G. E. MOORE, Litt.D. (continued 5)

The fact that these assertions that the coins exist, are round, etc., will, on this view, only be true in this outrageously Pickwickian sense, seems to me to constitute the great objection to it. But it seems to me to be an objection only, so far as I can see, because I have a "strong propensity to believe" that, when I know that the coins existed before I saw them, what I know is that something existed at that time, in the very same sense in which those elliptical patches now exist. And, of course, this belief may be a mere prejudice. It may be that when I believe that I now have, in my body, blood and nerves and brain, what I believe is only true, if it does not assert, in the proper sense of the word "existence," the present existence of anything whatever, other than sensibles which I directly apprehend, but only makes assertions as to the kind of experiences a doctor would have, if he dissected me. But I cannot feel at all sure that my belief, that, when I know of the present Existence of these things (as I think I do), I am knowing of the present existence (in the proper sense) of things other than any sensibles which I or any one else am now directly apprehending, is a mere prejudice. And therefore I think it is worth while to consider what, if it is not, these things, of whose existence I know, can be.

(2) It is certain that if, when I know that that half-crown existed before I saw it, I am knowing that something existed at that time in other than a Pickwickian sense, I only know this something by description; and it seems pretty clear that the description by which I know it is as the thing which has a certain connection with this sensible which I am now directly apprehending. But what connection? We cannot simply say, as many people have said, that by "that half-crown" I mean the thing which caused my experience of this sensible; because events which happen between the half-crown and my eyes, and events in my eyes, and optic nerves, and brains are just as much causes of my experiences as the half-crown itself. But it may perhaps be the case that the half-crown has some particular kind of causal relation to my experience, which these other events have not got—a kind which may be expressed, perhaps, by saying that it is its "source." And hence, when I know that that half-crown is circular, I may perhaps be knowing that the source of this experience is circular.

But what sort of a thing can this "source" be?

One kind of view, which I think is very commonly held, is that it is something "spiritual" in its nature, or something whose nature is utterly unknown to us. And those who hold this view are apt to add, that it is not really "circular," in any sense at all; nor is the "source" of my half-crown experience, in any sense at all, "bigger" than that of my florin experience. But if this addition were seriously meant, it would, of course, amount to saying that propositions (b) and (d) are not true, in any sense at all; and I do not think that those who make it, really mean to say this. I think that what they mean is only that the only sense in which those "sources" are circular, and one bigger than the other, is one in which to say this merely amounts to saying that the sensibles, which they would cause us to experience, under certain conditions, would be circular, and one bigger than the other. In other words, in order to give a true interpretation to the propositions that the coins are circular and one bigger than the other, they say that we must interpret them in the same kind of way in which view (1) interpreted them; and the only difference between their view and view (1), is that, whereas that said that you must give a Pickwickian interpretation both to the assertion that the coins exist, and to the assertion that they are circular, they say that you must not give it to the former assertion, and must to the latter.

To this view my objection is only that any reason there may be for saying that the "sources" exist in other than a Pickwickian sense, seems to me to be also a reason for saying that they are "circular" in a sense that is not Pickwickian. I have just as strong a propensity to believe that they are really circular, in a simple and natural sense, as that they exist in such a sense: and I know of no better reason for believing either.

(3) It may be suggested, next, that these "sources," instead of being something spiritual in their nature or something of a nature utterly unknown, consist simply of sensibles, of a kind which I have previously tried to define; namely of all those sensibles, which anybody would, under the actual physical conditions, experience in sensations proper of which the half-crown and the florin were the source, if their bodies were in any of the positions relatively to those coins, in which they would get sensations from them at all. We saw before that it seems possible that all these sensibles do really exist at times when they are not experienced, and that some people, at all events, seem to have a strong propensity to believe that they do. And in favour of the view that some such huge collection of sensibles is the upper side of the half-crown, is the fact that we do seem to have a strong propensity to believe that any particular sensible, which we directly apprehend in looking at the upper side of the half-crown, and of our direct apprehension of which the upper side is the source, is in the place in which the upper side is. And that some sense might be given to the expression "in the same place as," in which it could be true that sensibles of all sorts of different shapes and sizes, and of all sorts of different colours, were in the same place at the same time, seems to me to be possible. But the objection to this view seems to me to be the same as to the last; namely that if the upper side of the half-crown were identical with such a collection of sensibles, then the only sense in which it could be said to be "circular," or bigger than that of the florin, would certainly be very Pickwickian, though not the same as on that view.

(4) If, for the reasons given, we reject both (1), (2), and (3) as interpretations of our five propositions, the only alternative I can think of that remains, is one which is roughly identical, so far as I can see, with Locke's view. It is a view which asserts that the half-crown and the florin really did exist (in the natural sense) before I saw them; that they really are approximately circular (again in the natural sense); that, therefore, they are not composed of sensibles which I or others should directly apprehend under other conditions; and that therefore also neither these sensibles (even if such do now exist) nor those which I am now directly apprehending are in the place in which the coins are. It holds, therefore, that the coins do really resemble some sensibles, in respect of the "primary" qualities which these have; that they really are round, and one larger than the other, in much the same sense in which some sensibles are round and some larger than others. But it holds also that no sensibles which we ever do directly apprehend, or should directly apprehend, if at a given time we were in other positions, are parts of those coins; and that, therefore, there is no reason to suppose that any parts of the coins have any of the "secondary qualities"—colour, etc.—which any of these sensibles have.

On this view, it is plain, there is nothing to prevent us from holding that, as suggested in I (3), all sorts of unexperienced sensibles do exist. We are only prevented from holding that, if they do, those which have the same source all exist in the same place as their source. And the natural view to take as to the status of sensibles generally, relatively to physical objects, would be that none of them, whether experienced or not, were ever in the same place as any physical object. That none, therefore, exist "anywhere" in physical space; while, at the same time, we can also say, as argued in I (2), that none exist "in the mind," except in the sense that some are directly apprehended by some minds. And the only thing that would need to be added, is that some, and some only, resemble the physical objects which are their source, in respect of their shape.

To this view I can see no objection except the serious one that it is difficult to answer the questions: How can I ever come to know that these sensibles have a "source" at all? And how do I know that these "sources" are circular? It would seem that, if I do know these things at all, I must know immediately, in the case of some sensibles, both that they have a source and what the shape of this source is. And to this it may be objected that this is a kind of thing which I certainly cannot know immediately. The argument in favour of an interpretation of type (i) seems to me to rest wholly on the assumption that there are only certain kinds of facts which I can know immediately; and hence that if I believe I know a fact, which is not of this kind, and which also I cannot have learnt immediately, my belief must be a mere prejudice. But I do not know how it can be shown that an assertion of the form: Facts of certain kinds are the only ones you can know immediately; is itself not a prejudice. I do not think, therefore, that the fact that, if this last view were true, we should have to admit that we know immediately facts of a kind which many people think we cannot know immediately, is a conclusive objection to it.

THE CONCEPTION OF REALITY

The fourth chapter of Mr. Bradley's Appearance and Reality is a chapter headed "Space and Time," and he begins the chapter as follows:—

"The object of this chapter is far from being an attempt to discuss fully the nature of space or of time. It will content itself with stating our main justification for regarding them as appearances. It will explain why we deny that, in the character which they exhibit, they either have or belong to reality."[1]

Here, it will be seen, Mr. Bradley states that, in his opinion, Time, in a certain character, neither has nor belongs to reality; this is the conclusion he wishes to maintain. And to say that Time has not reality would seem to be plainly equivalent to saying that Time is not real. However, if anybody should doubt whether the two phrases are meant to be equivalent, the doubt may be easily set at rest by a reference to the concluding words of the same chapter, where Mr. Bradley uses the following very emphatic expression: "Time," he says, "like space, has most evidently proved not to be real, but to be a contradictory appearance" (p. 43). Mr. Bradley does, then, say here, in so many words, that Time is not real. But there is one other difference between this statement at the end of the chapter, and the statement at the beginning of it, which we must not forget to notice. In the statement at the beginning he carefully qualifies the assertion "Time neither has nor belongs to reality" by saying "Time, in the character which it exhibits, neither has nor belongs to reality," whereas in the final statement this qualification is not inserted; here he says simply "Time is not real." This qualification, which is inserted in the one place and omitted in the other, might, of course, be meant to imply that, in some other character—some character which it does not exhibit—Time has reality and does belong to it. And I shall presently have something to say about this distinction between Time in one character and Time in another, because it might be thought that this distinction is the explanation of the difficulty as to Mr. Bradley's meaning, which I am going to point out.

