A Fellow Lighter

What I am trying to communicate here is actually difficult to grasp with the conventional way of thinking about consciousness. @Someone here the content and the screen are the same thing, like ocean and wave. Literally, the content is the screen, there is no difference. So Rupert is actually over looking a lot because the second that you identify with the screen, that's the ego mind doing its thing again. There is literally no screen. The screen is a thought. It is a wave of consciousness. It will rise and it will fall. When it does fall, there won't be any screen. There will be nothing, until it rises again. @Leo Gura I agree. I'm only using physical science as an analogy. I'm describung consciousness as pure motion because of it's inherent and independent dynamic nature. Of course it's not limited to form. But consciousness goes to unfathomable depth to become that very form which it is not limited to. So much so that when consciousness does take form, its identity is the form it has taken until the dream reaches its nstural conclusion. What I'm trying to eliminate here is the observer or "void screen" element. There is no such thing. I as the so called "content" am the consciousness. I, the form, am consciousness. There is no one or nothing outside of me. I am literally the soil and rocks and anyrhing else living or nonliving. I am also you. I am anything and everything conceivable. Ultimately, I Am. And I am definitely not still. I am very much MOVING. This world is my movement. This forum is my movement. Everyone in this forum, every individual life here, is my movement. Whatever you say or do, that is also my movement. I am motion. Without motion, there is nothing. I am the movement that has no begining and no end. I'll forever be moving. I am eternal movement. The appearance of finitude is but an appearance created in my infinite movement. My movement has always been one, it cannot be segmented nor fragmented. Because anything you might think that you're doing to it is also part of my movement. Literally no weapon formed against me shall prosper, for all weapons are mere appearances in my movement. That includes your prestiged logic. All these debates, this is also me. All these fights and squabbles, they are me. All relationships, mariages, etc – still me. Your feelings are me. Your thoughts are me. Your body is me. I am all of it. This is what I'm taljing about. The motion, the emotion, the vibration on a quantum scale and locomotion on a bigger scale, it's all consciousness. Motion is consciousness.

This question only makes sense when there is an assumed separation between subject and object. Otherwise there is nothing to be "tied together", there is simply consciousness without duality. No, consciousness isn't nothing. Quite clearly it is something. In fact, one could even go as far as saying it is everything, or that everything is consciousness, rather.

There is nothing in between you and your environment, except for your own thoughts. There is nothing in between me and you, except for your own thoughts. There is nothing wrong with thought, it is the most basic form of consciousness which permeates and reverberates in to more complex forms of consciousness with seemingly more depth. Physicality is consciousness, physical energy is consciousness, matter is consciousness and objects are consciousness. Life is consciousness. But whether you come to realise this or not isn't a matter of seeking more information or more understanding. It's a matter of embracing truth. Which greater truth do you know other than the fact that there (here) is consciousness? The truth falls off the realm of thought. No one needs to think about consciousness in order for there to be consciousness.

You are a thought. Everything you do is a thought. Even your dreams are thoughts. The only difference between everything mentioned is frequency (or strength), otherwise it is all literally one thing – Thought. What the ego mind won't fathom is that it's identity is a thought. What the ego mind won't fathom is that its life is a thought. What the ego mind won't fathom is that all of its knowledge is a thought. What the ego mind won't fathom is that all of its desires and pursuits are thought. What the ego mind won't fathom is that the only point of its existence is consciousness, anything else is just a finite thought. Consciousness is the only meaning, the only point to reality, the only cause and effect.

Thank you.

You might not be aware of your so-called physical environment, sure. But you are definitely aware of something, even if that something seems like nothing. People can often distinguish between having had a dreamless sleep and having had a dreamful sleep, even though they might have forgotten the dream itself. It is almost never necessary to assume that you had just had a dreamless sleep. You know that your sleep was dream. And you do know when you had a dream although, for the life of you, you cannot seem to remember the details of the dream or what you were dreaming about. Yes, that is true. And the reason this is true is that deep sleep is the absence of thought. And any statement made is a thought, that includes "I am in deep sleep right now." See? So the only way your argument can stand is if there is deed a moment of unconsciousness that you can reference. Does such a moment exist? Can such a moment exist? Is there a point in time in which a person is not aware of anything, internal and external? People do know the difference between a dreamless sleep and a dreamful one. Whether they can remember the detail of the dream or not makes no difference.

This depends on how you interpret deep sleep, don't you think? The way I see it, the mind is capable of thoughtful consciousness which brings about the reality of finitide and it is also capable of thoughtless consciousness which reveals the infinite nature of consciousness. The fact of the matter is, when you wake up even from deep sleep you still know that you were sleeping and you also know that you had a dreamless sleep. It is not as though there is a period in your experience which has just gone missing without a trace and left this inexplicably gap in your memory, right? So what is the source of this knowledge? It's not like someone has to tell you that you had just had a dreamless sleep. You are consciousness. You know exactly when you enter a thoughtless state as well as when you enter a thoughtful one. Right now, reading this, you are very much aware that this is a thoughtful state or your so-called wakeful state. You also know when the contrary is true. You know when you've entered deep sleep, no one has to tell you this. Consciousness doesn't shut down, it merely transitions from one state into another. It's dynamic, not as static as you might think of it.

