It seems to me, then, that if we mean by an idea, not mere words, but the kind of idea which words express, any idea, which is true at one time when it occurs,wouldbe true at any time when it were to occur; and that this is so, even though it is an idea, which refers to facts which are mutable. My being in this room is a fact which is now, but which certainly has not been at every time and will not be at every time. And the words "Iamin this room," though they express a truth now, would not have expressed one if I had used them yesterday, and will not if I use them to-morrow. But if we consider the idea which these wordsnowexpress—namely, the idea of the connection of my being in this room with this particular time—it seems to me evident that anybody who had thought of that connection at any time in the past, would have been thinking truly, and that anybody who were to think of it at any time in the future would be thinking truly. This seems to me to be the sense in which truths are immutable—in which no idea can change from true to false. And I think Professor James means to deny of truths generally, if not of all truths, that they are immutable even in this sense. If he does not mean this there seems nothing left for him to mean, when he says that truths are mutable, except (1) that somefactsare mutable, and (2) that the samewordsmay be true at one time and false at another. And it seems to me impossible that he could speak as he does, if he meantnothing morethan these two things. I believe, therefore, that he is really thinking that ideas which have been once true (ideas,and not merely words) do sometimes afterwards become false: that the very same idea is at one time true and at another false. But he certainly gives no instance which shows that this does ever occur. And how far does he mean his principle to carry him? Does he hold that this idea that Julius Caesar was murdered in the Senate-House, though true now, may, at some future time cease to be true, if it should be more profitable to the lives of future generations to believe that he died in his bed? Things like this are what his words seem to imply; and, even if he does hold that truths like this arenotmutable, he never tries to tell us to what kinds of truths he would limit mutability, nor how they differ from such as this.
(III)
Finally, there remains the view that "to an unascertainable extent our truths are man-madeproducts." And the only point I want to make about this view may be put very briefly.
It is noticeable that all the instances which Professor James gives of the ways in which, according to him, "our truths" are "made" are instances of ways in which ourbeliefscome into existence. In many of these ways, it would seem, false beliefs sometimes come into existence as well as true ones; and I take it Professor James does not always wish to deny this. False beliefs, I think he would say, are just as much "man-made products" as true ones: it is sufficient for his purpose if true beliefs do come into existence in the ways he mentions. And the only point which seems to be illustrated by all these instances, is that in all of them the existence of a true belief does depend in some way or other upon the previous existence of something in some man's mind. They are all of them cases in which we may truly say: This man would not have had just that belief, had not some man previously had such and such experiences, or interests, or purposes. In some cases they are instances of ways in which the existence of a particular belief in a man depends uponhis ownprevious experiences or interests or volitions. But this does not seem to be the case in all. Professor James seems also anxious to illustrate the point that one man's beliefs often depend upon the previous experiences or interests or volitions ofothermen. And, as I say, the only point which seems to be definitely illustrated in all cases is that the existence of a true belief does depend,in some way or other,upon something which has previously existed in some man's mind. Almost any kind of dependence, it would seem, is sufficient to illustrate Professor James' point.
And as regards this general thesis that almost all our beliefs, true as well as false, depend, in some way or other, upon what has previously been insome human mind, it will, I think, be readily admitted. It is a commonplace, which, so far as I know, hardly anyone would deny. If this is all that is to be meant by saying that our true beliefs are "man-made," it must, I think, be admitted that almost all, If not quite all, really are man-made. And this is all that Professor James' instances seem to me, in fact, to show.
But is this all that Professor James means, when he says thatour truthsare man-made? Is it conceivable that he only means to insist upon this undeniable, and generally admitted, commonplace? It seems to me quite plain that this is not all that he means. I think he certainly means to suggest that, from the fact that we "make" our true beliefs, somethingelsefollows. And I think it is not hard to see one thing more which he does mean. I think he certainly means to suggest that we not only make our true beliefs, but also that wemake them true.At least as much as this is certainly naturally suggested by his words. No one would persistently say that we makeour truths, unless he meant, at least, not merely that we make our true beliefs, but also that we make them true—unless he meant not merely that the existence of our true beliefs, but also that theirtruth, depended upon human conditions. This, it seems to me, is one consequence which Professor James means us to draw from the commonplace that theexistenceof our true beliefs depends upon human conditions. But does this consequence, in fact, follow from that commonplace? From the fact that we make our true beliefs, does it follow that wemake them true?
In one sense,undoubtedly, even this does follow. If we say (as we may say) that no belief can be true, unless it exists, then it follows that, in a sense, the truth of a belief must always depend upon any conditions upon which its existence depends. If,therefore, the occurrence of a belief depends upon human conditions, so, too, must its truth. If the belief had never existed, it would never have been true; and therefore its truth must, in a sense, depend upon human conditions in exactly the same degree in which its existence depends upon them. This is obvious. But is this all that is meant? Is this all that would be suggested to us by telling us that we make our beliefs true?
It is easy to see that it is not. I may have the belief that it will rain to-morrow. And I may have "made" myself have this belief. It may be the case that I should not have had it, but for peculiarities in my past experiences, in my interests and my volitions. It may be the case that I should not have had it, but for a deliberate attempt to consider the question whether it will rain or not. This may easily happen. And certainly this particular belief of mine would not have been true, unless it existed. Its truth, therefore, depends, in a sense, upon any conditions upon which its existence depends. And this belief may be true. It will be true, if It does rain to-morrow. But, in spite of all these reasons, would anyone think of saying that, in case it is true, I hadmadeit true? Would anyone say that I had had any handat allin making it true? Plainly no one would. We should say that I had a hand in making it true, if and only If I had a hand inmaking the rain fall.In every case in which we believe in the existence of anything, past or future, we should say that we had helped to make the belief true, if and only if we had helped to cause the existence of the fact which, in that belief, we believed did exist or would exist. Surely this is plain. I may believe that the sun will rise to-morrow. And I may have had a hand in "making" this belief; certainly it often depends for its existence upon what has been previously in my mind. Andif the sun does rise, my belief will have been true. I have, therefore, had a hand in making a true belief. But would anyone say that, therefore, I had a hand inmaking this belief true? Certainly no one would. No one would say that anything had contributed to make this belief true, except those conditions (whatever they may be) which contributed to making the sun actually rise.
It is plain, then, that by "making a belief true," we mean something quite different from what Professor James means by "making" that belief. Conditions which have a hand in making a given true belief, may (it appears) have no hand at all in making it true; and conditions which have a hand in making it true may have no hand at all in makingit.Certainly this is how we use the words. We should never say that we had made a belief true, merely because we had made the belief. But now, which of these two things does Professor James mean? Does he meanmerelythe accepted commonplace that we make our true beliefs, in the sense that almost all of them depend for their existence on what has been previously in some human mind? Or does he mean also that wemake them true—that their truth also depends on what has been previously in some human mind?
