Vinaire's Blog

Reference: Tertium Organum

NOTE: Text in color contains my comments.

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Chapter 8 (Consciousness)

Our receptive apparatus. Sensation. Perception. Conception. Intuition. Art as the language of the future. To what extent does the three-dimensionality of the world depend upon the properties of our receptive apparatus? What might prove this interdependence? Where may we find the real affirmation of this interdependence? The animal psyche. In what does it differ from the human? Reflex action. The irritability of the cell. Instinct. Pleasure-pain. Emotional thinking. The absence of concepts. Language of animals. Logic of animals. Different degrees of psychic development in animals. The goose, the cat, the dog and the monkey.

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In order exactly to define the relation of our I to the external world, and to determine what, in our receptivity of the world, belongs to it, and what belongs to ourselves, let us turn to elementary psychology and examine the mechanism of our receptive apparatus. 

The fundamental unit of our receptivity is a sensation. This sensation is an elementary change in the state of consciousness, produced, as it seems to us, either by some change in the state of the external world in relation to our consciousness, or by a change in the state of our consciousness in relation to the external world. Such is the teaching of physics and psycho-physics. Into the consideration of the correctness or incorrectness of the construction of these sciences I shall not enter. Suffice it to define a sensation as an elementary change in the state of consciousness—as the element, that is, as the fundamental unit of this change. Feeling the sensation we assume that it appears, so to speak, as the reflection of some change in the external world. 

The sensations felt by us leave a certain trace in our memory. The accumulating memories of sensations begin to blend in consciousness into groups, and according to their similitude, tend to associate, to sum up, to be opposed; the sensations which are usually felt in close connection with one another will arise in memory in the same connection. Gradually, out of the memories of sensations, perceptions are compounded. Perceptions—these are so to speak the group memories of sensations. During the compounding of perceptions, sensations are polarizing in two clearly defined directions. The first direction of this grouping will be according to the character of the sensations. (The sensations of a yellow color will combine with the sensations of a yellow color; sensations of a sour taste with those of a sour taste). The second direction will be according to the time of the reception of sensations. When various sensations, constituting a single group, and compounding one perception, enter simultaneously, then the memory of this definite group of sensations is ascribed to a common cause. This ” common cause” is projected into the outside world as the object, and it is assumed that the given perception itself reflects the real properties of this object. Such group remembrance constitutes perception, the perception, for example, of a tree—that tree. Into this group enter the green color of the leaves, their smell, their shadows, their rustle in the wind, etc. All these things taken together form as it were a focus of rays coming out of consciousness, gradually concentrated upon the outside object and coinciding with it either well or ill. 

In the further complication of the psychical life, the memories of perceptions proceed as with the memories of sensations. Mingling together, the memories of perceptions, or the “images of perceptions,” combine in various ways: they sum up, they stand opposed, they form groups, and in the end give rise to concepts. 

Thus out of various sensations, experienced (in groups) at different times, a child gets the perception of a tree (that tree), and afterwards, out of the images of perceptions of different trees there emerges the concept of a tree, i.e., not “that tree,” but trees in general.

Consciousness starts with sensation, which assimilates into perception, memory, experience, knowlege and wisdom in that order. There is a time sense associated with these assimilations.

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The formation of perceptions leads to the formation of words, and the appearance of speech.

The beginning of speech may appear on the lowest level of psychic life, during the period of living by sensations, and it will become more complex during the period of living by perceptions; but unless there be concepts it will not be speech in the true meaning of the word. 

On the lower levels of psychic life certain sensations can be expressed by certain sounds. Therefore it is possible to express common impressions of horror, anger, pleasure. These sounds may serve as signals of danger, as commands, demands, threats, etc, but it is impossible to say much by means of them. 

In the further development of speech, if words or sounds express perceptions, as in the case of children, this means that the given sound or the given word designates only that object to which it refers. For each new similar object must exist another new sound, or a new word. If the speaker designates different objects by one and the same sound or word, it means that in his opinion the objects are the same, or that knowingly he is calling different objects by the same name. In either case it will be difficult to understand him, and such speech cannot serve as an example of clear speech. For instance, if a child call a tree by a certain sound or word, having in view that tree only, and not knowing other trees at all, then any new tree which he may see he will call by a new word, or else he will take it for the same tree. The speech in which “words” correspond to perceptions is as it were made up of proper nouns. There are no appellative nouns; and not only substantives, but verbs, adjectives and adverbs; all have the character of “proper nouns;” that is, they apply to a given action, to a given quality, or to a given property. 

The appearance of words of a common meaning in human speech signifies the appearance of concepts in consciousness. 

Speech consists of words, each word expressing a concept. Concept and word are in substance one and the same thing; only the first (the concept) represents, so to speak, the inner side, and the second (the word) the outer side. Or, as says Dr. R. M. Bucke (the author of the book “Cosmic Consciousness,” about which I shall have much to say later on), “A word (i.e., concept) is the algebraical sign of a thing.” 

It has been noticed thousands of times that the brain of a thinking man does not exceed in size the brain of a non-thinking wild man in anything like the proportion in which the mind of the thinker exceeds the mind of the savage. The reason is that the brain of a Herbert Spencer has very little more work to do than has the brain of a native Australian, for this reason, that Spencer does all his characteristic mental work by signs or counters which stand for concepts, while the savage does all or nearly all his by means of cumbersome recepts. The savage is in a position comparable to that of the astronomer who makes his calculations by arithmetic, while Spencer is in the position of one who makes them by algebra. The first will fill many great sheets of paper with figures and go through immense labor; the other will make the same calculations on an envelope and with comparatively little mental work.

In our speech words express concepts or ideas. By ideas are meant broader concepts, not representing the group sign of similar perceptions, but embracing various groups of perceptions, or even groups of concepts. Therefore an idea is a complex or an abstract concept. 

Concepts and ideas come about at the level of knowledge.

In addition to the simple sensations of the sense organs (color, sound, touch, smell and taste), in addition to the simple emotions of pleasure, pain, joy, anger, surprise, wonder, curiosity and many others, there is passing through our consciousness a series of complex sensations and higher (complex) emotions (moral, esthetic, religious). The content of emotional feelings, even the simplest, not speaking indeed, of the complex, can never be wholly confined to concepts or ideas, and therefore can never be correctly or exactly expressed in words. Words can only allude to it, point to it. The interpretation of emotional feelings and emotional understanding is the problem of art. In combinations of words, in their meaning, their rhythm, their music; in the combination of meaning, rhythm and music; in sounds, colors, lines, forms—men are creating a new world, and are attempting therein to express and transmit that which they feel, but which they are unable to express and transmit simply in words, i.e., in concepts. The emotional tones of life, i.e., of “feelings,” are best transmitted by music, but it cannot express concepts, i.e., thought. Poetry endeavors to express both music and thought together. The combination of feeling and thought of high tension leads to intuition, i.e., to a higher form of consciousness. Thus in art we have already the first experiments in a language of intuition, or a language of the future. Art anticipates a psychic evolution, and divines its future forms. 

Emotions and arts come about at the level of culture and wisdom.

At the present time mankind has attained to three units of psychic life: sensation, perception, conception (and idea), and attains only rarely the fourth unit, higher intuition, which finds its expression in art. 

If Kant’s ideas are correct, if space with its characteristics is a property of our consciousness, and not of the external world, then the three-dimensionality of the world must in this or some other manner depend upon the constitution of our psychic apparatus. 

If thought is seen as a substance then consciousness is also part of the external world.

It is possible to put the question concretely in the following manner: What bearing upon the three-dimensional extension of the world has the fact that in our psychical apparatus we discover the categories above described—sensations, perceptions, concepts and intuitions?

We possess such a psychical apparatus, and the world is three-dimensional. How is it possible to establish the fact that the three-dimensionality of the world depends upon such a constitution of our psychical apparatus? 

Three-dimensionality applies to the experience of matter only and not to the experience of the whole world. The complete experience depends on the assimilation of all sensations from matter, radiation and thought.

This could be proven or disproven undeniably only with the aid of experiments. 

If we could change our psychic apparatus and should then discover that the world around us changed, this would constitute for us the proof of the dependence of the properties of space upon the properties of our consciousness. 

For example, if we could make the higher intuition, existing now only in the germ, just as definite, exact, and subject to our will as is the concept, and if the number of characteristics of space increased, i.e., if space became four-dimensional instead of being three-dimensional, this would affirm our presupposition, and would prove Kant’s contention that space, with its properties, is a form of our sensuous receptivity. 

Or if we could diminish the number of units of our psychic life, and deprive ourselves or someone else of conceptions, leaving the psyche to act by perceptions and sensations only, and if by so doing the number of characteristics of the space surrounding us diminished; i.e., if for the person subjected to the test the world became two-dimensional instead of three-dimensional, and indeed one-dimensional as a result of a still greater limitation of the psychic apparatus, by depriving the person of perceptions—this would affirm our presupposition, and Kant’s idea could be considered proven. 

That is to say, Kant’s idea would be proven experimentally if we could be convinced that for the being possessing sensations only, the world is one-dimensional; for the being possessing sensations and perceptions the world is two-dimensional; and for the being possessing, in addition to concepts and ideas, the higher forms of knowledge, the world is four-dimensional. 

Or, more exactly, Kant’s thesis in regard to the subjectivity of space perception could be regarded as proven (a) if for the being possessing sensations only, our entire world, with all its variety of forms should seem a single line; if the universe of this being should possess but one dimension, i.e., should this being be one-dimensional in the properties of its receptivity; and (b) if for the being possessing, in addition to the faculty of feeling sensations, the faculty of forming perceptions, the world should have a two-dimensional extension. If all our world with its blue sky, clouds, green trees, mountains and precipices, should seem to him one plane; if the universe of this being should have only two dimensions, i.e., should this being be two-dimensional in the properties of its receptivity.

More briefly, Kant’s thesis would be proven could we be made to see that for the conscious being the number of characteristics of the world changes in accordance with the changes of its psychic apparatus. 

Assimilation is natural. The “will” is the mechanism that brings about assimilation by recognizing and resolving anomalies. As assimilation continues beyond memory and experience we get conception and knowledge.

To perform such an experiment, effecting the diminution of psychic characteristics is impossible—we cannot arbitrarily limit our own, or anyone else’s psychic apparatus. 