However, so far it is clear that Mr. Bradley holds that in some sense, at all events, the whole proposition "Time is not real" can be truly asserted. And, now, I want to quote a passage in which he says things which, at first sight, seem difficult to reconcile with this view. This new passage is a passage in which he is not talking of Time in particular, but of "appearances" in general. But, as we have seen, he does regard Time as one among appearances, and I think there is no doubt that what he here declares to be true of all appearances is meant to be true of Time, among the rest. This new passage is as follows:—

"For the present," he says,[2] "we may keep a fast hold upon this, that appearances exist. That is absolutely certain, and to deny it is nonsense. And whatever exists must belong to reality. This is also quite certain, and its denial once more is self-contradictory. Our appearances, no doubt, may be a beggarly show, and their nature to an unknown extent may be something which, as it is, is not true of reality. That is one thing, and it is quite another thing to speak as if these facts had no actual existence, or as if there could be anything but reality to which they might belong. And I must venture to repeat that such an idea would be sheer nonsense. What appears, for that sole reason, most indubitably is; and there is no possibility of conjuring its being away from it."

That is the passage which seems to me to raise a difficulty as to his meaning when contrasted with the former passage. And the reason why it seems to me to raise one is this. In the former passage Mr. Bradley declared most emphatically that Time is not real; he said: "Time has most evidently proved not to be real." Whereas in this one he seems to declare equally emphatically that Time does exist, and is. And his language here again is as strong as possible. He says it is sheer nonsense to suppose that Time does not exist, is not a fact, does not belong to reality. It looks, therefore, as if he meant to make a distinction between "being real" on the one hand, and "existing," "being a fact," and "being" on the other hand—as if he meant to say that a thing may exist, and be, and be a fact, and yet not be real. And I think there is, at all events, some superficial difficulty in understanding this distinction. We might naturally think that to say "Time exists, is a fact, and is," is equivalent to saying that it is real. What more, we might ask, can a man who says that Time is real mean to maintain about it than that it exists, is a fact, and is? All that most people would mean by saying that time is real could, it would seem, be expressed by saying "There is such a thing as Time." And it might, therefore, appear from this new passage as if Mr. Bradley fully agreed with the view that most people would express by saying "Time is real"—as if he did not at all mean to contradict anything that most people believe about Time. But, if so, then what are we to make of his former assertion that, nevertheless, Time is not real? He evidently thinks that, in asserting this, he is asserting something which is not mere nonsense; and he certainly would not have chosen this way of expressing what he means, unless he had supposed that what he is here asserting about Time is incompatible with what people often mean when they say "Time is real." Yet, we have seen that he thinks that what he is asserting is not incompatible with the assertions that Time is, and is a fact, and exists. He must, therefore, think that when people say "Time is real" they often, at least, mean something more than merely that there is such a thing as Time, something therefore, which may be denied, without denying this. All the same, there is, I think, a real difficulty in seeing that they ever do mean anything more, and, if they do, what more it is that they can mean.

The two expressions "There is such a thing as so and so" and "So and so is real" are certainly sometimes and quite naturally used as equivalents, even if they are not always so used. And Mr. Bradley's own language implies that this is so. For, as we have seen, in the first passage, he seems to identify belonging to reality with being real. The conclusion which he expresses in one place by saying that Time does not belong to reality he expresses in another by saying that it is not real; whereas in the second passage he seems to identify the meaning of the same phrase "belonging to reality" with existing; he says that whatever exists must belong to reality, and that it is self-contradictory to deny this. But if both being real and existing are identical with belonging to reality, it would seem they must be identical with one another. And, indeed, in another passage in the Appendix to the 2nd Edition (p. 555) we find Mr. Bradley actually using the following words: "Anything," he says, "that in any sense is, qualifies the absolute reality and so is real." Moreover, as we have seen, he declares it to be nonsense to deny that Time is; he must, therefore, allow that, in a sense, at all events, it is nonsense to deny that Time is real. And yet this denial is the very one he has made. Mr. Bradley, therefore, does seem himself to allow that the word "real" may, sometimes at all events, be properly used as equivalent to the words "exists," "is a fact," "is." And yet his two assertions cannot both be true, unless there is some sense in which the whole proposition "Time is real" is not equivalent to and cannot be inferred from "Time is," or "Time exists," or "Time is a fact."

It seems, then, pretty clear that Mr. Bradley must be holding that the statement "Time is real" is in one sense, not equivalent to "Time exists"; though he admits that, in another sense, it is. And I will only quote one other passage which seems to make this plain.

"If," he says later on (p. 206) "Time is not unreal, I admit that our Absolute is a delusion; but, on the other side, it will be urged that time cannot be mere appearance. The change in the finite subject, we are told, is a matter of direct experience; it is a fact, and hence it cannot be explained away. And so much of course is indubitable. Change is a fact and, further, this fact, as such, is not reconcilable with the Absolute. And, if we could not in any way perceive how the fact can be unreal, we should be placed, I admit, in a hopeless dilemma.... But our real position is very different from this. For time has been shown to contradict itself, and so to be appearance. With this, its discord, we see at once, may pass as an element into a wider harmony. And with this, the appeal to fact at once becomes worthless."

"It is mere superstition to suppose that an appeal to experience can prove reality. That I find something in existence in the world or in my self, shows that this something exists, and it cannot show more. Any deliverance of consciousness—whether original or acquired—is but a deliverance of consciousness. It is in no case an oracle and a revelation which we have to accept as it is a fact, like other facts, to be dealt with; and there is no presumption anywhere that any fact is better than appearance."

Here Mr. Bradley seems plainly to imply that to be "real" is something more and other than to be a fact or to exist. This is the distinction which I think he means to make, and which, I think, is the real explanation of his puzzling language, and this is the distinction which I am going presently to discuss. But I want first to say something as to that other distinction, which I said might be supposed to be the explanation of the whole difficulty—the distinction implied by the qualification "Time, in the character which it exhibits"; the suggestion that, when we talk of "Time," we may sometimes mean Time in one character, sometimes in another, and that what is true of it in the one character may not be true of it in the other. It might, I think, be suggested that this is the explanation of the whole difficulty. And I want briefly to point out why I think it cannot be the only explanation.

Stated very badly and crudely, the difficulty which requires explanation is this: Mr. Bradley says, "It is sheer nonsense to say Time is not real." But this thing which he says it is sheer nonsense to say is the very thing which he himself had formerly said. He had said, "Time has most evidently proved not to be real." Now, Mr. Bradley certainly does not mean to say that this proposition of his own is sheer nonsense; and yet he says, in words, that it is sheer nonsense. This is the difficulty. What is the explanation? Quite obviously, the explanation can only take one possible form. Mr. Bradley must be holding that the words "Time is real" may have two different senses. In one sense, the denial of them is sheer nonsense; in the other sense, so far from being sheer nonsense, denial of them is, according to him, evidently true. Now, what are these two different senses, between which the difference is so enormous? It is here that the two different explanations come in.

The first and, as I think, the wrong explanation (though I think Mr. Bradley's words do give some colour to it) is this. It might be said: "The whole business is perfectly easy to explain. When Mr. Bradley says that Time is not real, what he means is that Time, in the character which it exhibits, is not real. Whereas, when he says, Time does exist, is a fact, and is, and that it is nonsense to deny this, what he means is that Time does exist, in some other character—some character other than that which it exhibits. He does not mean to make any distinction, such as you suppose, between two meanings of the word I real '—the one of them merely equivalent to 'exists,' 'is,' 'is a fact,' and the other meaning something very different from this. The only distinction he means to make is a distinction between two meanings of 'Time' or of the whole sentence 'Time is real.' He distinguishes between the meaning of this sentence, when it means, 'Time in the character which it exhibits, is real,' which meaning, he says, is evidently false; and its meaning when it means, 'Time in some other character, is real,' and this meaning, he says, is evidently true. This is the complete explanation of your supposed puzzle, which is, in fact, therefore, very easy to solve."