Investigating the first knowable thing in existence The standard definition of consciousness, often used in philosophy, psychology and neuroscience, is the following: Consciousness is the state of being aware of, and able to think about, one's own existence, thoughts and surroundings. The key components of consciousness, here, are: Awareness — the capacity to be aware of internal states (thoughts, emotions and sensations) and external stimuli (environments and inhabitants). Subjectivity — the quality of experiences that are personal and unique to an individual. Intentionality — the directed-ness or about-ness of mental states. Consciousness is often about something. Qualia — the qualitative aspects of conscious experiences such as the redness of a red or the pain of a headache. Self-Reflection — the ability to think about and reflect on one's own mental states and processes. Different levels of states of consciousness: Wakefulness — the state of being alert and engaged with the environment. Sleep — involves various stages, including REM sleep which is associated with vivid dreaming. Altered States — states induced by meditation, hypnosis, drugs or certain mental health conditions. Consciousness in different contexts: Philosophy — explores the nature, origin and implications of consciousness, often dealing with questions like the "hard problem" (why and how subjective experiences arise from physical processes). Psychology — studies consciousness through behavior, cognition and neurobiological processes, often looking at attention, perception and awareness. Neuroscience — investigates the neural correlates of consciousness, identifying specific brain regions and networks involved in conscious experiences. There are several theories about consciousness. Here I will mention the major theories in detail. High Order Thought theory Proponents: David Rosenthal, Peter Carruthers. Core idea: A mental state becomes conscious when it is the object of a high order thought (a thought about a thought). Mechanism: For example, if you see a red apple, the perception of the apple is a first order mental state. It becomes a conscious experience when you have a higher order thought that you are seeing the red apple. Implications: This theory suggests that consciousness requires a kind of metacognition or thinking about one's own thoughts. Higher Order Perception theory Proponents: Same as HOT theory, but with a focus on perception. Core idea: Consciousness arises from the integration of information in a "global workspace" in the brain. Mechanism: Information from various subconscious processes is broadcast to a network of neurons thus making it globally available for decision making, action and verbal report. Analogy: It's like a theater spotlight that brings certain information into focus for the entire system while the rest remains in the dark. Information Integrated theory Proponents: Giulio Tononi Core idea: Consciousness corresponds to the capacity of a system to integrate information. Mechanism: The theory quantifies consciousness using a measure called phi which represents the degree of integrated information. Higher phi values indicate more integrated and hence more conscious systems. Implications: IIT suggests that any system that integrates information (biological or artificial) could possess some level of consciousness. Phenomenological Approaches Proponents: Various, including Edmund Husserl and Maurice Merleau-Ponty. Core idea: Focuses on the subjective, first-person experience of consciousness. Method: Descriptive rather than explanatory. It aims to describe the structures of experience from the point of view of the subject. Key concepts: Intentionality (consciousness is always about something), lived experience, embodiment (the body as a primary site of knowing the world). Multiple Realization theory Core idea: Different neural structures can give rise to the same conscious experience. Mechanism: Emphasizes the diversity of neural substrates across species and individuals that can generate consciousness. Recurrent Processesing theory Proponents: Victor Lamme, Stanislas Dehaene. Core idea: Consciousness arises from recurrent or re-entrant neural activity rather than just feedfoward processing. Mechanism: Persistent and reciprocal signaling within and betwixt different brain regions is crucial for conscious perception. Orchestrated Objective Reduction theory Proponents: Roger Penrose, Stuart Hameroff. Core idea: Consciousness results from quantum computations in microtubules within neurons. Mechanism: Combines principles of quantum mechanics and neuroscience. Conscious events are proposed to be orchestrated by biological processes and then collapsed by quantum processes. Embodied Cognition Proponents: Francisco Varela, Ethan Thompson, and others. Core idea: Consciousness arises from the interaction between an organism and its environment. Mechanism: Emphasizes the role of the body in shaping the mind. Cognitive processes are deeply rooted in the body's interactions with the world. Panpsychism Proponents: Philip Goff, Galen Stawson. Core idea: Consciousness is a fundamental feature of all physical entities, not just brains. Mechanism: Every particle or fundamental entity has a basic form of consciousness. Complex consciousness arises from the combination of simpler forms.

In the spirit of the ancient Athenian marketplace, where ideas clashed and mingled in vibrant discourse, I'm dedicating this journal to my philosophical inquiries and research as well as the refinement of a budding cosmology that I'm developing and have chosen to call Autonoetism. The name inspired by Endel Tulving's "autonoetic consciousness", a mental ability that allows us to travel through time in our minds. I invite open-minded thinkers and scholars to participate in this intellectual exploration, and to engage with the ideas of Autonoetism, challenge its tenets, and even contribute to its ongoing development. Most of this endeavor will be guided by the work of the late professor of philosophy, George Stuart Fullerton, and of course some of Leo Gura's self-actualization content that I find relatable to this journal. Welcome to The Agora.

The first knowable thing in the natural world is considered to be our own consciousness or subjective experience. As sentient beings, we have direct access to our thoughts, perceptions, and emotions, making them the most immediate and accessible aspect of the natural world to us. This subjective experience forms the foundation of our understanding of reality and serves as the starting point for inquiry into the nature of existence. From there, we can explore the external world through observation, experimentation, and empirical investigation, gradually expanding our understanding of the cosmos.

Yes, it seems like it. Of course there is no mirror. The infinite mirror is just an analogy. By definition, that which is infinite is absolute. Do you know anything more infinite than consciousness? If not then why call it "the Absolute" when you already know what it is? That's like calling a value "x" despite the fact that this value is already known to be 1. What you have to realize is that a "rock" is an idea made upon the foundation of consciousness. The rock is part of the land, but the "land" itself is also an idea that you conceived upon consciousness. The land is part of the biosphere, but the "biosphere" is also an idea you made up upon consciousness. The biosphere encompasses living things, but "living things" and "non-living things" is also an idea you made up upon consciousness. You are a living thing, but "you" are also an idea that you conceived upon consciousness. You probably get the pattern at this point: one idea leads to another idea. There is no way for one thing such as an idea to lead into something that is not such as truth. Only the foundation is the truth, because it is 'found' and not conceived. You ask what kind of consciousness can't be aware of itself or anything else, assuming that the rock is also consciousness. But what if consciousness is as simple as the mere fact of you noticing the rock is, for a matter of fact, the rock noticing itself? Isn't everything between you and the rock merely an idea? All of creation is consciousness, my friend. Even now, there is nothing between me and you, we are one thing, one being, we are the same consciousness. Everything else is merely an idea, a thought, etc.

The depth of consciousness is, in deed, unfathomable. There is no distinction between objects and thoughts, no distinction between memory and experience, no distinction between past and future, no distinction between self and other, no distinction between a question and an answer. All is simply consciousness for the sake of consciousness. All logic, all narratives, all systems, all beliefs, all ideas, all emotions, all impulses, all desire, all gratification, all of it is consciousness. Consciousness is the simulation of love.

Why can't it be just one thing conscious of itself? If I had to enunciate it, consciousness is the reflection of the all-Mind, or what has been referred to here as the "Godhead". Imagine a mirror without a frame, a mirror which extends infinitely in all directions. Now imagine that this mirror was/is the only thing in existence so much so that it is just your complete awareness and this mirror in existence. But this mirror does not work like an ordinary mirror. Instead of reflecting what is in front of it, this infinite mirror reflects your thoughts. Such is the nature of consciousness, it brings your thoughts (or love) into vibration. Of course this is only an attempt in explaining it. This attempt in itself is a thought. However, all thoughts are finite, but consciousness isn't – consciousness is the infinite mirror which reflects your (the all-Mind) thoughts.

No. But thought is consciousness.

