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    Appendix

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    Chapter 13
    Previous Chapter
    SCEPTICISM OF THE INSTRUMENT

    A Portion of a Paper read to the Oxford Philosophical Society,
    November 8, 1903, and reprinted, with some Revision, from the
    Version given in Mind, vol. xiii. (N.S.), No. 51.

    (See also Chapter I., Section 6, and Chapter X., Sections 1 and 2.)

    It seems to me that I may most propitiously attempt to interest you
    this evening by describing very briefly the particular metaphysical
    and philosophical system in which I do my thinking, and more
    particularly by setting out for your consideration one or two points
    in which I seem to myself to differ most widely from current
    accepted philosophy.

    You must be prepared for things that will strike you as crude, for a
    certain difference of accent and dialect that you may not like, and
    you must be prepared too to hear what may strike you as the clumsy
    statement of my ignorant rediscovery of things already beautifully
    thought out and said. But in the end you may incline to forgive me
    some of this first offence.... It is quite unavoidable that, in
    setting out these intellectual foundations of mine, I should lapse
    for a moment or so towards autobiography.

    A convergence of circumstances led to my having my knowledge of
    concrete things quite extensively developed before I came to
    philosophical examination at all. I have heard someone say that a
    savage or an animal is mentally a purely objective being, and in
    that respect I was like a savage or an animal until I was well over
    twenty. I was extremely unaware of the subjective or introverted
    element in my being. I was a Positivist without knowing it. My early
    education was a feeble one; it was one in which my private
    observation, inquiry and experiment were far more important factors
    than any instruction, or rather perhaps the instruction I received
    was less even than what I learnt for myself, and it terminated at
    thirteen. I had come into pretty intimate contact with the harder
    realities of life, with hunger in various forms, and many base and
    disagreeable necessities, before I was fifteen. About that age,
    following the indication of certain theological and speculative
    curiosities, I began to learn something of what I will call
    deliberately and justly, Elementary Science--stuff I got out of
    Cassell's Popular Educator and cheap text-books--and then, through
    accidents and ambitions that do not matter in the least to us now, I
    came to three years of illuminating and good scientific work. The
    central fact of those three years was Huxley's course in Comparative
    Anatomy at the school in Exhibition Road. About that as a nucleus I
    arranged a spacious digest of facts. At the end of that time I had
    acquired what I still think to be a fairly clear, and complete and
    ordered view of the ostensibly real universe. Let me try to give you
    the chief things I had. I had man definitely placed in the great
    scheme of space and time. I knew him incurably for what he was,
    finite and not final, a being of compromises and adaptations. I had
    traced his lungs, for example, from a swimming bladder, step by
    step, with scalpel and probe, through a dozen types or more, I had
    seen the ancestral caecum shrink to that disease nest, the appendix
    of to-day, I had watched the gill slit patched slowly to the
    purposes of the ear and the reptile jaw suspension utilised to eke
    out the needs of a sense organ taken from its native and natural
    water. I had worked out the development of those extraordinarily
    unsatisfactory and untrustworthy instruments, man's teeth, from the
    skin scutes of the shark to their present function as a basis for
    gold stoppings, and followed the slow unfolding of the complex and
    painful process of gestation through which man comes into the world.
    I had followed all these things and many kindred things by
    dissection and in embryology--I had checked the whole theory of
    development again in a year's course of palaeontology, and I had
    taken the dimensions of the whole process, by the scale of the
    stars, in a course of astronomical physics. And all that amount of
    objective elucidation came before I had reached the beginnings of
    any philosophical or metaphysical inquiry, any inquiry as to why I
    believed, how I believed, what I believed, or what the fundamental
    stuff of things was.

    Now following hard upon this interlude with knowledge, came a time
    when I had to give myself to teaching, and it became advisable to
    acquire one of those Teaching Diplomas that are so widely and so
    foolishly despised, and that enterprise set me to a superficial, but
    suggestive study of educational method, of educational theory, of
    logic, of psychology, and so at last, when the little affair with
    the diploma was settled, to philosophy. Now to come to logic over
    the bracing uplands of comparative anatomy is to come to logic with
    a lot of very natural preconceptions blown clean out of one's mind.
    It is, I submit, a way of taking logic in the flank. When you have
    realised to the marrow, that all the physical organs of man and all
    his physical structure are what they are through a series of
    adaptations and approximations, and that they are kept up to a level
    of practical efficiency only by the elimination of death, and that
    this is true also of his brain and of his instincts and of many of
    his mental predispositions, you are not going to take his thinking
    apparatus unquestioningly as being in any way mysteriously different
    and better. And I had read only a little logic before I became aware
    of implications that I could not agree with, and assumptions that
    seemed to me to be altogether at variance with the general scheme of
    objective fact established in my mind.

