SUBJECTIVISM

Sec. When, in the year 1710, Bishop Berkeley maintained the thesis of empirical idealism, having rediscovered it and announced it with a justifiable sense of originality, he provoked a kind of critical judgment that was keenly annoying if not entirely surprising to him. In refuting the conception of material substance and demonstrating the dependence of being upon mind, he at once sought, as he did repeatedly in later years, to establish the world of practical belief, and so to reconcile metaphysics and common-sense. Yet he found himself hailed as a fool and a sceptic. In answer to an inquiry concerning the reception of his book in London, his friend Sir John Percival wrote as follows:

“I did but name the subject matter of your book of Principles to some ingenious friends of mine and they immediately treated it with ridicule, at the same time refusing to read it, which I have not yet got one to do. A physician of my acquaintance undertook to discover your person, and argued you must needs be mad, and that you ought to take remedies. A bishop pitied you, that a desire of starting something new should put you upon such an undertaking. Another told me that you are not gone so far as another gentleman in town, who asserts not only that there is no such thing as Matter, but that we ourselves have no being at all."

There can be no doubt but that the idea of the dependence of real things upon their appearance to the individual is a paradox to common-sense. It is a paradox because it seems to reverse the theoretical instinct itself, and to define the real in those very terms which disciplined thought learns to neglect. In the early history of thought the nature of the thinker himself is recognized as that which is likely to distort truth rather than that which conditions it. When the wise man, the devotee of truth, first makes his appearance, his authority is acknowledged because he has renounced himself. As witness of the universal being he purges himself of whatever is peculiar to his own individuality, or even to his human nature. In the aloofness of his meditation he escapes the cloud of opinion and prejudice that obscures the vision of the common man. In short, the element of belief dependent upon the thinker himself is the dross which must be refined away in order to obtain the pure truth. When, then, in the critical epoch of the Greek sophists, Protagoras declares that there is no belief that is not of this character, his philosophy is promptly recognized as scepticism. Protagoras argues that sense qualities are clearly dependent upon the actual operations of the senses, and that all knowledge reduces ultimately to these terms.

“The senses are variously named hearing, seeing, smelling; there is the sense of heat, cold, pleasure, pain, desire, fear, and many more which are named, as well as innumerable others which have no name; with each of them there is born an object of sense, all sorts of colors born with all sorts of sight and sounds in like manner with hearing, and other objects with the other senses."

If the objects are “born with” the senses, it follows that they are born with and appertain to the individual perceiver.

“Either show, if you can, that our sensations are not relative and individual, or, if you admit that they are individual, prove that this does not involve the consequence that the appearance becomes, or, if you like to say, is to the individual only."

The same motif is thus rendered by Walter Pater in the Conclusion of his “Renaissance”:

“At first sight experience seems to bury us under a flood of external objects, pressing upon us with a sharp and importunate reality, calling us out of ourselves in a thousand forms of action. But when reflexion begins to act upon those objects they are dissipated under its influence; the cohesive force seems suspended like a trick of magic; each object is loosed into a group of impressions color, odor, texture in the mind of the observer. . . . Experience, already reduced to a swarm of impressions, is ringed round for each one of us by that thick wall of personality through which no real voice has ever pierced on its way to us, or from us to that which we can only conjecture to be without. Every one of these impressions is the impression of the individual in his isolation, each mind keeping as a solitary prisoner its own dream of a world.”

The Protagorean generalization is due to the reflection that all experience is some individual experience, that no subject of discourse escapes the imputation of belonging to some individual’s private history. The individual must start with his own experiences and ideas, and he can never get beyond them, for he cannot see outside his own vision, or even think outside his own mind. The scepticism of this theory is explicit, and the formulas of Protagoras the famous “Man is the measure of all things,” and the more exact formula, “The truth is what appears to each man at each time" have been the articles of scepticism throughout the history of thought.

Sec. There is, therefore, nothing really surprising in the reception accorded the “new philosophy” of Bishop Berkeley. A sceptical relativism is the earliest phase of subjectivism, and its avoidance at once becomes the most urgent problem of any philosophy which proposes to proceed forth from this principle. And this problem Berkeley meets with great adroitness and a wise recognition of difficulties. But his sanguine temperament and speculative interest impel him to what he regards as the extension of his first principle, the reintroduction of the conception of substance under the form of spirit, and of the objective order of nature under the form of the mind of God. In short, there are two motives at work in him, side by side: the epistemological motive, restricting reality to perceptions and thoughts, and the metaphysical-religious motive, leading him eventually to the definition of reality in terms of perceiving and thinking spirits. And from the time of Berkeley these two principles, phenomenalism and spiritualism, have remained as distinct and alternating phases of subjectivism. The former is its critical and dialectical conception, the latter its constructive and practical conception.

