Philosophical Studies. G. E. Moore
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are, therefore, sometimes aware of something which is not an inseparable aspect of their own experience. They do know some things which are not a mere part or content of their experience. And what my analysis of sensation has been designed to show is, that whenever I have a mere sensation or idea, the fact is that I am then aware of something which is equally and in the same sense not an inseparable aspect of my experience. The awareness which I have maintained to be included in sensation is the very same unique fact which constitutes every kind of knowledge: "blue" is as much an object, and as little a mere content, of my experience, when I experience it, as the most exalted and independent real thing of which I am ever aware. There is, therefore, no question of how we are to "get outside the circle of our own ideas and sensations." Merely to have a sensation is already to be outside that circle. It is to know something which is as truly and really not a part of my experience, as anything which I can ever know.
Now I think I am not mistaken in asserting that the reason why Idealists suppose that everything which is must be an inseparable aspect of some experience, is that they suppose some things, at least, to be inseparable aspects of their experience. And there is certainly nothing which they are so firmly convinced to be an inseparable aspect of their experience as what they call the content of their ideas and sensations. If, therefore, this turns out in every case, whether it be also the content or not, to be at least not an inseparable aspect of the experience of it, it will be readily admitted that nothing else which we experience ever is such an inseparable aspect. But if we never experience anything but what is not an inseparable aspect of that experience, how can we infer that anything whatever, let alone everything, is an inseparable aspect of any experience? How utterly unfounded is the assumption that "esse is percipi" appears in the clearest light.
But further I think it may be seen that if the object of an Idealist's sensation were, as he supposes, not the object but merely the content of that sensation, if, that is to say, it really were an inseparable aspect of his experience, each Idealist could never be aware either of himself or of any other real thing. For the relation of a sensation to its object is certainly the same as that of any other instance of experience to its object; and this, I think, is generally admitted even by Idealists: they state as readily that what is judged or thought or perceived is the content of that judgment or thought or perception, as that blue Is the content of the sensation of blue. But, if so, then when any Idealist thinks he is aware of himself or of any one else, this cannot really be the case. The fact Is, on his own theory, that himself and that other person are in reality mere contents of an awareness, which is aware of nothing whatever. All that can be said is that there is an awareness in him, with a certain content: it can never be true that there is in him a consciousness of anything. And similarly he is never aware either of the fact that he exists or that reality is spiritual. The real fact, which he describes in those terms, is that his existence and the spirituality of reality are contents of an awareness, which is aware of nothing—certainly not, then, of it own content.
And further if everything, of which he thinks he is aware, is in reality merely a content of his own experience he has certainly no reason for holding that anything does exist except himself: it will, of course, be possible that other persons do exist; solipsism will not be necessarily true; but he cannot possibly infer from anything he holds that it is not true. That he himself exists will of course follow from his premiss that many things are contents of his experience. But since everything, of which he thinks himself aware, is in reality merely an inseparable aspect of that awareness; this premiss allows no inference that any of these contents, far less any other consciousness, exists at all except as an inseparable aspect of his awareness, that is, as part of himself.
Such, and not those which he takes to follow from it, are the consequences which do follow from the Idealist's supposition that the object of an experience is in reality merely a content or inseparable aspect of that experience. If, on the other hand, we clearly recognise the nature of that peculiar relation which I have called "awareness of anything"; if we see that this is involved equally in the analysis of every experience—from the merest sensation to the most developed perception or reflexion, and that this is in fact the only essential element in an experience—the only thing that is both common and peculiar to all experiences—the only thing which gives us reason to call any fact mental; if, further, we recognise that this awareness is and must be in all cases of such a nature that its object, when we are aware of it, is precisely what it would be, if we were not aware: then it becomes plain that the existence of a table in space is related to my experience of it in precisely the same way as the existence of my own experience is related to my experience of that. Of both we are merely aware: if we are aware that the one exists, we are aware in precisely the same sense that the other exists; and if it is true that my experience can exist, even when I do not happen to be aware of its existence, we have exactly the same reason for supposing that the table can do so also. When, therefore, Berkeley, supposed that the only thing of which I am directly aware is my own sensations and ideas, he supposed what was false; and when Kant supposed that the objectivity of things in space consisted in the fact that they were "Vorstellungen" having to one another different relations from those which the same "Vorstellungen" have to one another in subjective experience, he supposed what was equally false. I am as directly aware of the existence of material things in space as of my own sensations; and what I am aware of with regard to each is exactly the same—namely that in one case the material thing, and in the other case my sensation does really exist. The question requiring to be asked about material things is thus not: What reason have we for supposing that anything exists corresponding to our sensations? but: What reason have we for supposing that material things do not exist, since their existence has precisely the same evidence as that of our sensations? That either exist may be false; but if it is a reason for doubting the existence of matter, that it is an inseparable aspect of our experience, the same reasoning will prove conclusively that our experience does not exist either, since that must also be an inseparable aspect of our experience of it. The only reasonable alternative to the admission that matter exists as well as spirit, is absolute Scepticism—that, as likely as not nothing exists at all. All other suppositions—the Agnostic's, that something, at all events, does exist, as much as the Idealist's, that spirit does—are, if we have no reason for believing in matter, as baseless as the grossest superstitions.
[1] International Journal of Ethics, October, 1902.
THE NATURE AND REALITY OF OBJECTS OF PERCEPTION
There are two beliefs in which almost all philosophers, and almost all ordinary people are agreed. Almost everyone believes that he himself and what he directly perceives do not constitute the whole of reality: he believes that something other than himself and what he directly perceives exists or is real. I do not mean to say that almost everyone believes that what he directly perceives is real: I only mean that he does believe that, whether what he directly perceives is real or not, something other than it and other than himself certainly is so. And not only does each of us thus agree in believing that something other than himself and what he directly perceives is real: almost everyone also believes that among the real things, other than himself and what he directly perceives, are other persons who have thoughts and perceptions in some respects similar to his own. That most people believe this I think I need scarcely try to show. But since a good many philosophers may appear to have held views contradictory of this one, I will briefly point out my reason for asserting that most philosophers, even among those (if any) who have believed the contradictory of this, have yet held this as well. Almost all philosophers tell us something about the nature of human knowledge and human perception. They tell us that we perceive so and so; that the nature or origin of our perceptions is such and such; or (as I have just been telling you) that men in general have such and such beliefs. It might, indeed, be said that we are not to interpret such language too strictly: that, though a philosopher talks about human knowledge and our perceptions, he only means