Fundamental Philosophy, Vol. I (of 2)

CHAPTER III.
SLEEP AND WAKING

20. The fact of sensation is connected with many others, and from this connection results a great part of our knowledge. It has been said in a tone of great confidence, that it was not possible to demonstrate by sensations the existence of bodies; for as sensations are something purely internal, they cannot enable us to infer the existence of any thing external, and there is no reason for not regarding all our sensations as a collection of individual phenomena, inclosed in our soul. At first view it seems impossible to solve the difficulty; nevertheless, if we examine it thoroughly, we shall see that too great importance has been attached to it.

21. The first objection ordinarily made to the testimony of the senses, is the difficulty of distinguishing with certainty between the state of sleep and that of waking. We receive when asleep impressions similar to those we receive when awake: how shall we know that the illusion is not perpetual? Lamennais, with characteristic exaggeration, says: "He who shall show that all life is not a sleep, an indefinable chimera, will do more than all philosophers have thus far been able to do."

There are here, no doubt, grave difficulties; but we cannot persuade ourselves that they are insolvable. First of all we shall examine if sleep and waking be different, not only in the eyes of common sense, but also in those of reason. Lamennais pretends that only at the tribunal of common consent can a satisfactory and definitive sentence be obtained: we are convinced that very close reasoning can arrive at the same result to which consciousness, common sense, common consent, or, in other words, the testimony of our own being and that of our fellow mortals, conjointly conduce.

22. Man finds in himself a perfectly satisfactory certainty of the difference between sleep and waking: we need no testimony of others to know that we are awake.

The difference between these states must not be solely sought in the clearness and vividness of sensations, and the certainty which they generate. Undoubtedly images are sometimes presented to us in sleep with as much clearness as if we were awake, and our certainty for the instant is complete. Who has not in sleep experienced great joy, or terrible anguish? Sometimes, but very rarely, we have, when we awake, the reminiscence of having in the very act of sleep doubted if we were asleep; but this seldom happens, and it is in general true, that even our dreams are not accompanied by this twilight of reflex reason which warns us of our state and of the illusion that we are under. Ordinarily, while we dream, we have no thought that we are asleep, and we embrace a friend with the same effusion of tenderness, or weep disconsolately over his tomb, with the same affections as we should were all real.

23. The difference is not in momentary uncertainty, for we usually have, on the contrary, complete certainty. Whence, then, is this? How does reason explain it? How does philosophy come to the support of consciousness and common sense? This is the matter we now purpose to examine.

If we abstract sensations having or not having relation to external objects, and also the sufficiency of their testimony in any particular case, and consider them solely as phenomena of our soul, we shall find two orders of facts completely distinguished by marked characters, sleep and waking. In our soul these two orders are totally distinct; even in the system of the idealist this distinction must be recognized.

If we reflect upon what we have experienced since first we had consciousness of what passes within us, we shall observe in our being, two classes of phenomena. Periodically and constantly we experience two series of sensations; some more or less clear, more or less vivid, are confined simply to their object, without the concurrence of many of our faculties, and above all, without reflection upon them; others are always clear, always vivid, accompanied by acts of all our faculties, our reflection upon them, and their difference from those that went before, is entirely subject to our free will in all that is relative; we vary and modify them in a thousand different ways, or suppress and reproduce them.

I see the paper upon which I write; I reflect upon this sight; I abandon and resume it at pleasure; and if I choose, I connect this sensation with others, with a thousand thoughts or different caprices. What takes place in this act, always has happened to me, and always will, whenever that same series of phenomena is produced in me while awake. But if I dream that I write, although it happen not, as it ordinarily does, that I cannot hold my pen exactly right, nor see clearly, but only confusedly, I neither feel the simultaneous exercise of all my faculties, nor reflect upon my present state; I do not have that full consciousness of what I am doing, that clear and strong light which is scattered over all my waking actions and their objects. When awake I think upon what I have done, what I am doing, what I shall do; I recollect my dreams and call them illusions, pronounce them unconnected and extravagant appearances, and compare them with the order and connection of phenomena offered to me while awake. Nothing of this kind takes place in dreams; I may, perhaps, have a clear, lively sensation but it is independent of my will, it is an isolated impression, the use of only one faculty without the aid of the others, without fixed and constant comparisons, such as I make when awake; and above all, this phenomenon quickly vanishes, and I either fall into a state of unconsciousness of my being, or enter another state in which the same series of phenomena as before is reproduced; they are clear, lucid, connected; they stand the test of reason, which compares them with each other, and with anterior phenomena. Apart, then, from all idea of the external world, and even of all being outside of ourselves, we are certain of the distinction between the two orders of phenomena, those of sleep and those of waking.