Sec. As phenomenalism has its classic statement and proof in the writings of Berkeley, we shall do well to return to these. The fact that this philosopher wished to be regarded as the prophet of common-sense has already been mentioned. This purpose reveals itself explicitly in the series of “Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous.” The form in which Berkeley here advances his thesis is further determined by the manner in which the lines were drawn in his day of thought. The world of enlightened public opinion was then threefold, consisting of God, physical nature, and the soul. In the early years of the seventeenth century Descartes had sharply distinguished between the two substances mind, with its attribute of thought; and body, with its attribute of extension and divided the finite world between them. God was regarded as the infinite and sustaining cause of both. Stated in the terms of epistemology, the object of clear thinking is the physical cosmos, the subject of clear thinking the immortal soul. The realm of perception, wherein the mind is subjected to the body, embarrasses the Cartesian system, and has no clear title to any place in it. And without attaching cognitive importance to this realm, the system is utterly dogmatic in its epistemology. For what one substance thinks, must be assumed to be somehow true of another quite independent substance without any medium of communication. Now between Descartes and Berkeley appeared the sober and questioning “Essay Concerning Human Understanding,” by John Locke. This is an interesting combination (they cannot be said to blend) of traditional metaphysics and revolutionary epistemology. The universe still consists of God, the immortal thinking soul, and a corporeal nature, the object of its thought. But, except for certain proofs of God and self, knowledge is entirely reduced to the perceptual type, to sensations, or ideas directly imparted to the mind by the objects themselves. To escape dogmatism it is maintained that the real is what is observed to be present. But Locke thinks the qualities so discovered belong in part to the perceiver and in part to the substance outside the mind. Color is a case of the former, a “secondary quality”; and extension a case of the latter, a “primary quality.” And evidently the above empirical test of knowledge is not equally well met in these two cases. When I see a red object I know that red exists, for it is observed to be present, and I make no claim for it beyond the present. But when I note that the red object is square, I am supposed to know a property that will continue to exist in the object after I have closed my eyes or turned to something else. Here my claim exceeds my observation, and the empirical principle adopted at the outset would seem to be violated. Berkeley develops his philosophy from this criticism. His refutation of material substance is intended as a full acceptance of the implications of the new empirical epistemology. Knowledge is to be all of the perceptual type, where what is known is directly presented; and, in conformity with this principle, being is to be restricted to the content of the living pulses of experience.

Sec. Berkeley, then, beginning with the threefold world of Descartes and of common-sense, proposes to apply Locke’s theory of knowledge to the discomfiture of corporeal nature. It was a radical doctrine, because it meant for him and for his contemporaries the denial of all finite objects outside the mind. But at the same time it meant a restoration of the homogeneity of experience, the re-establishment of the qualitative world of every-day living, and so had its basis of appeal to common-sense. The encounter between Hylas, the advocate of the traditional philosophy, and Philonous, who represents the author himself, begins with an exchange of the charge of innovation.

Hyl. I am glad to find there was nothing in the accounts I
heard of you.

Phil. Pray, what were those?

Hyl. You were represented, in last night’s conversation, as one who maintained the most extravagant opinion that ever entered into the mind of man, to wit, that there is no such thing as material substance in the world.

Phil. That there is no such thing as what philosophers call material substance, I am seriously persuaded: but if I were made to see anything absurd or sceptical in this, I should then have the same reason to renounce this that I imagine I have now to reject the contrary opinion.

Hyl. What! can anything be more fantastical, more repugnant
to Common-Sense, or a more manifest piece of Scepticism, than
to believe there is no such thing as matter?

Phil. Softly, good Hylas. What if it should prove that you, who hold there is, are, by virtue of that opinion, a greater sceptic, and maintain more paradoxes and répugnances to Common-Sense, than I who believe no such thing?

Philonous now proceeds with his case. Beginning by obtaining from Hylas the admission that pleasure and pain are essentially relative and subjective, he argues that sensations such as heat, since they are inseparable from these feelings, must be similarly regarded. And he is about to annex other qualities in turn to this core of subjectivity, when Hylas enters a general demurrer:

“Hold, Philonous, I now see what it was deluded me all this time. You asked me whether heat and cold, sweetness and bitterness, were not particular sorts of pleasure and pain; to which I answered simply that they were. Whereas I should have thus distinguished: those qualities as perceived by us, are pleasures or pains; but not as existing in the external objects. We must not therefore conclude absolutely, that there is no heat in the fire, or sweetness in the sugar, but only that heat or sweetness, as perceived by us, are not in the fire or sugar."

