CHAPTER II.

THE “FIRST PRINCIPLES” OF THE “UNKNOWABLE.”

The _British Quarterly_ speaking of Spencer, says: “These ‘First Principles’ are merely the foundation of a system of Philosophy, bolder, more elaborate and comprehensive, perhaps, than any other which has been hitherto designed in England.”

The persistence and sincerity, so generally prevailing among these correlationists, we have occasion to admire in Herbert Spencer. He seems to be always ready to sacrifice his individual interest for truth, and is bold and fearless in uttering, what he believes it to be.

For critical consideration no better division can be found than that adopted in the “First Principles” by Mr. Spencer himself, to wit: 1st, the unknowable, 2nd, the knowable. Accordingly, let us examine first his theory of

THE UNKNOWABLE.

When Mr. Spencer announces the content of the “unknowable” to be “ultimate religious and scientific ideas,” we are reminded at once of the old adage in jurisprudence—“_Omnis definitio in jure civili est periculosa_;” the definition is liable to prove self-contradictory in practice. So when we have a content assigned to the unknowable we at once inquire, whence come the distinctions in the unknowable? If unknown they are not distinct to us. When we are told that Time, Space, Force, Matter, God, Creation, etc., are unknowables, we must regard these words as corresponding to no distinct objects, but rather as all of the same import to us. It should be always borne in mind that _all universal negatives are self-contradictory_. Moreover, since all judgments are made by subjective intelligences, it follows that all general assertions concerning the nature of the intellect affect the judgment itself. The naïveté with which certain writers wield these double-edged weapons is a source of solicitude to the spectator.

When one says that he knows that he knows nothing, he asserts knowledge and denies it in the same sentence. If one says “all knowledge is relative,” as Spencer does, (p. 68, _et seq._, of First Principles,) he of course asserts that his knowledge of the fact is relative and not absolute. If a distinct content is asserted of ignorance, the same contradiction occurs.

The perception of this principle by the later German philosophers at once led them out of the Kantian nightmare, into positive truth. The principle may be applied in general to any subjective scepticism. The following is a general scheme that will apply to all particular instances:

I. “We cannot know things in themselves; all our knowledge is subjective; it is confined to our own states and changes.”

II. If this is so, then still more is what we name the “objective” only a state or change of us as subjective; it is a mere fiction of the mind so far as it is regarded as a “beyond” or thing in itself.

III. Hence we _do_ know the objective; for the scepticism can only legitimately conclude that the objective which we do know is of a nature kindred with reason; and that by an _a priori_ necessity we can affirm that not only all knowable must have this nature, but also _all possible existence_ must.

In this we discover that the mistake on the part of the sceptic consists in taking self-conscious intelligence as something one-sided or subjective, whereas it must be, according to its very definition, subject and object in one, and thus universal.

The difficulty underlying this stage of consciousness is that the mind has not been cultivated to a clear separation of the imagination from the thinking. As Sir Wm. Hamilton remarks, (Metaphysics, p. 487,) “Vagueness and confusion are produced by the confounding of objects so different as the images of sense and the unpicturable notions of intelligence.”

Indeed the great “law of the conditioned” so much boasted of by that philosopher himself and his disciples, vanishes at once when the mentioned confusion is avoided. Applied to space it results as follows:

I.—_Thought of Space._

1. Space, if finite, must be limited from without;

2. But such external limitations would require space to exist in;

3. And hence the supposed limits of space that were to make it finite do in fact _continue it_.

It appears, therefore, that space is of such a nature that it can only end in, or be limited by _itself_ and thus is universally _continuous_ or _infinite_.

II.—_Imagination of Space._

If the result attained by pure thought is correct, space is infinite, and if so, it cannot be imagined. If, however, it should be found possible to compass it by imagination, it must be conceded that there really is a contradiction in the intelligence. That the result of such an attempt coincides with our anticipations we have Hamilton’s testimony—“imagination sinks exhausted.”

Therefore, instead of this result contradicting the first, as Hamilton supposes, it really confirms it.

