GIFT OF 
 MICHAEL REESE 
 
AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
PUBLISHED BY 
 
 JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW, 
 ^aMislurs to tht nibecBitg. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD., LONDON. 
 New York, - The Macmillan Co. 
 London, - - - Simpkin, Hamilton and Co. 
 Cambridge, - - Macmillati and Bowes. 
 Edinburgh, - - Douglas and Foulis. 
 
 MDCCCXCVIII. 
 
AN 
 
 OUTLINE *0F PHILOSOPHY 
 
 WITH 
 
 NOTES HISTORICAL AND CRITICAL 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN WATSON, LL.D. 
 
 PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN QUEEN'S UNIVERSITY, KINGSTON, 
 CANADA; AUTHOR OF " KANT AND HIS ENGLISH CRITICS," ETC. 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 GLASGOW 
 JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS 
 
 publishers to the Stiubcrsitjj 
 
 NEW YORK : THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1898 
 
<m 
 
 The First Edition of this work was published under the title of 
 "Comte, Mill, and Spencer: An Outline of Philosophy" 
 
 762,2,2, 
 
 GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. 
 
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 The call for a second edition of this little work which 
 now bears the more appropriate title, An Outline of 
 Philosophy has led me to attempt to make it somewhat 
 more worthy of the favour with which it has been received. 
 Knowing well how incomplete is the treatment of the 
 various problems with which it deals, my first impulse was 
 to re-write and extend the whole ; but I soon found that to 
 do so would be to construct a complete system of philo- 
 sophy, a task for which I do not yet feel competent. 
 Besides, a work of that character would not fulfil the func- 
 tion of a manual, which cannot do more than awaken an 
 interest in philosophical problems, and indicate the lines on 
 which in the opinion of the writer they may be solved. I 
 have therefore, with some reluctance, retained the original 
 Outline, contenting myself with making a few changes, 
 especially in Chapters vi. and x., which, as I hope, may help 
 to make the meaning clearer, especially if they are read in 
 connexion with the corresponding Notes vm. and xn. The 
 Notes Historical and Critical of the present edition are 
 intended to give a fuller view of topics discussed in the body 
 of the work, and to show their historical affiliation. They 
 may also serve to indicate the difficulty and complexity of 
 some of the problems which the original plan of the book 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 compelled me to treat in a somewhat summary way. These 
 Notes, on the whole, follow in logical as well as historical 
 sequence, and therefore admit of being read by themselves, 
 though they should also be considered in relation to the 
 main argument. In preparing them, my difficulty has been 
 to decide what to exclude. At first I thought of making 
 frequent references to the masters in philosophy, as well as 
 to contemporary writers; but it became evident as I pro- 
 ceeded that this method would increase the size of the book 
 so much that a separate volume would be required, and this 
 I was anxious to avoid. I have therefore introduced only 
 such Notes as seemed best fitted to throw additional light 
 upon the principal questions discussed in the text, avoiding 
 the discussion of points in which I am compelled to differ 
 from the views advocated in such important works as Mr. 
 Bradley's Appearance and Reality, Mr. M'Taggart's Studies 
 in the Hegelian Dialectic, and Mr. Hobhouse's Theory of 
 Knowledge? 
 
 The following extracts from the former Preface will 
 sufficiently explain the general scope of the book. 
 
 "The philosophical creed which commends itself to my 
 mind is what in the text I have called Speculative Idealism, 
 by which I mean the doctrine that we are capable of know- 
 ing Reality as it actually is, and that Reality when so known 
 is absolutely rational. Such a doctrine seems to many to be 
 presumptuous, contrary to the sober spirit of inductive in- 
 quiry, and based on an untenable theory of knowledge and 
 
 1 The views discussed in the Notes are (in historical order) those of 
 Plato (i. A), Aristotle (i. B, ii.), Descartes (ix. A), Locke (iv. A), 
 Berkeley (iv. B), Hume (iv. C), Kant (ix. B, xii.), Hegel (vi. B), 
 Lotze (x.), J. S. Mill (v.); and, of recent or contemporary writers, 
 Green (xii.), Mr. Bradley (xi.), and Mr. Alfred Sidgwick (iii.). 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 conduct. My aim has been to show that these objections 
 rest upon a misunderstanding of the idealistic position, at 
 least as held by such writers as the late Professor T. H. 
 Green and the present Master of Balliol. The general 
 proof of Idealism must consist in showing that, while the 
 determination of Reality by such categories as coexistence, 
 succession, and causality, is capable of vindication so long 
 as it is not regarded as ultimate, it becomes false when 
 affirmed to be final, and that we are compelled at last to 
 characterize existence as purposive and rational. There are 
 various ways of enforcing this view. The method which I 
 have followed here is to attempt to show that the ideas 
 which lie at the basis of Mathematics, Physics, Biology, 
 Psychology and Ethics, Religion and Art, are related to 
 each other as developing forms or phases of one idea the 
 idea of self-conscious Reason. 
 
 "No apology seems needed for the publication at the 
 present time of an Outline of Philosophy. There is no 
 lack of Introductions to Psychology and Ethics, but, so 
 far as I know, there is not in English any book which 
 seeks to give in moderate compass a statement of Philo- 
 sophy as a whole. I am well aware that there is danger 
 in generalities, but there seems to be just now an even 
 greater danger that Philosophy, in the large sense in 
 which it was understood by Plato and Aristotle, should 
 be lost in artificial divisions and in a mass of empirical 
 detail. There is no doubt a vast body of material 
 biological, psychological, and historical which will have 
 to be reduced to system some day; but in the meantime 
 there is a certain justification in a work like this, which 
 tries to fix the main outlines of a complete system of 
 philosophy. 
 
 b 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 "A teacher naturally prefers his own way of putting 
 things, even when he agrees in general with another, but 
 perhaps the following pages, which contain the substance 
 of lectures delivered by the author to his own students, 
 may be of some use to students and even to teachers in 
 other Universities. Should any of my fellow-teachers think 
 of using this Outline in the class-room, I may mention 
 that in my own practice lecturing is only a part, and 
 perhaps the least important part of the work actually 
 done. So far as practicable, it is my habit to insist upon 
 a first-hand study by the class of the authors I criticize. 
 Every year's experience confirms me in the conviction 
 which I ventured to express some years ago in the Preface 
 to my Selections from Kant, that lectures upon authors 
 who have not been read have very poor educational results. 
 
 "In preparing this Outline I have been most indebted 
 to Green's Prolegomena to Ethics and the criticism of Mill 
 contained in his Philosophical Works) to Mr Caird's 
 Comte and Critical Account of the Philosophy of Kant; 
 and, in a lesser degree, to the late Professor Stanley 
 Jevons' articles on Mill's Logic in the Conte?nporary 
 Review." 
 
 The Index of Topics and Index of Authors at the 
 end of the volume will, I hope, be useful. The latter 
 will enable the reader, if he so desires, to consider the 
 views of a particular thinker as a whole, so far as I have 
 had occasion to deal with them. 
 
 For a fuller statement of the philosophy of Aristotle 
 than that contained in Notes I., II., and vi., I may refer 
 to four articles of mine, the first of which appeared in the 
 Philosophical Review for Jan., 1898, Vol. VII., No. 1. 
 I have to thank the editors of that Review for permission 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 to reprint what is here called Note n. My thanks are also 
 due to Dr. Vaihinger for his courtesy in allowing me to 
 reproduce as Note ix. what originally appeared as an 
 article on The Cartesian Cogito ergo Sam and Ka?ifs 
 Criticism of Rational Psychology in the Kantsiudien. 
 
 JOHN WATSON. 
 
 Queen's University, 
 Kingston, Canada, 
 2yd August, 1898. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The Aristotelian and Platonic definitions of philosophy Why it is 
 better not to define Philosophy as a " science "^Philosophy and 
 the sciences Mathematics from the point of, view of Riemann, 
 Helmholtz, Clifford, and Sylvester Mathematics as J. S. Mill 
 views it Explanation of Mill's view of mathematics (i) Mathe- 
 matics not an exact science It rests upon definitions Which rest 
 upon experience No real lines, circles, etc. Discrepancy between 
 geometrical definitions and sensible things (2) Mathematics not a 
 necessary science It rests upon induction No accumulation of 
 instances can warrant a must Imagination cannot re-present what 
 has not been presented Experience can never warrant a conclusion 
 wider than itself Nothing impossible in straight lines enclosing a 
 space, or in 2 + 3 = 6 Apparent necessity of mathematical proposi- 
 tions therefore explicable on the principle of "inseparable associa- 
 tion" Summary: "Mathematics is not an exact or necessary 
 science, but states what we have found to hold good within our 
 limited experience, its apparent necessity being due to confusion 
 between a necessity in the nature of things and the subjective 
 necessity of inseparable association" (1) The mathematician has 
 no theory of knowledge Two questions : (a) What do we know 
 about the number and magnitude of things ? {b) What is the nature 
 of mathematical knowledge? (2) The absolute opposition of know- 
 ledge and the object of knowledge cannot be maintained Mill's 
 "round square" means that there is no absolute fixity in the 
 quantitative relations of things Hence we are forced to inquire 
 into the possibility of knowing existence in its ultimate nature If 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 real existence cannot be known, real knowledge is impossible 
 (3) How methematics originated It is not a collection of detached 
 propositions, but an organized system Summary : (1) Mathematics 
 directs its attention to the objects of knowledge, philosophy to the 
 nature of knowledge : (2) Mathematics assumes that those objects 
 are absolutely real, while philosophy inquires into the truth or 
 falsehood of that assumption : (3) Philosophy admits the internal 
 consistency of mathematics, but refuses to admit without criticism 
 that any of its conclusions are true of things as they are in their 
 ultimate nature The physical sciences assume that no change ever 
 takes place which is not due to some cause Illustration : "A body 
 is found to assume a crystalline form : what is the cause of the 
 change?" Hume thought it impossible to show that there is any 
 necessary connection in nature Explanation of Hume's view of 
 Causation (1) Hume's sceptical doctrine rests upon his theory of 
 knowledge (2) We cannot tell what is the nature of knowledge 
 without determining the nature of real existence (3) Philosophy 
 has to examine the principles assumed by such sciences as physics 
 and chemistry It admits that, in whatever sense any one of the 
 propositions which the sciences contain is true, all the rest are true 
 It may be divided into (i^f*hilosophy of Nature, (2) Philosophy 
 of Mind, (3) Philosophy of the Absolute, I 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 
 
 Explanation of Comte's view of the philosophical doctrine known as 
 the Relativity of Knowledge His "subjective" and "objective" 
 synthesis: "Man must be content to gain such a limited know- 
 ledge of the world and of human life as will enable him to make 
 use of nature for the perfecting of society " Comte's own intellec- 
 tual development is partly explained by his relation to Rousseau 
 and the French Revolution Sum of Rousseau's teaching : " All 
 the evils of man are due to society, and he can reach perfection 
 only by being freed from all restraint and allowed to follow his 
 natural instincts" Even in the economic region this form of in- 
 dividualism was not justified What Comte learned from St. 
 Simon Comte's three stages, theological, metaphysical, positive 
 Fetichism, Polytheism, and Monotheism Metaphysic Physical 
 science Extract from Cours de Philosophic Positive Comte's social 
 
CONTENTS. Xlll 
 
 philosophy the most valuable part of his system Is Agnosticism 
 consistent with itself? Ambiguity in the doctrine as expressed by 
 Comte (i) It sometimes means for him that the only true know- 
 ledge is of lazus not of causes In his main contention Comte is 
 right ; it is no explanation of a pestilence to say that an offended 
 God sent it in His wrath, or that it is produced by a " poisonous 
 principle" But Comte does not see that this does not banish 
 religion or philosophy (2) Comte also assumes that the human 
 mind is necessarily limited to the knowledge of phenomena, and 
 is conscious of its own limitation Has man a knowledge only of 
 things as to his finite mind they seem to be ? Comte's limitation 
 of knowledge to phenomena implies two mutually exclusive realms 
 Kant's remark about dogmatism and scepticism {a) Are there 
 two spheres of existence! Plato's 56a helps to illustrate Comte 
 {b) Comte's doctrine implies that there are two distinct kinds of 
 intelligence This at once affirms and denies the consciousness of 
 limitation, which is self-contradictory Comte's doctrine of the 
 relativity of knowledge plausible because knowledge is only in 
 its infancy But knowledge cannot consist in adding particular to 
 particular Is any knowledge the apprehension of particulars ? 
 A knowledge of mere particulars is a contradiction in terms We 
 cannot perceive, or even imagine, space as a whole, but we can 
 think it as one Besides the particular aspect of an object there 
 is always implied a certain universal aspect Bearing of this truth 
 on the doctrine of the relativity of knowledge Illustration from 
 the law of gravitation, - - - - - - - 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE. 
 
 GEOMETRY. 
 
 Mathematical knowledge is the science of magnitude It is usually 
 supposed to deal with Space and Motion, though we might add 
 Time In that case we should have three sciences : Geometry, 
 Kinematics, and Chronometry Our object therefore to inquire 
 whether geometry is a real science of nature We assume space 
 to be of three dimensions only ( 1 ) Examination of Mill's view of 
 geometry Mill takes it for granted that we have a knowledge of 
 the actual properties of real things : he is not contrasting a reality 
 unknown to us with reality as we suppose it to be The mathe- 
 
XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 matician, while aware that points, lines, etc., are not sensible 
 objects, does not suppose that he is dealing with mere fictions of 
 abstraction What are "real things "? Mill's answer Objections 
 to it Our perception of the position and figure of a sensible 
 object is not derived from sensation Yet Mill must hold that the 
 geometrical properties of bodies are somehow given us in sensation 
 Perhaps a number of sensations may be so associated as to appear 
 extended Hume thought so Illustration of Hume's view Con- 
 clusion : No geometrical property of a sensible object can be derived 
 from any number or variety of sensations, nor from any associa- 
 tion of sensations No "ultimate inexplicability " What is an 
 "object"? We shall be helped to an answer by considering how 
 we come to have a perception of the position of a particle of matter 
 If space were a sphere with a definite boundary we might locate 
 the particle, but space has no boundary that we can perceive Are 
 there any purely individual particles? In the perception of objects 
 as in space, their mutual externality is implied Hence space involves 
 a peculiar intellectual form of consciousness (2) Mill's denial that 
 the propositions of geometry are universal and necessary Examina- 
 tion of this view Conclusion : The nature of our consciousness 
 is such that any experience of the enclosure of a space by two 
 straight lines is an impossible experience, 43 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE {Continued). 
 
 ARITHMETIC AND ALGEBRA. 
 
 Statement of Mill's Theory of Numbers He has two main objects in 
 view : (a) To show that arithmetic and algebra rest upon induc- 
 tion from sensible observations ; (d) to prove that their supposed 
 accuracy and precision arises from their hypothetical character 
 (1) Mill does not criticise the a priori view The view of the 
 "nominalists" Mill objects that Nominalism virtually denies the 
 theory of numbers to be based upon induction What has led the 
 nominalist to suppose that there are no general propositions in 
 regard to numbers ? The reason is that in arithmetical and 
 algebraic operations we deal with symbols of sensible objects 
 "Ten" represents an actual fact of sensible observation Arith- 
 metic differs in this respect from geometry (2) Examination of 
 Mill's Theory of Numbers, 76 
 
CONTENTS. XV 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE {Continued). 
 
 THE PHYSICAL SCIENCES. 
 
 Mill seeks to distinguish the processes by which generalizations of 
 science are reached from various logical processes confounded with 
 them (i) Induction not the mere registration in language of a 
 given number of individual observations (2) Certain mathematical 
 processes not inductive (3) Description of a set of observed 
 phenomena not induction Mill's definition of an induction 
 Examination of Mill's definition Causation Three kinds of laws 
 of nature The ground of induction is the law of causation 
 Definitions of a "cause" Examination of Mill's definition of a 
 cause as an "invariable" and "unconditional" antecedent A 
 cause is an unchangeable fact Distinction drawn by Mill between 
 permanent and changeable causes irrelevant and misleading, - 86 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE {Continued). 
 
 BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 
 
 Third problem of philosophy of nature We commonly distinguish be- 
 tween organic and inorganic beings The distinction is denied by 
 two sets of thinkers : {a) those who "level down" ; {b) those who 
 " level up" Is there a biological knowledge of nature ? Spencer 
 defines life as "the power of continuous adjustment of internal 
 relations to external relations" Revised definition: life is "the 
 principle by which a being maintains its individuality by a con- 
 tinuous adaptation to external conditions " The individuality of a 
 living being is dependent upon the organization of its parts 
 Where there is little differentiation of organs, it is hard to say 
 whether there is one being or several Living beings also produce 
 other individuals of the same general type as themselves Appar- 
 ently, therefore, we must apply to them a different conception, 
 viz., final cause Some, however, hold that the theory of develop- 
 ment is incompatible with a teleological explanation of the world 
 Darwin himself assumes a line of demarcation between organic 
 and inorganic beings Darwin's view is that species are not im- 
 
XVI CONTENTS. 
 
 mutable (i) Struggle for existence (2) Principle of heredity 
 The doctrine extended to man by Darwin {Descent of Man) 
 Animals said to exhibit most, if not all, the mental and moral 
 faculties, and even to have the rudiments of religion Lowest races 
 of man very little superior to higher animals Darwin's view im- 
 plies (1) a continuous development of intellectual and moral 
 qualities from lower animals up to savages, and from savages up to 
 civilized man ; (2) that this development may be explained by the 
 law of natural evolution The principle of natural evolution, as 
 Huxley shows, overthrows the old conception of design as formu- 
 lated by Paley But is it inconsistent with a philosophical concep- 
 tion of teleology? Darwinism presupposes (1) that the laws of 
 inorganic nature are inviolable ; (2) that in each living being there 
 is a tendency or impulse to maintain itself and to continue its 
 species ; (3) that the variations in the several parts of the living 
 being are consistent with the impulse to self-maintenance and race- 
 maintenance Reasons for maintaining a philosophical teleology 
 (1) If there were no harmony between an organism and its environ- 
 ment, the organism could not exist at all (2) If there were no 
 tendency to self-maintenance and race-maintenance, there would 
 be no "struggle for existence" (3) The tendency to organization 
 implies purpose, - -101 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PPIILOSOPHY. 
 
 Re-statement of Darwin's view of man in his relation to the animals 
 Leibnitz' Monadology Every real thing he holds to be an in- 
 dividual substance The Atomists made the mistake of supposing 
 that there are real material atoms existing in space The "con- 
 fused " perception of monads Leibnitz' doctrine suggests how the 
 Darwinian conception must be completed Darwin holds two 
 different views of the world Extreme Darwinists abolish the dis- 
 tinction between intelligence and unintelligence (a) No freedom 
 of knozvledge (b) Nor can there be any freedom of action 
 Right and Wrong names for the pleasure of approbation and 
 the pain of disapprobation Mental and moral qualities re- 
 ceived by inheritance and called out by the reaction of the 
 organism on the environment Natural evolution cannot ex- 
 
CONTENTS. XV11 
 
 plain the fact of knowledge as it exists in man Meaning 
 of curiosity, interest, and attention Knowledge, even as it 
 existed for primitive man implied (i) the Consciousness of a dis- 
 tinction between the apparent and real ; (2) the capacity of 
 apprehending the real in virtue of intelligence Hence the attempt 
 to reduce knowledge to the mere flow of impressions in a subject 
 that passively receives them, makes even the simplest knowledge 
 unintelligible But we must be careful not to fall into Descartes' 
 mistake of supposing that there are "innate conceptions" (1) 
 Suppose the mind to be absolutely separated from all objects, 
 and it has no conceivable nature Descartes saw this, hence he 
 fell back upon the view that there are certain "innate" concep- 
 tions, e.g., that of God This view untenable (2) Descartes' 
 other assumption, that there is an apprehension by the mind of 
 what is external to it, is equally inadmissible For him there is 
 (logically) no material world Proof of this statement The Car- 
 tesian doctrine of the separation of mind and matter therefore leads 
 to the denial of all knowledge Conclusion : Existence cannot be 
 divided into two antithetical halves So far as we have knowledge 
 we are freed from any unintelligible force acting externally upon us 
 Final objection to the principle of natural evolution as an explana- 
 tion of the knowledge of man (1) The so-called "selfish" tendency 
 or impulse is neither selfish nor unselfish but non-selfish The fact 
 is that man, grasping the law of his environment, and grasping the 
 law of his own nature, turns the environment into the means of 
 realizing an inchoate ideal (2) The "social impulses" are neither 
 selfish nor unselfish but super-selfish For {a) man is by his very 
 nature social, and forms part of an organism in which the good of 
 each is bound up with the good of all ; and therefore {b) in submit- 
 ting himself to the law of reason he gains true freedom, - 123 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 
 
 Intelligence and will develop pari passu Apparent conflict between 
 the idea of man and the idea of the world Spencer says that 
 every philosophy must assume the absolute distinction of "subject" 
 and " object" His view explained Spencer's problem is : Grant- 
 ing the opposition of subject and object, how does the subject come 
 
XV1U CONTENTS. 
 
 to have a knowledge, or an apparent knowledge, of the object? 
 His derivation of " relations of sequence and relations of co- 
 existence " {i.e., of time and space) Parallelism of "feelings" 
 and nervous changes Apparently simple feeling really complex 
 The subject thus reducible to units of feeling, the object to units of 
 force Objection: How can the subject apprehend the object? 
 Spencer answers that we do not know reality in its absolute nature 
 Hence we can think of matter only in terms of mind, and of 
 mind only in terms of matter Spencer's five propositions All five 
 untenable Examination of the absolute opposition of subject 
 and object It involves a confusion between (a) the separation and 
 {b) the logical distinction of subject and object A subject con- 
 scious only of its own states would never become conscious of an 
 external object Why the separation of subject and object seems 
 indubitable (i) The objective world is not dependent upon any- 
 body's knowledge (2) It existed prior to the subject Similarly, 
 the subject has different properties from the object The answer of 
 Speculative Idealism [a) The supposed " separation " of the 
 object rests upon an untenable dualism Inorganic things are not 
 independent of one another Nor are organic beings Nor can we 
 find Mind existing independently The objective world is therefore 
 self-conscious (b) Scientific evolutionists deny the identity of sub- 
 ject and object, because the objective world existed before the 
 subject But (1) this assumes that "subject" must mean this or 
 that individual subject (2) It really abolishes the subject The 
 category of "cause" falsely applied to the relation between exist- 
 ence a? a whole and its modes Summary of the idealistic view 
 Comparison of Scientific Evolutionism and Speculative Idealism 
 Self-determination in /;*0w/^<j Self-determination in action 
 Criticism of Spencer's second proposition, that the object is for us a 
 complex of feelings, the subject a complex of movements, - 150 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 IDEA OF DUTY. 
 
 (1) "Duty" implies the opposition of an ideal world and the actual 
 world (2) It also implies the opposition between a law of reason 
 and a law of inclination Why the opposition seems absolute 
 
CONTENTS. XIX 
 
 Analysis of desire The contrast of the ideal and actual self not 
 absolute Carlyle's " shoe-black " The Stoical conception of 
 " reason " How far it is true The abstract idea of duty, and 
 particular duties No "natural law" in the "spiritual world" 
 " Renunciation " not the last word of morality No real opposition 
 between appetite and reason "Duty" may be defined as "the 
 identification of the actual self with the ideal self, by a particular 
 determination of it" Kant holds that "Duty" implies (i) an 
 absolute law (2) self-determination by this law His reasons for 
 maintaining that action done from desire is contrary to duty 
 Objections to the form of Kant's doctrine His analysis of the 
 " categorical imperative " Distinguishes between (1) duties of im- 
 perfect obligation, and (2) duties of perfect obligation His three 
 formulae Desire for pleasure involves (1) a particular object or 
 end, (2) conceived as desirable for me, (3) which is distinguished 
 both from the object and the subject Kant is therefore wrong in 
 assuming that desire for an object is desire for pleasure Problem 
 of morality is : What is the distinguishing characteristic of the 
 object we ought to desire? The solution consists in each in- 
 dividual conceiving of himself as a member in a social organism 
 Historical proof of this Strength and weakness of Kant's 
 ethical theory, 195 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY {Continued). 
 
 IDEA OF FREEDOM. 
 
 The problem of freedom has the same root as the problem of duty The 
 solution turns upon our view of "motives" " Determinism" con- 
 fuses desire with impulse, and mechanical movements with 
 volition What a " motive " really is Meaningless to say that 
 "the strongest motive" leads to action There is no "liberty of 
 indifference " Kant's view of freedom He holds that in willing 
 the law of reason man is free This would make man irresponsible 
 
 1 
 
 for doing wrong How the contrast of freedom and necessity 
 arises. 
 
 THE SUMMUM BONUM. 
 
 Hedonist view of the summum bonum Kant distinguishes between 
 {a) the chief good and (b) the complete good Statement of his 
 
XX * CONTENTS. 
 
 doctrine His " postulate " of immortality His moral proof of 
 the being of God Objections to his argument for immortality 
 His proof of the being of God must be revised, ... 235 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY {Continued). 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF RIGHTS. 
 
 Self-realization as exhibited in the sphere of individual rights Kantian 
 distinction of the sphere of rights from the sphere of morals 
 Rights (1) belong to persons, not to things, (2) are held against all 
 other persons, (3) are reciprocal Rights distinguished by Kant as 
 (a) rights of property, {b) rights of contract, {c) personal rights The 
 State based upon an "original contract" Ultimate form of the 
 State a Republic All class legislation wrong Kant's view of 
 penal justice Basis of International law Articles for an ever- 
 lasting peace Kant's doctrine of rights repeats his opposition of 
 desire and reason in a new form (1) His theory of society not 
 self-consistent It virtually admits that society is the basis of 
 rights Imperfection of his view of the family and the State (2) 
 Kant's opposition of law and morality untenable (3) His view of 
 punishment inadequate Kant's system of moral virtues Two ends 
 which we ought to realize : (1) our own perfection, (2) the happi- 
 ness of others Distinction of "obligations of right" and " obliga- 
 tions of virtue" The three characteristics of duty Duties to 
 ourselves Duties to others Kant wrong in opposing them,- 257 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 
 
 RELIGION. 
 
 Kant separates Morality from Religion His interpretation of "Original 
 Sin " How he treats the Pauline doctrine of Redemption Kant's 
 conception of evil in advance of the doctrine of the Stoics But his 
 doctrine must be reinterpreted He has not got rid of Individualism 
 No opposition of outer and inner law Morality not independent 
 of Religion. 
 
CONTENTS. XXI 
 
 ART. 
 
 Art an objective presentation of the ideal Kant distinguishes 
 between the beautiful and the sublime An aesthetic judgment 
 rests upon a disinterested contemplation of beauty The sublime 
 due to the disharmony of the object as perceived and as conceived 
 Two forms of the sublime : mathematical, or that which is too 
 great in magnitude to be pictured by the imagination ; and dyna- 
 mical, or the feeling which arises in presence of the forces of 
 nature Beauty excludes the idea of definite purpose The pro- 
 ducts of art a symbol of moral ideas Value of Kant's conception 
 of beauty Examination of Kant's affirmations (i) that beauty rests 
 upon feeling ; (2) that it involves thought, - 282 
 
 Index of Topics, 484 
 
 Index of Authors, - - 487 
 
 NOTES HISTORICAL AND CRITICAL. 
 
 Page of 
 Outline, 
 
 
 
 
 . I 
 
 I. 
 
 The Platonic and Aristotelian Criticism of Sensa- 
 tionalism 
 
 
 
 
 A. Plato's Criticism, 
 
 303 
 
 
 
 B. Aristotle's Criticism, 
 
 315 
 
 2 
 
 II. 
 
 Aristotle's Definition of Philosophy, 
 
 320 
 
 21 
 
 43 
 
 III. 
 IV. 
 
 Agnosticism and Scepticism, 
 
 Mathematical Knowledge 
 
 329 
 
 5i 
 
 V. 
 
 A. Locke's Theory, 
 
 B. Berkeley's Theory, 
 
 C. Hume's Theory, ..... 
 The Association of Ideas, ..... 
 
 336 
 342 
 351 
 363 
 
 92 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Principle of Identity or Non-contradiction 
 
 
 
 
 A. Aristotle's Doctrine, 
 
 375 
 
 
 
 B. Hegel's Doctrine, - 
 
 378 
 
XX11 CONTENTS. 
 
 Causality and the System of Experience, - - - 385 
 
 Natural Evolution, 390 
 
 Descartes and Kant 
 
 A. The Cartesian Cogito ergo sum, - - 391 
 
 B. Kant's Criticism of Rational Psychology, - 400 
 Lotze's Theory of Knowledge, - - - - 431 
 
 The Feeling Soul, - 449 
 
 The Problem of Human Freedom : Kant and Green, 460 
 
 Page of 
 Outline. 
 IOO VII. 
 
 107 
 138 
 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 
 190 
 194 
 235 
 
 X. 
 
 XL 
 XII. 
 
AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 " The feeling of wonder," says Plato in his dialogue the 
 
 Theaetetus, 1 "is the genuine mark of the philosopher; 
 
 for philosophy has its origin in wonder; and he was no 
 
 bad genealogist who said that Iris is the child of Wonder." 
 
 Those who are destitute of this feeling he calls the 
 
 " uninitiated," who " will not admit that there is any 
 
 reality but that which they can take hold of with their 
 
 hands." Philosophy, in other words, at first exists as an 
 
 immediate feeling or conviction, that things in their real 
 
 or ultimate nature are not what at first they seem to be. 
 
 It looks beyond the shows of things to a reality that is 
 
 felt to be implied, although it is not yet grasped by the 
 
 mind as a definite object, the nature of which can be 
 
 expressed in precise and definite language. We can say, 
 
 negatively, that reality, as it is behind the veil of sense, 
 
 is not that which we see with our eyes and grasp with 
 
 our hands ; but at first we cannot apply to it any definite 
 
 1 Theaetehis, 155 CD. 
 A 
 
2 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 predicates. Wonder may therefore be said to be a self- 
 contradictory feeling. It denies that what we know is 
 real, and yet it cannot tell us what reality is. We are 
 conscious of our ignorance, and yet we claim to know 
 that we have no knowledge. The man of hard common- 
 sense, the " uninitiated " as Plato would call him, can 
 therefore make out a very good case for his rejection of 
 philosophy as a useless quest for what can never be 
 known. Like Mephistopheles in Goethe's Faust, he prides 
 himself on taking things as they are, and refusing to 
 follow the lead of mere ideas. Plato, on the other hand, 
 finds in the vision of the ideal the true reality. Those 
 who are content with the first or unreflective view of 
 things he likens to men confined within a dark under- 
 ground cave, with a narrow opening towards the light, 
 who see only the shadows of things thrown on the wall as 
 they are carried past the mouth of the cave. In this con- 
 viction of the reality of the invisible and intangible, Plato 
 is at one with those who believe that in art and religion 
 there is revealed something truer than all that we can 
 directly perceive with our senses. Poetry and religion, 
 as well as philosophy, claim that there is a contradiction 
 between what seems and what is, and that true reality 
 can be revealed only to the higher vision. He who is 
 satisfied with the first or unreflective view of things need 
 never hope to know reality as it truly is. There is a 
 divine unrest which compels us to search for the hidden 
 truth of things. As Aristotle says, it is in the effort to 
 be rid of ignorance that men have been led to construct 
 philosophies. The object of philosophy is therefore to 
 search for the first principles of things ; to discover, if 
 that be possible, what is as distinguished from what seems 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 3 
 
 to be. Hence Aristotle well says that philosophy has to 
 do with existence as it really is. 
 
 It must be observed, however, that philosophy cannot 
 be defined as the science of reality. For it may be that 
 the ultimate nature of reality cannot be discovered by 
 man. As a matter of fact there is at the present time 
 an influential class of thinkers who hold that man is so 
 constituted that he never can have a knowledge of ulti- 
 mate reality. Human knowledge, they maintain, never 
 reaches beyond phenomena or appearances. Much may 
 be learned about the nature of phenomena, but nothing 
 about the reality which lies behind phenomena. Carry 
 your investigation to the extreme limits of the phenomenal 
 world; lay bare the laws which govern the minutest and 
 the most distant object accessible to our observation, 
 even when it is aided by the most delicate instruments, 
 and you are as far as ever from the ultimate nature ot 
 things. The progress of human knowledge does not 
 enable us to break through the charmed circle within 
 which we are compelled to move, but only serves to 
 bring into bolder relief the great unknowable reality 
 against which the bounded circumference of the known 
 world becomes visible. I hope to show that this doc- 
 trine of the unknowability of ultimate reality cannot be 
 accepted, but manifestly we cannot, in the face of such 
 a denial, assume that reality as it truly is can be known by 
 man. If it can be established that philosophy leads to 
 the knowledge of ultimate reality, we may then define it 
 as the science of first principles ; but, in the meantime, 
 we must be content to say, that it is the search for first 
 principles. 
 
 To understand all that is implied in this definition we 
 
4 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 must make clear to ourselves the distinction between 
 philosophy and other branches of human knowledge, and 
 especially between philosophy and science. 
 
 None of the sciences seems to rest on so firm a 
 foundation as the science of mathematics. That 2 + 2 = 
 4 j that the straight line between two points is the 
 shortest that can be drawn ; that the interior angles of a 
 triangle are equal to two right angles : such propositions 
 as these are usually assumed to be absolutely true and 
 to admit of no possible exception. The mathematician 
 is therefore accustomed to assume that the propositions 
 of his science are demonstrably true, and that no con- 
 ceivable advance of knowledge can ever upset them. He 
 does not speak with stammering tongue, as Aristotle 
 says of the early Greek philosophers, but announces his 
 results with perfect assurance of their truth. And yet 
 there is a question which mathematics has not raised, 
 and without resolving which the absolute truth of its 
 conclusions cannot be established. It is assumed by the 
 mathematician that the objects which we number and 
 measure could not be of an entirely different nature 
 from wha*t they are for us. When it is said that a 
 straight line is the shortest distance between two points, 
 it is taken for granted that every possible space must be, 
 like ours, of three dimensions and absolutely devoid of 
 curvature. It is further assumed that what is affirmed of 
 lines, triangles, and circles in the abstract is equally true 
 of real lines, triangles, and circles. Now both of these 
 propositions have been denied. It is maintained by such 
 eminent mathematicians as Riemann, Helmholtz, Clifford, 
 and Sylvester, that our space of three dimensions is only 
 one of an infinite number of possible spaces, and that, 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 5 
 
 were our experience wider, we should find that our 
 Euclidian geometry is of very limited and partial applica- 
 tion. It is further maintained by so eminent a thinker 
 as John Stuart Mill, that the propositions of arithmetic 
 and geometry are not absolutely true even in their 
 application to the sensible reality which we are capable 
 of knowing. The only source of our knowledge, it is 
 held, is experience. No real knowledge can be obtained 
 from the mere exercise of our own minds. To get at 
 reality at all we must go to experience. But experience 
 can never assure us that what has presented itself to us 
 in a certain way might not possibly appear in an entirely 
 different form. Hence, mathematics, if it is a science at 
 all, must rest upon the facts of experience. Let us see 
 the conclusion to which this doctrine of Mill naturally 
 leads. 
 
 In the first place, Mill maintains that the supposed 
 exactness and necessity of mathematics is a delusion, 
 (i) Mathematics is not an exact science. What is the 
 foundation of the science of geometry? Plainly the so- 
 called definitions. But upon what do these definitions 
 themselves rest? They cannot be self-evident, because 
 all that a definition can tell us is the meaning attached 
 to certain terms. Definitions are purely verbal, and prove 
 nothing in regard to the reality of that which is defined. 
 I may define a centaur as a being half man and half horse, 
 but it does not follow that a centaur exists in rerum 
 natura. Similarly, I may define a circle as a figure the 
 radii of which are all equal, but it does not follow that 
 a real circle corresponding to my definition actually exists. 
 To determine whether the definitions of geometry are true 
 or false we must have recourse to experience. Now, when 
 
6 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 we go to experience, we find that there are no real things 
 corresponding to our definitions. Where in nature shall 
 we find a point without magnitude, a line that is perfectly 
 straight and without breadth, a circle with all its radii 
 exactly equal, a square with all its angles perfectly right? 
 An actual sensible point is a surface, a real line is the 
 edge of a sensible object, and such a line is never per- 
 fectly straight ; the surface of a thing is always more or 
 less uneven. There is no doubt that geometry deals with 
 real things, but the discrepancy between its definitions 
 and sensible realities shows that it is not dealing with 
 those things as they truly are, but only with a partial 
 aspect of them. We are therefore compelled to conclude 
 that geometry is not an exact science. (2) Nor is 
 geometry a necessary science, (a) Like other sciences it 
 rests upon induction, or, in other words, it states in a 
 general form what experience has shown us to hold good 
 in a number of particular instances. No accumulation of 
 such instances can warrant us in saying that things must 
 be as our experience has shown them to be. It is true 
 that geometry draws its conclusions from figures that are 
 not directly perceived, but are only represented in imagina- 
 tion. But imagination can never represent what has not 
 been presented beforehand in perception. When I have 
 once perceived two straight lines meet and then diverge, 
 I can imagine them diverging as far as I please, but I 
 can never imagine them as again meeting. It is this 
 peculiarity of our imaginative faculty which explains the 
 apparent necessity of geometrical propositions. We are 
 unable to imagine diverging lines as meeting, however far 
 we may prolong them, because our whole experience 
 contradicts the supposition. We have at one time seen 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 7 
 
 two straight lines diverging from a point, and at another 
 time we have seen two straight lines converging, but we 
 have never seen two straight lines at once diverging and 
 converging. The supposition is excluded from the nature 
 of our experience. But it must be carefully observed, 
 that experience can never warrant a conclusion widei 
 than itself. There is nothing impossible in the supposi- 
 tion that two straight lines should enclose a space. The 
 supposition is contrary to our experience, but it cannot 
 be shown to be contradictory of the nature of things. 
 There is nothing contradictory in the notion that 2 + 3 = 6. 
 Were our experience wider we might meet with objects 
 of a different nature from those with which we have 
 come in contact, (b) Mill therefore goes on to explain 
 the apparent necessity of mathematical propositions on 
 the principle of inseparable association. All that is 
 meant by the term "inseparable association" is, that two 
 ideas which have always gone together in our experience 
 become so closely united that, having no contrary experi- 
 ence, we cannot conceive of them as separated. Such 
 ideas are those which are combined in a mathematical 
 proposition. Their apparent necessity is merely the sub- 
 jective necessity of uniform association. Ideas that have 
 never been experienced apart we naturally suppose to be 
 inseparable in nature as they are in our experience. An 
 instance of inseparable association we have in the pro- 
 position that two straight lines cannot be thought of as 
 enclosing a space. We cannot say that two straight lines 
 cannot enclose a space, but only that we cannot think 
 of them as enclosing a space. The only reason we have 
 for our affirmation is that we have had no experience of 
 straight lines enclosing a space, which is a very different 
 
8 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 thing from saying that such an experience is impos- 
 sible. 
 
 The general conclusion, then, is that mathematics is not 
 an exact or necessary science, but merely expresses what 
 we have found to hold good within our limited experience, 
 its apparent necessity being due to the natural confusion 
 between a necessity in the nature of things and the sub- 
 jective necessity of inseparable association. 
 
 An examination of Mill's doctrine of mathematics 
 cannot be profitably entered upon at present. In the 
 meantime we may learn from it something about the 
 relations of philosophy and science, (i) The first thing 
 to be noted is, that the question which Mill asks is one 
 which the mathematician as such does not think of asking. 
 The mathematician usually assumes that the conclusions 
 which he reaches are absolutely true, and can be applied 
 in the numbering and measuring of any object that can 
 ever come within the range of his experience. His 
 assumption, stated generally, is, that we can have a real 
 knowledge of the number and magnitude of things. It 
 is true that a mathematician may be aware that there is 
 a further problem which he has not investigated, but it is 
 at least convenient, and conduces to clearness, if we say 
 that mathematics assumes the possibility of real know- 
 ledge, leaving to philosophy the task of inquiring into 
 the possibility and the conditions of knowledge. The 
 science of mathematics, then, as we may say, puts for- 
 ward no theory in regard to the nature of knowledge. 
 Whether its propositions apply only within the limited 
 range of objects as they appear to man, or hold good 
 of all possible objects, is for the mere mathematician a 
 matter of indifference. The question, What is know- 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 9 
 
 ledge? either has never occurred to him, or he sets it 
 aside as irrelevant to his special investigation. He may 
 be said to be in the attitude of the youthful Theaetdus, 
 in the dialogue of Plato to which I have already referred, 
 who, when asked by Socrates, What is Knowledge? 
 answers that "Knowledge consists of all the things we 
 can learn from Theodorus, geometry for instance." Mill, 
 on the other hand, and the same thing is true of all 
 philosophers, has become aware that the true meaning 
 of Socrates' question is, What is implied in the act of 
 knowledge? What constitutes knowledge? In seeking 
 to answer this question, Mill is led, like the Greek Pro- 
 tagoras, as represented by Plato, to say that " Knowledge 
 is sensible perception." We may say, then, that mathe- 
 matics seeks to answer the question, What do we know 
 about the number and magnitude of things ? while 
 philosophy tries to answer the question, What is the 
 nature of mathematical knowledge? Let us call the first 
 problem scientific and the second philosophic. It would 
 then seem that science directs its attention to the objects 
 of knowledge, philosophy to the nature of knowledge 
 itself. (2) This seems to give us a clear distinction 
 between science and philosophy. But on closer investi- 
 gation we find that the absolute opposition of knowledge 
 and the object of knowledge is one that cannot be 
 maintained. If Mill is right, we must distinguish between 
 the objects with which mathematics deals, and those 
 objects which lie beyond the range of possible experience, 
 or rather, those objects which perhaps lie beyond that 
 range. For it is held that a time might come when the 
 whole fabric of our present mathematical knowledge would 
 be completely upset. We cannot tell, on Mill's theory, 
 
IO AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 what a day or an hour might bring forth. Suddenly our 
 experience might completely change its complexion, and 
 diverging lines might be found to enclose a space, parallel 
 lines might meet, squares might appear round, and straight 
 lines curved. "To conceive a round square," says Mill, 
 "would only be to conceive two different sensations as 
 produced in us simultaneously by the same object; and 
 we should probably be as well able to conceive a round 
 square as a hard square, or a heavy square, if it were 
 not that, in our uniform experience, at the instant when 
 a thing begins to be round it ceases to be square, so 
 that the beginning of the one impression is inseparably 
 associated with the departure or cessation of the other." 1 
 It is here implied that there is no absolute fixity in the 
 quantitative relations of things. Now this means that 
 there are infinite possibilities of experience such as we 
 cannot even imagine with any definiteness. A world in 
 which all our mathematical conceptions were completely 
 reversed is so different from anything we can figure to 
 ourselves, that we can only say, generally, that it would 
 be totally unlike anything of which we have had experi- 
 ence. The question is therefore forced upon us, whether 
 we can admit even the possibility of such a world. So 
 long as we admit its possibility, it is plain that we cannot 
 claim to have any knowledge of things as they truly are. 
 Now this conclusion is so contrary to what mathematics 
 and other sciences are accustomed to assume, that we 
 simply must inquire into the possibility of knowing 
 existence in its ultimate nature. The nature of know- 
 ledge is thus bound up with the nature of existence. If 
 real existence cannot be known, real knowledge is im- 
 1 Mill's Examination of Hamilton , ch. vi., p. 68. 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. II 
 
 possible. Philosophy, therefore, must seek to determine 
 the relations of knowledge and existence. If it could 
 be shown that Mill's theory of knowledge is false, there 
 would be some presumption that his tacit denial of the 
 knowability of real existence is also false. But there is 
 no other way of coming to a satisfactory conclusion on 
 the question, than by entering into a thorough investiga- 
 tion of the relations of knowledge and reality. It is vain 
 to say that we cannot help believing in the reality of 
 knowledge. That is true enough, but many things that 
 men have firmly believed have turned out to be mere 
 prejudices. There is no possible way of satisfying doubt 
 but by facing it. To dismiss a problem without inquiry 
 leaves in the mind an uneasy consciousness that the 
 sceptic may after all be right. Philosophy, just because 
 it seeks to determine the ultimate nature of things, can 
 never be satisfied with anything short of truth that may 
 be verified by the unbiased exercise of reason. 
 
 Now if we could only show, by an inquiry into the 
 relations of knowledge and existence, that we are capable 
 of knowing reality as it truly is, or, in other words, that 
 in whatever sense mathematics is true of any existence 
 it is true of all possible existence, the sceptical conclusion 
 of Mill would be proved untrue. It cannot be denied 
 that at first sight there seem to be insuperable difficulties 
 in the way of such a proof. To say that man can, so 
 to speak, contemplate existence from the point of view 
 of omniscience seems to be the extreme of presumption. 
 It must be observed, however, that it is not less pre- 
 sumptuous to say that man cannot know things* as they 
 really are. For how can any one say that we do not 
 know real existence unless he has some knowledge of 
 
12 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 what real existence is? Presumptuous or not, philosophy 
 cannot avoid the question : Is the knowledge of real 
 existence possible? Thus the inquiry into the nature of 
 knowledge is necessarily bound up with the inquiry into 
 the nature of existence. (3) We may now see, in some 
 degree, how philosophy is related to the science of mathe- 
 matics. It is the nature of the human mind to pass 
 from one stage of activity to another. The science of 
 mathematics had its origin in the desire to determine 
 with accuracy the number and magnitude of objects in 
 space and time. In a very gradual way more and more 
 perfect methods of measurement have been discovered, 
 until mathematics has now reached the dimensions of a 
 vast body of closely connected propositions. There is 
 no manner of doubt that all those propositions hang 
 closely together, and that to . deny any one of them is 
 to deny them all. The science of mathematics, in other 
 words, is not a collection of detached propositions, but 
 an organized system in which every part is connected 
 with and dependent upon every other part. Now you 
 will observe that Mill does not in any way question the 
 coherence of mathematical propositions among themselves. 
 If a mathematician advances a new proposition, it is open 
 to another mathematician to say that it is untrue, on 
 the ground that it is inconsistent with what has been 
 already established, or that there is some flaw in the 
 reasoning by which it is sought to be proved. But this 
 is quite a different class of objection from that which 
 Mill makes when he denies the accuracy and necessity 
 of mathematics. Mill not only grants the internal co- 
 herence and organic unity of the whole body of mathe- 
 matics, but his argument expressly appeals to its internal 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 1 3 
 
 coherence and unity. Geometry, as he points out, is a 
 science only if its definitions are true, because all its 
 other propositions rest upon and presuppose the truth 
 of those definitions. Mill's objection is not to the inner 
 consistency of mathematics, but to its claim to formulate 
 the relations of all possible existence. If it is true at 
 all, all its propositions are true ; if it is false at all, all 
 its propositions are false. The truth or falsehood of 
 mathematics is thus established, so to speak, at one 
 stroke. 
 
 Now, we may learn from this what is the relation of 
 philosophy to mathematics. The mathematician, in Mill's 
 view, is like a man who starts on a journey with no 
 other end in view but to see what objects of interest 
 may be found by the way. Every step he takes brings 
 him in sight of a new object, and he goes on continually 
 adding to what he calls his knowledge. By and by 
 some one suggests that the objects in which he has 
 been so interested, and which he has been at so much 
 pains to observe and systematize, are due to an illusion 
 of his own senses, and have no other reality than for 
 himself and those like himself. This is a new point 
 of view, and one which, once presented, cannot well 
 be dismissed without inquiry. The mathematician may 
 indeed say, that whether the objects on which he has 
 expended so much labour are realities or illusions, it is 
 worth while finding out their nature. Illusions they may 
 be, but there is a wonderful coherence in them. But, 
 granting this, he can never take quite the same view of 
 them as before. His implicit faith in their reality has 
 been shaken. He is doubtful whether they are realities 
 or only appearances. Philosophy, then, does not deny 
 
T4 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the reality of mathematics so far as phenomena are con- 
 cerned, but it raises the question, whether the laws of 
 phenomena are also laws of things as they truly are. 
 Mathematics hands over this latter question to philosophy, 
 and hence by the decision of philosophy its ultimate value 
 must be determined. On the supposition that a single 
 proposition of mathematics holds good of real existence, 
 the whole body of mathematics holds good of it ; if a 
 single proposition is true only of apparent existence, the 
 same thing must be said of the science as a whole. We 
 see, then, that the truth of a special science can only 
 mean, prior to the philosophical criticism of its founda- 
 tion, that it is perfectly coherent within itself. Perfectly 
 coherent it may be, however, while yet it rests upon an 
 assumption that has never been justified. It is this 
 assumption that philosophy has to investigate, not the 
 truth of the individual propositions which rest upon it. 
 If philosophy can only show that what mathematics has 
 assumed as self-evident may be justified before the bar 
 of reason, the whole body of mathematics will then rise 
 to the dignity of demonstrated truth. If philosophy fails 
 to justify that assumption, we shall have to conclude that 
 mathematics is at the most merely an account of the 
 relations which we have found to hold good of objects 
 within our limited experience. Whatever conclusion we 
 may reach, this is evident, that philosophy presents us 
 with a problem which we cannot evade without mental 
 unrest and disquiet. 
 
 We have found then, firstly, that mathematics directs its 
 attention to the objects of knowledge, philosophy to the 
 nature of knowledge itself; secondly, that mathematics 
 assumes that those objects are absolutely real, while philo- 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 1 5 
 
 sophy inquires into the truth or falsehood of that assump- 
 tion j and, thirdly, that philosophy admits the internal 
 consistency of mathematics, but refuses to admit without 
 criticism that any of its conclusions are true of things as 
 they are in their ultimate nature. Let us now see whether 
 philosophy bears a similar or a different relation to the 
 other special sciences. 
 
 It will be admitted that those sciences assume that no 
 change ever takes place which is not due to some cause. 
 A body, for instance, is found to assume a crystalline form, 
 and the question at once arises as to the cause of the 
 change. As the change never occurs except in the case 
 of the solidification of a substance from a liquid state, we 
 conclude that such solidification is the cause of the crystal- 
 lization. And even in those instances in which we are 
 unable to assign the cause, we feel quite sure that the 
 event has not occurred without a cause. So much is this 
 the case that, were we to find instances in which crystal- 
 lization occurs when a substance was not previously in a 
 liquid state, we should not think of saying that the change 
 arose without any cause, but only that we had not yet 
 found out the cause. The assumption, therefore, which 
 lies at the foundation of all scientific discovery is that the 
 changes which occur in nature do not occur at random, 
 but are connected together in fixed ways. Given the 
 cause, and the effect must follow. As we have found, 
 however, that Mill denies what seems to be the even 
 stronger necessity of mathematical truth, it is not surpris- 
 ing that the assumed connection of events has also been 
 denied. According to Hume it is impossible to show that 
 there is any necessary connection in nature. The only 
 warrant we can produce for our belief that events could 
 
t6 an outline of philosophy. 
 
 not be connected otherwise than as we have found them 
 to be connected, is the fact that in our experience 
 we have always found them to occur in a certain 
 order. 
 
 Because heat and flame have presented themselves to- 
 gether in our observation, we naturally come to imagine 
 that the one could not occur without the other. It is true 
 that we have never found flame that was not associated 
 with heat, but that does not entitle us to say that they 
 might not be separated. No number of observations can 
 ever rise to the dignity of a necessary law. There is 
 nothing to show that any two events which have been 
 connected in our experience nine hundred and ninety- 
 nine times, should not on the thousandth time be found 
 to be totally unconnected. The reason why we suppose 
 events to be necessarily connected may be explained by 
 the fact that any two ideas which have frequently occurred 
 together or in close succession are naturally supposed to 
 imply an objective connection of events. It is a law of 
 the human mind to expect the recurrence of that which 
 has frequently occurred. Hence when an impression or 
 idea arises in our minds, we naturally pass to the idea 
 which has been often found associated with it. The con- 
 nection of ideas, however, does not prove any necessary 
 connection of events. The supposed connection of events 
 is in reality the subjective connection of habit. Thus 
 Hume completely inverts the ordinary conception of 
 causality. He attributes the connection to the ob- 
 serving subject, not to the observed object. No event 
 is really connected with another, but the transition 
 from one idea to another frequently associated with it 
 is so easy and natural that we are irresistibly led to 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 1 7 
 
 suppose a real connection where none can be shown to 
 exist. 
 
 Now (i) the doubt which Hume casts upon the real 
 connection of events, like the similar doubt of the neces- 
 sary truth of mathematics, makes it imperative on us to 
 inquire into the nature of knowledge. The ordinary belief, 
 that all changes are due to something in the nature of 
 things, can no longer be assumed without question. If 
 what we have been wont to regard as a law of things 
 should turn out to be a mere fiction of our own minds, 
 we shall be compelled to alter our whole view of the 
 character of the special sciences. So complete a reversal 
 of our common beliefs cannot be allowed to pass without 
 the severest scrutiny. Hume's sceptical doctrine in regard 
 to causality evidently rests upon his peculiar theory of 
 knowledge. Like his follower Mill, and his master Locke, 
 he holds that what we know of nature must come to us 
 in the form of sensible impressions. It may be, however, 
 that this is a false, or, at least, an imperfect account of the 
 origin of knowledge, and that the denial of the real con- 
 nection of things is incompatible with the nature of know- 
 ledge as properly understood. Be this as it may, a 
 searching inquiry into the nature of knowledge is absol- 
 utely indispensable. The belief in causal connection, 
 which all the special sciences assume without misgiving, 
 must be either confirmed or rejected. Here again, there- 
 fore, we find that, whereas science limits itself to objects, 
 philosophy investigates the nature of knowledge. (2) It 
 lies on the very face of Hume's denial of the real con- 
 nection of objects and events, that we cannot tell what 
 is the nature of knowledge without determining at the 
 same time the nature of real existence. If Hume is 
 
 B 
 
l8 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 right, we must suppose that what we call the course of 
 
 nature is a perfectly arbitrary succession of events. On 
 
 his view there is no reason why any event might not be 
 
 followed by any other event, and therefore no reason 
 
 why at any moment the whole world of objects might not 
 
 literally 
 
 "dissolve, 
 And, like an insubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind." 
 
 The rays of the sun might suddenly freeze water 
 instead of vaporizing it, and the breath of the north 
 wind set the world on fire. We have no other guarantee 
 of what will be but a fancy of our own, which rests 
 upon a confusion between the customary and the neces- 
 sary. Hume's doctrine is therefore at bottom a denial 
 of all law. There is no limit to the variability of nature 
 but the possible combinations of particular events. What 
 we call laws of nature are merely the accidental juxta- 
 position of events. A theory of knowledge which reduces 
 the apparent connection of events to a "fortuitous con- 
 course" of disconnected particulars is not to be lightly 
 accepted. It compels us to ask whether the world is 
 destitute of internal coherency and system, as Hume 
 would have us believe. Thus the inquiry into the nature 
 of knowledge is once more found to be connected in the 
 closest possible way with the inquiry into the nature of 
 existence as a whole. (3) We may now see that philo- 
 sophy has to examine the principles assumed by such 
 sciences as physics and chemistry, just as it has to 
 examine into the assumed necessity of mathematical 
 truth. Those sciences, taking for granted the principle 
 that every change must have a cause, go on to ask what 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 1 9 
 
 are the particular causes which account for and necessi- 
 tate the multifarious changes that occur in nature. 
 Philosophy, on the other hand, asks in what sense we 
 can speak of causal connection at all. Thus, while the 
 special sciences are occupied with particular modes of 
 existence, philosophy deals with the relation of these 
 modes to existence as a whole. Should the final result 
 of philosophy be to confirm Hume's view of causality, 
 the assumed unity and systematic connection of nature 
 could only be explained as a disconnected assemblage of 
 objects and events. In any case, it is the task of 
 philosophy to examine into the fundamental principles 
 on which the special sciences are supposed to rest. 
 Philosophy does not, any more than in regard to the 
 propositions of mathematics, deny the inner harmony of 
 the special sciences. It admits that, in whatever sense 
 any one of the propositions which they contain is true, 
 all the rest are true ; but it sets itself to inquire whether 
 any of them has more than a relative value. On the 
 result of this inquiry it depends whether we can, in any 
 proper sense, speak of science at all. 
 
 We have seen that philosophy bears the same general 
 relation to the other sciences which it bears to mathe- 
 matics, and we may now sum up the results to which 
 we have been brought in three propositions. Firstly, 
 science deals with objects as such, philosophy with the 
 knowledge of objects. Secondly, science assumes that 
 real knowledge is possible, philosophy inquires into the 
 truth of that assumption, Thirdly, science deals with 
 the relations of objects to one another, philosophy with 
 their relations to existence as a whole. More shortly, 
 science treats of modes of existence, philosophy of 
 
20 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 existence in its completeness. And as existence may 
 roughly be divided into the three great related spheres 
 of Nature, Mind, and God (whatever these may ulti- 
 mately be found to mean), there are three, main divisions 
 of philosophy : (i) Philosophy of Nature; (2) Philosophy 
 of Mind; (3) Philosophy of the Absolute. 1 
 
 1 These distinctions are merely provisional. The result of the fol- 
 lowing inquiry is to show that Nature, Mind, and the Absolute are 
 different phases of a single spiritual organism. See chapter viii., 
 pp. 165-173. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 
 
 Now, it might seem that, having defined the problem 
 of philosophy, and indicated its three great departments, 
 our next step would be to take up each of those de- 
 partments in turn. But, as we have seen, there are 
 eminent thinkers, who, either expressly or by implication, 
 maintain that man is by the very nature of his faculties 
 for ever incapable of knowing reality as it ultimately is; 
 and it is therefore advisable to begin by asking whether 
 this sceptical attitude in regard to the object of philo- 
 sophy has any rational foundation, or whether it does 
 not rather rest upon an untenable assumption. Perhaps 
 the simplest way of approaching this problem will be to 
 examine it in the form in which it is presented by Comte. 
 The fundamental idea which underlies the doctrine of 
 Comte is, that all attempts to obtain an "absolute" view 
 of existence are necessarily futile. This Comte expresses 
 by saying that, while we are capable of a "subjective 
 synthesis " of existence, we are by the necessary limitation 
 of our knowledge incapable of an "objective synthesis." 
 Some explanation of these terms will be necessary. 
 Comte here uses the term "subjective" in the sense of 
 
22 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 "limited" or "human"; and with this he contrasts an 
 "objective synthesis," as one in which things would be 
 looked at from the point of view of absolutely complete 
 knowledge. What he contends, therefore, is that man 
 must be content to gain such a limited knowledge of 
 the world and of human life as will enable him to make 
 use of nature, simply for the perfecting of society. Thus 
 Comte would turn our thoughts away from all specula- 
 tions upon the ultimate meaning of existence, and con- 
 centrate them upon the good of humanity. For we find, 
 as he maintains, a tendency to organization in humanity 
 itself, and the aim of the individual 'is to live a higher 
 life by seeking more and more to make himself instru- 
 mental in advancing the good of the race. This is the 
 main idea in the philosophy of Comte, but it will be 
 profitable to consider more in detail the process by which 
 it is reached. 
 
 The starting-point in Comte's own intellectual develop- 
 ment was his con viction^ jafLjhe falsehood of pure indi- 
 vidualism, as preached by Rousseau and written in letters 
 of blood on the French Revolution, The sum of Rousseau's 
 teaching was that all the evils of man are due to society, 
 and that he can reach perfection only by being freed 
 from all restraint and allowed to follow his natural instincts. 
 This doctrine of pure individualism was not justified of 
 its children. Freedom from social restraint had not brought 
 liberty but licence. Even in the economic region, the 
 result was a fierce fight of individuals with one another, 
 in which the stronger and more crafty worsted the weaker 
 and less cunning. It was therefore natural than an attempt 
 should be made to find a solution of the problem in a 
 reconstruction of the fabric of society. One of the leaders 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 23 
 
 of this movement was St. Simon, who saw the essential 
 weakness of the gospel according to Jean Jacques Rousseau, 
 and tried to substitute for it a new gospel resting upon 
 a socialistic foundation. The great problem of modern 
 times, he held, was the combination of men with one 
 another as a means of turning nature to the use of all. 
 The physical as well as the intellectual and moral advance- 
 ment of all the members of society ought to be aimed 
 at, and especially the elevation of the poorer and weaker 
 members of society. Liberty he regards not as valuable 
 in itself, but only in so far as it is the means of a better 
 form of social organization. The weakness of St. Simon 
 is that, to secure this higher form of society, he would 
 institute a social despotism that would sacrifice men's free 
 intellectual and moral development in order to make them 
 comfortable. 
 
 Now Comte, in his youth, was an ardent disciple of 
 St. Simon, and from him he learned two things : (i) he 
 came to see the essential weakness of pure individualism ; 
 and (2) he was led to seek for a solution of the social 
 problem in the idea of society as an organism. The 
 problem as it presented itself to his mind took this form : 
 How can the o rgan ization of society be preserved, while 
 yet the jnj|iyidual_js not crushed by the despotic rule of 
 the more cultured members of the state ? And his answer 
 was, that by the development of science, which is secured 
 by the individual, and yet is the product not of caprice 
 but of reason, there may be discovered the best means of 
 securing the highest happiness of humanity. 
 
 The whole history of man is regarded by Comte as the 
 history of association by means of positive science. Man 
 in his primitive state has two opposite tendencies, the 
 
24 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 tendency to sociality and the tendency to individualism. 
 The social instinct is at first weak, yet its triumph over 
 the personal or selfish instinct is essential to the welfare 
 and even the existence of humanity. Feeling rather than 
 understanding this truth, the first leaders of mankind 
 grasped at a mode of explaining the universe which had 
 at least the merit of strengthening the social bond. Thus 
 arose what Comte calls the theological stage of human 
 development. Nature was supposed to be ruled by a 
 number of supernatural beings. Such a mode of explana- 
 tion was doomed to destruction. As men came to see 
 more and more clearly that the world is governed by law, 
 the gods were removed to a greater and greater distance, 
 Polytheism arose out of Fetichism, and Monotheism out 
 of Polytheism. What at first seems but the gradual puri- 
 fication of theology is regarded by Comte as really a 
 preparation for its final overthrow. The substitution of a 
 limited for an indefinite number of arbitrary wills, and of 
 one will for a limited number, were but steps in the pro- 
 cess by which all interference of supernatural agents was 
 denied. 
 
 The work of dethronement was continued by metaphysic. 
 In this stage of development phenomena are explained, 
 not by the arbitrary volitions of divine beings, but by 
 abstract powers or essences, supposed to lie behind phe- 
 nomena. These powers or essences were in reality but the 
 ghosts of the vanished gods; in other words, the truth of 
 the metaphysical era consisted in its negation of theology, 
 not in any positive reconstruction of its own. The final 
 triumph of metaphysic was in the reduction of the various 
 powers of nature to the one abstraction of nature itself. 
 This is a great advance, but its fundamental weakness is 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 25 
 
 that it still supposes nature to be something lying behind 
 phenomena, and distinct from them. 
 
 The third stage in the development of humanity is the 
 positive or scientific, in which man has at last come to 
 see that for him the only realities are neither supernatural 
 beings nor metaphysical abstractions, but the laws of the 
 resemblance, the co-existence, and the succession of phe- 
 nomena as these are revealed by positive science. Now, 
 the extreme degree of specialization which the sciences 
 have now reached makes it necessary to reduce them to 
 a system ; in no other way is it possible to turn the vast 
 accumulation of facts to account for the furtherance of 
 human welfare. This done, social benevolence will rest 
 upon the secure foundation of scientific truth. The secret 
 of the universe can be no further read than is necessary 
 for the development of humanity, but man can give unity 
 to his transitory existence by mastering the laws of phe- 
 nomena, and especially the laws of his own nature and his 
 immediate environment. To this task let him devote all 
 his powers, abandoning for ever the useless and worse 
 than useless task of prying into the unfathomable mystery 
 of the great universe. 
 
 In illustration of this hurried sketch of Comte's law of 
 the three stages, I may quote a few passages from the 
 introductory lecture of his Cours de Philosophie Positive. 
 
 " I believe," says Comte, " that I have discovered the 
 law of development exhibited by the human intelligence 
 in its diverse spheres of activity, a law which can be 
 shown to rest upon a solid foundation by considerations 
 drawn from the nature of our organization, and which is 
 capable of being verified by a careful scrutiny of the past. 
 The law is this : that each of our main conceptions, each 
 
26 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 branch of knowledge, passes in succession through three 
 distinct stages, the theological or imaginative stage, the 
 metaphysical or abstract, and the scientific or positive. 
 In other words, the mind of man, by its very nature, em- 
 ploys one after the other, in each of its inquiries, three 
 methods of explanation, the essential character of which 
 is not only different but radically distinct : first, the theo- 
 logical method ; next, the metaphysical j and lastly, the 
 positive. Hence arise three mutually exclusive types of 
 philosophy, or general systems, in regard to the totality of 
 phenomena. The first yields the necessary starting-point 
 of human intelligence ; the third, its fixed goal ; the second 
 simply serves as a means of transition from the one to 
 the other. 
 
 " In the theological stage, the human mind seeks to 
 discover the inner nature of things, the first and the final 
 causes of all the effects which strike the senses ; in short, 
 it aims at absolute knowledge, and regards phenomena as 
 due to the direct and continuous activity of supernatural 
 beings, more or less numerous, whose arbitrary interven- 
 tion explains all the apparent anomalies of the universe. 
 
 " In the metaphysical stage, which is at bottom merely 
 a modification of the theological, for supernatural agents 
 are substituted abstract forces, entities, or personified ab- 
 stractions supposed to be inherent in different classes of 
 things, and to be capable of producing by themselves all 
 the phenomena that we observe. The mode of explana- 
 tion at this stage, therefore, consists in assigning for each 
 class a correspondent entity. 
 
 " Lastly, in the positive stage, the human mind, recog- 
 nizing the impossibility of gaining absolute conceptions of 
 things, gives up the search after the origin and destiny 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 27 
 
 of the universe and the inner causes of phenomena, and 
 limits itself to the task of finding out, by means of experi- 
 ence combined with reflection and observation, the laws 
 of phenomena, i.e., their invariable relations of similarity 
 and succession. The explanation of facts, reduced to its 
 simplest terms, is now regarded as simply the connection 
 which subsists between diverse particular phenomena and 
 certain general facts, the number of which is continually 
 reduced with the progress of science. 
 
 14 The theological reaches its greatest perfection when it 
 substitutes the providential action of a single Being for the 
 numerous independent divinities imagined to be at work 
 in primitive times. Similarly, the highest point reached 
 by the metaphysical system consists in conceiving, instead 
 of a number of particular entities, a single great entity, 
 called Nature, which is viewed as the sole source of 
 all phenomena. So also, the perfection of the positive 
 system, a perfection towards which it continually tends, 
 but which it is highly probable it will never quite reach, 
 would consist in being able to represent all observed phe- 
 nomena as particular instances of a single general fact, 
 such as, say, the fact of gravitation. 
 
 " We thus see that the essential character of positive 
 philosophy is to regard all phenomena as subject to in- 
 variable laws. The aim of all its efforts is the precise 
 discovery of such laws, and the reduction of them to the 
 least possible number. What is called causes whether 
 these are first causes or final causes are absolutely 
 inaccessible, and the search for them is a vain search. 
 Everyone knows, in fact, that in positive explanations, 
 even the most perfect, we do not in any way pretend to 
 exhibit the productive causes of phenomena, but only to 
 
28 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 analyze with precision the circumstances of their produc- 
 tion, and to connect them with one another by fixed 
 relations of similarity and succession. 
 
 " Thus, we say that the general phenomena of the 
 universe are explained, so far as that is possible, by the 
 Newtonian law of gravitation, because, on the one hand, 
 this theory shows the immense variety of astronomical facts 
 to be the very same fact looked at from different points 
 of view, viz., the constant tendency of all the molecules 
 of matter towards one another in direct proportion to 
 their mass, and in inverse proportion to the squares of 
 their distances ; while, on the other hand, this general 
 fact is presented simply as the extension of a phenomenon 
 with which we are all familiar, and which by that very 
 fact we regard as thoroughly known, I mean the weight of 
 bodies at the surface of the earth. But what attraction 
 and weight are in themselves we cannot possibly tell j 
 such questions do not belong to the domain of positive 
 philosophy, and must be relegated to the imagination of 
 the theologian or the subtlety of the metaphysician." 
 
 You must not take what has been said as a complete 
 statement of the philosophy of Comte, but only or chiefly 
 of that philosophy on its negative side. Comte's social 
 philosophy, which is the most valuable part of his system, 
 I have purposely passed over as foreign to our present 
 subject. Now here we have a formulation of the main 
 principle of Agnosticism the unknowability of any reality 
 beyond phenomena and their laws a principle which is 
 endorsed by many who would not accept his social philo- 
 sophy. Our question therefore is, whether Comte and all 
 who accept the general agnostic position are justified in 
 denying to man all knowledge of the Absolute. Is such 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 29 
 
 a doctrine consistent with itself? Is it tenable? Can we 
 limit ourselves in our inquiries to what goes on upon 
 this " bank and shoal of time," shutting our eyes to all 
 that may lie beyond it? 
 
 We must begin by pointing out an ambiguity in the 
 doctrine of the Relativity of Knowledg e, as expressed by 
 Comte, an ambiguity of which he was not himself clearly 
 conscious, (i) In the first place, the doctrine sometimes 
 means for him that the only true knowledge is of laws, 
 not of causes. " What is called causes," he says in the 
 passage quoted, "whether these are first or final causes, 
 are absolutely inaccessible, and the search for them is a 
 vain search." What Comte has here before his mind 
 mainly is, that theology and metaphysics have, in his 
 estimation, given a wrong explanation of the facts of nature. 
 Homer, e.g., tells us that Apollo 
 
 /3?) 5e /car' OvXijfnroio Kap-qvwv x^o/xevos Krjp, 
 t6' tifioicriv %x wv afi<pr]pe<pe'a re (papirprju, 
 e'tikay^av 5' &p' o'Carol eir' tifMcov x^o/j.4voio, 
 avrov Kivrjde'uTOS' 6 5' fjie vvktI eoui&s. 
 e^er' ^7retr' a/xdvevde ve&v, Liera 5' lov erjKev' 
 8eivT] de K\ayyr) yever' apyvpeolo fiiiolo. 
 ovprjas fxh irpwrov ewipxero nai Kvvas dpyovs, 
 aura/3 ^7retr' avroicri /SAos ex 7r VK & <piel$ 
 a\\'' atet 8e irvpal vetajwv naiovTO 6ap.ei.aL 1 
 
 The fact here, Comte would say, was that a pestilence 
 occurred among the Greek host encamped before Troy ; 
 but Homer, instead of attributing it to exposure to the 
 intense heat of the sun and other physical conditions, 
 personifies the sun as Apollo, and supposes the pestilence 
 to be due to the wrath of the god. Yet false as the 
 explanation is, there was here no attempt to answer an 
 
 X IL 1. 44-52. 
 
30 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 insoluble problem. To attribute the pestilence to the 
 arbitrary will of a supernatural being is to assign a " cause " 
 instead of giving a law, but it is not to raise a question 
 which, from the very nature of the case, can admit of 
 no solution. The "explanation" as Mr. Lewes says, "so 
 absurd in our eyes, was acceptable to the facile acquies- 
 cence of that epoch and expiatory offerings were made 
 to the irritated deity, in a case where modern science, 
 with its sanitary commission, would have seen bad drainage 
 or imperfect ventilation." 1 So in the metaphysical stage 
 men speak of nature as active, forgetting that there is 
 no "nature" apart from the special laws of phenomena. 
 To say, e.g., that "by virtue of her vis medicatrix (cura- 
 tive principle) nature cures a torn tissue or a broken limb, 
 is as absurd as to say that death by poisoning must be 
 attributed to a 'poisoning principle.'" 2 But, foolish and 
 mischievous as all such explanations are, they are merely 
 inadequate answers to questions that we are entitled to 
 ask. They are provisional hypotheses which the advance 
 of science sets aside. In the theological stage, men ac- 
 counted for observed facts of experience by the arbitrary 
 intervention of divine agency; in the metaphysical stage, 
 they referred them to personified abstractions ; but in both 
 stages they were occupied with problems of perennial 
 interest. In this sense Comte can only mean by the 
 doctrine of the Relativity of Knowledge, that, with the 
 progress of science, the confused and imperfect concep- 
 tions of an earlier age tend to disappear, phenomena being 
 explained by laws of nature, not by supernatural agents 
 or by metaphysical abstractions. 
 
 1 Comte's Philosophy of the Sciences, p. 28. 
 2 Lewes' Comte, p. 30. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 3 1 
 
 Now, properly interpreted, the main contention of Comte 
 may be accepted. So far as it merely says that the ex- 
 planation of particular facts of experience is to be found 
 in the statement of the uniformities obtaining among phe- 
 nomena, not in the arbitrary will of supernatural agents 
 or in hidden essences which are merely abstractions that 
 tell us nothing, he is simply affirming the principle upon 
 which all modern science rests. It is no explanation of 
 a pestilence to say that an offended god sent it in his 
 wrath, or that it is produced by a "poisonous principle." 
 The universality and necessity of natural law, in other 
 words, is a principle without which no progress in know- 
 ledge is possible at all. But what Comte does not see 
 is, that when we have rejected such inadequate explana- 
 tions of the facts of experience, we have not thereby 
 banished religion and philosophy to the region of false- 
 hood and error. Granting that the phenomena of nature 
 occur in conformity with fixed and unchanging law, it 
 does not follow that in science we have reached the ex- 
 treme limits of our knowledge, nor would this follow even 
 if we could reduce all phenomena to invariable laws of 
 resemblance, succession, and co-existence. Before we can\ 
 say that all theology and all metaphysic are but confused 
 and erroneous explanations of the facts of experience, we 
 must be able to show that in bringing phenomena under 
 the dominion of law we have given an ultimate explana- 
 tion of the universe, or at least the only explanation that 
 is possible for us with our limited capacities. Unless this 
 is firmly established unless it is shown that there is no-^ 
 other problem to be solved but that which the special 
 sciences set before us we are simply starting from an 
 unverified hypothesis, and falling into a mistake not less 
 
32 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 disastrous than that of explaining experience by the fictions 
 of a false theology and a false metaphysic. Now it may, 
 I think, be shown that Comte has fallen into this funda- 
 mental mistake. 
 
 For (2), in the second place, in his doctrine of the 
 Relativity of Knowledge, Comte also assumes that the 
 human mind is necessarily limited to the knowledge, of 
 phenomena, and is conscious of its own limitation. This 
 is the question which lies at the basis of all knowledge, 
 and we must therefore subject it to the most careful 
 scrutiny. 
 
 I have no desire to underestimate the force of the ob- 
 jection to the possibility of absolute knowledge. It is 
 obvious that there is a sense in which man can no more 
 claim to be perfect in knowledge than he can claim to 
 be perfect in conduct. The shadow of ignorance accom- 
 panies us all through life, and as some things stand out 
 for us in a clearer light we become more conscious than 
 ever how little we know. The conceit of knowledge is 
 most vigorous in those who have recently learned a few 
 elementary truths, just as spiritual conceit is found in its 
 purest form in men whose religious experience is of a 
 rudimentary and undeveloped kind. The question, how- 
 ever, that is at present before us is not whether man has, 
 or can have, complete knowledge, but whether what he 
 calls knowledge is, strictly speaking, not the apprehension 
 of things as they really are, but only of things as to his 
 finite mind they seem to be. That this is the question 
 will be evident if we draw out the meaning of Comtej 
 limitation of jkno wledge to phenomena. Observe 
 
 (a) That this limitation implies that there are two 
 mutually exclusive realms the realm of phenomena and 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 33 
 
 the realm of things in themselves. Within the former man 
 is free to move. He can range at will through the whole 
 of this domain, ever learning to know it more exactly 
 and more fully. Thus he adds to his knowledge of the 
 laws of mathematics, physics, chemistry, and biology, and, 
 in Comte's view, of the laws of society and even of 
 humanity as a whole. But beyond this he cannot go. 
 He is as absolutely shut up within this limited sphere 
 of existence as Mephistopheles was confined within the 
 pentagram drawn by Faust. At the same time Comte 
 implies that there is a realm of existence lying entirely 
 outside the realm of phenomena. What is the nature of 
 this realm man cannot possibly tell, his knowledge being 
 only of the realm of phenomena. 
 
 (b) Before examining this doctrine further, it is important 
 to see clearly all that it involves. Let us suppose, then, 
 that there are two distinct realms the realm of phe- 
 nomena and the realm of things in themselves. At first 
 sight the theory seems to imply that there is absolutely 
 nothing in common between the two spheres. For, how- 
 ever far we may push our knowledge of phenomena, we 
 never penetrate to the realm of ultimate realities. It is 
 implied, however, that there actually exists a realm of 
 realities, which might be apprehended if our capacities 
 were different from what they are. We assume, in other 
 words, that there are two kinds of intelligence the finite 
 or limited intelligence of man, and a higher kind of 
 intelligence which is infinite or unlimited. We must there- 
 fore present the matter to ourselves in this way : The 
 sphere of phenomena is the object of finite intelligence, 
 the sphere of things in themselves is the object of infinite 
 intelligence. Not only, therefore, does the theory of Comte 
 
34 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 assume two kinds of existence, but it assumes two kinds 
 of intelligence corresponding to them. 
 
 Now, if we allow these assumptions to pass unquestioned 
 without asking by what right they are made, the con- 
 clusion of Comte, that man is incapable of knowing reality 
 and must content himself with a knowledge of appearances, 
 "-^follows as a matter of course. But what Comte has not 
 tried to do is to justify those assumptions. Every theory 
 of knowledge must at least be consistent with itself, i.e., 
 it must not hold two principles that contradict each other. 
 This, however, is just what Comte has done. In his 
 theory, as we have seen, he makes a double assumption : 
 (i) that there are two realms of existence; (2) that there 
 -\ are two kinds of intelligence. I think it may be easily 
 ' shown that both assumptions are self-contradictory. It is 
 one of the many incisive remarks of Kant, that Dogmatism 
 always leads to Scepticism. In other words, if something 
 is assumed without the previous question being raised 
 whether it is compatible with the very possibility of 
 knowledge, the logical result is the denial of all know- 
 ledge. 
 
 (1) It is said that there are two distinct spheres of 
 existence phenomena and things as they are. These 
 two realms are supposed to be so different in their nature, 
 that there is no point of contact between them. But (a) 
 it is assumed by Comte that both are forms of existence. 
 The phenomena that we know are not mere fictions of 
 our own individual minds ; they are real objects and 
 events, occurring in a real world. On the other hand, 
 Comte tells us, that we have no faculty by which we 
 can apprehend the Absolute, and therefore we cannot go 
 behind the veil of phenomena to see things as they are 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 35 
 
 sub specie aeter?iitatis. If that be true, does it not follow 
 that the phenomena which appear to us have no proper 
 reality? If we could contemplate the universe from a point 
 of view higher than the human, all would be different. 
 We should then be as gods, knowing existence in its real 
 nature. But, confined as we are to a small section of 
 the great universe, we cannot possibly do more than arrange 
 in an orderly way the illusions that we call realities. In ^ 
 other words, we have no knowledge at all. 
 
 (b) On the other hand, Comte speaks of the objects 
 and events that we perceive as phenomena. Now, a phe- 
 nomenon is an appearance. Of what, then, are the objects 
 and events that we apprehend " appearances " ? They can 
 only be appearances or manifestations of the absolute 
 realities which do not appear. Manifestly, that is what 
 Comte means. But, if things as they truly are present.) 
 themselves to us even imperfectly, it cannot be said that/ 
 our ignorance of them is absolute. Ignorance is the' 
 complete negation of knowledge, not an incomplete appre- 
 hension. There is, as Plato said, a middle-region lying 
 between complete ignorance and complete knowledge, 
 and partaking partly of the nature of both. To this 
 form of apprehension, which Plato called opinion (Soa), 
 the knowledge of phenomena must correspond. A man 
 is not blind because he is short-sighted. So if the objects / 
 that we know are really manifestations of absolute realities, I. 
 we cannot be completely ignorant of those realities, though [ 
 our apprehension of them may be incomplete. Comte's 
 theory therefore involves this fundamental contradiction : r"^ 
 it asserts, on the one hand, that we know nothing butL 
 phenomena and, on the other hand, that what we know/ 
 are manifestations of reality. 
 
36 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 (2) Comte's doctrine further implies, that there are two 
 distinct kinds of intelligence, that which apprehends 
 phenomena only, and that which knows reality as it truly 
 is. The self-contradictory character of this aspect of 
 Comte's doctrine is even more apparent than the other. 
 What would be the character of an intelligence that was 
 absolutely limited to the apprehension of phenomena? 
 Obviously, it would have no consciousness of its own 
 limits. Appearances it would take for realities, and no 
 advance in knowledge could ever suggest to it that its 
 apprehension was only of appearances. The men of 
 Plato's cave supposed that the shadows on the wall of 
 their prison were the only realities, but they were not 
 incapable of being liberated from their chains, going 
 up to the light and seeing the sun and the stars. 
 Comte's conception of human intelligence, on the other 
 hand, is of an intelligence so absolutely limited in its 
 apprehensions that it is absolutely incapable of any know- 
 ledge of absolute reality. Such an intelligence would not 
 be aware of its own limitations. If I know that my 
 knowledge is limited, I must also know something of 
 what is beyond the limit. If we are conscious that the 
 facts and laws that constitute what we call science are 
 manifestations of absolute realities, it must be because 
 our intelligence in some way comprehends both spheres. 
 Comte's doctrine, however, is, that human intelligence is 
 \ absolutely limited to phenomena, and therefore differs 
 fundamentally from an intelligence that knows reality as 
 it is. In other words, he holds that our intelligence is 
 1 absolutely limited, or, in other words, is incapable of any 
 ) comprehension of real existence. But, as we have seen, 
 this is the same as saying that human intelligence is un- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 37 
 
 conscious of its own limits. On the other hand, Comte, 
 in affirming that our knowledge is limited, assumes that i 
 our intelligence discerns its own limitations. That is to i 
 say, he at once affirms and denies the consciousness of 
 limitation, which is self-contradictory. 
 
 It seems to me, then, that the doctrine of the Relativity 
 of Knowledge, as understood by Comte, rests upon a 
 fundamental contradiction. It separates existence into 
 two mutually exclusive parts the phenomenal and the 
 real and it assumes two opposite kinds of intelligence. 
 Both assumptions are self-contradictory. Existence is one, 
 and intelligence is one . In other words, man must be 
 capable of knowing reality as it truly is, and of such 
 knowledge he is capable because in his intelligence is 
 contained the principle by which the secret of existence 
 may be discovered. I propose therefore to start from the 
 principle that there is one intelligible universe and one 
 kind of intelligence. This is not, I think, an assumption, 
 because, as we have seen, any one who begins with the 
 supposition that the universe is not intelligible, and that 
 there are two kinds of intelligence, falls into insoluble 
 contradiction. 
 
 But before attempting to apply the fundamental principle 
 of the unity of the world and the unity of intelligence, 
 in the construction of a system of philosophy, it seems 
 advisable to say a few words on the distinction between 
 absolute knowledge and knowledge of the absolute. 
 
 What gives plausibility to the Comtean doctrine of the 
 Relativity of Knowledge is the manifest fact that knowledge 
 is continually growing, and that it is still only in its 
 infancy. But if we know only in part, how, it is naturally 
 asked, can we claim to know the whole? 
 
3 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Now, it must be pointed out, to begin with, that this 
 way of putting the problem assumes that knowledge con- 
 sists in adding particular to particular, and, as a con- 
 sequence, that a knowledge of the whole is possible only 
 by summing up an infinity of particulars. So stated, the 
 problem is manifestly insoluble. If we can know reality 
 as it is only after we have exhausted all possible par- 
 ticulars, we shall never have a knowledge of reality. We 
 must therefore begin by asking whether any form of 
 knowledge, even the most elementary, can be correctly 
 defined as the apprehension of particulars, and the exten- 
 sion of knowledge as an accumulation of particulars. 
 
 Now, I think it may easily be shown that a knowledge 
 of mere particulars is a contradiction in terms. Take 
 any instance of what would naturally be regarded as the 
 apprehension of a particular, and it will be found to imply 
 a universa l, I have before me, e.g., a. piece of sugar. 
 Now, certainly we should say that here, if anywhere, we 
 have an instance of a pure particular. The piece of sugar 
 I see is this piece, not any other. It is not like the 
 conception sugar, which, as every one would admit, is not 
 particular; but it seems to be a unique thing, separate 
 and distinct from every other thing in the universe. Let 
 us, then, go on the supposition that the piece of sugar 
 is a mere particular. If so, I must apprehend it purely 
 in itself, and as in no way dependent for its properties 
 on anything else. Now, if I perceive this particular 
 thing to be sugar, manifestly I must perceive its pro- 
 perties. Apart from the properties which characterize 
 it, it would not be what it is. That is, I must apprehend 
 the object before me as occupying a certain position : as 
 cubical, hard, white, sweet, of a certain weight. Take 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 39 
 
 the property of position. This is a property which seems 
 to belong to the sugar as a particular object. For the 
 position which it occupies is unique, and cannot be 
 occupied at the same time by any other object. But 
 what is position? If it were possible to suppose that 
 there was only one part of space, viz., that occupied 
 by this piece of sugar, I could not say that the sugar 
 had position. For the position of a thing is relative to 
 the position of other things. This sugar is perceived as 
 here, i.e., it is distinguished from other objects that are 
 not here. If there were no other actual or possible 
 objects, I should not perceive the sugar as here or in 
 this position. Position therefore does not attach to the 
 sugar as isolated from all other objects, but only to the 
 sugar as occupying a different part of space from other 
 objects. But this contradicts our first view, that position 
 is a property of this particular thing, the sugar. We 
 might go on to show that every other particular object 
 perceived has position only relatively to other objects. 
 Manifestly, therefore, every so-called particular object 
 exists in a single space, no part of which is peculiar to 
 any one object. That is to say, space is a form of 
 things which unites them together and makes them all 
 belong to one world. 
 
 Now, there is no possibity of perceiving, or even of 
 imagining space as a whole : extend our perception as 
 far as we please and we never come to the end of space. 
 Space must therefore be grasped, not by sense or imagina- 
 tion, but by thought. We can think space as one, 
 though we cannot perceive it as one. But what is most 
 important here is, that we cannot perceive any particular 
 object as here, without thinking of it as belonging to 
 
40 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the one single space. Even in our simplest knowledge 
 therefore, we are dealing not with particulars, but with 
 particulars connected together in a unity. Knowledge is 
 never of the mere particular. 
 
 I have brought forward this illustration of the sugar in 
 order to show that knowledge is not a mere accumulation 
 of particulars but a comprehension of the pa rticular as 
 a__ special aspect of one worl d. If there really were any 
 true particular any unique object absolutely independent 
 of all others it would exist in a world by itself; and 
 therefore there would be as many worlds as there were 
 particular objects. Now, even Comte would admit that 
 all the phenomena that we know belong to one world. 
 He is therefore bound to admit that in our apprehension 
 of particulars we must presuppose that they are all parts 
 of one world. More especially, he is bound to admit 
 that every sensible object must, to be known at all, be 
 known as occupying a certain definable position in the 
 one single space which embraces all such objects. And if 
 so, we can lay down this universal proposition : There can 
 be no knowledge of any sensible object that is not in space. 
 
 We have learned then, that besides the particular aspect 
 of an object there is always implied a certain universal 
 aspect. I never can perceive a piece of sugar that does 
 not occupy a certain relative position in space. I am not 
 in my knowledge tied down to what I am perceiving at 
 any given moment, but I can foretell the necessary con- 
 ditions of all my perceptions, future as well as present. 
 If so, is it not obvious that to have knowledge it is not 
 necessary that I should have an infinite number of per- 
 ceptions ? When the principle of knowledge is discovered, 
 we have at the same time discovered what holds true 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 4 1 
 
 universally and necessarily. If no sensible object can 
 be apprehended at all that is not in space, we can say, 
 without any limitation : P2very sensible thing must occupy 
 some position. 
 
 Let us see the bearing of this principle on the general 
 doctrine of the Relativity of Knowledge. Comte argues 
 that the continual advance of knowledge makes it im- 
 possible for us to claim that we know things as they are' 
 in their ultimate nature. For how can we say that we 
 comprehend the whole universe if we know only a limited 
 part of it? Now, the direction in which an answer to 
 this difficulty lies may be seen from what has been said. 
 It is not necessary to have a knowledge of all the aspects 
 of the universe in order to show that we apprehend it 
 as it truly is. For when we grasp the fundamental/ 
 principle, without which a certain kind of knowledge is 
 impossible, by that very fact we establish the absoluteness 
 of our knowledge. However I may extend my know-' 
 ledge of sensible objects, I cannot possibly apprehend a 
 sensible object that is not in space. I can therefore 
 say, that while my knowledge of the particular objects 
 existing in the universe may be indefinitely extended, it 
 can be extended only on the lines that I have hitherto 
 followed. Science is continually adding to our knowledge 
 of objects, but it does so in accordance with the nature 
 of space, or what is the same thing with the principles 
 of mathematics. Every scientific man assumes that no 
 two bodies can be in the same part of space at the same 
 time. Whether he is aware of it or not, this assumption 
 can be seen to follow from the very nature of space, all 
 the parts of which are mutually exclusive. It is sub- 
 stantially the same with the other principles of science. 
 
42 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The law of gravitation, e.g., which Comte adduces as a 
 striking instance of the triumph of the " positive " method, 
 is not merely that every body attracts every other body 
 so long as we perceive them ; but that every body must 
 always attract every other body. A law, in other words, 
 is always the expression of a fixed relation that admits 
 of no exception. The extension of knowledge can never 
 overthrow the law, though it may show that it is only 
 one form of a higher law. From all this it follows, that 
 there is nothing in the progress of science to shake our 
 faith in the absoluteness of knowledge. It is not claimed 
 that we have all knowledge, but only that what we know 
 expresses the true nature of things. The progress of 
 knowledge always has two sides : on the one hand, it is 
 an advance to a fuller apprehension of the particular 
 aspects of existence, and, on the other hand, it is an 
 advance to a better comprehension of the laws or fixed 
 relations of existence. We cannot have the one without 
 the other. The very idea of the progress of knowledge 
 implies that as we advance we carry with us what we 
 have already acquired. The course of science is not by 
 discontinuous leaps : it is an evolution in which a principle 
 already grasped is seen to involve a higher principle. 
 But the higher principle does not destroy but only re- 
 interprets the lower. Thus the principles of mathematics 
 are not abolished by physics or chemistry, but are 
 accepted and shown to involve more concrete principles. 
 Biology does not destroy physics and chemistry, but only 
 shows that they imply wider principles. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE. 
 
 GEOMETRY. 
 
 Philosophy is an inquiry into the possibility and the 
 conditions of real knowledge. As there are three real or 
 apparent spheres of knowledge Nature, Mind, and God 
 it will be convenient to begin by asking whether a real 
 knowledge of nature is possible, and, if so, what are its 
 conditions ? This problem again breaks up into three 
 subordinate problems (i) Is there a mathematical know- 
 ledge of nature ? (2) Is there a physical knowledge of 
 nature ? (3) Is there a biological knowledge of nature ? 
 
 Mathematical knowledge, supposing it to be possible, is 
 the science of magnitude. Now, magnitudes may be dis- 
 tinguished as either continuous or discrete. If I say, "It 
 is a mile to the post-office," I imply that to get there I 
 must proceed continuously from the place where I now 
 am. On the other hand, in judging that the number of 
 objects before me is twelve, I count or sum up units which 
 are regarded as distinct or discrete. But we must further 
 distinguish in continuous magnitudes between those that 
 are extensive^ or imply mutual externality, and those that 
 
 43 
 
44 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 are intensive, or exclude mutual externality. Thus every 
 part of space or time is continuous and extensive, whereas 
 the magnitude of a force is continuous and intensive. 
 Limiting ourselves at present to extensive magnitudes, we 
 find that under this head come Space, Time, and Motion. 
 The mathematics of space is Geometry ; the mathematics 
 of time has no generally accepted name, but it might be 
 called Chronometry ; the mathematics of motion is now 
 commonly known as Kinematics. Let us begin with 
 Geometry. 
 
 The object we have in view is not to construct a system 
 of geometry, but to inquire whether it is a real science of 
 nature. To this it must be added that the geometrical 
 knowledge of which we speak is that which rests upon 
 the supposition that space is of three, and only three, 
 dimensions ; in other words, that while three lines may be 
 drawn in it at right angles to one another, it is impossible 
 to draw a fourth line which will not coincide with one of 
 the others. It cannot, of course, be said without in- 
 vestigation that a space of more than three dimensions is 
 impossible; but as even those who maintain such a space 
 to be possible do not claim that we have any direct know- 
 ledge of it, we may assume provisionally that space is 
 only of three dimensions. Our question is therefore this : 
 Do the propositions of ordinary or Euclidian geometry 
 form a real science? 
 
 Mill, as we know, maintains that geometry is not a 
 science, if by this we mean that its propositions express 
 the real properties of things and are absolutely true. For 
 these propositions, he contends, rest upon the assumption 
 that there are real points, lines, surfaces, etc., correspond- 
 ing to the definitions of geometry, and this assumption 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 
 
 45 
 
 is not borne out by facts. He further maintains that 
 geometrical propositions rest upon induction, and there- 
 fore cannot be shown to be universal or necessary. 
 
 Is Mill right in saying that geometry is not an exact 
 science ? His doctrine may be put in this way. If 
 geometry is a science at all, the elementary conceptions 
 or definitions on which it rests cannot be mere fictions of 
 the imagination, for no system of fictions, however con- 
 sistent it may be with itself, can tell us anything as to 
 the real nature of things. Geometry must therefore be 
 based upon our perceptions of real things. But when we 
 try it by this test, it is found to be wanting in precision 
 and accuracy. Sensible objects possess, among other pro- 
 perties, a certain definite figure. This desk, e.g., has a 
 certain shape. To my unaided eye its edges seem straight, 
 but if I put them under the microscope I find that they 
 are only approximately straight. No sensible object can 
 be found in nature whose edges are perfectly straight. In 
 fact, " their existence, so far as we can form any judgment, 
 would seem to be inconsistent with the physical constitu- 
 tion of our planet at least, if not of the universe." It is 
 true that no error of any importance will be made by sup- 
 posing the edges of objects to be straight which seem to 
 be so, but this does not alter the fact that geometry does 
 not express the precise nature of sensible magnitudes. The 
 peculiar accuracy supposed to be characteristic of the first 
 principles of geometry is therefore an illusion. The in- 
 ferences which geometry draws from its premises are 
 correct, but as the premises are only approximately true, 
 the conclusions deduced from them share in the same 
 want of precision. 
 