Sec. Here the argument touches upon profound issues. Philonous now assumes the extreme empirical contention that knowledge applies only to its own psychological moment, that its object in no way extends beyond that individual situation which we call the state of knowing. The full import of such an epistemology Berkeley never recognized, but he is clearly employing it here, and the overthrow of Hylas is inevitable so long as he does not challenge it or turn it against his opponent. This, however, as a protagonist of Berkeley’s own making, he fails to do, and he plays into Philonous’s hands by admitting that what is known only in perception must for that reason consist in perception. He frankly owns “that it is vain to stand out any longer,” that “colors, sounds, tastes, in a word, all those termed secondary qualities, have certainly no existence without the mind."

Hylas has now arrived at the distinction between primary and secondary qualities. “Extension, Figure, Solidity, Gravity, Motion, and Rest” are the attributes of an external substance which is the cause of sensations. But the same epistemological principle readily reduces these also to dependence on mind, for, like the secondary qualities, their content is given only in perception. Hylas is then driven to defend a general material substratum, which is the cause of ideas, but to which none of the definite content of these ideas can be attributed. In short, he has put all the content of knowledge on the one side, and admitted its inseparability from the perceiving spirit, and left the being of things standing empty and forlorn on the other. This amounts, as Philonous reminds him, to the denial of the reality of the known world.

“You are therefore, by your principles, forced to deny the reality of sensible things; since you made it to consist in an absolute existence exterior to the mind. That is to say, you are a downright sceptic. So I have gained my point, which was to show your principles led to Scepticism."

Sec. Having advanced the direct empiricist argument for phenomenalism, Berkeley now gives the rationalistic motive an opportunity to express itself in the queries of Hylas as to whether there be not an “absolute extension,” somehow abstracted by thought from the relativities of perception. Is there not at least a conceivable world independent of perception?

The answers of Philonous throw much light upon the Berkeleyan position. He admits that thought is capable of separating the primary from the secondary qualities in certain operations, but at the same time denies that this is forming an idea of them as separate.

“I acknowledge, Hylas, it is not difficult to form general propositions and reasonings about those qualities, without mentioning any other; and, in this sense, to consider or treat of them abstractedly. But, how doth it follow that, because I can pronounce the word motion by itself, I can form the idea of it in my mind exclusive of body? or, because theorems may be made of extension and figures, without any mention of great or small, or any other sensible mode or quality, that therefore it is possible such an abstract idea of extension, without any particular size or figure, or sensible quality, should be distinctly formed, and apprehended by the mind? Mathematicians treat of quantity, without regarding what other sensible qualities it is attended with, as being altogether indifferent to their demonstrations. But, when laying aside the words, they contemplate the bare ideas, I believe you will find, they are not the pure abstracted ideas of extension."

Berkeley denies that we have ideas of pure extension or motion, because, although we do actually deal with these and find them intelligible, we can never obtain a state of mind in which they appear as the content. He applies this psychological test because of his adherence to the general empirical postulate that knowledge is limited to the individual content of its own individual states. “It is a universally received maxim,” he says, “that everything which exists is particular.” Now the truth of mathematical reckoning is not particular, but is valid wherever the conditions to which it refers are fulfilled. Mathematical reckoning, if it is to be particular, must be regarded as a particular act or state of some thinker. Its truth must then be construed as relative to the interests of the thinker, as a symbolism which has an instrumental rather than a purely cognitive value. This conclusion cannot be disputed short of a radical stand against the general epistemological principle to which Berkeley is so far true, the principle that the reality which is known in any state of thinking or perceiving is the state itself.

Sec. This concludes the purely phenomenalistic strain of Berkeley’s thought. He has taken the immediate apprehension of sensible objects in a state of mind centring about the pleasure and pain of an individual, to be the norm of knowledge. He has further maintained that knowledge cannot escape the particularity of its own states. The result is that the universe is composed of private perceptions and ideas. Strictly on the basis of what has preceded, Hylas is justified in regarding this conclusion as no less sceptical than that to which his own position had been reduced; for while he had been compelled to admit that the real is unknowable, Philonous has apparently defined the knowable as relative to the individual. But the supplementary metaphysics which had hitherto been kept in the background is now revealed. It is maintained that though perceptions know no external world, they do nevertheless reveal a spiritual substance of which they are the states. Although it has hitherto been argued that the esse of things is in their percipi, this is now replaced by the more fundamental principle that the esse of things is in their percipere or velle. The real world consists not in perceptions, but in perceivers.

