consciousness. Undoubtedly from consciousness self-consciousness
grows, often appearing by degrees and being extremely difficult to
discriminate. Yet the two are not the same. Possibly in marking the
contrast between them I may be able to gain the collateral advantage
of ridding myself of those disturbers of ethical discussion, the
brutes. Whenever I am nearing an explanation of some moral intricacy
one of my students is sure to come forward with a dog and to ask
whether what I have said shows that dog to be a moral and responsible
being. So I like to watch afar and banish the brutes betimes. Perhaps
if I bestow a little attention on them at present, I may keep the
creatures out of my pages for the future.

Many writers maintain that brutes differ from us precisely in this
particular, that while they possess consciousness they have not self-
consciousness. A brute, they say, has just such experiences as I have
been describing: he tastes, smells, hears, sees, touches. All this he
may do with greater intensity and precision than we. But he is
entirely wrapped up in these separate sensations. The single
experience holds his attention. He knows no other self than that; or,
strictly speaking, he knows no self at all. It is the experience he
knows, and not himself the experiencer. We say, "The cat feels herself
warm;" but is it quite so? Does she feel herself, or does she feel
warm? Which? If we may trust the writers to whom I have referred, we
ought rather to say, "The cat feels warm" than that "she feels herself
warm;" for this latter statement implies a distinction of which she is
in no way aware. She does not set off her passing moods in contrast to
a self who might be warm or cold, active or idle, hungry or satiated.
The experience of the instant occupies her so entirely that in reality
the cat ceases to be a cat and becomes for the moment just warm. So it
is in all her seeming activities. When she chases a mouse we rightly