of the constant flux of things, declared it impossible to enter the
same river twice,[30] he evidently supposed that a river can be the
same only in the first and strictest sense of the word. He denied,
consequently, a right to use the word, as it constantly is used, to
indicate that certain phenomena belong to a group or series, which,
in its totality, is to us a single object. When we say that we have
entered the same river twice we have no reference to the actual
experiences of the two occasions considered merely as experiences. Of
course, these are not the same, as each is itself, and they may even be
somewhat dissimilar. Nor have we reference to the separate particles
of which the body of water is composed. We all admit that the water in
a river changes, and yet we never think of saying that the river is
no longer the same. The two kinds of sameness are quite distinct, yet
both are legitimate; and both were as familiar to the ancient Greek as
to the modern American. Socrates was considered Socrates from boyhood
through youth to manhood. The Ilissus was the Ilissus whether swollen
or shrunken. The philosopher's difficulty with the river did not arise
out of the fact that this kind of sameness was not perfectly well
recognized in language and in common thought. It arose out of the fact
that the beginnings of reflection make many things seem strange which
before passed unnoticed, and sometimes lead to assertion and denial
evidently contrary to experience and common sense. The unreflective man
calls the river the same on two successive days, but he has no clear
notion of what the word implies. In a loose way he opposes "same" to
"different." Heraclitus saw that the water in a river is constantly
changing. He who enters twice does not enter precisely the same body of
water. What more natural, and what more fallacious, than to assert that
he does not twice enter the same river?
[30] Aristotle, Metaph., Bk. III, c. 5, § 7.
SEC. 22. And well might Cratylus hold his peace and move his finger[31]
when he had capped the climax with the statement that the same river
could not be entered once. Heraclitus had merely denied sameness of
the third kind to be sameness, since it implies duality. Cratylus,
surprised by a discovery of duality where he had not before suspected
it, will not allow the term where there is no duality whatever. It is
not surprising that he came at last to be "of opinion that one ought to
speak of nothing." Upon such a basis speech loses its significance.
[31] Aristotle, Metaph. III, c. 5, § 7.
SEC. 23. The Parmenidean argument for the eternity of Being[32] rests
partly upon a confusion of the first kind of sameness with the fourth.
Being has had no origin, for from what could it have been derived?
Not from the non-existent, for this has no existence: and not from
the existent, for it is itself the existent. The quibble about the
non-existent we need not consider, though it is seriously repeated by
more than one writer of our time. The last part of the argument, "not
from the existent, for it is itself the existent," draws its whole
force from the assumption that "it" is "the existent" as a thing is
itself, or in the first sense of the word same. But if this be the
case, the argument is a mere farce, an argument only in words. The
phrase, "derived from the existent," means nothing at all unless it
means that the existent in question is before the thing derived. To
say it is the thing derived, is to reduce the words to nothing. If it
mean anything to speak of the existent as derived from the existent, it
is because each of these is _an_ existent--that is, a thing belonging
to a class and distinguished from other members of this class by some
difference. In this case the difference is that of before and after. An
existent derived from an existent is the same with it only as things
of a class are the same. If we choose to eliminate all differences and
speak of "_the_ existent" we may do so; but then it is inadmissible
to raise questions about its derivation, and bring in those very time
distinctions between different "existents" which we are supposing
absent.
[32] Ueberweg. Hist. of Philos., Vol. I, § 19, N. Y., 1877, p. 57.
SEC. 24. The nihilistic doctrine of Gorgias of Leontini,[33] who taught
that nothing exists, that if it did exist it could not be known, and
that if it did exist and could be known the knowledge of it could not
be communicated by one mind to another, is founded in part upon such
bad reasoning that it is rather surprising that Gorgias should have
been guilty of it. That part of it, however, which has to do with
the communicability of knowledge is rather better than the rest, and
indicates some progress in reflection. A sign, he says, differs from
the thing it signifies. How can one communicate the notion of color
by words, since the ear hears sounds and not colors? Besides, how can
the same idea be in two different persons? This reasoning would seem
at least plausible, I think, to many minds at the present day. It is
evidently the offspring of a confusion of samenesses. A sign differs,
it is true, from the thing signified. The word blue heard by the ear
is not like the color blue seen or imagined. But if any one pronounce
the word, and ask me if I am thinking of the color he has mentioned, I
say yes. The sound is not like the color, but it is its representative,
and one of the proper uses of the word same (the fifth) indicates just
this relation between representative and thing represented. Any attempt
to discredit communication of knowledge on the ground that one cannot
speak colors, and that, therefore, one man is speaking one thing and
the other thinking another, goes on the supposition that what is said
and what is thought must be the same in sense first (strict identity)
or in sense fourth (must be a thing of the same kind). And as to the
existence of the same thing in two minds; here Gorgias has evidently
discovered with some surprise that sameness in sense sixth differs from
sameness in sense first, and has felt impelled to deny it the name
altogether. He has perceived a duality where most men have not noticed
it; and, instead of observing that there are samenesses and samenesses,
and that the communication of knowledge is concerned with the sixth
kind in this connection, and not with the first, he has denied the
communication of knowledge. Had he found it necessary to carry out
his theoretic premises to practical conclusions he would have stopped
talking, which he did not; though presumably the irrepressible didactic
instinct would have led him, spite of consistency, to imitate Cratylus
in moving his finger.
[33] Ueberweg. Hist. of Philos., Vol. I, § 29, p. 77.
SEC. 25. The reasoning in the Platonic Dialogues is very frequently
not above suspicion; but it is not easy to find anywhere such a nest
of paralogisms as we have in the Parmenides. How far Plato was in
earnest in all this quibbling, and what was his aim, I will not pretend
to say. He has, however, very well illustrated the possibilities of
equivocation in juggling with samenesses, and I shall quote a bit
of the argument concerning the one and the many to show how readily
this is done. Almost any part of the dialogue would do, but I choose
the first bout between Parmenides and Aristoteles. I take Professor
Jowett's version:[34]
[34] The Dialogues of Plato. N. Y., 1878. Vol. III, p. 255.
Parmenides proceeded: If one is, he said, the one cannot be many?
Impossible.
Then the one cannot have parts, and cannot be a whole?
How is that?
Why, the part would surely be the part of a whole?
Yes.
And that of which no part is wanting, would be a whole?
Certainly.
Then, in either case, one would be made up of parts; both as being a
whole, and also as having parts?
Certainly.
And in either case, the one would be many, and not one?
True.
But, surely, one ought to be not many, but one?
Surely.
Then, if one is to remain one, it will not be a whole, and will not
have parts?
No.
And if one has no parts, it will have neither beginning, middle, nor
end; for these would be parts of one?
Right.
But then, again, a beginning and an end are the limits of everything?
Certainly.
Then the one, neither having beginning nor end, is unlimited?
Yes, unlimited.
And therefore formless, as not being able to partake either of round or
straight.
How is that?
Why, the round is that of which all the extreme points are equidistant
from the centre?
Yes.
And the straight is that of which the middle intercepts the extremes?
True.
Then the one would have parts, and would be many, whether it partook of
a straight or of a round form?
Assuredly.
But having no parts, one will be neither straight nor round?
Right.
Then, being of such a nature, one cannot be in any place, for it cannot
be either in another or in itself.
How is that?
Because, if one be in another, it will be encircled in that other in
which it is contained, and will touch it in many places; but that which
is one and indivisible, and does not partake of a circular nature,
cannot be touched by a circle in many places.
Certainly not.
And one being in itself, will also contain itself, and cannot be other
than one, if in itself; for nothing can be in anything which does not
contain it.
Impossible.
But then, is not that which contains other than that which is
contained? for the same whole cannot at once be affected actively and
passively; and one will thus be no longer one, but two?
True.
Then one cannot be anywhere, either in itself or in another?
No.
Further consider, whether that which is of such a nature can have
either rest or motion.