I want to state that it is not physicality per se that is experienced first, rather it is consciousness. Hence consciousness itself is the first known thing in the natural world. This perspective aligns with various philosophical and scientific views that emphasize the primacy of consciousness in our understanding of reality The evolutionary theory presented on consciousness posits that consciousness is an evolving ability to sense and respond to biological forces for survival. This definition suggests that consciousness emerges from the need to interact with and adapt to the environment, emphasizing its intimate connection to life and the natural world. However, there are those like A. A. Adedire who argue that the constancy of awareness, rather than the personal self, defines the essence of mind. This awareness, as the foundation of the world, is consistent with the orderly nature of reality and can be seen as the primary element behind all experience David Chalmers, in "Consciousness and its Place in Nature," discusses the challenge of fitting consciousness into our conception of the natural world. He explores how consciousness, as a fundamental aspect of experience, does not neatly align with traditional views of the physical world. A lot of arguments can be made regarding the position of consciousness in the natural world, but one thing us for certain: the first knowable thing in the natural world is consciousness, everything else is merely an idea of that object of consciousness.

Autonoetism – the Common Thought Approach What is the first known thing in the natural universe? In the world of common thought, experience reigns supreme. So rather than beginning my cosmology with the so-called fundamental questions, which are essentially the unknowable things of the universe, I instead pose a more direct question. While "What is the first known thing in the natural universe?" isn't the typical starting point for a full-fledged cosmology, it can be a stepping stone for developing a cosmology using a common thought framework. The limited scope offers a set trajectory for exploration and logical investigation. We can begin this research by exploring the knowable instead of the unknowables such as the origin of the universe. How can one know the origin of the universe without being there to witness it? Such fundamental queries only invite speculative thinking. Whilst with a limited scope type of query, we can begin with what man can know. So what is the first known thing in the natural universe? Our current understanding suggests space is a fundamental property of the universe, perhaps even emerging alongside time itself in the Big Bang. If space is intrinsic to the universe's existence, it could be argued to predate any objects or energy within it. But is it the first known thing? Time seems to have a direction, with a past, present, and future. This inherent directionality is a property not observed in space and could be argued as a foundational aspect of reality. Is it matter? Is it space? Is it time? I propose consciousness is the first known thing in the natural universe.

But you continue to seek enlightenment. It is said multiple times that everything is consciousness, and yet you still ask, "How do I achieve enlightenment?". If this is true, then, what does it mean? Perhaps life has little to do with seeking, and more to do with giving. And, perhaps, what is given cannot be seen, or, at least, only till what is given is not given any longer. Like a lit candle seeking a source of light, only when it almost runs out of wax, and notices the room becoming dim, will it begin to realise... How will you react, I wonder, when you find out that your whole life has been a giving ritual as opposed to one of seeking? How will you handle knowing the monstrous extent to which the mind can deceive you, when the thoughts finally stop running? Or, maybe, just maybe, the mind hasn't been deceiving at all. If you think about it, how many forms of expression can the mind keep up with before it is eventually lost in one of the forms? But then, again, none of these questions actually matter. Because no matter how you react, no matter what you do, whatever you might think it means, all of it, everything is consciousness.

Naturalism As My Philosophical Position Naturalism, in philosophy, is a theory that relates scientific methods to philosophy by affirming that all beings and events in the universe, whatever their inherent character may be, are natural. Consequently, all knowledge of the universe falls within the pale of scientific investigation. Although naturalism denies the existence of truly supernatural realities, it makes allowance for the supernatural provided that knowledge of it can be had indirectly, that is, that natural objects be influenced by the so-called supernatural entities in a detectable way. This position I've not taken by selection, that is, choosing it in particular rather than one of the others. This position I've taken by adaptation, that is, discovering that this is what my experience of the world has enabled or allowed me to make sense of the world. If it were up to me, I'd probably opt to not having a position as this would be the best way to ensure open-mindedness in my inquiries and research. However, we are ego-functional, which means that pure objectivity is nearly impossible for us to achieve. So, rather than pretending to be something I'm not, I am choosing to embrace all that I am as means of remaining aware of potential blind-spots in this critical endeavor. And what I am is a naturalist. Naturalism presumes that nature is in principle completely knowable. There is in nature a regularity, unity, and wholeness that implies objective laws, without which the pursuit of scientific knowledge would be absurd. Man’s endless search for concrete proofs of his beliefs is seen as a confirmation of naturalistic methodology. Naturalists point out that even when one scientific theory is abandoned in favour of another, man does not despair of knowing nature, nor does he repudiate the “natural method” in his search for truth. Theories change; methodology does not. I have already described science to be a rather systematic extension of common thought. Science, by nature, relies on experiential data for insight, not anything outside of experience. This tells us that the common man is naturally empirical when it comes to making sense of the world, and that only in the absence of evidence does s/he become speculative. From this it is clear that the naturalist has, for his philosophical inquiries, common thought as his foundation. While naturalism has often been equated with materialism, it is much broader in scope. Materialism is indeed naturalistic, but the converse is not necessarily true. Strictly speaking, naturalism has no ontological preference; i.e., no bias toward any particular set of categories of reality: dualism and monism, atheism and theism, idealism and materialism are all per se compatible with it. So long as all of reality is natural, no other limitations are imposed. Naturalists have in fact expressed a wide variety of views, even to the point of developing a theistic naturalism. The concept of a source for the natural universe is not an anti-naturalist position in as far as naturalism is concerned. So long as this source is functions accordingly with the natural universe, that is, it is simply the source and not the anything outside of the natural creation, it is compatible with naturalism. All natural patterns have a source or sources to their system, thusly it is also expected with the universe itself to have such a point or points of initiation. Only rarely do naturalists give attention to metaphysics (which they deride), and they make no philosophical attempts to establish their position. Naturalists simply assert that nature is reality, the whole of it. There is nothing beyond, nothing “other than,” no “other world” of being. Metaphysics deals with the fundamental nature of reality, existence, and knowledge. Naturalism, on the other hand, focuses on explaining the world through natural laws and scientific principles. The whole purpose of this journal is developing a cosmology which reconciles the physical with the metaphysical. Autonoetism is fundamentally a naturalistic theory.

