2. This leads us to a difficulty. For sometimes clearly I am active, where there is no idea proper, and, it might be added, even no limiting not-self. I will take the last point first, (a) Let us, for argu- ment's sake, imagine a case where, with no outside Other, and noconsciousness of an empty environment, the self feels expansion. In what sense can we dis- cover any not-self here? The answer is simple. The self, as existing, is that limit to itself which it transcends by activity. Let us call the self, as it is before the activity, A> and, while active, AB. But we have a third feature, the inner nature of A, which emerges in AB. This, as we saw, is the idea of the change, and we may hence write it b. We have, therefore, at the beginning not merely A, but in addition A qualified by b; and these are opposite to one another. The unqualified A is the not-self of A as identified with b; and the tension between Ab and A is the inner source of the change, 98 APPEARANCE.
which, of course, expands b to B, and by consequence, so far, A. We may, if we like these phrases, call activity the ideality of a thing carrying the thing be- yond its actual limit. But what is really important is the recognition that activity has no meaning, un- less in some sense we suppose an idea of the change • and that, as against this idea in which the self feels its interest, the actual condition of the self is a not- self. (6) And this, of course, opens a problem. For in some cases where the self apprehends itself as active, there seems at first sight to be no idea. But the problem is solved by the distinction between an idea which is explicit and an idea not explicit. The latter is ideal solely in the sense that its content is used beyond its existence.1 It might indeed be ar- gued that, when we predicate activity, the end is always transferred in idea to the beginning. That is doubtless true; but, when activity is merely felt, there will never be there an explicit idea. And, in the absence of this, I will try to explain what takes place. We have first a self which, as it exists, may be called Ac. This self becomes Acd, and is there- fore expanded. But bare expandedness is, of course, by itself not activity, and could not be so felt. And the mere alteration consequently, of Ac to Acd% would be felt only as a change, and as an addition made to the identical A. When these differences, c and d, are connected before the mind by the iden- tical A — and for the perception of change they must be connected — there is, so far, no action or passiv- ity, but a mere change which happens. This is not enough for activity, since we require also 8, the idea of d, in Ac; and this idea we do not have in an explicit form. But what, I think, suffices is this. Ac, which as a fact passes into Acd, and is felt so to pass by the perception of a relation of sequence, is also previously felt as AcS. That is, in the A, 1 Mind, 49, p. 23. And see bilow, Chapter xv., p. 163.
THE MEANINGS OF SELF. 99 apart from and before its actual change to d, we have the qualification AcS wavering and struggling against Ac. Ac suggests AcS, which is felt as one with it, and not as given to it by anything else. But this suggestion AcS, as soon as it arises, is checked by the negative, mere Ac, which maintains its posi- tion. A is therefore the site of a struggle of AcS against Ac. Each is felt in A as belonging to it and therefore as one; and there is no relation yet which serves as the solution of this discrepancy. Hence comes the feeling that A is, and yet is not, Acd. But when the relation of sequence seems to solve this contradiction, then the ensuing result is not felt as mere addition to Ac. It is felt as the success of Acd, which before was kept back by the stronger Ac. And thus, without any explicit idea, an idea is ac- tually applied; for there is a content which is used beyond and against existence. And this, I think, is the explanation of the earliest felt activity.
This brief account is naturally open to objections, but all that are not mere misunderstanding can, I believe, be fully met. The subject, however, belongs to psychology, and I must not here pursue it. The reader will have seen that I assume, for the percep- tion of change, the necessity of connecting the end with the beginning. This is effected by redintegra- tion from the identical A, and it is probably assisted at first by the after-sensation of the starting- place, persisting together with the result. And this I am obliged here to assume. Further, the realization of Acd must not be attached as an adjective to any- thing outside A, such as E. This would be fatal to the appearance of a feeling of activity. A must, for our feeling, be Acd\ and, again, that must be checked by the more dominant Ac. It must be unable to establish itself, and yet must struggle, — that is, oscillate and waver. Hence a wavering AcS, causing pleasure at each partial success, and re- sisted by Ac, which you may take, as you pi IOO APPEARANCE.
IOO APPEARANCE.
for its negative or its privation — this is what after- wards turns into that strange scandalous hybrid, potential existence. And S, as a content that is re- jected by existence, is on the highway to become an explicit idea. And with these too scanty ex- planations I must return from the excursion we have made into psychology.
