In criticizing this, I may call attention, in passing, to the highly

disputable and gratuitously assumed premise, that, to be finite, a

thing must be limited by _something_. If this be denied, the ground

of the reasoning is removed; while, if it be granted, no argument is

needed to prove that something is infinite, for one has only said

in other words that all limits must be limits within something. The

question is begged at once. With this, however, I am not concerned.

What interests me is this: The argument assumes a limited thing and

a something beyond it, and then asserts that they are one. But two

things of the same kind in different places, or marked as different

by distinctions of any sort, are readily distinguished as two. To

come to the concrete, extension conceived as on this side of a point

and extension conceived as beyond the point are not extension simply,

but "this" extension and "that" extension. They are the same only

in sense fourth, not in sense first. We have here not merely the

attribute extension, but the further elements "this" and "that." The

conclusion, then, that what we started out with is infinite, is wholly

unwarranted. It is not this that is infinite, but this with something

else which is to some degree like it, although not wholly so. That is

to say, the thing assumed as finite can only be proved to be infinite

by confounding two samenesses. The thing proved to be infinite is a

new object including it and what it is assumed to presuppose. If it be

not permissible to make this distinction between the object assumed as

finite, for the sake of the argument, and the object which is proved

to be infinite, it is also not permissible to assert that an object

to be finite "would have to be limited by another of the same kind."

If the two are one, these words are meaningless. If they are not

one, one cannot conclude from the argument that every substance is

necessarily infinite, but only that something is necessarily infinite,

a conclusion already given in the single premise that what is limited

must be limited by something of the same kind. As a matter of fact,

Spinoza retains in his argument not only the attribute, but the mode,

the "this" and the "beyond this;" and then he overlooks the mode and

considers merely the attribute, which gives him strict identity. This

procedure we have met before in the dispute concerning universals.

SEC. 31. In the former part of my monograph I have mentioned Locke's

confusion of sameness in sense seventh with sameness in sense first.

I shall now quote a few sections from the "Essay concerning Human

Understanding" to show how significant his error is, and to what an

extent it is responsible for his position regarding ideas, things, and

substance. My extracts are from the eleventh chapter of the fourth

book, entitled "Of our Knowledge of the Existence of Other Things."

Locke argues as follows:[56]

[56] Locke's Essays, Philadelphia, 1846, p. 415, _et seq._

"The knowledge of our own being we have by intuition. The existence of

a God reason clearly makes known to us, as has been shown.

"The knowledge of the existence of any other thing we can have only by

sensation: for there being no necessary connection of real existence

with any idea a man hath in his memory, nor of any other existence but

that of God, with the existence of any particular man; no particular

man can know the existence of any other being, but only when by actual

operating upon him it makes itself perceived by him. For the having

the idea of anything in our mind no more proves the existence of that

thing, than the picture of a man evidences his being in the world, or

the visions of a dream make thereby a true history.

"It is therefore the actual receiving of ideas from without, that gives

us notice of the existence of other things, and makes us know that

something doth exist at that time without us, which causes that idea

in us, though perhaps we neither know nor consider how it does it:

for it takes not from the certainty of our senses, and the ideas we

receive by them, that we know not the manner wherein they are produced,

_v. g._, whilst I write this I have, by the paper affecting my eyes,

that idea produced in my mind which, whatever object causes, I call

white; by which I know that that quality or accident (_i. e._, whose

appearance before my eyes always causes that idea) doth really exist,

and hath a being without me. And of this, the greatest assurance I can

possibly have, and to which my faculties can attain, is the testimony

of my eyes, which are the proper and sole judges of this thing, whose

testimony I have reason to rely on as so certain, that I can no more

doubt, whilst I write this, that I see white and black, and that

something really exists that causes that sensation in me, than that I

write or move my hand: which is a certainty as great as human nature

is capable of, concerning the existence of anything but a man's self

alone, and of God.

"The notice we have by our senses of the existing of things without us,

though it be not altogether so certain as our intuitive knowledge, or

the deductions of our reason, employed about the clear abstract ideas

of our own minds; yet it is an assurance that deserves the name of

knowledge. If we persuade ourselves that our faculties act and inform

us right, concerning the existence of those objects that affect them,

it cannot pass for an ill-grounded confidence: for I think nobody can,

in earnest, be so sceptical as to be uncertain of the existence of

those things which he sees and feels. At least, he that can doubt so

far (whatever he may have with his own thoughts) will never have any

controversy with me; since he can never be sure I say anything contrary

to his own opinion. As to myself, I think God has given me assurance

enough of the existence of things without me; since by their different

application I can produce in myself both pleasure and pain, which

is one great concernment of my present state. This is certain, the

confidence that our faculties do not herein deceive us is the greatest

assurance we are capable of, concerning the existence of material

beings. For we cannot act anything but by our faculties; nor talk of

knowledge itself, but by the helps of those faculties which are fitted

to apprehend even what knowledge is. But besides the assurance we have

from our senses themselves, that they do not err in the information

they give us, of the existence of things without us, when they are

affected by them, we are farther confirmed in this assurance by other

concurrent reasons.

"First, it is plain those perceptions are produced in us by exterior

causes affecting our senses: because those that want the organs of any

sense never can have the ideas belonging to that sense produced in

their minds. This is too evident to be doubted: and therefore we cannot

but be assured that they come in by the organs of that sense, and no

other way. The organs themselves, it is plain, do not produce them; for

then the eyes of a man in the dark would produce colors, and his nose

smell roses in the winter: but we see nobody gets the relish of a pine

apple till he goes to the Indies, where it is, and tastes it.

"Secondly, because sometimes I find that I cannot avoid the having

those ideas produced in my mind. For though when my eyes are shut,

or windows fast, I can at pleasure recall to my mind the ideas of

light, or the sun, which former sensations had lodged in my memory;

so I can at pleasure lay by that idea, and take into my view that of

the smell of a rose, or taste of sugar. But if I turn my eyes at noon

towards the sun, I cannot avoid the ideas which the light, or sun,

then produces in me. So that there is a manifest difference between

the ideas laid up in my memory (over which, if they were there only,

I should have constantly the same power to dispose of them, and lay

them by at pleasure), and those which force themselves upon me, and

I cannot avoid having. And therefore it must needs be some exterior

cause, and the brisk acting of some objects without me, whose efficacy

I cannot resist, that produces those ideas in my mind, whether I will

or no. Besides, there is nobody who doth not perceive the difference

in himself between contemplating the sun, as he hath the idea of it in

his memory, and actually looking upon it; of which two his perception

is so distinct, that few of his ideas are more distinguishable one from

another. And therefore, he hath certain knowledge, that they are not

both memory, or the actions of his mind, and fancies only within him;

but that actual seeing hath a cause without.

"Thirdly, add to this, that many of those ideas are produced in us

with pain, which afterward we remember without the least offense. Thus

the pain of heat or cold, when the idea of it is revived in our minds,

gives us no disturbance; which, when felt, was very troublesome, and

is again when actually repeated; which is occasioned by the disorder

the external object causes in our bodies when applied to it. And we

remember the pains of hunger, thirst, or the headache, without any

pain at all; which would either never disturb us, or else constantly

do it, as often as we thought of it, were there nothing more but ideas

floating in our minds, and appearances entertaining our fancies,

without the real existence of things affecting us from abroad. The

same may be said of pleasure accompanying several actual sensations,

and though mathematical demonstrations depend not upon sense, yet

the examining them by diagrams gives great credit to the evidence of

our sight, and seems to give it a certainty approaching to that of

demonstration itself. For it would be very strange that a man should

allow it for an undeniable truth, that two angles of a figure, which he

measures by lines and angles of a diagram, should be bigger one than

the other; and yet doubt of the existence of those lines and angles,

which by looking on he makes use of to measure that by.

"Fourthly, our senses in many cases bear witness to the truth of each

other's report, concerning the existence of sensible things without us.

He that sees a fire may, if he doubt whether it be anything more than

a bare fancy, feel it too; and be convinced by putting his hand in it:

which certainly could never be put into such exquisite pain by a bare

idea or phantom, unless that the pain, be a fancy too, which yet he

cannot, when the burn is well, by raising the idea of it, bring upon

himself again.