I cannot help thinking that he has the latter, and not only the former in his mind. But, then, what does this involve? If his instances of "truth-making" are to be anything to the purpose, it should mean that, whenever I have a hand in causing one of my own beliefs, I always have to that extent a hand in making it true. That, therefore, I have a hand in actually making the sun rise, the wind blow, and the rain fall, whenever I cause my beliefs in these things. Nay, more, it should mean that, whenever I "make" a true belief about the past, I must have had a hand in making this true. And ifso, then certainly I must have had a hand in causing the French Revolution, in causing my father's birth, in making Professor James write this book. Certainly he implies that some man or other must have helped in causing almost every event, in which any man ever truly believed. That it was we who made the planets revolve round the sun, who made the Alps rise, and the floor of the Pacific sink—all these things, and others like them, seem to be involved. And it is these consequences which seem to me to justify a doubt whether, in fact "our truths are to an unascertainable extent man-made." That some of our truths are man-made—indeed, a great many—I fully admit. We certainly do make some of our beliefs true. The Secretary probably had a belief that I should write this paper, and I have made his belief true by writing it. Men certainly have the power to alter the world to a certain extent; and, so far as they do this, they certainly "make true" any beliefs, which are beliefs in the occurrence of these alterations. But I can see no reason for supposing that they "make true"nearlyall those of their beliefs which are true. And certainly the only reason which Professor James seems to give for believing this—namely, that theexistenceof almost all their beliefs depends on them—seems to be no reason for it at all. For unquestionably a man does not "make true" nearly every belief whoseexistencedepends on him; and if so, the question which of their beliefs and how many, men do "make true" must be settled by quite other considerations.
In conclusion, I wish to sum up what seems to me to be the most important points about this "pragmatist theory of truth," as Professor James represents it. It seems to me that, in what he saysabout it, he has in his mind some things which are true and others which are false; and I wish to tabulate separately the principal ones which I take to be true, and the principal ones which I take to be false. The true ones seem to me to be these:—
Thatmostof our true beliefs are useful to us; and thatmostof the beliefs that are useful to us are true.
That the world really does change in some respects; that facts exist at one time, which didn't and won't exist at others; and that hence the world may be better at some future time than it is now or has been in the past.
That the very same words may be true at one time and false at another—that they may express a truth at one time and a falsehood at another.
That the existence of most, if not all, of our beliefs, true as well as false, does depend upon previous events in our mental history; that we should never have had the particular beliefs we do have, had not our previous mental history been such as it was.
That the truth, and not merely the existence, ofsomeof our beliefs, does depend upon us. That we really do make some alterations in the world, and that hence we do help to "make true" all those of our beliefs which are beliefs in the existence of these alterations.
To all of these propositions I have no objection to offer. And they seem to me to be generally admitted commonplaces. A certain class of philosophers do, indeed, imply the denial of every one of them—namely, those philosophers who deny the reality of time. And I think that part of Professor James' object is to protest against the views of these philosophers. All of thesepropositions do constitute a protest against such views; and so far they might be all that Professor James meant to assert. But I do not think that anyone, fairly reading through what he says, could get the impression that these things, and nothing more, were what he had in his mind. What gives colour and interest to what he says, seems to be obviously something quite different. And, if we try to find out what exactly the chief things are which give his discussion its colour and interest, it seems to me we may distinguish that what he has in his mind, wrapped up in more or less ambiguous language, are the following propositions, to all of which I have tried to urge what seem to me the most obvious objections:—
That utility is a property which distinguishes true beliefs from those which are not true; that, therefore,alltrue beliefs are useful, andallbeliefs, which are useful, are true—by "utility" being sometimes meant "utility on at least one occasion," sometimes "utility in the long run," sometimes "utility for some length of time."
That all beliefs which are useful for some length of time are true.
That utility is theonlyproperty which all true beliefs have in common: that, therefore,ifit were useful to me to believe in Professor James' existence, this beliefwouldbe true, even if he didn't exist; and that,ifit were not useful to me to believe this, the beliefwouldbe false, even if he did.
That the beliefs, which we express by words, and not merely the words themselves, may be true at one time andnottrue at another; and that this is a general rule, though perhaps there may be some exceptions.
That whenever theexistenceof a belief dependsto some extent on us, then also thetruthof that belief depends to some extent on us; in the sense in which this implies, that, when the existence of my belief that a shower will fall depends upon me, then, if this belief is true, I must have had a hand in making the shower fall: that, therefore, men must have had a hand in making to exist almost every fact which they ever believe to exist.
[1]Pragmatism: A New Name for some Old Ways of Thinking: Popular Lectures on Philosophy.By William James. Longmans, Green, and Co., 1907
[1]Pragmatism: A New Name for some Old Ways of Thinking: Popular Lectures on Philosophy.By William James. Longmans, Green, and Co., 1907
In both of his two books on the Human Understanding, Hume had, I think, one main general object. He tells us that it was his object to discover "the extent and force of human understanding," to give us "an exact analysis of its powers and capacity." And we may, I think, express what he meant by this in the following way. He plainly held (as we all do) that some men sometimes entertain opinions which they cannot know to be true. And he wished to point out what characteristics are possessed by those of our opinions which wecanknow to be true, with a view of persuading us that any opinion which doesnotpossess any of these characteristics is of a kind which wecannotknow to be so. He thus tries to lay down certain rules to the effect that theonlypropositions which we can, any of us, know to be true are of certain definite kinds. It is in this sense, I think, that he tries to define the limits of human understanding.
With this object he, first of all, divides all the propositions, which we can even so much as conceive, into two classes. They are all, he says, either propositions about "relations of ideas" or else about "matters of fact." By propositions about "relations of ideas" he means such propositions as that twice two are four, or that black differs from white; and it is, I think, easy enough to see, though by no means easy to define, whatkind of propositions it is that he means to include in this division. They are, he says, the only kind of propositions with regard to which we can have "intuitive" or "demonstrative" certainty. But the vast majority of the propositions in which we believe and which interest us most, belong to the other division: they are propositions about "matters of fact." And these again he divides into two classes. So far as his words go, this latter division is between "matters of fact, beyond the present testimony of our senses, or the records of our memory," on the one hand, and matters of fact for which wehavethe evidence of our memory or senses, on the other. But it is, I think, quite plain that these words do not represent quite accurately the division which he really means to make. He plainly intends to reckon along with facts for which we have the evidence of oursensesall facts for which we have the evidence ofdirect observation—such facts, for instance, as those which I observe when I observe that I am angry or afraid, and which cannot be strictly said to be apprehended by mysenses.The division, then, which he really intends to make is (to put it quite strictly) into the two classes—(1) propositions which assert some matter of fact which I am (in the strictest sense)observingat the moment, or which I have so observed in the past and now remember; and (2) propositions which assert any matter of fact which I am not now observing and never have observed, or, if I have, have quite forgotten.