Philosophy As The Nature Of Consciousness In my previous post, "The Fundamentals", I discuss the work of philosophy in comparison to other occupations. My main point is that philosophy has nothing to do with survival and is without economical practicality. But I also delve into the description of philosophy itself, describing it as an activity rather than a thing of study. In fact, I go on as to call it the very movement of consciousness itself, emerging from its unconsciousness and onwards to awakening. Now, here, I will elaborate. In this world, we are familiarised with two concepts of design: natural design and artificial design. Basically, a thing of nature and a thing of man. It is pretty easy to distinguish the artificial from the natural, perhaps its the easiest thing if one possesses common sense. However, just because it's easy, that doesn't mean that mistakes cannot be made. After all, man himself is a thing of nature, isn't he? But let's explore some of the differences between artificial and natural. Natural designs tend to be more complex and organic, with shapes and patterns that arise from natural processes. Artificial designs, on the other hand, are often simpler and more geometric, reflecting the constraints of manufacturing and human planning. Natural forms often exhibit irregularities and variations, while artificial designs tend to be more uniform and repetitive due to mass production techniques. Natural designs are optimized for function within an ecosystem. Artificial designs may prioritize aesthetics or specific human needs, sometimes leading to forms that appear out of place in nature. So pretty easy, right. It seems the key ability in being able to differentiate between artificial and natural lies upon understanding how man and nature work. Nature seems more occupied with balancing itself out, and man seems more occupied with advancing oneself. So it is clear whenever we come across a design that it falls under man or nature. Society is man's work. The economy is man's work. Technology is man's design. Education is man's design.. Various fields of study are man's work. But is philosophy also man's design? Philosophy requires conscious thought, analysis, and reasoning, which are distinctly human capabilities. We develop philosophical questions and systems to understand the world and our place in it. However, curiosity and the desire to understand are fundamental human traits. Philosophy might be seen as a natural extension of this inherent inquisitiveness, a way to grapple with complex questions that arise from our experience of the world. So, then, our keen interest in doing philosophy appears to be a tendency rather than a design. Which makes sense because as far as survival goes, philosophy seems more about balancing out man's ego in relation to the world as opposed to advancing him. Consciousness is a burden. For instance, unlike with other species, the awareness of our own mortality is enough to cause anxiety or fearfulness which can hinder our survival greatly. Hence it is one of those things that the plain man will rarely think about. Such thoughts don't even make 2% of one's daily thought patterns. One's mortality is an awareness so far down suppressed that only a direct questioning of it is the only thing that can bring it up into the conscious mind. And, our mortality is just one thing. What about loneliness – that awareness of one's personal world which almost guarantees that no one can ever truly know what you do. Your point of view is yours and yours alone. Or what about love – the awareness of your own longing for true companionship and the awareness of knowing that you might never really get it or truly have it. The list can go on, but I think I've made my point. There is only one way for humanity to ease this burden, and that is by doing philosophy. Which is, really, an attending to those matters of consciousness rather than the suppressing of them. By design, man wouldn't philosophise because it is a direct threat to his ego. So, then, this can only mean that philosophy is nature taking its course, a balancing of some sort. Perhaps there is the objection of classifying nature as entirely physical, having nothing to do with the mental world. But, then, man himself is a product of nature, remember? So whatever man is, nature is. In fact, who's to say that man is not an expression of nature, one of many to say the least? What if consciousness doesn't begin with man? We cannot let our egos deceive us to the point of hopelessness by claiming that real intelligence begins with man. Perhaps we are more like the waves of the ocean as opposed to the ocean itself. The movement of the ocean is nature, and the water is consciousness itself. If what we call nature is capable of expressing design, then maybe it is just as conscious as we are if not more. Or, maybe, everything begins with consciousness moving, not matter? I call philosophy an activity because I can differentiate between a man-made thing and a natural thing.

The Importance Of A Philosophical Position Before one can do any serious philosophy, it is imperative that s/he understands one's own position regarding something as fundamental as how one thinks of the world of one's experience: Is it out there, happening independently from one's mind? Or is it in here 🧠, occurring through the mind's constructive capacity? Note that I'm not simply referring to the world, but to a world of one's own experience, rather. This is because I want to make it clear what it is we're dealing with here, as some of us, if not most, will be quick to argue that they are without a position in this matter because they are not philosophical. However, you do, in fact, have a position, even though you might claim to have no interest in philosophy or down right have nothing to do with it. This is because philosophers aren't doing anything alien to the plain man when doing philosophy, as with botany or geology or any other science, the philosopher only does what the plain man will do rather unsystematically. You have a position regarding the world of experience. Everyone does, for experience is quite a universal thing in the human world, wouldn't you say? No, it is merely a matter of you not having made a distinction of your position, yet. And thus making it distinguishable from, let's say, your neighbor's or any other philosopher's position which might contradict yours should you be given the chance to discuss it. Your position on the world of experience simply refers to how you understand your experience of the world as you experience it. For example, when you're waiting in a line to a food stand, do you regard this as a personal experience or an impersonal experience. You might be quick to think that this is obviously a personal experience because you're the only one who can understand what it is like for you in that particular moment of waiting. But some will understand it to be impersonal simply because s/he is not alone, everybody else who is in line is experiencing the same thing as s/he is – waiting for food. See, no one has asked you how you're understanding the experience of waiting in line, but you are already doing it anyway. And so it can be with your position of your world experience. How you understand your experience of the world is a position of its own philosophical merit. The only difference is that no one had asked you to express it. Without a self-realised position, it may be difficult to do some proper philosophy because you have no referential framework for considering other arguments. Some folks might argue that not having a position is good because it allows you to be open minded and free to develop your own unique philosophical position. Yes, that would be true if a person in fact did not have a position in this matter. However, experience is a universal thing, and chances are that a person would have long developed a position before s/he could even reflect on it. For instance, when it comes to the question of whether there is an external world or not – just the world that we know, the world of experience: I reject the position of an external world, that is, a world external to one's experience. And, I may not be so interested in figuring out which school of thought affirms the existence of such a world as much as I would be interested in learning more from the schools that don't. This can happen, yes. However, because I am interested in doing philosophy in a careful way, I am determined in learning from both positive and negative arguments, having realized my own understanding of the world.