"Thus I see, whilst I write this, I can change the appearance of the

paper: and by designing the letters tell beforehand what new idea it

shall exhibit the very next moment, by barely drawing my pen over it:

which will neither appear (let me fancy as much as I will), if my hands

stand still; or though I move my pen, if my eyes be shut: nor, when

those characters are once made on the paper, can I choose afterward but

see them as they are: that is, have the ideas of such letters as I have

made. Whence it is manifest, that they are not barely the sport and

play of my own imagination, when I find that the characters that were

made at the pleasure of my own thought, do not obey them; nor yet cease

to be, whenever I shall fancy it; but continue to affect the senses

constantly and regularly, according to the figures I made them. To

which if we will add, that the sight of those shall, from another man,

draw such sounds as I beforehand design they shall stand for; there

will be little reason left to doubt that those words I write do really

exist without me, when they cause a long series of regular sounds to

affect my ears, which could not be the effect of my imagination, nor

could my memory retain them in that order."

This is quite a long citation, but I have given it at length because

it may stand as the type of by far the greater part of the objections

urged against Idealism, and because a better instance of the confusion

of two samenesses could scarcely be desired. Notice how constantly it

is assumed that the thing given in perception is the "real" thing, a

thing which is, nevertheless, characterized as distinct from, and the

cause of, the idea.

At the outset Locke distinguishes well enough between the idea and the

"external" thing. The having the idea of any thing in the mind, he

declares, no more proves the existence of that thing than the picture

of a man evidences his being in the world. It is only the receiving

of ideas from without that gives us notice of things as causes of the

ideas. It would seem quite fair here to ask how we know that some ideas

come from without? Of course, if the realm of the "without" were open

to inspection, the question could be answered at once. But it is not

open to inspection--certainly not to a consistent Lockian. How, then,

may I distinguish ideas coming from without from other ideas? No ideas

are perceived until they are what Locke would call "within."

The appeal to the testimony of the eyes needs examination. To what eyes

does one appeal? The immediately known or idea-eyes, or the "external"

organs whose existence is the matter of dispute? Surely not to the

last, for it is only as a result of the argument that we may assume

these at all. And what hand is it so certain that I move in writing?

The complex of ideas immediately known, or the something beyond, whose

existence is to be established? If it be the latter, all discussion is

unnecessary. If, on the other hand, the eyes and the hand concerned are

ideas, it is not clear how the appeal to them can be of any service.

Does a sense give anything but sensations? And if the very sense organ

as immediately known be a group of sensations, how can the testimony of

a sense land one in a world beyond that of sensations? And the argument

that God has given me assurance of the existence of things without

me, since by applying them to myself I can produce in myself pain and

pleasure, presupposes that I can apply such things to myself and know

that I am doing so. If this be the fact, it is trifling to discuss

whether things I move to and fro exist. If, however, it is still to be

proved that there are such things, and that they are moved to and fro,

the argument is wholly baseless. Locke here makes appeal to the common

experience that certain objects applied to the body cause pleasure,

and certain others pain; a fact which no reasonable man would think of

denying or questioning, as it is matter of daily observation. But in

such experiences, all that is immediately evident is that an object

immediately perceived (Locke's idea) is applied to another object

immediately perceived (idea) with a resulting (idea) pain. Whether or

not certain duplicates of the things immediately known are brought

into a peculiar conjunction at the same time is wholly problematic,

and would seem to remain so until some evidence be advanced of the

existence of such duplicates. This argument on the part of our author

shows most clearly that for the time being he lost the distinction

between ideas and "real" things. They are the same in sense seventh; he

assumed them to be the same in sense first. He falls into this error

again and again.

The general appeal to the testimony of the senses is followed by

four special arguments. According to the first of these, it is plain

that perceptions are produced in us by exterior causes affecting our

senses, "because those that want the organs of any sense never can have

the ideas belonging to that sense produced in their minds." This is

supposed to prove that they come in by the organs of that sense, and in

no other way. But here again one may ask, What is meant by the organs

of any sense? If the "real" external organ be meant, one may object

that its existence has not yet been proved. If the organ immediately

known be meant, one has only called attention to the fact that certain

ideas are a _sine qua non_ to the existence of certain other ideas. How

this tends to prove the existence of something distinct from ideas is

not apparent. Locke's impulse in this argument finds its source in our

common experience that bodily organs immediately perceived are proved

by observation to be prerequisites to the experiencing of ideas. We see

a given object in a certain relation to a normal human body, and we

infer an idea of the object connected with that body. We say the man

has an idea of the object, and can only infer the object itself. We

connect the idea with some particular part of his body, and regard this

as the medium through which he gains the idea. All this is reasonable

enough. It is well to remember, however, that in all this the "real"

object is not observed to play any part. The object which I certainly

see in relation to the body which I certainly see is what Locke would

call an idea. The man's body is an idea. The idea which I assume the

man to have is to me, if I remain within the sphere of the observable,

an idea of the (idea) object I see. If I am to get any "real" object

at all it is not by reference to observation or experience. If I am to

get it by inference, some ground must be furnished for inference. Again

Locke has confounded the observable with the "real." It is only on this

ground that the appeal to the sense organ has any force.

The second and the third arguments busy themselves to show that there

are unmistakable differences between ideas which have their origin

in the "brisk acting" of objects without and ideas of memory or

imagination. The two classes are shown to be distinct, and it is very

properly held that ideas of different kinds should not be confounded.

But the statement, that ideas may be divided into two classes, is a

very different one from the statement that the two classes differ in

that one has external correlates and the other has not. One may admit

all the distinctions which Locke makes in the field of ideas; and,

it being once proved that such distinctions imply a world of "real"

things in relation to certain ideas, may grant very readily that these

ideas have corresponding to them "real" things, or that ideas caused

by "real" things differ by such and such marks from other ideas. But,

until it be proved that the marks in question do give a right to infer

"real" things, it should not be assumed that any given class of ideas

is caused by "real" things. What is to be discovered is assumed. And it

is assumed here, as above, because Locke could not keep distinct the

two classes of things. He is capable of saying, "But if I turn my eyes

at noon towards the sun, I cannot avoid the ideas which the light, or

sun, then produces in me," when the whole dispute is over the question

whether there be a "real" sun toward which "real" eyes may be turned.

How does he know that he is turning his eyes toward the sun? Does he

not see it up there? Is he not "actually looking upon it?" His error is

too plain to overlook. But if one could doubt his confusion of the two

suns, the apparent and the "real," his illustration from the diagrams

used in mathematical demonstration would lay the doubt once for all.

"Real" lines exist, "for it would be very strange that a man should

allow it for an undeniable truth, that two angles of a figure, which he

measures by lines and angles of a diagram, should be bigger one than

the other; and yet doubt of the existence of those lines and angles,

which by looking on he makes use of to measure that by." The English is

not as bad as the reasoning.

The fourth argument is derived from the fact that one sense supports

the testimony of another. "He that sees a fire may, if he doubt whether

it be anything more than a bare fancy, feel it too." A bare fancy,

Locke is sure, would not cause such acute pain. This comes back to the

second and third arguments and may be criticized in the same way. If

one could refer to a single observation of the fact that "real" things

do not accompany ideas of the fancy and that they do accompany ideas

of a different class, the argument would be unobjectionable. Wanting

this observation, or something to take its place, nothing is proved.

And as to the senses helping each other to "real" things, if each sense

only gives the idea appropriate to it, it is not easy to see how two

together prove more than one alone. In this section, too, Locke is

assuming that "real" things belong to the world of things immediately

perceived. He can, he says, make what characters he pleases on the

paper before him, but once having made them, cannot choose but see

them as they are. "Whence it is manifest, that they are not barely the

sport and play of my own imagination, when I find that the characters

that were made at the pleasure of my own thought, do not obey them; nor

yet cease to be, whenever I shall fancy it; but continue to affect the

senses constantly and regularly, according to the figures I made them."

That is, the ideas which he concludes not to be ideas of imagination

are the things "which continue to affect the senses," or the "real"

things. There is little wonder that this author believed in "real"

things.

SEC. 32. Excellent work has been done by Berkeley in distinguishing

samenesses. His treatment of sameness in sense third I have already

quoted. His discussion of the infinite divisibility of finite

lines,[57] a matter of which I shall speak more fully later, again

brings out sense third. Almost his whole philosophy consists in the

endeavor to keep clearly in mind the significance of sense seventh,

and to develop what it implies. On the other hand, he has fallen into

the error of confusing sense first and sense sixth, and of using this

confusion to silence an objection to his doctrine.

[57] "A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge,"

§§ 123-132. Ed. Fraser, Vol. I, pp. 220-225.