Experiments with the augmentation of psychic characteristics have been made and are recorded, but in consequence of many diverse causes they are insufficiently convincing. The chief reason for this is that the augmentation of psychic faculties yields, first of all, so much of newness in the psychic realm that this newness obscures the changes proceeding simultaneously in the previous perception of the world. 

The entire body of teachings of religio-philosophic movements have as their avowed or hidden purpose, the expansion of consciousness. This also is the aim of mysticism of every age and of every faith, the aim of occultism, and of the Oriental yoga. But the problem of the expansion of consciousness demands special study; the final chapters of this book will be dedicated to it, and it will be the subject of detailed examination in the book, “The Wisdom of the Gods.” 

The expansion of consciousness demands special study to help assimilation.

For the present, in proof of the above stated propositions with regard to the change of the world in relation to psychic changes, it is sufficient to consider the question of the diminution of psychic characteristics. 

If experiments in this direction are impossible, perhaps observation may furnish what we seek. 

Let us put the question: Are there not beings in the world standing toward us in the necessary relation, whose psyche is of a lower grade than ours?

Such psychically inferior beings undoubtedly exist. These beings are animals. 

Of the difference between the psychical nature of an animal and of a man we know very little: the usual “conversational” psychology deals with it not at all. Usually we deny altogether that animals have minds, or else we ascribe to them our own psychology, but “limited”—though how and in what we do not know. Again, we say that animals do not possess reason, but are governed by instinct, as though they had no self-consciousness but were some sort of an automatic apparatus. As to what exactly we mean by instinct we do not ourselves know. I am speaking not alone of popular, but of so-called “scientific” psychology. 

Animals are a stage in the ongoing evolution. The mind of animals have lower capabilities, but it operates without being interfered with. That is not the case with the human mind that has much higher capabilities, but it is also very sensitive to interference.

Let us try to discover what instinct is, and learn something about animal psychology. First of all let us analyze the actions of animals, and see wherein they differ from ours. If these actions are instinctive, what inference is to be drawn from the fact? 

What are those actions in general, and how do they differ? 

In the actions of living beings we discriminate between those which are reflex, instinctive, conscious (and automatic), and intuitive. 

Reflex actions are simply responses by motion, reactions upon external irritations, taking place always in the same way, regardless of their utility or futility, expediency or inexpediency in any given case. Their origin and laws are due to the simple irritability of a cell. 

What is the irritability of a cell, and what are these laws? 

The irritability of a cell is defined as its faculty to respond to external irritation by a motion. Experiments with the simplest mono-cellar organisms have shown that this irritability acts according to definite laws. The cell responds by a motion to outside irritation. The force of the responsive motion increases as the force of the irritation is intensified, but in no definite proportionality. In order to provoke the responsive movement the irritation must be of a sufficient intensity. Each experienced irritation leaves a certain trace in the cell, making it more receptive to the new irritations. In this we see that the cell responds to the repetitive irritation of an equal force by a more forceful motion than the first one. And if the irritations be repeated further the cell will respond to them by more and more forceful motions, up to a certain limit. Having reached this limit the cell experiences fatigue, and responds to the same irritation by more and more feeble reactions. It is as though the cell becomes accustomed to the irritation. It becomes for the cell part of a constant environment, and it ceases to react, because it is reacting generally only to changes in conditions which are constant. If from the very beginning the irritation is so weak that it fails to provoke the responsive motion, it nevertheless leaves in the cell a certain invisible trace. This can be inferred from the fact that by repeating these weak irritations, the cell finally begins to react to them.

Thus in the laws of irritability we observe, as it were, the beginnings of memory, fatigue, and habit. The cell produces the illusion, if not of a conscious and reasoning being, at any rate of a remembering being, habit-forming, and susceptible to fatigue. If we can be thus deceived by a cell, how much more liable are we to be deceived by the greater complexity of animal life. 

But let us return to the analysis of actions. By the reflex actions of an organism are meant actions in which either an entire organism or its separate parts act as a cell, i.e., within the limits of the law of variability. We observe such actions both in men and in animals. A man shudders all over from unexpected cold, or from a touch. His eyelids wink at the swift approach or touch of some object. The freely-hanging foot of a person in a sitting position moves forward if the leg be struck on the tendon below the knee. These movements proceed independently of consciousness, they may even proceed counter to consciousness. Usually consciousness registers them as accomplished facts. Moreover these movements are not at all governed by expediency. The foot moves forward in answer to the blow on the tendon even though a knife or a fire be in front of it. 

Reflex actions are caused by thinking that is programmed. The programming is caused by repeated stimulus, which then settles into a constant response. It could also a traumatic stimulus that leaves a strong, fixed impression on thinking.

By instinctive actions are meant actions governed by expediency, but made without conscious selection or without conscious aim. 

They appear with the appearance of a sensuous tincture to sensations, i.e., from that moment when the sensation begins to be associated with a conscious sense of pleasure or pain, and they are governed, according to the splendid expression of Wells, by the “pleasure-pain guidance of the animal life.” 

As a matter of fact, before the dawn of self-consciousness, i.e., of human intellect, throughout the entire animal kingdom “actions” are governed by the tendency to receive or to retain pleasure, or to escape pain. Schopenhauer recognized no other pleasure than the cessation of pain, and declared that pain dominated all animal life. But this idea is too paradoxical, and in substance it is not true. Pleasure and pain are not different degrees of one and the same thing, and pleasure is not always and only the cessation of pain. In it there is not alone the cancellation of a minus, but there is an active plus element. The taste of pleasure consequent upon the sensation of pain, and the taste of pleasure itself are entirely different.

We may declare with entire assurance that instinct is a pleasure-pain which, like the positive and negative poles of an electromagnet, repels and attracts the animal in this or that direction, compelling it to perform whole series of complex actions, sometimes expedient to such a degree that they appear to be sensible, and not only sensible, but founded upon foresight of the future, almost upon some clairvoyance, like the migration of birds, the building of nests for the young which have not yet appeared, the finding of the way south in the autumn, and north in the spring, etc. 

But all these actions are explained in reality by a single instinct, i.e., by the subservience to pleasure-pain. 

During periods in which millenniums may be regarded as days, by selection among all animals the types have been perfected, living along the lines of this subservience. This subservience is expedient, that is, the results of it lead to the desired goal. Why this is so is clear. Had the sense of pleasure arisen from that which is detrimental, the given species could not live, and would quickly die out. Instinct is the guide of its life, but only so long as instinct is expedient solely; just as soon as it ceases to be expedient it becomes the guide of death, and the species soon dies out. Normally “pleasure-pain” is pleasant or unpleasant not for the usefulness or the harm which may result, but because of it. Those influences which proved to be beneficial for a given species during the vegetative life, with the transition to the more active and complex animal life begin to be sensed as pleasant, the detrimental influences as unpleasant. As regards two different species, one and the same influence say a certain temperature—may be useful and pleasant for one, and for another detrimental and unpleasant. It is clear, therefore, that the subservience to “pleasure-pain” must be governed by expediency. The pleasant is pleasant because it is beneficial, the unpleasant is unpleasant because it is harmful.

Instinctive actions are governed by expediency, and made without conscious selection or aim. They are guided solely by pleasure-pain.

Next after instinctive actions follow those actions which are conscious and automatic. 

By conscious action is meant such an action as is known to the acting subject before its execution; such an action as the acting subject can name, define, explain, can show its cause and purpose before its execution. Sometimes conscious actions are executed with such swiftness that they appear to be unconscious, but in spite of this it is a conscious action if the acting subject knows what it is doing. 

A conscious action is known to the acting subject before its execution. no matter how swiftly it is executed.

Automatic actions: these are actions which have been conscious for a given subject, but because of frequent repetitions they have become habitual and are performed unconsciously. The acquired automatic actions of trained animals were previously conscious not in the animal, but in the trainer. Such actions often appear as conscious, but this is a complete illusion. The animal remembers the sequence of actions, and therefore its actions appear to be considered and expedient. They really were considered, but not by it. Automatic actions are often confounded with instinctive ones—in reality they resemble instinctive ones, but there is an enormous difference between them. Automatic actions are developed by the subject during its own life, and for a long time before they become automatic it must be conscious of them. Instinctive actions, on the other hand, are developed during the life-periods of the species, and the aptitude for them is transmitted in a definite manner by heredity. It is possible to call automatic actions instinctive actions worked out for itself by a given subject. It is impossible, however, to call instinctive actions automatic actions worked out by a given species, because they never were conscious in different individuals of a given species, but were compounded out of a series of complex reflexes. 

Automatic actions are instinctive actions developed by the subject during its own life. The subject must have been conscious of them before they became automatic.

Reflexes, instinctive and “conscious” actions, all may be regarded as reflected, i.e., as not self-originated. Both these and others, and still a third class, come not from man himself, but from the outside world. Man is the transmitting or transforming station for certain forces: all of his actions in these three categories are created and determined by his impressions of the outside world. Man in these three species of actions is, in substance, an automaton, unconscious or conscious of his actions. Nothing comes from him himself.

Only the higher category of actions, i.e., the intuitive, appear not to depend upon the outside world. But the aptitude for such actions is seldom met with—only in some few persons whom it is possible to describe as MEN OF A HIGHER TYPE. 

Having established the differences between various kinds of actions, let us return to the question propounded before: In what manner does the psyche of an animal differ from that of a human being? Out of the four categories of actions the two lower ones are accessible to animals (and in very rare cases the highest, the “intuitive”). The category of “conscious” actions is inaccessible to animals. This is proven first of all by the fact that animals have not the power of speech as we have it. 

As has been shown before, the possession of speech is indissolubly bound up with the possession of concepts. Therefore we may say that animals do not possess concepts. 

Is this true, and is it possible to possess the instinctive mind without possessing concepts? 

All that we know about the instinctive mind teaches us that it acts possessing sensations and perceptions only, and that in the lower grades it possesses sensation only. The consciousness which does its thinking by means of perceptions is the instinctive mind, i.e., that which depends upon its emotions. The emotions only give it the possibility of exercising that choice between the perceptions presented to it which produces the impression of judging and reasoning. In reality the animal does not reason its actions, but lives by its emotions, subject at every given moment to that emotion which happens to be strongest. Although indeed, in the life of the animal, acute moments sometimes occur when it is confronted with the necessity of choosing among a certain series of perceptions. At such moments its actions may seem to be quite reasoned out. For example, the animal, being put in a situation of danger acts often very cautiously and wisely. But in reality its actions are directed by emotion only. It has been previously shown that emotions are expedient, and that the subjection to them in a normal being must be expedient. Any perception of an animal, any recollected image, is bound up with some emotional sensation or emotional remembrance—there are no non-emotional, cold thoughts in the animal soul, or even if there are, these are inactive, and incapable of becoming the springs of action.

