Temple Bailey - "Contrary Mary"

Henry Van Dyke - "The Story of the Other Wise Man"

Various - "More Translations from the Chinese"

R. E. N. (Richard) Twopeny - "Town Life in Australia"

Books of The Times: Voters Are Red, Voters Are Blue
Annette Gordon-Reed won the National Book Award for nonfiction for “The Hemingses of Monticello: An American Family,” while Peter Matthiessen won the fiction award for “Shadow Country.”

Book Prizes Awarded With Nod to History
In P. D. James’s latest exercise in impeccable detection, a muckraking London journalist worms her way into a private clinic on a country estate — and ends up the victim of a ghastly murder.

Books of The Times: Despite a Ghastly Murder, Remember Your Manners
New books by Wally Lamb, Kate Jacobs, Dean Koontz, Mark Barrowcliffe and Julia Leigh.

George Stuart Fullerton - An Introduction to Philosophy

G >> George Stuart Fullerton >> An Introduction to Philosophy




20. REAL THINGS.--And what is this _real tree_ that we are supposed to
see as it is when we are close to it?

About two hundred years ago the philosopher Berkeley pointed out that
the distinction commonly made between things as they look, the
apparent, and things as they are, the real, is at bottom the
distinction between things as presented to the sense of sight and
things as presented to the sense of touch. The acute analysis which he
made has held its own ever since.

We have seen that, in walking towards the tree, we have a long series
of visual experiences, each of which differs more or less from all of
the others. Nevertheless, from the beginning of our progress to the
end, we say that we are looking at the same tree. The images change
color and grow larger. We do not say that the tree changes color and
grows larger. Why do we speak as we do? It is because, all along the
line, we mean by the real tree, not what is given to the sense of
sight, but something for which this stands as a sign. This something
must be given in our experience somewhere, we must be able to perceive
it under some circumstances or other, or it would never occur to us to
recognize the visual experiences as _signs_, and we should never say
that in being conscious of them in succession we are looking at the
same tree. They are certainly not the same with each other; how can we
know that they all stand for the same thing, unless we have had
experience of a connection of the whole series with one thing?

This thing for which so many different visual experiences may serve as
signs is the thing revealed in experiences of touch. When we ask: In
what direction is the tree? How far away is the tree? How big is the
tree? we are always referring to the tree revealed in touch. It is
nonsense to say that _what we see_ is far away, if by what we see we
mean the visual experience itself. As soon as we move we lose that
visual experience and get another, and to recover the one we lost we
must go back where we were before. When we say we see a tree at a
distance, we must mean, then, that we know from certain visual
experiences which we have that by moving a certain distance we will be
able to touch a tree. And what does it mean to move a certain
distance? In the last analysis it means to us to have a certain
quantity of movement sensations.

Thus the real world of things, for which experiences of sight serve as
signs, is a world revealed in experiences of touch and movement, and
when we speak of real positions, distances, and magnitudes, we are
always referring to this world. But this is a world revealed in our
experience, and it does not seem a hopeless task to discover what may
properly be called real and what should be described as merely
apparent, when both the real and the apparent are open to our
inspection.

Can we not find in this analysis a satisfactory explanation of the
plain man's claim that under certain circumstances he sees the tree as
it is and under others he does not? What he is really asserting is
that one visual experience gives him better information regarding the
real thing, the touch thing, than does another.

But what shall we say of his claim that the tree is really green, and
only looks blue under certain circumstances? Is it not just as true
that the tree only looks green under certain circumstances? Is color
any part of the touch thing? Is it ever more than a sign of the touch
thing? How can one color be more real than another?

Now, we may hold to Berkeley's analysis and maintain that, in general,
the real world, as contrasted with the apparent, means to us the world
that is revealed in experiences of touch and movement; and yet we may
admit that the word "real" is sometimes used in rather different senses.

It does not seem absurd for a woman to Say: This piece of silk really
is yellow; it only looks white under this light. We all admit that a
white house may look pink under the rays of the setting sun, and we
never call it a pink house. We have seen that it is not unnatural to
say: That tree is really green; it is only its distance that makes it
look blue.