 It is obvious that, in denying the accuracy of geometrical 
 
46 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 propositions, Mill takes it for granted that we have a know- 
 ledge of the actual properties of real things. The reason 
 why a straight line, as denned in geometry, is not a precise 
 statement, is, that no actual object can anywhere be found 
 whose edge is perfectly straight. We know that as a 
 matter of fact real things differ in their figure from the 
 figures with which geometry deals. The contrast which 
 is drawn is not between some reality that is unknown to 
 us and reality as we suppose it to be, but between the 
 sensible objects which we do know and the inadequate 
 conceptions of them which are found in geometry. It is 
 a possible hypothesis that we have no knowledge of reality 
 as it truly is, and that to a perfect intelligence none of the 
 properties that we ascribe to things really belong to them. 
 Kant, for example, holds that to an infinite intelligence 
 the geometrical properties under which objects present 
 themselves to us are seen to be unreal. We suppose real 
 things to lie apart from one another, and to have figure 
 and size ; but (from the point of view of a wider intelli- 
 gence) these properties are merely the manner in which 
 we present things to ourselves, not the manner in which 
 they actually exist. There is no other way in which we 
 can be conscious of things than by exhibiting them as in 
 space, but this arises from a limitation which attaches to 
 us as finite beings, and which prevents us from knowing 
 reality as it truly is. 
 
 After what has already been said in regard to the 
 doctrine of the limitation of human knowledge, we 
 may assume with Mill that real things actually possess 
 geometrical properties which we are capable of knowing. 
 Nor does there seem any reason to dispute the view 
 that no actual object can be found with its edges perfectly 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 47 
 
 straight, or with a figure exactly corresponding to a tri- 
 angle, a circle, or any other geometrical conception. Does 
 it follow from this admission, that geometry is not an 
 exact science? It certainly seems to follow; for if we know 
 the properties of real things to be different from what 
 geometry assumes them to be, it is hard to resist the con- 
 viction that geometry is inconsistent with an actual know- 
 ledge of things, and therefore is not, strictly speaking, 
 entitled to the rank of a science. We have therefore to 
 ask whether Mill's conception of geometry is correct. 
 
 The first thing that strikes us is, that whether correct 
 or not, Mill's view of geometry is not that which the 
 mathematician would be inclined to accept. It is safe 
 to say that Euclid, in defining a line as "length without 
 breadth," did not mean that any actual object could be 
 found in nature all length and no breadth. A line is not 
 something that can be seen or felt. We can see or feel 
 the edge of a sensible object, but we cannot see or feel a 
 line. A line drawn on paper or on a blackboard is a 
 visible object, but this is not the line with which geometry 
 deals. A line that can be defined as "length without 
 breadth" is from the nature of the case invisible and in- 
 tangible. It is thus obvious that, in some sense, geometry 
 does not deal with visible or tangible objects, but with 
 invisible and intangible objects. How, then, it is naturally 
 asked, can geometry be said to deal with real things? Are 
 not all real things sensible objects? If so, does not 
 geometry in dealing with objects that are not sensible, 
 turn away from reality and operate with fictions of its own 
 construction ? 
 
 Now, here again it may be observed that the mathe- 
 matician, while he is perfectly aware that the points, 
 
48 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 lines, and circles with which he operates are not sensible 
 objects, does not suppose that he is dealing with mere 
 fictions of abstraction. He applies without hesitation the 
 conclusions he reaches to the actual world. The whole 
 of applied mathematics is a proof of this conviction. 
 Hence, unless the mathematician is totally mistaken, 
 there must be a sense in which geometry deals with 
 the real properties of things, though it does not deal 
 with their sensible properties. At first sight this seems 
 to be self-contradictory; it apparently admits that things 
 as they actually exist have sensible properties, and yet 
 it claims that in dealing with non-sensible properties it 
 is dealing with realities and not with fictions. Is there 
 any way of avoiding this contradiction? 
 
 To answer this question we must ask what is implied 
 in the knowledge of real things. By " real things " is 
 here to be understood sensible objects existing in a space 
 of three dimensions. To take a simple case, how do 
 I know that this desk is an object in space, having a 
 certain figure and size ? Mill would answer that we 
 obtain a knowledge of it by means of our senses ; or, 
 more precisely, by means of our sensations, actual or 
 suggested. As I run my eye over the desk I have a 
 series of sensations of colour ; if I press it at any point, 
 I find that I experience a feeling of hardness and of 
 resistance; if I strike it with my hand, it gives forth a 
 sound. At the present moment, when I am merely look- 
 ing at the desk, I have no sensations from it of hardness, 
 resistance, or sound; nor have I all the sensations of 
 colour that I am capable of having from it by inspecting 
 it minutely. My actual sensations are therefore limited 
 to those of colour, and to some only out of the great 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 49 
 
 number which I am capable of having from this object. 
 But, if you ask me what is the nature of the desk, I can 
 recall in idea the various sensations I have formerly felt, 
 and these suggested sensations I regard as indicating real 
 properties not less than those I actually experience at 
 this moment. The desk, therefore, so far as its sensible 
 qualities are concerned, may be said to be a "permanent 
 possibility of sensation." 
 
 At present I shall not dispute this account of how we 
 obtain a knowledge of the sensible qualities of an ex- 
 ternal object. Our immediate concern is not with these, 
 but with the geometrical properties. Granting that I know 
 this desk by means of my sensations to be coloured, 
 hard, solid, resonant, how do we obtain a knowledge of 
 its position, shape, size, etc. ? Are these also revealed to 
 us in sensations, actual or possible? Mill would answer 
 that they are. He speaks of "the exact resemblance of 
 our ideas of form to the sensations which suggest them" 1 
 and of our "impressions of form." 2 I run my eye along 
 the edge of the desk, and I have a series of impressions 
 of colour which give me the, perception of its straightness, 
 or rather apparent straightness. This series of impres- 
 sions, and others of a like kind, are the source and the 
 only source of my knowledge of straight lines. It is 
 true that I cannot have a perception of the edge alone, 
 but I can concentrate my attention upon the edge, and 
 neglect the other sensations actual and possible which 
 make up my perception of a desk, including those of its 
 breadth and height. 
 
 There can be no difficulty in showing that our per- 
 ception of the position and figure of a sensible object is 
 
 1 Logic, Ek. 11., ch. v., 5. 2 Ibid., 4. 
 D 
 
50 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 not derived from sensation. If it is held to be so 
 derived, it must be possible to state from which class 
 of our sensations, or from what combination of sensations 
 it is derived. Position or figure is not an object of sight, 
 or it would be a colour; not of touch or the muscular 
 sense, or it would be a feeling; nor of hearing, or it 
 would be a sound; certainly not of taste or smell. Now, 
 if the figure and magnitude of objects cannot be given 
 in sensation, there is no other source from which, on 
 Mill's theory of knowledge, they can be derived. The old 
 saying, Nihil est in intellectu, quod non fuerit in sensu, is 
 the cardinal principle of that theory. Whatever is present 
 to our minds as an object must first exist, either in whole 
 or in part, in our sensation. When I am not actually 
 experiencing a sensation of colour from this desk, I may 
 yet have an idea or image of it; but if I had never had 
 the sensation I could not have the idea. Even the 
 elements out of which pure fictions are formed must first 
 have existed as sensations. The Cerberus of classic 
 mythology was formed out of elements given in actual 
 sensation. Imagination can associate sensations in an 
 infinite variety of ways, but it cannot create a single new 
 element. This being Mill's view of the nature of know- 
 ledge, he simply must hold that the geometrical pro- 
 perties of bodies are somehow given to us in sensation. 
 Now, it is manifest that they cannot be given in indi- 
 vidual sensations. No number of sensations of colour, 
 hardness, resistance, or sound can present to me this 
 desk as extended. 
 
 It may, however, be thought that, while extension is not 
 given in any of these sensations separately, it yet is deriv- 
 able from them in this sense, that a number of sensations 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 5 I 
 
 may be so associated as to appear extended. This is the 
 view which Mill, following Hume, adopts. Thus he would 
 say that, when I have repeatedly had a series of impres- 
 sions of colour, as when I perceive the edge of this desk, 
 they become so associated together, that though they are 
 really successive they seem to be coexistent. In this way 
 it is thought that extension may be explained without aid 
 from any principle but association. This explanation may 
 be easily shown to be inadequate. It is admitted that 
 sensations of colour are not themselves extended ; hence 
 no number of them, however they may be associated, can 
 yield the perception of extension. It is no answer to say 
 that by frequency of association they come to seem co- 
 existent when in reality they are simply closely successive ; 
 for the coexistence of sensations of colour is simultaneity 
 or coexistence in time, not extension or coexistence in 
 space. If I look at this desk and at the same time hear 
 the bell ring, the sight of the desk and the sound of the 
 bell are simultaneous, but they are not coexistent in space. 
 Every attempt to reduce extension to simultaneity, or 
 apparent simultaneity, of impressions owes its plausibility 
 to the assumption of what it pretends to explain. Thus 
 Hume, after asserting that our perception of extension is 
 reducible to impressions of colour or hardness, goes on to 
 speak, not of these, but of "points or corpuscles en- 
 dowed with colour and solidity." As by a "point or 
 corpuscle" he can only mean a coloured surface or solid, 
 it is easy enough apparently to account for visible or 
 tangible extension from sensations : the extension is simply 
 assumed, in defiance of the fact that on Hume's own 
 showing no sensation is extended. 
 
 We may conclude, then, that no geometrical property 
 
52 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of a sensible object can be derived from any number or 
 variety of sensations, nor from any association of sensa- 
 tions. But, if the sensible figure and magnitude of 
 individual objects is not explicable from sensation, Mill's 
 explanation of the manner in which geometry obtains its 
 data must be false. A sensible line, he says, has breadth 
 as well as length ; but " we can reason about it as if it 
 had no breadth, because we have . . . the power, 
 when a perception is present to our senses ... of 
 attending to a part only of that perception, instead of 
 the whole." In other words, a sensible line is a coloured 
 or tangible surface, but we can abstract, not only from 
 its colour and hardness, but even from its breadth, and 
 direct our attention only to its length. But we cannot 
 abstract from breadth if there is no breadth to abstract 
 from; we cannot attend to length if there is no length 
 to attend to. You must catch your hare before you 
 cook it. Mill's sensible surface, as we have seen, reduces 
 itself to a number of sensations that are really or appar- 
 ently simultaneous, but it contains no hint of extension 
 either in length or breadth. There is therefore no material 
 for abstraction to work upon, and the line of geometry 
 is equally inexplicable with the sensible line from which 
 it is said to be derived. 
 
 We come back, then, to the point that, granting the 
 sensible properties of things to be sufficiently explained 
 by sensation, their geometrical qualities cannot be so 
 explained. Now, we cannot rest satisfied with that refuge 
 of the destitute, the conclusion that we here reach an 
 "ultimate inexplicability," which is simply another way 
 of saying that our theory has broken down. There can 
 be no doubt that we have the perception of sensible 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 53 
 
 objects as extended and figured, and it cannot be impos- 
 sible to explain how we come to have that perception. 
 The theory that sensation and associations of sensation 
 account for the facts having failed, we must inquire whether 
 there is not in the perception of an extended object an 
 element or operation implied that cannot be described 
 either as sensation or as an association of sensations. 
 
 We have the perception of sensible objects as having 
 position, magnitude, and figure. This is the fact to be 
 explained. Let us first be clear as to what we mean by 
 an "object." This desk may be viewed as an object, 
 but so also may every particle of which it is composed. 
 For the sake of simplicity, let us suppose that we per- 
 ceive one of these particles. Now, according to the 
 hypothesis from which we have started, the colour, hard- 
 ness, and other sensible properties belonging to the particle 
 may be explained by sensation, but not its position, mag- 
 nitude, or figure. Let us ask, first of all, how we come 
 to have a perception of the position of the particle. A 
 very natural answer is, that we apprehend the particle as 
 in a certain part of space, and thus come to know its 
 position : in other words, position is supposed to be a 
 quality belonging to this individual particle. If that is 
 the case, obviously the particle would retain its position 
 even if there were no other particle in the whole of space. 
 Now, we need not trouble ourselves to ask whether the 
 particle as it is in itself, or apart from our knowledge, 
 has position as a quality attaching to it individually; for 
 this at least is plain, that of position in that sense we 
 have no knowledge. I apprehend the particle, it is said, 
 as having a certain position in space. But what is its 
 position? What part of space does it occupy? Where 
 
54 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 is it? If I could perceive the whole of space, I might 
 be able to fix the position of the particle by reference to 
 space alone. Thus, if space were a sphere with a definite 
 boundary, I might locate the particle as occupying a 
 certain position on this sphere. But space has no 
 boundary, or at least no boundary that we can perceive. 
 No one ever saw the end of space. Hence I cannot 
 locate the particle by reference to space. How, then, do 
 I locate it? Manifestly by reference to other particles. 
 Thus, if I view the desk as made up of a number of 
 particles, I can determine the position of any one of 
 them by reference to the position of the others. It thus 
 appears that no individual particle as such has position, 
 but that its position is fixed by reference to the position 
 of other particles. In other words, position is not a 
 quality attaching to the individual particle, but to indi- 
 vidual particles in their relation to one another. What 
 is the nature of this relation? It is a relation of pure 
 externality or outwardness, and of outwardness as imply- 
 ing coexistence. Observe also that the particles have 
 position relatively to one another, because every part of 
 this outwardness is exactly the same as every other part. 
 Unless this were so, I could not determine the position 
 of any one of them. If, e.g., we suppose the particles 
 to be at rest, and the distance between them to be con- 
 tinually contracting and expanding, we could not say that 
 they had any fixed position. But the conception of dis- 
 tance as contracting and expanding is contradictory of the 
 very idea of spatial outwardness. The particles may 
 approach or recede from one another, but space always 
 remains the same, and unless it did so, we could not 
 perceive the particles to approach or recede from one 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 55 
 
 another. Thus, if two particles approached each other 
 at the rate of one inch per second, and the space between 
 them expanded at the same rate, we could not perceive 
 the particles to move. What this shows is, that in the 
 perception of the distance of one particle from another, 
 we must necessarily presuppose that all the parts of space 
 are absolutely alike. 
 
 We may see the same thing from another point of 
 view. We have supposed that the sensible objects per- 
 ceived by us are individual particles. But are there any 
 purely individual particles? Obviously we cannot per- 
 ceive a particle as concentrated in a point. For a particle 
 to be perceived at all must admittedly be perceived as 
 coloured or hard, and we cannot perceive a mere point 
 as either coloured or hard. The supposed individual 
 particle must therefore be perceived as having within itself 
 parts that are external to one another. We cannot pos- 
 sibly perceive any object, however small, that is not 
 perceived as having parts external to one another. Just 
 as we cannot perceive a maximum of space, so we cannot 
 perceive a minimum of space. Space is illimitable both 
 as a whole and in every one of its parts. Now, if space 
 cannot be perceived either as a whole or as a part, it is 
 plain that it is not something that exists ready-made and 
 can be apprehended or taken up by us as such. There 
 must be in us a peculiar form of consciousness by which 
 it becomes an object for us. What is this form of 
 consciousness ? 
 
 We have found that in the perception of objects, as in 
 space, there is implied their mutual externality, and that 
 this mutual externality is a relation. But the relation of 
 mutual externality implies an act of thought, i.e., a dis 
 
56 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 crimination and yet relation of elements. If we do not 
 discriminate the objects we cannot perceive them as ex- 
 ternal to one another; if we do not relate them to one 
 another, we cannot perceive them as occupying any position. 
 Now, this complex act of discrimination and relation is 
 essential to every perception of an object, because apart 
 from it the object could not be perceived at all. In other 
 words, the conception of mutual externality is the absolute 
 condition of there being for us any perception whatever. 
 It is not a conception that can be derived from a per- 
 ception, for without it there could be for us no perception. 
 It cannot be reduced to sensation, for a sensation as 
 individual cannot yield the consciousness of relation. 
 Space or the mutual externality of the sensible is there- 
 fore the consciousness of the outwardness of sensible 
 objects as constituted by the activity of thought. It is 
 a purely intellectual element, and in no way a product 
 of sense. 
 
 The perception of an object as in space thus involves 
 a peculiar intellectual form of consciousness. It must 
 not be supposed, however, that this form of conscious- 
 ness could exist purely by itself. As we have seen, pure 
 space is not of itself an object of perception. We per- 
 ceive sensible objects as in space, but we cannot perceive 
 space by itself. And the reason is, that space is simply 
 the conception of the mutual externality of the sensible ; 
 it is a relation, and no relation has any independent 
 reality. We can therefore say on the one hand, that 
 apart from the sensible properties of things we have no 
 consciousness of their geometrical relations ; and, on the 
 other hand, that apart from the geometrical relations of 
 things we have no consciousness of their sensible pro- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 57 
 
 perties. But there is this difference between the two 
 elements implied in perception, that, whereas the sensible 
 properties may widely vary, every sensible object is in 
 space. Hence we can treat space as if it had a reality 
 independently of all the other properties of objects ; and 
 this, as we shall immediately see, is the key to the peculiar 
 character of geometry. 
 
 We are now in a position to estimate the value of Mill's 
 view of geometry. According to that view geometry must 
 express the precise nature of sensible magnitudes or it 
 cannot attain to the rank of a real science. The points, 
 lines, circles, etc., of which it speaks must agree with 
 those that present themselves to us in our sensible ex- 
 perience. It is found that this harmony does not exist, 
 and hence geometry is declared to be deficient in pre- 
 cision and accuracy. Now, after what has been said, it 
 must be obvious that this view of geometry is funda- 
 mentally unsound. Geometry cannot deal with sensible 
 points, lines, and circles, for there are no such magni- 
 tudes. If by a sensible point is meant the faintest 
 impression of colour that we can have, there is no 
 similarity between the point of geometry and this so- 
 called sensible point ; if it means the corner of a sensible 
 object, it is not itself sensible though it is implied in 
 what is sensible. All magnitudes in short are non-sensible. 
 To perceive a particle as in space is to determine its 
 position relatively to other particles, and the idea of posi- 
 tion is just the idea of a point viewed by reference to 
 particular things. We cannot see the position of a particle 
 with our eyes, we can only think it as a limit in a con- 
 tinuous space. Similarly there is no sensible line. The 
 edge of an object is not visible or tangible; it is merely 
 
58 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the boundary of the object, and a boundary can exist for 
 us only through the conception of two surfaces as having 
 a common limit. Hence geometry cannot deal with 
 sensible magnitudes. With what then does it deal? 
 
 There is a sense in which every one is an unconscious 
 mathematician. To present to oneself any sensible object 
 whatever, one must be guided by the conception of ex- 
 ternality, and of the absolute identity of every part of 
 externality. But in our ordinary consciousness we do 
 not make the relation of externality an explicit object of 
 thought. Our interest is not theoretical but practical; 
 we wish to know how far it is from one point to another, 
 what is the size of this desk, or table, or chair, and 
 hence the separation in thought of the conception of ex- 
 ternality from its applications in individual existences is 
 not made. We assume that there is no break in the 
 continuity of space, and that if the length of one object 
 is a foot, we shall find every other object which may 
 occupy the same space to be also a foot; but we do not 
 make the conception of spatial magnitude the exclusive 
 object of our attention. This direction of attention to 
 pure magnitude is the distinction of geometry from ordinary 
 consciousness. What geometry does is to formulate the 
 intellectual condition of the perception of individual magni- 
 tudes. It sets aside as irrelevant for its purpose the 
 conditions of the perception of the sensible properties of 
 things, and deals only with the conditions of the quanti- 
 tative relations of things. But, as without the latter no 
 perception of an object is possible at all, geometry may 
 very well be called a science of reality. It is not a 
 science of reality in its completeness, for reality as a 
 whole has many other conditions besides those of quantity ; 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 59 
 
 but it is a science of reality in that special aspect of it 
 that geometry alone considers. We can thus see how 
 geometry may be a real science without dealing with the 
 specific properties of sensible objects. The knowledge 
 of such properties is not identical with a knowledge of 
 the fixed relations implied in their being extended objects, 
 but it presupposes such fixed relations. I cannot dis- 
 tinguish the figure, size, or position of a body without 
 presupposing the homogeneity and continuity of space. 
 If I say, "This body is not perfectly round," I pre- 
 suppose the conception of a circle : if I observe the edge 
 of this desk not to be quite straight, I am testing it by 
 the conception of a straight line, even if I have never 
 heard of Euclid's definition of a straight line. Mill would 
 have us believe that we first perceive objects as apparently 
 round or straight, next confuse apparent with real round- 
 ness or straightness, and then concentrate attention upon 
 this supposed roundness or straightness. He forgets that 
 nothing exists for our knowledge except what actually 
 enters into it. A man may pronounce an object to be 
 round that is not round, but he cannot judge it to be 
 round without having the conception of roundness. Thus 
 even the false judgment, "This is round," presupposes 
 the conception of a circle, though it need not be made 
 an explicit object of consciousness or be formally defined 
 as a line every point of which is equidistant from a 
 central point. Again, when apparent is confused with 
 real roundness, the confusion does not destroy the con- 
 ception of roundness, but presupposes it. And lastly, 
 when an advance is made to the judgment, "This object 
 is not round," that which changes is not the conception 
 of roundness, but the identification of the figure of a cer- 
 
60 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 tain object with that conception. This illustrates the 
 sense in which geometry is a real science. As expressing 
 the figures that may be drawn in consistency with the 
 conception of space as homogeneous and continuous, 
 geometry enables us to make precise judgments in re- 
 gard to the quantitative relations of real things. It tells 
 us what are the conditions under which one given figure 
 can alone be an object of our knowledge, and thus en- 
 ables us to determine how far the figure of a given object 
 deviates from the figure conceived. Geometry does not 
 say that the edge of any object is straight, but it gives 
 us a means of determining with absolute precision its 
 deviation from straightness ; in other words, it tells us 
 what the character of an object would be if there were 
 no other relations of things than those of position. So in 
 other cases. There is an abstraction even within geometry 
 itself. There can be no position of objects without 
 figure, but figure does not affect position, and, therefore, 
 the latter may be considered by itself. Then we advance 
 from the point to the line, from the line to the surface, 
 from the surface to the solid. But even if we could 
 determine all the possible figures that are consistent with 
 the conception of space, we should not completely de- 
 termine reality. There are many other aspects of things 
 besides the geometrical. Geometry, therefore, deals with 
 abstractions in this sense, that it determines the con- 
 ditions under which objects can be known as extended 
 magnitudes, without determining the other conditions. 
 The elements of reality with which it deals are real as 
 elements, but they have no reality if they are supposed 
 to be real purely by themselves. The only adequate con- 
 ception of reality is that which implies a knowledge of 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 6l 
 
 all the conditions of reality, and such a conception takes 
 us a long way beyond geometry. 
 
 I think we may now conclude that Mill's denial of 
 the accuracy of geometry has no real foundation. The 
 definitions of geometry merely express the simplest rela- 
 tions between sensible objects in the way of pure exter- 
 nality, and the very nature of relations is that they are 
 real without being sensible. If there were no law by 
 which the relative position of bodies could be determined, 
 we could say nothing in regard to their position, and so 
 as to other relations of the same kind. Straight lines are 
 what geometry defines them to be, circles have all their 
 radii equal. 
 
 The next question is whether the propositions of geo- 
 metry are universal and necessary. Mill, as we know, 
 answers that they have no wider application than is war- 
 ranted by observation. To say that "two straight lines 
 cannot enclose a space " merely means that " all the 
 straight lines that we have observed are such that they 
 do not enclose a space." But we have no ground for 
 saying, in the strict sense, that two straight lines cannot 
 enclose a space. " We should probably have no difficulty 
 in putting together the two ideas supposed to be incom- 
 patible, if our experience had not first inseparably asso- 
 ciated one of them with the contradictory of the other." 
 
 A complete answer to this doctrine could only be given 
 by showing that the supposition of a world which is spatially 
 determined, and yet admits of the coexistence of elements 
 that in the world as present to our consciousness are 
 incompatible, is a self-contradictory supposition. To 
 attempt the proof of this view would at present lead us 
 too far ; I shall therefore merely endeavour to show that 
 
62 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 if there is a world in which straight lines enclose a space, 
 at any rate it is not a world of which we can ever have 
 any experience. If this is proved, it will follow that the 
 propositions of geometry are true, not merely as state- 
 ments of what we have experienced, but as laws of what 
 we always shall experience. 
 
 We propose to show, in other words, that the nature 
 of our consciousness is such that any experience of the 
 enclosure of a space by two straight lines is an impossible 
 experience. 
 
 Mill holds that, as a matter of fact, we have never 
 found the two ideas of intersecting straight lines and en- 
 closure of a space associated, and this, he contends, is 
 the reason why we suppose them to be necessarily dis- 
 connected. He assumes, therefore, that the picture or 
 image of intersecting straight lines is a picture of which 
 we have repeatedly been conscious. How did this image 
 get into our consciousness ? To this Mill would of course 
 answer that it is due to an effort of abstraction by which 
 we attend only to the direction of the two lines. But 
 the lines as we perceive them are sensible lines : let us, 
 for the sake of simplicity, say visible or coloured lines. 
 We have, then, the image of two coloured lines as inter- 
 secting, i.e., as not enclosing a space. On the other hand 
 we may have the image of two coloured lines as meet- 
 ing at both their extremities, i.e., as enclosing a space. 
 But we never have the picture of two coloured lines that 
 at once intersect and meet. Yet we might, Mill maintains, 
 have such an image. 
 
 Now, the question is this. What is implied in the 
 consciousness of a picture such as Mill speaks of? A 
 picture or image is necessarily individual. I cannot have 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 63 
 
 the image of a line that is neither straight nor curved, 
 for such an object, whatever it might be, would not be 
 an image. Nor, again, can I have an image of a line 
 that is not sensible ; for a non-sensible line would not 
 be an image, but a relation or abstraction. 
 
 We have, then, before our minds the image of a line. 
 What does this imply? The line is coloured, but the line 
 cannot be denned as colour, for the colour may be changed 
 while yet the image is in other respects the same. Suppose 
 the image is that of a coloured straight line. How do 
 we come to have such an image? We must be conscious 
 of a colour as disposed in a certain direction, i.e., as 
 disposed so as to be straight. Now this image of a 
 straight line cannot be present to our consciousness as 
 straight unless we mentally draw the line. That is, we 
 must produce one part after the other. And each part 
 as coloured will, when it is produced, be a succession of 
 colours, i.e., we must have one sensation of colour after 
 the other. Unless, therefore, we have a succession of 
 colours, we can have no image of a coloured line. The 
 succession of colours, however, is not the line; what con- 
 stitutes the line is the manner in which these colours 
 are disposed in the image ; and that manner is that of 
 uniform direction. It is therelore^evHent that the image 
 of a line can be present to our consciousness only if we 
 arrange the colours in a certain fixed way. If the colours 
 are disposed irregularly, we shall have no image of a 
 straight line. At first sight it seems as if the colours 
 might be disposed in any order; but, on closer examina- 
 tion, it becomes obvious that there are fixed limits to 
 their disposition. If I am to have the image of a coloured 
 object at all, the colours must be in some direction 
 
64 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 straight or curved, or partly straight and partly curved. 
 In other words, there is a fixed law in regard to the 
 disposition of colours, if they are to form an image. The 
 law is this : that they must be arranged as out of one 
 another or as mutually external, and as mutually external 
 in the three dimensions of space. If, e.g., there were no 
 mutual externality of the colours, they would vanish in 
 a point, and a point cannot form an image. Every part 
 of an image must therefore be of such a nature that any 
 part of it is external to any other part. Hence, to have 
 the image of a line is to produce each part as external 
 to the others. 
 
 But our image must also be individual, i.e., the parts 
 produced as mutually external must be in a straight 
 line or in a curved line. The image we have been 
 considering is that of a straight line. The condition 
 of the consciousness of a straight line is the men tal 
 production or construction of parts that are mutually 
 external and yet are combined in a unity. Now this 
 combination of mutually external parts is not given in 
 the successive feelings of colour: it is an act of thought 
 due to the activity of our minds. The image of a coloured 
 straight line can therefore be present to our conscious- 
 ness only if there is an act of combination which takes 
 place in accordance with the principle, that all the parts 
 of the line are (1) mutually external, (2) together, (3) 
 homogeneous, (4) in one direction. 
 
 (1) Suppose mutual externality absent, and we should 
 have no line, but a number of detached points. (2) 
 Suppose they are not together, and we should have a 
 vanishing series like the moments of time. (3) Suppose 
 they are not homogeneous, and we should have parts of 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 65 
 
 different length, i.e., we should really have a line of 
 discrete parts. (4) Suppose they are not all in one 
 direction, and we should have not a straight but a 
 curved line of some form or other. Hence we can 
 have no image of a straight line that contradicts any 
 of these conditions. But if two straight lines enclosed 
 a space, it must be because one or other of them, or 
 both, is not straight. Thus we affirm and deny straight- 
 ness. But if we deny straightness, we can have no 
 image of a straight line, because the straightness is 
 not in the sensations of colour, but in the manner 
 in which they are disposed. Now, if we could have 
 experience of two straight lines which enclosed a space, 
 i.e., of a line that was in two directions at once, it must 
 be because we can form images that have none of the 
 characteristics of those we do form. For a straight line 
 that encloses a space is the same as one that is in two 
 opposite directions at once. Such a line could not be a 
 determination of space as we know it, but of a totally 
 different space. Thus it would not be an image of the 
 kind we know. Such an image could not be connected 
 with those we have as belonging to the same world. 
 
 What Mill overlooks is, that all images of extended 
 magnitudes are formed in consonance with the principle 
 of the homogeneity of the parts of space. To suppose 
 that we can have a sensible image which contradicts this 
 homogeneity is to suppose that we can have an image 
 which contradicts the fundamental condition of such 
 images. The condition is not one that lies in the sen- 
 sations, but one that lies in the manner in which they 
 must be combined. We cannot present to ourselves the 
 image of a coloured line that is in two directions at once 
 
66 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 because such a colour would not appear to us as colour, 
 every coloured line being necessarily pictured as in one 
 direction or another. If a line may be in two direc- 
 tions at once, this means that it is not an image, and 
 if there is no image there can be no " association " of images. 
 All determinateness vanishes, and we are in a ghostly 
 world in which we can present nothing as external. Now, 
 if association of images is impossible, Mill's reason for 
 denying the absoluteness of the connection of images 
 vanishes. Where there is no possibility of making images 
 at all there can be no association of images. Deny 
 images, and Mill's objection falls to the ground. His 
 argument in reference to the judgment, "Two straight 
 lines cannot enclose a space," amounts to this, that we 
 have never found subject and predicate together in our 
 experience, but have only found repeated associations of 
 subject and predicate. But there can be no repetition 
 of an association where there is nothing to associate. 
 Hence, if we deny the universality of the elements im- 
 plied in our judgment, we are denying the possibility 
 of both subject and predicate. To have either we must 
 have both, i.e., the relation is not variable, because its 
 invariability is the condition of any image. A relation 
 which is the condition of any object of consciousness 
 about which we can judge at all is not variable but 
 fixed. Hence we do not obtain geometrical propositions 
 by a repetition of particular judgments ; but each judgment 
 is universal. 
 
 Let us now state somewhat more freely what we regard 
 as the true view of the proof of mathematical judgments. 
 Whatever we can present before our consciousness as an 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 67 
 
 extended magnitude is external to all other magnitudes, 
 and if we distinguish parts in this extended magnitude, 
 each of these is external to all the other parts, and to all 
 parts that we can distinguish in any other extended mag- 
 nitude. Now, we cannot perceive any part by simply 
 apprehending it as in a particular or separate space. For, 
 firstly, the particular space in which the part is cannot 
 be regarded as a unit which admits of no further division ; 
 so regarded it would be a point, and that which is in a 
 point, if there could be such a thing, would not be 
 extended. Secondly, we cannot perceive space as a 
 whole, and fix the position of the part by reference to 
 this whole. To perceive space as a whole would be to 
 have a perception of space as limited, i.e., as having no 
 space beyond it; and such a perception is impossible. 
 We can only perceive one space as surrounded by 
 another wider space, this by a still wider, and so on ; 
 but we can never reach a space beyond which there 
 is no wider space. How then can we perceive an object 
 as external to other objects? Only by combining data 
 of sense in such a way as to present them as a single 
 image, the parts of which are mutually external, i.e., 
 by relating the data of sense in such a way as to 
 present them as in space. If this is not done there is no 
 sensible image, and therefore no perception of an ex- 
 tended sensible object. 
 
 So far in regard to the perception of individual sensible 
 images, e.g., this desk, this chair. We may, however, reach 
 a further stage of knowledge by neglecting the peculiarities 
 of this and that sensible object, and directing our atten- 
 tion solely to the relation of mutual externality itself. 
 This is what geometry does. In ordinary perception we 
 
68 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 form images by applying the principle that every part of 
 space is homogeneous with every other, but when we 
 make space itself an object we become conscious of this 
 principle. The reason, then, why geometry applies to all 
 sensible magnitudes is that it simply states explicitly the 
 principle that the mind must make use of in having the 
 perception of any object as extended. 
 
 From these considerations we may see that Mill's account 
 of the manner in which geometrical judgments are formed 
 is unsatisfactory. 
 
 Is every geometrical judgment particular! Is any such 
 judgment particular? 
 
 His view may be stated as follows : In my experience 
 I observe two sensible straight lines meet and then diverge 
 further and further from each other. Thus I make the 
 particular judgment : the straight lines AB do not enclose 
 a space. On another occasion I again perceive two 
 straight lines which do not enclose a space, and this 
 yields another particular judgment: the straight lines CD 
 do not enclose a space. Nor have we in our sensible 
 experience ever found two straight lines enclosing a space. 
 It may be objected, however, that the judgment, "the 
 straight lines AB do not enclose a space," states more 
 than is warranted by perception. For these lines are 
 finite in length : " we cannot follow them to infinity ; for 
 aught our senses can testify, they may immediately beyond 
 the furthest point to which we have traced them begin to 
 approach and at last meet." Thus the judgment warranted 
 by perception would seem to be, not that the straight 
 lines AB do not enclose a space, but that the straight 
 lines AB> so far as we have observed them, do not 
 enclose a space. Such a proposition, so far from being 
 
PHILOSOPHY OP NATURE GEOMETRY. 69 
 
 identical with the axiom of Euclid, that "two straight 
 lines cannot enclose a space," i.e., that no two straight 
 lines can enclose a space, will not even warrant the judg- 
 ment that the straight lines AB cannot enclose a space. 
 Geometrical propositions would thus seem to be doubly 
 particular, firstly, as not warranting a judgment about all 
 straight lines ; and secondly, as limiting what is said about 
 particular straight lines to what has been observed. The 
 subject, "no two straight lines," must run, "these two 
 straight lines," and the predicate, "can enclose a space," 
 must be modified to "enclose a space so far as our 
 perception goes." Mill, however, refuses to limit the 
 predicate of the judgment. It is true, he says, that we 
 cannot perceive two infinite straight lines, but we can yet 
 affirm that they do not enclose a space. For, if the two 
 lines which we perceive to diverge ever do meet, it must 
 be at a finite distance, and hence we can picture in 
 imagination the manner in which they would present 
 themselves to perception. Now, we cannot imagine two 
 straight lines as diverging and then meeting at a finite 
 distance ; and hence we can say that the two straight lines 
 AB cannot enclose a space. We are entitled, then, it 
 would seem, to make such judgments as, AB cannot en- 
 close a space, nor can CZ>, EF, etc. ; but we are not 
 entitled to say unconditionally, No two straight lines can 
 enclose a space. For the only warrant we have for our 
 particular judgments is that of particular experiences, and 
 no number of particular experiences can carry us beyond 
 those experiences. A universal judgment is merely a 
 short-hand statement or summary of a number of par 
 ticular judgments, and no summation of particulars can 
 reach the infinite. The precise meaning of the axiom 
 
76 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 " Two straight lines cannot enclose a space," is, " No two 
 straight lines observed by us have enclosed a space." But 
 this is not equivalent to the judgment, " No two straight 
 lines can enclose a space." Generality is not necessity. 
 There is nothing to hinder us from supposing that we 
 might in our observation find two straight lines enclosing 
 a space. Hence the axioms of geometry are not neces- 
 sary truths, bnt generalizations from sensible experience. 
 
 According to Mill, then, the particular judgment, "These 
 two sensible straight lines cannot enclose a space," is 
 legitimate, but the universal judgment, "Two straight 
 lines cannot enclose a space," is illegimate. It is, in 
 fact, the assumption of the validity of the former which 
 is made the basis for the denial of the latter. We have 
 therefore to ask whether, on Mill's premises, we are entitled 
 to make even a particular geometrical judgment. 
 
 It might be pointed out, as a contradiction in Mill's 
 own theory, that he here assumes the possibility of two 
 sensible lines being straight, whereas he has before main- 
 tained that no sensible lines are straight. This objection, 
 however, we shall not press. Let it be granted that 
 sensible lines are observed by us, and are observed to be 
 straight. Now, it must be carefully borne in mind that 
 the question here is not in regard to any sensible lines 
 which may be supposed to exist in nature independently 
 of our observation. Any one who affirms that there are 
 such lines must be prepared to explain how we come to 
 have a knowledge of them. No doubt there are many 
 things in nature of which we have no knowledge, but if 
 we affirm nature to be constituted in a certain way, we 
 must be able to show that we have a knowledge of how 
 it is constituted. It would therefore seem that the lines 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 7 I 
 
 affirmed to be straight are lines actually present to sense. 
 Obviously such lines cannot extend beyond the visible 
 lines perceived. How, then, can we say that the lines 
 AB cannot enclose a space? This would mean, as Mill 
 admits, that they would not meet however far they were 
 produced. But we cannot have a perception of sensible 
 lines beyond the point where they cease to be visible. 
 Hence it does not seem that we are entitled to say, The 
 lines AB, if followed out, do not enclose a space, but only 
 that, so far as they have been followed out, they do not 
 enclose a space. Mill is aware of this difficulty, and tries 
 to meet it by saying that, though sensible lines are finite 
 in extent^ yet we can imagine them to be produced beyond 
 the point of vision, and we are sure that the imaginary 
 lines exactly resemble the real ones. No doubt; but 
 there is no guarantee of reality in imaginary lines if Mill 
 is right in holding all real lines to be objects of sense. 
 If the sensible lines AB are one foot in length, the lines 
 imagined as continuing these are not real, and to show 
 that the latter do not meet tells us nothing in regard to 
 the former. We cannot therefore consistently hold that 
 the straight lines AB do not enclose a space; our judg- 
 ment must be that the straight lines AB so far as our 
 observation has gone do not enclose a space. 
 
 When we look more closely, however, we shall find 
 that even this judgment goes further than is warranted 
 by the data on which it rests. Mill evidently assumes 
 that the sensible lines AB are shown to be real pro- 
 perties of objects, accessible to the observation of any 
 one who looks at them. This, however, is an assumption. 
 If I have no guarantee that two straight lines do not 
 meet beyond the point observed by me, what guarantee 
 
72 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 have I that they do not meet beyond the moment of my 
 observation? It thus appears that my judgment must 
 be still further limited. I must now say, not that two 
 straight lines cannot enclose a space, but that these two 
 straight lines, so far as perceived, and so long as per- 
 ceived, do not enclose a space. For aught I can tell 
 they may take a sudden freak when I am looking the 
 other way, and alter their whole nature. 
 
 A still further limitation has to be made. When I 
 say that the two lines now before me do not enclose a 
 space, I am tacitly distinguishing between the lines as 
 real and my perception of them. Such a distinction is 
 not possible unless I regard my individual state of the 
 moment as indicating a reality not determined by that 
 state. I cannot indeed affirm that the lines in question 
 are as they appear to me when I do not perceive them, 
 but I must distinguish their appearance from their reality. 
 But if I have no other guarantee for their reality than 
 the sensation of the moment, I cannot go beyond that 
 sensation. I am thus limited to the judgment : I have 
 now before my consciousness two straight lines which do 
 not enclose a space. 
 
 Only one step more has to be taken. Two straight 
 lines as meeting and diverging is a complex image, in 
 which there are at least two elements, the colour of the 
 lines and their direction. But sensation can give only 
 the colour : the direction of the lines, as we have already 
 seen, is a relation involving an act of thought. Exclude 
 this act of thought, and we are reduced to the mere 
 sensation of colour, which is not a possible image at all 
 but merely an element in an image. Thus the subject of 
 the judgment disappears, and with it the whole judgment. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 73 
 
 Mill's theory, then, does not explain even the judgment, 
 "I am conscious of the straight lines AB as not enclos- 
 ing a space," but is inconsistent with the possibility of 
 any judgment whatever. But if there are no particular 
 judgments, there can of course be no general judgments, 
 which on his doctrine depend upon an inference from 
 particular judgments. 
 
 The conclusion to which we have been brought con- 
 firms the result of our inquiry into the accuracy of 
 geometry. If the assumption that a real line is merely 
 sensible leads to the denial of all judgments, we cannot 
 explain even the appearance of knowledge. A flux of 
 sensations, supposing it to be possible, would not yield 
 even the consciousness of the sensations forming the flux, 
 much less the consciousness of any fixed nature in their 
 content. A real line, in other words, is just one of the 
 fixed relations by which perceptible objects are deter- 
 mined. Like all geometrical relations it rests upon the 
 conception of pure externality. When we get at the right 
 point of view it becomes obvious that no geometrical 
 proposition is based upon induction, in Mill's sense of 
 the word. That two straight lines cannot enclose a space 
 is not a belief generated by repeated experiences of par- 
 ticular lines as not enclosing a space; it is a necessary 
 proposition implied in the simplest perception. The 
 reason we are apt to think otherwise no doubt is, that 
 in our ordinary experience we make use of universal 
 principles of which we are not explicitly conscious. Take 
 the familiar experience of the two lines in a railway 
 track. We speak of these as parallel to each other, 
 because when we apply a measure at any point we find 
 
74 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 that the distance between them is the same. What is 
 implied in this inference? It is manifestly implied 
 that there is outness between bodies, and that this out- 
 ness is exactly the same wherever we measure it. 
 Now, this is implicitly the judgment that parallel lines 
 will never meet. We do not come to this conclusion 
 by frequently observing that given parallel lines do 
 not meet, but assuming constancy in the relations of 
 outness, we affirm that these particular lines are parallel. 
 Our direct interest, however, is not in the principle here 
 made use of, but in the particular objects in question. 
 If we are constructing a railway track, we are concerned 
 to make the lines parallel, not to lay down the principle 
 implied in parallel lines. Thus we seem to be making 
 the merely particular judgment : These lines are parallel. 
 In reality, however, the universal judgment that all equi- 
 distant lines are parallel is presupposed, and, if it were 
 not presupposed, the particular judgment would not be 
 true. It is not by accumulating particular judgments 
 about parallel lines that we reach the general judgment; 
 but the general judgment is implied in each of the par- 
 ticular judgments. Geometry simply states in the form 
 of an explicit judgment the conception implied in every 
 one of the particular judgments. Thus the propositions 
 of geometry are universal, because they explicitly formu- 
 late the fixed relation which in the particular judgment 
 is implicit. No induction or accumulation of particular 
 judgments is needed, because the universal principle is 
 already present in the particular judgment. Hence it is 
 not surprising that Mill is at last driven by the stress of 
 logic not only to deny that there are, properly speaking, 
 universal judgments, but even to resolve particular judg- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE GEOMETRY. 75 
 
 ments into an association of particular mental states or 
 images. Thus the judgment that two straight lines 
 cannot enclose a space, merely means that we have fre- 
 quently had the experience of the image of two straight 
 lines accompanied by the image of their divergence, 
 while we have never had the experience of such an image 
 accompanied by the image of their enclosure of a space. 
 The fundamental objection to this view is that it assumes 
 as possible what it tacitly affirms to be impossible. If the 
 image of straight lines is possible at all, as it is assumed 
 to be, the image of their enclosure of a space is im- 
 possible. This may not prove that there cannot be a 
 world in which straight lines enclose a space, but it at 
 least proves that no such world can possibly be an 
 object of our experience. The judgment is therefore not 
 due to an association of images that are independent 
 of one another, but there is one single image of such a 
 character that we cannot be conscious of it as other than 
 it is. In other words, every image implies the conception 
 of an unalterable relation in the elements of sense. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE (Continued). 
 
 ARITHMETIC AND ALGEBRA. 
 
 In his Theory of Numbers Mill has two main objects in 
 view : first, to show that arithmetic and algebra rest upon 
 inductions from sensible observations ; second, to prove 
 that their supposed accuracy and precision arises from 
 their hypothetical character. 
 
 First. The Science of Numbers rests upon Induction. 
 Mill does not here, as in the case of geometry, directly 
 examine the a priori view, which maintains that arith- 
 metic and algebra rest in no way upon sensible observation 
 but upon pure conceptions ; but indirectly he seeks to 
 overthrow it by showing that their only basis is sensible 
 observation. We can easily, if we choose, supply the 
 missing disproof of the a priori view. The a priori philo- 
 sopher, Mill would say, must hold that the proposition 
 2 + 2 = 4 is an identical proposition, in which the predicate 
 4 is identical with the subject 2 + 2; in other words, that 
 it is impossible to conceive 2 + 2 as forming anything but 
 4. Now to this view Mill would of course answer, that 
 no real proposition can be based upon the inconceivability 
 of the opposite, as has been shown in the case of geometry, 
 for there is nothing to hinder us from supposing that in 
 
 some other planet 2 + 2 might = 5. In fact Mill, when 
 
 76 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE ARITHMETIC. 77 
 
 he is dealing with the question of inconceivability, expressly 
 says that the proposition 2 + 2 = 5 * s not self-contradictory, 
 since we should "probably have no difficulty in putting 
 together the two ideas supposed to be incompatible, if 
 our experience had not first inseparably associated one 
 of them with the contradictory of the other." 
 
 Assuming, then, that the theory of numbers is not an 
 a priori science, it must rest upon inductions from sensible 
 observations. Now this means that it cannot be based 
 upon "logical definitions," *>., upon propositions which 
 are purely verbal. The proposition 2 + 1 = 3, if ft i s a 
 logical definition, merely means that 2 + 1 is another name 
 for what is more neatly expressed by the term 3. This 
 in fact is the view of the nominalists, who maintain that 
 the only real things are individual things, and that the 
 propositions of arithmetic and algebra are but an elaborate 
 system of naming these things. If I see three chairs or 
 three tables, each chair and each table is real; but 
 when I call them three, I only mean that I give the 
 name three to a group of three tables or a group of 
 three chairs. Now Mill's objection to this view is, that it 
 virtually denies the theory of numbers to be based upon 
 induction. For, if we are limited to particular observa- 
 tions in this way, there is no transition from the known 
 to the unknown, and therefore no induction. The nomin- 
 alist therefore denies all general propositions, and thus 
 makes a science of numbers impossible. Mill therefore 
 has to show that arithmetic and algebra do really involve 
 inductions, i.e., inferences from particular observations to 
 general propositions. He agrees with the nominalist in 
 holding that the theory of numbers must rest upon par- 
 ticular observations, but he differs in maintaining that 
 
78 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 from these particular observations general propositions 
 are derived by a process of inductive inference. 
 
 What then, he asks, has led the nominalist to suppose 
 that there are no general propositions in regard to numbers, 
 or, in other words, that a general proposition is merely 
 verbal ? 
 
 The reason is that in arithmetical or algebraic operations 
 we deal with symbols of sensible objects as distinguished 
 from actual sensible perceptions or copies of these in 
 imagination. In geometry we have before us either a 
 sensible figure on paper or on a blackboard, or we form a 
 mental image of a sensible figure; and thus it is evident 
 that all our reasonings are about real sensible things. But 
 in arithmetic and algebra we have no sensible object, 
 and no image of a sensible object before us, and therefore 
 we do not seem to be dealing with real sensible things 
 at all. The reasoner has nothing in his mind during the 
 process but the symbols or names, and hence it is natural 
 to suppose that it is with the symbols or names that he 
 is dealing. If that were the case, there would of course 
 be no induction, for every induction is the process by 
 which we pass from particular observations to a new truth 
 not contained in these observations. Mill must therefore 
 show that in every step of an arithmetical or algebraical 
 calculation there is "a real inference of facts from facts." 
 
 Now the word ten represents an actual fact of sensible 
 observation : it really means ten bodies, or ten sounds, 
 or ten beatings of the pulse, and apart from such particular 
 sensible observations the word ten would be meaningless. 
 But the peculiarity of numbers is, that whatever is true of 
 ten bodies is true also of every object of which we can 
 have sensible observation. In this respect arithmetic differs 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE ARITHMETIC. 79 
 
 from geometry; for such a geometrical proposition as that 
 two straight lines do not enclose a space is true only of 
 lines, not of angles, or squares, or circles, whereas the 
 proposition that 2 + 1 = 3 is true of all sensible objects, 
 since every such object consists of parts which can be 
 numbered. Thus the number one will serve as a represent- 
 ative of any sensible object whatever, and hence the 
 inferences we draw will hold of every such object. Accord- 
 ingly, arithmetical propositions are based upon inductions 
 from the observation of actual sensible things, and are not 
 merely verbal. 
 
 There is another thing which gives plausibility to the 
 nominalist view, that the theory of numbers deals only 
 with names : the predicate seems to be identical with the 
 subject. If we take a special case, such as "two pebbles 
 and one pebble are three pebbles," we seem to be stating, 
 not that the two collections of pebbles are equal in quantity, 
 but that they are precisely the same or identical. But, 
 in point of fact, what is really affirmed is not identity but 
 equality. For what is meant is, that the same objects 
 produce a different set of sensations when they are 
 grouped in two different ways. And as this is a fact 
 which holds good in all cases, we can say quite generally 
 2 + 1 = 3. The science of number thus rests upon prin- 
 ciples which, like those of geometry, are generalizations 
 from experience. 
 
 Second. The science of number rests upon inductions 
 which are not exactly true, but true only under the hypo- 
 thesis that actual sensible objects are what they are 
 assumed to be. In numerical calculations it is taken for 
 granted that the objects numbered are identical as regards 
 quantity. "But this is never practically true, for one 
 
80 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 actual pound weight is not exactly equal to another, nor 
 one mile's length to another ; a nicer balance, or more 
 accurate measuring instrument, would always detect some 
 difference." 
 
 (i) Mill's first proposition is, that the science of num- 
 ber rests upon induction, i.e., it contains inferences drawn 
 from sensible observations ; and in seeking to make good 
 this proposition he is led to reject (a) the doctrine of the 
 a priori school, who maintain that its judgments are not 
 derived from experience, but are self-evident; and (b) the 
 doctrine of the nominalists, who hold that its judgments 
 are purely verbal. 
 
 Now (a) Mill is undoubtedly right in rejecting the 
 doctrine that the truths of arithmetic and algebra are in- 
 dependent of all experience, and can be proved to be so 
 by the logical principle of contradiction, i.e., by the im- 
 possibility of conceiving the opposite. No proposition 
 can be proved to be true on the ground that its opposite 
 is inconceivable. The opposite of every proposition is 
 inconceivable so long as we assume that the proposition 
 is true, but not otherwise. Thus the opposite of the 
 proposition, "Light is due to the transmission of material 
 particles," is inconceivable so long as we assume the truth 
 of the proposition j but if we deny its truth, there is no 
 inconceivability in its opposite. Similarly we cannot con- 
 ceive 2 + 1 to be = 4, so long as we assume the truth of 
 the proposition, 2 + 1 = 3; but if that proposition is denied, 
 there is no inconceivability in its opposite. It is thus 
 evident that we cannot base the truth of a proposition 
 upon its inconceivability, but, contrariwise, the inconceiva- 
 bility depends upon its truth. The opposite of every true 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURK ARITHMETIC. 8l 
 
 proposition is inconceivable, but not the opposite of a 
 false proposition. The a priori philosophers, therefore, in 
 assuming that the truth of numerical propositions can be 
 established by the inconceivability of their opposite, have 
 really committed themselves to the view that such pro- 
 positions are mere analyses of conceptions, or, in other 
 words, merely state what is already conceived to be true. 
 But manifestly the question still remains whether the con- 
 ceptions are really true, and this question can only be 
 solved by showing that real things are as they are com 
 ceived to be. 
 
 (b) Mill is also right in rejecting the nominalist doctrine, 
 that the only realities are particular things, and that general 
 propositions are purely verbal. The question is whether 
 his own doctrine can consistently avoid the imperfections 
 of nominalism. Mill evidently assumes that by sensible 
 observation we obtain a knowledge of particular things 
 as distinct from each other, and therefore as numerable, 
 and that the process of induction consists in inferring that 
 all particular things are similarly distinct from each other, 
 and therefore numerable. To this explanation two objec- 
 tions have to be made. In the first place, pure sensation 
 can give no distinction of one thing from another, because, 
 as we> saw in the case of geometry, each sensation is a 
 purely individual feeling, and is therefore capable of re- 
 vealing nothing but itself. It is only in so far as one 
 sensation is discriminated from another that there is any 
 consciousness of distinction. But this discrimination is 
 an act of thought. Hence in the simplest form of know- 
 ledge the operation of the distinguishing and relating 
 activity of thought is already implied. Now, number pre- 
 supposes this activity of thought, and hence it is not correct 
 
 F 
 
82 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 to say that by sense we obtain a knowledge of particulai 
 things as distinct from each other, and therefore as numer- 
 able. What is called sensible observation already implies 
 the distinguishing activity of thought. In every act of dis- 
 tinction, therefore, there is implicitly a numerical judgment. 
 But though all perception implies such a judgment, it is 
 only when attention is directed to the quantitative element 
 implied in every such judgment that we form explicit 
 numerical judgments. And, when attention is so directed, 
 we set aside all the qualitative aspects of things and con- 
 centrate our thought purely upon their quantitative aspects, 
 or rather upon that quantitative aspect of them in which 
 they are viewed as distinct or discrete, abstracting from 
 all other aspects. The science of number is thus, from 
 its very nature, abstract, i.e., it sets aside for its purpose 
 all other aspects of the real world except its numerical 
 aspect. Hence the science of number never deals with 
 the concrete objects of perception as concrete; it does 
 not deal with pebbles and boxes as pebbles and boxes, 
 but only with these in so far as they are ide?itical, i.e., as 
 discrete units capable of being discriminated from each 
 other, and therefore of being counted. If the objection 
 is raised, that the science of number must deal with real 
 things or it will be no science, but a mere fiction, the 
 answer is that no science deals with real things in their 
 completeness, but only with real aspects of real things, 
 and that number is therefore a science in the same sense 
 as other sciences. Mill's mistake is in assuming that 
 number must deal either with sensibles or with mere 
 abstractions, whereas it really deals with the sensible as 
 abstract, i.e., with an abstract but real element of 
 existence. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE ARITHMETIC. 83 
 
 But, secondly, bearing this in mind we have no difficulty 
 in seeing that number does not rest upon induction, in 
 Mill's sense of the word. On his view, we must suppose 
 that we have a number of particular observations of sensible 
 things as numerable, and then infer that all sensible 
 things are numerable. For induction, as he explains it, 
 is the process of inference by which we pass from some to 
 all. If this were a true account of the nature of induc- 
 tion, every general proposition would be based upon a 
 pure assumption, which admits of no possible justification. 
 For how can we legitimately conclude that all possible 
 sensible things are numerable if our data give us only some 
 sensible things? Mill, therefore, if he were consistent, 
 would limit himself to particular numerical propositions, 
 and deny that there are any true general propositions, i.e., 
 he would take the same view as the nominalists. 
 
 This may be shown in another way, if we consider his 
 admission that 2 + 1 might make 4 in another planet, for 
 this startling conclusion is just the legitimate inference 
 from his doctrine that all general propositions are in- 
 ferences from particular propositions. Here, in fact, he 
 tacitly admits that beyond those particular propositions 
 we have no right to go, and that general propositions are 
 due merely to the illegitimate extension of particular pro- 
 positions under the influence of association. 
 
 Mill's doctrine, then, that number rests upon induction 
 from particular propositions cannot be accepted. The 
 true view is, that in the simplest numerical judgment the 
 universal judgment is already implied. For since dis- 
 crimination is presupposed in even the simplest and most 
 elementary consciousness as its necessary condition, num- 
 ber is implicit in every act of consciousness. In other 
 
84 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 words, we can give no explanation of consciousness at all, 
 and therefore no explanation of a particular numerical 
 judgment, unless we admit that every distinguishable 
 element of consciousness is numerable. The numerical 
 relation of things is therefore shown to be absolutely 
 necessary, because without it there would be no conscious- 
 ness at all. It is, in other words, a fixed and unchange- 
 able relation of every possible element of reality that each 
 element is not identical with any other element of reality, 
 i.e., that it must be counted as a unit among other units. 
 In numerical judgments, then, we do not pass from some 
 to all, but in each judgment all is implied. 
 
 (2) After what has been said, we need not spend much 
 time upon Mill's second point, viz., that the theory of 
 number rests upon anhypothesis which is not strictly true. 
 The hypothesis is, that each unit is the same as every 
 other, whereas it is impossible to find in nature any two 
 units exactly the same. The whole force of this reasoning 
 evidently rests upon the assumption, that the science of 
 number can be a real science only if its judgments are 
 derived from sensible things. But if, as we have main- 
 tained, its aim is to state what holds good of all things 
 only in so far as they are looked at from the point of view 
 of discrete magnitude, the fact that any given object diners 
 in its size or in its weight cannot in any way affect the 
 absoluteness of the science of number. And not only so, 
 but no difference in the size or weight of a particular 
 object could be discerned, unless we presupposed the 
 absoluteness of quantitative relations. We could not 
 possibly tell that one pound or one mile was not equal 
 to another pound or another mile, unless the standard 
 of measurement were absolute. There is therefore no 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE ARITHMETIC. 85 
 
 hypothetical element in the mathematical sciences, unless 
 we falsely assume that these sciences formulate the complete 
 nature of things. Viewed as expressing certain unchange- 
 able relations which are presupposed in all our knowledge 
 of real things, mathematics is not a hypothetical but a 
 necessary science. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE (Continued). 
 
 THE PHYSICAL SCIENCES. 
 INDUCTION. 
 
 We have seen that, according to Mill, mathematics rests 
 upon sensible observation ; and we naturally expect to find 
 him giving the same explanation of the foundation of other 
 sciences. But first of all he seeks to distinguish the in- 
 ductive process by which the generalizations of science 
 are reached from various logical processes which are often 
 confounded with it. In the first place, induction is not 
 the mere registration in language of a given number of 
 individual observations. No single observation, and no 
 number of single observations, is an induction, because 
 here there is no inference from the known to the unknown. 
 The observation, that the moon shines by the sun's light, 
 no one would call an induction ; nor can there be any 
 induction in the successive observations that Mars, Neptune, 
 Saturn, and the other planets each shine by the sun's 
 light. And if we collect all these separate observations 
 in the proposition, that "all the planets shine by the 
 sun's light," we are merely recalling what we already 
 
 know, not advancing to any new truth. In the second 
 
 86 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 87 
 
 place, there are certain mathematical propositions which 
 are improperly called inductions; as, for instance, the 
 proposition that a straight line cannot meet any section 
 of a cone in more than two points. And, lastly, the 
 description of a set of observed phenomena is not induction. 
 Thus Kepler, after observing a number of the places 
 successively occupied by the planet Mars, found that 
 when joined together they formed an ellipse. The pro- 
 position that Mars described an ellipse was therefore 
 merely the summary of a number of different observations, 
 not the inference to a new truth not contained in those 
 observations: and hence it cannot be called an induction. 
 
 What, then, is an induction? It is defined by Mill 
 as the process by which we infer that what we know 
 to be true in a particular case or cases will be true in 
 all cases which resemble the former in certain assignable 
 respects. The " resemblance " may be either (a) that of 
 individuals belonging to a class, or (p) that of the same 
 individual at different times ; but, in either of these caseSj 
 the essence of the induction consists in making a really 
 "general" proposition, i.e., one which holds good, when 
 we pass from the particular to the universal. Thus, the 
 conclusion that "all men are mortal" is an induction, 
 because we pass from what we know of some men to all 
 men. Similarly, when Kepler inferred that, as the orbit 
 of Mars had hitherto been elliptical, it would always be 
 elliptical, he made a genuine induction. 
 
 Now, if induction implies in all cases a transition from 
 the particular to the universal, it is naturally asked by 
 what right the transition is made. It is obvious that, 
 in every case of real induction, we tacitly assume that 
 what holds good in the cases observed will hold good 
 
88 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 in all similar cases ; we assume, in other words, that the 
 course of nature is uniform. What, then, is the justifica- 
 tion of that assumption? Mill answers that it is itself 
 an instance of induction, and by no means one of the 
 most obvious or the earliest. But, before attempting to 
 prove this, he asks what precisely is meant by the 
 "uniformity of nature." 
 
 (i) It is obvious that by the uniformity of nature it is 
 not meant to exclude infinite diversity. Nobody expects 
 one day to be the mere repetition of the previous day. 
 Yet there is a natural tendency in the human mind to 
 expect that phenomena which have frequently presented 
 themselves in combination will always recur in the same 
 combination. This method of inductio per enumerationem 
 simplicem is rightly condemned by Bacon. It would be 
 legitimate only if we were certain that we had exhausted 
 all the instances, and such certitude is practically not 
 obtainable. The truth is that induction to be valid does 
 not depend upon the number of instances observed, but 
 upon something very different. A single instance may be 
 sufficient in one case, a million may not be enough in 
 other cases. 
 
 (2) If, then, the uniformity of nature does not mean 
 invariability, what is its true meaning? 
 
 The first thing to observe is that by the uniformity of 
 nature we should understand a number of uniformities. 
 These uniformities, when reduced to their simplest ex- 
 pression, are called laws of nature. Three such laws are 
 these: (1) that air has weight, (2) that pressure on a fluid 
 is propagated equally in all directions, (3) that pressure in 
 one direction, not opposed by equal pressure in the contrary 
 direction, produces motion, which does not cease until 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 89 
 
 equilibrium is restored. From these three laws or uni- 
 formities the rise of mercury in the Torricellian tube might 
 be predicted. But this is not properly a law of nature, 
 but a result of the three laws of nature mentioned. Every 
 true induction is therefore either a law of nature, or a 
 result of laws of nature; and the problem of induction 
 is to ascertain the laws of nature, and to follow them 
 into their results. 
 
 CAUSATION. 
 
 Now, laws of nature are of three kinds : they are either 
 
 (a) laws which apply indifferently to synchronous or 
 successive phenomena ; (b) laws which hold only of syn- 
 chronous phenomena ; or (c) laws which hold only of suc- 
 cessive phenomena, (a) The first sort of laws are those of 
 number, which hold whether the phenomena are syn- 
 chronous or successive. Thus, 2 + 2 = 4, whether we are 
 speaking of two coexistent objects or of two events. 
 
 (b) The second set of laws are those contained in geometry, 
 which apply only to coexistent objects. (c) The third 
 set of laws are those which express uniformities in the 
 way of succession. It is with these only that we have 
 here to deal. It has already been shown that the laws 
 of number and of geometry are inductions, and the 
 question is as to the inductions which concern the 
 succession of phenomena, or rather the principle which is 
 presupposed in all such inductions. That principle is 
 causation. The ground of induction, so far as successive 
 phenomena are concerned, is the law of causation, which 
 may be thus stated: "Every fact which has a beginning 
 has a cause." What, then, is a "cause"? 
 
 By a " cause " is to be understood in all cases a 
 
90 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 phenomenon, i.e., a particular fact or event. Whether 
 there are causes which are not themselves phenomena 
 we shall not inquire. There are certain thinkers (the 
 Cartesians, for example) who hold that, besides physical 
 causes, there are also efficient causes, i.e., causes which, 
 without being themselves events, produce events. But, 
 whether there are such causes or not, at any rate these 
 are not at present in question. In affirming that every 
 event has a cause, we are only affirming that every phe- 
 nomenon in nature is invariably preceded by some other 
 phenomenon. 
 
 Now, as there are at any given instant many phenomena, 
 each of these is preceded by another phenomenon, and 
 invariably preceded by it. A cause is thus an " invariable 
 antecedent " or " set of antecedents," an effect, an " invari- 
 able consequent." There are many antecedents or sets 
 of antecedents = A, B, C, D, etc., and many consequents 
 = a, f3, y, 8, etc., and each of these is separate and 
 distinct from the others. To find out such antecedents 
 is to perform an induction, so far as the succession of 
 phenomena is concerned. If there were any event which 
 had no such antecedent, no induction could take place. The 
 universality and certainty of the law of causation is there- 
 fore the basis of all induction as to successive phenomena. 
 
 A cause, then, is an antecedent or set of ante- 
 cedents. But it seldom, if ever, happens that there is 
 only one antecedent of a given consequent. In ordinary 
 language one of these antecedents is singled out and called 
 the cause, the others being distinguished as conditions. 
 But the real cause is the whole of the antecedents, i.e., 
 all the conditions without which the consequent would 
 not exist. The reason why one antecedent is specially 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 9 1 
 
 selected as the cause, is, that it alone is an event, the 
 others being states, which existed prior to the effect, but 
 did not begin to exist immediately prior to it. It thus 
 seems that a cause is the sum of antecedents without 
 which a given event does not take place, but that of 
 those antecedents the greater number are not themselves 
 events. It has to be added that in considering the sum 
 of conditions, we must take into consideration the negative 
 as well as the positive conditions, i.e., those facts which 
 must be absent if the consequent is to take place. The 
 full definition of cause, therefore, is, "the sum total of 
 the conditions, positive and negative, taken together, 
 upon which the consequent invariably follows." 
 
 This view of causation does away with the absolute 
 distinction of agent and patient. A stone falls to the 
 earth, and it is said that the earth acts, and the stone is 
 acted upon. But it is just as correct to say that the 
 stone attracts the earth, as that the earth attracts the 
 stone. The distinction between agent and patient is 
 purely verbal, since patients are always agents. All the 
 positive conditions of a phenomenon are agents, in the 
 sense that without the whole of them the consequent 
 could not take place. 
 
 The cause of anything is "the antecedent which it 
 invariably follows," but it is not " the antecedent which 
 it invariably has followed in our past experience." The 
 sequence must be not only invariable but unconditional. 
 Hence we may define a cause as "the antecedent, or the 
 concurrence of antecedents, on which a phenomenon is 
 invariably and unconditionally consequent." 
 
 It may be admitted that there are cases in which 
 the cause may not be antecedent to an effect, but simul- 
 
92 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 taneous with it. But this is a matter of minor importance. 
 To avoid the difficulty, a cause may be defined as "the 
 assemblage of phenomena, which occurring, some other 
 phenomenon invariably commences." An effect, at any 
 rate, never precedes a cause, though perhaps it may be 
 simultaneous with it. 
 
 Among the causes of phenomena some are permanent, 
 i.e., have subsisted ever since the human race has 
 been in existence, and for an indefinite time previous. 
 Such are the sun, the earth, and planets, with their 
 various constituents, air, water, and other substances. We 
 cannot account for the origin of these causes themselves, 
 nor can we tell why they are distributed as they are, or 
 why they are commingled in certain proportions. These 
 permanent causes are sometimes not objects but recurring 
 events, such as the rotation of the earth. But though 
 we cannot trace these causes back to others, all other 
 things or events are the immediate or remote effects of 
 those primeval causes. Hence the state of the whole 
 universe is the consequence of its state at the previous 
 instant, and if any particular state could ever occur a 
 second time all subsequent states would also recur, and 
 history would repeat itself. That this does not happen 
 arises from the fact that no two states of the universe 
 are identical. 
 
 How far can Mill's account of induction, and especially 
 of that form of induction which consists in the discovery 
 of causes, be accepted? So far as induction is main- 
 tained to be an inference from 'some' to 'all' resting upon 
 resemblance, it is inadequate. , Induction always consists 
 in the discovery of identity, not of resemblance. It is of 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 93 
 
 course true that in every instance in which an identity 
 has been discovered there must be resemblance, but the 
 induction is not, and cannot be, based upon resemblance. 
 The reason why "all men are mortal" is not that they 
 resemble one another in other ways, and therefore also 
 in the way of "mortality," but because they are identical 
 in the possession of a body which cannot permanently 
 resist the external influences against which it reacts. 
 Certainly, there never is any identity of nature between 
 two things which in no way resemble each other for no 
 two things can be found which are not similar in certain 
 respects and different in others but the closest resem- 
 blance will not entitle us to affirm identity, and without 
 identity there is no induction. 
 
 Is Mill's account of causation more satisfactory than 
 his account of induction? 
 
 (1) Mill is undoubtedly right in rejecting the concep- 
 tion of a mysterious " power " in one thing to bring 
 another into existence. A body falls to the ground if 
 unsupported, but the earth does not contain within itself 
 any occult "power" by which it draws the stone to 
 itself, nor does the stone contain any occult power of 
 gravitation by which it moves to the earth. The fact is 
 this, that when a body is placed at a certain distance 
 from the earth it begins to move towards the earth at a 
 certain velocity. If it were beyond a certain distance it 
 would not so move. The fact we may state by saying, 
 either that the stone is attracted by the earth, or that the 
 stone falls by its own weight; but the essence of the 
 fact is the motion of the stone under certain fixed con- 
 ditions. Given these conditions and the effect takes place. 
 
 (2) Mill, however, goes on to say that a "cause" is an 
 
94 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 " invariable antecedent " or " set of antecedents," an effect, 
 an "invariable consequent." Two questions arise here 
 therefore: I. Is a cause an "antecedent"? II. Is it an 
 "invariable" antecedent? 
 
 I. (a) At first sight it seems as if every effect were a 
 consequent, seeing that it is an event or change. But 
 it is to be observed that we cannot affirm an event to 
 be a "consequent" merely because it is sequent on some- 
 thing else. No doubt there can be no event that does 
 not imply sequence; but it is not proved to be a con- 
 sequent merely because it is an event. To call an event 
 a consequent is to imply that its cause is antecedent to 
 it, or existed prior to it. But this assumes that the cause 
 cannot be simultaneous with the effect. Now, in the 
 course of his inquiry, Mill admits that a cause may not 
 be antecedent to its effect, though he says that the point 
 is of little or no importance. Whether it is of import- 
 ance or not, it at least compels us to revise the first 
 definition which Mill gives of cause. We can no longer 
 say that a cause is an " invariable antecedent " : we must 
 now say that a cause is that which invariably precedes or 
 accompanies a certain event, an effect that which invariably 
 follows or accompanies its cause. 
 
 (p) Can we accept this revised definition? It is obvious 
 that it presupposes a separation between cause and effect, 
 such that each is an independent phenomenon, not depend- 
 ing for its reality upon the causal relation. Whether 
 the phenomenon or sum of phenomena called the cause 
 precedes or accompanies the phenomenon called the effect, 
 the one exists apart from the other. Thus, the formation 
 of water is one phenomenon, and the bringing together 
 of oxygen and hydrogen in the proportion of two to one 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 95 
 
 is another phenomenon or rather sum of phenomena. Here 
 the cause seems to precede the effect. Again, fire is the 
 cause of warmth, but the fire is one phenomenon and 
 the warmth is another, though here the cause and the 
 effect seem to be simultaneous, not successive. If, how- 
 ever, we look more closely, we shall find, I think, that 
 the supposed distinction and independence of cause and 
 effect cannot be maintained. Take the case of the forma- 
 tion of water. It is true that oxygen and hydrogen may 
 exist as separate phenomena, and that as long as they are 
 separate they are distinct from water. But oxygen and 
 hydrogen in their separation are not the cause of water. 
 As Mill himself points out, the cause is the sum total of 
 the conditions. Hence oxygen and hydrogen must be 
 brought together before they can be the cause of the 
 formation of water. When do they become the cause? 
 Only at the moment when the formation of water takes 
 place. Obviously, therefore, the cause is not antecedent 
 to the effect, but must at least be simultaneous with it. 
 But is even this account correct? What has become of 
 the hydrogen and oxygen at the moment when the water is 
 formed? They have ceased to be hydrogen and oxygen, 
 and become water. In other words, the formation of 
 water is precisely the same fact as the union of oxygen 
 and hydrogen ; i.e., the cause neither precedes nor accom- 
 panies the effect but is identical with it. Thus in dis- 
 covering the cause of the event we are simply discovering 
 an identical relation. The difference between a cause and 
 an effect is not the difference between one phenomenon 
 and another, but consists in the discovery of the fixed 
 nature of the one single fact or phenomenon. 
 
 Take the other instance of fire and heat. Nothing 
 
96 AN OUTLTNE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 seems to be more certain than that we have here two 
 distinct phenomena. The fire does not cease to exist 
 because no one feels its heat; the heat does not at once 
 cease when one is out of range of the fire. Thus the 
 cause and the effect seem to be two distinct phenomena, 
 which are only externally related to each other. But 
 here again it must be observed that the fire is not a 
 cause of heat except in so far as heat is actually pro- 
 duced. Not only so, but, as Mill himself tells us, the 
 cause is the sum of conditions without which the effect 
 could not take place. Now among these conditions the 
 sensitive organization of the subject is indispensable. 
 There is no sensation of heat in any but a living being. 
 The cause of heat is thus the excitation of the living 
 organism, under certain physical conditions. But the 
 excitation of the living organism is the sensation of heat, 
 i.e., the cause is simply the effect resolved into its con- 
 stituent elements or conditions. Wherever these con- 
 ditions are present, heat exists ; in other words, heat is 
 a fixed relation obtaining between distinguishable phe- 
 nomena. And as there is no meaning in saying that 
 the relation called the cause precedes or accompanies 
 the relation called the effect, the cause neither precedes 
 nor accompanies the effect, but is identical with it. 
 In the same way it might be shown that every instance 
 of causation is the apprehension of a fixed relation. 
 
 II. If then a cause is identical with an effect, it is 
 plain that we cannot say that a cause invariably precedes, 
 or even that it invariably accompanies, its effect. What 
 then is the meaning of "invariable"? It can only mean 
 necessary or universal. Hydrogen and oxygen in the 
 proportion of two to one necessarily form water, because 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 97 
 
 their union is involved in the unchanging constitution of 
 things. That it is so is a fact, and a fact grasped, not 
 by sensible observation, but by thought. There is no 
 difference in principle between the chemical law, H 2 0, 
 and the geometrical proposition that the interior angles of 
 a triangle are equal to two right angles. The one fact 
 is as necessary as the other. This is virtually admitted 
 by Mill when he tells us that a cause is not only 
 "invariable" but "unconditional"; for "unconditional" 
 can only mean "universal" or admitting of no exception, 
 and therefore belonging to the unchangeable nature of 
 things. 
 
 A cause, then, is neither an invariable nor an uncon- 
 ditional antecedent, but an unchangeable fact. Mill 
 says that the distinction of agent and patient is purely 
 verbal, since the patient is in all cases an agent, in the 
 sense of being one of the antecedents. It would be more 
 correct to say, that the whole distinction of agent and 
 patient is false. When a stone falls to the earth, neither 
 the stone nor the earth can be regarded as agents. This 
 way of looking at the matter supposes that the stone 
 and the earth have each a separate and independent 
 existence, and that each would be what it is even if 
 the other did not exist. Now, it is of course true that 
 the whole nature of the earth is not exhausted in its 
 relation to the stone, or the whole nature of the stone 
 in its relation to the earth. But when we are seeking 
 for the cause of the fall of the stone, we purposely 
 set aside all the characteristics of the earth and the 
 stone except the fact of the motion of each towards the 
 other. The fact to be explained is therefore purely the 
 approximation of a body of a certain mass to another 
 
9 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of a much greater mass, and this fact stated in its pre- 
 cision constitutes the cause. The cause is discovered 
 when it is seen that bodies move towards each other 
 (unless there is some negative or counteracting condition) 
 in proportion to their mass and inversely as the square 
 of their distance. This is a fixed relation, and therefore 
 it applies in all cases. But as it is a relation, there can 
 be no more meaning in calling either of the masses the 
 agent or the patient than in calling either the antecedent 
 of the other. Neither, taken by itself, is a cause or an 
 effect; the cause is the relation between the two masses 
 viewed as unchangeable, and the effect is the same rela- 
 tion viewed as manifested in the particular movement of 
 the one towards the other at a certain rate. 
 
 This view of causation explains why we do not suppose 
 invariable succession to establish causal connection. If 
 Mill were right in saying that a cause is an "invariable 
 antecedent," all invariable antecedents ought to be causes. 
 But, if a cause is never an antecedent, we at once under- 
 stand why we distinguish invariable succession from causal 
 connection. Night and day have invariably succeeded 
 each other in all human experience, but the one is never 
 supposed to be the cause of the other. The reason is 
 that they are not related as cause and effect, but as 
 distinct facts, each having its own cause. The condi- 
 tions under which night occurs are as unchangeable as 
 those under which day occurs, but they are not identical, 
 and therefore the one is not the cause or the effect of 
 the other. Each involves an identity, but it is a different 
 identity. 
 
 The last distinction drawn by Mill is between permanent 
 and changeable causes. The sun, the earth, the planets 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 99 
 
 are permanent causes, as also the rotation of the earth ; 
 the phenomena of life, on the other hand, could not exist 
 before the origination of living beings. In drawing this 
 distinction Mill has gone entirely beyond the question of 
 causation and has introduced a new problem. All that 
 causation tells, us, is, that no event occurs which does 
 not imply fixity of conditions : that wherever the same 
 conditions exist the same event must occur; but it does 
 not tell us that the same conditions have always existed, 
 or will always exist. 
 
 Thus, if living beings with an organism so differentiated 
 as to have the senses of sight, hearing, taste, smell, and 
 touch exist, the sensations relative to their senses will occur 
 according to fixed laws; but it by no means follows that 
 such beings have always existed or always will exist. The 
 causes of sensation are therefore not permanent in the 
 sense of continuing through all time : they are only per- 
 manent in the sense that they are always the same when 
 they occur. But the same holds good of what Mill calls 
 permanent causes. No doubt the earth existed prior to 
 the appearance of living beings upon it. But this only 
 means that there were causes which took the form of the 
 relations of material masses to one another, before there 
 were causes which took the form of the relations implied 
 in the sensations of living beings. Whether material masses 
 have always existed the law of causation cannot determine : 
 that is a question which takes us beyond the point of view 
 of causation, and compels us to ask what is the ultimate 
 condition of the existence of any reality. Scientific men are 
 therefore justified in refusing to say whether the material 
 world did or did not begin to be, and limiting themselves 
 to an investigation of the conditions of particular facts, 
 
IOO AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 leaving the question of the ultimate explanation of reality 
 to philosophy. The distinction of permanent and non- 
 permanent causes is therefore irrelevant and misleading. 
 Since every cause is on its particular side an event, no 
 cause can be permanent; and as every cause on its 
 universal side is a fixed relation or unchangeable fact, in 
 whatever sense one cause is permanent all are permanent. 
 The totality of causes is thus either the totality of events, 
 or the totality of relations constituting these events, i.e., 
 the system of relations constituting nature as a whole. 
 But what is the ultimate condition of there being such a 
 system or whole we cannot tell without going beyond the 
 conception of causality. 
 
CHAPTER VL 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE (Continued). 
 
 BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 
 
 We have now dealt with two of the three philosophical 
 problems that arise in regard to the knowledge of nature : 
 we have inquired into the nature of mathematical and of 
 physical knowledge, and we have found that in both cases 
 alike knowledge rests upon the discovery of certain fixed 
 relations implied in the very constitution of the world as 
 known to us. Our next step is to ask whether our 
 knowledge of nature is exhausted in the apprehension of 
 mathematical and physical relations, or whether there are 
 not certain facts which force us to employ a different 
 conception of things. That there are such facts seems 
 to be implied in the distinction between organic and 
 inorganic beings, between living things and things without 
 life. It is true that this distinction, which to common 
 sense seems to be one of the most obvious and certain, 
 has been denied, and that from two opposite points of 
 view. According to one set of thinkers there is no 
 absolute distinction between organic and inorganic beings, 
 for all the facts of life can be explained in the same way 
 
102 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 as we explain the changes which take place in the material 
 world. If we adopt this view, obviously no conception but 
 that of mechanical causation will be required. Another 
 set of thinkers take exactly the opposite view, maintaining 
 that, instead of saying that organic beings are in no way 
 different in their nature from inorganic beings, we ought 
 to say that inorganic beings are of the same nature as 
 organic; in other words, though there seem to be objects 
 which are entirely destitute of life, this is an illusion : 
 all things are living, and nowhere in the whole world 
 can there be found beings which are inorganic. It is 
 therefore maintained that the conception of mechanical 
 causation is not the only or the highest conception of 
 the world. The distinction between these two sets of 
 thinkers may be expressed by saying that the former 
 "level down," and the latter "level up"; the one class 
 reduce organic beings to the level of inorganic, the other 
 class raise inorganic beings to the level of organic. 
 
 In the presence of such opposite views, it is obvious 
 that we cannot assume the popular distinction between 
 organic and inorganic beings, but must first deal with 
 the preliminary question, whether such a distinction is 
 justifiable at all. On the other hand, supposing it to be 
 proved that the characteristic phenomena of living beings 
 cannot be explained by the conception of mechanical 
 causation, I do not think that we need encumber ourselves 
 with the question, whether even those things which seem 
 to be inorganic are not in reality organic. 
 
 Our problem, then, is this. Is there anything in the 
 nature of those beings ordinarily distinguished as living 
 or organic, which compels us to apply to them a conception 
 different from that which we employ in our physical in- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 103 
 
 vestigations ; in other words, is there a biological as 
 distinguished from a physical knowledge of nature? or 
 is biology simply a branch of physics? 
 
 DEFINITION OF LIFE. 
 
 If we direct our attention to beings usually distinguished 
 as living, can we state wherein their life consists? Mr. 
 Spencer defines life as "the power of continuous adjustment 
 of internal relations to external relations." This definition 
 is so far true, that it emphasizes one aspect of the living 
 being, viz., that it is perpetually going through changes 
 which do not leave it unaltered, but involve new relations 
 to its environment. Thus the living being in one point of 
 view exhibits a great degree of instability. It is continually 
 changing, and the more complex the being, the greater 
 is the number of changes through which it passes in a 
 given time. Mr. Spencer's definition, however, implies that 
 the living being not only changes, but that there is a series 
 of adjustments to new conditions. The relations of a stone 
 to things external to itself are of a comparatively fixed 
 and unchanging type, and seem to imply nothing more 
 than mechanical and chemical relations. After the lapse 
 of an indefinite time it displays the same essential features 
 as at the first. It is otherwise with the living being, which 
 not only exhibits relations to external circumstances, but 
 presents continually new relations from moment to moment. 
 So far therefore, we may regard Mr. Spencer's definition as 
 true. But there is one aspect of life which it does not suffi- 
 ciently accentuate. For not only does the living being dis- 
 play continual adjustment in its relations to the environment, 
 changing as they change, but it preserves its unity through 
 all the changes which it undergoes. External forces are 
 
I0 4 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 perpetually acting upon it, and threatening to destroy its 
 unity, but so long as life continues the being recovers 
 its unity. Thus a living being is a unity in a different 
 sense from that in which we can speak of the unity of a 
 stone. The unity of a stone consists in the fixed un- 
 changing identity of the mechanical forces by which its 
 parts are held together: the unity of the living being is 
 an identity which maintains itself by continuous adaptation 
 to external forces which it cannot avoid. In other words, 
 life implies not only adjustment to external relations, but 
 the persistence of unity or individuality. We may therefore 
 define life as the principle by which a being maintains its 
 individuality by a continuous adaptation to external coftditions. 
 Now, the unity or individuality of a living being is 
 dependent upon the organization of its parts. If we break 
 up a stone into parts, each part retains the same pro- 
 perties as it had prior to the separation. A living being, 
 or at least a living being which exhibits a definite organiza- 
 tion, cannot be thus broken up into parts without losing 
 its character as a living being. If a limb is severed from 
 the body, it ceases to display the function which it 
 possessed when it formed part of the body. Hence its 
 function does not belong to it in its isolation from the 
 other parts, but only in its relation to them. And this 
 is true of every part of the living being; in fact, we 
 determine what belongs to the individuality of the being 
 by asking what is incapable of being severed from the 
 whole without losing its characteristic function. A hand 
 cannot grasp, an eye cannot see, an ear cannot hear, 
 the lungs cannot breathe, the heart cannot beat, unless 
 the hand, the eye, the ear, the lungs, the heart, form 
 parts of one individual unity. It is not the mere juxta- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 105 
 
 position of the parts which determines the unity of the 
 living being, but a union so close and intimate that none 
 can be what it is apart from its relation to all the rest. 
 Now, this mutual dependence of parts as regards their 
 functions is what we mean by organization. An organism 
 is a union of parts, but the parts are what they are only 
 in their relations to one another, and hence we say that 
 each part is an organ of the whole. 
 
 That this conception of an organic unity is the basis 
 of our distinction of a living from a non-living being may 
 be seen from this, that where there is little differentiation 
 of organs, we find it hard to say whether there is one 
 being or several. The lowest form of animal is simply 
 a mass of tissue, with no distinction of head and foot, 
 digestive and nervous system. Such a being we regard 
 as living at all mainly because it has the capacity of 
 assimilating material, and loses this capacity when it dies. 
 But though there is thus in it a certain unity of parts 
 which cooperate in securing an end, the unity is of 
 such an external character that a part will perform the 
 same function as the whole. Such a being may be cut 
 into parts, and the parts still have life. On the other 
 hand, we find that the greater the division of labour 
 between the parts, the closer is the relation by which 
 the parts are bound together in the unity of the whole. 
 Thus the differentiation of the organism is correlative to 
 its integration. This principle is displayed even in beings 
 which have a distinct nervous system. In lower animals, 
 such as the frog, the spinal cord or the lower part of 
 the brain is capable of discharging functions which in 
 higher animals are devolved upon the higher part of the 
 brain. Thus the more truly individual a being is, the 
 
Io6 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 greater is the complexity of its organs, and the more 
 highly specialized their functions. 
 
 There is another characteristic which distinguishes living 
 beings from other objects : not only are they organized 
 individuals, with the faculty of self-maintenance by adapta- 
 tion to changing external conditions, but they produce 
 other individuals of the same general type as themselves. 
 
 Now, if living beings have the power of adaptation to 
 external conditions, and if they exhibit such an organiza- 
 tion of parts as tends to their own maintenance, and the 
 maintenance of their species, it seems as if we were forced 
 to apply to them a different conception from that which 
 was adequate so long as we were viewing the world from 
 the purely physical point of view. For a being which 
 not only passes through changes, but in all its changes 
 realizes the end of self-preservation, cannot, it would seem, 
 be properly understood without the conception of final 
 cause. The conception of causality as employed in the 
 physical sciences does not require us to say more than 
 that there are certain fixed conditions under which all 
 the changes in the world take place. The conception of 
 final cause adds that, in the case of living beings at 
 least, those fixed conditions are of such a nature that 
 they are subservient to an end. Thus the conception 
 of external causation tells us that under certain condi- 
 tions there arises the sensation of light; the conception 
 of final cause affirms that this sensation of light subserves 
 the preservation of the sentient being for whom it exists. 
 If this is so, we must widen our conception of the world 
 by saying that it not only implies unchanging mathematical 
 relations and unchanging physical relations, but also un- 
 changing biological relations. In other words, not only 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 107 
 
 is the world a connected system, but it is an organic 
 system. For, if the living being has the power of per- 
 petuating itself by a continual adaptation to external con- 
 ditions, these conditions must be of such a nature as 
 to admit of such self-adaptation. The world must there- 
 fore be conceived as an organic whole, in which each part 
 is related to all the other parts, i.e., the world must be 
 conceived from a teleological, and not from a mechanical 
 point of view. Accordingly, the physical as well as the 
 mathematical sciences must be regarded as true only in 
 so far as they express what holds good of the world 
 from their limited point of view. Just as there are no 
 separate lines or figures in nature, so there can be no 
 separate objects which are purely mechanical. 
 
 It may be said, however, and indeed it has been said, 
 that, while the teleological view of the world has much 
 plausibility so long as we suppose living beings to form 
 separate and distinct species, this plausibility vanishes 
 when we find that they have all originated in a purely 
 natural and therefore mechanical way. In other words, 
 it is maintained that the theory of development, as enun- 
 ciated by Darwin, is incompatible with a teleological 
 explanation of the world, and hence we must regard the 
 conception of mechanical causation as the ultimate view 
 of things. We must, therefore, ask whether the theory 
 of development confirms, or casts doubt upon, the con- 
 clusions reached independently of it. 
 
 THE DARWINIAN THEORY. 
 
 As stated by Darwin himself, the theory of development 
 assumes that there is a line of demarcation between organic 
 and inorganic beings; and no attempt is made to derive 
 
I8 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the former from the latter. What Darwin maintained in 
 his Origin of Species was, that all living beings have been 
 derived from "one or more primordial forms"; but these 
 "primordial forms" he regarded as themselves living. 
 What Darwin denied was the older biological doctrine 
 that certain animals are clearly distinguishable by pecul- 
 iarities of form, size, colour, etc., and produce offspring 
 that closely resemble their parents, these peculiarities 
 being permanent. Thus, the rook and the crow were 
 regarded as distinct species, because (i) they differ from 
 each other in structure, form, and habits, and because (2) 
 rooks always produce rooks, and crows crows, and they 
 do not interbreed. It was therefore supposed that all 
 existing crows were descended from a single pair of 
 crows, and all the rooks from a single pair of rooks. 
 How the primitive pairs were formed was a "mystery." 
 
 In opposition to this view, Darwin maintains that 
 " species are not immutable, but that those belonging to 
 what are called the same genera (e.g., the crow and the 
 rook) are lineal descendants of some other and generally 
 extinct species, in the same manner as the acknowledged 
 varieties of any one species are the descendants of that 
 species." There are two fundamental principles which 
 explain how species have originated. In the first place, 
 all living beings multiply in a geometrical progression. 
 In the second place, the offspring differ slightly from the 
 parents, though generally they closely resemble them. 
 
 (1) Now, it is impossible that all the beings born into 
 the world should live, because there would not be sufficient 
 food to sustain them. Hence arises a struggle for ex- 
 istence, resulting in the extinction, on an average, of as 
 many as survive. They kill one another, they starve 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 109 
 
 one another, and the forces of nature carry many of them 
 off. Which of them survive? Naturally, those that are 
 stronger, or swifter, or hardier, or more cunning. "The 
 fittest always survive" not necessarily the strongest, but 
 those which have some peculiarity that enables them to 
 escape destruction. 
 
 (2) There is also another principle at work, the principle 
 of heredity or transmission of variations. In the case of 
 plants or domestic animals, we can improve the stock by 
 carefully selecting the best seed and the finest animals. 
 After a time they may have so improved that it is hard 
 to recognize them as identical with the primitive stock. 
 So, in a state of nature, the beings that have some pecul- 
 iarity that gives them a superiority in the struggle for 
 existence, survive ; but when this variation is no longer 
 useful, those individuals that chance to have a new quality 
 or modification more favourable to their continuance will 
 gradually displace the old. It is in this way that new 
 species originate. The general conclusion reached by 
 such considerations is, that all plants and animals have 
 been gradually evolved from "one or more primordial 
 forms." 
 
 This doctrine, however, is applied not only to plants 
 and the lower animals, but to man. The most superficial 
 examination of man's body shows that it agrees in all 
 essential features with the bodies of other mammalia. 
 " Every detail of structure which is common to the mam- 
 malia as a class is found also in man, while he only differs 
 from them in such ways and degrees as the various species 
 or groups of mammals differ from one another." Now, 
 if it is reasonable to conclude that all mammalia originally 
 descended from some primitive type, are we not compelled 
 
IIO AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 to suppose that man also must trace his origin back to 
 that type? 
 
 Granting that man has originated in the same way as 
 other living beings; granting, in other words, that as an 
 animal he must be classed with other animals : the question 
 arises whether his mental and moral faculties have also 
 been derived by gradual modification and development 
 from the lower animals. Now, in his Desce?it of Man, 
 Darwin does not say in express terms that the spiritual 
 nature of man has been derived from the lower animals, 
 "in the same manner and by the action of the same 
 general laws as his physical structure"; but the whole 
 of his argument tends to that conclusion. 
 
 " The rudiments of most, if not all the mental and moral 
 faculties of man can be detected in some animals. They 
 exhibit curiosity, imitation, attention, wonder, and memory ; 
 they display kindness to their fellows, pride, contempt, and 
 shame." Some are held to possess a rudimentary language, 
 because they utter several different sounds, each of which 
 has a definite meaning to their fellows or to their young ; 
 others possess the rudiments of arithmetic, because they 
 seem to count and remember up to three, four, or even 
 five. They seem to have some sense of beauty, and certain 
 animals are said to have imagination, because they appear 
 to be disturbed by dreams. Even an approach to religion 
 is said to be exhibited in the deep love and complete 
 submission of a dog to his master. 
 
 Again, if we compare the lowest races of man with 
 the higher animals, we find that the mental and moral 
 qualities of the former are very little higher than those 
 of the latter. In the lowest savages there is not a dis- 
 tinct moral sense, but merely certain social instincts 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. Ill 
 
 which develop through circumstances into a moral sense. 
 Those actions which are regarded as contrary to the 
 interests of the tribe excite its disapprobation and are 
 held to be immoral; those actions which as a rule are 
 beneficial to the tribe meet with its approval, and are 
 considered moral. Naturally, the individual has a feeling 
 of satisfaction when he acts so as to gain general 
 approbation, and of discomfort when he does anything 
 contrary to the mind of his tribe. In these feelings orig- 
 inates his consciousness of right and wrong. Conscience 
 arises from the struggle between the desire to do what 
 will benefit oneself and injure others, and the desire to 
 obtain the general approbation of the tribe. The social 
 instincts are thus the foundation of morality. 
 
 Now, you will observe that in this argument two things 
 are implied : firstly, that there has been a continuous 
 development of intellectual and moral faculties, from the 
 lower animals up to savages, and from savages up to 
 civilized man ; and secondly, that this development may 
 be explained by the same law of natural evolution that 
 has been employed to account for the natural descent 
 of man from lower forms of being. It will therefore be 
 well to point out clearly the distinction between these 
 two things. Let us ask, therefore, What is the precise 
 nature and value of the proof that man has descended 
 from the lower animals, granting that proof to be as 
 irresistible as scientific men usually suppose it to be? 
 
 I do not propose to inquire into the evidence 
 brought forward by Darwin and his followers in support 
 of the natural descent by inheritance of all living beings 
 from one or more primitive forms. Even if I were com- 
 petent to give an authoritative opinion on that question, 
 
112 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 it would not be my place to do it. I shall therefore 
 assume, with the majority of scientific men, that as a 
 matter of fact the old doctrine of the immutability of 
 species is false, and that in the principle of natural 
 evolution we have found the true explanation of the 
 phenomena of organized existence. In other words, we 
 must, in my opinion, be prepared to accept the extension 
 of natural law to living beings. On this view, natural 
 evolution is in the organic world very much what gravita- 
 tion is in the sphere of the inorganic. What I wish you 
 to consider is, whether, accepting the theory of develop- 
 ment as the only tenable explanation of the characteristics 
 and changes of living beings, we have reached an ultimate 
 explanation, or whether we have only solved a subordinate 
 problem. 
 