Thus all actions of animals, sometimes highly complex, expedient, and apparently reasoned, we can explain without attributing to them concepts, judgments, and the power of reasoning. Indeed, we must recognize that animals have no concepts, and the proof of this is that they have no speech. 

The greater is the assimilation of sensations, the more “conscious” are the actions.

If we take two men of different nationalities, different races, each ignorant of the language of the other, and put them together, they will find a way to communicate at once. 

One perhaps draws a circle with his finger, the other draws another circle beside it. By these means they have already established that they can understand one another. If a thick wall were put between them it would not hamper them in the least—one of them knocks three times, and the other knocks three times in response. 

The communication is established. The idea of communicating with the inhabitants of other planets is founded upon the idea of light signals. It is proposed to make on the earth an enormous lighted circle or a square to attract the attention of the inhabitants of Mars and to be answered by them by means of the same signal. We live side by side with animals and yet cannot establish such communication. Evidently the distance between us and them is greater, and the difference deeper, than between men divided by the ignorance of language, stone walls, and enormous distances. 

Another proof of the absence of concepts in the animal is its inability to use a lever, i.e., its incapacity to come independently to an understanding of the principle of the action of the lever. The usual objection that an animal cannot operate a lever because its organs (paws and so forth) are not adapted to such actions does not hold for the reason that almost any animal can be taught to operate a lever. This shows that the difficulty is not in the organs. The animal simply cannot of itself come to a comprehension of the idea of a lever. 

The invention of the lever immediately divided primitive man from the animal, and it was inextricably bound up with the appearance of concepts. The psychic side of the understanding of the action of a lever consists in the construction of a correct syllogism. Without constructing the syllogism correctly it is impossible to understand the action of a lever. Having no concepts it is impossible to construct the syllogism. The syllogism in the psychic sphere is literally the same thing as the lever in the physical sphere.

His mastery of the lever differentiates man as strongly from the animal as does speech. If some learned Martians were looking at the earth, and should study it objectively from afar by means of a telescope, not hearing speech, nor entering into the subjective world of the inhabitants of the earth, nor coming in contact with them, they would divide the beings living on the earth into two groups: those acquainted with the action of the lever, and those unacquainted with such action. 

The psychology of animals is in general very misty to us. The infinite number of observations made concerning all animals, from elephants to spiders, and the infinite number of anecdotes about the mind, spirit, and moral qualities of animals change nothing of all that. We represent animals to ourselves either as living automatons or as stupid men. 

We too much confine ourselves within the circle of our own psychology. We fail to imagine any other, and think involuntarily that the only possible sort of soul is such as we ourselves possess. But it is this illusion which prevents us from understanding life. If we could participate in the psychic life of an animal, understand how it perceives thinks and acts, we would find much of unusual interest. For example, could we represent to ourselves, and re-create mentally, the logic of an animal, it would greatly help us to understand our own logic and the laws of our own thinking. Before all else we would come to understand the conditionality and relativity of our own logical construction and with it the conditionality of our entire conception of the world. 

An animal would have a very peculiar logic. It indeed would not be logic in the true meaning of the word, because logic presupposes the existence of logos, i.e., of a word or concept. 

The depth of logic depends on the degree of assimilation of the sensations in the hierarchy of perceptions, memories, experiences, knowledge and wisdom.

Our usual logic, by which we live, without which “the shoemaker will not sew the boot,” is deduced from the simple scheme formulated by Aristotle in those writings which were edited by his pupils under the common name of “Organon,” i.e., the “Instrument” (of thought) . This scheme consists in the following:

A is A.
A is not A.
Everything is either A or not A.

It is possible to represent it more clearly in this way:

I am I.
I am not I.
All that is in the world must be either I or not I.

The logic embraced in this scheme—the logic of Aristotle is quite sufficient for observation. But for experiment it is insufficient, because the experiment proceeds in time, and in the formulae of Aristotle time is not taken into consideration. This was observed at the very dawn of the establishment of our ex- perimental science—observed by Roger Bacon, and formulated several centuries later by his famous namesake, Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam, in the treatise “Novum Organum”—”The New Instrument” (of thought). Briefly, the formulation of Bacon may be reduced to the following:

That which was A, will be A.
That which was not A, will be not A.
Everything was and will be, either A or not A.

Upon these formulae, acknowledged or unacknowledged, all our scientific experience is built, and upon them, too, is shoemaking founded, because if a shoemaker could not be sure that the leather bought yesterday would be leather tomorrow, in all probability he would not venture to make a pair of shoes, but would find some other more profitable employment. 

The formulae of logic, such as those both of Aristotle and of Bacon, are themselves deduced from the observation of facts, and do not and cannot include anything except the contents of these facts. They are not the laws of reasoning, but the laws of the outer world as it is perceived by us, or the laws of our relation to the outer world. 

Could we represent to ourselves the “logic” of an animal we would understand its relation to the outer world. Our cardinal error concerning the psychology of animals consists in the fact that we ascribe to them our own logic. We assume that logic is one, that our logic is something absolute, existing outside and independent of us, while as a matter of fact, logic but formulates the laws of the relations of our specific I to the outside world, or the laws which our specific I discovers in the outside world. Another I will discover other laws.

The purpose of Logic is to assimilate things so they form a consistent whole. Logic associates observations, thoughts, concepts and other elements of the universe, to make them continuous, consistent and harmonious. When things are not logical we have anomalies. These anomalies may be described as discontinuity (missing data), inconsistency (contradictory data), and disharmony (arbitrary data). 

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The logic of animals will differ from ours, first of all, from the fact that it will not be general. It will exist separately for each case, for each perception. Common properties, class properties, and the generic and specific signs of categories will not exist for animals. Each object will exist in and by itself, and all its properties will be the specific properties of it alone. 

This house and that house are entirely different objects for an animal, because one is its house and the other is a strange house. Generally speaking, we recognize objects by the signs of their similarity; the animal must recognize them by the signs of their difference. It remembers each object by that sign which had for it the greatest emotional meaning. In such a manner, i.e., by their emotional tones, preceptions are stored in the memory of an animal. It is clear that such perceptions are much more difficult to store up in the memory, and therefore the memory of an animal is more burdened than ours, although in the amount of knowledge and in the quantity of that which is preserved in the memory, it stands far below us. 

The memory of an animal is more burdened than ours because its contents are less assimilated.

After seeing an object once, we refer it to a certain class, genus and species, place it under this or that concept, and fix it in the mind by means of some “word,” i.e., algebraical symbol; then by another, defining it, and so on. 

The animal has no concepts; it has not that mental algebra by the help of which we think. It must know always a given object, and must remember it with all its signs and peculiarities. No forgotten sign will return. For us, on the other hand, the principal signs are contained in the concept with which we have correlated that object, and we can find it in our memory by means of the sign for it. 

From this it is clear that the memory of an animal is more burdened than ours, and this is the principal hindering cause to the mental evolution of an animal. Its mind is too busy. It has no time to develop. The mental development of a child maybe arrested by making it memorize a series of words or a series of figures. The animal is in just such a position. Herein lies the explanation of the strange fact that an animal is wiser when it is young.

In man the flower of intellectual force fades at a mature age, often even in senility; in the animal, quite the reverse is true. It is receptive only while it is young. At maturity its development stops, and in old age it undoubtedly degenerates. 

The logic of animals, were we to attempt to express it by means of formulae similar to those employed by Aristotle and Bacon, would be as follows: 

The formula A, is A, the animal will undersand. It will say (as it were) I am I, etc. ; but the formula, A is not, A, it will be incapable of understanding. Not A—this is indeed the concept. The animal will reason thus:

This is this.
That is that.
This is not that.

or,

This man is this man.
That man is that man.
This man is not that man.

I shall be obliged to return to the logic of animals later on; for the present it is only necessary to establish the fact that the psychology of animals is peculiar, and differs in a fundamental way from our own. And not only is it peculiar, but it is decidedly manifold. 

Among the animals known to us, even among domestic animals, the psychological differences are so great as to differentiate them into entirely separate planes. We ignore this, and place them all under a single rubric—“animals.” 

A goose, having entangled its foot in a piece of watermelon rind, drags it along by the web and thus cannot get it out, but it never thinks of raising its foot. This indicates that its mind is so vague that it does not know its own body, scarcely distinguishing between it and other objects. [Mr V A Daniloff (the investigator of religious questions, folk-lore, sectarianism, etc., who has also examined deeply into the comparative psychology and the psychology of animals) has called my attention to the fact that as an example of a “stupid” animal it is necessary to take the hen and not the goose. Geese, according to him, possess well developed psyches, communicate among themselves, and so on. In the case in question the goose might have tried to tear the piece of watermelon rind.] This would happen neither with a dog nor with a cat. They know their bodies very well. But in relation to outside objects the dog and the cat differ widely. I have observed a dog, a ‘Very intelligent” setter. When the little rug on which he slept got folded and was uncomfortable to sleep on, he understood that the nuisance was outside of him, that it was in the rug, and in a certain definite position of the rug. Therefore he caught the rug in his teeth, turned it and pushed it here and there, the while growling, sighing, and moaning until someone came to his aid, for he was never able to rectify the difficulty. 

With the cat such a question could not even appear. The cat knows her body very well, but everything outside of herself she takes as her due, as given. To correct the outside world, to accommodate it to her own comfort, never comes into the cat’s head. Perhaps this is because she lives more in another world, in the world of dreams and phantasies, than in this. Accordingly, if there were something wrong with her bed the cat would turn herself about repeatedly until she could lie down comfortably, or she would go and lie in another place. 

The monkey would spread the rug very easily indeed. 