(7) There is still another meaning of self which we can hardly pass by, though we need say very little about it at present.1 I refer to that use in which self is the same as the " mere self " or the " simply subjective." This meaning is not difficult to fix in general. Everything which is part of the individual's psychical contents, and which is not re- levant to a certain function, is mere self to that function. Thus, in thinking, everything in my mind — all sensations, feelings, ideas which do not subserve the thought in question — is unessential; and, because it is self, it is therefore mere self. So, again, in morality or in aesthetic perception, what stands outside these processes (if they are what they should be) is simply " subjective," because it is not concerned in the "object" of the process. Mere self is whatever part of the psychical individual is, for the purpose in hand, negative. It, at least, is irrelevant, and it may be even worse.
This in general is clearly the meaning, and it surely will give us no help in our present difficulties. The point which should be noticed is that it has no fixed application. For that which is "objective" and essential to one kind of purpose, may be irrele- vant and " subjective " to every other kind of pur- pose. And this distinction holds even among cases of the same kind. That feature, for example, which is essential to one moral act may be without signifi- cance for another, and may therefore be merely 1 See Chapter xix, THE MEANINGS OF SELF. IOI myself. In brief, there is nothing in a man which is not thus " objective " or " subjective," as the end which we are considering is from time to time changed. The self here stands for that which, for a present purpose, is the chance self. And it is obvious, if we compare this meaning with those which have preceded, that it does not coincide with them. It is at once too wide and too narrow. It is too wide, because nothing falls essentially outside it; and yet it is too narrow, because anything, so soon as you have taken that in reference to any kind of system, is at once excluded from the mere self. It is not the simply felt; for it is essentially qualified by negation. - It is that which, as against anything transcending mere feeling, remains outside as a residue. We might, if we pleased, call it what, by contrast, is only the felt. But then we must include under feeling every psychical fact, if con- sidered merely as such and as existing immediately. There is, however, here no need to dwell any further on this point.
I will briefly resume the results of this chapter We had found that our ideas as to the nature of things — as to substance and adjective, relation and quality, space and time, motion and activity — were in their essence indefensible. But we had heard somewhere a rumour that the self was to bring order into chaos. And we were curious first to know what this term might stand for. The present chapter has supplied us with an answer too plentiful. Self has turned out to mean so many things, to mean them so ambiguously, and to be so wavering in its applications, that we do not feel encouraged. We found, first, that a man's self might be his total present contents, discoverable on making an im- aginary cross section. Or it might be the average contents we should presume ourselves likely to find, together with something else which we call dis- 102 APPEARANCE.
102 APPEARANCE.
positions. From this we drifted into a search for the self as the essential point or area within the self; and we discovered that we really did not know what this was. Then we went on to perceive that, under personal identity, we entertained a confused bundle of conflicting ideas. Again the self, as merely that which for the time being interests, proved not satis- factory; and from this we passed to the distinction and the division of self as against the not-self. Here, in both the theoretical and again in the practical relation, we found that the self had no contents that were fixed; or it had, at least, none sufficient to make it a self. And in that connection we per- ceived the origin of our perception of activity. Finally, we dragged to the light another meaning of self, not coinciding with the others; and we saw that this designates any psychical fact which remains outside any purpose to which at any time psychical fact is being applied. In this sense self is the unused residue, defined negatively by want of use, and positively by feeling in the sense of mere psychical existence. And there was no matter which essentially fell, or did not fall, under this heading.
CHAPTER X.
THE REALITY OF SELF.
In the present chapter we must briefly inquire into the selfs reality. Naturally the self is a fact, to some extent and in some sense; and this, of course, is not the issue. The question is whether the self in any of its meanings can, as such, be real. We have found above that things seem essentially made of inconsistencies. And there is understood now to be a claim on the part of the self, not only to main- tain and to justify its own proper being, but, in addition, to rescue things from the condemnation we have passed on them. But the latter part of the claim may be left undiscussed. We shall find that the self has no power to defend its own reality from mortal objections.
It is the old puzzle as to the connection of diver- sity with unity. As the diversity becomes more complex and the unity grows more concrete, we have, so far, found that our difficulties steadily increase. And the expectation of a sudden change and a happy solution, when we arrive at the self, seems hence little warranted. And if we glance at the individual self, as we find it at one time, there seems at first sight no clear harmony which orders and unites its entangled confusion. At least, popular ideas are on this point visibly unavailing. The complexity of the phenomena, exhibited by a cross section, must be admitted to exist But how in any sense they can be one, even apart from 104 APPEARANCE.
