be; and from it every other possible account can, theoretically, at least, be deduced.

Perhaps one will admit as much as this, and, nevertheless, feel disposed to complain. One may insist that such an account as I am discussing gives us, after all, not the external world as it is, but the external world as it is perceived, or might be perceived, by us - in other words, it gives us only our impressions of an external world, impressions from which we seem to be able to pass to other impressions appropriate to us or to other creatures.

I answer: first, that "the external world as perceived by us" is by no means a thing to be confounded with "our impressions of an external world." In the first case, we are concerned with an objective order as objective, a something to which our own and other minds are referred and from which they are distinguished. In the second, we are concerned with a collection of phenomena referred to a particular mind. The two constructs are by no means identical, and they must not be interchanged. It is not absurd to say my mind is referred to a certain body in the external world perceived by me, and another mind is referred to another body in the same external world perceived by me. It is absurd to say my mind is referred to a certain group of impressions in my mind, and another mind is referred to another group of impressions in my mind.

And I answer: second, it is a misapprehension to suppose that "the external world as it is" can be anything else than “the external world as it is perceived by me," or the external world as it is perceived by some other creature. Words must not be used without a meaning. What we mean by the expression "the external world" is a thing to be discovered by analysis. Analysis seems to reveal that it always means the objective order of experience as contrasted with the subjective. As, however, there are no phenomena in the objective order which may not take their place in the subjective order and be contrasted with another objective, it is easy to fall into the error of supposing that all our experiences are subjective-which is absurd and of feeling compelled to look for a something objective which cannot take its place in the subjective order under any circumstances. For those who seek such an "objective something" nothing remains but the Unknowable, which is neither something nor objective, in any intelligible sense of the words.

We come round, then, to the questions raised at the beginning of the chapter. Shall we maintain that the world existed in the remote past, and that it exists now when unperceived? Yes. Shall we admit that the man of science can tell us what it was and is like? Certainly. To be sure, the question must be given a meaning, if it is to be regarded as worthy of an answer. When it is given a meaning, it is not difficult to find for it an answer. One must not make of it an absurd question, and ask, in effect: How does the world look to a creature that is not looking? The philosopher can be better employed in some other way than in seeking the answer to such a question as this.

PART IV

OTHER MINDS, AND THE REALM OF MINDS

CHAPTER XXVII

THE EXISTENCE OF OTHER MINDS

In the preceding chapters I have from time to time spoken of other minds as though every man had good reason to believe that other minds than his own existed, and as though he could understand what I meant when I referred to such. This I had a right to expect of him, for common thought accepts without question an external world and a realm of minds in relation to it; in a sense cut off from each other, it is true, and yet quite well aware of each other's existence.

But just as it is possible to recognize the distinction between one's own mind and the external world, and to feel assured of the existence of both, without on that account being able to make clear what this distinction implies, so it is possible to recognize the existence of other minds without having a very clear consciousness of just what one means by these words, and without feeling able to defend before the bar of reason what seems to be one of the most natural beliefs in the world.

It is a commonplace of literature that we arrive at a knowledge of the existence of other minds by a process of inference. That we are not conscious of the contents of other minds as we are conscious of the contents of our own, every one is ready to admit. The only question seems to be as to the precise nature of the inference, and as to its justification. We have seen that, to a man who remains upon the psychological standpoint, the existence of the external world must be matter of inference, and we have also seen that the inference is quite without justification. He has, by hypothesis, nothing but ideas to start with, and he can end with nothing but ideas, for there is nothing in his experience that can carry

him from idea to thing. It seems fair to ask whether we have not something similar in the present case whether, since we admit that we can never perceive directly what is in another mind, and cannot verify our inferences by observation, we must not also admit that our belief in the existence of other minds is a belief which cannot really be established by proofs ? If I could once observe a connection between certain experiences of my own and another mind-not infer it, but actually observe it—such an observed connection might furnish the ground for a multitude of inferences; but in the absence of even a single observed fact, how can I proceed without being plagued by the consciousness that the whole fabric I am building up may be no more than my own dream?

John Stuart Mill thought that the existence of other minds could be proved, and he has presented his argument in his usual clear and trenchant style. He writes:1

"By what evidence do I know, or by what considerations am I led to believe, that there exist other sentient creatures; that the walking and speaking figures which I see and hear, have sensations and thoughts, or, in other words, possess Minds? The most strenuous Intuitionist does not include this among the things that I know by direct intuition. I conclude it from certain things, which my experience of my own states of feeling proves to me to be marks of it. These marks are of two kinds, antecedent and subsequent; the previous conditions requisite for feeling, and the effects or consequences of it. I conclude that other human beings have feelings like me, because, first, they have bodies like me, which I know, in my own case, to be the antecedent condition of feelings; and because, secondly, they exhibit the acts, and other outward signs, which in my own case I know by experience to be caused by feelings. I am conscious in myself of a series of facts connected by a uniform sequence, of which the beginning is modifications of my body, the middle is feelings, the end is outward demeanor. In the case of other human beings I have the evidence of my senses for the first and last links of the series, but not for the intermediate link. I find, however, that the sequence between the first and last is as regular and constant in those other cases as it is in mine. In my own case I know that the first link produces the last through the intermediate link, and could not produce it 1"Examination of Sir William Hamilton's Philosophy," Chapter XII.

without. Experience, therefore, obliges me to conclude that there must be an intermediate link; which must either be the same in others as in myself, or a different one. I must either believe them to be alive, or to be automatons; and by believing them to be alive, that is, by supposing the link to be of the same nature as in the case of which I have experience, and which is in all respects similar, I bring other human beings, as phenomena, under the same generalizations which I know by experience to be the true theory of my own existence. And in doing so I conform to the legitimate rules of experimental inquiry. The process is exactly parallel to that by which Newton proved that the force which keeps the planets in their orbits is identical with that by which an apple falls to the ground. It was not incumbent on Newton to prove the impossibility of its being any other force; he was thought to have made out his point when he had simply shown that no other force need be supposed. We know the existence of other beings by generalization from the knowledge of our own; the generalization merely postulates that what experience shows to be a mark of the existence of something within the sphere of our consciousness, may be concluded to be a mark of the same thing beyond that sphere."

In criticising another extract taken from Mill1 I have pointed out that he slurs over the distinction between the mind and the world by absorbing the world into the mind and identifying external objects with small and definite portions "of the series which, in its entireness, forms my conscious existence." When we bear in mind what human bodies must mean to him after he has done this, we cannot but be nonplussed by his argument for other minds. At first sight it does not seem unreasonable to say that I know by experience that my body is an antecedent condition of my feelings, and that motions of my body are effects or consequences of my feelings. It seems equally reasonable to maintain that, when I see another human body acted upon by something, and then observe a certain kind of reaction, I may argue by analogy to a link of feelings between the two. But let us remember that we are, for the moment, disciples of Mill, and let us scrutinize the two statements.

May we really maintain that experience presents us with the chain of three links indicated by Mill? Does experience reveal to me as standing in a certain relation of antecedence and consequence

1 See Chapter XXIII.