When one reflects upon these uses of the word "real," one recognizes
the fact that, among all the experiences in which things are revealed
to us, certain experiences impress us as being more prominent or
important or serviceable than certain others, and they come to be
called _real_. Things are not commonly seen by artificial light; the
sun is not always setting; the tree looks green when it is seen most
satisfactorily. In each case, the real color of the thing is the color
that it has under circumstances that strike us as normal or as
important. We cannot say that we always regard as most real that
aspect under which we most commonly perceive things, for if a more
unusual experience is more serviceable and really gives us more
information about the thing, we give the preference to that. Thus we
look with the naked eye at a moving speck on the table before us, and
we are unable to distinguish its parts. We place a microscope over the
speck and perceive an insect with all its members. The second
experience is the more unusual one, but would not every one say: Now we
perceive the thing _as it is_?

21. ULTIMATE REAL THINGS.--Let us turn away from the senses of the word
"real," which recognize one color or taste or odor as more real than
another, and come back to the real world of things presented in
sensations of touch. All other classes of sensations may be regarded
as related to this as the series of visual experiences above mentioned
was related to the one tree which was spoken of as revealed in them
all, the touch tree of which they gave information.

Can we say that this world is always to be regarded as reality and
never as appearance? We have already seen (section 8) that science
does not regard as anything more than appearance the real things which
seem to be directly presented in our experience.

This pen that I hold in my hand seems, as I pass my fingers over it, to
be continuously extended. It does not appear to present an alternation
of filled spaces and empty spaces. I am told that it is composed of
molecules in rapid motion and at considerable distances from one
another. I am further told that each molecule is composed of atoms,
and is, in its turn, not a continuous thing, but, so to speak, a group
of little things.

If I accept this doctrine, as it seems I must, am I not forced to
conclude that the reality which is given in my experience, the reality
with which I have contrasted appearances and to which I have referred
them, is, after all, itself only an appearance? The touch things which
I have hitherto regarded as the real things that make up the external
world, the touch things for which all my visual experiences have served
as signs, are, then, not themselves real external things, but only the
appearances under which real external things, themselves imperceptible,
manifest themselves to me.

It seems, then, that I do not directly perceive any real thing, or, at
least, anything that can be regarded as more than an appearance. What,
then, is the external world? What are things really like? Can we give
any true account of them, or are we forced to say with the skeptics
that we only know how things seem to us, and must abandon the attempt
to tell what they are really like?

Now, before one sets out to answer a question it is well to find out
whether it is a sensible question to ask and a sensible question to try
to answer. He who asks: Where is the middle of an infinite line? When
did all time begin? Where is space as a whole? does not deserve a
serious answer to his questions. And it is well to remember that he
who asks: What is the external world like? must keep his question a
significant one, if he is to retain his right to look for an answer at
all. He has manifestly no right to ask us: How does the external world
look when no one is looking? How do things feel when no one feels
them? How shall I think of things, not as I think of them, but as they
are?

If we are to give an account of the external world at all, it must
evidently be _an account_ of the external world; _i.e._ it must be
given in terms of our experience of things. The only legitimate
problem is to give a true account instead of a false one, to
distinguish between what only appears and is not real and what both
appears and is real.

Bearing this in mind, let us come back to the plain man's experience of
the world. He certainly seems to himself to perceive a real world of
things, and he constantly distinguishes, in a way very serviceable to
himself, between the merely apparent and the real. There is, of
course, a sense in which every experience is real; it is, at least, an
experience; but when he contrasts real and apparent he means something
more than this. Experiences are not relegated to this class or to that
merely at random, but the final decision is the outcome of a long
experience of the differences which characterize different individual
experiences and is an expression of the relations which are observed to
hold between them. Certain experiences are accepted as signs, and
certain others come to take the more dignified position of thing
signified; the mind rests in them and regards them as the real.

