Modern Idealism, if it asserts any general conclusion about the
universe at all, asserts that it is spiritual. There are two points
about this assertion to which I wish to call attention. These points are that,
whatever be its exact meaning, it is certainly meant to assert (1) that the
universe is very different indeed from what it seems, and (2) that it has quite
a large number of properties which it does not seem to have. Chairs and tables
and mountains seem to be very different from us; but, when the whole
universe is declared to be spiritual, it is certainly meant to assert that they
are far more like us than we think. The idealist means to assert that they are
in some sense neither lifeless nor unconscious, as they certainly seem
to be; and I do not think his language is so grossly deceptive, but that we may
assume him to believe that they really are very different indeed from what they
seem. And secondly when he declares that they are spiritual, he means
to include in that term quite a large number of different properties. When the
whole universe is declared to be spiritual, it is meant not only that it is in
some sense conscious, but that it has what we recognise in ourselves as
the higher forms of consciousness. That it is intelligent; that it is
purposeful; that it is not mechanical; all these different things are commonly
asserted of it. In general, it may be said, this phrase reality is
spiritual
excites and expresses the belief that the whole
universe possesses all the qualities the possession of which is held to
make us so superior to things which seem to be inanimate: at least, if it does
not possess exactly those which we possess, it possesses not one only, but
several others, which, by the same ethical standard, would be judged equal to or
better than our own. When we say it is spiritual we mean to say that it
has quite a number of excellent qualities, different from any which we commonly
attribute either to stars or planets or to cups and saucers. (I. ¶ 1)
Now why I mention these two points is that when engaged in the
intricacies of philosophic discussion, we are apt to overlook the vastness of
the difference between this idealistic view and the ordinary view of the world,
and to overlook the number of different propositions which the idealist
must prove. It is, I think, owing to the vastness of this difference and owing
to the number of different excellences which Idealists attribute to the
universe, that it seems such an interesting and important question whether
Idealism be true or not. But, when we begin to argue about it, I think we are
apt to forget what a vast number of arguments this interesting question must
involve: we are apt to assume, that if one or two points be made on either side,
the whole case is won. I say this lest it should be thought that any of the
arguments which will be advanced in this paper would be sufficient to disprove,
or any refutation of them sufficient to prove, the truly interesting and
important proposition that reality is spiritual. For my own part I wish it to be
clearly understood that I do not suppose that anything I shall say has the
smallest tendency to prove that reality is not spiritual: I do not believe it
possible to refute a single one of the many important propositions contained in
the assertion that it is so. Reality may be spiritual, for all I know; and I
devoutly hope it is. But I take Idealism
to be a wide term and to
include not only this interesting conclusion but a number of arguments which are
supposed to be, if not sufficient, at least necessary, to prove it.
Indeed I take it that modern idealists are chiefly distinguished by certain
arguments which they have in common. That reality is spiritual has, I believe,
been the tenet of many theologians; and yet, for believing that alone, they
should hardly be called Idealists. There are besides, I believe, many persons,
not improperly called Idealists, who hold certain characteristic propositions,
without venturing to think them quite sufficient to prove so grand a conclusion.
It is, therefore, only with Idealistic arguments that I am concerned; and if any
Idealist holds that no argument is necessary to prove that reality is spiritual,
I shall certainly not have refuted him. I shall, however, attack at least one
argument, which, to the best of my belief, is considered necessary to their
position by all Idealists. And I wish to point out a certain advantage
which this procedure gives me — an advantage which justifies the assertion
that, if my arguments are sound, they will have refuted Idealism. If I can
refute a single proposition which is a necessary and essential step in all
Idealistic arguments. then. no matter how good the rest of these arguments may
be, I shall have proved that Idealists have no reason whatever for
their conclusion. (I. ¶ 2)
Suppose we have a chain of argument which takes the form: Since
A is B, and B is C, and C
is D, it follows A is D. In such an argument,
though B is C
and C is
D
may both be perfectly true, yet if A is
B
be false, we have no more reason for asserting A is
D than if all three were false. It does not, indeed, follow that
A is D is false; nor does it follow that no other
arguments would prove it to be true. But it does follow that, so far as this
argument goes, it is the barest supposition, without the least bit of evidence.
I propose to attack a proposition which seems to me to stand in this relation to
the conclusion Reality is spiritual.