    I came to an examination of logical processes and of language with
    the expectation that they would share the profoundly provisional
    character, the character of irregular limitation and adaptation that
    pervades the whole physical and animal being of man. And I found the
    thing I had expected. And as a consequence I found a sort of
    intellectual hardihood about the assumptions of logic, that at first
    confused me and then roused all the latent scepticism in my
    mind.

    My first quarrel with the accepted logic I developed long ago in a
    little paper that was printed in the Fortnightly Review in July
    1891. It was called the "Rediscovery of the Unique," and re-reading
    it I perceive not only how bad and even annoying it was in manner--a
    thing I have long known--but also how remarkably bad it was in
    expression. I have good reason for doubting whether my powers of
    expression in these uses have very perceptibly improved, but at any
    rate I am doing my best now with that previous failure before
    me.

    That unfortunate paper, among other oversights I can no longer
    regard as trivial, disregarded quite completely the fact that a
    whole literature upon the antagonism of the one and the many, of the
    specific ideal and the individual reality, was already in existence.
    It defined no relations to other thought or thinkers. I understand
    now, what I did not understand then, why it was totally ignored. But
    the idea underlying that paper I cling to to-day. I consider it an
    idea that will ultimately be regarded as one of primary importance
    to human thought, and I will try and present the substance of that
    early paper again now very briefly, as the best opening of my
    general case. My opening scepticism is essentially a doubt of the
    objective reality of classification. I have no hesitation in saying
    that is the first and primary proposition of my philosophy.

    I have it in my mind that classification is a necessary condition of
    the working of the mental implement, but that it is a departure from
    the objective truth of things, that classification is very
    serviceable for the practical purposes of life but a very doubtful
    preliminary to those fine penetrations the philosophical purpose, in
    its more arrogant moods, demands. All the peculiarities of my way of
    thinking derive from that.

    A mind nourished upon anatomical study is of course permeated with
    the suggestion of the vagueness and instability of biological
    species. A biological species is quite obviously a great number of
    unique individuals which is separable from other biological species
    only by the fact that an enormous number of other linking
    individuals are inaccessible in time--are in other words dead and
    gone--and each new individual in that species does, in the
    distinction of its own individuality, break away in however
    infinitesimal degree from the previous average properties of the
    species. There is no property of any species, even the properties
    that constitute the specific definition, that is not a matter of
    more or less. If, for example, a species be distinguished by a
    single large red spot on the back, you will find if you go over a
    great number of specimens that red spot shrinking here to nothing,
    expanding there to a more general redness, weakening to pink,
    deepening to russet and brown, shading into crimson, and so on, and
    so on. And this is true not only of biological species. It is true
    of the mineral specimens constituting a mineral species, and I
    remember as a constant refrain in the lectures of Prof. Judd upon
    rock classification, the words "they pass into one another by
    insensible gradations." That is true, I hold, of all things.

    You will think perhaps of atoms of the elements as instances of
    identically similar things, but these are things not of experience
    but of theory, and there is not a phenomenon in chemistry that is
    not equally well explained on the supposition that it is merely the
    immense quantities of atoms necessarily taken in any experiment that
    mask by the operation of the law of averages the fact that each atom
    also has its unique quality, its special individual difference. This
    idea of uniqueness in all individuals is not only true of the
    classifications of material science; it is true, and still more
    evidently true, of the species of common thought, it is true of
    common terms. Take the word chair. When one says chair, one thinks
    vaguely of an average chair. But collect individual instances, think
    of armchairs and reading chairs, and dining-room chairs and kitchen
    chairs, chairs that pass into benches, chairs that cross the
    boundary and become settees, dentists' chairs, thrones, opera
    stalls, seats of all sorts, those miraculous fungoid growths that
    cumber the floor of the Arts and Crafts Exhibition, and you will
    perceive what a lax bundle in fact is this simple straightforward
    term. In co-operation with an intelligent joiner I would undertake
    to defeat any definition of chair or chairishness that you gave me.
    Chairs just as much as individual organisms, just as much as mineral
    and rock specimens, are unique things--if you know them well enough
    you will find an individual difference even in a set of machine-made
    chairs--and it is only because we do not possess minds of unlimited
    capacity, because our brain has only a limited number of
    pigeon-holes for our correspondence with an unlimited universe of
    objective uniques, that we have to delude ourselves into the belief
    that there is a chairishness in this species common to and
    distinctive of all chairs.