We have seen above that the world of real things in which the plain man
finds himself is a world of objects revealed in experiences of touch.
When he asks regarding anything: How far away is it? How big is it?
In what direction is it? it is always the touch thing that interests
him. What is given to the other senses is only a sign of this.

We have also seen (section 8) that the world of atoms and molecules of
which the man of science tells us is nothing more than a further
development of the world of the plain man. The real things with which
science concerns itself are, after all, only minute touch things,
conceived just as are the things with which the plain man is familiar.
They exist in space and move about in space, as the things about us are
perceived to exist in space and move about in space. They have size
and position, and are separated by distances. We do not _perceive_
them, it is true; but we _conceive_ them after the analogy of the
things that we do perceive, and it is not inconceivable that, if our
senses were vastly more acute, we might perceive them directly.

Now, when we conclude that the things directly perceptible to the sense
of touch are to be regarded as appearances, as signs of the presence of
these minuter things, do we draw such a conclusion arbitrarily? By no
means. The distinction between appearance and reality is drawn here
just as it is drawn in the world of our common everyday experiences.
The great majority of the touch things about us we are not actually
touching at any given moment. We only _see_ the things, _i.e._ we have
certain _signs_ of their presence. None the less we believe that the
things exist all the time. And in the same way the man of science does
not doubt the existence of the real things of which he speaks; he
perceives their _signs_. That certain experiences are to be taken as
signs of such realities he has established by innumerable observations
and careful deductions from those observations. To see the full force
of his reasonings one must read some work setting forth the history of
the atomic theory.

If, then, we ask the question: What is the real external world? it is
clear that we cannot answer it satisfactorily without taking into
consideration the somewhat shifting senses of the word "real." What is
the real external world to the plain man? It is the world of touch
things, of objects upon which he can lay his hands. What is the real
external world to the man of science? It is the world of atoms and
molecules, of minuter touch things that he cannot actually touch, but
which he conceives as though he could touch them.

It should be observed that the man of science has no right to deny the
real world which is revealed in the experience of the plain man. In
all his dealings with the things which interest him in common life, he
refers to this world just as the plain man does. He sees a tree and
walks towards it, and distinguishes between its real and its apparent
color, its real and its apparent size. He talks about seeing things as
they are, or not seeing things as they are. These distinctions in his
experience of things remain even after he has come to believe in atoms
and molecules.

Thus, the touch object, the tree as he feels it under his hand, may
come to be regarded as the sign of the presence of those entities that
science seems, at present, to regard as ultimate. Does this prevent it
from being the object which has stood as the interpreter of all those
diverse visual sensations that we have called different views of the
tree? They are still the appearances, and it, relatively to them, is
the reality. Now we find that it, in its turn, can be used as a sign
of something else, can be regarded as an appearance of a reality more
ultimate. It is clear, then, that the same thing may be regarded both
as appearance and as reality--appearance as contrasted with one thing,
and reality as contrasted with another.

But suppose one says: _I do not want to know what the real external
world is to this man or to that man; I want to know what the real
external world is_. What shall we say to such a demand?

There is a sense in which such a demand is not purely meaningless,
though it may not be a very sensible demand to make. We have seen that
an increase of knowledge about things compels a man to pass from the
real things of common life to the real things of science, and to look
upon the former as appearance. Now, a man may arbitrarily decide that
he will use the word "reality" to indicate only that which can never in
its turn be regarded as appearance, a reality which must remain an
ultimate reality; and he may insist upon our telling him about that.
How a man not a soothsayer can tell when he has come to ultimate
reality, it is not easy to see.

Suppose, however, that we could give any one such information. We
should then be telling him about things _as they are_, it is true, but
his knowledge of things would not be different in _kind_ from what it
was before. The only difference between such a knowledge of things and
a knowledge of things not known to be ultimate would be that, in the
former case, it would be recognized that no further extension of
knowledge was possible. The distinction between appearance and reality
would remain just what it was in the experience of the plain man.