He takes up in the "Principles," for the purpose of refuting it, the

objection that his doctrine makes things every moment annihilated

and created anew.[58] This, he argues, "will not be found reasonably

charged on the principles we have premised, so as in truth to make

any objection at all against our notions. For, though we hold indeed

the objects of sense to be nothing else but ideas which cannot exist

unperceived; yet we may not hence conclude they have no existence

except only while they are perceived by us, since there may be some

other spirit that perceives them though we do not. Wherever bodies are

said to have no existence without the mind, I would not be understood

to mean this or that particular mind, but all minds whatsoever. It does

not therefore follow from the foregoing principles that bodies are

annihilated and created every moment, or exist not at all during the

intervals between our perception of them."

[58] §§ 45-48, pp. 178-180.

To the reader of Mill it is clear enough that Berkeley is not content

to assume potential existence as an integral part of the life history

of an object. It seems odd that he should not do so, as he has himself

pointed out the double sense of the word exist.[59] However, he demands

actual existence. Any lapse in the actual existence of the immediate

object seems to him a destruction of the object. He has the common

feeling that it is contrary to nature that things should be destroyed

and created from moment to moment. They must exist continuously. They

evidently do not actually exist continuously in the one mind. So he

assumes that, during the periods of their absence from one mind, they

must exist in another: otherwise they could not be said to exist at all.

[59] "Principles," §3, p. 157.

Of course, all this assumes that the objects in one mind are

identically (sense first) the objects in another. If they be recognized

as two distinct things, belonging to different worlds--worlds so

different that what is in one can enter the other only through its

representative--the whole argument is seen to be fallacious. One can

no more make a consistent whole of elements taken from two different

consciousnesses, than one can piece out a grief with a smell. The

attempt is the result of overlooking the duality implied in sameness in

sense sixth.

SEC. 33. There is a clear and forcible passage in John Stuart Mill's

"System of Logic," in which he distinguishes certain samenesses from

certain others. It is to be regretted that he dismissed the subject

with so slight an examination, for it could not but have gained

by a careful analysis at the hands of this keen man. I quote more

particularly to bring out what Mill has to say about sameness in sense

second.

"While speaking of resemblance, it is necessary to take notice of an

ambiguity of language, against which scarcely any one is sufficiently

on his guard. Resemblance, when it exists in the highest degree of all,

amounting to undistinguishableness, is often called identity, and the

two similar things are said to be the same. I say often, not always;

for we do not say that two visible objects, two persons, for instance,

are the same, because they are so much alike that one might be mistaken

for the other: but we constantly use this mode of expression when

speaking of feelings; as when I say that the sight of any object gives

me the _same_ sensation or emotion to-day that it did yesterday, or

the _same_ which it gives to some other person. This is evidently an

incorrect application of the word _same_; for the feeling which I had

yesterday is gone, never to return; what I have to-day is another

feeling, exactly like the former, perhaps, but distinct from it; and it

is evident that two different persons cannot be experiencing the same

feeling, in the sense in which we say that they are both sitting at the

same table. By a similar ambiguity we say, that two persons are ill of

the _same_ disease; that two persons hold the _same_ office; not in

the sense in which we say that they are engaged in the same adventure,

or sailing in the same ship, but in the sense that they fill offices

exactly similar, though, perhaps, in distant places. Great confusion of

ideas is often produced, and many fallacies engendered, in otherwise

enlightened understandings, by not being sufficiently alive to the fact

(in itself not always to be avoided), that they use the same name to

express ideas so different as those of identity and undistinguishable

resemblance."[60]

[60] "A System of Logic," Book I, Chap. III, § 11, N. Y., 1882,

p. 62.

It will be seen that Mill here draws a line between sameness in sense

first and the samenesses in which there is an element of duality.

He also draws attention to the fact--a fact to which I have already

referred--that successive mental elements, considered in themselves,

are more likely to be confounded than material things, though these

last may be quite as closely similar. Language shows how men overlook

the duality of two similar feelings which differ only in time. They

may speak of two similar objects as the same, as they frequently do,

and yet they will not usually lose the sense of their twoness. They

say _these_ objects are the same. But when they compare a feeling

experienced to-day with one experienced yesterday, they say _this_ is

the same feeling I had yesterday. There is nothing in the language used

to indicate duality at all.

I have said that, in the extract given, a line is drawn between

samenesses which imply duality and the sameness which does not; and

yet such illustrations are used to represent the latter as a man, a

table, and a ship--objects which are the same in sense third as well

as in sense first, and which consequently imply duality, in some

sense of the word. But, if one is not considering single members of

the chain of experiences which, taken together, we call a man, but is

considering the whole group as a unit, this difficulty disappears.

This is evidently what Mill has in mind, and he cannot be taxed with

inconsistency. One may, however, object to the statement that it is an

improper use of the word same to speak of things merely similar as the

same. The word has many meanings, and we can hardly say that any one

of them is illegitimate. It is merely illegitimate to confound them.

And one should not take quite literally the description of resemblance

in the highest degree as "amounting to undistinguishableness." Strict

undistinguishableness removes all duality, and consequently makes

impossible what we call resemblance or similarity. To be similar,

things must be distinguished as two. Finally, one may object to a

treatment of samenesses which merely groups them into two classes,

when there are at least seven kinds that should, in the interests of

clear thinking, be kept separate. It is only by carefully marking such

distinctions that fallacious reasonings are to be avoided. As, however,

this discussion of samenesses is merely a side issue where it occurs in

the Logic, it would perhaps be unjust to blame Mill for not going into

it more fully.

SEC. 34. At this point I leave the realms of the dead and emerge into

the land of the living. The errors that I have been criticizing still

live, and it would not be difficult to glean a goodly number of them

from the authors of our day. I shall be moderate, and will content

myself with one or two representative instances.

It would be surprising if as loose and incautious a reasoner as Mr.

Herbert Spencer did not furnish some examples of confused samenesses.

To certain of his errors in this direction I have briefly referred in

the earlier part of my monograph. Here I shall treat of him a little

more at length, though even here it is impossible to do justice to the

subject, as that would involve my quoting and commenting upon at least

a large part of the first division of the "First Principles." I shall

take only the conclusion of the argument by which he establishes the

existence of his "Unknowable," or "Inscrutable Power," or "Ultimate

Cause," or "Unseen Reality," or "Absolute." This contains two

confusions of no little significance. Mr. Spencer writes:

"Hence our firm belief in objective reality--a belief which

metaphysical criticisms cannot for a moment shake. When we are taught

that a piece of matter, regarded by us as existing externally, cannot

be really known, but that we can know only certain impressions produced

on us, we are yet, by the relativity of our thought, compelled to

think of these in relation to a positive cause--the notion of a real

existence which generated these impressions becomes nascent. If it be

proved to us that every notion of a real existence which we can frame

is utterly inconsistent with itself--that matter, however conceived

by us, cannot be matter as it actually is, our conception, though

transfigured, is not destroyed: there remains the sense of reality,

dissociated as far as possible from those special forms under which

it was before represented in thought. Though Philosophy condemns

successively each attempted conception of the Absolute--though it

proves to us that the Absolute is not this, nor that, nor that--though

in obedience to it we negative, one after another, each idea as it

arises; yet, as we cannot expel the entire contents of consciousness,

there ever remains behind an element which passes into new shapes. The

continual negation of each particular form and limit, simply results in

the more or less complete abstraction of all forms and limits; and so

ends in an indefinite consciousness of the unformed and unlimited.

"And here we come face to face with the ultimate difficulty--How can

there possibly be constituted a consciousness of the unformed and

unlimited, when, by its very nature, consciousness is possible only

under forms and limits? If every consciousness of existence is a

consciousness of existence as conditioned, then how, after the negation

of conditions, can there be any residuum? Though not directly withdrawn

by the withdrawal of its conditions, must not the raw material of

consciousness be withdrawn by implication? Must it not vanish when the

conditions of its existence vanish? That there must be a solution of

this difficulty is manifest; since even those who would put it, do,

as already shown, admit that we have some such consciousness; and the

solution appears to be that above shadowed forth. Such consciousness

is not, and cannot be, constituted by any single mental act; but is

the product of many mental acts. In each concept there is an element

which persists. It is alike impossible for this element to be absent

from consciousness, and for it to be present in consciousness alone:

either alternative involves unconsciousness--the one from the want of

the substance; the other from the want of the form. But the persistence

of this element under successive conditions, _necessitates_ a sense of

it as distinguished from the conditions, and independent of them. The

sense of a something that is conditioned in every thought, cannot be

got rid of, because the something cannot be got rid of. How then must

the sense of this something be constituted? Evidently by combining

successive concepts deprived of their limits and conditions. We form

this indefinite thought, as we form many of our definite thoughts, by

the coalescence of a series of thoughts. Let me illustrate this: A

large complex object, having attributes too numerous to be represented

at once, is yet tolerably well conceived by the union of several

representations, each standing for part of its attributes. On thinking

of a piano, there first rises in imagination its visual appearance, to

which are instantly added (though by separate mental acts) the ideas

of its remote side and of its solid substance. A complete conception,

however, involves the strings, the hammers, the dampers, the pedals;

and while successively adding these to the conception, the attributes

first thought of lapse more or less completely out of consciousness.