Why not?
Why, because motion is either motion in place or change in self; these
are the only kinds of motion.
Yes.
And the one, when changed in itself, cannot possibly be any longer one.
It cannot.
And therefore cannot experience this sort of motion?
Clearly not.
Can the motion of one, then, be in place?
Perhaps.
But if one moved in place, must it not either move round and round in
the same place, or from one place to another?
Certainly.
And that which moves round and round in the same place, must go round
upon a centre; and that which goes round upon a centre must have other
parts which move around the centre; but that which has no centre and no
parts cannot possibly be carried round upon a centre?
Impossible.
But perhaps the motion of the one consists in going from one place to
another?
Perhaps so, if it moves at all.
And have we not already shown that one can not be in anything?
Yes.
And still greater is the impossibility of one coming into being in
anything?
I do not see how that is.
Why, because anything which comes into being in anything, cannot as
yet be in that other thing while still coming into being, nor remain
entirely out of it, if already coming into being in it.
Certainly.
And therefore whatever comes into being in another must have parts, and
the one part may be in that other, and the other part out of it; but
that which has no parts cannot possibly be at the same time a whole,
which is either within or without anything.
True.
And how can that which has neither parts, nor a whole, come into being
anywhere either as a part or a whole? Is not that a still greater
impossibility?
Clearly.
Then one does not change by a change of place, whether by going
somewhere and coming into being in something; or again, by going round
in the same place; or again, by change in itself?
True.
The one, then, is incapable of any kind of motion?
Incapable.
But neither can the one exist in anything, as we affirm?
Yes, that is affirmed by us.
Then it is never in the same?
Why not?
Because being in the same is being in something which is the same.
Certainly.
But it cannot be in itself, and cannot be in other?
True.
Then one is never the same?[35]
[35] The text of Stallbaum (1848) does not harmonize with
this. The version I quote leaves out ἐν, and reads τὸ αὐτό
in the nominative.
It would seem not.
And that which is never in the same has no rest, and stands not still?
It cannot stand still.
One, then, as would seem, is neither standing still nor in motion?
Clearly not.
Neither will one be the same with itself or other; nor again, other
than itself, or other.
How is that?
If other than itself it would be other than one, and would not be one.
True.
And if the same with other, it would be that other, and not itself; so
that upon this supposition, too, it would not have the nature of one,
but would be other than one?
It would.
Then it will not be the same with other, or other than itself?
It will not.
Neither will one be other than other, while it remains one; for not the
one, but only the other, can be other of other, and nothing else.
True.
Then not by virtue of being one, will one be other?
Certainly not.
But if not by virtue of being one, not by virtue of being itself; and
if not by virtue of being itself, not itself, and itself not being
other at all, will not be other of anything?
Right.
Neither will one be the same with itself.
Why not?
Because the nature of the one is surely not the nature of the same.
Why is that?
Because when a thing becomes the same with anything, it does not
necessarily become one.
Why not?
That which becomes the same with the many necessarily becomes many and
not one.
True.
And yet, if there were no difference between the one and the same, when
a thing became the same, it would always become one; and when it became
one, the same.
Certainly.
And, therefore, if one be the same with one, it is not one with one,
and will therefore be one and also not one.
But that is surely impossible.
And therefore the one can neither be other of other, nor the same with
one.
Impossible.
And thus one is neither the same, nor other, in relation to itself or
other?
No.
Neither will one be like or unlike itself or other.
Why not?
Because likeness is sameness of affections.
Yes.
And sameness has been shown to be a nature distinct from oneness?
That has been shown.
But if one had any other affection than that of being one, it would be
affected in such a way as to be more than one; and that is impossible.
True.
Then one can never have the same affections either as another or as
itself?
Clearly not.
Then it cannot be like other, or like itself.
No.
Nor can it be affected so as to be other, for then it would be affected
in such a way as to be more than one.
It would.
That which is affected in a manner other than itself or other, will be
unlike itself or other, if sameness of affections is likeness.
True.
But the one, as appears, never having affections other than its own, is
never unlike itself or other?
Never.
Then the one is never either like or unlike itself or other?
Plainly not.
In reading this extract one cannot but admire the courtesy or wonder at
the simplicity of Aristoteles. He always answers just as he should to
keep the ball rolling; and he is in no wise compelled to do this under
the circumstances, for the argument is loose in the extreme. Briefly
stated, the reasoning is as follows:
One cannot be a whole, and cannot have parts, for then it would not
be one, but many. But if it has no parts it has no beginning, middle,
or end, and is formless. It is then in no place, for it cannot be in
itself, since the container must be different from the thing contained;
nor can it be in other, for it would have to be encircled by that
other, and touched in many parts, which is impossible. It follows that
it can neither be at rest nor in motion. Not in motion; for it cannot
have change in itself, or it would no longer be one; nor can it have
motion in place, whether circular motion upon a centre or motion from
place to place; the former for the reason that circular motion implies
a centre and parts around the centre; and the latter because one is
in no place: and as to coming into being in anything, which may be
regarded as a kind of motion, while doing this it would have to be part
in and part not in, which is impossible. It cannot be at rest, for one
is never in the same; to be in the same, is to be in something which
is the same, and one cannot be in anything. Nor, farther, can one be
the same with itself or other, nor other than itself or other. If other
than itself it would not be one; and if the same with other it would
be that other, and not itself. On the other hand only other can be
the other of other, and not one; and the one cannot be the same with
itself, for the nature of the one is not the nature of the same, since
that which becomes the same with the many does not become one. Finally,
one cannot be like or unlike itself or other, for likeness is sameness
of affections, and sameness is not oneness; one must, however, have no
affection except oneness, or it becomes more than one. It cannot, then,
have the same affections as itself or other. As, for the same reason,
it cannot have other affections than itself or other, it cannot be
unlike.
We have here one chief error, which runs through almost the whole
of the argument--is, indeed, the "Kern" of the "Pudel"--and several
subsidiary errors of different kinds. Some of these last are very
readily discovered, as that about the coming into being in a thing.
With these, however, I am not concerned. I merely remark _en passant_
that they may all be cleared up with a little care and accuracy, and
I turn to the main error, which consists in a constant confusion of
two kinds of sameness. The fact is that Parmenides is always passing
from "the one," or one in the abstract, mere oneness, to "a one,"
or one object. These are no more identical in the strict sense than
"manhood" and "a man," and in overlooking their difference he is simply
confounding the first and the fourth kinds of sameness. "The one"
cannot have parts, for the good reason that it is a quality taken by
itself, and not a thing, which is thought as a bundle of qualities. "A
one," on the other hand, may have parts, and each of these parts may be
"a one" too. "A one" by no means consists of a single element, oneness,
but of this element combined with others; and each such group may be
distinguished from each other such group, and all be recognized as
similar, or the same in a true sense of the word. The question whether
one can be in a place, too, evidently has to do, not with "the one,"
but "a one," for spacial or temporal differences are individualizing,
and distinguish a thing from another thing of the same kind. To ask
whether "the one" may or may not be in a place is inadmissible.
The same error is at the bottom of the argument about the one's being
in motion or at rest. The question has no significance except in
reference to "a one." If we speak of "the one" as in motion, we at
once put this abstract element in such a relation to other elements
that we have no longer "the one" but "a one." "The one" cannot have
change in itself and remain "the one," but "a one" may change a good
deal and still be "a one." And without admitting the justice of the
argument, that what has no parts cannot be in anything, the proof of
the impossibility of motion in space may be condemned merely upon the
ground that it is only "the one" which cannot have parts, while it is
only "a one" which is concerned in the problem of motion. The same
may be said for the argument against the one's coming into being in
anything. It is only "a one" which can be thought as coming into being
in a thing, and "a one" may have parts. As for the impossibility of the
one's being at rest, on the ground that to be at rest, a thing must be
in the same, and one cannot be in anything--this is a repetition of the
former error. "A one" may be in something, as has been pointed out,
even on the basis established at the outset, and it is with this, and
not with "the one," that we are concerned in the problem of rest and
motion.