    Let me repeat; this is of the very smallest importance in all the
    practical affairs of life, or indeed in relation to anything but
    philosophy and wide generalisations. But in philosophy it matters
    profoundly. If I order two new-laid eggs for breakfast, up come two
    unhatched but still unique avian individuals, and the chances are
    they serve my rude physiological purpose. I can afford to ignore the
    hens' eggs of the past that were not quite so nearly this sort of
    thing, and the hens' eggs of the future that will accumulate
    modification age by age; I can venture to ignore the rare chance of
    an abnormality in chemical composition and of any startling
    aberration in my physiological reaction; I can, with a confidence
    that is practically perfect, say with unqualified simplicity "two
    eggs," but not if my concern is not my morning's breakfast but the
    utmost possible truth.

    Now let me go on to point out whither this idea of uniqueness tends.
    I submit to you that syllogism is based on classification, that
    all hard logical reasoning tends to imply and is apt to imply a
    confidence in the objective reality of classification. Consequently
    in denying that I deny the absolute validity of logic. Classification
    and number, which in truth ignore the fine differences of objective
    realities, have in the past of human thought been imposed upon
    things. Let me for clearness' sake take a liberty here--commit, as
    you may perhaps think, an unpardonable insolence. Hindoo thought
    and Greek thought alike impress me as being overmuch obsessed by
    an objective treatment of certain necessary preliminary conditions
    of human thought--number and definition and class and abstract
    form. But these things, number, definition, class and abstract
    form, I hold, are merely unavoidable conditions of mental
    activity--regrettable conditions rather than essential facts. The
    forceps of our minds are clumsy forceps, and crush the truth a
    little in taking hold of it.

    It was about this difficulty that the mind of Plato played a little
    inconclusively all his life. For the most part he tended to regard
    the _idea_ as the something behind reality, whereas it seems to me
    that the idea is the more proximate and less perfect thing, the
    thing by which the mind, by ignoring individual differences,
    attempts to comprehend an otherwise unmanageable number of unique
    realities.

    Let me give you a rough figure of what I am trying to convey in this
    first attack upon the philosophical validity of general terms. You
    have seen the results of those various methods of black and white
    reproduction that involve the use of a rectangular net. You know the
    sort of process picture I mean--it used to be employed very
    frequently in reproducing photographs. At a little distance you
    really seem to have a faithful reproduction of the original picture,
    but when you peer closely you find not the unique form and masses of
    the original, but a multitude of little rectangles, uniform in shape
    and size. The more earnestly you go into the thing, the closer you
    look, the more the picture is lost in reticulations. I submit the
    world of reasoned inquiry has a very similar relation to the world I
    call objectively real. For the rough purposes of every day the
    net-work picture will do, but the finer your purpose the less it
    will serve, and for an ideally fine purpose, for absolute and
    general knowledge that will be as true for a man at a distance with
    a telescope as for a man with a microscope it will not serve at
    all.

    It is true you can make your net of logical interpretation finer and
    finer, you can fine your classification more and more--up to a
    certain limit. But essentially you are working in limits, and as you
    come closer, as you look at finer and subtler things, as you leave
    the practical purpose for which the method exists, the element of
    error increases. Every species is vague, every term goes cloudy at
    its edges, and so in my way of thinking, relentless logic is only
    another phrase for a stupidity,--for a sort of intellectual
    pigheadedness. If you push a philosophical or metaphysical inquiry
    through a series of valid syllogisms--never committing any generally
    recognised fallacy--you nevertheless leave a certain rubbing and
    marginal loss of objective truth and you get deflections that are
    difficult to trace, at each phase in the process. Every species
    waggles about in its definition, every tool is a little loose in its
    handle, every scale has its individual error. So long as you are
    reasoning for practical purposes about the finite things of
    experience, you can every now and then check your process, and
    correct your adjustments. But not when you make what are called
    philosophical and theological inquiries, when you turn your
    implement towards the final absolute truth of things. Doing that is
    like firing at an inaccessible, unmarkable and indestructible target
    at an unknown distance, with a defective rifle and variable
    cartridges. Even if by chance you hit, you cannot know that you hit,
    and so it will matter nothing at all.