We have, then, the three classes—(1) propositions which assert "relations of ideas"; (2) propositions which assert "matters of fact" for which we have the evidence of direct observation or personal memory; (3) propositions which assert "matters of fact"for which we havenotthis evidence. And as regards propositions of the first two classes,Hume does not seem to doubt our capacity for knowledge. He does not doubt that we can knowsome(though, of course, notall)propositions about "relations of ideas" to be true; he never doubts, for instance, that we can know that twice two are four. And he generally assumes also that each of us can know the truth ofallpropositions which merely assert some matter of fact which we ourselves are, in the strictest sense, directly observing, or which we have so observed and now remember. He does, indeed, in one place, suggest a doubt whether our memory iseverto be implicitly trusted, but he generally assumes that italwayscan. It is with regard to propositions of the third class that he is chiefly anxious to determine which of them (if any) we can know to be true and which not. In what cases can any man know any matter of fact which he himself has not directly observed? It is Hume's views on this question which form, I think, the main interest of his philosophy.
He proposes, first of all, by way of answer to it, a rule, which may, I think, be expressed as follows: No man, he says, can ever know any matter of fact, which he has not himself observed, unless he can know that it is connected by "the relation of cause and effect," with some fact which hehasobserved. And no man can ever know that any two facts are connected by this relation, except by the help of his own pastexperience.In other words, if I am to know any fact, A, which I have not myself observed, my past experience must give me some foundation for the belief that A is causally connected with some fact, B, which I have observed. And the only kind of past experience which can give me any foundation for such a belief is, Hume seems to say, as follows: I must, he says, have foundfacts likeA "constantly conjoined" in the past withfacts likeB. This is what hesays;but we must not, I think,press his words too strictly. I may, for instance, know that A isprobablya fact, even where the conjunction of facts like it with facts like B has not been quite constant. Or instead of observing facts like A conjoined with facts like B, I may have observed a whole series of conjunctions—for instance, between A and C, C and D, D and E, and E and B; and such a series, however long, will do quite as well to establish a causal connection between A and B, as if I had directly observed conjunctions between A and B themselves. Such modifications as this, Hume would, I think, certainly allow. But, allowing for them, his principle is, I think, quite clear. I can, he holds, never know any fact whatever, which I have not myself observed, unless I have observed similar facts in the past and have observed that they were "conjoined" (directly or indirectly) with facts similar to some fact which I do now observe or remember. In this sense, he holds,allour knowledge of facts, beyond the reach of our own observation, is founded onexperience.
This is Hume's primary principle. But what consequences does he think will follow from it, as to the kind of facts, beyond our own observation, which we can know? We may, I think, distinguish three entirely different views as to its consequences, which he suggests in different parts of his work.
In the first place, where he is specially engaged in explaining this primary principle, he certainly seems to suppose that all propositions of the kind, which we assume most universally in everyday life, may be founded on experience in the sense required. He supposes that we have this foundation in experience for such beliefs as that "a stone will fall, or fire burn"; that Julius Caesar was murdered; that the sun will rise to-morrow; that all men are mortal He speaks as if experience did not merely render such beliefs probable, but actuallyprovedthem tobe true. The "arguments from experience" in their favour are, he says, such as "leave no room for doubt or opposition." The only kinds of belief, which he definitely mentions asnotfounded on experience, are "popular superstitions" on the one hand, and certain religious and philosophical beliefs, on the other. He seems to suppose that a few (a very few) religious beliefs may, perhaps, be founded on experience. But as regards most of the specific doctrines of Christianity, for example, he seems to be clear that they are not so founded. The belief in miracles is not founded on experience; nor is the philosophical belief that every event is caused by the direct volition of the Deity. In short, it would seem, that in this doctrine that our knowledge of unobserved facts is confined to such as are "founded on experience," he means to draw the line very much where it is drawn by the familiar doctrine which is called "Agnosticism." We can know such facts as are asserted in books on "history, geography or astronomy," or on "politics, physics and chemistry," because such assertions may be "founded on experience"; but we cannot know the greater part of the facts asserted in books "of divinity or school metaphysics," because such assertions have no foundation in experience.
This, I think, was clearly one of Hume's views. He meant to fix the limits of our knowledge at a point which wouldexcludemost religious propositions and a great many philosophical ones, as incapable of being known; but which wouldincludeall the other kinds of propositions, which are most universally accepted by common-sense, as capable of being known. And he thought that, so far as matters of fact beyond the reach of our personal observation are concerned, this point coincided with that at which the possibility of "foundation on experience" ceases.
But, if we turn to another part of his work, we find a very different view suggested. In a quite distinct section of both his books, he investigates the beliefs which we entertain concerning the existence of "external objects." And he distinguishes two different kinds of belief which may be held on this subject. "Almost all mankind, and philosophers themselves, for the greatest part of their lives," believe, he says, that "the very things they feel and see"areexternal objects, in the sense that they continue to exist, even when we cease to feel or see them. Philosophers, on the other hand, have been led to reject this opinion and to suppose (when they reflect) that what we actually perceive by the senses never exists except when we perceive it, but that there are other external objects, which do exist independently of us, and whichcauseus to perceive what we do perceive. Hume investigates both of these opinions, at great length in theTreatise, and much more briefly in theEnquiry, and comes to the conclusion, in both books, that neither of them can be "founded on experience," in the sense he has defined. As regards the first of them, the vulgar opinion, he does seem to admit in theTreatisethat it is, in a sense, founded on experience; but not, he insists, in the sense defined. And he seems also to think that, apart from this fact, there are conclusive reasons for holding that the opinion cannot be true. And as regards the philosophical opinion, he says that any belief in external objects, which we never perceive but which cause our perceptions, cannot possibly be founded on experience, for the simple reason that if it were, we should need to have directly observed some of these objects and their "conjunction" with what we do perceive, whichex hypothesi,we cannot have done, since we never do directly observe any external object.