I do not propose to dispute that
Reality is spiritual;
I do not deny that there may be reasons for
thinking that it is: but I do propose to show that one reason upon which, to the
best of my judgment, all other arguments ever used by Idealists depend is
false. These other arguments may, for all I shall say, be eminently
ingenious and true; they are very many and various, and different Idealists use
the most different arguments to prove the same most important conclusions. Some
of these may be sufficient to prove that B is C and C is D; but if, as I shall
try to show, their A is B
is false the conclusion A is D remains a
pleasant supposition. I do not deny that to suggest pleasant and plausible
suppositions may be the proper function of philosophy: but I am assuming that
the name Idealism can only be properly applied where there is a certain amount
of argument, intended to be cogent. (I. ¶ 3)
The subject of this paper is, therefore, quite uninteresting. Even if I prove my point, I shall have proved nothing about the Universe in general. Upon the important question whether Reality is or is not spiritual my argument will not have the remotest bearing. I shall only attempt to arrive at the truth about a matter, which is in itself quite trivial and insignificant, and from which, so far as I can see and certainly so far as I shall say, no conclusions can be drawn about any of the subjects about which we most want to know. The only importance I can claim for the subject I shall investigate is that it seems to me to be a matter upon which not Idealists only, but all philosophers and psychologists also, have been in error, and from their erroneous view of which they have inferred (validly or invalidly) their most striking and interesting conclusions. And that it has even this importance I cannot hope to prove. If it has this importance, it will indeed follow that all the most striking results of philosophy — Sensationalism, Agnosticism and Idealism alike — have, for all that has hitherto been urged in their favour, no foundation than the supposition that a chimera lives in the moon. It will follow that, unless new reasons never urged hitherto can be found, all the most important philosophic doctrines have as little claim to assent as the most superstitious beliefs of the lowest savages. Upon the question what we have reason to believe in the most interesting matters, I do therefore think that my results will have an important bearing; but I cannot too clearly insist that upon the question whether these beliefs are true they will have none whatever. (I. ¶ 4)
The trivial proposition which I propose to dispute is this: esse is percipi. This is a very ambiguous proposition, but, in some sense or other, it has been very widely held. That it is, in some sense, essential to Idealism, I must for the present merely assume. What I propose to show is that, in all the senses ever given to it, it is false. (I. ¶ 5)
But, first of all, it may be useful to point out briefly in what
relation I conceive it to stand to Idealistic arguments. That wherever you can
truly predicate esse you can truly predicate percipi, in some sense or other, is, I take it, a necessary
step in all arguments, properly to be called Idealistic, and, what is more, in
all arguments hitherto offered for the idealistic conclusion. If esse is percipi, this is at once
equivalent to saying that whatever is, is experienced; and this, again, is
equivalent, in a sense, to saving that whatever is, is something mental. But
this is not the sense in which the Idealist conclusion must maintain
that Reality is mental. The Idealist conclusion is that esse is percipere; and hence,
whether esse be percipi or
not, a further and different discussion is needed to show whether or not it is
also percipere. And again, even if esse be percipere, we need a
vast quantity of further argument to show that what has esse has also those higher mental qualities which are
denoted by spiritual. This is why I said that the question I should discuss,
namely, whether or not esse is percipi, must be utterly insufficient either to prove or to
disprove that reality is spiritual. But, on the other hand, I believe that every
argument ever used to show that reality is spiritual has inferred this (validly
or invalidly) from esse is percipere
as one of its premisses; and that this
again has never been pretended to be proved except by use of the premiss that
esse is percipi. The type
of argument used for the latter purpose is familiar enough. It is said that
since whatever is, is experienced, and since some things are which are not
experienced by the individual, these must at least form part of some experience.
Or again that, since an object necessarily implies a subject, and since the
whole world must be an object, we must conceive it to belong to some subject or
subjects, in the same sense in which whatever is the object of our experience
belongs to us. Or again, that, since thought enters into the essence of all
reality, we must conceive behind it, in it, or as its essence, a spirit akin to
ours, who think: that spirit greets spirit
in its object. Into the
validity of these inferences I do not propose to enter: they obviously require a
great deal of discussion. I only desire to point out that, however correct they
may be, yet if esse is not percipi, they leave us as far from a proof that reality is
spiritual, as if they were all false too. (I. ¶ 6)
But now: is esse percipi? There are three very ambiguous terms in this proposition, and I must begin by distinguishing the different things that may be meant by some of them. (I. ¶ 7)
And first with regard to percipi. This
term need not trouble us long at present. It was, perhaps, originally used to
mean sensation
only; but I am not going to be so unfair to modern
Idealists — the only Idealists to whom the term should now be applied
without qualification — as to hold that, if they say esse is percipi, they mean by
percipi sensation only. On the contrary I quite agree
with them that, if esse be percipi at all, percipi must be
understood to include not sensation only, but that other type of mental fact,
which is called thought
; and, whether esse be percipi or not, I
consider it to be the main service of the philosophic school, to which modern
Idealists belong, that they have insisted on distinguishing
thought
and on emphasising the importance of the latter. Against
Sensationalism and Empiricism they have maintained the true view. But the
distinction between sensation and thought need not detain us here. For, in
whatever respects they differ, they have at least this in common, that they are
both forms of consciousness or, to use a term that seems to be more in fashion
just now, they are both ways of experiencing Accordingly, whatever esse is percipi may mean, it
does at least assert that whatever is, is experienced. And
since what I wish to maintain is, that even if this is untrue, the question
whether it be experienced by way of sensation or thought or both is for my
purpose quite irrelevant. If it be not experienced at all, it cannot be either
an object of thought or an object of sense. It is only if being involves
experience
that the question, whether it involves sensation or
thought or both, becomes important. I beg, therefore, that percipi may be understood, in what follows, to refer merely
to what is common to sensation and thought. A very recent article
states the meaning of esse is percipi with all desirable clearness in so far as percipi is concerned. I will undertake to
show,
says Mr. Taylor,
that what makes [any piece of fact] real can be nothing but its presence
as an inseparable aspect of a sentient experience.
I am glad to
think that Mr. Taylor has been in time to supply me with so definite a statement
that this is the ultimate premiss of Idealism. My paper will at least refute Mr.