Nevertheless, the whole group constitutes a representation of the

piano. Now as in this case we form a definite concept of a special

existence, by imposing limits and conditions in successive acts; so,

in the converse case, by taking away the limits and conditions in

successive acts, we form an indefinite notion of general existence.

By fusing a series of states of consciousness, in each of which, as

it arises, the limitations and conditions are abolished, there is

produced a consciousness of something unconditioned. To speak more

rigorously:--this consciousness is not the abstract of any one group

of thoughts, ideas, or conceptions; but it is the abstract of _all_

thoughts, ideas, or conceptions. That which is common to them all,

and cannot be got rid of, is what we predicate by the word existence.

Dissociated as this becomes from each of its modes by the perpetual

change of those modes, it remains as an indefinite consciousness

of something constant under all modes--of being apart from its

appearances. The distinction we feel between special and general

existence, is the distinction between that which is changeable in us,

and that which is unchangeable. The contrast between the Absolute and

the Relative in our minds, is really the contrast between that mental

element which exists absolutely, and those which exist relatively.

"By its very nature, therefore, this ultimate mental element is at

once necessarily indefinite and necessarily indestructible. Our

consciousness of the unconditioned being literally the unconditioned

consciousness, or raw material of thought to which in thinking we give

definite forms, it follows that an ever-present sense of real existence

is the very basis of our intelligence. As we can in successive mental

acts get rid of all particular conditions and replace them by others,

but cannot get rid of that undifferentiated substance of consciousness

which is conditioned anew in every thought; there ever remains with

us a sense of that which exists persistently and independently of

conditions. At the same time that by the laws of thought we are

rigorously prevented from forming a conception of absolute existence;

we are by the laws of thought equally prevented from ridding ourselves

of the consciousness of absolute existence: this consciousness being,

as we here see, the obverse of our self-consciousness. And since the

only possible measure of relative validity among our beliefs, is the

degree of their persistence in opposition to the efforts made to change

them, it follows that this which persists at all times, under all

circumstances, and cannot cease until consciousness ceases, has the

highest validity of any.

"To sum up this somewhat too elaborate argument:--We have seen how

in the very assertion that all our knowledge, properly so called,

is Relative, there is involved the assertion that there exists a

Non-relative. We have seen how, in each step of the argument by which

this doctrine is established, the same assumption is made. We have

seen how, from the very necessity of thinking in relations, it follows

that the Relative is itself inconceivable, except as related to a real

Non-relative. We have seen that unless a real Non-relative or Absolute

be postulated, the Relative itself becomes absolute; and so brings

the argument to a contradiction. And on contemplating the process of

thought, we have equally seen how impossible it is to get rid of

the consciousness of an actuality lying behind appearances; and how,

from this impossibility, results our indestructible belief in that

actuality."[61]

[61] "First Principles," Part 1, Chap. IV, § 26, N. Y., 1888,

pp. 93-97.

Such an extract as this is very tempting to the critic, but I shall

try not to be drawn into criticisms which do not immediately concern

my purpose in quoting. The points which chiefly interest me are Mr.

Spencer's evident confusion of sameness in sense seventh with sameness

in sense first, and of sameness in sense second with sameness in sense

first. I shall begin with the first confusion.

Every careful reader of the extract given above must see that the

Absolute with which Mr. Spencer's argument is concerned is an Absolute

in consciousness. It is "an indefinite consciousness," "raw material

of consciousness," an "indefinite thought," an "abstract of _all_

thoughts, ideas, or conceptions." It is the element of existence

which is common to all these thoughts, ideas, or conceptions. If

there could be any doubt as to the nature of this Absolute in which

the argument results, it should be set at rest by the very emphatic

statement that "our consciousness of the unconditioned" is "literally

the unconditioned consciousness, or raw material of thought to which

in thinking we give definite forms." It is this "undifferentiated

substance of consciousness which is conditional anew in every

thought" that remains with us as an Absolute through all forms of the

conditioned.

Now this Absolute, the element of existence which accompanies all other

elements in consciousness, is the only one with which the argument has

at all concerned itself, and yet this is evidently not the Absolute in

which the author is chiefly interested. There can be no good reason

for calling this Absolute either Unknowable, Incomprehensible, or

Inscrutable. It is not a "Power" for it is simply the element of

existence, nor is it a "Reality," for the "abstract of _all_ thoughts,

ideas, or conceptions" must be common to the unreal or imaginary as

well as to the real. It is (mental) existence pure and simple. If the

argument be good, this element is known completely and just as it is;

indefinitely, it is true, but then it is indefinite, and if known

definitely would not be known as it is. There is nothing farther about

it to know. It is in no sense Unknowable. If the objection be to the

use of the word "know" where the knowledge is indefinite, we should

invent some word to apply to an indefinite consciousness; but such

consciousness, if denied to be knowledge, should not be classed with

ignorance. Moreover, as knowledge is of all degrees of definiteness,

we should need a series of words to express the gradations. The series

would be a long one.

But the Absolute which interests Mr. Spencer, and which throws that

halo of the mysterious about his philosophy, is a something distinct

from the Absolute in consciousness, and not known as it is. It is by

no means that which is common to "impressions" made upon us, but the

something assumed to make these impressions. It is "under," "apart

from," and "behind" appearances and modes--which an Absolute, which

is simply that which is common to appearances and modes, cannot be.

Phenomena (the things immediately known) are only "a manifestation

of some Power by which we are acted upon,"[62] and this Absolute

cannot take its place among phenomena, as the former must. The two

Absolutes are, indeed, quite distinct things: one of them, the one in

consciousness, has been shown to exist; no argument is forthcoming to

prove the existence of the other. Manifestly it is not immediately

known, for then it would be a phenomenon, however indefinite. Upon what

ground is it inferred? It is the old problem of Descartes and Locke.

[62] "First Principles." Chap. V, § 27, p. 99.

This problem Mr. Spencer solves in the same way as they, by assuming

the "external" object to be given immediately; but there is this

important difference, that whereas Descartes and Locke fall into the

error from inadvertence, the author of the "First Principles" and the

"Principles of Psychology" embraces it deliberately. The two earlier

writers were sometimes able to recognize as two things a something in

consciousness and an assumed something without. They confused them only

now and then. Mr. Spencer has been unable to distinguish them with

clearness at any time, and he elevates the confusion into a principle.

"The postulate with which metaphysical reasoning sets out, is that we

are primarily conscious only of our sensations--that we certainly know

we have these, and that if there be anything beyond these serving as

cause for them, it can be known only by inference from them.

"I shall give much surprise to the metaphysical reader if I call in

question this postulate; and the surprise will rise into astonishment

if I distinctly deny it. Yet I must do this. Limiting the proposition

to those epi-peripheral feelings produced in us by external objects

(for these are alone in question) I see no alternative but to affirm

that the thing primarily known, is not that a sensation has been

experienced, but that there exists an outer object."[63]

[63] "Principles of Psychology," Part VII, Chap. VI, N. Y., 1883,

Vol. II, p. 369.

"The question here is--What does consciousness directly testify? And

the direct testimony of consciousness is, that Time and Space are not

within but without the mind; and so absolutely independent of it that

they cannot be conceived to become non-existent even were the mind to

become non-existent."[64]

[64] "First Principles," Part I, Chap. III, § 15, ed. cit. p. 49.

The moral of the first bit quoted would seem to be, unless we make

the word "primarily" refer only to order in time, that one knows

immediately what is beyond consciousness and mediately what is in

it--a use of words satisfactory, I should think, to no one but Mr.

Spencer. If, by "primarily" be meant "previously," and the two classes

of being are known in just the same way, why distinguish between the

classes? Moreover, in this case a thing would not be known "through"

appearances, but before them. Upon the other supposition, to be sure,

appearances would be known "through" it--a mode of speaking not in

harmony with the language of the "First Principles." It seems a choice

between Scylla and Charybdis.

