ere in space before its eyes.

Nevertheless, the psychologist tells us that it requires quite a course
of education to enable us to see things--not to have vague and
unmeaning sensations, but to see things, things that are known to be
touchable as well as seeable, things that are recognized as having size
and shape and position in space. And he aims a still severer blow at
our respect for the infant when he goes on to inform us that the little
creature is as ignorant of itself as it is of things; that in its small
world of as yet unorganized experiences there is no self that is
distinguished from other things; that it may cry vociferously without
knowing who is uncomfortable, and may stop its noise without knowing
who has been taken up into the nurse's arms and has experienced an
agreeable change.

This chaotic little world of the dawning life is not our world, the
world of common thought, the world in which we all live and move in
maturer years; nor can we go back to it on the wings of memory. We
seem to ourselves to have always lived in a world of things,--things in
time and space, material things. Among these things there is one of
peculiar interest, and which we have not placed upon a par with the
rest, our own body, which sees, tastes, touches, other things. We
cannot remember a time when we did not know that with this body are
somehow bound up many experiences which interest us acutely; for
example, experiences of pleasure and pain. Moreover, we seem always to
have known that certain of the bodies which surround our own rather
resemble our own, and are in important particulars to be distinguished
from the general mass of bodies.

Thus, we seem always to have been living in a world of _things_ and to
have recognized in that world the existence of ourselves and of other
people. When we now think of "ourselves" and of "other people," we
think of each of the objects referred to as possessing a _mind_. May
we say that, as far back as we can remember, we have thought of
ourselves and of other persons as possessing minds?

Hardly. The young child does not seem to distinguish between mind and
body, and, in the vague and fragmentary pictures which come back to us
from our early life, certainly this distinction does not stand out.
The child may be the completest of egoists, it may be absorbed in
itself and all that directly concerns this particular self, and yet it
may make no conscious distinction between a bod