This, I think, might be offered as an explanation of Mr. Bradley's meaning. And it must be admitted that it would furnish a complete explanation of the particular puzzle I have just stated, it would completely absolve Mr. Bradley from the charge of inconsistency; and would show that where he appears to contradict himself about the reality of Time, the contradiction is verbal only and not real. We might, indeed, object to this distinction between Time in one character and Time in another; on the ground that anything which has not got the character which Time exhibits, but only some other character, ought not to be called Time at all. We are, indeed, perfectly familiar with the conception that one and the same thing may at one time possess a character which it does not possess at another, so that what is true of it at one time may not be true of it at another. We are, that is, familiar with the idea of a thing changing its character. But Time itself as a whole obviously cannot change its character in this sense. Mr. Bradley cannot mean to say that it possesses the character "which it exhibits" and in which it is unreal at one time, and possesses some other character, in which it is real, at some other time. And hence we might say it is certainly wrong to speak as if Time itself could have two incompatible characters; since nothing can have two incompatible characters, unless it has them at different times. And this is an objection which does seem to apply to Mr. Bradley's doctrine in any case, since he does in any case seem to imply this distinction between Time in one character and Time in another, whether this distinction is the complete explanation of our particular puzzle or not. Yet this objection would not necessarily be more than an objection to Mr. Bradley's words; it would not necessarily be an objection to his meaning. Where he seems to imply that Time, in some character other than that which it exhibits, may be fully real, he may only mean that something completely different from Time, but which does in some sense correspond to it, is fully real; and if he does mean this, our objection would only amount to an objection to his giving the name of "Time" to this supposed counterpart of Time; we might say, and I think justly, that it is misleading to speak of this counterpart of Time as if it were Time itself in some other character; but this would go no way at all to show that there may not really be such a counterpart of Time, which is real, while Time itself is unreal. We might ask, too, what this supposed counterpart of Time is like, or (to put it in Mr. Bradley's way) what the precise character is, in which Time Areal? And I think Mr. Bradley would admit that he cannot tell us. But this, you see, would also be no objection to his actual doctrine. He might quite well know, and be right in saying, that there is and must be a real counterpart of Time, completely different in character from Time, as we know it, even though he has not the least idea what this counterpart is like.

We must, therefore, admit that this proposed explanation of our puzzle would be a complete explanation of it. It would completely vindicate Mr. Bradley from the charge of inconsistency, and would give us, as his doctrine, a doctrine to which we have hitherto found no objection except verbal ones.

But, nevertheless, I think it is a wrong explanation, and I want to explain why. If we were to suppose that this distinction between Time in one character and Time in another were the only one on which Mr. Bradley meant to rely, we should have as his doctrine this: We should have to suppose him to affirm most emphatically that Time, in the character which it exhibits, neither is real, nor exists, nor is a fact, nor is. We should have to suppose him to be using all these four expressions always as strict equivalents, and to mean that it is only in its other character that Time either exists, or is a fact, or is. And if he did mean this, there would, of course, be no doubt whatever that he does mean to contradict the common view with regard to Time; since, of course, what most people mean by "Time" is what he chooses to call "Time in the character which it exhibits." Yet, his language, even in the passages that I quoted, seems to me to indicate that he does not mean this. I think, on the contrary, he means to affirm emphatically that Time even in the character which it exhibits, does exist, is a fact, and indubitably is, though it is not real in that character. In the second passage, for instance, where he insists so emphatically that appearances do exist, are facts, and indubitably are, he is, I think, plainly talking of appearances, in the character which they exhibit—or, as he there puts it, their nature, as it is—he does, I think, mean that appearances, even in this character, are facts, exist, and are, though, in this character, they are not "true of reality." And, so again in the third passage, where he says, Change is a fact, and this fact, as such, is not reconcilable with the Absolute; this language is surely quite inexcusable, unless he means that Change, as such—change, in the character which it exhibits—change, as it is, is a fact: though, of course, he holds that in this character it certainly is not real. I think, therefore, we have to assume that Mr. Bradley means to make a distinction not merely between Time, in one character, and Time in another, but also between "real," in one sense, and "real" in another. His meaning is not so simple as it would be, if he were merely making a distinction between Time in one character and Time in another, and it is not, after all, at all plain whether he means to contradict what ordinary people hold about Time or not. He does not mean to assert that Time, as such, neither is real, nor exists, nor is a fact, nor is; but, on the contrary, that Time, even as such, does exist, is a fact, and is; but, nevertheless, is not real. This, at least, is what I am going to assume him to mean. And on this assumption, we are brought face to face with the question as to the meaning of the word "real," and also as to the meaning of these other words "exists," "is a fact," and "is." Mr. Bradley seems to admit, we have seen, that "real" may sometimes be properly used as merely equivalent to these other phrases. We are, however, now supposing that he also holds that in another sense they are not equivalent, but that "real" means something more than the others, so that it is quite consistent to maintain that Time is not "real," and yet does exist, is a fact, and is. In holding this I think he is mistaken; and what I want to do is to explain, as clearly as I can, what sort of a mistake I take him to be making, and what seems to me to be the source of this mistake. I may, perhaps, be quite wrong in thinking that Mr Bradley has made this mistake, and that it is in any degree the source of the distinction he seems to draw between "reality" and "existence." To maintain that it is so is no part of my main object. My main object is simply to make clear the nature of this particular mistake, whether committed by Mr. Bradley or not, and that it is a mistake; because it seems to me that it is a mistake which it is very easy to make, and very important to avoid. I am, of course, not concerned at all to discuss the question whether Time is real or not, but only to discuss the question what sort of things would have to be true, if it were unreal, and whether if those things were true it could still be true that Time either exists, or is, or is a fact.

Now, to begin with, I think I know pretty well, in part at least, what Mr. Bradley means when he says that it is unreal. I think that part at least of what he means is just what he ought to mean—just what anyone else would mean if he said that Time was unreal, and what any ordinary person would understand to be meant, if he heard those words. But I can conceive that, when I have explained as well as I can what this is that he ought to mean, some people may be inclined to dispute whether he means any such thing at all. They may say that he is using the word "real" exclusively in some highly unusual and special sense, so that in asserting that "Time is unreal" he is by no means denying any part of what ordinary people would mean by saying that "Time is real." And that some special sense may come in to his meaning I am prepared to admit. I do think it is possible that part of what Mr. Bradley is asserting may be something which no unsophisticated person would think of expressing in the same way, and I will admit, therefore, that he does not, very likely, mean by "Time is unreal" merely what other people would mean by this phrase, but something else as well. What, however, I cannot help thinking is that, even if he means something more, he does mean what ordinary people would mean as well: that what they would mean is at least a part of his meaning. And if even this is disputed, if it is maintained that he is using the words exclusively in some special sense, I own I do not know how to argue the question. If anybody really does take the view that, when he says "Time is unreal," absolutely all that he means is something which is in no way incompatible with what most people would mean by saying "Time is real," I do not know how to show that this view is wrong. I can only say that if this had been all that he meant, I cannot believe that he would have expressed his view in the form "Time is unreal." The only further argument I shall bring in favour of my view that he does mean what he ought to mean will take the form of an answer to one possible argument which might be brought against it. When I nave explained what he ought to mean by saying that "Time is unreal," it will be quite clear that this is something which is in fact incompatible with the truth of the propositions that Time is, or exists, or is a fact. And it might be urged that the fact that it is thus incompatible is a strong argument against the view that Mr. Bradley does mean what he ought to mean, since, if he had meant it, he could hardly have failed to perceive that what he meant was inconsistent with these propositions, whereas, as we have seen, he certainly does not perceive this. I have an answer to that argument, which consists in giving an explanation, which I think a plausible one, as to how he could come to think that the propositions are not inconsistent, when in fact they are.