22. THE BUGBEAR OF THE "UNKNOWABLE."--It is very important to recognize
that we must not go on talking about appearance and reality, as if our
words really meant something, when we have quite turned our backs upon
our experience of appearances and the realities which they represent.

That appearances and realities are connected we know very well, for we
perceive them to be connected. What we see, we can touch. And we not
only know that appearances and realities are connected, but we know
with much detail what appearances are to be taken as signs of what
realities. The visual experience which I call the house as seen from a
distance I never think of taking for a representative of the hat which
I hold in my hand. This visual experience I refer to its own
appropriate touch thing, and not to another. If what _looks like_ a
beefsteak could _really be_ a fork or a mountain or a kitten
indifferently,--but I must not even finish the sentence, for the words
"look like" and "could really be" lose all significance when we loosen
the bond between appearances and the realities to which they are
properly referred.

Each appearance, then, must be referred to some particular real thing
and not to any other. This is true of the appearances which we
recognize as such in common life, and it is equally true of the
appearances recognized as such in science. The pen which I feel
between my fingers I may regard as appearance and refer to a swarm of
moving atoms. But it would be silly for me to refer it to atoms "in
general." The reality to which I refer the appearance in question is a
particular group of atoms existing at a particular point in space. The
chemist never supposes that the atoms within the walls of his test-tube
are identical with those in the vial on the shelf. Neither in common
life nor in science would the distinction between appearances and real
things be of the smallest service were it not possible to distinguish
between this appearance and that, and this reality and that, and to
refer each appearance to its appropriate reality. Indeed, it is
inconceivable that, under such circumstances, the distinction should
have been drawn at all.

These points ought to be strongly insisted upon, for we find certain
philosophic writers falling constantly into a very curious abuse of the
distinction and making much capital of it. It is argued that what we
see, what we touch, what we conceive as a result of scientific
observation and reflection--all is, in the last analysis, material
which is given us in sensation. The various senses furnish us with
different classes of sensations; we work these up into certain
complexes. But sensations are only the impressions which something
outside of us makes upon us. Hence, although we seem to ourselves to
know the external world as it is, our knowledge can never extend beyond
the impressions made upon us. Thus, we are absolutely shut up to
_appearances_, and can know nothing about the _reality_ to which they
must be referred.

Touching this matter Herbert Spencer writes[1] as follows: "When we are
taught that a piece of matter, regarded by us as existing externally,
cannot be really known, but that we can know only certain impressions
produced on us, we are yet, by the relativity of thought, compelled to
think of these in relation to a cause--the notion of a real existence
which generated these impressions becomes nascent. If it be proved
that every notion of a real existence which we can frame is
inconsistent with itself,--that matter, however conceived by us, cannot
be matter as it actually is,--our conception, though transfigured, is
not destroyed: there remains the sense of reality, dissociated as far
as possible from those special forms under which it was before
represented in thought."

This means, in plain language, that we must regard everything we know
and can know as appearance and must refer it to an unknown reality.
Sometimes Mr. Spencer calls this reality the Unknowable, sometimes he
calls it the Absolute, and sometimes he allows it to pass by a variety
of other names, such as Power, Cause, etc. He wishes us to think of it
as "lying behind appearances" or as "underlying appearances."

Probably it has already been remarked that this Unknowable has brought
us around again to that amusing "telephone exchange" discussed in the
third chapter. But if the reader feels within himself the least
weakness for the Unknowable, I beg him to consider carefully, before he
pins his faith to it, the following:--

(1) If we do perceive external bodies, our own bodies and others, then
it is conceivable that we may have evidence from observation to the
effect that other bodies affecting our bodies may give rise to
sensations. In this case we cannot say that we know nothing but
sensations; we know real bodies as well as sensations, and we may refer
the sensations to the real bodies.

(2) If we do not perceive that we have bodies, and that our bodies are
acted upon by others, we have no evidence that what we call our
sensations are due to messages which come from "external things" and
are conducted along the nerves. It is then, absurd to talk of such
"external things" as though they existed, and to call them the reality
to which sensations, as appearances, must be referred,

(3) In other words, if there is perceived to be a telephone exchange
with its wires and subscribers, we may refer the messages received to
the subscribers, and call this, if we choose, a reference of appearance
to reality.