Here we have four psychologies, all quite different; and this is only one example: it would be possible to collect others by the hundred. And meanwhile there is for us just one “animal.” We mix together many things that are entirely different; our “divisions” are often incorrect, and this hinders us when it comes to the examination of ourselves. To declare that manifest differences determine the “evolutionary grade,” that animals of one type are “higher” or “lower” than those of another, would be entirely false. The dog and the monkey by their intellect, their aptness to imitate, and by reason of the dog’s fidelity to man, are as it were higher than the cat, but the cat is infinitely superior to them in intuition, esthetic sense, independence, and force of will. The dog and the monkey manifest themselves in toto: all that they have is seen. The cat, on the other hand, is not without reason regarded as a magical and occult animal. In her there is much hidden of which she herself does not know. If one speaks in terms of evolution, it is more correct to say that the cat and the dog are animals of different evolutions, just as in all probability, not one, but several evolutions are simultaneously going forward in humanity. 

The recognition of several independent and (mechanically) equivalent evolutions, developing entirely different properties, would lead us out of a labyrinth of endless contradictions in our understanding of man.

The different psychologies come about from different capabilities to assimilate sensations.

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Reference: Tertium Organum

NOTE: Text in color contains my comments.

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Chapter 6: Reality

Methods of investigation of the problem of higher dimensions. The analogy between imaginary worlds of different dimensions. The one-dimensional world on a line. “Space” and “time” of a one-dimensional being. The two-dimensional world on a plane. “Space” and “time,” “ether,” “matter” and “motion” of a two-dimensional being. Reality and illusion on a plane. The impossibility of seeing an “angle.” An angle as motion. The incomprehensibility to a two-dimensional being of the functions of things in our world. Phenomena and noumena of a two-dimensional being. How could a plane being comprehend the third dimension?

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A series of analogies and comparisons are used for the definition of that which can be, and that which cannot be, in the region of the higher dimension. Fechner, Hinton, and many others employ this method. 

They imagine “worlds” of one, and of two dimensions, and out of the relations of lower-dimensional worlds to higher ones they deduce possible relations of our world to one of four dimensions; just as out of the relations of points to lines, of lines to surfaces, and of surfaces to solids we deduce the relations of our solids to four-dimensional ones. 

Reality is made of dimensions. A dimension can always be represented by a scale that can be used for quantitative measures or qualitative assessments of some property.

Let us try to investigate everything that this method of analogy can yield. 

Let us imagine a world of one dimension. 

It will be a line. Upon this line let us imagine living beings. Upon this line, which represents the universe for them, they will be able to move forward and backward only, and these beings will be as the points, or segments of a line. Nothing will exist for them outside their line—and they will not be aware of the line upon which they are living and moving. For there will exist only two points, ahead and behind, or may be just one point ahead. Noticing the change in states of these points, the one-dimensional being will call these changes phenomena. If we suppose the line upon which the one-dimensional being lives to be passing through the different objects of our world, then of all these objects the one-dimensional being will perceive one point only; if different bodies intersect his line, the one-dimensional being will sense them only as the appearance, the more or less prolonged existence, and the disappearance of a point. This appearance, existence, and disappearance of a point will constitute a phenomenon. Phenomena, according to the character and properties of passing objects and the velocity and properties of their motions, for the one-dimensional being will be constant or variable, long or short-timed, periodical or unperiodical. But the one-dimensional being will be absolutely unable to understand or explain the constancy or variability, the duration or brevity, the periodicity or unperiodicity of the phenomena of his world, and will regard them simply as properties pertaining to them. The solids intersecting his line may be different, but for the one-dimensional being all phenomena will be absolutely identical—just the appearance or the disappearance of a point—and phenomena will differ only in duration and greater or less periodicity. 

Here change and the dimension of time is being assumed to exist in the one-dimensional universe. A one-dimensional being will always be obstructed by another one-dimensional being and objects if he is not able to pass through them. This is a mathematical scenario and not a real one.

Such strange monotony and similarity of the diverse and heterogeneous phenomena of our world will be the characteristic peculiarity of the one-dimensional world. 

Moreover, if we assume that the one-dimensional being possesses memory, it is clear that recalling all the points seen by him as phenomena, he will refer them to time. The point which was: this is the phenomenon already non-existent, and the point which may appear tomorrow: this is the phenomenon which does not exist yet. All of our space except one line will be in the category of time, i.e., something wherefrom phenomena come and into which they disappear. And the one-dimensional being will declare that the idea of time arises for him out of the observation of motion, that is to say, out of the appearance and disappearance of points. These will be considered as temporal phenomena, beginning at that moment when they become visible, and ending ceasing to exist—at that moment when they become invisible. The one-dimensional being will not be in a position to imagine that the phenomenon goes on existing somewhere, though invisibly to him; or he will imagine it as existing somewhere on his line, far ahead of him. 

From our viewpoint, the one-dimensional being shall be struggling with many anomalies.

We can imagine this one-dimensional being more vividly. Let us take an atom, hovering in space, or simply a particle of dust, carried along by the air, and let us imagine that this atom or partide of dust possesses a consciousness, i.e., separates himself from the outside world, and is conscious only of that which lies in the line of his motion, and with which he himself comes in contact. He will then be a one-dimensional being in the full sense of the word. He can fly and move in all directions, but it will always seem to him that he is moving upon a single line; outside of this line will be for him only great Nothingness—the whole universe will appear to him as one line. He will feel none of the turns and angles of his line, for to feel an angle it is necessary to be conscious of that which lies to right or left, above or below. In all other respects such a being will be absolutely identical with the before-described imaginary being living upon the imaginary line. Everything that he comes in contact with, that is, everything that he is conscious of, will seem to him to be emerging from time, i.e., from nothing, and vanishing into time, i.e., into nothing. This nothing will be all our world. All our world except one line will be called time and will be counted as actually non-existent.

Everything that a one-dimensional being comes in contact with will seem to him to be simply appearing and disappearing. If things are appearing and disappearing in our universe, we may conclude that they are moving in a dimension we are not aware of.

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Let us next consider the two-dimensional world, and the being living on a plane. The universe of this being will be one great plane. Let us imagine beings on this plane having the shape of points, lines, and flat geometrical figures. The objects and “solids” of that world will have the shape of flat geometrical figures too. 

In what manner will a being living on such a plane universe cognize his world? 

First of all we can affirm that he will not feel the plane upon which he lives. He will not do so because he will feel the objects, i.e., figures, which are on this plane. He will feel the lines which limit them, and for this reason he will not feel his plane, for in that case he would not be in a position to discern the lines. The lines will differ from the plane in that they produce sensations; therefore they exist. The plane does not produce sensations; therefore it does not exist. Moving on the plane, the two-dimensional being, feeling no sensations, will declare that nothing now exists. After having encountered some figure, having sensed its lines, he will say that something appeared. But gradually, by a process of reasoning, the two-dimensional being will come to the conclusion that the figures he encounters exist on something, or in something.

Here the author is making an assumption that empty space cannot be sensed, only matter in space can be sensed. But we can sense empty space. It is filled either with radiation or thought, or both.

Thereupon he may name such a plane (he will not know, indeed, that it is a plane) the “ether.” Accordingly he will declare that the “ether” fills all space, but differs in its qualities from “matter.” By “matter” he will mean lines. Having come to this conclusion the two-dimensional being will regard all processes as happening in his “ether,” i.e., in his space. He will not be in a position to imagine anything outside of this ether, that is, out of his plane. If anything, proceeding out of his plane, comes in contact with his consciousness, then he will either deny it, or regard it as something subjective, the creation of his own imagination, or else he will believe that it is proceeding right on the plane, in the ether, as are all other phenomena. 

The “ether” may be a description for thought.

Sensing lines only, the plane being will not sense them as we do. First of all, he will see no angle. It is extremely easy for us to verify this by experiment. If we will hold before our eyes two matches, inclined one to the other in a horizontal plane, then we shall see one line. To see the angle we shall have to look from above. The two-dimensional being cannot look from above and therefore cannot see the angle. But measuring the distance between the lines of different “solids” of his world, the two-dimensional being will come continually in contact with the angle, and he will regard it as a strange property of the line, which is sometimes manifest and sometimes is not. That is, he will refer the angle to time, he will regard it as a temporary, evanescent phenomenon, a change in the state of a “solid,” or as motion. It is difficult for us to understand this. It is difficult to imagine how the angle can be regarded as motion. But it must be absolutely so, and cannot be otherwise. If we try to represent to ourselves how the plane being studies the square, then certainly we shall find that for the plane being the square will be a moving body. Let us imagine that the plane being is opposite one of the angles of the square. He does not see the angle—before him is a line, but a line possessing very curious properties. Approaching this line, the two-dimensional being observes that a strange thing is happening to the line. One point remains in the same position, and other points are withdrawing back from both sides. We repeat, that the two-dimensional being has no idea of an angle. Apparently the line remains the same as it was, yet something is happening to it, without a doubt. The plane being will say that the line is moving, but so rapidly as to be imperceptible to sight. If the plane being goes away from the angle and follows along a side of the square, then the side will become immobile. When he comes to the angle, he will notice the motion again. After going around the square several times, he will establish the fact of regular, periodical motions of the line. Quite probably in the mind of the plane being the square will assume the form of a body possessing the property of periodical motions, invisible to the eye, but producing definite physical effects (molecular motion)—or it will remain there as a perception of periodical moments of rest and motion in one complex line, and still more probably it will seem to be a rotating body. 

Quite possibly the plane being will regard the angle as his own subjective perception, and will doubt whether any objective reality corresponds to this subjective perception. Nevertheless he will reflect that if there is action, yielding to measurement, so must there be the cause of it, consisting in the change of the state of the line, i.e., in motion. 

The lines visible to the plane being he may call matter, and the angles—motion. That is, he may call the broken line with an angle, moving matter. And truly to him such a line by reason of its properties will be quite analogous to matter in motion. 

When consciousness is limited to a fewer number of dimensions, its focus becomes narrow. It is unable to look at reality as a whole. So it looks at part of reality one moment at a time. This creates the illusion of motion.

If a cube were to rest upon the plane upon which the plane being lives, then this cube will not exist for the two-dimensional being, but only the square face of the cube in contact with the plane will exist for him—as a line, with periodical motions. Correspondingly, all other solids lying outside of his plane, in contact with it, or passing through it, will not exist for the plane being. The planes of contact or cross-sections of these bodies will alone be sensed. But if these planes or sections move or change, then the two-dimensional being will think, indeed, that the cause of the change or motion is in the bodies themselves, i.e., right there on his plane. 