Therefore, they who attack the certainty of our cognitions because of the difficulty of distinguishing between these states, make use of a very weak argument, and rely upon a fact entirely false. So far am I from believing it impossible to distinguish philosophically between sleep and waking, that I deem the difference between these two states one of the clearest and most certain facts of our nature.

Having established this truth, and supposing no one to doubt that the sensations experienced in sleep are not produced by external objects, and that, consequently, they cannot be a means of acquiring truth, I pass to another more difficult and important question.

CHAPTER IV.
RELATION OF SENSATIONS TO AN EXTERNAL WORLD

24. Have our sensations any relation to external objects, or are they merely phenomena of our nature? Can we infer the existence of an external world from the existence of that internal world resulting from the union of the scenes presented by sensations?

This question is theoretical, not practical, and depends solely on the force of reasoning, not on the voice of nature, – a voice stronger than all argument, and irresistible. To whatever result the philosophical examination of the relations of the ideal and the real worlds may lead, we must submit to that necessity of our nature which makes us believe in the existence of such relations. The great majority of mankind never have thought, and probably never will think of making such an examination; and yet they have no shadow of doubt that there exists a real world, distinct from us, but in incessant communication with us. Nature precedes philosophy.

We have no wish to show reason to be unable to vindicate the legitimacy of the inference whereby the real is deduced from the ideal, the existence of the external world from that of the internal; we would only point out a landmark to philosophy, which, if it does not illustrate it, may at least inspire it with sobriety in investigating, and with mistrust in its results. Indeed we cannot but see that that science must be erroneous which is opposed to a necessity, and contradicts an evident fact: it merits not to be called philosophy, if it struggles with a law to which all humanity, not even excepting the philosopher who presumes to protest against it, is inevitably subject. All that can be said against this law, may be as specious as you please, but it will only be a vain cavil, a cavil which, if unanswerable by our weak understanding, nature herself will resist until we shall in another life see the depths of these secrets, and how those links are joined whose points of contact reason cannot detect, although nature feels their irresistible union at every moment of her existence.

25. That sensations are something more than mere phenomena of our soul, that they are effects of a cause distinct from ourselves, is seen by comparing them with each other. We refer some to an external object; others we do not: these two orders of phenomena present very different characters.

I now have within me the representation of the country where I was born and spent my earliest years. I see clearly a vast plain with its fields and prairies, its little hills, now forming only isolated hillocks, now stretching in various directions, sinking to the level of the plain, or gradually rising until incorporated with the mountains, the lofty chain of which surrounds all the plain, and makes it a great amphitheatre, with no outlet except on the south, and here and there a chasm, seemingly torn in the mighty wall reared by nature. All this is very perfectly represented within me, although more than a hundred leagues distant, and this whenever, and as long as I choose. The same spectacle may, perhaps, be offered to me without the concurrence of my will, but I am always free to distract myself from it; I may drop the curtain upon this scene, or raise it anew at my pleasure.

What happens in this case is confirmed by many others; and thus I internally experience a series of phenomena representative of external objects, but am under no necessity to submit to them, for I can abandon or resume them by simple acts of my free will.

But, at the same time, I feel within myself another class of phenomena which are not dependent upon my will, and which I cannot abandon and resume at pleasure; they are subject to certain conditions which I cannot dispense with under pain of not attaining my purpose.

I now experience that a painting is represented to me; or, in ordinary language, I see a painting before me. Let us suppose this to be a purely internal phenomenon, and observe the conditions of its existence, abstracting, however, all external reality, that of my own body included, and that, also, of the organs whereby the sensation is, or seems to be, transmitted to me.

Now I experience the sensation; now I do not. What has intervened? The sensation of a motion that has produced another sensation of sight, and has destroyed the first; or, passing from ideal to real language, I have placed my hand between my eyes and the object. But why can I not during the last, reproduce the first sensation? We see clearly that if external objects do exist, and my sensations are produced by them, my sensations must be subject to the conditions which they impose upon them; but if they are only internal phenomena, there is no way of explaining them. This is only the more incomprehensible as we do not find in the sensations, which we consider as mere phenomena with no immediate relation to an external object, a close dependence of some upon others, but rather, on the contrary, great discordance.