The rest of the argument is based upon errors of a different kind, and
in it one may keep to "the one" throughout, if one choose. There is,
of course, no reason to think that the speaker did this. He probably
here, as before, carried over to "a one," one thought as an individual
thing, distinctions drawn in view of "the one," one viewed in the
abstract. As some of the statements made may be true or false as one
is taken in this sense or that; and particularly as the antinomy rests
upon a misconception as to the nature of sameness, I will continue the
analysis. What is to be proved is, first, that one cannot be the same
with itself or other, or other than itself or other; and second, that
it cannot be like or unlike itself or other. The position that the one,
if other than itself, would not be one, and if the same with other,
would be that other, is somewhat ambiguous. If "a one" is in question,
it may undoubtedly be "a one" and yet be other than any particular one;
and it may be the same with other--another one--without ceasing to
be one, if by same we mean similar. The play upon words in "other of
other" it is not necessary to consider. The conclusion that one cannot
be the same with itself is based upon the supposition that sameness
is a quality superadded to the other qualities of a thing; but in its
first sense the word does not even serve to indicate a relation; it is
merely used to point out the absence of duality. Both "a one" and "the
one" may be the same with themselves perfectly well, and in saying so
we do not in thought endow them with any quality not already possessed.
This last error serves also as a basis to the second paradoxical
position, that one cannot be like or unlike itself or other. It assumes
likeness and unlikeness to be qualities added to the other qualities
of things which are like or unlike.
A possible objection to my use of the term "a one" I must forestall
before passing on. I have used this as synonymous with "one object."
One horse is one object, and so is one part of a horse. It may be said,
however, that "a one" may also be used to signify a single occurrence
of oneness, as distinguished from another occurrence of oneness. That
any element of consciousness may be distinguished from any similar
element merely by spatial or temporal differences I have argued in the
first part of my monograph. Why may not then "a one" mean the oneness
of this one horse, or the oneness of this part of the horse? And if it
may, can "a one" of this kind have parts any more than "the one?"
I answer, it cannot; for it is then only a particular occurrence of
the quality (if I may so use the word) of oneness. But, then, if we so
understand the term, the argument loses all significance. We cannot
call "a one" of this kind a container or a thing contained, or talk
of it as encircled by anything. We do not even try to imagine it as
moving on its centre, or passing from place to place, or coming into
being in anything, or being at rest in anything. Such language we use
only in speaking of things. It seems to me plain that the speaker is
thinking of one as a thing, and it is this that gives its charm to the
bundle of paradoxes. The Eleatic "one" was always a thing and not mere
unity or an occurrence of unity. My criticism of the reasoning is, I
think, just. And whether Plato is responsible for the Parmenides or
not, we must agree that such a confusion of "the one" and "a one" (as
an object) would not be foreign to his modes of thought. His world of
Ideas is peopled with "the"'s turned into "a"'s, a fact which his acute
pupil Aristotle was not slow to discover.[36]
[36] Metaph. XII, c. 4.
SEC. 26. Aristotle has again and again discussed with his usual
keenness the kinds of sameness. He saw well enough that the word
is ambiguous, and may with equal right be employed in speaking of
experiences which do or do not contain an element of duality. He has
pointed out that the law of non-contradiction has to do with sameness
of the first kind, and not with the others.[37] His question as to
"Socrates" and "Socrates sitting," his treatment of "Coriscus" and "the
musical Coriscus," his statement that the white and the musical are
the same when they are accidents in the same subject,[38] show that
he clearly understood the significance of sameness in sense third.
He gives us sense fourth when he says that things may be called the
same when they belong to the same species or genus.[39] In his polemic
against the Protagorean doctrine of relativity,[40] senses sixth
and seventh come to the surface, though they are not very clearly
or exhaustively discussed. The fallacy in the apparent possibility
of attributing contradictory predicates to the same subject, from
the fact that the same wine may appear sweet to one taster and not
sweet to another, or at one time sweet and at another not sweet to
the one palate, is laid bare in the distinction between kinds of
sameness. Aristotle distinguishes between the wine itself and the
sensations it produces in different persons, and he recognizes the
fact that one man's perception of the "same" wine need not be wholly
like that of another. But this does not imply any violation of the
law of non-contradiction, for each sensation is just what it is at
any instant; and the statement that the same wine is sweet and not
sweet at the one moment amounts only to saying that the one object can
cause dissimilar sensations in two minds at one moment. As much may be
said for the non-simultaneous sensations of the one man. Sensations
differing in time are two, and may differ without violating any law.
In marking the fact that when we say two men perceive the same thing
we do not mean that the immediate object of knowledge is in the two
cases strictly one, but merely that these two objects are related in
a peculiar way, Aristotle draws the line between sameness in sense
first and in sense sixth. As to sense seventh. He distinguishes between
the apparent and the real, and yet goes on speaking, quite in modern
fashion, as though one thing could serve for both. He points out, _à
propos_ of pressing upon the eyeball and doubling the visual image,
that there is a distinction between the apparent and the real, and
then closes the paragraph with the remark that "to those persons who
do not move their organ of vision that which is one appears one."[41]
This language would certainly seem to indicate that that which is
appears--or that they are the same in some strict sense of the word.
The sentence reads much in the style of Mr. Spencer or Sir William
Hamilton.
[37] Metaph. III, c. 5, § 10; c. 6, § 3.
[38] _Ibid._ III, c. 2, § 6; IV, c. 6, § 1, and c. 9, § 1.
[39] _Ibid._ IV, c. 9, § 1, and c. 6.
[40] _Ibid._ III, c. 5, § 10; X, c. 6, § 6.
[41] Metaph. X, c. 6, § 2.
It appears, then, that Aristotle recognized a sameness in which there
is no sense of duality, and samenesses in which two things are called
the same and yet distinguished as two. Our way of expressing strict
identity, however, a way which, as I have shown, does not properly
express it all--seems to have misled him into finding a sort of
quasi duality even here, where he knows it to be really absent. In a
chapter[42] devoted to sameness and diversity, he closes his list of
samenesses with the remark: "It is plain that sameness is a oneness
either of two or more things with reference to their essence, or of one
thing treated as two; as when you say a thing is the same with itself,
for then you do treat it as two." We do employ two words, undoubtedly;
but if we are really thinking a thing as itself, we are not making
it dual in any sense whatever. The quotation smacks just a little of
Cratylus.
[42] _Ibid._ IV, c. 9.
SEC. 27. The sceptical arguments of Pyrrho are excellent instances of a
confusion of samenesses. The argument, for example, that since an apple
seen by the eye as yellow seems to the taste sweet, and to the smell as
fragrant, "that which is seen is just as likely to be something else as
the reality;"[43] this argument gains what little plausibility it may
have from the assumption that an object seen and an object tasted are
(or ought to be) the same in sense first instead of sense third.
[43] Diogenes Laërtius. IX, 9.
And the complaints, that things believed to be large, sometimes, as
when at a distance, appear small; that things which we believe to be
straight, sometimes seem bent; that the sun has one appearance in the
morning, and another at noon;[44] these, and all others like them,
assume that an object seen near at hand and then seen at a distance, a
stick seen as straight and then seen as crooked, the sun on the horizon
and the sun at the zenith, are in each case one strictly, and not
merely one as each element in a complex of experiences is one with each
other element, when any one may represent the whole. The conclusion
that, since it is not possible to view things without reference to
"place and position," their true nature cannot be known,[45] is founded
upon this error.
[44] _Ibid._ loc. cit.
[45] _Ibid._ loc. cit.