The second extract makes consciousness "directly testify" not only to

what is beyond its pale, but, putting on the spirit of prophecy, even

to what does not belong to the present, but to a possible future. When

we speak of consciousness as testifying to a sensation, we mean simply

that the sensation is in consciousness. The word cannot be used in this

sense in speaking of what is beyond consciousness. In what sense is it

used? It would seem to mean, if it mean anything, that consciousness

gives one the right to infer a something beyond--a right which

thoughtful men believe should be established by proof. This proof,

one cannot, of course, expect from a man who makes the thing beyond

consciousness the thing "primarily" known. It would be more consistent

in him to attempt a proof that there is something in consciousness.

This complete confusion in Mr. Spencer's mind of things in

consciousness and things without, will explain why he keeps talking

of his two Absolutes as if there were only one, as if this one were

the one of which we are conscious, and yet as if this one were beyond

consciousness. His pages swarm with illustrations which I might

give. I shall give only the following: "Thus the consciousness of

an Inscrutable Power manifested to us through all phenomena, has

been growing ever clearer; and must eventually be freed from its

imperfections."[65] If Mr. Spencer ever comes to a consciousness that

sameness in sense seventh is not sameness in sense first, he will find

work before him in remodeling his doctrine.

[65] "First Principles," Part I, Chap. V, § 31, p. 108.

The second confusion upon which I wish to comment comes to the surface

in a sentence occurring near the end of the lengthy extract quoted at

the outset: "And since the only possible measure of relative validity

among our beliefs, is the degree of their persistence in opposition

to the efforts made to change them, it follows that this which

persists at all times, under all circumstances, and cannot cease until

consciousness ceases, has the highest validity of any."

Now that which, it has been argued, persists at all times and under

all circumstances, is the "raw material of thought," the element

of existence which is the "abstract of _all_ thoughts, ideas, or

conceptions." It is merely that which they have in common, and can

include none of those elements in which they differ. If, however,

persistence mean anything, it means persistence in time. That which

exists at this time and that which exists at that are not one, strictly

speaking, but two. That is, they are not the same in sense first,

but in some looser sense which will admit of duality. If, then, we

are dealing with the Absolute, existence pure and simple, and are

abstracting from all differences which may mark out _this_ existence

from _that_, we must abstract from temporal distinctions too. If we

do this, we can no longer speak of the Absolute as persisting. If

we do not do this, something may persist, but it is no Absolute.

Mental elements otherwise similar, but distinguished from each other

by temporal differences are the same in sense second, not in sense

first. The existence of which I am conscious to-day and the existence

of which I was conscious yesterday are not the same existence in any

sense save this. Yesterday's existence does not persist to-day; it is

replaced by another. Mr. Spencer has evidently fallen into the error of

those schoolmen who endeavored to abstract the element which several

things have in common, but created unnecessary difficulties by making

an incomplete abstraction and treating it as though it were complete.

Other defects of this fallacious argument to prove our belief in the

Absolute valid, I will not here discuss.

SEC. 35. I next take a few passages which will illustrate the confusion

of samenesses first and seventh, from Dr. James McCosh's late work on

"First and Fundamental Truths." They are selected from the chapter on

"Our Intuition of Body by the Senses."[66]

[66] Part II, Book I, Chap. II.

"We are following the plainest dictates of consciousness, we avoid

a thousand difficulties, and we get a solid ground on which to rest

and to build, when we maintain that the mind in its first exercises

acquires knowledge; not, indeed, scientific or arranged, not of

qualities of objects and classes of objects, but still knowledge--the

knowledge of things presenting themselves, and as they present

themselves; which knowledge, individual and concrete, is the foundation

of all other knowledge, abstract, general and deductive. In particular,

the mind is so constituted as to attain a knowledge of body or of

material objects. It may be difficult to ascertain the exact point

or surface at which the mind and body come together and influence

each other, in particular, how far into the body (Descartes without

proof thought to be in the pineal gland), but it is certain that when

they do meet mind knows body as having its essential properties of

extension and resisting energy. It is through the bodily organism that

the intelligence of man attains its knowledge of all material objects

beyond. This is true of the infant mind; it is true also of the mature

mind. We may assert something more than this regarding the organism. It

is not only the medium through which we know all bodily objects beyond

itself; it is itself an object primarily known; nay, I am inclined

to think that, along with the objects immediately affecting it, it

is the only object originally known. Intuitively man seems to know

nothing beyond his own organism, and objects directly affecting it; in

all further knowledge there is a process of inference proceeding on a

gathered experience. This theory seems to me to explain all the facts,

and it delivers us from many perplexities."[67]

[67] N. Y., 1889, pp. 62-63.

"In our primitive cognition of body there is involved a knowledge

of Outness or Externality. We know the object perceived, be it the

organism or the object affecting the organism, as not in the mind, but

as out of the mind. In regard to some of the objects perceived by us,

we may be in doubt as to whether they are in the organism or beyond it,

but we are always sure that they are extra-mental."[68]

[68] Pp. 68-69.

"We know the Objects as Affecting Us. I have already said that we

know them as independent of us. This is an important truth. But it is

equally true and equally important that these objects are made known

to us as somehow having an influence on us. The organic object is

capable of affecting our minds, and the extra-organic object affects

the organism which affects the mind. Upon this cognition are founded

certain judgments as to the relations of the objects known to the

knowing mind."[69]

[69] P. 70.

"But it will be vehemently urged that it is most preposterous to

assert that we know all this by the senses. Upon this I remark that

the phrase _by the senses_ is ambiguous. If by senses he meant the

mere bodily organism--the eye, the ears, the nerves and the brain--I

affirm that we know, and can know, nothing by this bodily part, which

is a mere organ or instrument; that so far from knowing potency or

extension, we do not know even color, or taste, or smell. But if by the

senses he meant the mind exercised in sense-perception, summoned into

activity by the organism, and contemplating cognitively the external

world, then I maintain that we do know, and this intuitively, external

objects as influencing us; that is, exercising powers in reference to

us. I ask those who would doubt of this doctrine of what it is that

they suppose the mind to be cognizant in sense-perception. If they

say a mere sensation or impression in the mind, I reply that this is

not consistent with the revelation of consciousness, which announces

plainly that what we know is something extra-mental. If they say, with

Kant, a mere phenomenon in the sense of appearance, then I reply that

this, too, is inconsistent with consciousness, which declares that we

know the thing."[70]

[70] Pp. 71 and 72.

The statements contained in these extracts are plainly in a state of

civil war, and might be left, without foreign aid, to complete their

own destruction. I shall first let them criticize each other.

(1) It is asserted that it may be difficult to ascertain the exact

point or surface at which the mind and body come together and influence

each other--in particular how far into the body--but that it is certain

that _when they do meet_ mind knows body as having its essential

properties of extension and resisting energy.

This knowledge is said to arise _when they meet_, be it marked, and not

before.

(2) It is also asserted that it is _through the body_ that the mind

attains its knowledge of _all_ material objects beyond.

This makes our knowledge of objects beyond the body mediate and not

immediate. Why are objects beyond the body regarded as mediately

known? No reason is suggested except that they are not themselves

in contact with the mind, but only in contact with that which is in

contact with the mind. It is then presumable that _any parts of the

bodily organism which never themselves meet the mind (if there are any

such) are not known immediately_, but only through the parts which

do meet the mind. That is, they are known mediately, too. That there

are, or at least may be, such parts, is directly inferrible from the

statement that we do not know "how far into the body" mind and body

come together.

(3) It is stated that the body is an object "primarily" known. It

is regarded by the author as probable that, along with the objects

immediately affecting it, it is the only object "originally" known. He

thinks that man knows "intuitively" nothing beyond his own organism and

objects directly affecting it.

But what is meant by the words "primarily," "originally,"

"intuitively"? If things not in direct contact with mind are not known

immediately but through something else, and if the point or surface

at which mind and body meet is at some uncertain distance from the

surface of the body, surely the only material thing immediately known

is that portion of the body in contact with mind, and not the whole

body with the objects directly affecting it. Knowledge of these mediate

objects must be due to a process of inference from what is directly

experienced. _Things known "primarily," "originally" and "intuitively"

are then known mediately and inferentially_--even in some cases so

imperfectly known that it is not known what and where they are, whether

in or beyond the body.

(4) The doctrine that we are conscious in sense-perception of a mere

sensation or impression in the mind is answered by the statement that

this is not consistent with the revelation of consciousness, which

announces plainly that what we know is something extra-mental. Kant's

phenomenalism is met by the claim that consciousness declares that we

know the thing.

