Identity of our structure that this is so; and our

conclusion, though not proved, possesses high

probability. And, again, it may be impossible in fact

that, while the relations are constant, the qualities

should vary; but to assert this would be to pass beyond

the limits of our knowledge. What, however, we are

convinced of, is briefly this, that we understand and,

again, are ourselves understood. There is, indeed, a

theoretical possibility that these other bodies are

without any souls, or that, while behaving as if they

understood us, their souls really remain apart

in worlds shut up from ours. But, when this bare

possibility is excluded, the question stands thus. A

common understanding being admitted, how much does that

imply? What is the minimum of sameness that we need

suppose to be involved in it?

It might be interesting elsewhere to pursue this

question at length, but I must content myself here with

an attempt briefly to indicate the answer. The fact is

that, in the main, we behave as if our internal worlds

were the same. But this fact means that, for each one,

the inner systems coincide. Through all their detail

these several orders must lead to the same result. But,

if so, we may go further, and may conclude that each

comes to the same thing. What is the amount of variety

then which such coinciding orders will admit? We must, I

presume, answer that, for all we know, the details may

be different, but that the principles cannot vary. There

seems to be a point beyond which, if laws and systems

come to the same thing, they must be actually the same.

And the higher we mount from facts of sense, and the

wider our principles have become, the more nearly we

have approached to this point of identity. Thus sensible

qualities, we may suppose at one end, are largely

divergent; while, if we rise high enough at the other

end, we must postulate sameness. And, between these two

extremes, as we advance, the probability increases that

coincidence results from identical character. It is, for

example, more likely that we share our general morality

with another man, than that we both have the same tastes

or odours in common. And with this I will pass from a

subject which seems both difficult and interesting, but

which for metaphysics possesses but secondary

importance. Whatever variety there may be, cannot extend

to first principles; and all variety comes together, and

is transformed, in the Absolute.

But there is a natural mistake which,

perhaps, I should briefly notice. Our inner worlds, I

may be told, are divided from each other, but the outer

world of experience is common to all; and it is by

standing on this basis that we are able to communicate.

Such a statement would be incorrect. My external

sensations are no less private to myself than are my

thoughts or my feelings. In either case my experience

falls within my own circle, a circle closed on the

outside; and, with all its elements alike, every sphere