As has been said, the two-dimensional being will regard the straight lines only as immobile matter; irregular lines and curves will seem to him as moving. So far as really moving lines are concerned, that is, lines limiting the cross sections or planes of contact passing through, or moving along the plane, these will be for the two-dimensional being something inconceivable and incommensurable. It will be as though there were in them the presence of something independent, depending upon itself only, animated. This effect will proceed from two causes: He can measure the immobile angles and curves, the properties of which the two-dimensional being calls motion, for the reason that they are immobile; moving figures, on the contrary, he cannot measure, because the changes in them will be out of his control. These changes will depend upon the properties of the whole body and its motion, and of that whole body the two-dimensional being will know only one side or section. Not perceiving the existence of this body, and contemplating the motion pertaining to the sides and sections he probably will regard them as living beings. He will affirm that there is something in them which differentiates them from other bodies: vital energy, or even soul. That something will be regarded as inconceivable, and really will be inconceivable to the two-dimensional being, because to him it is the result of an incomprehensible motion of inconceivable solids. 

If we imagine an immobile circle upon the plane, then for the two-dimensional being it will appear as a moving line with some very strange and to him inconceivable motions. 

The two-dimensional being will never see that motion. Perhaps he will call such motion molecular motion, i.e., the movement of minutest invisible particles of “matter.” 

Moreover, a circle rotating around an axis passing through its center for the two-dimensional being will differ in some inconceivable way from the immobile circle. Both will appear to be moving, but moving differently. 

For the two-dimensional being a circle or a square, rotating around its center, on account of its double motion will be an inexplicable and incommensurable phenomenon, like a phenomenon of life for a modern physicist. 

Therefore, for a two-dimensional being, a straight line will be immobile matter; a broken or a curved line—matter in motion; and a moving line—living matter. 

The center of a circle or a square will be inaccessible to the plane being, just as the center of a sphere or of a cube made of solid matter is inaccessible to us—and for the two-dimensional being even the idea of a center will be incomprehensible, since he possesses no idea of a center. 

Having no idea of phenomena proceeding outside of the plane that is, out of his “space”—the plane being will think of all phenomena as proceeding on his plane as has been stated. And all phenomena which he regards as proceeding on his plane, he will consider as being in causal interdependence one with another: that is, he will think that one phenomenon is the effect of another which has happened right there, and the cause of a third which will happen right on the same plane. 

If a multi-colored cube passes through the plane, the plane being will perceive the entire cube and its motion as a change in the color of lines lying in the plane. Thus, if a blue line replaces a red one, then the plane being will regard the red line as a past event. He will not be in a position to realize the idea that the red line is still existing somewhere. He will say that the line is single, but that it becomes blue as a consequence of certain causes of a physical character. If the cube moves backward so that the red line appears again after the blue one, then for the two-dimensional being this will constitute a new phenomenon. He will say that the line became red again. 

For the being living on a plane, everything above and below (if the plane be horizontal), and on the right or left (if the plane be vertical) will be existing in time, in the past and in the future that which in reality is located outside of the plane will be regarded as non-existent, either as that which is already past, i.e., as something which has disappeared, ceased to be, will never return, or as in the future, i.e., as not existent, not manifested, as a thing in potentiality. 

For a two-dimensional being the reality shall be very different. The higher dimensions shall appear subjective. He will not have the whole picture. He will then succumb to speculations.

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Let us imagine that a wheel with the spokes painted different colors is rotating through the plane upon which the plane-being lives. To such a being all the motion of the wheel will appear as a variation of the color of the line of intersection of the wheel and the plane. The plane being will call this variation of the color of the line a phenomenon, and observing these phenomena he will notice in them a certain succession. He will know that the black line is followed by the white one, the white by the blue, the blue by the red, and so on. If simultaneously with the appearance of the white line some other phenomenon occurs—say the ringing of a bell—the two-dimensional being will say that the white line is the cause of that ringing. The change of the color of the lines, in the opinion of the two-dimensional being, will depend on causes lying right in his plane. Any presupposition of the possibility of the existence of causes lying outside of the plane he will characterize as fantastic and entirely unscientific. It will seem so to him because he will never be in a position to represent the wheel to himself, i.e., the parts of the wheel on both sides of the plane. After a rough study of the color of the lines, and knowing the order of their sequence, the plane being, perceiving one of them, say the blue one, will think that the black and the white ones have already passed, i.e., disappeared, ceased to exist, gone into the past; and that those lines which have not yet appeared—the yellow, the green, and so on, and the new white and black ones still to come—do not yet exist, but lie in the future. 

Therefore, though not conceiving the form of his universe, and regarding it as infinite in all directions, the plane being will nevertheless involuntarily think of the past as situated somewhere at one side of all, and of the future as somewhere at the other side of this totality. In such manner will the plane being conceive of the idea of time. We see that this idea arises because the two-dimensional being senses only two out of three dimensions of space; the third dimension he senses only after its effects become manifest upon the plane, and therefore he regards it as something different from the first two dimensions of space, calling it time. 

What appears and disappears in awareness is assigned to the dimension of time, but it may belong to a dimension that is yet to be identified. Things appear and disappear because a limited consciousness is scanning the landscape of reality.

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Now let us imagine that through the plane upon which the two-dimensional being lives, two wheels with multi-colored spokes are rotating and are rotating in opposite directions. The spokes of one wheel come from above and go below; the spokes of the other come from below and go above. 

The plane being will never notice it. 

He will never notice that where for one line (which he sees) there lies the past—for another line there lies the future. This thought will never even come into his head, because he will conceive of the past and the future very confusedly, regarding them as concepts, not as actual facts. But at the same time he will be firmly convinced that the past goes in one direction, and the future in another. Therefore it will seem to him a wild absurdity that on one side something past and something future can lie together, and on another side—and also beside these two—something future and something past. To the plane being the idea that some phenomena come whence others go, and vice versa, will seem equally absurd. He will tenaciously think that the future is that wherefrom everything comes, and the past is that whereto everything goes and wherefrom nothing returns. He will be totally unable to understand that events may arise from the past just as they do from the future. 

Thus we see that the plane being will regard the changes of color of the lines lying on the plane very naively. The appearance of different spokes he will regard as the change of color of one and the same line, and the repeated appearance of the same colored spoke he will regard every time as a new appearance of a given color. 

But nevertheless, having noticed periodicity in the change of the color of the lines upon the surface, having remembered the order of their appearance, and having learned to define the “time” of the appearance of certain spokes in relation to some other more constant phenomenon, the plane being will be in a position to foretell the change of the line from one color to another. Thereupon he will say that he has studied this phenomenon, that he can apply to it “the mathematical method”—can “calculate it.” 

Past and future become part of our knowledge (assimilated sensations). Consciousness becomes limited when we don’t take knowledge into account.

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If we ourselves enter the world of plane-beings, then its inhabitants will sense the lines limiting the sections of our bodies. These sections will be for them living beings; they will not know from whence they appear, why they alter, or whither they disappear in such a miraculous manner. So also, the sections of all our inanimate but moving objects will seem independent living beings. 

If the consciousness of a plane being should suspect our existence, and should come into some sort of communion with our consciousness, then to him we would appear as higher, omniscient, possibly omnipotent, but above all incomprehensible beings of a quite inconceivable category. 

We could see his world just as it is, and not as it seems to him. We could see the past and the future; could foretell, direct and even create events. We could know the very substance of things—could know what “matter” (the straight line) is, what “motion” (the broken line, the curve, the angle) is. We could see an angle, and we could see a center. All this would give us an enormous advantage over the two-dimensional being.

In all of the phenomena of the world of the two-dimensional being we could see considerably more than he sees—or could see quite other things than he. 

And we could tell him very much that was new, amazing, and unexpected about the phenomena of his world—provided, indeed, that he could hear us and understand us. 

First of all we could tell him that what he regards as phenomena—angles and curves, for instance—are properties of higher figures; that other “phenomena” of his world are not phenomena, but only “parts” or “sections” of phenomena; that what he calls “solids” are only sections of solids,—and many more things besides. 

We should be able to tell him that on both sides of his plane (i.e., of his space or ether) lies infinite space (which the plane being calls time) ; and that in this space lie the causes of all his phenomena, and the phenomena themselves, the past as well as the future ones; moreover, we might add that “phenomena” themselves are not something happening and then ceasing to be, but combinations of properties of higher solids. 

But we should experience considerable difficulty in explaining anything to the plane being; and it would be very difficult for him to understand us. First of all it would be difficult because he would not have the concepts corresponding to our concepts. He would lack necessary “words.” 

For instance, “section”—this would be for him a quite new and inconceivable word; then ” angle”—again an inconceivable word; “center”—still more inconceivable; the third perpendicular —something incomprehensible, lying outside of his geometry. 

The fallacy of his conception of time would be the most difficult thing for the plane being to understand. He could never understand that which has passed and that which is to be are existing simultaneously on the lines perpendicular to his plane. And he could never conceive the idea that the past is identical with the future, because phenomena come from both sides and go in both directions. 

There is a lot of mystery when there is an unknown dimension. When the being becomes aware of this additional dimension, he displays much greater consciousness. But he would have to learn new concepts to have this awareness.

But the most difficult thing for the plane being would be to conceive the idea that “time” includes in itself two ideas: the idea of space, and the idea of motion upon this space. 

We have shown that what the two-dimensional being living on the plane calls motion has for us quite a different aspect.

Motion occurs when the measurement on a dimension changes. Thus, motion can occur in the dimension of time itself. Change and time are two different concepts.

In his book “The Fourth Dimension,” under the heading “The First Chapter in the History of Four-space,” Hinton writes: 

Oneness is a principle. It means if one part of the whole changes, then other parts of the whole also must change to maintain oneness. Oneness is constant as a principle. That doesn’t mean that changes cannot occur. Changes occur while maintaining the oneness of the whole. Therefore, change is not an illusion as Parmenides thought.

Returning to the plane being and his perception of the world, and analyzing his relations to the three-dimensional world, we see that for the two-dimensional or plane being it will be very difficult to understand all the complexity of the phenomena of our world, as it appears to us. He (the plane being) is accustomed to perceive the world as being too simple. 

Taking into consideration the sections of figures instead of the figures themselves, the plane being will compare them in relation to their length and their greater or lesser curvature, i.e., their for him more or less rapid motion. 

The differences between the objects of our world, as they exist for us he would not understand. The functions of the objects of our world would be completely mysterious to his mind—incomprehensible, “supernatural.” 