    This assertion of the necessary untrustworthiness of all reasoning
    processes arising out of the fallacy of classification in what is
    quite conceivably a universe of uniques, forms only one introductory
    aspect of my general scepticism of the Instrument of Thought.

    I have now to tell you of another aspect of this scepticism of the
    instrument which concerns negative terms.

    Classes in logic are not only represented by circles with a hard
    firm outline, whereas they have no such definite limits, but also
    there is a constant disposition to think of negative terms as if
    they represented positive classes. With words just as with numbers
    and abstract forms there are definite phases of human development.
    There is, you know, with regard to number, the phase when man can
    barely count at all, or counts in perfect good faith and sanity upon
    his fingers. Then there is the phase when he is struggling with the
    development of number, when he begins to elaborate all sorts of
    ideas about numbers, until at last he develops complex superstitions
    about perfect numbers and imperfect numbers, about threes and sevens
    and the like. The same is the case with abstracted forms, and even
    to-day we are scarcely more than heads out of the vast subtle muddle
    of thinking about spheres and ideally perfect forms and so on, that
    was the price of this little necessary step to clear thinking. You
    know better than I do how large a part numerical and geometrical
    magic, numerical and geometrical philosophy has played in the
    history of the mind. And the whole apparatus of language and mental
    communication is beset with like dangers. The language of the savage
    is, I suppose, purely positive; the thing has a name, the name has a
    thing. This indeed is the tradition of language, and to-day even,
    we, when we hear a name, are predisposed--and sometimes it is a very
    vicious disposition--to imagine forthwith something answering to the
    name. We are disposed, as an incurable mental vice, to accumulate
    intension in terms. If I say to you Wodget or Crump, you find
    yourself passing over the fact that these are nothings, these are,
    so to speak, mere blankety blanks, and trying to think what sort of
    thing a Wodget or a Crump may be. And where this disposition has
    come in, in its most alluring guise, is in the case of negative
    terms. Our instrument of knowledge persists in handling even such
    openly negative terms as the Absolute, the Infinite, as though they
    were real existences, and when the negative element is ever so
    little disguised, as it is in such a word as Omniscience, then the
    illusion of positive reality may be complete.

    Please remember that I am trying to tell you my philosophy, and not
    arguing about yours. Let me try and express how in my mind this
    matter of negative terms has shaped itself. I think of something
    which I may perhaps best describe as being off the stage or out of
    court, or as the Void without Implications, or as Nothingness or as
    Outer Darkness. This is a sort of hypothetical Beyond to the visible
    world of human thought, and thither I think all negative terms reach
    at last, and merge and become nothing. Whatever positive class you
    make, whatever boundary you draw, straight away from that boundary
    begins the corresponding negative class and passes into the
    illimitable horizon of nothingness. You talk of pink things, you
    ignore, if you are a trained logician, the more elusive shades of
    pink, and draw your line. Beyond is the not pink, known and
    knowable, and still in the not pink region one comes to the Outer
    Darkness. Not blue, not happy, not iron, all the not classes meet in
    that Outer Darkness. That same Outer Darkness and nothingness is
    infinite space, and infinite time, and any being of infinite
    qualities, and all that region I rule out of court in my philosophy
    altogether. I will neither affirm nor deny if I can help it about
    any not things. I will not deal with not things at all, except by
    accident and inadvertence. If I use the word 'infinite' I use it as
    one often uses 'countless,' "the countless hosts of the enemy"--or
    'immeasurable'--"immeasurable cliffs"--that is to say as the limit
    of measurement rather than as the limit of imaginary measurability,
    as a convenient equivalent to as many times this cloth yard as you
    can, and as many again and so on and so on. Now a great number of
    apparently positive terms are, or have become, practically negative
    terms and are under the same ban with me. A considerable number of
    terms that have played a great part in the world of thought, seem to
    me to be invalidated by this same defect, to have no content or an
    undefined content or an unjustifiable content. For example, that
    word Omniscient, as implying infinite knowledge, impresses me as
    being a word with a delusive air of being solid and full, when it is
    really hollow with no content whatever. I am persuaded that knowing
    is the relation of a conscious being to something not itself, that
    the thing known is defined as a system of parts and aspects and
    relationships, that knowledge is comprehension, and so that only
    finite things can know or be known. When you talk of a being of
    infinite extension and infinite duration, omniscient and omnipotent
    and Perfect, you seem to me to be talking in negatives of nothing
    whatever. When you speak of the Absolute you speak to me of nothing.
    If however you talk of a great yet finite and thinkable being, a
    being not myself, extending beyond my imagination in time and space,
    knowing all that I can think of as known and capable of doing all
    that I can think of as done, you come into the sphere of my mental
    operations, and into the scheme of my philosophy....