 DARWIN AND PALEY. 
 
 Now there can be no doubt that the principle of 
 natural evolution, as conceived by biologists, is incon- 
 sistent with the conception that any organ or organism 
 has been specially constructed with the design of per- 
 forming a particular function. Paley, in his celebrated 
 argument from design, compares the various organs of a 
 living being to the parts of a watch. Just as the watch 
 is put together by the watchmaker so as to fulfil the 
 purpose of showing the time, so the organs of a living 
 being have been constructed by the supreme Artificer in 
 order to secure its existence and well-being. The same 
 adaptation of means to ends is exhibited, he argues, in 
 such an organ as the eye, which has been constructed 
 with the express purpose of enabling the individual to see. 
 This argument therefore rests upon the idea that the 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 113 
 
 organs of living beings have been specially designed to 
 subserve a particular purpose. Now, this conception of 
 design is not consistent with the doctrine of natural 
 evolution. It assumes that the peculiar adjustment of 
 organisms and organs to external conditions cannot be 
 explained without recourse being had to the hypothesis 
 of an artificer external to them, who specially adapted 
 them to their environment. It assumes, in other words, 
 that in the ordinary operation of natural law there is 
 nothing to account for the peculiar character of living 
 beings. For the whole force of the argument lies in 
 this, that there is nothing in the nature of living beings 
 themselves, or in the action of circumstances upon them, 
 to explain the wonderful adjustment of the one to the 
 other. It is because the operation of natural law does not 
 explain the adaptation of an organism to its environment 
 that recourse is had to the conception of an external 
 designer. Just as the parts of a watch would never 
 come together as they are found in the watch, unless 
 they were brought together and arranged by the watch- 
 maker : so the organs of a living being would never 
 come together spontaneously without the special inter- 
 position of a designing intelligence external to them. 
 But this is exactly what Darwin denies. He refuses 
 indeed to say how the primitive forms from which living 
 beings have descended came to be in existence whether 
 by " special creation " or by evolution from non-living 
 things but, in regard to the adaptation of all subsequent 
 beings to external conditions, he maintains that the 
 operation of the law of natural evolution explains the 
 facts quite irrespective of any hypothesis of special design. 
 A teleologist like Paley would say that an organism 
 
114 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 exists because it was made for. the conditions in which 
 it is found ; the Darwinian, that " an organism exists 
 because, out of many of its kind, it is the only one 
 which has been able to persist in the conditions in which 
 it is found." x The ordinary teleologist would say that 
 cats have been made in order to catch mice; the Dar- 
 winian, that cats exist because they catch mice well. 
 
 The effect of the Darwinian theory therefore is to 
 exclude from the realm of science all explanation by 
 final causes, and to bring the organic world like the 
 inorganic, under the sway of inviolable law. Nor can 
 there be any doubt that in this procedure it is simply 
 following in the lines of the other sciences, which have 
 discarded the hypothesis of the special interposition of 
 supernatural agency, and have sought only to find out 
 the fixed laws according to which phenomena occur. 
 
 Darwinism, then, seeks to show, firstly, that each living 
 being is fitted for some external conditions, not because 
 it has been externally and artificially constructed for the 
 purpose of living under those conditions, but because it 
 would not have existed at all had it not possessed 
 naturally the organs essential to such existence. Secondly, 
 it explains the existence of all the varieties of living 
 beings, and more particularly the "wonderful development 
 of the highest, by means of the action and reaction 
 between the environment and the simplest organic forms." 
 
 I do not think that any fruitful results in philosophy 
 are to be obtained by attempting to reinstate the con- 
 ception of external design. Our problem rather is this: 
 granting that the Darwinian theory has made it impossible 
 for us any longer to hold to the idea of the external 
 1 Huxley's Lay Sermons, p. 302. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 115 
 
 and artificial adaptation of an organized being to a 
 particular end, must we not seek for a new and higher 
 conception of the relation of the various parts of the 
 universe to one another, and more particularly of the 
 various organized beings to their environment? This is, 
 in fact, the special problem of philosophy as distinguished 
 from science. Science is content to start from the 
 assumed independent existence of individual objects, and 
 to treat them as if they were only externally related to 
 one another. This assumption, however, philosophy can- 
 not allow to pass without criticism, but goes on to ask 
 whether there is not a principle of unity which explains 
 the differences of things by showing that they all belong 
 to one intelligible system. 
 
 In examining the view of Comte, that knowledge is 
 limited to particulars, I tried to show that such a doctrine 
 is inconsistent with the nature of knowable existence. 
 All things that can be observed are related to one 
 another by the fact that they exist in space. We can 
 therefore say, that no sensible object can possibly be 
 known that does not fall within the one world of space. 
 The question therefore arises, whether we are not com- 
 pelled to hold that all living beings in like manner 
 belong to a single system of things, and whether, 
 therefore, we are not forced to return to a teleological 
 conception of the world if we are to bring the theory of 
 development into harmony with the rest of our knowledge. 
 
 I shall begin by pointing out some of the presup- 
 positions with which the theory starts; and I shall then 
 inquire whether those presuppositions do not take us 
 beyond the theory, and compel us to regard the universe 
 from a teleological point of view. 
 
Il6 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 In the first place, the theory assumes that the laws of 
 inorganic nature are inviolable. The environment, to 
 which living beings must conform on pain of extinction, 
 involves all the ordinary laws of dynamics, physics, and 
 chemistry. Now, these laws rest upon such principles 
 as the indestructibility of matter, the equality of action 
 and reaction, the afhnity of elements for each other. The 
 first of these principles affirms that, whatever may be the 
 changes in the sensible properties of things, the quantity 
 of their matter is unchangeable. When a piece of wood 
 is burned, it changes in its sensible properties, but its 
 weight remains the same. So if one body impinges upon 
 another, both alter their position, but the total quantity 
 of energy is the same. Two chemical elements will 
 combine only if they have an affinity for each other, and 
 this affinity is not a mere accident but belongs to the 
 very constitution of the elements. 
 
 Secondly, the Darwinian theory assumes that in each 
 living being there is a tendency or impulse to maintain 
 itself, and to continue its species. This is implied in the 
 "struggle for existence," which is the main principle of 
 the whole doctrine. Unless living beings possessed the 
 impulse towards self-maintenance, and the impulse to 
 continue their species, there would be no struggle for 
 existence. In the very nature of living beings, there is 
 therefore implied a purposive tendency. It is true that 
 the impulse can only be realized under appropriate 
 external conditions, but external conditions themselves 
 will not account for the facts unless we also presuppose 
 the tendency to self-maintenance and race-maintenance. 
 
 Thirdly, the theory also assumes that the variations 
 in the several parts of the living being are consistent 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. TI7 
 
 with the impulse to self-maintenance and race-maintenance. 
 For however strong that impulse might be, it would be 
 powerless unless the being by inheritance possessed the 
 organs enabling it to maintain itself under the external 
 conditions in which it is placed. 
 
 These three assumptions, then, are clearly implied in 
 the doctrine of evolution. If the laws of inorganic 
 nature were not constant, there could be no continuous 
 development of living beings. If living beings had no 
 impulse to self-maintenance, there would be no struggle 
 to live under given external conditions. And, lastly, if 
 there were no law of inheritance by which offspring 
 resembled their parents and yet varied slightly from them, 
 there would be no development of organisms exhibiting 
 an ever more perfect correlation of parts. Now, I think 
 it may be shown that these assumptions, when we ask 
 what is implied in them, compel us to hold that the 
 world is a system, or, in other words, that we cannot 
 explain existence apart from some form of teleology. 
 
 It is virtually assumed by Darwin that a denial of 
 teleology in the sense in which Paley affirmed it is the 
 same thing as a denial of teleology in any sense. This, 
 however, does not seem to me to follow. On the con- 
 trary, the more clearly we see that no species of living 
 being has been directly formed for a special set of cir- 
 cumstances, the more manifest it becomes that between 
 the inorganic and the organic world there is so close a 
 connection that the one cannot exist without the other. 
 No doubt, if we look at a particular set of circumstances 
 and a particular species of living being, there seems to be 
 no connection except a purely accidental one. Plants 
 that happen to be well armed with spines or hairs may 
 
n8 
 
 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 escape being devoured; a much stronger plant without 
 this accidental advantage may perish. If the one species 
 was constructed with hairs to escape destruction, shall we 
 not have to say that in the construction of the other 
 species there was a failure in foresight? At first sight it 
 therefore seems as if there were no adaptation between 
 the environment and the organism except what is acci- 
 dental. If an organism happens to possess a peculiarity 
 that gives it an advantage in the struggle for existence it 
 survives, if not it dies; but the law of inheritance by 
 which the advantageous peculiarity arises seems to have 
 no necessary relation to external conditions, but to be 
 purely accidental. But, when we look more closely, we 
 shall find, I think, that the connection between the organ- 
 ism and the environment cannot be called accidental. 
 
 For (i) if there were no harmony whatever between an 
 organism and its environment, the organism could not 
 exist at all. Before a being can live, there must be 
 a certain adjustment of the external conditions to the 
 internal ; death, in fact, arises when that adjustment is 
 no longer possible. Even in the case of the beings that 
 do not survive, there is necessarily a certain degree of 
 harmony between them and the conditions in which they 
 are found. The struggle for existence is a struggle to 
 maintain the initial harmony. But, because in some 
 organisms the capacity of adaptation to given conditions 
 is made possible by a peculiar feature not found in others, 
 the harmony of organism and environment is maintained 
 and the being lives and grows. To suppose, therefore, 
 that there is no harmony between living beings and ex- 
 ternal conditions is to suppose that life is impossible; in 
 other words, it is to contradict the fact from which the 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 119 
 
 development theory starts. The relation between the 
 inorganic and the organic world is therefore not an 
 accidental relation, but one that is implied in the very 
 existence of the organic world. 
 
 Now, if this is true, we can no longer oppose the 
 organic to the inorganic world as if they were two inde- 
 pendent spheres of existence, only externally and acci- 
 dentally connected ; we must, on the contrary, regard them 
 as belonging to one system of things. It is not a matter 
 of chance that some living beings are incapable of con- 
 tinuous adjustment to the external conditions, and others 
 succeed in effecting an adjustment : it is a matter of 
 necessity. Were the external conditions totally different 
 from what they are, living beings could not exist : that 
 they do exist is sufficient evidence of an essential 
 harmony between them and the conditions of their exist- 
 ence. What the development theory really proves is, not 
 that the relation of organized beings to their environment 
 is a purely accidental one, but that the adjustment is in 
 the case of many living beings imperfect, and ultimately 
 in all. 
 
 (2) We have seen that the theory implies in each living 
 being an impulse to maintain itself. If this were absent 
 there would be no struggle for existence. Hence we 
 cannot regard the relation of organic beings to the en- 
 vironment as the mere action of the environment on the 
 organism, but we must add that the tendency to self- 
 maintenance and to race-maintenance is an essential 
 factor in the case. That is to say, living beings are 
 unconsciously purposive in this sense, that their very 
 existence implies a tendency to continue their own exist- 
 ence and the existence of their species. It is true that 
 
120 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 this tendency is in many individuals never realized, on 
 account of an imperfect relation between the organism 
 and the environment; but it is not less true, that while 
 the individual is sacrificed, the tendency to self-main- 
 tenance is actually realized on the whole. Thus, while 
 the world is not fitted for the realization of the impulse to 
 self-maintenance in every individual, it is fitted for the 
 existence and perpetuation of life on the whole. We can 
 no longer hold that each living being, or even each 
 species, has been specially constructed with a view to its 
 existence under certain definite external conditions ; but 
 we can say, that between organic and inorganic things as 
 a whole there is a necessary harmony. This becomes 
 even clearer if we consider 
 
 (3) That living beings have not only a tendency to self- 
 maintenance, but a tendency to organization. This tend- 
 ency to organization is explained by Darwin as due to the 
 fact that each organism reproduces itself with slight varia- 
 tions in its offspring, and that those living beings which 
 possess a variation harmonious with the external con- 
 ditions of existence survive, and, reproducing their type 
 with a new variation, give rise to a form of being having 
 a still more perfect capacity of adjustment to the environ- 
 ment. Now, it is true that this mode of explanation is 
 inconsistent with the idea of an external construction of 
 a certain type of organism out of a preexistent material; 
 for, in the living being itself is found the variation which 
 accounts for its adaptation to the environment. But 
 this only shifts the problem, and forces us to ask what 
 is meant by this hereditary tendency to variation. If 
 there were no such tendency, there would be no possibility 
 of development, since that tendency is essential to the 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 121 
 
 existence of certain forms, and to the gradual develop- 
 ment of higher forms. While, therefore, the relation of 
 organism and environment is incompatible with the per- 
 petuation of certain forms, it is compatible with others. 
 But what is still more important, it is the very incom- 
 patibility of lower forms with the conditions of existence 
 that explains the development of higher forms. If the 
 simplest and lowest forms of life were better adapted to 
 the environment than the more complex and higher forms, 
 there could have been no evolution of the higher out of 
 the lower. It is just because some beings are less adapted 
 to the environment than others that a perpetual develop- 
 ment of higher forms has taken place. The environment, 
 in other words, is opposed to the continued existence 
 of lower forms of being and harmonious with the con- 
 tinued existence of higher forms. 
 
 Thus the idea of purpose comes back in another and 
 higher form. It is now seen to be implied in the very 
 nature of existence, not to be something external and 
 arbitrary. The organic forms with the inorganic world 
 a systematic unity in which every part is related to every 
 other. We find, in fact, in the evolution of living beings, 
 the same unifying principle that is at work in the inorganic 
 world, only that in the former the tendency to unity is 
 more clearly manifested than in the latter. The parts 
 of a stone, e.g., seem to be only externally related to 
 one another. Break it up and there is in the stone no 
 tendency to a restoration of the unity that has been 
 destroyed. In the living being, on the contrary, there 
 is a perpetual conflict with external forces, resulting, as 
 we have seen, in the development of ever higher forms 
 of life. Hence it is that, in life, as Kant said, the idea 
 
122 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of purpose first clearly presents itself. Apart from the 
 tendency to organization and unity, there is no life; and 
 this tendency, in its widest sweep, is exhibited in the 
 gradual ascent of life from its simplest to its most com- 
 plex forms. The higher a being is, the greater is its 
 power of adaptation, and the more perfect its unity. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 We find, therefore, that, when it is interpreted from the 
 philosophical point of view, the theory of development 
 leads to the conclusion that organized existence exhibits 
 the continual evolution of living beings towards a more 
 and more perfect form of unity ; in other words, it implies 
 that the form of existence is necessarily ruled by the idea 
 of unity, and is a realization of unity. And this is the 
 same as saying that the world is in no sense a product 
 of chance or of external necessity, but must be conceived 
 from the point of view of immanent teleology. 
 
 I am well aware that many objections may be raised 
 to this conclusion, and these we shall afterwards have 
 to consider. At present my aim merely is to indicate 
 in general the point of view from which, as I think, the 
 question must be regarded. Assuming, then, that the 
 world is in no sense given over to chance, or, in other 
 words, that it constitutes a systematic unity in which every 
 element is striving towards a definite end, we have 
 next to ask what is the ultimate nature of this unity; 
 we have to ask, in other words, whether the unity of 
 the world implies or does not imply intelligence. It is 
 123 
 
124 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 one thing to say that the world is a unity and exhibits 
 in its changes a continual tendency towards a more perfect 
 unity, and it is another thing to say that this unity and 
 tendency to perfection necessarily implies intelligence. It 
 may even be plausibly argued, that as the teleological 
 conception of existence implies absolute fixity in the rela- 
 tions of things, or, in other words, the reign of inviolable 
 law, there is no necessity for the hypothesis of intelligence 
 at all. This is the question which lies at the basis of 
 all philosophy, and we must give our best efforts towards 
 its solution. The only satisfactory answer will consist 
 in the whole system of philosophy, but some preliminary 
 idea of it may be given now. 
 
 We have seen that Darwin not only traces the physical 
 descent of man down from some primitive form of living 
 being, but he seems to find in the principle of natural 
 evolution a sufficient explanation even of his intellectual 
 and moral qualities. The whole tenor of his thought in 
 the Descent of Man is that the great gulf supposed to be 
 fixed between man and the animals cannot be shown to 
 exist. If, therefore, we can explain all the characteristics 
 of the animals by the principle of natural evolution, why 
 should we not also explain in the same way all the char- 
 acteristics of man? Here, then, two main propositions 
 are asserted or implied by Darwin : first, that man as 
 regards mental qualities differs from the animals only in 
 degree, not in kind; second, that the mental qualities 
 of both man and the animals may be accounted for by 
 the law of natural evolution. Can these two propositions 
 be maintained? 
 
 Now, it is asserted or implied that the mental qualities 
 of man are generically identical with those of the animals. 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 25 
 
 Darwin brings man and the animals closer together, first, 
 by lifting up the animals, and, second, by lowering man. 
 
 (a) The higher animals, he contends, exhibit the same 
 kind of intelligence as man. They display, e.g., curiosity, 
 wonder, memory, imagination ; some possess a rudimentary 
 mathematics, language, aesthetics, morality, and religion. 
 We must, therefore, correct our preconception that the 
 animals are destitute of intelligence. The facts show that 
 they possess in an elementary form all that has hitherto 
 been supposed to be distinctive of man. 
 
 (b) On the other hand, we must recognize that man 
 in his lowest stage of development is very little superior 
 in mental qualities to the most developed of the animals. 
 The savage has social instincts which bind him to his 
 fellows, but the same instincts are exhibited by the higher 
 animals. The difference between the highest animal and 
 the savage is no greater, if even so great, as that between 
 the savage and the civilized man. Now, the difference 
 between the civilized man and the savage is only one 
 of degree, and, by parity of reasoning, the difference 
 between the higher animals and the savage must also 
 be one of degree. 
 
 The general conclusion, then, would seem to be that 
 in the animals is found the same kind of intelligence as 
 in man, just as their organism differs from man's only in 
 its being less developed. There is no break in the con- 
 tinuity of development : the high intelligence of civilized 
 man has come out of the low intelligence of the savage, 
 as the latter has been evolved from the still lower in- 
 telligence of the animals. Man used to be denned as 
 a "rational animal," and it was supposed that "rationality" 
 differentiated him from the lower animals. This definition 
 
126 
 
 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 we must now extend to other beings besides man, and we 
 must say that "all animals are rational." 
 
 Now, it is not my intention to dispute the facts upon 
 which Darwin bases his view of the essential identity 
 in mental as in bodily powers of man and the animals. 
 There can, I think, be no doubt that the higher animals 
 exhibit qualities that must be regarded as implying an 
 elementary intelligence. Granting this, I propose to show 
 that we must carry back this principle further than 
 Darwin has done. If, in the animals nearest to man, we 
 find traces of a rudimentary intelligence, must we not 
 expect to find in less developed animals traces of an 
 intelligence still more rudimentary; nay, must we not 
 hold that even plants exhibit intelligence in a still more 
 rudimentary form? Nor does it seem possible to stop 
 here. Following out the same line of thought, must we 
 not go still further back, and look for inchoate intelligence 
 even in inorganic things ? This is the direction in which 
 many men of science have recently gone. It is a revival, 
 in a new form, of a doctrine that was advanced in his 
 day by Leibnitz. Perhaps, therefore, it may help to 
 clear the way, if we first consider the Leibnitzian theory 
 of the essential identity of all forms of existence. 
 
 THE MONADS OF LEIBNITZ. 
 
 Every real thing is held by Leibnitz to be an individual 
 substance, or, in other words, to have a unique existence 
 of its own, separating it from all other existences. From 
 this point of view, the universe is made up of an infinite 
 number of distinct individuals, which, like crystal spheres, 
 are exclusive of one another and mutually repellent. The 
 universe is therefore a collection of separate individuals, 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 27 
 
 not an organic unity, in which each individual is only 
 ideally separable. "There can be nothing real or sub- 
 stantial in the collection, unless the units be substantial." 
 Each is a little world of its own. developing by itself, " as 
 if there were nothing else in existence." 
 
 This, however, is only one side of the Leibnitzian 
 doctrine. Pushed to its logical extreme it would dissolve 
 the universe into fragments. Each "monad," as Leibnitz 
 calls the individual, is in its existence unrelated to every 
 other. There is no really contimcous existence, but 
 only discrete existence. Leibnitz naturally had some 
 difficulty in satisfying himself that material things are 
 separate and distinct. For every material thing is in 
 space, and as such it seems to be infinitely divisible. How 
 then shall we reach an absolute individual, an ultimate 
 atom? If the supposed ultimate atom occupies space, 
 it must be divisible, and therefore it cannot be a real 
 individual. To obtain a real individual atom, it would 
 seem as if we required a space that was itself made up 
 of separate parts, and of such a space we can form no 
 conception whatever. Leibnitz gets over this difficulty 
 by boldly denying that space has a real existence, and 
 consequently by denying that material things are really 
 extended. 
 
 The ancient Atomists, he says, made the mistake of 
 supposing that there are real material atoms existing in 
 space; and hence they were forced to hold the self- 
 contradictory doctrine that there are real material atoms 
 which have no parts. Real units, then, are not extended 
 at all ; they are individual " monads " having an inde- 
 pendent existence, but not an existence in space. The 
 idea of space is a "confused idea," i.e., an idea resting 
 
128 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 upon the first or apparent view of things. At the 
 stage of sensible perception it seems as if real things 
 were in space and were extended; but, when we reflect 
 on the nature of reality, and bring our knowledge 
 to the clearness of thought, we see that real things 
 are not in space. The same thing is true of time : there 
 is no real time, nor are real existences in time. Yet 
 the external world is not a mere illusion : it has 
 its own definite laws, and, what is more, there is a 
 perfect correspondence between the real relations of 
 "monads" to one another, and the connection of phe- 
 nomena in time and space. The law of phenomena is 
 different from the law of real things. Phenomena are 
 connected by the law of efficient causes, monads by the 
 law of final causes. The monads are determined by 
 their own inner nature, not by the action upon them of 
 external causes, but there is a correspondence between 
 the connection of phenomena and the self-determination 
 of monads. The reason of this correspondence is that 
 the activities of the real monads are refracted in passing 
 through the medium of sense; only this refraction always 
 takes place in a fixed way. For example, if I will to 
 raise my arm, the volition proceeds entirely from me : I 
 am self-determined. But, on the other hand, the move- 
 ment of the arm seems to be sufficiently explained by the 
 cerebral movement, which itself is excited by sense-per- 
 ception. I am myself the real cause of the action, but 
 from the point of view of perception the cause is a 
 bodily movement. 
 
 But why, it may be asked, are monads compelled to 
 represent things in the " confused " form of perception ? 
 If perception is an inadequate view of things, can it be 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 29 
 
 said that the monads are determined purely from them- 
 selves? A monad that represented reality as it is would 
 always view things from the point of view of thought; 
 and hence for it there would be no space or time, no 
 extended or temporal world, no efficient causes. In 
 attempting to meet this difficulty, Leibnitz is forced to 
 modify his first unqualified assertion of the absolute self- 
 determination of the monads. All finite monads are 
 indeed determined from within, but each has a certain 
 limit in its own nature to its activity. It is because of 
 this limit that it does not represent the universe to itself 
 as it truly is, but always in a more or less confused 
 form. It presents to itself a picture of the whole world, 
 but a picture blurred and indistinct. But all monads do 
 not represent the world with equal clearness. There 
 is a regular gradation. God, the "monad of monads," 
 whose activity is absolutely unlimited by any passive 
 element, apprehends all things in the clearness of pure 
 thought. Finite spirits like men apprehend the world 
 partly in the light of thought, partly in the confusion 
 of sense. Animals have only sense perception, while 
 plants and inorganic things represent the world in a still 
 more confused way. Observe, however, that on Leibnitz' 
 view the distinction between man and the animal, 
 between the animal and the plant, and between the 
 plant and the mineral, is one of degree not of kind. 
 Wherever there is existence, there is perception. Every 
 monad is an individual, and there is no individual that 
 has not an ideal centre of perception, in which it re- 
 presents all other existence. It is a "living mirror 
 gifted with an internal activity, whereby it represents the 
 whole universe according to its particular point of view, 
 
130 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 and in such a way that its ideal universe has all the 
 regularity of the real one." 
 
 In this doctrine of Leibnitz we have a suggestion of 
 the manner in which the Darwinian conception of the 
 distinction between the animals and man must be com- 
 pleted. As the animals differ from man only in the 
 degree of their mental qualities, so we must suppose the 
 plant and the mineral to differ in a similar way. This 
 view has been put forward, though with some hesitation, 
 by Tyndall, and Haeckel adopts it without any hesitation. 
 It is pointed out by Tyndall that in the tendency to 
 crystallization of the mineral world we have an anticipation 
 of the organized form of living beings. The whole tend- 
 ency therefore of the Darwinian conception is to deny 
 that there is any fundamental distinction between different 
 orders of existence. The mineral exhibits in an implicit 
 form the same characteristics as are presented in man 
 in an explicit form. We can therefore readily understand 
 why Tyndall says that in matter he discerns the "promise 
 and potency of all kinds and qualities of life." As Darwin 
 denies any generic distinction between man and the 
 animals, so Tyndall would deny any generic distinction 
 between man and the mineral. And the same line of 
 argument is applied by both. As Darwin seeks to show 
 that the higher animals come much nearer to man than 
 is commonly supposed, so Tyndall maintains that in the 
 wonderful symmetry of the crystal we have a close 
 approximation to organized existence. The inference 
 would therefore seem to be, that there is no break in 
 the continuity of existence, but all existence is of the 
 same fundamental nature. 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 131 
 
 If we examine this conception closely, I think we shall 
 find that it really involves two radically different views 
 of the world, which have not been clearly distinguished 
 from each other. The first view is, that there is nothing 
 in the nature of intelligence as found in man that is not 
 contained in lower forms of existence; in other words, 
 it is implied that intelligence must be reduced to the 
 same level as other modes of existence. The second 
 view is, that all forms of existence imply intelligence, 
 since even in the mineral we find implicitly what in 
 man we find explicitly. The first view levels down, 
 the second levels up. It is one thing to say that all the 
 characteristics of man as an intelligent being can be ex- 
 plained by the operation of the same laws as those which 
 account for the form and movements of inorganic things, 
 and another thing to say that the laws of inorganic nature 
 properly understood are really laws of intelligence. We 
 must therefore inquire which of these opposite views is 
 really held by men like Darwin and Tyndall, and which 
 is true. 
 
 Now, I think there can be no doubt that the tendency 
 of Darwin's theory of the nature of man is to abolish 
 the distinction between intelligence and non-intelligence, 
 though it is rather certain of his followers than Darwin 
 himself who hold that the mental and moral qualities 
 of man may be explained on the principle of natural 
 evolution alone. I think that this extreme view may 
 readily be shown to be untenable. 
 
 The evolution of all forms of life, as we must suppose, 
 has taken place in this way, that the advantageous 
 peculiarities received by inheritance enable certain forms to 
 survive. But these peculiarities simply come to the indi- 
 
132 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 vidual by natural inheritance. No living being can change 
 its inherited qualities. The external conditions are in 
 like manner beyond the control of the individual. Now, 
 whether an individual will survive or not depends upon 
 its power of adaptation to the environment, and this de- 
 pends entirely upon the natural adaptation of its inherited 
 peculiarities to the circumstances in which it is placed; 
 hence there seems to be, on this view, no place for any 
 spontaneous activity on the part of the individual living 
 being. If therefore, we apply the doctrine of natural 
 selection to man, it seems to make any claim for his 
 freedom, either of intelligence or of action, quite unin- 
 telligible. Man, we are to suppose, inherited from his 
 animal progenitors such qualities as curiosity, wonder, 
 memory, imagination. But these are purely natural tend- 
 encies which the individual can neither make nor 
 unmake; they come to him by inheritance, like his bodily 
 powers, and their direction is determined by the external 
 conditions in which he is placed. Thus the curiosity of 
 primitive man we may suppose to have been excited by 
 something he could not explain, but the feeling itself 
 was due to an inherited tendency, and was called out by 
 the external circumstances. If, therefore, we follow the 
 evolution of man from his primitive to his civilized 
 condition, we shall still find nothing but the reaction 
 of the individual on his environment, a reaction deter- 
 mined simply by the peculiarities of his inherited 
 disposition. 
 
 (a) There is on this view no more room for any free 
 activity in knowledge on the part of man than on the 
 part of an unconscious thing. Hydrogen exhibits by its 
 natural constitution an affinity for oxygen, but it would 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 33 
 
 be regarded as a pure fiction to endow the hydrogen 
 with any capacity of freely selecting the oxygen as its 
 mate. For, it would be said, hydrogen cannot refuse to 
 unite with oxygen under certain conditions : the union 
 is absolutely determined by the natural characteristics of 
 both. In the same way it must be denied that in man 
 there is any freedom in knowledge ; he can know only 
 that which his inherited disposition fits him to know : to 
 suppose that he could have a different disposition, or 
 react differently under the conditions, is incompatible 
 with the principle of natural evolution. 
 
 {b) Nor can there be any freedom of action. Primitive 
 man inherited certain tendencies from his animal ancestors. 
 Thus, like them, he has a selfish tendency and a social 
 tendency. Which of these shall be predominant will be 
 determined by the interaction between the organism and 
 the environment. The moral sense is developed by the 
 conditions under which man is placed. In virtue of his 
 love of approbation and his fear of punishment both 
 inherited peculiarities the savage comes to have a feeling 
 of pain when he follows the selfish desire for his own 
 pleasure. Right and wrong are therefore names for the 
 pleasure of approbation and the pain of disapprobation 
 respectively. But the individual man can no more de- 
 termine which of these shall predominate than he can 
 alter his bodily stature or endow himself with new senses. 
 We must suppose that in the majority of men the love 
 of social approbation is stronger than the love of individual 
 pleasure; because, otherwise, the extension and develop- 
 ment of the social bond would be impossible. But this 
 only shows that the inherited disposition and the environ- 
 ment tend on the whole to the evolution of higher 
 
134 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 sociality : it does not show that in the individual there 
 is any free activity. 
 
 Thus the theory of natural evolution, when it is employed 
 to account for the mental and moral qualities of man, 
 leads to the conclusion that there is no freedom either 
 of knowledge or of action. Now, when we clearly see 
 the results which follow from a rigid adherence to the 
 doctrine of natural evolution, we cannot help asking whether 
 a grave mistake has not been made in attempting to 
 explain intelligence and morality by a principle which 
 necessarily excludes all freedom either in knowing or in 
 willing. May it not be that natural evolution is only a 
 limited or partial explanation, true within its own sphere, 
 but inadequate and untrue when extended to the explana- 
 tion of conscious beings? 
 
 In attempting to answer this question, I must begin 
 by reminding you that the theory in question brings man 
 nearer to the higher animals, and the higher animals 
 nearer to man. For it is held that in the higher animals 
 are to be found the same characteristics as in man, and 
 that the savage possesses these characteristics in a degree 
 only a little superior to the higher animals. Now, in 
 this contention, it is implied that mental and moral 
 qualities are purely natural characteristics, received by 
 inheritance, and called out by the reaction of the 
 organism on the environment. It is assumed, in other 
 words, that the qualities of the animals are the product 
 of natural evolution, and, as it is held that there is no 
 essential difference between man and the animals in respect 
 of those qualities, it follows that the intelligence of man 
 can be explained in the same way. That is to say, 
 the fact that the higher animals possess qualities similar 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 35 
 
 to man's is not regarded as a reason for doubting 
 whether natural evolution is an adequate explanation 
 even of them ; but it is inferred that, as the explanation 
 is adequate when applied to the animals, it must also 
 be adequate when applied to man. I propose to 
 approach the problem from the other side, and to 
 ask whether the principle of natural evolution is 
 adequate to the explanation of the facts of intelligence 
 and morality as these exist in man. If we see reason to 
 deny its adequacy as regards man, we shall have reason 
 to doubt whether it is adequate even when applied to 
 the animals. 
 
 DOES NATURAL EVOLUTION EXPLAIN KNOWLEDGE? 
 
 Let us first ask whether natural evolution explains the 
 fact of knowledge as it exists in man. 
 
 We are told that man inherited from his non-human 
 ancestors such mental characteristics as curiosity, wonder, 
 and memory. What is curiosity? It implies an interest 
 in some object, and a concentration of attention upon 
 it for the purpose of discovering what are its properties. 
 It is further implied in curiosity that the subject believes 
 in the intelligibility of the object. Now interest, attention, 
 belief in the intelligibility of the object, all involve the 
 faculty of distinguishing one object from another by an 
 apprehension of the properties of each; and this again 
 implies that the apprehending subject is capable of separat- 
 ing between himself and the immediate impression that 
 he has from moment to moment. For if, as each im- 
 pression arose, it vanished for ever, it would be impossible 
 for the subject to distinguish one impression from another, 
 and therefore impossible for him to identify an object 
 
13^ AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 by its peculiar properties. Primitive man was no doubt 
 engaged mainly in a fierce fight for existence, a fight to 
 preserve himself from the destructive influence of the 
 elements and from his natural foes, the lower animals. 
 It was therefore necessary for him to learn to some extent 
 the properties of the elements and the habits of the lower 
 animals. To do this he had to discriminate things by 
 their properties; to learn the nature of fire, tempest, cold, 
 sunshine, and to find out how the animals might be over- 
 come or captured. But the victory over objects he could 
 achieve only if he had the faculty of grasping the different 
 properties of things. To this end all his energies were 
 directed, and if he made a serious mistake, the forfeit 
 was his life. He had therefore to free himself from the 
 first impressions of the nature of things, by attention, 
 comparison, and discrimination ; that is, he had to separate 
 between his impression of things and their actual nature. 
 Such a faculty of distinguishing between the apparent 
 and the real is the pre-requisite of all knowledge ; and 
 it implies that man was not the sport of the fleeting 
 impression of the moment, but was in some sense its 
 master. His curiosity took the form of an interest in 
 all those properties of things, a comprehension of which 
 was essential to his very existence. Primitive man had 
 no scientific interest in nature; he did not study its 
 phenomena with a view to understanding it for itself. Yet 
 we can readily see in the undeveloped and limited curiosity 
 which he possessed the rudiments of the scientific curiosity 
 of civilized man. For, as I have said, he assumed that 
 what he sought to understand was capable of being under- 
 stood. That is to say, he assumed that in his own intelli- 
 gence could be found the key to the interpretation of 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 37 
 
 things. Knowledge, then, even as it existed for primitive 
 man implied (i) the consciousness of a distinction between 
 the apparent and the real, and (2) the capacity of appre- 
 hending the real in virtue of intelligence. 
 
 It is plain, then, that any attempt to reduce knowledge 
 to the mere flow of impressions in a subject that passively 
 receives them, makes even the simplest knowledge unin- 
 telligible. If consciousness could be described as a mere 
 series of occurrences in the subject, there could be no 
 knowledge. The successive positions taken up by a 
 moving body may perhaps be so described, but the con- 
 sciousness of man refuses to be expressed in such terms. 
 The moving body is not aware of the successive positions 
 it occupies : man not only has impressions, but he is 
 aware that he has them. To the conscious subject we 
 must therefore attribute much greater complexity than to 
 the unconscious thing. Consciousness always involves the 
 opposition of what seems and what is; or, what is the 
 same thing, it implies that impressions as they occur are 
 only the sign or index of what does not occur. Con- 
 sciousness also involves the capacity on the part of the 
 subject of contrasting the stream of occurrences with the 
 permanent nature of the object. It presupposes, in other 
 words, that the objective world is not a mere series of 
 occurrences, but a fixed system of things, and that the 
 subject is capable of finding out what that system is. 
 Knowledge always consists in grasping things from a uni- 
 versal point of view, i.e., in liberation from accidental 
 impressions and associations. This is the real force of 
 Bacon's contention, that man must come to the study 
 of nature free from all preconceptions. For what this 
 implies is, that only in freeing oneself from the acciOjenlar 
 
138 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 impressions of the moment, and putting oneself at the 
 point of view of existence as it actually is, can knowledge 
 be obtained. 
 
 THE CARTESIAN CONCEPTION OF MIND. 
 
 What has just been said may also be put in this way, 
 that no knowledge is derivable from mere impressions, 
 but only from impressions that have been brought to the 
 unity of conception. For it is by conception, i.e., by the 
 mental apprehension of the meaning of individual im- 
 pressions when these are viewed by reference to the 
 whole system of things, that we obtain knowledge. We 
 must be careful to observe, however, that we cannot 
 absolutely oppose the conceptions of our own minds to 
 the actual nature of things. Descartes, e.g., maintained 
 that there are certain "innate conceptions," which belong 
 to the mind as it is in itself, while, on the other hand, our 
 particular experiences come to us from without. But if 
 we suppose the mind to supply conceptions purely out of 
 itself, what guarantee can we have that these express the 
 real nature of existence? This whole mode of thought 
 rests upon the supposition, that knowledge is partly 
 obtained by the mind's contemplation of itself, and partly 
 by the mind's passive apprehension of what is without 
 itself. Now, this involves a double misapprehension. In 
 the first place, the mind has no nature when it is separated 
 from all objects actual or possible; and, in the second 
 place, there is no apprehension by the mind of what is 
 without it. 
 
 (1) Suppose the mind to be absolutely separated from 
 all objects, and it has no conceivable nature. If we try 
 to think of such a mind, we can only describe it by 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 139, 
 
 negations : we can say, that it is not extended or mov- 
 able or ponderable: in short, that it has none of the 
 predicates by which we may describe the material world. 
 This was clearly enough perceived by Descartes; and 
 therefore he went on to say, that mind has none of the 
 attributes of matter, but must be defined as a purely 
 thinking substance. It may be shown, however, that 
 mind in complete isolation from matter cannot be defined 
 even as a thinking substance. For about what is it to 
 think? It cannot be a mind which perceives, because 
 perception is of a world of objects whose properties are 
 those of extension, motion, weight, etc., and, by hypothesis, 
 the mind in itself is a substance that has none of these 
 properties and is entirely removed from all contact with 
 them. And if it cannot perceive, neither can the mind 
 remember or imagine) for remembrance and imagination 
 presuppose perception. I cannot remember what I have 
 never perceived, nor can I imagine anything that is not 
 a re-arrangement of what has been perceived. 
 
 In this difficulty Descartes falls back upon the view that 
 there are certain conceptions which the mind has by its 
 very nature, such conceptions as that of God. But the 
 conception of God or the Infinite is not possible apart 
 from the conception of the Finite. If we think of God we 
 must think of Him as the Being who is the source of all 
 existence, and that is impossible if we have no conscious- 
 ness of any existence. Shall we then say, that although 
 the mind has no conception of any object whether that 
 object is the world or God it yet has a conception of 
 itself as a pure thinking activity? But a pure thinking 
 activity which thinks nothing is just as inconceivable as 
 a world beyond consciousness or the Infinite in absolute 
 
140 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 ( separation from the Finite. For there is no possibility of 
 J a thinking activity that thinks on nothing. I can think 
 on space or time or the world or God, but how can I 
 think without thinking on anything? Now, to this pure 
 / thought, which is the thought of nothing, Descartes is 
 S reduced, because he has removed from thought all that 
 / can be an object for it. He has, in other words, reduced 
 the mind to the mere possibility o r bare cap acity of 
 thinking ; but if the mind is the mere capacity of thinking, 
 how can it think itself? A mere capacity cannot think 
 itself as a capacity : to think is the actual exercise of 
 thought, and in this case there can be no actual exercise 
 of thought, because the mind has been reduced to the 
 mere capacity of thinking, a capacity that can never be 
 realized in actual thinking. Plainly, therefore, on Des- 
 cartes' assumption of the absolute separation of the mind 
 from all reality, we are reduced to the idea of a mere 
 potentiality. 
 
 Nor are we even entitled to call this supposititious mind 
 the potentiality of thinking. If I say that a child is poten- 
 tially a man, I use language that is perfectly intelligible, 
 because I define the character of the potentiality : what I 
 am saying is, that the child has capacities which, when they 
 are realized take the form of the activities characteristic of 
 a feeling, perceiving, thinking being. But if I say that a 
 child is a pure potentiality, without defining the form that 
 this potentiality will take, I am using language that has 
 no precise signification. Of what is the child the poten- 
 tiality, it is naturally asked? Do you mean that he is 
 potentially a plant, or an animal, or a man? Now, 
 Descartes cannot say that the mind is the potentiality of 
 anything, and therefore his language has no precise sig- 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 141 
 
 nification. Such a mind is not definable even as mind, 
 since a pure potentiality, if it could be realized, might 
 exhibit the characteristics which Descartes himself ascribes 
 to matter. 
 
 (2) Descartes' other assumption, that there is an appre- / 
 hension by the mind of what is external to it, is equally ( 
 inadmissible; it is, in fact, but the other side of his 
 assumption that the mind is an independent substance. 
 The material world is conceived by Descartes as in a\\C 
 respects the opposite of mind. The mind is a pure unity, / 
 whereas extended substance is pure diversity, being "in- 
 finitely self-external or divided into partes extra partes ad 
 infinitum" Being thus separated from each other "by 
 the whole diameter of being," the difficulty arises how 
 the mind can know the external world at all. Descartes 
 is practically compelled to assume that we have such 
 knowledge. We do not, he admits, directly apprehend 
 the objective world, but we have experience of mental 
 states which we must suppose to represent it correctly. 
 In other words, matter exists beyond the mind, but its 
 action upon the mind takes the form of immediate im- 
 pressions, which compel us to infer its existence. 
 
 Now, it may be shown that this doctrine makes the 
 objective world unintelligible. If I know the material 
 world only through certain mental states of my own, I 
 cannot, on Descartes' premises, attribute these to the 
 object. The impressions of colour, heat, weight, are for 
 me merely my own states. If matter is purely self- 
 external and inert, as Descartes affirms, it is not the 
 subject of states of feeling, such as colour, heat, or weight. 
 Of these I must therefore strip matter. But when these 
 are taken away, matter is no longer definable. A matter 
 
I4 2 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 that has neither colour, nor heat, nor weight, is indis- 
 tinguishable from pure extension. This Descartes himself 
 saw, and hence he held the curious doctrine, that wher- 
 ever there is space there is matter. But space is no 
 more knowable on Cartesian principles than matter, since 
 it exists for us only in the form of our own mental 
 states. We must therefore deny even extension to matter. 
 What remains? Simply the bare idea of something that 
 C cannot be further defined. All that we can say of it is, 
 j that it is that which is capable of acting on the mind. 
 
 Now, if we bring together the two sides of the Car- 
 f tesian doctrine, we get this result : that Mind is the 
 \ pure capacity of thinking, and Matter the pure capacity 
 / of acting. But we have seen that a mere capacity may 
 be the capacity of anything. Hence there is no recogniz- 
 able distinction between mind and matter. The opposi- 
 tion of subject and object disappears, and leaves us with 
 the idea of pure potentiality, and pure potentiality is no 
 reality, being in fact indistinguishable from pure nothing. 
 J Thus the Cartesian doctrine of the separation of mind 
 ) and matter leads to the denial of all knowledge. 
 
 I have made this criticism of the Cartesian theory of 
 knowledge in order to show that existence cannot be 
 divided up into two antithetical halves. If the objective 
 world is in its nature entirely foreign to the knowing 
 subject, knowledge is impossible. If man can know only 
 -his own subjective states, he is necessarily shut out from 
 all apprehension of objective existence. Now, we have 
 already seen that it is a contradiction in terms to affirm 
 that we know reality to be unknowable. Let us then 
 start from the principle that the objective world is not 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 43 
 
 essentially foreign to us, but is something that we can 
 know and understand. If that is true, we must hold 
 that the world is in itself essentially rational, i.e., it forms 
 a connected system of things. Because of its rationality, 
 it can be comprehended by reason. Hence, in every act 
 of knowledge, man finds the world to be partially re- 
 ducible to an intelligible system, and the progress of 
 knowledge will just consist in the gradual extension of 
 the consciousness of systematic unity in the world. But 
 in knowledge man not only finds the world to be rational, 
 but he finds that he is himself rational. It is in virtue 
 of his own intelligence that he is capable of finding the 
 world intelligible. And he cannot learn his own ration- 
 ality apart from the process by which he gains a know- 
 ledge of the objective world. Thus the development of 
 the consciousness of what his own nature essentially is, 
 is at the same time a development of his knowledge 
 of objective reality. In man there is a principle, the 
 principle of rationality, which gives him a mastery over 
 the world, just because in the world that rationality is 
 already implied. The whole process of knowledge may 
 thus be viewed either as the development of man's con- 
 sciousness of the world, or as the development of man's 
 consciousness of himself. 
 
 Now, if knowledge is of this character, it is plain that, 
 just in so far as we have knowledge we are freed from 
 any unintelligible force acting externally upon us. In 
 so far as primitive man learned the properties of the 
 objective world, he was free from their influence. Having 
 this knowledge he was not subject to nature, but he 
 subjected nature to himself. His environment was not 
 something that acted upon him externally, but something 
 
144 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 that he could comprehend and therefore master. The 
 only external force that acted upon him was the force 
 he had not yet learned to understand. And the develop- 
 ment of man has been a continuous process of mastering 
 the world more and more perfectly. When we learn the 
 meaning of any fact say, the fact of electricity it ceases 
 to be something foreign to us; it does not master us, but 
 we master it. The only limit to man's subjection of the 
 world to himself is his ignorance. But even this limit is 
 never absolute, firstly, because, even when some special 
 fact is not yet put in its proper place in the whole in- 
 telligible system of things, we yet are conscious that it 
 can be known; and, secondly, because our ignorance is 
 never absolute, but always rests upon partial knowledge. 
 We may now see, I think, that the principle of natural 
 selection cannot explain the knowledge of man. That 
 principle assumes that man is incapable of rising above 
 his immediate circumstances. Knowledge is supposed 
 to be the product of the action of the environment 
 upon certain inherited tendencies. But these inherited 
 tendencies we have seen to be but another name for the 
 capacity of grasping the nature of the environment; and 
 this capacity cannot be explained as the mere effect of 
 the environment; on the contrary, it implies a compre- 
 hension of the nature of the environment, and the power 
 of adapting it to himself. We must therefore say, that 
 man's knowledge begins in the partial subjection of 
 external circumstances to his ideal of himself, and that 
 the development of knowledge consists in an ever more 
 complete realization of himself by means of an ever 
 greater mastery of the law of the world. In so far as 
 he knows man is free. We might say, in fact, that the 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 45 
 
 history of man's knowledge is just the history of his sub- 
 stitution of the higher law of reason for the lower law of 
 natural selection. 
 
 DOES NATURAL EVOLUTION EXPLAIN MORALITY? 
 
 It may be shown by similar reasoning that all 
 attempts to explain morality by means of natural evolution 
 are equally unsuccessful. If we accept this view there is 
 no possible freedom of action, and no distinction between 
 morality and nature. (i) There is no freedom^ because 
 the actions of man are determined by the natural im- 
 pulse to pleasure, and that impulse again is due to the 
 action of the environment upon the individual's inherited 
 disposition. (2) Nor is there any moral as distinguished 
 from natural activity; for morality is simply a name for 
 the actions that give more pleasure than pain. 
 
 Now, I have tried to show that knowledge implies 
 freedom, because it lifts man above the flux of immediate 
 impressions and so liberates him from the tyranny of 
 the sensible. Similarly, it may be shown that in his 
 action, as properly understood, man is free because he 
 is not under the dominion of immediate impulses. 
 
 We are told that primitive man inherited from his 
 animal progenitors two opposite tendencies the tendency 
 to seek his own good and the tendency to seek the 
 good of others ; and which of these shall be predominant 
 will depend upon the environment. Look, first, at the 
 supposed selfish tendency or impulse. This tendency 
 in primitive man, we must suppose, took the form of 
 a struggle for his own existence and for the satisfaction 
 of his natural wants. These wants were mainly food and 
 
<yp 
 
 146 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 shelter. Man by his nature as a living being had for 
 these a strong desire, and to get them he was ready to 
 sacrifice all other beings. In particular, he had to 
 struggle with the forces of nature and the lower animals, 
 and individual men had to struggle with one another. 
 Observe, however, that the superiority of man over the 
 lower animals, and of one man over another, arises mainly 
 from the fact that he had a better knowledge of the 
 environment, and by means of this knowledge he could 
 turn it to his own use. He made circumstances the 
 means of satisfying his natural wants. But this adapta- 
 tion of means to ends presupposes in man an idea of 
 the end which he desired to obtain. He desired to 
 secure the satisfaction of his natural desire for food and 
 shelter. In other words, he not only possessed the im- 
 pulse to maintain his life, but he grasped so far the 
 meaning of the impulse. Thus primitive man had a 
 conception of himself as capable of being satisfied. This, 
 indeed, was the necessary condition of a selfish struggle 
 for maintenance at the expense of others. There can 
 be no selfishness where there is no consciousness of self. 
 We thus see, that, just as the knowledge of man implies 
 liberation from the crowd of impressions that are per- 
 petually coming and going, so desire implies liberation 
 from the immediate impulses that arise from time to 
 time. 
 
 If man were merely the passive recipient of impulses 
 that arise on occasion of external stimuli, he could 
 have no consciousness of himself as a possible subject 
 of satisfaction or dissatisfaction. If primitive man, as 
 is affirmed, had a strong tendency to seek his own 
 good, he must have had the consciousness of his own 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 47 
 
 good as distinguished from the good of others. He 
 could not seek for the satisfaction of himself, if he had 
 no idea of himself: he could not seek to satisfy himself 
 at the expense of others, unless he contrasted himself 
 with other selves. What is spoken of as a primitive 
 selfish impulse" was not a mere impulse : it was not a 
 mere feeling of the absence of pleasure,, but the conscious- 
 ness of self as capable ^ of being satisfied and the effort 
 to obtain that satisfaction at whatever cost to others 
 in the way of their dissatisfaction. Obviously, therefore, 
 we cannot explain the desire for self-preservation as due 
 merely to the excitation of an inherited impulse. The 
 natural appetite for food cannot be called a selfish tend- 
 ency; it becomes selfish only when the individual is 
 conscious of the object of appetite, and when setting 
 that object before his consciousness he seeks to realize 
 it irrespective of the claims of others. It is by learning 
 the meaning of his immediate wants that man learns 
 to satisfy them j he comes to apprehend their law, 
 and to seek in external nature for the means of their 
 satisfaction. Now, as we have seen in the case of 
 knowledge, to grasp the law of things is to gain a 
 mastery over them, and the only limit to this mastery 
 lies in ignorance of their law. So primitive man, appre- 
 hending the object of his appetites and learning the 
 means by which they could be satisfied, was enabled to 
 satisfy his wants, i.e., to satisfy himself. To speak of 
 such purposive activity as the action of external circum- 
 stances upon an inherited disposition is meaningless : 
 the fact is that man, grasping the law of his environment, 
 and grasping the law of his own nature, turns the environ- 
 ment into the means of realizing his ideal self. He is 
 
148 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 not subject to his impulses, but he subjects his impulses 
 to himself. 
 
 We may see the same thing if we look at what are 
 called the social impulses. There is a tendency in man 
 to seek the good of others as well as of himself. If so, 
 he must be capable not only of abstracting from his 
 own immediate impulses, but of putting himself at the 
 point of view of others. Not only does he conceive of 
 himself as a possible subject of satisfaction, but he con- 
 ceives of others in the same way. Thus he rises to the 
 point of view of a community of selves, each of which 
 has a claim to self-satisfaction. What he now contrasts 
 is his own possible self with the possible self of others. 
 And he is capable of foregoing a certain form of self- 
 satisfaction in order that others may obtain a more com- 
 plete self-satisfaction. The savage may seek the good of 
 his tribe even at the risk of losing his life. What does 
 this mean? It means that he has risen above the ideal 
 of his own individual self, and grasped the idea of a 
 common good. The explanation given of this higher 
 consciousness is that the individual feels pain when 
 he acts contrary to the common opinion of his tribe. 
 But, in the first place, this does not account for the 
 common opinion. If the tribe condemn action that has 
 for its end the good of the individual as opposed to the 
 good of the community, it is because there has arisen 
 before their consciousness the ideal of a self that can 
 find genuine satisfaction only in seeking the good of all. 
 It is therefore implied that selfishness is not the way to 
 obtain the satisfaction of the individual. It is implied, 
 in other words, that man is by his very nature social, 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. I49 
 
 and forms part of an organism in which the good of 
 each is bound up with the good of all. And, in the 
 second place, the feeling of dissatisfaction experienced 
 by the individual when he acts contrary to the common 
 opinion rests upon the very same consciousness of a self 
 higher than his merely individual self. It is because he 
 has the same consciousness of a social self as is embodied 
 in common opinion that the individual man is dissatisfied 
 with himself when he has sought for the satisfaction of 
 his own separate self at the expense of others. Thus what 
 is called the "social impulse" really involves the idea 
 of a community of self-conscious beings, all of whom are 
 selves and can find their own satisfaction only in seeking 
 the good of all. To speak of the environment acting 
 on the individual is to leave out of account all that makes 
 sociality intelligible. For the environment here can only 
 mean the constraining power of that higher consciousness 
 of his true self which is revealed to man in virtue of 
 his reason. Learning that his true nature can be realized 
 only by self-identification with the common weal, the 
 individual man is not externally acted upon by a foreign 
 influence. In submitting himself to the law of reason he 
 is submitting himself to his true self, and such submission 
 is true freedom. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 
 
 SPENCER AND THE SCIENTIFIC EVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 We have seen that neither man's knowledge nor his 
 moral consciousness can be explained on the principle 
 of natural evolution. To know is to be beyond a mere 
 state of passivity : it is to grasp the meaning of existence 
 in virtue of a principle implied in the very nature of the 
 knowing subject ; to will is to realize an ideal presented 
 to himself by the subject, an ideal which he has just 
 because he is not limited to his immediate impulses but 
 can put himself at a universal point of view. The progress, 
 of knowledge consists in an ever fuller comprehension of 
 the meaning of the world ; the progress in morality consists 
 in an ever fuller realization of what in his ideal nature 
 man truly is. And these two sides of man's nature his 
 intelligence and his will his consciousness of the world 
 and his consciousness of himself do not develop inde- 
 pendently of each other ; for as man learns to comprehend 
 the meaning of the world he also learns to comprehend 
 himself. Now, there is great danger of losing sight of 
 this truth. When we once see that mind cannot be 
 
 150 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 151 
 
 explained on the supposition that the world acts ex- 
 ternally upon it, we are tempted to say that mind is 
 independent of the world and develops apart from it. 
 Starting from this side of the subject, we seem to find 
 that it can know nothing but its own states. Thus we 
 get into a new difficulty. We have seen that there is 
 an apparent conflict between the idea of the finite and 
 the idea of the infinite. We have also seen that there 
 is an apparent conflict between the idea of the world 
 and the idea of self. We have now to consider the 
 apparent conflict between the idea of self and the idea 
 of the world. To some extent this problem has already 
 been dealt with in what was said of the dualism of 
 Descartes. But it will be profitable to consider it in 
 the form in which it has been presented in our own day. 
 I shall therefore state and examine the doctrine of Mr. 
 Herbert Spencer on this point, a doctrine which has 
 secured a number of adherents. 
 
 There is one datum of consciousness, Mr. Spencer 
 tells us, that must be assumed by every philosophy, viz., 
 the absolute distinction of subject and object. The 
 world of mind and the world of matter are mutually 
 exclusive; or, as Mr. Spencer puts it, subject and 
 object are "antithetically opposed divisions of the entire 
 assemblage of things." We can analyze our idea of the 
 subject and find out the elements implied in it, and 
 similarly we can reduce our idea of the object to its 
 simplest terms ; but there is no possibility of reducing 
 these two ideas further : we cannot identify the subject 
 with the object, or the object with the subject. The 
 distinction of subject and object is "the consciousness 
 of a difference transcending all other differences. " 1 This 
 1 Psychology, 62. 
 
T5 2 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 consciousness must be accepted, because its opposite is 
 not only unbelievable but unthinkable. If I say, "The 
 subject is the object," I have framed a proposition that 
 contradicts itself; for the two terms, "subject" and 
 "object," cannot by any effort be brought before con- 
 sciousness in that relation which the proposition asserts 
 between them ; in other words, to identify subject and 
 object contradicts the very idea of subject and of 
 object, because the idea of the one is absolutely distinct 
 from the idea of the other. The attempt to think sub- 
 ject as object, or object as subject, is as futile as the 
 attempt to think of a square as round, or to think of a 
 straight line as bent. Now, when a proposition cannot 
 by any possibility be thought, its opposite must be true, 
 i.e., we must hold the truth of the proposition, "The 
 subject is not identical with the object." 
 
 Now, there is no doubt that Mr. Spencer, in affirming 
 that subject and object, mind and matter, are absolutely 
 distinct from each other, is affirming what the plain man 
 would accept as palpably true. I perceive that tree 
 before me, but / am not the tree : I am a perceiving, 
 conscious, thinking being, whereas the tree has no per- 
 ception, no consciousness, no thought. The tree, it will 
 be said, has properties that distinguish it toto coelo from 
 me, the subject that perceives it; and therefore the sub- 
 ject is quite distinct in nature from the object. Mr. 
 Spencer can therefore apparently find support for his 
 opposition of subject and object in the ordinary con- 
 sciousness of men. 
 
 But it is very doubtful if the man of common sense 
 would be willing to follow Mr. Spencer when he goes on 
 to reduce subject and object to their lowest terms. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 153 
 
 What is the nature of the object and of the subject ? The 
 moment Mr. Spencer proceeds to answer this question, 
 it becomes obvious that his conceptions of object and 
 subject are very different from those ordinarily held. 
 
 Mr. Spencer, then, starts from the opposition of sub- 
 ject and object, and then he goes on to ask how the 
 subject comes to have a knowledge, or an apparent 
 knowledge, of the object. When we speak of the ob- 
 jective world we are thinking of sensible things in space 
 and time; or, in Mr. Spencer's words, of "relations of 
 sequence and relations of coexistence." How do we get 
 a knowledge of these relations? Mr. Spencer's answer 
 is, that we are conscious of a relation of sequence in 
 every change of consciousness. I may have a series of 
 impressions of sound, and the consciousness of this series 
 gives me the apprehension of the relation of sequence. 
 But I obtain the same apprehension in the consciousness 
 of any series of impressions whatever. Thus, my per- 
 ception of the colour of this desk is given in a succession 
 of impressions of colour j and so also is my apprehension 
 of its hardness and smoothness, its resistance and weight. 
 Primarily, therefore, all our perceptions take the form of 
 a succession of impressions. States of consciousness are 
 serial, not coexistent. Originally, therefore, we have a 
 consciousness only of the relation of sequence, not of 
 the relation of coexistence. How, then, do we advance 
 from the consciousness of sequence to the consciousness 
 of coexistence? How, out of a succession of impressions, 
 do we obtain the consciousness of what is not successive? 
 Mr. Spencer's answer is, that there are certain sequences 
 of impression that do not occur in a fixed order, but 
 can be taken in any order. The series of impressions 
 
154 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 called sounds come in a certain order, but the series of 
 impressions called colours, or tastes, may appear in a 
 different order. Thus, I can apprehend the colour of 
 this desk either by running my eye along the surface 
 from left to right or from right to left. Thus we come 
 to distinguish between sequences proper, and sequences 
 which are only successive in our apprehension. The 
 former is the consciousness of the relation of sequence, 
 the latter the consciousness of the relation of coexistence. 
 Now, we have many experiences of these two kinds of 
 relation, and hence we form an abstract conception of 
 sequence and an abstract conception of coexistence. The 
 abstract of all sequences is time. The abstract of all 
 coexistence is space. 
 
 You will observe that Mr. Spencer here assumes that 
 the individual has a direct consciousness only of his own 
 impressions. For him the properties of the object exist 
 only as a series of states in his own mind, and it is 
 out of this series that he constructs the consciousness 
 of coexistence. There is, Mr. Spencer would say, a cor- 
 respondence between the states of the subject and the 
 properties of the object, but not an identity. This 
 correspondence he explains more fully in treating of the 
 relation between mental states or " feelings " and the 
 nervous changes that accompany, but are distinct from, 
 these feelings. The parallelism is set forth with great 
 minuteness. Thus, (a) nervous action occupies appreci- 
 able time, and so also does feeling j (b) each nervous 
 action leaves a partial incapacity for a like nervous 
 action, so each feeling leaves a partial incapacity for a 
 like feeling ; (c) other things being equal, the intensities 
 of feelings vary as the intensities of the correlative nervous 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. T55 
 
 actions j (d) the difference between direct and indirect 
 nervous disturbances corresponds to the difference between 
 the vivid feelings we call real and the faint feelings we 
 call ideal. 
 
 But the parallelism is even closer. We are apt to 
 suppose that the individual sensations and emotions we 
 experience are absolutely simple. But they are not really 
 so. A musical sound, for example, is supposed to be a 
 simple feeling. If equal blows or taps are made one 
 after another at a rate not exceeding some sixteen per 
 second, the effect of each is perceived as a separate 
 noise ; but when the rapidity with which the blows 
 follow one another exceeds this, the noises are no longer 
 identified in separate states of consciousness, and there 
 arises a continuous state of consciousness called a tone. 
 Thus an apparently simple feeling is really composed of 
 various feelings. Now we must suppose, in the same 
 way, that all kinds of feelings are really complex, though 
 apparently simple. Nay, must we not suppose that all 
 feelings are made up of elements that in the last analysis 
 are absolutely identical in their nature? To this prim- 
 ordial element of consciousness a nervous shock of no 
 appreciable duration may be supposed to correspond. 
 
 You will see from this how far Mr. Spencer has 
 travelled from the point of view of common sense. The 
 mind he conceives as made up of ultimate units of feel- 
 ing, absolutely identical in their nature, just as all nerve 
 action is reducible to simple indistinguishable nervous 
 shocks. The subject, in other words, is in its ultimate 
 nature not the subject that we ordinarily suppose it to 
 be, but a collection of primitive atoms of feeling, just 
 as the object is a collection of primitive units of force. 
 
156 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Thus the whole complex variety of existence disappears, 
 and what is left is a subject composed of indistinguish- 
 able units of feeling, and an object composed of indis- 
 tinguishable units of force. 
 
 Mr. Spencer thinks that he has thus proved the in- 
 dependence of subject and object, while he has at the 
 same time established their correspondence. We can 
 reduce the subject to units of feeling, and the object to 
 units of force; but we cannot reduce units of feeling to 
 units of force : this is the " difference transcending all 
 other differences," the distinction "never to be tran- 
 scended while consciousness lasts." There is one diffi- 
 culty, however, in maintaining this absolute dualism of 
 subject and object to which Mr. Spencer himself refers. 
 If the subject is absolutely separated from the object, 
 how does it ever apprehend the nature of the object? 
 As a conscious subject I am aware only of my own 
 feelings ; how then do I know that the object is com- 
 posed of units of force? For me force presents itself 
 simply as a feeling of resistance, and a feeling is separated 
 from a unit of force by the whole diameter of being. 
 No relation of consciousness, as Mr. Spencer admits, 
 " can resemble, or be in any way akin " to the actual 
 relations of things. Hence we must say, that "beyond 
 consciousness" there are "conditions of objective mani- 
 festation which are symbolized by relations as we conceive 
 them." These conditions we cannot know ; yet we are 
 compelled to hold that the distinction of units of feeling 
 and units of motion is a distinction relative to our con- 
 sciousness : it is " one and the same Ultimate Reality, 
 which is manifested to us subjectively and objectively." 
 But while the nature of that which is manifested under 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MTND. 1 57 
 
 either form proves to be inscrutable, the order of its 
 manifestations throughout all mental phenomena proves 
 to be the same as the order of its manifestations through- 
 out all material phenomena. Mr. Spencer holds, in short, 
 that we do not know reality in its absolute nature, but 
 we find that it presents itself to us in two parallel forms, 
 which correspond exactly to each other. The develop- 
 ment of the one goes on pari passu with the develop- 
 ment of the other. For example, the nervous system is 
 in the lower animals indefinite and incoherent, but as 
 higher forms emerge there is a gradual advance in integra- 
 tion, complexity, and definiteness. So mind in the lower 
 animals is simple, vague, and incoherent, but when we pass 
 to man, we find that there is a remarkable differentiation 
 and complexity. We must hold, then, on the one hand, 
 that there never is a feeling without a corresponding nerve- 
 movement, or a nerve-movement without a correspond- 
 ing feeling; but, on the other hand, we must maintain 
 that each is but a manifestation of a single reality which 
 to us appears in these two forms. In other words, if we 
 could contemplate reality as it truly is, we should find 
 that in it the distinction of subject and object is abolished; 
 but the character of our intelligence makes it impossible 
 for us to get beyond the absolute dualism of subject and 
 object, because that dualism is the fundamental condition 
 of consciousness itself. 
 
 Mr. Spencer's conclusion then is, that we cannot know 
 the ultimate nature of mind any more than we can know 
 the ultimate nature of matter. Granted that a feeling in 
 consciousness and a molecular motion are the subjective 
 and objective faces of the same thing; yet "we are incap- 
 able of uniting the two, so as to conceive that reality of 
 
158 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 which they are the opposite faces." Consider how we 
 are forced to present each to our consciousness. What 
 for us is matter ? It is a complex of states of conscious- 
 ness, which have objective counterparts that to us are 
 unknown. What is mind for us? It is a synthesis of 
 many feelings, and of the many changes among them. 
 We infer that all our feelings are probably formed of 
 ultimate units of feeling or mental shocks, but we cannot 
 think of such shocks except as undergone by an actual 
 substance. Now "we can form no notion of a substance 
 of mind that has no attributes, and all such attributes 
 are abstracted from our experiences of material phenomena. 
 How can we think of the changes of consciousness except 
 as caused, and how can we think of any cause except as 
 some form of motion?" 
 
 ' See then," says Mr. Spencer, " our predicament. We 
 can think of matter only in terms of mind. We can 
 think of mind only in terms of matter. When we have 
 pushed our explorations of the first to the uttermost limit, 
 we are referred to the second for a final answer, and 
 when we have got the final answer of the second, we 
 are referred back to the first for an interpretation of it. 
 We find the value of x in terms of y ; then we find the 
 value of y in terms of x j and so on we may continue 
 for ever without coming nearer to a solution. The anti- 
 thesis of subject and object, never to be transcended while 
 consciousness lasts, renders impossible all knowledge of 
 that Ultimate Reality in which subject and object are 
 united." The true conclusion is, that "it is one and 
 the same Ultimate Reality which is manifested to us 
 subjectively and objectively." 1 
 
 1 Psychology, 272, 273. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 59 
 
 Mr. Spencer, then, holds that there is no way of re- 
 ducing mind to matter, or matter to mind. To the same 
 effect Dr. Tyndall tells us that " the passage from the 
 physics of the brain to the corresponding facts of con- 
 sciousness is unthinkable. Granted that a definite thought 
 and a definite molecular action in the brain occur simul- 
 taneously, we do not possess the intellectual organ . . . 
 which would enable us to pass by a process of reasoning 
 from the one to the other. They appear together, but 
 we do not know why." And Professor Huxley says, "I ( 
 know nothing whatever, and never hope to know any- v 
 thing, of the steps by which the passage from molecular^ 
 movement to states of consciousness is effected." 
 
 Now, if we accept this absolute dualism of subject and 
 object, mind and matter, we must be prepared to say 
 that we can know nothing of the ultimate nature of reality : 
 our consciousness of self is in irreconcilable antagonism 
 to our consciousness of the world. And this involves 
 no less than a surrender of the special problem of philo- 
 sophy, the problem to find a unity which shall compre- 
 hend and explain all differences. Before committing 
 ourselves to this hopeless view of the problem of know- 
 ledge, we must ask whether the fault may not lie rather 
 in a false theory than in the limited nature of our intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 The following propositions are maintained by Mr. 
 Spencer : 
 
 1 st. We are conscious of an absolute distinction between 
 subject and object, mind and matter. 
 
 2nd. The object is conceivable only as a complex of 
 feelings or mental states; the subject only as a 
 complex of movements. 
 
l6o AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 3rd. The ultimate constituents of the subject as known 
 are simple feelings, the ultimate constituents of 
 the object as known are simple movements. 
 4th. There is an exact correspondence, but no connec- 
 tion, between the feelings of the subject and 
 the movements of the object. 
 5th. In their real nature subject and object are iden- 
 tical, though we are unable to comprehend that 
 identity. 
 "All which propositions," to apply the famous words 
 of Carlyle, "I must modestly but peremptorily and irre- 
 vocably deny." The ground on which I base that denial 
 may be best understood by an examination of the first 
 of these propositions, on which all the others depend. 
 
 EXAMINATION OF MR. SPENCER'S OPPOSITION OF SUBJECT 
 AND OBJECT. 
 
 The fundamental proposition which Mr. Spencer seeks 
 to establish is, that subject and object are for us absolutely 
 exclusive of each other, because their separation is bound 
 up with the very nature of consciousness. By no effort 
 can I think of subject as object, or object as subject. 
 The elimination of this distinction would be at the same 
 time the destruction of consciousness. 
 
 Now, it may be shown that Mr. Spencer has here con- 
 fused two quite distinct propositions : firstly, that we 
 are conscious of the subject as separate from the object, 
 and, secondly, that we are conscious of the subject as 
 distinguishable from the object. But, so far from these 
 two propositions being identical, they are contradictory 
 the one of the other. The first is false, the second is 
 true; and it is because Mr. Spencer seems to be affirming 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. l6l 
 
 the second, when in reality his theory compels him to 
 deny it, that he is apt to get credit for making out his 
 case. I shall therefore begin by pointing out the dis- 
 tinction between these opposite propositions. 
 
 (a) If I say that I am conscious of the subject as 
 separate from the object, I am claiming that I can conceive 
 the subject by itself, without in any way introducing the 
 conception of the object. Now, we saw in considering 
 the dualism of Descartes that this is impossible. Remove 
 from the conception of the subject all relation to an object, 
 and what remains is not the pure subject, but a pure blank. 
 The very meaning of subject is that which is relative to 
 an object. If the subject is not conscious of an object, 
 it cannot be conscious at all, and in the absence of all 
 consciousness the subject has no properties by which it 
 may be thought. 
 
 Perhaps it may be answered that the object of which 
 the subject is conscious is simply its own state, and that 
 in being conscious of this state it has an object before it, 
 but not the external object. In this case, we shall have 
 to say, that we can think of the subject as conscious of 
 its own states as conscious of an internal object without 
 thinking of it as conscious of anything beyond its own 
 states, t,e. t any external object. This in fact is what Mr. 
 Spencer does say : he tells us that for the subject the 
 object is always simply its own feelings. We must now 
 suppose the subject with its own states to stand on one 
 side, and the external object with its properties to stand 
 on the other side ; and the contention is, that we can 
 think of the subject as conscious of an internal object, 
 without thinking of an external object at all. 
 
 Now, a subject conscious only of its own states would 
 
l62 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 manifestly never become conscious of any external object. 
 For, if it should ever break through the charmed circle 
 of its own inner life, and get even a glimpse of the object 
 asserted to lie beyond, it would no longer be confined to 
 the internal object, but would have passed over to the 
 external object. Remember, now, that the subject which 
 is so confined to a purely internal life is the human subject. 
 Mr. Spencer must therefore suppose that in his con- 
 sciousness he is absolutely confined to his own internal 
 states, or, in other words, can have no idea of any object 
 other than those states no idea, that is, of an external 
 object. But if so, the primary datum of consciousness 
 cannot be the absolute distinction of subject from object, 
 by which is meant the absolute distinction of the internal 
 life of the subject from an external reality lying beyond. 
 The primary datum of consciousness must be the con- 
 sciousness simply of self and the states of self. The 
 subject can neither perceive nor imagine anything but 
 his own states, and therefore the supposed opposition of 
 internal subject and external object is for him impossible. 
 The external object has vanished. 
 
 ib) We have seen then that the consciousness of a 
 separate and independent subject, having no relation to 
 any external object, leads to the denial of all objectivity, 
 i.e., of all reality other than the states of the subject. 
 Let us now see whether the same difficulty besets the 
 proposition, that subject and object are distinguishable 
 but not separable. 
 
 I can distinguish a centre from a circumference, the one 
 end of a stick from the other, an inside from an outside, 
 the convex and concave sides of a sphere; but can I 
 separate either from the other? Manifestly not: it is 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 63 
 
 impossible to think of a centre without relating it to a 
 circle, of one end apart from the other, an inside without 
 an outside, convex without concave. The question is 
 whether subject and object are not of this nature: dis- 
 tinguishable but not separable. We have already seen 
 the difficulties into which we are driven if we suppose 
 the subject to be separate from the object, and to be 
 aware only of its own states. These difficulties suggest 
 that subject and object are not really separable; but, 
 on the other hand, there seem to be as grave difficulties 
 in the way of accepting the doctrine that they are only 
 ideally, not really separable j and of these we must take 
 account 
 
 That subject and object are absolutely diverse in their 
 nature, and therefore exist in complete independence of 
 each other, seems to be at first sight a simple statement 
 of an undoubted fact. The dualism of subject and object 
 is apparently indubitable, whether we look at the nature 
 of the one or of the other. Look first at the object 
 
 (a) If it is said that the object is of the same nature 
 as the subject, it is naturally objected that the object has 
 a nature of its own independently of any knowledge of it 
 by the subject, and independently even of the existence 
 of the subject 
 
 (1) The existence and nature of the objective world, 
 it is said, is not dependent upon the knowledge of its 
 nature by any human being. The fire goes out whether 
 I am asleep or awake ; visible things are continually 
 undergoing changes that have no dependence upon the 
 apprehension of them by man ; gravitation acts whether 
 I know it to act or not What knowledge reveals to me 
 is what already exists, not what comes into being only 
 
164 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 when I apprehend it. Were it otherwise, it may be said, 
 things would be continually coming into existence and 
 going out of existence. Nothing, in fact, would exist 
 except at the moment when it was present to somebody's 
 consciousness. And this leads to manifold absurdities. 
 To suppose that the world in which we dwell, and the 
 infinite host of heaven, are continually created and 
 destroyed as they are or are not objects of human con- 
 sciousness is the greatest of all absurdities. It is the 
 dream of men who are so intoxicated with ideas, that 
 they have lost all hold of facts. The theory even implies 
 that there are as many objects as their subjects. For 
 the object of each conscious subject will be distinct. 
 Plainly, therefore, the existence and nature of the object 
 is not dependent upon the knowledge of the subject. 
 
 (2) Again, the existence of the objective world is in- 
 dependent of the existence of the subject, because it 
 existed prior to the existence of the subject. We know 
 that, long before conscious beings were on the earth, there 
 were other forms of existence. There was a time when 
 our whole solar system was as yet unformed. It was after 
 millions of years that the primitive nebulous matter shaped 
 itself into distinct worlds, and millions of years elapsed 
 before man appeared on the scene. How then can it be 
 denied that the object is independent of the subject? 
 Can any one seriously maintain, that the object cannot 
 exist without the subject, when the object as a matter 
 of fact did exist before there was any subject? 
 
 (b) The independence of the subject seems to be equally 
 manifest. We say that the subject cannot be of the same 
 nature as the object, because its properties are distinct 
 from those of the object. By the object we mean a 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 165 
 
 form of existence which is neither conscious nor self- 
 conscious; by the subject we mean a form of existence 
 which is both. A stone is not conscious of other objects, 
 nor is it conscious of its own properties. It is not aware 
 that it is one of an infinite number of things, partly 
 similar, partly different; nor does it perceive itself to be 
 hard, figured, coloured, or to have weight. The subject, 
 on the other hand, is conscious of many other forms of 
 existence besides itself, and of its own peculiar character 
 as a knowing and willing being. How, then, can it be 
 said that the subject is of the same essential nature as 
 the object? 
 
 THE IDEALISTIC VIEW OF THE WORLD. 
 
 These, then, are some of the objections that may be 
 made to the idealistic view of the universe, which maintains 
 that subject and object are of the same essential nature, 
 and can only be logically distinguished, not really separated. 
 I shall take them up in their order. 
 
 (a) It is objected that the object is independent of 
 the subject, because it exists and has a nature of its 
 own whether it is known by the subject or not. 
 
 What is the "subject" here spoken of, which is declared 
 to have no power of affecting the object? Manifestly, 
 the individual human subject this man or that the 
 subject that may either know or not know the object. 
 
 Now, the conception of existence which underlies this 
 objection is that individualistic or dualistic conception 
 which we have seen Mr. Spencer to hold. It sets on 
 the one side a number of individual things in space and 
 time, and, on the other side, it sets a number of individual 
 things each endowed with the faculty of knowledge, and 
 
l66 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 it maintains that the former are real apart from the latter. 
 The changes of things in space and time go on irrespective 
 of the changes which go on in the knowing subjects that 
 stand apart from them. Now, there is no doubt that 
 we do look at object and subject from this point of 
 view, and for certain purposes it is sufficient. If I wish 
 to observe the properties of gold, I may take a par- 
 ticular piece of gold, and, viewing it as if it were a 
 separate and distinct thing, I may note its properties. 
 Thus the chemist finds that gold has this peculiar property, 
 that it is soluble in aqua regia. On the other hand, I 
 may make the knowing subject an object of observation, 
 and I may observe that the subject in knowing is con- 
 tinually passing from one mental state to another, and 
 that these mental states never occur except when certain 
 changes take place in the sensitive organism. Here, 
 again, I am treating the subject as if he were a separate 
 individual, whose whole nature can be determined simply 
 by observation of the changes through which he passes. 
 It is from this point of view that the external object 
 seems to have a nature of its own, apart from the know- 
 ing subject, which also has a nature of its own. If, 
 therefore, any one should say that the external object 
 is not independent of the subject, the answer seems 
 obvious, that by its very nature as revealed in observa- 
 tion, it manifestly is independent, since it possesses 
 difTerent properties and goes through changes that are 
 in no way dependent upon the properties and the changes 
 of the knowing subject. And the answer is undoubtedly 
 convincing when it is directed against any one who admits 
 the fundamental assumption, that there are individual 
 things, external and internal. If the objective world can 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 167 
 
 be properly described as made up of a number of in- 
 dividual things, and if we can similarly speak of a number 
 of individual subjects, it is absurd to say that the former 
 are of the same nature as the latter. Just as an acid 
 differs in its properties from an alkali, so all external 
 objects differ from all knowing subjects in having pro- 
 perties not found in the latter. 
 
 But the question arises whether either the object or 
 the subject can be correctly described as individual 
 things having properties peculiar to themselves. Is not 
 this conception of existence false, when viewed from the 
 highest point of view, however useful it may be from the 
 point of view of mere observation ? 
 
 The objective world, from the individualistic point of 
 view, is made up of a number of individual things in 
 space and time, and each of these is supposed to possess 
 properties peculiar to itself. Now, we have already seen 
 that, so far as the existence of objects in space and time 
 is concerned, no object has a property peculiar to itself. 
 The position of anything in space or time is determined 
 by the position of other things. In other words, the 
 existence of one thing is possible only because it is 
 relative to the existence of all other things. There is 
 only one object or world, and what are distinguished as 
 individual objects are merely particular aspects, from 
 which the one object or world may be viewed. And 
 the same thing holds good if we look at the other pro- 
 perties of the objective world. Weight does not belong 
 as a separate property to this or that thing; it is a pro- 
 perty which is constituted by the fact that all the things 
 which we distinguish by their position tend to move 
 towards one another at a certain rate. Similarly, what 
 
1 68 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 we call the chemical properties of sensible things are 
 relations, belonging to things not as individual, but as 
 parts of a single universe. Hydrogen and oxygen are 
 relations between things, not properties attaching to things 
 in their isolation and independence. 
 
 Speaking of the objective world in the ordinary sense 
 of external reality, i.e., reality in space and time, we find 
 that it is not made up of separate things, but is a single 
 indivisible unity of which all the supposed separate things 
 are but phases or aspects. Now, it is true that when 
 we have reached the conclusion that there is only one 
 object or world, not a number of individual objects, we 
 have still left opposed to it a number of individual sub- 
 jects, each having a specific existence and nature of its 
 own ; i.e., we have still left an apparently absolute opposi- 
 tion between subject and object. But, if we have found 
 that there are no absolutely individual objects, is it not 
 reasonable to suppose that there are no absolutely in- 
 dividual subjects? 
 
 So far we have spoken of the objective world as if it 
 comprehended only inorganic existence. But this is mani- 
 festly an arbitrary limitation. For organized beings are 
 not less real than inorganic things, and therefore we must 
 enlarge our conception of the object so as to include 
 those forms of existence that we distinguish as living. 
 Is organized existence, then, of such a character that it 
 can be described as purely individual? Can we say that 
 there is any plant, or any animal, that lives a life of its 
 own, independently of all relation to other modes of 
 existence? 
 
 Now, it is at once manifest that we cannot find among 
 living beings any separate and independent individual, 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 69 
 
 any more than among non-living things. In the first 
 place, a living being whether plant or animal is on 
 one side of its nature plainly a part of the objective 
 world. It has a bodily structure, which displays the 
 same characteristics as other bodies. Thus it is in 
 space and time, it is subject to the laws of dynamics, 
 and it passes through chemical changes. What has been 
 said of individual things as inorganic therefore applies 
 equally to organic things so far as their bodily structure 
 is concerned. That is to say, no living being is an 
 independent individual, but is merely a distinguishable 
 aspect of the one great systematic whole, the object or 
 world. Apart from this whole, it could have no exist- 
 ence. We must therefore widen our conception of the 
 object, and include within it all living beings, so far as 
 these are viewed as having a bodily structure. 
 
 But can we stop here? Can we say that in their 
 bodily structure living beings belong to the objective 
 world, while as to their characteristics as living, they are 
 independent individuals? Now, there is no doubt that 
 living beings display characteristics not found in non- 
 living beings. They all, as we have seen, exhibit a 
 tendency to maintain themselves and to continue their 
 species. But this tendency can be realized only in so 
 far as they conform to the conditions of their environ- 
 ment. The possibility of maintaining themselves is there- 
 fore possible only in so far as that possibility is implied 
 in the nature of the external world. The living being 
 has a peculiar form of existence, but like other forms it 
 is bound up with the nature of existence as a whole. If 
 it could separate itself from the world, it would cease to 
 be, because the very nature of its existence is, that it 
 
170 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 can realize itself only as part of the world. Now, if we 
 find that living beings cannot be separated from other 
 forms of existence, is it not obvious that we must revise 
 our conception of the objective world, and include within 
 it, not merely inorganic existence, and organic existence 
 as to its bodily structure, but organic existence viewed 
 as organic? In other words, by the "object" we must 
 now designate all modes of existence, whether inorganic 
 or organic. The object is therefore not only a systematic 
 unity of parts, but it is in the strict sense an organic 
 unity, i.e., a unity which implies life. But this means 
 that each individual has a life of its own only in so far 
 as it exhibits within itself the life that is implied in the 
 world as a whole. 
 
 The life of the individual is thus one phase of the 
 universal life that pulsates through all existence. Change 
 in the smallest degree the laws of any form of existence, 
 and life becomes impossible. Nor can we give any 
 preference to inorganic as distinguished from organic 
 existence ; for organic existence is not less real than 
 inorganic. The only way in which it may plausibly be 
 shown that the objective world is not an organic unity 
 is by attempting to reduce life to the mere play of 
 mechanical forces. But the futility of this attempted 
 reduction has already been shown. The differentiation 
 and development of living beings can be explained only 
 on the supposition that by their very nature they have 
 an impulse to self-maintenance and a tendency to organiz- 
 ation. And this impulse and this tendency they could 
 not possess were its possibility not bound up with the 
 very nature of the world. The world or object is there- 
 fore something more than a system of mechanical forces : 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 171 
 
 it is a unity containing within itself the principle of 
 life. 
 
 From what has been said, it follows that the object 
 must now be conceived to include all modes of existence, 
 organic as well as inorganic. If, therefore, it is still 
 maintained that the object is independent of the sub- 
 ject, this can only mean, that, while all other modes 
 of existence are related to one another in one single 
 system, there is one form of existence which is outside 
 of this system, and belongs to a separate and independent 
 sphere. This mode of existence is mind or consciousness. 
 
 Now, it must be observed that we do not find mind 
 existing independently of the objective world. Just as 
 there can be no form of life apart from the whole system 
 of external nature, so there can be no form of mind 
 apart from the organism. We find in animals a peculiar 
 faculty, the faculty of feeling, which is not possessed by 
 any other form of being. And we find in man a still 
 higher faculty, the faculty of consciousness. But con- 
 sciousness is not something that exists irrespective of 
 animal sensation. Just as by means of sensation the 
 animal feels within itself a thrill which expresses the 
 nature of what lies beyond its own organism, so in con- 
 sciousness man comes to understand and to interpret the 
 sensations and impulses which, as an animal, he possesses. 
 He not only feels but thinks. 
 
 Now, if the life of consciousness as it exists in man 
 presupposes the life of sensation and impulse, it is plain 
 that any attempt to isolate the conscious subject from 
 the sensitive subject must result in emptying conscious- 
 ness of all content. For in his sensitive life man expresses 
 the life which pervades and gives meaning to all objective 
 
J 7 2 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 existence. To suppose that he can apprehend the nature 
 of existence irrespective of sensation, is to suppose that 
 he can apprehend existence without apprehending it. If 
 in the sensitive life the objective world as a whole is 
 implied, to turn away from sensation is to turn away from 
 the objective world. There is therefore no conscious sub- 
 ject that can be separated from the sensitive subject. 
 And this means that no conscious subject is a separate 
 individual. It is true that by no possibility can con- 
 sciousness be identified with sensation. To suppose such 
 an identification is to overlook what is characteristic of 
 consciousness. But while consciousness cannot be identified 
 with sensation, any more than sensation can be identified 
 with chemical action, it is none the less true that con- 
 sciousness is possible only on presupposition of sensation. 
 The individual subject can have no knowledge of objective 
 existence apart from the changing sensations and impulses 
 which are characteristic of his animal life. And the life 
 of feeling, as we have seen, is made possible by the 
 relations which subsist between the feeling subject and 
 all other modes of existence. To apprehend the mean- 
 ing of feeling is therefore to apprehend the meaning of 
 existence as a whole, i.e., to grasp those various aspects 
 under which the one object may be viewed. Unless the 
 conscious subject is capable of such apprehension, he is 
 incapable of knowing reality as it is. But if his conscious 
 life were something entirely apart from his sensitive life, 
 he could know no objective reality. And without such 
 knowledge he could not apprehend himself. Thus to be 
 conscious of himself is to be conscious that he is related 
 to all other modes of existence, and that apart from 
 such relation he could not exist. But if so, he knows 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 73 
 
 himself as at once a being who manifests in himself the 
 life of the whole, and a being who is conscious of the 
 life of the whole. From the former point of view, he 
 is a form of the objective world; in other words, the 
 consciousness which presents itself in man is a conscious- 
 ness that belongs to the very nature of existence. For 
 consciousness is not, as we have seen, something that 
 can be separated from other modes of reality, nor is it 
 something that can be reduced to other modes of reality. 
 None the less, it is possible only because the nature of 
 existence as a whole makes it possible. If consciousness 
 were incompatible with the nature of the universe, it could 
 not be : since it is, it must be regarded as a mode, and 
 the highest mode in which existence presents itself. 
 
 We must therefore revise our view of the nature of 
 objective existence, and say that it includes not only all 
 inorganic and organic things, but that it includes as well all 
 conscious beings. In other words, the consciousness of man 
 is a form and the highest form in which existence appears. 
 Now, no other principle than one which is self-conscious can 
 explain the existence of self-conscious beings ; and, as these 
 include and yet transcend all other forms of being, the 
 universe must be held to be, when properly understood, 
 self-conscious or rational. Thus, by following out the pre- 
 suppositions of reality as known to us, we at last reach 
 the idea of an absolute subject-object, in which the dis- 
 tinction of subject and object is seen to be a distinction 
 within an absolute identity. It may therefore fairly be 
 claimed that Speculative Idealism proves the existence 
 of God. 1 
 
 1 For a fuller discussion, see the author's Christianity and Idealism, 
 2nd ed., chap. xi. 
 
174 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 In this short outline of the proof of Speculative Idealism, 
 I have tried to show how, beginning with the first imperfect 
 definition of the object as that which is in space and 
 time, we are forced gradually to widen our definition 
 until we find it embrace all existence. If this proof is at 
 all sound, it follows that there can be no real separation 
 between object and subject. The supposed opposition 
 of subject and object turns out to be simply a distinction 
 in our point of view. When we are looking at the 
 manifestations of intelligence, we speak of the object 
 or world ; when we are thinking of the intelligence which 
 so manifests itself, we speak of the subject; but as the 
 manifestations are those of intelligence, and intelligence 
 is what it manifests, the distinction is no real separation. 
 When, therefore, Mr. Spencer tells us that " the distinction 
 of subject and object" is one " never to be transcended 
 while consciousness lasts," we answer that, so far from 
 this being true, the transcendence of the distinction is 
 necessarily implied in the very nature of consciousness. 
 It is in the apprehension of the object that man apprehends 
 himself; in other words, man learns that all existence 
 is rational, and that he himself is rational, because in his 
 intelligence there is contained the same principle as is 
 implied in all existence. 
 
 We can now deal very easily with the objection that 
 I have supposed to be raised against the idealist view 
 of existence. It is said that the object must be inde- 
 pendent of the subject because it exists whether the subject 
 knows it or not. Certainly, I answer : the individual 
 subject in coming to the knowledge of the object does 
 not bring the object into existence. No sane man makes 
 any such assertion. But this does not show that the 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 175 
 
 individual subject could have knowledge, were the object 
 generically different from the subject; on the contrary, it 
 shows that it is by coming to a consciousness of what 
 the object is he has knowledge at all. And this means, 
 as we have seen, that the object properly understood 
 includes the subject, or is intelligence. To grasp the 
 nature of the world is thus to apprehend existence as 
 intelligence, and from the point of view of its intelligible 
 nature : it is to see that existence is not only purposive 
 but rational. 
 
 {b) The second objection to the identity of subject and 
 object was, that the objective world existed before the 
 subject existed. If there was existence before conscious 
 beings came to be, how can it be denied that the objective 
 world is independent of the subject? 
 
 This objection is usually urged by scientific evolutionists, 
 who maintain that inorganic things preceded organic, and 
 that living beings without consciousness preceded conscious 
 beings. 
 
 Now (1) the first thing to observe here is, that this 
 objection rests upon the same individualistic assumption 
 as the former objection. It is taken for granted that to 
 deny the dependence of the inorganic world upon this 
 or that individual subject is to prove its absolute independ- 
 ence. But we have already seen that there is no purely 
 individual subject, no conscious being who is conscious 
 in virtue of something belonging to his own individual 
 existence ; and hence to say that the inorganic world does 
 not depend for its existence upon man, regarded as an 
 individual, by no means proves that the inorganic world 
 can exist by itself. This latter proposition can only be 
 established if it is shown that in the whole realm of 
 
176 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 existence there is nothing that cannot be included in the 
 idea and definition of matter ; in other words, that without 
 going beyond the conception of existence as extended, 
 moving, and exhibiting physical and chemical properties, 
 we can explain not only organized but even conscious 
 existence. Now, it has already been pointed out, that 
 it is impossible to account even for life, and much less 
 for consciousness, without widening our definition of the 
 object so as to include the new characteristics peculiar 
 to life and consciousness ; and hence that the supposition 
 of the separate existence of the inorganic world is an 
 untenable hypothesis. 
 
 But (2) the objection we are now considering introduces 
 a new difficulty, drawn from the succession in time of 
 the various orders of existence. The inorganic first existed, 
 it is said, and out of it proceeded, by the operation of 
 ordinary mechanical laws, the forms of existence that we 
 call organic; and similarly, the organic existed prior to 
 conscious existence, and gave rise to it ; hence, ultimately, 
 all modes of existence have proceeded from matter. This 
 is the line of thought by which Tyndall, for example, 
 tries to show that matter contains in itself " the promise 
 and potency of all kinds of life." 
 
 Now (a) you will observe that, if this argument is pressed 
 to its consequences, the conclusion must be that conscious- 
 ness is simply a mode of matter. The prior existence of 
 matter, it is held, shows that matter was the cause of 
 life and consciousness. Living beings, who did not yet 
 exist, could not be the cause of their own existence, and 
 hence we must attribute their existence to the only cause 
 that existed, i.e., to matter. If this argument is sound, 
 we must hold that consciousness contains in itself nothing 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 177 
 
 that is not due to matter; in other words, we must hold 
 that mind and matter are identical in their nature. But 
 if so, we can no longer maintain that the conscious subject 
 is independent of the object; we must, on the contrary, 
 maintain that the only existence is the object, and that 
 the supposed independence of subject and object, mind 
 and matter, is a conception which a scientific view of 
 the world shows to be false. On Tyndall's own show- 
 ing, therefore, subject and object are irreducible only in 
 the sense that they are supposed to be irreducible by 
 those who have not reached the scientific point of view. 
 It is true that he still maintains that we are unable to 
 conceive of the identification of subject and object; but 
 this can only consistently mean that we are unable to 
 get rid of a deeply rooted preconception. We cannot 
 maintain, both that mind is a product of matter, and that 
 mind is independent of matter : the reasoning by which we 
 establish the former proposition, precludes the possibility 
 of the latter. 
 
 Thus we find that the very argument by which it is 
 sought to show that the object is independent of the 
 subject leads to the conclusion that there is no such 
 independence. The. object is indeed independent of the 
 subject, but only in the sense that there is no subject. 
 We have not established the separation of mind from 
 matter, but abolished mind altogether. I shall try to show 
 that instead of thus reducing mind to matter, we must 
 hold that matter is a form of mind. 
 