In fact if the mind is disciplined to separate pure thinking from mere imagining, the infinite is not difficult to think. Spinoza saw and expressed this by making a distinction between “infinitum actu (or rationis),” and “infinitum imaginationis,” and his first and second axioms are the immediate results of thought elevated to this clearness. This distinction and his “_omnis determinatio est negatio_,” together with the development of the third stage of thinking (according to reason), “_sub quadam specie æternitatis_,”—these distinctions are the priceless legacy of the clearest-minded thinker of modern times; and it behooves the critic of “human knowing” to consider well the results that the “human mind” has produced through those great masters—Plato and Aristotle, Spinoza and Hegel.

Herbert Spencer, however, not only betrays unconsciousness of this distinction, but employs it in far grosser and self-destructive applications. On page 25, (“First Principles,”) he says: “When on the sea shore we note how the hulls of distant vessels are hidden below the horizon, and how of still remoter vessels only the uppermost sails are visible, we realize with tolerable clearness the slight curvature of that portion of the sea’s surface which lies before us. But when we seek in imagination to follow out this curved surface as it actually exists, slowly bending round until all its meridians meet in a point eight thousand miles below our feet, we find ourselves utterly baffled. We cannot conceive in its real form and magnitude even that small segment of our globe which extends a hundred miles on every side of us, much less the globe as a whole. The piece of rock on which we stand can be mentally represented with something like completeness; we find ourselves able to think of its top, its sides, and its under surface at the same time, or so nearly at the same time that they seem all present in consciousness together; and so we can form what we call a conception of the rock, but to do the like with the earth we find impossible.” “We form of the earth not a conception properly so-called, but only a symbolic conception.”

Conception here is held to be adequate when it is formed of an object of a given size; when the object is above that size the conception thereof becomes symbolical. Here we do not have the exact limit stated, though we have an example given (a rock) which is conceivable, and another (the earth) which is not.

“We must predicate nothing of objects too great or too multitudinous to be mentally represented, or we must make our predications by means of extremely inadequate representations of such objects, mere symbols of them.” (27 page.)

But not only is the earth an indefinitely multiple object, but so is the rock; nay, even the smallest grain of sand. Suppose the rock to be a rod in diameter; microscope magnifying two and a half millions of diameters would make its apparent magnitude as large as the earth. It is thus only a question of relative distance from the person conceiving, and this reduces it to the mere sensuous image of the retina. Remove the earth to the distance of the moon, and our conception of it would, upon these principles, become quite adequate. But if our conception of the moon be held inadequate, then must that of the rock or the grain of sand be equally inadequate.

Whatever occupies space is continuous and discrete; i. e., may be divided into parts. It is hence a question of relativity whether the image or picture of it correspond to it.

The legitimate conclusion is that all our conceptions are symbolic, and if that property invalidates their reliability, it follows that we have no reliable knowledge of things perceived, whether great or small.

Mathematical knowledge is conversant with pure lines, points, and surfaces; hence it must rest on inconceivables.

But Mr. Spencer would by no means concede that we do not know the shape of the earth, its size, and many other inconceivable things about it. Conception is thus no criterion of knowledge, and all built upon this doctrine (i. e. depending upon the conceivability of a somewhat) falls to the ground.

But he applies it to the questions of the divisibility of matter (page 50): “If we say that matter is infinitely divisible, we commit ourselves to a supposition not realizable in thought. We can bisect and rebisect a body, and continually repeating the act until we reduce its parts to a size no longer physically divisible, may then mentally continue the process without limit.”

Setting aside conceivability as indifferent to our knowledge or thinking, we have the following solution of this point:

I. That which is extended may be bisected (i. e. has two halves).

II. Thus two extensions arise, which, in turn, have the same property of divisibility that the first one had.

III. Since, then, bisection is a process entirely indifferent to the nature of extension (i. e. does not change an extension into two non-extendeds), it follows that body is infinitely divisible.

We do not have to test this in imagination to verify it; and this very truth must be evident to him who says that the progress must be “continued without limit.” For if we examine the general conditions under which any such “infinite progress” is possible, we find them to rest upon the presupposition of a real infinite, thus:

Infinite Progress.