Sec. Now it is at once evident that the epistemological theory which has been Berkeley’s dialectical weapon in the foregoing argument is no longer available. And those who have cared more for this theory than for metaphysical speculation have attempted to stop at this point, and so to construe phenomenalism as to make it self-sufficient on its own grounds. Such attempts are so instructive as to make it worth our while to review them before proceeding with the development of the spiritualistic motive in subjectivism.

The world is to be regarded as made up of sense-perceptions, ideas, or phenomena. What is to be accepted as the fundamental category which gives to all of these terms their subjectivistic significance? So far there seems to be nothing in view save the principle of relativity. The type to which these were reduced was that of the peculiar or unsharable experience best represented by an individual’s pleasure and pain. But relativity will not work as a general principle of being. It consigns the individual to his private mind, and cannot provide for the validity of knowledge enough even to maintain itself. Some other course, then, must be followed. Perception may be given a psycho-physical definition, which employs physical terms as fundamental; but this flagrantly contradicts the phenomenalistic first principle. Or, reality may be regarded as so stamped with its marks as to insure the proprietorship of thought. But this definition of certain objective entities of mind, of beings attributed to intelligence because of their intrinsic intelligibility, is inconsistent with empiricism, if indeed it does not lead eventually to a realism of the Platonic type. Finally, and most commonly, the terms of phenomenalism have been retained after their original meaning has been suffered to lapse. The “impressions” of Hume, e. g., are the remnant of the Berkeleyan world with the spirit stricken out. There is no longer any point in calling them impressions, for they now mean only elements or qualities. As a consequence this outgrowth of the Berkeleyanism epistemology is at present merging into a realistic philosophy of experience. Any one, then, of these three may be the last state of one who undertakes to remain exclusively faithful to the phenomenalistic aspect of Berkeleyanism, embodied in the principle esse est percipi.

Sec. Let us now follow the fortunes of the other phase of subjectivism that which develops the conception of the perceiver rather than the perceived. When Berkeley holds that

“all the choir of heaven and furniture of the Earth, in a
word, all those bodies which compose the mighty frame of the
world, have not any subsistence without a Mind,”

his thought has transcended the epistemology with which he overthrew the conception of material substance, in two directions. For neither mind of the finite type nor mind of the divine type is perceived. But the first of these may yet be regarded as a direct empirical datum, even though sharply distinguished from an object of perception. In the third dialogue, Philonous thus expounds this new kind of knowledge:

“I own I have properly no idea, either of God or any other spirit; for these being active, cannot be represented by things perfectly inert, as our ideas are. I do nevertheless know that I, who am a spirit or thinking substance, exist as certainly as I know my ideas exist. Farther, I know what I mean by the terms I and myself; and I know this immediately or intuitively, though I do not perceive it as I perceive a triangle, a color, or a sound."

The knowledge here provided for may be regarded as empirical because the reality in question is an individual present in the moment of the knowledge. Particular acts of perception are said directly to reveal not only perceptual objects, but perceiving subjects. And the conception of spiritual substance, once accredited, may then be extended to account for social relations and to fill in the nature of God. The latter extension, in so far as it attributes such further predicates as universality and infinity, implies still a third epistemology, and threatens to pass over into rationalism. But the knowledge of one’s fellow-men may, it is claimed, be regarded as immediate, like the knowledge of one’s self. Perceptual and volitional activity has a sense for itself and also a sense for other like activity. The self is both self-conscious and socially conscious in an immediate experience of the same type.

Sec. But this general spiritualistic conception is developed with less singleness of purpose in Berkeley than among the voluntarists and panpsychists who spring from Schopenhauer, the orientalist, pessimist, and mystic among the German Kantians of the early nineteenth century. His great book, “Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung,” opens with the phenomenalistic contention that “the world is my idea.” It soon appears, however, that the “my” is more profoundly significant than the “idea.” Nature is my creation, due to the working within me of certain fixed principles of thought, such as space, time, and causality. But nature, just because it is my creation, is less than me: is but a manifestation of the true being for which I must look within myself. But this inner self cannot be made an object of thought, for that would be only to create another term of nature. The will itself, from which such creation springs, is “that which is most immediate” in one’s consciousness, and “makes itself known in a direct manner in its particular acts.” The term will is used by Schopenhauer as a general term covering the whole dynamics of life, instinct and desire, as well as volition. It is that sense of life-preserving and life-enhancing appetency which is the conscious accompaniment of struggle. With its aid the inwardness of the whole world may now be apprehended.

