mes an
idealist usually does so, I think, after weighing the arguments
presented by the hypothetical realist, and finding that they seem to
carry one farther than the latter appears to recognize.

The type of idealism represented by Berkeley has been called
_Subjective Idealism_. Ordinarily our use of the words "subjective"
and "objective" is to call attention to the distinction between what
belongs to the mind and what belongs to the external order of things.
My sensations are subjective, they are referred to my mind, and it is
assumed that they can have no existence except in my mind; the
qualities of things are regarded as objective, that is, it is commonly
believed that they exist independently of my perception of them.

Of course, when a man becomes an idealist, he cannot keep just this
distinction. The question may, then, fairly be raised: How can he be a
_subjective idealist_? Has not the word "subjective" lost its
significance?

To this one has to answer: It has, and it has not. The man who, with
strict consistency, makes the desk at which he sits as much his "idea"
as is the pain in his finger or his memory of yesterday, cannot keep
hold of the distinction of subjective and objective. But men are not
always as consistent as this. Remember the illustration of the
"telephone exchange" (section 14). The mind is represented as situated
at the brain terminals of the sensory nerves; and then brain, nerves,
and all else are turned into ideas in this mind, which are merely
"projected outwards."

Now, in placing the mind at a definite location in the world, and
contrasting it with the world, we retain the distinction between
subjective and objective--what is in the mind can be distinguished from
what is beyond it. On the other hand, in making the whole system of
external things a complex of ideas in the mind, we become idealists,
and repudiate realism. The position is an inconsistent one, of course,
but it is possible for men to take it, for men have taken it often
enough.

The idealism of Professor Pearson (section 14) is more palpably
subjective than that of Berkeley, for the latter never puts the mind in
a "telephone exchange." Nevertheless, he names the objects of sense,
which other men call material things, "ideas," and he evidently
assimilates them to what we commonly call ideas and contrast with
things. Moreover, he holds them in some of the contempt which men
reserve for "mere ideas," for he be