This becomes clear when one asks, what is it, after all, the nature
of which is so in doubt? Is it a stick? the sun? These words are
ambiguous. Two consecutive experiences of the same stick--as we
ordinarily use this word in speaking of sticks--are not strictly
identical, and need not be alike. The stick seen on two occasions is
not the same stick in sense I. If I limit the meaning of the words "the
stick" to one of these experiences, then the true nature of the stick
is just what is experienced on that occasion. What is experienced on
the second occasion is another stick, and its true nature is also just
what it seems to be. If, however, by "the stick" I do not mean only the
experience of one moment, but a series of experiences differing more or
less from one another, then I am under no necessity to select one of
them as the true nature of the stick, for its true nature is nothing
more nor less than the whole group of experiences. If I try to discover
or to invent some new experience which I may call the true nature of
the group, I am simply adding to it in thought another experience which
takes its place among those the group already contains. I am playing
with the word nature. This last experience could not be more important
than those among which it is placed, and it could not stand for any one
of them in any other way than each of them could stand for it. Should
it be objected that by "the stick" one does not mean either a single
experience of the stick or the sum total of the group of experiences,
but a something distinct from all these and inferred through them,
I answer, that in this case the argument from the variability of
experiences is not to the point. Such a "stick" as this would be the
same with either of those just discussed only in the seventh sense
of the word, and its nature would be the same with their nature only
in that sense too. An experience of the stick out of "place and
position," if that were conceivable, would not give us this "stick,"
for such an experience would still be an experience. It must never be
forgotten that this "external" stick is quite distinct from any or all
experiences, and could not be given in experiences of any kind. It
can only be inferred. If an unvarying series of experiences is good
ground for inferring an unvarying "external" stick, similar to what is
experienced, one would suppose a varying series of experiences would
furnish a basis for inference of a varying "external" stick, in its
successive phases like what is experienced. Unless some reason is given
for a discrimination in favor of the unvarying series, the argument
from variation does not affect the "external" stick at all.
It is evident, however, that in this particular argument, at least,
the "external" is not in Pyrrho's mind at all. What perplexes him is,
that what he is accustomed to call a straight stick sometimes looks
crooked. On reflection he discovers that he calls it straight only
because it seems straight on some occasions; and if it may at one time
seem straight and at another seem crooked, which is it in reality?
The question is a very natural one. The unreflective do not ask it,
because they assume that one of the experiences is to be taken as
expressing the true nature of the object and the other relegated to
the sphere of more or less deceptive appearance. The man who has begun
to reflect does ask it, because he sees that the assumed true nature
is an appearance too, and it naturally occurs to him that it also may
be deceptive. If he reflected more, he would see that he is partly
right and partly wrong. We do not regard as equally important every
element in the group of experiences which we call an object. Certain
elements, notably the tactual qualities and those visual experiences
which give us the best opportunity of inferring the tactual qualities,
stand in the foreground when we speak of the object. We name the object
according to these. In saying "a straight stick" we have prominently
in mind certain tactual experiences, and certain visual experiences
which normally are connected with these and give us the right to
infer them. We call any appearance delusive which leads us to infer
tactual experiences, and visual experiences of a kind regarded as
best representative of these tactual experiences, when such cannot be
actually experienced. Certain elements in the total group, which is
to us an experienced object, may then properly be regarded as in a
sense the true nature of the object, they are the most important part,
and the part to which other elements are referred. These elements may
justly be regarded as delusive when they mislead us in our inferences
as to the important elements. So far the common man is right. And as
no element is delusive in itself, but only in so far as it refers
the mind to something else, and to the wrong something else, those
elements which are ultimate and not used as signs of others, cannot be
delusive. In raising this question with regard to them Pyrrho is wrong.
These elements may, to be sure, be used as signs or indications of any
other elements in the group, and in their turn made stepping stones;
but this is not commonly done, and language and common thought rarely
mark logical possibilities. The language in use fairly expresses the
attitude of the average man towards the elements in his thought.
On the other hand, the unreflective man speaks as if the less
important, or perhaps I had better say less prominent, experiences
were not a part of the object as he knows it. He seems to regard the
whole object as actually present, when a single experience only is
present. In putting all experiences on the same plane, so to speak, the
Pyrrhonist makes a genuine advance. Wherein he errs is this: He sees
that a stick seen near at hand is as much an experience or appearance
as a stick seen at a distance, and that one of these phenomena does not
differ in kind from the other; he sees also that to assume that one is
the real stick and the other is not, seems to go upon the assumption
that they differ in kind; he is consequently unwilling to call any one
of his experiences the real stick, and yet he insists upon looking
for a real stick, which may be expressed in a single experience. It
never seems to occur to him that the real stick may be the name of the
whole series of experiences in their appropriate relations. He wishes
a sameness in the strict sense, with no element of duality. The stick
seen straight in the air, and seen bent in the water, is the same stick
in sense third. It takes both of these experiences to express the
true nature of this stick. No one experience could serve. It is the
battle between stick as a single experience, and stick as a group of
experiences, that leads to all the confusion.
I have given as much space to Pyrrho as I care to, and I will not
delay over him and his successors. These furnish good material to one
fond of analysis. There is, however, a great deal of repetition among
the sceptics. They occupy themselves chiefly either in confounding
the first kind of sameness with the third, as in the preceding; or
in confounding the first kind with the sixth, as in the argument for
uncertainty drawn from the varying guise under which the same object
appears to different persons. The ambiguity of the word same, as
here used, is apparent, and it is in this ambiguity that they become
entangled.
SEC. 28. Into the labyrinths of the scholastic philosophy I hesitate to
enter, and yet I could hardly be excused for passing on to the moderns
without at least a reference to the great dispute over Universals--a
dispute which is, at bottom, a quarrel concerning samenesses. I shall
speak of it very briefly.
The object of the general term or class name is in question. Plato,
distinguishing between the universal and the individual, between man
and men, thought it necessary, according to Aristotle, who has not,
I think, done him injustice, to assume an object for the universal
outside of and apart from all the individuals forming a class. The Idea
is a real thing, _the_ real thing in which the individuals participate,
or of which they are copies; but it is not itself to be found in any
or all of them, except, so to speak, in a figurative or metaphorical
way. Aristotle, finding no reason to assume a new individual, for so he
regarded the Platonic Idea, placed the universal _in_ the individuals
composing the class. Certain of the schoolmen, emphasizing the
distinction between real things and mental representations, maintained
that only individuals have real existence, and asserted either that
universals exist merely as peculiar combinations of mental elements
which serve to think the objects forming a class, or that the universal
is the word, which may be applied indifferently to many individuals
of one kind. In these views we have the _universalia ante rem_, the
_universalia in re_, and the _universalia post rem_; or extreme
Realism, moderate Realism, and Nominalism in its two forms.
The examination into the respective merits of the positions which
have been taken with regard to universals will be facilitated by
distinguishing carefully between the different spheres of being; that
is, between things immediately known and "real" things mediately
known, as also between things contained in one consciousness and those
contained in another. It is plainly important not to confound these
classes with each other.
Let us take, first, a number of resembling objects in a single
consciousness. I have already pointed out that when we say several
such objects are the same we do not at all mean to deny that they
are distinct objects. We merely wish to indicate that each possesses
certain elements which, taken by themselves, and after making
abstraction from all other elements, render impossible any distinction
between different objects. We distinguish two objects as two through
some difference, even if it be only local or temporal. Redness combined
with x and redness combined with y are recognized as two occurrences of
redness, but this only on account of x and y. Redness perceived to-day
and redness perceived yesterday are two occurrences of redness, marked
as such by the "to-day" and the "yesterday." Redness considered simply
contains nothing which will allow of such distinctions. This does not
imply at all that redness considered simply is _an occurrence of
redness_--that since we have not two or more occurrence of the quality
we have a single occurrence of it, an individual. We have not, if we
have really abstracted from all save the redness, any "occurrence" or
"occurrences" at all, for these imply just the elements of difference
which we are endeavoring to eliminate. An "occurrence" of redness means
redness with a difference which will mark it out from other redness,
from another "occurrence." If, then, one gives to twenty individuals a
common name to indicate that they resemble each other, or are in some
sense the same, he should keep clearly in mind just what this means.