“Whoever has now gained from all these expositions a knowledge in abstracto, and therefore clear and certain, of what everyone knows directly in concreto, i. e., as feeling, a knowledge that his will is the real inner nature of his phenomenal being, . . . and that his will is that which is most immediate in his consciousness, . . . will find that of itself it affords him the key to the knowledge of the inmost being of the whole of nature; for he now transfers it to all those phenomena which are not given to him, like his own phenomenal existence, both in direct and indirect knowledge, but only in the latter, thus merely one-sidedly as idea alone."

The heart of reality is thus known by an “intuitive interpretation,” which begins at home in the individual’s own heart.

Sec. The panpsychist follows the same course of reflection. There is an outwardness and an inwardness of nature, corresponding to the knower’s body on the one hand, and his feeling or will on the other. With this principle in hand one may pass down the whole scale of being and discover no breach of continuity. Such an interpretation of nature has been well set forth by a contemporary writer, who quotes the following from the botanist, C. v. Naegeli:

“Sensation is clearly connected with the reflex actions of higher animals. We are obliged to concede it to the other animals also, and we have no grounds for denying it to plants and inorganic bodies. The sensation arouses in us a condition of comfort and discomfort. In general, the feeling of pleasure arises when the natural impulses are satisfied, the feeling of pain when they are not satisfied. Since all material processes are composed of movements of molecules and elementary atoms, pleasure and pain must have their seat in these particles. . . . Thus the same mental thread runs through all material phenomena. The human mind is nothing but the highest development on our earth of the mental processes which universally animate and move nature."

According to panpsychism, then, physical nature is the manifestation of an appetency or bare consciousness generalized from the thinker’s awareness of his most intimate self. Such appetency or bare consciousness is the essential or substantial state of that which appears as physical nature.

Sec. We must now turn to the efforts which this doctrine has made to maintain itself against the sceptical trend of its own epistemology. For precisely as in the case of phenomenalism its dialectical principle threatens to be self-destructive. Immediate presence is still the test of knowledge. But does not immediate presence connote relativity and inadequacy, at best; an initial phase of knowledge that must be supplemented and corrected before objective reality and valid truth are apprehended? Does not the individuality of the individual thinker connote the very maximum of error? Indeed, spiritualism would seem to have exceeded even Protagoreanism itself, and to have passed from scepticism to deliberate nihilism. The object of knowledge is no longer even, as with the phenomenalist, the thinker’s thought, but only his thinking. And if the thinker’s thought is relative to him, then the thinker’s act of thinking is the very vanishing-point of relativity, the negative term of a negating relation. How is a real, a self-subsistent world to be composed of such? Impelled by a half-conscious realization of the hopelessness of this situation, the exponent of spiritualism has sought to universalize his conception; to define an absolute or ultimate spirit other than the individual thinker, though known in and through him. But it is clear that this development of spiritualism, like all of the speculative procedure of subjectivism, threatens to exceed the scope of the original principle of knowledge. There is a strong presumption against the possibility of introducing a knowledge of God by the way of the particular presentations of an individual consciousness.

Sec. Schopenhauer must be credited with a genuine effort to accept the metaphysical consequences of his epistemology. His epistemology, as we have seen, defined knowledge as centripetal. The object of real knowledge is identical with the subject of knowledge. If I am to know the universal will, therefore, I must in knowing become that will. And this Schopenhauer maintains. The innermost heart of the individual into which he may retreat, even from his private will, is the universal. But there is another way of arriving at the same knowledge. In contemplation I may become absorbed in principles and laws, rather than be diverted by the particular spacial and temporal objects, until (and this is peculiarly true of the aesthetic experience) my interest no longer distinguishes itself, but coincides with truth. In other words, abstract thinking and pure willing are not opposite extremes, but adjacent points on the deeper or transcendent circle of experience. One may reach this part of the circle by moving in either of two directions that at the start are directly opposite: by turning in upon the subject or by utterly giving one’s self up to the object. Reality obtains no definition by this means. Philosophy, for Schopenhauer, is rather a programme for realizing the state in which I will the universal and know the universal will. The final theory of knowledge, then, is mysticism, reality directly apprehended in a supreme and incommunicable experience, direct and vivid, like perception, and at the same time universal, like thought. But the empiricism with which Schopenhauer began, the appeal to a familiar experience of self as will, has meanwhile been forgotten. The idea as object of my perception, and the will as its subject were in the beginning regarded as common and verifiable items of experience. But who, save the occasional philosopher, knows a universal will? Nor have attempts to avoid mysticism, while retaining Schopenhauer’s first principle, been successful. Certain voluntarists and panpsychists have attempted to do without the universal will, and define the world solely in terms of the many individual wills. But, as Schopenhauer himself pointed out, individual wills cannot be distinguished except in terms of something other than will, such as space and time. The same is true if for will there be substituted inner feeling or consciousness. Within this category individuals can be distinguished only as points of view, which to be comparable at all must contain common objects, or be defined in terms of a system of relations like that of the physical world or that of an ethical community. The conception of pure will or pure feeling inevitably attaches to itself that of an undivided unity, if for no other reason because there is no ground for distinction. And such a unity, a will or consciousness that is no particular act or idea, can be known only in the unique experience which mysticism provides.

