s clearly disclosed beneath.
Meantime the incidental effects, the "secondary qualities," are
relegated to a personal inconsequential region; they constitute the
realm of appearance, the realm of mind.

[Sidenote: Ghostly character of mind.]

Mind is therefore sometimes identified with the unreal. We oppose, in an
antithesis natural to thought and language, the imaginary to the true,
fancy to fact, idea to thing. But this thing, fact, or external reality
is, as we have seen, a completion and hypostasis of certain portions of
experience, packed into such shapes as prove cogent in thought and
practice. The stuff of external reality, the matter out of which its
idea is made, is therefore continuous with the stuff and matter of our
own minds. Their common substance is the immediate flux. This living
worm has propagated by fission, and the two halves into which it has
divided its life are mind and nature. Mind has kept and clarified the
crude appearance, the dream, the purpose that seethed in the mass;
nature has appropriated the order, the constant conditions, the causal
substructure, disclosed in reflection, by which the immediate flux is
explained and controlled. The chemistry of thought has precipitated
these contrasted terms, each maintaining a recognisable identity and
having the function of a point of reference for memory and will. Some of
these terms or objects of thought we call things and marshal in all
their ideal stability--for there is constancy in their motions and
transformations--to make the intelligible external world of practice and
science. Whatever stuff has not been absorbed in this construction,
whatever facts of sensation, ideation, or will, do not coalesce with the
newest conception of reality, we then call the mind.

Raw experience, then, lies at the basis of the idea of nature and
approves its reality; while an equal reality belongs to the residue of
experience, not taken up, as yet, into that idea. But this residual
sensuous reality often seems comparatively unreal because what it
presents is entirely without practical force apart from its mechanical
associates. This inconsequential character of what remains over follows
of itself from the concretion of whatever is constant and efficacious
into the external world. If this fact is ever called in question, it is
only because the external world is vaguely conceived, and loose wills
and ideas are thought to govern it by magic. Yet in many ways falling