Taylor’s Idealism, if it refutes anything at all: for I shall
undertake to show that what makes a thing real cannot possibly be its presence
as an inseparable aspect of a sentient experience. (I. ¶ 8)
¶ 8, n. 1: International Journal of Ethics, October, 1902 ↩
But Mr. Taylor’s statement though clear, I think, with regard
to the meaning of percipi is highly ambiguous in
other respects. I will leave it for the present to consider the next ambiguity
in the statement: Esse is percipi. What does the copula mean? What can be meant by
saying that esse is percipi? There are just three meanings, one or
other of which such a statement must have, if it is to be true; and of
these there is only one which it can have, if it is to be important. (1) The
statement may be meant to assert that the word esse
is used to
signify nothing either more or less than the word percipi
: that
the two words are precise synonyms: that they are merely different names for one
and the same thing: that what is meant by esse is
absolutely identical with what is meant by percipi. I
think I need not prove that the principle esse is
percipi is not thus intended merely to
define a word; nor yet that, if it were, it would be an extremely bad
definition. But if it does not mean this, only two alternatives remain.
The second is (2) that what is meant by esse, though
not absolutely identical with what is meant by percipi; yet includes the latter as a
part of its meaning. If this were the meaning of esse is
percipi,
then to say that a thing was real would not be the same thing as
to say that it was experienced. That it was real would mean that it was
experienced and something else besides: being experienced
would be analytically essential to reality, but would not be the whole
meaning of the term. From the fact that a thing was real we should be able to
infer, by the law of contradiction, that it was experienced; since the latter
would be part of what is meant by the former. But, on the other hand,
from the fact a thing was experienced we should not be able to infer that it was
real; since it would not follow from the fact that it had one of the attributes
essential to reality, that it also had the other or others. Now, if we
understand esse is percipi
in this second sense, we must distinguish three different things which
it asserts. First of all, it gives a definition of the word
reality,
asserting that word stands for a complex whole, of which
what is meant by percipi
forms a part. And secondly it asserts
that being experienced
forms a part of a certain whole. Both these
propositions may be true, and at all events I do not wish to dispute them. I do
not, indeed, think that the word reality
is commonly used to
include percipi
: but I do not wish to argue about the meaning of
words. And that many things which are experienced are also something else
— that to be experienced forms part of certain wholes, is, of course,
indisputable. But what I wish to point out is, that neither of these
propositions is of any importance, unless we add to them a third. That
real
is a convenient name for a union of attributes which
sometimes occurs, it could not be worth any one’s while to
assert: no inferences of any importance could be drawn from such an assertion.
Our principle could only mean that when a thing happens to have percipi as well as the other qualities included under esse, it has percipi: and we
should never be able to infer that it was experienced, except from a proposition
which already asserted that it was both experienced and something else.
Accordingly, if the assertion that percipi forms part
of the whole meant by reality is to have any importance, it must mean that the
whole is organic, at least in this sense, that the other constituent or
constituents of it cannot occur without percipi, even if percipi can
occur without them. Let us call these other constituents x. The
proposition that esse includes percipi, and that therefore from esse percipi can be inferred,
can only be important if it is meant to assert that percipi can be inferred from x. The only
importance of the question whether the whole esse
includes the part percipi rests therefore on the
question whether the part x is necessarily connected with the part
percipi. And this is (3) the third possible meaning
of the assertion esse is percipi: and, as we now see, the only important one.
Esse is percipi asserts
that wherever you have x you also have percipi; that whatever has the property x also
has the property that it is experienced. And this being so, it will be
convenient if, for the future, I may be allowed to use the term esse
to denote x alone. I do not
wish thereby to beg the question whether what we commonly mean by the word
real
does or does not include percipi
as well as x. I am quite content that my definition of
esse
to denote x, should be regarded merely as an
arbitrary verbal definition. Whether it is so or not the only question of
interest is whether from x percipi can be
inferred, and I should prefer to be able to express this in the form: can percipi be inferred from esse?
Only let it be understood that when I say esse, that
term will not for the future include percipi: it denotes only that x, which
idealists, perhaps rightly, include along with percipi under their term esse. That there is such an x they must admit on
pain of making the proposition an absolute tautology; and that from
this x percipi can be inferred they must
admit, on pain of making it a perfectly barren analytic proposition. Whether
x alone should or should not be called esse is not worth a dispute: what is worth dispute is
whether percipi is necessarily connected with
x. (I. ¶ 9)
We have therefore discovered the ambiguity of the copula in esse is percipi, so far as to
see that this principle asserts two distinct terms to be so related, that
whatever has the one, which I call esse, has also the
property that it is experienced. It asserts a necessary connexion between esse on the one hand and percipi
on the other; these two words denoting each a distinct term, and esse denoting a term in which that denoted by percipi is not included. We have, then in esse is percipi, a necessary
synthetic proposition which I have undertaken to refute. And I may say at
once that, understood as such, it cannot be refuted. If the Idealist chooses to
assert that it is merely a self-evident truth, I have only to say that it does
not appear to me to be so. But I believe that no Idealist ever has maintained it
to be so. Although this — that two distinct terms are necessarily related
— is the only sense which esse is percipi
can have if it is
to be true and important, it can have another sense, if it is to be an
important falsehood. I believe that Idealists all hold this important falsehood.
They do not perceive that esse is percipi must, if true, be merely a self-evident
synthetic truth: they either identify with it or give as a reason for it another
proposition which must be false because it is self-contradictory. Unless they
did so, they would have to admit that it was a perfectly unfounded assumption;
and if they recognised that it was unfounded, I do not think they would
maintain its truth to be evident. Esse is percipi, in the sense I have found for it, may
indeed be true; I cannot refute it: but if this sense were clearly apprehended,
no one, I think, would believe that it was true. (I. ¶ 10)
Idealists, we have seen, must assert that whatever is experienced,
is necessarily so. And this doctrine they commonly express by saying
that the object of experience is inconceivable apart from the
subject.