Sec. The way of Schopenhauer is the way of one who adheres to the belief that what the thinker knows must always be a part of himself, his state or his activity. From this point of view the important element of being, its very essence or substance, is not any definable nature but an immediate relation to the knower. The consequence is that the universe in the last analysis can only be defined as a supreme state or activity into which the individual’s consciousness may develop. Spiritualism has, however, other interests, interests which may be quite independent of epistemology. It is speculatively interested in a kind of being which it defines as spiritual, and in terms of which it proposes to define the universe. Such procedure is radically different from the epistemological criticism which led Berkeley to maintain that the esse of objects is in their percipi, or Schopenhauer to maintain that “the world is my idea,” or that led both of these philosophers to find a deeper reality in immediately intuited self-activity. For now it is proposed to understand spirit, discover its properties, and to acknowledge it only where these properties appear. I may now know spirit as an object; which in its properties, to be sure, is quite different from matter, but which like matter is capable of subsisting quite independently of my knowledge. This is a metaphysical spiritualism quite distinct from epistemological spiritualism, and by no means easily made consistent therewith. Indeed, it exhibits an almost irrepressible tendency to overstep the bounds both of empiricism and subjectivism, an historical connection with which alone justifies its introduction in the present chapter.

Sec. To return again to the instructive example of Bishop Berkeley, we find him proving God from the evidence of him in experience, or the need of him to support the claims of experience.

“But, whatever power I may have over my own thoughts, I find the ideas actually perceived by Sense have not a like dependence on my will. When in broad daylight I open my eyes, it is not in my power to choose whether I shall see or no, or to determine what particular objects shall present themselves to my view: and so likewise as to the hearing and other senses; the ideas imprinted on them are not creatures of my will. There is therefore some other Will or Spirit that produces them.

The ideas of Sense are more strong, lively, and distinct than those of the Imagination; they have likewise a steadiness, order, and coherence, and are not excited at random, as those which are the effects of human wills often are, but in a regular train or series the admirable connection whereof sufficiently testifies the wisdom and benevolence of its Author. Now the set rules, or established methods, wherein the Mind we depend on excites in us the ideas of Sense, are called the laws of nature."

Of the attributes of experience here in question, independence or “steadiness” is not regarded as prima facie evidence of spirit, but rather as an aspect of experience for which some cause is necessary. But it is assumed that the power to “produce,” with which such a cause must be endowed, is the peculiar prerogative of spirit, and that this cause gives further evidence of its spiritual nature, of its eminently spiritual nature, in the orderliness and the goodness of its effects.

“The force that produces, the intellect that orders, the
goodness that perfects all things is the Supreme
Being."

That spirit is possessed of causal efficacy, Berkeley has in an earlier passage proved by a direct appeal to the individual’s sense of power.

“I find I can excite ideas in my mind at pleasure, and vary and shift the scene as oft as I think fit. It is no more than willing, and straightway this or that idea arises in my fancy; and by the same power it is obliterated and makes way for another. This making and unmaking of ideas doth very properly denominate the mind active. Thus much is certain and grounded on experience: but when we talk of unthinking agents, or of exciting ideas exclusive of volition, we only amuse ourselves with words."