A thing known mediately, however, cannot be more certainly known than

the thing known immediately, and from which its existence is inferred.

_The immediate revelation of consciousness cannot do more than give as

a knowledge of the point or surface at which mind and body meet._ It

is only here that mind can directly know body "as having its essential

properties of extension and resisting energy." _But so far from

consciousness testifying to the extension and resistance of this part

of the body, it does not, as Dr. McCosh admits, testify to this part of

the body at all._ If it reveal nothing as to what it knows immediately,

what can its statement as to what it knows mediately be worth? And if

consciousness testifies that it knows immediately what Dr. McCosh has

maintained to be mediately known, he must hold that its revelation is

false and delusive. It certainly seems to me that my consciousness

reveals the ink-stand before me as it does not reveal the part of my

body with which the mind has "come together," since it does not even

reveal whether this part be a point or a surface. If my knowledge of

the ink-stand must rest upon my knowledge of this, and can have no

greater certainty, my faith in the ink-stand must go. A tower cannot be

more firm than its foundation.

So much for the consistency of the extracts themselves. I now turn to

a criticism on a different basis. The difficulties connected with this

inconsistent doctrine naturally arise out of the standpoint occupied by

the author. He accepts as final, and as justifiable in metaphysics, the

convenient psychological assumption that the group of sensations gained

from an object is a something distinct from the object itself; that the

object may be external to the organism, but that the mind, with its

sensations, is, or may be treated as if it were, somewhere within the

organism; that the sensations are gained from real things, but are not

themselves real things, so that a world of sensations--things being

abstracted--must be an unreal and phantom world.

Now, the man who has thus distinguished between things and sensations,

if he regard the sensations as our only immediate representatives

of the things, will find it difficult, without making an evidently

gratuitous assumption somewhere, to prove his right to reach things

at all. Dr. McCosh sees this difficulty, and so he assumes that

consciousness reveals both sensations and things. He allows us

"perceptions mingled with sensations."[71] Where are these mingled

perceptions and sensations? In the mind. Where is the mind? In the

body. In what body? The body perceived. Is this body perceived itself

in the mind and mingled with sensations? No. It is then distinct from

the mental percept--the perception of it is somewhere in it, but is not

it. How do we know, then, that there is a body? We infer it from the

percept; consciousness (the percept) "reveals" it. On what principle

is it inferred? The question is a just one if the knowledge be not

immediate. Our author does not even see that there is a question.

The fact is that this doctrine seems to avoid the difficulties of a

representative perception only while it is allowed to remain loose

and vague. If things are not to be known representatively, they

must either be themselves in consciousness--_and then they are not

extra-mental_--or they must be directly known in some other way than

as in consciousness, _and then consciousness does not reveal them and

cannot be appealed to_. An appeal to consciousness, unless the thing

itself is in consciousness, is fatal.

[71] Chap. III, p. 75.

But this discrimination between sensations and the thing causing the

sensations, and the assumption that consciousness testifies to the

two classes of things, does not seem to be borne out by the facts.

Consciousness does not testify to the two classes. The common man

thinks that he knows directly the things that he sees and feels, and

the distinction between these things and his ideas of the things, or

his sensations gathered from the things, arises only upon reflection

and after a comparison of his experiences with those of other men. He

sees the ink-stand in front of another man's body. He discovers that

the other man sees the ink-stand--that is, has an experience like his

own. He finds, after investigation, that this other man does not have

the experience until after some influence has been conducted by the

nerves to the brain. He accordingly concludes that the mind of this

other man, and all that it _immediately_ knows, is situated somewhere

in the brain. He thus distinguishes between the ink-stand and the

representative of the ink-stand in the mind of the other man. This is

precisely what Dr. McCosh has done, though he has preferred to use

the word perception instead of sensation or impression. Having gone

as far as this, the man in question reflects, if he be consistent,

that his own case must be essentially similar to that of the man he is

considering, and concludes that he, too, sees only (immediately, at

least) some representative of the ink-stand, and not the thing itself.

Dr. McCosh does not conclude this, because he is not consistent. But

an ink-stand, a tree, a house, in the brain, cannot be very much like

a real ink-stand, tree or house. Then one does not see things as they

are, but is condemned to a phantom world. Having gone thus far, our

common man is appalled at his own conclusions, as well he may be.

He may, however, be readily reassured, if one will point out to him the

error in his argument. The whole argument began by assuming that he has

evidence that some object is in front of his body and in front of the

body of another man; that he has a body and so has the other man. If

this knowledge be immediate, of course it may furnish the basis of an

argument; but if it be not immediate, one has no right to begin with

it, but should go back to what is immediate. Let us assume that it is

immediate. What I am then conscious of is my own body, the other man's

body and the object in relation to them. Upon this basis I argue to

some representative of the object I immediately see, and I connect it

with the man's brain. Does the man now see two objects or only one? If

only one, which one? The one I refer to his brain, or the one I see?

Does the one he sees seem to him to be in his brain? Probably he has

not the least notion that it is connected with that organ. Am I, then,

in his case? Do I also see only a copy of the object in my brain? And

may this not be true, although I have no immediate knowledge of my

brain and its relation to that object? But--and this is the important

point--if all this be true, how about the position with which I

started? My argument is based upon two real bodies and a real object. I

see that I was wholly in error in supposing that I saw these and could

reason from them. Then the reasoning is not good. Then the conclusion

is not reliable, and it is not proved that I see immediately only an

image in, or in some sort of contact with, my brain. The fallacious

character of the argument is plain enough; where is the flaw? It lies

in this:

I assume that I see the two bodies and the object immediately.

Consciousness seems to reveal them. After granting the man opposite

me a representative of that object I apply the same reasoning to

myself, forgetting that I assumed at the outset that I see the real

object. I can certainly not put the object I see in my brain, for the

brain in any way I can be conceived to know it belongs to precisely

the same class of things as this object, and they are beside each

other in consciousness. The representative the other man has is a

representative of the object in my consciousness, and not--at least, I

have no evidence that it is--a representative of a something else of

which my object is also a representative. And if the object of which I

am immediately conscious is extended and without my body (immediately

perceived), I may assume that the object in his consciousness is also

extended and without the body in his consciousness. His representative

of my object is not in the head I see, for his head as I see it is

in my consciousness, if the object I see is, and any object in his

consciousness is the same with any corresponding object in mine only

in sense sixth--a sense of sameness which I have explained at length

in the earlier part of my work. This reasoning is, it seems to me,

clear enough and consistent enough, and should be plain to any one

who will take the trouble to follow it carefully. It lands one in no

such difficulties and inconsistencies as result from the doctrine I

have been criticizing. Should it be said this is a form of Idealism,

and at least abandons what is extra-mental, I answer, the name is a

matter of taste and of little significance; what is important is that

this doctrine does not found its reasoning upon an assumption which

its conclusion declares to be false; nor does it maintain that what is

immediately known is not extended, figured, external to the body, as

it seems to be, but something quite different and dissimilar. It is

in harmony with the revelation of consciousness. Should it still be

objected that it makes no distinction between things and the sensations

or impressions which represent them, I answer, one can object to things

being regarded as complexes of sensations only as long as he separates

sensations and things, making the former unlike the things and

relegating them to a place (the brain) where the things are not, and

to exist in which they must be very bad copies of the things indeed.

The doctrine I advocate does not deny the things as perceived at all;

it merely holds that consciousness does declare for the things, and

not for a set of representatives much unlike them and said to exist

in a place in which we are not conscious of perceiving anything. It

objects to seeing double through an incomplete reflection upon what

consciousness reveals.

Now it is very evident that Dr. McCosh, in his anxiety to prove an

extra-mental world, is actuated by a desire to retain real things.

He is under the impression that, unless the extra-mental is known,

our knowledge is confined to shadows and unrealities. He combats

the Idealist, because he supposes him to deny the body of which we

are conscious; whereas, all that the Idealist is denying (if he be

consistent with his principles) is the hypothetical representative of

the body, assumed to exist within the body, and to which consciousness

does not testify. It is this that is the unreality. The body to

which the Idealist holds is the very body to which Dr. McCosh thinks

consciousness testifies; but this body is not beyond consciousness,

nor in any proper sense of the words extra-mental. The above argument

for the extra-mental is consequently due to a misconception--to

the misconception that the body revealed by consciousness is the

extra-mental body, and that the only body left to an Idealist is an

unreal phantom of this body, and distinct from it. And it is the

attempt to make this body revealed by consciousness both in mind and

out of mind that has occasioned the difficulties and inconsequences

of the reasoning I have quoted. This attempt is due to a confusion

of sameness in sense seventh with sameness in sense first. My excuse

for so minute a criticism of this plainly untenable position is that

we have here a representative instance of an error quite common, and

indeed characteristic of a certain stage of reflection.