Let us imagine that a coin, and a candle the diameter of which is equal to that of the coin, are on the plane upon which the twodimensional being lives. To the plane being they will seem two equal circles, i.e., two moving, and absolutely identical lines; he will never discover any difference between them. The functions of the coin and of the candle in our world—these are for him absolutely a terra incognita. If we try to imagine what an enormous evolution the plane being must pass through in order to understand the function of the coin and of the candle and the difference between these functions, we will understand the nature of the division between the plane world and the world of three dimensions, and the complete impossibility of even imagining, on the plane, anything at all like the three-dimensional world, with its manifoldness of function.

The properties of the phenomena of the plane world will be extremely monotonous; they will differ by the order of their appearance, their duration, and their periodicity. Solids, and the things of this world will be flat and uniform, like shadows, i.e., like the shadows of quite different solids, which seem to us uniform. Even if the plane being could come in contact with our consciousness, he would never be in a position to understand all the manifoldness and richness of the phenomena of our world and the variety of function of the things of that world. 

Plane beings would not be in a position to master our most ordinary concepts. 

It would be extremely difficult for them to understand that phenomena, identical for them, are in reality different; and on the other hand, that phenomena quite separate for them are in reality parts of one great phenomenon, and even of one object or one being. 

A new basic dimension can bring a lot more complexity to the world.

This last will be one of the most difficult things for the plane being to understand. If we imagine our plane being to be inhabiting a horizontal plane, intersecting the top of a tree, and parallel to the surface of the earth, then for such a being each of the various sections of the branches will appear as a quite separate phenomenon or object. The idea of the tree and its branches will never occur to him. 

Generally speaking, the understanding of the most fundamental and simple things of our world will be infinitely long and difficult to the plane being. He would have to entirely reconstruct his concepts of space and time. This would be the first step. Unless it is taken, nothing is accomplished. Until the plane being will imagine all our universe as existing in time, i.e., until he refers to time everything lying on both sides of his plane, he will never understand anything. In order to begin to understand “the third dimension” the inhabitant of the plane must conceive of his time concepts spatially, that is, translate his time into space.

Past, present and future is incorrectly associated with time. They are really a part of present knowledge.

To achieve even the spark of a true understanding of our world he will have to reconstruct completely all his ideas to revaluate all values, to revise all concepts, to dissever the uniting concepts, to unite those which are dissevered; and, what is most important, to create an infinite number of new ones. 

If we put down the five fingers of one hand on the plane of the two-dimensional being they will be for him five separate phenomena. 

Let us try to imagine what an enormous mental evolution he would have to undergo in order to understand that these five separate phenomena on his plane are the finger-tips of the hand of a large, active and intelligent being—man. 

To make out, step by step, how the plane being would attain to an understanding of our world, lying in the region of the to him mysterious third dimension—i.e., partly in the past, partly in the future—would be interesting in the highest degree. First of all, in order to understand the world of three dimensions, he must cease to be two dimensional—he must become three dimensional himself or, in other words, he must feel an interest in the life of three-dimensional space. After having felt the interest of this life, he will by so doing transcend his plane, and will never be in a position thereafter to return to it. Entering more and more within the circle of ideas and concepts which were entirely incomprehensible to him before, he will have already become, not two-dimensional, but three-dimensional. But all along the plane being will have been essentially three-dimensional, that is, he will have had the third dimension, without his being conscious of it himself. To become three-dimensional he must be three-dimensional. Then as the end of ends he can address himself to the self-liberation from the illusion of the two-dimensionality of himself and the world, and to the apprehension of the three-dimensional world.

Adding the spatial third-dimension to two-dimensions makes a big difference; but it would not make such a big difference when adding color as a new dimension. So, the above complexity applies only when basic dimensions are considered. Normally, solving anomalies shall gradually build up the new dimension in our awareness.

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Reference: Tertium Organum

NOTE: Text in color contains my comments.

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Chapter 4: Time

In what direction may the fourth dimension lie? What is motion? Two kinds of motion—motion in space and motion in time—which are contained in every movement. What is time? Two ideas contained in the conception of time. The new dimension of space, and motion upon that dimension. Time as the fourth dimension of space. Impossibility of understanding the fourth dimension without the idea of motion. The idea of motion and the “time sense.” The time sense as a limit (surface) of the “space sense.” Hinton on the law of surfaces. The “ether” as a surface. Riemann’s idea concerning the translation of time into space in the fourth dimension. Present, past, and future. Why we do not see the past and the future. Life as a feeling of one’s way. Wundt on the subject of our sensuous knowledge.

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We have established by a comparison of the relation of lower dimensional figures to higher dimensional ones that it is possible to regard a four-dimensional body as the tracing of the motion of a three-dimensional body upon the dimension not contained in it; i.e., that the direction of the motion upon the fourth dimension lies outside of all the directions which are possible in three-dimensional space. 

Physical motion is viewed as movement from one point fixed in space to another point fixed in space. But this requires space to be viewed like an “inflexible solid.” The three dimensions in space then represent three inflexible scales that measure distances in three directions perpendicular to each other. The motion in this case is the change in measurement along a certain scale. The point on the scale representing a certain measurement does not itself shift.

But in what direction is it? 

Adding a new direction means the integration of a new property into the object, which then requires a new scale of measurement.

In order to answer this question it will be necessary to discover whether we do not know some motion not confined in three-dimensional space. 

There is no fourth physical direction perpendicular to these three directions. But we observe that this inflexible space is enduring from one moment to the next from past through present to future. Mathematically, this is a direction; but it is mental rather than physical.

We know that every motion in space is accompanied by that which we call motion in time. Moreover, we know that everything existing, even if not moving in space, moves eternally in time. 

We must remember that motion, as defined here, is the change in the measure of some property along an inflexible scale. Complications arise when the scale itself becomes flexible as in the theory of relativity.

And equally in all cases, whether speaking of motion or absence of motion, we have in mind an idea of what was before, what now becomes, and what will follow after. In other words, we have in mind the idea of time. The idea of motion of any kind, also the idea of absence of motion is indissolubly bound up with the idea of time. Any motion or absence of motion proceeds in time and cannot proceed out of time. Consequently, before speaking of what motion is, we must answer the question, what is time?

Time is the most formidable and difficult problem which confronts humanity. 

Time as a dimension simply adds the property to an object of endurance. The object then continues to be.

Kant regards time as he does space: as a subjective form of our receptivity; i.e., he says that we create time ourselves, as a function of our receptive apparatus, for convenience in perceiving the outside world. Reality is continuous and constant, but in order to make possible the perception of it, we must dissever it into separate moments; imagine it as an infinite series of separate moments out of which there exists for us only one. In other words, we perceive reality as though through a narrow slit, and what we are seeing through this slit we call the present; what we did see and now do not see—the past, and what we do not quite see but are expecting—the future. 

Space and time are basic dimensions that we use to make sense out of a constant and continuous reality. The moments in time are continuous, just like the locations in space. The spread of our awareness determines how much reality we perceive in terms of time and space.

Regarding each phenomenon as an effect of another, or others, and this in its turn as a cause of a third; that is, regarding all phenomena in functional interdependence one upon another, by this very act we are contemplating them in time, because we picture to ourselves quite clearly and precisely first a cause, then an effect; first an action, then its function, and cannot contemplate them otherwise. Thus we may say that the idea of time is bound up with the idea of causation and functional interdependence. Without time causation cannot exist, just as without time motion or the absence of motion cannot exist. 

Each moment in time is continuous with the moment just before it. This produces a connected sequence. This may be looked upon as functional interdependence. This may also be looked upon as forms of cause and effect.

But our perception concerning our “being in time” is entangled and misty up to improbability. 

First of all let us analyze our relation toward the past, present and future. Usually we think that the past already does not exist. It has passed, disappeared, altered, transformed itself into something else. The future also does not exist—it does not exist yet. It has not arrived, has not formed. By the present we mean the moment of transition of the future into the past, i.e., the moment of transition of a phenomenon from one non-existence into another one. Only for that short moment does the phenomenon exist for us in reality; before, it existed in potentiality, afterward it will exist in remembrance. But this short moment is in substance only a fiction: it has no measurement. We have a full right to say that the present does not exist. We can never catch it. That which we did catch is always the past!

If we are to stop at that we must admit that the world does not exist, or exists only in some phantasmagoria of illusions, flashing and disappearing.

Usually we take no account of this, and do not reflect that our usual view of time leads to utter absurdity. 

Let us imagine a stupid traveller going from one city to another and half way between these two cities. A stupid traveller thinks that the city from which he has departed last week does not exist now: only the memory of it is left; the walls are ruined, the towers fallen, the inhabitants have either died or gone away. Also that city at which he is destined to arrive in several days does not exist now either, but is being hurriedly built for his arrival, and on the day of that arrival will be ready, populated, and set in order, and on the day after his departure will be destroyed just as was the first one. 

We are thinking of things in time exactly in this way—everything passes away, nothing returns! The spring has passed, it does not exist still. The autumn has not come, it does not exist yet. 

But what does exist? 

The present. 

But the present is not a seizable moment, it is continuously transitory into the past. 

So, strictly speaking, neither the past, nor the present, nor the future exists for us. Nothing exists! And yet we are living, feeling, thinking—and something surrounds us. Consequently, in our usual attitude toward time there exists some mistake. This error we shall endeavor to detect. 

We accepted in the very beginning that something exists. We called that something the world. How then can the world exist it it is not existing in the past, in the present, in the future? 

That conception of the world which we deduced from our usual view of time makes the world appear like a continuously gushing out igneous fountain of fireworks, each spark of which flashes for a moment and disappears, never to appear any more. Flashes are going on continuously, following one after another, there are an infinite number of sparks, and everything together produces the impression of a flame, though it does not exist in reality. 

The autumn has not come yet. It will be, but it does not exist now. And we give no thought to how that can appear which is not.

We are moving upon a plane, and recognize as really existing only the small circle lighted by our consciousness. Everything out of this circle, which we do not see, we negate, we do not like to admit that it exists. We are moving upon the plane in one direction. This direction we consider as eternal and infinite. But the direction at right angles to it, those lines which we are intersecting, we do not like to recognize as eternal and infinite. We imagine them as going into non-existence at once, as soon as we have passed them, and that the lines before us have not yet risen out of non-existence. If, presupposing that we are moving upon a sphere, upon its equator or one of its parallels, then it will appear that we recognize as really existing only one meridian: those which are behind us have disappeared and those ahead of us have not appeared yet. 