Hume, therefore, concludes, in this part of his work, that we cannot know of the existence of any "external object" whatever. And though in all that he says upon this subject, he is plainly thinking only ofmaterialobjects, the principles by which he tries to prove that we cannot know these must, I think, prove equally well that we cannot know any "external object" whatever—not even the existence of any other human mind. His argument is: We cannot directly observe any object whatever, except such as exist only when we observe them; we cannot, therefore, observe any "constant conjunctions" except between objects of this kind: and hence we can have no foundation in experience for any proposition which asserts the existence of any other kind of object, and cannot, therefore, know any such proposition to be true. And this argument must plainly apply to all the feelings, thoughts and perceptions of other men just as much as to material objects. I can never know that any perception of mine, or anything which I do observe, must have been caused by any other man, because I can never directly observe a "constant conjunction" between any other man's thoughts or feelings or intentions and anything which I directly observe: I cannot, therefore, know that any other man ever had any thoughts or feelings—or, in short, that any man beside myself ever existed. The view, therefore, which Hume suggests in this part of his work, flatly contradicts the view which he at first seemed to hold. He now says wecannotknow that a stone will fall, that fire will burn, or the sun will rise to-morrow. All that I can possibly know, according to his present principles, is thatI shall seea stone fall, shall feel the fire burn, shall see the sun rise to-morrow. I cannot even know that any other men will see these things; for I cannot know that any other men exist. For the same reason, I cannotknow that Julius Caesar was murdered, or that all men are mortal. For these are propositions asserting "external" facts—facts which don't exist only at the moment when I observe them; and, according to his present doctrine, I cannot possibly know any such proposition to be true. No man, in short, can know any proposition about "matters of fact" to be true, except such as merely assert something abouthis ownstates of mind, past, present or future—about these or about whathe himselfhas directly observed, is observing, or will observe.
Here, therefore, we have a very different view suggested, as to the limits of human knowledge. And even this is not all. There is yet a third view, inconsistent with both of these, which Hume suggests in some parts of his work.
So far as we have yet seen, he has not in any way contradicted his original supposition that we can knowsomematters of fact, which we have never ourselves observed. In the second theory, which I have just stated, he does not call in question the view that I can know all such matters of fact as I know to be causally connected with facts which I have observed, nor the view that I can know some facts to be thus causally connected. All that he has done is to question whether I can know anyexternalfact to be causally connected with anything which I observe; he would still allow that I may be able to know that future states of my own, or past states, which I have forgotten, are causally connected with those which I now observe or remember; and that I may know therefore, in some cases, what I shall experience in the future, or have experienced in the past but have now forgotten. But in some parts of his work he does seem to question whether any man can know even as much as this: he seems to question whether we can ever know any fact whatever to be causally connectedwith any other fact. For, after laying it down, as we saw above, that we cannot know any fact, A, to be causally connected with another, B, unless we have experienced in the past a constant conjunction between facts like A and facts like B, he goes on to ask what foundation we have for the conclusion that A and Barecausally connected, even when wehavein the past experienced a constant conjunction between them. He points out that from the fact that A has been constantly conjoined with B in the past, it does not follow that it ever will be so again. It does not follow, therefore, that the two really are causally connected in the sense that, when the one occurs, the otheralwayswill occur also. And he concludes, for this and other reasons, thatno argumentcan assure us that, because they have been constantly conjoined in the past, therefore they really are causally connected. What, then, he asks, is the foundation for such an inference?Custom,he concludes, is the only foundation. It is nothing but custom which induces us to believe that, because two facts have been constantly conjoined on many occasions, therefore they will be so onalloccasions. We have, therefore, no better foundation than custom for any conclusion whatever as to facts which we have not observed. And can we be said really toknowany fact, for which we have no better foundation than this? Hume himself, it must be observed, never says that we can't. But he has been constantly interpreted as if the conclusion that we can't really know any one fact to be causally connected with any other, did follow from this doctrine of his. And there is, I think, certainly much excuse for this interpretation in the tone in which he speaks. He does seem to suggest that a belief which ismerelyfounded on custom, can scarcely be one which weknowto be true. And, indeed, he owns himself that, when he considersthat this is our only foundation for any such belief, he is sometimes tempted to doubt whether we do know any fact whatever, except those which we directly observe. He does, therefore, at least suggest the view that every man's knowledge is entirely confined to those facts, which he is directly observing at the moment, or which he has observed in the past, and now remembers.
We see, then, that Hume suggests, at least, three entirely different views as to the consequences of his original doctrine. His original doctrine was that, as regards matters of fact beyond the reach of our own actual observation, the knowledge of each of us is strictly limited to those for which we have a basis in our own experience. And his first view as to the consequences of this doctrine was that it does show us to be incapable of knowing a good many religious and philosophical propositions, which many men have claimed that they knew; but that it by no means denies our capacity of knowing the vast majority of facts beyond our own observation, which we all commonly suppose that we know. His second view, on the other hand, is that it cuts off at once all possibility of our knowing the vast majority of these facts; since he implies that we cannot have any basis in experience for asserting anyexternalfact whatever—any fact, that is, except facts relating to our own actual past and future observations. And his third view is more sceptical still, since it suggests that we cannot really know any fact whatever, beyond the reach of our present observation or memory, even where wehavea basis in experience for such a fact: it suggests that experience cannot ever let usknowthat any two things are causally connected, and therefore that it cannot give usknowledgeof any fact based on this relation.
What are we to think of these three views, andof the original doctrine from which Hume seems to infer them?
As regards the last two views, it may perhaps be thought that they are too absurd to deserve any serious consideration. It is, in fact, absurd to suggest that I do not know any external facts whatever; that I do not know, for instance, even that there are any men beside myself. And Hume himself, it might seem, does not seriously expect or wish us to accept these views. He points out, with regard to all such excessively sceptical opinions that we cannot continue to believe them for long together—that, at least, we cannot, for long together, avoid believing things flatly inconsistent with them. The philosopher may believe, when he is philosophising, that no man knows of the existence of any other man or of any material object; but at other times he will inevitably believe, as we all do, that he does know of the existence of this man and of that, and even of this and that material object. There can, therefore, be no question of making all our beliefs consistent with such views as this of never believing anything that is inconsistent with them. And it may, therefore, seem useless to discuss them. But in fact, it by no means follows that, because we are not able to adhere consistently to a given view, therefore that view is false; nor does it follow that we may not sincerely believe it, whenever we are philosophising, even though the moment we cease to philosophise, or even before, we may be forced to contradict it. And philosophers do, in fact, sincerely believe such things as this—things which flatly contradict the vast majority of the things which they believe at other times. Even Hume, I think, does sincerely wish to persuade us that we cannot know of the existence of external material objects—that this is a philosophic truth, which we ought, if we can, so long as we are philosophising, to believe. Manypeople, I think, are certainly tempted, in their philosophic moments, to believe such things; and, since this is so, it is, I think, worth while to consider seriously what arguments can be brought against such views. It is worth while to consider whether they are views which we ought to hold as philosophical opinions, even if it be quite certain that we shall never be able to make the views which we entertain at other times consistent with them. And it is the more worth while, because the question how we can prove or disprove such extreme views as these, has a bearing on the question how we can, in any case whatever, prove or disprove that we do reallyknow,what we suppose ourselves to know.