    These then are my first two charges against our Instrument of
    Knowledge, firstly, that it can work only by disregarding
    individuality and treating uniques as identically similar objects in
    this respect or that, so as to group them under one term, and that
    once it has done so it tends automatically to intensify the
    significance of that term, and secondly, that it can only deal
    freely with negative terms by treating them as though they were
    positive. But I have a further objection to the Instrument of Human
    Thought, that is not correlated to these former objections and that
    is also rather more difficult to convey.

    Essentially this idea is to present a sort of stratification in
    human ideas. I have it very much in mind that various terms in our
    reasoning lie, as it were, at different levels and in different
    planes, and that we accomplish a large amount of error and confusion
    by reasoning terms together that do not lie or nearly lie in the
    same plane.

    Let me endeavour to make myself a little less obscure by a most
    flagrant instance from physical things. Suppose some one began to
    talk seriously of a man seeing an atom through a microscope, or
    better perhaps of cutting one in half with a knife. There are a
    number of non-analytical people who would be quite prepared to
    believe that an atom could be visible to the eye or cut in this
    manner. But any one at all conversant with physical conceptions
    would almost as soon think of killing the square root of 2 with a
    rook rifle as of cutting an atom in half with a knife. Our
    conception of an atom is reached through a process of hypothesis and
    analysis, and in the world of atoms there are no knives and no
    men to cut. If you have thought with a strong consistent mental
    movement, then when you have thought of your atom under the knife
    blade, your knife blade has itself become a cloud of swinging
    grouped atoms, and your microscope lens a little universe of
    oscillatory and vibratory molecules. If you think of the universe,
    thinking at the level of atoms, there is neither knife to cut, scale
    to weigh nor eye to see. The universe at that plane to which the
    mind of the molecular physicist descends has none of the shapes or
    forms of our common life whatever. This hand with which I write is
    in the universe of molecular physics a cloud of warring atoms and
    molecules, combining and recombining, colliding, rotating, flying
    hither and thither in the universal atmosphere of ether.

    You see, I hope, what I mean, when I say that the universe of
    molecular physics is at a different level from the universe of
    common experience;--what we call stable and solid is in that world a
    freely moving system of interlacing centres of force, what we call
    colour and sound is there no more than this length of vibration or
    that. We have reached to a conception of that universe of molecular
    physics by a great enterprise of organised analysis, and our
    universe of daily experiences stands in relation to that elemental
    world as if it were a synthesis of those elemental things.

    I would suggest to you that this is only a very extreme instance of
    the general state of affairs, that there may be finer and subtler
    differences of level between one term and another, and that terms
    may very well be thought of as lying obliquely and as being twisted
    through different levels.

    It will perhaps give a clearer idea of what I am seeking to convey
    if I suggest a concrete image for the whole world of a man's thought
    and knowledge. Imagine a large clear jelly, in which at all angles
    and in all states of simplicity or contortion his ideas are
    imbedded. They are all valid and possible ideas as they lie, none in
    reality incompatible with any. If you imagine the direction of up or
    down in this clear jelly being as it were the direction in which one
    moves by analysis or by synthesis, if you go down for example from
    matter to atoms and centres of force and up to men and states and
    countries--if you will imagine the ideas lying in that manner--you
    will get the beginning of my intention. But our Instrument, our
    process of thinking, like a drawing before the discovery of
    perspective, appears to have difficulties with the third dimension,
    appears capable only of dealing with or reasoning about ideas by
    projecting them upon the same plane. It will be obvious that a great
    multitude of things may very well exist together in a solid jelly,
    which would be overlapping and incompatible and mutually
    destructive, when projected together upon one plane. Through the
    bias in our Instrument to do this, through reasoning between terms
    not in the same plane, an enormous amount of confusion, perplexity
    and mental deadlocking occurs.