26. Purely internal phenomena, those which we regard as truly such, are, so far as their existence and their modifications are concerned, greatly dependent upon the will. I produce in my imagination, whenever I please, a scene representing the Column of the Place Vendôme at Paris, and I suppress it at my pleasure. The same occurs with respect to all other objects which I recollect to have seen; their presence within me depends upon my will. It is true that sometimes objects which we do not wish are represented to us, and that some effort is necessary to make them disappear. If we see a dying person, his countenance pale and damp with sweat, his wandering eyes, his clenched hands, his distorted mouth and painful breathing, interrupted with piteous groans, remain long after stamped upon our imagination: this sad spectacle will often recur to us in spite of ourselves; but it is very certain that if we go into some complicated calculation, or engage in the solution of some difficult problem, we shall succeed in making it disappear. We see by this, that even in exceptional cases, so long as we are of sane mind, our will always exerts a great influence over purely internal phenomena.

It is otherwise with those which have immediate relation to external objects. We cannot, when in presence of the dying person, avoid seeing and hearing him. If these sensations be only a purely internal phenomenon, this phenomenon is of a very different order from that of the other. The one is wholly independent of our will, not so the other.

Purely internal phenomena have a very different mutual relation from that of external phenomena. The will exerts a great influence upon the former, but not upon the latter. The former also are offered either by a mere act of the will, or by themselves, in isolation, and need no connection with other preceding phenomena. I write at Madrid, and all at once I find myself on the banks of the Thames, with its countless fleet of ships and steamers. But this did not require me to pass through the series of phenomena which represent what are called France and Spain. I can represent the Thames to myself immediately, after a thousand sensations, neither connected among themselves, nor with it; but if I would produce in myself the phenomenon called seeing, I must pass through the whole series of phenomena consequent upon a voyage; and this not in any way I may fancy, but so as to feel really and truly all the accompanying pleasures and inconveniences; I must make a true resolution to depart, and arrive punctually at such an hour, at the risk of missing the sensation called, seeing the stage, and another, which I call, seeing myself started; in fine, all the disagreeable sensations arising from such a mischance.

When I would represent this series of internal phenomena, or, in common language, adventures of travel, only internally, I dispose all at my pleasure; I stop, or travel faster; I take steps of a hundred leagues, and pass immediately from one point to another, and I experience none of those inconveniences which render the reality fatiguing. I am in a world where I am master. I command, and the coach is ready, the driver on his box, the postilion in his saddle; and I fly as borne on the wings of the wind. Beautiful landscapes, barren lands, gigantic mountains, and plains whose boundaries join the heavens, all pass before my eyes with wonderful rapidity. Tired of the land, I embark upon the lofty deep; I see the angry waves, and hear, amid their roaring and dashing against the ship, the voice of the captain giving his orders. I see the sailors work the ship; I speak with the passengers, and roam through the cabins; and yet perceive no offensive smell, and neither feel the qualms of sea-sickness, nor observe them in others.

27. If purely internal sensations, especially when they proceed from external sensations, be indeed mutually connected, their connection is not such that it may not be modified in a thousand ways. When we think of the Obelisk of the Place de la Concorde, its fountains and statues, are very naturally presented to us; so, also, are the Palace of the Tuileries, and that of the Chamber of Deputies, the Madeleine, and the Champs-Elysées; but we can, by an act of the will, change the scene; and if we choose we may transfer the Obelisk to the Place du Carrousel, and admire the effect it produces there, until, satisfied with the operation, we restore it to its granite base, or think no more of it.

But with sight, or the external phenomenon, we should in vain strive to perform such manœuvres; everything keeps its place, or, at least, seems to; and the sensations are bound together with bands of iron. One comes after the other, and we cannot pass by any. The mere observation, then, of what passes within us reveals the existence of two wholly distinct orders of phenomena: in the one, everything, or almost everything, depends upon our will; in the other, nothing. In the one, the phenomena have certain mutual relations, very variable, however, and to a great extent subject to our fancy; in the other, they are dependent upon each other, and are produced only under certain conditions. We cannot see, if we do not open the blinds so as to allow the light to enter. Here the phenomena of blinds and sight are necessarily connected; but they are not always so; for we may open them at night, and yet not see; and then we require another auxiliary phenomenon, which is, artificial light. We cannot, if we would, change this law of dependence.