 Inorganic existence, it is said, existed prior to life and 
 consciousness, and therefore life and consciousness are 
 the product of inorganic existence. The assumption here 
 is, that consciousness is related to matter as effect to 
 
178 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 cause. Before we can admit the validity of this assump- 
 tion, we must be certain that the relation between con- 
 sciousness and matter can be conceived as a relation of 
 effect and cause. Now, it is easy to show that the 
 conception of causality here made use of is, at any rate, 
 not the conception that is employed in scientific inquiries. 
 When a scientific man asks what is the cause of the 
 motion of a material body, his aim is to find out the 
 particular conditions which account for this particular 
 event, and the answer that he gives consists in stating 
 those particular conditions. He points out the circum- 
 stances that have to take place before the particular event 
 in question can happen. In all cases the circumstances 
 are some form of motion, because in external things 
 change always takes the form of motion. But when the 
 particular mode of motion assigned as the cause of a 
 particular change has been discovered, nothing has been 
 determined in regard to the nature of existence as a 
 whole; all that has been done is to point out the special 
 relation between two events. The idea of cause and 
 effect, in other words, has a perfectly intelligible meaning 
 when it is employed in explanation of particular events, 
 but it does not follow that it has an intelligible meaning 
 when it is employed to explain existence as a whole. 
 When we pass from the one point of view to the other, 
 we must ask whether we have not changed our conception. 
 Now, if it is said that matter is the cause of life and 
 consciousness, it is plain that by matter cannot here be 
 meant any particular form of material existence. There 
 never is in an effect something essentially different from 
 what is found in the cause. A material body can be 
 called a cause only in this sense, that its motion is the 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 79 
 
 condition of a motion in another body. The reason for 
 distinguishing a material body from a living or a con- 
 scious being is, that while the changes in the former are 
 all modes of motion, the changes in the latter are not 
 modes of motion, but modes of life and consciousness. 
 Now, if a material body, or any number of material 
 bodies, is called the cause of life and consciousness, it is 
 assumed that life and consciousness can be explained 
 simply as modes of motion. If, however, the latter are 
 modes of motion, there is no production of life and 
 consciousness by matter, because there is no life or 
 consciousness to be produced. The contradiction, there- 
 fore, to which the conception of matter as the cause of 
 life and consciousness leads is this : If life and con- 
 sciousness are distinct from matter, they cannot be its 
 effects; and, if they are effects of matter, there is no 
 distinction between them and matter. The ordinary con- 
 ception of cause and effect thus breaks down when we 
 try to explain by it the relation between matter on the 
 one hand, and life and consciousness on the other. If 
 we hold that matter has a real existence independently 
 of life and consciousness, we cannot at the same time 
 hold that it is the cause of these. 
 
 Now the lesson to be learned from this is, that the 
 conception of cause and effect as it is employed in 
 scientific investigation is not adequate as a conception 
 of the relation between existence as a whole and its 
 various modes. We may, if we please, still use the term 
 "cause" to express the relation, but we must give to it 
 a new meaning. Let us see what that meaning is. 
 
 Prior to the existence of living beings, there existed 
 inorganic things. Did these inorganic things exist as 
 
l8o AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 separate individuals, or were they only distinguishable 
 aspects of the one systematic unity? The latter, as 
 we have seen, is the true conception. We have there- 
 fore to conceive of existence prior to the appearance 
 of life, as one single organic whole. But this organic 
 whole had manifested itself only as that which passed 
 through mechanical, physical, and chemical changes. 
 Now, these changes were not related to the whole as 
 effect to cause; they were simply the distinguishable 
 aspects in which the one universe presented itself. These 
 aspects can be viewed as related to one another in the 
 way of cause and effect, but the universe as a whole is 
 not a cause of which all these aspects are effects; or, 
 at least, if we call it a cause, we mean simply that it 
 is a principle of unity manifesting itself in all change. 
 So conceived, cause must now be regarded as self-cause. 
 That is to say, there is nothing outside of the one unity 
 which explains or accounts for it, since beyond it there 
 is nothing : the only cause to which we can assign it 
 is itself. All forms of existence are therefore explained 
 by this unity, but the unity itself is not explained by 
 anything else. 
 
 Now, take another step. At a certain period life 
 makes its appearance. Whence did this life proceed? 
 It proceeded, the scientific evolutionist tells us, from in- 
 organic nature. "Were not man's origin implicated," 
 says Tyndall, "we should accept without a murmur 
 the derivation of animal life from what we call inorganic 
 nature." This language suggests that life is the pro- 
 duct or effect of that which is without life, i.e., that all 
 the particular living beings which first appeared on the 
 earth were originated by particular inorganic things. The 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. l8l 
 
 radical imperfection of this view has already been pointed 
 out. No individual thing originates anything ; for every 
 individual is what it is only by reference to the whole 
 system of the universe. What is implied in the origination 
 of life is not that inorganic nature produced life, but 
 that a new form of existence presented itself at a certain 
 period of time in the history of the earth. But this 
 life, although it has for the first time presented itself 
 is not something that has come into being by a power 
 belonging to inorganic things. And no one would be so 
 absurd as to say that it originated from itself. Its 
 origination can be explained only on the supposition 
 that it was implicit in the nature of existence as a whole. 
 Outside of the unity that comprehends all possible 
 existence there is nothing; and therefore life, when 
 it appears, merely manifests in an explicit form what was 
 already wrapped up in the one single existence that is 
 manifested in all modes of existence. But, if this one 
 all-inclusive unity is now seen to involve within itself 
 organic as well as inorganic existence, its nature cannot 
 be comprehended by looking at either apart from the 
 other. It is neither inorganic nor organic, but both. 
 Further, organic existence is of this nature that, while it 
 contains all that is implied in inorganic nature, it also 
 manifests characteristics that are peculiar to itself. 
 
 The true nature of existence must therefore be defined 
 as organic rather than inorganic; and it is therefore 
 more correct to say, that organic existence has produced 
 inorganic, than that inorganic has produced organic. But 
 both forms of expression are inadequate. For, as no 
 mode of existence originates any other, what we must 
 say is, that in organic existence we have a fuller and 
 
l82 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 truer expression of the nature of existence as a whole 
 than we have in inorganic existence. Having made this 
 discovery, we can see that in inorganic existence, prior 
 to the rise of life, there was already implied all that 
 subsequently presented itself in organic existence. Thus 
 what is posterior in time is prior in nature : the first is 
 last and the last first. 
 
 I think you will now see that there is nothing in the 
 fact that life has appeared subsequent to non-living things 
 to show that the former is dependent upon the latter. 
 Since no form of existence can present itself that lies 
 outside the one unity of existence, we are compelled to 
 relate both to that unity, and to find in life, rather than 
 in matter, the true nature of reality. And, if this is so, 
 there can be no difficulty in seeing that it is meaningless 
 to speak of matter as the cause of conscious existence. 
 To argue that consciousness is due to matter is to fall 
 into the old mistake of taking the order of time as identical 
 with the order of nature, and of attributing to individual 
 things a power of origination that belongs only to the 
 single principle manifested in all things. 
 
 Consciousness appeared later than life. Granted ; but 
 the consciousness which thus appeared could not arise 
 either from the particular forms of existence prior to it, 
 or from itself: its explanation must be found in this, 
 that existence as a whole contained within itself, prior 
 to its manifestation as consciousness, all that so mani- 
 fested itself. There can be no absolute origination in 
 the case of existence as a whole, since outside of that 
 whole there is no reality and no possibility. What is 
 shown by the appearance in the world of conscious beings 
 is not a new existence, but a higher manifestation of 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 83 
 
 the one existence that always was and is and shall be. 
 We must therefore say, that inorganic existence, as well 
 as organic existence, when it is properly understood, is a 
 phase, though not the highest phase, of the single self- 
 conscious intelligence in whom and through whom and 
 by whom are all things. For, since nothing is apart from 
 the unalterable nature of the one Being that comprehends 
 all reality, to understand completely the nature of the 
 simplest form of existence say, a stone is to apprehend 
 it as one of the phases in which the absolute intelligence 
 is manifested. It is this that makes all pursuit of know- 
 ledge sacred. In learning the properties of a simple 
 blade of grass we are partially apprehending the nature 
 of God. 
 
 SCIENTIFIC EVOLUTIONISM AND SPECULATIVE IDEALISM. 
 
 These considerations have, I hope, made it plain in 
 what sense idealism maintains that there is no absolute 
 separation of subject and object, mind and matter; that, 
 on the contrary, matter properly understood, is a manifesta- 
 tion of mind. All existence is a manifestation of one 
 supreme all-comprehensive self-consciousness. We may 
 now go on to consider the objection to the identity of 
 subject and object drawn from the character of the subject. 
 It is said that mind must be absolutely independent of 
 matter, because mind is conscious of itself, while matter 
 is not. The idea of the subject thus seems to be exclusive 
 of the idea of the object; or, in Mr. Spencer's language, 
 the distinction is one never to be transcended while con- 
 sciousness lasts. 
 
 This argument manifestly follows a different line of 
 thought from that which we have just considered. So 
 
184 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 far from maintaining that consciousness must be regarded 
 as a product of matter, it asserts that by no possibility 
 can consciousness be reduced to matter. Matter has no 
 consciousness of itself, whereas every subject is a subject 
 just because of self-consciousness. It is therefore inferred 
 that the conscious subject is independent of the object. 
 
 Now, it is peculiar that we find this argument for the 
 independence and diverse nature of the subject put for- 
 ward by those who also maintain that life and consciousness 
 are products of inorganic nature. Spencer, Tyndall, Huxley, 
 and others, all maintain that by the one line of argument 
 we are forced to view mind as a mode of matter, and 
 by the other line of argument we are forced to assert 
 that mind cannot be a mode of matter. Their solution 
 of the difficulty is to fall back upon a Power which is 
 neither mind nor matter, but the nature of this Power, 
 they maintain, is absolutely inscrutable to the intellect 
 of man. The self-contradictory character of this solution 
 we have already seen, and hence we must inquire whether 
 we are really forced to maintain that the fact of self- 
 consciousness is inconsistent with the identity of subject 
 and object. 
 
 When we find the same writer holding that mind is 
 a mode of matter, and that mind is independent of matter, 
 we may be sure that the "fons et origo" of the two 
 discrepant views is to be found in some false assumption 
 common to both. The assumption here is, that each 
 conscious subject, like each material object, is a separate 
 individual whose nature is not in any way relative to the 
 nature of other individuals. In other words, existence 
 is supposed to be made up of a number of individuals, 
 standing opposed to one another as separate and distinct 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 85 
 
 The difference between these individuals is, that some 
 are conscious and some are unconscious; but all alike 
 are what they are in virtue of their own independent 
 existence. The individuality of conscious beings seems 
 to be especially manifest. When I am conscious of 
 myself, I am conscious that I am not to be identified with 
 any other form of existence. I possess, as it has been 
 said, a unique existence and an unsharable conscious- 
 ness, and to deny my individuality is to deny that I am 
 conscious at all. My sensations, my emotions, my thoughts 
 and volitions are mine, and not those of anybody else. 
 I inhabit a world of consciousness that is absolutely 
 ; impenetrable, and in virtue of this fact I am a self-con- 
 scious subject. My real self is "one and indivisible," 
 different selves are "absolutely and for ever exclusive." 
 
 Now, in one point of view, this assertion of individuality 
 deserves the strongest commendation. In maintaining 
 that all forms of existence are individual, it brings into 
 prominence an aspect of reality that is lost sight of when 
 all concrete forms of being are resolved into an inscrutable 
 and unintelligible Power. And in particular, it emphasizes 
 the distinction between beings that are self-conscious, and 
 beings that are not self-conscious, implying that in the 
 strict sense of the term the only true individual is the 
 self-conscious subject, which, in all the changes through 
 which it passes, is aware of itself as identical. 
 
 But, while it is an important truth, that individuality 
 can properly be affirmed only of a being that is self- 
 conscious, it by no means follows that to be self-conscious 
 is to be aware of oneself as a separate individual, having 
 no relation to any other existence. It may easily be 
 shown that the consciousness of individuality is on this 
 
1 86 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 supposition impossible. If we suppose that in being con- 
 scious of himself, the subject is conscious of nothing else, 
 it is manifest that such a being would have no consciousness 
 even of himself. For all reality would for him be limited 
 to determinations of himself, and therefore he would never 
 contrast with these determinations the determinations of 
 other forms of existence. To be conscious of myself 
 implies that I am conscious of myself as possessing a 
 character which distinguishes me from other modes of 
 being. My individuality is for me the consciousness of 
 what I feel, know, and will. But if I have no consciousness 
 of what is felt, known, and willed by others, I must be in- 
 capable of distinguishing between myself and other selves. 
 It is therefore only in relation and contrast to other selves 
 that I become conscious of what I as an individual am. 
 Assume, therefore, that I am absolutely limited to the 
 consciousness of my own feelings and thoughts and voli- 
 tions, and obviously I should be unaware that others have 
 different feelings, thoughts, and volitions, and therefore 
 unaware of my own peculiar individuality. The conscious- 
 ness of self is therefore relative to the consciousness of 
 other selves. 
 
 It may be said, however, that while I am no doubt 
 conscious of other selves as having feelings, thoughts, 
 and volitions, yet I am capable of distinguishing these 
 from the feelings, thoughts, and volitions which are 
 peculiarly my own, and that the consciousness of what is 
 mine constitutes my peculiar individuality. And this is 
 true; what I feel, think, and will belongs to me in a 
 sense that nothing else does ; it is mine because it 
 implies a peculiar self-activity on my part. It is the dis- 
 cinguishing characteristic of self-conscious beings that they 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 87 
 
 are self-determined. But self-determination is not the 
 same thing as the determination of an exclusive and 
 separate self that has no relation to anything else. This 
 may be shown by a consideration of the two main forms 
 in which self-determination is exhibited, viz., knowledge 
 and action. 
 
 (1) Knowledge. To know is to have the consciousness 
 of what really exists. But if we suppose that in our 
 knowledge we are conscious only of our own states, we 
 shall have no consciousness of any reality. Knowledge 
 therefore implies that we can separate between what 
 seems and what is. If in any case we apprehend what 
 is, we do so in virtue of our own self-activity; but what 
 we apprehend is not an arbitrary product of our activity, 
 but what belongs to the actual nature of reality. To 
 know is thus to exercise conscious activity in the appre- 
 hension of that which has an existence and nature not 
 determined by the activity. In so far as the activity of 
 self-consciousness is exercised in setting aside what is 
 accidental and illusory, we have knowledge. As far as 
 we have knowledge we have transcended our mere indi- 
 viduality and identified ourselves with the universal. 
 Thus we have realized by our self-activity that which is 
 objective. True self-activity consists in identification with 
 the object; and true individuality consists in the con- 
 sciousness that our true self is to be found in such 
 identification. Now, if our knowledge were absolutely 
 complete, we should be absolutely identified with the 
 object. Such absolute identification would not be the 
 destruction of our self-activity, but its perfect realization. 
 We therefore see that absolute individuality would mean 
 the absolute transcendence of the opposition of subject 
 
l88 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 and object. In man, however, this perfect individuality 
 is never attained, but remains for him an ideal which, by 
 his self-activity, he is perpetually seeking to realize. If 
 he had no self-activity, he would never get beyond the 
 first opposition of subject and object; if he had complete 
 self-activity, he would absolutely transcend the opposition. 
 In knowledge he is therefore continually abolishing the 
 distinction between subject and object, but it is a dis- 
 tinction which for him is abolished only in idea. Yet in 
 a sense the opposition is already abolished. For, if he 
 had no consciousness of the ultimate unity of subject and 
 object, he would have no consciousness that in his actual 
 knowledge he falls short of his ideal. It is for this 
 reason that a man is aware of himself as having a 
 peculiar individuality which distinguishes him from other 
 men and from God. But this consciousness of his own 
 individuality would be impossible were he not conscious 
 of being beyond it in idea. It is by reference to the 
 standard of complete knowledge as realized in God that 
 a man is conscious of the incompleteness of his own 
 knowledge : it is by reference to the same infinite 
 standard that he pronounces the knowledge of others to 
 be more or less complete than his own. But in all cases 
 the consciousness of one's knowledge, and the conscious- 
 ness of the limited extent of one's knowledge, involves 
 the consciousness, actual or ideal, of the unity of self and 
 not-self. So far is it from being true, that to be con- 
 scious of self is to be conscious of an exclusive self, that 
 the consciousness of self is impossible except as the 
 consciousness of a self that is identical with not-self. 
 
 (2) Action. The same thing may be seen in the case 
 of action. To act morally is to determine oneself in 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 89 
 
 accordance with the true nature of existence. If I seek 
 my good in what presents itself as good only to me as 
 a separate individual, I shall not realize my true indi- 
 viduality. For, unless I seek my good in what is good 
 absolutely, I shall abandon myself to caprice or to self- 
 will. It is only by willing what is good, absolutely or 
 universally, that I can realize what my true nature fits 
 me to realize. In other words, my self-activity must be 
 determined by the idea of a universal moral law, or it is 
 not a realization of my individuality, because it is con- 
 trary to the true nature of the self. Every moral law is 
 a statement of one of the ways in which the subject may 
 realize what in his ideal nature he is. The consciousness 
 of a moral law is therefore the consciousness of one of 
 the modes in which the subject by his self-activity may 
 identify himself with the object. For the ideal self is 
 capable of being realized only as a self existing in a 
 world that in its ultimate nature is consistent with such 
 realization. If the universe were so constituted that it 
 was inconsistent with the realization of what, in his idea, 
 man is, there would be an absolute antagonism between 
 the self-conscious subject and the object. But such an 
 antagonism is disproved by the fact that in the con- 
 sciousness of the ideal self we already have the promise 
 of the identity of the subject and the object. All moral 
 progress rests upon this idea upon the idea of an 
 absolute good, which realizes the self because the world 
 exhibits in it a divine purpose. Morality, in other words, 
 is possible at all only if the world is the expression of 
 the divine mind. It is therefore in contrast to the perfect 
 unity of subject and object as conceived to be realized 
 by God, that we become conscious of our own moral 
 
19 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 limitations. In the case of man there always is an 
 opposition between the actual self and the ideal, because 
 man's life is never completely moralized; but even the 
 consciousness of his moral imperfection would be im- 
 possible were he not conscious of an ideal moral per- 
 fection, and conscious of it as the true nature of the 
 world. Thus, in the practical as in the theoretical 
 consciousness of man, there is implied identification of 
 subject and object. 
 
 From what has been said you will see that in asserting 
 the identity of subject and object we do not maintain 
 that there is no distinction between beings that are self- 
 conscious and beings that are not self-conscious. What 
 we maintain is, that, as every phase of the world must 
 ultimately be viewed as a manifestation of one self- 
 conscious intelligence, so the true life of man consists in 
 coming to the consciousness of this intelligence and in 
 identifying himself with it. True individuality is self- 
 activity in identifying oneself with the object; and just 
 in so far as a man fails in this he fails in knowledge and 
 in morality. 
 
 I have dealt thus fully with Mr Spencer's first pro- 
 position, because it lies at the basis of his whole system. 
 It will not be necessary to consider the other four pro- 
 positions which he maintains, but a few words may be 
 devoted to his second proposition, that the object is for us 
 a complex of feelings, and the subject a complex of move- 
 ments. Let us take each of these assertions by itself. 
 
 (a) The object is conceivable only as a complex of 
 feelings. My perception of any object is not an appre- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 191 
 
 hension of the object in itself, but only of the impressions 
 which it produces in me. These come in an order of 
 succession, and therefore the perception of coexistent 
 objects is in reality only the consciousness of a reversible 
 order in my impressions as distinguished from an irre- 
 versible order. 
 
 Now, Mr. Spencer here fails to distinguish between a 
 mere series of feelings and a conceived order of objective 
 reality. He assumes that the occurrence of feelings is the 
 same as the consciousness of their occurrence. But it is 
 easy to show that if the object were reducible to the 
 mere occurrence of feelings, there would be no con- 
 sciousness of their occurrence, and therefore no conscious- 
 ness of an orderly system of things. To be conscious of 
 feelings as related in time is to be beyond mere feelings. 
 This becomes at once evident if we suppose our con- 
 sciousness reduced simply to the occurrence of feelings. 
 Take, e.g., the occurrence of a number of feelings of 
 sound. (1) If there is in the consciousness of such 
 feelings nothing but the feelings themselves, each feeling 
 of sound will exist only so long as it is felt. But the 
 consciousness of a series of feelings cannot be derived 
 from a number of distinct feelings. To have the con- 
 sciousness of a series there must be the consciousness of 
 the one as distinguishable from the other. To simplify 
 the matter, let us suppose that in their content all the 
 feelings are the same. But manifestly we cannot be 
 conscious of feelings as different, unless we are conscious 
 of them as not absolutely identical. In the present case 
 the difference is purely one of time; if, therefore, we 
 distinguish the one from the other, we must do so on 
 the ground that one precedes and the other follows. 
 
I9 2 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Now, this distinction of before and after is a distinction 
 of relation, and therefore it involves the consciousness of 
 a relation the relation of time between one feeling and 
 another. This capacity of relating one feeling to another 
 cannot be attributed to the feelings themselves, but 
 involves the capacity of grasping time as a unity of dis- 
 tinguishable moments. That is to say, in the conscious- 
 ness of a series of feelings thought is involved. It is 
 for this reason that I become conscious of all feelings as 
 related to one another in the way of time. And time, as 
 the universal form in which all feelings are related, is 
 not a variable element in my experience; it is a fixed 
 or unalterable relation. Here, then, we have one of the 
 simplest forms in which the consciousness of objectivity 
 presents itself. In being conscious of all feelings as 
 related in the way of time, I have apprehended a universal 
 and necessary relation j and a universal and necessary 
 relation is what we mean by objectivity. 
 
 You will thus see that it is quite untrue to say that 
 the object is for us a complex of feelings. No number of 
 feelings could ever give us the consciousness of time, and 
 therefore the consciousness of feelings as following in a 
 fixed order in time. The object is not a collection of 
 feelings, but the consciousness of a systematic unity which 
 determines feelings to a fixed order. To be conscious 
 of an object at all, we must have the conception of time 
 as an absolute unity. Hence the conscious subject in 
 the apprehension of his various feelings as successive has 
 already got beyond a series of subjective states, and has 
 grasped these under the objective form of time. 
 
 (b) The subject, Mr. Spencer says, is conceivable only 
 as a complex of movements. If the mind experiences a 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 193 
 
 feeling, this feeling can only be conceived after the manner 
 of a movement in the bodily organism. Thus we are forced 
 to represent the relation of our feelings to one another in 
 terms of the action of one material particle on another. 
 Mr. Spencer indeed denies that this is an adequate view 
 of the nature of mind, but he says it is the only view that 
 makes the fact intelligible to us. Changes of feeling are 
 really different in kind from material movements, but yet 
 we must symbolize the changes of feeling as movements. 
 Now, the difficulty Mr. Spencer has in apprehending 
 the nature of mind is not due to any limitation of our 
 knowledge, but to a false view of the nature of mind. 
 Any attempt to comprehend the nature of consciousness 
 by conceiving of it as made up of separate units of feeling 
 is certain to lead us to suppose that we cannot comprehend 
 mind as it truly is, and have therefore to represent it 
 as it is not. For consciousness is not an assemblage 
 of separate feelings. To suppose it is, leads, as we 
 have seen, to the denial of all consciousness. The dis- 
 tinguishing characteristic of consciousness is, that in all 
 its changing phases it remains identical with itself; what 
 it distinguishes from itself is always a particular aspect of 
 reality, but all aspects of reality are in relation to the 
 one indivisible self. To speak, therefore, of feelings in 
 terms of nerve-movements is virtually to abolish the dis- 
 tinction between a feeling and a nerve-movement. Now, 
 a feeling as it exists for consciousness is always a particu- 
 lar phase of reality as related by thought to other phases 
 of reality. Apart from consciousness, the feeling has no 
 existence as a known object; as a known object, it implies 
 the universalizing activity of the one identical subject. But, 
 if prior to the consciousness of the feeling there is no 
 
194 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 known feeling, to speak of a nerve-movement as if it could 
 explain feeling is to assume that a peculiar form of reality 
 can be explained without any reference to that without 
 which it could not exist at all. Consciousness cannot be 
 expressed in terms of motion, because, without supposing 
 consciousness to be distinct from motion, there could be 
 no consciousness at all. 
 
 In the last two chapters the general character of the 
 moral consciousness of man has been incidentally charac- 
 terized, but it is necessary to consider more carefully the 
 problems which arise in connection with that conscious- 
 ness. The discussion of these problems constitutes Moral 
 as distinguished from Mental Philosophy. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 IDEA OF DUTY. 
 
 In our ordinary moral consciousness we distinguish be- 
 tween what is and what ought to be, just as in our ordinary 
 theoretical consciousness we distinguish between what 
 seems and what is. We are continually passing upon our- 
 selves or others such judgments as " This ought to be 
 done," " That ought not to be done." In making such 
 judgments we assume that there is right and wrong con- 
 duct, and that action, whether right or wrong, is to be 
 attributed to an agent. In other words, we find in our 
 ordinary consciousness two correlative ideas, the idea of 
 Duty or moral obligation, and the idea of Freedom or self- 
 activity. These two ideas lie at the basis of all our moral 
 conceptions, and with them Ethics, as the science of 
 conduct, has mainly to deal. We shall deal first with the 
 idea of duty. 
 
 In the first place, the idea of duty implies an opposition 
 between an ideal or intelligible world and the actual world. 
 This ideal world is conceived as that form of existence 
 which a man is to realize, as distinguished from the form 
 
I96 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of existence that he has realized. In idea man is a mem- 
 ber of the intelligible world, and if he were complete man, 
 he would no longer find any discrepancy between what 
 he ought to be and what he is. But primarily the in- 
 telligible world is not an achievement but a prophecy, not 
 something that man is but something he ought to be. 
 And this is true whether we look at the individual man 
 or at the race. The individual man has an idea of him- 
 self as realizing what he ought to realize, but it presents 
 itself to him as an ideal, because he has not realized it. 
 It is in contrast to this ideal of himself that he becomes 
 conscious of the imperfection of his actual self. If he 
 had no idea of himself as a being that ought to live the 
 ideal life, he would not be aware that "in all things he 
 offends and comes short of the glory of God." The same 
 thing is true of the race. The moral progress of humanity 
 is made possible by an ideal of humanity as it ought to 
 be but is not. There always is in all the strivings of 
 man an ideal man which is set up as the true man, and 
 this ideal is conceived as the real that ought to be, though 
 not the real that is. We can therefore understand why 
 Plato maintained that the ideal is the real. The ideal is 
 the real, not because it is the actual, but because it is 
 what ought to be actual. Man recognizes that his true 
 self is the ideal or moral self, not the self that at any 
 time actually is. 
 
 Hence, secondly, the idea of duty implies an opposition 
 between a law of reason and a law of natural inclination. 
 The law of reason is recognized as that which expresses 
 the true end or destiny of man, the man as he ought to 
 be ; the law of inclination as that which expresses what 
 man, in so far as he fails to realize the ideal end, actually 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 1 97 
 
 is. There is in man an opposition between his desire 
 for the realization of the ideal self, and his desire for the 
 gratification of the lower self, an opposition between the 
 life of spirit and the life of nature. 
 
 Now, it is of supreme importance to apprehend the true 
 relation of the ideal and the actual self, the life of spirit 
 and the life of nature ; for upon this apprehension mainly 
 depends the character of our ethical theory. 
 
 The first view of the relation of the natural and the 
 spiritual self which we are inclined to take is that they 
 are absolute opposites. I find within me, it may be said, 
 certain natural impulses, and these incite me to live a 
 life that is in all respects opposed to the life of reason. 
 It is only by rising entirely above my impulses and acting 
 purely from the law of reason that I can be moral. 
 
 Now, this view manifestly implies that it is possible, on 
 the one hand, to act purely from natural impulse, and, on 
 the other hand, to act purely from reason. But before 
 we can accept such an absolute opposition of Desire and 
 Reason, we must be sure that the opposition exists. Is 
 it then true that man ever does, or ever can, act from 
 mere impulse as distinguished from reason ? 
 
 What has led to the view that man may act purely 
 from immediate impulse ? It seems to be established by 
 the actual facts of human life. Each of us seems to be 
 an individual object among other objects, possessing by 
 nature certain immediate desires which are brought into 
 play by the stimulation of external things. Thus the 
 immediate appetites of hunger and thirst seem to belong 
 to our animal nature, and to present themselves in our 
 consciousness whether we will or no. These appetites 
 take the form of the feeling of a want, and this feeling 
 
198 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 leads to the impulse to satisfy the want. We find that 
 they can be satisfied by certain acts the acts of eating 
 and drinking, and, impelled by our natural craving, we 
 perform the acts required. Here, it is said, is an impulse 
 with which nature has endowed us, giving rise to an 
 action. It is not reason that supplies the motive to the 
 action, but an impulse of nature. Our reason may show us 
 the means by which the natural want may be satisfied 
 it may tell us that hunger can be satisfied only by food, 
 and thirst by drink but it cannot supply the impulse to 
 act, the motive or active power that produces the action. 
 Nor is it different, it may be said, in the case of the 
 desires that we are accustomed to call higher. Thus man 
 has a benevolent impulse, an impulse to do actions that 
 bring pleasure to others. But, like the appetites of hunger 
 and thirst, that impulse springs up in him because he is 
 by nature endowed with a susceptibility which makes 
 him shrink from pain, and causes him to act so as to 
 prevent others from feeling it. To this the Darwinian 
 would add, that the benevolent impulse has come to man 
 by inheritance from his animal progenitors, and is there- 
 fore as purely natural as the appetite of hunger or of 
 thirst. Let the benevolent impulse be in a man stronger 
 than the selfish impulse, and he will inevitably perform 
 benevolent acts. 
 
 Now, plausible as this view of natural desire is, I think it 
 may be shown to rest upon an imperfect apprehension of 
 the nature of desire as it exists in man. It is supposed 
 that man knows himself simply as an individual object, 
 possessing like other individual objects certain properties 
 which are revealed in his consciousness, but which are in 
 no way determined as to their nature by his consciousness. 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 1 99 
 
 Just as a material thing possesses the tendency to gravitate 
 towards other material things, so man possesses by nature 
 such tendencies to action as hunger, thirst, and benevolence. 
 Accordingly, it is supposed that his consciousness of him- 
 self is simply the consciousness that he exists, and is de- 
 termined now by one impulse, now by another. The 
 immediate impulse is in no way affected by man's con- 
 sciousness of it, for his consciousness only tells him that he 
 is and must be affected by the impulse : 
 
 " O who can hold a fire in his hand, 
 By thinking on the frosty Caucasus." 1 
 
 Thus the consciousness of self seems to be merely the 
 apprehension of a sensitive content, that leaves the content 
 unchanged. From this point of view, the only difference 
 between a merely sensitive and a conscious subject is that 
 the former possesses a certain impulse without being aware 
 of possessing it, while the latter not only has the impulse 
 but knows that he has it. The presence of consciousness, 
 however, seems to leave the impulse just what it was before. 
 If a magnet were to become conscious of its tendency to 
 turn towards the pole, it would be in an analogous con- 
 dition to a self-conscious being that has become aware of 
 itself as having natural impulses. 
 
 Now this account of the consciousness of self leaves out 
 all that is characteristic of it. We are to suppose that the 
 subject can be conscious of being in a particular state of 
 desire, without being conscious of anything else ; in other 
 words, that the self-conscious subject is aware of himself only 
 in the individual states which in succession occur to him. 
 We must further suppose that the subject can be conscious 
 1 Richard II i. 3. 
 
200 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY, 
 
 of himself as particular without being conscious of himself 
 as universal. But neither of these assumptions can be ad- 
 mitted to be true, (a) If my consciousness of myself as in 
 a particular state of desire say, desire for food were the 
 consciousness only of this desire, I should not be able to 
 think of myself as capable of many desires. Tied down to 
 each desire as it arose, I should be continually varying in 
 my desires as from time to time they arose in me, but I 
 should not be aware of this variable character of myself. 
 To be aware of hunger as a desire to which I am subject, 
 I must therefore be able to compare it with the other 
 desires of which I am susceptible. But this means that I 
 am conscious of myself as a being in whom a conflict of 
 desires may take place. For instance, the desire for food 
 may come into conflict with the desire for knowledge. The 
 consciousness of desire thus implies that the subject appears 
 to himself as an object capable of experiencing various 
 desires which may or may not be harmonious with one 
 another, (b) This consciousness leads to another form of 
 consciousness. I cannot be conscious of myself as capable 
 of having a variety of desires, without conceiving of myself 
 as not identical with any one of them, or even with the 
 whole of them taken together. Thus arises the conscious- 
 ness of self as a subject that is opposed to the self as an 
 object with its varying desires. The very consciousness 
 of self as an object lifts the self above its mere objectivity. 
 Hence arises the opposition between myself as a being 
 striving after complete satisfaction and myself as a being 
 experiencing from time to time the satisfaction of particular 
 desires, but never completely satisfied. 
 
 Self-consciousness thus involves a primary opposition 
 between an ideal self and an actual self. But this oppo- 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 201 
 
 sition is not absolute. When I have become aware that 
 I have many desires, all of which seek for satisfaction, my 
 action is not determined by any desire as such. I set 
 before my consciousness the idea of myself as seeking 
 satisfaction in different desires, and I select among them 
 that which seems to have the strongest claim to satisfaction 
 under given conditions. It is not the desire that deter- 
 mines my choice, but / who compare the various desires 
 with one another. Having made my choice I will to 
 follow the line of action calculated, or apparently calculated, 
 to secure the end in view. Thus the self-conscious subject 
 is not the passive subject of this or that desire, but he 
 determines himself to follow the object to which a particular 
 desire points. 
 
 But there is more than this. If I seek for satisfaction 
 in willing the object of a particular desire, I am seeking 
 for satisfaction in that which cannot possibly yield it. 
 For my consciousness of myself is the consciousness of 
 a self that strives after infinite satisfaction. I desire 
 satisfaction not for this side of my nature or for that 
 not for the present moment only but for all time and 
 no particular satisfaction can possibly yield complete 
 satisfaction. "Man's unhappiness," says Carlyle, 1 "comes 
 of his Greatness; it is because there is an Infinite in 
 him, which with all his cunning he cannot quite bury 
 under the Finite. Will the whole Finance Ministers and 
 Upholsterers and Confectioners of modern Europe under- 
 take in joint-stock company, to make one Shoeblack 
 happy? They cannot accomplish it, above an hour or 
 two; for the Shoeblack also has a Soul quite other than 
 his Stomach; and would require, if you consider it, for 
 
 1 Sartor Resartus, p. 131. 
 
202 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 his permanent satisfaction and saturation, simply this 
 allotment, no more, and no less : God's infinite Universe 
 altogether to himself, therein to enjoy infinitely, and fill 
 every wish as fast as it rose." Thus arises a division in 
 consciousness between the particular and the universal 
 self. On the one hand, I can realize myself only in 
 willing some particular object; on the other hand, in 
 willing a particular object I have not gained the satisfac- 
 tion at which I aimed. Here then is the origin of the 
 war of flesh and spirit, the actual and the ideal self. 
 Our self-conscious life seems to be in irreconcilable 
 antagonism with itself. Observe, however, that the antag- 
 onism is now seen to be, not between natural desire 
 impelling us to actions that lie outside of our own will, 
 and reason as setting up an ideal beyond all desire , but 
 it is between that form of self-determination which seeks 
 to realize the self in willing a particular object, and that 
 form of self-determination which seeks to realize the self 
 completely. It is a conflict of the subject with himself, 
 not a conflict between external force and will. 
 
 Yet the conflict seems to remain. Is there no way of 
 reconciling it? There is one method which has com- 
 mended itself to many moralists, the method of Asceticism. 
 The only way, it is held, in which man can attain the 
 end of his being is by refusing to be influenced in the 
 smallest degree by his desires, *.*., by the satisfactions 
 which seem to be held out to him by willing one side of 
 his nature. For the true nature of man is reason, and 
 reason demands the complete liberation of man from all 
 the passions that enslave him. Thus it was held by the 
 ancient Stoics, as it has been held in modern times 
 by Kant, that morality consists in acting purely from 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 203 
 
 the law of reason, as distinguished from the law of 
 desire. 
 
 This law of reason seemed to the Stoics to be in 
 complete antagonism to the law of desire. Hence they 
 maintained that we can only live the true life of man by 
 being absolutely indifferent to the solicitations of desire; 
 we must " dwell with ourselves," x and treat all the imagined 
 satisfactions of the particular desires as inconsistent with 
 "our being's end and aim." The passions are "unnatural," 
 for man's real nature is not passion but reason. "Follow 
 nature" therefore means, "follow reason." The man who 
 is moved by the desire for wealth is a slave; he becomes 
 free by learning to despise wealth. To be ambitious is 
 to yield to a desire which never can bring satisfaction, but 
 which, on the contrary, must lead to all sorts of dissatis- 
 faction and even to despair; the wise man holds himself 
 aloof from all the ambitions of ordinary men. The end 
 of life is to reach the state of self-harmony, or complete 
 indifference (drapagia) to the claims of the particular self. 
 Passion as foreign to the true self must be destroyed ; we 
 must as rational beings devote ourselves to the task of 
 expelling this unwelcome guest. Hence morality consists 
 in the negation of passion. The asceticism of the Stoics 
 thus results from their conception of the particular desires 
 as essentially irrational. Accordingly, the morality they 
 teach is purely negative in its character. They tell us, 
 indeed, that we are to live the life of reason; but when 
 we ask wherein the life of reason consists, the answer we 
 get is, that it consists in the annihilation in ourselves of 
 the power over us of all the desires. 
 
 What is the value of this conception of morality? 
 1 Tecum habita et norzs, quam sit tibi curta supellex. Persius. 
 
204 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 (a) Its main value lies in this, that man in his ideal 
 or perfect nature is something more and higher than the 
 particular forms in which he seeks to realize himself. 
 If I try to realize myself completely in devoting myself 
 to the pursuit of wealth, or honour, or knowledge, I am 
 treating myself as if my whole nature were capable of 
 being expressed in each of these desires. Nay, if I try 
 to find satisfaction in the realization of all my particular 
 desires, I equally assume that I can be identified with 
 these, and that if I can only obtain wealth and honour 
 and knowledge I shall have reached complete self- 
 satisfaction. In neither of these ways can the satisfaction 
 that is sought be attained. Suppose that I succeed in 
 satisfying my desire for wealth, I become conscious that 
 I have left unsatisfied my natural desire for honour and 
 knowledge; if I were to obtain the satisfaction of the 
 desire for honour or knowledge, I should leave unsatisfied 
 the desire for wealth. The truth, however, is, that no 
 desire ever can be completely satisfied. The man who 
 seeks to obtain wealth as the means of self-satisfaction 
 never reaches a point where he can say: Now I have 
 obtained all the wealth that I can possibly desire. For 
 the desire has no limit in itself, and therefore no limited 
 object can satisfy it. 
 
 To suppose, therefore, that any one who makes the 
 satisfaction of all his desires his object can ever attain 
 the satisfaction he seeks, is to suppose that the desire for 
 the infinite can be fed by the finite. The Stoics were 
 therefore right in maintaining that the true end of life 
 cannot be realized by making the objects of particular 
 desires the object aimed at. He who takes the particular 
 as the end will learn by the stern logic of experience 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 205 
 
 that he has been seeking to allay his hunger for the 
 infinite by feeding himself on the husks of the finite. It 
 was therefore natural for the Stoics to say : Give up the 
 effort to find satisfaction in the finite, and learn to be 
 indifferent to the allurements of the passions : if you 
 learn the lesson of indifference to the fascinations of 
 desire, you will no longer be the slave of the passions, 
 but the free man of reason. 
 
 But (&) the difficulty immediately presents itself, that if 
 man must in no case be influenced by the desire for 
 some special form of self-satisfaction, all motive to action 
 seems to be taken away. Reason sets before me the 
 idea of myself as completely satisfied, and this complete 
 satisfaction is not to be found by seeking to secure any 
 definite object. I am not to be actuated by the love of 
 wealth, or honour, or knowledge. In the absence of such 
 motives, how am I to act? Every action must take the 
 form of a volition to realize some particular object. 
 There is no perfectly general action : all action is par- 
 ticular. If I exclude all particular forms of action, 
 nothing remains but the general capacity of acting, and 
 so long as there is nothing but the capacity, there is no 
 realization of the self. Thus the idea of the perfect self 
 remains a mere idea : something that ought to be realized, 
 but which never is realized. Man's actual self and his 
 ideal self remain for ever apart. His duty is to realize 
 the ideal self, but the idea of duty remains a mere idea, 
 because there is no particular line of action that can be 
 followed which does not re-introduce the conception of 
 a particular object to be attained, and so destroys the 
 determination by the abstract idea. 
 
 How, then, are we to get beyond the abstract idea of 
 
206 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 duty to the consciousness of particular duties ? Obviously, 
 only if the idea of self as infinite or perfect is not in 
 irreconcilable antagonism to the idea of self as finite 
 or particular. We must be prepared to show, in other 
 words, that the law of reason is not the abstract opposite 
 of the law of desire, but is in some sense the same 
 law. 
 
 Now, observe that the reconciliation of desire and 
 reason cannot be made by saying that the " natural law " 
 of desire must be extended to the " spiritual world." So 
 long as the natural desires are conceived as desires for a 
 particular form of self-satisfaction, so long they must be 
 opposed to the idea of complete self-satisfaction. But 
 the desires are in reality not merely desires for particular 
 satisfactions. To the individual they may seem so, 
 because he has not become aware of what their true 
 meaning is. The man who seeks his satisfaction in the 
 attainment of wealth may have no clear consciousness 
 that the real motive of his action is not the attainment 
 of wealth, but the attainment of self-satisfaction by means 
 of the attainment of wealth. This is implied in the very 
 nature of desire. Why does a man seek wealth ? If he 
 supposed that in attaining it he would only bring to 
 himself dissatisfaction, would he not, instead of seeking 
 it, shun it by all means in his power ? He desires wealth 
 because he conceives of it as the means of securing many 
 forms of satisfaction food, shelter, comfort, luxuries, 
 social consideration. The real motive which is operative 
 in the search for wealth is the desire for permanent self- 
 satisfaction. Why, then, is self-satisfaction not found in 
 this way ? It is not found because the man has identified 
 his ultimate good with that which is not his ultimate 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 207 
 
 good. He has sought for the satisfaction of his ideal 
 self in a self that falls short of the ideal. The opposition 
 which is felt in the contrast of desire and attainment is 
 just the man coming to the consciousness of the dis- 
 crepancy between the ideal as it has actually presented 
 itself to him in his search for wealth, and a higher ideal 
 that was not explicitly before his consciousness. He 
 supposed that he was actuated simply by the desire for 
 satisfaction by means of wealth, when in reality he was 
 blindly seeking for the complete satisfaction of his nature. 
 When he becomes aware of the disharmony between the 
 self-satisfaction he has been seeking and the self-satisfaction 
 that is still unrealized, he comes to the consciousness that 
 there is a higher than his actual self: that the self he 
 has been seeking to realize is not his true self. Thus 
 he awakens to the consciousness of what he ought to be 
 as distinguished from what he is, and he opposes the law 
 of duty to the law of inclination. 
 
 Now, it is at this point that there is danger of mis- 
 interpreting the meaning of this higher consciousness. In 
 the first consciousness of a higher life, a man is apt to 
 say to himself : " I have been all wrong in seeking my 
 good in such objects as wealth, or honour, or knowledge ; 
 henceforth I will give up the search for satisfaction in 
 these, and live only for my higher self." This is a move- 
 ment of the human spirit of which we are continually 
 seeing examples, though it is seldom that we see it in its 
 purity. A man who has passed the greater part of his 
 life in the acquisition of wealth comes to the conscious- 
 ness of a higher law, and, looking back upon his past life, 
 he condemns it as unspiritual. "The pursuit of wealth," he 
 says to himself, " is unworthy of man, and is antagonistic 
 
208 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 with my true nature. Henceforth I will lead a higher 
 life." But, as a rule, he does not interpret this thought 
 into action, and surrender the wealth he has acquired ; 
 at the most, he contents himself with giving away a part 
 of it, reserving the largest part for himself. Sometimes 
 we find examples of a much bolder practical idealism. 
 Thus, in the middle ages, we find men like St. Francis, who 
 carry out to its logical issue the principle of renunciation. 
 "All the desires," they say, "are essentially unspiritual, 
 and must be crucified." Hence they devote themselves to 
 a life of poverty, celibacy, and obedience, renouncing for 
 ever all those objects of satisfaction to which men 
 ordinarily devote themselves. In such men we have in 
 its purest form the realization of the negative conception 
 of duty. 
 
 Can we accept this ideal of life as the highest? Is 
 renunciation the last word of morality? If we consider 
 more particularly the relations of desire and reason, duty 
 and inclination, we shall be forced, I think, to hold that 
 the path of renunciation is not the path that leads to the 
 highest spiritual life. 
 
 In all his desires, as we have seen, man is unconsciously 
 striving after complete self-realization or self-satisfaction. 
 So long as he seeks for self-satisfaction in a particular 
 object, he is laying up for himself inevitable disappoint- 
 ment. But it does not follow that he is therefore to 
 seek for self-satisfaction in separating himself from all 
 particular interests. To act on this principle is to assume 
 that these interests are necessarily antagonistic to the 
 higher interests of man; it is, in other words, to assume 
 that desire and reason are mutually antagonistic. Now, 
 if we examine carefully any of the special desires, we 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 209 
 
 shall find that they are not the opposite of reason, but 
 simply reason in the form of unreason. 
 
 Desire in its most immediate form appears as appetite, 
 the desire for the satisfaction of the wants of our animal 
 nature. It must, however, be observed that the appetites 
 are not simply animal impulses. If they were merely 
 animal impulses, they would not enter into our conscious 
 life. When I become conscious of an appetite, I become 
 conscious of myself as a being who is capable of seeking 
 for the satisfaction of myself so far as this particular desire 
 is concerned. What I have before my consciousness is 
 the idea of myself as capable of receiving satisfaction 
 by means of a certain act, the act of eating or drinking. 
 Such desires may take the direct form of a desire for 
 food or drink, or they may take the more complicated 
 form of a desire for the satisfaction of my immediate 
 appetite, together with a repetition of the pleasure that 
 I have experienced in that satisfaction. It is this last 
 form of desire that gives rise to the artificial stimulation 
 of appetite and the various means by which the gratifica- 
 tion may be increased. Having once felt the satisfaction 
 attendant upon the gratification of such wants, I am 
 capable of imagining myself as enjoying it even when 
 the animal appetite is not actually felt. 
 
 Now, moralists of the ascetic type have no hesitation 
 in rejecting the second form of appetite. Plato, for example, 
 will have no Sicilian cookery in his ideal state : his guardians 
 must live on plain food and discard all dainties of the 
 palate. But most ascetic moralists go still further. Not 
 only must there be no artificial stimulation of the 
 appetites, but even the gratification of the natural de- 
 sires must be negated as far as possible. The wise man 
 
2IO AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of the Stoics was indifferent to the satisfaction of his 
 appetites. 
 
 Asceticism, however, is not perfectly consistent with 
 itself. Its principle is that the natural desires should 
 be negated because they are inconsistent with the ideal 
 self of reason. Now, the only way in which a living 
 being can completely get rid of the particular desires 
 which we call the appetites, is by ceasing to live. So 
 long as by eating a man continues to exist, he must be 
 subject to the desire for food, and therefore reason can 
 never absolutely subdue appetite to itself. The negative 
 method of asceticism therefore leads to a practical con- 
 tradiction. The struggle between reason and desire is an 
 ever-renewed fight in which desire must always triumph, 
 because it is bound up with the very existence of the 
 rational subject. Only by one absolute act of self-renuncia- 
 tion, the renunciation of life itself, could the ascetic put 
 an end to the conflict. Now, this self-contradiction in 
 the ascetic conception of morality suggests the question, 
 whether there is any necessary antagonism between appetite 
 and reason. 
 
 It will be found, on reflection, that the assumed 
 opposition is not really between appetite and reason, but 
 between a self that treats appetite as an absolute end 
 and a self that treats it only as a means. Plato had a 
 glimpse of this when he held that his guardians should 
 eat only the plainest food ; for he did so mainly because 
 he believed that luxurious living is hostile to the high 
 thinking and self-abnegation required in a leader of the 
 people. That is to say, Plato virtually condemns as 
 irrational, not appetite as such, but appetite which assumes 
 an importance inconsistent with the complete develop- 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 211 
 
 ment of the man. Now, when we look at the matter 
 from this point of view, we see that the opposition 
 supposed by the ascetic to obtain between appetite and 
 reason, really obtains between a higher and lower con- 
 ception of the self. If a man is prepared to sacrifice 
 higher interests to the gratification of his appetites, he 
 acts irrationally, because he substitutes a particular end 
 for a universal. But the immorality of his action does 
 not arise from the fact that he has willed the particular 
 end, but because he has willed it as if it were universal. 
 To realize himself at all, he must will the object indicated 
 by his natural desires ; but the difference between willing 
 the object for itself and willing it for a higher end is 
 spiritually an infinite difference. In the one case he 
 practically affirms that this particular end this limited 
 self is universal; in the other case, that this particular 
 end is particular. Or, as we may also put it, in the 
 former case he particularizes the universal; in the latter 
 case, he universalizes the particular. Now, in this uni- 
 versalizing of the particular morality consists. The path 
 to the higher spiritual life cannot be found by negating 
 desire, but by transforming it. Duty does not consist in 
 the destruction of natural inclination, but in subordinating 
 it to the realization of the complete nature of the self. 
 The negative method does not enable the individual to 
 triumph over his appetites, but raises appetite to a bad 
 preeminence. St. Anthony, fasting until he is haunted 
 by spectres of the imagination, gives to appetite an 
 importance that it would not otherwise possess. When, 
 on the other hand, it is recognized that the appetites are 
 means of realizing higher ends, it is seen that their satis- 
 faction is not merely permissible but a duty. It is a 
 
212 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 duty to maintain life, and to maintain it in its highest 
 perfection, because the maintenance of life is essential to 
 the development of the higher self. It is quite true that 
 even the sacrifice of life may be a duty. But it is never 
 a duty unless its maintenance comes into conflict with a 
 higher duty, as when a man betrays his country to save 
 his own life. The same principle which in the one case 
 makes it a duty to maintain life, in the other makes it 
 a duty to sacrifice life: the principle that only in the 
 realization of the ideal self can man realize his real 
 self. 
 
 We see, then, that duty may be defined as the realiz- 
 ation of the universal through the particular; or, in other 
 words, the identification of the actual self with the ideal 
 self by a particular determination of it. All false theories 
 neglect one of these aspects. Hedonism neglects the 
 universal or the ideal self. Asceticism neglects the par- 
 ticular or the actual self. The former says that duty is 
 simply determination by the particular, i.e., by immediate 
 desire; the latter affirms that duty is direct identification 
 with the universal. The one does not explain the con- 
 ception of duty at all, since a self that is determined by 
 particular desires has no conception of duty ; the other 
 allows for the conception of duty, but does not explain 
 how it can be realized. The truth therefore is, that duty 
 is at once the willing of the universal or law, and the 
 willing of the particular. My duty is to realize my ideal 
 self, but my ideal self is the actual self as willing a par- 
 ticular object which I identify with the law. Thus the 
 law gets a definite content, without ceasing to be a. 
 law. 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 213 
 
 KANT'S VIEW OF DUTY. 
 
 These somewhat abstract statements will be better 
 understood if we consider the ethical theory of Kant. 
 For in Kant we find the two sides of morality the 
 particular and the universal clearly brought out, although 
 they are not perfectly reconciled. 
 
 What is meant by duty? asks Kant. To do one's duty 
 is to act independently of any natural inclination for or 
 against the course pursued. We do not say that a man of 
 abundant vital energy acts from a sense of duty when he 
 does from inclination those things that tend to maintain 
 his* own life. It is a duty to maintain one's life, but it 
 is not done as a duty when it is maintained because the 
 agent has a natural pleasure in maintaining it. Self-pre- 
 servation is made a duty only if I maintain my life 
 because I ought to do it, not because I desire to do it. 
 
 Kant maintains, then, that duty implies two things : 
 (i) an absolute law or standard of action; (2) self-deter- 
 mination by this absolute law. In other words, the law 
 and the law alone must be the motive of action. An 
 action is moral quite independently of whether the 
 object aimed at is secured or not. The man who pro- 
 longs his life because he loves it, attains the same object 
 as the man who prolongs his life because it is his duty 
 to do so. On the other hand, there are many men who 
 are actuated by a strong sense of their duty to their 
 fellows, whose benevolent efforts always prove unsuccess- 
 ful, through some lack of those gifts that lead to success. 
 But our estimate of the moral character of such men 
 is not lowered because they are unsuccessful in the 
 accomplishment of the object aimed at; we say that they 
 
214 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 did their duty, and are therefore morally on as high a 
 level as if they had succeeded. It is the motive that 
 makes a man good, not the object sought. 
 
 There are, then, two absolutely discrepant kinds of 
 motive. In the first place, the motive may be the 
 natural desire for a certain object which appears to me 
 as pleasant. The object, e.g., may be the maintenance 
 of my own life, and the motive may be the natural 
 tendency to seek that object. I desire the object, and, 
 desiring it, I do the acts that tend to secure it. In the 
 second place, the motive may be, not desire for the 
 object, but reverence for the law. Here it is not the 
 object to be attained that constitutes the motive, but 
 my consciousness that I ought to seek to attain it. I 
 have no reverence for the maintenance of life; what 
 I reverence is the law that commands me to maintain 
 my life. When I become conscious that there is an 
 absolute law which has no respect for my inclination 
 either to maintain my life or to get rid of it, I am 
 impressed by the majesty of the law, and I may act 
 out of pure reverence for it. Then my action is moral. 
 My only motive is reverence for the law itself. To do 
 one's duty, then, is to recognize the absolute obligation 
 of the law over every rational being, and to will the 
 law purely because I reverence it. 
 
 In further enforcing this view, Kant goes on to contend 
 that all action which is done from desire for a certain 
 object is contrary to duty. (i) If our motive is the 
 desire for a certain object say, the maintenance of life 
 it is evident that this object must present itself to us 
 as pleasant. The idea of the continuance of one's life 
 affects our susceptibility to pleasure, and because it 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 215 
 
 appears as pleasant we desire it. Obviously, therefore, 
 the desire is not something that we can make or 
 unmake. If man were so constituted by nature as to 
 be excited to pain on the presentation of the idea of 
 the continuance of his life, he would desire death instead 
 of life. In point of fact there are cases in which a 
 man is so miserable, that the idea of life appears as 
 painful, and he desires death. Desire is thus determined 
 by the action of the object on the natural susceptibility 
 to pleasure and pain. Having once experienced that a 
 certain object produces pleasure, the individual may 
 formulate for himself a rule of action based upon that 
 experience. Thus he may say : " Seek to maintain life, 
 because it brings pleasure." But this is obviously not 
 an absolute law. If by further experience a man finds that 
 life is not pleasant, he may formulate a new rule of 
 action: "Seek the destruction of life, because it is 
 painful." No absolute law can be based upon desire, 
 because desire is not a fixed principle, but is dependent 
 upon the fluctuations of feeling as determined by chang- 
 ing experience. 
 
 (2) There are many desires corresponding to the 
 different objects that may be experienced as pleasant. 
 Hence there are many rules of action. But they all 
 agree in this, that they are based upon the desire for 
 pleasure. Nor does it make any difference what the 
 source of the desire may be, whether in the senses or 
 in the intellect. All desires are of the same kind, 
 because all depend upon the susceptibility of the subject 
 for pleasure in the idea of an object, The desire may 
 be a desire for knowledge, but the motive in this case 
 as in others is the pleasure attendant upon the attain- 
 
2l6 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 ment of the object. Now, if this is true, it follows that 
 a life which is ruled by desire is a life that rests upon 
 mere rules of experience. Such a life presents itself to 
 the individual seeking it as happiness; for by happiness 
 is meant a life of continuous pleasure. 
 
 (3) Man from his very nature as a finite rational being 
 must desire happiness. For he is necessarily susceptible 
 to the desire for pleasure, and his reason shows him that 
 all his desires are aiming at pleasure. As finite, he must 
 seek for happiness not in himself but in objects without 
 himself. He cannot at first tell, however, what objects 
 his desires aim at; these he must learn from experience, 
 i.e., from a knowledge of their effect upon his peculiar 
 susceptibility. Plainly, therefore, no universal principle of 
 action can be based upon the desire for happiness. We 
 cannot say : Wealth should be sought as a means to happi- 
 ness, because a man may not be susceptible to the desire 
 for wealth The idea of happiness is merely a name that 
 we apply to all forms of desire for pleasure ; it cannot 
 tell us how we are to act in any given case. "Seek 
 happiness " is no guide to conduct. For, when we ask, 
 what then is happiness, no answer can be given except 
 that happiness is what each man from time to time 
 desires ; and, as different men have different desires, and 
 even the same man at different times, happiness cannot 
 be reduced to law. To this Kant adds, that even if all 
 men were susceptible to the same desires, no universal 
 law could be based upon desire, but only a general 
 principle of human action. A law that rests upon the 
 susceptibility to pleasure peculiar to man as a finite being 
 cannot be an absolute law binding upon all rational beings. 
 
 If, then, there are universal laws of action laws bind- 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 21 7 
 
 ing upon every rational being they must rest upon the 
 mere idea of duty, not upon desire. An action can be 
 moral only if I am in no way influenced by my desire 
 for an object as pleasurable, but do it purely and solely 
 because it is rational. And it can be rational only if it 
 can be conceived as an act that every rational being is 
 called upon to perform. The test of a moral law is 
 therefore this : Can I view the proposed rule of action 
 as applicable to all, and not simply to myself with my 
 peculiar susceptibilities for certain pleasures ? Is the prin- 
 ciple, in other words, when it is viewed as a rule for all, 
 consistent with itself? If it is, it must be a universal law, 
 since it holds good quite apart from the varying desires 
 of the individual subject ; if it is not, it cannot be a 
 universal law, but, at the most, only a rule of expediency. . 
 Kant expresses this idea by saying, that a moral act is 
 one in which we determine ourselves purely by the form 
 of a law, not by its matter. Take, for example, the 
 principle, " Respect the property of others." If this 
 means : Respect the property of others, because in this 
 way you will get more pleasure, it is not a law, because 
 some men get more pleasure from dishonesty. But if it 
 means : Respect the property of others, because theft 
 cannot be made a universal principle, and is therefore 
 contrary to reason, we get a universal law. 
 
 The form in which Kant has stated his doctrine is 
 open to grave objections. 
 
 (i) He maintains that in acting morally we must be t 
 absolutely uninfluenced by desire, because all desire is 
 excited by the idea of pleasure, or, what is the same 
 thing, by the idea of an object as fitted to bring pleasure. 
 
2l8 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 But, if we exclude all objects of desire, how are we to 
 act at all? I am not to act from the desire for wealth, 
 or honour, or knowledge; what then am I to do? If 
 there is no definite object to be sought, am I not re- 
 duced to the condition of acting without having the idea 
 of any positive direction that my action is to take ? Kant 
 answers that I can examine different courses of action, 
 and finding out which can be practised by every one, 
 and which cannot be practised by every one, I can set 
 up the former as a law binding upon me because it is 
 the only kind of principle that is consistent with itself. 
 But if I had no desire for any object in particular, how 
 could I get out of the idea of law in general any guide 
 for action, any specific duty? Suppose that I have no 
 desire for life, how is it possible to arrive at the prin- 
 ciple that the maintenance of life is a principle that is 
 consistent with itself? Unless I had the desire for life, 
 the question would never arise, whether it is right or 
 wrong to preserve life. Kant, therefore, must fall back 
 upon desire to get the particular principles from which 
 we are to act. All that he shows is, that, when particular 
 objects of desire are presented before the mind, we can 
 determine which are right by asking whether we can 
 suppose them to be sought by all without contradiction, 
 while others are wrong because we cannot suppose them 
 to be sought by all without contradiction. But if this is 
 so, how can it be said that we act purely from the idea 
 of law ? Do we not rather act from the idea of a certain 
 object which is conceived as a law for all? "Act from 
 the idea of law " supplies no principle of action in any 
 given case, unless we fall back upon some object sup- 
 plied by desire. 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 219 
 
 (2) It may be objected that, even if we suppose different 
 courses of action to be suggested by our desires, we cannot 
 tell how we should act in any given case. Kant thinks 
 that certain courses of action can be shown to be wrong 
 because they are incompatible with the very idea of law. 
 Universal stealing, he says, is self-contradictory, because 
 if everyone stole there would be nothing to steal. But 
 the contradiction does not arise from the mere universal- 
 izing of the act, but from attempting to universalize what 
 is self-contradictory before it is universalized. Theft is a 
 contradiction because it recognizes the right of property, 
 but acts contrary to the recognition. Every act of theft 
 is a contradiction of the right of property. The contra- 
 diction does not arise, as Kant supposes, only when theft 
 is universalized, but from the very idea of theft. If there 
 were only one act of theft it would be self-contradictory, 
 that is, the idea of. theft presupposes the right of private 
 property. Unless, therefore, we start from the principle, 
 that the right of private property must be recognized as 
 a principle of action, we get no contradiction by supposing 
 theft to be universalized. Suppose, e.g., a community 
 which, resting upon a purely socialistic foundation, does 
 not recognize any right of property; would theft in that 
 case be self-contradictory? It would only be self-contra- 
 dictory in the sense of being impossible ; for where there 
 is no property there can be no theft. Plainly, therefore, 
 we can find a contradiction in the idea of theft only if 
 we assume the absoluteness of private property. But the 
 mere universalizing of an act gives no criterion of action. 
 "Let everyone use what does not belong to him" is the 
 universalized principle of a communistic form of society; 
 " Let no one use what does not belong to him " is the 
 
2 20 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 universalized principle in a non-communistic form of 
 society. Manifestly, therefore, we can get no criterion 
 of morality by simply universalizing a suggested rule of 
 action. If a rule cannot be shown to be right in itself, 
 it will not be proved right by merely supposing it to be 
 universally acted upon. 
 
 (3) Another objection to Kant's doctrine that has been 
 made is, that it assumes particular rules of action to be 
 \J absolute, i.e., to admit of no exception. Now, this leads 
 to all the difficulties of casuistry. If there are a number 
 of rules, each of which admits of no exception, we involve 
 ourselves in self-contradiction. If the command, "Thou 
 shalt not steal," is to be taken as absolute, circumstances 
 may arise in which it comes into collision with the com- 
 mand, " Thou shalt not kill." If in a famine those who 
 have food in store stand upon their right of property, the 
 majority of the people may starve, i.e., in maintaining the 
 right of property, the higher right of life is sacrificed. Now 
 Kant's formal principle, that a rule of action is to be judged 
 as moral by its capability of being universalized, implies 
 that no exception can be allowed to its application ; for, if 
 it is once admitted that the rule is not in all cases such 
 that its violation is a contradiction, the whole principle of 
 determining a moral law by universalizing it goes to the 
 ground. 
 
 The objections just made must be held as valid against 
 the letter of Kant's ethical theory. But it may be shown 
 that there is in his doctrine a deeper truth which does not 
 find expression in the formal principle of self-consistency. 
 
 Kant points out that it is one thing to be subject to 
 
 I law, and another thing to act from the consciousness of law. 
 
 Unless there is a consciousness of law there can be no will. 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 221 
 
 The "mere animal" is subject entirely to the law of its 
 desires, and therefore it has no will. Now, we can con- 
 ceive of a being who in all cases acts in accordance with 
 the laws of reason, i.e., a being whose will is always good, 
 because never deflected from the path of morality by the 
 influence of desire. Man, however, is not a being of that 
 kind. He is capable of being moved to action by natural 
 desire, and therefore there is in his nature a conflict be- 
 tween the law of desire and the law of reason. Hence 
 it is that he presents before himself the law of reason, not 
 as a law that belongs to his very nature, but as a law that 
 he may or may not obey, but which he ought to obey. It 
 is because he may not act from reason, but from desire, 
 that the moral law presents itself to man in the form of 
 an imperative. 
 
 What, then, is the nature of this imperative? It com- 
 mands categorically or absolutely, i.e., it says that an act 
 must be done because its opposite contradicts the very 
 idea of law. Hence it may be thus expressed : " Act in 
 such a way that, in willing to act, you can will that the 
 maxim of your act should become a universal law." " Act 
 as if by your will the maxim of your act were about to 
 be made into a universal law of nature." 
 
 Now, we may distinguish between (i) duties of perfect 
 obligation and (2) duties of imperfect obligation. 
 
 (1) Suppose that a man is tempted to borrow money, 
 under promise to repay, knowing quite well that he 
 cannot fulfil his promise. He asks himself whether the 
 maxim, "Promise what you know you cannot perform," 
 could become a law for all, and he sees at once that 
 if everyone promised without intending to fulfil his promise, 
 nothing would be promised, since no one would believe 
 
\ 
 
 222 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 another. The universalizing of a false promise thus con- 
 tradicts the very idea of a promise. 
 
 (2) As an instance of a duty of imperfect obligation, 
 take the case of a man who refuses to help others who 
 are in need. If the maxim, "Give no help to others," 
 is to be regarded as if it were a law of nature, a man 
 must deprive himself of all hope of assistance even when 
 he needs the sympathy of others, and this is a contra- 
 diction. Here we wish a maxim to hold only for ourselves, 
 and not for others ; we affirm that there is a law, only 
 it is not a law for us : and this is an irrational position. 
 Every law is universally applicable. 
 
 This formula is open to the objections already made. 
 It affords no real criterion of action, and it assumes the 
 principles which it pretends to derive. But Kant has a 
 second formula which comes much nearer the truth. 
 The formula is this : " Always treat humanity, both in 
 your own person, and in the person of others, as an end 
 and never merely as a means." 
 
 Here Kant has introduced the new idea of man as an 
 end to himself. In the first formula Kant held that we 
 must exclude all motives that imply any relation to an 
 object or end, because such motives are simply forms of 
 natural desire for individual satisfaction ; in the new 
 formula, he admits that we can have a certain end or 
 object in view, only it is not. a particular end, but the 
 conception of the self as an end to itself. Each individual 
 is now conceived as a person, i.e., as a being having a 
 will, and therefore as distinct from a thing. 
 
 But the conception of the individual as an end to 
 himself does not of itself explain how there can be any 
 particular duties. The self is conceived of as a self that 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 223 
 
 is opposed to all the particular desires of the self, and 
 therefore it remains abstract. I am to realize myself, but 
 I am to do so independently of all desire; but, inde- 
 pendently of all desire, there is no particular way in which 
 my self can be realized. 
 
 Kant, however, has a third formula which comes still 
 nearer the truth : " Act in conformity with the idea that 
 the will of every rational being is a will that lays down 
 universal laws." 
 
 Here we have the conception of a social community 
 of beings, each of which is at once end and means; we 
 have, in other words, the idea of humanity as a self- 
 conscious organism. The formula includes the two ideas 
 of (a) universal law and (b) the consciousness of that 
 law as identical with the consciousness of oneself as an 
 end which belongs to one as a rational being. Hence 
 we get the idea that, in obeying the universal law, man 
 is obeying a law that his own reason prescribes. This 
 is the principle of the autonomy of the will, the principle 
 that in submitting to universal law man is submitting to 
 his real self. 
 
 But while Kant holds that we must conceive ourselves 
 as in idea belonging to the social organism, he will not 
 admit that this is more than an ideal. For man never 
 gets beyond the influence of his particular desires, and 
 therefore he "can never realize the ideal. 
 
 We have now before us the ultimate form in which 
 Kant conceives of morality, and we must ask how far his 
 opposition of the ideal and the real can be maintained. 
 
 What prevents Kant from holding that the conception 
 of men as members of a social organism is a statement 
 of the actual nature of man? Manifestly, his doctrine 
 
i 
 
 224 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 that men as the subjects of desire contain in their nature 
 an element which prevents them from ever realizing the 
 ideal which reason sets before them. Is it true, then, 
 that desire is of such a nature that it is incompatible 
 with the rational ideal? 
 
 Kant's view is, that all the desires are desires for pleasure, 
 and that happiness is simply the idea of the subject as 
 having none of his desires for pleasure unsatisfied. Can 
 we admit that every desire is a desire for pleasure? 
 
 (a) A desire for pleasure is not the same thing as a 
 feeling of pleasure. If I desire the pleasure of music, I 
 am not yet in the condition of experiencing the pleasure. 
 Before I experience it I must therefore set before my 
 consciousness the idea of the pleasure to be experienced 
 from the music. There are here obviously three things 
 involved : Firstly, what is desired is a particular pleasure, 
 the pleasure of music. The desire takes its special character 
 and its power of attraction from the special character of 
 the pleasure conceived. In other words, there is a certain 
 object or end which I set before my consciousness as 
 desirable. Secondly, not only must there be a certain 
 object conceived as desirable, but it is an object con- 
 ceived as desirable for me. Not every one regards music, 
 or, at least, certain kinds of music, as fitted to bring pleasure, 
 but only one who conceives of music as bound up with 
 his own satisfaction. In the desire for pleasure there is 
 therefore implied the distinction of the self desiring from 
 the object desired. Unless the subject distinguished the 
 object desired from himself, there could be no desire for 
 the object, there would merely be an occurrence of a 
 state of pleasure, without any consciousness either of an 
 object as such or a subject as such. Thirdly, the pleasure 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 225 
 
 which is desired must be distinguished both from the object 
 and from the subject. If the desire is for pleasure, it 
 must be possible to separate in thought between the object 
 which is to bring the pleasure, and the subject who is 
 to be pleased. 
 
 Now, it must be observed that all the three elements 
 mentioned are essential to what is called the desire for 
 pleasure. But, if so, obviously it is an imperfect statement 
 of what is involved in desire to say simply that it is a 
 desire for pleasure. If the desire were purely for pleasure, 
 it might arise without any consciousness either of an object 
 in which pleasure is placed, or of a subject to be pleased. 
 But the former is impossible, because pleasure is necessarily 
 not pleasure in general, but a particular kind of pleasure. 
 I desire the pleasure of music, or knowledge, or power, 
 but I never desire pleasure as such. A desire for pleasure 
 in general would lead to nothing, because it would give no 
 direction to my activity. The desire for pleasure there- 
 fore involves the desire for a certain object conceived as 
 pleasurable. Take away the object and you destroy the 
 desire. Equally impossible is the desire for pleasure apart 
 from the idea of the self as the subject to be pleased. 
 For there can be no conception of an object as pleasure- 
 giving, unless the object is conceived as pleasant to the 
 subject desiring it. If the object were not conceived 
 as fitted to bring pleasure to me, it would have no effect 
 upon my activity. I may think of music as an object in 
 which another takes pleasure, but music is not in that 
 case desired by me. What is called the desire for pleasure 
 is therefore in reality the conception of myself as a being 
 whose nature it is to obtain pleasure in a certain object. 
 I must identify myself in thought with the object before 
 
2 26 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 I can desire it. There is therefore no possibility of 
 realizing myself without realizing the object; and no 
 possibility of feeling myself realized except in the realiza- 
 tion of the object. In other words, what is called the 
 " desire for pleasure " is really the conception on the part 
 of the subject of one of the ways in which by attaining 
 an object, he at the same time has the feeling of a harmony 
 of his individual self with itself and with the world. As 
 Aristotle points out, pleasure is just the feeling of satisfac- 
 tion which accompanies the active realization of the self 
 in relation to external circumstances. 
 
 If this is a correct analysis of desire, we cannot admit 
 what Kant maintains, that desire for an object is desire 
 for pleasure. It is not desire for pleasure simply as 
 pleasure, but desire for an object conceived of as good 
 because conceived of as a means of realizing the self. 
 In realizing myself in the experience of a certain object 
 I no doubt experience pleasure, but what I am in search 
 of is not the experience of pleasure but the good of 
 which the experienced pleasure is a sign or index. Now, 
 Kant assumes that the realization of the self can take 
 place only if the self sets before itself an end which it 
 wills irrespective of all desire for an object. But (1) 
 there is no end that can be realized apart from desire 
 for an object. Unless some object is desired, the self 
 must remain unrealized, because a self in general is not 
 capable of being realized, and a self that is to be realized 
 must be conceived as realizing itself in some particular 
 way, i.e., as desiring an object. (2) There is no reason 
 to exclude all desire for objects, when we see that desire 
 is just the idea of the self as realizing itself in objects. 
 Such realization must be conceived as pleasurable, be- 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 227 
 
 cause pleasure is simply the feeling of satisfaction in the 
 realization of oneself. Every realization of the self is its 
 realization in a certain way, i.e., it consists in self-identifi- 
 cation with an object conceived as desirable, and therefore 
 as pleasurable. There is therefore no reason to oppose 
 the law of reason to the law of desire, as if the former 
 absolutely excluded the latter. What reason prescribes 
 is the realization of the self, and, as such realization is 
 impossible apart from the desire for realization in objects, 
 the distinction must lie, not in the presence of an object 
 in the one case, and in its absence in the other, but in 
 the character of the object which is desired. 
 
 The question of morality therefore takes this form : 
 What is the distinguishing characteristic of the object that 
 we ought to desire ? There are objects that we desire 
 which are not those which we ought to desire : can we 
 state the distinction between what ought and what ought 
 not to be desired? 
 
 Now, Kant has himself pointed out, that to be moral 
 is to act as if we belonged to a "kingdom of ends"; in 
 other words, each individual must conceive of himself as 
 a member in a social organism. In this conception of 
 the individual as a member of a community the distinctive 
 mark of moral action must be sought. It may, in fact, 
 be shown historically that out of this consciousness of the 
 unity of himself with others the consciousness of morality 
 has sprung ; and that the development of the moral con- 
 sciousness has arisen from the ever clearer consciousness 
 of the unity of each with all. 
 
 At first this consciousness is very imperfectly developed. 
 In purely savage life it takes the form of submission from 
 terror to a superior force. But even in this imperfect 
 
2 28 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 form, there is implied the recognition of a law superior 
 to the caprice of individuals. For, in submitting to one 
 who is superior to himself in courage and contempt of 
 life, the savage recognizes that there is something higher 
 than his merely individual self. Thus there arises some 
 sort of social order. The higher self is still supposed to 
 be embodied in the chief who, by despising the natural 
 desire for life, shows that he has an idea of himself that 
 goes beyond the first immediate promptings of desire. 
 In submitting to his chief the savage thus submits to a 
 higher ideal of himself; for in the chief he finds ex- 
 hibited characteristics that he recognizes as superior to 
 his own. No doubt the form which the moral conscious- 
 ness here takes is inadequate to the idea. The savage 
 recognizes a higher self, but he does not identify himself 
 with it, but conceives of it as something foreign to himself, 
 something which is for him unattainable. And, on the 
 other hand, the chief, while he has a higher ideal of 
 himself and prefers this to the lower self of immediate 
 desire, yet does not recognize that he is acting from a 
 law of reason. The consequence is that, while he acts 
 as a moralizing agent by forcing upon others the con- 
 sciousness of a higher self, he is not himself aware that it 
 is as the embodiment of the higher self that he possesses 
 power and authority. Rather, he views himself as pos- 
 sessing influence over others by his natural superiority. 
 Hence he has no proper sense of the limits of his authority. 
 What he desires is a law for his followers, not because he 
 desires a higher good, but simply because he desires it. 
 His action is therefore largely capricious : what he desires 
 seems to him good, not because it is good, but because 
 he desires it. He does not distinguish between what 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 229 
 
 seems good to him, and what is good because it tends 
 to realize a common good. Yet, if the idea of a common 
 good were not unconsciously at work in him, he would 
 have no authority over others. It is because they recog- 
 nize that he is guided by a higher law that they recognize 
 his authority even when he is capricious and irrational. 
 
 Now, the consciousness of a social good which is at 
 the same time the true good of the individual, a con- 
 sciousness which is implied even in savage life, is the 
 moving principle in the whole evolution of morality. 
 What holds human beings together in society is this idea 
 of a good higher than merely individual good. Every 
 form of social organization rests upon this tacit recogni- 
 tion of a higher good that is realized in the union of 
 oneself with others. Suppose this entirely absent, and 
 the moral consciousness would be impossible. For the 
 moral consciousness always involves the recognition of 
 a higher than individual good, and, because this higher 
 good is partially realized in social laws and institutions, 
 the individual feels himself constrained by his reason to 
 submit to it. It is by reflection upon this good as 
 realized in outward laws and institutions that the in- 
 dividual becomes conscious of moral law. At first, law 
 seems to be externally imposed, but the individual in 
 reflecting upon it recognizes that the real force of the 
 law lies in the fact that it is an expression of his higher 
 self. It is true that in awakening to the consciousness of 
 moral law as deriving its authority from reason, the indi- 
 vidual at first asserts that custom and external law have 
 no authority over him : that the sole authority he can 
 rationally obey is the law of his own reason. But this 
 is only one side of the truth : the other side is, that in 
 
230 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 custom and law there already is realized the law of reason. 
 No doubt society at any time is only a partial realization 
 of the law of reason, and therefore no form of society is 
 final j but it is none the less true that only in so far as 
 morality realizes itself in society can it be realized at all. 
 
 Now, Kant will not admit that morality is actually 
 realized in the community. He criticizes the community 
 by reference to the ideal of a completely rationalized 
 humanity, and he contends that as this must always be 
 an ideal, the individual is forced to seek for the realiza- 
 tion of himself not in any actual form of the community, 
 but in an intelligible world which exists for him only as 
 an unrealizable ideal. Man is in idea the member of a 
 community, but it is a community that never has been 
 and never will be realized. 
 
 In one sense this conception of an ideal community 
 shows that Kant is in the grasp of the larger consciousness 
 of human life which has come to men through Christianity. 
 The Greek could find in the actual community of which 
 he was a member a realization of his whole self, because 
 for him the community was no wider than his own little 
 State, or, at the most, than the community of States 
 composing Greece. But with the removal of this artificial 
 restriction through Christianity man became conscious that 
 there was a larger self than the State, viz,, the community 
 of all men in the life of humanity as a whole. It seems 
 therefore as if no form of the community can possibly 
 be adequate to the ideal community. For humanity has 
 a life wider and more enduring than the narrow and 
 evanescent life of a particular people or nation ; and in 
 this all-embracing life the individual can alone find the 
 realization of himself. And as humanity never is com- 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 23 1 
 
 pletely realized, it seems true to say, that morality points 
 to an ideal that can never be realized. 
 
 Now, there can be no doubt that, in setting up the idea 
 of humanity as the only adequate form of morality, Kant 
 has partially seized a most important truth. If we take 
 any existing form of the State and compare it with the 
 ideal of humanity, we are compelled to say that it is not 
 completely rational. There are possibilities in humanity 
 that cannot even be clearly imagined, not to say actually 
 realized. It is therefore important to take note of the 
 inadequacy of any existing form of the community to the 
 ideal community. 
 
 But it must be observed that to be conscious of the 
 incompleteness of existing communities to the perfect 
 community is not to say that morality cannot be realized. 
 Just as knowledge is never complete while yet it is know- 
 ledge, so morality is never perfect while yet it is morality. 
 And just as the idea of completed knowledge is possible 
 only because we already possess knowledge, so the idea 
 of perfect morality is possible only because man is already 
 moral. Had man not already realized in principle the 
 moral ideal he would not be able to contrast the ideal 
 with the actual. Hence we find that the ideal of morality 
 grows and expands with the evolution of the community. 
 The Greek could imagine that in the form of his civic 
 State he had reached finality, and in this he was wrong; 
 but it is none the less true that but for the moralizing 
 influence of the civic community the conception of a higher 
 form of society would have been impossible. In society 
 man learned to comprehend himself. He learned that in 
 devotion to the common good, and in no other way, could 
 he realize himself. Thus he was able to set the social 
 
232 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 ideal against the mere individuality of passion, and in 
 identifying himself with his State he became a moral being. 
 With the Stoics came a perception of the inadequacy of 
 the Greek State to satisfy the ideal man, and therefore the 
 Stoics turned against the existing State, and held that man 
 must be a citizen of the world. In himself he seemed to 
 find a higher ideal than was realized in the community of 
 which he was a member. But this only shows that the 
 community as it existed was not completely rational : it 
 does not show that man can realize himself in isolation. 
 Accordingly, the community must assume a higher form. 
 Morality must no longer be identified with the customs 
 and laws of the narrow civic community, but it must rest 
 upon the wider basis of humanity. This is the principle 
 which is tacitly recognized in all modern forms of the 
 community, however inadequately it may be realized. It 
 is still true that only in identifying himself with a social 
 good can the individual realize himself. And the reason 
 is that in the community the idea of humanity as an organic 
 unity is in process of realization. That the community 
 has not reached its final form only shows that the moral 
 life is the gradual realization of the ideal life. It is not 
 true, therefore, that the ideal of humanity is a mere ideal : 
 it is an ideal that is continually in process of realization. 
 Hence the individual man can find himself, can become 
 moral, only by contributing his share to its realization. 
 He must learn that, to set aside his individual inclinations 
 and make himself an organ of the community is to be 
 moral, and the only way to be moral. He may criticize, 
 and seek to improve the community, but his criticism must 
 rest upon a recognition of the principle that the individual 
 has no right to oppose himself to the community on the 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. \ ' 233 
 
 ground of inclination, but only on the ground that the 
 community as it actually is in some ways contradicts the 
 principle of the community, the principle that it is the 
 medium in which the complete realization of man is to 
 be found. No criticism can be of any value that denies 
 the principle of a social good, and seeks to substitute the 
 mere individualism of caprice. 
 
 We may now see wherein the real opposition of what 
 ought to be with what is consists. It does not consist, 
 as Kant assumes, in a contradiction between desire and 
 reason, as if reason were exclusive of desire. Morality 
 may be said to consist in having rational desires. The 
 individual who desires the good of all is not actuated by 
 a mere desire for pleasure : for the good of all is the true 
 principle of human action. In seeking his good in the 
 universal, a man turns against the desire for the good of 
 himself as an isolated being, but he does not negate all 
 desire. His desires now take the form of a desire for 
 what is rational; they are spiritualized, not destroyed. 
 Thus he gets positive content for his desires, while yet 
 the content is not mere individual pleasure. In seeking 
 a universal good, man is seeking for that which must be 
 pleasurable, because pleasure is just the feeling of harmony 
 resulting from the willing of what reason determines as 
 good ; but if he seeks for pleasure, instead of good, the 
 pleasure will not be obtained, because he is then attempting 
 to realize himself as a separate individual, i.e., to realize 
 himself as that which he is not. What is called a life of 
 pleasure always turns out to be a life of pain. And this 
 is really a proof of the higher nature of man, because pam 
 and dissatisfaction with self must result from the dis- 
 harmony between the rational ideal and the irrational 
 
234 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 actual. Morality is not a search for pleasure, but morality 
 is the only true pleasure. Thus we can see how the three 
 elements involved in desire are reconciled. The moral 
 object of desire is the good, i.e., the good of man, not of 
 individual men ; the moral subject of desire is the subject 
 who identifies himself with this moral good ; and moral 
 feeling is the consciousness of harmony enjoyed by the 
 subject who so identifies himself with a universal good. 
 
 We have seen what is implied in the idea of duty. By 
 duty is properly meant identification with a universal 
 good that is capable of being realized in a community of 
 self-conscious beings. Now, identification with an ideal 
 good is possible only if the conscious subject is capable 
 of such identification. And hence we have now to ask 
 whether the individual man has such a capacity ; in other 
 words, whether he is capable of freedom or self-deter- 
 mination. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY (Continued). 
 
 IDEA OF FREEDOM. 
 
 The problem of human freedom springs from the same 
 root as the problem of duty. In our ordinary judgments 
 we say of ourselves or others, "That ought to be done," 
 "That ought not to be done," and we assume in making 
 such judgments that the individual may or may not act 
 in a certain way according as he determines himself, or, 
 in other words, wills, to act. But this first assumption of 
 freedom seems to be thrown into doubt when we begin 
 to consider the springs or motives of human conduct. 
 For it may be argued that no action of man can take 
 place without some motive, something that excites his 
 activity. And what is a motive, it may be asked, but a 
 particular desire excited by the idea of a certain object? 
 But the desire is determined by the natural susceptibility 
 of the individual, and this again is determined quite inde- 
 pendently of the individual. One man is more susceptible 
 to pleasure in the contemplation of a certain object than 
 another. Some are more drawn by pleasures of sense, 
 others by intellectual pleasures, still others by benevolent 
 
 235 
 
236 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 pleasures ; but these differences have a purely natural 
 basis. Nor does it alter the case if we adopt the point 
 of view of the theory of development, and say that the 
 susceptibility of the individual is the result of inheritance. 
 And not only is each kind of pleasure apparently due to 
 natural susceptibility, but the quantity of pleasure is also 
 fixed. Of two men who take pleasure in music, one 
 experiences a greater degree of pleasure than the other. 
 It is in fact the degree of pleasure that determines the 
 strength of a motive. If a pleasure of sense is imagined 
 by one man as more intense than a pleasure of intellect, 
 his action will be determined by the pleasure of sense; 
 if a pleasure of intellect is imagined as more intense than 
 a pleasure of sense his action will be determined by the 
 pleasure of intellect. But in the one case as in the other 
 the pleasure whose intensive quantity is greater will 
 determine the act. How then can it be said that there 
 is any freedom of will ? There is no possibility of making 
 a pleasure seem greater or less, and therefore no possibility 
 of acting otherwise than we do act. Freedom of will is a 
 dream. 
 
 To this it has sometimes been answered that freedom 
 of will is a fundamental fact of consciousness. In acting 
 we are conscious that we act freely. It is further maintained 
 that we are even able to act in opposition to the strongest 
 motive. However pleasant an object may seem to be, 
 we can refuse to be determined by it. This may be 
 shown by the fact that there are cases in which two objects 
 seem equally pleasant, and yet we act. Now, if the 
 quantity of pleasure alone determined the will, in such 
 cases we could not act at all. We should be like the 
 ass of Buridanus which was placed between two bundles 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 237 
 
 of hay so exactly alike that it starved because there was 
 nothing in either to turn the balance of its desires. But 
 man is of a different texture : in such a case he would 
 decide for one or the other, i.e., he would act without any 
 motive. It is therefore possible to act purely from choice, 
 without being influenced by motives. And this agrees with 
 the fundamental fact of consciousness, the consciousness 
 of our own freedom. We always act freely or from choice. 
 When there are different motives before our minds, we 
 choose that which we prefer. Freedom is the power of 
 choice, the power to act independently of motives. 
 
 These two opposite theories show that the problem of 
 freedom is bound up with the question of motives. One 
 school affirms that the strongest motive determines the 
 act, the other maintains that action is determined freely 
 without motives. I think we shall find, however, that 
 neither of these views is true, though both contain an 
 element of truth. The first theory is right in maintaining 
 that we act from motives, wrong in denying that we act 
 freely; the second theory is right in maintaining that we 
 act freely, wrong in denying that we act independently of 
 motives. In other words, motives are essential to freedom, 
 freedom essential to motives. To see this we must inquire 
 into the nature of a " motive." 
 
 Both of these theories assume that a motive is a natural 
 susceptibility to pleasure in the idea of an object, and 
 that the degree of such susceptibility is determined inde- 
 pendently of the subject. The first view infers from this 
 assumed fact that action is the resultant of a conflict of 
 desires, in which the strongest always prevails ; the second 
 view, granting that this would be so if all action were 
 determined by motives, maintains that the subject has 
 
238 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 in himself a power of choice which is independent of 
 motives. 
 
 We have seen above that in man desire is not a mere 
 susceptibility to pleasure, but the conception of self as 
 capable of satisfaction in a certain object. To be conscious 
 of self is to be beyond all merely external excitation. 
 Nothing can act on the self without the activity of the 
 self. We may see this indirectly by considering what 
 would take place if the desire were merely a natural 
 susceptibility. The self we are to suppose is not self- 
 active, but is the passive recipient of certain impulses. We 
 must suppose, then, that a certain impulse arises from the 
 action of an external stimulus upon the individual. Thus, ; 
 e.g., when the body requires nourishment, a craving arises 
 of which the subject becomes conscious. But the craving 
 is not due to any activity of the subject. The cause or 
 stimulus is the condition of the body which excites the 
 craving. All that the subject can do is to take note of 
 the craving excited in him by the stimulus. The craving 
 thus becomes a "motive" for the subject, i.e., it acts upon 
 the subject and tends to move him in a certain direction ; 
 in other words, to go through the series of movements 
 by which food is supplied to the body for nourishment. 
 To this it may be objected, that the craving for food 
 does not lead to that series of movements until a volition 
 has taken place, and this volition, it may be said, is an 
 activity of the subject. The subject has to will the move- 
 ments before they can take place. But how, it may be 
 asked, does he come to will the movements? Would 
 any subject will the act of eating if he were not impelled 
 to do so by the natural craving? It is true that the 
 movement must take place before the craving can be 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 239 
 
 satisfied, but there would be no movement were there no 
 craving. It is therefore the craving which acts upon or/ 
 excites the subject to act in a particular way. But, it 
 may again be objected, the craving does not of itself lead 
 to the action ; on the contrary, the subject, feeling the full 
 force of the craving, may yet refuse to give way to it. 
 Now, if the subject can prevent the craving from issuing 
 in action, he must have an activity of his own. A man, 
 e.g., may prefer to starve rather than give way to the crav- 
 ing of hunger, if he can only satisfy his hunger by theft. 
 "Just so," it is answered, "but he does not refrain from 
 eating in such a case without any motive; he does so 
 because he is acted upon by a stronger motive." The 
 motive, in this case, is the desire for a greater pleasure to 
 himself or others. Either he has a stronger desire for 
 the good opinion of others, or of a Supreme Being; or 
 he has a stronger desire for the well-being of others, i.e., 
 for the greater amount of pleasure which will come to 
 others from his abstinence than from his self-indulgence. 
 Thus there is no free activity of the subject, but only an 
 activity determined by the stronger of the two motives. 
 In fact, when there is no competition of motives, there 
 is no possibility of diverse activity. If a man is acted 
 upon by the craving of hunger alone, he will inevitably 
 do the acts by which the craving may be allayed. It is 
 only when different impulses arise in him that a struggle 
 takes place; and the struggle is not between an impulse 
 on the one hand, and a free activity on the other, but 
 between competing impulses. Which way the man shall 
 act will depend upon the impulse which in him is strongest. 
 If the craving for food is stronger than the desire for 
 approbation or for the general good, he will satisfy his 
 
240 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 craving at all hazards ; if the reverse, he will not satisfy it ; 
 but in both cases the strongest motive must prevail. There 
 is no free activity in either case, i.e. t no activity that is 
 independent of the motives acting upon the man. Volition, 
 then, is simply the series of movements which issue from 
 the strongest motive. 
 
 The weak point in this explanation is, that it confuses 
 desire with impulse, and volition with a series of mechani- 
 cal movements. If human action were the immediate 
 connection of impulses and movements, there could be 
 no consciousness of an end, and therefore no desire. 
 For the consciousness of an end is only possible for a 
 being who is lifted by thought out of the flux of feeling, 
 and is able to conceive of himself as the possible subject 
 of various satisfactions ; whereas a being in which there 
 is merely a sequence of movements upon impulses cannot 
 contrast an actual with a possible self. The desire for food 
 is not in man a mere blind impulse, but the self-con- 
 scious effort after an object conceived of as fitted to 
 bring a certain form of self-satisfaction. The consciousness 
 of the impulse is not the same thing as the impulse, but 
 involves the contrast between the subject as he actually 
 is and as he conceives himself as capable of becoming. 
 The subject, however, is not one desire, but the universal 
 possibility of desire; and hence any given desire receives 
 its meaning from the total conception of himself which 
 he has formed by repeated experiences of self-satisfaction. 
 How he will act in a given case depends upon the 
 conception of himself which he has formed by repeated 
 experiences of self-satisfaction ; but without such a 
 conception he is not a subject of desire. If it is 
 said that he will inevitably act in accordance with the 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 241 
 
 strongest desire, this either means that he will act 
 according to the conception of himself which he has 
 before his consciousness, or that his act will follow from 
 the strongest impulse. The former view is true enough, 
 but it does not distinguish between desire and volition, 
 and without volition there is no action; the latter view 
 is utterly untenable, because it fails to observe that the 
 strongest impulse may be set aside when it is brought 
 into relation with a wider conception of the self. 
 
 We may now see the mistake into which determinists 
 fall, who say that the strongest motive determines the act. 
 By the strongest motive they must mean the most intense 
 impulse. That they do mean this is plain from the whole 
 character of the theory. Every desire, it is said, is a 
 desire for pleasure, and a motive is that desire for 
 pleasure which is so strong as to overpower all com- 
 peting desires. A "motive," in other words, is the 
 strongest impulse. But no impulse, however strong, can ? 
 be a motive. We must place the motive in something 
 else than impulse, or purposive action is utterly inexplic- 
 able. What, then, is a "motive"? We are to suppose the 
 subject to experience the feeling of want which we call 
 hunger, and to have an idea of the act of eating as a 
 means of satisfying the want. Now, the feeling of want 
 as experienced is the consciousness on the part of the 
 subject that his actual condition at the moment is not 
 the condition in which he would like to be. Thus the 
 subject contrasts his actual condition with a condition 
 that as yet exists only as an idea. His desire consists 
 in the feeling of dissatisfaction arising from the opposition 
 between his ideal and his actual condition. But still 
 there is no action. If man were only capable of con- 
 
 Q 
 
24 2 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 trasting in thought his actual and his ideal self, he 
 would never act at all. What more is required? It is 
 required that, having the idea of himself as satisfied, so 
 far as this particular desire for satisfaction is concerned, 
 he should also have the idea of a certain action or series 
 of movements as the means of such satisfaction. But 
 even yet there is no action. I may believe that by the 
 act of eating I should satisfy my desire for food, and 
 yet I may not eat. ^Before I eat I must determine or 
 will to eat, and it is\his self-determination or volition 
 that constitutes the motive. Determining to obtain the 
 satisfaction of myself so far as the desire in question 
 is concerned I will the means, and the action follows. 
 Now the satisfaction of myself in this particular way 
 becomes my motive. It is therefore not the desire for 
 satisfaction that constitutes my motive, but the willing of \ 
 the satisfaction. S 
 
 If we now look back to the theory that the strongest 
 motive leads to action, we shall see that it is meaning- 
 less. There was a certain plausibility in saying that the 
 strongest motive prevails, so long as it was suDposed 
 that action could proceed from impulse. For, if action 
 is the result of a conflict between different impulses, the 
 only plausible explanation is, that the impulse which has 
 the greatest intensity prevails. It can be known to have 
 the greatest intensity because it prevails, just as of two 
 opposing forces of nature that is strongest which gives 
 rise to the motion of a body. But if impulse of itself 
 never becomes action no impulse can be a motive, and 
 therefore the strongest impulse cannot be a motive. On 
 the other hand, if the motive is the volition, not the 
 impulse, there can be no meaning in saying that the 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 243 
 
 strongest motive prevails. Every volition prevails. No 
 volition as such is stronger or weaker than another. 
 But, when we have seen that there is no stronger or 
 weaker volition, it is obvious that there is no such dis- 
 tinction as that between a stronger and weaker motive, 
 since the motive is the volition. Every motive is the 
 act of a subject who, believing that he will find satis- 
 faction in a certain action, determines to do it, and 
 therefore wills it. The motive is thus just the self- 
 determination of the subject. And if so, to have a 
 motive is to be free. If there is no motive apart from 
 v self-determination or will, freedom is inseparable from 
 motives. The supposition that an act is not due to 
 the subject arises from the assumption, which we have 
 seen to be false, that an act is the result of the pre- 
 ponderance of a certain impulse. When we see that an 
 impulse, however strong, would never of itself lead to 
 action, we also see that the subject cannot be deter- 
 mined to act from any preponderance of impulse, but acts 
 only as he determines himself to act. 
 
