. Ferrar, L Evolution creatrice, (Commonwealth, Dec.
1909, pp. 364-367)-
H. N. Gardiner, Memoire et reconnaissance, (Psychological
Review, 1896, pp. 578-580).
T. E. Hidme, The New Philosophy, (New Age, July I, 29,
[909).
William James, A Pluralistic Universe, London, 1909,
pp. 225-273.
William James, The Philosophy of Bergson, (Hibberi
Journal, April 1909, pp. 562-577. Reprinted in A
Pluralistic Universe; see above).
William James, Bradley or Bergson ? (Journal of Philosophy,
Psychology and Scientific Methods, Vol. VII, No. 2, Jan. 20,
1910, pp. 29-33).
H. M. Kallen, James, Bergson and Mr. Pitkin, (Journal of
Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods, June 23,
1910, pp. 353-357)
A. Lalande, Philosophy in France, 1907, (Philosophical
Review, May, 1908).
/. A. Leighton, On Continuity and Discreteness, (Journal
of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods, Apr.
28, 1910, pp. 231-238).
T. Loveday, L Evolution creatrice, (Mind, July 1908, pp.
402-6).
A. 0. Lovejoy, The Metaphysician of the Life-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, (Contem
porary Review, June 1908, pp. 734-742).
W. Scott Palmer, Thought and Instinct, (Nation, June 5,
1909).
W. Scott Palmer, Life and the Brain, (Contemporary Review,
Oct., 1909, pp. 474-484).
W. B. Pitkin, James and Bergson ; or, Who is against
Intellect ? (Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and
Scientific Methods, Apr. 28, 1910, pp. 225-231).
BIBLIOGRAPHY XV11
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).
/. Royce, The Reality of the Temporal, (Int. Journal of
Ethics, Apr. 1910, pp. 257-271).
G. M. Sauvage, The New Philosophy in France, (Catholic
University Bulletin, Washington, Apr. 1906, Mar. 1908).
Norman Smith, Subjectivism and Realism in Modern Philo
sophy, (Philosophical Review, Apr. 1908, pp. 138-148).
G. F. Stout, Free Will and Determinism, (Speaker, London,
May 10, 1890).
/. H. Tufts, Humor, (Psychological Review, 1901, pp. 98-99).
G. Tyrrell, Creative Evolution, (Hibbert Journal, Jan. 1908,
PP- 435-442).
T. Whittaker, Essai sur les donnees immediates de la con
science, (Mind, Apr. 1890, pp. 292-3).
G. Aimel, Individualisme et philosophic bergsonienne,
(Revue de Philos., June 1908).
Balthasar, Le probleme de Dieu d apres la philosophic
nouvelle, (Revue neo-scolastique, Nov. 1907).
G. Batault, La philosophic de M. Bergson, (Mercure de
France, Mar. 16, 1908, pp. 193-211).
G. Belot, Une thdorie nouvelle de la liberty (Revue philoso-
phique, Vol. XXX, 1890, pp. 360-392).
G. Belot, Un nouveau spiritualisme, Matiere et Memoir e,
(Rev. philos. Vol. XLIV, 1897, pp. 183-199).
Jean Blum, La philosophic de M. Bergson et la poe sie
symboliste, (Mercure de France, Sept. 15, 1906).
C. Bougie, Syndicalistes et Bergsoniens, (Revue du Mois,
Apr. 1909, pp. 403-416).
G. Cantecor, La philosophic nouvelle et la vie de 1 esprit,
(Rev. philos. Mar. 1903, pp. 252-277).
P. Cercsole, Le parallelisme psycho- physiologique et 1 argu
ment de M. Bergson, (Archives de Psychologic, Vol. V,
Oct. 1905, pp. 1 1 2-1 20).
A. Chaumeix, La philosophic de M. Bergson, (Journal des
Debats, May 24, 1908. Reprinted in Pragmatisme et
Modernisme, Paris, Alcan, 1909).
Xviii BIBLIOGRAPHY
A. Chaumeix, Les critiques du rationalisme, (Revue Heb-
domadaire, Paris, Jan. I, 1910, pp. i-33)
A. Chide, Le mobilisme moderne, Paris, Alcan, 1908. (See
also Revue philos., Apr. 1908, Dec. 1909).
C. Coignet.KdiTit et Bergson, (Revue Chretienne, July 1904).
C. Coignet, La vie d apres M. Bergson, (Bericht iiber den
III Kongress fur Philosophic, Heidelberg, 1909, pp.
358-364).
L. Constant, Cours de M. Bergson sur 1 histoire de I id6e
de temps, (Revue de Philos. Jan. 1904, pp. 105-111.
Summary of lectures).
P. L. Couchoud, La metaphysique nouvelle, a propos de
Matilre et Memoire de M. Bergson, (Revue de Metaphysique
et de Morale, Mar. 1902, pp. 225-243).
L. Couturat, La th<orie du temps de Bergson, (Rev. de
Met. et de Mor. 1896, pp. 646-669).
Leon Cristiani, Le probleme de Dieu et le pragmatisme,
Paris, Bloud et Cie., 1908.
F. Le Dantec, L Evolution creatrice, (Revue du 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, Matiere et Memoir e, (Rev. de Met. et de Mot
May 1897, pp. 353-389)-
G. L. Duprat, La spatialite" des faits psychiques, (Rev.
philos., May 1907, pp. 492-501).
G. Dwelshauvers , Raison et Intuition, Etude sur la philo
sophic de M. Bergson, (La Belgique artistique et litteraire,
Nov. Dec. 1905, Apr. 1906).
G. Dwelshauvers, M. Bergson et la methode intuitive,
(Revue du Mois, Sept. 1907, pp. 336-350).
G. Dwelshauvers, De 1 intuition dans 1 acte de 1 esprit, (Rev.
de Met. et de Mor. Jan. 1908, pp. 55-65).
A. Farges, Le probleme de la contingence d apr&s M. Berg
son, (Revue pratique d apologetique, Apr. 15, 1909).
A. Farges, L erreur fondamentale de la philosophic nouvelle,
(Revue thomiste, May-June, 1909).
A. Farges, Theorie fondamentale de 1 acte, avec la critique
de la philosophic nouvelle de M. Bergson, Paris, Berche
et Tralin, 1909.
BIBLIOGRAPHY XIX
Alfred Fouillee, 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
1 etre et les formules dogmatiques, Paris, Beauchesne,
1909.
Jules de Gaultier, Le re"alisme du continu, (Revue philos.,
Jan. 1910, pp. 39-64).
Rene Gillouin, Henri Bergson, Paris, 1910. (A volume in
the series Les grands philosophes) .
A. Hollar d, L Evolution creatrice, (Foiet Vie, Sept. 16, 1907,
PP- 545-550).
B. Jacob, La philosophic d hier et celle d aujourd hui,
(Rev. de Met. et de Mor. Mar. 1898, pp. 170-201).
G. Lechalas, Le nombre et le temps dans leurs rapports
avec 1 espace, (Ann. de Phil, chret. N.S. Vol. 22, 1890,
pp. 5i6-54o)- t
G. Lechalas, Matiere et Memoir e, (Ann. de Phil, chret. N.S.
Vol. 36, 1897, pp. 149-164 and 314-334)-
A. Joussain, Roman tisme et Religion, Paris, Alcan, 1910.
Legendre, M. Bergson et son Evolution creatrice, (Bulletin de
la Semaine, May 6, 1908).
Lenoble, L Evolution creatrice, (Revue du Clerge francais,
Jan., 1908).
E. Le 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 donnees immediates de la
conscience, (Rev. philos., Vol. 29, 1890, pp. 519-538).
G. H. Luquet, Idees generates de psychologic, Paris, 1906.
/. Lux, Nos philosophes, M. Henri Bergson, (Revue Bleue,
Dec. i, 1906).
X. Moisant, La notion de multiplicity dans la philosophic
de M. Bergson, (Revue de Philos., June, 1902).
X. Moisant, Dieu dans la philosophic de M. Bergson, (Revue
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AUTHOR S PREFACE
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 quality 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
xxiii
xxiv 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
CHAPTER I
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, 20 : muscular effort, 21-26,
attention and muscular tension, 27-28 ; Violent emotions,
29-31 : rage, 29, fear, 30 ; Affective 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, Delboeuf s experiments, 56-60 ;
Psychophysics, 60-72 : Weber and Fechncr, 61-65,
Delboeuf, 67-70, the mistake of regarding sensations as
magnitudes, 70-72 ; Intensity in (i) 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
xxv
XXvi CONTENTS
material objects and conscious states, 85-87, impene
trability of matter, 88-89, homogeneous time and pure
duration, 90-91 ; Space and its contents, 92, empirical
theories of space, 93-94, intuition of empty homogeneous
medium peculiar to man, 95-97, time as homogeneous
medium reducible to space, 98-99 ; Duration, succession
and space, 100-104, pure duration, 105-106 ; Is duration
measurable ? 107-110 ; Is motion measurable ? m-
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, qualitative and quantitative, 121-123, 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, solidifying influence of language on sensation,
129-132, analysis distorts the feelings, 132-134, deeper
conscious states forming a part of ourselves, 134-136 ;
Problems soluble only by recourse to the concrete and
living self, 137-139.
PP- 75-139
CHAPTER III
THE ORGANIZATION OF CONSCIOUS STATES
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 XXV11
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 libertarians,
179-183 ; Real duration and prediction, 183-198 : con
ditions of Paul s prediction of Peter s action (r) being
Peter (2) 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 (i) 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
to be realized by effort; does not 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
INDEX
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
Can there be ...
quantitative even told that a sensation can be said
differences in J.-L- / ,
conscious to be twice, thnce, 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 differences 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
tive facts and un extended objects, surprises nobody.
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
2 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP. I
another number or one body greater than another
body, we know very well what we mean.
SS ca-For in both cases we allude to unequal
Sta to b!Hlt spaces, as shall be shown in detail a
to Intensities. ^^ 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 implies 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 earlier,
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
crease, for example, instead of diminishing : but
this always comes back to the inquiry, why an
intensity can be assimilated to a magnitude.
CHAP, i 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
Alleged distinc- . . , . . . ,
tion between second intensive and not admitting of
two kinds of - . , . , . ,
Quantity : ex- measure, but of which it can neverthe-
intensive mag- less be said that it is greater or less than
nitude. . . __> . . . _
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
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 CHAP, l
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,
or 0* any state whatever of the ego, by
Sve es c b a y usei ec the number and magnitude of the objec-
! tive > and therefore measurable, causes
whic h have given rise to it. Doubtless,
e the a more i ntense 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
CHAP, i 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 hypothesis 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 in which
the cause 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 CHAP, i
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,
Attempt to dis- theories aim at explaining the visible
tinfuish Inten- r
sities by atomic and sensible properties oi bodies by
movements. .
But it is the sen- we n defined movements of their ulti-
sation which is
&iven in con- mate parts, and many of us foresee the
sciousness, and . .
not the move- time when the intensive differences of
ment.
qualities, that is to say, of our sensa
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 complication 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
of a higher intensity that it is greater ? Why
do we think of a greater quantity or a greater
space ?
Perhaps the difficulty of the problem lies chiefly
in the fact that we call by the same name, and
picture to ourselves in the same way,
Different ... , . , ,.-..
kinds of in- intensities which are very different in
tensities. (1) , -<< v
deep-seated nature, e.g. the intensity of a feeling
psychio states , , - .
(2) muscular and that of a sensation or an effort.
effort. Inten- ,,,., .. . . , . ,
sity is more I he effort is accompanied by a muscular
bie in the for- sensation, and the sensations themselves
are connected with certain physical con
ditions which probably count for something in
the estimate of their intensity : we have here to
do with phenomena which 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 quality
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.
For example, an obscure desire gradually be
comes a deep passion. Now, you will see that
Take, !or -^ e feeble intensity of this desire con-
SSrw^oi a 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
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
cally. 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 like 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 resounds
an indescribable note of originality. The fact is
that, the further we penetrate into the depths
of consciousness, the less right we have to treat
psychic phenomena as things which are set side
CHAP, i DEEP-SEATED FEELINGS 9
by side. When it is said that an object occupies
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 them, 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
words, and in things with well-defined outlines,
like 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
(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
I0 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, i
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 emotions cases where no physical symptom inter-
sJr!ow. an Their venes. Neither inner joy nor passion
successive j s an i so i a ted inner state which at first
luL&cS corrs~
uuve chXes occupies a corner of the soul and gradu-
5 oS e P8 ychic aNy spreads. At its lowest level it is
tates. verv iik e 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 num
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 little 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 aesthetic f new elements, which can be detected
S in the fundamental emotion and which
differ- seem to increase its magnitude, although
ent feelings. j n rea ijty 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 find 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 exact 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 like 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
CHAP. I THE AESTHETIC FEELINGS 13
of our thought and will. Thus a kind of physical
sympathy enters into the feeling 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. 1 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
sympathy, 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
1 Essays, (Library Edition, 1891), Vol. ii, p. 381,
!4 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP. I
it to a minute analysis. Perhaps the difficulty
The feeling of which we experience in defining it is
to : p largely owing to the fact that we look
upon the beauties of nature as an-
terior to those of art: the processes
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
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
processes of art we shall find, in a weakened form, a
refined and in some measure spiritualized version
of the processes commonly used to induce the state
of hypnosis. Thus, hi music, the rhythm and
measure suspend the normal flow of our sensations
and ideas by causing our attention to swing to and
CHAP, i THE AESTHETIC FEELINGS 15
fro between fixed points, and they take hold of us
with such 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 feeling 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-forgetfulness, and, as in a dream, thinks
and sees with the poet. 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 sym
metry of form, the indefinite repetition of the same
10 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, i
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
when it finds some more efficacious means. Nature,
like 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 nature 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
ever ready to come forward as soon as the obstacle
in its path is removed.
It follows from this analysis that the feeling of
CHAM THE AESTHETIC FEELINGS 17
the beautiful is no specific feeling, but that every
feeling experienced by us will assume
Stages in the > f. , . , , ,,
aesthetic 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 feeling,
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 feelings 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
x g TIME AND FREE WILL
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.
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
nant with sensations and emotions is the feeling
within whose limits the artist has brought us, the
deeper and the higher shall we find the beauty thus
expressed. The successive intensities of the aes
thetic feeling thus correspond to changes of state
occurring 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
The moral W ^ ^ 6 ^ US ^^ P^ V aS an exam pl e
feelings. Pity. It consists in the first place in putting
Iti increasing
" * Onese ^ mentally in the place of others, in
suffering their pain. But if it were
CHAP, i THE MORAL FEELINGS 1 9
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. The essence of pity is thus
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 of
pity thus consists in a qualitative progress, in a
transition from repugnance to fear, from fear
to sympathy, and from sympathy itself to hu
mility.
We do not propose to carry this analysis any fur-
20 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAM
ther. The psychic states whose intensity we have
just defined are deep-seated states which
conscious J Q no t se em to have any close relation to
states oonnec- ** J
p
te< ^ - tne i r external cause or to involve the per-
s~ ception of muscular contraction. But such
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
Muscoiar ei- f rm * quantity or at least of magni-
flXXt?oS tu de, it is undoubtedly muscular effort.
We 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
CHA.I MUSCULAR EFFORT 21
this force and from time to time to open a passage
for it, regulating the 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, whose
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 : " x 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 remains motionless." a Most of the
1 The Senses and iht Intellect, 4th ed., (1894), p. 79.
* Grundzuge der Physiologischen Psychologic, 2nd ed.
(1880), 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
ment, but, with or without his will,
The feeling of ,10
effort, we he executes another, borne movement
are conscious . t .1
not of an - is carried out somewhere : otherwise
penditure of . . . , T . .
force but of there is no sensation of effort. 1 Vulpian
muscular 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. 2 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
1 W. James, Le sentiment de I effort (Critique philosoph-ique,
1880, Vol. ii,) [cf. Principles of Psychology, (1891), Vol. ii,
chap, xxvi.]
2 Functions of the Brain, 2nd ed. (1886), p. 386.
CHAP, 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 muscles
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, 1 that he is conscious of the effort of
volition. But, replies 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
1 Handbuch der Physiologischen Opiik, 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
to 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
intensity of deal * s not whether the feeling of effort
fort^ropJr- 6 *" comes from the centre or the periphery,
teT 1 of o x ur b ut m wnat does our perception of its
body affected, 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,
in reality, to the perception of a larger surface of
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 reality, what you experience in your hand
CHAT, i MUSCULAR EFFORT 25
remains the same, but the sensation which was
at first localized there has affected
scionsness of your arm and ascended to the shoulder ;
an increase of ... , , ,
muscular et- finally, the other arm stiffens, both legs
fort consists in , , . . , , ,
the perception do the same, the respiration is checked ;
er number of it is the whole body which is at work,
sensations (2) But you fail to notice distinctly all these
a qualitative . . ,
change in concomitant movements unless you are
warned of them : 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 believe that you are experiencing in 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 localized the increase there and you
made the psychic force there expended into a
magnitude, although it possessed no extensity.
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
2 (T) TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP. I
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 inclined 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 believe we can
deduce the following conclusion : our conscious
ness 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
The same de- . ,.. .. j
finition of m- cases there is a qualitative progress and
tensity applies . . , , j- , .-.
to superficial an increasing complexity, indistinctly
efforts, deep- i -n
seated feelings perceived. But COnSClOUSnCSS, aCCUS-
ujriJcUate be- tomed 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-
CHAP, i 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
lative idea, sometimes by an idea of a practical
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,
and certain varieties of joy, sorrow, passion and
desire. Let us show briefly that the same de
finition of intensity applies to these intermediate
states.