I have hitherto been concerned with pointing out what meaning
this assertion must have, if it is to be an important truth. I now propose to
show that it may have an important meaning, which must be false, because it is
self-contradictory. (I. ¶ 11)
It is a well-known fact in the history of philosophy that
necessary truths in general, but especially those of which it is said
that the opposite is inconceivable, have been commonly supposed to be
analytic, in the sense that the proposition denying them was
self-contradictory. It was in this way, commonly supposed, before Kant, that
many truths could be proved by the law of contradiction alone. This is,
therefore, a mistake which it is plainly easy for the best philosophers to make.
Even since Kant many have continued to assert it; but I am aware that among
those Idealists, who most property deserve the name, it has become more
fashionable to assert that truths are both analytic and synthetic. Now with many
of their reasons for asserting this I am not concerned: it is possible that in
some connexions the assertion may bear a useful and true sense. But if we
understand analytic
in the sense just defined, namely, what is
proved by the law of contradiction alone, it is plain that, if
synthetic
means what is not proved by this alone, no
truth can be both analytic and synthetic. Now it seems to me that those who do
maintain truths to be both, do nevertheless maintain that they are so in this as
well as in other senses. It is, indeed, extremely unlikely that so essential a
part of the historical meaning of analytic
and
synthetic
should have been entirely discarded, especially since we
find no express recognition that it is discarded. In that case it is fair to
suppose that modern Idealists have been influenced by the view that certain
truths can be proved by the law of contradiction alone. I admit they also
expressly declare that they can not but this is by no means sufficient
to prove that they do not also think they are; since it is very easy to hold two
mutually contradictory opinions. What I suggest then is that Idealists hold the
particular doctrine in question, concerning the relation of subject and object
in experience, because they think it is an analytic truth in this restricted
sense that it is proved by the law of contradiction alone. (I. ¶ 12)
I am suggesting that the Idealist maintains that object and subject
are necessarily connected, mainly because he fails to see that they are
distinct, that they are two, at all. When he thinks of
yellow
and when the thinks of the sensation of
yellow,
he fails to see that there is anything whatever in the latter
which is not in the former. This being so, to deny that yellow can ever
be apart from the sensation of yellow is merely to deny that yellow can
ever be other than it is; since yellow and the sensation of yellow are
absolutely identical, To assert that yellow is necessarily an object of
experience is to assert that yellow is necessarily yellow — a purely
identical proposition, and therefore proved by the law of contradiction alone.
Of course, the proposition also implies that experience is, after all, something
distinct from yellow — else there would be no reason for insisting that
yellow is a sensation: and that the argument thus both affirms and denies that
yellow and sensation of yellow are distinct, is what sufficiently refutes it.
But this contradiction can easily be overlooked, because though we are
convinced, in other connexions, that experience
does mean
something and something most important, yet we are never distinctly aware
what it means, and thus in every particular case we do not notice its
presence. The facts present themselves as a kind of antinomy: (1) Experience
is something unique and different from anything else; (2) Experience of
green is entirely indistinguishable from green; two propositions which cannot
both be true. Idealists, holding both, can only take refuge in arguing from the
one in some connexions and from the other in others. (I. ¶ 13)
But I am well aware that there are many Idealists who would repel it
as an utterly unfounded charge that they fail to distinguish between a sensation
or idea and what I will call its object. And there are, I admit, many who not
only imply, as we all do, that green is distinct from the sensation of green,
but expressly insist upon the distinction as an important part of their system.
They would perhaps only assert that the two form an inseparable unity. But I
wish to point out that many, who use this phrase, and who do admit the
distinction, are not thereby absolved from the charge that they deny it. For
there is a certain doctrine, very prevalent among philosophers nowadays, which
by a very simple reduction may be seen to assert that two distinct things both
are and are not distinct. A distinction is asserted; but it is also
asserted that the things distinguished form an organic unity,
But,
forming such a unity, it is held, each would not be what it is apart from
its relation to the other. Hence to consider either by itself is to make an
illegitimate abstraction. The recognition that there are organic
unities
and illegitimate abstractions
in this sense is
regarded as one of the chief conquests of modern philosophy. But what is the
sense attached to these terms? An abstraction is illegitimate, when and only
when we attempt to assert of a part — of something abstracted
— that which is true only of the whole to which it belongs: and it may
perhaps be useful to point out that this should not be done. But the application
actually made of this principle, and what perhaps would be expressly
acknowledged as its meaning, is something much the reverse of useful. The
principle is used to assert that certain abstractions are in all cases
illegitimate; that whenever you try to assert anything whatever of that
which is part of an organic whole, what you assert can only be true of
the whole. And this principle, so far from being a useful truth, is necessarily
false. For if the whole can, nay must, be substituted far the part in
all propositions and for all purposes, this can only be because the whole is
absolutely identical with the part. When, therefore we are told that green and
the sensation of green are certainly distinct but yet are not separable, or that
it is an illegitimate abstraction to consider the one apart from the other, what
these provisos are used to assert is, that though the two things are distinct
yet you not only can but must treat them as if they were not. Many philosophers,
therefore, when they admit a distinction, yet (following the lead of Hegel)
boldly assert their right, in a slightly more obscure form of words,
also to deny it. The principle of organic unities, like that of
combined analysis and synthesis, is mainly used to defend the practice of
holding both of two contradictory propositions, wherever this may seem
convenient. In this, as in other matters, Hegel’s main service to
philosophy has consisted in giving a name to and erecting into a principle, a
type of fallacy to which experience had shown philosophers along with the rest
of mankind to be addicted. No wonder that he has followers and admirers. (I. ¶ 14)
I have shown then, so far, that when the Idealist asserts the
important principle passe is Esse is percipi
he must, if it is to be true, mean by this
that: Whatever is experienced must be experienced. And I have also
shown that he may identify with, or give as a reason for, this
proposition, one which must be false, because it is self contradictory. But at
this point I propose to make a complete break in my argument. Esse is percipi,
we have
seen, asserts of two terms, as distinct from one another as green
and sweet,
that whatever has the one has also the other: it
asserts that being
and being experienced
are
necessarily connected: that whatever is is also experienced.