 From this analysis of action we also learn that there 
 can be no "liberty of indifference," i.e., no capacity of 
 acting in opposition to motives. For, if a motive is just 
 one of the modes in which the subject determines him- 
 self, to act contrary to a motive would be to determine 
 himself to act in opposition to his own will, which is 
 absurd. Moreover, if a man could act without any 
 motive, he would be acting from pure caprice, i.e., in 
 opposition to the mode of action of a rational being. 
 
 We have seen then that a motive is never an impulse, 
 and hence that to have a motive and to be free are 
 the same thing. The doctrine that denies freedom 
 
244 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 because man acts from motives, and the doctrine that 
 affirms freedom because man can act without motives, 
 are equally false; the truth being that man is free 
 because he acts from motives. We have now to consider 
 the view of freedom advanced by Kant, which differs 
 from both of those theories. 
 
 Freedom, according to Kant, is not incompatible with 
 motives, but it is incompatible with all the motives that 
 arise from the natural desires. I am free if I will the 
 moral law, i.e., make duty my sole motive; I am not 
 free if my act springs from a desire for some object which 
 excites my sensibility. 
 
 The idea of freedom, it is held by Kant, is in the 
 first instance a negative idea, arising as it does from its 
 contrast to the necessity of nature. What do we mean 
 by nature? We mean a system of things in which each 
 is dependent upon something else. Nowhere in nature 
 can we find any object that has a nature of its own. 
 If we take any object in space, we find that all its 
 properties consist in relations to something else. If a 
 change occurs in any body, we find that the change 
 would not have occurred unless the body had been acted 
 upon by some other body. The permanence of a body 
 therefore consists in the permanence of its relations to 
 other bodies. Nothing exists as an independent sub- 
 stance. In fact, a substance not related to anything else 
 would not belong to the system of things that we call 
 nature. 
 
 Now, the moral consciousness of man seems to de- 
 mand that we should be absolutely independent of 
 circumstances, or, in other words, that we should be 
 determined purely by ourselves. For the moral law 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 245 
 
 commands absolutely, refusing to abate its claims in view 
 of circumstances. It says : " No matter what your 
 natural tendencies may be you ought to determine your- 
 self by the inner law of your own being." 
 
 But the difficulty arises that we seem to be, on the one 
 hand, objects like other objects, and therefore to belong 
 to the system of nature; while, on the other hand, we 
 seem to be subjects, and therefore independent of the 
 system of nature. How can we be both? How can we 
 be at once under the dominion of natural law, and free 
 from natural law? 
 
 To this Kant answers, that in his moral consciousness 
 man has the idea of himself as under a law of reason, and 
 that in willing this law he is free. When I make the moral 
 law my motive I determine myself by the idea of myseli 
 as I really am, and in such determination I am not acted 
 upon by anything external. To make the moral law my 
 motive is to be free, because there is no external com- 
 pulsion in willing what reason shows to be my true self. 
 So far, therefore, as you will observe, Kant recognizes 
 that to be free is to act from a motive. But in limiting 
 freedom to willing the moral law, he manifestly gets into 
 this difficulty, that when a man acts from desire he is not 
 free. Apparently, therefore, we are free to will good 
 actions, but not to will bad actions. And this would 
 seem to imply that we are not responsible for doing 
 wrong, since, when we do wrong, the act is not ours, but 
 flows from the necessity of our nature. 
 
 The difficulty here referred to is inherent in the ethical 
 doctrine of Kant. It arises from the absolute opposition 
 of desire and reason. What we have to see is that such 
 an opposition is inadmissible. 
 
2 4& AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 A desire, as we have seen, is never in itself a motive : it 
 becomes a motive only when the subject identifies his 
 own good with the object corresponding to the desire. 
 Thus if, having the desire for wealth, I determine to 
 seek my good in the pursuit of wealth, and will the acts 
 necessary to secure it, I make wealth the "motive" of 
 my action. There is, therefore, no proper meaning in 
 saying that when a man acts from desire he is not free. 
 For he never acts from desire as such, but only from the 
 idea of himself as capable of being satisfied by the object 
 of a desire. 
 
 Now, Kant holds that we are conscious of freedom only 
 in contrast to our determination by natural desire. This 
 would be a correct account of the matter if a natural 
 desire as it exists in our consciousness were simply a fact 
 or occurrence in consciousness, a mere state ot feeling 
 excited in us irrespectively of our self-consciousness. But 
 if desire were merely a feeling that presented itself to us 
 were it simply an event like any other event we should 
 not be conscious of it as a desire. If I perceive a stone 
 fall, I am conscious of an events of a certain change as 
 having occurred, but I am not conscious of it as an event 
 which has occurred to me, as a change in my state. But 
 this is what happens when I am conscious of a desire. 
 When I have the craving of hunger, it is for me not 
 simply an event, but an event that affects me: I am 
 conscious of myself as striving in idea towards an object 
 that promises satisfaction to me. We cannot therefore 
 oppose desire to reason as if the former were a mere 
 mechanical occurrence and the latter involved the con- 
 sciousness of self. Desire, being already the consciousness 
 of oneself as capable of being satisfied, involves self- 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 247 
 
 consciousness. The idea of satisfaction in the object of a 
 desire is therefore already the possibility of will, and so of 
 freedom. Kant is therefore wrong in contrasting action 
 from desire with action from reason, as external determina- 
 tion to self-determination, necessity to freedom. Every 
 motive, whatever its moral character whether good or 
 bid involves freedom, because it involves ^^-determina- 
 tion. Kant, in other words, correctly says that freedom 
 consists in willing the idea of self, but he is wrong in 
 saying that willing the idea of self only takes place when 
 we will the good. To show this clearly we must ask how 
 the contrast of freedom and necessity arises for us. 
 
 Self-consciousness is primarily the consciousness of self 
 as opposed to the world, and especially to other self- 
 conscious beings. The self appears to be a single indi- 
 vidual, who is conscious of desires that make for his own 
 satisfaction, as distinguished from the satisfaction of others. 
 But this apparent individuality or separateness of the self 
 is a natural illusion; for it is impossible for the individual 
 to find his ow?i satisfaction apart from the world and from 
 other selves. Selfishness is self-contradictory, because it 
 seeks to satisfy the individual self by breaking the bonds 
 which unite all selves ; and hence it is a repeated effort to 
 obtain satisfaction, ending in repeated failure. 
 
 Here is the point where the opposition of desire and 
 reason presents itself. To act from passion, i.e., from the 
 idea of individual satisfaction, is seen to be to act in 
 contradiction of reason, i.e., to the idea of a universal 
 satisfaction. We may therefore correctly contrast desire 
 and reason, if by this we mean willing a selfish end and 
 willing a universal end. Such a contrast, however, is not 
 identical with the Kantian opposition of desire and reason ; 
 
248 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 for, on Kant's view, desire is a merely natural impulse, 
 reason alone giving the idea of the self. Selfishness involves 
 the idea of self as much as unselfishness ; the difference is 
 that the former seeks to realize the self in what is in- 
 adequate to its true nature, the latter seeks to realize the 
 self in what is adequate to its true nature. We can 
 therefore say that selfishness is irrational, but we cannot 
 say that it is exclusive of reason. Only a rational being 
 can be irrational. Reason involves the possibility of error 
 as well as of truth ; or, more precisely, reason gives man 
 the idea of himself, and makes it possible for him to seek 
 his good in what is inconsistent with that idea, while it 
 also makes it possible for him to seek his good in what 
 is consistent with that idea. The explanation of this 
 anomaly is, that man at first seems to himself to be an 
 individual standing in opposition to others. So appearing, 
 reason tells him to realize this individual self. It is only 
 when in attempting to do so he becomes conscious that 
 he cannot realize himself in selfish ways that he comes 
 to the consciousness of a self-realization through unselfish- 
 ness. In this sense the Fall of Man is necessary to his 
 salvation. Selfishness, in fact, may be called an irrational 
 activity of reason, or a free willing of slavery. Freedom, 
 then, is implied in all man's activity, but freedom can lead 
 to perfect self-realization only when it is exercised in willing 
 the good. 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 249 
 
 THE SUMMUM BONUM. 
 
 We have therefore to ask : What is the good ? what is the 
 summum bonum ? 
 
 The answer of the Hedonist is that the highest good 
 will consist in the greatest possible sum of pleasure. We 
 need not stay to show that this cannot be the highest 
 good : pleasure is no doubt involved in the attainment 
 of the highest good, but the highest good must consist 
 in the perfect realization of self, or, in other words, in 
 perfection of character, not in the experience of pleasure. 
 It will be more profitable to consider the Kantian con- 
 ception of the summum bonum, which attempts to show 
 that man can only attain his " being's end and aim " in 
 so far as the conflicting claims of reason and desire are 
 reconciled. 
 
 Kant begins by asking what is meant by the summum 
 bonum; and he answers, that it may mean either (a) the 
 chief good, or (b) the complete good. Now, there is no 
 doubt that virtue is man's chief good, since apart from 
 morality man cannot be good at all. But a finite being 
 cannot attain co?nplete good unless he also obtains happi- 
 ness. The complete good therefore involves the com- 
 bination of perfect goodness with perfect happiness. And 
 as men are not good by nature, but can only gradually 
 approximate towards goodness, reason demands that happi- 
 ness should be experienced by each in proportion to his 
 goodness. 
 
 The first point to be considered is, how happiness is 
 related to virtue. 
 
 The Stoics and Epicureans hold that virtue and happi- 
 
250 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 ness are identical. According to the former, the virtuous 
 man is the only happy man ; according to the latter, the 
 happy man is the only virtuous man. This identification 
 Kant rejects. To be virtuous is not necessarily to be 
 happy, to be happy is not necessarily to be virtuous. A 
 man may be virtuous without being happy, or happy 
 without being virtuous. 
 
 The problem therefore remains, and at first sight it 
 seems insoluble. If I will the moral law, do I thereby 
 secure happiness ? By no means : to secure happiness I 
 must learn the laws of nature and be able to turn my 
 knowledge to account in furthering my own ends. If, on 
 the other hand, I make happiness my end, my action 
 ceases to be moral. 
 
 When we look more closely, however, we find that 
 there is an essential difference between the propositions, 
 "Virtue is the necessary consequence of Happiness, J: and 
 "Happiness is the necessary consequence of Virtue. " The 
 former proposition is absolutely false. The man who 
 makes happiness his aim cannot be virtuous, because 
 virtue consists in willing the moral law purely for itself. 
 The latter proposition is not necessarily false. There is 
 a sense in which it may be admitted to be true. We can- 
 not say that by acting virtuously man will secure happi- 
 ness, but it is quite conceivable that virtue should bring 
 happiness, if the world were so arranged as to make 
 happiness follow from virtue. Such a harmony man 
 cannot effect, but it may be effected by a Being who 
 stands to nature in the relation of its Author. The 
 postulate, therefore, of an Author of nature is the only 
 way in which we can conceive of the union of virtue 
 and happiness. 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 25 1 
 
 This idea of nature as conceivably harmonizing with the 
 moral life does not show that man can realize the summum 
 bonum. There are two obstacles to such realization. 
 
 In the first place, man can realize the summum bonum 
 only if he is capable of perfect virtue. To be perfectly 
 virtuous would be to get rid of all immediate desire and 
 act purely from the law of reason. Now, this is impossible, 
 because man cannot get rid of the solicitations of desire, 
 and therefore morality can only be a continual process of 
 subjecting the desires, as they spring up, to the moral law. 
 All that is possible for man is, not the completed harmony 
 of his desires with his reason, but the certain hope of con- 
 y tinuous progress in morality, as resting upon the habit of 
 acting virtuously. Now, such a continuity in willing the 
 moral law requires continued existence; and hence the 
 possibility of realizing the chief good requires us to 
 postulate the immortality of man. In no other way can 
 we defend the absolute obligation laid upon us to live the 
 moral life. In this life we can never realize the chief 
 good, and therefore we are tempted to say that man can- 
 not be required to realize it. On the other hand, if we 
 say that in this life a man may become perfectly holy, 
 we fall into " theosophic dreams " of a possible perfection 
 that, with our continual shortcomings, is for us an im- 
 possibility. By the postulate of immortality we avoid 
 both of these fatal alternatives : we do not need to relax 
 the severity of the moral law, because we are capable of 
 continual progress towards perfect holiness : and we do 
 not fall into the dream of an impossible perfection, 
 because we see that morality is an endless progress 
 towards perfection. 
 
 In the second place, the realization of the summum 
 
252 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 honum implies the union of virtue and happiness. Sup- 
 posing virtue to be more or less perfectly attained, how 
 can we say that happiness in proportion to virtue must 
 be united with it? Yet, if it is our duty to seek the 
 highest good, it must be possible that it should be 
 realized. Now, it cannot be realized by us, for though 
 we may will the moral law, we cannot by that volition 
 secure happiness. The union of virtue and happiness is 
 therefore possible only independently of our will. It can 
 be produced only by a Being who is distinct from nature 
 and yet the cause of it. And such a Being must be a 
 cause whose character is in conformity with morality, i.e., 
 a Being who is perfectly rational and perfectly good ; in 
 other words, God. 
 
 Kant's first postulate is immortality, or endless time, 
 as the condition of the realization of the chief good, i.e., 
 of virtue. The natural desires are in antagonism to the 
 moral law, and as man cannot get rid of them without 
 ceasing to be man, this subjection to the law of reason 
 is a progressus ad infinitum. Now, to this view it may 
 be objected, in the first place, that not even the postu- 
 late of infinite time will account for the realization of 
 virtue on Kant's premisses. For, so long as man is con- 
 ceived to be a subject of desire, so long he is incapable 
 of realizing perfect virtue. The opposition between reason 
 and desire is supposed to be absolute, and therefore no 
 extension of time will destroy it. If, indeed, we supposed 
 Kant to hold that in a future life man would no longer 
 be the subject of desire, we might suppose perfect virtue 
 to be realized. But this he cannot hold, since his argu- 
 ment for immortality rests upon the conflict between 
 desire and reason. We are compelled to postulate 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 253 
 
 immortality, because reason demands the realization of 
 perfect virtue, and such realization is impossible because 
 the work of reason in subjecting desire to itself is never 
 complete. We must deny, then, that the postulate of 
 immortality solves the problem of the realization of holi- 
 ness. " Infinite time," as has been said, "is not enough 
 for an impossible task." 
 
 In the second place, not only can virtue not be com- 
 pletely realized, but it cannot be realized at all. Kant's 
 argument rests upon the absolute opposition of reason 
 and desire; and it is plainly impossible to bring oppo- 
 sites any nearer to each other. On the other hand, 
 if there is no opposition of reason and desire, the 
 whole argument for a progress to infinity falls to the 
 ground. 
 
 Kant's argument for immortality loses its force because 
 he reasons from the impossibility of morality in a finite 
 time to the possibility of morality in an infinite time. 
 This argument we have seen to be invalid. The nature 
 of a thing is not changed by the mere passing of time. 
 "White is not made any more white," as Aristotle said, 
 in criticizing the eternal ideas of Plato, "by being sup- 
 posed to exist for ever." In other words, unless man 
 can be moral now, he cannot become moral simply if 
 he is supposed to exist for ever. What we must say, 
 therefore, is that every act in which the agent identifies 
 himself with an objective end is a moral act. In Kant's 
 view no progress in morality is possible because morality 
 can never begin. Just as knowledge cannot develop 
 unless there is knowledge, so moral progress can be made 
 only if man can be moral. Now, if man has within 
 him a principle of morality, the argument for immor 
 
.254 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 tality will take a new form. There is no limit, it may 
 be said, to the development of a living principle. If 
 man is capable of knowledge he is capable of growing 
 intellectually until his knowledge " has orbed into the 
 perfect star"; if he is capable of morality he is capable 
 of a progress in morality to which no limits can be set. 
 Thus we may argue, that as man is capable of infinite 
 progress in knowledge and morality in a word, of 
 infinite self-development immortality is bound up with 
 the very idea of self-consciousness. To be completely 
 self-conscious would be to know all reality and to have 
 attained to perfect holiness, since perfect self-conscious- 
 ness is possible only in the perfect union of subject and 
 object. In other words, the argument for immortality 
 must be based, not upon what man cannot know or do, 
 but upon what he can know and do. 
 
 Kant's second postulate of God as the Being who har- 
 monizes virtue and happiness is also open to objection. 
 On the one hand Kant argues that the good lies in the 
 will of man, so that it is realized whether a man attains 
 happiness or not. The martyr sacrifices his happiness 
 absolutely in laying down his life, yet in this sacrifice 
 he realizes the good. There can therefore be no reason 
 for postulating the existence of a Supreme Being, so far 
 as the realization of man's true self is concerned. Happi- 
 ness is, from this point of view, a matter of indiffer- 
 ence. Kant, however, holds that reason rightly demands 
 the union of virtue and happiness. But this union, he 
 maintains, cannot be attained by man; and that for two 
 reasons ; firstly, because nature goes on by a law of its 
 own, a law which does not harmonize with the law of 
 reason; and, secondly, because each man is dependent 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 255 
 
 upon others, so that only in a community of perfectly 
 moral beings could happiness be proportionate to virtue, 
 and such a community is an ideal that can never be 
 realized. Kant therefore argues that we must postulate 
 the existence of God, just because in human life happi- 
 ness cannot be united with virtue. They cannot be 
 united, yet reason demands their union, therefore they 
 are united in God. 
 
 But the argument, to be valid, must take a positive 
 form. That the world is incompatible with the realiza- 
 tion of the highest good cannot be a reason for main- 
 taining the existence of God, but rather a reason for 
 denying it. Only if it can be shown that the world is 
 compatible with the highest good can we argue that exist- 
 ence is a manifestation of God. We must, in other 
 words, show that in the moral life happiness and virtue 
 are combined, and are combined just because " all things 
 work together for good to them that love the Lord." 
 This faith is the source of the religious consciousness, 
 and from it spring all the efforts of men to raise them- 
 selves and others. We must therefore say, not that the 
 impossibility of effecting the union of virtue and happi- 
 ness is the ground of our belief in the existence of God, 
 but, on the contrary, the possibility of such union. The 
 union is effected for the individual in the willing of 
 objective ends that bring satisfaction with them. The 
 man who lives for his family at once wills the good and 
 finds his happiness in realizing it. The reformer wills 
 his country, and in devotion to it he finds his happiness. 
 So in all cases of willing an end that is not selfish. It 
 is true that complete happiness is not obtained. But 
 neither is complete goodness. And it is not too much 
 
256 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 to say, that a man is happy in proportion to his good- 
 ness. Even the martyr in the sacrifice of all lower 
 happiness gains a happiness for which nothing else 
 could compensate. It is, then, the possibility of this 
 union of happiness and goodness in man that entitles 
 us to maintain the perfect union of the two in God. 
 If the world is compatible with the relative harmony 
 of virtue and goodness in us, it already shows itself 
 to be the expression of a Being who is perfectly 
 good. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY (Continued). 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF RIGHTS. 
 
 We have seen that the idea of Duty implies the identifi- 
 cation of the subject with a universal end in which the 
 true self may be realized ; and that freedom is the capacity, 
 and the highest good the result, of such self-identification. 
 We have now to consider more particularly the forms in 
 which the subject realizes universal ends. The first and 
 simplest form is in relation to external things and services ; 
 in other words, self-realization is exhibited in the sphere 
 of individual Rights. 
 
 Kant distinguishes the sphere of Rights from the sphere 
 of Morals in this way, that in the former the will of man 
 is viewed as expressing itself outwardly in acts, while, in 
 the latter, it is viewed only as determined inwardly by 
 motives. 
 
 The moral law tells us to treat all self-conscious beings 
 as ends, never as means. But here a difficulty arises. 
 When a man acts, his action takes an outer form, and 
 therefore it affects the outer existence of others. If, e.g., 
 
258 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 a man steals my property, he interferes with that which 
 is necessary to my existence as a particular being. The 
 problem of jurisprudence is therefore to prevent one man 
 from interfering with the free activity of another, and 
 this cannot be done, consistently with the freedom of 
 each, unless each man voluntarily imposes upon himself 
 the same limit as he imposes upon others. Now, the 
 principle of all free will is to act in conformity with a 
 law that can be universalized. Applying this principle to 
 external action, it would take the form : Impose no limit 
 upon others that you do not impose upon yourself. For 
 example, if others are to respect my property, I must 
 respect theirs ; otherwise the maxim on which I act is 
 not universal. 
 
 All acts which prevent another from doing the like are 
 self-contradictory. It is therefore in accordance with the 
 law of freedom that uch acts should be prevented or 
 annulled. Hence the compulsion of law is quite consistent 
 with freedom. A man is free to will a universal law, but 
 he is not free to will what is merely agreeable to himself. 
 Law, in compelling men to respect the rights of others, 
 does not interfere with freedom, but only with the 
 unreason of particular desires, which is, in fact, the nega- 
 tion of freedom. 
 
 Now, in the spheie of Rights, we have nothing to do 
 with the motive from which an action is done, but only 
 with the overt act. If a man respects the rights of pro- 
 perty of others, Law does not ask whether he does so 
 from the fear of punishment, from a desire for the esteem 
 of others, or from regard for the moral law; it is enough 
 that the act conforms to the law. Hence, the aim of law 
 is not to make men act from the highest motives, but to 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 259 
 
 prevent them from acting in opposition to the rights of 
 others. A right is thus something purely external. "When 
 it is said that a creditor has the right of exacting pay- 
 ment from his debtor, this does not mean that he can 
 put it to the conscience of the debtor that he ought to 
 pay. It means that a compulsion to pay in such a case 
 can be applied consistently with everyone's freedom, 
 consistently, therefore, with the debtor's own freedom, 
 according to a universal external law. Right and claim 
 to apply compulsion are therefore the same thing." 
 
 Now, as in law freedom means independence of com- 
 pulsion by another, and the reciprocal limitation of each 
 by the others, the first of rights is equality. No man can 
 demand of me what I cannot demand of him, and I can 
 act towards others as I please so long as I do nothing 
 to prevent them from acting as they please towards me. 
 
 How is such freedom realized in the outer world? 
 What is meant by a right? Nothing can limit the 
 freedom of one man but the freedom of another, (i) 
 Rights belong only to persons, not to things. Outward 
 things are the means of realizing the will of a person. 
 Hence (2) rights are held by one person as against all 
 others. And (3) lastly, the relation of persons is recip- 
 rocal. Slavery, e.g., is inconsistent with the principle of 
 rights, because it gives all the rights to one person, with- 
 out recognizing that he is only entitled to rights at all 
 if he respects the rights of all other persons. 
 
 The basis of all rights, then, is the inviolability of each 
 person. But each person expresses himself in the objects 
 into which he has put his will, and which are inviolable 
 because expressing the will of an inviolable person. Thus 
 arises property, the distinction of mine and thine. To 
 
260 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 interfere with the objects in which each person expresses 
 his will is to interfere with the person himself. Property 
 is not the same thing as physical possession ; it is an 
 "intelligible" possession. A thing is mine, not because 
 I hold it, but because my will is expressed in it. 
 
 (a) The first form, then, of rights is that of jus in 
 rem, or the right of persons over things. Such a right 
 implies other persons while yet it excludes them. It must 
 be recognized, or persons would come into collision with 
 one another. At the same time it does not imply the 
 actual assent of others, and in this it diners from 
 
 (b) Jus in personam, i.e., personal rights, the rights of 
 one person to an object first possessed by another, or to 
 some service which the other can perform for him. Such 
 a right implies a direct act of transference to the one of 
 that which primarily belongs to the other. This is con- 
 tract. Here the right is established not against all, but 
 against a particular person. In the case of contract for 
 service, the service must be limited in extent and char- 
 acter, otherwise the jus in personam would be equivalent 
 to slavery. 
 
 (c) Kant adds a third form of rights, jus realiter 
 personate. Here a person becomes not only the subject 
 but the object of a right, i.e., a person is treated as a 
 thing. Kant should evidently have said that such a right 
 contradicts the very idea of free personality on which 
 rights are based. The contradiction arises from the 
 attempt to apply the idea of rights to the family. In 
 marriage the contracting parties acquire right over each 
 other. Each must surrender to the other. Hence poly- 
 gamy and all irregular unions are contrary to the idea 
 of personal rights, because they give to one a right not 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 26 1 
 
 granted to the other. Again, children have no rights as 
 against parents, except the right to be supported and 
 educated; corresponding to which is the right of the 
 parents to govern and direct the child while its powers 
 are immature. 
 
 So much as to the nature of Private Rights (Jus Pri- 
 vatum, Jus Naturale). But how is the individual to be 
 secured in his rights? There must be a political power, 
 which at once secures each man's rights and excludes him 
 from interfering with the rights of others. There is there- 
 fore required a universal will armed with absolute power. 
 The condition of those who submit to this power is the 
 civil state. Everyone must enter the civil state, because 
 in it alone is there security for rights. " The act whereby 
 a people constitutes itself into a state ... is the 
 original contract by which all members of the people give 
 up their freedom in order to take it up again as members 
 of a commonwealth." The State frees the individual from 
 his particular desires by bringing him under a law of reason. 
 But Kant holds that the State can only take away hin- 
 drances to freedom. The social contract is therefore a 
 contract men are bound to make; and, when made, it 
 can never be broken. A right of revolution is a contra- 
 diction of the very idea of right. Rebellion can never be 
 just, however imperfect the form of the State. To execute 
 the sovereign, as was done in the case of Charles I. and 
 Louis XVI. , is a crime against the very idea of justice. 
 
 At the same time the true or ultimate form of the State 
 is a Republic, and it is obligatory on the sovereign power 
 gradually to bring the State into that form. In the Ideal 
 State the supreme legislative power must be exercised by 
 representatives of the people. This Kant seeks to prove 
 
262 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 as follows. All citizens, as free, equal, and independent, 
 are at once subject and ruler, i.e., they are under a law 
 which they themselves enact. But if so, must not all 
 laws be enacted by all the citizens ? At first Kant seems 
 to say so, but he makes limitations which destroy the 
 force of the admission. (1) There is a distinction between 
 active and passive citizens. Passive citizens include women 
 and children, house servants and day labourers, i.e., all 
 who sell their services. These are only pote?itial citizens, 
 and have no votes until they become actual citizens by 
 gaining a position in which they do not sell their services. 
 (2) There must be a representative system, in which the 
 people do not directly legislate, but elect deputies to do 
 so. The reason is that the legislative must be separated 
 from the executive power. But while the whole people 
 should not legislate, no law should be passed to which 
 the whole people could not give their assent. For ex- 
 ample, a law giving supreme authority to a class is not 
 just. Hence it is wrong to secure such authority to a 
 class by inheritance. But any law that a whole people 
 could possibly accept must be regarded as just, even 
 though at the time the people might not assent to it. 
 Applying this principle, Kant rejects all privileges of 
 birth, all right of inheritance in offices of State, and an 
 established church, especially if it has a fixed creed. So 
 all corporate institutions, for education or charity, are sub- 
 ordinate to the State, and may be abolished at any time 
 and their property seized. The citizens, on the other 
 hand, should have the right of free speech ; for all laws 
 must be assumed to be such as the whole people would 
 enact, and therefore the people have the right to show 
 that any law proposed or enacted is contrary to that 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 263 
 
 principle. Kant therefore denies Hobbes' principle, that 
 the sovereign has only rights and not duties. It is the 
 duty of the sovereign to enact nothing that is contrary 
 to justice, and to enact everything that is essential to the 
 maintenance of justice. 
 
 Kant applies this idea of the State to Penal Justice in 
 an unflinching way. Punishment, he holds, must be 
 inflicted without any regard to the happiness either of the 
 criminal or of society, but solely with a view to the main- 
 tenance of justice. Legal penalty {poena forensis) is not 
 like natural penalty {poena naturalis). Vice punishes 
 itself by bringing unhappiness, but the punishment of 
 crime is purely because of the transgression committed. 
 A man is punished because he deserves it; punishment is 
 his own transgression coming back upon himself. Whether 
 punishment is useful is not to the point : for " if justice 
 perish there is no longer any value in the existence of 
 men upon the earth." The principle on which punishment 
 should be inflicted is that of equality. By inflicting evil 
 on another a man affirms that the same amount of evil 
 should be inflicted on himself. Hence the only adequate 
 punishment for murder is death, for nothing is commen- 
 surable with death but death. " Even if a civil society 
 were on the point of being dissolved with the consent of 
 all its members {e.g., if a people dwelling on a desert 
 island had resolved to separate), they would be bound 
 first of all to execute the last murderer in their prisons." 
 
 Passing now to International Law, we have to ask on 
 what principles it is based. It is based, says Kant, on 
 the same principle as the law of the State. Just as indi- 
 vidual men were bound to combine in a State, so all 
 States are bound to combine in a Universal State. But 
 
264 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the practical difficulties which stand in the way are so 
 great that we must be content to employ the conception 
 of a Universal State mainly as an ideal. An everlasting 
 peace cannot be realized, but to it a continual approxi- 
 mation may be made, and therefore every State ought to 
 act with a view to its realization. Kant even suggests 
 articles for the future Law of Nations, which he thinks 
 would tend to bring about such a peace, (a) No treaty 
 of peace shall be made with the secret reservation of 
 causes of quarrel, (b) No State shall be transferred by 
 inheritance or gift, (c) No public debts shall be con- 
 tracted with a view to war. (d) No State shall in war 
 make use of means that destroy mutual faith, e.g., breach 
 of capitulation or attempts to make use of treachery 
 among the enemy. But these articles are merely prepara- 
 tory. It is further required that every State should be 
 republican in its constitution, for no other constitution is 
 based on the freedom and equality of all the citizens. It 
 is the great body of the people who suffer from war, not 
 the king or governing aristocracy. Starting from one 
 republic, a federation of States may gradually be secured, 
 with the object of preventing war. In such a league 
 one special article would be to secure the rights of each 
 citizen in the contracting States as a "citizen of the 
 world," i.e., to secure to him freedom to visit and to 
 trade in other countries than his own. Finally, the prin- 
 ciple of all politics is that what is right should be 
 done, not what is practicable. We cannot tell what is 
 practicable, but we can tell what is right. The philoso- 
 pher ought therefore to be called in to assist the statesman, 
 i.e., there should be free discussion of the principles on 
 which States are and ought to be based. Thus in 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 265 
 
 politics, as in morals, we shall learn to make what ought 
 to be our standard. 1 
 
 CRITICISM OF KANT'S DOCTRINE OF RIGHTS. 
 
 Kant's Doctrine of Rights may be said to be a trans- 
 ference to the outward acts of man of that opposition 
 between Desire and Reason, which on his general theory 
 is exhibited in the inner world of the individual's own 
 consciousness. The actions of a man may either flow 
 from a desire for his own personal satisfaction, or they 
 may be consistent with the law of reason. In the former 
 case everything which the man desires he will seek to 
 secure by employing the means necessary. Thus he may 
 desire to possess land, or goods, or the services of others, 
 simply because he regards these as fitted to minister to 
 his individual pleasure. But desire has no limit in itself. 
 If I act purely from a desire for land, I shall take it 
 without any reference to the desires of others. It 
 matters not that another may possess the land, and may 
 equally desire it with me. I care nothing for his desires, 
 but only for my own. If I come into collision with 
 another because we both wish to have the same land, 
 the only way to settle the conflicting claims is that "he 
 should take who has the power, and he should keep who 
 can." " Might is right." Thus the unlimited exercise 
 of desire leads to violence, to the war of all against 
 all, in which the strongest or the most cunning will 
 
 1 A fuller statement of Kant's doctrine of Rights will be found in 
 Caird's Critical Account of the Philosophy of Kant, Vol. II., chapter 
 vi., which is so admirable that nothing remained for me to do but to 
 condense it. The same remark applies to the statement of Kant's 
 "System of Moral Duties" given below. 
 
266 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 succeed best. So far as desire is concerned, no indi- 
 vidual has any rights ; because no one recognizes the 
 claims of another, and each seeks to satisfy his own 
 natural desire for what will bring him pleasure. 
 
 With this activity of natural desire Kant contrasts the 
 activity which proceeds from a law of reason. For 
 reason denies the claims of mere desire, and asserts that 
 each man should be treated as a " person," i.e., as a 
 being who has claims to external things. Reason says 
 that I have no more claim to external things than other 
 persons. If limits are to be set to my naturally unlimited 
 desire for my own satisfaction, I must not only claim a 
 right over things, but I must admit that others have an 
 equal claim over them. Now, things are limited, and 
 therefore no single person can lay claim to all things. 
 The only way therefore in which violence can be brought 
 to an end is by each person limiting himself to those 
 things that belong to him. So long as these limits are 
 observed there can be no disputes and no violence. 
 
 But here the difficulty arises, that it is always possible 
 for the individual to fall back upon natural desire. Men 
 are quite willing that others should respect their rights, 
 but under the influence of natural desire they are 
 prompted to deny the rights of others. A piece of land 
 belongs to another, but some one who covets it may 
 get possession of it if he is stronger or more cunning 
 than the rightful possessor. Thus the unlimited claim 
 of desire is substituted for the limited claim of reason. 
 Now, anyone who thus sets up his own desire as ultimate 
 can no longer claim to be treated as a rational being. 
 If he is justified in seizing a thing which belongs to 
 another simply because he desires it, another is equally 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 267 
 
 justified in seizing what belongs to him, and thus the 
 reign of violence begins over again. To act from desire 
 is thus to appeal to violence, and therefore violence may 
 be employed against him. 
 
 It is from this point of view that Kant justifies the 
 existence of the State. A power is needed to compel the 
 desires of men to keep within the limits of reason. If 
 men always respected the rights of others, there would be 
 no need for any external force to compel them to do so. 
 But they do not; and hence a power outside of them- 
 selves is required to make them respect the rights of 
 others, and to make others respect their rights. In the 
 outward sphere, therefore, a State Power is necessary to 
 "compel men to be free." And only the State can be 
 invested with such a power, because violence exerted by 
 an individual is merely a new manifestation of desire. 
 For example, in blood-feuds, the motive is not a law of 
 reason, but the desire of revenge. It is therefore justifi- 
 able to force men to enter into society, since society is 
 the condition of each person becoming free. 
 
 (1) This theory of society is not self-consistent. It 
 holds, on the one hand, that rights belong to individuals 
 irrespective of society, and, on the other hand, that for 
 such rights they are indebted to society. For Kant bases 
 individual rights upon the conception of a person as an 
 abstract or exclusive self. As such an abstract self I can 
 realize myself in independence of other selves. My free- 
 dom consists in this, that there are things in which my 
 will is expressed, and with which no one may interfere. 
 Now, it is no doubt true that the conception of rights 
 as an ideal excludes the interference of others with what 
 is mine. But who is to secure the observance of such 
 
268 
 
 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 rights? Obviously, the individual must recognize that 
 the law of reason, and not the law of desire, is to be 
 obeyed, i.e., he must view himself as a member of a 
 community in which the rights of all are bound up with 
 the rights of each. If so, the community is not a matter 
 of accident : it is not a contract into which individuals 
 may or may not enter, but it is a form of association 
 to which they belong, because otherwise they would have 
 no rights. In other words, suppose each man to be 
 only accidentally related to others, and there can be 
 no absolute rights, because no one is bound to combine 
 with others. The individual may say, I prefer to seek 
 my good by myself, i.e., I prefer to find satisfaction for 
 my desires by getting as much as I can for myself. Only 
 if we grant that without society men cannot realize their 
 true self, can it be maintained that no one is justified in 
 separating himself from society. But if society is neces- 
 sary to constitute a right, as distinguished from a mere 
 object of desire, it cannot be said that society is an 
 accidental relation into which men may or may not 
 enter; it is a relation into which they must enter by the 
 very law of their reason. I have rights only as a mem- 
 ber of society, not as a separate individual. 
 
 If we develop what is implied in Kant's theory, we 
 shall see that he virtually admits society to be essential 
 to the existence of rights. For he maintains that men 
 may force others to enter into society, and that it is an 
 absolute duty to respect the order of society when once 
 it has been formed. On what ground can it be main- 
 tained that men may be compelled to enter into society, 
 unless on the ground that only so can man's true nature 
 be realized? On any other supposition society can have 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 269 
 
 power over the individual only because it is stronger 
 than he, i.e., it becomes a mere despotism, interfering with 
 the individual's claim to be free of its regulations. But 
 Kant really implies that the compulsion of society is a 
 compulsion of reason. Men must enter society because 
 in society they get rid of the caprice of their individual 
 desires, which have no limit in themselves. Hence Kant 
 holds that, whether the individual consents or not, the 
 laws imposed by society must be respected ; and this 
 means that society is essential to the very existence of 
 rights, i.e., to the necessary means by which the indivi- 
 dual secures his freedom. 
 
 This may be seen still more clearly if we consider 
 Kant's theory of jus realiter personale. Take, e.g., the 
 family relation. Kant admits that here the principle on 
 which all other rights are based does not properly apply. 
 An ordinary right can exist only in relation to a thing, 
 i.e., an object which has no personality. No one can 
 possess a right in a person, because that would make the 
 person a mere thing, and deprive him of his personality. 
 This is why slavery is contrary to the idea of rights. The 
 slave has no rights. Now, in the family relation, there 
 are no exclusive rights. Husband and wife give up to 
 each other their independent personality, and have no 
 rights as against each other. What belongs to the one 
 belongs also to the other, so far as the relation applies. 
 Here therefore there are no exclusive rights; in other 
 words, the separate personality of each is negated. Kant 
 says that in this case the surrender of personality is re- 
 ciprocal. No doubt this is true; but if personality is 
 surrendered by each, it must be because there is here a 
 bond higher than that of abstract personality ; for other- 
 
27 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 wise the relation would be a violation of freedom. The 
 facts thus force Kant to admit that the true nature of 
 man is here realized only on the supposition that man in 
 his true nature is not an abstract person, but is capable 
 of entering into a relation which is higher than abstract 
 personality. 
 
 Now the same thing applies to society. The members 
 of a State are not separate individuals who may or may 
 not combine, but their combination is essential to the 
 freedom of each. Each individual is a member in an 
 organism, and realizes himself only as he makes the 
 common good his end. If society is organic, individuals 
 can have no rights apart from society. In other words, 
 the foundation of the claim for rights must lie in this, 
 that the general good can be realized only by assigning to 
 each individual rights with which no other individual may 
 interfere. The ultimate reason for the claim to rights is 
 not that as an individual a man has such a claim, but 
 that the perfection of his nature as a social being 
 demands it. If it could be shown that men would 
 realize a higher perfection in a society in which there 
 were no individual rights, we should have to say that 
 such rights cannot be permitted. The reason for main- 
 taining personal rights is thus a social one. 
 
 (2) Kant holds that law deals only with overt acts, 
 not at all with the motives from which acts are done. 
 Morality, again, looks only at motives, asking whether 
 the will has been determined purely by the law of reason, 
 and not by desire. What we may seek is a form of the 
 State in which individuals are brought into external har- 
 mony with each other ; but we must not by means of law 
 seek to make men moral. Goodness cannot be produced 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 27 I 
 
 by the compulsion of society, because, while you may 
 make men conform to the external law of society, you 
 cannot make them good. Goodness is something that 
 can be realized only by each subject for himself. It is 
 certainly the individual's duty to do what he can to 
 bring about a more perfect form of society, and he 
 must also try to further the happiness of others; but he 
 cannot be asked to make them good, because it is not in 
 his power to do so. Thus mankind is conceived as a 
 sum of independent persons. 
 
 Now, if there are no rights apart from society, we 
 cannot thus separate the moral development of each in- 
 dividual from that of others. It is no doubt plausible to 
 say that the inner life of each is hidden from every one 
 but himself, or, at least, only imperfectly expressed in his 
 outward actions ; and that we can therefore infer nothing 
 in regard to the inner life of others without first experi- 
 encing it in ourselves. It is indeed a mere truism that 
 what we have had no experience of we cannot learn from 
 without. But this inner experience is not separable from 
 outer experience. We have not first a knowledge of our 
 own individual states and then refer these by analogy to 
 others. It is only when we have gone beyond our im- 
 mediate feelings that we understand ourselves at all, 
 and the same process enables us to understand others. 
 Nay, it may be said that we first learn to understand 
 ourselves by understanding others. It is through the 
 community of persons that the individual understands 
 himself. If there were no common life, if society were 
 not an expression of morality, the individual would never 
 realize the meaning of his own moral nature. When 
 a man comes to the consciousness that in his own reason 
 
272 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 there is a law of morality, he at first opposes the idea 
 of himself to the community; but had he not been 
 moralized by the community in the first place, such a 
 return upon himself would be impossible. 
 
 (3) And this leads us to see what is the true meaning of 
 punishment. Kant denies that punishment can be regarded 
 either as preventative or as educational. The sole object 
 of punishment is to vindicate the principle of rights. The 
 criminal affirms the law of his natural desires, and society 
 uses violence to cause his irrational act to recoil on 
 himself. Properly regarded, there is no contradiction 
 between these three theories of punishment. The object 
 of all punishment is to maintain the social unity as against 
 the caprice of individuals. Punishment is therefore pre- 
 ventative in this sense, that, by tending to awaken in men 
 the consciousness that they are all members of one body, 
 it supplies them with an ideal which tends to prevent 
 them from acting as if they were mere individuals. It is 
 also educational, because it tends to awaken the conscious- 
 ness that crime is worthy of punishment. And lastly, it 
 is a vindication of right in the sense that right is the 
 means by which the higher social self may be realized. 
 Observe, however, that punishment is not preventative 
 merely in the sense that it hinders the commission of 
 particular crimes, but in the sense that it affirms the 
 principle which strikes at the root of all crimes. That is 
 to say, the object of punishment is not simply to deter 
 men from crime by the fear of punishment, but to lead 
 them to view crime as irrational. So punishment is edu- 
 cational, not in the sense of making men fear the penalty, 
 but in the sense of making them fear the guilt. And 
 finally, punishment vindicates right, not as the rights of 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 273 
 
 individuals, but as the condition of the higher self which 
 is realized in the social organism. We may therefore 
 say that punishment has to do with the moral nature of 
 man, because it seeks to make the individual substitute 
 the rational motive of self-realization by identification 
 with others for the irrational motive of self-realization by 
 separation from others. Thus the two ends of making 
 men moral and making them happy combine in one : 
 for, as morality is identical with real happiness, to secure 
 the one is to secure the other also. 
 
 SYSTEM OF MORAL VIRTUES. 
 
 What, then, are the special forms in which man realizes 
 himself? What, in other words, are the specific duties 
 of man? 
 
 Kant's conception of duties, as distinguished from rights, 
 is that whereas the latter are enforced by society, the 
 former are enforced by the individual upon himself. Law 
 compels men to respect the rights of others, whatever 
 their natural inclination may be; Morality compels a man 
 to respect the moral law which his own reason reveals to 
 him. The opposition is no longer between an external 
 authority and natural inclination, but between natural 
 inclination and the internal authority of reason. No one 
 can compel a man to be moral, because morality consists 
 in free submission of the individual to the moral law. 
 A man may act in accordance with the idea of duty 
 because he is compelled to do so by the pressure of an 
 external authority, but his act is not therefore moral, 
 because it is not done from a moral motive. In morality 
 the motive as well as the action must be in harmony 
 with the law. This is the single principle of duty. But 
 
274 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 this principle takes different forms according to the 
 different ends which are sought to be realized, i.e., we 
 can distinguish various duties by distinguishing the 
 various ends of action which we ought to have. 
 
 Now, there are two ends which we ought to realize : 
 (i) our own perfection, (2) the happiness of others. 
 
 (1) By perfection is meant conformity with the moral 
 law. Such conformity is possible only in so far as a man 
 rises above his animal nature and develops the faculties 
 belonging to him as man. Perfection therefore means, 
 firstly, the development of the faculties characteristic of 
 man. But, secondly, perfection implies purity of will, i.e., 
 that virtuous temper of mind in which the moral law is 
 the sole motive and standard of action. Our duty to 
 ourselves, then, is to develop all our faculties and to 
 cultivate purity of will. 
 
 (2) Our duty tlo others is to seek their happiness. It 
 is not our duty to seek our own happiness, for that 
 is an end which natural inclination inevitably prompts 
 us to seek. The happiness of others, again, is not 
 what they think to be their happiness, for often they 
 suppose it to consist in what is inconsistent with it. 
 Nor can we seek the perfection of others directly, for 
 perfection can only be secured by the individual himself; 
 still we may indirectly aid men in their efforts after 
 perfection, by avoiding everything that will mislead them 
 into a false view of their perfection. Thus the moral 
 law implies two commands : (1) Do for yourself all that 
 you regard as binding upon others; (2) Do for others 
 all that you would wish them to do for you. 
 
 We must, however, distinguish between "obligations of 
 right" and "obligations of virtue." There are various 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 275 
 
 duties, and one of these may limit the other to a certain 
 extent. Thus the question may arise how far phil- 
 anthropy is to be limited by one's duty to his own 
 family. It is a man's duty to seek both the general 
 good and the good of his family, and no exception can 
 be admitted; but how far he is to seek the one or the 
 other must be determined by particular considerations. 
 There are three characteristics of duty. 
 
 (1) There is only one ground of each duty. For 
 example, obligation to truthfulness is not the injury done 
 to others by lying, but the moral worthlessness of the liar. 
 
 (2) The difference between virtue and vice is a differ- 
 ence in kind not in degree. Aristotle is therefore wrong 
 in making virtue a mean between two vices. The virtue 
 of good husbandry is not that more is spent than is 
 done by the avaricious man and less than is done by 
 the prodigal. Prodigality and avarice are vices because 
 their motives are immoral. The prodigal spends his 
 money simply as a means to enjoyment, the avaricious 
 man saves his money because of the enjoyment which 
 is found in its possession ; good husbandry makes use of 
 wealth simply as a means to higher ends. 
 
 (3) Our duties are not determined by our capacity, but 
 our capacity by our duties. We must not say, " I have 
 done all that could be expected of me," but, "I have 
 not attained to the perfect standard of humanity." 
 
 Virtue may be called a " habit," if it is added that it is 
 a "free habit," or a "habit of acting by the idea of law." 
 Virtue is always advancing, because it is an unattainable 
 ideal : it is always beginning, because the natural desires 
 cannot be got rid of, and therefore we never attain to a 
 perfectly formed state of virtue. If our actions ever 
 
276 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 became merely habitual, they would have no moral 
 character, because there would be no freedom in the 
 choice of maxims of conduct. 
 
 Kant distinguishes between (1) Duties to ourselves 
 and (2) Duties to others. 
 
 I. Duties to Ourselves. 
 1. Negative or Strict. 
 
 (a) Duties to ourselves as having an animal nature. 
 These correspond to the three natural impulses of (a) 
 
 self-preservation, (ft) maintenance of the species, (7) main- 
 tenance of the capacity to use one's powers for useful 
 ends, and for the animal enjoyment of life. These are 
 virtues, because man's physical life is a means to his exist- 
 ence as a person. The vices opposed to them are (a) 
 suicide, (ft) unnatural sensual indulgence, (7) inordinate 
 enjoyment of the pleasures of the table. 
 
 (b) Duties to ourselves as moral beings. 
 
 There are here also three virtues, (a) truthfulness, (ft) 
 good husbandry, (7) self-respect. The corresponding vices 
 are (a) lying, (ft) avarice, (7) false humility. The liar is 
 "a mere semblance of humanity, and not a true man." 
 Avarice is the slavish subjection of oneself to the goods 
 of fortune. As to false humility, "he who makes himself 
 a worm cannot complain if others trample upon him." 
 As a person, a man is above all price, and ought not to 
 crouch before his fellows, as if he had no self-centred 
 life of his own. Even the slavish fear of Eastern devotees 
 before the divine involves a sacrifice of human dignity. 
 
 All the duties of man to himself rest upon his being 
 the "born judge of himself." Hence man's first duty is 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 277 
 
 to " know himself," in the sense of finding out what con- 
 science commands. "Descent into the hell of self- 
 knowledge is the only way to the heaven of divine 
 excellence." 
 
 2. Positive. 
 
 These are simply the duties of developing the bodily 
 and mental powers, and above all the duty of cultivating 
 purity of will, 
 
 II. Duties to Others. 
 
 These are either (a) those which give rise to an obliga- 
 tion on the part of others, or (b) those which do not 
 give rise to an obligation on the part of others. The 
 former are accompanied by the feeling of love, the 
 latter by the feeling of respect. Love and respect ought 
 to be united. We may compare them to a force of 
 attraction and a force of repulsion. "By the principle of 
 mutual love men are called upon to approach each other, 
 by the principle of respect to preserve a certain distance 
 from each other. As mere feelings, love and respect are 
 not duties ; the duties are respectively benevolence and 
 reverence for others as persons. 
 
 (a) The maxim of benevolence rests on the principle 
 that we can wish well to ourselves only on condition 
 that we wish well to others. The duties that fall under 
 it are three : (a) beneficence, (/?) gratitude, (y) sympathy. 
 
 (b) The duties of reverence for others arise from "the 
 recognition in other men of a worth for which there is 
 no price or equivalent." We must reverence the dignity 
 of humanity even in the degraded and vicious. Hence 
 we must condemn all punishment by mutilations, which 
 
278 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 bring shame on humanity. So we must respect the in- 
 telligence of others, and in correcting their errors bring 
 out the element of truth in that which misled them. 
 
 The vices opposed to respect for humanity are (a) 
 pride, (/?) evil-speaking, (7) readiness to mock and insult. 
 
 There are other duties determined by age, sex, or cir- 
 cumstances, but they cannot be determined on general 
 principles. Of these the most important is Friendship. 
 
 Kant holds that we can further the happiness of others, 
 but not their moral perfection. For, if a man is acted 
 upon by another, he argues, he cannot be determined 
 purely by the moral law, and therefore he cannot be 
 free. Each man must therefore work out his own moral 
 salvation. It is our duty to seek our own perfection and 
 the happiness of others, but it can never be a duty to seek 
 the perfection of others or the happiness of ourselves. 
 Kant, however, so far modifies his first view as to admit 
 that we may individually assist others in the attainment 
 of moral perfection by taking care not to throw tempta- 
 tions in their way which would lead to their having the 
 misery of a bad conscience. In other words, it is each 
 man's own duty to preserve a blameless conscience, and 
 when he does wrong he can blame no one but himself. 
 To say that "the woman tempted me" is to deny one's 
 freedom as a rational being. But, while no one can 
 blame another for his moral guilt, each may blame himself 
 for putting obstacles in the way of another. For human 
 nature is weak, and is too ready to follow the passions. 
 
 Now, if it is admitted that we may put hindrances in 
 the way of others, it cannot be denied that we may also 
 act so as to help others in their moral life. If a man 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 279 
 
 by his bad example tempts others to wrong, may he not 
 also by his good example induce others to do right? Kant 
 thinks that we cannot affect directly the moral life of 
 others, because morality is a personal matter. Morality 
 is no doubt a personal matter, but it is not therefore 
 carried on in isolation. The influence of good or bad 
 example would not be a moral influence, if men were 
 not capable of appropriating what is good or bad for 
 themselves. Men are not exonerated from moral blame 
 because others act immorally, nor do they cease to deserve 
 moral praise because others act morally ; but this does 
 not alter the fact that morality is essentially social. We are 
 moral beings only as we are capable of viewing ourselves 
 as members of a social organism. We usually deter- 
 mine the moral quality of our actions by reference to the 
 standard of the society to which we belong. If it is 
 objected that in that case we are simply acting from 
 custom, the answer is that to view conduct from the 
 social point of view is not necessarily to act from custom. 
 To act merely from custom is to act by reference to an 
 external standard, the basis of which we do not compre- 
 hend. To act from the social point of view, on the 
 other hand, is to judge all actions, our own and others, 
 from the unexpressed principles on which the common 
 social life rests. The consciousness of these principles 
 gradually grows up in us because we gain the conscious- 
 ness of ourselves only in and through our relations to 
 others. It is true that we may at a later stage come to 
 be conscious that the ordinary standard of action em- 
 bodied in the special form of society to which we belong 
 is inadequate, but the consciousness of this inadequacy 
 would be impossible for us did not society already 
 
280 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 involve rational principles of action. Thus he who has 
 been so far moralized by coming to the consciousness of 
 the principle upon which the family rests, is prepared for 
 the comprehension of the wider principle upon which the 
 State rests, and, ultimately, for the still wider principle 
 upon which humanity rests. Thus, moral freedom is not 
 the freedom of the mere individual, but the freedom 
 which rests upon self-identification with a universal law 
 that first reveals itself to us in a social law. 
 
 From this point of view we can see that there can be 
 no opposition, such as Kant maintains, between our duty 
 to ourselves and our duty to others. Every duty is at 
 once a duty to ourselves and a duty to others. Thus 
 the duty of furthering one's own physical and moral well- 
 being is at the same time a duty to society, because it 
 is only by doing so that we can become fit members of 
 the social organism. We are to withstand the immediate 
 promptings of desire, but the gratification of these is con- 
 trary at once to our own welfare and the welfare of others. 
 Nor can it be said, as Kant says, that we must give up 
 our own happiness for the good of others and not at all 
 of ourselves. If this were so, the perfect form of society 
 would be one in which each surrendered all that belonged 
 to himself. In such a society, the aim would be to gratify 
 the selfishness of others, not to reach a point in which 
 all selfishness is done away. In point of fact, the attempt 
 to yield up all to the will of another may develop enor- 
 mous selfishness on the part of those to whom the surrender 
 is made. 1 What we ought to seek is to secure the moral 
 
 1 It may be worth while referring to the illuminating poetic treat- 
 ment of this idea in Euripides' Alccstis, at least as "transcribed" 
 and interpreted in Browning's noble " Balaustion's Adventure." 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 281 
 
 perfection of all, ourselves as well as others; and this 
 can only be secured by acting from the point of view of 
 a universal good applicable alike to them and to our- 
 selves. Thus only can a higher spirit take possession of 
 every member of the community. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE, 
 
 RELIGION. 
 
 Morality ultimately rests upon the consciousness of an 
 ideal good for man which is identical with the good of 
 existence as a whole. In other words, there is no abso- 
 lute good unless it can be shown that man is seeking to 
 realize what is in conformity with the unchangeable nature 
 of God. A rational faith in God is, therefore, at the basis 
 of morality. 
 
 This is denied by Kant. He maintains that morality 
 is independent of religion, because the reason of man 
 commands him to realize the moral law, even irrespec- 
 tive of the union of virtue and happiness. The idea 
 of morality is its own guarantee, and unless it can be 
 established independently it is impossible to prove the 
 existence of God at all. God is postulated only because 
 on no other supposition can we explain the possibility of 
 the union of virtue and happiness. 
 
 Kant, however, proceeds to ask how far, in consistency 
 with his own theory, he can accept the fundamental ideas 
 of the Christian religion. And, first of~all, he discusses 
 the question of Original Sin. 
 
 282 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 283 
 
 The problem, as he puts it, is this : There is in all 
 men a bias to evil ; and this bias seems to be a tendency 
 inherited from our ancestors. But, on the other hand, 
 when we do a wrong action, we attribute the evil to 
 ourselves, and that irrespective of any inherited tendency 
 to evil. How, then, are we to say at once that evil is a 
 natural propensity over which we have no control, and 
 that evil is under our own control, or is done freely? 
 
 (1) What constitutes the bias to evil? It does not lie 
 in our natural impulses as such. The appetite of hunger, 
 e.g., is in itself neither good nor bad, and for it we are 
 in no way responsible. Nor can we explain the evil bias 
 as due to a loss of the idea of moral obligation ; for, if 
 we had no idea of moral obligation, we should not be 
 responsible for our acts, nor should we even be con- 
 scious of guilt. So far as we view man as a sensuous 
 being, endowed with immediate impulses, we reduce him 
 to the level of the animals. On the other hand, if man's 
 will were absolutely evil, if he were not conscious of 
 himself as under obligation to obey the moral law, his 
 sole motive would be to act contrary to it. Man would 
 act on the principle of Milton's Satan : " Evil, be thou 
 my good"; he would, in fact, be "neither more nor less 
 than a devil?' Now, if the bias to evil does not lie in 
 the natural impulses, nor in the rational nature of man, 
 wherein can it lie? It can only lie, Kant answers, in this, 
 that man subordinates moral law to happiness, instead of 
 subordinating happiness to moral law. Thus, though the 
 natural impulses are in themselves morally indifferent, they 
 become evil when they are made the motives of action. 
 The bias to evil is thus the tendency in man to disobey 
 the moral law, which his reason prescribes, by seeking 
 
284 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 for his own individual happiness, i.e., for the satisfaction 
 of all his immediate desires. Kant accepts the scriptural 
 doctrine that "there is none righteous, no not one," 
 but he does not admit that the tendency to evil can be 
 explained by referring it to any person but the agent 
 himself. Evil exists for each man only as he himself 
 wills evil. 
 
 But how are we to explain the fact that every man 
 exhibits this tendency to seek for happiness, instead of 
 making the moral law his sole motive? The tendency 
 undoubtedly exists in man prior to all definite acts of 
 will, and it seems natural to say that the individual must 
 have received the bias not by his own act, but from 
 some external source. This explanation, however, cannot 
 be accepted. If my evil bias comes from another, I am 
 not responsible for it; nothing can be attributed to me 
 but what I freely will. Kant gets over the difficulty in 
 his own peculiar way. Every volition that I exer*t pro- 
 ceeds from the very centre of my inner being, but I 
 cannot make that inner being an object of my know- 
 ledge. My volitions I must necessarily present to myself 
 as events in time, but in their true nature they are not 
 events in time. Hence a volition is not due to anything 
 but itself; it proceeds from the free activity of the 
 subject. When we do an evil act, we may say that we 
 fall out of the state of innocence into the state of guilt. 
 Every evil act is thus a new fall from innocence : the 
 fall of man is perpetually reenacted. We cannot shift 
 our responsibility for evil to the acts of any one prior 
 to ourselves, because each evil act may be described 
 as an uncaused act, i.e., as an act proceeding straight 
 from our own will. If, however, we ask, Why does man 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 285 
 
 will evil, and thus fall or rather plunge into evil? we can 
 find no answer : the origin of evil is inexplicable. The 
 Biblical narration seems to express this when it makes 
 temptation come from an evil spirit. This, however, 
 leaves unexplained how a being who is pure within 
 could be tempted from without, and we must therefore 
 interpret it to mean, not that man is really tempted by 
 an evil spirit, but that the fall from purity is unsearch- 
 able. We see, however, why it is unsearchable; for to 
 comprehend the origin of evil we should have to con- 
 template the inner nature of man as free from the form 
 of time, and that is impossible from the necessary limita- 
 tion of our knowledge. 
 
 Similarly, when we read that sin is inherited from our 
 first parents, we must not interpret the statement literally. 
 Our first parents could not sin for us, but only for them- 
 selves. What we must understand is, that we recognize 
 that in his place we should have acted as the first man 
 is represented as acting. And if we cannot comprehend 
 how a free being should fall from innocence into evil, no 
 more can we comprehend how he can turn again from 
 evil to good. We need not, indeed, exclude the idea 
 that some "supernatural cooperation with our will may 
 be needed to remove hindrances, if not to give positive 
 help; but if such cooperation be possible, we must first 
 make ourselves worthy of it," i.e., we must open our wills 
 to receive it by our own free action. To suppose that we 
 can be made good in any way but by good action, e.g., 
 that a supernatural influence can be got by doing nothing 
 but praying, "which, before an all-seeing Being, is nothing 
 but wishing," is mere superstition. 
 
 On these principles, we must say that man passes from 
 
286 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 evil to good, or from good to evil, in an instantaneous 
 act. Conversion is an instantaneous act in this sense, 
 that it implies an absolute change in the principle of the 
 will, a change which cannot be better expressed than by 
 calling it a new birth or even a new creation. Still we 
 can only realize this change by a progress from worse to 
 better; and only God, whose intelligence is not limited 
 by the form of time, can perceive as a complete whole 
 what for us is a succession. We can only have a relative 
 confidence in the change of principle within us, but as 
 we find our character grow in stability our confidence will 
 be also increased. 
 
 The Pauline doctrine of Redemption, like that of the 
 Fall, is reinterpreted by Kant in his own way. As he 
 denied that moral evil can be imputed to any one because 
 of the guilt of another, so he denies that any one can 
 become morally good by the imputation to him of the 
 righteousness of another. Adam's sin cannot become our 
 sin, nor Christ's goodness our goodness. Yet the Pauline 
 idea of redemption points to a truth. The Stoics supposed 
 that our moral warfare is with passion. The Apostle saw 
 that our "warfare is not with flesh and blood, but with 
 principalities and powers," i.e., with evil spirits. The spirit 
 of evil, however, is not external but internal; it is a 
 principle of evil in the very nature of our own will. And 
 it can be combated only by another spiritual power, viz., 
 by a principle of good. Yet, though evil and good spring 
 from the individual man himself, the principle of good is 
 by St. Paul personified in a way that corresponds to the 
 truth. We never know our own nature as it is behind 
 the veil. We speak of that as an event, which is indeed 
 the source of all events in the way of volition, but which 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 287 
 
 in its real nature cannot be called an event at all. Thus 
 the root of all moral evil and good lies hidden in the 
 inner nature of man, though it exhibits itself in a long 
 series of acts. The principle of good being in us, and 
 yet not being produced by ourselves, it may properly be 
 said that it has come down from heaven and taken our 
 nature that it may elevate us, who are by nature evil. 
 Hence it is that we must speak of the willing of good 
 as done for us by another, by one who has realized the 
 ideal of humanity; for God cannot love the world except 
 as ideally realized in the complete moral perfection of 
 humanity. Kant, in short, holds that the righteousness of 
 Christ is imputed to us only in the sense that God takes 
 our imperfect goodness (as springing from the eternal 
 principle of goodness in us) as equivalent to perfect 
 goodness. For though man in this life can only approxi- 
 mate to goodness, yet, if the principle of goodness is at 
 work in him, it will ultimately purge his nature of all 
 evil. Thus, in so far as we are conscious of continued 
 purity of will, we may have a foretaste of the joy which 
 must spring from an unalterable will for the good. "This 
 joy we may fitly represent as an eternal bliss of heaven, 
 secured to us through unity with our divinely human 
 Lord ; while its opposite sorrow will appear to us as an 
 endless hell, through identification with the spirit of evil." 
 What, then, is to be said of our past guilt ? How can 
 there be atonement for it? Our present obedience is 
 imperfect, and, even if it were perfect, it could not atone 
 for the past. In willing evil in the past we have, it would 
 seem, taken the principle of evil into our inmost being,, 
 and therefore merited infinite punishment. To atone for 
 our past guilt, it may appear that at the moment when 
 
288 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 our will proceeds from the principle of evil to the principle 
 of good, we ought to bear an infinite punishment. Kant 
 meets this difficulty by saying that the change from the 
 corrupt to the good man already involves the sacrifice of 
 self and the acceptance of a long series of the evils of 
 life, merely for the sake of the good. 
 
 Kant's subjective view of morality prevents him from 
 doing justice to the truth contained in the Pauline 
 doctrine of the Fall. In St. Paul's conception man is 
 not a separate individual whose inner life is incapable of 
 being influenced by others. On the contrary, he conceives 
 of all men as members of one great organism, so that the 
 evil or good of one communicates itself to all the rest. 
 The sin of Adam passes on from generation to generation, 
 and works increasing woe to man j and the Law, while 
 it makes men conscious of the evil power which has taken 
 hold of them, does not enable them to throw it off. On 
 the other hand, Christ is the source of a new regenerative 
 principle, fitted to restore the whole of humanity to more 
 than its original purity. Viewing this new principle as 
 having already realized what it is fitted to realize, St. Paul 
 says that as in Adam all die, so in Christ all are again 
 made alive. 
 
 Kant, again, denies that either nature, or man, or even 
 God can directly hinder us in our willing of the moral 
 law. He will have no interference with the self-deter- 
 mination of each individual subject. Now, the subject 
 so isolated he conceives of as having no motive but the 
 .law of reason, or, in other words, as containing within 
 himself only the principle of good. If so, the willing 
 of evil is not only, as he says, " mysterious," but it 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 289 
 
 is a manifest impossibility. For the subject to will evil, 
 he must cease to be what he is. But Kant had too 
 clear an eye for facts to deny that man wills evil, 
 and therefore he goes on to say that man may will evil 
 in so far as he subordinates reason to passion. The 
 moral recovery of man is not, as the Stoics held, a 
 negation of passion, but its subordination to the moral 
 law. Hence evil must, he says, consist in a perversion 
 of the proper relations between reason and desire : it 
 cannot lie either in the natural desires, which in them- 
 selves are neither good nor evil, or in the corruption of 
 reason, which is impossible. But this opposition is false. 
 (a) The desires of man are good or evil according to 
 their object; (o) reason does not demand the realization 
 of an abstract good, but of a definite good. The moral 
 perversion of man is not to be explained as a war 
 between two separate principles, but as a conflict in 
 the nature of man himself as capable of willing par- 
 ticular or universal ends. The conflict can only come 
 to an end when the consciousness of an abstract law 
 of goodness is transmuted into the consciousness of 
 social relations. 
 
 Kant, however, has made a step in advance of the 
 Stoics. The Stoics also held morality to be a life 
 according to reason, i.e., a life in which man is in 
 no way under the dominion of passion. But they go 
 further than Kant in maintaining that the moral life 
 consists in the absolute extinction of all the natural 
 desires. The passions, they say, are " unnatural," i.e., 
 they are in absolute contradiction to the rational nature 
 of man. Hence man can only be himself if he expels 
 all the natural desires, and so comes to "harmony" 
 
 T 
 
29O AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 with himself. This doctrine makes the passions some- 
 thing so foreign to the nature of man that the difficulty 
 is to explain how man should ever be under the influence 
 of passion at all. If man is by nature pure reason, how 
 does he come to give way to passion ? Are we not com- 
 pelled to hold that he cannot be pure reason, or, in other 
 words, that passion is his self-surrender to evil ? The 
 Stoics, however, simply assume that as a matter of fact 
 natural desire has an influence upon man, and, affirming 
 the passionless life of reason to be the true life, they say 
 that passion must be extruded as a foreign element. 
 Kant, on the other hand, makes an attempt to explain 
 how passion comes into the will of man. Man is by 
 nature a composite being, having both reason and desire. 
 Evil is not the mere determination by desire, but a 
 determination by the will that places desire above reason. 
 The moral recovery of man is therefore not the annihila- 
 tion of desire, but its subordination to reason. This is 
 the compromise by which Kant seeks to harmonize desire 
 and reason. The desire for happiness is reasonable, but 
 not the desire for happiness at the expense of morality; 
 and in the elevation of happiness over morality he finds 
 the explanation of evil. 
 
 If we carry out to its consequences the view of Kant 
 that man is by nature at once rational and sensuous, we 
 shall have to transform his doctrine. If the moral end 
 is to bring desire into conformity with reason, we cannot 
 hold that desire is the abstract opposite of reason. There 
 can be no truce between irreconcilable enemies. The 
 true realization of self must be a realization in which the 
 sensuous and the rational aspects of man's life are in 
 harmony with each other. The desires of man are not 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 29 1 
 
 impulses, but desires for particular objects which only 
 differ from the universal end of reason in being particular 
 modes in which that end is sought to be realized. The 
 moral division in man's nature does not arise from the 
 conflict of two opposite principles, but from a false ap- 
 plication of the one principle of self-determination. It is 
 the same self that is present in what is called the life of 
 sense and the life of reason. Even a wrong desire is 
 possible only to a being who in his desires is seeking a 
 universal good, a good that will bring harmony to his 
 ideal nature. 
 
 The great imperfection of Kant's view of the moral 
 life lies in its strong individualism. The moral law he 
 conceives as so absolutely a law of our own being that 
 we can be aided in our moral life neither by God nor 
 man. This view is an exaggeration of the principle of 
 individual liberty, which was the watch-word of the Re- 
 formation. Luther insisted upon the absoluteness of the 
 individual conscience, but he maintained that before God 
 the individual has no freedom. The enlightenment of the 
 eighteenth century denied even this reservation, and thus 
 the individual was left alone with himself. Kant accepted 
 the principle of individualism, but he maintained that the 
 individual is truly himself only as he prescribes for him- 
 self a universal law the law of his own being. The 
 individual is influenced by others only on the side of his 
 sensuous desires, and even that influence is possible only 
 as his will gives assent to them. In opposition to this 
 view, we must say that the law which man prescribes to 
 himself presupposes objective ends in which the indivi- 
 dual may realize himself. It is true that we cannot be 
 satisfied, in the realization of any particular end, with the 
 
292 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 satisfaction of a particular desire j but this dissatisfaction 
 arises only from the consciousness that in willing a 
 particular end we have not realized the self. This opposi- 
 tion, however, is transcended when the true meaning 
 of the particular desires is apprehended; for then we 
 find that the particular end may be willed as identical 
 with the universal or good. It is this identification of 
 desire with good that constitutes morality. All particular 
 objects of desire become good in so far as they are 
 the specific forms in which universal good is realized. 
 From this it follows that the moral law is primarily 
 social. Our consciousness of ourselves as moral and 
 spiritual beings is made possible only by our con- 
 sciousness of other selves. The outer law which binds 
 the different members of society together is really an 
 inner law. Man can rise above his immediate desires, 
 just because he can rise above the point of view of his 
 own individual life and live in the life of others. At 
 first, indeed, the law of society appears as an external 
 law based upon authority, and when man comes to the 
 consciousness of law as the inner law of his own being, 
 it is only natural that he should oppose this inner law 
 to the outer law of society. But in reality it is both 
 inner and outer, the law of his own being, and a social 
 law which binds him to others. The important thing is, 
 that he should submit to the law of society, not because 
 society imposes the law, but because he consciously 
 recognizes it to be identical with the realization of 
 himself. 
 
 The nearest approximation of Kant to the view that 
 man's moral life is essentially social, is contained in 
 his conception of an invisible ethical community. This 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 293 
 
 community, as he holds, rests upon the idea of the 
 moral law as realizable because it ought to be realized; 
 and therefore it seeks to remove the hindrances which 
 prevent men from living the moral life. Until such a 
 community is established, all men are in an ethical 
 state of nature, in which they hinder on all sides the 
 moral advancement of the race. The great power of 
 evil in the world is the envious rivalry of men. In 
 society they corrupt each other, and become each other's 
 worst enemies. They ought, therefore, to combine on 
 the basis of a common submission to the moral law. 
 In this community force cannot be employed, because 
 moral freedom is inconsistent with it. This community 
 can only be imperfectly represented by any outward 
 institution. The nearest approach to it is in the growth 
 of the consciousness of the importance of morality. 
 
 This conception of an ethical community is not con- 
 sistent with the general principles of Kant. As we 
 have seen, his principles led him to deny that the 
 individual can further the moral life of others. But he 
 so far modifies this view as to say, that men may put 
 temptations in the way of others, and hence that they 
 may combine to remove hindrances to the moral life. 
 In this doctrine Kant is virtually preparing the way for 
 the idea that true freedom is realized in and through 
 social relations. Man is rational, not because he lives 
 an inner life with which no one can interfere, but 
 because no influence upon him is purely external. The 
 influence of others does not really interfere with the 
 freedom of the individual, because such influence becomes 
 a motive only as it is passed through the transmuting 
 medium of self-consciousness. Thus the influence of 
 
294 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 others may be good or bad, not because it forces the 
 individual to act in a certain way, but because the ideal 
 of self cannot be realized by the individual apart, but 
 only through the development of the ideal in society. 
 Kant's fundamental mistake is to view the natural 
 desires as belonging to the individual sensibility which 
 may be acted upon from without. Every natural desire 
 being, on his view, a susceptibility of the individual 
 to be affected by what is external to him, he assumes 
 that to speak of the influence of society is the same 
 thing as to speak of the influence of natural desire 
 as understood in this unspiritual way. 
 
 It is only another form of the same imperfection that 
 Kant allows of no distinction between morality and religion. 
 Morality is a purely individual matter, and therefore man 
 cannot be aided in his moral life by God any more 
 than by others, or at least only by God, in so far as he 
 himself wills the law of his own reason. Now, if we 
 thus conceive of God as necessarily withdrawn from the 
 inner life of man, we fall back upon a self-determination 
 which is purely individual. The moral law thus becomes 
 a law only for the individual. Man cannot, indeed, being 
 what he is, rid himself of its authority; but, after all, the 
 goal of his efforts may be only the realization of an ideal 
 that does not harmonize with the true nature of things. 
 What he supposes to be moral progress may, from the 
 point of view of God, be moral retrogression. Thus that 
 which constitutes the essential feature in the religious 
 consciousness is lost, or at least becomes problematic. 
 The essence of the religious consciousness is the assurance 
 that in realizing the higher life man is a fellow-worker 
 with God, and that in so realizing himself all things work 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 295 
 
 together for good. If man cannot identify himself with 
 God all his strivings are vain efforts to escape from the 
 prison-house of his own limited individuality. If he can- 
 not know God he can know nothing, because all his 
 apparent knowledge must be infected with the illusion 
 of his finitude; if he cannot identify his will with the 
 will of God, his goodness is from the absolute point 
 of view a mere semblance. Hence the consciousness of 
 the moral law cannot be separated from the conscious- 
 ness of God without losing its power and authority. 
 What gives absoluteness both to the individual conscience 
 and to the laws of society is the identity of both with 
 the infinite perfection of God. It is true that neither 
 involves a complete consciousness of all that is implicit 
 in that perfection ; but, except in so far as man is 
 conscious that in himself and others the divine is con- 
 tinually being realized, he has no ground for his faith 
 in goodness. Ultimately, therefore, morality rests upon 
 religion. 
 
 ART. 
 
 The higher consciousness of man expresses itself not 
 only in Religion but in Art. What in the one takes 
 the form of a personal experience, lifting the individual 
 above the flux of the transitory and reconciling him to 
 himself and to the world, takes in the other the form of 
 an objective presentation of the ideal nature of existence 
 in one or more of its manifold phases. To deal with so 
 important and complex a subject as the Philosophy of 
 Art in anything like an adequate way would require much 
 time and care, and we must be content at present with 
 a short statement and criticism of the aesthetic theory of 
 
296 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Kant, who, in this as in other branches of philosophy, 
 was the first philosopher of modern times who attempted 
 to treat the subject in a comprehensive way. His doctrine 
 is open to grave objections, but it is full of fertile sugges- 
 tion, and is a distinct advance upon the superficial or 
 inadequate theories of his predecessors. 
 
 There are, in Kant's view, two objects of Art, the 
 beautiful and the sublime. Beauty is not, as is usually 
 supposed, a quality of the object, but a peculiar feeling 
 of satisfaction which arises in us in the mere contempla- 
 tion of the object. Our aesthetic judgments are therefore 
 entirely independent of practical utility: a flower, for 
 example, will be pronounced beautiful, quite irrespective 
 of its market value. The feeling of satisfaction awakened 
 in us by a beautiful object is quite unique, and must not 
 be confused either with the feeling of pleasure associated 
 with the satisfaction of desire say, the desire for a fine 
 wine or with the feeling which is connected with the 
 willing of a good act. For in both of these cases our 
 satisfaction springs from interest in the object as related 
 to ourselves, whereas the feeling of beauty is entirely 
 disinterested^ arising as it does from the bare contemplation 
 of the object called beautiful, and in fact it is the only 
 free and disinterested feeling of which man is capable. 
 It follows from this that, as the feeling of beauty is not 
 determined by the peculiar sensuous susceptibility of the 
 individual, we have no hesitation in affirming that all men 
 must find beautiful the object which awakens in us a 
 disinterested feeling of satisfaction. How, then, are we 
 to explain these peculiarities of our aesthetic judgments? 
 for manifestly a judgment which rests upon feeling, and 
 yet is universal and necessary, urgently demands explana- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 297 
 
 tion. Kant's answer is, that the secret does not lie in 
 the object as such, but in the fact that in contemplating 
 it the subject is conscious of an immediate harmony in 
 the relation of his faculties of knowledge. His intellect 
 and his perception perfectly correspond, and therefore 
 he naturally feels pleasure so long as he remains in the 
 aesthetic mood. Such pleasure is very different from the 
 satisfaction which accompanies the resolute willing of 
 what is binding upon him by the law of his reason. 
 The feeling of beauty comes without effort the moment 
 we contemplate the beautiful object disinterestedly, and it 
 therefore gives us a sort of prophecy of that union of reason 
 and sense which no effort of ours can actually realize. 
 
 Besides the beautiful we frame aesthetic judgments in 
 regard to the sublime. These judgments agree in their 
 main characteristics with those in regard to beauty, but 
 there are important differences. For one thing, the feeling 
 of sublimity arises in us even when the object as perceived 
 has no definite limits, though it is always conceived as 
 a whole. The feelings themselves are also different in 
 kind, for, whereas the feeling of beauty is direct, the 
 feeling of sublimity involves a momentary check to the 
 vital forces, followed immediately by their more vigorous 
 outflow. The mind is at once attracted and repelled, 
 and the accompanying pleasure is therefore negative rather 
 than positive: it is in fact due to the disharmony between 
 the object perceived and an ideal object existing only 
 for thought. Strictly speaking, therefore, there is no 
 sublimity in nature, but only in ourselves, and in our- 
 selves as rational beings. 
 
 The sublime has two forms, which may be distinguished 
 as the mathematical and the dynamical. In the first 
 
290 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 place, the feeling of sublimity may be called out by 
 that which is too great in magnitude to be pictured by 
 the imagination. Such an object is the immensity of 
 the starry heavens. Here we have the conception of an 
 absolute whole, while yet the imagination utterly fails 
 to give a complete picture of it. We may imagine 
 world on world, and system stretching into system, but 
 by all our efforts we cannot attain to that completeness 
 of view which is contained in our idea of the whole 
 material universe. It is this inability to give form to our 
 thought which gives rise to the feeling of the sublime. 
 The very failure of imagination awakens in us the con- 
 sciousness of a power within ourselves far transcending 
 sense and imagination. " Thus the feeling of the sublime 
 in nature is a kind of reverence for our own character 
 as rational beings which we transfer to an object of 
 nature." 
 
 In the second place, we have the feeling of sublimity 
 in the presence of the forces of nature. We are aware 
 of their greatness, and yet we feel that they cannot over- 
 power us. That force we call great which we cannot 
 resist; yet we may be conscious of our powerlessness 
 without being afraid. "The virtuous man fears God, 
 but is not afraid of Him " ; for he knows that if he desired 
 to disobey His commands he would have reason to fear. 
 So we may be conscious that as physical beings we are 
 impotent to resist the tremendous forces of nature, while 
 yet there is in us a power that nature cannot overcome. 
 The true sublime is therefore within us. The natural 
 man quakes at the storm or the earthquake : the moral 
 man is raised above fear by the consciousness of moral 
 harmony with the will of God. The feeling of the sub- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 299 
 
 lime is less common than the feeling of beauty. It 
 implies considerable culture, and hence the rude and 
 undeveloped find the forces of nature simply terrible. 
 From its very nature the feeling of the sublime is a 
 more direct aid to the moral life of man than the feeling 
 of the beautiful ; for it arises in the contrast of the 
 inner to the outer, and therefore it prepares the way 
 for the higher moral interest. Hence the Jewish religion, 
 which was preeminently the religion of sublimity, was 
 also the religion in which moral ideas were most power- 
 ful. 
 
 Turning to the artistic representation of the beautiful, 
 we have to remark that beauty excludes the idea of de- 
 finite purpose. The products of art must appear as free 
 from conscious design as if they were products of nature. 
 The beautiful cannot be produced according to rule; it 
 must proceed fresh from the hands of genius. In this 
 gift of genius the true artist is distinguished from his 
 imitators. He gives expression to aesthetic ideas, i.e., 
 ideas of imagination which give occasion for much 
 thought, but to which no definite conception is adequate. 
 Such ideas are the counterpart of the ideas of reason, 
 to which no perception of sense can be adequate. The 
 productive imagination creates out of the world we know 
 a new world, which is constructed on principles that 
 occupy a higher place in our reason. Its products 
 may well be called ideas, because they arise from 
 the effort after something lying beyond the limits of 
 experience, and give an approximate presentation of 
 the ideas of reason ; and because no conception of the 
 understanding can be quite adequate to them. " The 
 poet ventures to give sensuous realization to invisible 
 
30 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 things, the realm of the blessed, heaven, hell, eternity, 
 creation ; or, if he represents that which is exemplified 
 in experience, as, e.g., death, envy, love of fame, yet, 
 imitating by imagination the boundlessness of reason, he 
 seeks to give them a complete sensuous realization for 
 which nature furnishes no parallel." 
 
 As art presents the idea of the supersensible in sen- 
 suous form, its products are a symbol of moral ideas. 
 A symbol is an image which does not adequately present 
 the idea of reason, but only suggests it. The beautiful 
 is the symbol of the morally good, and hence it makes 
 possible the transition from the allurements of sense to 
 a habitual interest in goodness. " When we find a 
 man interested in the beauty of nature, we have reason 
 to believe that there is in him at least a basis for a 
 good moral character." 
 
 The great value of Kant's conception of beauty lies 
 in the accuracy with which he has noted the seemingly 
 self-contradictory elements contained in our aesthetic judg- 
 ments. He is still, it is true, perplexed by his imperfect 
 analysis of human feeling, as apparently fluctuating and 
 uncertain, but he insists, and rightly insists, that beauty 
 is not "subjective" in the sense of having no basis but 
 the changing states of the sensitive individual. Thus he 
 breaks once for all with that shallow hedonistic aesthetics 
 which had in England its representatives in such writers 
 as Burke and Alison. On the other hand, Kant refuses 
 to accept the doctrine of Baumgarten, itself a distorted 
 application of the philosophy of Leibnitz, that our aesthetic 
 judgments rest upon "a confused conception of perfection," 
 seeing clearly that, except by a liberal interpretation of its 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 301 
 
 spirit, this doctrine must lead to the final extinction of 
 art as but an imperfect and preparatory stage of abstract 
 science. Kant has therefore to reconcile, as best he may, 
 the two aspects of beauty which are essential to its very 
 nature; and hence he affirms with equal emphasis (i) that 
 it rests upon feeling, and (2) that it involves thought. 
 Thus he is led to say that our aesthetic judgments pro- 
 ceed from a disinterested pleasure in the contemplation 
 of beautiful objects, and that they are universal and 
 necessary, while yet no definite conception can be 
 adduced in support of their claim to universality and 
 necessity. He therefore falls back upon the doctrine, 
 that the peculiar character of such judgments can be ex- 
 plained only on the supposition that the consciousness 
 of beauty arises from the harmony with each other of 
 imagination and understanding, and that their universality 
 is due to the identity of all men in these faculties and 
 their consequent agreement in the experience of aesthetic 
 pleasure in the presence of an object which brings their 
 knowing faculties into harmony with each other. 
 
 Now, if Kant is right, as he certainly is, in saying that 
 in the consciousness of beauty the subject is in harmony 
 with himself, he is not entitled to retain that opposition 
 of the consciousness of self and the consciousness of the 
 object which haunts him like a spectre through the whole 
 of his speculations. Beauty is either a pure illusion, 
 having no foundation in the nature of things, or our 
 aesthetic judgments are "objective" in the most absolute 
 sense. The feeling of harmony with himself which man 
 experiences in the contemplation of beauty must be 
 regarded as the other side of the harmony which under- 
 lies the world as it really is. It is only because Kant is 
 
302 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 not able to get rid of the conviction that nothing can be 
 known, in the strict sense of that term, which cannot be 
 compressed within the framework of the " scientific " 
 categories of thought, that he still speaks of our aesthetic 
 judgments as if they required an apology because they 
 do not rest upon "definite" conceptions. In point of 
 fact, what Kant calls the " indefiniteness " of the concep- 
 tions involved in such judgments is really their compre- 
 hensiveness. It is just the infinity of the beautiful object, 
 i.e., its power of revealing the whole in the part, that 
 gives rise to the peace and harmony of the whole man, 
 and lifts him above the allurements of sense and the 
 strenuous effort of the struggle after goodness. The only 
 sense in which beauty can be called " subjective " is this : 
 that the divine meaning of the world is revealed through 
 it, but is not completely realized in it. This, however, 
 merely shows that the concrete realization of the idea of 
 the whole, which is the differentia of beauty, still leaves 
 room for that reflective grasp of existence which it is the 
 function of philosophy to supply. 
 
PART II. 
 NOTES HISTORICAL AND CRITICAL. 
 
 I. THE PLATONIC AND ARISTOTELIAN 
 CRITICISM OF PHENOMENALISM. 1 
 
 A. PLATO'S CRITICISM. 
 
 Perhaps there is no better way of realizing the necessity 
 and nature of speculative philosophy than by entering 
 sympathetically into the discussion of Phenomenalism or 
 Sensationalism contained in the Theaetetus of Plato and 
 in the corresponding part of Aristotle's Metaphysics. It 
 is no doubt true that ancient and modern philosophy 
 move on different planes; but, just because Greek thought 
 was less perplexed by the complication of the categories 
 of reflection, in which the modern mind lives and moves, 
 it was less liable to import into sensible perception con- 
 ceptions which belong to a more developed stage of 
 thought. An attempt will here be made to bring out the 
 inner connection of the successive steps in Plato's argu- 
 ment. 
 
 In the Theaetetus Plato examines the doctrine that 
 knowledge of the real is given in sensible perception 
 
 1 See Chapter i., pp. I, 2. 
 303 
 
34 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 (aurdrpris). Starting from the natural assumption that 
 there is a real world existing independently of our appre- 
 hension of it, he inquires whether it is revealed to us in 
 sense, and only in sense. This doctrine is formulated in 
 the words, '' Knowledge is nothing but sensible percep- 
 tion " (ovk a\\o Ti kvriv i7TLCTTrjixr] rj aiarQr](rt,<s). This view 
 of knowledge, it is suggested, is what Protagoras really 
 meant when he said that "man is the measure of all 
 things " (ir&vTbiv xp?]pa-T(i>v fxerpov av 6 pianos). The saying is 
 not from ambiguity. It might mean merely that man is 
 capable of apprehending the real nature of things. Taken 
 in this sense, the doctrine affirms nothing which would 
 not be admitted by Plato and Aristotle, who always 
 assume that objective reality has a fixed nature of its 
 own, and that knowledge must consist in grasping it as 
 it is. The doctrine that there may be something in the 
 nature of the human intelligence which prevents us from 
 knowing reality is a doubt which did not arise till modern 
 times. The question which Plato raises is not whether 
 knowledge is possible, but whether it is given in sensible 
 perception, or in some other way. It has been said that 
 in criticising Protagoras, Plato "does not attempt to 
 understand him from his own point of view." 1 This is so 
 far true, that Plato, like Aristotle, does not make it his 
 main object to find out the element of truth which com- 
 mended the doctrine to the mind of Protagoras. The 
 Protagorean doctrine, like all first glimpses of truth, con- 
 tains within it irreconcilable views, which are not explicitly 
 formulated, and are therefore not seen to be irreconcilable. 
 It may mean either (i) that human knowledge is based 
 
 1 Jowett's Dialogues of Plato, third ed., iv. 147. 
 
CRITICISM OF PHENOMENALISM. 305 
 
 upon universal propositions, or (2) that it consists in 
 particular propositions. So long as these two discrepant 
 views are not clearly distinguished, no satisfactory theory of 
 knowledge is possible. Protagoras, in Plato's opinion, did 
 not clearly distinguish them, and therefore he assumed that 
 knowledge consists in the direct apprehension of things in 
 sensible perception. Fixing upon this aspect of the Prota- 
 gorean doctrine, Plato insists upon developing the conse- 
 quences which follow from it. He is interested in the 
 discovery of a true theory of knowledge, not in the degree 
 of truth to which Protagoras may or may not have attained. 
 Nor can it be said that the method of Plato is illegiti- 
 mate. If philosophy is to be a science, as distinguished 
 from a collection of uncritical opinions, it must insist upon 
 precise and definite thought, and must therefore test any 
 given theory of knowledge in the most rigid way. Now, 
 certainly Protagoras regarded knowledge as consisting in 
 the immediate apprehension of things, and it is this view 
 which Plato proceeds to examine. 
 
 Knowledge, then, we are to suppose, is "nothing but 
 sensible perception." Now, sensible perception is the 
 apprehension by each man of what is presented directly 
 to him, and if it is the measure of reality, there can be 
 for each man no reality except that which presents itself 
 in each perception. The doctrine, when more precisely 
 stated, must therefore be: "As each thing appears to me, 
 it is to me ; as it appears to you, it is to you " (o> ota 
 fiV eKacrra ifxoc (faaivtraL, TOtavra fxev ecrriv /aoi, oca 8e croi, 
 roiavTa Se aS o-ot). So far there is no denial that things 
 have a nature of their own, or that they are always iden- 
 tical with themselves ; all that is said is that for each man 
 
 they must be what they 'appear' to him. But obviously 
 
 u 
 
306 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 there is already a tacit distinction between what 'appears' 
 and what 'is.' For, if it is found that things do not 
 always 'appear' the same, the difficulty will arise, how we 
 can continue to affirm that they 'are' the same. Plato 
 therefore goes on to show that things do not always 
 appear ' the same. 
 
 The same wind is ' hot ' to one who is ' cold,' ' cold ' 
 to one who is ' hot.' Now, if perception is the only source 
 of knowledge, and perception is immediate presentation or 
 'appearance,' we must say that the wind 'is' or 'appears' 
 to one man 'hot,' to another 'cold.' It is still assumed 
 that the real object is identical with itself; the same 
 wind, it is said, is 'hot' to one, 'cold' to another. How 
 the same thing can have opposite qualities, or produce 
 opposite effects, is not asked. But, in his next step, 
 Plato suggests a doubt as to the assumed identity of the 
 real object with itself. The transition is not arbitrary, 
 but follows as a natural sequence upon a recognition of 
 the implicit contradiction between the assumption that the 
 thing itself is unchangeable, and that perception presents 
 it in opposite ways. If things are always the same, as is 
 commonly assumed, why should they appear different? 
 On the other hand, if things themselves undergo change, 
 nothing would seem more reasonable than that they 
 should appear different. Plato affects to suppose that 
 Protagoras, detecting the latent contradiction in his doc- 
 trine, attempted to remove it by adopting the view 
 that things themselves contain opposites, but only com- 
 municated this 'truth' to his disciples as an esoteric 
 theory too difficult for the 'uninitiated' to understand. 
 This suggestion is, of course, a touch of Socratic irony. 
 It is Plato's way of saying that Protagoras was unaware 
 
CRITICISM OF PHENOMENALISM. 307 
 
 of the contradiction in his own doctrine. The esoteric 
 theory referred to is, that "nothing is one in itself" (ws 
 dpa ev fiev avrb Kaff avrb ovSev o~tl) and that '* we are 
 not entitled to speak of a thing as a certain kind of 
 
 thing " (oi'S' av Tt 7rpo(TLiroL<s opOcos ov8' OTTOIOVOVV Tt). It 
 
 is therefore a popular fallacy that sensible objects are of 
 a fixed and unchangeable nature : in reality what is sup- 
 posed to be 'one' is 'manifold,' and what seems to be 
 a permanent property is but a passing phase in the pro- 
 cess of change which all things undergo. All the earlier 
 thinkers, with the exception of Parmenides, recognize that 
 the sensible object is really complex, and implies a pro- 
 cess of change. This is not only the doctrine which 
 Protagoras imparted to his disciples in secret, but it lies 
 at the basis of the Heraclitic 'flux' and the 'mixture' of 
 Empedocles. If we accept their theory of the nature 
 of things, we must look upon the world as a scene 
 of incessant change. We cannot say that anything ' is ' 
 (ia-Ti) or remains constant and the same, but that it 
 * becomes' (yiyverai), i.e., is in process of transition. 'To 
 be' (to civai) really means 'to become' (to yiyvzo-dai), 
 and ' not to be ' (to fir) e?vou) is to ' cease becoming.' In 
 support of this doctrine that nothing is ' one,' but everything 
 passes through manifold changes, and that no mode of a 
 thing is fixed and determinate, many strong reasons may 
 be advanced. What is 'heat' but a mode of motion 
 arising from some other mode of motion, e.g., friction, 
 and passing into another mode of motion ? Is not the 
 life of animals one of incessant change? Does not 
 mental as well as bodily life consist in its process? Nay, 
 would not all things in heaven and earth come to an 
 end, were the eternal revolution of the sun to cease? 
 
308 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Let us apply this general conception, that all things are 
 in process, in explanation of the variation in the perceptions 
 of different individuals, or of the same individual at different 
 times. We commonly suppose that ' white ' or some other 
 colour belongs to an external thing, independently of its 
 perception by us, and that in perception we apprehend 
 the colour as it is in the thing. But in truth the thing, 
 taken by itself, has no such quality, nor is colour something 
 belonging to the eyes : it exists neither external to the 
 eyes, nor in the eyes (/x?) avro 'drepov tl e(o twv o-wv 6fifxdT(Dv 
 fxr}& kv rots ofjifiaa-t). ' White ' is not something having a 
 definite position in space, where it persists or ' is ' ; what 
 we call its ' being ' is really its ' coming to be,' and before it 
 ' comes to be,' it is not white.' Here, therefore, we have a 
 special application of the doctrine, that "nothing exists in 
 itself as one " ([Mr)8ev avro kolO' avro cv 6v). ' White ' comes 
 into being when something not itself 'white' acts upon the 
 eye, the result being that the eye then has the sensation of 
 this peculiar colour, and the object appears as having that 
 colour. But, since both factors are necessary, a change 
 in either will involve a change in the product. It is for 
 this reason, as we must suppose, that even what we call 
 the same person has at different times different sensations. 
 As a sensitive being he is not the same, and therefore he 
 has not the same sensations from what is called the same 
 object. If the colour were a fixed property of the external 
 thing, the same object would not present itself as different ; 
 and if the eye were always the same, the perception of the 
 same object would in all cases be the same ; we must there- 
 fore regard the colour as originating in the moment of 
 perception, and the perception as arising in relation to it. 
 We can thus understand the variation in perception of 
 
CRITICISM OF PHENOMENALISM. 309 
 
 different individuals, or of the same individual at different 
 times. 
 
