But even supposing this objection well taken, it can no longer be regarded as an objection specifically to the doctrine of parallelism, for the view of the mind in question is becoming increasingly popular, and it is now held by influential interactionists as well as by parallelists.  One may believe that the mind consists of ideas, and may still hold that ideas can cause motions in matter.

There is, however, another objection that predisposes many thoughtful persons to reject parallelism uncompromisingly.  It is this.  If we admit that the chain of physical causes and effects, from a blow given to the body to the resulting muscular movements made in self-defense, is an unbroken one, what part can we assign to the mind in the whole transaction?  Has it done anything?  Is it not reduced to the position of a passive spectator?  Must we not regard man as “a physical automaton with parallel psychical states”?

Such an account of man cannot fail to strike one as repugnant; and yet it is the parallelist himself whom we must thank for introducing us to it.  The account is not a caricature from the pen of an opponent.  “An automaton,” writes Professor Clifford,[2] “is a thing that goes by itself when it is wound up, and we go by ourselves when we have had food.  Excepting the fact that other men are conscious, there is no reason why we should not regard the human body as merely an exceedingly complicated machine which is wound up by putting food into the mouth.  But it is not merely a machine, because consciousness goes with it.  The mind, then, is to be regarded as a stream of feelings which runs parallel to, and simultaneous with, a certain part of the action of the body, that is to say, that particular part of the action of the brain in which the cerebrum and the sensory tracts are excited.”

The saving statement that the body is not merely a machine, because consciousness goes with it, does not impress one as being sufficient to redeem the illustration.  Who wants to be an automaton with an accompanying consciousness?  Who cares to regard his mind as an “epiphenomenon”—­a thing that exists, but whose existence or nonexistence makes no difference to the course of affairs?

The plain man’s objection to such an account of himself seems to be abundantly justified.  As I have said earlier in this chapter, neither interactionist nor parallelist has the intention of repudiating the experience of world and mind common to us all.  We surely have evidence enough to prove that minds count for something.  No house was ever built, no book was ever written, by a creature without a mind; and the better the house or book, the better the mind. That there is a fixed and absolutely dependable relation between the planning mind and the thing accomplished, no man of any school has the right to deny.  The only legitimate question is:  What is the nature of the relation?  Is it causal, or should it be conceived to be something else?