Attention is not a purely physiological pheno
menon, but we cannot deny that it is accompanied
The interme- ^Y movements. These movements are
neither the cause nor the result of the
i- phenomenon ; they are part of it, they
traction. express it in terms of space, as Ribot
has so remarkably proved. l 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
1 Le mecanisme de V attention. Alcan, 1888.
(28 ! TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP. I
more closely the movements which are character
istic of voluntary attention. " Attention con
tracts the frontal muscle : this muscle . . .
draws the eyebrow towards itself, raises it and
causes transverse wrinkles on the 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 all
ideas foreign to the one with which the subject
wishes to occupy himself. But, once this exclusion
is made, we believe that we are still conscious of a
growing tension of soul, of an immaterial effort
which increases. Analyse this impression and
you will find nothing but the feeling of a muscular
-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
between the effort of attention and what may be
intensity called the effort of psychic tension :
acute desire, uncontrolled anger, passion-
ion - ate love, 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
unrefiective idea of acting. The intensity of these
violent emotions is thus likely to be nothing but
CHAP, i VIOLENT EMOTIONS 2Q
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." l We
shall not go so far as to maintain, with Professor
James, 2 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 this
idea determines the direction of the emotional state
and the accompanying movements, the growing in
tensity of the state itself is, we believe, 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 -J
emotion has free play, consciousness does not ^
"\
1 The Expression of the Emotions, ist ed., (1872), p. 74. c >"
1 " What is an Emotion ? " Mind, 1884, p. 189.
/
t
30 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, i
J* f
dwell on the details of the accompanying 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,
all 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 tremblings." l We go
refl sl move- further, and maintain that these move-
wsentiai dif- ments form part of the terror itself : by
ferencc be- ,, ,-, -,
tween inten- their means the terror becomes an
emotion capable of passing through
violent "^mo- 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." 2 Aversion
is marked by movements of repugnance which we
repeat without noticing when we think of the
1 Principles of Psychology, 3rd. ed., (1890), Vol. i, p. 482.
1 The Expression of the Emotions, ist ed., p. 78.
CHAP, i 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 emotional
state loses its violence and gains in depth, the
peripheral sensations will give place to inner
states ; it will be no longer our 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
assert that they are projected outwards, that they
radiate to the surface, that peripheral sensations
are substituted for inner states : but super
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
Magnitude of does not absolutely depend on an ex-
sensations. .
Affective and ternal cause. But sensations seem to us
representative
sensations. simple states i in what will their magnitude
32 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, i
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,
in what does the intensity of an affective sensation,
a pleasure or a pain, consist ?
Perhaps the difficulty of the latter problem is prin
cipally due to the fact that we are unwilling to see
Affective sen- m tne affective state anything but the
"redo S?- conscious expression of an organic disturb-
irbanoe. ^HCC, the mward echo Q f an outwar( i C aUS6.
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
CHAP, i AFFECTIVE SENSATIONS 33
space. If the more intense sensation seems to
us to contain the less intense, if it assumes for
us, like the physical impression itself, the form of a
magnitude, the reason probably is that it retains
something of the physical impression to which it j,
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
pleasure and occurred, or what is actually occurring,
m * ne organism, as is usually believed,
could not also point out what is going to,
or what is tending to take place. It
past stimulus. 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 we 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 calling up consciousness as an
34
TIME AND FREE WILL
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 ?
The affective state must then correspond not merely
to the physical disturbances, movements or phe
nomena which have taken place, but also, and
especially, 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
intensity oi tr Y m g to ^ n ^ wnat there can be in
common, from the point of view of magni-
tude between a physical phenomenon
an( * a state f consciousness, and we
seem to have merely turned the difficulty
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
con n scio b u e sness r
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
Intensity o! a ....
pain estim- symphony, in which an increasing num-
ated by extent / r , ,1
of organism ber 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
1 L homme tt I intelligence, p, 36.
36 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP. 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." l We should rather reverse
the sentence, and define the intensity of the pain
by the very number and extent of the parts of
the body which sympathize with it and react,
and whose reactions are perceived by conscious
ness. 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
1 Ibid. p. 37. i ibid. p. 43.
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 are retracted with the teeth clenched or
ground together. . . . The eyes stare wildly
... or the brows are heavily contracted.
Perspiration bathes the body. . . . The cir
culation and respiration are much affected." 1
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 differences
of quantity unless we connected them with the
reactions which usually accompany them, and
which are more or less extended and more or
1 The Expression of the Emotions, ist ed., pp. 72, 69, 70.
38 TIME 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. What do
pleasures com- we mean b Y a reater pleasure except a
S"taci5ation! 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 inclines towards one
of them ? Analyse this inclination itself and
you will find a great many little 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
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-
The intensity sentative sensations possess an affective
tive sensations, character, andthus call forth a reaction
Many also af- .
fectiveandin- on our part which we take into account
tensity is mea- . . . , . . . .
sored by re- in estimating their intensity. A con-
action called . 11- r v -U.L " j
forth, in siderable increase of light is represented
others a new . , . ... . .
element enters- 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 are 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, which 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 trying 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 slight 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 light, 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 4!
another in a language which we do not under
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-
1 C. F6r, Sensation et Mouvcment. Paris, 1887.
42 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP. I
mine. For, in proportion as a sensation loses
its affective character and becomes
The purely re- ...
presentative representative, the reactions which it
sensations are
S5 B StenS called f rtn n OUr P art tend t0 dlS "
causes. 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
experience, which began with the first glimmer
ings of consciousness and which continues
throughout the whole of our life, shows us a
definite 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
this 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
with so many qualitatively distinct sensations,
CHAP, i SENSATION OF SOUND 43
so many varieties of a single species. But yet
we spoke at first of one and the same sensation
which spread further and further, of one prick
which increased in intensity. The reason is that,
without noticing it, we localized in the sensation
of the left hand, which is pricked, the progressive
effort of the right hand, which pricks. We thus
introduced the caus^ into the effect, and uncon
sciously interpreted quality as quantity, intens
ity as magnitude. Now, it is easy to see that
the intensity of every representative sensation
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
The sensa- . J
tions of sound, the affective character of these sensa-
Intensity mea- .
iured by effort tions, the shock received by the whole
necessary to J
produce a sim- o f the organism. We have shown that
ilar sound.
a very intense 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 definite quan
tity of effort. You know, too, how far you would
44 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP.
have to raise your voice to produce a similai
sound, and the idea of this effort immediately
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 lips ; 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 a
sound of medium force as a magnitude, we allude
principally to the greater or less effort
"* which we should have ourselves to
*! expend in order to summon, by our
own effort, the same auditory sensation.
Now, besides the intensity, we distinguish another
characteristic property of the sound, its pitch.
1 Grundziige der Physiologischen Psychologic, 2nd ed.,
(1880), Vol. ii, p. 437.
CHAP, i 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 learnt 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
4$ 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 Blix, Goldscheider and
Donaldson l have shown that the points on the
The sensations surface of the body which feel cold are
oli(L heat Th a ee not the same as those which feel heat.
Lfle^tive^and Physiology is thus disposed to set up a
e ?<Sn2 distinction of nature, and not merely of
degree, 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
1 " On the Temperature Sense " Mind, 1885.
CHAP, i SENSATION OF HEAT 47
cold. A more intense heat is really another kind of
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 is likely 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 effect, while the intensity of the
affective element depends on the more or less
important reactions which prolong the external
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
The sensa- that a pressure on your hand becomes
tions of pres-
sure and stronger and stronger, see whether you
weight mea-
sured by ex- do not mean that there first was a
tent of organ-
ism affected, contact, then a pressure, afterwards a
4 g TIME AND FREE WILL
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
called a sensation of increase. The whole question
is centred in this, for in the first case the sensation
would be a quantity like 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
in order to lift 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
CHAP, i 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 sympathetic
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
be nothing more than a quality if you did not thus
introduce into it the idea of a magnitude. What
strengthens the illusion on this point is that we
have become accustomed to believe 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
localize the difference between the second series
of sensations and the first elsewhere than in the
5O TIME AND FREE WILL CHAM
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.
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
The sensation J
of light. Qua- number of different factors co-operate in
litative .
chants of daily life in giving us information about
colour inter- ,
preted as the nature of the luminous source. We
quantitative
chaws in know from long experience that, when we
intensity ol , j rr
luminous 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
CHAP, i SENSATION OF LIGHT 51
surfaces, and even the pure colours of the spec
trum, 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 ; J 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 of
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
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
1 Rood, Modern Chromatics, (1879), pp. 181-187.
5 2 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." l
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
Does eiperi- , , ,
ment prove longer the case in simple instances where
that we can .... , ., /.
measure di- a single object, e.g. a white surface,
rectly our sen- .. , , ,.,, ,
ations oi 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 Delbceuf, 2
and afterwards by Lehmann and Neiglickj 3 with
1 Handbuch der Physiologischen Optik, ist ed. (1867), pp.
318-319-
2 Elements de psychophysique. Paris, 1883.
8 See the account given of these experiments in the Revue
philosophiqiie, 1887, Vol. i, p. 71, and Vol. ii, p. 180.
CHAP, i 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,
Photometric three of them. You say that the surface
^ e p5c(5ve remains white and that its brightness
?n fl d er affer h - ade8 diminishes. But you are aware that
?rtt ds theS et as one candle has just been put out ; or, if
~ y u do n t know it, you have often
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 have
grown accustomed, through the combined influence
of our past experience and of physical theories,
to regard black as the absence, or at least as the
minimum, of luminous sensation, and the succes-
$4 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, i
sive shades of grey as decreasing intensities of
white light. But, in point of fact, black has just
as much reality for our consciousness as white, and
the decreasing intensities of white light illuminat
ing a given surface would appear to an unpre
judiced consciousness as so many different shades,
not unlike the various colours of the spectrum.
This is the reason why the change in the sensation
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 light is suffi
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 like 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 then to
intensity what white is to saturation.
CHAP, i SENSATION OF LIGHT 55
The meaning of the photometric experiments
will now be understood. A candle placed at a
in photome- certain distance from a sheet of paper
- illuminates it in a certain way : you
SSl c ?ot double the distance and find that four
buT a ph? 8 S icai candles are required to produce the same
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 with 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 which 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 light itself which
he studies, and claims to measure. Some
times he will proceed to integrate infinitely small
5 6 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP. I
differences, after the method of Fechner ; some
times he will compare one sensation
The psycho- tJ r
physicist directly with another. Ine latter
claims to com J ^ t , .
pare and method due to Plateau and Delbceur,
measure sensa- . ,
tions. Dei- differs far less than has hitherto been
boauf s ex- 1 . ,
periments. believed from Fechner s : but, as it bears
more especially on the 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 the
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, the 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, which is differently
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
distance from two others.
Let us assume for a moment that from our birth
onwards the growing intensity of a luminous source
in what case na <i always called up in our conscious-
cofour Qce might ness > one after the other, the different
as dVEnces colours of the spectrum. There is no
oi magnitude, ^oubt that these colours would then
appear to us as so many notes of a gamut, as
higher or lower degrees in 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 which
separate B from another colour 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
eg 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
nu3i.jtthe accepted, it will be recognized that the
l different hues of grey which Delbceuf
displays to us are strictly analogous,
for our consciousness, to colours, and
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 quality 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
CHAP, i SENSATION OF LIGHT 59
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 Delboeuf. 1 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
1 Elements de psychophysique, pp. 61, 69.
60 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP. I
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
word, Delbceuf s psychophysics assumes a the
oretical postulate of the greatest importance,
which is disguised under the cloak of an experi
mental result, and which we should formulate as
follows : When the objective quantity of light
is continuously increased, the differences between
the hues of grey successively obtained, each of
which represents the smallest perceptible increase
of physical stimulation, are quantities equal to one
another. And besides, any one of the sensations
obtained can be equated with the sum of the
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
Fechner s P sy- * certain stimulus which calls forth
chophysics. a certain sensation, the amount by
Weber i Law. . *
which the stimulus must be increased
for consciousness to become aware of any change
bears a fixed relation to the original stimulus.
Thus, if we denote by E the stimulus which
corresponds to the sensation S, and by AE
CHAP, i PSYCHOPHYSICS 6l
the amount by which the original stimulus must
be increased in order that a sensation of difference
AT?
may be produced, we shall have -=-= const.
h,
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
The underiy- in the process of transition from We-
ing assump- i /
tions and the ber s experiments, or from any other
process by / , > ,
which Fech- series ot similar observations, to a psy-
?e e ache aw " chophysical law like Fechner s. It is
62 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, l
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 = / (E) between the stimulus E
and its minimum increase, the constancy of AS
is expressed by writing AS = C -^- , C being a
constant quantity. Finally it is agreed to replace
the very small differences AS and AE by the
infinitely small differences dS and dE, whence
an equation which is, this time, a differential
xTTT
one : dS = C-=-. We shall now simply have to in-
tegrate on both sides to obtain the desired rela
tion 1 :S=C I --=-. And the transition will thus be
JoE
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
1 In the particular case where we admit without restriction
A f* "C*
Weber s Law - - =const., integration gives S=C log. .
Q
Q being a constant. This is Fechner s " logarithmic law."
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 lies.
Fechner realized that measurement could not be
introduced into psychology without first defining
what is meant by the equality and
Can two sen- , ,.,. , . . ,
sations be addition of two simple states, e.g. two
equal without .. _ ,. . , ,.
being identi- sensations. But, unless they are identi
cal, we do not at first see how two
sensations 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-
mountable. Taking advantage of the
^ c ^ that sensation varies by sudden
j um p s 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-f-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 utilize 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 ; x finally, taking 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.
Break-down Assume that I experience a sensation
Son he St UI the s and that > increasing the stimulus
e con t muous ly I perceive this increase
after a certain time. I am now notified
Quantities. o f ^he 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 :
1 Latterly it has been assumed that AS is proportional to S.
66 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP. I
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.
Now, not only are you unable to explain in what
sense this transition is a quantity, but reflection
will show you that it is not even a reality ; the
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 7 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
we can speak rnode of representation. In the first
tfcai d- me ~ case you will find a difference between
a n c C o e nven n tionS S and S like that between the shades
of the rainbow, and not at all an interval
of magnitude. In the second case you may intro-
CHAP, i PSYCHOPHYSICS 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. The 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." l
We do not believe, in spite of all that has been
said, that the method of mean gradations has
DeiboBuf s re- se * psychophysics on a new path. The
nun plausible, novel feature in Delbceuf s investi-
aKchophy- gation was that he chose a particular
3 I ev ?icious case > ^ n which consciousness seemed to
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 that
he believed in an interval between two successive
1 Revue scicntifique, March 13 and April 24, 1875.
68 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, 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 Delbceuf. 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 symbolical interpretation of quality as
quantity, 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. The first led to a con
ventional measurement of sensation ; the second
JQ TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, i
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
be experimentally verified unless its postulate
is first granted. The fact is that there is no
point of contact between the unextended and
the extended, between quality and quantity.
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
a conception familiar to common sense.
pushes to its As speech dominates over thought,
extreme oonse- 11. 1-1
quences the as external objects, which are common
fundamental
but natural to us all, are more important to us
mistake of re- . .
gardmg sensa- than the subjective states through
tions as mag-
nitudes. 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 71
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 deliberately 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 inequality 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 super-
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
/>;
ro/
.-(LIBRARY
72 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, i
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 are 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
way. Either, then, sensation is pure quality, 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
Thus inten- aspect, according as we study the states
5? i ud fejre- * consciousness which represent an
external cause, or those which are self-
511 016111 - In the former case the per-
ception of intensity consists in a certain
Sty ^f piy- estimate of the magnitude of the cause
c P n ~ by means of a certain quality in the
volvwL 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
multiplicity of our inner states becomes, w/hat
form duration assumes, when the space in which
74 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, i
it unfolds 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
THE MULTIPLICITY OF CONSCIOUS STATES *
THE IDEA OF DURATION
NUMBER may be defined in general as a collection
of units, or, speaking more exactly, as the synthesis
what is num- f the one and the many. Every num-
ber{> her is one, since it is brought before the
1 I had already completed the present work when I read
in the Critique philosophique (for 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 quality and time as quantity, between the mul
tiplicity of juxtaposition and that of interpenetration. With
out this vital distinction, which it is the 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 they remain distinct,
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 qualitative, the other
7 6 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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 multiplicity of parts which can be con
sidered separately. Without attempting for the
present any thorough examination of these con
ceptions of unity and multiplicity, 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
whiciTmake that they are assumed to be identical
must b^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 and when we call the roll.
Hence we may conclude that the idea of number
implies the simple intuition of a multiplicity of
parts or units, which are absolutely alike.
quantitative : these two meanings have been confused, in my
opinion, by the philosophers who have dealt with the relations
between number and space.
CHAP, n NUMERICAL MULTIPLICITY AND SPACE 77
And yet they must be somehow distinct from
one another, since otherwise they would merge
into a single unit. Let us assume that
also be dis- 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
CHAP, n
78 TIME AND FREE WILL
the various forms which the idea of number has
we cannot assumed for him since his childhood.
orTde 8 ?^* 86 Jt wi 11 be seen that we be S an bv imagin-
numberwith- m g e> gr a row o f balls, that these balls
out the ac- o o
SfiaSfS afterwards became points, and, finally,
ipac. this image itself disappeared, leaving
behind it, as we say, nothing but abstract number.
But at this very moment we ceased to have an
image or even an idea of it ; we kept only the
symbol which is necessary for reckoning and
which is the conventional way of expressing num
ber. For we can confidently assert that 12 is
half of 24 without thinking either the number 12
or the number 24 : indeed, as far as quick calcu
lation is concerned, we have everything to gain
by not doing so. But as soon as we wish to picture
number to ourselves, and not merely figures or
words, we are compelled to have recourse to an
extended image. What leads to misunderstanding
on this point seems to be the habit we have fallen
into of counting in time rather than in space. In
order to imagine the number 50, for example,
we repeat all the numbers starting from unity,
and when we have arrived at the fiftieth, we
believe we have built up the number in duration
and in duration only. And there is no doubt that
in this way we have counted moments of duration
rather than points in space ; but the question is
whether we have not counted the moments of
duration by means of points in space. It is cer
tainly possible to perceive in time, and in time
CHAP, n NUMERICAL MULTIPLICITY 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.
g TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP. 11
Every number is a collection of units, as we have
said, and on the other hand every number is itself
a unit, in so far as it is a synthesis of
oi a the units which compose it. But is the
k4 Ol word unit taken in the same sense in
tfecauie both cases ? When we assert that num-
" ber is a unit, we understand by this
that we master the whole of it by a
simple and indivisible intuition of the mind ; this
unity thus includes a multiplicity, since it is the
unity of a whole. But when we speak of the units
which go to form number, we no longer think of
these units as sums, but as pure, simple, irreducible
units, intended to yield the natural series of num
bers by an indefinitely continued process of ac
cumulation. It seems, then, that there are two
kinds of units, the one ultimate, out of which a
number is formed by a process of addition, and
the other provisional, the number so formed,
which is multiple in itself, and owes its unity to
the simplicity of the act by which the mind per
ceives it. And there is no doubt that, when we
picture the units which make up number, we be
lieve that we are thinking of indivisible com
ponents : this belief has a great deal to do with
the idea that it is possible to conceive number
independently of space. Nevertheless, by looking
more closely into the matter, we shall see that all
unity is the unity of a simple act of the mind, and
that, as this is an act of unification, there must be
some multiplicity for it to unify. No doubt, at
CHAP, n NUMERICAL MULTIPLICITY AND SPACE 8l
the moment at which I think each of these units
separately, I look upon 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 act of the mind ?