What arguments, then, are there for or against the extreme view that no man can know any external fact whatever; and the still more extreme view that no man can know any matter of fact whatever, except those which he is directly observing at the moment, or has observed in the past and now remembers?
It may be pointed out, in the first place, that, if these views are true, then at least no man can possibly know them to be so. What these views assert is that I cannot know any external fact whatever. It follows, therefore, that I cannot know that there are any other men, beside myself, and that they are like me in this respect. Any philosopher who asserts positively that other men, equally with himself, are incapable of knowing any external facts, is, in that very assertion, contradicting himself, since he implies that hedoesknow a great many facts about the knowledge of other men. No one, therefore, can be entitled to assert positively that human knowledge is limited in this way, since, in asserting it positively, he is implying that his own knowledge is not so limited. It cannot be proper, even in ourphilosophic moments, to take up such an attitude as this.
No one, therefore, can know positively that men in general, are incapable of knowing external facts. But still, although we cannotknowit, it remains possible that the view should be a true one. Nay, more, it remains possible that a man should know thathe himselfis incapable of knowing any external facts, and that,ifthere are any other men whose faculties are only similar to his own, they also must be incapable of knowing any. The argument just used obviously does not apply against such a position as this. It only applies against the position that men in general positively are incapable of knowing external facts: it does not apply against the position that the philosopher himself is incapable of knowing any, or against the position that there arepossiblyother men in the same case, and that, if their faculties are similar to the philosopher's, they certainly would be in it. I do not contradict myself by maintaining positively thatIknow no external facts, though I do contradict myself if I maintain that I am only one among other men, and that no man knows any external facts. So far, then, as Hume merely maintains thatheis incapable of knowing any external facts, and that theremaybe other men like him in this respect, the argument just used is not valid against his position. Can any conclusive arguments be found against it?
It seems to me that such a position must, in a certain sense, be quite incapable of disproof. So much must be granted to any sceptic who feels inclined to hold it. Any valid argument which can be brought against it must be of the nature of apetitio principii:it must beg the question at issue. How is the sceptic to prove to himself that he does know any external facts? He can only do it by bringing forward some instance of an external fact,which he does know; and, in assuming that he does know this one, he is, of course, begging the question. It is therefore quite impossible for any one toprove,in one strict sense of the term, that he does know any external facts. I can only prove that I do, by assuming that in some particular instance, I actually do know one. That is to say, the so-called proof must assume the very thing which it pretends to prove. The only proof that we do know external facts lies in the simple fact that we do know them. And the sceptic can, with perfect internal consistency, deny that he does know any. But it can, I think, be shown that he has no reason for denying it. And in particular it may, I think, be easily seen that the arguments which Hume uses in favour of this position have no conclusive force.
To begin with, his arguments, in both cases, depend upon the two original assumptions, (1) that we cannot know any fact, which we have not observed, unless we know it to be causally connected with some fact which we have observed, and (2) that we have no reason for assuming any causal connection, except where we have experienced some instances of conjunction between the two facts connected. And both of these assumptions may, of course, be denied. It is just as easy to deny them, as to deny that I do know any external facts. And, if these two assumptions did really lead to the conclusion that I cannot know any, it would, I think, be proper to deny them: we might fairly regard the fact that they led to this absurd conclusion as disproving them. But, in fact, I think it may be easily seen that they do not lead to it.
Let us consider, first of all, Hume's most sceptical argument (the argument which he merely suggests). This argument suggests that, since our only reason for supposing two facts to be causally connected is that we have found them constantly conjoined inthe past, and since it does not follow from the fact that they have been conjoined ever so many times, that theyalwayswill be so, therefore we cannotknowthat they always will be so, and hence cannot know that they are causally connected. But obviously the conclusion does not follow. We must, I think, grant the premiss that, from the fact that two things have been conjoined, no matter how often, it does not strictlyfollowthat theyalwaysare conjoined. But it by no means follows from this that we may notknowthat, as a matter of fact, when two things are conjoined sufficiently often, they are alsoalwaysconjoined. We may quite wellknowmany things which do not logically follow from anything else which we know. And so, in this case, we mayknowthat two things are causally connected, although this does not logically follow from our past experience, nor yet from anything else that we know. And, as for the contention that our belief in causal connections is merely based oncustom,we may, indeed, admit that custom would not be a sufficientreasonfor concluding the belief to be true. But the mere fact (if it be a fact) that the belief is only caused by custom, is also no sufficient reason for concluding that we cannotknow it to be true. Custommayproduce beliefs, which we do know to be true, even though it be admitted that it does notnecessarilyproduce them.
And as for Hume's argument to prove that we can never know anyexternalobject to be causally connected with anything which we actually observe, it is, I think, obviously fallacious. In order to prove this, he has, as he recognises, to disprove both of two theories. He has, first of all, to disprove what he calls the vulgar theory—the theory that we can know the very things which we see or feel to be external objects; that is to say, can know that these very things exist at times whenwe do not observe them. And even here, I think, his arguments are obviously inconclusive. But we need not stay to consider them, because, in order to prove that we cannot know any external objects, he has also to disprove what he calls the philosophic theory—the theory that we can know things which we do observe, to be caused by external objects which we never observe. If, therefore, his attempt to disprove this theory fails, his proof that we cannot know any external objects also fails; and I think it is easy to see that his disproof does fail. It amounts merely to this: That we cannot,ex hypothesi,ever observe these supposed external objects, and therefore cannot observe them to be constantly conjoined with any objects which we do observe. But what follows from this? His own theory about the knowledge of causal connection is not that in order to know A to be the cause of B, we must have observed Aitselfto be conjoined with B; but only that we must have observed objectslikeA to be constantly conjoined with objectslikeB. And what is to prevent an external object from beinglikesome object which we have formerly observed? Suppose I have frequently observed a factlike Ato be conjoined with a factlikeB: and suppose I now observe B, on an occasion when I do not observe anything like A. There is no reason, on Hume's principles, why I should not conclude that A does exist on this occasion, even though I do not observe it; and that it is, therefore, an external object. It will, of course, differ from any object which I have ever observed, in respect of the simple fact that it isnotobserved by me, whereas they were. There is, therefore, this one respect in which it must beunlikeanything which I have ever observed. But Hume has never said anything to show that unlikeness in this single respect is sufficient to invalidate theinference. It may quite well be like objects which I have observed in all other respects; and this degree of likeness may, according to his principles, be quite sufficient to justify us in concluding its existence. In short, when Hume argues that we cannot possibly learn by experience of the existence of any external objects, he is, I think, plainly committing the fallacy of supposing that, because we cannot,ex hypothesishave ever observed any object which actually is "external," therefore we can never have observed any objectlikean external one. But plainly we may have observed objects like them in all respects except the single one that these have been observed whereas the others have not. And even a less degree of likeness than this would, according to his principles, be quite sufficient to justify an inference of causal connection.