It means that along with various differing elements each contains
the element x. He should remember that each individual is the same
with each other individual only in this sense, sense fourth. When he
proposes to separate the x from the other elements, and consider it
separately, he should be most careful to see that he is really taking
it separately, and not allowing shreds of foreign matter to hang to it
and give rise to difficulties and perplexities. He should not overlook
the fact that there is a fallacy in the very question, Whether the x
in one individual is identical (the same in sense first) with the x
in any other individual? If these two x's are distinguishable as in
two individuals, one is not considering x merely, but x with other
elements. The separation of the x element from the other elements in
the objects is here not complete, or one would be considering not "an
x" or "x's," but x. Any one who sees this must see that he who asks
such a question is retaining a duality, and then trying to get out of
it an identity with no element of duality. He is "milking the he-goat."
He is trying to reduce sameness in sense fourth to sameness in sense
first.
Twenty objects immediately known must not be confounded with twenty
"real" things not immediately known, and of which the objects are
supposed to be representatives. These two classes are the same with
each other only in sense seventh. I have discussed in detail in the
first part of my monograph the samenesses of "real" things, and it is
not necessary to repeat what I have said. It is enough to state that it
was there made evident that when we speak of a number of similar "real"
things as the same, we use the word in sense fourth, and have in mind
just the elements which are present when we speak of several similar
immediate objects of knowledge as the same. We are merely carrying
over to a set of imagined duplicates a distinction which we observe
in objects recognized as within consciousness. When, therefore, we
give twenty "real" things a common name, and form them into a class,
because they are alike, we mean that along with various other "real"
elements, each of these objects contains the "real" element x. The word
same means to us just what it does when we speak of twenty similar
immediate objects as the same. We have changed only the objects; we
have not changed the sameness and all that depends upon it. Two such
objects are the same in sense fourth, and never in sense first. If they
could be the same in sense first, they would not be two. When a man
undertakes to separate in thought the "real" x element from the other
"real" elements in two or more such objects, he should be careful, as
in the case of immediate objects, to make a complete separation and not
a partial one. He should see here, too, that the question whether the x
in one object and the x in another are strictly identical, is a foolish
one. "This x" and "that x" are not strictly identical, or they would
not be "this x" and "that x." Remove completely the "this" and the
"that" and all other differing elements--leave, that is, only x, and
the possibility of any such question simply disappears. If there still
seem to anyone ground for a question in the premises, it is evidence
that he is not considering merely x. He is trying to keep two things
two, and yet make them one.
Twenty objects in one consciousness must not be confounded with twenty
objects in another. When we speak of two men as seeing the same thing,
we do not mean that the object in one mind is the same with the
object in the other in sense first, but in sense sixth. This does not
prevent them from being two. A single object in one mind may be the
same with itself in sense first. A number of similar objects in one
mind may be the same in sense fourth. Two objects or two classes of
objects in different minds may be the same in sense sixth. One may, to
be sure, think of twenty objects in one mind, and of the same (sense
sixth) twenty objects in another mind as forty objects. Philosophical
reflection naturally leads to this. I am inducing a reader to do it
when I tell him that an object in one mind and the same object in
another are two objects. But in doing this, one must bear in mind the
fact that the forty objects belong to two quite distinct classes, and
that common language would not reckon them as forty, but as twenty. In
this there is, of course, a pitfall for the unwary.
Now, when Plato looked for the object of the general name, for the x
contained in a class of similar objects, what did he do? He created
a new object distinct from and apart from all the others. He is very
vague in his statements, and he was probably quite as vague in his
thought; but I cannot see how anyone familiar with the Phaedrus, the
Republic, the Timaeus, the Symposium and the Parmenides, and familiar
with Plato's concrete way of thinking in images, can avoid coming to
the conclusion that the Idea was to him predominantly an object, an
individual--a vague and inconsistent object, if you please, but still
an object. But _an_ x is in no sense a universal. It is the same with
other x's only in sense fourth; that is, it is like them. The x that
they have in common must be x considered simply, not x considered as
here or there, in this place or in that. All such differences must be
eliminated if one is to get not an individual, but a universal. If the
Idea may be considered as _apart_ from objects, it is an object in so
far not essentially differing from the others. Again, the Platonic Idea
is an object, but not to be put upon the same plane with other objects.
They suffer change, while it is immutable; they are perceivable by
the senses, and it is not. The objects of sense and the Idea are in
different worlds; and though we cannot accuse Plato of drawing the
distinctions of the modern hypothetical realist, he has certainly given
us a suggestive parallel to the Lockian ideas and "real" things. The
trouble has arisen out of his difficulty in keeping an abstraction
abstract; he has turned it into a concrete, and, finding in the world
of sense no place for this concrete, this new individual, he has given
it a world of its own. Whatever this object in this world apart may be,
it is certainly not what is common to twenty individuals in the world
of sensible things.
Aristotle, seeing this difficulty, placed the idea _in_ the objects
forming the class. It may be objected that putting x _in_ a place
individualizes it as much as putting it _out of_ a place. This is quite
true if the "in" is taken locally--taken as it is when we speak of a
man as being in one room rather than another. The x in one object is
not identically the x in another object. We do not get the universal,
x in the abstract, until we lose the distinctions "in the one object,"
and "in the other object." Two x's cannot be the same in sense first,
from the mere fact that they are two; an x in one place and an x in
another place are always two. If, however, by the statement that the
universal is in the objects, one mean merely that the universal is that
element x, which, combined with certain elements, forms a total which
is known as this object, and combined with certain others forms a total
which is known as that, but taken by itself contains no distinction of
this and that; if this is all that is meant by the "in," there is no
objection to the use of the statement, and it is strictly true. The x
element is a part of each of the objects, but, until some addition is
made to it, it is not "the x in this object" or "the x in that object";
it is what they have in common. The "in common" means just this.
The Nominalistic doctrine that only individuals have real existence,
and that the universal, whatever it may be, is to be sought in the
mind, distinguishes between the spheres of being and denies to one what
it allows to another. Of the extreme nominalistic position, that the
only true universal is the word, which may be applied indifferently
to several distinct objects, I shall not here speak. I have discussed
this wholly untenable view elsewhere.[46] But the more reasonable
Nominalism, the conceptualistic, is worthy of examination here. In
so far as it holds that the mind can form a concept, which shall
consist of the element or elements several objects have in common, we
have no quarrel with it. Here we find a true universal, obtained by
discarding differences which distinguish objects from one another.
We obtain by this that mental core common to several similar mental
objects. If, however, we distinguish between mental objects and
"real" things corresponding to them, we have evidently two distinct
fields to consider. When we say a number of objects in consciousness
are alike, we are simply pointing out the fact that they contain a
universal element as well as individual differences. Can we say that a
number of "real" objects are alike? If so, what do we mean in saying
it? If there is nothing to prevent us from calling them individuals,
there would seem to be nothing to prevent us from affirming that they
are "really" alike. Does likeness ever mean anything except sameness
in difference? Is not, then, the element in which several objects
resemble each other a universal element, whether the objects be mental
or "real?" What else does universal mean? The excuse for speaking
ceases when language ceases to be significant. One does not in the
least explain the similarity, or sameness in the fourth sense, of a
number of "real" objects, by assuming a universal in a quite different
world--one which could not possibly exist in the world of the objects.
This solution of the problem is Platonic. The element which twenty
real objects have in common must be a "real" element, or it cannot be
a constituent part of each object. If it is not a constituent part
of each object, it is absurd to speak of the objects as having it in
common. If they have nothing in common, it is absurd to say that they
are alike. Twenty similar objects must have a universal element, to
whatever sphere of being they belong; and this element must belong
to the same sphere as the objects. A mental universal is the same
with a "real" universal only in sense seventh, and it can furnish no
explanation of the likeness of "real" things.