How could we split it up into fractions whilst
affirming its unity, if we did not regard 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 the 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
g2 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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 like, 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
discontinuity of number. It cannot be denied
that the formation or construction of
Number in , ... , . , / T
procew of tor- a number implies discontinuity. In
mation If dis- . , 111
continuous, other words, as we remarked above,
formed, " in- each of the units with which we form
the continuity 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
a number, we are compelled to fix our attention
successively on each of the units of which it is com
pounded. The indivisibility of the act by which
CHAP, n NUMERICAL MULTIPLICITY 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 have
g 4 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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 the 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
therefore parts of space, and space is, accordingly,
the material with which the mind builds up number,
the medium in which the mind places it.
Properly speaking, it is arithmetic which teaches
us to split 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 follows visional simplicity of the component units
what the y owe to the mmd > and
SSJo5ti5n atne latter P a y s more attention to its
in space. own ac ^- s than to the material on which it
works. Science confines itself, here, to drawing
our attention to this material : if we did not
already localize number in space, science would
certainly not succeed in making us transfer it
thither. From the beginning, therefore, we must
have thought of number as of a juxtaposition in
space. This is the conclusion which we reached
at first, basing ourselves on the fact that all addi
tion implies a multiplicity of parts simultaneously
perceived.
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
Two kinds of . . . r .....
multiplicity: very different kinds of multiplicity.
(1) material J i i_-
objects, When we speak of material objects, we
counted in r -V-T, t -,
space; (2) refer to the possibility of seeing and
conscious IT xr
states, not touching them ; we localize them in
countable un- T . .
less symbolic- space. In that case, no effort ol the
sented in inventive faculty or of symbolical repre-
space. . . .
sentation is necessary in order to count
them ; we have only to think them, at first separ
ately, and then simultaneously, within the very
medium in which they come under our observation.
The case is no longer the same when we consider
purely affective psychic states, or even mental
86 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
images other than those built up by means of
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
symbolical 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 question
now is, whether this medium is time or space.
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
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 which analysis alone can dis
tinguish. Their number is identical with the
number of the moments which we 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 that
there are two kinds of multiplicity : that of
material objects, to which the conception of num
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 CHAP, n
As a matter of fact, each of us makes a distinc
tion between these two kinds of multiplicity
The impene- whenever he speaks of the impenetra-
ratteHs not & bility f matter. We sometimes set up
iSci al n b ees- impenetrability as a fundamental pro
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, n NUMERICAL MULTIPLICITY AND SPACE
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,
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 whichf
occupy separate positions in space and conse^
quently no longer permeate one another. Im
penetrability thus makes its appearance at the
same time as number ; 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
TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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
Homogeneous to represent them symbolically in space,
in 9 is it not likely that this symbolical repre-
states sentation will alter the normal con
form discrete .... , . i -\ -r
This ditions of inner perception ? Let us
recall what we said a short time ago
pu ei duration about the intensity of certain psychic
is something T-. ,. . . . , ,
different, states. Representative sensation, 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
the same way, our projection of our psychic states
into space in order to form a discrete multiplicity
is likely 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 time, 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
psychic states what intensity is to certain of them,
a sign, a symbol, absolutely distinct from true
duration ? Let us ask consciousness to isolate
itself from the external world, and, by a vigorous
effort of abstraction, to become itself again. We
I 91 /
CHAP, n SPACE AND HOMOGENEITY
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
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 the
reflective consciousness represents it, is a medium
in which our conscious states form a discrete series
so as to admit of being counted, and if on the other
hand our conception of number ends in spreading
out in space everything which can be directly
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
follows that pure duration must be something
different. Such are the questions which we have
been led to ask by the very analysis of the notion
of discrete multiplicity. But we cannot throw 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 reality of space : perhaps we might
Does space as well ask whether space is or is not in
exist inde- T ,
pendentiy oi space. In snort, our senses perceive
its contents, as , ... .. , ,. ..
Kant held p the qualities of bodies and space along
02 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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 qualities 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 reality 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
CHAP, n SPACE AND HOMOGENEITY 93
agree in assigning a Kantian origin to the na-
The empiri- tivistic explanation of Johann Miiller ;
Lotze s hypothesis of local signs,
Stensitycan- Bain s theory, and the more comprehen-
faom es ?j^the- s i ye explanation suggested by Wundt,
traded wmsa- ma y seem a * nrs * sight quite independent
tions without o f ^ ne Xranscen dental Aesthetic. The
an act of the
*"** 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 Lotze 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 : Kant 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-
04 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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
sensibility.
If we now seek to characterize this act, we see
that it consists essentially in the intuition, or
CHAP, n SPACE AND HOMOGENEITY 95
rather the conception, of an empty homo-
TWS act con- geneous medium. For it is scarcely
oi the possible to give any other definition of
space i space is what enables us to dis-
a number of identical and
not simultaneous sensations from one an-
animais. 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 may say, with the 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 quality 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, n
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, and even some 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
CHAP, ri SPACE AND HOMOGENEITY 97
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 why 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 a
special sense of direction, we may as well say that
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 implies the
intuition of a homogeneous medium. What we
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
perhaps also to speak.
98 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
Now, if space is to be defined as the homogene
ous, it seems that inversely every homogeneous
rime, in o an( ^ unbounded medium will be space.
eneous a For > homogeneity here consisting in the
absence of every quality, it is hard to
reducible to See n W ^ WO ^ orms f the homOgenCOUS
space. could be distinguished from one another.
Nevertheless it is generally agreed to regard time
as an unbounded medium, different from space
but homogeneous like the latter : the homogene
ous is thus supposed to take two forms, according
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 the
simplest of them the whole soul can be reflected.
We may therefore surmise that time, conceived
under the form of a homogeneous medium, is
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
CHAP, n HOMOGENEOUS TIME AND SPACE 99
iorms 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 simplicity 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
that time, conceived under the form of an un
bounded and homogeneous medium, is nothing but
the ghost of space haunting the reflective conscious
ness.
The English school tries, in fact, to reduce
relations of extensity to more or less complex
Mistake of relations of succession in time. When,
deriJe^rTia-* with our eyes shut, we run our hands
t2ty from" a l n g a surface, the rubbing of our
cess?on ! Ti c ~ fingers against the surface, and especially
jSe ti0 dura! * ne var i ec ^ P^ a Y f our joints, provide
tion -" 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
IO Q TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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
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
passing 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 recalling 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 living
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 i<, right on one
CHAP, ii DURATION, SUCCESSION AND SPACE IOI
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 which 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 introduce it unwittingly into our feeling 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 line or a chain, the parts of which touch
without penetrating one another. Note that the
mental image thus shaped implies 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
bility of this order, is the succession we are dealing
with pure succession, such as we have just denned
102 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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
them and then comparing the places which they
occupy ; hence we must perceive them as multiple,
simultaneous and distinct ; in a word, we set them
side by side, and if we introduce an order in what
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 m 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 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 unlimited length, and
CHAP, n DURATION, SUCCESSION AND SPACE 103
on this line a material point A, which moves.
succession ^ this point were conscious of itself, it
would feel itself change, since it moves :
it would perceive a succession; but
would this succession assume for it the
dimensions. f orm Q f a ^ ne p ^ Q d ou bt it WOUld, 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
our finger on the mistake of those who regard pure
duration as something similar to space, but of a
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 position 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
IO4 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
the successive notes of a tune by which we allow
ourselves to be lulled and soothed. In a word,
pure duration might well be nothing but a suc
cession of qualitative 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
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
Pore dura- number, time at first seems to us to be
wholly quail- a measurable magnitude, just like space,
be But there is here an important dis-
tinction to be made. I say, e.g., that
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
CHAP, ii PURE DURATION 105
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 dura
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
symbolically. 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, if it is later on set in
juxtaposition to a single sound or movement, will
remain without effect. Hence we must admit
T06 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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 slight but continuous stimulation
be understood in any other way ? If the sensa
tion remained always the same, it would continue
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
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, that 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 unwittingly replace it by
space.
But we find it extraordinarily difficult to think
of duration in its original purity ; this is due,
CHAP, n IS DURATION MEASURABLE ? 107
no doubt, to the fact that we do not endure
Time, ta dealt alone, external objects, it seems, endure
Str b onoier the as we do, and time, regarded from
!?" tn i s point of view, has every appear-
ance f a homogeneous medium. Not
onlv do tne m o m ents 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
108 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP. 11
clock the movement of the hand which corre-
Butwhatwe spends to the oscillations of the pen-
caij measuring d u i um I do not measure duration, as
time is notn-
SlsimnStTet seems to be thought ; I merely count
tl e ken T as e ??* simultaneities, which is very different,
illustration. Outside of me, in space, there is never
more than a single position of the hand and
the pendulum, for nothing is left of the
past 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
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, with
out relation to number. Thus, within our ego,
there is succession without mutual externality ;
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
CHAP, ii IS DURATION MEASURABLE ? IOQ
mind and sets the two oscillations or their sym
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
get into the habit of setting up the same distinc
tion between the successive moments of our con
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,
we create for them a fourth dimension of space,
which we call homogeneous time, and which
enables the movement of the pendulum, although
taking place at one spot, to be continually set in
HO TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
juxtaposition to itself. Now, if we try to deter
mine the exact part played by the real and the
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
moment, however, can be brought into relation with
a state of the external world which is contempor
aneous with it, and can be separated from the
other moments in consequence of this very pro
cess. The comparison of these two realities gives
rise to a symbolical representation of duration,
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 elements geneous duration, we shall be led to
the a ^ m ake a distinction of the same kind.
to?o d io5We generally say that a movement
SBe M2?Se takes place in space, and when we assert
S, OI indS tnat motion is homogeneous and divis-
SSj SJ co e nl ible > it is 0* the space traversed that
we are 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 really do occupy
CHAP, 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
psychic and therefore unextended process. Space
contains only parts of space, and at whatever point
of space we consider the 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 fire, and the absolutely
112 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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
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
it, the successive positions and the synthesis of
these positions. The first of these elements is a
homogeneous quantity : the second has no reality
except in a consciousness : it is a quality 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
other hand we accustom ourselves to projecting this
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,
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
points is infinitely divisible, and if motion con
sisted of parts like those of the interval itself,
CHAP, n THE ELEATIC PARADOX 113
the interval would never be crossed. But the
The common truth is that each of Achilles steps is
tlon a simple indivisible act, and that, after
a & ven number of these acts, Achilles
paradoxes *rf ^^ have passed the tortoise. The mis-
the Eieatics. take o f the Eleatics arises from their
identification of this series of acts, each of which is
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 they really put two tortoises, 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. Why 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 he
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
H4 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
confusing space with motion. Hence we do not
think it necessary to admit, even after the acute
and profound analysis of a contemporary thinker, 1
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,
time, and motion, when immediate intuition shows
us motion within duration, and duration outside
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 d priori that
the two moving bodies meet at a point X a
meeting which is itself a simultaneity. But it goes
1 Evellin, Infini et quantite. Paris, 1881.
CHAP.II DURATION AND SIMULTANEITY 115
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
time 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.
Now, just for this reason, science cannot deal
with time and motion except on condition of first
science has to eliminating the essential and qualita-
r ~ tive element of time, duration, and of
" motion, mobility. We may easily con-
before v j nce ourselves of this by examining the
with them. p ar {. pi a y e( i m 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
Il6 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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 t is to
declare that consciousness will note between now
and then a number t of simultaneities of a certain
kind. And we must not be led astray by the
words " between now and then," for the interval
of duration exists only for us and on account of
the 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
number of simultaneities would go on taking place
in space. We shall see, later on, that when the
CHAP, ii VELOCITY AND SIMULTANEITY 117
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
This is seen in . ....
the definition connexion of which it is easy enough to
of velocity.
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 uniform : 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 CHAP, ti
than those of space and simultaneity. Now let us
turn to the case of a 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 t , A 2 , A 3 ... all moving uni
formly with velocities v lt v t , v 3 . . . 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 t M ^,
M 2 M 2 M" 2 ... on their respective paths ; and
there must be two moving bodies A* and A^ such
that we have on the one hand M M = M * M A and
on the other hand MM" = M, M V We shall then
agree to say that the velocity of the moving body
A at the point M lies between v k and v p . 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 h and v p by two
fresh velocities v, and v n , the one greater than
v h and the other less than v p . 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 t
CHAP, ii VELOCITY AND SIMULTANEITY
and v n a certain velocity v m , such that the differ
ence between this velocity and v h , ^ ... on the
one hand, and v p , v. ... on the other, can be
come smaller than any given quantity. It is this
common limit v m 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
reached. We were thus justified in saying that,
while all that mechanics retains of time is simul
taneity, all that it retains of motion itself
restricted, as it is, to a measurement of motion
is immobility.
This result might have been foreseen by noticing
that mechanics necessarily deals with equations,
Mechanics an ^ that an algebraic equation always
expresses something already done. Now,
^ * s o * tne ver y essen ce of duration and
processes? not m tion, as they appear to our conscious-
Son 1 iXd d m ness > t b e something that is unceasingly
being done ; thus algebra can represent
the results gained at a certain moment of duration
and the positions 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
I2O TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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 the 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 line ; 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 occupying different
positions, duration properly so called has no
moments which are identical or external to one
another, being essentially heterogeneous, continu
ous, and with no analogy to number.
It follows from this analysis that space alone is
homogeneous, that objects in space form a discrete
multiplicity, and that every discrete
Conclusion : ......
space alone is multiplicity is got bv a process of un-
homogene- .
ous: dura- folding in space. It also follows that
turn and sue- . . *"
cession belong there is neither duration nor even sue-
not to the ex
ternal worm, cession in space, if we give to these words
but to the , . .
conscious the meaning in which consciousness
mind. .
takes them : each of the so-called suc
cessive states of the external world exists alone ;
their multiplicity is real only for a consciousness
that can first retain them and then set them
side by side by externalizing them in relation
CHAP, ii TWO KINDS OF MULTIPLICITY 121
to one another. If it retains them, it is because
these distinct states of the external 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 externalizes
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
multiplicity, 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 multiplicity of conscious states,
regarded in its original purity, is not at
multiplicity: all like the discrete multiplicity which
two senses of . _
the word "dis- goes to form a number. In such a case
tinguish," the" . . , r , ,. ,
one quaiita- there is, as we said, a qualitative mul-
tive and the .... . - , , .
other quanti- tiplicitv. In short, we must admit two
tative. .
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
122 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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
tent, 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
isolated these states, externalized them in relation
to one another, and, in a word, set them side by
side ; thus, by the very language which I was
compelled to use, I betrayed the deeply ingrained
habit of setting out time in space. From this
spatial setting out, already accomplished, we are
compelled to borrow the terms which we use to
describe the state of a mind 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
be translated into the language of common sense.
And yet we cannot even form the idea of discrete
CHAP, n 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 unlike the purely qualitative
way in which an anvil, if it could feel, would
realize 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 multiplicity 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 the
quality of quantity that we form the idea of
quantity without quality.
TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
It is therefore obvious that, if it did not betake
itself to a symbolical substitute, our consciousness
oar successive would never regard time as a homogene-
are ous me di u m, in which the terms of a
regarded as
mutually ex- succession remain outside one another.
ternal. like
we na turally reach this symbolical
s chiS representation by the mere fact that,
"fc- 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
multiplicity, 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 accomplished 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
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 hear
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 dynamic
progress ; but, knowing that the same objective
cause is at work, we cut up this progress into
phases which we then regard as identical ; and
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
mutual externality 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,
I2 6 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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 life 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
the depths of consciousness : little by little 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
sensations with which they are contemporaneous.
That our ordinary conception of duration
depends on a gradual incursion of space into the
Eliminate the domain of pure consciousness is proved by
superficial r . . r
psychic states, the fact that, in order to deprive the ego
longer per- of the f acuity of perceiving a homogene-
ceiTeahomo- ._, . G .
geneons time ous time, it is enough to take away from
or measure .
duration, but it this outer circle of psychic states which
leel it as a . , 1 i in.
quality. 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,
CHAP, n 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
duration as quality, that which consciousness
reaches immediately and which is probably what
animals perceive, and time so to speak materialized,
time that has become quantity by being 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 had 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-
128 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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
There are duration, two aspects of conscious life,
mui- Below homogeneous .duration, which is
d 411 " tne extensive symbol of true duration,
conscious life. a c } ose 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
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
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.
CHAP, ii THE TWO ASPECTS OF THE SELF I2Q
In order to recover this fundamental self, as
the unsophisticated consciousness would perceive
The two as- ^, a vigorous effort of analysis is neces-
JonscioM our sar Y> which will isolate the fluid inner
states. 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-
One oi which duces on me two impressions at the
Is due to the . , , . . , .
solidifying in- same time, one of which is destined to
temai objects last while the other will constantly
and language , -.-^ T . ,
on our con- change. Every day I perceive the
stantly chang- , j T i 1 J.-L
ing feelings, same houses, 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
130 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
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
OHAP. ii THE TWO ASPECTS OF THE SELF 13!
state, are still more fleeting. Such and such a
flavour, such and such a scent, pleased
gua*e gives a me when I was a child though I dislike
fixed lorm to , , Ar T .,, . ,
fleeting sensa- 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 taste. 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 of
language on sensation is deeper than is usually
thought. Not only does language make us believe
hi the unchangeableness of our sensations, but it
wih 1 sometimes deceive us as to the nature of the
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 my consciousness;
I may believe that the flavour pleases me when a
slight effort of attention would prove the contrary.
TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, n
In 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
whelms 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
HOW analysis feelings. A violent love or a deep
tj d dSrt" melancholy takes possession of our
the feelings. soul . here we feel a 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 multiplicity 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
CHAP, n THE TWO ASPECTS OF THE SELF 133
being which lives and develops and is therefore con
stantly changing ; otherwise how 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
feeling to lose its life and its colour. Hence, we
are now standing before our own shadow : we
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
use in some future deduction. Now, if some bold
novelist, 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
time, and expresses its elements by words, shows
that 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 extraordinarj/ 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 sur- natural state, as our consciousness would
s f ci C ous U s r ta C tes" perceive them if it were no longer beset
! b Y s P ace - This breaking up of the
. constituent elements of an idea, which
oi i ssues m abstraction, is too convenient
ourselves. f or us to ^ 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
concrete idea was woven, when, substituting for
the interpenetration of the real terms the jux
taposition of their symbols, we claim to make
duration out of space, we unavoidably fall into the
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
CHAP, n THE TWO ASPECTS OF THE SELF 135
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
give 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. The fact
is that each of them has the same kind of life as a
cell 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, like 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 CHAP, n
properly assimilated, or again the ideas which we
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
homogeneous 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 least
belong to us can be adequately expressed in
words : only to these, as we shall see, does the
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
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
self and external objects, we penetrate into the
depths of the organized and living 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, in
which two images overlie one another and show
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
we are awake. The imagination of the dreamer,
cut off from the external world, imitates with
CHAP, ii 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
By separating f t j- t
our conscious we started : conscious life displays two
states we pro- , . . .
mote social aspects according as we perceive it
life, but raise ,/ ?
problems soi- directly or by refraction through space,
recourse to Considered in themselves, the deep-
the concrete , . . ...
and living seated conscious states have no relation
self.
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
TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, u
resolve them into simpler terms. But mark that
the intuition of a homogeneous space is already
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 ; little 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 have set their image, and through the word
which lends them its commonplace colour. Thus
a second self is formed which obscures the first,
a self 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, n 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 diffi
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 simultaneity.
We shall see that the contradictions implied in the
problems of causality, freedom, personality, spring
from no other source, and that, if we wish to get
rid of them, we have only to go back to the real and
concrete self and give up its symbolical substitute.
CHAPTER III
THE ORGANIZATION OF CONSCIOUS STATES
FREE WILL
IT is easy to see why the question of free will
brings into conflict these two rival systems of
nature, mechanism and dynamism. Dyna-
mism starts from the idea of volun-
and tree will. . . . , -i
tary activity, given by consciousness,
and conies 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 concep
tions of nature will show that they involve two
For dynam- very different hypotheses as to the rela-
raai than tions between laws and the facts which
cism e- they govern. As he looks higher and
tihid& The higher, the believer in dynamism thinks
idea oi spon- ,-1 . / i -i i
taneity gim- that he perceives facts which more and
pier uiaii that ijji i t i
of inertia, more elude the grasp of laws : he thus
140
CHAP, m DYNAMISM AND MECHANISM 14!
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
sis it 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 simplicity 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 CHA*. in
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
Determinism : , . . , n
(i) physical our actions are necessitated by our
(3) psycholo- . , .
gtcai. Former feelings, our ideas, and the whole pre-
reduoible to . ...
latter, which ceding series of our conscious states ;
itself rests on r i i -11-
inaccurate sometimes freedom is denounced as being
multiplicity oi incompatible with the fundamental pro-
tates m dor- 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
necessity. We shall show that the second of these
two forms is reducible to the first, and that all
determinism, even physical determinism, involves
a psychological hypothesis : we shall then prove
CHAP, in 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 light
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.
Physical determinism, in its latest form, is
closely bound up with mechanical or rather kinetic
Physical de- theories of matter. The universe is
stated in the pictured as a heap of matter which the
the molecular imagination resolves into molecules and
theory ol mat- <_, . , ,
ter. 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 obvious that the molecular state of the brain
at a given momert will be modified by the shocks
which the nervous system receives from the sur-
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. 1
We shall not raise any difficulty about recog-
1 On this point see Lange, History ,>/ Materialism, Vol. ii,
Part ii.
CHAP, in PHYSICAL DETERMINISM 145
nizing that this conception of physiological phe-
H principle oi nomena in general, and nervous phe-
conservation , ,
oi energy is nomena in particular, is a very natural
physiological deduction from the law of the conserva-
and nervons . . ~ . , , ,
phenomena are tion of energy. Certainly, the atomic
necessitated, , . ,.., , ,
but perhaps not theory of matter is still at the hypo-
states, thetical stage, and the purely kinetic ex
planations of physical facts lose more than they
gain by being 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.
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 : we
propose to show, in the first place, that it does not
involve the absolute determination of our conscious
states by one another, and then that the very
universality of the principle of the conservation
TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
of energy cannot be admitted except in virtue of
some psychological hypothesis.
Even if we assumed that the position, the direc
tion and the velocity of each atom of cerebral
TO prove con- matter are determined at every moment
of time, it would not at all follow that our
8how d a h nlc e es- psychic life is subject to the same neces-
io^ 7 between ^ty- ^Or WG snou ^ nrst nave to prOVC
j JJfeSf 9 " that a strictly determined psychic state
NO such proof, 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
CHAP, m PHYSICAL DETERMINISM 147
series exhibit parallel terms. 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 of
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-
TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
ever image we fall back upon, we do not prove
and we never shall prove by any reasoning that
the psychic fact is fatally determined by the mole
cular movement. For in a movement we may
find the reason of another movement, but not the
reason of a conscious state : only observation
can prove that the latter accompanies the former.
Now the unvarying 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.
Physical But it does not appear that determina-
determinism, .
when assumed tion here means necessity, since common
to be universal, .. , . _, -
postulates sense believes in free will. The deter-
psychological . . , ,
determinism, mmist, however, led astray by a concep
tion of duration and causality which we shall
criticise a little later, holds that the determina
tion of conscious states by one another is absolute.
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 determinism of quality, should
seek support from the same mechanism that
underlies the phenomena of nature : the latter
CHAP, in 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 outlines 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
is the princi- principle of the conservation of energy
pie of conser- t * ... .. "
vation oi is rather limited. For, even if this law
energy uni- *.* a
versaiiy valid? does not exert a necessitating in liuence
over the course of our ideas, it will at least
determine our movements. Our inner life will
150 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
still depend upon ourselves up to a certain
point ; 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
law.
We must not overrate the part played by the
principle of the conservation of energy in the his
tory of the natural sciences. In its
It implies that J .
a sysum can present form it marks a certain phase
return to its f . . . ,
original in the evolution of certain sciences ; but
itata. Keg- . , , .
lecta duration, it has not been the governing factor in
henoeinapplic- . . . . . ,
able to living this evolution and we should be wrong
conscious hi making it the indispensable postulate
of all scientific research. Certainly,
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 split 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
CHAP, in PHYSICAL DETERMINISM
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 believed, 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, in
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 epiphenomenon 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 the 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,
CHAP, in PHYSICAL DETERMINISM 153
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 accomplished 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 living 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, m
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
me idea of mistake which has caused this abstract
it h y e oTSet- principle of mechanics to be set up as a
on i0 co d n e S d n universal law. As we are not accustomed
cr e ete ee duraS to observe ourselves directly, but per-
tfme. abstract 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 over4he
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
CHAP, m PSYCHOLOGICAL DETERMINISM 155
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
logical determinism, and it is this latter doctrine,
as we hinted at first, that we have to examine.
Psychological determinism, in its latest and
most precise shape, implies an associationist
Psychological conception of mind. The existing state
^ consciousness is first thought of as
of necessitated by the preceding states, but
min(L 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
TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
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
The series of which had been interrupted for a few
associations
may be merely moments we have happened to notice
an ex pott facto .
attempt to that both we ourselves and our friend
account lor a . .
new idea. were thinking 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,
CHAP, in PSYCHOLOGICAL DETERMINISM 157
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
from hypnotic about, according to him, by the preced-
iuggestion. . . . . . . A7
ing series of his conscious states. Yet
these states are really effects, and not causes :
it was necessary that the act should take place ;
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 willing* 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
CHAP. Ill
158 TIME AND FREE WILL
that we sometimes weigh motives and deliberate
over them, when our mind is already made
Illustration . in v
tromdeiibera- up. An inner voice, hardly perceivable,
whispers : " Why this deliberation ?
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 coup d ttat 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
the known laws of the association of ideas. But
the time has come to ask whether the very point
of view which associationism adopts does not
involve a defective conception of the self and of the
multiplicity of conscious states.
Associationist determinism represents the self as
CHAP, m PSYCHOLOGICAL DETERMINISM 159
a collection of psychic states, the strongest of
Association- which exerts a prevailing influence and
deTeS 1V c e o S n- carries the others with it. This doctrine
ceptwr IB ^^ 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." 1 And a little
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." 2 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." 3 Bain,
for his part, devotes a whole chapter to the " Con
flict of Motives." 4 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
1 Cf. Examination of Sir W. Hamilton s Philosophy. 5th ed.,
(1878), p. 583. 2 Ibid. p. 585. 8 Ibid, p, 585.
4 The Emotions and the Will, Chap. vi.
TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, m
motives, and one of the ablest of these philosophers,
Alfred Fouillee, goes so far as to make the idea of
freedom itself a motive capable of counterbalan
cing others. 1 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 ; you
This errone- , . . , . , , , /
ous tendency have associated two ideas, that or an
aided by Ian- . . , , . , ,.
gnage. nius- end to be attained and that ot 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, would not have been the same if the end
to be attained had been different. Nevertheless
1 Fouillee, La Liberte et le Deter minisme.
CHAP, m 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 ! We
should thus say, not that the image of a certain Jt
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-
s
ing to the end contemplated. ^The mistake of
associationism is that it first did away with the
qualitative element in the act to be pefrormed 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
lections of childhood come back to my memory.
illustration ^ n truth, these recollections have not
atio^s" as o i ci " been called up by the perfume of the
smeii. rose . i breathe them in with the very
scent ; it means all that to me. To others it will
smell differently. It is always the same scent,
M
TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, m
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
perfume! You then found it necessary, in order
fo distinguish 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 multiplicity
Association- f juxtaposition and that of fusion or
interpenetration. Such and such a feel-
in S> sucn and sucn an idea > contains an
indefinite plurality of conscious states :
oi fusion. but the p i ural i ty ^11 not be observed
CHAP, in PSYCHOLOGICAL DETERMINISM
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 thpim 1 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 a
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
X 64 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, m
world at its surface ; and as this surface retains
the imprint of objects, the self will
associate by contiguity terms which it
deepe? a Ttates has perceived in juxtaposition : it is
of the sell. t 1 1 i i
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
I impersonal aspect of love, hate, and the thousand
r emotions 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
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, ni THE FREE ACT 165
is no common measure between mind and lan
guage.
Therefore, it is only an inaccurate psychology,
misled by language, which will show us the soul
Theseiiisnot determined b y sympathy, aversion, or
So<S5555 tfl nate as tnou gh by so man y forces
lorn 8 is F seT P ressm upon it. These feelings, pro-
Sfn si of de" v ^ ded that they go deep enough, each
grees,andma y make up the whole soul, since the whole
be curtailed by
education. content of the soul is reflected in 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 aggregate
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, theShadow of the ego projecting
itsel|_intospace. If, on the contrary, he takes
these psychic states with the particular colouring
which they assume in the case of a definite 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, in
of it, and since it will express the whole of the self.
Freedom, thus understood, is not absolute, as a
radically libertarian philosophy would have it ;
it admits 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 life of its own, it will usurp
the whole personality when its time comes. A
violent anger roused by some accidental circum
stance, an hereditary vice suddenly emerging
from the obscure depths of the organism to the
surface of consciousness, will act almost like a
hypnotic suggestion. 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 rather
than to the judgment. Here will be found, within
the fundamental self, a parasitic self which con
tinually encroaches upon the other. Many live
this kind of life, and die without having known
true freedom. But suggestion would become
persuasion if the entire self assimilated it ; pas-
CHAP, in 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 indignation
of Alceste ; 1 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
fact, which gives rise to the free decision : and the
act will be so much the freer the more the dynamic
series with which it is connected tends to be the
fundamental self.
Thus understood, free acts are exceptional,
even on the part of those who are most given to
our every-day controlling and reasoning out what they
"ra AS- do - Jt nas been pointed out that we
gmt n oriM generally perceive our own self by
JS reany S S refraction through space, that our con-
SefflaSen- scious states crystallize into words, and
tai sen ^at our 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 promotion
of social relations, we have everything to gain by
not breaking through this crust and by assuming
it to give an exact outline of the form of the object
which it covers. It should now be added that
our daily actions are called forth not so much
by our feelings themselves, which are constantly
1 In Moliere s comedy Le Misanthrope, (Tr.).
TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, m
changing, as by the unchanging images with which
these feelings are bound up. In the morning,
when the hour strikes at which I am accustomed
to rise, I might receive this impression wv oXy
TJI tyx?,, 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
idea have in the end become tied up with one
another, so that the act follows the impression
without the self interfering with it. In this in
stance I am a conscious automaton, and I am so
because I have everything to gain by being so.
It will be found that the majority of our daily
v actions are performed in this way and that,
owing to the solidification in memory of such and
such sensations, feelings, or ideas, impressions
from 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
CHAP, m THE FREE ACT 169
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 v
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 CHAP, i*
whenever they came up to the surface. And this
is why we seek in vain to explain our sudden
change of mind by the visible circumstances which
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
superficial idea, almost external to ourselves,
distinct and easy to account for : it agrees with
the whole of our most intimate feelings, thoughts
and aspirations, with that particular conception
of life 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 choosejn defiance
of what is conventionally called a motive, and
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
CHAP, in THE FREE ACT 17 1
led to a mechanical conception of the self. He
Determinism w ^ show us this self hesitating between
Stride ae two contrary feelings, passing from
leu-identical one * * ne otner an ^ finally deciding in
Sther 0n coS- favour of one of them. The self and the
SSthiifimere * een n g s which stir it are thus treated
symbolism. as we jj 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 is
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
and is consequently modifying the two feelings
which agitate it. A dynamic series of states is
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
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
feelings 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
TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, m
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
Freedom and tnev nay e that indefinable resemblance
to it which one sometimes finds between
aot the artist and his work. It is no use
f e a rlnt be o e r n c asserting that we are then yielding to
it bejoretoid p ^h e all-powerful influence of our char
acter. Our character is still ourselves ; and because
we are pleased to split the person into two parts so
that by an effort of abstraction we may consider
Sin 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
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. fin
a word, if it is agreed to call every act free which
v ) springs from the self and from the self alone, the
CHAP, m REAL DURATION AND CONTINGENCY 173
act which bears the mark of our personality is
truly free, for our self alone will lay claim to its V
paternity.N It would thus be recognized that
free will is a 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 *
feeling 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 CHAP, ra
\ Mill, " must mean to be conscdous, before I have
decided, that I am able to decide either
and libertarian ,, , /- n ,-1 i i
doctrines oi way. This is really the way in which
ac I . lbl( 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 the 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 always
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." 2 And, faithful to his principle,
the English philosopher assigns consciousness the
role 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
1 Examination of Sir W. Hamilton s Philosophy. 5th ed.,
(1878), p. 580.
1 Ibid. p. 583.
CHAP, m REAL DURATION AND CONTINGENCY 175 A /
l\tfr* sJfl
the former implies that there is only^ne- possible
act corresponding to given antecedents : the
believers in free will assume, on the other hand,
that the same series could issue in several different
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
Geometrical j AiT AI. T-
(and thereby states, and that these states can be
deceptive) ,. . .. . . ,. T
representation divided into two groups according as I
of the process -, -i ~*r n
oi coming to a incline more towards X or in the contrary
direction. Indeed, these opposite inclina
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 CHAP, m
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 which lives and
ir **
develops by means of its very hesita
tions, until the free action drops from it like an
over-ripe fruit.
But this conception of voluntary activity does
not satisfy common sense, because, being essen-
only real- tially a devotee of mechanism, it loves
clear-cut distinctions, those which are
expressed by sharply denned words or
by abstraction i v/v TT
two opposite by different positions in space. Hence
directioEui! 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 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, in REAL DURATION AND CONTINGENCY 177
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 O : 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,
solidified 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 see
that this really mechanical conception of freedom
TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
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-
if this sym- encies, will finally issue either at X or
SSsthe^SSS! Y. Now, since it is agreed to localize
th! a seii ity hM tne double activity of the self at the
Sec- P om t 0> there is no reason to separate
* this ac ^vity from the act in which it
mits. ^ii 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
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
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
two different directions, but which in addition
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
CHAP, in 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
Libertarians kind of mechanical oscillation between
the tw P ints X and Y If l decide
Je a 6e id c not in favour of x tne former will tell me :
the other. y OU 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 voluntary
activity by a path M O which branches off at the
point O, the lines O X and O Y symbolizing 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, in
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
But the fteure activity in space, is purely symbolical,
e re stere<? ves an< ^ as such, cannot be constructed
5 Ped the iei pS unless we adopt the hypothesis that
th" our deliberation is finished and our mind
SS5 s in h the ma de U P- If Y ou 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 symbol ;
it is to believe that it is possible to follow the
process of psychic activity on this figure like the
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, ni 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 deliberation and the final decision arrived at :
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 the 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-
tej insuperable difficulties from the very begin-
r. sng : if the two courses were equally possible, how
lave 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 back
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
F ndamentai nothing to prevent my turning back and
e- or is con- . r 11-1
i ;iono!time trying to find out whether it branches
ftii i space.