And this, I admit cannot be directly refuted. But I believe it to be false; and
I have asserted that anybody who saw that esse
and percipi
were as distinct as
green
and sweet
would be no more ready to believe
that whatever is is also experienced, than to believe that
whatever is green is also sweet. I have asserted that no one would believe that
esse is percipi
if they saw how different esse is from percipi: but
this I shall not try to prove. I have asserted that all who do believe
that esse is percipi
identify with it or take as a reason for it
a self-contradictory proposition: but this I shall not try to prove. I shall
only try to show that certain propositions which I assert to be believed, are
false. That they are believed, and that without this belief esse is percipi
would not
be believed either, I must leave without a proof. (I. ¶ 15)
I pass, then, from the uninteresting question Is esse percipi?
to the
still more uninteresting and apparently irrelevant question What is a
sensation or idea?
(I. ¶ 16)
We all know that the sensation of blue differs from that of green. But it is plain that if both are sensations they also have some point in common, What is it that they have in common? And how is this common element related to the points in which they differ? (I. ¶ 17)
I will call the common element consciousness
without
yet attempting to say what the thing I so call is. We have then in
every sensation two distinct terms, (1) consciousness,
in respect
of which all sensations are alike; and (2) something else in respect of which
one sensation differs from another. It will be convenient if I may be allowed to
call this second term the object
of a sensation: this also without
yet attempting to say what I mean by the word. (I. ¶ 18)
We have then in every sensation two distinct elements, one which I call consciousness, and another which I call the object of consciousness. This must be so if the sensation of blue and the sensation of green, though different in one respect, are alike in another: blue is one object of sensation and green is another, and consciousness, which both sensations have in common, is different from either. (I. ¶ 19)
But, further, sometimes the sensation of blue exists in my mind and
sometimes it does not; and knowing, as we now do, that the sensation of blue
includes two different elements, namely consciousness and blue, the question
arises whether, when the sensation of blue exists, it is the consciousness which
exists, or the blue which exists, or both. And one point at least is plain:
namely that these three alternatives are all different from one another. So
that, if any one tells us that to say Blue exists
is the
same thing as to say that Both blue and consciousness
exist,
he makes a mistake and a self-contradictory mistake. (I. ¶ 20)
But another point is also plain, namely, that when the sensation exists, the consciousness, at least, certainly does exist; for when I say that the sensations of blue and of green both exist, I certainly mean that what is common to both and in virtue of which both are called sensations, exists in each case. The only alternative left, then, is that either both exist or the consciousness exists alone. If, therefore, any one tells us that the existence of blue is the same thing as the existence of the sensation of blue he makes a mistake and a self-contradictory mistake, for he asserts either that blue is the same thing as blue together with consciousness, or that it is the same thing as consciousness alone. (I. ¶ 21)
Accordingly to identify either blue
or any other of
what I have called a objects
of sensation, with the
corresponding sensation is in every case, a self-contradictory error. It is to
identify a part either with the whole of which it is a part or else with the
other part of the same whole. If we are told that the assertion Blue
exists
is meaningless unless we mean by it that The
sensation of blue exists,
we are told what is certainly false and
self-contradictory. If we ore told that the existence of blue is inconceivable
apart from the existence of the sensation, the speaker probably means
to convey to us, by this ambiguous expression, what is a self-contradictory
error. For we can and must conceive the existence of blue as something quite
distinct from the existence of the sensation. We can and must conceive that blue
might exist and yet the sensation of blue not exist. For my own part I not only
conceive this but conceive it to be true. Either therefore this terrific
assertion of inconceivability means what is false and self-contradictory or else
it means only that as a matter of fact blue never can exist unless the
sensation of it exists also. (I. ¶ 22)
And at this point I need not conceal my opinion that no philosopher
has ever yet succeeded in avoiding this self-contradictory error: that the most
striking results both of idealism and of Agnosticism are only obtained by
identifying blue with the sensation of blue: that esse is held to be percipi,
solely because what is experienced is held to be identical with the
experience of it. That Berkeley and Mill committed this error will, perhaps
be granted: that modern Idealists make it will, I hope, appear more probable
later. But that my opinion is plausible, I will now offer two pieces of
evidence. The first is that language offers us no means of referring to such
objects as blue
and green
and sweet,
except by calling them sensations: it is an obvious violation of language to
call them things
or objects
or terms.