Thoughts Are More Real Than Objects "Idealism is often regarded as a philosophy entailing that the world exists just in our heads, which is obviously false. Rising philosophical star Dr. Jeremy Dunham argues that this view of idealism is a misconception. Idealism is a much more realist worldview than we think, and more realist than its alternatives, as it does not deny the existence of the most real things there are: thoughts. This essay is the latest instalment of our The Return of Idealism series, produced in a collaboration with the Institute of Art and Ideas (IA). It was first published by the IAI on 19 April 2024." ~ https://www.essentiafoundation.org/thoughts-are-more-real-than-objects/reading/ What is idealism? Throughout history, in most cases, philosophical idealism is a metaphysical position. The idealist is concerned with reality’s fundamental nature. It is often mistakenly thought to be a reductive theory of the fundamental nature of reality. Many critics have supposed that the idealist tries to reduce reality to the subjective states of individual minds. According to this form of subjective idealism there is no world outside our minds. This view is often associated with the British empiricist Bishop Berkeley (1685-1753). Famously, when told that such idealism was irrefutable, the English author Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) shouted, “I refute it thus” and kicked a stone. The idealist therefore is thought to be the one who denies. They are anti-realist, anti-materialist, anti-naturalist, and certainly anti-stones. This way of thinking about philosophical idealism is misleading. Many kinds of philosophers have both voluntarily and involuntarily been referred to as idealists. However, they are united by an understanding of idealism as a form of realism. Idealism is not a reductive philosophy. It argues for the real existence of elements of reality often dismissed. It is a realism about ideas. Even Berkeley frames his position as a realism. He wrote that “the real things are those things I see, and feel, and perceive by my senses.” Berkeley opposed his view to those who regard our rich conscious phenomenal world, the world of tastes, feels, colours, and sounds, as in some way less real than the physical world. For Berkeley, the real stone is the coloured object which we see and feel and that resists us when kicked. If Johnson kicked the stone as hard as I imagine, he entered a world of pain. For Berkeley, this world is the real world. His idealism is ampliative, not reductive. Its aim is to account for the full extent of our reality. Berkeley, then, is not anti-stone. He argued that only idealism can do justice to stones. Although idealism may refer to a doctrine that affirms the reality of our ideas in this subjective sense, there is another sense of the word ‘idea.’ This is the Platonic Idea, often referred to as ‘Form’ or ‘Universal.’ Idealism shares something in common with the modern philosophical view known as Platonism. But there are significant differences. Platonists defend the existence of universals in addition to particular properties. A Platonist about properties, for example, believes that in addition to the individual things in the world that have redness amongst their properties, such as the red pen in front of me and the red symbols on my computer screen, there is the universal redness. This universal isn’t in front of me. It doesn’t exist anywhere in space or time. It is an abstract object. An abstract object is neither physical nor mental. It is causally inert, fixed, and unchanging. Yet, when we see redness in the world, this redness is an exemplification or instantiation of that universal. Particular red things are united by the fact that they instantiate this universal. Accordingly, the modern Platonist seems to postulate two worlds. One of abstract objects and another in which they are instantiated. However, since the abstract objects are causally inert, the relationship between these worlds is mysterious. One of the most important schools of idealism in its history is that known as absolute idealism. It originates with Hegel in Germany, but flourished towards the end of the nineteenth-century with many adherents in the Oxbridge philosophy departments and worldwide. Here, the idea in idealism explicitly refers to Plato’s ideas. However, the absolute idealist attempts to bring the two worlds described above together into one. Consequently, the abstract universal is made concrete. In several places, Plato suggests that things have the properties they do in virtue of participating in the Idea (or universal). A beautiful thing is beautiful in virtue of the fact that it participates in the Idea of beauty. However, this suggests that the particulars stand in a causal relationship with the universals. Ideas are causally responsible for the existence of properties in the concrete world. Perhaps we are wrong to think of Plato’s Ideas as abstract objects after all? Abstract universals are causally inert, so whatever relationship there is between them and their instantiating particulars, it cannot be causal. This is the absolute idealist’s starting point. The universals do not exist outside of our world. They are immanent to it. They are not abstract, rather they are concrete. As Hegel claimed, since the living world is concrete not abstract, those who consider universals as abstract kill the living thing. This kind of idealist argues that our world has the structure or form that it does because of the universals immanent to it. Hegel wrote that “The universal is the essential, true nature of things” and that “through thinking these over we become acquainted with the true nature of things.” Any individual bear, for Hegel, has a universal nature. It’s that aspect of its nature it shares with any other bear and thus enables us to identify it as a bear, even if we’ve never seen this individual bear before. But it is also different to every other bear. It has particular features that distinguish it from any other bear and make it an individual. Crucially, in the case of the concrete universal, the particular features that make an individual the individual it is are not external to the universal but rather contained within it. You do not get the individual bear by bundling a bunch of extra particulars to the universal bear. Hegel dedicates much of his famous Phenomenology of Spirit to demonstrating that if you start with properties that are only externally related, it’s impossible to combine them together into the kind of unities that make up our world. A bear isn’t a bundle of qualities. It’s a self-preserving organism for which the parts depend on the whole as much as the whole depends on the parts. Its particular properties, like the thickness of its fur, are different in the winter than in the summer because they are internally related to the organism as a whole and sensitive to its survival needs. What does it mean to say that the concrete universal contains particulars within itself? It means that the individual bear becomes the individual bear not by addition, but by negation. To think the abstract universal, you abstract away all the properties that differentiate one bear from another and the universal is whatever is left. The concrete universal, on the other hand, includes all those differences. The particularisation of the bear is the process by means of which it negates the properties that do not belong to it, leaving behind just those that make it the individual bear. This is the meaning behind Hegel’s often quoted phrase: all determination is negation. ‘The true, infinite universal’, Hegel writes, ‘determines itself… it is creative power as self-referring absolute negativity. As such, it differentiates itself internally.’ This points to an important characteristic of the concrete universal: it determines the development of the individual. The universal guides the bear’s ideal development. It should develop from a cub to a yearling and then from a young adult to a mature adult. However, it develops in its own particular way. Although all bears develop from cub to yearling, only this individual cub developed in this particular way. The thought is that if you took away from the universal every particular way that the bear might develop, leaving us with the abstract universal consisting of just the features all bears share, you’re actually left with nothing. Certainly, you’re left with nothing living. You’ve murdered the living thing. According to the most prominent contemporary metaphysical readings of Hegel, such as Robert Stern’s, the concrete universals should be understood as similar to Aristotelian substance kinds. This means that there are as many concrete universals as there are individuals to instantiate them. Emily is the individual human she is because she is a self-particularising concrete universal. However, the absolute idealists who dominated the British philosophical world towards the end of the nineteenth century believed that all these concrete universals were ultimately interrelated as parts of one all-encompassing concrete universal. For the nineteenth-century British idealist Bernard Bosanquet, the perverse thing about abstract universals is that the wider their extension is, the less there is to them. This is because you get the universal giant panda when you abstract everything particular away from every individual giant panda. Then, to get the universal bear, you must abstract all the features that particularise it as one of its particular species of bear, like giant panda. To get the universal mammal you then abstract all the features that make each animal a mammal rather than a reptile, bird, or fish. The more things that supposedly instantiate a universal, the sparser the features of that universal are. On the contrary, the logic of the concrete universal, Bosanquet says, does violence to the ‘inverse ratio of intention to extension.’ There is not less to the universal animal than there is to the universal bear, rather there is more because the universal animal contains bear within it and a whole host of other animals too. It’s the most substantial Noah’s ark you can imagine. However, if bears are part of a higher universal of mammals and mammals are part of a higher universal of animals, why stop there? Couldn’t there be a universal ‘living thing’? And perhaps one above that? For Bosanquet, this is exactly right. We keep going until we end up with just one concrete universal, the absolute Idea, the world as a whole. For Bosanquet this is ‘a system of members, such that every member, being ex hypothesi distinct, nevertheless contributes to the unity of the whole in virtue of the peculiarities which constitute its distinctness.’ In agreement with the Aristotelian reading of idealism, each individual is the self-particularising of the concrete universal, but, ultimately, it’s one and the same concrete universal self-particularising in various different ways. The result of this is that we owe our individuality to a larger whole in which we are all systematically related and which relates us to each other in a fundamental way. Earlier I claimed that many people incorrectly regard idealism as a philosophy that is characterised by the things that it is against. However, here we find something that this kind of idealist really is anti: the idea of fundamental separateness. This has significant ethical implications. The most important absolute idealist of the twenty-first century, Timothy Sprigge (1932-2007), wrote that absolute idealism’s main message is that ‘we are nearer the core of things when we partly transcend it [our separateness] in cooperative ethical, cultural, and intellectual endeavours and in mutual aid.’ Idealism is a label that has been used to refer to a huge variety of different philosophical positions. I’ve focused on metaphysical versions to show how different idealism is from its common misconceptions. Idealism is not a reductive philosophy but an inflationary one. Idealism aims to do justice to the full extent of the characteristics of the world in which we live. Any thorough-going realism, any realism that takes every feature of our world seriously, must be a realism about the idea. ~ Jeremy Dunham