What, then, ought Mr. Bradley to mean by "Time is unreal"? What would most people mean by this proposition? I do not think there is much difficulty in discovering what sort of thing they would mean by it. Of course, Time, with a big T, seems to be a highly abstract kind of entity, and to define exactly what can be meant by saying of an entity of that sort that it is unreal does seem to offer difficulties. But if you try to translate the proposition into the concrete, and to ask what it implies, there is, I think, very little doubt as to the sort of thing it implies. The moment you try to do this, and think what it really comes to, you at once begin thinking of a number of different kinds of propositions, all of which plainly must be untrue, if Time is unreal. If Time is unreal, then plainly nothing ever happens before or after anything else; nothing is ever simultaneous with anything else; it is never true that anything is past; never true that anything will happen in the future; never true that anything is happening now; and so on. You can at once think of a considerable number of kinds of propositions (and you could easily add to the list), the falsehood of all of which is plainly implied by saying that Time is unreal. And it is clear, also, that to say that the falsehood of all propositions of these kinds is implied is equivalent to saying that there are no facts of certain corresponding kinds—no facts which consist in one event happening before another; none which consist in an event being past or future, and so on. That is to say, what "Time is unreal" implies is that, in the case of a large number of different properties which are such that, if they did belong to anything, what they belonged to would be facts having some common characteristic, which we might express by calling them "temporal facts," the properties in question do, in fact, belong to nothing. It implies that the property of being a fact which consists in one event following another belongs to nothing; that that of being a past event belongs to nothing, and so on. And why it implies that all those different special properties belong to nothing is, I think we may say, because what it means is that the general property which I have called that of being a "temporal fact" belongs to nothing. To say that the property of being a temporal fact belongs to nothing does imply that such special properties as that of being a fact which consists in one event following another, or that of being a fact which consists in something being past, also belong to nothing; in exactly the same way as to say that the property of being "coloured" belongs to nothing implies with regard to the special properties "being red," "being blue," etc., that they also belong to nothing. We may, then, I think, say that what "Time is unreal" means is simply "The property of being a temporal fact belongs to nothing," or, to express this in the way in which it would be expressed in ordinary life, "There are no temporal facts." And this being so, we have explained the usage of "unreal," where it is predicated of Time with a capital T, by reference to a much more common and perfectly familiar usage of the term. The use of "is unreal" in the phrase "Time is unreal" has been defined by reference to its use in the phrase "Temporal facts are unreal." And its use in this phrase is, so far as I can see, exactly the same as in hosts of phrases with which we are perfectly familiar; it is, I think, the commonest and by far the most important use of the term "unreal." The use is that in which we use it when we say, "Unicorns are unreal," "Griffins are unreal," "Chimæras are unreal," and so on. It is the usage in which unreal is equivalent to "imaginary"; and in which to say "Unicorns are unreal" means the same as "There are no unicorns" or "Unicorns do not exist." In just the same way the proposition "Temporal facts are unreal," into which we have translated "Time is unreal," means the same as "There are no temporal facts," or "Temporal facts do not exist," or "Temporal facts are imaginary."

I think, then, that what Mr. Bradley ought to mean by "Time is unreal" can be defined by reference to one particular usage of the word "real" —or, if you like to put it that way, to one particular one among the conceptions for which the term "reality" may stand. And this particular conception seems to me to be by far the commonest and most important of those for which the term does stand. I want, therefore, before going on, to dwell a little upon its nature; although I daresay that all that I have to say is perfectly familiar and perfectly well understood by every one here. Of course, it has often been said before, but I think it is still very far from being generally understood.

I think, perhaps, the point I want to insist on can be brought out in this way. I have just said that we have pointed out one particular one, and that the most important, among the conceptions for which the term "reality" may stand; and that is an excusable way of saying what we have done. But it would, I think, be more correct to say that we have pointed out one particular, and that the most important, usage of the terms "real" and "unreal," and that one of the peculiarities of this usage is that it is such that the terms "real" and "unreal" cannot, when used in this way, be properly said to stand for any conception whatever. I will try to explain what I mean. We have said that what "Lions are real" means is that some particular property or other—I will say, for the sake of brevity, the property of being a lion, though that is not strictly accurate, does In fact belong to some-thing—that there are things which have it, or, to put it in another way, that the conception of being a lion is a conception which does apply to some things—that there are things which fall under it. And similarly what "Unicorns are unreal" means is that the property of being a unicorn belongs to nothing. Now, if this is so, then it seems to me, in a very important sense, "real" and "unreal" do not in this usage stand for any conceptions at all. The only conceptions which occur in the proposition "Lions are real" are, on this interpretation, plainly, (1) the conception of being a lion, and (2) the conception of belonging to something, and perfectly obviously "real" does not stand for either of these. In the case of the first that is obvious; but it is worth while pointing out that it is also true of the second.

For if "is real" did stand for "belongs to something," then the proposition "Lions are real" would stand, not for the assertion that the property of "being a lion" belongs to something, but for the assertion that lions themselves are properties which belong to something; and it is quite obvious that what we mean to assert is not any such nonsense as this. "Real," therefore, does not, in this proposition, stand for the conception of "belonging to something" nor yet, quite plainly, does it stand for the conception of "being a lion." And hence, since these are the only two conceptions which do occur in the proposition, we may, I think, say that "real," in this usage, does not stand for any conception at all. To say that it did would be to imply that it stood for some property of which we are asserting that everything which has the property of "being a lion" also has this other property. But we are not, in fact, asserting any such thing. We are not asserting of any property called "reality" that it belongs to lions, as in the proposition "Lions are mammalian" we are asserting of the property of "being a mammal" that it belongs to lions. The two propositions "Lions are real" and "Lions are mammalian," though grammatically similar, are in reality of wholly different forms; and one difference between them may be expressed by saying that whereas "mammalian" does stand for a property or conception, the very point of this usage of "real" is that it does not.

To return to Mr. Bradley. "Time is unreal" ought to mean, according to me, "Temporal facts are unreal," in the sense I have tried to explain. And I cannot help thinking that this which he ought to mean is, in part at least, what Mr. Bradley does mean when he says "Time is unreal," though possibly be also means something else as well. But if so, it is quite clear, I think, that what he means is inconsistent with its being true that Time exists or that there is such a thing as Time. To say that Time exists or that there is such a thing, is to assert at least, that there are some temporal facts: it may assert more than this, but it does assert this, at least. And this, we have seen, is exactly what is denied when it is said that Time is unreal. "Time is unreal" just means "Temporal facts are unreal," or "there are no temporal facts," or "Temporal facts do not exist." And just this is also what is meant by "Time does not exist" or "There is no such thing as Time." There is, in fact, nothing, else for these expressions to mean. What, therefore, Mr. Bradley ought to mean and (according to me) does mean by "Time is unreal" is, in fact, inconsistent with what he ought to mean by "Time exists" or by "Time is." And yet plainly he does not think that it is so. Is it possible to explain why he should have failed to perceive the inconsistency?