[46] See my "Conception of the Infinite," Ch. VI (J. B. Lippincott
Co., Philadelphia). It is but fair to state that my criticism of
Realism in this volume is directed against the "_ante rem_" Realism.
I did not have the Moderate Realism in mind, and what I said will not
apply to it.
In the light of the foregoing analysis a goodly number of the
scholastic arguments regarding universals are easily seen to contain
errors. The Anselmic view of genera and species as universal
substances,[47] for instance, makes an abstraction a thing and
distinguishes it from other things. It fails to keep it abstract.
The doctrine attributed to William of Champeaux, by Abelard, that
universals are essentially and wholly present in each of their
individuals, in which latter there is no diversity of essence, but only
variety through accidents,[48] is tenable or not according to the
sense in which the words are taken. The word "wholly" is an awkward
one, and would incline one to the view that William regarded the
universal as a thing, a concrete, which may be in this place or that.
If this were his opinion, and it is perhaps more reasonable to believe
that it was, the objection of Abelard, that this would necessitate
the same thing's being in different places at the same time, would
hold good. If the essence of humanity be wholly in Socrates, it must
be where Socrates is. It cannot, then, be somewhere else in Plato.
Manifestly humanity, so regarded, is not a universal at all. It is
"this humanity" or "that humanity," _i. e._, this or that occurrence
of humanity; and two occurrences of a quality or group of qualities
are two individuals. The word "in" I have shown to be ambiguous. Any
element, regarded as, in one sense, _in_ an individual, retains the
local flavor which makes universality impossible. But if William
meant nothing more by his statement than that the element common to
the individuals is a constituent part of each, and that there is in
it no distinction which will allow us to put it part here and part
there, the polemic of Abelard is not justifiable. Whatever he may
have intended to say, there can be no mistake as to the meaning of
the following sentence from Robert Pulleyn: "The species is the whole
substance of individuals, and the whole species is the same in each
individual: therefore the species is one substance, but its individuals
many persons, and these many persons are that one substance."[49]
The dialectician represented as saying this, ought to have been a
prey to profound melancholy; his samenesses are clearly in deplorable
confusion. He makes his universal an individual, and then imposes upon
it duties which no individual can fulfil with credit. It is to be one
and yet not one: distinct from something else, and yet identical with
it. It is to be a universal and not a universal. It is by no means to
be envied. The conceptualistic position of Abelard, that we may gain a
subjective universal by abstraction, but that only individuals exist
in reality, is open to the objections that I advanced in discussing
Nominalism. The position is supported[50] by the argument that we
may abstract the form from the substantial subject to which it is
united, and consider it separately, while in nature there is no such
abstraction, the form and the subject forming a united whole. To this
one may answer, as I have indicated above, that, whatever it may be
united with, the form in the several individuals is in some sense the
same, or the individuals would not be alike, and the concept would be
of no service in representing it. What is meant by such sameness? Is
it anything but sameness in sense fourth? When several objects are the
same in sense fourth, is not the element common to them a universal?
Why make this conceptualistic discrimination between things in mind and
"real" things?
[47] Hauréau. _Philos. Scholastique._ Paris, 1872. I, p. 281.
[48] _Historia Calamitatum_, quoted by Hauréau. I, p. 324.
[49] _Species est tota substantia individuorum, totaque species
eademque in singulis reperitur individuis: itaque species una est
substantia, ejus vero individua multæ personæ, et hæ multæ personæ
sunt illa una substantia._ (_Sentent._, p. I, c. III.)--Quoted by
Hauréau, I, p. 328.
[50] Hauréau, I, 380-381. The argument is taken from the _De
Intellectibus_.
Finally, in passing from scholasticism, I would suggest that it is
conducive to clearness in thinking to bear in mind that when Albert,
or Thomas, or Duns, declares in favor of all three kinds of universal,
_ante rem_, _in re_, and _post rem_, he is declaring for three things
and not one. He is not at all in the position of the old Platonic
Realist; but is rather, if I may so express it, a kind of triple
Aristotelian. One may perfectly well hold to all three universals,
by putting one in the mind of God, one in things, and one in a human
mind; but an individual may be given this three-fold existence quite as
well as a universal. In the old Realism the problem of the universal
called into existence a new sphere of being. Here a new sphere of
being, assumed upon extraneous grounds, furnishes one more universal.
The universals in the mind of God are not assumed as the object of
the general name applied to twenty "real" objects. The object of this
name is the _in re_. The _ante rem_ universal cannot, then, be gotten
as Plato got it. In this distinction between the different spheres
of being we have an advance in reflection; but as I have said, on
this new ground the individual may demand its rights. The _ante rem_
Realism of the great scholastics of the thirteenth century should not
be confounded with that of an earlier period. It is not open to the
same objections. But on the other hand, it has not the same excuse for
existence. It is a historical relic.
SEC. 29. The first of the moderns to whom I shall refer is Descartes.
There are certain passages in the Meditations which will well
illustrate the efforts made by this remarkable man in the direction
of accurate analysis, as also the errors into which he fell through a
confusion of the kinds of sameness. I shall quote from the second and
third Meditations:
"Let us now accordingly consider the things which are commonly thought
the easiest of all to know, and which are thought also to be the most
distinctly known, that is, the bodies that we touch and see; not indeed
bodies in general, for these general notions are usually a little more
confused: but let us consider a single one of them. Let us take, for
example, this bit of wax; it has just been taken from the hive; it
has not yet lost the sweetness of the honey it contained; it still
keeps something of the odor of the flowers from which it has been
gathered; its color, its figure, its size, are apparent; it is hard,
it is cold, it is easily handled, and if struck it gives a sound. In
a word, everything that can make a body distinctly known is found in
this one. But notice, while I speak, it is placed near the fire; what
remained of savor and odor disappears, its color changes, its figure
is lost, its size increases, it becomes liquid, grows hot, one can
scarcely handle it, and when struck it no longer gives a sound. Does
the same wax remain after this change? One must admit that it does; no
one doubts it; no one judges otherwise. What then was it that was known
with so much distinctness in this bit of wax? Certainly nothing that I
perceived by means of the senses, for all the things which fall under
taste, smell, sight, touch and hearing, are changed, and yet the same
wax remains. Perhaps it was what I think now, namely, that this wax
was neither the sweetness of honey, the agreeable odor of flowers, the
whiteness, the figure, nor the sound, but only a body which a little
before appeared to my senses under these forms, and which now appears
to them under others. But to speak precisely, what do I imagine when I
think it in this way? Let us consider it attentively, and abstracting
all that does not belong to the wax, let us see what remains. Surely
nothing remains but something extended, flexible and mutable. But what
is that, flexible and mutable? Is it not that I imagine that this bit
of wax, being round, is capable of becoming square and of changing
from square to triangular? No, it is certainly not that, for I think
it capable of an infinite number of similar changes; but I could not
run through this infinite number by my imagination, and consequently
this conception that I have of the wax is not due to the faculty of
imagination. But what now is this extension? Is it not also unknown?
For it becomes greater when the wax melts, greater when it boils, and
still greater when the heat increases, and I could not conceive clearly
and truly what wax is, if I did not think that even this bit that we
are considering is capable of receiving more varieties of extension
than I have ever imagined. It must then be admitted that I could not
comprehend by imagination even what this bit of wax is, and that only
my understanding can comprehend it. I say this particular bit of wax;
for as for wax in general, it is still more evident. But what is this
bit of wax that cannot be comprehended save by the understanding or
the mind? It is certainly the same that I see, that I touch, that
I imagine; it is, in a word, the same that I have always thought it
from the beginning. But, what is important to note here is, that my
perception is not a sensation of sight, nor of touch, nor an act of the
imagination, and it has never been this, although it may have seemed so
before; but it is merely an intuition (_inspection_) of the mind, which
may be imperfect and confused as it was before, or clear and distinct
as it is at present, according as my attention is directed more or less
to the elements in it, and of which it is composed.