"The Telephone Exchange" Revised I suggest that this extract be read over carefully, not once but several times, and that the reader try to make quite clear to oneself the position of the clerk in the telephone exchange, i.e. the position of the mind in the body, as depicted by Professor Pearson, before recourse is had to the criticisms of any one else. One cannot find anywhere better material for critical philosophical reflection. As has been seen, our author accepts without question, the psychological doctrine that the mind is shut up within the circle of the messages that are conducted to it along the sensory nerves, and that it cannot directly perceive anything truly external. He carries his doctrine out to the bitter end in the conclusion that, since we have never had experience of anything beyond sense-impressions, and have no ground for an inference to anything beyond, we must recognize that the only external world of which we know anything is an external world built up out of sense-impressions. It is, thus, in the mind, and is not external at all; it is only "projected outwards," thought of as though it were beyond us. Shall we leave the inconsistent position of the plain man and of the psychologist and take our refuge in this world of projected mental constructs? Before the reader makes up his mind to do this, I beg him to consider the following: If the only external world of which we have a right to speak at all is a construct in the mind or ego, we may certainly affirm that the world is in the ego, but does it sound sensible to say that the ego is somewhere in the world? If all external things are really inside the mind, and are only "projected" outwards, of course our own bodies, sense-organs, nerves, and brains, are really inside and are merely projected outwards. Now, do the sense-impressions of which everything is to be constructed "come flowing in" along these nerves that are really inside? Can we say, when a nerve lies entirely within the mind or ego, that this same mind or ego is nearer to one end of the nerve than it is to the other? How shall we picture to ourselves "the conscious ego of each one of us seated at the brain terminals of the sensory nerves"? How can the ego place the whole of itself at the end of a nerve which it has constructed within itself? And why is it more difficult for it to get to one end of a nerve like this than it is to get to the other? Why should the thing "at the other end of the nerve" remain unknown and unknowable? Since the nerve is entirely in the mind, is purely a mental construct, can anything whatever be at the end of it without being in the mind? And if the thing in question is not in the mind, how are we going to prove that it is any nearer to one end of a nerve which is inside the mind than it is to the other? If it may really be said to be at the end of the nerve, why may we not know it quite as well as we do the end of the nerve, or any other mental construct? It must be clear to the careful reader of Professor Pearson's paragraphs, that he does not confine himself strictly to the world of mere "projections," to an outer world which is really inner. If he did this, the distinction between inner and outer would disappear. Let us consider for a moment the imprisoned clerk. He is in a telephone exchange, about him are wires and subscribers. He gets only sounds and must build up his whole universe of things out of sounds. Now we are supposing him to be in a telephone exchange, to be receiving messages, to be building up a world out of these messages. Do we for a moment think of him as building up, out of the messages which came along the wires, those identical wires which carried the messages and the subscribers which sent them? Never! we distinguish between the exchange, with its wires and subscribers, and the messages received and worked up into a world. In picturing to ourselves the telephone exchange, we are doing what the plain man and the psychologist do when they distinguish between mind and body,—they never suppose that the messages which come through the senses are identical with the senses through which they come. But suppose we maintain that there is no such thing as a telephone exchange, with its wires and subscribers, which is not to be found within some clerk. Suppose the real external world is something inner and only "projected" without, mistakenly supposed by the unthinking to be without. Suppose it is nonsense to speak of a wire which is not in the mind of a clerk. May we under such circumstances describe any clerk as in a telephone exchange? as receiving messages? as no nearer to his subscribers than his end of the wire? May we say that sense-impressions come flowing in to him? The whole figure of the telephone exchange becomes an absurdity when we have once placed the exchange within the clerk. Nor can we think of two clerks as connected by a wire, when it is affirmed that every wire must "really" be in some clerk. The truth is, that, in the extracts which I have given above and in many other passages in the same volume, the real external world, the world which does not exist in the mind but without it, is much discredited, and is yet not actually discarded. The ego is placed at the brain terminals of the sensory nerves, and it receives messages which flow in; i.e. the clerk is actually placed in an exchange. That the existence of the exchange is afterward denied in so many words does not mean that it has not played and does not continue to play an important part in the thought of the author. It is interesting to see how a man of science, whose reflections compel him to deny the existence of the external world that we all seem to perceive and that we somehow recognize as distinct from anything in our minds, is nevertheless compelled to admit the existence of this world at every turn. But if we do admit it, what shall we make of it? Shall we deny the truth of what the psychologist has to tell us about a knowledge of things only through the sensations to which they give rise? We cannot, surely, do that. Shall we affirm that we know the external world directly, and at the same time that we do not know it directly, but only indirectly, and through the images which arise in our minds? That seems inconsistent. Certainly there is material for reflection here. Nevertheless the more we reflect on that material, the more evident does it become that the plain man cannot be wrong in believing in the external world which seems revealed in his experiences. We find that all attempts to discredit it rest upon the implicit assumption of its existence, and fall to the ground when that existence is honestly denied. So our problem changes its form. We no longer ask: Is there an external world? but rather: What is the external world, and how does it differ from the world of mere ideas? ~ G.S. Fullerton