Hume does not, therefore, bring forward any arguments at all sufficient to prove either that he cannot know any one object to be causally connected with any other or that he cannot know any external fact. And, indeed, I think it is plain that no conclusive argument could possibly be advanced in favour of these positions. It would always be at least as easy to deny the argument as to deny that we do know external facts. We may, therefore, each one of us, safely conclude that we do know external facts; and, if we do, then there is no reason why we should not also know that other men do the same. There is no reason why we should not, in this respect, make our philosophical opinions agree with what we necessarily believe at other times. There is no reason why I should not confidently assert that I do reallyknowsome external facts, although I cannot prove the assertion except by simply assuming that I do. I am, in fact, as certain of this as of anything; and as reasonably certain of it. But just as I am certain that I doknowsomeexternal facts, so I am also certain that there are others which I do not know. And the question remains: Does the line between the two fall, where Hume says it falls? Is it true that the only external facts I know are facts for which I have a basis in my own experience? And that I cannot know any facts whatever, beyond the reach of my own observation and memory, except those for which I have such a basis?
This, it seems to me, is the most serious question which Hume raises. And it should be observed that his own attitude towards it is very different from his attitude towards the sceptical views which we have just been considering. These sceptical views he did not expect or wish us to accept, except in philosophic moments. He declares that we cannot, in ordinary life, avoid believing things which are inconsistent with them; and, in so declaring, he, of course, implies incidentally that they are false: since he implies that he himself has a great deal of knowledge as to what we can and cannot believe in ordinary life. But, as regards the view that our knowledge of matters of fact beyond our own observation is entirely confined to such as are founded on experience, he never suggests that it is impossible that all our beliefs should be consistent with this view, and he does seem to think it eminently desirable that they should be. He declares that any assertion with regard to such matters, which is not founded on experience, can be nothing but "sophistry and illusion"; and that all books which are composed of such assertions should be "committed to the flames." He seems, therefore, to think that here we really have a test by which we may determine what we should or should not believe, on all occasions: any view on such matters, for which we have no foundation in experience, is a view which we cannot know to beeven probably true, and which we shouldneveraccept, if we can help it. Is there any justification for this strong view?
It is, of course, abstractly possible that we do really know,withoutthe help of experience, some matters of fact, which we never have observed. Just as we know matters of fact, which wehaveobserved, without the need of any further evidence, and just as we know, for instance, that 2+2=4, without the need of any proof, it is possible that we may know, directly and immediately, without the need of any basis in experience, some facts which we never have observed. This is certainly possible, in the same sense in which it is possible that I do not really know any external facts: no conclusive disproof can be brought against either position. We must make assumptions as to what facts we do know and do not know, before we can proceed to discuss whether or not all of the former are based on experience; and none of these assumptions can, in the last resort, be conclusively proved. We may offer one of them in proof of another; but it will always be possible to dispute the one which we offer in proof. But there are, in fact, certain kinds of things which we universally assume that we do know or do not know, just as we assume that we do know some external facts; and if among all the things which we know as certainly as this, there should turn out to be none for which we have no basis in experience, Hume's view would I think, be as fully proved as it is capable of being. The question is: Can it be proved in this sense? Among all the facts beyond our own observation, which we know most certainly, are there any which are certainly not based upon experience? For my part, I confess, I cannot feel certain what is the right answer to this question: I cannot tell whether Hume was right or wrong. But if he was wrong—if there are anymatters of fact, beyond our own observation, which we know for certain, and which yet we know directly and immediately, without any basis in experience, we are, I think, faced with an eminently interesting problem. For it is, I think, as certain as anything can be that there aresomekinds of facts with regard to which Hume was right—that there aresomekinds of facts which we cannot know without the evidence of experience. I could not know, for instance, without some such evidence, such a fact as that Julius Caesar was murdered. For such a fact I must, in the first instance, have the evidence of other persons; and if I am to know that their evidence is trustworthy, I must have some ground in experience for supposing it to be so. There are, therefore, some kinds of facts which we cannot know without the evidence of experience and observation. And if it is to be maintained that there are others, which we can know without any such evidence, it ought to be pointed out exactly what kind of facts these are, and in what respects they differ from those which we cannot know without the help of experience. Hume gives us a very clear division of the kinds of propositions which we can know to be true. There are, first of all, some propositions which assert "relations of ideas "; there are, secondly, propositions which assert "matters of fact" which we ourselves are actually observing, or have observed and now remember; and there are, thirdly, propositions which assert "matters of fact" which we have never actually observed, but for believing in which we have some foundation in our past observations. And it is, I think, certain that some propositions, which we know as certainly as we know anything, do belong to each of these three classes. I know, for instance, that twice two are four; I know by direct observation that I am now seeing these words,that I am writing, and by memory that this afternoon I saw St. Paul's; and I know also that Julius Caesar was murdered, and I have some foundation in experience for this belief, though I did not myself witness the murder. Do any of those propositions, which we know as certainly as we know these and their like,notbelong to either of these three classes? Must we add a fourth class consisting of propositions which resemble the two last, in respect of the fact that they do assert "matters of fact," but which differ from them, in that we know them neither by direct observation nor by memory, nor yet as a result of previous observations? There may, perhaps, be such a fourth class; but, if there is, it is, I think, eminently desirable that it should be pointed out exactly what propositions they are which we do know in this way; and this, so far as I know, has never yet been done, at all clearly, by any philosopher.
The term "sense-data" is ambiguous; and therefore I think I had better begin by trying to explain what the class of entities is whose status I propose to discuss.
There are several different classes of mental events, all of which, owing to their intrinsic resemblance to one another in certain respects, may, in a wide sense, be called "sensory experiences," although only some among them would usually be called "sensations." There are (1) those events, happening in our minds while we are awake, which consist in the experiencing of one of those entities, which are usually called "images," in the narrowest sense of the term. Everybody distinguishes these events from sensations proper; and yet everybody admits that "images" intrinsically resemble the entities which are experienced in sensations proper in some very important respect. There are (2) the sensory experiences we have in dreams, some of which would certainly be said to be experiences of images, while others might be said to be sensations. There are (3) hallucinations, and certain classes of illusory sensory experiences. There are (4) those experiences, which used to be called the having of "after-images," but which psychologists now say ought rather to be called "after-sensations." And there are, finally, (5) that class of sensory experiences, which are immensely commoner than any of the above, and which may be calledsensations proper, if we agree to use this term in such a way as to exclude experiences of my first four sorts.