And similarly we have no natural means of referring to such objects as
causality
or likeness
or identity,
except by calling them ideas
or notions
or
conceptions.
But it is hardly likely that if philosophers had
clearly distinguished in the past between a sensation or idea and what I have
called its objects, there should have been no separate name for the latter. They
have always used the same name for these two different things
(if
I may call them so): and hence there is some probability that they have supposed
these things
not to be two and different, but one and the
same. And, secondly, there is a very good reason why they should have supposed
so, in the fact that when we refer to introspection and try to discover what the
sensation of blue is, it is very easy to suppose that we have before us only a
single term. The term blue
is easy enough to distinguish, but the
other element which I have called consciousness
— that which
sensation of blue has in common with sensation of green — is extremely
difficult to fix. That many people fail to distinguish it at all is sufficiently
shown by the fact that there are materialists. And, in general, that which makes
the sensation of blue a mental fact seems to escape us: it seems, if I may use a
metaphor, to be transparent — we look through it and see nothing but the
blue; we may be convinced that there is something but what it is no
philosopher, I think, has yet clearly recognised. (I. ¶ 23)
But this was a digression. The point I had established so far was
that in every sensation or idea we must distinguish two elements, (1) the
object,
or that in which one differs from another; and (2)
consciousness,
or that which all have in common — that which
makes them sensations or mental facts. This being so, it followed that when a
sensation or idea exists, we have to choose between the alternatives that either
object alone, or consciousness alone, or both, exist; and I showed that of these
alternatives one, namely that the object only exists, is excluded by the fact
that what we mean to assert is certainly the existence of a mental fact. There
remains the question: Do both exist? Or does the consciousness alone? And to
this question one answer has hitherto been given universally: That both exist.
(I. ¶ 24)
This answer follows from the analysis hitherto accepted of the
relation of what r have called object
to
consciousness
in any sensation or idea. It is held that what I
call the object is merely the content
of a sensation or idea. It
is held that in each case we can distinguish two elements and two only, (1) the
fact that there is feeling or experience, and (2) what is felt or
experienced; the sensation or idea, it is said, forms a whole, in which we must
distinguish two inseparable aspects,
content
and
existence.
I shall try to show that this analysis is false; and
for that purpose I must ask what may seem an extraordinary question: namely what
is meant by saying that one thing is content
of another? It is not
usual to ask this question; the term is used as if everybody must understand it.
But since I am going to maintain that blue
is not the content of
the sensation of blue, and what is more important, that, even if it were this
analysis would leave out the most important element in the sensation of blue, it
is necessary that I should try to explain precisely what it is that I shall
deny. (I. ¶ 25)
What then is meant by saying that one thing is the is
content
of another? First of all I wish to point out that
blue
is rightly and properly said to be part of the content of a
blue flower. If, therefore, we also assert that it is part of the content of the
sensation of blue, we assert that it has to the other parts (if any) of this
whole the same relation which it has to the other parts of a blue flower —
and we assert only this: we cannot mean to assert that it has to the sensation
of blue any relation which it does not have to the blue flower. And we have seen
that the sensation of blue contains at least one other element beside blue
— namely, what I call consciousness,
which makes it a
sensation. So far then as we assert that blue is the content of the sensation,
we assert that it has to this consciousness
the same relation
which it has to the other parts of a blue flower: we do assert this, and we
assert no more than this. Into the question what exactly the relation is between
blue and a blue flower in virtue of which we call the former part of its
content
I do not propose to enter. It is sufficient for my purpose
to point out that it is the general relation most commonly meant when we talk of
a thing and its qualities; and that this relation is such that to say the thing
exists implies that the qualities also exist. The content of the thing
is what we assert to exist, when we assert that the thing
exists. (I. ¶ 26)
When, therefore, blue is said to be part of the content of the
sensation of blue,
the latter is treated as if it were a whole
constituted in exactly the same way as any other thing.
The
sensation of blue,
on this view, differs from a blue bead or a
blue beard, in exactly the same way in which the two latter differ from one
another: the blue bead differs from the blue beard, in that while the former
contains glass, the latter contains hair; and the sensation of
blue
differs from both in that, instead of glass or hair, it contains
consciousness. The relation of the blue to the consciousness is conceived to be
exactly the same as that of the blue to the glass or hair: it is in all three
cases the quality of a thing. (I. ¶ 27)
But I said just now that the sensation of blue was analysed into
content
and existence,
and that blue was said to be
the content of the idea of blue. There is an ambiguity in this and a
possibly error, which I must note in passing. The term content
may
be used in two senses. If we use content
as equivalent to what Mr.
Bradley calls the what
— if we mean by it the
whole of what is said to exist, when the thing is said to exist, then
blue is certainly not the content of the sensation.of blue: part of the
content of the sensation is, in this sense of the term, that other
element which I have called consciousness. The analysis of this sensation into
the content
blue,
on the one hand, and mere
existence on the other, is therefore certainly false; in it we have again the
self-contradictory identification of Blue exists
with The
sensation of blue exists.
But there is another sense in which
blue
might properly be said to be the content of the
sensation — namely, the sense in which content,
like εἶδος is opposed to substance
or
matter.