 That there is nothing permanent in the nature of things 
 seems to receive confirmation from the contradictions which 
 arise from supposing number to be a fixed property of 
 things. If we have before us what we call six dice, and 
 place four beside them, the six seem to be a half more than 
 the four; but if we place twelve beside them, they seem 
 to be only half. Now, if number belongs to things them- 
 selves, how can the same objects differ in number, when 
 we bring them into relation to different objects? Does not 
 this show that number arises only in the relation of things 
 to one another, just as colour involves the relation of 
 the percipient subject and the perceived object? Yet 
 this doctrine seems to be in conflict with the laws of 
 magnitude and number. For surely, (i) nothing ever 
 becomes greater or less, so long as it is equal to itself; 
 (2) a thing is always equal to itself, unless something 
 is added to it or taken from it ; (3) what was not before 
 cannot now be, without having come into being. But 
 these laws do not seem to agree with the facts. (1) The 
 six dice apparently remain the same, and yet they seem 
 to become more or less when compared respectively with 
 four and twelve. (2) Nothing may be added to or taken 
 from the size of Socrates, and yet he is larger and smaller 
 than Theaetetus in the course of a year. (3) Thus Socrates 
 becomes less, though he has undergone no change. It 
 would seem, then, that a thing may be both equal and 
 unequal, that it may increase or decrease while remaining 
 the same, and that it may change without changing. Thus 
 our conceptions of magnitude and number seem to be 
 inconsistent with the nature of things. A perception of 
 
3IO AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 this apparent inconsistency gives rise to 'wonder' and 
 in 'wonder' philosophy is born. There is here a real 
 difficulty of which those who hold obstinately by their 
 first view of things have no consciousness. We must 
 therefore consider with respect the doctrine of those who 
 deny that there is any fixed nature of things. Perhaps 
 they may be right; their doctrine at least seems to har- 
 monize with the view of Protagoras, that what we call 
 ' being ' is really ' appearance.' 
 
 The doctrine of these subtle thinkers is, that there are 
 no fixed and unchanging things, but only a continual 
 process of change. They distinguish, however, between 
 that which 'imparts' and that which 'undergoes' change. 
 Actual changes, they tell us, are infinite in number, and 
 arise from the coincidence of the 'active' and 'passive.' 
 The former appears as what we call the ' sensible ' (to 
 aurO-qrov), the latter as 'sensation' (ata-6-qa-is). The coinci- 
 dences of these two forms of change are infinitely various, 
 and hence we have to content ourselves with naming a 
 few of the most marked. The one change never occurs 
 without the other; so that there is no 'sensible' without 
 ' sensation,' and no ' sensation ' apart from the ' sensible.' 
 Hence we can say nothing about either except in relation 
 to the other. The 'sensible' 'is' only as it 'becomes' 
 from contact with 'sensation,' and 'sensation' 'is' only 
 as it ' becomes ' from contact with the ' sensible.' It is 
 thus obvious that we know nothing of a thing in itself, 
 or of perception in itself. 
 
 The doctrine of Protagoras, as thus interpreted, ex- 
 plains the origination of a particular sensation as the passive 
 effect of the activity of an object. Each sensation, it is 
 assumed, exactly reflects the change which arises from the 
 
CRITICISM OF PHENOMENALISM. 3II 
 
 relation of agent and patient. What 'appears' therefore 
 'is,' i.e., the appearance is the appearance of an actual 
 change in the object. It follows that no perception can 
 ever be false; for, in order to be false, the percipient 
 being must act upon itself, whereas, according to the theory, 
 it is percipient only as acted upon. An objection may be 
 raised to this doctrine on the ground that it does not 
 explain perceptions which are obviously false. If what 
 'appears' in immediate perception is a reflex of the object, 
 the appearances in dreams and madness must be true. 
 But it is hard to believe that the incoherent fancies of the 
 dreamer or the madman are true. 
 
 Protagoras, however, would answer that we are here 
 assuming an identity in the agent and patient which we are 
 not entitled to assume. There is no single object or 
 single percipient, but only a succession of states which we 
 unwarrantably assume to imply continuity. Each 'sensible' 
 is cut off from every other : each ' sensation ' is purely 
 individual. There is an infinite number of separate agents 
 and patients, and none of these is the same with its pre- 
 decessor. This is shown by the fact that each agent has 
 a different ' power ' (Svvapis), and each patient is at every 
 moment different. The combination of a different agent 
 with a different patient must produce a different product. 
 Thus, when Socrates in health drinks wine, the wine is 
 pleasant; when Socrates is ill, the wine is unpleasant. 
 Socrates in health is therefore entirely different from 
 Socrates ill, and the former agrees with the latter only 
 in name. It follows that each perception 'is' only as it 
 'appears' at the moment when it 'appears.' My percep- 
 tions, whatever they are, are therefore what they must be, 
 and hence even dreams and the fancies of a madman are 
 
312 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 true for him to whom they appear at the time when they 
 appear. 
 
 Plato has thus brought the doctrine that knowledge is 
 nothing but sensation or immediate feeling into a precise 
 and definite form. For each percipient what 'appears' is 
 true in the moment in which it ' appears/ and there is no 
 other truth. It is this doctrine which we have now to 
 examine. An obvious objection to it is, that all percep- 
 tions must be equally true. Protagoras says that 'man' 
 is the ' measure of all things.' But ' man ' is not the only 
 being who has perceptions, and therefore we must hold 
 that every sensitive being is capable of truth; that a pig, or 
 a dog-faced baboon, will be the measure of reality as truly as 
 a man. And if we say that only men are ' measures ' of 
 truth, one man will be as good a 'measure' as another. 
 Why, then, did Protagoras write a treatise on '"Truth"; 
 implying that his ' truth ' was more true than that of other 
 people? If knowledge is identical with each man's per- 
 ceptions, each man is the sole judge of what is true for 
 him, and he does not require Protagoras or anybody else 
 to tell him what is true. 
 
 Protagoras, however, may answer that we have grossly 
 misrepresented his doctrine. He does not hold that all 
 men's perceptions are equally ' good ' ; he only says that 
 they are all equally 'true,' and that so far as perception 
 goes, the impressions of the sick are as true as the im- 
 pressions of the healthy. This, however, does not mean 
 that we cannot help men to have better impressions and 
 therefore better opinions. The physician cures a man by 
 changing the condition of his body, the sophist by changing 
 the condition of his soul. To say that one man is no 
 ' wiser ' than another because every man's perceptions are 
 
CRITICISM OF PHENOMENALISM. 313 
 
 'true,' is mere quibbling; wisdom does not consist in 
 superior knowledge, but in a change in the man, which 
 results in his having better opinions. Philosophy is a 
 practical art, and the older a man gets the more he sees 
 the futility of mere disputes about words. 
 
 The charge made against Protagoras was that his doc- 
 trine made every one equal in wisdom; the defence we 
 have supposed him to make is, that all men are not 
 equally 'wise,' though all opinions are equally 'true.' 
 We have therefore to ask whether these two views are 
 reconcilable with each other. Can we hold both (a) 
 that what ' appears ' to each man ' is ' for him to whom 
 it 'appears,' and (b) that some men are 'wiser' than 
 others? Now, whether some men are wiser than others 
 or not, Protagoras must at least admit that men or- 
 dinarily believe that some men are wiser than others ; 
 in other words, they believe that some opinions are true 
 and others are false. But Protagoras tells us that the 
 opinion of each man is true to him. Now, the majority 
 of opinions are contrary to the doctrine of Protagoras. 
 But, on his own showing, these opinions are true; and as 
 they contradict his opinion, the latter must be false. Hence 
 Protagoras must admit that his doctrine is false. Thus, 
 both according to Protagoras and his opponents, the doc- 
 trine that every opinion is true must be false. What Plato 
 contends, then, is that Protagoras, in affirming every opinion 
 to be true, affirms what is self-contradictory. If every opin- 
 ion is true, the opinion that his doctrine is false must be 
 true, and therefore it is not true that every opinion is true. 
 
 The doctrine of Protagoras, that what appears to each 
 is true, is evidently untenable when it is taken in the 
 widest sense. We cannot say that all judgments or opinions 
 
314 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 are true, merely because to each man at the time his 
 opinion seems true. Protagoras, in holding that one man 
 excels another in wisdom, must admit that this is especi- 
 ally the case in judgments as to health and disease. Nor 
 will he maintain that every man in every state is equally 
 competent to decide what is expedient and inexpedient. 
 The question still remains, however, whether immediate 
 sensations are true or not; and to this difficult problem 
 we must again address ourselves. Let us therefore once 
 more consider the bearing of the doctrine that nothing 
 1 is,' but all is ' coming to be,' upon the Protagorean view 
 that "knowledge is nothing but sensible perception." 
 
 Now, the followers of Heraclitus tell us that there are 
 two kinds of motion or change : (a) local motion (<o/xx), 
 which is either transposition or revolution, (b) alteration 
 (aAAoiWis). Since these thinkers deny that anything is 
 ever at rest, they must hold that all things change in 
 both ways. Now, we saw before that perception arises 
 from a change taking place both in agent and patient, so 
 that the object becomes qualified (iroiov n) and the 
 patient a percipient. But, if there must be change both 
 in the v/ay of local movement and of alteration, the 
 quality which comes to be must itself be in process of 
 change, and so also must the corresponding sensation. 
 But, if neither the sensible nor sensation can be said to 
 1 be,' but only to ' become,' neither can be named, for as 
 we try to name it, it has become something else. Pro- 
 tagoras tells us that 'knowledge is sensation'; but, now 
 that we have discovered sensation to be in flux, we must 
 rather say that it 'is,' and 'is not,' sensation. Thus the 
 doctrine of the followers of Heraclitus, instead of sup- 
 porting the view of Protagoras, overthrows it. 
 
CRITICISM OF PHENOMENALISM. 315 
 
 We may therefore set aside as untenable the doctrine 
 that " knowledge consists in nothing but sensation." And, 
 indeed, it may be shown in a more direct way that sen- 
 sation in itself gives no knowledge. The senses are 
 merely the means or organs by which we obtain a know- 
 ledge of things. Though they have each their appropriate 
 object, they cannot bring different objects together and 
 pronounce each to be identical with itself and different 
 from the others, or determine each as a unity, or 
 observe their likeness and unlikeness. This can only 
 be done by that which is itself a unity, a unity to which 
 we may give the name 'soul.' Those common character- 
 istics are grasped only by the 'soul.' Thus, on the one 
 hand, the 'soul' perceives the sensible qualities of objects 
 through the senses, and, on the other hand, it thinks 
 their 'reality,' their 'likeness' and 'unlikeness,' 'identity' 
 and 'difference,' purely through itself. Knowledge of 
 reality or truth is therefore dependent upon reason, not 
 upon sensation ; and only by the exercise of reason can 
 we come into contact with the real nature of things. 
 
 B. ARISTOTLE'S CRITICISM. 1 
 
 While Aristotle's criticism of phenomenalism is in sub- 
 stantial agreement with that of Plato, it differs in being 
 more confident in tone, and more positive in character. 
 In the Theaetetus, at least, Plato is still in search of a true 
 theory of knowledge, and though he is convinced that 
 the Protagorean theory is untenable, and that any true 
 theory must be based upon reason, not upon sense, he 
 has as yet no systematic doctrine to put in its place. 
 
 1 Met. r, 5, 1009% 6-6, ion b , 22. 
 
316 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Aristotle, on the other hand, has a fully rounded system, 
 which seems to him to explain both knowledge and 
 reality, and he therefore expresses without hesitation his 
 conviction that phenomenalism is false, and his own 
 doctrine true. Like Plato he connects the views of 
 earlier thinkers with the doctrine of Protagoras, but he 
 points out more explicitly the affiliation of the one with 
 the other, tracing them back to a denial in the one case 
 of any permanence in things, and in the other case to a 
 denial of any universality in thought. These two negations, 
 as he argues, rest upon a violation of the first principles 
 of knowledge, which are at the same time first principles 
 of reality. Those principles are mainly these two : (i) 
 that "the same characteristic cannot at once belong and 
 not belong to the same thing in the same relation," and 
 (2) that "all real judgments must be either affirmative or 
 negative." It is in connection with his exposition of these 
 two principles that he is led to examine phenomenalism ; 
 and what he is mainly concerned to show is, that in both 
 its forms phenomenalism violates them, and is therefore 
 destructive both of knowledge and of reality. 
 
 The phenomenalism of the earliest thinkers, as well as 
 that of Protagoras, Aristotle regards as based upon the 
 assumption that the sensible is the real. Now, sensible 
 things, as those thinkers could not but see, are in con- 
 tinual change ; and as in this change opposite character- 
 istics arise, they were led to deny that anything has a 
 definite and unchangeable nature. Nothing, as it seemed 
 to them, can arise from what 'is not,' but only from what 
 1 is ' ; and therefore we must suppose that the opposite 
 characteristics which things at any time display are actually 
 present in them. But if this union of opposites in the 
 
CRITICISM OF PHENOMENALISM. 317 
 
 same thing is admitted, we introduce contradiction into 
 the very nature of things. The principle, that opposite 
 characteristics cannot belong to the same thing, is thus 
 tacitly denied, and with it the possibility of knowledge. 
 We cannot therefore be surprised to find Democritus 
 saying that either nothing is absolutely true, or at least 
 we cannot discover it. Finding the sensible to be in 
 continual change, it was naturally held by those who 
 assumed that reality can only be presented in sense, that 
 nothing could be said about it. The followers of 
 Heraclitus therefore accuse him of not going far enough, 
 when he denied that we can enter the same river twice ; 
 what he should have said is, that we cannot enter it even 
 once. A consistent phenomenalism must in fact be speech- 
 less; for we cannot possibly name that which even as we 
 name it has changed into something else. 
 
 The phenomenalism of Protagoras may be formulated 
 in the proposition that "every opinion or appearance is 
 true " (to, Sokovvto. Travra icrrlv d\r)6rj koj, t<x (fjaivofxeva). 
 Like the doctrines of the early thinkers, it assumes that 
 the sensible is the real. The sensible, however, it is said, 
 has no permanent characteristics, but presents itself differ- 
 ently to different persons and to the same individual at 
 different times. The Protagoreans, therefore, argue that 
 there is no reality but appearance. 
 
 Aristotle, then, finds that these two forms of phenome- 
 nalism spring from the same root, and equally involve a 
 denial of the first principles of knowledge ; in fact, they are 
 correlative aspects of the same falsehood. For, if we say 
 with the one that opposite characteristics are combined 
 in the same thing, or, more definitely, that a thing at once 
 'is' and 'is not,' it is obvious that we must affirm all 
 
318 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 opinions, and therefore contradictory opinions, to be 
 equally true, which is precisely the doctrine of Protagoras. 
 Conversely, if we say that all opinions, and therefore 
 contradictory opinions, are true, we evidently assume that a 
 thing contains opposite characteristics, which is the doctrine 
 of the earlier phenomenalists. Both theories make know- 
 ledge in any proper sense impossible, and it will therefore 
 be advisable to examine each of them in turn. 
 
 The earlier thinkers, as we have seen, make the assump- 
 tion that whatever a thing is, it must be all at once. Now, 
 this assumption involves the preconception that per- 
 manence is incompatible with change; whereas the truth 
 is, that every finite object is permanent in change. The 
 real nature of a thing is not given in sense, but can only 
 be grasped by thought, because its real nature is revealed 
 only in the totality of the phases through which it passes. 
 We have therefore to distinguish between what a thing 
 is 'potentially' (Swa/xet) and what it is 'actually' (kvepyda). 
 Now, when it is assumed that a thing 'actually' contains 
 within it all the characteristics which it at any time 
 displays, and therefore opposite characteristics, it is over- 
 looked that what a thing is 'potentially' it is not yet 
 'actually.' The acorn is the oak 'potentially,' but the 
 acorn does not 'actually' contain in itself all the charac- 
 teristics by which the oak is determined. The earlier 
 thinkers were unable to see how that which ' is ' could 
 arise from that which 'is not' What misled them was 
 the consideration that nothing 'real' can arise out of 
 'non-entity.' This is perfectly true, but it is also true 
 and this is what they entirely overlooked that what 'is' 
 arises from that which 'is not' actually, but can only be 
 said to ' be ' potentially. Failing to grasp this distinction, 
 
CRITICISM OF PHENOMENALISM. 319 
 
 they were led to affirm the actual combination of opposites 
 in the same thing, a doctrine which logically leads to the 
 conclusion that nothing whatever has any determinate 
 nature. Now, if nothing has a determinate nature, we 
 can make no real judgments, because whatever we affirm 
 of a thing may be at the same time denied. This form 
 of phenomenalism, therefore, makes all significant speech 
 impossible. 
 
 The other form of phenomenalism also denies that 
 things have any determinate nature. Making sensations 
 or rather immediate presentations, even those which occur 
 in dreams, the condition of reality, it concludes that 
 nothing is 'real' but what 'appears,' and thus it abolishes 
 the distinction between the momentary affection and the 
 permanent 'nature' or 'form' of the thing. But every 
 perception is relative to the object perceived, and if we 
 deny all definiteness of the latter, there can be no dis- 
 tinction between the sensation of the moment and the 
 real object. For it is only thought (vovs) that can grasp 
 the 'formative principle' (eiSos) which is operative in the 
 process through which the thing passes, and which con- 
 stitutes its actuality. The Protagoreans, assuming the 
 changes of feeling to be the sole criterion of reality, 
 cannot avoid the conclusion that all judgments are equally 
 true, and therefore equally false. Their doctrine, when 
 precisely stated, amounts to this : that what ' appears ' is 
 true to the person to whom it ' appears,' when, so far as, 
 and in the manner in which, it 'appears.' When thus 
 limited, the doctrine simply means that there is no real 
 nature of things whatever. And as it reduces reality to 
 an infinite number of separate things or 'appearances,' 
 it destroys the possibility of judgment. We must there- 
 
320 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 fore conclude that phenomenalism, in both its forms, is 
 inherently self-contradictory. No true theory of know- 
 ledge can be based upon a tacit denial of the determinate 
 nature of things and of the fundamental laws of thought. 
 Knowledge proper, or science (t7rto-T?7p7), is based upon 
 universal judgments, which express the essential nature 
 of things, and the primary condition of all such judgments 
 is the principle that every judgment must have one 
 definite meaning; with its corollary, that every judgment 
 must either affirm or deny. 
 
 II. ARISTOTLE'S DEFINITION OF PHILOSOPHY. 1 
 
 The analysis of Aristotle's criticism of phenomenalism 
 may be fitly supplemented by a statement of the process 
 by which he reaches a positive determination of the 
 problem of philosophy. The fundamental conception 
 which underlies his whole view of things is suggested by 
 the opening words of the Metaphysics. "All men, 7 we 
 are told, " have by nature (<vcm) a desire for know- 
 ledge." 2 In other words, to strive after a comprehension 
 of reality is characteristic of man or constitutes the 
 highest form of his activity. For to Aristotle the very 
 existence of man, as we may say, consists in the realiza- 
 tion of his functions. These are an end in themselves, 
 and, when we find out what the highest of his functions 
 
 *See Chapter i., pp. 2, 3. 
 
 2 Ilavres &vdpwTroi rod elSevaL dpiyovrai <pti<rei. The position of 
 <piau gives it special emphasis. 
 
Aristotle's definition of philosophy. 321 
 
 is, we have discovered 'what' man is. That the essential 
 nature of man can be completely realized only in the 
 knowledge of reality is manifest from the universal effort 
 after such knowledge; an effort which begins to reveal 
 its deeper meaning even in the first and simplest phase 
 of his conscious life, and in each successive phase 
 discloses more clearly the end which impels it onward 
 from the first. That end is the comprehension of the 
 actual as it is, or a scientific grasp of the first principles 
 of existence. Thus interpreting the conscious life of man, 
 Aristotle proceeds to pass in review the various phases 
 of knowledge, endeavouring to show that these, as they 
 arise out of each other, are the gradual unfolding of that 
 desire for a knowledge of reality which is an expression 
 of man's highest function. 1 
 
 The first form in which this disinterested love of 
 knowledge is manifested is in sensible perception. That 
 even here there is obscurely working that desire for 
 knowledge as an end in itself which is the consummation 
 of human faculty, is indicated by the pleasure which all 
 men take in the perceptions of sense, and especially in 
 the perceptions of sight ; for the existence of this pleasure 
 in the mere exercise of a function implies that in the 
 apprehension of the distinctive features of sensible objects, 
 apart from the value of the knowledge thus gained in the 
 satisfaction of our wants, we feel that we are realizing 
 our own nature. Sensible perception is for Aristotle a 
 discriminative faculty (Svva/Ms KpvriKrj) ; it is not the mere 
 occurrence of a state of feeling, but contains within it 
 
 iMet. A, 1, 980% 21. Cf. E. N., X. 8, 1178*, 7, and J. A. 
 Stewart's Notes on the Nichomachean Ethics of Aristotle, i. 1-5. 
 
32 2 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 a certain implicit exercise of judgment. Such a faculty 
 is possessed even by the lower animals, and, indeed, is 
 the characteristic mark of the animal as distinguished 
 from the plant ; for, while both react upon the external 
 object, the animal does not take the object up into itself, 
 but reproduces in itself its sensible properties. The 
 superiority of the sense of sight consists in the fulness 
 with which it discriminates the ' form ' of things, and in 
 this respect it is more theoretical than hearing, though 
 no doubt hearing, as the medium of articulate sounds, 
 incidentally affords a higher degree of knowledge. The 
 especial pleasure, then, which accompanies the exercise 
 of that sense which yields the most complete knowledge 
 of sensible reality shows how strong is our love of know- 
 ledge. Thus man, though he shares with the lower 
 animals the faculty of sensible perception, reveals even 
 at this stage the germs of his higher nature; for, unlike 
 them, he enjoys the mere apprehension of things irre- 
 spective of its connection with the satisfaction of his 
 immediate wants. 1 
 
 A higher stage of knowledge than sensible perception 
 is reached by man in experience (eprci/na), the transition 
 being effected by the intermediation of memory (/>tv>j^), 
 which consists in the survival in the soul of an image 
 (<t>dvTao-[xa) when the sensible object is no longer present. 
 Some of the higher animals have memory, but only man 
 converts various remembrances into a single experience, 
 or at least, as Aristotle cautiously says, " the animals 
 have little experience." The superiority of man arises 
 
 ^let. A, I, 980% 22-27. 
 An. ii. 2, 413% 1; 426'', 10; E. N. X. 4, H74 b , 20. 
 
Aristotle's definition of philosophy. 323 
 
 from his relating or ratiocinative faculty (Adyos), which 
 enables him to grasp what is universal or common in a 
 number of instances. Thus, when we remember that 
 a certain remedy cured Socrates, Callias, and others of 
 a particular disease, we are said to have an 'experience.' 
 It is obvious that we have at this stage advanced a step 
 nearer to the explicit comprehension of the principles or 
 laws of real things. 1 
 
 The desire for knowledge has not yet reached its goal; 
 and therefore experience gives rise to art {t^x^Vi) an d 
 science (l7rio-r^^), in which there is an explicit con- 
 sciousness of the universal or law, as freed from its 
 involution in the particular instance and separated from 
 what is accidental and irrelevant. 2 We now grasp the 
 essential nature of a whole class of things. The scien- 
 tific physician knows the cure for a particular disease, 
 because he has grasped in thought the principle which 
 rules in all particular instances. Thus in art and science 
 our desire for knowledge has led us, not only beyond 
 the ever-changing objects of sensible perception, but even 
 beyond the experience of what is presented in a number 
 of instances, to the universal law which applies to all 
 objects of a certain class; and it is only with the dis- 
 covery of the universal law that the desire for knowledge 
 attains its end, so far as a particular species of reality is 
 concerned. There is a still higher stage of knowledge, as 
 will immediately appear, but we can at least say that in 
 
 1 Met. A, 1, 980% 27-981 , 2. Cf. Anal. Post. ii. 19, 99V35. 
 De Mem. ii. 451% 15. 
 
 2 Aristotle does not here distinguish between art and science, 
 because both involve a knowledge of the universal. 
 
324 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 art and science the disinterested love of knowledge attains 
 to a relative satisfaction. 1 
 
 It may indeed be objected, that experience is often 
 more valuable than art. And no doubt this is largely 
 true in practical life, where we have to deal with the 
 particular case, and therefore must discern the universal 
 or law as modified by the circumstances under which it 
 operates. The physician must be able to determine 
 accurately the disease from which a particular man is 
 suffering, and unless he has the skill born of experience 
 he will be unable to effect a cure, however well he may 
 know the theory of medicine. The merely theoretical 
 physician is apt to blunder in his diagnosis, and to dis- 
 play his inferiority to the practical physician, who has had 
 much experience even if he knows little about theory. 
 But, though all this is true, we are justified in regarding 
 art as a higher form of knowledge than experience, because 
 it involves a comprehension of the principle which makes 
 the object what it is, and it is only in such comprehen- 
 sion that knowledge attains to its proper form. Esti- 
 mated by this standard, we regard those who are familiar 
 with the principles of an art as possessed of more 
 'wisdom' (o-o<arre/)ot) than those who are limited to 
 experience. We have more respect for the builder who 
 can give a reason for the manner in which every stone 
 is disposed than for the ordinary workman who is a 
 creature of habit and knows no more why he does a 
 certain thing than if he were a lifeless being. The 
 superiority of art over experience is also shown in the 
 fact that, as based upon the knowledge of principles, it 
 
 x Met. A, 1, 981", 2-12. Cf. Anal. Post. ii. -19, ioo% 6. 
 
ARISTOTLE S DEFINITION OF PHILOSOPHY. 325 
 
 can be taught to others, whereas experience is a sort of 
 tact of which its possessor can give no intelligible 
 account. 1 
 
 That the superiority of art and science over experience 
 consists in the knowledge of principles is evident from 
 their contrast to sensible perception. The senses cer- 
 tainly give us our knowledge of particulars, and yet we 
 do not speak of the perceptions of sense as ' wisdom ' 
 (<ro(f>ia), the reason obviously being that they neither 
 imply an apprehension of what is universal nor an insight 
 into principles. It is therefore probable that he who first 
 advanced beyond the ordinary perceptions of sense to the 
 stage of art was admired, not merely because his discovery 
 was of practical utility, but because he differed from others 
 in the possession of 'wisdom.' This is confirmed by the 
 order in which the various arts arose. Those arts were 
 first discovered which were directly connected with the 
 necessary wants; next came those which ministered to 
 refinement; and last of all were developed such arts as 
 mathematics, which are entirely independent of practical 
 utility. We can thus understand how it happened that 
 mathematics was first cultivated in Egypt, where there 
 was a priestly caste with the abundant leisure essential to 
 the disinterested contemplation of truth. 2 
 
 The whole of the first chapter of the Metaphysics, a 
 summary of which has just been given, is a development 
 of the proposition with which Aristotle starts, that " all 
 men have by nature a desire for knowledge." This desire 
 he conceives to be operative in the very beginning of 
 
 1 Met. A, 1, 981% i2- b 9. 
 2 Met. A, 981 b , 9-982% 3. 
 
326 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 conscious life, and gradually to free itself from the impure 
 form in which it first appears as it finds its proper object. 
 (a) Even in the first phase of knowledge that of sensible 
 perception the desire of knowledge for its own sake is 
 not inoperative; it shows itself in the pleasure which 
 accompanies the mere exercise of the senses, and especi- 
 ally the sense of sight, the most purely theoretical of all, 
 irrespective of any relation to our practical needs, (b) At 
 the stage of experience we have risen above sensible par- 
 ticulars so far as to have grasped what is common to a 
 number of instances. (c) In art the principle or law is 
 freed from the accidents of the individual things in which 
 it operates, and made an explicit object of thought, (d) 
 Lastly, in the theoretical arts or sciences the sole object 
 is truth, which is valued purely for itself, and no longer 
 partly as a means to the production of some external 
 object. The conclusion therefore is that man by his very 
 nature has a disinterested love of truth, and that the 
 love of truth can be satisfied only by the knowledge of 
 principles. Aristotle, however, has still in view a higher 
 stage of knowledge that knowledge which rises above 
 the principles discovered by the special sciences and his 
 next step is to show how the love of knowledge carries 
 man forward to the comprehension of the first principles 
 of all things, or, in other words, to the purely speculative 
 point of view of metaphysics. 
 
 In seeking to define the nature of science in general, 
 Aristotle has traced for himself the various phases through 
 which knowledge passes, as it emerges from its simplest 
 form, attains to relative universality, and finally discerns 
 the principle or law involved in a whole class of things. 
 Now that his aim is to determine the sphere of metaphysics, 
 
ARISTOTLE S DEFINITION OF PHILOSOPHY. 327 
 
 or first philosophy, he starts from the conception of the 
 'wise' man, or philosopher, as it lies embedded in the 
 popular consciousness and is revealed in current judgments. 
 He has still in his mind the idea of the pure or disinterested 
 knowledge of reality as the culmination of man's desire 
 for knowledge, and he now seeks to show that even the 
 popular mind tacitly recognizes that science only reaches 
 its goal in metaphysics. It must be observed, however, 
 that Aristotle does not simply gather together a number 
 of current sayings, but, after his usual manner, tries to 
 find out what underlies and gives them their force; in 
 other words, he sees in them inarticulate expressions of 
 his own idea of philosophy. 
 
 The ordinary view of ' wisdom ' recognizes that philo- 
 sophy consists in a knowledge of the universal; but if 
 this is true, First Philosophy must deal with that which 
 in the strictest sense of the term is universal ; in other 
 words, with the presuppositions of all reality. The popular 
 mind also sees that philosophy is at the other extreme 
 from sensible perception ; and, if we follow out this idea, 
 we shall conclude that First Philosophy deals with the 
 last stage of knowledge, that stage in which the desire 
 for knowledge has reached its final form. It is also held 
 that philosophy consists in that knowledge which is in- 
 dubitable, and such knowledge must be based upon insight 
 into the 'reason why' reality cannot be otherwise than it is. 
 And, finally, philosophy is held to be that science which 
 is absolutely disinterested, and contains the ultimate princi- 
 ples of things, or, what is the same thing, which grasps 
 the meaning of each form of reality as viewed in organic 
 connection with the whole. Thus, by following out the 
 implications of current ideas as to the nature of philosophy, 
 
328 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Aristotle reaches the conception of metaphysics as the 
 science which contains the universal, rational, indubitable 
 and ultimate principles of reality. 1 
 
 Turning now to philosophy itself, Aristotle finds in its 
 origin further confirmation of his fundamental idea that 
 it is the ultimate form of that pure love of knowledge which 
 is characteristic of man. For, how did philosophy arise? 
 It was born of wonder, that curiously mixed feeling which 
 arises from inability to comprehend what yet is felt to 
 be somehow comprehensible. At first men were unable 
 to explain the apparent contradiction in objects lying 
 around them, and later they tried to account for the 
 strange movements of more remote objects the sun, moon, 
 and stars and for the origin of all things. Wonder is 
 accompanied by the consciousness of ignorance, and thus 
 it leads to the desire for knowledge. To this desire a 
 provisional satisfaction is given in the myth; for, as the 
 myth at once gives expression to the feeling of wonder 
 and contains an imaginative theory of the world, we may 
 say that the lover of myth (<fn\6fxvdos;) is, in a sense, a 
 lover of wisdom or philosopher (faXoorofos). If, there- 
 fore, philosophy took its rise in the effort to escape from 
 ignorance, it is evident that the impulse to philosophy is 
 a desire for knowledge itself, not for knowledge as a 
 means of satisfying our practical needs. This conclusion 
 is confirmed by the historical fact already referred to, 
 that the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake arose only 
 after provision had been made for the necessary wants 
 and even the comforts and refinements of life. Just as 
 the free man is self-sufficient and independent of others, 
 
 ^let. A, 2, 985" 4- b 7. 
 
AGNOSTICISM AND SCEPTICISM. 329 
 
 so philosophy is the only free science, for it alone is an 
 end in itself. It may even seem that such a liberation 
 from the pressure of practical life is beyond the reach 
 of man, and is reserved for God alone. But this idea 
 rests upon the old falsehood of the envy of the gods; 
 and we must rather hold that philosophy is divine, both 
 because in it man lives a god-like life of pure contem- 
 plation and because its ultimate object is God, the source 
 and explanation of all reality. Thus First Philosophy or 
 metaphysics lifts us above the unhappy state of wonder 
 and convinces us that from an ultimate or divine point 
 of view the world could not be otherwise than it is. 1 
 Aristotle therefore defines philosophy as " the science of 
 reality as such (to ov fj 6v) and the characteristics in- 
 separable from reality," thus marking it off from such 
 special sciences as mathematics, which concentrate their 
 attention upon a part of reality, and go on to determine 
 the characteristics of this part. 2 
 
 III. AGNOSTICISM AND SCEPTICISM. 3 
 
 The distinction between agnosticism and scepticism is 
 not very clearly marked, but we may say that the former 
 does not deny all knowledge, but only knowledge of 
 absolute reality, while the latter professes to deny all 
 knowledge. The one bases its denial upon the limitation 
 of human knowledge to phenomena, the other upon the 
 
 x Met. A, 2, 982 b 11-983*23. 
 
 2 Met. T, 1, ioo3 b 2i. 
 
 3 This Note is supplementary to Chapter ii. 
 
33 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 asserted subjectivity of all human judgments, no matter 
 what their object may be. Logically, however, agnosticism 
 results in scepticism ; for, if nothing can come within the 
 sphere of knowledge except the phenomenal, all our judg- 
 ments must be subjective. On the other hand, scepticism, as 
 has often been pointed out, assumes that it is itself true, 
 and so far it is dogmatic. A consistent scepticism would 
 be sceptical even of the truth of its own scepticism, and 
 as it would then neither affirm nor deny nor even doubt, 
 it would be simply without meaning; for no one can 
 affirm, deny, or doubt if there is nothing affirmed, denied, 
 or doubted. Scepticism, as a philosophical theory, has 
 therefore practically come to mean the denial of all 
 objective judgments about reality. As this form of scep- 
 ticism has recently found an exponent in Mr. Alfred 
 Sidgwick, who would probably object to be classed as an 
 agnostic, it seems advisable to inquire whether the ob- 
 jections raised in the text to agnosticism do or do not 
 apply to scepticism as thus understood. 
 
 "What is the reason," asks Mr. Sidgwick, "why those 
 who claim to possess some unconditional knowledge of 
 reality seek to avoid an encounter with the sceptic? 
 Why are they still content to assume that the only 
 sceptical opponent they have to face is either one who 
 professes to know that 'reality is such that our knowledge 
 cannot reach it,' or else one who 'condemns all reflexion' 
 or, at any rate, careful reflexion 'on the essence of 
 things?"' 1 
 
 It would seem, from this passage, that the writer (i) is 
 doubtful whether there is any 'unconditional knowledge 
 
 1 Mind, N.S., iii. 336. 
 
AGNOSTICISM AND SCEPTICISM. 33 1 
 
 of reality'; but (2), unlike the agnostic, he refuses to say 
 whether or not 'reality is such that our knowledge can- 
 not reach it.' In short, he neither denies nor affirms that 
 reality can be known, but contents himself with calling 
 upon those who claim to know reality to prove their 
 case. The "genuine sceptical question," he tells us, "is 
 this : What do you mean, and what test of its truth 
 would you allow?" 1 In other words, any one who claims 
 to know what reality is must be able to state in clear 
 and intelligible language what he understands by 'reality,' 
 and he must be willing to meet the objections which may 
 be raised to its knowability. So far no one, I think, 
 would object to what Mr. Sidgwick demands in the name 
 of scepticism; though it might fairly be objected that such 
 a guarded attitude is not, in any proper sense, distinctive 
 of scepticism ; it is in fact the claim of a rational being 
 to be convinced by reason. It soon becomes apparent, 
 however, that Mr. Sidgwick means much more than this. 
 Like other professed sceptics he has a very positive con- 
 viction that 'reality' cannot be known. "The picture of 
 reality obeying the laws of human thought is," he says, 
 " as evidently anthropomorphic as any of the other now 
 discarded pictures of the Deity. It is true that an in- 
 consistent reality is not intelligible to us ; but that is per- 
 haps a reason why we should confess our failure to under- 
 stand it." 2 If these words mean anything, they surely 
 mean that there is 'reality,' but that we cannot determine 
 its nature, because to it ' the laws of human thought ' 
 are not applicable. It is further implied that one of these 
 'laws' is the law of self-consistency. I am somewhat 
 
 x Ibid. 336. 2 Ibid. p. 338. 
 
332 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 puzzled, however, by the hypothetical way in which the 
 writer states his conclusion : he does not say outright 
 that we cannot 'understand' reality, but only that 'per- 
 haps ' we do not understand it. Why ' perhaps ' ? If the 
 'laws of human thought,' including the law of non-contra- 
 diction, are 'anthropomorphic,' how can there be any 
 doubt of their inapplicability to reality? Why, then, is it 
 not maintained without reservation that we do not 'under- 
 stand' reality? Does the sceptical attitude require us to 
 doubt whether 'the laws of human thought' are, or are 
 not, applicable to it ? A genuine scepticism would certainly 
 be sceptical of all ' laws ' ; but this does not seem to be 
 the view of Mr. Sidgwick, or he would have said that 
 'the laws of human thought' are 'perhaps' as 'anthro- 
 pomorphic as any of the other now discarded pictures of 
 the Deity,' whereas he announces, with perfect confidence, 
 that these 'laws' are 'evidently anthropomorphic' Now, 
 it seems to me that what is thus afhrmed with such ab- 
 solute confidence is by no means so 'evident' as the 
 writer seems to imagine. What is here meant by 'an- 
 thropomorphic'? Were it proved that there are 'laws' 
 which are peculiar to the human intelligence, no doubt we 
 should fall into an indefensible form of anthropomorphism, 
 if we spoke of reality as ' obeying the laws of human 
 thought.' But no one who maintains the knowability of 
 reality could consistently adopt this view : on the contrary, 
 it is only those theories that oppose the phenomenal and 
 the real which distinguish between the laws of the human 
 intelligence and the nature of reality. And this is Mr. 
 Sidgwick's own view; for he tells us that the laws of 
 human thought are not applicable to reality. The idealist 
 view, on the other hand, is that there are no 'laws' 
 
AGNOSTICISM AND SCEPTICISM. 333 
 
 peculiar to 'human thought'; that the opposition of 
 'human thought' to a thought different in kind has no 
 meaning; and, in fact, that any opposition between reality 
 as it is and reality as it is thought is ultimately self-con- 
 tradictory, since for us there is no possible reality except 
 that which is thought. 
 
 The charge of ' anthropomorphism ' therefore recoils 
 upon the exponent of scepticism. But, even apart from 
 this defect, Mr. Sidgwick's position seems to be suicidal. 
 He objects to be classed among those who 'profess to 
 know that reality is such that our knowledge cannot 
 reach it.' Yet, surely, if he holds that ' the laws of human 
 thought' are not applicable to reality, he must deny that 
 we have a knowledge of reality. Mr. Sidgwick quotes 
 with approval Mr. Bradley's remark that "science is a 
 poor thing if measured by the wealth of the real universe." 
 The remark is appropriate in the mouth of Mr. Bradley, 
 who claims that we have to a certain extent indubitable 
 knowledge of reality; but it is difficult to see how it can 
 consistently be made by one who declares the 'laws of 
 human thought ' to be inapplicable to the 'real universe.' 
 If we know nothing of the 'real universe,' how can we 
 tell whether it is richer or poorer than what 'science' 
 reveals to us ? One would rather have supposed that, for 
 aught we can tell, the 'real universe' may be comparable 
 to a mad dream : it is, in fact, difficult to understand what 
 else it can possibly be for one who finds nothing im- 
 possible in an 'inconsistent reality,' i.e., a reality which, as 
 'not intelligible to us,' must be for us the negation of 
 the intelligible. 
 
 We have thus found the most recent exponent of scepti- 
 cism basing his doubt of the doctrine, which maintains the 
 
334 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 knowability of the absolute, upon the dogmatic assumption 
 of a reality to which 'the laws of human thought' are inappli- 
 cable as indeed they may well be, when reality is conceived 
 as possibly ' inconsistent' If Idealism is to be overthrown, 
 it will have to be assailed by some other weapon than 
 this. But perhaps Mr. Sidgwick is stronger in attack than 
 when he tries to tell us the nature of that reality which 
 he does not know. " What is the reason," he asks, " why 
 those who claim to possess some unconditional knowledge 
 of reality seek to avoid an encounter with the sceptic?" 
 The meaning of this question, which is by no means clear, 
 seems to be explained by another of the writer's dogmatic 
 assertions. "To profess that a piece of knowledge is 
 unconditional, and at the same time to admit that it is 
 in any respect incomplete, is a contradiction." 1 It appears 
 from this very confident utterance that, when the writer 
 speaks of ' unconditional knowledge,' he means ' knowledge 
 which is not in any respect incomplete.' His question 
 therefore is : " What is the reason why those who claim 
 to possess absolutely complete knowledge seek to avoid an 
 encounter with the sceptic?" Are there thinkers who 
 make this preposterous claim ? Mr. Sidgwick will certainly 
 not find any representative of this class among sane men. 
 What is claimed is not an absolutely complete knowledge 
 of reality, but a knowledge that reality is absolutely complete, 
 which is a very different thing. It thus turns out that 
 Mr. Sidgwick has merely repeated in other words the 
 old confusion between complete and absolute knowledge, 
 a confusion with which we have already dealt. 2 The 
 sceptic who assumes the truth of his denial of any absolute 
 
 i/NK p. 337- 2 See pp. 37 ff. 
 
AGNOSTICISM AND SCEPTICISM. 335 
 
 or unconditional judgment must admit that here at least 
 he has a 'piece of knowledge which is unconditional,' 
 even if he denies all other 'unconditional' judgments. 
 Why should it be inadmissible for the idealist to assume 
 that which is the basis of any judgment whatever ? This 
 of course does not prove that we can determine the nature 
 of the absolute, but it shows that the possibility of such 
 a determination cannot be disproved in limine by the 
 well-worn fallacy that the claim to have an ' unconditional ' 
 judgment which merely means a true judgment involves 
 a claim to omniscience. There is nothing absurd in saying 
 that the absolute is a self-conscious and self-determining 
 intelligence, if it can be shown that every other conception 
 of it contradicts the fundamental principle, that nothing can 
 be in the absolute sense true which is incompatible with the 
 possibility of any judgment whatever. 
 
 To avoid misunderstanding, it may be well to add that 
 scepticism assumes a different form and has a deeper mean- 
 ing when it is viewed merely as a stage in the process by 
 which higher truth is reached. When Mr. Bradley, for 
 example, speaks of a "sceptical study of first principles," 
 he means the process in which it is shown that certain ways 
 of conceiving reality which put forward a claim to be ulti- 
 mate have no right to the claim, as is shown by the fact 
 that, when they are so regarded, they contradict them- 
 selves. Scepticism, in this sense, is the negative side 
 in the process of framing an adequate conception of the 
 true meaning of the world, and derives its force from the 
 comprehension of a principle in which the sceptical attitude 
 is transformed into positive insight. Dogmatic systems 
 of philosophy see only the positive side of this process, 
 sceptical systems only the negative side, speculative philo- 
 
336 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 sophy sees both in their correlation. An adequate system 
 of philosophy is therefore neither dogmatic nor sceptical, 
 but constructive : it is a rational system in which all the 
 conceptions by which reality is grasped are viewed in 
 their orderly connection, as illuminated by that conception 
 or ' Idea,' as Hegel calls it, with a tacit reference to the 
 Platonic iSea or etSos and the Kantian Idee which is 
 presupposed in all, but is only explicitly known as the 
 final result of the whole process. 
 
 IV. MATHEMATICAL KNOWLEDGE. 1 
 
 A. LOCKE'S THEORY OF MATHEMATICS. 
 Historically Mill's view of mathematics is the outcome 
 of the doctrines successively developed by Locke, Berkeley, 
 and Hume. The discussion in the text will therefore 
 receive some additional illustration from a consideration 
 of the doctrines of these thinkers. 
 
 The peculiarity of Locke's theory of mathematical know- 
 ledge is that he regards it as containing universal and 
 necessary propositions, which are due to the mind itself, 
 and yet are applicable to real things. In assigning this 
 unique position to it, he is neither consistent with himself 
 nor in agreement with later empiricists like Mill. Know- 
 ledge is denned by him to be " the perception of the 
 agreement or disagreement of any of our ideas." 2 The 
 'ideas' which are thus perceived to agree or disagree 
 
 1 Supplementary to Chapters iii. and iv. 
 
 2 Essay concerning Human Understanding, iv. 1. I. 
 
locke's theory of mathematics. 337 
 
 are either (a) 'the simple ideas which are all from 
 things themselves, and of which the mind can have no 
 more or other than what are suggested to it,' or (b) the 
 'complex ideas which are the workmanship of the mind.' 
 The latter, again, are ideas of modes, substances, or rela- 
 tions. Thus, 'gratitude' is a 'mode,' 'man' or 'horse' 
 is a ' substance,' while ' greater and less,' ' cause and 
 effect,' are 'relations.' 1 So far there seems to be a clear 
 distinction between ' simple ideas ' or sensations, as pro- 
 duced in us by real things, and 'complex ideas,' which 
 are the product of the mind's own operations. A diffi- 
 culty, however, arises from Locke's view that "the mind 
 knows not things immediately, but only by the intro- 
 duction of the ideas it has of them"; 2 for, on this view, 
 knowledge is possible only if there is a "conformity 
 between our ideas and the reality of things." As Locke 
 himself puts it : " How shall the mind, when it perceives 
 nothing but its own ideas, know that they agree with 
 things themselves?" The objection may also be raised 
 that knowledge cannot be the mere 'perception of the 
 agreement or disagreement of our ideas,' since it would 
 seem to follow that whenever we perceive the agreement 
 or disagreement of two ideas we must have knowledge. 
 Are we to say, then, that any one who has the ideas 
 of a harpy and a centaur, and perceives the 'agree- 
 ment' of each with itself, and its 'disagreement' with 
 the other, has real knowledge? No one would maintain 
 that a harpy or a centaur exists in rerum natura : how 
 then are we to distinguish between that ' perception of 
 the agreement or disagreement of ideas ' which yields real 
 knowledge and that which does not ? 3 
 
 1 Ibid. ii. 12. 2 Ibid. iv. 4. 3. 3 Ibid. iv. 4. ;. 
 
 Y 
 
338 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 This difficulty Locke does not regard as insuperable. 
 
 (1) We have certain 'simple ideas' or sensations, which, 
 as passively received by the mind, 'must necessarily be 
 the product of things operating on the mind in a natural 
 way.' These we can neither make nor unmake, and 
 therefore they must be regarded as caused by real objects 
 external to the mind. It is true that there is nothing in 
 the object precisely corresponding to such 'simple ideas' 
 or sensations as 'whiteness' or 'bitterness,' but there is 
 in the object a 'power' to produce such ideas in us, 
 and, therefore, there is a conformity between such 'simple 
 ideas' and the real nature of things. Locke, however, is 
 compelled to admit that this kind of knowledge, which 
 he calls the ' sensitive knowledge of particular existence,' 
 is not entirely free from doubt. We cannot possibly 
 doubt that the 'idea' of an external object is identical 
 with itself, because here our knowledge is direct or 
 'intuitive.' When we have the idea of 'white,' we can- 
 not fail to perceive that it is ' white ' and not ' black.' 
 This direct or 'intuitive' knowledge, however, we do 
 not possess of the correspondence between our idea of 
 'white' and the external object which we believe to pro- 
 duce it, and therefore our knowledge of the existence 
 of the object has not the same degree of certainty as 
 the 'intuitive' knowledge of our own ideas. We have, 
 however, Locke contends, the greatest 'assurance' that 
 our simple ideas of sensation are produced by 'exterior 
 causes affecting our senses.' , 
 
 (2) Besides these 'simple ideas' we have 'complex 
 ideas' of individual substances. Now, in this case, there 
 is a possibility that our ideas may differ from their 
 'archetypes,' and may 'come short of being real,' either 
 
locke's theory of mathematics. 339 
 
 because the collection of simple ideas in the mind may 
 not correspond to the actual union of qualities in the 
 thing, or because the object is more complex than it is 
 represented to be. As copies or 'ectypes,' our complex 
 ideas of substances must either be a full and accurate 
 counterpart of the 'archetype,' or we shall fail of real 
 knowledge. We do not know the real constitution of 
 the substances, or what is the cause of the union or 
 separation of their qualities, and therefore we can teli 
 nothing about the real nature of things except what we 
 learn from experience and observation. Real knowledge 
 of substances is therefore dependent upon the perception 
 of the co-existence of ideas of sensation. When certain 
 simple ideas have been given together, then, as we may 
 be sure, our knowledge is real so far as it goes, though 
 it never goes very far. 1 
 
 In this account of the knowledge of individual sub- 
 stances Locke speaks as if perception revealed to us 
 the existence of permanent objects; failure in knowledge 
 being due either to a wrong combination of simple ideas 
 or to incompleteness in the number of these ideas. In 
 the course of his inquiry, however, he is led to admit 
 that the knowledge given to us in perception does not 
 extend beyond the moment in which we actually have 
 the perception. "Seeing water at this instant, it is an 
 unquestionable truth to me, that water doth exist ; . . . 
 but being now quite out of sight of the water, it is not 
 certainly known to me that the water doth now exist." 2 
 When I actually have the 'collection of simple ideas' 
 called 'man/ 1 cannot doubt that the man exists; but 
 
 x Ibid, iv. 4. II. 12. 2 Ibid. iv. n. n. 
 
34 
 
 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 with the disappearance of the perception, the certainty 
 of his existence is gone, "since there is no necessary- 
 connection of his existence a minute since with his 
 existence now." 1 Perception, in other words, merely 
 reveals to us a particular combination of predicates in 
 a particular subject at a particular moment. Abstract 
 or general ideas, on the other hand, are the product of 
 the mind's own activity. Whereas the collection of 
 simple ideas which constitutes a perception is the pro- 
 duct of a particular object now and here present, an 
 abstract idea is formed by comparing together a number 
 of such perceptions, and abstracting from "the circum- 
 stances of time and place, and any other idea that may 
 determine them, to this or that particular existence." The 
 ' essence ' of a class of things is simply an ' abstract idea ' 
 based upon the resemblances of things to one another. 
 We have, therefore, to distinguish between the 'real' and 
 the 'nominal essence,' i.e., between the actual constitu- 
 tion of a thing and the abstract idea formed by the 
 mind. Since we cannot predicate of a substance any 
 attributes except those guaranteed by the perception of 
 the moment, all real judgments are singular. General 
 propositions merely state what is contained in an abstract 
 idea, or they are purely analytical. Adding nothing to 
 knowledge, they are ' trifling ' or ' uninstructive.' To say, 
 e.g., that ' gold is soluble in aqua regia ' merely means 
 that in my idea of 'gold' there is contained the attribute 
 of 'solubility in aqua regia.' On the other hand, the 
 proposition, "This piece of gold is soluble in aqua regia," 
 is a real or 'instructive' proposition, because it states an 
 
 ^ Ibid. iv. II. 9. 
 
LOCKE S THEORY OF MATHEMATICS. 34I 
 
 actual fact of perception. On this view there can be no 
 1 general propositions ' on matters of fact, but only singular 
 propositions, and, strictly speaking, only singular proposi- 
 tions in regard to what is actually present here and now. 
 It is, therefore, not surprising that Locke should " suspect 
 a science of nature to be impossible." There can be no 
 ' science of nature' unless universal propositions are pos- 
 sible, and Locke's doctrine makes all such propositions 
 impossible. 
 
 (3) There is another class of ' complex ideas,' which are 
 put upon a different footing from those of substances. The 
 possible failure of knowledge in the case of the latter 
 arises from their relation to real things, which are their 
 'archetypes.' The 'complex ideas' employed in the mathe- 
 matical and moral sciences, on the other hand, have no 
 1 archetypes,' and therefore they cannot distort or fall short 
 of their ' originals.' They cannot misrepresent things, be- 
 cause they do represent them. Here, therefore, knowledge 
 is strictly limited to ideas themselves as combined by the 
 mind in a free act of construction, and hence we can be 
 absolutely certain that " all the knowledge we attain con- 
 cerning these ideas is real, and reaches things themselves." 1 
 Locke therefore holds that mathematical propositions are 
 at once 'general' and 'instructive.' They are 'general' 
 because they rest upon ideas which are always identical 
 with themselves, and they are ' instructive ' because the 
 predicate contains what can be deduced from the subject 
 but is not already contained in it. 2 Thus, starting from the 
 idea of a triangle, the mathematician proceeds to show that 
 it contains two right angles. He considers the truth and 
 
 l Ibid. iv. 4. 5. *lbid. iv. 8. 8. 
 
34 2 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 properties belonging to the triangle " only as they are in 
 idea in his own mind," for " it is possible he never found 
 it existing mathematically, i.e., precisely true in his life." 
 Locke contends, however, that the knowledge thus obtained 
 is " true and certain even of real things existing, because 
 real things are no further concerned, nor intended to be 
 meant by any such propositions, than as things really agree 
 to those archetypes in his mind. Is it true of the idea of a 
 triangle, that its three angles are equal to two right ones ? 
 It is true also of a triangle, wherever it really exists. What- 
 ever other figure exists, that is not exactly answerable to 
 that idea of a triangle in his mind, is not at all concerned in 
 that proposition. And therefore he is certain all his know- 
 ledge concerning such ideas is real knowledge; because 
 intending things no farther than they agree with those his 
 ideas, he is sure what he knows concerning those figures, 
 when they have barely a?i ideal existence in his mind, will 
 hold true of them also, when they have a real existence 
 in matter; his consideration being barely of those figures, 
 which are the same, wherever, or however, they exist." 1 
 
 B. BERKELEY'S THEORY OF MATHEMATICS. 
 
 Locke, as we have seen, finds that we obtain a know- 
 ledge of external things only by the ' intervention ' of 
 ideas; but he regards the reality of those things as 
 guaranteed to us by the fact that, as we cannot make them 
 for ourselves, they must be produced in us by things with- 
 out us. This explanation, however, does not get rid of the 
 difficulty raised by Locke himself in connection with his 
 definition of knowledge as the ' perception of the agree- 
 
 1 Ibid. iv. 4. 6. 
 
BERKELEY S THEORY OF MATHEMATICS. 343 
 
 ment or disagreement of any of our ideas.' The external 
 thing which is said to produce our ideas does not fall 
 within, but without the mind, and therefore it is not known ; 
 or if it is known, it can only be because the ideas of sensa- 
 tion within the mind are referred to something beyond 
 the mind. Such a reference of simple ideas to that which 
 is distinct from them must be due to the activity of the 
 mind itself, and as such it involves the superinduction upon 
 sensation of something not belonging to sensation itself. 
 But, if ideas of sensation have thus to be interpreted by the 
 mind before they can be regarded as revealing to us a real 
 object, it cannot be true that they give us a knowledge of 
 the object. To be consistent with himself Locke must 
 therefore either deny that there is any real object distinct 
 from sensation, or he must admit that reality cannot be 
 revealed to us except by the combination of sensation and 
 thought. The former was the view which Berkeley adopted 
 in his earlier writings, the latter the view elaborated by 
 Kant. 
 
 What Berkeley, then, in his first mind, attempts, is to 
 apply consistently the doctrine of Locke, that knowledge is 
 the " perception of the agreement or disagreement of our 
 ideas." The reality of an object lying beyond the mind 
 is a pure fiction. We cannot possibly go beyond our own 
 'ideas,' and 'ideas' can have no existence except for a 
 conscious subject. With this exclusion of any independent 
 external reality, the difficulty arises of distinguishing be- 
 tween reality and fiction. This difficulty Locke tried to 
 solve by assuming that simple ideas of sensation are known 
 as the product of external things, while fictions are the 
 products of the mind's own activity. Berkeley, having 
 discarded external things, must find in ideas themselves the 
 
 HrJL A'Vwty 
 
344 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 distinction between reality and unreality. How, then, he 
 asked, can we discriminate between real and fictitious 
 ideas? The answer was suggested by Locke's view that 
 simple ideas of sensation are not produced by the mind, 
 whereas fictions are the product of the mind itself. " It 
 is no more than willing," Berkeley tells us, "and straight- 
 way this or that idea arises in my fancy; and by the same 
 power it is obliterated and makes way for another." But 
 "when in broad daylight I open my eyes, it is not in my 
 power to choose whether I shall see or no, or to determine 
 what "particular objects shall present themselves to my 
 view." Moreover, "the ideas of sense are more strong, 
 lively, and distinct than those of the imagination ; they 
 have likewise a steadiness, order, and coherence, and are 
 not excited at random, as those which are the effects of 
 human wills often are, but in a regular train and series." 1 
 Berkeley, then, finds in ideas of sensation themselves the 
 criterion by which they are distinguished from mere fancies. 
 Like Locke, however, he regards the former as effects in 
 the percipient subject of a cause distinct from it. With 
 Locke the proximate cause was body, the ultimate cause 
 the Divine Will ; Berkeley, denying the existence of matter, 
 refers them to God as their cause, by whom they are 
 directly produced in us without the intermediation of body. 
 Having thus identified the real with ideas of sensa- 
 tion, Berkeley has to explain the possibility of science, 
 which, as he admits, must be based upon 'universal' 
 ideas. 2 Locke sought to preserve the reality of mathe- 
 matical knowledge by maintaining that it is based upon 
 'abstract ideas,' which are constructed purely by the 
 
 1 Principles i 28-30. 2 Principles: Intro. , 1 5. 
 
BERKELEY'S THEORY OF MATHEMATICS. 345 
 
 mind itself, so that the propositions derived from them 
 are at once 'general' and 'instructive.' This doctrine 
 Berkeley rejects. The assumption that there are 'abstract 
 ideas' he regards as the main source of error in philo- 
 sophy. 1 It is universally admitted, he says, that the 
 qualities or modes of things never really exist, except as 
 mixed or blended together in the same object; but we 
 are told that the mind is able to consider each quality 
 separately, and thus to frame for itself an abstract idea 
 of the quality in question. 2 Similarly, the mind attains 
 to abstract ideas of concrete things by abstracting from 
 the circumstances and differences which determine them 
 to a particular existence, and retaining only what is 
 common to all. In this way, e.g., we are said to form 
 the 'abstract idea' of 'man' in general, containing the idea 
 of colour, stature, etc., but not of any particular colour, 
 or of any particular stature. 3 Such an 'abstract idea' of 
 'man' Berkeley professes himself unable to form. "The 
 idea of man that I frame to myself must be either of a 
 white, or a black, or a tawny, a straight, or a crooked, 
 a tall, or a low, or a middle-sized man. I cannot by 
 any effort of thought conceive the abstract idea of 'man.' 
 . . . I deny that I can abstract from one another, or 
 conceive separately, those qualities which it is impossible 
 should exist so separated; or that I can frame a general 
 notion, by abstracting from particulars in the manner 
 aforesaid." 4 We cannot, e.g., conceive of motion in 
 abstraction from the body moved, the figure it describes, 
 and its particular direction and velocity; nor of 'man,' 
 as distinguished from Peter, James, and John. 
 
 x lbid. 6. *lbid. 7. 
 
 3 /bid. 9. *ibid. 10. 
 
34^ AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 What Berkeley here says is apt to suggest that he is 
 contending for the existence of things, as having a deter- 
 minate nature, in contrast to mere abstractions, which 
 separate what is really combined and inseparable. We 
 must remember, however, that, on his view, the contrast 
 is not between real things and abstractions, but between 
 particular perceptions and abstract ideas, and therefore 
 what his doctrine affirms is that all real ideas are par- 
 ticular in their own nature, while 'abstract ideas' are 
 merely fictions of abstraction to which no reality what- 
 ever corresponds. Now, if every real idea is an idea of 
 sensation, the difficulty arises that it exists only at the 
 particular moment in which it presents itself to the 
 individual subject. What, then, is meant by the pro- 
 position that "the interior angles of a triangle are equal 
 to two right angles"? Berkeley's answer is as follows. 
 The triangle which the mathematician has before his 
 mind is particular and definite; it is not the 'abstract 
 idea ' of a triangle which is neither isosceles, equilateral, 
 nor scalene, for no such idea is conceivable. Nevertheless 
 the mathematician, when he proves that this particular 
 triangle contains two right angles, reaches a conclusion 
 which applies to all possible triangles. "It is, I know," 
 he says, "a point much insisted on, that all knowledge 
 and demonstration are about universal notions, to which 
 I fully agree; but then it does not appear to me that 
 those notions are formed by abstraction universality, 
 so far as I can comprehend, not consisting in the 
 absolute positive nature or conception of anything, but 
 in the relation it bears to the particulars signified or 
 represented by it; by virtue whereof it is that things, 
 names, or notions, being in their own nature particular, 
 
Berkeley's theory of mathematics. 347 
 
 are rendered universal. Thus, when I demonstrate any 
 proposition concerning triangles, it is to be supposed that 
 I have in view the universal idea of a triangle; which is 
 not to be understood as if I could frame an idea of a 
 triangle which was neither equilateral, nor scalenon, nor 
 equicrural; but only that the particular triangle I con- 
 sider, whether of this or that sort it matters not, doth 
 equally stand for and represent all rectilineal triangles 
 whatsoever, and is in that sense universal." l To the 
 objection that we cannot know that the particular triangle 
 'stands for or represents' all triangles, unless we are 
 either (a) dealing with the 'abstract idea' of a triangle, 
 or (b) 'make a particular demonstration for every par- 
 ticular triangle,' Berkeley answers that "a man may 
 consider a figure merely as triangular, without attending 
 to the particular qualities of the angles, or relations of 
 the sides." 2 In other words, the mathematician has 
 before him a particular sensible triangle, not an 'abstract 
 idea'; but he attends solely to its triangularity, leaving 
 all other properties out of account. 
 
 The mathematical doctrine of Berkeley is partly in 
 advance of the doctrine of Locke, and partly fails to 
 do justice to it. Locke was led by a true instinct when 
 he maintained that mathematics is 'barely ideal,' for 
 what was mainly operative in his mind was the con- 
 viction that it does not rest upon particular ideas of 
 sensation, but upon objects which exist only for thought. 
 Berkeley, on the other hand, rejects this view, because 
 he sees that there are no 'abstract ideas,' such as Locke, 
 following the traditional logic of the schools, supposed 
 
 1 /6td. 15. *Ibid. 16. 
 
34^ AN OUTLINE W PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 to be the subject of mathematical propositions; but, 
 though he detected the weakness of Locke's doctrine, 
 he failed to do justice to its strength. It is true that 
 there are no ' abstract ideas ' as these are ordinarily- 
 maintained, and yet it is true that mathematics rests 
 upon 'universals' which exist only for thought. Berkeley, 
 in his attempt to reach a more consistent doctrine on 
 the lines of Locke's sensationalism, thus fails to do 
 justice to the higher side of his master's doctrine. He 
 clearly saw that, if our knowledge of spatial objects is 
 dependent upon immediate ideas of sensation, we must 
 discard the supposed external object as a fiction of ab- 
 straction; but, in thus rejecting the fictitious 'substratum' 
 of Locke, he at the same time makes the knowledge 
 of reality impossible. What gave force to Locke's view 
 was the conviction that reality cannot be the arbitrary 
 product of the individual subject, but has a fixed nature 
 of its own, which must be grasped by the subject if he 
 is to have real knowledge. Berkeley was right in main- 
 taining that reality cannot be something lying beyond 
 the mind, but must be essentially relative to the mind; 
 but, following Locke just where he was weakest, he con- 
 fused this truth with the very different proposition that 
 reality is present only in the immediate states of the 
 percipient subject. These 'states' are no doubt real, 
 in the sense that they exist for an individual subject at 
 a particular time, but their reality as knowledge involves 
 the consciousness of the objective or permanent nature 
 of the world, apart from which they have no meaning. 
 Failing to distinguish between (a) particular states of 
 the individual subject as occurring in succession, and (b) 
 the consciousness of determinate objects, Berkeley, when 
 
BERKELEY'S THEORY OF MATHEMATICS. 349 
 
 he comes to treat of mathematical knowledge, attributes 
 to the conceived object what is true only of the par- 
 ticular state, and to the particular state what is true 
 only of the conceived object. He falls into the former 
 mistake when he speaks of a triangle as 'in its own 
 nature particular! If a triangle were a particular sensible 
 impression, occurring at a particular moment, Berkeley 
 would be right ; for a sensible impression as such exists 
 only in the moment when it is felt. But, if this were 
 really the nature of the triangle with which the mathe- 
 matician deals, it would not have the permanence which 
 he attributes to it. What Berkeley has in his mind, 
 when he calls the triangle 'in its own nature particular,' 
 is a confused idea, in which the particularity of a feel- 
 ing is not discriminated from the individuality of a 
 conception. He supposes that a triangle is an image, 
 and yet has a permanent nature. The truth is that 
 a triangle is not an image at all, but the determinate 
 conception of three straight lines enclosing a space, a 
 conception which presupposes the unchangeable character 
 of spatial relations. Berkeley, thus confusing the indi- 
 vidual or determinate object of thought with a sensible 
 image, supposes that it is ' particular ' in its ' existence,' 
 i.e. s is the present state of an individual sensitive subject. 
 But an individual triangle has no 'particular' existence, 
 if by that is meant a place in the succession of feelings; 
 its 'existence' is purely that of certain permanent relations 
 of spatial reality as grasped by thought. The individual 
 triangle is therefore the conception of a determinate uni- 
 versal : it cannot be what it is except as involving fixed 
 relations. Hence, when it is proved that the conception 
 of a determinate triangle involves the conception of the 
 
35 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 equality of its angles with two right angles, it is at the 
 same time proved that all triangles have the same 
 characteristic. The proof of the latter proposition does 
 not depend upon the resemblance of one triangle to 
 another, but upon identity in the conception of any tri- 
 angle whatever. 
 
 Berkeley's first mistake, therefore, is in confusing a 
 conceived object with a particular feeling. And this 
 leads to a second mistake, that of attributing to feeling 
 what is true only of a conceived object. Berkeley rightly 
 denies that there are 'abstract ideas* such as Locke main- 
 tained. The whole doctrine from which the ordinary 
 view of abstraction results rests upon the false assump- 
 tion that perception without thought gives us a knowledge 
 of concrete things, and that thought consists in the 
 elimination of differences. The truth, however, is that 
 perception is the first comprehension by the thinking 
 subject of the actual determinations of the world as 
 spatial and temporal, and therefore involves at once differ- 
 entiation and integration. The ' abstract idea ' of the 
 formal logician is merely the aspect of integration taken 
 by itself, or the mere possibility of determinate concep- 
 tions. Real knowledge, however, consists in a connected 
 system of concrete conceptions, which in fact are not 
 separate 'ideas,' but stages of thought in the progressive 
 comprehension of the real world. When Berkeley discards 
 the 'abstract idea' of triangle as a tissue of contradictions, 
 he imagines he has shown that mathematics starts from 
 a particular image present to the subject at a particular 
 time, and then goes on to treat this image as 'standing 
 for' or 'representing' all images which resemble it in a 
 certain point. But, as we have seen, a triangle is not 
 
hume's theory of mathematics. 351 
 
 an image at all, but the conception of a certain deter- 
 mination of the spatial world ; it is an individualized 
 universal, identical with every other individualized uni- 
 versal which contains the determination of triangularity. 
 Every conception of a triangle is at once individual 
 and universal : individual as determinate, universal as 
 containing a permanent characteristic without which no 
 triangle is conceivable at all. No doubt we must have 
 the conception at a certain time; but this is irrelevant, 
 because mathematics deals with the content of the con- 
 ception, not with the time when any individual has it 
 before his consciousness, and because it is always con- 
 ceived in the same way. The basis, then, of the 
 universal judgment: "All triangles contain two right 
 angles," is not the resemblance of a particular feeling 
 or image to others, but the identical nature of every 
 conception of triangle. The particular feeling is not in 
 itself an object of knowledge, and the actual object, as 
 conceived, is already determined as universal, and there- 
 fore does not receive its universality by being compared 
 with other objects of the same type. 
 
 C. HUME'S THEORY OF MATHEMATICS. 
 
 We have seen how Berkeley rejected the material 
 'substrate' of Locke, and thus at once made his pre- 
 decessor's doctrine more consistent with itself, and took 
 from it the support which it owed to a tacit assumption 
 that 'simple ideas' of sensation reveal to us a real object 
 external to the mind. This was a gain in philosophical 
 clearness; for, when it is seen that sensations cannot 
 
35 2 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 report the existence of any object independent of them, 
 the attempt must be made to distinguish the real from 
 the fictitious without going beyond the contents of 
 consciousness. Berkeley, therefore, catching up the sug- 
 gestion of Locke, sought to show that real perceptions 
 differ from products of the imagination (i) in being 
 given to the mind, not produced by it, (2) in possessing 
 greater strength, liveliness and distinctness, (3) in the 
 regular order in which they arise in the mind. All ideas 
 being thus 'in their own nature particular,' Berkeley had 
 to explain the universal judgments of mathematics, while 
 maintaining that the subject of such judgments is par- 
 ticular. Failing to appreciate the importance of Locke's 
 view that mathematical ideas are 'barely ideal,' and 
 rejecting the 'abstract ideas' of the schools, which Locke 
 had endorsed, he maintained that the universal judgments 
 of mathematics arise from taking a particular idea as the 
 symbol or representation of all other particular ideas 
 which agree with it in a certain essential feature; and in 
 this way he seemed to preserve the particularity of ideas, 
 while accounting for universal mathematical judgments. 
 Now, Hume, with his strong instinct for consistency, 
 accepts the conclusions of Berkeley so far as these are 
 a development of the doctrine of Locke that all ideas 
 are 'particular in their existence,' but he refuses to admit 
 that there are any universal judgments whatever. All 
 ideas or all 'perceptions,' as he calls them are par- 
 ticular, and there are no 'general ideas' in any sense, 
 not even in the sense of Berkeley. The distinction 
 between sensations or 'impressions' and all other modes 
 of consciousness, called by Hume 'ideas,' consists in 
 (1) their priority in time, (2) their greater degree of 
 
HUMES THEORY OF MATHEMATICS. 353 
 
 liveliness or vivacity, (3) the comparative regularity in 
 which they occur. So far Hume agrees with Berkeley. 
 He is also at one with Berkeley in denying that there 
 are any 'abstract ideas,' but he refuses to admit that 
 mathematical propositions consist in the symbolical re- 
 lation in which a particular idea stands towards other 
 ideas, maintaining that these propositions may be shown 
 to consist in 'custom,' i.e., in the habitual sequence of 
 certain particular ideas upon another idea which suggests 
 them. 
 
 Berkeley denied that there are any 'abstract ideas,' 
 either of (a) qualities, or (&) concrete things. Hume 
 agrees with him, but goes on to show that there are 
 not even 'general ideas' such as Berkeley seemed to 
 find in the relation of ideas to one another, (a) "The 
 mind would never have dreamed," he says, "of distin- 
 guishing a figure from the body figured, as being in 
 reality neither distinguishable, nor different, nor separ- 
 able ; did it not observe, that even in this simplicity 
 there might be contained many different resemblances 
 and relations. Thus when a globe of white marble is 
 presented, we receive only the impression of a white 
 colour disposed in a certain form, nor are we able to 
 separate and distinguish the colour from the form. But 
 observing afterwards a globe of black marble and a 
 cube of white, and comparing them with our former 
 object, we find two separate resemblances, in what for- 
 merly seemed, and really is, perfectly inseparable. . . . 
 A person, who desires us to consider the figure of white 
 marble without thinking on its colour, desires an impossi- 
 bility; but his meaning is, that we should consider the 
 colour and figure together, but still keep in our eye the 
 
354 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 resemblance to the globe of black marble, or that to 
 any other globe of whatever colour or substance." 1 What 
 Hume here contends is, that each presentation is indi- 
 vidual, and that the resemblances which we afterwards 
 discover do not belong to the separate presentations, but 
 to the external comparison of these with one another. 
 (b) "When we have found a resemblance among several 
 objects, that often occur to us, we apply the same name 
 to all of them . . . whatever differences may appear 
 among them. After we have acquired a custom of this 
 kind, the hearing of that name revives the idea of one 
 of these objects, and makes the imagination conceive it 
 with all its particular circumstances and proportions. 
 But as the same word is supposed to have been fre- 
 quently applied to other individuals, that are different 
 in many respects from that idea, which is immediately 
 present to the mind; the word not being able to revive 
 the idea of all these individuals, but only touches the 
 soul, if I may be allowed so to speak, and revives 
 that custom, which we have acquired by surveying 
 them. They are not really and in fact present to the 
 mind, but only in power. . . . The word raises up 
 an individual idea, along with a certain custom; and 
 that custom produces any other individual one, for which 
 we may have occasion. . . . Thus should we mention 
 the word triangle, and form the idea of a particular 
 equilateral one to correspond to it, and should we 
 afterwards assert, that the three angles of a triangle are 
 equal to each other, the other individuals of a scalenum 
 and isosceles, which we overlooked at first, immediately 
 crowd in upon u&, and make us perceive the falsehood of 
 1 Treatise on Human Nature (Green & Grose's ed.), i. 333. 
 
hume's theory of mathematics. 355 
 
 this proposition, though it be true with relation to that 
 idea, which we had formed." 1 Here again Hume maintains 
 that every idea is particular, so that even when the sub- 
 ject of a proposition is a common name, there is no 
 'general' idea. Nor is there any relation between ideas 
 such as Berkeley supposed, but merely the transition 
 from one particular idea to others, arising from a 
 customary sequence of various particular ideas, which 
 have no other connection with one another. All ideas 
 being particular, propositions must be singular. Even 
 when a proposition assumes a universal form, as when 
 we say that "all triangles contain two right angles," the 
 judgment is really a number of singular propositions in 
 regard to particular triangles, associated by the influence 
 of 'custom,' which, on occasion of a proposition in regard 
 to a particular triangle before the mind, suggests an 
 indefinite series of other singular propositions. A 'uni- 
 versal' proposition, in the sense of one which expresses 
 the permanent nature of an object, is a fiction. We 
 have now to see what results Hume reaches when he 
 applies this doctrine in explanation of mathematical 
 judgments. It will not be necessary to consider his 
 view of number, as the principle of his philosophy will 
 be sufficiently understood from his treatment of geo- 
 metrical propositions. 
 
 Since all 'perceptions' are either 'impressions' or 
 'ideas,' and the latter are merely fainter 'copies' of the 
 former, every object of consciousness must be originally 
 given in an ' impression.' Now, it is at once obvious that 
 there can be no 'impression' of pure space or 'vacuum': 
 what we suppose to be the perception of pure space is 
 1 Ibid. i. 328. 
 
35^ AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 really ' darkness/ or the absence of coloured and visible 
 objects. Nothing ever appears extended except what is 
 either visible or tangible; and, if the perception is one 
 of sight, what so appears is 'impressions of coloured 
 points disposed in a certain manner.' Now, each of 
 these points is a minimum, an absolutely indivisible 
 impression ; but any given extension is a ' compound ' 
 of these indivisible impressions. The perception of ex- 
 tension is thus in all cases that of ' coloured points 
 disposed in a certain manner.' What Hume holds, then, 
 is that a perception of sight consists in a certain collec- 
 tion of impressions or coloured points. A line or surface 
 is therefore a certain number of such co-existent and 
 indivisible impressions. What, then, do we mean when 
 we say that "one line or surface is equal to, or greater 
 or less than another"? 1 "Lines or surfaces," answers 
 Hume, "are equal, when the numbers of points in each 
 are equal; and as the proportion of the numbers varies, 
 the proportion of the lines and surfaces is also varied." 
 We cannot, however, make any use in practice of this 
 'standard of equality'; for, "as the points which enter 
 into the composition of any line or surface ... are so 
 minute and so confounded with each other, it is utterly 
 impossible for the mind to compute their number." 2 Hence 
 " the only useful notion of equality, or inequality, is derived 
 from the whole united appearance and the comparison of 
 particular objects." 3 Judgments, however, which are based 
 upon perception are never free from doubt, for "the 
 addition or removal of one of these minute parts is not 
 discernible," and we have no instruments which can enable 
 
 ^ Ibid. i. 350. *IHd. i. 351. *Ibid. i. 352. 
 
hume's theory of mathematics. 357 
 
 us to discern them. 1 Hence mathematical judgments are 
 never more than approximately true. How can it be 
 proved that "it is impossible to draw more than one 
 right line betwixt any two points? . . . Supposing two 
 lines to approach at the rate of an inch in twenty 
 leagues, I perceive no absurdity in asserting, that upon 
 their contact they become one. . . . The original standard 
 of a right line is in reality nothing but a certain general 
 appearance; and 'tis evident right lines may be made 
 to concur with each other, and yet correspond to this 
 standard, though corrected by all the means either practi- 
 cable or imaginable." 2 
 
 The mathematical doctrine of Hume may be stated in 
 these three propositions: (1) Mathematical judgments rest 
 upon impressions of sense ; (2) they are singular; (3) they 
 are only approximately true. Now these might equally 
 well serve as a statement of the doctrine of Mill; so 
 that the examination of the one is equally an examina- 
 tion of the other. The history of empiricism is at the 
 same time a criticism of it; and it is also worthy of 
 remark, that it runs through a series of phases which are 
 parallel to the phases of the kindred doctrine as de- 
 veloped by the early thinkers of Greece. 3 A few remarks 
 upon Hume's doctrine may, however, be made. 
 
 (1) Hume's conclusion that all judgments are singular 
 is evidently the logical consequence of Locke's doctrine, 
 that all real knowledge of nature is based upon immediate 
 perception ; for the moment we see that immediate per- 
 ception must exclude every process of mediation, it 
 becomes evident that we have no right to assert the 
 
 1 Ibid. i. 353. *IHd. i. 356-7. 3 See Note I. 
 
35 8 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 reality of an object lying beyond perception, which can- 
 not possibly be known to exist except by a process of 
 inference. Berkeley and Hume were therefore right in 
 maintaining that Locke's doctrine of perception is incon- 
 sistent with the reality of anything but perception itself. 
 But, when reality is identified with the perception of the 
 individual subject, all real propositions must express what 
 is found in perception; and as a perception is a particular 
 state of the subject, occurring at a particular time, if 
 there are any real propositions at all, they must be 
 singular. Hume was therefore justified in holding that, 
 according to Locke's view of perception, which Berkeley 
 accepted, there can be no universal propositions. The 
 question therefore is, whether Hume is entitled to retain 
 even singular propositions. Now, it is sufficiently obvious 
 that even a singular proposition is possible only to a 
 subject who not only has perceptions but makes them 
 an object of thought. We must either say that percep- 
 tion already contains thought, or that it is merely a 
 transient state or feeling of the individual subject. It is 
 the latter view which Hume ostensibly holds, but it is 
 the former view which is implied in his doctrine of the 
 singular proposition. He tells us, e.g., on the one hand, 
 that the 'globe' which is the subject of a singular pro- 
 position contains " many different resemblances and rela- 
 tions," and, on the other hand, that it consists in " the 
 impression of a white colour disposed in a certain form." 
 How can an ' impression ' contain ' different resemblances 
 and relations'? A 'resemblance' or 'relation' cannot 
 be known except by an act of comparison, in which 
 various 'impressions' are found to be partly identical 
 and partly different. If, therefore, we have the perception 
 
hume's theory of mathematics. 359 
 
 of a * globe,' we must have already gone through a 
 process in which various perceptions have been brought 
 before the mind and discerned to resemble one another; 
 and hence perception cannot be immediate knowledge. 
 Perhaps it may be said that perception is the direct 
 consciousness of features which we afterwards discover 
 to resemble the features of other objects. But this only 
 throws us back upon a new difficulty. If this percep- 
 tion now before my mind has various features, these 
 must be distinguished from one another, and this act 
 of discrimination is in essence the same as that by 
 which the various features of different perceptions are 
 distinguished : it is an act of comparison and therefore 
 of thought. Perception will therefore be, as Aristotle 
 called it, a 8vva[xi<s KpiTiKr). 1 We must therefore eliminate 
 from perception the complexity of the elements supposed 
 to be contained in it, and maintain that what we originally 
 perceive are the separate features afterwards combined in 
 the unity of one perception. But with this simplification 
 the ' globe ' has disappeared, and we are left with single 
 characteristics. These we cannot call ' properties,' though 
 Hume allows himself to do so, (1) because there is no 
 unity to which the so-called property ' is referred, and 
 (2) because a ' property ' is a permanent characteristic, 
 and therefore involves the conception of the successive 
 moments through which it persists. All that can be 
 immediately present in perception must therefore be a 
 single 'impression' as occurring at a certain moment. 
 But this single impression cannot be the subject of a 
 proposition. As Plato showed, it cannot be said to 'be,' 
 for even as we try to name it, it has gone. 2 Hence we 
 1 See above, p. 321. 2 See p. 314, Cf. p. 317. 
 
360 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 cannot predicate anything of it, because to do so we 
 must arrest it, and hold it before the mind; and it 
 cannot be arrested, being in its nature a 'perishable 
 passion.' There is, in other words, no purely immediate 
 object-, for of such an object we can say nothing. When, 
 therefore, Hume maintains that there are singular pro- 
 positions, he is thinking, not of mere impressions, but 
 of individual objects or perceptions having complex 
 characteristics, each of which is conceived as a perman- 
 ent property. But an object which has a number of 
 permanent properties combined in a unity is already a 
 'universal.' The so-called singular proposition is there- 
 fore already implicitly universal, and a universal pro- 
 position differs from it only in the explicit recognition 
 of the combination of identical properties in various 
 objects. No doubt the transition to the universal pro- 
 position involves the recognition, that what we call 
 individual things are permanent only as they change; 
 but, on the other hand, their changes are not possible 
 except as involving permanence. We have, therefore, as 
 Hegel points out, to advance to the conception of reality 
 as constituted by the necessary relations of things to one 
 another. It is none the less true that every singular 
 judgment presupposes the comprehension of the individual 
 as having a universal nature. This is especially manifest 
 in the case of mathematical judgments, which in all 
 cases express certain universal relations involved in the 
 conception of the real world. 
 
 (2) The inadequacy of Hume's doctrine is further 
 apparent in his attempt to reduce extension to impres- 
 sions. There is, according to him, no pure space, 
 because we can only have visual perception where there 
 
hume's theory of mathematics. 361 
 
 is directly presented 'coloured points disposed in a 
 certain manner.' Pure space is therefore for him a mere 
 negation. Now, it is true that there is no pure space, 
 if by this we mean a separate and independent reality. 
 Pure space is the conception of all the possible external 
 determinations of the real world, and except as a con- 
 ception it has no existence. To say with Hume, how- 
 ever, that it is nothing at all is simply to say that there 
 is no reality except impressions of sense. Certainly the 
 conception of space is not contained in impressions of sense, 
 for space cannot be presented, but can only be thought; 
 and yet the world, unless it is thought as subject to spatial 
 determinations, is not conceivable at all. Nor can we 
 explain extension as 'coloured points disposed in a 
 certain manner.' The ' points ' of Hume are really 
 surfaces, and a surface is relative to and implies a 
 solid; hence, under the disguise of 'coloured points,' 
 the conception of space as extension in three dimensions 
 is tacitly assumed. Remove the 'points' of Hume, and 
 nothing is left but colour; and colour is certainly not 
 extension. But, even if it were extension, it would not 
 be an 'impression,' but coloured extension; and coloured 
 extension involves co-existence and continuity, whereas 
 impressions are successive and discrete. 
 
 (3) Having reduced visual extension to impressions of 
 coloured points, Hume has to explain what is meant by 
 a line, surface, or solid in mathematics. Each of these, 
 we are told, is a composition of 'coloured points': hence 
 one line is equal to another when it contains the same 
 number of these points; but they are so minute and 
 confused with one another that we cannot count them. 
 It is difficult to treat this doctrine seriously. A line 
 
362 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 made up of a number of coloured points can only be a 
 collection of coloured surfaces lying side by side, and 
 therefore separated from one another. These cannot 
 possibly form a line or rather a continuous surface. 
 Moreover, each coloured point, or rather surface, must 
 be divisible into parts, and these again must break up 
 into smaller parts, and so on ad infinitwn. Thus we 
 never reach a line at all. The line of the mathe- 
 matician, in short, is not made up of points, but is 
 continuous, like the surface and the solid. A line is 
 either the conception of any possible direction, or the 
 conception of any possible limit of a surface, and the 
 attempt to reduce it to particular impressions destroys 
 its very nature. Hence it is not surprising that Hume 
 should deny that geometry is an exact science. There 
 can, on his view, be no straight line, because there can 
 be no line at all. He at once assumes, however, that 
 there are straight lines, and that they need not be 
 straight. If this were true, the results of applied mathe- 
 matics would be inexplicable. If a straight line need 
 not be straight, how can the angles formed by the suc- 
 cessive positions of the earth relatively to the sun be 
 measured ? Two lines that ' approach at the rate of an 
 inch in twenty leagues' will finally touch and may seem 
 parallel, but we could not know them to approach at 
 that rate had we no conception of parallel lines, and no 
 means of accurately determining the rate of deviation of 
 any two given lines. Hume first assumes that the in- 
 exact judgments of ordinary observation are identical with 
 individual impressions, and then that these judgments are 
 ultimate. Neither of these assumptions is legitimate. The 
 judgment that 'two lines seem parallel' is not an impres- 
 
THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 363 
 
 sion, and the judgment that 'parallel lines cannot meet' 
 is quite distinct from the judgment that 'the sensible 
 objects before us are so related to each other as to be 
 parallel.' The latter judgment may well be false, but it 
 can be proved false only if the proposition that parallel 
 lines can never meet is universal and necessary. 
 
 V. THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 1 
 
 The doctrine of the 'association of ideas,' as held by 
 Mill and others, is connected in the closest way with the 
 doctrine that all the primary elements of experience are 
 given in individual sensations. The so-called 'laws of 
 association' are thus stated by Mill: "(i) Similar pheno- 
 mena tend to be thought of together. (2) Phenomena 
 which have either been experienced or conceived in close 
 contiguity to one another, tend to be thought of together. 
 The contiguity is of two kinds ; simultaneity, and immedi- 
 ate succession. (3) Associations produced by contiguity 
 become more certain and rapid by repetition. When two 
 phenomena have been very often experienced in conjunc- 
 tion, and have not, in any single instance, occurred 
 separately either in experience or in thought, there is 
 produced between them what has been called Inseparable, 
 or less correctly, Indissoluble Association : by which is 
 not meant that the association must inevitably last to the 
 end of life that no subsequent experience or process of 
 thought can possibly avail to dissolve it ; but only that as 
 
 l C pp. 7, 51, 77. 
 
364 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 long as no such experience or process of thought has 
 taken place, the association is irresistible; it is impossible 
 for us to think the one thing disjoined from the other. 
 (4) When an association has acquired this character of 
 inseparability when the bond between the two ideas has 
 been thus firmly riveted, not only does the idea called up 
 by association become, in our consciousness, inseparable 
 from the idea which suggested it, but the facts or pheno- 
 mena answering to those ideas, come at last to seem 
 inseparable in existence." 1 Mill further reduces all 'in- 
 conceivabilities ' to " inseparable association, combined with 
 the original inconceivability of a direct contradiction." As 
 to the latter, he tells us that its inconceivability arises 
 from the fact that "we cannot attach sufficient meaning to 
 the proposition, that identically the same statement should 
 be both true and false, to be able to represent to our- 
 selves the supposition of a different experience on this 
 .matter." 2 
 
 (1) The first 'law' of association, as stated by Mill, is 
 that 'similar phenomena tend to be thought of together.' 
 When put in this form the doctrine seems to be based 
 upon undeniable facts. ' Similar phenomena ' are natur- 
 ally regarded as objective facts, which are independent of 
 the states of the individual subject who perceives them ; 
 and hence we take the ' law ' to mean that there is a system 
 of things having a fixed nature, and that experience con- 
 sists in coming to a knowledge of it. When we consider 
 Mill's doctrine more carefully, however, it becomes obvious 
 that the 'law' is one applying only to the states of the 
 individual subject. Manifestly there can be no 'associa- 
 
 1 Examination of Hamilton, ch. xi., pp. 190-1. 
 
 2 Ibid. ch. vi., p. 67. 
 
THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 365 
 
 tion' of 'phenomena,' if by 'phenomena' we mean 
 things or events: 'similar phenomena' are in fact for 
 Mill similar feelings. Even after this correction, there is 
 still an ambiguity in Mill's statement of the 'law.' Sup- 
 posing it to affirm that 'similar feelings,' i.e., sensations 
 or their copies, 'tend to be thought of together,' are we 
 to understand this to mean that, when a man has 'similar 
 feelings,' he makes these an object of 'thought,' or, in 
 other words, compares them with each other and judges 
 them to be 'similar'? This cannot be Mill's meaning, 
 for the ' law ' is an attempt to explain how one feeling calls 
 up or suggests another feeling resembling it, not to ac- 
 count for the judgment that the one resembles the other. 
 What Mill means, then, is that one feeling tends to suggest 
 another feeling similar to it. Now, sensations are states 
 of the individual subject, which exist only in the moment 
 at which they occur, and are never repeated. "Why does 
 a sensation received this instant remind me of sensations 
 which I formerly had? I never had them along with this 
 very sensation. I never had this sensation until now, and 
 can never have it again." 1 When, therefore, one sensation 
 suggests another like it, the two sensations are not present 
 in the mind at the same time. But, if they are not both 
 present at once, the one cannot be discerned to be simi- 
 lar to the other, and therefore, for the subject having 
 them, there will be no consciousness of similarity. What, 
 then, is the character of the feeling for the subject of it? 
 If the sensation is, say, a sensation of ' white,' it will not 
 be discriminated from other colours, for no other colour 
 is present along with it j and if it is not discriminated, it 
 
 1 James Mill's Analysis of the Human Mind, i. 1 12. 
 
366 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 has no qualitative difference for the subject, and in fact 
 is for him not an object. The truth, therefore, is that 
 there is no purely individual sensation. What the subject 
 has before his mind is a feeling discriminated as so and 
 so, i.e., a feeling with a content which is grasped by 
 thought. The associationist reduction of consciousness to 
 a disconnected series of feelings is untenable, and equally 
 untenable is its doctrine that one feeling calls up or sug- 
 gests another similar to it. What, then, gives plausibility 
 to the so-called ' law of similarity ' ? The associationist 
 pyschologist begins with the assumption of an individual 
 subject limited to his own states, and therefore virtually 
 conceived as an independent being isolated from all 
 others. One reason for this assumption is a recognition 
 of the truth, that for each individual nothing exists except 
 what arises for him in the process by which his know- 
 ledge grows. He has no knowledge when his life begins, 
 and his knowledge, as it is supposed, must therefore be 
 something which comes to him from without. It is for- 
 gotten that the distinction of ' within ' and ' without ' is 
 one which itself arises in the process of knowledge, 
 and is impossible for a being that does not distinguish 
 between himself and the object which he knows. The 
 beginning of knowledge therefore involves this distinction, 
 though it is not reflected upon. In it there is something 
 vaguely discriminated from the subject, and vaguely ap- 
 prehended as qualitatively different from something else. 
 No conceivable object can be less than this. 1 But if not, 
 the beginning of knowledge is not a simple feeling 
 which in fact exists nowhere but in the false theory of 
 
 1 This does not mean that there is no feeling prior to perception, 
 but only that it is not the consciousness of an object. See Note xi. 
 
THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 367 
 
 the associationist psychologist but the perception of the 
 qualitative difference of one object from another and from 
 the subject. Thus the associationist psychologist falls 
 into a double mistake. In the first place, he substitutes 
 his fiction of a purely individual feeling for the actual 
 object; and, in the second place, he bases what he calls 
 ' laws ' upon the first inadequate conception of the world 
 as it appears in the nascent consciousness of the individual 
 subject. The first mistake has already been referred to; 
 the second follows from it. For, if the subject receives 
 knowledge entirely from ' without,' and receives it in the 
 form of individual sensations, all the more complex pro- 
 ducts of knowledge must be in some way derived from 
 individual sensations. It is not seen that, in a developing 
 subject, it is the last and not the first stage which de- 
 termines the true nature of things. Overlooking this 
 truth, associational psychology lays down so-called 'laws' 
 of mind, which are not even an accurate statement of 
 the first and simplest phase of knowledge, and which are 
 altogether inadequate as a statement of its final phase. 
 One of these 'laws' is that of 'similarity.' Of course it is 
 based upon a real fact, for we certainly do recognize the 
 similarity of objects; but this undeniable fact is distorted 
 almost beyond recognition. The truth which underlies the 
 'law' is that, in a world which constitutes a system, there 
 must be in all its parts at once difference and identity. 
 If difference were entirely absent, there would be merely a 
 blank, undifferentiated unity, which is at bottom nothing 
 at all; if identity were entirely absent, there would be no 
 'cosmos,' and therefore no knowledge. Such being the 
 nature of the world, it is not surprising that the subject 
 should so apprehend it. His own sensitive organism is 
 
368 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 a part of the whole, and, like everything else, it is a 
 unity-in-difference. Responding to the environment, it 
 undergoes changes of feeling, and these are the direct 
 object of the conscious subject when he begins to make 
 the changes in his organism an object. Hence knowledge 
 begins with the consciousness of sensitive differences. 
 These differences, however, are not mere differences, but 
 identities-in-difference, and this is ' likeness ' or * simi- 
 larity.' If, however, we formulate the laws of mind on 
 the assumption that it has here reached its true form, we 
 shall fall into the mistake of taking the simplest phase 
 of mind as ultimate. The associational psychology not 
 only does so, but identifies the first phase of conscious- 
 ness with the sensibility out of which it has just emerged; 
 treating consciousness, which cannot exist at all except 
 as a unity-in-difference, as if it were mere difference. The 
 element of truth in the law of similarity is therefore this: 
 that the mind in its first and simplest phase begins with the 
 consciousness of qualitative differences. As it develops, 
 these become more and more precisely discriminated, 
 and at the same time pari passu the unity of the world 
 is more and more clearly grasped; but from first to last 
 the subject is within the real world, not shut up within 
 a separate mind. The process of development will become 
 clearer by considering the second law of Mill, that of 
 ' contiguity.' 
 
