ing the perceptions of sense, are a synthesis of sensations,
words, conceptions. In seeing or hearing or looking or listening the
sensible impression prevails over the conception and the word. In
reflection the process is reversed--the outward object fades away into
nothingness, the name or the conception or both together are everything.
Language, like number, is intermediate between the two, partaking of the
definiteness of the outer and of the universality of the inner world.
For logic teaches us that every word is really a universal, and only
condescends by the help of position or circumlocution to become the
expression of individuals or particulars. And sometimes by using words
as symbols we are able to give a 'local habitation and a name' to the
infinite and inconceivable.

Thus we see that no line can be drawn between the powers of sense and
of reflection--they pass imperceptibly into one another. We may indeed
distinguish between the seeing and the closed eye--between the sensation
and the recollection of it. But this distinction carries us a very
little way, for recollection is present in sight as well as sight
in recollection. There is no impression of sense which does not
simultaneously recall differences of form, number, colour, and the like.
Neither is such a distinction applicable at all to our internal bodily
sensations, which give no sign of themselves when unaccompanied with
pain, and even when we are most conscious of them, have often no
assignable place in the human frame. Who can divide the nerves or great
nervous centres from the mind which uses them? Who can separate the
pains and pleasures of the mind from the pains and pleasures of the
body? The words 'inward and outward,' 'active and passive,' 'mind and
body,' are best conceived by us as differences of degree passing into
differences of kind, and at one time and under one aspect acting in
harmony and then again opposed. They introduce a system and order into
the knowledge of our being; and yet, like many other general terms, are
often in advance of our actual analysis or observation.

According to some writers the inward sense is only the fading away or
imperfect realization of the outward. But this leaves out of sight one
half of the phenomenon. For the mind is not only withdrawn from
the world of sense but introduced to a higher world of thought and
reflection, in which, like the outward sense, she is trained and
educated. By use the outward s