104 APPEARANCE.
alteration, is a problem not attempted. And when the self changes in time, are we able to justify the inconsistency which most palpably appears, or, rather, stares us in the face? You may say that we are each assured of our personal identity in a way in which we are not assured of the sameness of things. But this is, unfortunately, quite irrelevant to the question. That selves exist, and are identical in some sense, is indubitable. But the doubt is whether their same- ness, as we apprehend it, is really intelligible, and whether it can be true in the character in which it comes to us. Because otherwise, while it will be certain that the self and its identity somehow belong to reality, it will be equally certain that this fact has somehow been essentially misapprehended. And our conclusion must be that, since, as such, it con- tradicts itself, this fact must, as such, be unreal. The self also will in the end be no more than ap- pearance.
This question turns, I presume, on the possibility of finding some special experience which will furnish a new point of view. It is, of course, ad- mitted that the self presents us with fresh matter, and with an increased complication. The point in debate is whether at the same time it supplies us with any key to the whole puzzle about reality. Does it give an experience by the help of which we can understand the way in which diversity is har- monized? Or, failing that, does it remove all necessity for such an understanding? I am con- vinced that both these questions must be answered in the negative.
(a) For mere feeling, to begin the inquiry with this, gives no answer to our riddle. It may be said truly that in feeling, if you take it low enough down, there is plurality with unity and without contradiction. There being no relations and no terms, and yet, on the other side, more than bare simplicity, we experience a concrete whole as THE REALITY OF SELF. IO5 actual fact. And this fact, it may be alleged, is the understanding of our self, or is, at least, that which is superior to and over-rides any mere intellectual criticism. It must be accepted for what it is, and its reality must be admitted by the intelligence as a unique revelation.
But no such claim can be maintained. I will begin by pointing out that feeling, if a revelation, is not exclusively or even specially a revelation of the self. For you must choose one of two things. Either you do not descend low enough to get rid of relations with all their inconsistency, or else you have reached a level where subject and object are in no sense distinguished, and where, therefore, neither self nor its opposite exists. Feeling, if taken as immediate presentation, most obviously gives features of what later becomes the environ- ment. And these are indivisibly one thing with what later becomes the self. Feeling, therefore, can be no unique or special revelation of the self, in distinction from any other element of the universe. Nor, even if feeling be used wrongly as equivalent to the aspect of pleasure or pain,1 need we much modify our conclusion. This is a point on which naturally I have seen a good many dogmatic asser- tions, but no argument that would bear a serious examination. Why in the case of a pleasant feeling — for example, that of warmth — the side of pleasure should belong to the self, and the side of sensation to the not-self (psychologically or logically), I really do not know. If we keep to facts, it seems clear that at the beginning no such distinction exists at all; and it is clear too that at the latest stage there are some elements within the not-self which retain their original aspect of pleasure or pain. And hence we must come to this result. We could 1 I think this confined use wrong, but it is, of course, legitimate. To ignore the existence of other uses is, on the other hand, in* excusable.
106 APPEARANCE.
make little metaphysical use of the doctrine that pleasure and pain belong solely to the self as distinct from the not-self. And the doctrine itself is quite without foundation. It is not even true that at first self and not-self exist. And though it is true that pleasure and pain are the main feature on which later this distinction is based, yet it is even then false that they may not belong to the object.
But, if we leave this error and return once more to feeling, in the sense of that which comes undif- ferentiated, we are forced to see that it cannot give the knowledge which we seek. It is an apprehen- sion too defective to lay hold on reality. In the first place, its content and its form are not in agree- ment; and this is manifest when feeling changes from moment to moment. Then the matter, which ought to come to us harmoniously and as one whole, becomes plainly discrepant within itself. The content exhibits its essential relativity. It depends, that is to say — in order to be what it is — upon some- thing not itself. Feeling ought to be something all in one and self-contained, if not simple. Its essence ought not to include matter the adjective of, and with a reference to, a foreign existence. It should be real, and should not be, in this sense, partly ideal. And the form of immediacy, in which it offers itself, implies this self-subsistent character. But in change the content slips away, and becomes some- thing else; while, again, change appears necessary and implied in its being. Mutability is a fact in the actual feeling which we experience, for that never continues at rest. And, if we examine the content at any one given moment, we perceive that, though it presents itself as self-subsistent, it is infected by a deep-seated relativity. And this will force itself into view, first in the experience of change, and later, for reflection. Again, in the second place, apart from this objection, and even if feeling were THE REALITY OF SELF. IO7 self-consistent, it would not suffice for a knowledge of reality. Reality, as it commonly appears, con- tains terms and relations, and indeed may be said to consist in these mainly. But the form of feeling (on the other side) is not above, but is below, the level of relations; and it therefore cannot possibly ex- press them or explain them. Hence it is idle to suppose, given relational matter as the object to be understood, that feeling will supply any way of understanding it. And this objection seems quite fatal. Thus we are forced beyond feeling, first by change, and then further by the relational form which remains obstinately outstanding. But, when once more we betake ourselves to reflection, we seem to have made no advance. For the incom- pleteness and relativity in the matter given by feeling become, when we reflect on them, open contradic- tion. The limitation is seen to be a reference to something beyond, and the self-subsistent fact shows ideality, and turns round into mere adjectives whose support we cannot find. Feeling can be, therefore, no solution of the puzzles which, so far, have proved to be insoluble. Its content is vitiated throughout by the old inconsistencies. It may be said even to thrust upon us, in a still more apparent form, the discrepancy that lies between identity and diversity, immediate oneness and relation.