For the element consciousness,
being common
to all sensations, may be and certainly is regarded as in some sense their
substance,
and by the content
of each is only meant
that in respect of which one differs rom another. In this sense then
blue
might be said to be the content of the sensation;
but, in that case, the analysis into content
and
existence
is, at least, misleading, since under
existence
must be included what exists
in
the sensation other than blue. (I. ¶ 28)
We have it, then, as a universally received opinion that blue is
related to the sensation or idea of blue, as its content, and that this
view, if it is to be true, must mean that blue is part of what is said
to exist when we say that the sensation exists. To say that the sensation exists
is to say both that blue exists and that consciousness,
whether we
call it the substance of which blue is the content or call it another
part of the content, exists too. Any sensation or idea is a
thing,
and what I have called its object is the quality
of this thing. Such a thing
is what we think of when we think of a
mental image. A mental image is conceived as if it were related to that
of which it is the image (if there be any such thing) in exactly the same way as
the image in a looking-glass is related to that of which it is the reflection;
in both cases there is identity of content, and the image in the looking-glass
differs from that in the mind solely in respect of the fact that in the one case
the other constituent of the image is glass
and in the other case
it is consciousness. If the image is of blue, it is not conceived that this
content
has any relation to the consciousness but what it has to
the glass: it is conceived merely to be its content. And owing
to the fact that sensations and ideas are all considered to be wholes
of this description — things in the mind — the question: What do we
know? is considered to be identical with the question: What reason have we for
supposing that there are things outside the mind corresponding to these
that are inside it? (I. ¶ 29)
What I wish to point out is (1) that we have no reason for supposing
that there are such things as mental images at all — for supposing that
blue is part of the content of the sensation of blue, and (2) that even
if there are mental images, no mental image and no sensation or idea is
merely a thing of this kind: that blue,
even if it is
part of the content of the image or sensation or idea of blue, is always also
related to it in quite another way, and that this other relation, omitted in the
traditional analysis, is the only one which makes the sensation of blue a mental
fact at all. (I. ¶ 30)
The true analysis of a sensation or idea is as follows. The element
that is common to them all, and which I have called consciousness,
really is consciousness. A sensation is, in reality, a case of
knowing
or being aware of
or
experiencing
something. When we know that the sensation of blue
exists, the fact we know is that there exists an awareness of blue. And this
awareness is not merely, as we have hitherto seen it must be, itself something
distinct and unique, utterly different from blue: it also has a perfectly
distinct and unique relation to blue, a relation which is not that of
thing or substance to content, nor of one part of content to another part of
content. This relation is just that which we mean in every case by
knowing.
To have in your mind knowledge
of blue, is
not to have in your mind a thing
or image
of which blue is the content. To be aware of the sensation of blue is not to be
aware of a mental image — of a thing,
of which
blue
and some other element are constituent parts in the same
sense in which blue and glass are constituents of a blue bead. It is to be aware
of an awareness of blue; awareness being used, in both cases, in exactly the
same sense. This element, we have seen, is certainly neglected by the
content
theory: that theory entirely fails to express the tact
that there is, in the sensation of blue, this unique relation between blue and
the other constituent. And what I contend is that this omission is not
mere negligence of expression, but is due to the fact that though philosophers
have recognised that something distinct is meant by consciousness, they
have never yet had a clear conception of what that something is. They
have not been able to hold it and blue before their minds and
to compare them, in the same way in which they can compare blue and
green. And this for the reason I gave above: namely that the moment we
try to fix our attention upon consciousness and to see what, distinctly, it is,
it seems to vanish: it seems as if we had before us a mere emptiness. When we
try to introspect the sensation of blue, all we can see is the blue: the other
element is as if it were diaphanous. Yet it can be distinguished if we look
enough, and if we know that there is something to look for. My main object in
this paragraph has been to try to make the reader see it; but I fear I
shall have succeeded very ill. (I. ¶ 31)
It being the case, then, that the sensation of blue includes in its
analysis, beside blue, both a unique element awareness
and a unique relation of this element to blue, I can make plain what I
meant by asserting, as two distinct propositions, (1) that blue is probably not
part of the content of the sensation at all, and (2) that, even it were, the
sensation would nevertheless not be the sensation of blue, if blue had
only this relation to it. The first hypothesis may now be expressed by saying
that, if it were true, then, when the sensation of blue exists, there exists a
blue awareness: offence may be taken at the expression, but yet it
expresses just what should be and is meant by saying that blue is, in this case,
a content of consciousness or experience. Whether or not, when I have
the sensation of blue, my consciousness or awareness is thus blue, my
introspection does not enable me to decide with certainty: I only see no reason
for thinking that it is. But whether it is or not, the point is unimportant, for
introspection does enable me to decide that something else is also
true: namely that I am aware of blue, and by this I mean, that my awareness has
to blue a quite different and distinct relation. It is possible, I admit, that
my awareness is blue as well as being of blue: but what I am
quite sure of is that it is of blue; that it has to blue the simple and
unique relation the existence of which alone justifies us in distinguishing
knowledge of a thing from the thing known, indeed in distinguishing mind from
matter. And this result I may express by saying that what is called the
content of a sensation is in very truth what I originally called it
— the sensation’s object. (I. ¶ 32)
But, if all this be true, what follows? (I. ¶ 33)
Idealists admit that some things really exist of which they are not
aware: there are some things, they hold, which are not inseparable aspects of
their experience, even if they be inseparable aspects of some experience. They
further hold that some of the things of which they are sometimes aware do really
exist, even when they are not aware of them: they hold for instance that they
are sometimes aware of other minds, which continue to exist even when they are
not aware of them. They are, therefore, sometimes aware of something which is
not an inseparable aspect of their own experience. They do know some things
which are not a mere part or content of their experience. And what my analysts
of sensation has been designed to show is, that whenever I have a mere sensation
or idea, the fact is that I am then aware of something which is equally and in
the same sense not an inseparable aspect of my experience. The
awareness which I have maintained to be included in sensation is the very same
unique fact which constitutes every kind of knowledge: blue
is as
much an object, and as little a mere content, of my experience, when I
experience it, as the most exalted and independent real thing of which I am ever
aware. There is, therefore, no question of how we are to get outside the
circle of our own ideas and sensations.