Tty.seif infai- off anywhere. But time is not a line
lib. in affirm- . , . - ~
inf ,>immedi- along which one can pass again. Cer
ate experience . , . , . .
of kreedom, tainly, once it has elapsed, we are justi-
but cannot ex- . .
plain it. ned in pictunng the successive moments
as external to one another and in thus thinking
l82 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
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 possibility
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 se ;
that the argument of the determinists assumes
this puerile form : " The act, once performed, is
performed," and that their opponents reply :
The act, before being performed, was not yet
performed." In other words, the question <._f
freedom remains after this discussion exact >
where it was to begin with ; nor must we be sur
prised at it, since freedom must be sought hi a
certain shade or quality of the action itself a id
CHAP, in 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 the
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.
The self, infallible when it affirms its 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
is prediction sa Y : " Let us leave aside actions al-
a S -~ rea( ty performed : let us consider only
- actions that are to come. The ques-
cf 118 - tion 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
th .nk that the knowledge of antecedents would
enible us to state a probable conclusion and thosp.
wl o speak of an infallible foresight. To say that
184 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
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,
our ideas, our character, are constantly altering,
a sudden change is seldom observed ; and it is
still more seldom that we cannot say of a person
whom we know that certain actions seem to
accord fairly well with his nature and that certain
others are absolutely inconsistent with it. All
philosophers will agree on 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
the determinist goes much further : he asserts
that our solution is provisional simply because
we never know all the conditions of the prc^
blem ; that our forecast would gain in probability
in proportion as we were provided with a larget
number of these conditions ; that, therefore-
complete and perfect knowledge of all the antf
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 defmiteness, let us
imagine a person called upon to make a seemingly
TO know com- free decision under serious circumstances-
plefely the *
antecedents we shall call him Peter. The question
and conditions ,
ls wnetner a philosopher Paul, living at
t; the same period as Peter, or, if you
CHAP, in 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 author may have taken in
depicting the feelings of his hero, and even in trac
ing back his history, the end, 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, the
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 intensity 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, ni
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
sciousness as a special sign accompanying this
state 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
intensity consists in being felt. Hence we have
to distinguish two ways of assimilating the con
scious states of other people : the one 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 intensity
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, in REAL DURATION AND PREDICTION 187
example, that a certain feeling has more strength
than another feeling, that it is necessary to take
more account of it, that it has played a greater
part ; and how could this be known unless 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 reality.
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
l88 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, m
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
going to pass before Peter ; for the effects of the
same feeling, for example, go on accumulating at
every moment of duration, and the sum total of
these effects could not be realized 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
ends in the mere witnessing of the act whilst
it is being performed or when it is already
done.
Hence it is a question devoid of meaning to
ask : Could or could not the act be foreseen, given
Hence mean- the sum total of its antecedents ?
whether t0 an a act For there are two ways of assimilating
se^n when "/" these antecedents, the one dynamic the
dLtrS" other static. In the first case we shall
given. k e i e( j k v 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,
like the previous discussion, leaves the ques
tion of freedom exactly where it was to begin
with.
By going deeper into this twofold argument, we
I go TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, m
shall find, at its very root, the two fundamental
illusions of the reflective consciousness.
The two lalla- . ,. . .
cies involved: The first consists m regarding intensity
tensuy ar as n l as a mathematical property of psychic
; states and not, as we said at the begin-
(2)substituting . , , , . , ,.,
material ning of this essay, as a special quality,
dynamic Jro- as a particular shade of these variou?
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
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
know 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
bolical diagram which we draw in our own way
for representing the action when completed has
been 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, m REAL DURATION AND PREDICTION
You begin by setting side by side in some ideal
space the conscious states which suc-
Claiming to r .
foresee an ceed one another in Peter s mind, and
action always . ... i j < ,-L
comes back you perceive his life as a kindol path
to confusing J , , .
time 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 0, you would have been able
to determine the portion X of the curve which
the moving body describes beyond O. Such is,
in the main, the question which you put when you
^ ^ ti ^^ bring in a philo-
M ^ Ss * v v^__^^-- xxX< ^ V 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 line, not only in relation to one
another, but also in relation to the points of the
whole line M O X Y ; which would amount to being
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 lived ; and hence you conclude
that, if your knowledge of the line M O was not
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,
Peter 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
Paul became Peter. It is true that you then come
back, unwittingly, to your former hypothesis,
because you continually confuse the line M O X Y
in its tracing with the line 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
n . to many cases where we do anticipate
Confusion *
arising from the future. Do we not determine be-
prediction ol . . .
astronomical forehand the coni unctions of heavenly
phenomena. , .. J J
bodies, solar and lunar eclipses, in short
the greater number of astronomical phenomena ?
Does not, then, the human intellect embrace in the
present moment immense intervals of duration
still to come ? No doubt it does ; but an anticipa-
CHAP, in REAL DURATION AND PREDICTION IQ3
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 possible
to foretell an astronomical phenomenon are the
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
conscious being, has no analogy to it.
In order to put our ringer on this vital difference,
let us assume for a moment that some mischievous
illustration genius, more powerful still than the
dS tSera- mischievous genius con j ured up by Des-
caT mov p ysi ~ cartes > decreed that all the movements
ments. O f ^he 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 t 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, in
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 lunar
eclipse, he merely exercises in his own way the
power which we have ascribed to our
Astronomical . . . TT j J.-L.
prophecy such mischievous genius. He decrees that
an accelera- . ,-,, , v j j ,
tion. 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, in REAL DURATION AND PREDICTION IQ5
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 living
duration, and which the astronomer can dispose
of as he pleases because they give no handle to
TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
science, are just what concern the psychologist,
in dealing ^ or psychology deals with the intervals
with states oi themselves and not with their extrem-
consciousness
we cannot ities. Certainly pure consciousness does
vary their da- * *
ration without no ^- perceive time as a sum of units of
altering their
nature. 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 life, 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, in REAL DURATION AND PREDICTION IQ7
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 reality 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,
except emptying or impoverishing the conscious
states which fill 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
could have been foreseen, we unwittingly identify
that time with which we have to do in
Difference be- , . . .
tween past and the exact sciences, and which is reducible
future dura-
tion in this to a number, with real duration, whose
so-called quantity is really a quality,
ig8 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
and which we canaot curtail by an instant without
altering the nature of the facts which fill it. No
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 future 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.
CHAP, in REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY
Only one course will remain open to the deter-
minist. He will probably give up asserting the
possibility of foreseeing a certain future
The determin- r
ist argument act or state of consciousness, but will
that psychic . . . - .
phenomena maintain that every act is determined
are subject to , . . . ,
the law" same by its psychic antecedents, or, in other
antecedents, . ./ , ,
same ^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 than might be thought from all the
, others which have been examined above.
But as regards
inner states To say that the same inner causes will
the same an- , rf
tecedents will reproduce the same effects is to as-
never recur.
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-
2QO TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
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
relation still holds good in the realm of inner states,
it cannot resemble in any way what we call
CHAP, in REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY 2OI
causality in nature. For the physicist, the same
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 : either that, the antecedents being
given, the future action might have been foreseen ;
or that, the action having once been performed,
any other action is seen, under the given conditions,
to have been impossible. Now we saw that both
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
Analysis of the . . ^ f
conception oi point of view the meaning of the two
cause, which _ .. .
underlies the words determination and causal-
whole deter- . ,, _ . ,1,1
minist argu- 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
same effects," the principle of universal determina
tion loses every shred of meaning in the inner world
of conscious states. The determinist will perhaps
2O2 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
yield to our arguments on each of these 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 misapprehen
sion and so obstinate a prejudice that we cannot
get 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
aiming at a formal definition of freedom, we shall
perhaps get beyond the purely negative idea of
it 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-
Causality as . F . J ^
" regular sue- ceivcd, can occur again in the same
cession " does ...
not apply to shape ; (2) that a certain phenomenon
conscious 7-11-1 ir i i-
nates and P, which appeared after the conditions
rove free 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
experience ; but it would no longer prove anything
against our freedom. For it would then be un
derstood that definite antecedents give rise to a
CHAP, in REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY 2O3
definite consequent wherever experience shows us
this regular succession ; but the question is
whether this regularity is found in the domain
of consciousness too, and that is the whole pro
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 implied in that of the first,
the second phenomenon itself must exist objec
tively, in some way or other, within the first pheno
menon. And common sense was bound to come
to this conclusion, because to distinguish exactly
204 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
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
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 prefiguring can be understood in two
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
causality, as ver Y movement by which we draw the
j ^f^i circumference of a circle on a sheet of
mown P en iS paper generates all the mathematical
ne properties of this figure : in this sense
phe- an unlimited number of theorems can
O p re _ ex ist 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
CHAP, m REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY 2<>5
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
2o6 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
reality, you will be merely drawing the conse
quences of the principle of causality, understood
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
CHAP, in 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 prove
that the more the progress of mechanical explana
tions enables us to develop this conception of
causality and therefore to relieve the atom of the
weight of its sensible qualities, the more the con
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 thus leads finitely approach the relation of identity,
as a curve approaches its asymptote.
"St The principle of identity is the absolute
Star? to "pre- ^ aw * our consciousness I it asserts
- tnat what 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 WILL CHAP, 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 causality, in so
far as it is supposed to bind the future to the pre
sent, could never take the form of a necessary
principle ; 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 will 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 physics,
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, in REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY 20Q
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
The necessary connexion, leads to the Spinozistic or Car-
tesian conception of nature, inversely,
; n bu n t" au * relation of necessary determination
established between successive pheno
mena may be supposed to arise from
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
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 behave
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 is true, that although things do not
2IO TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
endure as we do ourselves, nevertheless there must
be some reason why phenomena are seen to succeed
one 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 belief 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, the 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
CHAP, in REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY 211
form, 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, still
more familiar to our mind, because immediate
prefiguring, as consciousness gives us the type of it.
Sf rUtSeSt We S> m fact > through successive states
nof^reauz! 11 " ^ consciousness, and although the later
SeS oa not fl0 in- was no * contained in the earlier, we had
IS 6 Jeter-" before us at the time a more or less con-
mination. fused idea of it. The actual realization
of this idea, however, did not appear as certain
but merely as possible. Yet, between the idea and
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 realizable but
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 between the cause and
212 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
the effect, for the effect will no longer be given
in the cause. It will be there only in the state
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
by the general run of people, since it does not
demand any effort of abstraction and only implies
a certain analogy between the outer and the inner
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
IMS second m that it immediately satisfies the need
ZSSSKL of a mental image- If we look for the
fne L !" z ied S phenomenon B within the phenomenon
to Spinoza. ^, which regularly precedes it, the reason
is that the habit of associating the two images
ends in giving us the idea of the second pheno
menon wrapped up, as it were, in that of the first.
It is natural, then, that we should push this objecti-
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
CHAP, iii REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY 213
of the two phenomena resembles the subjective
association which suggested the idea of it to us.
The 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
personality 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
show that, if the succession of external qualities
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
harmony must be introduced in order to explain
how these inner states are representative of one
another. Thus, with our second conception of the
relation of causality 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 CHAP, m
with greater precision two half-hearted and con
fused ideas of common sense.
Now it is obvious that the relation of causality,
understood in this second way, does not involve
it does not in- ^ ne necessary determination of the effect
deter-" ^Y * ne cause - History indeed proves it.
We see faa.t ancient hylozoism, the first
outcome of this conception of causality, explained
the regular succession of causes and effects by a
real deus ex machina : 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
spond. Hence a determinism which arises from
the necessity of positing a pre-established harmony,
and not at all from the dynamic conception of
the relation of causality. But let us leave
history aside. Consciousness itself testifies that
the abstract idea of force is that of indeter
minate effort, that of an effort which has not
yet issued in an act and in which the act is
still only at the stage of an idea. In other
words, the dynamic conception of the causal
CHAP, m REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY 215
relation ascribes to things a duration absolutely
like our own, whatever may be the nature of this
duration ; 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
Each o! these < .
contradictory exclusive ways of prefiguring the future
interpretations . Jf . ..
of causality in the present, bometimes all pheno-
and duration , . , , . , . . ,
by itself mena, physical or psychical, are pictured
freedom ; as enduring in the same way, and there-
taken to- . . . , , . . .
gather they 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 idea
conceived. Sometimes, on the other hand, dura
tion is regarded as the characteristic form of con
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 is
admitted. Now, each of these two hypotheses,
when taken by itself, safeguards human freedom ;
for the first would lead to the result that even the
phenomena of nature were 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
2i6 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP, in
as a free force. Therefore, every clear con
ception of causality, where we know our own
meaning, leads to the idea of human freedom
as a natural consequence. Unfortunately, the
habit has grown up of taking the principle of caus
ality in both senses at the same time, because the
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
tions blend into one another, and in assigning
greater importance to the one or the other accord
ing as we are more or less concerned with the
interests of science. But to apply the principle
of causality, 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 with 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,
CHAP, in REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY 217
does not even understand, the absolute determina
tion, now, of actions that are still to come : that
is all that experience teaches us, and if we hold by
experience we should say that we feel ourselves
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 with the idea of necessity,
has got corrupted before it returns from the jour
ney. It returns impregnated with the idea of
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 which 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 therefore necessarily,
from the force which produces it. There is no
doubt that this mingling of two different and
2l8 TIME AND FREE WILL CHAP. HI
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, objectified, we set up a relation
analogous 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
Though united mav speak of forces, and even picture
thought! a the their mode of action by analogy with an
eSt i2dne- inner effort, but he will never introduce
SSon det ar r e tms hypothesis into a scientific explana-
by Pt P hy P siSi tion. Even those who, with Faraday,
replace the extended atoms by dynamic
points, will treat the centres of force and the lines
of force mathematically, without troubling about
CHAP, m REAL DURATION AND CAUSALITY
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
causality is purely dynamic, and has no analogy
They should w ith * ne relation of two external phe-
too 1 ?? apart " nomena which condition one another.
psychology. ^OT, 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
of causality 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
Freedom real t ,. . , _ , - . , ,
but indefln- relation is indefinable, lust because we
nhlo
are free. For we can analyse 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
of 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.
Shall we define the free act by saying of 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.
Shall we define 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 dealing 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 duration can 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
understand by them that the same inner causes will
not always call forth the same effects. We admit,
CHAP, m 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
same attributes as extensity, to interpret a suc
cession by a simultaneity, and to express the idea
of freedom in a language into 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 shall return
later, and we shall take the point of
that we per- , * i
ceive things view of common sense. Modern psy-
formsbor- chology seems to us particularly con-
rowed from , , .
our own con- cerned to prove that we perceive things
through the medium of certain forms,
borrowed from our own constitution. This tend
ency has become more 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
229
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
But are not whether the most obvious states of the
the leif^r- 1 e g itself, which we believe that we
directly, are not mostly per-
ceived through the medium of certain
world p forms borrowed from the external world,
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,
i.e. 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
abstract whatever obviously clashes with
To understand . x j
the intensity, them in our way oi perceiving and
duration and , ., ,/.
voluntary de- thinking, so, in order to view the self
termination of.., ... . . ,-, , ,
psychic states, in its original purity, psychology ought
we must elim- , . , .
mate the idea 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,
these are the three ideas which had to be clarified
by ridding them of all that they owe to the intru
sion of the sensible world and, in a word, to the
obsession of the idea of space.
Examining the first of these ideas, we found
that psychic phenomena were in themselves pure
intensity is quality or qualitative multiplicity, and
not^uSlty that > <> n the other hand, their cause
or magnitude, 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 intensity.
The intensity of a simple state, therefore, is
not quantity but its qualitative sign. You will
find that it 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 ? If magnitude,
outside you, is never intensive, intensity, within
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,
Q
226 TIME AND FREE WILL
viz. space, in which terms distinct from one
our conscious another could be set out in line, and,
discrete n< mui- secondly, a process of permeation and or-
tipiicity. ganization by which these units are dy
namically added together and form what we called
a qualitative multiplicity. It is owing to this
dynamic process that the units get 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
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 qualitative
multiplicity, with no likeness to number ; an
inner dura- organic evolution which is yet not an
increasing quantity ; a pure hetero-
geneity within which there are no distinct
qualities. In a word, the moments of inner
duration are not external to one another.
CONCLUSION 227
What duration is there existing outside us ?
The present only, or, if we prefer the expression,
in the exter- simultaneity. No doubt external things
nal world we . , " , . .
find not dura- change, but their moments do not
tion but sim- , , ., . .
uitaneity. 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 positions ; 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 exter
nal things endure, but rather that there is in them
some inexpressible reason in virtue of which we
cannot examine them at successive moments of our
own 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.
Thus 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, although distinct, succeed one an-
The idea of a other for our consciousness, we attribute
measurable succession in themselves. Hence the
time arises
from com- j^ ea that things endure as we do our-
promise be-
inoSenion^ud se l yes an d that time may be brought
externality, within space. But while our consciousness
thus introduces succession into external things,
inversely these things themselves externalize 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 interpenetration, 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 endosmosis
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 dura
tion, science tears asunder when it undertakes
A science tne close study of external things.
2tt a i?om u ~ For we have pointed out that science
SJS" SSt retains nothing of duration but simul-
Spa^om the taneity, and nothing of motion itself
inner world. but the position of the moving body,
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 phenomena
in their developing, and in so far as they make up,
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
The neglect to l^ to deny freedom and the other to
" define it, and thereby, involuntarily,
to den Y it: to - The Y ask in fact
whether the act could or could not be
to define 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,
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 applicable to the moments
of the external world, which 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, freedom is
viewed, it cannot be denied except on condition of
identifying time with space ; it cannot be defined
except on condition of demanding that space should
adequately represent time ; it cannot be argued
about 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-
TMS separa- a ^Y m tne external world, demands such
~ } an effort and rouses so much repugnance
jj. when it is a question of inner states,
guS?and w- we were n t l n g m perceiving the reason.
The 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 quality 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,
Hence two dil- * A
ferent selves : social representation. We reach the
(l)thefunda- u j A - -L- -u
mental self : former by deep introspection, which
(2) its spatial , , f
and social re- leads us to grasp our inner states as
DrGSntiitioii *
only the former living things, constantly becoming, as
states not amenable to measure, which
permeate one another and of which the succession
in duration has nothing in -common 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
232 TIME AND FREE WILL
freely is to recover possession of oneself, and to
get back into pure duration.