"However, I cannot be too much surprised when I consider the weakness
of my mind and its proneness to be carried insensibly into error.
For even when I consider all this in my own mind, and without using
language, the words arrest me, and I am almost deceived by the terms in
common use; for we say that we see the same wax if it be present, and
not that we judge that it is the same, from its having the same color
and figure; whence I might be tempted to conclude that one knows the
wax by the sight of the eyes, and not merely by the intuition of the
mind, were it not that, in looking from a window at men passing in the
street, I say that I see men, just as I say that I see the wax; and yet
what do I see from this window except hats and cloaks which might cover
machines moved by springs? But I judge that they are men, and thus
comprehend only by the power of judging, which is in my mind, what I
thought I saw with my eyes."[51]
[51] Méditation Deuxième.--Ed. Simon, Paris, 1860, pp. 76-78.
In this extract the author attempts to distinguish between what
is thought and what is perceived by the senses or imagined. Had
he remained within the sphere of the immediately known, one could
not have objected to such a distinction. Sameness in sense third
is something highly complex, implying that elaboration of mental
elements which we call thought. It is quite just to distinguish
the notion "a bit of wax" from any single sense experience or
picture of the imagination. In doing this Descartes was searching
for sameness in sense third. But when he leaves the sphere of
consciousness, and assumes that what remains the same in the bit
of wax is something distinct from the sum total of experiences, as
men are distinct from their garments, he falls into error. It is
against this that the criticism in the text is directed.
What Descartes is feeling for in this is sameness in sense third.
When we use the words "a bit of wax," we do not have in mind a single
experience. The wax in a solid and the wax in a liquid state is to us
the same wax. I have pointed out what the word same, so used, means.
It means that these two experiences are recognized as belonging to the
one group or series of experiences; and the wax, completely known,
is the sum total of the series. Descartes saw very well that the two
experiences under discussion are not strictly identical (the same in
sense first), and he saw also that they are very unlike. He naturally
asked, In what then are they the same? or, what is there that is here
the same? And, instead of accepting the fact that such a sameness as
this cannot be reduced to one of the others, he solved the problem by
passing from the experiences, the "hats and cloaks," to a "real" thing
underlying. In other words, to explain the sameness of two experiences
of a bit of wax, sameness in sense third, he assumed "real" wax, which
is the same with the experiences which represent it only in sense
seventh. This real wax, or something in it, he supposes to remain the
same on two occasions. It is this to which he makes the mind refer when
it calls the wax the same. But when a man advances statements about
a bit of wax, his information rests ultimately upon his experiences,
if it be grounded at all. From the experience one infers the "real"
thing, and not _vice versa_. No one knew this better than Descartes,
with his fundamental principle of the certainty of consciousness and
the uncertainty of what is "external." He got his "real" world by
a process of reasoning, and put it in a realm wholly cut off from
direct observation. This being the case, one cannot but wonder at
his inconsistency in the present instance. Is one to remain in doubt
whether a piece of wax felt to be hard, and then melted before the
fire, is the same, until one has had some means of discovering that the
same "real" wax is present on the two occasions? How is one to find
out whether "real" wax is ever present unless he infer its presence
from some experience? And how is one to know that the same "real" wax
is present on two occasions unless he infer it from the fact that
what is directly perceived on the two occasions is the same in some
sense of the word? Whatever sameness there is rests ultimately for its
evidence upon the experiences. There is nothing else to judge from.
The reasoning, which would base the sameness of what is experienced
upon the sameness of a corresponding "real" thing, when the sameness
of this latter is to be inferred from the former, reminds one of the
stupid argument, still occasionally met with, which would infer a God
from data of consciousness, and then found a belief in the veracity of
consciousness upon the goodness of God. One may believe, if one please,
that, when we have two distinct experiences so connected that we call
them two perceptions of the same wax, there is in some way connected
with them a bit of "real" wax which remains in some sense the same. But
one should never suppose that any given experienced wax is proved the
same by reference to this. It is judged the same upon observation.
Descartes then was inconsistent with his own principles when he made
this jump to a new sphere of being. The sameness of the experienced
object is ultimate; the only pertinent question is, what does it mean?
It means, as I have said, that the wax hard and the wax soft are
the same in sense third. But sameness in sense third admits of wide
dissimilarities in the experiences it unites into the notion of the one
object. Descartes looked for a sameness without these dissimilarities.
He would reduce sense third to sense first, or, perhaps, to sense
second. To do this he must go behind the experiences to a "real" thing,
which is to remain the same as a proxy for what is evidently variable.
This makeshift is only satisfactory to one who overlooks, or allows
to fall into the background, the plain fact that representative and
thing represented are two separate things and not to be confused;
that is, who confuses sameness in sense first with sameness in sense
seventh. Descartes distinguished carefully between ideas and external
things, but he sometimes overlooked the distinction. "But what is this
bit of wax that cannot be comprehended save by the understanding or
the mind? It is certainly the same that I see, that I touch, that I
imagine; it is, in a word, the same that I have always thought it from
the beginning." How ambiguous! is it the same in sense first or sense
seventh? The sentence following would indicate sense seventh, but the
spirit of the whole discussion would argue for sense first. One must
delude oneself into believing that one can get at "real" wax directly,
in some way or other, or one cannot think of making it an ultimate
ground of reasoning. Descartes, like so many others, would seem to have
vibrated between a clear consciousness that ideas and "real" things are
distinct, belonging to different worlds, and a confused belief that
they belong to the one world, and that "real" things are open to direct
observation.
I shall take still another extract from this author. It contains
similar errors.
"Now, among these ideas, some appear to me to be inborn, others to
be foreign and to come from without, and still others to be made and
invented by myself. For, as to the faculty of conceiving that which, in
general, one calls a thing, or a truth, or a thought, it appears to me
that I do not get that from any other source than my own nature; but
if now I hear a sound, if I see the sun, if I feel the heat, up to the
present I have judged that these sensations proceed from things which
exist without me; and lastly, it seems to me that syrens, hippogriffs,
and all similar chimeras are fictions and inventions of my mind. But
perhaps I can persuade myself, that all these ideas belong to the class
of those that I call foreign, and that come to me from without, or that
they are all innate, or else that they are all created by myself; for
I have not yet clearly discovered their true source. And my chief duty
here is to consider, touching those which seem to come from objects
without me, what reasons I have for thinking them like their objects.
"The first of the reasons is that I seem to be taught to do so by
nature; and the second, that I perceive that these ideas are not
dependent upon my will; for often they present themselves to me in
spite of me, as now, whether I wish it or not, I feel heat, and
consequently am persuaded that this sensation or idea of heat is
produced in me by something different from me, to wit: by the heat of
the fire by which I am sitting. And I cannot see that anything is more
reasonable than to judge that this external object emits and impresses
upon me its resemblance rather than anything else.