(6) Thus mere feeling has no power to justify the self s reality, and naturally none to solve the prob- lems of the universe at large. But we may perhaps be more fortunate with some form of self-conscious- ness. That possibly may furnish us with a key to the self, and so also to the world; and let us briefly make an attempt. The prospect is certainly at first sight not very encouraging. For (i.) if we take the actual matter revealed by self-consciousness, that (in any sense in which it pleases us to understand self) seems quite inconsistent internally. If tin reader will recall the discussions of the preceding chapter, 108 APPEARANCE.
he may, I think, convince himself on this point. Take the self, either at one time or throughout any duration, and its contents do not seem to arrange themselves as a harmony. Nor have we, so far, found a principle by the application of which we are enabled to arrange them without contradiction, (ii.) But self-consciousness, we may be told, is a special way of intuition, or perception, or what you will. And this experience of both subject and object in one self, or of the identity of the Ego through and in the opposition of itself to itself, or generally the self-apprehension of the self as one and many, is at last the full answer to our whole series of riddles. But to my mind such an answer brings no satisfac- tion. For it seems liable to the objections which proved fatal to mere feeling. Suppose, for argu- ment's sake, that the intuition (as you describe it) actually exists; suppose that in this intuition, while you keep to it, you possess a diversity without dis- crepancy. This is one thing, but it is quite another thing to possess a principle which can serve for the understanding of reality. For how does this way of apprehension suffice to take in a long series of events? How again does it embrace, and transcend, and go beyond, the relational form of discursive intelligence? The world is surely not understood if understanding is left out. And in what manner can your intuition satisfy the claims of understand- ing? This, to my mind, forms a wholly insuperable obstacle. For the contents of the intuition (this many in one), if you try to reconstruct them relation- ally, fall asunder forthwith. And the attempt to find in self-consciousness an apprehension at a level, not below, but above relations — a way of apprehen- sion superior to discursive thought, and including its mere process in a higher harmony — appears to me not successful. I am, in short, compelled to this conclusion: even if your intuition is a fact, it is not an understanding of the self or of the world. It is a THE REALITY OF SELF. IO9 mere experience, and it furnishes no consistent view about itself or about reality in general. An experi- ence, I suppose, can override understanding only in one way, by including it, that is, as a subordinate element somehow within itself. And such an ex- perience is a thing which seems not discoverable in self-consciousness.
And (iii.) I am forced to urge this last objection against the whole form of self-consciousness, as it was described above. There does not really exist any perception, either in which the object and the subject are quite the same, or in which their same- ness amid difference is an object for perception. Any such consciousness would seem to be impossible psychologically. And, as it is almost useless for me to try to anticipate the reader's views on this point, I must content myself with a very brief statement. Self-consciousness, as distinct from self-feeling, im- plies a relation. It is the state where the self has become an object that stands before the mind. This means that an element is in opposition to the felt mass, and is distinguished from it as a not-self. And there is no doubt that the self, in its various mean- ings, can become such a not-self. But, in whichever of its meanings we intend to consider it, the result is the same. The object is never wholly identical with the subject, and the background of feeling must contain a great deal more than what we at any time can perceive as the self. And I confess that I scarcely know how to argue this point. To me the idea that the whole self can be observed in one per- ception would be merely chimerical. I find, first, that in the felt background there remains an obscure residue of internal sensation, which I perhaps at no time can distinguish as an object. And this felt background at any moment will almost certainly contain also elements from outer sensation. On the other hand, the self, as an object, will at any one time embrace but a poor extent of detail. It is HO APPEARANCE.
palpably and flagrantly much more narrow than the background felt as self. And in order to exhaust this felt mass (if indeed exhaustion is possible) we require a series of patient observations, in none of which will the object be as full as the subject.1 To have the felt self in its totality as an object for con- sciousness seems out of the question. And I would further ask the reader to bear in mind that, where the self is observed as in opposition to the not-self, this whole relation is included within that felt back- ground, against which, on the other hand, the distinction takes place.