 (2) The law of contiguity is thus expressed: "Pheno- 
 mena which have either been experienced or conceived 
 in close contiguity to one another tend to be thought 
 of together," the ' contiguity ' being either ' simultaneity ' 
 or 'immediate succession.' Here, again, we must under- 
 stand the term 'phenomena,' not as objective facts, but 
 
THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 369 
 
 as individual feelings. When these are said to have 
 been either 'experienced' or 'conceived,' what is meant 
 properly is, that they have occurred either as sensations or 
 as copies of sensations. ' Close contiguity,' it will be 
 observed, is expressly limited to ' simultaneity ' or ' im- 
 mediate succession'; and quite correctly from Mill's point 
 of view, for feelings, whether they are sensations or images, 
 are not extended, and therefore can only be affirmed as 
 temporal, wot as spatial. The 'law' thus means: "Feel- 
 ings, whether these are sensations or images, when they 
 have occurred simultaneously or in immediate succession, 
 tend to be reproduced together." The law might be 
 further simplified ; for, strictly speaking, no two feelings 
 are simultaneous, what is called ' simultaneity ' being really 
 rapid succession. It would then read: "Feelings, whether 
 these are sensations or images, when they have occurred 
 in immediate succession, tend to be reproduced in imme- 
 diate succession." Now, this ' law ' will obviously not 
 explain co-existence, but must explain it away ; for co- 
 existence is conceivable only as excluding succession. As 
 employed by Mill, however, no clear distinction is drawn 
 between ' contiguity ' in place, simultaneity of events, and 
 succession of feelings, with the result that all three are 
 treated as if they were identical. What gives plausibility 
 to the 'law' is this confusion. We might in fact say that 
 we have here three distinct laws : (i) Objects which have 
 been perceived as co-existent are afterwards represented 
 as co-existent; (2) Events which have been observed to 
 be simultaneous or successive are afterwards represented 
 as simultaneous and successive; (3) Feelings which have 
 occurred in immediate succession afterwards tend to recur 
 in immediate succession. The first two of these laws 
 
37 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 refer to the object, the last refers to the individual subject. 
 Now, it is true that, at a certain stage in the develop- 
 ment of knowledge, the world is viewed as consisting of 
 co-existent objects and of events simultaneous or successive. 
 This, in fact, is the stage which is usually distinguished as 
 perception, the stage in which we view the world as ex- 
 tended spatially, and as exhibiting changes in time. As 
 we begin by distinguishing resemblances, so we advance 
 to the more specific determination of the external world 
 as consisting of objects separated spatially, and of events 
 occurring together or in succession. At this stage our 
 attention is directed to the object, not to the subject, 
 and hence it seems to us that things and events are 
 simply observed by us without any activity of intelligence. 
 This is the point of view from which the associationist 
 psychologist starts. Turning his attention to the knowing 
 subject, he naturally attempts to explain the process of 
 knowledge as a series of feelings, because he has assumed 
 that the objective world is already constituted for the 
 subject. He therefore overlooks the fact that a world, 
 which is determined as consisting of co-existent things 
 and of simultaneous and successive events, has grown up 
 only by the interpretation of feelings as involving relations 
 in the way of co-existence, simultaneity, and succession. 
 Hence he characterizes the conscious life of the subject as 
 a succession of feelings occurring in a regular way. But, 
 if conscious life were nothing more than this, there would 
 be for the subject no world of objects, nor would he be 
 conscious of his own experience of such a world. The 
 so-called 'law of contiguity' is, therefore, nothing but a 
 distorted expression of the truth that conscious life is 
 a process. The associationist, instead of seeing that it is a 
 
THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 37 1 
 
 process, regards it as a mere series of separate feelings, 
 arbitrarily and externally connected. Nothing could be 
 more untrue to the facts. The inner life of the subject 
 is the outer life regarded from the point of view of its 
 relation to a knowing subject. It contains the whole 
 wealth of the outer life, together with the consciousness 
 of self as knowing. What the 'law of contiguity' is 
 trying to express is that, at the stage of perception or 
 observation, the world is conceived by the subject as if it 
 were a congeries of individual things and events, while the 
 subject has not yet recognized that it is relative to his 
 intelligence. If the associationist psychologist merely said 
 that, for the subject who is still at this stage, his own 
 inner life is viewed mainly as a series of individual per- 
 ceptions, he would be partly though not wholly correct; for 
 the subject, not having made his own inner life an explicit 
 object of reflection, naturally views it as a series, though he 
 has also an implicit consciousness of his own self-identity. 
 There is still another defect in the 'law of contiguity.' 
 Not only does it confuse successive feelings with co- 
 existent objects and simultaneous or successive events, 
 but it identifies co-existence and succession with recipro- 
 cal action and causality. Mill, like his master Hume, 
 explains away these two forms of causation, attempting 
 to reduce them to co-existence and succession. This is a 
 fatal defect in a psychologist, because it confuses two 
 different grades of consciousness, attempting to reduce 
 the higher to the lower. As Hegel points out, the 
 observing consciousness is implicitly the understanding 
 consciousness, and develops into it. 1 This in fact is the 
 transition from the ordinary consciousness of a world of 
 1 Phiinomenologie des Geistes, pp. 97 ff. 
 
372 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 objects and events, to a world characterized by fixed laws 
 as it exists for the scientific man. This third stage of 
 consciousness therefore falls under a higher law than the 
 second. Hence the law of contiguity would now have to 
 be expressed somewhat thus : "Phenomena which have 
 been experienced as reciprocally active and as exhibiting 
 a connected series of changes are ever afterwards con- 
 ceived as under the laws of reciprocity and causality." 
 This shows how hopelessly the 'law of contiguity' distorts 
 the facts. It is absurd to characterize the mental life of 
 the scientific man as consisting in a series of feelings ; 
 his whole life as a man of science consists in the com- 
 prehension of the fixed relations or laws of the real 
 world. Moreover, at this stage, not only are definite 
 phenomena conceived as under laws, but these laws are 
 themselves made an explicit object of reflection, and 
 consciously applied in explanation of the real. It is only 
 when the false assumption is discarded that mental life 
 consists in individual states, which can be treated apart 
 from the actual process of knowledge, that psychology 
 yields really fruitful results. The first step in its recon- 
 struction is to determine the living being from the point of 
 view of immanent teleology, and to treat the mental life 
 as the process of development from lower to higher stages. 
 (3) The radical defect in the ' laws of association ' is 
 further apparent in Mill's doctrine of 'inseparable asso- 
 ciation.' Assuming that the mental life consists in a suc- 
 cession of individual feelings, he is led to the conclusion 
 that there are no fixed relations or laws at all. A 
 'square' being one feeling, and 'round' another, there is, 
 according to him, no reason why there should not be a 
 'round square.' But neither a 'square' nor 'round' is a feel- 
 
THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 373 
 
 ing; these are fixed relations involved in the very nature 
 of the spatial world, and grasped as such at the third 
 or understanding stage of consciousness. ' Inseparable as- 
 sociation' therefore rests upon the untenable assumption 
 that individual feelings yield any knowledge. The ele- 
 ment of truth which it involves is that science consists 
 in the comprehension of the fixed relations of the world. 
 Were there no such relations, there would be no possibility 
 of the simplest experience, not even of the experience 
 that one event follows another. The associationist psy- 
 chologist attempts to interpret the conscious life from 
 the point of view of the crudest and simplest theory, 
 and it is not surprising that he should end in a doctrine 
 which dissolves the real world into unintelligible fragments. 
 (4) Besides the 'inconceivabilities' which arise from 
 1 inseparable association,' Mill holds that a direct con- 
 tradiction is inconceivable, because we cannot attach any 
 definite meaning to the proposition that "identically the 
 same statement should be both true and false." The 
 law of contradiction is therefore, as Mill conceives it, 
 simply that, if it is true that A is B, it cannot be true 
 that A is not B ; in other words, it is merely a formal 
 principle. Such a 'law' evidently carries us a very little 
 way : it does not assure us that we have any true know- 
 ledge, but merely tells us that, if we have true knowledge, 
 we cannot at the same time be in error. A negative 
 criterion of this sort is obviously of very little value if it is 
 combined with a doctrine which makes true propositions 
 unmeaning. Now, according to Mill's view of ' inseparable 
 association,' no proposition whatever can be framed which 
 has more than a relative or subjective value. Even mathe- 
 matical propositions are of this character. The perception 
 
374 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of a square has never gone along with the perception of 
 a circle, but there is nothing to show that we might not 
 have the experience of a round square. There is, in short, 
 no reason why any sensation should not be accompanied 
 by any other sensation, and therefore no reason why 
 sensations might not be so combined that no proposi- 
 tion we now make should be true. The only legitimate 
 conclusion from such a doctrine is, that any predicate may 
 be combined with any subject. Suppose, therefore, we 
 symbolize a given subject and predicate by A and B 
 respectively, is it not obvious that it is also possible on 
 Mill's view that A is not B ? The law of contradiction can 
 therefore only mean, for Mill, that the proposition ' A is B ' 
 may seem to a certain subject true, and may yet to another 
 person, or to the same person at another time, seem false. 
 As there are no universal judgments, true for every intelligent 
 subject, we cannot speak of truth but only of what appears 
 true. But with the denial of true propositions we must 
 also deny false propositions, and therefore Mill is not 
 entitled to say that the same statement cannot be both 
 true and false. There is thus for him no law of con- 
 tradiction. The source of the inadequacy of Mill's doctrine 
 is due to the irptorov <eSos of his philosophy the assump- 
 tion that knowledge is reducible to individual feelings. Un- 
 less there are universal and necessary judgments there is 
 no coherent system of ideas, and therefore no real world; 
 and the denial of the principle of contradiction, which is 
 the logical consequence of his doctrine, is merely one 
 form in which his theory of knowledge betrays its in- 
 herent weakness. It may be said, however, that the law 
 of contradiction is not a law of thought. How far this 
 objection is valid will be considered in the following Note. 
 
ARISTOTLE S DOCTRINE OF IDENTITY. 375 
 
 VI. THE PRINCIPLE OF IDENTITY OR 
 NON-CONTRADICTION. 1 
 
 A. ARISTOTLE'S DOCTRINE OF IDENTITY. 
 
 What is now called the law of identity or non-contradiction 
 is expressed by Aristotle in the formula, that "the same 
 thing cannot at once belong and not belong to the same 
 object in the same respect (to yap avrb a/xa virdpx^v re 
 kcu fxrj VTrapxeiv dSvvarov tw aww ko.1 Kara rb avro)." 
 The manner in which this principle is expressed is suf- 
 ficient to indicate that it was not conceived by Aristotle 
 as a purely formal law of thought, but as at once a law 
 of thought and a law of reality. It is meant to indicate 
 the fundamental condition of all intelligible reality, or, 
 what is at bottom the same thing, the fundamental con- 
 dition without which there can be no intelligence what- 
 ever. This principle, as Aristotle contends, cannot be 
 established by a process of proof, just because it is the 
 principle upon which all proof is based ; but it can be 
 shown that any one who denies it really pre-supposes its 
 truth, if his denial has any intelligible meaning at all. 
 Any one who says that 'the same thing may at once be 
 and not be ' must give one definite meaning to the words 
 'be' and 'not be,' or his words are mere inarticulate 
 sounds. So also the subject of the proposition must 
 have some one meaning, whatever it is. Intelligible 
 speech therefore implies that the real has a definite 
 nature, which can be grasped by thought and expressed 
 in a proposition ; in fact, unless there is something which 
 is essential and inseparable from the very existence of 
 
 1 See pp. 92-3. Cf. pp. io-ii. 
 
376 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 a thing, there can be no real knowledge. To say that 
 all the predicates by which a subject is characterized 
 are temporary or accidental is simply to say that there 
 is no substantial reality whatever. The truth, however, 
 is that we can only affirm certain characteristics to be 
 accidental relatively to the essential characteristics which 
 are grasped by thought. Upon this comprehension of 
 the permanent nature of things all real distinctions rest. 
 If whatever is affirmed of a thing may with equal reason 
 be denied, there can be no distinction between 'man,' 
 ' ship,' ' God,' or anything else, and thus all definite 
 reality disappears. 1 
 
 What Aristotle contends, then, is that there is an in- 
 separable connection between the unity of things and the 
 unity of intelligence with itself. The principle of con- 
 tradiction, as thus understood, is the basis of all science; 
 for there can be no science unless we can attain to the 
 universal (to Ka66Xov), and indeed the essential distinction 
 between 'science' (eirKrrrjpr)) and 'opinion' (Soa) just 
 consists in this, that the former is the comprehension by 
 intelligence (vovs) of that which 'cannot be otherwise' (to 
 fir) evSexofJLevov aAAws ^x iv )i whereas 'opinion' never 
 advances beyond probability. Now, the 'universal' is that 
 which can be predicated Kara iravrbs, i.e., of a whole 
 class of things, just because it can be predicated /ca#' 
 cu>to, i.e., as essential to the reality of each member of the 
 class. Hence there can be no proof unless intelligence 
 is capable of grasping the essential characteristics insepar- 
 able from the existence of each thing. It is therefore 
 in accordance with the spirit of the Aristotelian philosophy 
 
 *Met. r, 4, ioo8 a 2 n. 
 
ARISTOTLE S DOCTRINE OF IDENTITY. 377 
 
 to translate the principle of contradiction into the form : 
 "The same essential characteristics cannot belong and 
 not belong to the same object." 1 
 
 To get a full conception of the principle of contradic- 
 tion, as conceived by Aristotle, we must also remember 
 what has been pointed out above, 2 in connection with his 
 criticism of phenomenalism, viz., that the essential nature 
 of a thing is its 'form' (etSos), 'essence' (to rjv elvai), 
 or ' end ' (reXos). The principle of contradiction does 
 not mean that what a thing is at one moment it must 
 always be, but that in all its changes it preserves its 
 identity and remains within certain insuperable limits. 
 Each thing is by its nature (<f>vo-is) determinate, but this 
 determinate nature is the formative principle (etSos) working 
 in it and prescribing what changes it shall pass through. 
 In a sense, therefore, Aristotle does not deny that there 
 is contradiction in things : there is contradiction, if we 
 take any single phase in the process of change through 
 which a thing passes, and regard it as ultimate; for, no 
 sooner have we done so, than the thing, by changing and 
 developing opposite characteristics, shows that we had not 
 grasped its essential nature. Aristotle, however, would 
 say that the contradiction is not in the thing, but in our 
 inadequate conception of it; and that, when we really 
 comprehend the essence of a thing, we cannot predicate 
 of it what is contradictory of that essence. The contra- 
 diction thus rests upon the fixed nature of real things as 
 grasped by thought; and if there is no such fixed nature 
 there is no intelligible world, but merely a chaos of in- 
 determinable accidents. 
 
 x Anal. Post. i. 33, 88*30-38; ii. 19, 100*15. -See p. 319. 
 
378 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 B. HEGEL'S DOCTRINE OF CONTRADICTION. 
 
 It is popularly supposed that Hegel denies the principle 
 of contradiction in the sense in which Aristotle affirms it; 
 in other words, that he affirms that " the same thing may 
 at once be and not be." What Hegel really denies is 
 the doctrine of formal logic, that thought consists in the 
 mere analysis of abstract ideas, a doctrine which is 
 formulated as A = A. A conception, as he maintains, is 
 the product of the constructive activity of thought, which 
 does not passively receive its content from without, but 
 reacts upon and interprets it in accordance with its own 
 nature as intelligence. There is nothing in this view 
 which is inconsistent with what Aristotle maintains ; for 
 he too points out that, while the intelligence starts from 
 the data of sensible perception, goes on to grasp the 
 principle or law implicit therein, so as to reach the stage 
 of experience, and finally attains the stage of science in 
 which it contemplates the 'forms' of things; it yet is only 
 in this last stage, where intelligence directly knows itself, 
 that true reality is reached. Moreover, Aristotle points 
 out, as we have seen, 1 that the principle of contradiction 
 is not incompatible with the process of change, or with 
 the denial that reality can be characterized as it presents 
 itself to sensible perception. The difference between 
 Hegel and Aristotle is much deeper. Both believe in 
 the intelligibility of the universe, but Aristotle never sur- 
 mounts a preconception which is fatal to the rationality 
 of the real, in which yet he firmly believes. That pre- 
 conception is, that there is in the actual world an element 
 of matter (vkrj) or contingency which prevents it from 
 
 1 See p. 377. 
 
HEGELS DOCTRINE OF CONTRADICTION. 379 
 
 being a perfectly ordered system. On his view the finite 
 as such must be so far irrational that it is never com- 
 pletely realized. Hence when he comes to define the 
 ultimate principle of reality, Aristotle conceives of it as a 
 Being separate from the world and self-complete in its 
 isolation ; not seeing that, on this view, he must either 
 make the world an illusion, or conceive of the ultimate 
 principle as finite, because limited by a reality apart from 
 it. Now, Hegel refuses to admit that the world is in 
 any sense irrational, and therefore he has upon his hands 
 a problem which Aristotle never put to himself, viz., how 
 it can be said that 'all things are good,' while yet the 
 finite is burdened with imperfection and evil. It is 
 obvious that any one who attempts seriously to solve this 
 problem must be able to reconcile what appear to be the 
 sharpest contradictions. Hegel seemed to find the solu- 
 tion in the principle of development, which Aristotle had 
 applied in his own way in explanation of the process of 
 the world; but in his hands it assumes the form of the 
 doctrine, that the intelligence contains contradiction within 
 itself so long as it has not come to perfect unity with 
 itself, and that the consciousness of this contradiction is 
 a source of unrest until it has been overcome. Aristotle 
 is not entirely unconscious of this 'dialectical' character 
 of reason, for he too maintains that science consists in 
 the resolution of the contradictory views which 'dialectic' 
 states, but leaves unsolved. For him, however, 'dialectic' 
 is due to the superficial points of view of the unenlightened 
 thinker rather than to the nature of reason itself. Hegel, 
 coming after Kant, could not fail to see that reason is in 
 itself dialectical, and inevitably gives rise to what Kant 
 calls 'antinomies,' i.e., contradictory conceptions which may 
 
380 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 be equally justified, so long as the common point of 
 view from which both proceed is accepted as ultimate. 
 Thus, as Kant argued, we can establish the universality 
 of the law of mechanical necessity and the existence of 
 beings beyond its sway with equal cogency, so long as 
 we assume that knowledge of reality is identical with 
 'experience'; and Kant's solution of the antinomy was to 
 maintain that the ultimate reality falls beyond knowledge, 
 though not beyond a rational ' faith.' Now, Hegel refused 
 to accept this solution, maintaining that it separated the 
 real from the knowable, and therefore made the know- 
 able unreal. The problem which he had to face was, 
 therefore, to convert the indeterminate 'noumenaP of 
 Kant into an ordered world in which intelligence should 
 find itself at home. But to do so, he had to undertake 
 a more searching investigation into the conceptions by 
 which the human intelligence has attempted, with more 
 or less consciousness, to reach a consistent view of the 
 world. The intelligence he therefore conceived as con- 
 taining within itself, implicitly, the ultimate principle of 
 reconciliation; and the task of philosophy must therefore 
 be to follow it through the whole of the process in which 
 it has toiled at the construction of a completely rational 
 conception of the universe. Now, obviously all stages in 
 this process, except the last, must contain contradictory 
 conceptions ; for otherwise the intelligence must have 
 reached its goal, and could advance no further. Hence 
 philosophy must first express these contradictory con- 
 ceptions in definite terms, free from the obscurity of 
 popular language and the confusion in which the ordinary 
 mind is accustomed to dwell. When this has been done, 
 the way will be prepared for a higher conception, which 
 
hegel's doctrine of contradiction. 381 
 
 shall unite the contradictory conceptions, i.e., the conceptions 
 which are contradictory, provided the assumption upon 
 which both rest is accepted. It is thus evident that the 
 principle of contradiction cannot be accepted by Hegel, 
 if it is understood to mean that knowledge consists in a 
 number of detached propositions, all of which are upon 
 the same level, and therefore all equally true. So under- 
 stood, the principle of contradiction is itself an instance 
 of one aspect of a truth being taken as if it were the 
 whole truth. For the ' law of identity ' will then mean that 
 thought consists in the exclusion of differences, or in a 
 mere tautology. The principle of thought, if we are to 
 express it generally, is neither identity nor difference, but 
 identity-in-difference. This, in fact, is merely to say that 
 intelligence is a process in which separate conceptions, 
 which are contradictory of each other, are both held at 
 once. Nor is this merely accidental ; for there is no 
 way in which intelligence can reach an all-reconciling con- 
 ception except through the long and toilsome 'labour of 
 the negative,' i.e., by first setting up what seem to be 
 adequate conceptions, next awakening to the consciousness 
 of their inadequacy, and then advancing to a more 
 adequate conception. Hegel does not deny that the 
 principle of contradiction is the ultimate principle of 
 all knowledge, but he denies that it is a principle of 
 mere identity ; and therefore he refuses to admit that a 
 science of reality can be constructed, after the method of 
 mathematics, by laying down particular propositions and 
 referring to these at every step in the demonstration; for 
 every particular proposition which embodies a conception 
 of reality, reached at a certain stage in the development 
 of intelligence, must be denied when we advance to a 
 
382 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 higher stage, though at the same time the element of 
 truth implicit in it is absorbed in the higher conception. 
 
 "The Law of Identity," says Hegel, "in its positive form, 
 A = A, taken literally, is merely the expression of an empty 
 tautology. It is therefore rightly said to be a law of thought, 
 which is devoid of all content, and adds nothing to know- 
 ledge. Those who are always appealing to this empty iden- 
 tity as a true and ultimate principle, tell us that ' identity ' 
 is exclusive of 'difference,' or that 'identity' and 'differ- 
 ence' are 'different,' not seeing that, in affirming 'identity' 
 to be ' different ' from ' difference,' they are virtually saying 
 that 'identity' involves 'difference'; and as they present 
 this as the very nature of ' identity,' they unwittingly admit 
 that 'difference' is not something external to 'identity,' 
 but belongs to its very nature." l 
 
 The ' law of identity ' which Hegel here rejects is the 
 ' law ' as maintained by the formal logician, who assumes 
 that thought has nothing to do with the constitution of 
 the known world, but can only analyze and express what 
 is already contained in the abstract idea which forms 
 the subject of a proposition. This doctrine is that which 
 Locke rejected when he declared all merely analytical pro- 
 positions to be ' trifling ' or ' uninstructive.' 2 The develop- 
 ment of this doctrine has shown its inherent absurdity. 
 If A = A, every proposition must be tautological, and every 
 inference from tautological propositions must also be tauto- 
 logical. The whole process of real judgment and infer- 
 ence must therefore fall beyond thought, and we must 
 suppose that reality is revealed only in sense. Hegel is 
 therefore justified in rejecting the 'law of identity,' as 
 
 1 Wissenschaft der Logik, ii. 32. 2 See above, p. 340. 
 
hegel's doctrine of contradiction. 383 
 
 maintained in formal logic. In doing so he does not 
 touch the Aristotelian law ; for, as we have seen, Aristotle 
 does not conceive identity as a purely formal law, but 
 as an expression of the necessary unity of thought with 
 itself in the comprehension of the real; nor does he 
 conceive of the real as dead unchanging identity, but as 
 identity in change. 
 
 When Hegel adds that even the formal logician virtually 
 denies his own 'law' when he says that 'identity' is 'dif- 
 ferent ' from ' difference,' he may at first sight seem to be 
 merely playing upon words; but in reality he is showing that 
 a purely formal law of identity can neither be thought nor 
 expressed. For, if thought proceeds on the principle of 
 abstract identity, the law of identity should be expressed 
 in the form, 'identity is identity'; which is either un- 
 meaning, or implies that 'identity' is not 'difference,' so 
 that the combination of 'identity' aid 'difference' in one 
 conception is the condition of the judgment being made. 
 Two ideas thus brought together in one conception can- 
 not be absolutely exclusive of each other, but must be 
 correlative; hence the attempt to think either without the 
 other is an attempt to think the unthinkable. Hegel there- 
 fore goes on to say that the formal logician, " in fixing 
 upon dead, immovable 'identity,' the opposite of which 
 is 'difference,' does not see that he is making 'identity' 
 one term of a relation, and therefore denying that it is 
 true when taken in abstraction from the other term. Yet, 
 it is admitted that the law of identity expresses only one 
 aspect of reality, when it is said that its truth is only 
 formal, abstract or incomplete. For in this admission it 
 is plainly implied that the true nature of reality consists 
 in the unity of 'identity' and 'difference.' When it is 
 
384 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 maintained that abstract identity is incomplete, there is 
 vaguely thought a totality that is complete, by reference 
 to which identity is pronounced incomplete. On the 
 other hand, ' identity ' is absolutely separated from ' differ- 
 ence,' and in this separation is assumed to be essential, 
 valid, and true. These contradictory assertions simply 
 show that the two opposite views are not brought to- 
 gether : (1) that 'identity' in abstraction from 'difference' 
 is true, and (2) that in this abstractM^-it is incomplete." 1 
 The admission, Hegel argues, that ifcentity' is merely a 
 law of thought implies that the corrwo^ieagion. of reality 
 involves the complementary aspect |^^^hffa^^^b^ The^ 
 'difference,' in other words, falls v^^thocontent, and 
 this content is conceived of vaguely ls containing 'differ- 
 ence ' as well as ' identity.' But the content is the real, 
 and therefore it is tacitly admitted that reality is identity- 
 in-difference ; a view which is the direct opposite of the 
 doctrine that abstract identity is a fundamental law of 
 thought. Otherwise expressed : if reality is concrete and 
 thought abstract, reality is not grasped by thought, and 
 therefore the law of identity cannot be a law of thought, 
 except under presupposition that truth and reality fall 
 apart. We must therefore conclude that all real thinking 
 consists in grasping identity-in-difference. If this is ad- 
 mitted, we shall no longer hold the mutually contradictory 
 doctrines, (1) that thought enables us to arrive at truth, 
 (2) that reality lies beyond thought, and therefore beyond 
 truth. Reality and truth must coincide, and therefore 
 both must involve identity-in-difference. 
 
 Now, if it is once admitted that thought can only 
 grasp reality truly in so far as it reconciles all the differ- 
 x Ibid. 33. 
 
hegel's doctrine of contradiction. 385 
 
 ences of the real with the identity of the whole, it seems 
 impossible to escape from the conclusion that even the 
 most stubborn differences such as those of mind and 
 matter, subject and object, God and the world must be 
 ultimately comprehended as a concrete identity or totality. 
 The identity, however, must be one in which all the 
 differences persist, though not as differences. This prin- 
 ciple will be violated, if mind is separated from matter, 
 subject from object, God from the world. Hence Hegel 
 has to show that matter is an element or phase of mind, 
 the object of the subject, the world of God. His aim, 
 at least, whatever his success may have been, is to get 
 rid of the abstract separations which rule the ordinary 
 consciousness and even the scientific consciousness, and 
 to embrace all the phases of the real in a single rational 
 system. Hence, as has already been said, he insists 
 upon the inadequacy of all such partial views as those 
 which affirm the independent reality of matter or of mind, 
 object or subject, the world or God, seeking to substitute 
 a conception of existence in which they are combined in 
 a single organic unity. 
 
 VII. CAUSALITY AND THE SYSTEM OF 
 EXPERIENCE. 
 
 The discussion of Causation and what Mill calls the 
 
 'uniformity of nature,' contained in Chapter V., will, no 
 
 doubt, be felt to be inadequate by any one who is 
 
 familiar with the complexity of the problem j and, indeed, 
 
 it does not attempt to do more than show that, admitting 
 
 2 B 
 
386 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the assumption upon which physical science rests, viz., 
 that every change has definite conditions, we are forced 
 to hold that causation involves certain fixed relations in 
 the objects revealed to us in experience. It may, how- 
 ever, be not unfairly objected that a philosophical theory 
 is not entitled to assume the validity of such a principle, 
 but by the very law of its being must either place it 
 upon an assured foundation, or refuse to admit its 
 validity. On the other hand, it is impossible to separate 
 the question of causality from the general problem of the 
 conditions of knowledge, and difficult to deal with the 
 larger question without writing a whole system of philo- 
 sophy. I can only hope in what follows to do something 
 to remove the perplexity in which the problem is involved. 
 It is a step in the right direction when the term 
 ' causality ' is understood to mean the orderly connection 
 of elements of experience. This implies that the relation 
 in question is not one which falls beyond possible know- 
 ledge, but one which is involved in knowledge. But, 
 reasonable as this limitation seems to be, it has often been 
 ignored or even denied; and such questions have been 
 raised as, What is the 'cause' of sensation? meaning by 
 this, What is the object lying beyond knowledge which 
 produces sensations in us? Now, obviously a 'cause,' as 
 so conceived, is not what the scientific man, or even the 
 man of plain common-sense, usually understands by the 
 term, though both may at times fall into this way of 
 thinking. The former, at least, regards a 'cause' as a 
 ' phenomenon,' i.e., as a possible object of knowledge ; 
 and, therefore, so far as he is consistent with himself, he 
 will not admit the existence of any 'thing in itself,' as 
 distinct from the thing which he knows, when he is 
 
CAUSALITY AND THE SYSTEM OF EXPERIENCE. 387 
 
 seeking for the 'cause' of a sensation. But, though he 
 may escape this pitfall, he is apt to fall into another. 
 He is so accustomed to assume that the only problem 
 which can be raised is in regard to the orderly connection 
 of elements of experience, that it does not occur to him 
 that the question, What is the cause of sensation? involves 
 an assumption as to the nature of sensation which cannot 
 be justified. That assumption is, that sensation and the 
 external conditions of sensation are upon the same level, 
 and, therefore, that to state the external conditions of 
 sensation is to assign its 'cause.' But sensation is the 
 response of a living being under certain external con- 
 ditions, and to speak of those conditions as if they were 
 a complete explanation of sensation is to ignore what is 
 distinctive of the living being. The principle of causality 
 thus shows itself to be limited in its application : it fixes 
 upon the orderly connection of elements of experience, 
 but it ignores the distinctive characteristics of different 
 orders of being. Now, unless we are to reduce the real 
 world to the Procrustean bed of mechanism, we must 
 recognize that causation, in the sense employed, is not a 
 final determination of reality. But, with a recognition of 
 this truth, the principle of causality sinks into the position 
 of a true but inadequate conception of the world. All that, 
 in strictness, is meant by it is, that the world, whatever 
 else it may be, involves an orderly connection of elements ; 
 in other words, the principle of causality cannot any 
 longer be regarded as the ultimate principle of experience. 
 That the principle of causality is not self-supporting, but 
 points beyond itself to a higher principle, may perhaps be 
 most readily seen in this way. Before there can be any 
 orderly connection of the elements of experience, these 
 
388 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 elements must all be contained within experience ; in other 
 words, they must all be known. Now, it is obviously not an 
 explanation of known elements to say that they are con- 
 nected ; it must also be shown that they are knoivn as 
 connected. We are therefore entitled to demand from any- 
 one who asserts the connection of elements of experience, 
 that he should explain how they can be connected. What 
 we desire him to tell us is, what account he has to give of 
 knowledge. If he admits that there is knowledge, he must 
 not at the same time give such an explanation of it as 
 makes the knowledge of connected elements of ex- 
 perience impossible. Such an explanation, as we maintain, 
 is that which declares knowledge to consist of particular 
 feelings. No number of particular feelings can account 
 for connected elements of experience, because, ex hypothesis 
 those feelings are not connected, but are separate or in- 
 dividual states. If it is answered that in point of fact 
 our inner life begins with such 'states,' and, even in 
 our more developed experience, is largely made up of 
 them ; we deny the asserted fact, and we further affirm 
 that, even if it were true, it would be irrelevant. We 
 deny the asserted fact, maintaining that purely individual 
 feelings have no existence for any living being, not even the 
 lowest ; that, on the contrary, every sensitive being has a 
 continuity of feeling in which the so-called 'states' are 
 merely elementary distinctions, emerging in the continuous 
 life of feeling, not separate feelings. We deny its relevancy, 
 because, granting the sensitive life to be discontinuous, it 
 does not follow that the conscious life can be so characterized, 
 and there is no experience of connected elements prior to 
 the conscious life. This is so obvious that it would never 
 have been doubted had not Hume adopted from Locke the 
 
CAUSALITY AND THE SYSTEM OF EXPERIENCE. 389 
 
 doctrine that real knowledge consists of particular sen- 
 sations, and had not the Associationists with equal docility 
 accepted the view of Hume. But we go further. Not only 
 is it impossible to explain the connection of elements of 
 experience on the basis of discrete feelings, but it is im- 
 possible to explain it on the basis of any psychological 
 theory whatever, so long as psychology is conceived to 
 deal with the individual subject. For, so long as the 
 subject is regarded as an object and he must be so 
 regarded if he is viewed as one being beside others 
 we do not explain how the subject can be a subject, 
 *.&, can have a knowledge of himself as an object. It 
 matters not whether the conscious life is conceived as 
 interrupted or continuous : so long as no attempt is made 
 to explain how there can be conscious life at all, no 
 form of experience is explained. For, the experience of 
 connected elements is impossible unless for a being who 
 lives in the whole, and no being can live in the whole, who 
 cannot attain to a universal point of view ; in other words, 
 only a thinking subject can have the experience of connected 
 elements. Connected elements involve (i) elements, (2) 
 their connection. How can there be elements which are not 
 elements in a whole ? And how can there be a connection 
 of elements unless these are discriminated? But to dis- 
 criminate elements and connect them within a whole is 
 precisely the work of thought. Now this process, with its 
 threefold aspect, is impossible unless there is a subject which 
 by its very nature is a unity capable of discriminating and 
 connecting all the elements of its experience. And such a 
 subject is not itself merely an orderly connection of ele- 
 ments ; it is the primary condition of all orderly connection 
 of elements. Hence there can be no experience whatever 
 
39 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 apart from the self-activity of a thinking subject a subject 
 which is capable of bringing all the elements of its experience, 
 including the process of its own individual life, within the 
 one system of experience. There is, therefore, no experience 
 except for an intelligent subject, and hence the determina- 
 tion of the known world by merely causal relations can only 
 be a subordinate aspect in the determination of it as an 
 intelligible system presupposing intelligence. 
 
 VIII. NATURAL EVOLUTION. 1 
 
 In the text I have assumed, for the sake of simplicity, 
 that the Darwinian theory is identical with the doctrine 
 of natural selection. This of course is not precisely true, 
 except of such biologists as Wallace and Weismann, who 
 refuse to admit any other factors. Darwin himself had 
 recourse to sexual selection and in a less degree to the 
 Lamarckian factor of use and disuse, and Romanes insists 
 upon the new factor of segregation of varieties within the 
 limits of interfertility. Natural evolution, in its widest 
 sense, also includes the pre-biological development of 
 physical into chemical phenomena, and of the latter into 
 the phenomena of life. With these, however, Darwin 
 refused to deal. Confining ourselves to the biological 
 stage of evolution, and accepting the view of such writers 
 as Professor Le Conte, in its scientific as distinguished 
 from its philosophical aspect, the argument in favour of 
 immanent teleology proceeds much more smoothly; though 
 even natural selection alone, as I have maintained, is 
 
 1 CL ch. vi., pp. 107 ff. 
 
NATURAL EVOLUTION. 39 1 
 
 unintelligible if it is supposed to be inconsistent with the 
 idea of final cause or purpose. No scientific doctrine of 
 evolution, however, can explain knowledge and morality, 
 whatever the number of factors employed may be, with- 
 out ceasing to be merely scientific and becoming philo- 
 sophical. 1 
 
 IX. DESCARTES AND KANT. 
 
 A. THE CARTESIAN COGITO ERGO SUM. 
 
 The short statement and criticism of the Cartesian 
 conception of mind, contained in the text, 2 will be better 
 understood from an account of the manner in which it is 
 reached, and by a consideration of the searching criticism 
 to which it is subjected by Kant, who maintains that it 
 rests upon a confusion between the self as object and 
 the self as subject. 
 
 The method of Descartes is to begin with the confused 
 mass of ideas which he finds in his own consciousness, 
 and, by subjecting them to a searching analysis, to reach 
 if possible a connected system of principles, expressive of 
 the real nature of things. That he is actually in possession 
 of ideas he takes for granted, and his question is how far 
 they can be regarded as containing a knowledge of real 
 existence. Roughly speaking, all those ideas concern the 
 existence and nature of the self, the world and God, and 
 his problem is to determine whether there are real objects 
 
 1 Those who are interested in this topic may be referred to my 
 Christianity and Idealism, 2nd ed., ch. ix. Cf. 1st and 2nd eds., 
 ch. vii., pp. 181-191. 
 
 2 See ch. vii., pp. 138-142. 
 
39 2 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 corresponding to them, and what is the nature of those 
 objects. 
 
 Now, some very simple considerations are sufficient to 
 show that our ordinary belief in the existence and nature 
 of an external world is by no means beyond the reach 
 of doubt. In our ideas of sense we seem to be brought 
 into direct contact with objects as they actually exist, and 
 hence the uncritical mind assumes that there are real 
 external things, and that they are as they appear. This 
 naive belief is at once upset when it is discovered that 
 the senses often deceive us ; for, if we are to reach the 
 sure basis of scientific knowledge, we cannot accept the 
 testimony of a witness which is not consistent with itself. 
 We must, therefore, in the first instance at least, reject 
 entirely the belief in the existence of objects having the 
 properties which our senses seem to say they have. Not 
 that, like the ancient sceptics, we can be contented to 
 rest in this attitude of doubt; for what we are in search 
 of is indubitable knowledge, and doubt of what is doubtful 
 is merely a means to the discovery of what cannot be 
 doubted. We admit, then, that we have ideas of sense, 
 but we attribute to them no other reality than to dreams : 
 they are actual states of consciousness, but whether there 
 are any real objects corresponding to them we do not 
 yet know. It may indeed be objected that in refusing to 
 admit the reality of external objects, we are carrying our 
 scepticism beyond all reasonable limits. Granting that 
 external things are not in themselves what they appear to 
 our senses to be, why, it may be asked, should we deny 
 all reality to them? A real corporeal existence, having 
 the properties of figure, magnitude, and number, is not a 
 self-contradictory conception, and therefore it is not open 
 
THE CARTESIAN COGITO ERGO SUM. 393 
 
 to the objection which has been brought against our 
 ideas of sense. Why, then, should we affect to doubt 
 the reality of such an object? To this objection Des- 
 cartes answers that, even as thus purified, our ideas of 
 external reality, self-consistent though they be, may only 
 possess the self-consistency of a well-ordered dream. For 
 if there is a God, He may purposely produce in us the 
 illusion of extended reality; and if there is no God, the 
 apparent reality of external things may be due to a 
 defect in ourselves. Now, we must not run the risk of 
 admitting anything to be real which is in the least degree 
 doubtful, and therefore we must at present suppose that 
 there is no external reality, and that our ideas of such a 
 reality are mere fictions. Our position, then, is, that so 
 far as we yet know there may be no external reality 
 whatever. But while we are thus in absolute doubt as to 
 the existence of external reality, there is no doubt that 
 we are in a state of doubt. Now, doubt has its own 
 reality, the reality which belongs to every idea which is 
 in our consciousness. It is possible to doubt that what 
 we think actually exists as we think it, but it is not 
 possible to doubt that we do think or have ideas. Thus 
 to doubt is to think or be conscious, and therefore the 
 fact that I doubt implies that I who doubt or think 
 exist. At last I have found a reality, the reality of 
 myself, which is absolutely indubitable. Cogito ergo sum. 
 There may be no external reality, but the reality of 
 myself is proved by my thinking. 1 
 
 There has been a good deal of controversy in regard 
 to the precise meaning of the Cogito ergo sum. What, 
 
 1 Cousin's Oeuvres de Descartes, i. 156, 153, 239, 247. 
 
394 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 in the first place, is to be understood by Cogito? Does 
 it mean thought proper, conceptual thought? or is it a 
 term for any mode of consciousness ? In the third Medi- 
 tation it seems to be used in the latter sense. "I am," 
 says Descartes, "a thing which thinks, i.e., which doubts, 
 affirms, denies, knows a few things, is ignorant of many, 
 loves, hates, desires, avoids, imagines and perceives." 1 
 Here the thinking being is the conscious subject in the 
 most general sense : it is, in fact, what Kant distinguishes 
 as the phenomenal or object-self. But, on the other 
 hand, this object-self is known by the subject, and it is 
 upon this knowledge that the Cogito ergo sum is based. 
 By what faculty, then, does the subject know itself as an 
 object? The answer seems to be given in the discussion 
 of the criterion of truth. There we are told that the 
 'clearness and distinctness' which is required as the con- 
 dition of real knowledge is not that of imagination or 
 perception, but of understanding. The identity, e.g., 
 which is affirmed of a piece of wax is its identity in an 
 infinity of possible changes, and there is no such identity 
 in its sensible qualities, nor can imagination represent 
 an infinity of changes. It is therefore thought which 
 grasps the identity of the wax, not imagination or per- 
 ception. 2 
 
 Now, it would be obvious from this illustration alone 
 that the identity of the thinking subject can, on Des- 
 cartes' view, be known only by the understanding. But 
 we are not left to draw this inference for ourselves, for 
 Descartes expressly affirms that the thinking being is 
 known only by ' intellection ' or conception, and that 
 
 x Ibid, i., 263. *Ibid. L, 256-260. 
 
THE CARTESIAN C0G1T0 ERGO SUM. 395 
 
 imagination is not essential to the knowledge of self; nay, 
 he maintains that imagination and perception are not 
 essential to the existence of self, though we cannot con- 
 ceive them except as modes of the self 1 It would thus 
 seem that, according to Descartes' more mature view, 
 the knowledge of self is based upon pure thought or 
 conception, and that the thinking subject is in its essen- 
 tial nature a pure intelligence. If so, the Cogito must be 
 interpreted to mean : ' I think or conceive,' and the sum 
 to mean : ' I exist as a purely thinking or conceiving 
 being.' That this view is essential to Descartes' ultimate 
 conclusion, viz., that the thinking being is an independent 
 substance, will immediately appear. At the same time, 
 there seems no reason to suppose that Descartes ever 
 clearly distinguished between the self as a purely thinking 
 being, and the self as conscious in general ; and hence 
 he was unaware of the difficulties involved in his asser- 
 tion that the thinking self is an independent substance. 
 
 A second difficulty which has been raised in connection 
 with the Cogito ergo sum is whether it is to be regarded as 
 an inference or not. That it is not reached by a syllogistic 
 process, Descartes explicitly affirms. It rests, he says, upon 
 a simple ' intuition.' If the sum were the conclusion 
 of a syllogism, we must first know that 'whatever thinks 
 exists,' and from this proposition go on to reason : ' I 
 think, therefore I exist.' This, however, is not the order 
 of our knowledge. What we start from is the experience 
 which we have within ourselves of the inseparability of the 
 idea ' I think ' from the idea ' I exist.' In fact no truth 
 is reached by a syllogistic process : it is the very nature of 
 
 x Ibid. L, 323, 332. 
 
396 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 our minds to advance from particular to universal pro- 
 positions. The primary truths from which all others are 
 derived are directly known and are self-evident. They rest 
 upon ' intuition,' by which is meant " the conception of an 
 attentive mind, so distinct and clear that doubt is im- 
 possible." l ' Intuition,' it must be observed, is not the 
 presence in our minds of a single idea, but the connection 
 of two ideas in a judgment. What gives the Cogito ergo 
 sum its convincing force is the inseparability of the reality 
 of thought from the reality of the thinking subject : all 
 thinking has an immediate and necessary relation to an 
 actual self, while its relation to any other reality is in the 
 first instance open to doubt. Descartes usually prefers to 
 say that the Cogito ergo sum is the typical instance of " clear 
 and distinct perception." This, however, does not mean 
 that it is not a judgment. As a judgment, it is not the 
 analysis of a single idea into its constituent elements, but 
 the necessary connection of distinct ideas. In this sense 
 Cogito ergo sum is synthetic. In the indissoluble connection 
 of thought and the subject which thinks there is revealed to 
 us the identity of that which thinks with that which exists. 
 In this case, therefore, there is no opposition between that 
 which is thought and that which exists ; and hence in the 
 Cogito ergo sum we have, not merely an epistemological, but 
 a metaphysical or ontological principle. Here at least we 
 have the knowledge of a real existence. 
 
 Thirdly, does the Cogito ergo sum establish the separate 
 and independent existence of the thinking subject ? Would 
 I still exist even if there were no external reality, in- 
 cluding my own body? In the Discourse on Mettiod 
 
 1 Ibid, xi., 212. 
 
THE CARTESIAN COGITO ERGO SUM. 397 
 
 Descartes speaks as if these questions must be answered 
 in the affirmative. Finding it possible to doubt the exist- 
 ence of all external reality, he came to the conclusion 
 that he was "a substance whose whole essence or nature 
 consists purely in thinking, and which in order to be has 
 no need of any place, nor is dependent on anything 
 material." Hence, "this I, *., the soul, by which I am 
 what I am, is entirely distinct from the body, and though 
 the body were not, the soul would not cease to be all 
 that it is." * Here Descartes seems to assume that, because 
 the subject is conscious of himself as a thinking being, it 
 directly follows that he would still exist and think even if 
 there were no reality but himself. Now, without dwelling 
 upon the insuperable difficulties which such a doctrine 
 involves, it is enough to point out that the separate 
 existence of the thinking subject is not directly implied 
 in the knowledge that such a subject exists. All that is 
 directly contained in the Cogito ergo sum is that a think- 
 ing subject exists, but whether it would exist if there 
 were no reality but itself can only be determined by 
 wider considerations. It is possible that Descartes had 
 such considerations in his mind when he wrote the Dis- 
 course on Method, and that these formed the suppressed 
 link by which a transition was effected from the proposition 
 'I exist as thinking' to the proposition 'I exist as an 
 independent substance.' Whether this is so or not, he 
 came to see that the latter proposition is distinct from 
 the former. Even in the Meditations he is not successful 
 in drawing a perfectly clear distinction between them, but 
 he shows something like an appreciation of it. "It is 
 
 ^ Ibid. i. 158. 
 
39^ AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 very certain," he says, "that the knowledge of my exist- 
 ence does not depend upon things the existence of which 
 is not known to me." 1 What he ought to have said is : 
 " It is very certain that the knowledge of my existence 
 does not depend upon the knowledge of things the existence 
 of which is not known to me." The knowledge of my 
 own existence, in other words, is a primary truth, and is 
 so bound up with my self-consciousness, that though I 
 should not be able to determine whether there are external 
 things or not, it would still remain indubitable. This is 
 at least an intelligible position for Descartes to assume, 
 though its tenability may be questioned; and it seems 
 probable that this was what he really meant, for we find 
 him saying in the Preface to the Meditations that in the 
 Cogito ergo sum it was not his intention to exclude the 
 supposition that the thinking being is in his existence 
 dependent upon external reality, but only to affirm that 
 the knowledge of his own existence is prior to all other 
 knowledge. Descartes does, indeed, deny that the exist- 
 ence of the thinking being is in any way dependent upon 
 the existence of extended reality, but this conclusion is 
 deduced from the Cogito ergo sum, not directly contained 
 in it. 2 Our next question must therefore be, how the 
 independent existence of the thinking subject is sought to 
 be proved. 
 
 The faculty of thought or 'intellection,' Descartes tells 
 us, is entirely distinct from the faculty of imagination. 
 I cannot imagine a chiliagon, but I have no difficulty 
 in thinking it. Now it is by thought alone that I know 
 myself to exist, and therefore thought constitutes the 
 
 1 Ibid. i. 252. *lbid. i. 224. 
 
THE CARTESIAN COGITO ERGO SUM. 399 
 
 very essence of mind. But if this is so, I am entirely 
 and truly distinct from my body and all other extended 
 reality, and can therefore exist independently. Thus, 
 as Descartes thinks, the possibility of the existence of 
 my mind, as a pure intelligence, is established. On the 
 other hand, I have in my actual consciousness ideas of 
 imagination and sense; and these, though they are modes of 
 my consciousness, yet in their representative character imply 
 a reality external to me. There is in me a certain ' passive 
 faculty' of perception, a faculty which consists in appre- 
 hending the ideas of sensible things, and these can be 
 reproduced in my imagination. That sensible perception 
 does not belong to me as a purely thinking being is evident, 
 (i) because my thought is independent of it, and (2) because 
 I often have ideas of sense without my own consent. I 
 must therefore refer these ideas to some substance different 
 from me, which is sufficient to explain their representative 
 reality. Considered simply as facts of consciousness, all my 
 ideas are equally real, but as representative of things they 
 have many degrees of reality. The idea of substance 
 represents more being or perfection than that of a mode 
 or accident, and the idea of infinite substance than that of 
 finite substance. Now there are certain truths which are 
 revealed to us by the 'natural light,' and which have the 
 same direct evidence of their truth as the existence of self. 
 One of those communes notiones is that there must be in the 
 efficient and total cause the same degree of reality as in its 
 effects. Not only can negation produce nothing, but the 
 less perfect cannot produce the more perfect ; while, on the 
 other hand, we are not entitled to predicate of the cause 
 more than is required to account for the effect. This 
 principle must be applied in explanation of my ideas as 
 
400 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 representative of reality. Now change of place, occupation 
 of different situations, etc., cannot be conceived, and there- 
 fore cannot exist, apart from some substance of which they 
 are modes. But these modes, though in my consciousness 
 they appear as ideas of sense, cannot be attributed to me as 
 a purely thinking being, since their clear and distinct con- 
 ception implies extension but not intelligence. I must 
 therefore refer them to a corporeal substance distinct from 
 me, which gives to my ideas their representative reality. It 
 of course does not follow that this substance as it is in itself 
 corresponds to my sense-perceptions, for so far as these are 
 obscure and confused they do not represent external reality 
 as it actually is. What external reality is I know from my 
 clear and distinct conception of it as a continuous mag- 
 nitude, extended in length, breadth, and depth. Thus, by 
 a necessary process of deduction, it has been proved that 
 there exists corporeal as well as thinking substance, and 
 that each is entirely independent in its own nature of the 
 other. The substance in which thought immediately resides 
 is mind : the substance which is the immediate subject of 
 local extension and its accidents such as figure, situation, 
 and motion is body. As two substances are said to be 
 distinct when each can be conceived without the other, 
 mind and body are separate and independent substances, 
 which only come into accidental relations to each other} 
 
 B. KANT'S CRITICISM OF RATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 It is evident, from the statement which has just been 
 given, that Descartes is finally led by the natural develop- 
 ment of his thought to give a different meaning to the 
 
 1 Ibid. L, 323, 332, 333, 272, 273, 334, 453- 
 
k ant's criticism of rational psychology. 401 
 
 Cogito ergo sum from that which he originally assigned to 
 it. In his first mind he employs the Cogito simply as an 
 expression of the presence in all modes o consciousness 
 of the self; but, as he goes on, he is forced to define 
 the essential self as a pure intelligence, which in its real 
 nature is entirely independent of imagination and per- 
 ception. Such a limitation was in truth necessary, if he 
 was to give plausibility to the conclusion that mind is 
 entirely independent of body in its existence and opera- 
 tion. By a similar process of abstraction he separates 
 from body all its modes or accidents, and identifies it 
 with pure extended reality. But while he thus seems to 
 secure the independent existence of mind and body, he 
 finds it impossible, as Spinoza afterwards did, to preserve 
 the parallelism between thinking and extended substance. 
 For mind, as he is forced to admit, not only thinks 
 itself but it also thinks body; and thus, while the latter 
 is related only to itself, the former is related both to 
 itself and to that which is affirmed to be independent of 
 it. The difficulty therefore arises to explain how the 
 mind, which is conceived to exist purely within itself, can 
 yet go out of itself to comprehend body. This difficulty 
 Descartes imagines that he has overcome by his theory 
 of perception as a "passive faculty" of the mind, which 
 is not essential to its existence as a pure intelligence. 
 He cannot, however, deny that perception is possible only 
 for a conscious subject, and hence he makes it a mode 
 or accident of the thinking being, but a mode or accident 
 which would not exist but for the causal activity of ex- 
 tended substance. Thus, as he thinks, the independent 
 reality of mind and matter is preserved, while their 
 
 accidental relation to each other is explained. That this 
 
 2 c 
 
402 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 compromise is untenable it was part of the task of Kant 
 to show; and this he did by challenging the whole 
 dualistic basis upon which the doctrine of Descartes is 
 founded. What Kant maintains is that Descartes, by 
 confusing the phenomenal subject with the pure thinking 
 subject, seems to account for the knowledge of the pure 
 self as an object, whereas his argument demands that the 
 reality of the pure self should be established entirely on 
 the basis of pure thought. Rational Psychology therefore 
 stands or falls with its power to prove the existence of 
 an independent intelligence from the mere "I think." 
 To do so, it has to make use of pure conceptions or 
 categories; and such a use of mere forms of thought is, 
 in his view, inadmissible, being based upon the false 
 assumption that pure conceptions are capable of deter- 
 minining the existence of an object apart from the con- 
 crete element supplied by perception. There is therefore 
 no science of the soul as it is in itself. We are indeed 
 conscious of the thinking subject as a unity, without 
 which there could be no knowledge either of the phen- 
 omenal self or of other objects; but this unity is nothing 
 but the permanent form of experience, not a separately 
 existing substance. What the subject is in itself cannot 
 be known from the mere unity of experience, which is 
 but the mind's consciousness of the unity of its own 
 action in determining objects, not the knowledge of its 
 own independent existence. 
 
 The combination of ideas, in which thinking consists, is 
 impossible, as Kant points out, apart from the unity of self- 
 consciousness, and this unity is therefore the supreme con- 
 dition of thought in all its forms. Self-consciousness is 
 therefore the characteristic mark of all beings that think. 
 
kant's criticism of rational psychology. 403 
 
 The thinking subject, however, is known as an object only 
 in so far as there is a determination of inner sense, and 
 hence it appears to itself in a succession of ideas, while all 
 other objects are presented to it as spatial. "I, as thinking, 
 am an object of inner sense, and am called soul, while that 
 which is an object of outer sense is called body." The 
 phenomenal-self as thus appearing in time is the object of 
 Empirical Psychology ; but, if attention is concentrated 
 upon the pure unity of self-consciousness, it seems as if 
 there might be constructed a Rational Psychology, which, 
 borrowing nothing from experience, should be based entirely 
 upon the nature of the self as the determining subject of all 
 thought. Nor does there at first sight seem anything un- 
 reasonable in the attempt to construct such a Psychology. 
 No experience whatever no combination of ideas into a 
 system of objects is possible apart from the continuous 
 unity of self-consciousness, while yet this unity is not 
 derived from experience. How natural it is, therefore, to 
 suppose that the thinking subject is entirely independent of 
 experience, and that its nature can be determined purely by 
 a consideration of it as self-conscious. Such a science, if it 
 is possible at all, must obviously apply to the thinking sub- 
 ject none but transcendental predicates or pure conceptions. 
 Accordingly we find that Rational Psychology affirms the 
 soul to be a substance, simple, identical in all its changes 
 and capable of relation to objects in space. 1 
 
 That Rational Psychology is not a science it will be easy 
 to show. The inferences which it draws all rest upon the 
 assumption that the thinking subject can be determined as 
 an object by the application to it of pure conceptions or 
 
 1 Kritik der reinen Vernunft, A. 341 344; B. 399 402. 
 
404 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 categories. There is, however, nothing to which these 
 categories can be applied but the simple idea /, which is 
 entirely empty of all content, and therefore admits of no 
 further determination. What this / is in itself cannot be 
 known, because it is never given apart from the thoughts 
 by which it determines objects. All that we can say is, that 
 it is the general form of all the ideas through which a know- 
 ledge of objects is obtained; and to take this general form of 
 experience as an object which exists and can be known 
 independently of experience is a mere confusion of thought 
 or paralogism. 1 
 
 The rational psychologist does not start, like Descartes,, 
 from a fact of experience the fact of his own conscious- 
 ness of himself as an object of inner sense; if he did, it 
 would not be possible for him to determine the character 
 of all thinking beings. What he maintains is that every 
 thinking being is self-conscious. Nor is there anything 
 illegitimate in this procedure ; for we are entitled to 
 predicate of a thinking being that without which we 
 cannot conceive it, and no thinking being is conceivable 
 which is not a self. The mistake of the rational psycho- 
 logist lies in a different direction. He is perfectly entitled 
 to say that every thinking being must be self-conscious, but 
 this does not warrant his assumption that self-consciousness 
 is possible independently of all experience. When we 
 examine into the conditions of knowledge, we find that no 
 real object is known simply by thinking : knowledge is 
 possible only by the determination of a given perception 
 by reference to the unity of consciousness which is the 
 condition of all thinking. If, therefore, I am to know 
 
 1 Ibid. A. 345346 ; B. 403404. 
 
kant's criticism of rational psychology. 405 
 
 myself as an object, there must be a perception of myself; 
 and this perception must be determined by reference to the 
 unity of consciousness before there can be any knowledge 
 of myself. It is thus evident that the consciousness of 
 myself as the determining subject does not yield a know- 
 ledge of myself as an object : it is only in so far as the 
 various determinations of myself are brought together in 
 the unity of apperception that I have a knowledge of my- 
 self as an object. We may therefore be certain beforehand 
 that the attempt of Rational Psychology to construct a 
 science upon the basis of the idea of the pure self must 
 end in failure. Having no manifold of perception to which 
 the categories can be applied since the pure / has no 
 distinction within it it must illegitimately borrow a mani- 
 fold from experience in order to give plausibility to its 
 contention that the thinking subject is an actual object 
 of knowledge. 1 
 
 (1) Rational Psychology is quite right in maintaining that 
 in every act of thought there is a self which is the determin- 
 ing subject, the subject which thinks. But the consciousness 
 of self as the subject which thinks is not the consciousness 
 of the self as an object, which can be characterised as a 
 substance. The fact that in all determination of objects 
 the consciousness of self is implied does not prove that there 
 underlies the unity of consciousness a single permanent and 
 indestructible substance. It is quite conceivable that there 
 should be unity in consciousness with a change of substance, 
 and therefore the former does not imply the latter. The 
 unity of self-consciousness only shows that so long as there 
 is a consciousness of objects there is a consciousness of 
 
 l Ibid. A. 346 348; B. 404407. 
 
406 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 self: it can never warrant the inference that there is a 
 thinking substance which is permanent and indestructible. 
 
 (2) Rational Psychology is right in affirming that in 
 every act of thought the subject is conscious of its own 
 unity. But the unity of self-consciousness does not prove 
 the existence of an underlying simple substance. There 
 is no knowledge of substance apart from a manifold of 
 perception, and thought supplies no manifold of percep- 
 tion. Hence the unity of the self in thinking tells us 
 nothing as to the existence of a simple substance. The 
 logical unity of the / is confused by the rational psycholo- 
 gist with the objective unity of a substance, which is not 
 given in thought nor can be inferred from the mere unity 
 of self-consciousness. 
 
 (3) Rational Psychology is right in maintaining that 
 the self is identical with itself in all its thinking. But 
 from this identity in the subject of thought we can infer 
 nothing in regard to the identity of a substance supposed 
 to underlie thought. The only way in which we could 
 have a knowledge of such a substance would be by its 
 presentation in perception, and such a perception is not 
 contained in the mere consciousness of the subject as 
 identical in all its determinations. 
 
 (4) Rational Psychology is right in saying that I am 
 conscious of myself as distinct from all objects in space. 
 But it by no means follows that I could exist without a 
 body and its accompanying sensibility, or that I should 
 be conscious of myself, if I had no knowledge of things 
 as outside of me. 1 
 
 There is, then, no way of passing from the conscious- 
 
 ^Ibid. B. 407409. 
 
KANTS CRITICISM OF RATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY. 407 
 
 ness of the thinking subject to the knowledge of the 
 self as an object. The mere logical analysis of thought 
 can never be the basis for synthetic propositions in regard 
 to the existence and nature of a real object. In truth 
 Rational Psychology is in fundamental opposition to the 
 whole principle of Critical Philosophy. If synthetic a 
 priori judgments could be based upon the emptiest of all 
 our pure conceptions, without any aid from experience, 
 there is no reason why we should not have a complete 
 science of reality. Rational Psychology maintains that 
 "every thinking being is in virtue of its thinking a simple 
 substance." If a synthetic a priori judgment such as this 
 can be based upon a pure conception, apart from all 
 relation to a possible experience, Criticism is "dethroned," 
 and "Vortex reigns in its stead." 1 
 
 The danger, however, is purely imaginary. The claim 
 of Rational Psychology to take rank as a science rests 
 upon a mere misunderstanding. The thinking being 
 assumes a knowledge of itself because it imagines that 
 it may determine its own nature by those categories which 
 express absolute unity. No supposition is more natural. 
 Without unity of consciousness there could be no synthesis 
 of the manifold of perception, and in this synthesis con- 
 sists pure conception. Thus self-consciousness is the con- 
 dition of all unity in knowledge, while it does not itself 
 stand under any higher condition. This explains why the 
 thinking subject seems to be a substance, which is simple, 
 identical, and the correlate of all existence. It is regarded 
 as a substance, because it is present in every act of thought; 
 as simple, because it is always a conscious unity; as identical, 
 
 1 Ibid. B. 409 410. 
 
408 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 because in every act of thought the consciousness of that 
 which thinks is implied : and as the correlate of all exist- 
 ence, because no object can be known which is not 
 relative to it. The determination of the thinking subject 
 by these categories is, however, quite inadmissible. No 
 doubt the thinking subject knows the categories : it is 
 aware of the functions of synthesis in which all thinking 
 consists, and as these are impossible apart from the con- 
 sciousness of its own unity, and are employed in the 
 determination of the manifold of perception, it knows all 
 objects through itself. But it does not know itself through 
 the categories, for these have objective meaning only in 
 relation to a given manifold : it is only in knowing objects 
 that it becomes conscious of itself as the unity to which 
 all objects are related. Thus the knowledge of objects 
 through the categories is not a knowledge of itself as an 
 object to which categories may be applied. To know 
 itself through the categories as an object would be to 
 determine itself through them. But this is impossible; 
 for without the unity of self-consciousness no knowledge 
 of objects is possible, and therefore that unity cannot be 
 the result of its own synthetic activity in the determina- 
 tion of objects. For, we must remember that objects 
 exist for the subject only as the product of its synthetic 
 activity in the determination of the manifold of percep- 
 tion; hence the subject could be an object for itself 
 only if it were the product of its own synthetic activity. 
 "It is quite plain," says Kant, "that I cannot know 
 that as an object which I must presuppose before I can 
 have any knowledge of an object." The determining self 
 the self which exercises its synthetic activity in the con- 
 stitution of objects cannot know itself as an object : 
 
KANT S CRITICISM OF RATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY. 409 
 
 the only object-self is the " determinable " self, i.e. the 
 self which is determined as a phenomenon in time, but 
 only in contrast to phenomena in space. 1 
 
 Now, Rational Psychology supposes that the " determin- 
 ing " self can be known as an object by the application of 
 categories to the pure idea of self. The supposition is false. 
 " The unity of consciousness, which is the supreme condition 
 of the categories, is confused with a perception of the self as 
 object, and hence it is supposed that the category of sub- 
 stance may be legitimately applied to the thinking subject." 
 As there is no manifold of perception by which the determin- 
 ing subject could be constituted as an object, obviously 
 there can be no knowledge of it as an object. The only 
 manifold to which it can apply its synthetic activity is 
 the manifold of perception, which does not proceed from 
 itself but is given to it ; and therefore, while it can determine 
 other objects and become conscious of its own synthetic 
 activity in determining them, it cannot determine itself as an 
 object. Similarly, the subject, as the ground of the idea of 
 time, cannot determine its own existence by the idea of 
 time; and therefore it has no manifold to which the 
 categories can be applied. 2 
 
 From what has been said, the fallacy of the Cartesian 
 Cogito ergo sum is obvious. Descartes imagined that he 
 had proved the independent existence of a pure intelligence 
 from the spontaneity of thought. But the Cogito from 
 which he starts is the consciousness of himself as a determi- 
 nate object, i.e. he begins with the " determinable " self, the 
 self as an object of inner experience. But from this self 
 nothing can be concluded as to the ultimate nature of the 
 
 * Ibid. A. 401. 
 
4IO AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 " determining " self. The sum of Descartes therefore means : 
 " I exist as an object of inner sense." And this shows that 
 there is no inference whatever; for the Cogito already 
 means : " I am an object of inner sense." Now, admitting 
 that I am conscious of myself in all the phenomena of the 
 inner sense, it by no means follows that I have a knowledge 
 of myself as a pure intelligence. The consciousness of the 
 self as an object of inner sense is possible only through the 
 consciousness of something permanent in space. It is in 
 the regress from the consciousness of objects in space that I 
 become aware of my own states as a temporal series, and 
 therefore I have no consciousness of myself as an object 
 apart from the consciousness of things without me. Ob- 
 viously, therefore, Descartes cannot legitimately infer the 
 independent existence of the thinking subject from the 
 Cogito as he understands it. On the other hand, if the 
 Cogito is taken in the sense of pure thought, the inference 
 to the existence of a being, which exists purely as thinking, 
 must be based upon the proposition that "whatever thinks 
 exists purely as thinking." This proposition, however, can- 
 not be based upon the unity of self-consciousness ; for the " I 
 think " merely expresses the possibility of self-consciousness 
 as the condition of experience, and therefore tells us nothing 
 as to the existence of a pure intelligence, having no re- 
 lation to sensibility. Thus the Cogito of Descartes does 
 not prove the existence of a pure intelligence, but merely 
 expresses the possibility of the consciousness of self as the 
 universal form of the inner sense. 1 
 
 The source of the dialectical illusion of Rational Psycho- 
 logy is now perfectly obvious. An Idea of reason the 
 Idea of a pure intelligence is confused with the perfectly 
 1 Ibid. B. 422 n. 
 
KANT'S CRITICISM OF RATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY. 411 
 
 indeterminate conception of a thinking being, and it is 
 assumed that what is true of the former is true of the 
 latter. In order to make clear to myself the ultimate con- 
 dition of a possible experience, I abstract from all actual 
 experience and concentrate attention upon the self. Then 
 I falsely assume that I can be conscious of my own ex- 
 istence apart from experience and its conditions. Thus 
 I confuse the possible abstraction of my empirically de- 
 termined existence the mere possibility of self-conscious 
 experience with the imaginary consciousness of the 
 separate existence of my thinking self. Hence I come to 
 believe that I have a knowledge of the substantial in me 
 as the transcendental subject, while in fact I have in my 
 thought only the unity of consciousness, which is pre- 
 supposed as the mere form of my experience. 1 
 
 As we have seen, the proposition " I think," or " I exist 
 thinking," is an empirical proposition. As such it pre- 
 supposes empirical perception, and the object thought is 
 therefore a phenomenon, not a thing in itself. Now, since 
 this is true, not merely of external things, but of the self as 
 an object of inner sense, it seems as if the thinking self were 
 merely a phenomenon, and that our whole consciousness is 
 a mere illusion. This conclusion, however, by no means 
 follows. Thinking, viewed purely in itself, is merely the 
 faculty of combining a manifold, whether that manifold is 
 sensuous or intellectual. Hence when I concentrate atten- 
 tion upon the faculty of thought, abstracting from the 
 manner of my perception, I am conscious of myself neither 
 as I am nor as I appear to myself: not the former, for 
 without some manifold I cannot be an object for myself; 
 not the latter, because I am a phenomenal object for myself 
 1 Ibid. B. 426 427. 
 
412 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 only as thinking the manifold given to me in sense. The 
 conception of myself simply as thinking is therefore merely 
 that of an object quite generally, i.e. an object conceived 
 apart from the manner in which it can be perceived. In 
 this way no doubt I have the idea of myself as a subject of 
 thought, or even as a ground of thinking, but such an idea 
 is very different from the determination of myself as a 
 substance or cause. To know myself as substance or cause 
 I must have a sensuous manifold to which I can apply 
 these pure forms of thought, and such a manifold is ex- 
 cluded by the very attempt to determine myself as a pure 
 intelligence. The idea of myself as a thinking subject is 
 reached by abstraction from the determination of myself 
 as presented to me in the inner sense, and thus the Idea 
 of myself as a pure intelligence arises for me in contrast 
 to the consciousness of myself as a phenomenon. To this 
 Idea no known object corresponds. If, indeed, I could 
 supply a manifold out of myself, my thought would then 
 have a content to which it could be applied, and I should 
 have an actual knowledge of myself as a pure intelligence ; 
 but, as the manifold is not supplied by me but given to 
 me, I cannot have any such knowledge. The Idea of my- 
 self as a pure intelligence must therefore always remain an 
 Idea, so far as knowledge is concerned. There is, however, 
 nothing to prevent me from holding that in my real nature 
 I am a permanent and self-determining being; and this 
 supposition is converted into a certainty by a consideration 
 of the Practical Reason. No line of thought, however, can 
 justify the contention of Rational Psychology that I have 
 actual knowledge of myself as an independent substance. 
 I can only know myself as a phenomenon, and such know- 
 ledge can never be adequate to the idea of myself as an 
 
kant's criticism of rational psychology. 413 
 
 absolute unity. " The understanding in us men is not a 
 faculty of perception, and though a manifold is supplied 
 to it by the sensibility, it cannot take up that manifold into 
 itself, so as to combine what may be called its own per- 
 ception." The manifold of sense, in other words, is by its 
 very nature as spatial and temporal never a whole, and 
 therefore the synthesis by which thought combines it into 
 objects can never be complete. 1 
 
 But while there can be no knowledge of a pure intelligence, 
 the Idea of such an intelligence is not without value even 
 for theoretical reason. Though it has no other than a 
 regulative value, it supplies us with the ideal by reference 
 to which we may seek to determine the phenomenal self. 
 The substantiality, simplicity, self-identity and independence 
 of the soul " are to be regarded merely as the schema for 
 this regulative principle, not the real ground of the pro- 
 perties of the soul. These may rest upon quite other 
 grounds, which are not known to us ; nor could we in any 
 proper sense know the soul by means of these supposed 
 predicates, even if they were admitted to apply to it, since 
 they constitute a mere Idea, which cannot be presented in 
 concreto. Nothing but advantage can come from such a 
 psychological Idea, if we are careful to observe that it is 
 only an Idea, i.e. that its sole value is to reduce the pheno- 
 mena of our soul to system by the exercise of reason." 2 
 
 In the statement of Kant's criticism of Rational Psycho- 
 logy just given his own order of exposition has been pretty 
 closely followed. Perhaps it may make the matter some- 
 what clearer if we follow the natural order of ideas which 
 was really operative in his mind. (1) His first point is, 
 
 l Ibid. B. 42831 ; B. 153* 2 Ibid. A. 682; B. 711. 
 
414 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 that the ' I think ' is ambiguous. Descartes, in his Cogito 
 ergo sum, starts from the empirical proposition, that in all 
 the modes of my consciousness I am conscious of myself. 
 The / is here manifestly merely the consciousness of self 
 which accompanies all my consciousness. As this con- 
 sciousness is simply the unity which is present in the series 
 of my ideas, the self is here properly the phenomenal self 
 as the object of inner sense. From the phenomenal self, 
 however, no inference can be drawn as to the independent 
 existence of the thinking subject. (2) Hence the thinking 
 or determining subject must be distinguished from the 
 phenomenal self as presented in the inner sense. This is 
 the step taken by Rational Psychology, which abstracts 
 from all the concrete determinations of the self and seeks 
 to establish the existence of a thinking substance simply 
 from the idea of the thinking subject. The procedure of 
 Rational Psychology is, however, illegitimate; for the 
 determining subject cannot be known as an object through 
 categories of which it is itself the source, and which have 
 no meaning except in relation to a manifold of perception 
 that it does not itself originate. (3) But though the 
 determining subject is not identical with an independent 
 substance, the Idea of an absolute subject still remains, 
 and is valuable as a regulative principle in systematising 
 the complex phenomena of our inner experience. (4) 
 That Idea further serves to indicate that the self as the 
 object of inner sense is merely a phenomenon. There 
 is therefore nothing absurd in the supposition that the 
 self in its real nature is independent and self-determining, 
 and thus the way is left open for that rational faith in 
 freedom and immortality which Kant afterwards seeks to 
 base upon the moral consciousness. Anything like a com- 
 
KANT'S CRITICISM OF RATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY. 415 
 
 plete discussion of these points would involve an examina- 
 tion of the whole Critical Philosophy, but something may 
 be said on each of them. 
 
 (1) Kant's main objection to Descartes, is that his 
 Cogito ergo sum is an empirical proposition, which pre- 
 supposes for its possibility the consciousness of objects. 
 Now, there is no doubt that Kant has here put his finger 
 upon the fundamental defect in the whole philosophy of 
 Descartes. The method of Descartes is one of abstraction. 
 He overlooks the fact that, when he begins to analyse 
 the contents of his consciousness, he has before him a 
 world which has grown up for him in the complex pro- 
 cess of experience, and already involves the consciousness 
 of objects as contrasted with and yet related to the 
 consciousness of himself. Hence, though by reflection he 
 can distinguish between these two forms of consciousness, 
 it by no means follows that the one is separable from 
 the other. Descartes, however, takes the logical distinction 
 of subject and object for a real separation. He imagines 
 that the capacity of abstracting from the consciousness of 
 objects is a proof that the consciousness of self is pos- 
 sible apart from the consciousness of objects. In truth, 
 that capacity no more proves that the self can be known 
 without a knowledge of objects than the capacity of 
 abstracting from a circumference proves that a centre can be 
 known without a circumference. As Descartes assumes that 
 the consciousness of objects is not essential to the conscious- 
 ness of self, he naturally maintains that the consciousness 
 of his own inner states is possible without the conscious- 
 ness of his own body. Thus, as it seems to him, the 
 consciousness of his own ideas and of himself as their 
 subiect is direct and indubitable, while the consciousness 
 
41 6 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of all other objects, including his own body, is indirect 
 and problematic. Now, what Kant maintains is that the 
 consciousness of self, so far as it means the con- 
 sciousness of self as present in all the determinations of 
 consciousness which occur in time, is inseparable from the 
 consciousness of external things; nay, that the explicit 
 consciousness of the self as an object of inner sense is 
 posterior to the consciousness of objects in space. A 
 subject having merely a succession of ideas would not be 
 conscious of self, because in pure time there is nothing 
 permanent with which the succession of ideas may be 
 contrasted. Thus the consciousness of the self as 
 presented in time is relative to the consciousness of 
 permanent objects as spatial. When, therefore, Descartes 
 assumes that the consciousness of self is independent of 
 the consciousness of objects he is guilty of a radical 
 error, and almost of an inversion of the truth. He takes 
 the object-self as if it were knowable by itself, whereas it 
 is but the mind's consciousness of its own successive 
 apprehension of external things, and therefore is im- 
 possible without the knowledge of those things. Hence 
 the Cogito of Descartes, taken in the sense of the conscious 
 determinations of inner sense, can afford no warrant for 
 the independent existence of the conscious subject. The 
 object-self is merely one aspect of the total consciousness 
 of objects as contained in the unity of a single experience, 
 and therefore it cannot be regarded as an independent 
 reality. 
 
 So far Kant's criticism of Descartes is unanswerable. 
 Kant, however, is not content to say that the conscious- 
 ness of self is mediated by the consciousness of external 
 objects, but he maintains that the self which is thus 
 
rant's criticism of rational psychology. 417 
 
 known is merely phenomenal. This conclusion is bound 
 up with his whole doctrine of the forms of mind as 
 peculiar to the human subject and as simply the manner 
 in which the knowing subject combines a given manifold 
 of sense in the unity of experience. Now, we may admit 
 that there is no consciousness of self apart from the 
 consciousness of objects, without admitting that the whole 
 of our experience, including the self as an object, is 
 purely phenomenal. 
 
 In his analysis of experience, as he finally presents it, 
 Kant maintains that apart from all activity on our part, 
 whether in the unreflective synthesis of imagination or 
 the reflective synthesis of understanding, we have affec- 
 tions of sense, which must be attributed to things in 
 themselves. These affections cannot be converted into 
 the perception of objects unless there is a determination 
 of inner sense, i.e. unless there is a successive synthesis 
 of those affections as space quanta, which gives rise to a 
 spatial image. But, when we direct attention to the 
 successive acts by which this spatial image is formed, we 
 become conscious of the synthesis as successive, i.e. as 
 in time. Thus the explicit consciousness of the inner 
 life as in time is posterior to the consciousness of the 
 spatial image and presupposes it. The experience of our 
 own spontaneity in determining the spatial object is a 
 new experience in this sense, that by directing attention 
 to the activity of the subject in perception we for the 
 first time become explicitly conscious of the two aspects 
 of perception, the inner and the outer, and only in this 
 consciousness is there, properly speaking, any inner and 
 outer. More than this distinction of inner and outer 
 
 perception, however, is implied in the consciousness of an 
 
 2 D 
 
41 8 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 actual object of experience. For such an object must be 
 permanent, and therefore the consciousness of an object 
 as actual implies the consciousness of something as per- 
 manent. How, then, do we come to relate the transient 
 affections of sense to something permanent? We could 
 not be conscious of these affections as changing upon us, 
 were we not conscious of succession; but there can be 
 no consciousness of succession without the consciousness 
 of something permanent. Under our consciousness of 
 successive sensations there must therefore lie the concep- 
 tion of something that is not successive. A real change, 
 again, implies a consciousness of the identity of the per- 
 manent in different successive states. And, as no two 
 objects can be known as co-existing, unless we are 
 conscious of them as reciprocally determining each other 
 in their changes, we must view all co-existent objects as 
 connected in a single system of experience. To this 
 Kant adds, that we can be conscious of the permanent 
 only in external perception. For time is a pure flux, 
 and there is therefore nothing in it to give us the con- 
 sciousness of the permanent. Hence we should never 
 attain to the consciousness of the succession of our 
 inner states, were we not conscious of what is in space. 
 Inner experience presupposes outer experience. The con- 
 tent of the one is the same as the content of the other, 
 but in the former we become aware of the process by 
 which outer experience is realized. And it is by a further 
 abstraction that we become conscious of the self as a 
 unity presupposed in that process. 
 
 Now, the doctrine of Kant, that there are affections of 
 sense, in relation to which the subject is purely receptive, 
 is open to serious objection. Kant himself admits that 
 
KANTS CRITICISM OF RATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY. 419 
 
 such affections do not exist as an object of consciousness, 
 but can only be described as an unconnected 'manifold.' 
 But an unconnected ' manifold ' is really one of those 
 fictions of abstraction which indicate a defect in our own 
 theory. Kant speaks of it as the 'matter,' which be- 
 comes an object for the subject, when the subject com- 
 bines the determinations of this 'matter' under the 
 'form' of time into an image or perception, because this 
 synthetic process is possible only under the unseen guid- 
 ance of a conception. Now, there is no doubt a sense in 
 which we may speak of the 'matter' of sensation as 
 existing apart from the conscious activity of the subject. 
 A being may be sensitive without being conscious of 
 sensation, just as it may have life without being sensitive ; 
 and, if we are considering the transition from the sensitive 
 to the conscious life, we may call the former the ' matter ' 
 in the sense that it contains potentially what in conscious- 
 ness is contained explicitly. But the sensitive being can- 
 not be taken as the measure of reality; for, on the same 
 principle, the plant or even the mineral may with equal 
 justice be regarded in the same way. The only measure 
 of reality is the intelligent subject. The sensitive being has 
 no consciousness of its states as they really are : it is not 
 aware that they are determined under fixed conditions, 
 and that those conditions presuppose the whole complex 
 system of things. It is only for the conscious subject that 
 sensations exist as objects, i.e. as distinguishable elements 
 in a "cosmos of experience." When sensations become 
 an object of consciousness, they no longer exist as sensa- 
 tions, and therefore they are not a 'matter' to which the 
 subject has to give ' form,' but they are already a formed 
 matter, i.e. they are distinguishable elements in a known 
 
420 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 world. The subject does not bring to the ' matter ' 
 forms already belonging to itself as a subject. The 
 subject exists for itself only in so far as it is conscious; 
 the ' matter ' exists only as an object for this conscious 
 subject ; and therefore subject and object exist only in 
 distinction from and yet relation to each other. There is, 
 therefore, no ' manifold ' except as the subject is conscious 
 of an objective world. Now, the consciousness of an 
 objective world, as it exists only in the process of conscious- 
 ness, is not full-formed, but is in continual development, 
 a development which is at once an integration and a 
 differentiation. The simplest mode in which the con- 
 sciousness of objectivity arises is in the perception of 
 things as having properties which seem to attach to them 
 as individual things, or in the perception of the changes 
 which occur in succession, but seem to involve no deeper 
 mode of relation. It is this stage of consciousness which 
 Kant has in his mind when he speaks of the "synthesis 
 of imagination." He sometimes allows himself to speak 
 as if in this synthesis there were no conceptual activity. 
 But as conceptual activity is simply the consciousness of 
 the unchanging conditions or relations of known objects, 
 there can be no consciousness of objectivity which does not 
 imply the activity of thought. The difference between the 
 earlier and the later stages of consciousness can only be 
 between a less and a more adequate conception of the 
 world, not between an imaginative and an intellectual 
 synthesis. The world conceived as a collection of indi- 
 vidual things, each having its own properties and de- 
 termined quantitatively, is a less adequate conception than 
 that of the world as a number of substances, the changes 
 of which are causally connected, and which act and react 
 
k ant's criticism of rational psychology. 421 
 
 on one another; but it is the same world which is con- 
 ceived in these two ways, and therefore the process of 
 knowledge is not from a world which is perceived in the 
 one case and thought in the other, but from a world less 
 adequately thought to a world more adequately thought. 
 
 When we look at the matter in this way, we must 
 obviously give up all opposition between the conscious 
 subject and the objective world, so far as that opposition 
 implies that the subject has forms of conception belonging 
 to itself which it brings to bear upon the ' manifold ' of 
 sense in order to constitute an objective world. The 
 so-called ' forms ' of thought are just the unchangeable 
 relations which the objective world involves. The in- 
 telligent subject, in becoming conscious of those relations, 
 learns that nature is a system, and it is only in and through 
 the consciousness of this system that he becomes conscious 
 of himself. On the other hand, the return upon the con- 
 sciousness of self is something more than the consciousness 
 of the subject for which the system of nature exists : it is 
 the consciousness of self as related to the system of nature 
 in such a way that the latter becomes the instrument of 
 the peculiarly human life, the life which consists in the 
 realization of ideals. While, then, we must admit that 
 there is no consciousness of self apart from the conscious- 
 ness of the world, we cannot admit that the self as known 
 is merely a phenomenon. The phenomenality of the self 
 stands or falls with the phenomenality of the world. For, 
 if the distinction drawn by Kant between the ' forms ' of 
 the mind and the ' matter ' of sense is inadmissible, we 
 have to admit that the knowing subject has, in the con- 
 sciousness of objects, a knowledge, though not a complete 
 knowledge, of objects as they really are. And as these 
 
42 2 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 objects exist for it only on presupposition of its own 
 activity in comprehending them, they enter into and be- 
 come an integral element in the development of its own 
 life. Thus the consciousness of the system of nature 
 presupposes the consciousness of self, while at the same 
 time the return upon the consciousness of self shows that, 
 while the system of nature exists only for the knowing 
 subject, the knowing subject exists only for itself or through 
 its own self-activity. We are thus brought to a considera- 
 tion of what Kant calls the 'determining' self, which he 
 maintains to be, not an object of knowledge, but merely 
 the indefinable subject of self-conscious thought. 
 
 (2) Kant's view is that the consciousness of self as the 
 subject of all thinking is not identical with the knowledge 
 of a self which exists independently of all objects, nor can 
 we legitimately infer the one from the other. For the 
 subject-self is merely that which thinks or combines the 
 manifold of perception, and apart from the synthetic 
 activity by which the manifold is combined it is not known 
 at all. We could only have a knowledge of the subject- 
 self, if it were legitimate to take it as a real thing and 
 apply categories to it. But such an attempt to know the 
 subject of the categories as an object determinable through 
 them involves a hysteron-proteron ; for the subject-self is 
 just the unity of thought implied in each of the categories, 
 and to regard this unity as the product of the categories 
 is to make the unity of all thought depend upon its 
 own forms. That which is presupposed in all thinking 
 cannot be the product of thinking. The subject-self 
 is therefore not determinable by the categories as an 
 object. Rational Psychology simply confuses the unity of 
 thought as implied in all experience with a real subject 
 
kant's criticism of rational psychology. 423 
 
 existing independently of experience, not seeing that the 
 subject-self is merely the form which our experience 
 assumes, not an independent reality. 
 
 Now, there is no doubt that Kant's criticism of Rational 
 Psychology tells with invincible force against all theories 
 which attempt to determine the nature of the intelligent 
 subject by affirming the existence of an independent 
 1 soul ' or ' thinking substance,' having a character of 
 its own apart from all relation to the system of nature. 
 But it by no means follows that the intelligent subject 
 cannot be known. It certainly cannot be known simply 
 as one object among other objects, since it is that for which 
 all objects are ; but to deny that it is part of the system 
 of nature is not to affirm that it is incomprehensible. As 
 Kant himself points out, the consciousness of the system 
 of nature presupposes that the subject is capable of 
 the consciousness of self, and it is in the return from 
 the consciousness of the world that the consciousness of 
 self arises. Now, the very possibility of such a return 
 implies that the consciousness of self is something more 
 than the consciousness of the world. It is therefore not 
 surprising that the intelligent subject, for which alone 
 there is any known world, should refuse to be charac- 
 terized in the same way as the world. The highest 
 category by which the world is characterized is that of 
 a community of substances acting and re-acting upon 
 one another ; and if we attempt to determine the nature 
 of self-conscious beings in this way, we leave out what is 
 characteristic of them as self-conscious. While, therefore, 
 it must be admitted that the categories by which nature 
 is determined as a mechanical system are inadequate as 
 a determination of the subject for which nature exists, it 
 
424 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 does not follow that the thinking subject cannot be 
 determined at all. It can be determined as what it is, 
 viz. as a self-conscious and self-determining activity. 
 
 Kant's objection to the application of the categories 
 to the thinking subject rests upon two grounds; first, 
 that in the pure subject there is no ' manifold ' to which 
 categories can be applied; and, secondly, that the appli- 
 cation of categories to the thinking subject would make it its 
 own product, (a) As to the first of these points, it is of 
 course obvious that, if the thinking subject is separated 
 from all objects, and even from its own modes of activity, 
 it is perfectly empty, and therefore admits of no deter- 
 mination. Kant says that, in this separation, it is merely 
 "the subject which thinks," not an object of thought. 
 He does it too much honour. Separated from what he 
 calls the object of inner sense, but which is really 
 on his own showing the determinate modes of its activity 
 in the comprehension of the world, it is not a thinking 
 subject, but the mere abstraction of a possibility, which 
 is the possibility of nothing in particular. As such it is 
 neither subject nor object, but pure nothing. Thinking 
 has no meaning except as determinate thinking, and as, 
 on Kant's view, all determinate thinking belongs to the 
 object-self, what remains after the elimination of the object- 
 self is not the subject-self but a pure blank. It is not 
 surprising that this fiction of a pure self should be 
 declared unknowable : it is unknowable for the simple 
 reason that it is nothing at all. It can neither be per- 
 ceived nor thought: it is in fact what Hegel calls the 
 "pure being which is pure nothing." We cannot, therefore, 
 separate the 'determining' from the 'determinable' self. 
 The 'determinable' self is simply the 'determining' self 
 
kant's criticism of rational psychology. 425 
 
 in so far as it is engaged in thinking. But, further, the 
 1 determinable ' self is not separable from the objective 
 world, which is just the system of objects that it knows. 
 As this system of objects exists only for the thinking 
 subject, we have in it the 'manifold' which is required 
 for the application of the categories, and through which 
 the knowing subject may be partially determined, or rather 
 we have in it the known world which exists only in and 
 through that process of differentiation and integration 
 that constitutes the activity of the knowing subject. 
 There can therefore be no difficulty in knowing the 
 nature of the thinking subject, so far as it is revealed 
 in the process of knowledge by which the world becomes 
 for it an object. The nature of the 'determining' sub- 
 ject is known in the process by which it knows; and, 
 though this does not exhaust its nature, it reveals that 
 nature in one of its phases. 
 
 (b) It is now easy to deal with Kant's second point, 
 that the determining subject cannot be known through 
 the categories, because it would then be its own product. 
 The answer is, that it is its own product. The cate- 
 gories, on Kant's view, are special modes of synthesis, 
 the forms by which the mind determines the manifold, 
 and so constitutes for itself a world of objects. It must 
 be observed, however, that as modes of synthesis the 
 categories have no existence except in the actual process 
 by which objects are constituted. In other words, they 
 are simply certain fixed ways in which the thinking 
 subject is active in the process of knowledge. Thus, 
 apart from the activity of the subject, there are no 
 categories and no objects. But the subject is self- 
 conscious only in the active process by which it builds 
 
426 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 up the world of its knowledge, or rather this is one of 
 the ways in which it comes to self-consciousness. There 
 is therefore no self-consciousness prior to the activity by 
 which the world is formed as a connected system, or, 
 what is the same thing, the self-conscious subject exists 
 only in the process by which its self-consciousness is 
 realized. Thus there is no mind which is not self-pro- 
 duced. We must define mind as a self-conscious energy, 
 which in all its activity is at once object and subject. 
 This does not mean that the subject is completely 
 self-conscious. Complete self-consciousness would imply 
 infinite self-activity, and our self-consciousness is there- 
 fore never complete; but, though it is not complete, it 
 is always a unity and always the precise reflex of 
 its own activity. There is no disharmony between the 
 'determining' and the 'determinable' self, because the 
 latter is just the self viewed as an object, the former the 
 self viewed as a subject, and in self-consciousness subject 
 and object are combined in a unity which embraces the 
 distinction. The unity is impossible apart from the dis- 
 tinction, the distinction apart from the unity, and neither 
 has any meaning except in the actual process in which 
 this concrete self-consciousness arises. Thus, in point of 
 fact, the thinking subject is the product of its own 
 activity: which is merely to say that it can only be de- 
 fined as a self-active being, a causa sui, which is at the 
 same time conscious of its own self-activity. 
 
 A similar answer must be given to Kant's contention 
 that the conscious subject cannot be brought under the 
 form of time, because it is itself the source of time. It 
 is quite true that time has no meaning except for a con- 
 scious subject, but it does not follow that the conscious 
 
kant's criticism of rational psychology. 427 
 
 subject can be determined without reference to time. 
 The self-conscious life consists essentially in the process 
 by which the subject realizes itself and becomes an 
 object for itself, and this process is unmeaning apart 
 from time. Kant's real objection to the determination 
 of the thinking subject by the idea of time is his 
 assumption that what is in time cannot be a unity. But, 
 as time is, on his own showing, not a thing in itself, 
 but merely a form in which the successive acts of the 
 conscious subject are known as successive, we cannot 
 properly speak of the subject as in time, but only as 
 conscious of its own activity as a process involving time, 
 one aspect of which is that it is not complete in a single 
 act, but is continuous. It is perfectly true, that if by 
 abstraction we concentrate attention upon the mere fact 
 that the process of self-realization in knowledge implies 
 time or succession, we seem to destroy the unity of the 
 thinking subject, since in a mere series there is no unity. 
 But, though the process of self-consciousness is succes- 
 sive, it is not a mere succession, but the development 
 of a self-activity, which realizes itself in time, and grows 
 in complexity without ever losing its unity. To thrust 
 the thinking subject out of time is to deny that 
 thinking is a process ; to say that the thinking subject 
 is conscious of its activity only as a succession is to 
 overlook the self-conscious unity without which there 
 could be no consciousness of its activity as successive. 
 The element of truth, therefore, in Kant's contention, 
 that the subject as the source of time cannot itself be in 
 time, is this : that the subject cannot be determined as 
 merely successive, but only as realizing itself in a tem- 
 poral process by which it makes itself its own object. 
 
428 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 (3) Kant tells us that the Idea of the self as an absolute 
 unity is merely regulative. This doctrine, however, draws 
 its sole support from the assumption that the determining 
 subject cannot be made an object for itself, but as known is 
 merely a phenomenon. Now, with the denial of the 
 absolute distinction of phenomena and noumena, the 
 abstract opposition between the Idea of self and the actual 
 self must also be denied. No doubt the self must always 
 be an Idea in this sense, that complete self-consciousness is 
 impossible in a being whose conscious life is in process of 
 development. For, as self-consciousness is possible only in 
 the process of knowledge, to affirm complete self-conscious- 
 ness is to affirm completeness of knowledge, and knowledge 
 is never complete. But, though knowledge is never com- 
 plete, it is always a development within the unity of a 
 single self-consciousness. Kant himself maintains that no 
 experience is possible without the resumption of objects 
 within the unity of the self-conscious subject. If so, we 
 are entitled to say that no possible extension of knowledge 
 can destroy the unity of the knowing subject. The Idea of 
 completed knowledge can never warrant the assumption 
 that such knowledge would consist in the realization of a 
 self-consciousness exclusive of the consciousness of objects. 
 The Idea of completed knowledge is properly that of a self- 
 consciousness in which the object has been completely 
 carried over into the subject, and has therefore become in 
 all its determinations combined with the unity of the self. 
 Such a perfect subject-object our self-consciousness is not, 
 because our self-consciousness is a process; but the con- 
 ception of such a unity is the presupposition of the 
 consciousness of ourselves as beings in whom "knowledge 
 grows from more to more." Nor can we regard this ideal 
 
kant's criticism of rational psychology. 429 
 
 of a perfect subject-object as merely regulative, since apart 
 from it we should not be conscious of the incompleteness 
 of our knowledge. 
 
 (4) Kant is himself forced to admit that the consciousness 
 of self gives rise to the Idea of a pure intelligence, and that 
 it is by reference to this Idea that we condemn our know- 
 ledge as merely phenomenal. Now, if self-consciousness 
 were merely the consciousness of a unity which manifests 
 itself in the determination of a given manifold, it could 
 never give rise to the Idea of a unity in which the opposi- 
 tion of subject and object is completely transcended. For 
 that unity cannot consist in the mere elimination of the 
 distinction of subject and object which could only result 
 in the idea of a purely abstract being, with no determinate 
 character but in a concrete unity in which the distinction 
 of subject and object is preserved while it is embraced 
 within a single self-consciousness. Thus, the consciousness 
 of self, so far as it is the source of an ideal of knowledge 
 which carries us beyond the knowledge of the system of 
 nature, can only mean the consciousness of a subject which 
 determines itself as an object and yet maintains its own 
 unity. Such a self-conscious unity, as Kant admits, is not 
 self-contradictory : it has to be postulated as the explanation 
 of the moral consciousness, though it can never be made an 
 object of knowledge. And no doubt if we thus identify the 
 moral consciousness with all that is distinctive of the self- 
 active life of man, it will follow that the idea of the self as it 
 is in its true nature is possible only through the practical, as 
 distinguished from the theoretical, reason. But such an 
 identification of the self-conscious life with the moral 
 consciousness is based upon an abstract opposition of 
 theoretical and practical reason which cannot be main- 
 
43 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 tained. The self which is the subject of morality is the 
 same self which manifests its activity in the construction 
 of the knowable world, and when by a regress upon the 
 idea of self the subject becomes conscious of itself as the 
 source of the moral ideal, that ideal does not fall beyond 
 the circle of knowledge. The self as the subject of 
 morality is the self as having the consciousness of its 
 essential identity with other selves, and this community 
 of self-conscious persons is an object of knowledge not 
 less than the system of nature. Thus within the sphere of 
 knowledge is included the consciousness of self as a social 
 or spiritual being. Knowledge and will are but two sides 
 from which the one self-conscious unity may be regarded. 
 The point of view of knowledge emphasizes the conscious- 
 ness of objects, or rather of the subject as determining 
 objects for itself, in which must be included the world of 
 human interests ; the point of view of will accentuates the 
 consciousness of self as the subject which realizes itself in 
 objects, and especially in other self-conscious beings ; but as 
 the same self is manifested in both, knowledge and will are 
 merely distinctions within the one self-conscious subject, 
 which have no meaning apart from each other. If there- 
 fore we grasp the one self-conscious activity in its totality, 
 we shall no doubt distinguish the subject as knowing from 
 the subject as willing, but this distinction we shall again 
 carry back to its unity, recognizing that the rational subject 
 is for itself at once object and subject, self-determined and 
 self-determining. 1 
 
 1 For a further discussion ot the relation between theoretical and 
 practical reason, see Note XII. 
 
lotze's theory of knowledge. 431 
 
 X. LOTZE'S THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 The doctrine of Mr. Spencer, criticised in the text, 1 that 
 the distinction or rather separation of subject and object 
 is a fundamental law of consciousness, is the natural pro- 
 duct of English empiricism, though in seeking to defend 
 it the author employs the Hamiltonian principle of the 
 'inconceivability of the Unconditioned' itself a modifica- 
 tion of the Jacobian theory of 'faith' (Glaube). The 
 doctrine of Lotze, on the other hand, does not maintain 
 the antithesis in the same downright way; but, under the 
 influence of a somewhat superficial view of the Kantian 
 distinction between 'phenomena' and 'things in themselves,' 
 it contrasts the theory of knowledge (Epistemology) with 
 the theory of reality (Metaphysic). As this more subtle 
 form of dualism has commended itself to various thinkers 
 of the present day, both in England and Germany, it 
 seems advisable to ask how far it can be accepted. 
 