28. What does all this show? Does it not show that the phenomena not dependent upon our will, but subject both as to their existence and accidents to laws which we cannot change, are produced by beings distinct from ourselves? They are not ourselves, for we often exist without them; they are not caused by our will, for they often occur without its concurrence, often also against it; they are not produced one by the other in the purely internal order, for it very frequently happens that a phenomenon which has a thousand times followed another suddenly ceases, however often the former be reproduced. This leads us to examine an hypothesis which will greatly confirm the doctrine we have laid down.

CHAPTER V.
AN IDEALIST HYPOTHESIS

29. The system of the Idealists cannot stand without supposing the connection and dependence which we refer to external objects, to exist only within us, and the causality which we attribute to external objects, to belong solely to our own acts.

I pull a rope in my chamber, and a bell never fails to ring; or in idealist language, the sensation formed from that union of sensations into which enters what we call the rope and pulling it, produces or involves that other, which we call ringing a bell. Either from habit or some hidden law, that relation of two phenomena will exist, the never interrupted succession of which causes the illusion in us, whereby we transfer to the real order, what is purely imaginary. This is the most irrational explanation possible, and a few observations will show it to be futile.

Today, we pull the rope, and strangely enough, no bell rings: but why not? The causing phenomenon exists; for undoubtedly there passes within us the act called pulling the rope, and yet we pull and pull again, and the bell does not ring. Who has changed the succession of phenomena? Why does not the phenomenon which a little while ago produced another, not produce it now? Nothing new has happened within us, we experience the first phenomenon just as clearly and vividly as before; why, then, is not the second presented? Why is it that formerly we experienced the second whenever we wished, by only exciting the first, and now we cannot? We make the act of our will just as efficaciously as before; who, then, has rendered our will impotent?

Hence we infer: first, that the second phenomenon does not depend upon the first, considered only as a purely internal fact, for this now exists precisely as it did before, and yet produces not the same phenomenon; secondly, that it does not depend upon the act of our will; for this is now as firm and strong as before, and yet produces nothing. We cannot, however, doubt that there is some connection between the two phenomena, for we have innumerable times seen one follow the other, and this cannot be explained by mere chance. Since then, one does not cause the other in the internal order, they must have some dependence in the external order; in other words, still keeping in view the case under examination, although the cause which produced the first phenomenon continues to exist, its connection with that which produced the other phenomenon must be interrupted; and so it was, in fact; for when we pulled the rope no sound followed, for the simple reason that the bell had been removed. This is comprehensible, if there be causes external to what we call sensations; but if there be only simple internal phenomena, no rational explanation can be given.

30. And here it is to be observed, that when we would explain the failure of succession of those phenomena which always have been united, we may recur to many very different ones, such as are internal phenomena, which, as such, have neither relation nor resemblance, and can only have some connection as corresponding to external objects. We may, when seeking the reason why the bell did not ring, in order to explain the cause of the change in the regular order of appearances, think of various causes, which we now consider as mere appearances or internal phenomena; we may have the following sensations: the rope broken, or caught, the bell broken, or removed, or without a tongue. We may attribute the failure of sound to any one of these sensations: but nothing can possibly be more irrational than to attribute it to them, if we regard them as mere internal facts; for as sensations, they nowhere appear. We cannot discourse rationally if we do not make an external object correspond to each of these sensations, of itself alone sufficing to interrupt the connection between pulling the rope and the vibration of the air which produces the sound.

31. Hence we conclude: First, that our sensations considered as purely internal phenomena, are divided into two very different classes; some depend upon our will, others do not; some have no mutual connection, or are variable in their relations, at the pleasure of him who experiences them; others have a certain connection which we can neither change nor destroy. Secondly, we conclude that the existence as well as the modifications of this last class, proceeds from causes not ourselves, independent of our will, and outside of us. That instinct, therefore, which impels us to refer these sensations to external objects, is confirmed by reason: therefore the testimony of the senses, in so far as it assures us of the reality of objects, is admissible at the tribunal of philosophy.

This demonstrates, in a certain manner, the existence of bodies; for we find, in philosophically examining the conception of body, something in it distinct from our own being, the presence of which causes us such and such sensations. We know not the intimate essence of bodies; but even if we did know it, it would not aid our present purpose, for we are not treating of the idea which a philosopher would in such a case form, but of that formed by the generality of men.