I think his failure can be explained as follows. It may have been noticed that, in the passages I quoted from him, he insists in one place, that to deny that appearances exist is not merely false but self-contradictory, and in another appeals to the principle that "any deliverance of consciousness is but a deliverance of consciousness" in support of his contention that what is a fact need, nevertheless, not be real. And the fact that he does these two things does, I think, give colour to the suggestion that the reason why he thinks that what is unreal may yet exist, and be a fact, and be, is the following. It is undoubtedly the case that, even if temporal facts are unreal, i.e., there are no such things, we can and do think of them, just as it is undoubtedly the case that, though unicorns are unreal, we can and do imagine them. In other words, "temporal facts" and "unicorns" are both quite certainly "deliverances of consciousness," at least in the sense that they are "objects of thought"; being "objects of thought" they are, in a wide sense, "appearances" also, and I cannot help thinking that Mr. Bradley supposes that, merely because they are so, they must at least BE. "How" (I imagine he would ask) "can a thing 'appear' or even 'be thought of' unless it is there to appear and to be thought of? To say that it appears or is thought of, and that yet there is no such thing, is plainly self-contradictory. A thing cannot have a property, unless it is there to have it, and, since unicorns and temporal facts do have the property of being thought of, there certainly must be such things. When I think of a unicorn, what I am thinking of is certainly not nothing; if it were nothing, then, when I think of a griffin, I should also be thinking of nothing, and there would be no difference between thinking of a griffin and thinking of a unicorn. But there certainly is a difference; and what can the difference be except that in the one case what I am thinking of is a unicorn, and in the other a griffin? And if the unicorn is what I am thinking of, then there certainly must be a unicorn, in spite of the fact that unicorns are unreal. In other words, though in one sense of the words there certainly are no unicorns—that sense, namely, in which to assert that there are would be equivalent to asserting that unicorns are real—yet there must be some other sense in which there are such things; since, if there were not, we could not think of them."

Perhaps, it may be thought that the fallacy involved in this argument is too gross for it to be possible that Mr. Bradley should have been guilty of it. But there are other passages in Appearance and Reality—particularly what he says about Error —which look to me as if he certainly was guilty of it. I suppose it will be quite obvious to everyone here that it is a fallacy; that the fact that we can think of unicorns is not sufficient to prove that, in any sense at all, there are any unicorns. Yet, I am not sure that I know myself what is the mistake involved in thinking that it is sufficient, and I am going, therefore, to try to put as clearly as I can, what I think it is, in the hope that somebody may be able, if I am wrong, to correct me.

The main mistake, I suppose, is the mistake of thinking that the proposition "Unicorns are thought of" is a proposition of the same form as "Lions are hunted"; or the proposition "I am thinking of a unicorn" of the same form as "I am hunting a lion"; or the proposition "Unicorns are objects of thought" of the same form as "Lions are objects of the chase." Of the second proposition in each of these three pairs, it is in fact the case that it could not be true unless there were lions—at least one. Each of them does, in fact, assert both with regard to a certain property—which we will call that of "being a lion"—that there are things which possess it, and also with regard to another—that of being hunted—that some of the things which possess the former possess this property too. But it is obvious enough to common sense that the same is by no means true of the first proposition in each pair, in spite of the fact that their grammatical expression shows no trace of the difference. It is perfectly obvious that if I say "I am thinking of a unicorn,"

I am not saying both that there is a unicorn and that I am thinking of it, although, if I say "I am hunting a lion," I am saying both that there is a lion, and that I am hunting it. In the former case,

I am not asserting that the two properties of being a unicorn and of being thought of by me both belong to one and the same thing; whereas, in the latter case, I am asserting that the two properties of being a lion and of being hunted by me do belong to one and the same thing. It is quite clear that there is in fact, this difference between the two propositions; although no trace of it appears in their verbal expression. And why we should use the same form of verbal expression to convey such different meanings is more than I can say. It seems to me very curious that language, in this, as in the other instance which we have just considered of "Lions are real" and "Lions are mammalian," should have grown up just as if it were expressly designed to mislead philosophers; and I do not know why it should have. Yet, it seems to me there is no doubt that in ever so many instances it has. Moreover, exactly what is meant by saying "I am thinking of a unicorn" is not by any means clear to me. I think we can assert at least this: In order that this proposition should be true, it is necessary (1) that I should be conceiving, with regard to a certain property, the hypothesis that there Is something which possesses it, and (2) that the property in question should be such that, if anything did possess it there would be a unicorn. Although this is plainly true, it does not give us completely what is meant by the statement, "I am thinking of a unicorn"; and I do not know what the complete meaning is. It is certainly not that I am conceiving with regard to the property of "being a unicorn," that there is something which possesses it; since I may be thinking of a unicorn, without ever having conceived the property of "being a unicorn" at all. Whatever it does mean, the point which concerns us is that it is certainly not necessary for its truth, that the property of being a unicorn should, in fact, belong to anything whatever, or, therefore, that there should in any sense whatever be a unicorn. And the fallacy I am attributing to Mr. Bradley is that of supposing that, in some sense, it must imply this latter.

This, then, is what I imagine to be at least one of the reasons which have led Mr. Bradley to suppose that the proposition "Time is unreal," must be consistent with the proposition "There is such a thing as Time." Put shortly, it is that he sees (what is perfectly true) that "Time is unreal" must be consistent with "We do think of Time;" he thinks (falsely) that "We do think of Time" must imply, in some sense, "There is such a thing as Time;" and finally, infers (correctly) from this true and this false premiss, that there must be some sense of the proposition "There is such a thing as Time" which is consistent with "Time is unreal."

It follows, then, that if Mr. Bradley means what he ought mean both by "Time is unreal" and by "Time exists," he is contradicting himself when he combines these two propositions. And I have said I feel convinced that he does mean what he ought to mean by the former. But I feel a good deal of doubt as to whether, all the same, he is contradicting himself, because it does seem to me doubtful whether he means what he ought to mean by the latter. The kind of thing which I imagine may be happening to him when he insists so strongly that Time does exist, is a fact, and is, is that, properly speaking, he is not attaching to these phrases any meaning whatever—not, therefore, that which they properly bear. It seems to me very possible that he has so strongly convinced himself of the false proposition that there must be some sense in which, if I think of a unicorn, there must be a unicorn, that wherever he knows the former proposition holds, he allows himself to use the latter form of words, without attaching any meaning to them. What he is really asserting so emphatically may, I think, be not anything which his words stand for, but simply this verbal proposition that there must be some sense in which they are true.

SOME JUDGMENTS OF PERCEPTION

I want to raise some childishly simple questions as to what we are doing when we make judgments of a certain kind, which we all do in fact exceedingly commonly make. The kind of judgments I mean are those which we make when, with regard to something which we are seeing, we judge such things as '"That is an inkstand," "That is a tablecloth," "That is a door," etc., etc.; or when, with regard to something which we are feeling with our hands, we judge such things as "This is cloth," "This is a finger," "This is a coin," etc., etc.

It is scarcely possible, I think, to exaggerate the frequency with which we make such judgments as these, nor yet the certainty with which we are able to make vast numbers of them. Any man, who is not blind, can, at almost any moment of his waking life, except when he is in the dark, make a large number of judgments of the first kind, with the greatest certainty. He has only to look about him, if he is indoors, to judge with regard to various things which he is seeing, such things as "That is a window," "That is a chair," "This is a book"; or, if he is out-of-doors, such things as "That is a house," "That is a motor-car," "That is a man," or "That is a stone," "That is a tree," "That is a cloud." And all of us, who are not blind, do in fact constantly make such judgments, even if, as a rule, we only make them as parts of more complicated judgments. What I mean is that, when we make such judgments as "Hullo! that clock has stopped," or "This chair is more comfortable than that one," or "That man looks like a foreigner," judgments of the simpler kind with which I am concerned are, so far as I can see, actually a part of what we are judging. In judging "That clock has stopped," part of what I am actually judging is, so far as I can see, "That is a clock;" and similarly if I judge "That tree is taller than this one," my judgment actually contains the two simpler judgments "That is a tree," and "This is a tree." Perhaps most judgments which we make, of the kind I mean, are, in this way, only parts of more complicated judgments: I do not know whether this is so or not. But in any case there can be no doubt that we make them exceedingly commonly. And even a blind man, or a man in the dark, can and does, very frequently, make judgments of the second kind—judgments about things which he is feeling with his hands. All of us, for instance, at almost any moment of our waking life, whether we are in the dark or not, have only to feel certain parts of our own bodies or of our clothes, in order to make, with great certainty, such judgments as "This is a finger," "This is a nose," "This is cloth." And similarly I have only to feel in my pockets to judge, with regard to objects which I meet with there, such things as "This is a coin," "This is a pencil," "This is a pipe."