 "All we know of the external world," Lotze tells us, 
 "depends upon the ideas of it which are within us." 
 Hence "it is, so far, entirely indifferent whether with 
 Idealism we deny the existence of that world, and regard 
 our idea of it as alone reality, or whether we maintain 
 with Realism the existence of things outside us which act 
 upon our minds. On the latter hypothesis, as little as 
 the former, do the things themselves pass into knowledge; 
 they only awaken in us ideas, which are not things. It 
 is, then, this varied world of ideas within us, it matters 
 not where they may have come from, which forms the 
 
 1 Ch. viii. , pp. 151- 190. 
 
43 2 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 sole material given to us, from which alone our knowledge 
 can start." l 
 
 One of the most suggestive sayings of Kant is, that 
 "scepticism would have been a useful regress, if it had 
 gone back over the ground traversed by the dogmatists 
 to the point where their wanderings began." 2 At first 
 sight Lotze may here seem to be acting upon the hint of 
 Kant. His aim, it may be thought, is to bring to light 
 the common pre-supposition of 'Realism' and 'Idealism,' 
 as the first step in the transition to a higher point of 
 view. On closer examination it will be found, I think, 
 that his method is very different. By 'Realism' he evi- 
 dently means the doctrine that there is an ' external world ' 
 lying beyond the mind, which ' awakens in us ideas ' ; 
 and by 'Idealism' the doctrine that there is no world 
 without the mind, distinct from the 'ideas' which are 
 'within us.' 3 As thus understood, the former view is re- 
 presented by Locke, the latter by Berkeley in his first 
 mind. As we have already seen, 4 both theories are beset 
 with insuperable difficulties. Locke, starting from the as- 
 sumption of external things acting upon the mind, soon 
 found that knowledge must be limited to the ' ideas within 
 us' at a given moment, and hence he was led to 'suspect 
 a science of nature to be impossible.' Berkeley, on the 
 other hand, trying to find the criterion of reality in par- 
 ticular ideas, was unable to explain consistently how there 
 
 1 Lotze's Logic, Eng. tr. , ii. , 306. 
 
 2 Kant's Werke, ed. Hartenstein, viii. 523 ; cf. Caird's Critical 
 Account of the Philosophy of Kant, I. 6. 
 
 8 It can hardly be necessary to say that ' Idealism,' in Lotze's sense 
 of the term, is not to be confounded with what in this work is called 
 'Speculative Idealism.' 
 
 4 Note IV., pp. 347 ff. 
 
433 
 
 could be universal propositions ; and Hume was therefore 
 led to discard all universal propositions, with the result 
 that even mathematical propositions were found to be con- 
 tingent. It thus seems obvious that, if we are to apply 
 the method suggested by Kant in criticizing 'Realism' 
 and 'Idealism,' we must challenge the pre-supposition 
 common to both, viz. that knowledge consists in particular 
 ideas ' given ' to the mind independently of the con- 
 structive activity of thought. The source of their weak- 
 ness is the assumption that ' experience ' is reducible to 
 states of the individual subject. But this is not the 
 defect which Lotze finds in them. He tries to avoid 
 the discussion of the question whether there is or is 
 not an 'external world,' i.e. a world lying beyond the 
 mind, by saying that whether there is or is not such a 
 world, at any rate the "varied world of ideas within us 
 . . . forms the sole material given to us, from which 
 alone our knowledge can start." In other words, Lotze 
 agrees with 'Realism' and 'Idealism' in maintaining that 
 the beginning of knowledge consists in our having 'ideas,' 
 which may or may not be found to imply a world beyond 
 the mind, but which are in themselves merely states of 
 the individual subject. And no doubt, if we simply ask 
 for the point of agreement between 'Realism' and 'Ideal- 
 ism,' Lotze is right in saying that it consists in the 
 assumption that knowledge must be found in states of 
 the individual subject. But one would have thought that 
 Lotze, coming after Kant and Hegel, might have seen 
 that this very assumption was the fons et origo mali; and 
 that if we are to make a 'critical regress' to a more 
 adequate conception of knowledge we must begin by 
 
 challenging its validity. This, however, is not Lotze's 
 
 2 E 
 
434 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 method. Instead of asking whether there is any justifi- 
 cation for the assumption that knowledge consists in sub- 
 jective states of consciousness, he endorses this common 
 pre-supposition of ' Realism ' and ' Idealism,' assuming that 
 knowledge in its first form is nothing but a 'world of 
 ideas within us.' If we are to attach any precise meaning 
 to this doctrine, we must suppose that it is possible to 
 have knowledge in the form of our own ideas, without 
 having a knowledge of reality. How we can be entitled 
 to call such 'ideas' know/edge, Lotze does not explain. 
 If our ideas are not of reality, how can they be ' know- 
 ledge,' unless we suppose that there are two kinds of 
 'knowledge,' one of 'ideas' and another of 'reality'? And 
 if we do make this supposition, we have then to face the 
 difficulty of explaining how we can have a knowledge of 
 reality without 'ideas.' 
 
 That Lotze, in thus confining knowledge to 'our own 
 ideas,' really endorses the false pre-supposition which 
 underlies 'Realism' and 'Idealism,' is placed beyond 
 doubt when we carefully examine his words. We might 
 at first suppose him to be maintaining that 'Realism' 
 and 'Idealism' overlook the truth that the external world 
 only exists for the knowing subject, in the process by 
 which he interprets the data of sensitive experience, and 
 therefore that there is no 'external world' except for the 
 knowing subject. But, if this were Lotze's meaning, he 
 would not have separated, as he does, between the theory 
 of knowledge and the theory of reality. Nor will his 
 words admit of this interpretation. If Lotze had meant 
 to say that a world 'external' to the mind is without 
 meaning, he would not have contrasted the 'varied world 
 of ideas within us, it matters not where they may have 
 
lotze's theory of knowledge. 435 
 
 come from' with a world, real or supposed, 'outside us.' 
 No doubt he refuses to admit that we can begin with the 
 assumption that it is an 'external world' which 'awakens 
 in us ideas'; yet he does not deny, but on the con- 
 trary implies, that ' ideas within us ' have ' come from ' 
 some source, or are the 'material given to us' from 
 which our knowledge starts. His doctrine therefore is, 
 that our 'ideas' are the direct object of knowledge; in 
 other words, that the mind has to start from ' ideas ' which 
 give us knowledge, but only a knowledge of themselves. 
 It is this assumption which we have to examine. 
 
 Lotze tells us that "all we know of the external world 
 depends upon the ideas of it which are within us." This 
 cannot mean merely that we can have no knowledge of 
 the external world unless we have 'ideas' of it. No 
 doubt, if we are to have a 'knowledge' of the external 
 world, we must have 'ideas,' i.e. 'knowledge,' of it. And 
 these 'ideas' must be 'within us' in the sense of being 
 our knowledge. But if this were all that Lotze meant, 
 his first sentence would read : " All we know of the ex- 
 ternal world which we know, depends upon the knowledge 
 which we have of it." No one is likely to dispute so 
 palpable a truism, nor is it what Lotze has in his mind. 
 What he really means is, that our first knowledge is of 
 ' ideas ' in our own individual minds, and that so far we 
 have no knowledge of anything but those 'ideas.' This 
 is the truth, we are to understand, which every philo- 
 sophical theory must admit. Now, so far from admitting 
 that knowledge starts from ' ideas ' in the individual mind, 
 we make bold to maintain that there are no such 'ideas.' 
 There are no separate 'ideas' interposed between the 
 subject and the object, which form the bridge over which 
 
43^ AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the subject may, in some unexplained way, pass to the 
 object, if there is any object. If the subject has a direct 
 knowledge only of his own 'ideas,' by what mysterious 
 process is he to liberate himself from the charmed circle 
 within which he is confined? If, starting with 'ideas,' 
 interposed between him and reality, he attempts to get 
 out to reality, it must be by some interpretation of his 
 'ideas' as symbols of a reality not given in them. But 
 this interpretation will itself consist in 'ideas,' unless we 
 are to suppose that knowledge begins with 'ideas,' and 
 then, by a sudden and abrupt transition, changes into a 
 knowledge of reality without the interposition of 'ideas' 
 of reality. We must, therefore, either hold that the sub- 
 ject first has 'ideas' which are not the knowledge of 
 reality, and then has 'ideas' of the meaning of these 
 'ideas'; or we must hold that the subject begins with a 
 knowledge of reality, not of ' ideas ' interposed between 
 him and reality. If we adopt the former view, we fall 
 into the absurdity of supposing that, while 'ideas' are 
 originally separate from reality, the ' ideas ' of these ' ideas ' 
 are an actual comprehension of reality ; if we adopt the 
 latter view, we abandon the assumption that knowledge is 
 of 'our own ideas,' and admit that it is knowledge of 
 reality. Why, then, as Aristotle would say, should we 
 not admit at once, what we have to admit in the end, 
 that we begin with an actual knowledge of reality, and 
 that 'ideas' are not something interposed between the 
 subject and the object, but the subject's comprehension 
 of the object? Knowledge must surely be of the real, or 
 it is not knowledge. Lotze's way with ' Realism ' and 
 'Idealism' is to admit the false assumption of both, and 
 then to attempt to escape from the consequences of his 
 
lotze's theory of knowledge. 437 
 
 own admission. No true theory of knowledge can be 
 constructed on such lines. Until it is seen that know- 
 ledge consists in the comprehension of the real, not in 
 the manipulation of 'ideas' interposed between the sub- 
 ject and the object, we may continue to speak of 'know- 
 ledge,' but what we call 'knowledge' can only be what 
 we are determined to regard as 'knowledge' in defiance 
 of our own theory, which makes it impossible. 
 
 Having raised up an impassable wall between the sub- 
 ject and the real world, Lotze has to attempt the impossible 
 feat of scaling it, and entering the real world which he 
 believes to lie beyond. His first essay in this direction 
 is to deny the common assumption that " human know- 
 ledge is intended to be a copy of a world of things," and 
 that 'truth' is the "agreement of our ideas with the real 
 condition of the things which they profess to copy." The 
 fact is, that "nothing else but the connection of our ideas 
 with each other can ever be made the object of our 
 investigations." "To thought and its necessary laws we 
 are, as a matter of fact, limited in every resort : the faith, 
 which reason entertains, that truth, whatever it may be, is 
 discoverable by thought, is the unavoidable postulate of 
 all inquiry." "We may exalt the intelligence of more per- 
 fect beings above our own as high as we please; but so 
 long as we desire to attach any rational meaning to it, it 
 must always fall under some category of knowledge or 
 direct perception or cognition, that is to say, it will never 
 be the thing itself but only an aggregate of ideas about 
 the thing." l " Knowledge under whatever form can never 
 be things in themselves, but only represent them." We 
 
 1 Lotze's Logic, Vol. II., p. 428. 
 
43& AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 must not, however, say that "we only know phenomena, 
 and not the essence of things in themselves." Even should 
 we only say, that " if things exist knowledge apprehends 
 only their appearance, not their essence," the proposition 
 " carries the idea of a thwarted purpose. . . . We may at 
 once pronounce an opposite point of view to be con- 
 ceivable, which should regard things as mere means to 
 produce in us in all its details the spectacle of the ideal 
 world." 1 There is, therefore, a certain "truth which be- 
 longs to the world of our ideas in itself, without regard 
 to its agreement with an assumed reality of things outside 
 its borders." 2 
 
 Lotze refuses to admit that "human knowledge is in- 
 tended to be a copy of a world of things." Now, if this 
 meant that the whole conception of a 'world of things' 
 existing apart from every mind is untenable, there would 
 be nothing to object. The logical result of such a doc- 
 trine, as we have already seen in examining Locke, is 
 the denial of all knowledge, either of nature or of the 
 mathematical or moral relations. If our knowledge is a 
 'copy' of things which exist, and which have a certain 
 definite nature independently of their relation to mind, 
 it must consist in a passive reflection of things, and will 
 therefore be real only by the absolute exclusion of all 
 conceptual activity. The truth is that the 'world of 
 things' exists nowhere but in the mind of a thinking 
 subject, and that to speak of it as if it existed in itself, 
 apart from every thinking subject, is to suppose that it 
 existed before its origination. To the superficial objection, 
 that on this view the world comes into being with the 
 
 1 Ibid., p. 431. *Ibid., p. 434- 
 
lotze's theory of knowledge. 439 
 
 conceptual activity of each subject, it is sufficient to 
 answer that the knowable world is not the arbitrary 
 product of the individual subject. What Speculative 
 Idealism maintains is that, while the ' world ' is a ' cosmos 
 of experience,' and therefore exists for each thinking sub- 
 ject only in experience, it is a 'cosmos' just because 
 the thinking subject is capable of grasping the permanent 
 or essential nature of reality. There is no object apart 
 from a subject, and yet it is only as the subject is 
 capable of grasping the universal or necessary constitution 
 of reality that there is for him 'a world of things.' This 
 implies that, while in each subject there is a process of 
 intelligent activity, through which alone his experience of 
 a world of things originates, he yet is able to comprehend 
 the true nature of the world because there is in him the 
 principle which is involved in the actual nature of reality. 
 The supposition that a world assumed to lie beyond 
 intelligent experience is identical with what it is within 
 intelligent experience is manifestly absurd, since it im- 
 plies that the whole process in which the 'cosmos of 
 experience' is gradually formed through the exercise of 
 intelligence is superfluous. To speak of knowledge as 
 a ' copy ' of a * world of things ' is meaningless ; for know- 
 ledge cannot be a ' copy ' of what exists only in knowledge. 
 At the same time we must not lose sight of the truth 
 imperfectly indicated by the conception of knowledge as 
 a 'copy' of reality. What gives force to the doctrine is, 
 that not every imperfect apprehension of reality is know- 
 ledge, but only that consistent and true insight into reality 
 which results in the 'cosmos of experience.' Reality is 
 intelligible, and except in so far as the subject compre- 
 hends its intelligibility he has no knowledge. His know- 
 
44-0 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 ledge must conform to reality or be a 'copy' of it, in the 
 sense that he must build up in his mind a world which is 
 not an arbitrary product, but the product of that intelligent 
 activity in the exercise of which he is identical with every 
 possible intelligence. Now, this is not the view which 
 underlies Lotze's objection to the doctrine that "human 
 knowledge is intended to be a copy of a world of things." 
 What he means is, that the 'world of things' has an 
 independent nature which is not grasped by the human 
 intelligence. The human intelligence goes on by a law of 
 its own, instituting relations between its 'ideas,' but these 
 relations cannot be predicated of things in themselves. 
 Thus for Lotze there are two worlds the 'world of things' 
 and the 'ideal world,' and what he contends is that we 
 have no right to regard the one as a precise counterpart 
 of the other. He denies, in other words, that our 'ideas 
 are a ' copy ' of the ' world of things,' not because the 
 latter is a fiction of abstraction, but because it differs 
 from the former. Lotze, in short, has not got rid of the 
 ordinary dualism of the real and the ideal world, but he 
 is so far aware of the difficulty it involves as to see that, 
 if there is a real world with a law of its own, it is one 
 of which we can predicate nothing definite. Certainly we 
 can predicate nothing definite of it ; not, however, because 
 our intelligence proceeds by a law of its own, which is 
 not the law of the world, but because a world which can- 
 not be brought within intelligence is in the strictest sense 
 unintelligible. For, how shall we give it a meaning to 
 ourselves? Lotze talks of a 'world of things,' and thus 
 assumes distinctions within the world which he does not 
 know; but these distinctions are simply transferred by him 
 from the known to the unknown world. Surelv it is self- 
 
lotze's theory of knowledge. 441 
 
 evident that a world lying beyond our knowledge is for us 
 nothing at all : it is at the best the hypostasis of ' pure 
 being'; which, as Hegel has shown once for all, is unthink- 
 able, and is only supposed to be thinkable because we 
 unwittingly inform it with determinations stolen from the 
 thinkable world that we do know. When Lotze adds 
 that ' truth ' is not " the agreement of our ideas with the 
 real condition of the things which they profess to copy," 
 he is expressing the same untenable opposition of the 
 ideal and the real world. If 'things' lie beyond the 
 sphere of our knowledge, we can of course know nothing 
 of their 'real condition.' Lotze assumes that the only 
 question is whether our 'ideas' are a true counterpart of 
 things ; whereas the real question which he ought to 
 have faced is whether there are any ' things ' at all, 
 as distinguished from the ' things ' that we know. 
 The compromise he adopts is at bottom the same as 
 that which ruined the philosophies of Descartes, Spinoza, 
 and Leibnitz. Two parallel and independent worlds 
 are set up, which are imagined to stand opposite 
 each other without coming in contact; and the insolu- 
 ble difficulty arises, how the one can ever pass over into 
 the other. Of course there can be no communication 
 between two closed spheres ; and hence Lotze should in 
 consistency deny that there is for us any 'world of things.' 
 Unable, apparently, to see the result of his own principles, 
 he continues to assume the independent reality of the 
 'world of things,' but denies that the 'world of ideas' is 
 a true counterpart of it. Thus he misses the only 
 tenable theory of knowledge the theory that knowable 
 and true reality are identical and is forced to fall back 
 upon a blind 'faith,' which is properly the 'faith' in the 
 
442 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 mysterious and inscrutable character of what can only be 
 denned as 'pure nothing.' 
 
 Lotze, however, does not recognize the real nature of 
 his own doctrine; and hence he tells us, on the one hand, 
 that "nothing else but the connexion of our ideas with 
 each other can ever be made the object of our investiga- 
 tions," and, on the other hand, that "the faith which 
 reason entertains that truth whatever it may be is dis- 
 coverable by thought, is the unavoidable postulate of all 
 inquiry." Now, if we are limited to our own 'ideas,' 
 which do not enable us to discover the nature of reality, 
 what is the value of this 'faith' which is the "unavoid- 
 able postulate of all inquiry"? It is certainly true that 
 the ultimate principle which is pre-supposed in all know- 
 ledge is the intelligibility of the real; but no one has a 
 right to appeal to this principle in support of a doctrine 
 which virtually makes the real unintelligible. If 'truth' 
 consists only in the coherence of our 'ideas,' and these 
 'ideas' do not reveal to us the real nature of things, 
 our 'faith' that 'truth' is 'discoverable by thought' is 
 proved to be false. We start with a 'faith' in our 
 power to attain to 'truth,' and learn, according to 
 Lotze, that the only 'truth' for us is the 'truth' of 
 our own 'ideas.' Must we not, then, come to the con- 
 clusion that our 'faith' was based upon an unprovable 
 assumption? The only way in which our 'faith' can 
 be restored, if it is to have a rational basis and not to 
 be the mere survival of a blind conviction, is to recon- 
 struct our theory of knowledge. How this may be 
 done has already been indicated. There is no 'world 
 of things' as distinguished from the 'world of ideas,' 
 but only a. single real world which exists nowhere but in 
 
LOTZES THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE. 443 
 
 intelligent experience. If this is true, the 'faith' of 
 reason in itself is justified; if it is not true, there is for 
 us no 'truth,' 'knowledge,' or 'reality.' 
 
 Lotze, however, objects that knowledge "will never be 
 the thing itself, but only an aggregate of ideas about the 
 thing," or, as he also puts it, "knowledge under whatever 
 form can never be things in themselves, but only repre- 
 sent them." As this objection is supposed to be fatal 
 to the possibility of any knowledge of reality as it is in 
 itself, we must try to determine its value. 
 
 Let us begin by asking what is meant by the 'thing 
 itself,' 'about' which we have knowledge, but which know- 
 ledge can never 'be.' This 'thing itself,' we are given 
 to understand, does not enter into knowledge, but lies 
 apart from knowledge, which only 'represents' it. What 
 then, is this 'thing itself,' in itself or as it exists apart 
 from our knowledge; and not merely apart from our 
 knowledge, but from that of any intelligence however per- 
 fect? We do not know; for, though we 'represent' it, 
 or think 'about' it, our 'representation' or 'thought' never 
 brings the 'thing itself within knowledge. But what is 
 thus inscrutable has no meaning whatever for us or any 
 other intelligence; it cannot be named, thought, imagined, 
 or felt, and is in fact nothing. We may, therefore, admit 
 that, on Lotze's theory, knowledge cannot ' be ' this 
 ' thing itself.' Knowledge is an ordered world, infinitely 
 concrete and full of life and movement, not the pale and 
 shadowy ghost which Lotze imagines to be the true 
 reality. What gives plausibility to his contention is, (i) 
 that he tacitly identifies the ordered world, which exists 
 within our knowledge, with the fiction of the 'thing itself; 
 and (2) that he contrasts the world, as so conceived, with 
 
444 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the subject knowing it. We need not further insist upon 
 the former of these confusions. Granting that we have 
 no knowledge of an absolutely indeterminate world, out 
 of all relation to us as knowing, it does not follow that 
 we have no knowledge of the only real world, the world 
 which is embraced within our intelligence. The second 
 confusion rests upon a similar abstraction. The real world 
 is now conceived as the world we know, but it is supposed 
 to exist independently of the subject knowing it. Hence 
 the subject in knowing it, as we must suppose, is only 
 coming to the consciousness of an object, which is deter- 
 mined already apart from him. The subject, therefore, 
 in all his consciousness opposes the object to himself, and 
 only in this opposition has he any knowledge. If, there- 
 fore, it were possible for him to lose this consciousness of 
 the opposition between himself and the object, he might 
 then be the object, but he would no longer be a knowing 
 subject. Lotze, in short, goes further even than Mr. 
 Spencer. The latter denies that we can ever transcend 
 the opposition of subject and object ; the former adds that 
 no intelligence, however perfect, can ever transcend it. It 
 follows, according to Lotze, that knowledge can never be 
 the ' thing itself.' Now, the whole of this reasoning rests 
 upon the assumption that we can have a knowledge of 
 reality only if the distinction of subject and object is 
 transcended ; and, as this distinction is one ' never to 
 be transcended,' there can be no knowledge of reality. 
 The simple answer is, that the distinction of subject and 
 object cannot be transcended, because it is involved in 
 the very nature of the real world. Lotze assumes that 
 the object exists apart from the subject, and then he 
 puzzles himself to find out how the one can pass over 
 
lotze's theory of knowledge. 445 
 
 into the other. There is of course no intelligible answer ; 
 for, if the subject is separate from the object, and the 
 object from the subject, they never come in contact at 
 all. But there is no object apart from the subject, and 
 therefore no need that the one should either be or become 
 the other. The real world is a unity in which the fun- 
 damental distinction is that of subject and object; but 
 it is only a distinction^ not a separation. Subject and 
 object are identical in this sense, that the whole reality 
 of the knowing subject consists in its relations to the 
 object, and the whole reality of the object in its relations 
 to the subject. We may, therefore, say that the subject 
 is the object, if we are careful to add that what is meant 
 is the total reality in its two distinguishable aspects of 
 knower and known. One difficulty which is felt in accept- 
 ing this view arises from the fact that the ' object ' or 
 'world' is usually identified with the world of nature, 
 which seems to be distinct from the subject as a knowing, 
 feeling, and willing being. The restriction, however, is 
 perfectly arbitrary ; the ' object ' or ' world ' includes all 
 phases of reality, and only in this wide sense can it be 
 said that it is identical with, or rather correlative to, the sub- 
 ject. A kindred difficulty is, that the subject is apt to 
 be identified with a certain phase of it. From this point 
 of view it seems reasonable to say that knowledge can 
 never 'be' the object. It is not, however, maintained by 
 Speculative Idealism that the knowing, as distinguished from 
 the feeling or willing subject, comprehends the object, but 
 only that the whole concrete subject is identical with the 
 whole concrete object. A third difficulty, that the individual 
 subject cannot be identical with the universe as a whole, 
 is based upon a mere misunderstanding. It is not con- 
 
446 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 tended that the individual is the whole, but only that 
 the whole is for the individual always the unity of sub- 
 ject and object, the one being essentially involved in 
 and correlative to the other. Hence the development 
 of the knowing subject is the development of the known 
 object. Lotze, on the other hand, assumes that the former 
 develops, while the latter remains at rest; failing to ob- 
 serve that the known world develops pari passu with the 
 knowing subject. 
 
 Following out the fundamental antithesis of 'ideas' and 
 * things,' Lotze naturally speaks of the " truth which belongs 
 to the world of our ideas in itself, without regard to its 
 agreement with an assumed reality of things outside its 
 borders." 1 He therefore tries to show that our 'ideas' 
 have ' validity,' quite apart from their relation to the ' reality 
 of things.' " Ideas," he tells us, " in so far as they are 
 present in our minds, possess reality in the sense of an 
 Event they occur in us : for as utterances of an activity 
 of presentation they are never a Being at rest, but a con- 
 tinual Becoming; their content on the other hand, so far 
 as we regard it in abstraction from the mental activity 
 which we direct to it, can no longer be said to occur, 
 though neither again does it exist as things exist : we can 
 only say that it possesses Validity." 2 
 
 The distinction here drawn between an ' idea ' as ' event ' 
 and as 'content' corresponds to Berkeley's distinction 
 between particular ideas as they are ' in their own nature ' 
 and their symbolical or general meaning. 3 We have, there- 
 fore, to ask whether Lotze has avoided the defect which 
 we have seen to beset the doctrine of Berkeley. Lotze 
 
 1 Ibid., p. 434. 2 Ibid., p. 439. 3 See above, pp. 346-7. 
 
lotze's theory of knowledge. 447 
 
 tells us that 'ideas' are, on the one hand, 'events,' and, 
 on the other hand, have a 'content,' which is neither an 
 'event' nor 'exists as things exist,' but merely possesses 
 'validity.' (i) In what sense can it be said that 'ideas' 
 are ' events ' ? When we turn our attention to the process 
 of mental life as it goes on in the conscious subject, it 
 is of course obvious that the mind is never at two suc- 
 cessive moments precisely the same. If, therefore, we fix 
 our attention upon this process, it is natural to say that 
 'ideas' are a succession of 'events' or 'occurrences.' It 
 must be observed, however, that an 'idea' is not an in- 
 dividual state which exists apart from the whole conscious 
 life of the subject. But the conscious life is not possible 
 apart from the conceptual activity by which the subject 
 has constructed for himself an orderly world. The ' ideas ' 
 of the subject are not something interposed between this 
 orderly world and the subject, but certain aspects of this 
 world to which attention is directed. We cannot there- 
 fore speak of ' ideas ' as ' events ' which occur in separation 
 either from the conscious subject or the objective world 
 of which he is conscious ; what we must say is that in 
 the process of conscious life the subject, remaining identical 
 with himself, successively directs attention to different 
 aspects of the ordered world within which his whole 
 mental life goes on. But, while this temporal aspect of 
 the conscious life is real, it is, relatively to the complexity 
 of the conscious life as a whole, a superficial and com- 
 paratively unimportant characteristic of it. The undue 
 importance attached to the temporal aspect of conscious 
 life has arisen from the sensationalist doctrine, that the 
 mind is composed of a number of individual states occur- 
 ring one after the other, and only externally 'associated/ 
 
448 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Lotze is still to a certain extent under the influence of 
 this view, and therefore he figures the mind as a series of 
 'ideas' or states, instead of grasping it as the process in 
 which a self-identical subject develops, as by his mental 
 activity there arises for him an ordered or real world. 
 (2) Lotze, however, sees that 'ideas' are significant or 
 have a general meaning, and therefore he tells us that 
 they have 'content.' It seems to me unfortunate that 
 this distinction between ideas as 'events' and as having 
 'content' has been fixed upon by Mr. Bradley and others 
 as the key to the intellectual processes. In the hands of 
 Lotze at any rate the ' content ' of an idea does not seem 
 to differ from the 'abstract idea' of Locke. But the 
 ' abstract idea ' of Locke is a mere fiction ; the only ' ideas ' 
 which are really significant are ' universals,' i.e. the com- 
 prehension of certain fixed relations of the real world, 
 which are grasped by the thinking subject. These exist 
 only for the thinking subject in so far as there is for him 
 a 'cosmos of experience'; they are not 'events,' though 
 they must be thought at some time, and their 'validity' 
 consists entirely in their 'truth,' i.e. in the fact that they 
 express the actual nature of the world. But this is not 
 the sense in which Lotze speaks of the ' validity ' of ' ideas.' 
 An 'idea,' he tells us, has 'content' "so far as we regard 
 it in abstraction from the mental activity which we direct to 
 it." And no doubt an 'idea' say, the idea of the causal 
 connexion of two events does not depend for its content 
 upon the direction of attention to it ; it is an actual deter- 
 mination of the real world, which is involved in the process 
 by which that world is constituted as actual. Lotze, 
 however, abstracting from the living process in which the 
 world of our experience is constructed, views the 'idea' 
 
lotze's theory of knowledge. 449 
 
 as if it were, in Spinoza's phrase, a "dumb picture on a 
 panel, 5 ' overlooking its real character as a phase of the 
 whole process of conceptual activity, which is at the same 
 time the comprehension of the actual. The 'validity' of 
 an 'idea,' i.e. of a conception, is therefore supposed by 
 him to consist merely in the consistent connexion of ideas 
 in themselves,' not in the comprehension of the real world. 
 But, as there is no connexion of ideas which is not at the 
 same time the comprehension of the actual, the opposition 
 between the 'validity' of our ideas and the 'truth' of 
 things is untenable. So far as our ideas are 'valid' they 
 are 'true'; and if we attempt to distinguish between 
 ' validity ' and ' truth,' as Lotze virtually does, we fall into 
 the abstract opposition of a connexion of ideas which is 
 not a connexion of things, with the result that what is 
 'valid' is not 'true,' and what is 'true' is not 'valid.' 
 What we maintain, then, is (i) that 'ideas,' as something 
 interposed between the knowing subject and the real object, 
 have no existence whatever, but are merely a fiction due 
 to a false theory of knowledge ; (2) that, having no exist- 
 ence, 'ideas,' in Lotze's sense of the term, cannot be 
 either 'events' or have a 'content'; (3) that there is no 
 distinction between 'validity' and 'truth,' but that 'validity' 
 or 'truth' is simply the comprehension of the universal 
 relations involved in the knowable world. 
 
 XI. THE FEELING SOUL. 1 
 
 It may be well to point out that, in maintaining the world 
 of our experience ' to be a world which exists only for a 
 
 1 Supplementary to chap, viii., pp. 190-4. 
 2 F 
 
45 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 thinking subject, it is not denied that there is a stage in the 
 individual life prior to 'experience,' but only that in this 
 stage there is no consciousness of a connected system of 
 objects. It is, therefore, metaphysically unimportant whether 
 feeling, as it exists for the merely feeling soul, is simple or 
 complex ; for, whichever view is taken, the subject has not 
 yet distinguished objects for itself, and therefore for it there 
 is no known world. The idealistic view, that only for a 
 thinking or universalizing subject is there any 'cosmos of 
 experience/ is not dependent upon the Kantian assumption 
 that sense supplies a mere ' manifold ' ; on the contrary, it 
 denies that, in our thinking experience, there is any mere 
 ' manifold,' maintaining that, when the sensitive life has 
 become an object of knowledge, it has been transformed by 
 being determined as a knowable aspect of the one world 
 which exists only in the medium of thought. 1 But, though 
 the metaphysical interpretation of reality is independent of 
 the special psychological view which is taken of the feeling 
 soul, it is apt to be supposed that the former is discredited 
 if the latter is shown to be inadequate. I shall, therefore, 
 attempt to characterize the feeling stage. 
 
 The ' feeling soul ' is another term for the feeling life, as 
 distinguished from the life of beings which do not feel. 
 Hence only animals have ' feeling soul.' Now it is part of 
 the task of psychology to inquire into the first or simplest 
 phase of the feeling life ; in other words, to determine what 
 is the state of the feeling being, as it exists prior to all more 
 developed phases of life. Perhaps I cannot do better than 
 quote its characterization by Mr. Bradley, which, with certain 
 explanations, seems to me true. 
 
 1 On this point see my Christianity and Idealism, chap. vi. Cf. Note 
 ix., pp. 418-21. 
 
THE FEELING SOUL. 45 1 
 
 " In the beginning," we are told, " there is nothing beyond 
 what is presented, what is and is felt, or is rather felt simply. 
 There is no memory or imagination, or hope or fear, or 
 thought or will, and no perception of difference or likeness. 
 There are in short no relations and no feelings, only feeling. 
 It is all one blur with differences that work and that are 
 felt, but are not discriminated." 1 
 
 The difficulty in dealing with the earliest phase of 
 psychical life is to exclude what belongs to later phases. 
 There is a temptation to characterize the germ of the 
 psychical life by attributes which do not belong to it, but 
 which are drawn from a more developed stage. This temp- 
 tation Mr. Bradley has tried to avoid, and on the whole 
 successfully. There is, however, one term which he 
 employs that is misleading. He identifies what is 'felt 
 simply' with what is 'presented.' No doubt he limits 
 the term 'presented' by explaining that it means 'felt 
 simply'; but it is questionable whether it is advisable to 
 use the same term 'presentation' to express mere feeling 
 and the more developed stage of psychical life in which the 
 distinction of subject and object has arisen, just as it is 
 doubtful whether we can speak of thought as ' presentation.' 
 I should be disposed to limit the term ' presentation ' to the 
 intermediate stage of perception, and to identify it with 
 'percept' In any case 'presentation' as here used to 
 express immediate feeling must not be confused with 
 'presentation' in the sense of a distinct object of 
 perception. 
 
 At the stage, then, of the merely feeling soul there are 
 only felt differences. The psychologist who makes these 
 
 1 Mind, O.S. xii., 343. 
 
45 2 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 an object of reflection, and who views them as the first 
 stage of psychical life, regards them as felt differences, which 
 imply the continuity of a single being. There are felt 
 differences, and even changes of these within a limited 
 range, but the feeling being is not itself aware of these 
 changes or of its own continuity. On the other hand, if 
 we admit that there is a feeling of difference, we cannot 
 deny that there is a correlative feeling of unity or continuity. 
 Neither, it is true, is discriminated from the other, but 
 unless we reduce feeling to nothing at all, we must admit 
 a feeling of unity no less than a feeling of difference. Of 
 course a being of this kind, since it has not even reached 
 the stage of discriminating one feeling from another, has no 
 perception, much less ideation or intellection. Hence the 
 feeling being is not aware of the present, since the present 
 has no meaning except in relation to the past and the 
 future. Nor has it any awareness of extension, which 
 implies the discrimination of 'here' and 'there.' It need 
 hardly be added that for the feeling being there is no 'body,' 
 since ' body ' implies awareness of feelings as discriminated 
 and referred to an extended organism. 
 
 Mr. Bradley speaks of feeling as a form of ' experience.' 
 This is apt to mislead, since the term 'experience' is 
 usually employed to designate the contents of the being 
 for whom the distinction of various objects, and of these 
 from the subject, has arisen. The application of the term 
 ' experience ' to the merely feeling being is open to the 
 same objection as the use of the term ' presentation ' : it 
 tends to confuse the distinction of the earlier and the later 
 phase of psychical life ; and it is doubtful if Mr. Bradley has- 
 avoided the confusion. 
 
 It seems worth while noting that this stage of psychical 
 
THE FEELING SOUL. 453 
 
 life is least fit to serve as the type of that perfect unity 
 of idea and reality which is the goal of all knowledge. 
 Nothing can be more misleading than to contrast the 
 unity of feeling with the contradiction or antithesis of the 
 thinking life. For the feeling life is not a unity : it is 
 indeed at the furthest remove from unity. To be a unity 
 a being must be able, while discriminating what presents 
 itself to it, to connect what is discriminated within the 
 unity of a single whole. But the feeling being neither 
 discriminates nor unites : indeed discrimination and unifica- 
 tion are inseparable from each other. The feeling life is 
 merely the undifferentiated possibility of unity and differ- 
 ence, but actually it is neither the one nor the other; it 
 is, in fact, only by anticipation that we can call it either a 
 unity or a difference. Hence it is entirely fallacious to 
 regard the feeling being as a unity. This view seems to 
 rest upon a confusion between feeling and emotion. In the 
 latter there is really unity, because the subject of emotion 
 has passed through the discriminating stages of perception, 
 imagination, and thought, and come back to itself. Hence 
 emotion presupposes these stages. It is totally different 
 with mere feeling that form of feeling which is prior to 
 these more developed stages for in it there is no unity 
 just because there is no distinction. We can only express 
 the fact by saying that the feeling life is the vague aware- 
 ness of unity and difference, but explicitly neither the one 
 nor the other. 
 
 This feeling life, as Mr. Bradley tells us, "can not (for 
 the soul) be discrete, because that implies distinction. . . . 
 If the whole were not unbroken, it would at least so be given 
 to a feeble mind. . . . For itself, it is not discrete, and 
 hence also it is not explicitly continuous." 
 
454 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 In this passage an undue emphasis seems to be laid 
 upon the continuity of the feeling life, as distinguished from 
 its discreteness. No doubt it is said that the feeling being 
 is not 'for itself 'explicitly continuous'; but, on the 
 other hand, it is implied that 'for itself the feeling being 
 is given as 'an unbroken whole.' Now, we must observe 
 that, at this stage, there is neither explicit continuity nor 
 explicit discreteness, and hence that it is misleading to 
 speak of it as a 'whole. 5 The question should not be put 
 in the form : ' Is the feeling life discrete or continuous ? ' as 
 if it must be either the one or the other. For there is 
 another alternative, viz. : Is the feeling life neither discrete 
 nor continuous ? And the answer must be in the affirma- 
 tive. The feeling life exists at a stage below both continuity 
 and discreteness, and therefore is explicitly neither con- 
 tinuous nor discrete, yet implicitly both. It is natural 
 to deny the discreteness, because the prevalent account 
 of the primitive soul-life is, that it consists of discrete feel- 
 ings ; but, in avoiding this mistake, we must not fall into 
 the opposite mistake of conceiving it as an 'unbroken 
 whole' or continuity. Mr. Bradley is on the verge of 
 contradiction when he says, "If the whole were not un- 
 broken, it would at least so be given to a feeble mind." 
 For (i) there can be no awareness of a 'whole' where 
 there is no awareness of ' parts '; and, by hypothesis, there 
 is (for the feeling being) no awareness of parts, which 
 implies discrimination. And (2) there is no continuity (for 
 the feeling being), for continuity implies change, and there 
 is no awareness of change. Hence we cannot say that the 
 ' whole ' is ' given ' (or ' presented ') as ' unbroken.' There 
 is, for the feeling being, merely undifferentiated feeling, 
 which is neither discrete nor continuous, but the pos- 
 
THE FEELING SOUL. 455 
 
 sibility of both. The psychologist, finding it to develop 
 into both, may conceive it as the germ from which both 
 develop, but it is a mistake to regard it as the anticipation 
 of either. Perhaps we cannot better state the character of 
 the purely feeling being than by saying that it is a felt 
 unity-in-difference, understanding that neither the unity nor 
 the difference is ' explicit.' 
 
 So far the feeling being has been characterized merely as 
 an implicit unity-in-difference. But it may be asked 
 whether there is pleasure or pain. " It is safer," says Mr. 
 Bradley, "not to suppose that at first pleasure and pain 
 may be absent from sensation, or (for the mind) are attached 
 to parts of the whole." It is obvious that in a purely feeling 
 being pleasure and pain cannot be 'attached to parts of 
 the whole,' for the simple reason that there are no 'parts.' 
 Nor it is very evident how there can be any ' presentation ' 
 of pleasure and pain. " If we take ' given ' or ' presented ' 
 ... for that which is simply, and comes as it is, then in 
 this sense pain and pleasure must be called presentations." 
 And no doubt this is true enough; but surely it is mis- 
 leading to speak of pleasure and pain as ' presentations ' 
 in a being which simply feels. Pleasure and pain may be 
 called ' presentations ' at the stage of conscious life, where 
 there is discrimination, but hardly prior to discrimination. 
 At the stage of feeling there merely is a certain change 
 in feeling, which is a felt difference and a felt pleasure or 
 pain ; but the felt difference and the felt pleasure or pain 
 are one indissoluble state (for the feeling being). It must 
 also be observed that Mr. Bradley, in denying that pleasure 
 and pain "are attached to parts of the whole," seems to 
 be guided by the idea that the feeling being is (for itself) 
 a whole. What he is concerned to deny is that pleasure 
 
45 6 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 and pain are attached to the 'parts.' And this is a 
 natural emphasis, because he is tacitly combating the 
 Associationist doctrine that the psychical life is made up of 
 discrete parts. If that were true, pleasure and pain would 
 be 'attached to the parts.' But, as we have seen, there 
 are (for the feeling being) no discrete parts, and hence 
 pleasure and pain cannot (for that being) be attached" to 
 the parts. On the other hand, as we have also seen, the 
 feeling being is not a whole for itself, and therefore pleasure 
 and pain cannot be attached to the whole. Where all is 
 indefinite, pleasure and pain must be indefinite too ; there 
 will naturally be some difference between them and the 
 felt differences, but without discrimination the difference 
 will not be ' presented ' as a difference. The pleasure and 
 pain will neither be attached to the whole nor to the parts, 
 but will be simply a vague aspect of the feeling of differ- 
 ences, which will afterwards be discriminated as perception 
 of the pleasant and the painful. As to the remark that the 
 'given' or 'presented' must be taken, "not as implying a 
 donation or even a relation to an Ego," it has its value. 
 For (i) it rightly protests against the idea that the psycho- 
 logist, in seeking to characterize the psychical life, can 
 accept without question the doctrine that we can attribute 
 to the feeling being a theory of a thing in itself, by which 
 the ' given ' or ' presented ' is produced. The psychologist 
 may hold that this hypothesis is required to account for 
 the existence of feeling, and if he could prove his case 
 (which he cannot), his view would have to be accepted by 
 the metaphysician; but it is obvious that, if we are to 
 state what the feeling being is for itself we cannot be 
 allowed to attribute to it any conception of a thing in 
 itself or of causation. Nor (2) can we attribute the 'given* 
 
THE FEELING SOUL. 457 
 
 to an Ego. For the feeling being there is no Ego. It 
 may be held that were there no Ego there could be no 
 feeling, feeling having no meaning except as the receptivity 
 of a subject. If this could be proved (and I do not believe 
 that it can), we should have to incorporate it in our meta- 
 physical theory; but it is manifest that, at the stage of 
 the feeling being, there is no Ego any more than there is a 
 thing in itself; and nothing but confusion can result from 
 attributing to the undeveloped being what is true only of 
 the developed being. The psychologist has therefore no 
 right to become metaphysical and to foist his theory into 
 the feeling being, which, so far from being able to form 
 a theory, cannot even discriminate one feeling from an- 
 other. The most that we can admit is, that the feeling 
 being contains within itself implicitly the reference to an 
 Ego, since it has a feeling of unity as well as difference. 
 But, as we have seen, this admission cannot give counten- 
 ance to the view that there is for it an Ego, but merely 
 implies that there is an undifferentiated unity-in-difference, 
 which will develop into the distinction of Ego and non-Ego. 
 So far, with certain reservations, I find myself in har- 
 mony with Mr. Bradley's view of the earliest phase of 
 psychical life; or at least I differ from him only in 
 holding that the feeling being cannot be characterized as 
 (for itself) an 'unbroken whole.' But I find it hard to 
 follow Mr. Bradley in what he next says as to the 
 nature of the feeling being. "Is there anything at the 
 start beyond mere presentation, that is, feeling with the 
 distinctions of quality, quantity, and ' tone,' which we 
 abstract from one another, but which at first come 
 within one blurred whole, which merely is? I feel con- 
 vinced that there is nothing." Now, it seems to me 
 
45$ AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 that Mr. Bradley has suddenly deserted the psychological 
 point of view, or rather shows himself to be here the 
 victim of the ' psychologist's fallacy.' I have already tried 
 to show that we cannot describe the feeling being as a 
 'blurred whole,' unless we mean by this an indefinite 
 or confused feeling of unity-in-dirTerence. It must now 
 be remarked that we cannot possibly describe the feeling 
 being as containing "distinctions of quality, quantity, 
 and 'tone,' which we abstract from one another." (i) No 
 distinctions are made by the feeling being, and therefore 
 for it there is neither quality, nor quantity, nor 'tone r 
 (if by ' tone ' is meant pleasure or pain which presupposes 
 discriminated sensations). For the feeling being a quality 
 can only be a felt difference, not a distinction of 
 one difference from another; for, how can there possibly 
 be a distinction of quality where there are no distinctions 
 at all? Nor, for the same reason, can there be a 
 distinction of quantity, i.e. of the degree of sensation. 
 And there can be no ' tone ' without discrimination of 
 pleasure and pain as connected with a sensation which 
 has quality and quantity. Admitting that in the feeling 
 being there are felt differences which develop into these 
 distinctions, we cannot predicate of that being what is 
 not yet developed in it. If we could thus attribute to the 
 feeling being what exists only for the perceptive being, 
 we might with equal propriety endow it with a conception 
 of the universe, such as in our developed consciousness 
 we have. It would almost seem as if Mr. Bradley 
 regarded the feeling being as already containing, pre- 
 formed within itself, the whole articulated world which is 
 present for the rational consciousness. Surely, it is not 
 necessary to say that we cannot in Psychology accept a 
 
THE FEELING SOUL. 459 
 
 view which in Biology has been discredited. Just as the 
 protoplastic germ of the living being is not an ill-defined 
 miniature of the developed being, so the feeling soul is 
 not a 'blurred whole' containing all the distinctions 
 which are present at a more developed stage. (2) 
 Hence it is not correct to say that l zve abstract from one 
 another' the 'distinctions of quality, quantity, and tone.' 
 We cannot 'abstract from one another' what is not 
 there to be abstracted. If in the feeling soul there are 
 no distinctions, how can we possibly find them there? 
 The biologist does not find in the protoplastic germ the 
 distinctions afterwards exhibited by the developed being : 
 he describes the germ as it is, and, finding it develop, he 
 describes its later phase, and he connects the earlier 
 with the later by the idea of evolution. Similarly, the 
 psychologist finds the feeling being to be felt differences, 
 and he finds the perceptive being to involve perceived 
 differences ; therefore he rightly connects the one with 
 the other, affirming that the latter has evolved from the 
 former. But he has no right to talk of the feeling being 
 as if it contained distinctions which exist only for the 
 perceptive being; to do so is to make development 
 unnecessary. The psychologist who finds in the feeling 
 being distinctions of quality, quantity, and 'tone' simply 
 puts them there. Abandoning the psychological point 
 of view he assumes a developed consciousness like his 
 own, and of course he has no difficulty in 'abstracting 
 from one another' distinctions which for him already 
 exist. 
 
460 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY, 
 
 XII. THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN FREEDOM: 
 KANT AND GREEN. 1 
 
 The problem of freedom is so important in ethics, and 
 yet so difficult, that a somewhat fuller discussion of it 
 than that contained in the text seems advisable. As 
 preliminary to that discussion, it may be well to consider 
 the contrast which Kant draws between the theoretical 
 and the practical reason, especially as there is a class of 
 thinkers who seem to find in the "primacy of practical 
 reason" the solution of nearly all problems. 
 
 The Kantian distinction between theoretical and prac- 
 tical reason is based upon the opposition between the 
 world of 'experience' and the idea of an 'intelligible' 
 world, which, as beyond 'experience,' cannot be an 
 object of 'knowledge,' though it is inseparable from 
 the consciousness of the incompleteness of 'knowledge.' 
 When Kant limits ' knowledge ' to what falls within the 
 limited sphere of 'experience,' he assumes that nothing 
 can be 'known' which cannot be brought under the 
 forms of space and time. No object in space and time, 
 he contends, can be self-determined; its changes are due 
 to the action upon it of what is external, and hence it 
 is merely one of an infinite number of mutually depen- 
 dent objects. The limits of 'knowledge' are, therefore, 
 conceived by Kant to be co-terminous with that deter- 
 mination of the real world which is characteristic of 
 the special sciences, all of which investigate the various 
 
 Supplementary to chap, x., pp. 235-248. 
 
THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN FREEDOM. 46 1 
 
 modes of action and reaction which constitute the pro- 
 cess of things. Were this the sum of the Critical Philo- 
 sophy, the result of Kant's enquiry into the conditions 
 of knowledge would, at the most, merely be to confirm 
 the presupposition of the sciences that the knowable 
 world is under the dominion of unchanging mechanical 
 laws. But this is only for Kant the first step towards 
 the solution of the more important problems as to the 
 reality of freedom, morality, and God ; and therefore, 
 though he limits 'knowledge' in the way indicated, he 
 contends that this very limitation of 'knowledge' enables 
 us to see that there is room for a rational 'faith.' The 
 important question is whether this contrast of 'know- 
 ledge' and 'faith' can be legitimately maintained. 
 
 Kant is very emphatic in maintaining that the desires 
 fall within the realm of ' experience ' or ' nature,' and 
 must therefore be determined in the same way as other 
 objects. "The will as a faculty of desire," he says, "is 
 simply one of the many causes in the world of nature, 
 viz. that cause which acts from conceptions." 1 Just as 
 he regards the 'manifold of sense' as something given 
 to the mind, which it first determines by the synthesis 
 of imagination as a congeries of objects in space and 
 time, and then brings under the categories of the under- 
 standing; so he conceives of the desires as temporal 
 phenomena standing in a relation of reciprocal causality 
 to the objects which excite them. It is thus impossible 
 to find within the sphere of knowledge or 'experience' 
 anything to justify us in maintaining that in our actions 
 we are free. We have to remember, however, that the 
 
 x Werke, ed. Hartenstein, v. 178. 
 
462 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 sphere of 'experience' is for Kant a limited region, 
 beyond which lies a whole possible world of reality, 
 though we are unable in the theoretical use of reason 
 to enter into and take possession of it. If, indeed, the 
 world of 'experience' were self-complete, we should have 
 no reason even to suspect the existence of realities 
 which do not fall within its sphere; but, so far is this 
 from being the case, that 'experience' can never be a 
 complete whole, and therefore it points beyond itself. 
 Now, this 'intelligible' world, which for the theoretical 
 reason is merely problematic, is according to Kant a 
 necessary inference from the consciousness of moral 
 law. That we actually have this consciousness does not 
 admit of doubt; and we are entitled to reason back 
 from it to what it implies. For in the conception of 
 ourselves as under obligation to obey an absolute moral 
 law, it is implied that the self-conscious subject cannot 
 in his real nature be merely a link in the chain of 
 causes which determine the changes of phenomena. A 
 being who is conscious of an 'intelligible' order, which 
 stands in absolute contrast to the ' empirical ' order, cannot 
 be merely one object among others, or merely the sub- 
 ject for which all objects are, but must have within 
 himself the faculty of originating the idea of a world 
 which transcends the world of 'experience.' Kant main- 
 tains, however, that, though freedom is a necessary 
 inference from the fact that we have the idea of a 
 moral world, it is impossible for us to bring the free 
 self within the sphere of 'knowledge.' And, obviously, 
 if the highest point which we can reach in ' experience ' 
 is the determination of objects as dependent in all their 
 changes upon the action of something external to them, 
 
THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN FREEDOM. 463 
 
 there can be no * experience' of ourselves as self-deter- 
 mined. It is, in fact, from Kant's point of view of 
 supreme importance to deny 'knowledge' of the self as 
 free, because in no other way can he consistently pre- 
 serve freedom at all. Since, then, we have no positive 
 knowledge of the noumenal or free self, the idea of 
 freedom presents itself to us in the first instance in a 
 negative form, as independence of natural necessity. 
 Nature, as known to us, is indeed a connected system, 
 but it is only a system of phenomena. No phenomenal 
 object has any independent reality, but exists and under- 
 goes changes only because of its direct or indirect 
 relations to other phenomena. We therefore seek in 
 vain in the world of nature for an unconditioned object 
 an object which is either self-originating or self-deter- 
 mined. But the moral consciousness is possible only 
 on the supposition that the beings possessing it are 
 self-determined, and as self-determined they cannot be 
 phenomena, i.e. objects which are determined in their 
 action by other objects. A moral being cannot be 
 determined by anything but himself; for, if he were, 
 his actions would not be his own, but would be deter- 
 mined from without; and hence we could not in any 
 proper sense speak of his will, any more than we can 
 speak of the ' will ' of a stone or of a ' mere animal' A 
 moral being must therefore be beyond the sway of 
 external necessity; which is the same as saying that he 
 cannot be an object of knowledge or 'experience.' Thus 
 there arises an apparent contradiction between the 
 necessary conditions of knowledge and the fact of the 
 moral consciousness ; for, while knowledge is bounded 
 by the consciousness of phenomenal or dependent beings, 
 
464 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 morality imperatively demands noumenal or free beings. 
 The antinomy is of paramount interest to us as men ; 
 for, while we know ourselves only as phenomenal or 
 dependent beings, we must think ourselves as self- 
 dependent or free. 
 
 It is obvious that the whole opposition of theoretical 
 and practical reason has its root in the doctrine that 
 nothing can be known ' except that which can be deter- 
 mined by the conception of reciprocal action. The self, 
 so far as it is an object of 'experience,' must therefore be 
 determined in the same way as other objects; and hence, 
 so far as knowledge goes, it can never be shown to be 
 self-determined. Now, Kant conceives the desires as 
 determinations of the phenomenal self, and therefore he 
 consistently holds that the desiring self can never be 
 shown to be free But, when the desires are eliminated, 
 the conception of self becomes empty, and it is therefore 
 not surprising that it should be declared to be unknowable, 
 though it is still assumed to be real. To get rid of the 
 false antithesis of theoretical and practical reason we must 
 therefore refuse to admit that knowledge is confined within 
 the arbitrary limits assigned to it by Kant. Unless it can 
 be shown that a free self is an object of knowledge, it 
 must be discarded as a fiction. To fall back upon 'faith' 
 is merely to admit a fundamental discrepancy in our 
 theory. 
 
 One source of Kant's perplexities is his failure to 
 recognize that there is no 'manifold of sense' within the 
 ordered system of experience. Knowledge consists in 
 the determination of the real world by the intelligence, 
 and whatever comes within the system of experience 
 takes its place there as an element in a whole. No 
 
THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN FREEDOM. 465 
 
 doubt experience is a process, but it is a process which 
 implies the unity of the intelligent subject all through, 
 and what does not come within this unity has for that 
 subject no meaning. Now, this applies to the conscious- 
 ness of the natural desires as well as to the consciousness 
 of sensation. Just as sensation is no longer mere sensa- 
 tion when it becomes an object, so immediate desire or 
 impulse is no longer mere desire when it exists as an 
 object for the self-conscious subject. As such an object 
 it has no existence except as an end conceived by the 
 subject as fitted to satisfy him. A desired object is not 
 an external thing, having a nature apart from what it is 
 for the subject desiring it: its whole nature as an object 
 of desire consists in the conception of it formed by the 
 subject. Of course there are animal impulses which are 
 not conceived ends, but these are nothing for the willing 
 subject. No object is regarded as desirable unless it is 
 conceived as that in the attainment of which the subject 
 expects to find himself realized. That which is not con- 
 \ ceived as a 'good' is not an object of desire, and therefore 
 fVcannot be willed. I cannot have a desire without having 
 the conception of my actual incompleteness and the 
 correlative conception of myself as capable of being 
 realized by becoming what in idea I am. When I 
 conceive of an object as desirable, I have already in- 
 terpreted my want as indicating an object necessary to 
 the completeness of myself, *.*. as a desirable end at 
 which I may aim. Without the capacity of forming 
 some ideal of the ends which will satisfy me, I cannot 
 have desire; and, therefore, to desire is to be already 
 beyond immediate impulse. But he who is beyond im- 
 pulse is capable of free action, in so far as freedom 
 
 2G 
 
466 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 consists in self-determination, not in determination from 
 without. If it were true that there could be no self- 
 determination without liberation from all conceived ends, it 
 would follow that self-determination is an absurdity; but 
 we need not hesitate to surrender this preposterous concep- 
 tion of freedom, when we see that it is equally incompatible 
 with the existence of a self, since a self which is not 
 conceived as realizable in definite ends must be absolutely 
 empty, and indeed is nothing at all. The only real self 
 is one which can find satisfaction in determinate ends. 
 Now, no subject can have the conception of any end 
 whatever if he is the passive recipient of external in- 
 fluences : his conception of himself as a self means that 
 his natural impulses have been transformed into elements 
 in his conception of himself. 
 
 Kant sees quite clearly that there can be no freedom 
 if the subject is simply the recipient of natural impulses, 
 which arise in him under the influence of external things; 
 but he cannot get rid of the prepossession that there are 
 actions which proceed purely from such impulses. Now, 
 this is not an adequate account even of the impulses 
 of an animal. An animal's actions are not the mere 
 product of the interaction of the organism and the 
 environment : they are the modes in which the unity 
 of its life is preserved. The impulses have an end, and 
 the whole process of the animal's life is the striving after 
 the realization of that end. We may admit, however, 
 that the animal has no definite consciousness of self, and 
 therefore its impulses do not become for it definite con- 
 ceptions of the totality of ends in which the unity of the 
 self may be realized. Man has such a conception of 
 himself, and therefore his natural impulses are transformed 
 
THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN FREEDOM. 467 
 
 into conceived ends. Hence no object as such can 
 produce in him impulses which result in action, i.e. in 
 willed ends. For, in the first place, there is no human 
 object at all prior to the exercise of his activity in knowing ; 
 , and, secondly, no object is converted into a desired end 
 / except through the conception of himself as capable of 
 \ finding satisfaction in a particular way. Objects con- 
 ceived as ends become elements in the total conception 
 of himself : and apart from his conception of himself they 
 do not exist at all. To say that an object acts upon or 
 produces in him a desire, is to say that what is not a 
 conceived end produces the conception of an end. With- 
 out self-activity there is therefore no end. To speak of 
 my desire as if it could exist without my self-activity is 
 indefensible. When, therefore, Kant speaks of desire as 
 produced by an object, he is confusing desire with impulse, 
 and a desirable object with an external thing. As desire 
 and the object desired are inseparable, and have no 
 existence apart from the self-active subject, they are 
 simply two aspects of the self-active subject. In desire 
 the subject conceives of himself as a determinate self to 
 be realized. But, as desire exists only for the subject, 
 so it can be realized only by the subject; and hence 
 the transition from desire to will is the process in which 
 the conceived self is realized. There is no way of realizing 
 the conception of self except by making the desire real; 
 and, if we eliminate the desire, there is nothing to realize. 
 The moral life, therefore, cannot consist in the realization 
 of self apart from desire, but only in such a realization 
 of the self as will bring self-harmony; and this, as we 
 may here assume, must consist in the harmony of the 
 individual and the universal self. We may, therefore, 
 
 ( 
 
468 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 speak of freedom in two senses : it means either (i) self- 
 determination whether good or bad, (2) self-determination 
 which is harmonious with the true nature of the self. 
 The former is the sine qua non of freedom, and without it 
 the latter is impossible. Just as error is possible only 
 for a thinking subject, so moral evil is possible only for 
 a willing subject. An action must be mine before it can 
 be good or bad, and what is not mine has no moral 
 quality. Freedom, in the latter sense, is the conformity 
 of my action with what I truly or in idea am. Hence I 
 may be free in the former sense and not in the latter. 
 Now, it is this second sense of freedom which Kant 
 mainly has in his mind when he maintains that freedom 
 consists in "willing the moral law." The moral law is 
 the ideal of what I ' ought ' to be if I realize what is 
 implied in the true conception of myself. This concep- 
 tion of self, as Kant rightly maintains, is the product of 
 reason; but he adds that it is exclusive of desire, and 
 this, as we have argued, is to make the self an abstrac- 
 tion. Hence moral freedom cannot consist in realizing 
 an abstract self, but only in realizing that self which is 
 desired because it is adequate to the true nature of the 
 self. The process of moral life is therefore a continual 
 transformation of the lower into the higher self; but it 
 presupposes the free activity of the subject as its necessary 
 condition. Moral slavery is none the less free action. 
 
 If the view here advocated is adopted, we can no 
 longer say that the free subject is not an object of 
 knowledge; for, while it cannot be characterized as one 
 object among others, it is known as what it is, viz., as a 
 self-determined subject. Even Green, who has done so 
 much to establish a true theory of knowledge and of 
 
THK PROBLEM OF HUMAxN FREEDOM. 469 
 
 morality, seems to be partly under the influence of Kant 
 when he draws a sharp contrast between knowledge and 
 action. Thus he tells us that, "whereas in perceptive 
 experience the sensible object carries its reality with it 
 . . . in practice the wanted object is one to which 
 real existence has yet to be given"; and he adds, that 
 "the world of experience is independent of us . . . 
 in the sense that it does not depend on any exercise of 
 our powers whether the sensible objects, of which we are 
 conscious, shall become real or no; they are already 
 real." 1 Now, the contrast here drawn between 'perceptive 
 experience' and 'practice' is misleading. In what sense 
 can it be said that "the world of experience is indepen- 
 dent of us," and "does not depend on any exercise of 
 our powers " ? The ' world of experience,' as Green 
 well knew, is not a reality independent of the thinking 
 subject; it exists nowhere but in and for the thinking 
 subject, and it therefore comes into existence as a 
 'world of experience' only in the process by which the 
 self-active subject constitutes it for himself as a 'world.' 
 Nor can we say that "in perceptive experience the 
 sensible object carries its reality with it," unless by 
 'perceptive experience' we mean the whole system of 
 objects as constituted by the thinking activity of the 
 subject. The 'reality' of the 'sensible object' is its 
 'reality' as a phase in the total process of the world. 
 Such ' reality ' is not determined by the mere conviction 
 of the percipient subject that it is real; for, though this 
 conviction may admit of justification, that justification 
 can only consist in the consciousness of the systematic 
 
 1 Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, p. 92. 
 
470 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 unity of the whole. Since, therefore, the 'world of 
 experience ' exists only for the self-conscious subject, it 
 cannot be opposed to the world of 'practice,' as that 
 which is 'already real' to that which has to be brought 
 into being. The 'world of experience' arises in the 
 knowledge of the thinking subject, and particular phases 
 of it, as arising in the perception of that subject, have 
 no existence except in his perception. In other words, 
 perception is itself an aspect of the self-active life of 
 the subject ; and it is only because we are accustomed 
 to regard the object as if it already existed apart from 
 perception, that we are apt to speak of it as already 
 existing. It seems to me all-important to bear continu- 
 ally in mind, what Green elsewhere tells us, that there 
 is no knowledge apart from will. Granting this, percep- 
 tion can only be one aspect of the total activity of the 
 self-determining subject. The '.world of experience' is, 
 indeed, a world of permanent relations, and in this its 
 reality consists ; but it is not a ' world ' at all, except for 
 a self-determining subject. It is true that the subject 
 does not ' create ' the world, if this means that the world 
 is an arbitrary product ; but what this implies is, that 
 the whole process of the self-conscious subject is the 
 comprehension of the real as a 'world of experience' or 
 a fixed system. It is none the less true that, apart from 
 the self-activity of the knowing subject, there is no 
 ' world of experience ' ; and therefore we cannot contrast 
 desire and perception as dealing respectively with what 
 'is to be' real and what 'is' real. The distinction lies 
 in another direction. When desire is regarded as dealing 
 with what 'is to be,' we are viewing the subject as in 
 process; when perception is regarded as dealing with 
 
THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN FREEDOM. 47 1 
 
 what 'is,' we are viewing the process as complete. But 
 perception as a process is equally of what 'is to be.' 
 We naturally view it as the consciousness of external 
 objects, which we conceive as already existing; but, if 
 we are to give an adequate account of perception, we 
 must not fall back upon the common-sense opposition 
 of perception and its object; we must take the whole 
 fact, and the whole fact is the perception by the self- 
 active subject of an object which exists only for that 
 subject. The process of perception, like the process of 
 desire, is, therefore, from what 'is not' to what 'is.' 
 The self-determining subject therefore falls within know- 
 ledge, whether as perceptive or as desiring. If we are 
 to separate the object of perception from the perceiving 
 subject, we must also separate the object of desire from 
 the desiring subject. It thus seems to me that, in deal- 
 ing with either perception or desire, we must not forget 
 that both are phases of the one self-determining subject. 
 Hence we cannot oppose knowing and willing, as if the 
 former dealt only with the system of external objects, 
 the latter only with the self-determining subject; what we 
 must keep before our minds is the one self-determining 
 subject, in its correlative aspects of object and subject. 
 When we direct attention to the former, we view the 
 subject as knowing ; when we direct attention to the 
 latter, we view the subject as willing ; but the subject 
 can neither know nor will anything that is not in- 
 cluded within the one self-conscious life. 
 
 Let us return to Kant. According to him the Idea of 
 the self as an absolute unity is merely ' regulative.' 1 
 
 1 Cf. Note IX., pp. 413-14. 
 
472 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 When we conceive of the thinking subject as substantial, 
 simple, self-identical, and self-dependent, we are viewing 
 it as if it were an object of 'experience.' When this 
 method of thought is applied to the desires, we are falsely 
 led to suppose that these, like the affections of sense, 
 are determinations of a single self-determining substance. 
 But as such a substance is not an object of 'experience,' 
 we are here taking the pure Idea of an unconditioned 
 being for an actual knowledge of it. Now, it is of course 
 true that, if the desires are separated from the self-con- 
 scious subject, the latter can only be the Idea of a unity 
 which can never be known. But the reason why it cannot 
 be known is that it is an unreal abstraction. The 
 conception of a pure subject, which excludes from itself 
 all desire, is the conception of a unity which is the unity 
 of nothing. There can be no unity without differences, 
 and if all differences are eliminated, what remains is not 
 the Idea of a unity, but the Idea of a bare possibility, 
 which is the possibility of nothing. In order to conceive 
 of the self as a unity we must regard it as differentiat- 
 ing itself, and, so far as knowledge is concerned, there is 
 for Kant no differentiation. We must therefore refuse to 
 seek for the unity of the self in separation from the 
 desires. The desires are the specific way in which the 
 self-determining subject realizes its unity. Having various 
 desires, i.e. various forms of self-determination, the subject 
 is a real or individual self. If we ask whether this self is a 
 1 substance,' we must answer that it is not a ' substance ' in 
 the sense of that which is characterized as an object deter- 
 mined by external relations to other objects; for, as so 
 conceived, it is not a self, but merely a sum of relations. 
 The self is a self only as it is not only permanent but 
 
THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN FREEDOM. 473 
 
 conscious of its own permanence. We may, if we please, say 
 that the self is a self-conscious 'substance'; but this mode of 
 expression, though it may suggest the true view, is, taken 
 strictly, a combination of contradictory ideas. If a 'sub- 
 stance' is, in Kant's sense, merely the conception of the 
 permanent in change, the thinking ' substance ' will not 
 be self-conscious ; in other words, the conception of the 
 real as determined by the category of ' substance ' is only 
 a relative point of view. When, therefore, we add that 
 this thinking 'substance' is self-conscious, we have virtually 
 transcended the conception of ' substance ' altogether, and 
 transformed it into the conception of a self-conscious sub- 
 ject. What survives in the new conception of the subject 
 is its permanence ; but ' permanence ' now means self- 
 conscious identity. It may be said that this self-conscious 
 identity merely expresses the fact that there is one world 
 of ' experience ' only in so far as there is one self-con- 
 sciousness, not that there is self-conscious identity apart 
 from that world. To this we answer that, on Kant's own 
 showing, the world of ' experience ' is possible only under 
 presupposition of the unity of self-consciousness; and 
 therefore we are entitled to say that there never can be 
 a self-conscious subject which fails to combine objects in 
 a unity : what cannot be combined with the consciousness 
 of self cannot enter into the world of 'experience,' and 
 therefore is for the subject nothing, or at least nothing 
 but that which is the mere possibility of being combined 
 with self-consciousness. If, therefore, we separate the sub- 
 ject from its desires, there is no longer a unity, because 
 there is nothing which is unified. But, if the desires are 
 determinations of the self-conscious subject, that subject 
 will be a unity in so far as it combines all its desires in 
 
474 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 one self-consciousness. Nor can there otherwise be any 
 unity ; for, if the desires are merely affections which arise 
 in relation to external objects, they can never be known 
 as elements in the one world of ' experience.' Grant that 
 the desires are known as desires, and the unity of the 
 subject is no longer a bare Idea, but is the necessary 
 presupposition of the consciousness of desires as the 
 desires of a single self-conscious subject. 
 
 When Kant affirms that the consciousness of self gives 
 rise to the Idea of a pure intelligence, in which subject 
 and object should be identical, he is virtually admitting 
 that there can be no subject which has reality apart from 
 the world which it constitutes by its self-activity. A subject 
 which originates an ideal of a complete subject-object must 
 be self-determining. Kant, however, regards this as merely 
 an ideal, because the complete unity of subject and object 
 is incapable of being realized. No doubt it is incapable 
 of being realized by the human subject, but not for the 
 reason assigned by Kant. He argues that, knowledge 
 being only of a world of objects in reciprocal relation, 
 the subject can only be known as such an object, and 
 therefore the subject as originating the object is never an 
 object of knowledge. But, as we have maintained, the 
 world of experience cannot exist except for a self-deter- 
 mining subject, and therefore there is no absolute barrier 
 to the extension of knowledge beyond the circle of 
 'phenomena,' provided that the actual nature of the world 
 demands it. Now, when we realize that the world of 
 experience can exist only for a self-determining subject, 
 we are entitled to say that we must at the same time 
 extend our conception of knowledge. Kant arbitrarily 
 excludes from knowledge all those higher conceptions of 
 
THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN FREEDOM. 475 
 
 reality which are not included in the scientific stage of 
 knowledge. But the scientific stage of knowledge is not 
 ultimate : the whole self-conscious life escapes from a 
 mode of conception which regards the world merely as 
 a system of mutually related elements. The world is 
 such a system, but to rest in this conception as final 
 is to treat the whole range of human interests as non- 
 existent, because they cannot be expressed in mechanical 
 terms. When, therefore, under Kant's guidance, we see 
 that the self-conscious life is inexplicable in such terms, 
 we must be prepared to enlarge our conception of reality 
 by removing the limit which we had before assigned to 
 knowledge. If the unity of the world, which is tacitly 
 assumed even in our scientific view of it, is relative to the 
 unity of self-consciousness, we must be prepared to con- 
 ceive of the real under the illumination thus cast upon it. 
 We have, therefore, to ask how the self-conscious life is 
 to be conceived, if we are to frame a theory which will 
 do justice to it. We have seen that Kant's way of con- 
 ceiving the desires as simply affections of the living 
 being, and as excited by external things, makes the unity 
 of the self-conscious subject inexplicable; and we must 
 therefore ask how these desires must be regarded when they 
 are brought into relation with the self-conscious subject. 
 
 Now, we have maintained that there is no 'matter of 
 sense' such as Kant assumes to be given to the subject; 
 that, on the contrary, sensation when it enters into the 
 conscious life of the subject becomes perception, or the 
 consciousness of certain aspects of the real world; and 
 we have further maintained that perception, when it is 
 developed, becomes the 'experience' of a connected 
 system of objects. A similar view has to be applied to 
 
476 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the affections of the living being, so far as these are 
 wants. What is maintained is, that when these wants 
 become objects of the conscious subject they cease to 
 be mere wants or appetites and become desires, i.e. the 
 consciousness of ends which the subject conceives as 
 essential to his own completeness. And when the 
 deeper meaning of the desires is realized, these con- 
 ceived ends are seen to form a system within which the 
 subject seeks to realize his ideals of a complete life. 
 Just as the perceptive world becomes the system of 
 experience, so the various desires, which at first appear 
 as separate ends, become a totality of ends in the world 
 of human interests. 
 
 There are certain wants which are connected with the 
 life of animals, such as hunger, thirst, sleep, exercise, 
 and repose. These wants, cravings, or appetites involve 
 a certain feeling of pain, arising from the absence of 
 what is essential to the process of animal life. Such 
 wants therefore involve an impulse or tendency towards 
 their own satisfaction. They presuppose the unity of the 
 animal organism, but they operate prior to conscious- 
 ness on the part of the being having them. The want 
 is the feeling of incompleteness, and as such it is 
 accompanied by the tendency to negate itself. We can 
 distinguish the want from the impulse to satisfy it, but 
 these are inseparable aspects in the total state of the 
 animal. Now, such wants do not enter into the con- 
 scious life of the subject, so long as they remain wants; 
 nor, when they do enter into the conscious life are they 
 any longer 'wants,' i.e. feelings or immediate impulses. 
 To be conscious that we are the subject of a want, is 
 to make the want an object, and therefore to contrast 
 
THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN FFFFDOM. 477 
 
 it, at least implicitly, with the subject for which it is 
 an object. When the subject becomes aware that he 
 has the feeling of want he must distinguish it from other 
 feelings of want, and this discrimination of various wants 
 is not possible unless he presents one want as distinct 
 from another. In the first instance the discrimination 
 is vague and indefinite, but it gradually becomes more 
 definite and precise with the general development of 
 consciousness. The want when thus made an object is 
 not a simple feeling, but the conception of a tendency 
 towards a certain form of satisfaction. Hence the con- 
 scious subject, in making the want an object, at the 
 same time becomes conscious of the class of objects 
 which are fitted to satisfy it. Thus, in the conscious- 
 ness of the want there is implied (i) the particular 
 tendency, (2) the object or end to which it is directed, 
 (3) the subject which is to be satisfied. The conscious 
 subject thus conceives of himself as having various wants 
 relative to various objects, the satisfaction of which is 
 necessary to the completeness of himself. For him, 
 therefore, the various wants are no longer simple feel- 
 ings; they are 'ends,' the realization of which he con- 
 ceives as bound up with the realization of himself; in 
 other words, wants are for him desires, i.e. the conception 
 of ends to be realized in order to the completeness 
 of himself. The conscious life is therefore a process in 
 which the subject comes to have a knowledge of himself 
 as standing in relation to other objects than himself. 
 As he gains experience of his own tendencies and of 
 the objects which are the condition of their satisfaction, 
 the world of his experience assumes a more or less 
 systematic form. When he learns what objects will 
 
47^ AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 satisfy his desires, he at the same time experiences a 
 feeling of pleasure in their actual satisfaction. He also 
 learns that certain objects are more fitted than others 
 to satisfy a given want; and thus, having attained to 
 the conception of himself as a subject capable of various 
 actions, there is now mingled with his consciousness of 
 the various desires and their corresponding objects the 
 conception of certain objects as not only fitted to satisfy a 
 given desire, but as fitted to satisfy it in a predominant 
 degree. Seeking for the complete satisfaction of himself, 
 he may therefore select those objects which bring a 
 peculiar satisfaction. Further, with the development of 
 the knowledge of objects fitted to satisfy his desires, 
 there comes the knowledge that the realization of his 
 desires is the means to the furtherance of life, and this 
 again may be combined with the experience of the 
 peculiar pleasure which accompanies the satisfaction of 
 certain desires. Thus arises a possible discord in the 
 conception of himself as the subject of desire. The 
 satisfaction of desire may be connected not merely with 
 the furtherance of life, but with the peculiar pleasure 
 incidental to certain modes of satisfaction. These, as 
 he learns, are not necessarily coincident, and hence the 
 satisfaction of the one may be incompatible with the 
 satisfaction of the other. The development of the desire 
 for the pleasure incidental to the satisfaction of desire 
 by means of certain objects may give rise to abnormal 
 appetite. This perversion of desire is possible only to a 
 self-conscious subject, since it presupposes the concep- 
 tion of self as a permanent subject. The so-called 
 pleasure-seeker is therefore seeking, not pleasure, but the 
 satisfaction of himself. 
 
THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN FREEDOM. 479 
 
 The absolute distinction, then, between theoretical and 
 practical reason is untenable, and as a consequence the 
 limitation of knowledge to the consciousness of external 
 objects. That the self-conscious subject is an object for 
 himself, and is therefore known, may become clearer if 
 we ask why we distinguish between thought and will. 
 
 The distinction must not be conceived in this way, 
 that thinking is consciousness of the object, while willing 
 is the activity of the subject. No doubt it is true that 
 thinking consists in the consciousness of that which is 
 objective, i.e. in the comprehension of the essential nature 
 or the universal relations involved in the object. But 
 the object need not be a sensible thing, nor even the 
 laws or universal relations of sensible things : it may be the 
 subject viewed as an object. In this latter case, thought 
 comprehends the specific nature of the subject as having 
 certain tendencies, and as a being who strives to realize 
 these or to complete himself. Thus thought includes the 
 conception of the self as the unity in which these 
 various tendencies are expressed. The object thought 
 thus includes the thought of the subject. But the 
 various desires or tendencies are in continual process of 
 realization, and this process is will. There is therefore 
 not only the thought of the desires, but the thought of 
 the realization of those desires in acts of will. It is 
 thus evident that the object of thought includes the 
 thought of the realized subject the subject as willing. 
 Nevertheless, the thought of the subject as willing is not 
 will, any more than the thought of the subject as feeling 
 is feeling. But though this is true, it is also true that 
 there can be no will or feeling which does not involve 
 thought. This follows from the whole character of the 
 
480 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 self-conscious life. There is no object for the subject 
 except in so far as the subject has, with more or less 
 completeness, grasped the object, i.e. grasped the uni- 
 versal nature of it; and therefore the whole objective 
 world exists only for the subject who thinks it. Hence, 
 when the subject is conscious of himself, he thinks 
 himself or makes himself an object, and thus he exists 
 as an object only for himself as thinking. The total 
 object is therefore subject-object. Self-consciousness just 
 consists in the subject thinking himself. But in this 
 thought of himself is included the whole content of his 
 conscious life ; and therefore to think himself is to think 
 implicitly all that has entered into his experience. There 
 is thus no phase of the real which exists beyond thought ; 
 the real exists only in the medium of thought. If this is 
 so, will does not lie beyond thought but is contained in 
 it; for will is the realized or determinate subject, which 
 exists as an object only for the subject as thinking. 
 
 Let us now look at will. The subject, as we have 
 seen, thinks himself or makes himself an object. But 
 he cannot be an object for himself except in so far as he 
 determines himself. There is no subject without self-deter- 
 mination, for the subject cannot be an object for himself 
 unless through the consciousness of a real world which 
 originates for him by the activity of his thought. Thus 
 the thought of a real world, including himself, presupposes 
 that this world has arisen for him through his own activity 
 in thinking. But this self-activity is will. Thus thinking 
 presupposes will : only a self-active being can think, and 
 a self-active being is one that wills. When, therefore, 
 we speak of will, we emphasize the activity of the subject: 
 when we speak of thought, we emphasize the product 
 
THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN FREEDOM. 48 1 
 
 of this activity; but as there is no self-activity except 
 that which expresses itself in the product, and no pro- 
 duct except that which is the expression of self-activity, 
 will and thought are inseparable aspects of the one self- 
 conscious subject. In will the emphasis is laid upon the 
 subject, in thought upon the object; but since subject and 
 object are identical, will and thought are identical, i.e. 
 they are distinguishable aspects of the one self-conscious 
 being. 
 
 If this is at all a correct account of thought and will, 
 it is obvious that the whole self-conscious life is self- 
 determining or free. But it is also obvious that, while 
 it is the expression of self-activity, it is never the com- 
 plete realization of freedom. There can be no thought, 
 will, or desire without self-determination ; but, since the 
 thought of the self and the willing of the self are never 
 the complete comprehension or willing of the self, the 
 contrast between the incomplete and the complete self 
 must remain, and therefore desire must remain. At the 
 same time this incompleteness is transcended in principle 
 just so far as there is a true conception of that wherein 
 completeness consists ; and this true conception constitutes 
 the ideal of the moral life. 
 
 In what has been said the object has been to insist 
 upon self-determination as the necessary condition of all 
 action which can be attributed to the subject as his own. 
 Whether an act is really a step in the process of true 
 self-realization or not, it is always a form of self-activity. 
 What is not due to the subject's self-activity is not his 
 act, and has no moral quality, good or bad. 
 
 Now, if will is the process of self-determination, each 
 
 phase in this process is a phase of self-determination. 
 
 2 H 
 
482 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 But each such phase is a 'motive'; for a 'motive' is not 
 the conception of the self as capable of being realized 
 by the attainment of a certain end, but the actual pro- 
 cess of realizing that end; and as this process is willing 
 or self-determination, the 'motive' is nothing but the actual 
 willing of a given end. To talk of a ' motive ' acting 
 upon the 'will,' is to set up the abstraction of 'will' as if 
 it were something separate from the self-determining 
 subject, and then to ask how the self-determining subject 
 can be determined by something other than itself. A 
 'motive' is nothing but a step in the process of self- 
 determination ; it has no existence anywhere but for 
 the self-determining subject. There is no object or end 
 except for the thinking subject, and what has become for 
 that subject an object, related to himself as an end and 
 conceived to be essential to his own completeness, can- 
 not act upon him, having no existence except for him as 
 thinking and willing it. What gives countenance to the 
 idea that an object acts upon the subject is (1) the 
 false assumption that there can be any object apart from 
 the activity of the knowing subject, and (2) the confusion 
 between an 'object' in the sense of an external thing and 
 an 'object' in the sense of an 'end.' As to the latter 
 point, surely it is obvious that an external thing is no 
 ' object ' in the sense of an ' end ' which can be willed. 
 Knowledge, e.g., is an 'end,' but it has no existence 
 except as it is conceived either as desirable for the sub- 
 ject or as willed by him. Nor is it different with ' ends ' 
 that seem to be external objects. Food, e.g., is an 'end' 
 which may be desired and willed, but it is not an 'end,' 
 so far as it is an external thing, i.e. so far as it is 
 conceived as one object among others in the external 
 
THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN FREEDOM. 483 
 
 or spatial world. It is only ' food ' in so far as the 
 subject conceives of it as a means of satisfying his 
 desires, i.e. completing himself. What is willed is not 
 1 food,' but the satisfaction of the subject by the eating 
 of the food. The food exists only as thought by the 
 subject, and it is made an 'end' only as the subject seeks 
 to complete himself by means of it. The subject wills 
 nothing but himself as so conceived. Thus his 'motive' 
 is the conception of himself as realized in that form of 
 thinking which we call 'will,' and therefore the 'motive' 
 does not exist except in the volition. How, then, can 
 the 'motive,' i.e. the volition, act upon the will? To 
 say so is to say that the volition acts upon itself. 
 
 From what has been said it is obvious that there is 
 no freedom without motives. The ' motive ' being the 
 mode in which the self-determining subject seeks to realize 
 himself, freedom without motives would be freedom apart 
 from a self-determining subject; in other words, it would 
 be blind necessity. Only if there could be self-determina- 
 tion in general which was not a definite form of self- 
 determination could there be will without a motive. To 
 speak of will without motives is to substitute the bare 
 possibility of will for actual will, and a possibility which 
 is never realized is not even possible. 
 
 2 h 2 
 
INDEX OF TOPICS. 
 
 Absolute, philosophy of the, 20 ; knowledge of the, 37-42, 330-336. 
 Agnosticism of Comte, 21-22, 28-42 ; distinction from Scepticism. 
 
 329-336. 
 Anthropomorphism, false and true, 3 31-33 3. 
 Arithmetic and Algebra in relation to philosophy, 4-5. 
 Art in relation to religion and philosophy, 2 ; definition of, 295 ; 
 
 Kant's theory of, 296-302. 
 Asceticism, 202-205. 
 Association of Ideas, 7, 8, 16, 18, 51, 61, 66, 75, 77; its 'laws,' 
 
 363-374. 
 
 Causation, Hume's view of, 15-19; Comte's view of, 27-29; Mill's 
 view of, 89-100 ; in relation to the System of Experience, 385-390. 
 
 Cogito ergo sum, the Cartesian, 391-402. 
 
 Contradiction, Mill's view of, 364, 373-374 ; Aristotle's doctrine of, 
 375-377J Hegel's doctrine of, 378-385. 
 
 Darwinian Theory, statement of, 107-112; its relation to Teleology, 
 
 112-122, 390-391; as applied to man, 124-126, 130-149. 
 Design, see Teleology. 
 Determinism, contrasted with Freedom of Indifference, 235-238; its 
 
 defect, 238-243. 
 Development, Comte's law of, 23-42; biological, 107-122, 390-391; 
 
 its relation to knowledge and morality, 123-126, 130-149. 
 Dualism, of Descartes, 138-142; of Huxley, 159; of Spencer, 151-194, 
 
 431 ; of Lotze, 43 1 -449. 
 
 484 
 
INDEX OF TOPICS. 4^5 
 
 Duty, idea of, 195-234 ; specific forms of, 273-2S1. 
 
 Evolution, see Development. 
 
 Feeling Soul, 449-459. 
 Final Cause, see Teleology. 
 Freedom, human, 235-248, 460-483. 
 
 Geometry, its relation to philosophy, 4-15 ; Locke's theory of, 336-342 ; 
 Berkeley's theory of, 342-35 1 > Hume's theory of, 351-363. 
 
 Heredity, 109. 
 
 Identity, law of, 80; Mill's view of, 373-374; Aristotle's doctrine of, 
 
 375-377 5 Hegel's doctrine of, 378-385. 
 Individualism of Rousseau, 22 ; relation to Socialism, 22-23. 
 ^Induction, Mill's view of, 6, 77-89. 
 
 '' Judgment and Inference, 68-84. 
 
 Knowledge, problem of, 9, II, 17, 38-41; absolute, 37-42, 330-336; 
 Hegel's theory of, 378-385; Locke's theory of, 17, 336-341, 432; 
 Berkeley's theory of, 343"345> 43 2 '433 5 Hume's theory of, 352- 
 355, 433 ; Descartes' theory of, 391-400; Kant's theory of, 417-422, 
 460-465; Lotze's theory of, 431-449. 
 
 Life, definition of, 103-104. 
 
 Mathematics, its relation to philosophy, 4, 8, 9, 12-15; Locke's 
 theory of, 336-342 ; Berkeley's theory of, 342-351 ; Hume's theory 
 of, 35i-33- 
 
 Metaphysic, Comte's criticism of, 24-30 ; Aristotle's definition of, 
 320-329. 
 
 Mind in relation to Matter, 138-142, 391-400. 
 
 Motives, 237-244, 481-483. 
 
 Nominalism, 77-83. 
 
 Phenomenalism, as held by Comte, 21-22, 32-36; Plato's criticism 
 of, 303-315 ; Aristotle's criticism of, 315-320. 
 
486 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Philosophy, origin of, i, 310, 328; relation to Art and Religion, 2; 
 definition of, 3, 320-329; relation to Mathematics, 4-15; relation 
 to the Physical Sciences, 15-20; divisions of, 20; philosophy of 
 Nature, 43-122; relation to Biology, 123-149; philosophy of Mind, 
 150-194 ; Moral Philosophy, 195-281 ; Philosophy of the Absolute, 
 282-302. 
 
 Positivism, 25-30. 
 
 Psychology, Rational, Kant's criticism of, 400-430. 
 
 Purpose, see Teleology. 
 
 Reason, Plato's idea of, 315; Aristotle's idea of, 319; Kant's distinc- 
 tion of ' theoretical ' and ' practical,' 429-430, 460-479. 
 
 Relativity of Knowledge, 3, 21-42, 151-190, 330-335, 431-449. 
 
 Religion, its relation to Philosophy, 2 ; development of, 24-30 ; rela- 
 tion to Morality, 282 ; Kant's philosophy of, 283-295. 
 
 Rights, philosophy of, 257-273. 
 
 Scepticism, of Hume, 17; of Democritus, 317; of A. Sidgwick, 
 330-336. 
 ~ Science, relation of, to Philosophy, 15-20; as basis of Sociology, 23; 
 development of, 41-42. 
 
 Self-Consciousness, Descartes' conception of, 391-402 ; Kant's con- 
 ception of, 400-430, 471-474. 
 
 Sensationalism, Plato's criticism of, 303-315 ; Aristotle's criticism of, 
 315-320. 
 
 Socialism, its relation to Individualism, 22-23. 
 
 Space, transcendental view of, 4, 417, 460; as condition of reality, 
 38-42 ; Hume's derivation of, 355-357, 360-363. 
 
 State, Kant's conception of the, 261-272. 
 
 Summum Bonum, 249-256. 
 
 Teleology, Comte's denial of, 27; Darwin and Paley, 1 12-122, 
 
 390-391. 
 Thought, its relation to Will, 479-481. 
 
 Uniformity of Nature, 87-100, 385-390. 
 
 v Will, its relation to Thought, 479-481. 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 Aristotle on origin of philosophy, 2, 328 ; his definition of philo- 
 sophy^, 320-329 ; on early Greek thinkers, 4 ; his agreement with 
 Plato, 304; his criticism of Phenomenalism, 315-320; his contrast 
 to Plato, 315-316; his distinction of 'potentiality' and 'actuality,' 
 318; his statement of the phases of Knowledge, 321-326; his 
 doctrine of Contradiction, 375-377. 
 
 Berkeley, bis theory of Knowledge, 343-345, 432-433 ; his theory of 
 
 Mathematics, 346-352. 
 Bradley, F. H., his view of Scepticism, 335; his characterization of 
 
 the Feeling Soul, 451-459. 
 
 Carlyle on man's Infinitude, 201-202. 
 
 Comte, Relativity of Knowledge as held by, 21-42; his intellectual 
 development, 22-23 \ ms Law of Development, 23-28. 
 
 Darwin, his theory of Development, 107-149, 390-391. 
 Democritus, his Scepticism, 317. 
 
 Descartes, Dualism of, 138-142; his Cogito ergo sum, 391-402; 
 Kant's criticism of, 402, 409-410, 413-416. 
 
 Empedocles, his 'mixture,' 307. 
 
 Green, T. H., his contrast of ' perceptive experience ' and ' practice,' 
 468-471. 
 
 Haeckel on Evolution, 130. 
 
 Hamilton, Sir William, on the 'Unconditioned,' 431. 
 
 487 
 
488 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Hegel, meaning of his 'Idea,' 336; his doctrine of Contradiction, 
 
 378-385 ; relation to Aristotle, 378-379 ; relation to Kant, 380 ; 
 
 his view of Formal Logic, 382-384 ; his reconciliation of differences, 
 
 384-385. 
 Heraclitus and his followers, 307-310, 314, 317. 
 Hume, his theory of Causality, 15-19; his theory of Knowledge, 
 
 35 2 "355> 433 5 his theory of Mathematics, 355-363 ; his derivation 
 
 of extension, 355-357, 360-363. 
 Huxley on Teleology, 113-114; his Dualism, 159, 
 
 Jacobi, his theory of ' faith,' 431. 
 
 Jowett on Plato's method of criticism, 304. 
 
 Kant, his Idea of Duty, 213-234; his Idea of Freedom, 244-248, 
 460-483 ; the summum bonum, 249-250 ; his proof of Immortality, 
 251-254; his proof of the existence of God, 251-252, 254-256; his 
 doctrine of Rights, 257-273 ; his System of Virtues, 273-281 ; his 
 Philosophy of Religion, 282-295 ; his Philosophy of Art, 296-302 ; 
 meaning of his Idee, 336 ; his criticism of Rational Psychology, 
 400-430; his distinction of 'matter' and 'form,' 417-422; his 
 antithesis of the ' determining ' and ' determinable ' self, 422-427 ; 
 his doctrine that the Idea of Self is 'regulative,' 428-429, 471-474; 
 his opposition of ' theoretical ' and ' practical ' reason, 429-430, 
 460-479 ; his view of Scepticism, Dogmatism, and Criticism, 432. 
 
 Leibnitz, The Monadology of, 126-130. 
 
 Locke, his theory of Knowledge, 17, 336-341, 432; his theory of 
 
 Mathematics, 341-343. 
 Lotze, his theory of Knowledge, 431-449. 
 
 Mill, J. S., his theory of Mathematics, 5-15 ; his view of Geometry, 
 44-75 J f Arithmetic and Algebra, 76-85 ; of Induction, 86-89, 
 92-93; of Causation, 89-92, 93-100, 385; his 'laws' of Associa- 
 tion, 363-373 ; his view of the principle of Contradiction, 373-374. 
 
 Paley, his view of Teleology, 11 2- 114. 
 
 Parmenides, Plato's characterization of, 307. 
 
 Plato on the origin of Philosophy, I, 310 ; his contrast of the 'ideal ' 
 and the 'real,' 2; his theory of Knowledge, 9, 315; meaning of 
 his S6a, 35 ; his criticism of Phenomenalism, 303-315 ; his agree- 
 ment with Aristotle, 304 ; his characterization of Parmenides, 307 ; 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS. 489 
 
 of Empedocles, 307 ; of the followers of Heraclitus, 307, 310, 317 ; 
 on the contradiction in mathematical knowledge, 309-310; his I5a 
 or eI5o?, 336. 
 Protagoras, his theory of Knowledge, 304-320. 
 
 St. Simon and Comte, 23. 
 
 Sidgwick, A., as exponent of Scepticism, 329-336. 
 
 Spencer, Herbert, his definition of 'life,' 103-104; on the Relativity 
 
 of Knowledge, 151-190; his Psychology, 190-194; his Dualism, 
 
 431 ; his distinction from Lotze, 444. 
 Stoics, ethical theory of the, 202-206 ; their conception of evil inferior 
 
 to Kant's, 289-290. 
 
 Tyndall on Evolution, 130, 176-183; his Dualism, 159. 
 
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