Every event, of any one of these five classes, consists in the fact that an entity, of some kind or other,is experienced.The entity which is experienced may be of many different kinds; it may, for instance, be a patch of colour, or a sound, or a smell, or a taste, etc; or it may be an image of a patch of colour, an image of a sound, an image of a smell, an image of a taste, etc. But, whatever be its nature, the entity whichisexperienced must in all cases be distinguished from the fact or event which consists in its being experienced; since by saying that it is experienced we mean that it has a relation of a certain kind to something else. We can, therefore, speak not only ofexperiencesof these five kinds, but also of the entities whichare experienced inexperiences of these kinds; and the entity which is experiencedinsuch an experience is never identical with the experience which consists in its being experienced. But we can speak not only of the entities whichareexperienced in experiences of this kind, but also ofthe sortof entities which are experienced in experiences of this kind; and these two classes may again be different. For a patch of colour, even if it were not actually experienced, would be an entityof the same sortas some which are experienced in experiences of this kind: and there is no contradiction in supposing that there are patches of colour, which yet are not experienced; since by calling a thing a patch of colour we merely make a statement about its intrinsic quality, and in no way assert that it has to anything else any of the relations which may be meant by saying that it is experienced. In speaking, therefore, ofthe sort ofentities which are experienced in experiences of the five kinds I have mentioned, we do not necessarily confine ourselves to those which actuallyareexperienced in some such experience: we leave it an open questionwhether the two classes are identical or not. And the class of entities, whose status I wish to discuss, consists precisely of all those, whether experienced or not, which areof the same sortas those which are experienced in experiences of these five kinds.
I intend to call this class of entities the class ofsensibles; so that the question I am to discuss can be expressed in the form: What is the status of sensibles? And it must be remembered that images and after-images are just as much "sensibles," in my sense of the term, as the entities which are experienced in sensations proper; and so, too, are any patches of colour, or sounds, or smells, etc, (if such there be), which are not experienced at all.
In speaking of sensibles asthe sort ofentities which are experienced in sensory experiences I seem to imply that all the entities which are experienced in sensory experiences have some common characteristic other than that which consists in their being so experienced. And I cannot help thinking that this is the case, in spite of the fact that it is difficult to see what intrinsic character can be shared in common by entities so different from one another as are patches of colour, sounds, smells, tastes, etc. For, so far as I can see, some non-sensory experiences may be exactly similar to sensory ones in all intrinsic respects, except that what is experienced in them is different in kind from what is experienced in any sensory experience: the relation meant by saying that in them somethingis experiencedmay be exactly the same in kind, and so may the experient. And, if this be so, it seems to compel us to admit that the distinction between sensory and non-sensory experiences is derived from that between sensibles, and non-sensibles and notvice versâ.I am inclined, therefore, to think that all sensibles, in spite of the great differences between them, have some common intrinsic property, which werecognise, but which is unanalysable; and that, when we call an experience sensory, what we mean is not only that in it something is experienced in a particular way, but also that this something has this unanalysable property. If this be so, the ultimate definition of "sensibles" would be merely all entities which have this unanalysable property.
It seems to me that the term "sense-data" is often used, and may be correctly used, simply as a synonym for "sensibles"; and everybody, I think, would expect me, in discussing the status of sense-data, to discuss, among other things, the question whether there are any sensibles which are not "given." It is true that the etymology of the term "sense-data" suggests that nothing should be called a sense-datum, but whatisgiven; so that to talk of a non-given sense-datum would be a contradiction in terms. But, of course, etymology is no safe guide either as to the actual or the correct use of terms; and it seems to me that the term "sense-data" is often, and quite properly, used merely forthe sort ofentities that are given in sense, and not in any way limited to those which are actually given. But though I think I might thus have used "sense-data" quite correctly instead of "sensibles," I think the latter term is perhaps more convenient; because though nobody ought to be misled by etymologies, so many people in fact are so. Moreover the term "sense-data" is sometimes limited in yet another way, viz, to the sort of sensibles which are experienced insensations proper; so that in this sense "images" would not be "sense-data." For both these reasons, I think it is perhaps better to drop the term "sense-data" altogether, and to speak only of "sensibles."
My discussion of the status of sensibles will be divided into two parts. I shall first consider how,in certain respects, they are related to our minds; and then I shall consider how, in certain respects, they are related to physical objects.
(I)
(1) We can, I think, distinguish pretty clearly at least one kind of relation which sensibles, of all the kinds I have mentioned, do undoubtedly sometimes have to our minds.
I do now see certain blackish marks on a whitish ground, and I hear certain sounds which I attribute to the ticking of my clock. In both cases I have to certain sensibles—certain blackish marks, in the one case, and certain sounds, in the other—a kind of relation with which we are all perfectly familiar, and which may be expressed, in the one case, by saying that I actuallyseethe marks, and in the other, by saying that I actuallyhearthe sounds. It seems to me quite evident that the relation to the marks which I express by saying that Iseethem, is not different in kind from the relation to the sounds which I express by saying that Ihearthem. "Seeing" and "hearing," when thus used as names for a relation which we may have to sensibles, are not names for different relations, but merely express the fact that, in the one case, the kind of sensible to which I have a certain kind of relation is a patch of colour, while, in the other case, the kind of sensible to which I have the same kind of relation is a sound. And similarly when I say that I feel warm or smell a smell these different verbs do not express the fact that I have a different kind of relation to the sensibles concerned, but only that I have thesamekind of relation to a different kind of sensible. Even when I call up a visual image of a sensible I saw yesterday, or an auditory image of a sound I heard yesterday, I have to those images exactly the same kind of relation which I have to the patches ofcolour I now see and which I had yesterday to those I saw then.