We are going forward like a blind man, who feels paving stones and lanterns and walls of houses with his stick and believes in the real existence of only that which he touches now, which he feels now. That which has passed has disappeared and will never return! That which has not yet been does not exist. The blind man remembers the route which he has traversed; he expects that ahead the way will continue, but he sees neither forward nor backward because he does not see anything, because his instrument of knowledge—the stick—has a definite, and not very great length, and beyond the reach of his stick non-existence begins. 

Wundt, in one of his books, called attention to the fact that our famous five organs of sense are in reality just feelers by which we feel the world around us. We live groping about. We never see anything. We are always just feeling everything. With the help of the microscope and the telescope, the telegraph and the telephone we are extending our feelers a little, so to speak, but we are not beginning to see. To say that we are seeing would be possible only in case we could know the past and the future. But we do not see, and because of this we can never assure ourselves of that which we cannot feel. 

This is the reason why we count as really existing only that circle which our feelers grasp at a given moment. Beyond that darkness and non-existence. 

But have we any right to think in this way? 

The assumption here is that the assimilated sensations have no valid existence. Therefore, it focuses on immediate sensual receptivity and disregards sensation assimilated in the forms of perceptions, memories, experiences and knowledge.

Let us imagine a consciousness that is not bound by the conditions of sensuous receptivity. Such a consciousness can rise above the plane upon which we are moving; it can see far beyond the limits of the circle enlightened by our usual consciousness; it can see that not only does the line upon which we are moving exist, but also all lines perpendicular to it which we are intersecting, which we have ever intersected, and which we shall intersect. After rising above the plane this consciousness can see the plane, can convince itself that it is really a plane, and not a single line. Then it can see the past and the future, lying together and existing simultaneously.

That consciousness which is not bound by the conditions of sensuous receptivity can outrun the stupid traveler, ascend the mountain to see in the distance the town to which he is going, and be convinced that this town is not being built anew for his arrival, but exists quite independently of the stupid traveler. And that consciousness can look off and see on the horizon the towers of that city where that traveler had been, and be convinced that those towers have not fallen, that the city continues to stay and live just as it stayed and lived before the traveler’s advent. 

It can rise above the plane of time and see the spring behind and the autumn ahead, see simultaneously the budding flowers and ripening fruits. It can make the blind man recover his sight and see the road along which he passed and that which still lies before him. 

The past and the future cannot not exist, because if they do not exist then neither does the present exist. Unquestionably they exist somewhere together, but we do not see them. 

The present, compared with the past and the future, is the most unreal of all unrealities. 

We are forced to admit that the past, the present and the future do not differ in anything, one from another: there exists just one ‘present—the Eternal Now of Hindu philosophy. But we do not perceive this, because in every given moment we experience just a little bit of that present, and this alone we count as existent, denying a real existence to everything else. 

If we admit this, then our view of everything with which we are surrounded will change very considerably. 

Usually we regard time as an abstraction, made by us during the observation of really existing motion. That is, we think that observing motion, or changes of relations between things and comparing the relations which existed before, which exist now, and which may exist in the future, that we are deducing the idea of time. We shall see later on how far this view is correct.

Our awareness is not limited to a narrow slit of sensuous receptivity. The awareness includes the past in the form of sensations assimilated as perceptions, memory, experience and knowledge. The awareness includes the future in the form of real time projections from assimilated sensations. This awareness is there all the time.

Thus the idea of time is composed of the conception of the past, of that of the present, and of that of the future. 

Our conceptions of the past and present, though not very clear, are yet very much alike. As to the future there exists a great variety of views. 

It is necessary for us to analyze the theories of the future as they exist in the mind of contemporary man. 

There are in existence two theories—that of the preordained future, and that of the free future. 

Preordination is established in this way: we say that every future event is the result of those which happened before, and is created such as it will be and not otherwise as a consequence of a definite direction of forces which are contained in preceding events. This means, in other words, that future events are wholly contained in preceding ones, and if we could know the force and direction of all events which have happened up to the present moment, i.e., if we knew all the past, by this we could know all the future. And sometimes, knowing the present moment thoroughly, in all its details, we may really foretell the future. If the prophecy is not fulfilled, we say that we did not know all that had been, and we discover in the past some cause which had escaped our observation. 

The idea of the free future is founded upon the possibility of voluntary action and accidental new combinations of causes. The future is regarded as quite indefinite, or defined only in part, because in every given moment new forces, and new events and new phenomena are born which lie in a potential state, not causeless, but so incommensurable with causes—as the firing of a city from one spark—that it is impossible to detect or measure them. 

This theory affirms that one and the same action can have different results; one and the same cause, different effects; and it introduces the hypothesis of quite arbitrary volitional actions on the part of a man, bringing about profound changes in the subsequent events of his own life and the lives of others. 

Supporters of the preordination theory contend on the contrary that volitional, involuntary actions depend also upon causes, making them necessary and unavoidable at a given moment; that there is nothing accidental, and that there cannot be; that we call accidental only those things the causes of which we do not see by reason of our limitations; and that different effects of causes seemingly the same occur because the causes are different in reality and only seem similar for the reason that we do not understand them well enough nor see them sufficiently clear.

The dispute between the theory of the preordained future and that of the free future is an infinite dispute. Neither of these theories can say anything decisive. This is so because both theories are too literal, too inflexible, too material, and one repudiates the other: both say, “either this or the other.” In the one case there results a complete cold predestination; that which will be, will be, nothing can be changed—that which will befall tomorrow was predestined tens of thousands of years ago. There results in the other case a life upon some sort of needle-point called the present, which is surrounded on all sides by an abyss of non-existence, a journey in a country which does not yet exist, a life in a world which is born and dies every moment, in which nothing ever returns. And both these opposite views are equally untrue, because the truth, in the given case, as in so many others, is contained in a union of two opposite understandings in one. 

The future is a prediction based on past and present knowledge that takes into account the laws of nature. The better is the assimilation of this knowledge the more accurate is the prediction of future. But, still, there is always the factor of Unknowable and the predictions of future are never totally certain.

In every given moment all the future of the world is predestined and is existing, but is predestined conditionally, i.e., it will be such or another future according to the direction of events at a given moment, unless there enters a new fact, and a new fact can enter only from the side of consciousness and the will resulting from it. It is necessary to understand this, and to master it. 

There are laws of nature, so there is predestination. But there is also evolution, so there are new factors coming in.

Besides this we are hindered from a right conception of the relation of the present toward the future by our misunderstanding of the relation of the present to the past. The difference of opinion exists only concerning the future; concerning the past all agree that it has passed, that it does not exist now—and that it was such as it has been. In this last lies the key to the understanding of the incorrectness of our views of the future. As a matter of fact, in reality our relation both to the past and to the future is far more complicated than it seems to us. In the past, behind us, lies not only that which really happened, but that which could have been. In the same way, in the future lies not only that which will be, but everything that may be. 

The past and the future are equally undetermined, equally exist in all their possibilities, and equally exist simultaneously with the present.

The is always the possibility of some sensations, especially traumatic sensations, not getting assimilated in real time. The unassimilated sensations sink into subconscious and out of awareness. There they wait to get assimilated. Any lack of assimilation thus distorts our view of past, present and future. Thus, we may perceive both past and future with uncertainty.

By time we mean the distance separating events in the order of their succession and binding them in different wholes. This distance lies in a direction not contained in three-dimensional space, therefore it will be the new dimension of space. 

This new dimension satisfies all possible requirements of the fourth dimension on the ground of the preceding reasoning. 

It is incommensurable with the dimensions of three-dimensional space, as a year is incommensurable with St. Petersburg. It is perpendicular to all directions of three-dimensional space and is not parallel to any of them. 

Time is the distance separating events, just like space is the distance separating objects. Time is possible because objects are enduring. This endurance of an object is understood as the dimension of Time, just like the extents of an object are understood as the dimensions of Space. If we define Space solely in terms of dimensions, then Time provides the fourth dimension to “space.”

As a deduction from all the preceding we may say that time (as it is usually understood) includes in itself two ideas: that of a certain to us unknown space (the fourth dimension), and that of a motion upon this space. Our constant mistake consists in the fact that in time we never see two ideas, but see always only one. Usually we see in time the idea of motion, but cannot say from whence, where, whither, nor upon what space. Attempts have been made heretofore to unite the idea of the fourth dimension with the idea of time. But in those theories which have attempted to combine the idea of time with the idea of the fourth dimension appeared always the idea of some spatial element as existing in time, and along with it was admitted motion upon that space. Those who were constructing these theories evidently did not understand that leaving out the possibility of motion they were advancing the demand for a new time, because motion cannot proceed out of time. And as a result time goes ahead of us, like our shadow, receding according as we approach it. All our perceptions of motion have become confused. If we imagine the new dimension of space and the possibility of motion upon this new dimension, time will still elude us, and declare that it is unexplained, exactly as it was unexplained before. 

It is necessary to admit that by one term, time, we designated, properly, two ideas—”a certain space” and “motion upon that space.” This motion does not exist in reality, and it seems to us as existing only because we do not see the spatiality of time. That is, the sensation of motion in time, (and motion out of time does not exist) arises in us because we are looking at the world as though through a narrow slit, and are seeing the lines of intersection of the time-plane with our three-dimensional space only.

Therefore it is necessary to declare how profoundly incorrect is our usual theory that the idea of time is deduced by us from the observation of motion, and is really nothing more than the idea of that succession which is observed by us in motion. 

It is necessary to recognize quite the reverse: that the idea of motion is deduced by us out of an incomplete sensation of time, or of the time-sense, i.e., out of a sense or sensation of the fourth dimension, but out of an incomplete sensation. This incomplete sensation of time (of the fourth dimension)—the sensation through the slit—gives us the sensation of motion, that is, creates an illusion of motion which does not exist in reality, but instead of which there exists in reality only the extension upon a direction inconceivable to us.

As explained at the start of this chapter, motion is the change in the measurement of distance along a certain inflexible scale/direction. As this change becomes faster, so does the “motion in that direction.” The same applies to the dimension of time, which also has its own inflexible scale. As the changes in the measurement of time become faster so does the “motion in the direction of time.” It is like speeding up a movie. Here we are assuming total assimilation of sensations; followed by commensurate awareness of past, present and future.