But if there is perceived no telephone exchange, and if it is concluded
that any wires or subscribers of which it means anything to speak must
be composed of what we have heretofore called "messages," then it is
palpably absurd to refer the "messages" as a whole to subscribers not
supposed to be composed of "messages"; and it is a blunder to go on
calling the things that we know "messages," as though we had evidence
that they came from, and must be referred to, something beyond
themselves.

We must recognize that, with the general demolition of the exchange, we
lose not only known subscribers, but the very notion of a subscriber.
It will not do to try to save from this wreck some "unknowable"
subscriber, and still pin our faith to him.

(4) We have seen that the relation of appearance to reality is that of
certain experiences to certain other experiences. When we take the
liberty of calling the Unknowable a _reality_, we blunder in our use of
the word. The Unknowable cannot be an experience either actual,
possible, or conceived as possible, and it cannot possibly hold the
relation to any of our experiences that a real thing of any kind holds
to the appearances that stand as its signs.

(5) Finally, no man has ever made an assumption more perfectly useless
and purposeless than the assumption of the Unknowable. We have seen
that the distinction between appearance and reality is a serviceable
one, and it has been pointed out that it would be of no service
whatever if it were not possible to refer particular appearances to
their own appropriate realities. The realities to which we actually
refer appearances serve to explain them. Thus, when I ask: Why do I
perceive that tree now as faint and blue and now as vivid and green?
the answer to the question is found in the notion of distance and
position in space; it is found, in other words, in a reference to the
real world of touch things, for which visual experiences serve as
signs. Under certain circumstances, the mountain _ought_ to be robed
in its azure hue, and, under certain circumstances, it _ought not_.
The circumstances in each case are open to investigation.

Now, let us substitute for the real world of touch things, which
furnishes the explanation of given visual experiences, that philosophic
fiction, that pseudo-real nonentity, the Unknowable. Now I perceive a
tree as faint and blue, now as bright and green; will a reference to
the Unknowable explain why the experiences differed? Was the
Unknowable in the one instance farther off in an unknowable space, and
in the other nearer? This, even if it means anything, must remain
unknowable. And when the chemist puts together a volume of chlorine
gas and a volume of hydrogen gas to get two volumes of hydrochloric
acid gas, shall we explain the change which has taken place by a
reference to the Unknowable, or shall we turn to the doctrine of atoms
and their combinations?

The fact is that no man in his senses tries to account for any
individual fact by turning for an explanation to the Unknowable. It is
a life-preserver by which some set great store, but which no man dreams
of using when he really falls into the water.

If, then, we have any reason to believe that there is a real external
world at all, we have reason to believe that we know what it is. That
some know it imperfectly, that others know it better, and that we may
hope that some day it will be known still more perfectly, is surely no
good reason for concluding that we do not know it at all.


[1] "First Principles," Part I, Chapter IV, section 26.




CHAPTER VI

OF SPACE

23. WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT IT.--The plain man may admit
that he is not ready to hazard a definition of space, but he is
certainly not willing to admit that he is wholly ignorant of space and
of its attributes. He knows that it is something in which material
objects have position and in which they move about; he knows that it
has not merely length, like a line, nor length and breadth, like a
surface, but has the three dimensions of length, breadth, and depth; he
knows that, except in the one circumstance of its position, every part
of space is exactly like every other part, and that, although objects
may move about in space, it is incredible that the spaces themselves
should be shifted about.

Those who are familiar with the literature of the subject know that it
has long been customary to make regarding space certain other
statements to which the plain man does not usually make serious
objection when he is introduced to them. Thus it is said:--

(1) The idea of space is _necessary_. We can think of objects in space
as annihilated, but we cannot conceive space to be annihilated. We can
clear space of things, but we cannot clear away space itself, even in
thought.

Copyright (c) 2007. topmasterworks.com. All rights reserved.