SEC. 36. The last confusion of samenesses that I shall discuss lies at

the bottom of the common opinion on the infinite divisibility of space,

and causes the antinomies which arise from it. The position I shall

criticize is well set forth in Professor W. K. Clifford's popular

lecture entitled "Of Boundaries in General."[72] From this I take a few

passages which will suffice to illustrate his doctrine.

[72] "Seeing and Thinking," London, Macmillan & Co., 1879.

"Now the idea expressed by that word _continuous_ is one of extreme

importance; it is the foundation of all exact science of things; and

yet it is so very simple and elementary that it must have been almost

the first clear idea that we got into our heads. It is only this: I

cannot move this thing from one position to another, without making it

go through an infinite number of intermediate positions. _Infinite_; it

is a dreadful word, I know, until you find out that you are familiar

with the thing which it expresses. In this place it means that between

any two positions there is some intermediate position; between that

and either of the others, again, there is some other intermediate; and

so on _without any end_. Infinite means without any end. If you went

on with that work of counting forever, you would never get any further

than the beginning of it. At last you would only have two positions

very close together, but not the same; and the whole process might be

gone over again, beginning with those as many times as you like."

* * * * "When a point moves, it moves along some line; and you may

say that it traces out or describes the line. To look at something

definite, let us take the point where this boundary of red on paper is

cut by the surface of water. I move all about together. Now you know

that between any two positions of the point there is an infinite number

of intermediate positions. Where are they all? Why, clearly, in the

line along which the point moved. That line is the place where all such

points are to be found."

* * * * "It seems a very natural thing to say that space is made up

of points. I want you to examine very carefully what this means,

and how far it is true. And let us first take the simplest case, and

consider whether we may safely say that a line is made up of points.

If you think of a very large number--say, a million--of points all in

a row, the end ones being an inch apart; then this string of points

is altogether a different thing from a line an inch long. For if you

single out two points which are next one another, then there is no

point of the series between them; but if you take two points on a line,

however close together they may be, there is an infinite number of

points between them. The two things are different _in kind_, not in

degree."

* * * * "When a point moves along a line, we know that between any two

positions of it there is an infinite number (in this new sense[73]) of

intermediate positions. That is because the motion is continuous. Each

of those positions is where the point was at some instant or other.

Between the two end positions on the line, the point where the motion

began and the point where it stopped, there is no point of the line

which does not belong to that series. We have thus an infinite series

of successive positions of a continuously moving point, and in that

series are included all the points of a certain piece of line-room. May

we say then that the line is made up of that infinite series of points?

[73] Professor Clifford has used the word _number_ in two senses,

a quantitative and a qualitative. By number in the latter sense he

means simply _unlimited units_.

"Yes; if we mean no more than that the series makes up the _points_ of

the line. But _no_, if we mean that the line is made up of those points

in the same way that it is made up of a great many very small pieces of

line. A point is not to be regarded as a _part_ of a line, in any sense

whatever. It is the boundary between two parts."

These extracts suffice, I think, to show what the common doctrine is,

and to show also the unavoidable difficulties connected with it.

These were clearly seen long ago. Motion, argues Zeno of Elea,[74]

cannot begin, because a body in motion must pass through an infinite

number of intermediate places before it can arrive at any other place.

Achilles can never overtake the tortoise, for by the time that he has

reached the place where it was, it has always moved a little beyond.

If Professor Clifford could not move a thing from one position to

another, without making it go though an infinite number of intermediate

positions, if these positions must be gone through with successively,

and if infinite really mean _without any end_, then the final member

of the series could never have been reached, for the plain reason that

there is no final member to an endless series. If the new position is

reached without passing through every member of the series and leaving

none farther to pass through, it is not reached by passing through an

infinite number of intermediate positions. The difficulty here is a

hopeless one; either the series has a final member, _and then it is not

infinite_; or it has not, _and then one cannot come to the end_.

[74] Ueberweg, Hist. of Philos., Vol. I, § 20. N. Y., 1877,

pp. 57-58.

The attempt sometimes made to avoid this difficulty by calling upon

a precisely similar one for aid is of not the least avail. The time

of the motion, it is said, is divisible just as is the space over

which the body moves; the spaces and the times then vary together,

and as the spaces become very small the times become very small;

infinitesimal spaces are passed over in infinitesimal times, and all

these infinitesimals are included in the finite space and finite time

of the motion. But if there be a difficulty in arriving at the end of

an endless series of places or positions, there is surely no less a

difficulty in reaching the end of an endless series of times. If the

series of times to be successively exhausted be truly endless, then

an end of the motion can never be reached. Quibbling over the size

of the members of the series in the case of either space or time is

useless. Whether things are big or little, if the supply of them is

truly endless, one can never get to the end of the supply. The rapidity

with which they are exhausted has nothing to do with the question,

for an increase in rapidity has obviously no effect in facilitating

an approach to what is assumed not to exist, a final term. It is,

then, perfectly clear that, if, in order to move a body, I must come

to the end of an endless series, I may reasonably conclude that I

cannot move a body. Granting the assumption upon which it is based,

Zeno's argument is unanswerable. It is not a question of an ordinary

difficulty, a trifling evil; it is a question of an impossibility, a

flat contradiction; to move an inch, to endure for a minute, one is to

accomplish the feat of reaching the end of the endless. One thing is

quite certain; no rival doctrine can present a greater difficulty.

It is possible that some one may wish to find a way out of this

difficulty by distinguishing, as Clifford has done, between the

_points_ of the line and the _parts_ of the line. But this distinction

is of no service. All these points are declared to be on the line, and

anything that passes over the whole line must exhaust them one by one

until it arrives at the final point. By hypothesis, there is no final

point to the series--the series is without any end. Unless, then, the

line can be passed over without passing over the points, there would

seem to be no help in turning to line pieces. Moreover, it appears

reasonable to assume that there are as many parts to the line as there

are points. For all these points are on the line, and no two of them

are in precisely the same position on the line; they must consequently

be on different parts of the line. If it be objected that, having no

extension, they cannot properly be said to be _on_ parts of the line, I

answer that, even on this hypothesis, they must be _at_ different parts

of the line, in order to be distinguished from each other. The part of

the line between any two of them is certainly not the same as the part

between any other two. It follows that the number of parts of which the

line is made up is at least as great as the number of points less one,

if we refuse to say that the points are on the line; and is as great

as the number of points, if we are willing to say that they are on the

line. To move over the whole line, then, a point must come within one

term of the end of an endless series, or it must pass over an endless

number of small pieces of line until it comes to the very end. Does

this seem a sensible doctrine?

The rival doctrine, sometimes called the Berkeleyan, contains no

such difficulties, and it makes evident that the difficulties

discussed above arise simply out of a confusion of samenesses, and

are gratuitous. Its discussion demands that I call to mind a few

distinctions already made.

One must bear in mind, in the first place, that a line immediately

known, existing in consciousness, is the same with an "external" line

corresponding to it, not in sense first, but in sense seventh. That is,

they are two lines, not one, and in the interests of clearness they

should be considered separately.

One should remember, in the second place, that a line in consciousness

at one moment is not, in the strictest sense, the same with a line in

consciousness at another moment. One may stand for the other and thus

be the same with it in sense fifth; or the two may be regarded as both

belonging to the one series of experiences, which, taken together,

represent to us "an object," in which case they are the same in sense

third. A thing the same with another thing in either of these senses

is not necessarily much like it. It must only be able to serve as its

representative.