Kant s great mistake was to take time as a
homogeneous medium. He did not notice that
Kant clung to real duration is made up of moments
put ed Ze se u ii inside one another, and that when it
both 66 seems to assume the form of a homogene-
tfme 6 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
causal relation the same meaning and the same
function 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 the weakness
Kant regarded ^ Kantianism reside. Kant imagines
spans 3 ho- on tne one side " tnm g s in themselves,"
mogeneous. an( j on ^g o ther 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
with a solid foundation, and of guaranteeing that
phenomena, as phenomena, 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
trolling factor in the whole of this theory is the
very sharp distinction between the matter of
consciousness and its form, between the homogene
ous and the heterogeneous, and this vital dis
tinction would probably never have been made
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,
But if time, as science would be able to deal with it,
wS tt homo- as ft can w fth s P ace - Now we have
S5nce* t couid tr ied to prove that duration, as duration,
deal with it an( j mo tion, 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 again, causality would imply neces-
II 5S sary determination, and all freedom
would become incomprehensible. Such,
indeed, is the result to which the Critique
of Pure Reason leads. But instead of concluding
from this that real 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
fd W by C taki C n t g^ e rnoments of real duration, perceived
toto accoSit 011 ky 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 reasoning,
336 TIME AND FREE WILL
So we have assumed the existence of a homo
geneous Space and, with Kant, distinguished this
with Kant, s P ace fr m tne matter which fills it.
With him we have admitted that homo-
Stion *d geneous space is a " form of our sensibil-
pecn- j^-y . anc [ we understand by this simply
liar to man J j r j
fhe d way pa io? tnat otner minds, e.g. those of animals,
social uie. although they perceive objects, do not
distinguish them so clearly either from one another
or from themselves. This 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-
But a con- sciousness, a living self, whose states,
tion e is h u e r tero- at once undistinguished and unstable,
fStSn oi the cannot be separated without changing
to Sy aS c is state tne ^ r nature, and cannot receive a fixed
StTrigMiJ form or be expressed in words without
judged free, 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
our ideas, thus crystallized, and our external
movements we shall witness permanent associa
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. 1 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 moments of crisis. But he does not
seem to have noticed that the process of our free activity goes
238
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 supra temporal 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 which our self
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 moments of 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
crete duration, a heterogeneous duration and a
living one. We should see that, if our action
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
moments 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 moderns what
the paradoxes of the Eleatics were to the ancients,
and, like these paradoxes, it has its origin in
the illusion through which we confuse succession
and simultaneity, duration and extensity, quality
and quantity.
INDEX
Absolute, reality of space, 91 ; free
dom not, 1 66 ; law of conscious
ness, 207 ; Spinoza and, 208 ;
knowledge of ourselves, 235.
Abstraction, implies homogeneous
medium, 97 ; breaks up elements
of idea, 134 ; and diagram of pro
cess of reaching a decision, 177 f. ;
and Lord Kelvin s theory of matter,
206.
Acceleration, hypothetical, of mo
tions of universe, 116 f., 193 ff.
Achilles, and tortoise, 73 f.
Act, not divisible like object, 112 ;
free acts, 165 ff. ; " possible acts,"
174 ff-
Act, of mind : all unity due to, 80 f. ;
neglected in empirical theory of
space, 93 f. ; nature of, 95.
Addition, of sensation - differences,
64, 65 ; process of, 80, 123, 226 ;
implies multiplicity of parts, 85.
Advice, relation of, to freedom, 169.
Aeolus, cave of, 20.
Aesthetic, Kant s Transcendental, 92,
93-
Aesthetic feelings, n ff. ; suggested,
not caused, 17 ; stages in, 17.
Alceste, indignation of, 167.
Algebra, deals with results not pro
cesses, 119.
Analysis, already visible in mental
image, 84; distorts feelings, 132 f. ;
of a thing, not of a process, 219.
Anger, psychic element in, 29 ; and
organic disturbance, 30.
Animals, ability to find their way
through space, 96 ; space not so
homogeneous for, 97 ; perceive
duration as quality, 127 ; do not
picture distinct external world, 138,
236.
Antecedents, same, and same conse
quents, 199, 208.
Architecture, compared with rhythm,
15-
Aristotle, distinguishes potential and
actual, 121.
Arithmetic, splits up units, 84.
Art, and beauty, 14 ; object of, 14 ;
and hypnotism, 14 ; the plastic
arts, 15 ; suggesting, not expres
sing feelings, 16 ; merit of work of,
17; yielding only sensations, 17;
aim and method of artist, 18.
Artificial, reconstruction of concrete
phenomenon, 163.
Aspect, twofold, of terms in a series,
124, 226 ; of the self, 128 ff. ; of
conscious states, 129 ff. ; 137 ff.
Association, by contiguity, 136, 164 ;
self cannot be constituted by, 139,
165, 226 ; associationist deter
minism, 148, 155, 159 ; of ideas in
interrupted conversation, 156 ;
illustration from hypnotism, 157 ;
illustration from deliberation, 158 ;
involves defective conception of
self, 159 ff., 165, 226; of end and
movement, 160 f. ; associations of
smell, 161 ; its mistakes, 161 ff. ;
fits simple sensations, 164 ; cannot
explain deeper states of self, 164 ;
everyday acts obey laws of, 167 ff.,
238.
Astronomy, measurement of time in,
107 ; prediction of celestial pheno
mena, 117, 192 ff., 198.
Attention, and muscular tension, 27 ;
Fechner on, 27 ; Ribot on, 27 ; and
psychic tension, 28 ; and forma
tion of number, 82, 84.
Bain, on nervous energy, 21 , on
theory of space, 93 ; on conflict of
motives, 159.
Beauty, feeling of, 14 ff. ; in nature
and art, 14 ff.
Beliefs, adopted without reason, 135 ;
compared to cell in organism, 135 ;
some not properly assimilated, 136.
Blix, experiments on temperature
sense, 46.
Body, movements of, as suggesting
psychic state, 18 ; inclination of,
in comparing pleasures, 38.
Causality, law of, 199, 201 ; as
regular succession, 202 f . ; common
sense and meaning of, 203 ; as
prefiguring of future phenomenon
in present conditions, 204 ff. ; not
a necessary principle, 208 ; Spinoza
on, 208 ; identity and, 209, 210 ;
as necessary determination of
phenomena means human freedom,
210 ; and second type of pre
figuring, 211 f . ; this leads to
Leibniz, 213 , this does not involve
determinism, 214 ; involves two
242
INDEX
conceptions of duration, 215 ; con
fusion of these two senses, 216 ;
relation of external, as mathe
matical, 219; relation of inner, as
dynamic, 219 ; Kant ascribed same
meaning to, in inner and outer
world, 232.
Cause, external, and intensity, 4 f.,
20, 42 ff., 72 ; introduced into
effect, 42, 47, 54, 68 ; external, and
separation of sensations, 109, 125 ;
series of associations sometimes
effect rather than, 156 ff. ; in inner
states no recurrence of same, 154,
199 f., 233 ; assertion that effect
bound up with, 201 ; analysis of
concept of, 201 ; self as free, 235.
Cell, in organism, beliefs compared
to, 135.
Change, but not duration, attributed
to external things, 227.
Character, freedom and, 172 f. ; and
prediction of future actions, 184.
Clocks, measurement of time by, 108
f. ; perception of strokes of without
expressly counting, 137.
Co-existence, number and relations
of, 75 n. ; can space result from
relations of, 94 ; of past and pres
ent only in consciousness, 112.
Cold, perception of, 46.
Colour, changes of hue and invariable
colours, 5 1 white, grey and black,
53 f. ; degrees of saturation, 54 ;
intensity of, 54 ; colours of spec
trum, 51, 54, 57 ; changes in sensa
tion of, 57 ; can there be equi
distant tints, 58.
Compromise, see also Endosmosis :
between idea of free force and
necessity, 217; forms of percep
tion result of, 223 ; intensity as
compromise between quality and
quantity, 225 ; number results
from a, 226 ; idea of measurable
time results from a, 228.
Consciousness, compared to invisible
musician, 147 ; as epiphenomenon,
152; Kant separates external
perception and, 222 ; succession
without distinction in, 227 ; matter
and form of, 234.
Conservation, of energy, see Energy ;
of motion, 151 ; of vis viva, 151 ;
conservative systems not the only
ones possible, 152.
Continuity, of number when formed.
82 f.
Contradiction, law of non-, 89, 150,
207 , reconciliation of apparent at
deeper level, 136.
Counting, units mast be identical, 76 ;
also distinct, 77 ; flock of sheep,
76 f. ; battalion of soldiers, 76 ;
implies intuition of space, 77 ff. ;
material objects, 85 ; conscious
states, 86, 89 ; strokes of a bell,
86 ; moments of duration, 104 ;
oscillations of a pendulum, 104 f. ;
two sides of the process of, 123 ;
strokes of a clock by qualitative
effect, 127.
Crisis, freedom shown at, 170, 239.
Critique of Pure Reason, result of, 235.
Critique philosophique, article in, 75 n.
Dancer, and feeling of grace, 12.
Darwin, 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, 65 ; of
number, 75 ; of subjective and
objective, 83 ; of space, 95, 98 ;
none of right and left, 97 ; of
simultaneity, no ; of equal inter
vals of time, 115 ; of velocity, ii7f. ;
of inertia of matter, 142 ; of free
dom, leads to determinism, 220 f. t
230, 239.
Delbceuf, his measurement of lumi
nous sensation, 52, 56 ff., 67 ff. ;
his underlying postulate, 60.
Deliberation, process of, 158, 171 ;
wrongly pictured as oscillation in
space, 183.
Depth, of aesthetic feeling, 17 f. ; of
emotional states, 31.
Descartes, and conservation of mo
tion, 151 ; his mischievous genius,
193 ; his view of matter, 207 ;
Cartesian physics, 207 ; and regu
larity of physical world, 208.
Desire , progress of a, 8 ; conceived
as a distinct thing, 159.
Determinism, two kinds of, 142 ;
physical, 143 ff. ; psychological,
155 ff. ; rests on misconception of
duration, 143, 173 ; and molecular
theory of matter, 143 f., 147 ; of
psychic states does not follow from
that of cerebral states, 146 f. ;
associationist, 148, 155, 159 ; and
hypnotism, 157 ; self-determina
tion, 165, 172 ; its mechanical con
ception of self, 171 ; could act have
been different ? 173, 201, 220, 739 ;
can act be predicted ? 173, 183 ff.,
201, 220, 239 ; and " possible
acts," 174 ; and character, 184 ff.,
172 ; and astronomical prediction,
102 ff. ; and law of causality, 199
it- ; misunderstanding of causality
INDEX
243
underlies all, 201 ft. ; of phenomena
as [involving human freedom, 210,
215 ff. ; not involved in second
type of prefiguring, 211 f., 215 f. ;
Leibniz s, 214 ; as compromise
between idea of free effort and
necessity, 217 ; attempt to define
freedom leads to, 220, 230, 239 ;
all, refuted by experience, 230 ;
meaningless if duration hetero
geneous, 235, 239.
Diagrams, geometrical, 176, 191.
Diferentials,expressingFechner sLaw,
62, 65 ; dealing with motion, 119.
Dimension, time as fourth, 109.
Discontinuity, of number, 82 f.
Disgust, Richet s description of, 36.
Distinction, two meanings of, 75 n.,
121 ; succession without, 101 ; of
psychic states, leads to mechanical
conception of self, 171 ; Kant s,
between matter and form of
consciousness, 234.
Donaldson, experiments on tempera
ture sense, 46.
Dreams, freshness in, 8 ; charm in,
10 ; superficial psychic states
removed in, 126 ; overlying images
in, 136.
Duration, moments counted by means
of points in space, 78 f ., 87 ; differs
from homogeneous time in having
nothing to do with space, 91 ; em
pirical attempts to build up space
from, 99 f., 222 ; conception of
pure, 100, 104 ff., 229 ; expressed
in terms of space, 101, 103, 232 ;
order of succession in, 101 f. ; any
homogeneity in, implies space, 104,
115 ; as interpenetration of con
scious states, 104, 107, 108, no,
128, 418, 226, 232 ff., 235 ; pure, is
wholly qualitative, 106, 126 f.,
429 ; not measurable, 107 ff. ; not
measured by clocks, 108 f. ; as
heterogeneous and with no relation
to number, 109, no, 120, 226, 229,
*35> 2 39 ; how mistaken idea of
homogeneity arises, 109 ; and mo
tion, 110, 114, 124; eliminated
from time by science, 115, n 6, 228;
and simultaneity, 115 f. ; and
astronomical prediction, 117, 192
ff. ; cannot be represented by
mathematical formulae, 119 ; as
mental synthesis, 120 ; none in
space, 120, 227 ; as quality, 127,
193, 197, 226 ; felt as quality in
sleep, 126 ; perceived as quality by
animals, 127 ; homogeneous, as
symbolical representation derived
from space, 128, 219, 239, 240 ; its
two forms, 128 ; constituted by
deep-seated conscious states, 137,
224; determinism rests on inaccu
rate conception of, 143, 153, 173,
209, 215 f., 220, 235, 239 ; acts like
a cause in realm of life, 153 ;
heterogeneity of, precludes return
to former state, 154, 200, 219, 232,
233, 239 ; real, and prediction, 183
ff. ; of conscious states unalterable,
196 f. ; difference between past and
future, 198 ; applicable to persons,
not to external things, 200, 209 f.,
215, 227 ; as contained in single
moment, 208 ; real, as leading to
free will, 210, 215 f. ; attributed to
things, 215, 228 ; two conceptions
of, in causality, 215 ; separated
from extensity by science, 228 f.,
230 ; must similarly be separated
by philosophy, 229 f. ; Kant put
self outside, 233 ; possible to get
back into pure, 233 ; Kant con
fused with space, 233 ; science
cannot deal with, 234 ; if homo
geneous, no freedom, 235 ; origin
of feeling of, 238 n. ; no moral
crisis without, 238 n. ; key to
problem of free will, 238 .
Dynamism, as system of nature, 140 ;
and relation between facts and
laws, 140 f. ; its view of simplicity,
141 ; inner, 172.
Eclipse, prediction of, 117, 194.
Education, not properly assimilated,
1 66 ; may curtail freedom, 167.
Effort, intensity of, 7, 24, 25, 26;
muscular, 20 ff. ; apparently quan
titative, 21 ; feeling of, 21 ff., 211 ;
experimental investigation of, 22
ff. ; superficial, 26 ; in estimating
intensity and pitch of sound, 45 f. ;
in second type of prefiguring, 211 ;
force and, 214 ; ideas of free, and
necessity to be kept apart, 217, 218.
Eleatics, their paradoxes, 74, 240 ;
arise from confusion between mo
tion and space, 112 ff. ; Achilles
and tortoise, ir3 f.
Elevation, of aesthetic feeling, 17.
Emotions, violent, intensity of, 28 ff.
Empiricist, theory of space, 93 f. ;
derivation of extensive from inex-
tensive, 94, 222.
Endosmosis, see also Compromise :
between succession and externality,
109, 228 ; between mobility and
space, 112 ; between free effort and
necessary determination, 218.
Energy, kinetic and potential, 152 ;
may be new kind of, 152.
R*
244
INDEX
Energy, conservation of: Incom
patible with freedom, 142, 144 ;
and determination of physiological
and nervous phenomena, 145;
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, 152 ; con
scious force or free will may escape
law of, 154 ; illegitimate extension
of, 155, 230.
English philosophers, on extensity
and succession, 99. [152.
Epiphenomenon, consciousness as,
Equations, expressing Fechner s
Law, 62 ; express something fin
ished,!^ ; transformability of, 204.
vellin,onspace,time and motion, 114.
Experiments, and experimental ob
servations : Wundt on paralytic,
21 ; Vulpian on hemiplegia, 22 ;
Ferrier on feeling of effort, 22 f . ;
James on feeling of effort, 23 ;
clenching the fist, 24 ; compressing
the lips, 25 ; lifting a weight, 25,
48 f. ; Fer6 on muscular force, 41 ;
pin pricks, 42 ; on temperature
sense, 46 ; Helmholtz on colour
and intensity, 51 ; photometric,
52 ff. ; Lehmann and Neiglick s,
52 ; Delbcauf s on measurement
of luminous sensation, 52 ff., 56 ff.
Explanation, confused with fact, 163,
181.
Extensity, implies relation of con
tainer to contained, 3 ; no point of
contact between extended and un-
extended, 70 ; as aspect of physical
qualities, 92 ; Kant on, 92, 148 ;
attempted derivation of, from the
unextended, 93 f., 99 f., 222 ; homo
geneous, as result of stripping
matter of concrete qualities, 205 ;
Descartes view of matter as homo
geneous, 207 ; hylozoism and
qualities of matter, 213 ; confusion
with duration raises problem of
freedom, 221, 240 ; separated from
duration by science, 228 , 230.
Externality, of things in space, 99 ;
exists outside the ego, 108, 227 ;
endosmosis between succession
and, 109, 228 ; of things, helps to
cut up psychic life, 109, 125 f., 130,
228 ; animals have not same ten
dency to picture, 138 ; empirical
school attempts to build up, from
inner states, 222 ; external things
subject to change but not duration,
227 ; external world distinct from
ourselves, 236.
Fact, relation between law and, 140
f. ; explanation confused with, 163,
181.
Faraday, and centres of force, 218.
Fear, Spencer on, 30 ; conceived as
distinct state, 159.
Fechner, on attention and tension
27 ; his psychophysics, 56, 60 ff. ;
his formulae, 61, 62 ; his law, 61 ;
his logarithmic law, 62 n. ; method
of minimum differences, 64, 69.
Feeling, intensity of, 7, 185 ; deep-
seated, 7 ff. ; aesthetic, n ff. ; of
grace, u f. ; of beauty, 14 f . ;
richness of aesthetic, 17 f. ; moral,
18 f. ; and physical symptoms,
20 ff. ; of effort, 21 ff., 211 ; dis
torted by analysis, 132 f . ; some
thing living and developing, 133;
leads to resolution, 133, 171 ;
whole soul reflected in each, 165 ;
change in duration of, means
change in nature, 197 f.
F6r6, C., on sensation and muscular
force, 41.
Ferrier, on feeling of effort, 16.
Figure, see Diagram.