Merely to have a sensation is
already to be outside that circle. It is to know something which is as
truly and really not a part of my experience, as anything which I can ever know.
(I. ¶ 34)
Now I think I am not mistaken in asserting that the reason why
Idealists suppose that everything which is must be an inseparable
aspect of some experience, is that they suppose some things, at least, to be
inseparable aspects of their experience. And there is certainly nothing
which they are so firmly convinced to be an inseparable aspect of their
experience as what they call the content of their ideas and sensations.
If, therefore, this turns out in every case, whether it be also the
content or not, to be at least not an inseparable aspect of the
experience of it, it will be readily admitted that nothing else which we
experience ever is such an inseparable aspect. But if we never experience
anything but what is not an inseparable aspect of that experience, how
can we infer that anything whatever, let alone everything is an
inseparable aspect of any experience? How utterly unfounded is the
assumption that esse is percipi
appears in the clearest light. (I. ¶ 35)
But further I think it may be seen that if the object of an Idealist’s sensation were, as he supposes, not the object but merely the content of that sensation, if, that is to say, it really were an inseparable aspect of his experience, each Idealist could never be aware either of himself or of any other real thing. For the relation of a sensation to its object is certainly the same as that of any other instance of experience to its object; and this, I think, is generally admitted even by Idealists: they state as readily that what is judged or thought or perceived is the content of that judgment or thought or perception, as that blue is the content of the sensation of blue. But, if so, then when any Idealist thinks he is aware of himself or of any one else, this cannot really be the case. The fact is, on his own theory, that himself and that other person are in reality mere contents of an awareness, which is aware of nothing whatever. All that can be said is that there is an awareness in him, with a certain content: it can never be true that there is in him a consciousness of anything. And similarly he is never aware either of the fact that he exists or that reality is spiritual. The real fact, which he describes in those terms, is that his existence and the spirituality of reality are contents of an awareness, which is aware of nothing — certainly not, then, of it own content. (I. ¶ 36)
And further if everything, of which he thinks he is aware, is in reality merely a content of his own experience he has certainly no reason for holding that anything does exist except himself: it will, of course, be possible that other persons do exist; solipsism will not he necessarily true; but he can not possibly infer from anything he holds that it is not true. That he himself exists will of course follow from his premiss that many things are contents of his experience. But since everything, of which he thinks himself aware, is in reality merely an inseparable aspect of that awareness; this premiss allows no inference that any of these contents, far less any other consciousness, exists at all except as an inseparable aspect of his awareness, that is, as part of himself. (I. ¶ 37)
Such, and not those which he takes to follow from it, are the
consequences which do follow from the Idealist’s supposition that the
object of an experience is in reality merely a content or inseparable aspect of
that experience. If, on the other hand, we clearly recognise the nature of that
peculiar relation which I have called awareness of anything
; if we
see that this is involved equally in the analysis of every
experience — from the merest sensation to the most developed perception or
reflexion, and that this is in fact the only essential element in an
experience — the only thing that is both common and peculiar to all
experiences — the only thing which gives us reason to call any fact
mental; if, further, we recognise that this awareness is and must be in all
cases of such a nature that its object, when we are aware of it, is precisely
what it would be, if we were not aware: then it becomes plain that the existence
of a table in space is related to my experience of it in precisely the
same way as the existence of my own experience is related to my experience of
that. Of both we are merely aware: if we are aware that the one exists,
we are aware in precisely the same sense that the other exists; and if it is
true that my experience can exist, even when I do not happen to be aware of its
existence, we have exactly the same reason for supposing that the table can do
so also. When, therefore, Berkeley, supposed that the only thing of which I am
directly aware is my own sensations and ideas, he supposed what was false; and
when Kant supposed that the objectivity of things in space consisted in
the fact that they were Vorstellungen
having to one another
different relations from those which the same Vorstellungen
have to one another in subjective experience, he supposed what was equally
false. I am as directly aware of the existence of material things in space as of
my own sensations, and what I am aware of with regard to each is
exactly the same — namely that in one case the material thing, and in the
other case my sensation does really exist. The question requiring to be asked
about material things is thus not: What reason have we for supposing that
anything exists corresponding to our sensations? but: What reason have
we for supposing that material things do not exist, since
their existence has precisely the same evidence as that of our
sensations? That either exist may be false; but if it is a reason for
doubting the existence of matter, that it is an inseparable aspect of our
experience, the same reasoning will prove conclusively that our experience does
not exist either, since that must also be an inseparable aspect of our
experience of it. The only reasonable alternative to the
admission that matter exists as well as spirit, is absolute Scepticism
— that, as likely as not nothing exists at all. All other
suppositions — the Agnostic’s, that something, at all events, does
exist, as much as the Idealist’s, that spirit does — are, if we have
no reason for believing in matter, as baseless as the grossest superstitions. (I. ¶ 38)