Although Berkeley is here in general agreement with a very considerable variety of philosophical views, it will be readily observed that this doctrine tends to lapse into mysticism whenever it is retained in its purity. Berkeley himself admitted that there was no “idea” of such power. And philosophers will as a rule either obtain an idea corresponding to a term or amend the term always excepting the mystical appeal to an inarticulate and indefinable experience. Hence pure power revealed in an ineffable immediate experience tends to give place to kinds of power to which some definite meaning may be attached. The energy of physics, defined by measurable quantitative equivalence, is a case in point. The idealistic trend is in another direction, power coming to signify ethical or logical connection. Similarly, in the later philosophy of Berkeley himself, God is known by the nature of his activity rather than by the fact of his activity; and we are said “to account for a thing, when we show that it is so best.” God’s power, in short, becomes indistinguishable from his universality attended with the attributes of goodness and orderliness. But this means that the analogy of the human spirit, conscious of its own activity, is no longer the basis of the argument. By the divine will is now meant ethical principles, rather than the “here am I willing” of the empirical consciousness. Similarly the divine mind is defined in terms of logical principles, such as coherence and order, rather than in terms of the “here am I thinking” of the finite knower himself. But enough has been said to make it plain that this is no longer the stand-point of empirio-idealism. Indeed, in his last philosophical writing, the “Siris,” Berkeley is so far removed from the principles of knowledge which made him at once the disciple and the critic of Locke, as to pronounce himself the devotee of Platonism and the prophet of transcendentalism. The former strain appears in his conclusion that “the principles of science are neither objects of sense nor imagination; and that intellect and reason are alone the sure guides to truth." His transcendentalism appears in his belief that such principles, participating in the vital unity of the Individual Purpose, constitute the meaning and so the substantial essence of the universe.

Sec. Such then are the various paths which lead from subjectivism to other types of philosophy, demonstrating the peculiar aptitude of the former for departing from its first principle. Beginning with the relativity of all knowable reality to the individual knower, it undertakes to conceive reality in one or the other of the terms of this relation, as particular state of knowledge or as individual subject of knowledge. But these terms develop an intrinsic nature of their own, and become respectively empirical datum, and logical or ethical principle. In either case the subjectivistic principle of knowledge has been abandoned. Those whose speculative interest in a definable objective world has been less strong than their attachment to this principle, have either accepted the imputation of scepticism, or had recourse to the radical epistemological doctrine of mysticism.

Sec. Since the essence of subjectivism is epistemological rather than metaphysical, its practical and religious implications are various. The ethical theories which are corollary to the tendencies expounded above, range from extreme egoism to a mystical universalism. The close connection between the former and relativism is evident, and the form of egoism most consistent with epistemological relativism is to be found among those same Sophists who first maintained this latter doctrine. If we may believe Plato, the Sophists sought to create for their individual pupils an appearance of good. In the “Theaetetus,” Socrates is represented as speaking thus on behalf of Protagoras:

“And I am far from saying that wisdom and the wise man have no existence; but I say that the wise man is he who makes the evils which are and appear to a man, into goods which are and appear to him. . . . I say that they (the wise men) are the physicians of the human body, and the husbandmen of plants for the husbandmen also take away the evil and disordered sensations of plants, and infuse into them good and healthy sensations as well as true ones; and the wise and good rhetoricians make the good instead of the evil seem just to states; for whatever appears to be just and fair to a state, while sanctioned by a state, is just and fair to it; but the teacher of wisdom causes the good to take the place of the evil, both in appearance and in reality."

As truth is indistinguishable from the appearance of truth to the individual, so good is indistinguishable from a particular seeming good. The supreme moral value according to this plan of life is the agreeable feeling tone of that dream world to which the individual is forever consigned. The possible perfection of an experience which is “reduced to a swarm of impressions,” and “ringed round” for each one of us by a “thick wall of personality” has been brilliantly depicted in the passage already quoted from Walter Pater, in whom the naturalistic and subjectivistic motives unite. If all my experience is strictly my own, then my good must likewise be my own. And if all of my experience is valid only in its instants of immediacy, then my best good must likewise consist in some “exquisite passion,” or stirring of the senses.

Sec. But for Schopenhauer the internal world opens out into the boundless and unfathomable sea of the universal will. If I retire from the world upon my own private feelings, I am still short of the true life, for I am asserting myself against the world. I should seek a sense of unison with a world whose deeper heart-beats I may learn to feel and adopt as the rhythm of my own. The folly of willing for one’s private self is the ground of Schopenhauer’s pessimism.

“All willing arises from want, therefore from deficiency, and therefore from suffering. The satisfaction of a wish ends it; yet for one wish that is satisfied there remain at least ten which are denied. Further, the desire lasts long, the demands are infinite; the satisfaction is short and scantily measured out. But even the final satisfaction is itself only apparent; every satisfied wish at once makes room for a new one, both are illusions; the one is known to be so, the other not yet. No attained object of desire can give lasting satisfaction, but merely a fleeting gratification; it is like the alms thrown to the beggar, that keeps him alive to-day that his misery may be prolonged till the morrow. . . . The subject of willing is thus constantly stretched on the revolving wheel of Ixion, pours water into the sieve of the Danaids, is the ever-longing Tantalus."