Flavour, changing, solidified by lan
guage, 131.
Force, alleged psychic, 20 f., 25 ;
muscular, 21 ; nervous, 21 ; sen
sation of, 21 ; conscious states not
forces, 165, 170 ; idea of, as inde
terminate effort, 214 ; self as a free,
216 ; idea of, and necessity, 216,
217; as free spontaneity, 217;
ideas of free force and necessity
separated by science, 218.
" Form of Sensibility," Kant s theory
of, 94 ; homogeneous space as, 236.
Forms, borrowed from external world
in perception of self, 154, 167, 183,
217, 223 ; borrowed from self in
perception of things, 222 ; of per
ception, result of compromise, 223 ;
elimination of those borrowed
from external world, 224 ; Kant s
distinction between matter and,
93, 234.
Formulae, Weber s, 61 ; Fechner s,
62 ; dealing with velocity, 118.
Fouill6e, on freedom as a motive, 160.
Fourth dimension, time as, 109.
Freedom, Free Will, see also Deter
minism : origin of problem, 74,
139, 221, 240 ; cause of conflict
between mechanism and dynam
ism, 140 ; twofold objection to,
142 ; and molecular theory of
matter, 143 f. ; and conservation
of energy, 145 ff. ; strictly limited
if principle of conservation uni-
INDEX
245
versal, 149 f. ; as conscious force,
exempt from law of conservation,
154 ; defenders of, mistakenly
agree that conscious states are
distinct things, 159 ; Fouillee on,
160 ; as self-expression, 165, 172 ;
not absolute, but admits of degrees,
166 ; many live without realizing,
166 ; may be curtailed by educa
tion, 167 ; free acts rare, 167, 231,
240 ; free decision springs from
whole or fundamental self, 167, 172,
231, 240 ; covered over by auto
matism, 168, 231, 237 ; sometimes
resigned through indolence, 169 ;
shown in times of crisis, 170, 239 ;
and character, 172 ; to be sought
in characteristic of the decision
or act, 173, 182 f. ; Mill on, 174 ;
and " possible acts," 174 ; free
action compared to over-ripe fruit,
176 ; distinction of successive
phases in, leads to determinism,
177 ff. ; the self infallible in affirm
ing its, 183 ; not disproved by
causality as regular succession,
202 f. ; safe-guarded by different
conceptions of causality taken by
themselves, 215 f. ; self as free
cause, 216, 235 ; real but inde
finable, 219 ff., 230, 239 f. ; why
denied and denned, 229 ; Kant on,
232, 233, 235, 238 ; incomprehen
sible if duration homogeneous, 235 ;
key to problem of, 238 n. ; follows
from uniqueness of relation of
psychic state to act, 239.
Fusion, see Interpenetration.
Future, see Prediction.
Ghost, time as ghost of space, 99.
Goldscheider, experiments on tem
perature sense, 46.
Grace, feeling of, n f.
Hamilton, Mill on, quoted, 159, 174.
Harmony, Leibniz on pre-established,
147, 213, 214.
Heat, sensation of, 46 f. ; mechanical
theory of, 151.
Helmholtz, on effort of volition, 23 ;
on colour and intensity, 51.
Hemiplegia, Vulpian on, 22.
Heterogeneity, qualitative, inter
preted as extensive homogeneity,
95 ; of pure duration, 109, no,
120, 128, 226, 229, 235, 239 ; of
deep-seated psychic states, 200 ;
homogeneous universe assumed
behind, 205 ; Kant s distinction
between homogeneity and, 234.
Homogeneity, of time, 90, 98, 107,
124, 234, 237 J of space, 95 f., 98,
1 20, 236 ; is all homogeneity
space ? 98 ; supposed two forms
of, 98 ; none in duration, 104, 115 ;
none in motion, no, 115 ; how
introduced into duration, 124 f.,
128 ; connection between, and
general ideas, 163 ; assumed
behind heterogeneity, 205 ; Kant s
distinction between heterogeneity
and, 234.
Hope, why pleasurable, 9 f.
Hylozoism, ancient, 213, 214.
Hypnotism, and art, 14 ; and
aesthetic feeling, 17 ; illustrating
association of ideas, 157 ; non-
incorporation of idea received
during, 166.
Ideas, analysis of, 134 ; interpene-
tration of, 135 ; unreasoning ad
herence to, 135 ; some not incor
porated, 135 ; associationism fits
superficial, 136 ; reconciliation of,
at deeper level, 136 ; association
of, in interrupted conversation,
156 ; general, and perception of
homogeneous medium, 163.
Identity, principle of, 207 ; attempt
to replace causality by, 209 ;
causality does not coincide with, 2 10.
Illusion, as to psychic states possess
ing magnitude, 21 ; reflective
consciousness has two fundamental,
190 ; of attributing mutual ex
ternality to conscious states, 231 ;
leading to difficulties about free
will, 240.
Immobility, movement cannot be
made from, 115 ; all that science
retains of motion is, 119, 229, 234.
Impenetrability, of matter, 88 f.
Inertia, of organism, and pleasure,
38 ; vis inertiae, 38 ; dynamism
derives, from voluntary activity,
140 ; idea of spontaneity simpler
than, 141 ; spontaneity settling
down into, 220.
Instinct, perception of duration in
sleep compared to, 127 ; of the
intellect, 135.
Intensity, of psychic states, i ff., 224
f. ; of sensations, i ff., 7, 20, 32, 40,
42, 47, 172 f. ; alleged intensive
magnitude, 2, 3 f., 71 f., 106, 225 ;
no point of contact with extensive,
3, 70 ; estimated by external
causes, 4 f., 20, 32 f., 42, 72 ; esti
mated by atomic movements, 6 ;
different kinds of, 7 ; of deep-
seated psychic states, 8, 26 ; of a
growing desire, 8 f. ; of joy, 10 ;
246
INDEX
of sorrow, n ; of aesthetic feelings,
ii ff., 17 f., of nural feelings, pity,
1 8 f. ; of feeling of effort, 24 f. ;
of superficial effort, 26 ; of inter
mediate states, 27 ; of violent
emotions, 28 f., 31 ; as multiplicity
of simple states, 31, 73 ; of affec
tive sensations, 33 f., 34 *-, 47, 73 ]
and organic disturbance, 32 ; of
pain, 35 ff. ; of disgust, 36 ; of
representative sensations, 39 ff-
72 ; as quality, 42, 90, 190, 224 ; of
sensation of sound, 43 f. ; of heat
and cold, 46 f. ; of sensation of
weight, 48 ; of sensation of light,
50 ff. ; of a colour, 54 ; two factors
contributing to, 73 ; as qualitative
sign of quantity, 90, 224 ; of deep-
seated feeling, nothing but the
feeling, 185 ; how others made to
realize, 185 f. ; as compromise
between quality and quantity, 225.
Interpenetration, multiplicity of, 75
n., 162 ; of conscious states, 99,
100 f., 132 f., 163, 164, 231, 237 ;
in pure duration, 104, 107, 108,
no, 128, 218, 235 ; of states of
deep-seated self, 125, 137, 164 ; of
strong feelings, 132 f. ; of ideas,
135 ; of apparently contradictory
ideas at deeper level, 136 ; in pro
cess of addition, 226 ; replaced by
plurality, 237.
Introspection, as leading to funda
mental self, 231.
Intuition, of space necessary to idea
of number, 77 ff., 84, 225 ; of
homogeneous medium, perhaps
peculiar to man, 95 f., 236; of
motion and duration, 114; of
homogeneous space as step towards
social life, 138, 163, 236 ; imme
diate, and discursive thought, 237.
James, W. on feeling of effort, 22, 23,
24 ; on rage, 29.
Joy, feeling of, 10.
Juxtaposition, see also Interpene
tration : inapplicable to inner
states, 8 f. ; multiplicity of, 75 n.,
162 ; implies intuition of space,
77 f. ; number as a, 85, 89 ; of
conscious states, 101, 232 ; in
homogeneous time, 121 ; of lifeless
states, replaces a feeling, 133.
Kant, theory of space, 92 f. ; Tran
scendental Aesthetic, 92, 93 ; dis
tinguished matter and form of
representation, 93 ; " form of
sensibility," 94, 236 ; separated
time and space, 222, 232 ; mistake
about time, 233 ; gave causality
same meaning in Inner and outer
world, 232 ; clung to freedom
but made it noumenal, 232, 238 ;
put free self outside space and time,
233, *35 J on " things in them
selves," 233 f. ; made time and
space homogeneous, 233 ; and the
Practical Reason, 234 ; distin
guished matter and form of con
sciousness, 234 ; result of Critique
of Pure Reason, 235 ; raised
barrier between phenomena and
things in themselves, 235 ; dis
tinguished space from matter, 236.
Kelvin, Lord, his theory of matter, 206.
Lange, on materialism and deter
minism, 144.
Language, unequal to psychological
analysis, <>, 13, 160. 196. 237_:
foreign, sounds louder, 41: domi
nates thought, 70, 2^1 ; perhaps
implies intuition or space, 97, 163,
236 ; uses terms borrowed from
space, 122 ; favours separation of
states of self, 128, 137, 139, 167,
231 ; solidifying influence of, on
impressions, 129 f . ; gives fixed
form to fleeting sensations, 131 f. ;
description distorts the feelings,
132 ff. ; only ideas which least
belong to us can be expressed by,
136, 164 ; and social life, 137, 167,
231, 236 ; same impulse to picture
externality as to speak, 138 ;
second self formed, whose states
expressed by, 138 ; illustration of
inadequacy of, 160 f. ; general
ideas and intuition of space, 163 ;
fixes only impersonal aspect of
emotions, 164 ; psychology misled
by, 165 ; how determinism aided
by, 171 ; why same feeling, when
repeated, called by same name, 200 ;
favoured by avoiding separation of
duration and extensity, 230 f.
La Rochefoucauld, on sympathy, 19.
Law, Weber s, 60 ; Fechner s, 62 ;
Fechner s logarithmic, 62 n. ; of
non-contradiction, 89, 150, 207 ;
of Nature, mechanism and dynam
ism on, 140 f. ; relation between
facts and, 140 f. ; " same ante
cedents, same consequents," 199,
208 ; of causality, 199 ff. ; physical
phenomena obey, 202, 219 ; prin
ciple of identity as absolute, 207 ;
relation of psychic state to act
cannot be expressed by, 239.
Lehmann, his photometric experi
ments, 52.
INDEX
247
Leibniz, on pre-established harmony,
147, 213, 214 ; and conservation of
vis viva, 151 ; on qualities of mat
ter, 213 ; on matter as monad, 213,
214 ; conception of causality as lead
ing to, 213; and determinism, 214.
Light, sensation of, 50 ff.
Line, succession symbolized as a, 103 ;
motion not a, 120 ; time not a, 181.
" Local signs," 49, 95 ; Lotze on, 93.
Lotze, theory of local signs, 93.
Magnitude, quantitative differences
applicable to, 2 ff. ; alleged inten
sive, 2, 3 f., 71 f., 106, 225 ; two
species of, 3 f . ; of growing desire,
9 ; and muscular effort, 20 f . ;
of sensations, 31 ff., 72 ; intensity
of pain as a, 37 ; pleasure as a, 38 ;
of representative sensations, 47 ;
interval between colours as, 57 f . ;
interval between sensations as, 66,
68 f. ; intensity not a, 225.
Mathematics, represents results, not
processes, 119, 234 ; exemplifies
one type of prefiguring, 204 f.
Matter, impenetrability of, 88 ;
molecular theory of, and deter
minism, 143 f., 209 ; atomic theory
of, still hypothetical, 145 ; has no
apparent duration, 153 ; stripped
of concrete qualities, 205 ; shape
as quality of, 205 ; Lord Kelvin s
vortex theory of, 206 ; Descartes
view of, 207 ; hylozoism and
qualities of, 213; Leibniz and
qualities of, 213 ; distinguished
from form, 223, 234 ; distinguished
from space, 236.
Mean gradations, method of, 56, 59,
67, 69.
Mechanics, treatment of time and
duration in, 1 15 ; and notion of velo
city, 117 ; deals with equations, 119.
Mechanism, as system of nature, 140 ;
and relation between facts and
laws, 140 f. ; its view of simplicity,
141 ; its influence on determin
ism, 148, 209 ; makes conscious
ness an epiphenomenon, 152 ; and
Lord Kelvin s theory of matter,
207 ; Spinozistic, 209 ; and coin
cidence of causality with identity,
210; meant to explain conduct,
will control it, 237.
Metaphor, see Symbolical Represen
tation.
Method.of mean gradations, 56, 59,67,
69 ; of minimum differences, 64f ., 69.
Mill, on Hamilton, 159 n., 174 n. ;
on distinct states of self, 159 ; on
free will, 174.
Mind, act of, see Act.
Mind, articles in, quoted, 29 n., 46 n.
Minimum differences, method of,
64 f., 69.
Mobility, and motion, inf.; elimin
ated by science, 115, 228.
Moliere, Le Misanthrope quoted, 167.
Monad, Leibniz on matter as, 213, 214.
Motion, see al<5o Movement : analysis
of concept of, no f. ; real only for
conscious spectator, 1 1 1 ; as mental
synthesis, in, 120; mobility and,
in ; of shooting star, ni ; con
fused with space in Eleatic para
dox, 113 f. ; intuition of, 114 ; not
derivable from immobih ties, 115 -,
no homogeneous element in, 115 ;
science eliminates mobility from,
115, 228, 234 ; hypothetical acce
leration of cosmic, 116 f., 193 ff. ;
cannot be represented by mathe
matical formulae, 119 f. f 234;
helps to form idea of homogeneous
duration, 124 ; Descartes and
conservation of, 151 ; and Lord
Kelvin s theory of matter, 206.
Motives, actions explained by, 148 ;
and process of deliberation, 158;
act not determined by, 158 ; Bain
on conflict of, 159 ; Fouillde 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, 33, 35 ; in estimating sensa
tion of weight, 49 f. ; measure
ment of velocity of, 107, 117.
Muller, Johann, nativistic theory of
space, 93.
Multiplicity, inner, 73 ; of conscious
states, 75 ff., 90 f. ; of juxtaposi
tion, 75 n., 162 ; of interpenetra-
tion, 75 n., 162 ; implied in num
ber, 76, 80 f. ; implied in addition.
85 ; two kinds of 85 f., 91, iai, 128,
129 ; discrete, 90, 91, 120 f., 226 ;
of number and of conscious states,
91, 121 ; continuous or qualitative,
105, 121, 128, 224, 226, 229, 239 ;
determinism rests on inaccurate
conception of, 143, 173 ; associa-
tionism confuses the two kinds of,
162 f. ; of psychic states as con
stituting duration, 224 ; duration
as qualitative, 226, 229.
Music, and suggestion, 15, 44 ;
duration and musical rhythm, 100 ;
increase of stimulus compared to
musical phrase, 106 ; organization
of sensations compared to melodic
phrase, in ; strokes of clock com
248
INDEX
pared to musical phrase, 127 ;
consciousness compared to invisible
musician, 147.
Nativist theory of space, 93-
N ature beauty in, 14 , compared
with art, 16 ; profoundly utili
tarian, 33 ; view taken by mechan
ism and dynamism, 140 f. ; con
crete phenomena of, abolished,
207 ; view of, as whimsical, 212.
Necessity, see also Determinism :
mechanism cannot escape, 140 ;
as deus ex machina in ancient
hylozoism, 214 ; and idea of force,
216 ff.
Neiglick, his photometric experi
ments, 52
Nol, G., article on number and space,
75 n.
Notes, why classified as higher and
lower, 45 f.
Noumenon, freedom as, 232.
Novelist, how effects produced, 133,
164, 185.
Number, natural series, 2, 80 ; defi
nition of, 75 ; article on space and,
75 n. ; units of, identical, 76 ;
units of, distinct, 77, 226 ; implies
intuition of space, 77 ff., 83 f., 225 ;
both unit and synthesis of units,
80 f. ; discontinuity of, 82 ; pro
cess of forming a, 82 f. ; why divi
sible at will, 83 ; subjective and
objective in, 84 ; thought of as a
juxtaposition, 85 ; inapplicable to
multiplicity of conscious states, 87 ;
and impenetrability of matter,
89 ; those in daily use have
emotional equivalents, 123 ; time
as a, 195, 197 ; results from a com
promise, 226.
Objective, definition of, 83.
Objectivity, of things, 236.
Objects, contrasted with progress,
in, 112, 219 ; can be analysed,
112 ; help to cut up our psychic
life, 124 f. ; seem to live and grow
old, 130 ; tend to fix changing
feelings, 130 ; in human soul
processes, not, 131.
Order, of succession, implies space,
101 f.
Pain, and pity, 18 f. ; as sign of
future reaction, 33 ; intensity of,
35 f. ; Darwin on, 37 ; conceived as
distinct thing, 159.
Paradox, the Eleatic, 74, 112 f., 240.
Parallelism, of physical and psychical
series, 146 f.
Paralysis, and feeling of effort, ax, 22,
Past, no recurrence of, 154, 200 f.,
219, 232, 233, 239.
Paul, his prediction of Peter s action,
184 ff.
Pendulum, counting oscillations of,
104 f. ; what do oscillations of,
measure, 107 ff ; oscillations of,
help to cut up our psychic life,
109 ; spreads out undivided ten
sion of spring, 228.
Permeation, see Interpenetration.
Peter, Paul s prediction of his
action, 184 ff.
Photometric experiments, 52 ff.
Physics, and sound-vibrations, 46 ;
and degrees of luminous intensity,
52 f. ; interested in external
cause, 71 ; physical phenomena
and law, 202 ; Cartesian, 207, 208 ;
Descartes instantaneous, 208 ; and
forecasting of phenomena, 222, 230.
Pillon, F., article on number and
space, 75 n.
Pitch, of a sound, 44 f.
Plateau, his method of measuring
luminous sensations, 56.
Plato, quoted, 168 ; Platonic reminis
cence, 234.
Pleasure, as sign of future reaction,
33 f. ; and bodily inclination, 38 ;
keenness of, as inertia of organism,
38 ; conceived as distinct thing, 159.
Poetry, how effects produced, 15.