Judgments of this kind would, I think, commonly, and rightly, be taken to be judgments, the truth of which involves the existence of material things or physical objects. If I am right in judging that this is an inkstand, it follows that there is at least one inkstand in the Universe; and if there is an inkstand in the Universe, it follows that there is in it at least one material thing or physical object. This may, of course, be disputed. Berkeley, if I understand him rightly, was clearly of opinion that there was no inconsistency in maintaining that there were in the Universe thousands of inkstands and trees and stones and stars, and that yet there was in it no such thing as matter. And perhaps the definition of matter, which he adopted, was such that there really was no inconsistency in maintaining this. Perhaps, similarly, other philosophers have sometimes adopted definitions of the expressions "material things" and "physical objects," which were such that all the judgments of this kind that we make might quite well be true, without its being true that there are in the Universe any material things whatever. Perhaps, even, there may be some justification for adopting definitions of those terms which would yield the surprising result that we may, with perfect consistency, maintain that the world is full of minerals and vegetables and animals, of all sorts of different kinds, and that yet there is not to be found in it a single material thing. I do not know whether there is or is not any utility in using the terms "material thing" or "physical object" in such a sense as this. But, whether there is or not, I cannot help thinking that there is ample justification for using them in another sense—a sense in which from the proposition that there are in the Universe such things as inkstands or fingers or clouds, it strictly follows that there are in it at least as many material things, and in which, therefore, we can not consistently maintain the existence of inkstands, fingers, and clouds, while denying that of material things. The kinds of judgment which I have mentioned, and thousands of others which might easily be mentioned, are obviously all of the same sort in one very important respect—a respect in which, for instance, such judgments as "This is an emotion," "This is a judgment," "This is a colour," are not of the same sort as they are. And it seems to me that we are certainly using the term "material thing" in a correct and useful way, if we express this important common property which they have, by saying that of each of them the same can truly be said as was said of the judgment "That is an inkstand": that, just as from the proposition "There is an inkstand" it follows that there is at least one material thing, so from the proposition "There is a tablecloth," it follows that there is at least one material thing; and similarly in all the other cases. We can certainly use the expression "Things such as inkstands, tablecloths, fingers, clouds, stars, etc.," to mean things such as these in a certain very important respect, which we all understand, though we may not be able to define it. And the term "material thing" certainly is and can be correctly used to mean simply things such as these in that respect—whatever it may be. Some term is certainly required to mean merely things such as these in that important respect; and, so far as I can see, there is no term which can be naturally used in this sense except the term "material things" and its equivalents. Thus understood, the term "material thing" certainly does stand for an important notion, which requires a name.

And, if we agree to use the term in this sense, then it is obvious that no more can be necessary for the truth of the assertion that there are material things, than is necessary for the truth of judgments of the kind with which I propose to deal. But no more can be necessary for the truth of these judgments than is actually asserted in or logically implied by them. And if we approach the question what is necessary for the truth of the assertion that there are material things, by asking what it is that we actually assert when we make such judgments as these, certain reasons for doubting how much is necessary are, I think, brought out much more clearly, than if we approach the question in any other way. Many philosophers have told us a very great deal as to what they suppose to be involved in the existence of material things; and some, at least, among them seem to have meant by "material things" such things as inkstands, fingers and clouds. But I can think of only one type of view as to the constitution of material things, which is such that it is tolerably clear what answer those who hold it would give to the simple question; What is it that I am judging, when I judge, as I now do, that that is an inkstand? The type of view I mean is that to which the view that Mill suggests, when he explains what he means by saying that Matter is a Permanent Possibility of Sensation, and also the view or views which Mr. Russell seems to suggest in his "Our Knowledge of the External World," seem to belong. In the case of views of this kind, it is, I think, tolerably clear what answer those who hold them would give to all the questions I want to raise about judgments of the kind I have described. But it does not seem to me at all certain that any view of this type is true; and certainly many philosophers have held and do hold that all views of this type are false. But in the case of those who do hold them to be false, I do not know, in any single case, what answer would be given to all the questions which I want to raise. In the case of philosophers, who do not accept any view of the Mill-Russell type, none, so far as I know, has made it clear what answer he would give to all my questions: some have made it clear what answer they would give to some of them; but many, I think, have not even made it clear what answer they would give to any. Perhaps there is some simple and satisfactory answer, which has escaped me, that such philosophers could give to all my questions; but I cannot help thinking that assumptions as to the nature of material things have too often been made, without its even occurring to those who made them to ask, what, if they were true, we could be judging when we make such judgments as these; and that, if this question had been asked, it would have become evident that those assumptions were far less certain than they appeared to be.

I do not know that there is any excuse whatever for calling all judgments of the kind I mean "judgments of perception." All of them are, of course, judgments about things which we are at the moment perceiving, since, by definition, they are judgments about things which we are seeing or feeling with our hands; and all of them are, no doubt, also based upon something which we perceive about the thing in question. But the mere fact that a judgment is both about a thing which I am perceiving, and also based upon something which I perceive about that thing, does not seem to be a sufficient reason for calling it a judgment of perception; and I do not know that there is any other reason than this for calling all judgments of the kind I mean judgments of perception. I do not want therefore, to assert that all of them are so. But it seems to me quite plain that enormous numbers of them are so, in a perfectly legitimate sense. This judgment, which I now make, to the effect that that is a door, seems to me quite plainly to be a judgment of perception, in the simple sense that I make it because I do, in fact, see that that is a door, and assert in it no more than what I see; and what I see I, of course, perceive. In every case in which I judge, with regard to something which I am seeing or feeling with my hands, that it is a so-and-so, simply because I do perceive, by sight or touch, that it is in fact a thing of that kind, we can, I think, fairly say that the judgment in question is a judgment of perception. And enormous numbers of judgments of the kind I mean are, quite plainly, judgments of perception in this sense. They are not all, for the simple reason that some of them are mistaken. I may, for instance, judge, with regard to an animal which I see at a distance, that it is a sheep, when in fact it is a pig. And here my judgment is certainly not due to the fact that I see it to be a sheep; since I cannot possibly see a thing to be a sheep, unless it is one. It, therefore, is not a judgment of perception in this sense. And moreover, even where such a judgment is true, it may not always be a judgment of perception, for the reason that, whereas I only see the thing in question, the kind of thing which I judge it to be is of such a nature, that it is impossible for any one, by sight alone, to perceive anything to be of that kind. How to draw the line between judgments of this kind, which are judgments of perception, and those which are not, I do not know. That is to say, I do not know what conditions must be fulfilled in order that I may be truly said to be perceiving, by sight or touch, such things as that that is a door, this is a finger, and not merely inferring them. Some people may no doubt think that it is very unphilosophical in me to say that we ever can perceive such things as these. But it seems to me that we do, in ordinary life, constantly talk of seeing such things, and that, when we do so, we are neither using language incorrectly, nor making any mistake about the facts—supposing something to occur which never does in fact occur. The truth seems to me to be that we are using the term "perceive" in a way which is both perfectly correct and expresses a kind of thing which constantly does occur, only that some philosophers have not recognised that this is a correct usage of the term and have not been able to define it. I am not, therefore, afraid to say that I do now perceive that that is a door, and that that is a finger. Only, of course, when I say that I do, I do not mean to assert that part of what I "perceive," when I "perceive" these things, may not be something which, in an important sense, is known to me only by inference. It would be very rash to assert that "perception," in this sense of the word, entirely excludes inference. All that seems to me certain is that there is an important and useful sense of the word "perception," which is such that the amount and kind of inference, if inference there be, which is involved in my present perception that that is a door, is no bar to the truth of the assertion that I do perceive that it is one. Vast numbers, then, of the kind of judgments with which I propose to deal seem to me to be, in an important and legitimate sense, judgments of perception; although I am not prepared to define, any further than I have done, what that sense is. And though it is true that the questions which I shall raise apply just as much to those of them which are not judgments of perception as to those which are, it is, of course, also true that they apply just as much to those which are as to those which are not; so that I shall be really dealing with a large and important class among judgments of perception.