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One other aspect of the question has very great significance. The fourth dimension is bound up with the ideas of “time” and “motion.” But up to this point we shall not be able to understand the fourth dimension unless we shall understand the fifth dimension. 

The dimension of time is, therefore, the dimension of endurance of the object. Motion appears due to change in that dimensional value.

Attempting to look at time as at an object, Kant says that it has one dimension: i.e., he imagines time as a line extending from the infinite future into the infinite past. Of one point of this line we are conscious—always only one point. And this point has no dimension because that which in the usual sense we call the present, is the recent past, and sometimes also the near future. 

It is not true that we are conscious of only one point on the time line. Assimilation of sensations into knowledge gives us awareness of past, present and possible future.

This would be true in relation to our illusory perception of time. But in reality eternity is not the infinite dimension of time, but the one perpendicular to time; because, if eternity exists, then every moment is eternal. We can discover in time two dimensions. The second dimension of time, i.e., eternity, will be the fifth dimension of space. The line of the first dimension of time extends in that order of succession of phenomena which are in causal interdependence—first the cause, then the effect: before, now, after. The line of the second dimension of time—the line of eternity—extends perpendicularly to that line. 

It is impossible to understand the idea of time without conceiving to ourselves the idea of eternity; it is likewise impossible to understand space if we have no idea of eternity. 

Eternity would mean that an object is enduring without change. There is no succession of change in that object while it is enduring through the changes other objects are going through. No change means no motion because motion means succession of change in distance.

From the standpoint of eternity, time does not differ in anything from the other lines and dimensions of space—length, breadth, and height. This means that just as in space exist the things that we do not see, or speaking differently, not alone that which we see, so in time “events” exist before our consciousness has touched them, and they still exist after our consciousness has left them behind. Consequently, extension in time is extension into unknown space, and therefore time is the fourth dimension of space. 

But as has been shown already, time is not a simple, but a complex conception. And we shall have this in view—it consists of a conception of unknown space, vanishing in the past and future, and of illusory motion upon this space.

Eternity refers to the dimension of Time, the same way that distance refers to the dimension of Space. It is incorrect to say that eternity is the fifth dimension. It is a concept related to the fourth dimension.

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It is necessary for us to regard time as a spatial conception considered with relation to our two data—the universe and consciousness. 

The idea of time appears when consciousness comes in contact with the world through sensuous receptivity. It has been already shown that because of the properties of sensuous receptivity, consciousness sees the world as through a narrow slit. 

The idea of time is no different than the ides of space. Both of these ideas appear when consciousness arises through sensuous receptivity. The idea of seeing the world through a narrow slit is erroneous because consciousness includes assimilated sensations of past, present and future.

Out of this the following questions arise: 

1. Why does there exist in the world illusionary motion? That is, why does not consciousness see through this slit the same thing at all times? Why, behind the slit, do changes proceed creating the illusion of motion, i.e., in what manner, and how does the focus of our consciousness run over the world of phenomena? In addition to all this it is necessary to remember that through the very same slit through which it sees the world, consciousness observes itself as part of the world, and sees in itself changes similar to the changes in the rest of things. 
2. Why cannot consciousness extend that slit? 

We shall endeavor to answer these questions. 

These questions are better posed as: (1) Why are we fixated on immediate sensation and do not consider the total awareness of past, present and future? (2) Why aren’t we addressing subconsciousness?

First of all we shall remark that within the limits of our usual observation consciousness is always in the same conditions and cannot escape these conditions. In other words, it is as it were chained to some plane above which it cannot rise. These conditions or that plane we call MATTER. Our consciousness lives, so to speak, upon the very plane, and never rises above it. If consciousness could rise above this plane, so undoubtedly it would see underneath itself simultaneously, a far greater number of events than it usually sees while on a plane. Just as a man, ascending a mountain, or going up in a balloon, begins to see simultaneously and at once many things which it is impossible to see simultaneously and at once from below: the movement of two trains toward one another between which a collision will occur; the approach of an enemy detachment to a sleeping camp ; two cities divided by a ridge, etc.—so consciousness rising above the plane in which it usually functions, must see simultaneously the events divided for ordinary consciousness by periods of time. These will be the events which ordinary consciousness never sees together, as cause and effect: the work, and the payment; the crime and the punishment; the movement of trains toward one another and their collision; the approach of the enemy and the battle; the sunrise and the sunset; the morning and the evening; the day and the night; spring, autumn, summer and winter; the birth and the death of a man.

It is incorrect to think that our consciousness cannot rise above the plane of MATTER. It can certainly rise when we realize that that the substance of the universe includes radiation and thought in addition to matter. The space filled only with radiation allows for a flexible scale. The space filled only with thought allows for additional metaphysical dimensions.

The angle of vision will enlarge during such an ascent, the moment will expand. 

If we imagine a consciousness higher than our consciousness, possessing a broader angle of view, then this consciousness will be able to grasp, as something simultaneous, i.e., as a moment, all that is happening for us during a certain length of time—minutes, hours, a day, a month. Within the limits of its moment such a consciousness will not be in a position to discriminate between before, now, after, all this will be for it now. Now will expand. 

But in order for this to happen it would be necessary for us to liberate ourselves from matter, because matter is nothing more than the conditions of space and time in which we dwell. Thence arises the question: can consciousness leave the conditions of material existence without itself undergoing fundamental changes or without disappearing altogether, as men of positivistic views would affirm. 

Space and time account for the dimensions of substance. Currently, we limit substance to inflexible matter. We just need to expand the sense of substance to include radiation and thought.

This is a debatable question, and later I shall give examples and proofs, speaking on behalf of the idea that our consciousness can leave the conditions of materiality. For the present I wish to establish purely theoretically what must proceed during this leaving. 

There would ensue the expansion of the moment, i.e., all that we are apprehending in time would become something like a single moment, in which the past, the present, and the future would be seen at once. This shows the relativity of motion, as depending for us upon the limitation of the moment, which includes only a very small part of the moments of life perceived by us. 

Currently, we limit consciousness to sensuous receptivity only. We need to expand the sense of consciousness to include memory, experience and knowledge. We should also work on assimilating sensations stored in the subconscious.

We have a perfect right to say, not that “time” is deduced from “motion,” but that motion is sensed because of the time-sense. We have that sense, therefore we sense motion. The time-sense is the sensation of changing moments. If we did not have this time-sense we could not feel motion. The “time-sense” is itself, in substance, the limit or the surface of our “space-sense.” Where the “space-sense” ends, there the “time-sense” begins. It has been made clear that “time” is identical in its properties with “space,” i. ., it has all the signs of space extension. However, we do not feel it as spatial extension, but we feel it as time, that is, as something specific, inexpressible, in other words, uninterruptedly bound up with “motion.” This inability to sense time spatially has its origin in the fact that the time-sense is a misty space-sense; by means of our time-sense we feel obscurely the new characteristics of space, which emerge from the sphere of three dimensions. 

Motion is not correctly described above. Motion is successive change of values on a dimensional scale whether it is changing distance from some fixed point, or if it is changing form from eternity. NOTE: Eternity is endurance of a form without change.

But what is the time-sense and why does there arise the illusion of motion? 

Time-sense is simply the sense of endurance; while, space-sense is the sense of extent. We confuse it with “change.” The truth is that time (duration) can change, just like space (extent) can change. Change is a concept more basic than either space or time, just like the concept of substance.

To answer this question at all satisfactorily is possible only by studying our consciousness, our I. 

“I” is a complicated quantity, and within itself goes on a continuous motion. About the nature of this motion we shall speak later, but this very motion inside of our I creates the illusion of motion around us, motion in the material world.

The premise of “I” stated above is problematic. The whole function of “I” is to spot and resolve anomalies that violate continuity, consistency and harmony of observations.

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The noted mathematician Riemann understood that when higher dimensions of space are in question time, by some means, translates itself into space, and he regarded the MATERIAL ATOM as the entrance of the fourth dimension into three-dimensional space. 

This claim is apparently not true.

In one of his books Hinton writes very interestingly about “surface tensions.” 

The relationship of a surface to a solid or of a solid to a higher solid is one which we often find in nature. 

A surface is nothing more nor less than the relation between two things. Two bodies touch each other. The surface is the relationship of one to the other. 

If our space is in the same co-relation with higher space as is the surface to our space, then it may be that our space is really the surface, that is the place of contact, of two higher-dimensional spaces. 

It is a fact worthy of notice that in the surface of a fluid different laws obtain from those which hold throughout the mass. There are a whole series of facts which are grouped together under the name of surface tensions, which are of great importance in physics, and by which the behavior of the surfaces of liquids is governed. 

And it may well be that the laws of our universe are the surface tensions of a higher universe. 

If the surface be regarded as a medium lying between bodies, then indeed it will have no weight, but be a powerful means of transmitting vibrations. Moreover, it would be unlike any other substance, and it would be impossible to get rid of it. However perfect a vacuum be made, there would be in this vacuum just as much of this unknown medium (i.e., of that surface) as there was before. 

Matter would pass freely through this medium. . . vibrations of this medium would tear asunder portions of matter. And involuntarily the conclusion would be drawn that this medium was unlike any ordinary matter. . . These would be very different properties to reconcile in one and the same substance. 

Now is there anything in our experience which corresponds to this medium? . . . 

Do we suppose the existence of any medium through which matter freely moves, which yet by its vibrations destroys the combinations of matter—some medium which is present in every vacuum however perfect, which penetrates all bodies, is weightless, and yet can never be laid hold of. 

The “substance” which possesses all these qualities is called the “ether.” . . 

The properties of the ether are a perpetual object of investigation in science. . . But taking into consideration the ideas expressed before it would be interesting to look at the world supposing that we are not in it but on the ether; where the “ether” is the surface of contact of two bodies of higher dimensions.

Hinton here expresses an unusually interesting thought, and brings the idea of the “ether” nearer to the idea of time. The materialistic, or even the energetic understanding of contemporary physics of the ether is perfectly fruitless—a dead-end siding. For Hinton the ether is not a substance but only a “surface,” the “boundary” of something. But of what? Again not that of a substance, but the boundary, the surface, the limit of one form of receptivity and the beginning of another. …

In one sentence the walls and fences of the materialistic deadend siding are broken down and before our thought open wide horizons of regions unexplored.

What is being considered “ether” here, could very well be “thought,” which is a valid substance.

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