xperience of the being, so far
as this is known or imagined.

It would thus seem that the idea which we habitually carry about with us
respecting a complex individual object is a very composite idea. In
order to see this more fully, let us inquire into what is meant by our
belief in a person. My idea of a particular friend contains, among other
things, numbers of vague representations of his habitual modes of
feeling and acting, and numbers of still more vague expectations of how
he will or might feel and act in certain circumstances.

Now, it is plain that such a composite idea must have been a very slow
growth, involving, in certain stages of its formation, numerous
processes of inference or quasi-inference from the past to the future.
But in process of time these elements fuse inseparably: the directly
known and the inferred no longer stand apart in my mind; my whole
conception of the individual as he has been, is, and will be, seems one
indivisible cognition; and this cognition is so firmly fixed and
presents itself so instantaneously to the mind when I think of the
object, that it has all the appearance of an intuitive conviction.

If this is a fairly accurate description of the structure of these
compound representations and of their attendant beliefs, it is easy to
see how many openings for error they cover. To begin with, my
representation of so complex a thing as a concrete personality must
always be exceedingly inadequate and fragmentary. I see only a few
facets of the person's many-sided mind and character. And yet, in
general, I am not aware of this, but habitually identify my
representation with the totality of the object.

More than this, a little attention to the process by which these
compound beliefs arise will disclose the fact that this apparently
adequate representation of another has arisen in part by other than
logical processes. If the blending of memory and expectation were simply
a mingling of facts with correct inferences from these, it might not
greatly matter; but it is something very different from this. Not only
has our direct observation of the person been very limited, even that
which we have been able to see has not been perfectly mirrored in our
memory. It has already been remarked that recollection is a selective
process, and this truth is strikingly illustrated in the growth of our
enduring representations of things. What stamps itself on my memory is
what surprised me or what dee