It is true that, if certain views which, if I understand them rightly, some Philosophers have seriously entertained, were true ones, it would be quite impossible that any of them should be judgments of perception. For some philosophers seem to me to have denied that we ever do in fact know such things as these, and others not only that we ever know them but also that they are ever true. And, if, in fact, I never do know such a thing, or if it is never true, it will of course, follow that I never perceive such a thing; since I certainly cannot, in this sense, perceive anything whatever, unless I both know it and it is true. But it seems to me a sufficient refutation of such views as these, simply to point to cases in which we do know such things. This, after all, you know, really is a finger: there is no doubt about it: I know it, and you all know it. And I think we may safely challenge any philosopher to bring forward any argument in favour either of the proposition that we do not know it, or of the proposition that it is not true, which does not at some point, rest upon some premiss which is, beyond comparison, less certain than is the proposition which it is designed to attack. The questions whether we do ever know such things as these, and whether there are any material things, seem to me, therefore, to be questions which there is no need to take seriously: they are questions which it is quite easy to answer, with certainty, in the affirmative. What does, I think, need to be taken seriously, and what is really dubious, is not the question, whether this is a finger, or whether I know that it is, but the question what, in certain respects, I am knowing, when I know that it is. And this is the question to which I will now address myself.

To begin with there is one thing which seems to me to be very certain indeed about such judgments. It is unfortunately a thing which I do not know how properly to express. There seem to me to be objections to every way of expressing it which I can think of. But I hope I may be able to make my meaning clear, in spite of the inadequacy of my expression. The thing I mean is a thing which may to some people seem so obvious as to be scarcely worth saying. But I cannot help thinking that it is not always clearly recognised, and even that some philosophers, to judge from what they say, might perhaps dispute it. It seems to me to be an assumption which is silently made in many treatments of the subject, and, as I say, it seems to me to be very certain indeed. But I think it is at all events worth while to try to make the assumption explicit, in case it should be disputed. If it really is not true, then the other questions to which I shall go on, and which seem to me really dubious and difficult, do not, I think, arise at all.

I will try to express this fundamental assumption, which seems to me so very certain, by saying it is the assumption that, in all cases in which I make a judgment of this sort, I have no difficulty whatever in picking out a thing, which is, quite plainly, in a sense in which nothing else is, the thing about which I am making my judgment; and that yet, though this thing is the thing about which I am judging, I am, quite certainly, not, in general, judging with regard to it, that it is a thing of that kind for which the term, which seems to express the predicate of my judgment, is a name. Thus, when I judge, as now, that That is an inkstand, I have no difficulty whatever in picking out, from what, if you like, you can call my total field of presentation at the moment, an object, which is undoubtedly, in a sense in which nothing else is, the object about which I am making this judgment; and yet it seems to me quite certain that of this object I am not judging that it is a whole inkstand. And similarly when I judge, with regard to something which I am feeling in my pocket, "This is a coin," I have no difficulty in picking out, from my field of presentation, an object, which is undoubtedly the object with which my judgment is concerned; and yet I am certainly not judging with regard to this object that it is a whole coin. I say that alwayst when I make such a judgment, I can pick out the one, among the objects presented to me at the time, about which I am making it; but I have only said that in general I am not judging with regard to this object that it is a thing of the kind, for which the term, which seems to express the predicate of my judgment, is a name. And I have limited my second proposition in this way, because there are cases, in which it does not, at first sight, seem quite so certain that I am not doing this, as in the two instances I have just given. When, for instance, I judge with regard to something, which I am seeing, "This is a soap-bubble," or "This is a drop of water," or even when I judge "This is a spot of ink," it may not seem quite so plain, that I may not be judging, with regard to the very object presented to me, that it is, itself, a whole soap-bubble, a whole drop of water, or a whole spot of ink, as it always is, in the case of an inkstand, or a coin, that I never take the presented object, about which I am judging, to be a whole inkstand, or a whole coin. The sort of reason why I say this will, of course, be obvious to any one, and it is obviously of a childish order. But I cannot say that it seems to me quite obvious that in such a case I am not judging of the presented object that it is a whole drop of water, in the way in which it does seem to be obvious that I am not judging of this presented object that it is an inkstand. That is why I limit myself to saying that, in general, when I judge "That is a so-and-so" I am not judging with regard to the presented object, about which my judgment is that it is a thing of the kind in question. As much as this seems to me to be a thing which any child can see. Nobody will suppose, for a moment, that when he judges such things as "This is a sofa," or "This is a tree," he is judging, with regard to the presented object about which his judgment plainly is, that it is a whole sofa or a whole tree: he can, at most, suppose that he is judging it to be a part of the surface of a sofa or a part of the surface of a tree. And certainly in the case of most judgments of this kind which we make, whether in the case of all or not, this is plainly the case: we are not judging, with regard to the presented object about which our judgment plainly is, that it is a thing of the kind, for which the term which appears to express the predicate of our judgment, is a name. And that this should be true of most judgments of this kind, whether of all or not, is quite sufficient for my purpose.

This much, then, seems to me to be very certain indeed. But I will try to make clearer exactly what I mean by it, by mentioning a ground on which I imagine it might perhaps be disputed.

The object of which I have spoken as the object, about which, in each particular case, such a judgment as this always is a judgment, is, of course, always an object of the kind which some philosophers would call a sensation, and others would call a sense-datum. Whether all philosophers, when they talk of sensations, mean to include among them such objects as these, I do not know. Some, who have given a great deal of attention to the subject, and for whom I have a great respect, talk of sensations in such a way, that I cannot be sure what they are talking about at all or whether there are such things. But many, I think, undoubtedly do mean to include such subjects as these. No doubt, in general, when they call them sensations, they mean to attribute to them properties, which it seems to me extremely doubtful whether they possess. And perhaps even those who call them sense-data, may, in part, be attributing to them properties which it may be doubtful whether they possess. If we want to define a sensation or a sense-datum, in a manner which will leave it not open to doubt what sort of things we are talking of, and that there are such things, I do not know that we can do it better than by saying that sense-data are the sort of things, about which such judgments as these always seem to be made—the sort of things which seem to be the real or ultimate subjects of all such judgments. Such a way of defining how the term "sense-datum" is used, may not seem very satisfactory; but I am inclined to think it may be as satisfactory as any which can be found. And it is certainly calculated to obviate some misunderstandings which may arise; since everybody can see, I think, what the thing is which I am describing as the thing about which he is making his judgment, when he judges "That is an inkstand," and that there is such a thing, even if he does not agree that this description applies to it.