The escape from this torture and self-deception is possible through the same mystical experience, the same blending with the universe that conditions knowledge.

Sec. But though pleasant dreaming be the most consistent practical sequel to a subjectivistic epistemology, its individualism presents another basis for life with quite different possibilities of emphasis. It may develop into an aggressive egoism of the type represented by the sophist Thrasymachus, in his proclamation that “might is right, justice the interest of the stronger." But more commonly it is tempered by a conception of social interest, and serves as the champion of action against contemplation. The gospel of action is always individualistic. It requires of the individual a sense of his independence, and of the real virtue of his initiative. Hence those voluntarists who emphasize the many individual wills and decline to reduce them, after the manner of Schopenhauer, to a universal, may be said to afford a direct justification of it. It is true that this practical realism threatens the tenability of an epistemological idealism, but the two have been united, and because of their common emphasis upon the individual such procedure is not entirely inconsequential. Friedrich Paulsen, whose panpsychism has already been cited, is an excellent case in point. The only good, he maintains, is “welfare,” the fulfilment of those natural desires which both distinguish the individual and signify his continuity with all grades of being.

“The goal at which the will aims does not consist in a maximum of pleasurable feelings, but in the normal exercise of the vital functions for which the species is predisposed. In the case of man the mode of life is on the whole determined by the nature of the historical unity from which the individual evolves as a member. Here the objective content of life, after which the will strives, also enters into consciousness with the progressive evolution of presentation; the type of life becomes a conscious ideal of life."

Here, contrary to the teaching of Schopenhauer, the good consists in individual attainment, the extension and fulfilment of the distinct interests that arise from the common fund of nature. To be and to do to the uttermost, to realize the maximum from nature’s investment in one’s special capacities and powers this is indeed the first principle of a morality of action.

Sec. But a type of ethics still further removed from the initial relativism has been adopted and more or less successfully assimilated by subjectivistic philosophies. Accepting Berkeley’s spirits, with their indefinite capacities, and likewise the stability of the ideal principles that underlie a God-administered world, and morality becomes the obedience which the individual renders to the law. The individual, free to act in his own right, cooperates with the purposes of the general spiritual community, whose laws are worthy of obedience though not coercive. The recognition of such a spiritual citizenship, entailing opportunities, duties, and obligations, rather than thraldom, partakes of the truth as well as the inadequacy of common-sense.

Sec. As for religion, at least two distinct practical appreciations of the universe have been historically associated with this chapter in philosophy. The one of these is the mysticism of Schopenhauer, the religious sequel to a universalistic voluntarism. Schopenhauer’s ethics, his very philosophy, is religion. For the good and the true are alike attainable only through identification with the Absolute Will. This consummation of life, transcending practical and theoretical differences, engulfing and effacing all qualities and all values, is like the Nirvana of the Orient a positive ideal only for one who has appraised the apparent world at its real value.

“Rather do we freely acknowledge that what remains after the entire abolition of will is for all those who are still full of will certainly nothing; but, conversely, to those in whom the will has turned and has denied itself, this our world, which is so real, with all it’s suns and milky-ways is nothing."

Sec. From the union of the two motives of voluntarism and individualism springs another and a more familiar type of religion, that of cooperative spiritual endeavor. In the religion of Schopenhauer the soul must utterly lose itself for the sake of peace; here the soul must persist in its own being and activity for the sake of the progressive goodness of the world. For Schopenhauer God is the universal solution, in which all motions cease and all differences disappear; here God is the General of moral forces. The deeper and more significant universe is

“a society of rational agents, acting under the eye of Providence, concurring in one design to promote the common benefit of the whole, and conforming their actions to the established laws and order of the Divine parental wisdom: wherein each particular agent shall not consider himself apart, but as the member of a great City, whose author and founder is God: in which the civil laws are no other than the rules of virtue and the duties of religion: and where everyone’s true interest is combined with his duty."

But so uncompromising an optimism is not essential to this religion. Its distinction lies rather in its acceptance of the manifest plurality of souls, and its appeal to the faith that is engendered by service. As William James has said:

“Even God’s being is sacred from ours. To cooperate with his creation by the best and rightest response seems all he wants of us. In such cooperation with his purposes, not in any chimerical speculative conquest of him, not in any theoretical drinking of him up, must lie the real meaning of our destiny."

In Ernst Mach’s Analysis of Sensations, the reader will find an interesting transition from sensationalism to realism through the substitution of the term Bestandtheil for Empfindung. (See Translation by Williams, pp. 18-20.) See below, Sec.