But this kind of relation, which I sometimes have to sensibles of all sorts of different kinds, images as well as others, is evidently quite different in kind from another relation which I may also have to sensibles. After looking at this black mark, I may turn away my head or close my eyes, and then I no longeractually seethe mark I saw just now. I may, indeed, have (I myself actually do have at this moment) a visualimageof the mark before my mind; and to this image I do now have exactly the same kind of relation which I had just now to the mark itself. But the image is not identical with the mark of which it is an image; and to the mark itself it is quite certain that I havenotnow got the same kind of relation as I had just now, when I was actually seeing it. And yet I certainly maynowhave to that mark itself a kind of relation, which may be expressed by saying that I amthinking ofit or remembering it. I cannowmake judgments aboutit itself—the very sensible which I did see just now and am no longer seeing: as, for instance, that I did then see it and that it was different from the image of it which I am now seeing. It is, therefore, quite certain that there is a most important difference between the relation I have to a sensible when I am actually seeing or hearing it, and any relation (for there may be several) which I may have to the same sensible when I am only thinking or or remembering it. And I want to express this difference by using a particular term for the former relation. I shall express this relation, which I certainly do have to a sensible when I actually see or hear it, and most certainly do not have to it, when I only think of or remember it, by saying that there is in my mind adirect apprehensionof it. I have expressly chosen this termbecause, so far as I know, it has not been used hitherto as a technical term; whereas all the terms which have been so used, such as "presented," "given," "perceived," seem to me to have been spoilt by ambiguity. People sometimes, no doubt, use these terms as names for the kind of relation I am concerned with. But you can never be sure, when an entity is said to be "given" or "presented" or "perceived," that what is meant is simply and solely that it has to someone that relation which sensibles do undoubtedly have to me when I actually see or hear them, and which they donothave to me when I only think of or remember them.
I have used the rather awkward expression "There is in my mind a direct apprehension of this black mark," because I want to insist that though, when I see the mark, the mark certainly has tosomethingthe fundamental relation which I wish to express by saying that it is directly apprehended, and though the event which consists in its being directly apprehended by that something is certainly a mental act ofmineor which occurs in my mind, yet the something which directly apprehends it may quite possibly not be anything which deserves to be called "I" or "me." It is quite possible, I think, that there isnoentity whatever which deserves to be called "I" or "me" or "my mind"; and hence that nothing whatever is ever directly apprehended byme.Whether this is so or not, depends on the nature of that relation which certainly does hold between all those mental acts which aremine, and does not hold between any of mine and any of yours; and which holds again between all those mental acts which are yours, but does not hold between any of yours and any of mine. And I do not feel at all sure what the correct analysis of this relation is. It may be the case that therelation which unites all those acts of direct apprehension which are mine, and which is what we mean to say that they have to one another when we say they are all mine, really does consist in the fact that one and the same entity iswhatdirectly apprehends in each of them: in which case this entity could properly be called "me," and itwouldbe true to say that, when I see this black mark,Idirectly apprehend it. But it is also quite possible (and this seems to me to be the view which is commonest amongst psychologists) that the entity which directly apprehends, in those acts of direct apprehension which are mine, is numerically different in every different act; and that what I mean by calling all these different actsmineis either merely that they have some kind of relation toone anotheror that they all have a common relation to some other entity, external to them, which may or may not be something which deserves to be called "me." On any such view, what I assert to be true of this black mark, when I say that it is seen by me, would not be simply that it is directly apprehended by me, but something more complex in which, besides direct apprehension, some other quite different relation was also involved. I should be assertingboth(1) that the black mark is being directly apprehended bysomething,and(2) that this act of direct apprehension has to something else, external to it, a quite different relation, which is what makes it an act ofmine.I do not know how to decide between these views, and that is why I wished to explain that the fundamental relation which I wish to call direct apprehension, is one which quite possibly never holds betweenmeand any sensible. But, once this has been explained, I think no harm can result from using the expression "I directly apprehend A" as a synonym for "A direct apprehension of A occurs in my mind." Andin future I shall so speak, because it is much more convenient.
The only other point, which seems to me to need explanation, in order to make it quite clear what the relation I call "direct apprehension" is, concerns its relation toattention; and as to this I must confess I don't feel clear. In every case where it is quite clear to me that I am directly apprehending a given entity, it seems also clear to me that I am, more or less, attending to it; and it seems to me possible that what I mean by "direct apprehension" may be simply identical with what is meant by "attention," inoneof the senses in which that word can be used. That it can, at most, only be identical withoneof the relations meant by attention seems to me clear, because I certainly can be said to attend, in some sense or other, to entities, which I am not directly apprehending: I may, for instance, think, with attention, of a sensible, which I saw yesterday, and am certainly not seeing now. It is, therefore, clear that to say I am attending to a thing and yet amnotdirectly apprehending it, is not a contradiction in terms: and this fact alone is sufficient to justify the use of the special term "direct apprehension." But whether to say that I am directly apprehending a given thing and yet amnotattending to it, in any degree at all, is or is not a contradiction in terms, I admit I don't feel clear.
However that may be, one relation, in which sensibles of all sorts do sometimes stand to our minds, is the relation constituted by the fact that we directly apprehend them: or, to speak more accurately, by the fact that events which consist in their being directly apprehended areinour minds, in the sense in which to say that an event isinour minds means merely that it is a mental act ofours—that it has to our other mental acts that relation (whatever it may be) which we mean bysaying that they are all mental actsof the same individual.And it is clear that to say of a sensible that it is directly apprehended by me, is to say of it something quite different from what I say of a mental act of mine, when I say that thismental act is in my mind: for nothing is more certain than that an act of direct apprehension or belief may be in my mind, without being itself directly apprehended by me. If, therefore, by saying that a sensible isin our mindsor isours,we mean merely that it is directly apprehended by us, we must recognise that we are here using the phrases "in our minds" or "ours" in quite a different sense from that in which we use them when we talk of our mental acts being "in our minds" or "ours." And why I say this is because I think that these two relations are very apt to be confused. When, for instance, we say of a given entity that it is "experienced," or when the Germans say that it is "erlebt," it is sometimes meant, I think, merely that it is directly apprehended, but sometimes that it is in my mind, in the sense in which, when I entertain a belief, this act of belief is in my mind.
But (2) it seems to me to be commonly held that sensibles are often in our minds in some sense quite other than that of being directly apprehended by us or that of being thought of by us. This seems to me to be often what is meant when people say that they are "immediately experienced" or are "subjective modifications"; though, of course, both expressions are so ambiguous, that when people say that a given entity is immediately experienced or is a subjective modification, theymaymean merely that it is directly apprehended. And since I think this view is held, I want to explain that I see no reason whatever for thinking that sensibles ever are experienced by us in any other sense than that of being directly apprehended by us.Two kinds of argument, I think, are sometimes used to show that they are.
(a) It is a familiar fact that, when, for instance, we are in a room with a ticking clock, we may seem suddenly to become aware of the ticks, whereas, so far as we can tell, we had previously not heard them at all. And it may be urged that in these cases, since the same kind of stimulus was acting on our ears all the time, we must haveexperiencedthe same kind of sensible sounds, although we did not directly apprehend them.