I can, in fact, imagine that some of those who would call this thing a sensation would deny that my judgment is about it at all. It would sometimes be spoken of as the sensation which mediates my perception of this inkstand in this instance. And I can imagine that some of those who would so speak of it might be inclined to say that when I judge "This is an inkstand," my judgment is about this inkstand which I perceive, and not, in any sense at all, about the sensation which mediates my perception of it. They may perhaps imagine that the sensation mediates my perception of the inkstand only in the sense that it brings the inkstand before my mind in such a way that, once it is before my mind, I can make a judgment about it, which is not a judgment about the mediating sensation at all; and that such a judgment is the one I am actually expressing when I say "This is an inkstand." Such a view, if it is held, seems to me to be quite certainly false, and is what I have intended to deny. And perhaps I can put most clearly the reason why it seems to me false, by saying that, if (which may be doubted) there is anything which is this inkstand, that thing is certainly not given to me independently of this sense-datum, in such a sense that I can possibly make a judgment about it which is not a judgment about this sense-datum. I am not, of course, denying that I do perceive this inkstand, and that my judgment is, in a sense, a judgment about it. Both these things seem to me to be quite obviously true. I am only maintaining that my judgment is also, in another sense, a judgment about this sense-datum which mediates my perception of the inkstand. Those who say that this sense-datum does mediate my perception of the inkstand, would, of course, admit that my perception of the inkstand is, in a sense, dependent upon the sense-datum; that it is dependent is implied in the mere statement that it is mediated by it. But it might be maintained that it is dependent on it only in the sense in which, when the idea of one object is called up in my mind, through association, by the idea of another, the idea which is called up is dependent on the idea which calls it up. What I wish to maintain, and what seems to me to be quite certainly true, is that my perception of this inkstand is dependent on this sense-datum, in a quite different and far more intimate sense than this. It is dependent on it in the sense that, if there is anything which is this inkstand, then, in perceiving that thing, I am knowing it only as the thing which stands in a certain relation to this sense-datum. When the idea of one object is called up in my mind by the idea of another, I do not know the second object only as the thing which has a certain relation to the first: on the contrary, I can make a judgment about the second object, which is not a judgment about the first. And similarly in the case of two sense-data which are presented to me simultaneously, I do not know the one only as a thing which has a certain relation to the other. But in the case of this sense-datum and this inkstand the case seems to me to be plainly quite different. If there be a thing which is this inkstand at all, it is certainly only known to me as the thing which stands in a certain relation to this sense-datum. It is not given to me, in the sense in which this sense-datum is given. If there be such a thing at all, it is quite certainly only known to me by description, in the sense in which Mr. Russell uses that phrase; and the description by which it is known is that of being the thing which stands to this sense-datum in a certain relation. That is to say, when I make such a judgment as "This inkstand is a good big one"; what I am really judging is: "There is a thing which stands to this in a certain relation, and which is an inkstand, and that thing is a good big one"—where "this" stands for this presented object. I am referring to or identifying the thing which is this inkstand, if there be such a thing at all, only as the thing which stands to this sense-datum in a certain relation; and hence my judgment, though in one sense it may be said to be a judgment about the inkstand, is quite certainly also, in another sense, a judgment about this sense-datum. This seems to me so clear, that I wonder how anyone can deny it; and perhaps nobody would. But I cannot help thinking that it is not clear to everybody; partly because, so far as I can make out, nobody before Mr. Russell had pointed out the extreme difference there is between a judgment about a thing known only by description to the individual who makes the judgment, and a judgment about a thing not known to him only in this way; and partly because so many people seem still utterly to have failed to understand what the distinction is which he expresses in this way. I will try to make the point clear, in a slightly different way. Suppose I am seeing two coins, lying side by side, and am not perceiving them in any other way except by sight. It will be plain to everybody, I think, that, when I identify the one as "This one" and the other as "That one," I identify them only by reference to the two visual presented objects, which correspond respectively to the one and to the other. But what may not, I think, be realised, is that the sense in which I identify them by reference to the corresponding sense-data, is one which involves that every judgment which I make about the one is a judgment about the sense-datum which corresponds to it, and every judgment I make about the other, a judgment about the sense-datum which corresponds to it: I simply cannot make a judgment about either, which is not a judgment about the corresponding sense-datum. But if the two coins were given to me, in the sense in which the two sense-data are, this would certainly not be the case. I can identify and distinguish the two sense-data directly, this as this one, and that as that one: I do not need to identify either as the thing which has this relation to this other thing. But I certainly cannot thus directly identify the two coins. I have not four things presented to me (1) this sense-datum, (2) that sense-datum, (3) this coin, and (4) that coin, but two only—this sense-datum and that sense-datum. When, therefore, I judge "This is a coin," my judgment is certainly a judgment about the one sense-datum, and when I judge "And that is also a coin," it is certainly a judgment about the other. Only, in spite of what my language might seem to imply, I am certainly not judging either of the one sense-datum that it is a whole coin, nor yet of the other that it is one.

This, then, seems to me fundamentally certain about judgments of this kind. Whenever we make such a judgment we can easily pick out an object (whether we call it a sensation or a sense-datum, or not), which is, in an easily intelligible sense, the object which is the real or ultimate subject of our judgment; and yet, in many cases at all events, what we are judging with regard to this object is certainly not that it is an object of the kind, for which the term which appears to express the predicate of our judgment is a name.

But if this be so, what is it that I am judging, in all such cases, about the presented object, which is the real or ultimate subject of my judgment? It is at this point that we come to questions which seem to me to be really uncertain and difficult to answer.

To begin with, there is one answer which is naturally suggested by the reason I have given for saying that, in this case, it is quite obvious that I am not judging, with regard to this presented object, that it is an inkstand, whereas it is not in the same way, quite obvious that, in making such a judgment as "This is a soap-bubble" or "This is a drop of water," I may not be judging, of the object about which my judgment is, that that very object really is a soap-bubble or a drop of water. The reason I gave is that it is quite obvious that I do not take this presented object to be a whole inkstand: that, at most, I only take it to be part of the surface of an inkstand. And this reason naturally suggests that the true answer to our question may be that what I am judging of the presented object is just that it is a part of the surface of an inkstand. This answer seems to me to be obviously on quite a different level from the suggestion that I am judging it really to be an inkstand. It is not childishly obvious that I am not judging it to be part of the surface of an inkstand, as it is that I am not judging it to be an inkstand—a whole one.

On this view, when I say such things as "That is an inkstand," "That is a door," "This is a coin," these expressions would really only be a loose way of saying "That is part of the surface of an inkstand," "That is part of the surface of a door," "This is part of the surface of a coin." And there would, I think, plainly be nothing surprising in the fact that we should use language thus loosely. What, at first sight, appears to be a paradox, namely that, whereas I appear to be asserting of a given thing that it is of a certain kind, I am not really asserting of the thing in question that it is of that kind at all, would be susceptible of an easy explanation. And moreover, if this view were true, it would offer an excellent illustration of the difference between a thing known only by description and a thing not so known, and would show how entirely free from mystery that distinction is. On this view, when I judge "That inkstand is a good big one" I shall in effect be judging: "There is one and only one inkstand of which this is part of the surface, and the inkstand of which this is true is a good big one." It would be quite clear that the part of the surface of the inkstand was given to me in a sense in which the whole was not, just as it is in fact clear that I do now "see" this part of the surface of this inkstand, in a sense in which I do not "see" the whole; and that my judgment, while it is, in fact, about both the whole inkstand, and also about one particular part of its surface, is about them in two entirely different senses.

This view is one, which it is at first sight, I think, very natural to suppose to be true. But before giving the reasons, why, nevertheless, it seems to me extremely doubtful, I think it is desirable to try to explain more precisely what I mean by it. The word "part" is one which is often used extremely vaguely in philosophy; and I can imagine that some people would be willing to assent to the proposition that this sense-datum really is, in some sense or other, a "part" of this inkstand, and that what I am judging with regard to it, when I judge "This is an inkstand," is, in effect, "There is an inkstand, of which this is a part," who would be far from allowing that this can possibly be what I am judging, when once they understand what the sense is in which I am here using the word "part." What this sense is, I am quite unable to define; but I hope I may be able to make my meaning sufficiently clear, by giving instances of things which are undoubtedly "parts" of other things in the sense in question. There is, it seems to me, a sense of the word "part," in which we all constantly use the word with perfect precision, and, which, therefore, we all understand very well, however little we may be able to define it. It is the sense in which the trunk of any tree is undoubtedly a part of that tree; in which this finger of mine is undoubtedly a part of my hand, and my hand a part of my body. This is a sense in which every part of a material thing or physical object is itself a material thing or physical object; and it is, so far as I can see, the only proper sense in which a material thing can be said to have parts. The view which I wish to discuss is the view that I am judging this presented object to be a part of an inkstand, in this sense. And the nature of the view can perhaps be brought out more clearly, by mentioning one important corollary which would follow from it. I am, of course, at this moment, seeing many parts of the surface of this inkstand. But all these parts, except one, are, in fact, themselves parts of that one. That one is the one of which we should naturally speak as "the part of the surface that I am now seeing" or as "this part of the surface of this inkstand." There is only one part of the surface of this inkstand, which does thus contain, as parts, all the other parts that I am now seeing. And, if it were true that I am judging this presented object to be a part of the surface of an inkstand at all, in the sense I mean, it would follow that this presented object must, if my judgment "This is an inkstand" be true (as it certainly is), be identical with this part, which contains all the other parts which I am seeing; since there is plainly no other part with which it could possibly be identified. That is to say, if I am really judging of this presented object that it is part of the surface of an inkstand, in the sense I mean, it must be the case that everything which is true of what I should call "this part of the surface of this inkstand" is, in fact, true of this presented object.