    The old theological deadlock between predestination and free-will
    serves admirably as an example of the sort of deadlock I mean. Take
    life at the level of common sensation and common experience and
    there is no more indisputable fact than man's freedom of will,
    unless it is his complete moral responsibility. But make only the
    least penetrating of analyses and you perceive a world of inevitable
    consequences, a rigid succession of cause and effect. Insist upon a
    flat agreement between the two, and there you are! The Instrument
    fails.

    It is upon these three objections, and upon an extreme suspicion of
    abstract terms which arises materially out of my first and second
    objections, that I chiefly rest my case for a profound scepticism of
    the remoter possibilities of the Instrument of Thought. It is a
    thing no more perfect than the human eye or the human ear, though
    like those other instruments it may have undefined possibilities of
    evolution towards increased range, and increased power.

    So much for my main contention. But before I conclude I may--since I
    am here--say a little more in the autobiographical vein, and with
    a view to your discussion to show how I reconcile this fundamental
    scepticism with the very positive beliefs about world-wide issues I
    possess, and the very definite distinction I make between right and
    wrong.

    I reconcile these things by simply pointing out to you that if there
    is any validity in my image of that three dimensional jelly in which
    our ideas are suspended, such a reconciliation as you demand in
    logic, such a projection of the things as in accordance upon one
    plane, is totally unnecessary and impossible.

    This insistence upon the element of uniqueness in being, this
    subordination of the class to the individual difference, not only
    destroys the universal claim of philosophy, but the universal claim
    of ethical imperatives, the universal claim of any religious
    teaching. If you press me back upon my fundamental position I must
    confess I put faith and standards and rules of conduct upon exactly
    the same level as I put my belief of what is right in art, and what
    I consider right practice in art. I have arrived at a certain sort
    of self-knowledge and there are, I find, very distinct imperatives
    for me, but I am quite prepared to admit there is no proving them
    imperative on any one else. One's political proceedings, one's moral
    acts are, I hold, just as much self-expression as one's poetry or
    painting or music. But since life has for its primordial elements
    assimilation and aggression, I try not only to obey my imperatives,
    but to put them persuasively and convincingly into other minds, to
    bring about _my_ good and to resist and overcome _my_ evil as though
    they were the universal Good and the universal Evil in which
    unthinking men believe. And it is obviously in no way contradictory
    to this philosophy, for me, if I find others responding
    sympathetically to any notes of mine or if I find myself responding
    sympathetically to notes sounding about me, to give that common
    resemblance between myself and others a name, to refer these others
    and myself in common to this thing as if it were externalised and
    spanned us all.

    Scepticism of the Instrument is for example not incompatible with
    religious association and with organisation upon the basis of a
    common faith. It is possible to regard God as a Being synthetic in
    relation to men and societies, just as the idea of a universe of
    atoms and molecules and inorganic relationships is analytical in
    relation to human life.

    The repudiation of demonstration in any but immediate and verifiable
    cases that this Scepticism of the Instrument amounts to, the
    abandonment of any universal validity for moral and religious
    propositions, brings ethical, social and religious teaching into the
    province of poetry, and does something to correct the estrangement
    between knowledge and beauty that is a feature of so much mental
    existence at this time. All these things are self-expression. Such
    an opinion sets a new and greater value on that penetrating and
    illuminating quality of mind we call insight, insight which when it
    faces towards the contradictions that arise out of the imperfections
    of the mental instrument is called humour. In these innate,
    unteachable qualities I hold--in humour and the sense of
    beauty--lies such hope of intellectual salvation from the original
    sin of our intellectual instrument as we may entertain in this
    uncertain and fluctuating world of unique appearances....

    So frankly I spread my little equipment of fundamental assumptions
    before you, heartily glad of the opportunity you have given me of
    taking them out, of looking at them with the particularity the
    presence of hearers ensures, and of hearing the impression they make
    upon you. Of course, such a sketch must have an inevitable crudity
    of effect. The time I had for it--I mean the time I was able to give
    in preparation--was altogether too limited for any exhaustive finish
    of presentation; but I think on the whole I have got the main lines
    of this sketch map of my mental basis true. Whether I have made
    myself comprehensible is a different question altogether. It is for
    you rather than me to say how this sketch map of mine lies with
    regard to your own more systematic cartography....

    Here followed certain comments upon Personal Idealism, and Mr. F. C.
    S. Schiller's Humanism, of no particular value.
    Chapter 13
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