"The Telephone Exchange" "We are accustomed to talk," writes Professor Karl Pearson, "of the 'external world,' of the 'reality' outside us. We speak of individual objects having an existence independent of our own. The store of past sense-impressions, our thoughts and memories, although most probably they have beside their psychical element a close correspondence with some physical change or impress in the brain, are yet spoken of as inside ourselves. On the other hand, although if a sensory nerve be divided anywhere short of the brain, we lose the corresponding class of sense impression, we yet speak of many sense-impressions, such as form and texture, as existing outside ourselves. How close then can we actually get to this supposed world outside ourselves? Just as near but no nearer than the brain terminals of the sensory nerves. We are like the clerk in the central telephone exchange who cannot get nearer to his customers than his end of the telephone wires. We are indeed worse off than the clerk, for to carry out the analogy properly we must suppose him never to have been outside the telephone exchange, never to have seen a customer or any one like a customer—in short, never, except through the telephone wire, to have come in contact with the outside universe. Of that 'real' universe outside himself, he would be able to form no direct impression; the real universe for him would be the aggregate of his constructs from the messages which were caused by the telephone wires in his office. About those messages and the ideas raised in his mind by them he might reason and draw his inferences; and his conclusions would be correct—for what? For the world of telephonic messages, for the type of messages that go through the telephone. Something definite and valuable he might know with regard to the spheres of action and of thought of his telephonic subscribers, but outside those spheres he could have no experience. Pent up in his office he could never have seen or touched even a telephonic subscriber in himself. Very much in the position of such a telephone clerk is the conscious ego of each one of us seated at the brain terminals of the sensory nerves. Not a step nearer than those terminals can the ego get to the 'outer world,' and what in and for themselves are the subscribers to its nerve exchange it has no means of ascertaining. Messages in the form of sense-impressions come flowing in from that 'outside world,' and these we analyze, classify, store up, and reason about. But of the nature of 'things-in-themselves,' of what may exist at the other end of our system of telephone wires, we know nothing at all. "But the reader, perhaps, remarks, 'I not only see an object, but I can touch it. I can trace the nerve from the tip of my finger to the brain. I am not like the telephone clerk, I can follow my network of wires to their terminals and find what is at the other end of them.' Can you, reader? Think for a moment whether your ego has for one moment got away from his brain exchange. The sense-impression that you call touch was just as much as sight felt only at the brain end of a sensory nerve. What has told you also of the nerve from the tip of your finger to your brain? Why, sense-impressions also, messages conveyed along optic or tactile sensory nerves. In truth, all you have been doing is to employ one subscriber to your telephone exchange to tell you about the wire that goes to a second, but you are just as far as ever from tracing out for yourself the telephone wires to the individual subscriber and ascertaining what his nature is in and for himself. The immediate sense-impression is just as far removed from what you term the 'outside world' as the store of impresses. If our telephone clerk had recorded by aid of a phonograph certain of the messages from the outside world on past occasions, then if any telephonic message on its receipt set several phonographs repeating past messages, we have an image analogous to what goes on in the brain. Both telephone and phonograph are equally removed from what the clerk might call the 'real outside world,' but they enable him through their sounds to construct a universe; he projects those sounds, which are really inside his office, outside his office, and speaks of them as the external universe. This outside world is constructed by him from the contents of the inside sounds, which differ as widely from things-in-themselves as language, the symbol, must always differ from the thing it symbolizes. For our telephone clerk sounds would be the real world, and yet we can see how conditioned and limited it would be by the range of his particular telephone subscribers and by the contents of their messages. "So it is with our brain; the sounds from telephone and phonograph correspond to immediate and stored sense-impressions. These sense-impressions we project as it were outwards and term the real world outside ourselves. But the things-in-themselves which the sense-impressions symbolize, the 'reality,' as the metaphysicians wish to call it, at the other end of the nerve, remains unknown and is unknowable. Reality of the external world lies for science and for us in combinations of form and color and touch—sense-impressions as widely divergent from the thing 'at the other end of the nerve' as the sound of the telephone from the subscriber at the other end of the wire. We are cribbed and confined in this world of sense-impressions like the exchange clerk in his world of sounds, and not a step beyond can we get. As his world is conditioned and limited by his particular network of wires, so ours is conditioned by our nervous system, by our organs of sense. Their peculiarities determine what is the nature of the outside world which we construct. It is the similarity in the organs of sense and in the perceptive faculty of all normal human beings which makes the outside world the same, or practically the same, for them all. To return to the old analogy, it is as if two telephone exchanges had very nearly identical groups of subscribers. In this case a wire between the two exchanges would soon convince the imprisoned clerks that they had something in common and peculiar to themselves. That conviction corresponds in our comparison to the recognition of other consciousness."

The Psychologist And The External World Now, when the psychologist asks how a given mind comes to have a knowledge of any external thing, s/he finds one's answer in the messages which have been brought to the mind by means of the bodily senses. S/he describes the sense-organs and the nervous connections between these and the brain, and tells us that when certain nervous impulses have traveled, let us say, from the eye or the ear to the brain, one has sensations of sight or sound. The psychologist describes for us in detail how, out of such sensations and the memories of such sensations, we frame mental images of external things. Between the mental image and the thing that it represents s/he distinguishes sharply, and s/he informs us that the mind knows no more about the external thing than is contained in such images. That a thing is present can only be known by the fact that a message from the thing is sent along the nerves, and what the thing is must be determined from the character of the message. Given the image in the absence of the thing,—that is to say, an hallucination,—the mind will naturally suppose that the thing is present. This false supposition cannot be corrected by a direct inspection of the thing, for such a direct inspection of things is out of the question. The only way in which the mind concerned can discover that the thing is absent is by referring to its other experiences. This image is compared with other images and is discovered to be in some way abnormal. We decide that it is a false representative and has no corresponding reality behind it. This doctrine taken as it stands seems to cut the mind off from the external world very completely. And the most curious thing about it is that it seems to be built up on the assumption that it is not really true. How can one know certainly that there is a world of material things, including human bodies with their sense-organs and nerves, if no mind has ever been able to inspect directly anything of the sort? How can we tell that a sensation arises when a nervous impulse has been carried along a sensory nerve and has reached the brain, if every mind is shut up to the charmed circle of its own ideas? The anatomist and the physiologist give us very detailed accounts of the sense-organs and of the brain. The physiologist even undertakes to measure the speed with which the impulse passes along a nerve. The psychologist accepts and uses the results of their labors. But can all this be done in the absence of any first-hand knowledge of the things of which one is talking? Remember that, if the psychologist is right, any external object, eye, ear, nerve, or brain, which we can perceive directly, is a mental complex, a something in the mind and not external at all. How shall we prove that there are objects, ears, eyes, nerves, and brains – in short, all the requisite mechanism for the calling into existence of sensations – in an outer world which is not immediately perceived but is only inferred to exist? So much, at least, is evident: The man who is inclined to doubt whether there is, after all, any real external world, appears to find in the psychologist's distinction between ideas and things something like an excuse for his doubt. To get to the bottom of the matter and to dissipate one's doubt one has to go rather deeply into metaphysics. I merely wish to show just here that the doubt is not a gratuitous one, but is really suggested to the thoughtful mind by a reflection upon our experience of things. And, as we are all apt to think that the man of science is less given to busying oneself with useless subtleties than is the philosopher, I shall, before closing this chapter, present some paragraphs upon the subject from the pen of a professor of mathematics and mechanics. ~ G.S. Fullerton