Now I see a line about an inch long on the paper before me. It is a

certain distance from my eyes. I shall concern myself for the present

only with the line immediately perceived, which means for me so much

sensation. If I move this line (which remains the same in sense

third), nearer to me or farther away, I do not perceive the identical

thing that I did before. My quantity of sensation is increased or

diminished. If I keep the line at the same distance and change none

of the conditions, the quantity of sensation remains presumably the

same. The question arises, Is this line as actually experienced at

this moment infinitely divisible or not? I can certainly conceive of

it as divisible to some extent, for I see part out of part, and I can

think of these parts as separated. But if this line were divided, the

division would soon result in parts which could be seen, but which

could not be seen to consist of part out of part. Were these apparently

non-extended parts (they would remain the same in sense third),

approached to the eyes, they, too, would be seen to consist of part out

of part, but then I should simply have substituted for the apparently

non-extended a representative which was extended. This would not

prove that what was before in consciousness was extended and could be

divided. Consciousness certainly seems to testify that any particular

line in consciousness is composed of a limited number of indivisible

parts, and when one adds to this reflection the consideration that a

point moving over a given line does not appear to have an endless task

before it, but soon arrives at the final term, one is irresistibly

impelled to the conclusion that the parts of the line are not infinite,

but that the division results in the indivisible, the simple element of

sensation, which, joined with other such elements, makes an extended

object, but which taken alone is not extended at all. The whole

difficulty lies in keeping to the line and the parts with which one

started. It is so easy to pass from sameness in sense first to sameness

in sense third or sense fifth; it is so natural to bring an object

which is, as we say, imperfectly seen, closer to the eye and thus

substitute for what was seen before a new experience connected with it

in the order of nature, confident that any system of relations derived

from the latter may safely be carried over to all possible experiences

connected with the former; one does this so instinctively that a man

may very readily suppose that he is still busied about the apparently

non-extended element with which he started, when he is in reality

dividing and sub-dividing its representative, which is evidently

extended. But the question is not whether, when one has divided a

line until the parts cannot be seen to consist of parts, one may

substitute for these parts what evidently does consist of parts, and go

on dividing that. The question is, whether an apparently non-extended

element of a line in consciousness is divisible or not. Any argument

from the possibility of dividing its substitutes evidently has nothing

to do with this point.

It is plain that this doctrine, which makes any particular finite line

in consciousness to consist of a limited number of simple parts, is not

open to the objection that it necessitates the absurdity of exhausting

an endless series. Moving along such a line, Achilles could overtake

the tortoise, for the successively diminishing distances between them

do not constitute an endless series. The descending series results

after a limited number of terms in the simple, and the series is

broken, for the simple does not consist of parts. In this there is at

least no contradiction. It remains to see what other objections may lie

against it.

It may be argued, first, as it often is argued, that it is impossible

to conceive of any part of a line as not itself extended and having

parts. It may be admitted that the small parts arrived at do not seem

to have part out of part; that these sub-parts are not observed in

them, but still it is said that one who thinks about them cannot but

think of them as really having such parts. I ask one who puts forward

this objection to look into his own mind and see whether he does not

mean by "thinking about them," bringing them in imagination nearer

to the eye, or by some means substituting for them what can be seen

to have part out of part. That one can do this no one would think of

denying, but, as I have said, this does not prove the original parts to

be extended.

It may be objected again that extension can never be built up out of

the non-extended--that if one element of a given kind has, taken alone,

no extension at all, two or more such elements together cannot have

any extension either. I answer that a straight line has no angularity

at all, and yet two straight lines may obviously make an angle; that

one man is not in the least a crowd, but that one hundred men may be;

that no single tree is a forest, but that many trees together do make

a forest; that a uniform expanse of color is in no sense a variegated

surface, but that several such together do make a variegated surface.

It may be that extension is simply the name we give to several simple

sense-elements of a particular kind taken together. One cannot say

off-hand that it is not.

Should one object, finally, that, if a given line in consciousness be

composed of a limited number of indivisible elements of sensation,

consciousness ought to distinguish these single elements and testify

as to their number; I answer that what is in consciousness is not

necessarily in a clear analytical consciousness, nor well distinguished

from other elements. For example, I am at present conscious of a stream

of sensations which I connect with the hand that holds my pen. The

single elements in this complex I cannot distinguish from each other,

nor can I give their number. It does not follow that I am to assume

the number to be infinite. Much less should I be impelled to make

this assumption, if it necessitated my accepting as true what I see

to be flatly contradictory, as in the case under discussion. It was

because of this vagueness and lack of discrimination in the testimony

of consciousness that I said, some distance back, that consciousness

_seems_ to testify that any finite line in it is composed of simple

parts. If the testimony were quite clear, the matter would be settled

at once. As it is not quite clear, the matter has to be settled on

a deductive basis. The most reasonable solution appears to be the

Berkeleyan.

So much for the line immediately perceived, the line in consciousness.

What shall we say to one who is willing to admit that this line is not

infinitely divisible, but is composed of simple sense-elements; and yet

who maintains that there exists an "external" line corresponding to

it, which is not immediately perceived, and is infinitely divisible?

We may begin by suggesting to him that an "external" point moving

over this "external" line must perform the wholly impossible feat to

which Clifford condemns a point moving over a line; and we may farther

suggest that, if the "external" world be an intelligible world at

all, a contradiction may be as much out of place in it as anywhere

else. And if the existence of this world be problematic, a thing not

self-evident, it seems quite reasonable to demand very good proof

indeed of the existence, of that which contains in its very conception

such excellent reasons for believing in its non-existence. This proof,

the student of the history of speculation will testify, has not as yet

been forthcoming.

SEC. 37. With this I close my analysis of samenesses, and of confusions

which have resulted in needless embarrassments and gratuitous

difficulties. More instances of the latter could be given, of course.

The reader will be able to furnish, I presume, many like them. Those

which I have given seem to me quite sufficient to prove the need

of much greater care and exactitude than one commonly finds in

metaphysical reasonings. Loose reasoning is bad reasoning, and leads

to bad results. Its one virtue is that it does not require much mental

application on the part of either author or reader. On the other

hand, the attempt to be cautious and exact, to distinguish between

things easily confounded, and to keep strictly to the thing in dispute

through a long discussion, these things are wearisome to all concerned.

Although I am quite conscious of this fact, I have tried to do these

things: with what result, my fellow-analysts must judge. I feel

reasonably sure that I have succeeded in being wearisome, and for this

I make due apology.

CONTENTS.

PART I.

THE KINDS OF SAMENESS.

PAGE.

SEC. 1. Object of the Monograph, 5

" 2. Sameness in Sense First, or Strict Identity, 6

" 3. Sameness in Sense Second, 6

" 4. Sameness in Sense Third, 6

" 5. Sameness in Sense Fourth, 11

" 6. Sameness in Sense Fifth, 12

" 7. Sameness in Sense Sixth, 14

" 8. Sameness in Sense Seventh, 16

" 9. The Samenesses of "External" Things, 31

" 10. Ambiguity of the Word "Self," 34

" 11. The Samenesses of the Self, 35

" 12. Samenesses of the Self as Noumenon or Substance, 35

" 13. Samenesses of the "Real" Self out of Consciousness, 37

" 14. Samenesses of the Self in Consciousness, 38

" 15. Samenesses of the Self in Consciousness (continued), 42

" 16. Samenesses of the Self in Consciousness (continued), 43

" 17. The Self as "Form," and its Samenesses, 43

" 18. Summary of Results of the Foregoing Analysis, 48

" 19. The Element Common to the Kinds of Sameness, 54

" 20. Use of the Word Identity, 64

PART II.

HISTORICAL AND CRITICAL.

SEC. 21. The Error of Heraclitus, 67

" 22. The Climax of Cratylus, 68

" 23. The Parmenidean Argument for the Eternity of "Being," 68

" 24. Gorgias and Samenesses Fifth and Sixth, 69

" 25. Plato and the Eleatic "One," 70

" 26. Aristotle's Treatment of Samenesses, 82

" 27. The Confusions of Pyrrho, and Their Results, 84

" 28. Sameness and the Dispute concerning Universals, 88

" 29. Descartes' Confusion of Samenesses, 98

" 30. Spinoza's Argument to Prove every Substance Infinite, 108

" 31. Locke's Confusion of Sense First and Sense Seventh, 111

" 32. Berkeley's Error concerning Sense Sixth, 120

" 33. John Stuart Mill on the Kinds of Sameness, 122

" 34. The Spencerian "Unknowable," and Samenesses Seventh

and Second, 124

" 35. The Confusions at the Basis of Dr. McCosh's "Realism," 134

" 36. Sameness and the Infinite Divisibility of Space, 143

" 37. Conclusion, 152

* * * * * *

Transcriber's note:

Inconsistencies in hyphenation and punctuation have not been corrected.

Transcriber's corrections:

page original text correction

17 aller Gergenstände aller Gegenstände

48 element in consciousnesss element in consciousness

55 found in a consciousnesss, found in a consciousness,

58 parce que vous voyons parce que nous voyons

58 Premiéres Objections. Premières Objections.

79 differences are invidualizing differences are individualizing

101 upon his expe-ences, upon his experiences,