" Possible acts," 174 f., 239.
Postulate, Delbceuf s, 60 ; Fechner s,
60 ; fundamental, of psychophysics,
65, 70 ; underlying geometrical
representation of voluntary acti
vity, 179.
Prediction, astronomical, 117, 192 ff.,
198 ; determinism and, 173, 183 ff.,
220 ; real, duration and, 183 ff. ; of
future actions, 183 ff., 229, 239 ;
probable and infallible, 183 f., and
character, 184, 172 ; hypothetical
case of Peter and Paul, 184 ff. ;
all foreseeing as seeing, 195, 197,
198 ; of phenomena, and physics,
222, 230.
Prefiguring, of future phenomenon in
present conditions, 204 ff., 210 ;
two kinds of, 204 ff., 215 ; as in
mathematics, 204 f. ; as having
idea of possible future act, 211 f.
Pressure, sensation of, 47 f.
Process, motion as a, in ; conscious
states not things but, 131, 196 ;
misleading to substitute material
symbol for, 190 ; cannot be
analysed, 219.
Progress, motion as a, in ; not
INDEX
249
divisible, 112 ; cannot be repre
sented by geometrical figure, 181 ;
misleading to substitute material
symbol for, 190 ; psychic state as
a, 198 ; from idea to act, 211.
Providence, Descartes and grace of,
208.
Psychology, descriptive, limits of,
139 ; sometimes misled by lan
guage, 165 ; deals with intervals of
duration and not their extremities,
196 ; modern, and perception
through subjective forms, 222.
Psychophysics, and measurement of
sensations, i, 55 ff. ; measurement
of intensity of light, 52 ff. ; Del-
boeuf s experiments, 52, 56, 58 f.,
67 f. ; method of mean gradations,
56, 59, 67, 69 ; method of minimum
differences, 64 f., 69 ; Delboeuf s
postulate, 60 ; Weber s Law, 60 ;
all, involved in transition from
stimulus to amount of sensation,
6 1 ; Fechner s Law, 61 f. ; postu
late of, 65, 70 ; fallacy of all, 65 f.,
7o ; exaggerations of, 225.
Quality, interpreted as quantity or
magnitude, 9, 13, 39, 42, 43, 48 f.,
51, 58, 69, 70 ; sound as a, 46 ;
sensation of increase qualitative,
48 ; intensity of light as a, 50 ;
variations in brightness qualitative,
54 ; psychophysics attempts to
measure, 63 ; no point of contact
with quantity, 70 ; sensation as a,
72, 90 ; confusion with quantity
invades whole series of psychic
states, 74 ; space devoid of, 95 ;
qualitative multiplicity, 105, 121,
128, 224, 226, 229, 239 ; sensation
of mobility qualitative, 112 ; qua
litative distinctions, 121 f., 204 ;
counting as a qualitative progress,
123 ; of quantity, 123 ; strokes
of a clock estimated by quality of
musical phrase, 127 ; time as,
129 ; deep-seated conscious states
as pure, 137 f., 224 ; matter
stripped of concrete, 205 ; attempt
to explain apparent, of matter
205 ; shape as, of matter, 205
qualities of things set up as states
213 ; Leibniz and external, 213
psychic phenomena as pure, 224
Intensity as compromise between
quantity and, 225.
Quantity, see also Magnitude : as
applied to inner states, i ff. ; alleged
two kinds of, 3 ff., 72, 225 ; quality
Interpreted as, 9, 13, 39, 42, 43,
48 f., 51, 58, 69, 70 ; and muscular
effort, 20 f., 25 ; of cause, trans
ferred to quality of effect, 42, 70 ;
pitch and, 45, 46 ; increase of
sensation as, 48 ; difference be
tween hues of a colour as, 60 ;
psychophysics makes intervals be
tween sensations into a, 62, 65, 66,
68 f. ; no point of contact between
quality and, 70 ; how quantitative
relations set up between sensations,
71 ; quantitative distinctions, 121
f., 204 ; without quality, 123 ;
time as, 129 ; cause of psychic
phenomena as, 224 ; quality as
sign of, 224 ; intensity as com
promise between quality and, 225.
Rage, Darwin on, 29 ; James on, 29.
Reality, of space, 91 f., 95, no ;
two kinds of, 97, no; real dura
tion, no, 125 ff., 154 ; of facts for
dynamism, 141 ; of laws for
mechanism, 141 ; time as a, 155 ;
attempt to produce, from alge
braical relations, 205 ; physics
treats sensations as signs of, 223.
Reason, beliefs adopted without, 135 ;
decisions taken without or against,
170 ; in ancient hylozoism, 214 ;
the discursive, 229, 237 ; Kant s
doctrine of the Practical, 234 ;
Critique of Pure, 235.
Refraction through space, self per
ceived by, 128, 129, 137, 167, 183,
217, 223 ; of " things in them
selves," Kant s view, 233.
Renouvier, on freedom, 237 n.
Representation, see Symbolical Re
presentation.
Resolution, how feeling leads to, 133,
171.
Revue philosophique, referred to, 52 .
Revue scientifique, Tannery s criti
cism of Fechner in, 67.
Rhythm, connecting dancer and spec
tator, 12 ; effect in music, 14 ; in
poetry, 15 ; and architecture, 15 ;
Nature does not command, 16 ;
succession of conscious states
compared to, 100.
Ribot, on attention and movements,
27 f.
Richet, on pain, 35 f. ; on disgust, 36.
Rood, on changes of hue, 51.
Saturation, of a colour, 54.
Scale, notes of, why classified as
higher and lower, 45 f.
Science, eliminates duration from
time and mobility from motion,
115 E., 228 ; and hypothetical
acceleration of motions of universe.
250
INDEX
1 1 6, 193 ff. ; attempts to do away
with duration and causality, 208
f. ; separates ideas of free effort
and necessary determination, 218 ;
attempts to measure intensive
quantity, 225 ; separates extensity
and duration, 228, 230 ; main
object of, 230 ; could deal with
time if homogeneous, 234.
Scottish philosophers, 72.
Sculpture, ancient, 15.
Self, whole, reflected in each conscious
state, 98, 165 ; recovery of the
fundamental, 100, 128, 129, 231,
233, 236, 240 ; introduces distinc
tions derived from external objects
into its own states, 109, 125, 237 ;
superficial, with mutually external
states, 125, 128, 136, 138, 167, 237 ;
deep-seated, with interpenetrating
states, 125, 128, 136, 164, 236 ;
many conscious states never blend
with whole mass of, 135, 166, 168 ;
perceived by refraction through
space, 128, 129, 137, 167, 183, 217,
223 ; the two aspects of the, 129
ff-, 137, 231 ; tendency to form
secondary, 138, 166 ; not an
association of terms, 139, 159 ff.,
164, 165, 226 ; recourse to living
and concrete, necessary to solve
problems of causality, freedom, etc.,
139 ; activity of, cannot be com
pared to that of any other force,
143, 216 ; perception of, through
forms borrowed from external
world, 154, 217, 223 ; self-deter
mination, 165 ; parasitic, as result
of education, 166 ; free decisions
spring from whole or fundamental,
167, 172, 231, 240 ; covered over
with crust of clean-cut psychic
states, 167 ; does not intervene in
carrying out e very-day acts, 168 ;
uprush of deep-seated, at moment
of crisis, 169 ; distinction of psychic
states leads to mechanical concep
tion of, 171 ; constantly changing
and growing, 171, 175 f. ; view of,
involved in geometrical represen
tation of process of deciding, 176 f. ;
infallible in affirming its immediate
experiences, 183 ; as a free force,
216, 235 ; Kant put free, outside
space and duration, 233 ; Kant
and phenomenal, 233 ; as a free
cause, 235.
Sensations, intensity of, i f!., 7 ff.,
20 ff., 40, 42, 47, 72 f. ; art yielding
only, 17 ; and external causes,
20 ff. ; peripheral, and muscular
effort, 24, 26 ; peripheral, and
violent emotions, 31 ; magnitude
of, 31, 32, 47, 72 ; affective and
representative : affective, 32 fi.,
72 f. ; and organic disturbance,
32 f. ; pleasure and pain, 33 ff. ;
affective, and free movements, 33 ;
representative, 39 ff., 73, 90 ;
medium, 41 ; representative, mea
sured by external causes, 42 ; of
sound, 43 f. ; of heat and cold,
46 f., 64 ; of pressure and weight,
47 f. ; increase of, and sensation of
increase, 48 ; as quantity or qua
lity, 48 ; of movement, 50 ; of
light, 50 ff. ; measurement of
luminous, 52 ff. ; psychophysics
attempts to measure, 55 ff., 62, 63,
225 ! equal and identical, 57, 62,
63, 64, 69 ; law connecting stimu
lus and, 60 f. ; as quantities, 62,
65, 66 ; addition of, 64 ; considered
as a sum, 65, 67 ; how quantitative
differences set up between, 71 f. ;
as pure quality, 72 ; and space,
92, 93, 95 ; can space be built up
from, 94 ; simultaneous and iden
tical 95 ; of motion, indivisible,
112 influence of language on,
131 not objects but processes,
131 altered by repetition, 131 ;
physics treats, as signs of reality,
223.
Series, natural, of numbers, 2, 80 }
double aspect of each term in a,
124, 226 ; physical and psychical,
210.
" Several," use of, implies space, 122.
Shape, as quality of matter, 205.
Simplicity, different senses of, in
dynamism and mechanism, 141.
Simultaneity, implies space, 95 ;
measuring duration and counting,
108 f. ; as connecting link between
space and duration, no ; defini
tion of, no ; in measuring velo
city, 114, 117; used in defining
equal intervals of time, 116, 119;
in space nothing but, 116, 206,
227 ; and astronomical prediction,
116 f., 193 ff . ; dealt with by
mathematics, 119; attempted re
presentation of succession by, 180,
221 ; all relations not translatable
into, are scientifically unknowable,
234-
Sleep, and perception of duration,
126.
Smell, illustration from associations
of, 161 f.
Social life, self with well-defined
states better adapted to, 128, 137,
139, 167, 231 ; more important
INDEX
251
than our inner life, 130 ; intuition
of homogeneous medium as step
towards, 138, 163, 236.
Solidification, of an act, in space,
112 ; of changing feelings, pro
moted by language and external
objects, 129 f. ; of sensations
owing to language, 131 ; of ideas
on surface of consciousness, 135,
166, 168 ; of conscious states,
promotes social life, 231 ; of con
scious states, how brought about,
237.
Sorrow, an increasing, n.
Sound, sensations of, 43 ff. ; inten
sity of, 43 ff. ; pitch of, 45 ; why
classified as higher and lower, 45 f.
Space, and magnitude, 2 ; introduced
into perception of duration, 74 ;
article on number and, 75 n. ;
intuition of, implied in counting,
77 ff., 83 f., 225 ; material objects
counted in, 85 f. ; conscious states
not countable unless symbolically
represented in, 86 f., 89, 90 ; idea
of impenetrability shows inter
connexion of number and, 89 ;
projection of psychic states into,
90, 101, 106, 231 ; time, but not
duration, as spatial, 90 f. ; reality
of, 91 f., 95, up ; as common ele
ment in certain sensations, 92 ;
Kant s theory of, 92, 93 ; nativistic
and empirical theories of, 93 ;
Mviller s theory, 93 ; Lotze s theory,
93 ; Bain s theory, 93 ; Wundt s
theory, 93 ; attempt to build up,
from inextensive sensations, 93 f.,
99 f., 222 ; definition of, 95, 98 ;
as a homogeneous medium without
quality, 95 ff., 98 ; not so homo
geneous for animals, 96 ; intuition
of homogeneous, peculiar to man,
97, 236 ; intuition of, necessary to
counting, abstraction and speech,
97 ; is time, as homogeneous
medium, reducible to, 98 f. ; time
as ghost of, 99 ; duration expressed
in terms of, 101, no ; order of
succession implies, 101 f. ; sym
bolical representation of succession
as line implies, 103 ; time as fourth
dimension of, 109 ; simultaneity
as connecting link between time
and, no; and motion, no ff. ;
projection of act into, 112, 181 ;
Infinitely divisible, 113, 114; as
homogeneous element in motion,
115; the only measurable element
in motion, 116, 118, 119; nothing
but simultaneities in, 116, 206,
227 ; alone homogeneous, 120 ;
no duration or succession in, 120
227 ; self perceived by refraction
through, 128, 129, 137, 167, 183,
217, 223 ; intuition of homogene
ous, as step towards social life,
138, 163, 236 ; connexion between
perception of, and general ideas,
163 ; is time space ? 181, 190,
221 ; time confused with, in pre
diction, 191 ff. ; as result of
stripping matter of concrete quali
ties, 205 ; separated from time by
Kant, 222 ; must be eliminated
in studying inner phenomena, 229 ;
Kant confused time with, 232 ;
Kant put the free self outside, 233 ;
we usually live and act in, not in
duration, 233 ; Kant on time and,
233 ; existence of homogeneous,
assumed, 236; as a "form of
sensibility," 236; intuition of,
what it accomplishes, 236.
Spectrum, colours of the, 51, 54, 57.
Spencer, H., on gracefulness, 13 ;
on expression of fear, 30.
Spinoza, on modes of thought and
modes of extension, 147 ; on
causality and apparent succession
in time, 208 ; conception of
causality which leads to, 208, 213 ;
Spinozistic mechanism, 209.
Spontaneity, idea of, simpler than
that of inertia, 141 ; force as a
free, 217 ; settlirg down into
inertia, 220.
Stimulus, law connecting sensation
with, 60 ff. ; effect of slight but
continuous, 106.
Subjective, definition of, 83.
Succession, attempt to derive exten-
sity from, 99 f., 222 ; of conscious
states compared to rhythm of
tune, 100 ; without distinction,
101 ; order of, implies distinction
and therefore space, 101 f. ; cannot
be symbolized as a line without
idea of space, 103 f. ; within the
ego succession, without, only
externality, 108, 227 ; exists only
for conscious spectator, 108, 120,
227 ; endosmosis between exter
nality and, 109, 228 ; none in
space, 120, 227 ; attempt to repre
sent by simultaneity, 180, 221 ;
causality as regular, 202 f. ; no
regular in deep-seated psychic
states, 203 ; attempt to transform
into inherence, 209 ; apparent, of
phenomena, 201, 227 ; of pheno
mena and conscious states, 212,
216 ; Leibniz and, 213 ; attributed
to things, 228 ; idea of measurable
422087
252
INDEX
time arises from compromise
between simultaneity and, 228.
Suggestion, in art, 14 ff. ; in music,
15, 44-
Symbolical Representation, necessary
to counting of conscious states,
86 f., 89, 90 ; of a line, implies
idea of space, 103 ; pure duration
cannot be measured without, 105 ;
of duration, derived from space,
no ; of time as homogeneous
medium, 124 f. ; of elements of a
conscious state, 163 ; of the self
and its feelings, given by deter
minism, 171 ; of process of coming
to a decision, 175 ff. ; leads to
determinism, 178 ; of time as a
line, 182 ; cannot be substituted
for dynamic process, 190 ; of ego,
confused by Kant with ego itself,
232.
Sympathy, physical, and grace, 13 ;
with Nature. 16 ; with misfortune,
19.
Tannery, J., as critic of Fechner, 67.
Taste, as changeable, 131.
" Things in themselves," Kant and,
233, 234, 238.
Time, sounds not counted in, 87, 91 ;
as homogeneous medium in which
conscious states are ranged, 90,
121 ; as homogeneous medium,
nothing but space, 91, 98 ; dis
tinct from pure duration, 91, 98 ;
is it unbounded medium distinct
from space ? 98 f. ; as ghost of
space, 99 ; attempt to derive
extensity from succession in, 99 f. ;
two possible conceptions of, 100 ;
is it measurable ? 107 f. ; appar
ently homogeneous, 107 ; as dealt
with by the astronomer and
physicist, 107, 192 ff. ; as measured
by clocks, 108 f. ; as fourth dimen
sion of space, 109 ; concrete and
abstract, 114; science eliminates
duration from, 115 f. ; definition
of equal intervals of, 115 ; how it
comes to be represented as homo
geneous, 124 f., 237 ; as symbolical
image of duration, 125 f. ; as
quality and quantity, 129 ; con
fusion of, with concrete duration,
155 ; is time space ? 181, 190, 221 ;
uot a line, 181 ; confused with
space, 181 f., 191 f., 232 ; as a
number, 195, 197 ; separated from
space by Kant, 222, 232 ; idea of
measurable, arises from com
promise, 228 ; Kant s mistake
about, 232 ; Kant on space and,
233 ; science could deal with, if
homogeneous, 234 ; Kant put
freedom outside, 235 ; hetero
geneous duration replaced by
homogeneous, 237.
Tortoise, and Achilles, 113 f.
Town, objects in, seem to live and
grow old, 129 f.
Tradesmen, their avoidance of
round numbers, 123.
Transcendental Aesthetic, Kant s
theory of space in his, 92, 93.
Units, those forming a number
identical, 76 ; also distinct, 77 ;
space implied in counting, 79 ;
every number both unit and
synthesis of. 80 ; two kinds,
ultimate and provisional, 80 f. ;
if divisible, then extended, 82 ;
split up by arithmetic, 84 ; re
garded by common sense as indi
visible, 84.
Unity, attaching to number, 76 ;
all, due to simple act of the mind,
80 f. ; of act and of object, 81, 83 ;
Spinoza and the divine, 208.
Universe, hypothetical acceleration
of motions of, 116, 193 ff. ; mole
cular theory of, 143 ; vague per
sonality ascribed to, 213.
Velocity, measurement of, 107, 114 ;
notion cf, analysed, 117; uniform
and variable, 117 f.
Vis inertiae, 38 ; vis viva, 151.
Vulpian, on hemiplegia, 22.
Weber, his law, 60 f.
Weight, sensation of, 25 f. ; 47 ff.
Will, see also Free Will : willing for
willing s sake, 157, 158.
Words, see language.
Wundt, on paralytic s sensation of
force, 21 ; on connexions of vocal
and auditory nervous filaments, 44 ;
theory of space, 93.
Zeno, on Achilles and tortoise, n;)f
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Time and free will
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