How The Plain Man Thinks S/he Knows The World Now, I am going to take up and turn over, so that we may get a good look at them, some of the problems that have presented themselves to those who have reflected upon the world and the mind as they seem given in our experience. I shall begin by asking, "Is it not possible to doubt that there is an external world at all? " It may, of course, be absurd to maintain that there is no external world. But surely s/he, too, is in an absurd position who maintains dogmatically that there is an external world, however, remains unable to find any flaw in the reasonings of the man who seems to be able to show that the external world belief has no solid foundation. And we must not forget that the men who have thought it worth while to raise just such questions as this, during the last twenty centuries, have been among the most brilliant intellects of the race. We must not assume too hastily that they have occupied themselves with mere trivialities. Since so many thoughtful men have found it worth while to ask themselves seriously whether there is an external world, or, at least, how we can know that there is an external world, it is not unreasonable to expect that, by looking for it, we may find in our common experience or in science some difficulty sufficient to suggest the doubt which at first strikes the average man as preposterous. In what can such a doubt take its rise? Let us see. I think it is scarcely too much to say that the plain man believes that he does not directly perceive an external world, and that he, at the same time, believes that he does directly perceive one. It is quite possible to believe contradictory things, when one's thought of them is somewhat vague, and when one does not consciously bring them together. As to the first-mentioned belief – there is an external world. Does not the plain man distinguish between his ideas of things and the things themselves? Does s/he not believe that one's ideas come through the avenues of the senses? Is s/he not aware of the fact that, when a sense is disordered, the thing as s/he perceives it is not like the thing "as it is"? A blind man does not see things when they are there; a color-blind man sees them as others do not see them; a man suffering under certain abnormal conditions of the nervous system sees things when they are not there at all, i.e. s/he has hallucinations. The thing itself, as it seems, is not in the man's mind: it is the idea that is in the man's mind, and that represents the thing. Sometimes it appears to give a true account of it; sometimes it seems to give a garbled account; sometimes it is a false representative throughout – there is no reality behind it. It is, then, the idea that is immediately known, and not the thing; the thing is merely inferred to exist. I do not mean to say that the plain man is conscious of drawing this conclusion. I only maintain that it seems a natural conclusion to draw from the facts which she recognizes, and that sometimes s/he seems to draw the conclusion half-consciously. On the other hand, we must all admit that when the plain man is not thinking about the distinction between ideas and things, but is looking at some material object, is touching it with one's very hands and turning it about to get a good look at it, it never occurs to the plain man that s/he is not directly conscious of the thing itself. To oneself, s/he seems to perceive the thing immediately; to perceive it as it is and where it is; to perceive it as a really extended thing, out there in space before one's body. S/he does not think of oneself as occupied with mere images, representations of the object. S/he may be willing to admit that one's mind is in one's own head, but s/he cannot think that what s/he sees is in one's own head. Is not the object there? Does s/he not see and feel it? Why doubt such evidence as this? S/he who tells the plain man that the external world does not exist seems to be denying what is immediately given in their experience. The plain man who looks at things in this way assumes, of course, that the external object is known directly, and is not a something merely inferred to exist from the presence of a representative image. May one embrace this belief and abandon the other one? If we elect to do this, we appear to be in difficulties at once. All the considerations which made us distinguish so carefully between our ideas of things and the things themselves crowd in upon us. Can it be that we know things independently of the avenues of the senses? Would a man with different senses know things just as we do? How can any man suffer from an hallucination, if things are not inferred from images, but are known independently? The difficulties encountered appear sufficiently serious even if we keep to that knowledge of things which seems to be given in common experience. But even the plain man has heard of atoms and molecules. And if s/he accepts the extension of knowledge offered by the man of science, s/he must admit that, whatever this apparently immediately perceived external thing may be, it cannot be the external thing that science assures one to be out there in space beyond one's body, and which must be a very different sort of thing from the thing s/he seems to perceive. The thing s/he perceives must, then, be appearance. And where can that appearance be if not in one's own mind? The man who has made no study of philosophy at all does not usually think these things out. But surely there are interrogation marks written up all over the man's experience, and s/he misses them only because s/he does not see clearly. By judiciously asking questions one may often lead the plain man either to affirm or to deny that s/he has an immediate knowledge of the external world, pretty much as one pleases. If s/he affirms it, one's position does not seem to be a wholly satisfactory one, as we have seen. And if s/he denies it, s/he makes the existence of the external world wholly a matter of inference from the presence of ideas in the mind, and s/he must stand ready to justify this inference. To many men it has seemed that the inference is not an easy one to justify. One may say: We could have no ideas of things, no sensations, if real things did not exist and make an impression upon our senses. But to this it may be answered: How is that statement to be proved? Is it to be proved by observing that, when things are present and affect the senses, there come into being ideas which represent the things? Evidently such a proof as this is out of the question, for, if it is true that we know external things only by inference and never immediately, then we can never prove by observation that ideas and things are thus connected. And if it is not to be proved by observation, how shall it be proved? Shall we just assume it dogmatically and pass on to something else? Surely there is enough in the experience of the plain man to justify one in raising the question whether s/he can certainly know that there is an external world. ~ G.S. Fullerton