"Now I must see if these reasons are sufficiently strong and
convincing. When I say that I seem to be taught so by nature, I mean
merely by this word nature a certain inclination which leads me to
believe it, and not a natural light which gives me certain knowledge
that it is true. But these two ways of speaking are very different, for
I cannot doubt anything that the natural light shows me to be true,
as it has just shown me that from the fact of my doubting I may infer
my existence; inasmuch as I have not in me any other faculty or power
of distinguishing the true from the false to teach me that what this
light shows me to be true is not true, and in which I may have as much
confidence as in it. But as concerns inclinations which also seem to me
natural, I have often remarked, when it has been a question of choice
between virtues and vices, that they do not less incline to evil than
to good; it follows that I have no more reason to follow them when
the true and the false are in question. And as for the other reason,
which is that these ideas must come from without, since they are not
dependent on my will, I do not find it more convincing. For while these
inclinations of which I have just spoken are in me, notwithstanding
that they are not always in harmony with my will, perhaps there is in
me some faculty or power capable of producing these ideas without the
aid of external things, although it is yet unknown to me; as indeed it
has always seemed to me up to this time that when I sleep they are thus
formed in me without the aid of the objects they represent. Finally,
even should I admit that they are caused by these objects, it does not
necessarily follow that they must be like them. On the contrary, I have
often remarked in many instances, that there is a great difference
between an object and its idea: as, for example, I find in me two very
different ideas of the sun; the one has its source in the senses, and
should be placed in the class of those which I have said above come
from without, and from this it seems to me very small; the other has it
origin in astronomical reasonings, that is to say, in certain notions
which are inborn, or else formed in some way or other by myself, and
from this it seems to me many times greater than the whole earth.
Surely, these two ideas which I have of the sun cannot both be like
the same sun; and reason convinces me that the one which is derived
directly from its appearance is the one which is most unlike it. All
of which proves to me that, up to this hour, it has not been by a sure
and premeditated judgment, but merely by a blind and rash impulse,
that I have been led to believe that there are things without me, and
different from my being, which, by the organs of my senses, or by
whatever other means, convey to me their ideas or images, and impress
upon me their resemblances."[52]
[52] Méditation Troisième, pp. 83-85.
From the earlier portions of this extract one may see how clearly
Descartes distinguished between the idea, or the thing immediately
known, and the external thing which he assumed as corresponding to the
idea; from the latter part one may see how he sometimes confounded
them. He finds that he may doubt whether ideas have any external
correlatives; and, granting that they have, whether the two resemble
each other at all. All this would imply that "external" things are
completely cut off from observation. And yet he states with _naïveté_
that he has "often remarked in many instances that there is a great
difference between an object and its idea." Now, if this can really be
remarked in many instances, the doubt as to the existence of objects
would seem to be groundless. How can it be remarked? On this point
Descartes is silent. He has evidently fallen back upon the popular
notion that under favorable circumstances one can get a look at a
"real" thing, just as it is. The "reason" which convinces him that
the astronomer's notion of the sun is the true notion is nothing but
this. It could certainly not be deduced from his only argument for the
existence of external things--the veracity of God. How does he know,
that in giving us several different ideas of the sun, God has chosen
to have this one only resemble it? It is a pure assumption. Reason is
of service when one has something to go upon; but in the absence of
premises it will not carry one far. This assumption is an illustration
of what I had occasion to remark upon in criticizing Pyrrho; of the
fact that, from the series of possible perceptions which we group
together as one object, we are apt to select one, to us for some reason
the most satisfactory one, and to regard it as more truly representing
the object than the others. Descartes has followed this impulse, and
made this perception the best representative of the "real" object. Had
he always distinguished sameness in sense first from sameness in sense
seventh, he would have seen how purely gratuitous is his assumption.
The statement, too, that two different ideas of the sun cannot both
resemble the same sun, shows how little he comprehended what it meant
by the word same when used in the third sense. If by the sun we mean a
whole series of possible perceptions, perhaps quite unlike each other,
but all united and related in certain ways, there is nothing to prevent
very dissimilar things from being like the same sun. Each of them need
only resemble a single link in the series. By the words "the same sun"
Descartes meant the same in sense first, but this sins against the
proper meaning of the term. The difficulty is self-created.
Descartes' sun reminds me of Berkeley's moon. This latter writer
clearly perceived that there may be multiplicity and diversity where
one attributes sameness in sense third. Note the following:
"But for a fuller explication of this point, and to show that the
immediate objects of sight are not so much as the ideas or resemblances
of things placed at a distance, it is requisite that we look nearer
into the matter, and carefully observe what is meant in common
discourse when one says that which he sees is at a distance from him.
Suppose, for example, that looking at the moon I should say it were
fifty or sixty semidiameters of the earth distant from me. Let us see
what moon this is spoken of. It is plain it cannot be the visible
moon, or anything like the visible moon, or that I see--which is only
a round, luminous plain, of about thirty visible points in diameter.
For, in case I am carried from the place where I stand directly toward
the moon, it is manifest the object varies still as I go on; and,
by the time that I am advanced fifty or sixty semidiameters of the
earth, I shall be so far from being near a small, round, luminous flat
that I shall perceive nothing like it--this object having long since
disappeared, and, if I would recover it, it must be by going back to
the earth from whence I set out."[53]
[53] "Essay towards a New Theory of Vision." Sec. 44. Works: ed.
Fraser. Oxford 1871. Vol. I, p. 53.
So much for dissimilar experiences of the same object. And Berkeley is
not impelled to assume an external something to explain how the object
can be the same under the circumstances. The case, he finds, stands
thus:
"Having of a long time experienced certain ideas perceivable by
touch--as distance, tangible figure, and solidity--to have been
connected with certain ideas of sight, I do, upon perceiving these
ideas of sight, forthwith conclude what tangible ideas are, by the
wonted ordinary course of nature, like to follow. Looking at an object,
I perceive a certain visible figure and color, with some degree of
faintness and other circumstances, which, from what I have formerly
observed, determine me to think that if I advance forward so many
paces, miles, etc., I shall be affected with such and such ideas of
touch."[54]
[54] _Ibid._, § 45.
And need one ask a clearer illustration of sameness in sense third than
the case of the coach, which occurs in the following section:
"Sitting in my study I hear a coach drive along the street; I look
through the casement and see it; I walk out and enter into it. Thus,
common speech would incline one to think I heard, saw, and touched the
same thing, to wit, the coach. It is, nevertheless, certain the ideas
intromitted by each sense are widely different and distinct from each
other; but, having been observed constantly to go together, they are
spoken of as one and the same thing."
SEC. 30. It would be easy to select from Spinoza, that master of
reasonings apparently very exact but really very loose, many good
instances of confused samenesses. I shall confine myself to a single
one, his argument to prove that every substance is necessarily
infinite. It is the eighth proposition in Part I of the Ethics.
"There cannot be more than one substance with the same attribute, and
this exists of its own nature. It belongs, then, to its nature to exist
either as finite or as infinite. But it cannot be finite, for then it
would have to be limited by another of the same kind, which would also
necessarily exist; there would then be two substances with the same
attribute, which is absurd. It is, therefore, infinite."[55]
[55] _Substantia unius attributi non nisi unica existit, et ad
ipsius naturam pertinet existere. Erit ergo de ipsius natura vel
finita vel infinita existere. At non finita. Nam deberet terminari
ab alia eiusdem naturæ, quæ etiam necessario deberet existere;
adeoque darentur duæ substantiæ eiusdem attributi, quod est
absurdum. Existit ergo infinita_; q. e. d.--_Ethices, Pars prima;
VIII. Omnis substantia est necessario infinita._ Leipzig, 1875,
p. 84.
Among its defects this argument includes a confusion of sameness in
sense fourth with sameness in sense first. Attribute Spinoza has
defined as that which is conceived as the essence of substance. Mode is
a modification of substance. Two substances, he has argued, cannot be
distinguished from each other by their modifications, for substance is
prior to its modifications, and we may set these aside and consider it
as it is in itself. Substances cannot then, be distinguished except by
their attributes; and if the attribute be the same, how can we say that
there are two substances? There cannot, consequently, be two substances
with the same attribute.
But, the argument continues, since there cannot be two substances
with the same attribute, every substance must be infinite; for, to
be finite, a thing must be limited by something: and nothing can be
limited except by a thing of the same kind (for example, a material
thing cannot be limited by a thought). But if a thing be limited
by another thing of the same kind, the thing limited and the thing
limiting have the same attribute. It follows that they are not two
things, but one. The thing in question is not limited but infinite.