I. Certain attributes are found to belong to an object, and are not affected by a certain process. (For example, divisibility as a process in space does not affect the continuity of space, which makes that process possible. Or again, the process of limiting space does not interfere with its continuity, for space will not permit any limit except space itself.)

II. When the untutored reflection endeavors to apprehend a relation of this nature, it seizes one side of the dualism and is hurled to the other. (It bisects space, and then finds itself before two objects identical in nature with the first; it has effected nothing; it repeats the process, and, by and by getting exhausted, wonders whether it could meet a different result if its powers of endurance were greater. Or else suspecting the true case, says; “no other result would happen if I went on forever.”)

III. Pure thought, however, grasps this process as a totality, and sees that it only arises through a self-relation. The “progress” is nothing but a return to itself, the same monotonous round. It would be a similar attempt to seek the end of a circle by travelling round it, and one might make the profound remark: “If my powers were equal to the task, I should doubtless come to the end.” This difficulty vanishes as soon as the experience is made that the line returns into itself. “It is the same thing whether said once or repeated forever,” says Simplicius, treating of this paradox.

The “Infinite Progress” is the most stubborn fortress of Scepticism. By it our negative writers establish the impotency of Reason for various ulterior purposes. Some wish to use it as a lubricating fluid upon certain religious dogmas that cannot otherwise be swallowed. Others wish to save themselves the trouble of thinking out the solutions to the Problem of Life. But the Sphinx devours him who does not faithfully grapple with, and solve her enigmas.

Mephistopheles (a good authority on this subject) says of Faust, whom he finds grumbling at the littleness of man’s mind:

“Verachte nur Vernunft und Wissenchaft, Des Menschen allerhöchste Kraft! Und hätt’er sich auch nicht dem Teufel übergeben, Er müsste doch zu Grunde gehen.”

Only prove that there is a large field of the unknowable and one has at once the _vade mecum_ for stupidity. Crude reflection can pour in its distinctions into a subject, and save itself from the consequences by pronouncing the basis incomprehensible. It also removes _all_ possibility of Theology, or of the Piety of the Intellect, and leaves a very narrow margin for religious sentiment, or the Piety of the Heart.

The stage of Science represented by the French Encyclopædists was immediately hostile to each and every form of religion. This second stage, however, has a choice. It can, like Hamilton or Mansel, let religious belief alone, as pertaining to the unknown and unknowable—which may be _believed_ in as much as one likes; or it may “strip off,” as Spencer does, “determinations from a religion,” by which it is distinguished from other religions, and show their truth to consist in a common doctrine held by all, to-wit: “The truth of things is unknowable.”

Thus the scientific man can baffle all attacks from the religious standpoint; nay, he can even elicit the most unbounded approval, while he saps the entire structure of Christianity.

Says Spencer (p. 46): “Science and Religion agree in this, that the power which the Universe manifests to us is utterly inscrutable.” He goes on to show that though this harmony exists, yet it is broken by the inconsistency of Religion: “For every religion, setting out with the tacit assertion of a mystery, forthwith proceeds to give some solution of this mystery, and so asserts that it is not a mystery passing human comprehension.” In this confession he admits that all religions agree in professing to _reveal_ the solution of the Mystery of the Universe to man; and they agree, moreover, that man, as simply a being of sense and reflection, cannot comprehend the revelation; but that he must first pass through a profound mediation—be _regenerated_, not merely in his heart, but in _intellect_ also. The misty limitations (“vagueness and confusion”) of the imagination must give way to the purifying dialectic of pure thought before one can see the Eternal Verities.

These revelations profess to make known the nature of the Absolute. They call the Absolute “Him,” “Infinite,” “Self-created,” “Self-existent,” “Personal,” and ascribe to this “Him” attributes implying profound mediation. All definite forms of religion, all definite theology, must at once be discarded according to Spencer’s principle. Self-consciousness, even, is regarded as impossible by him (p. 65): “Clearly a true cognition of self implies a state in which the knowing and known are one, in which subject and object are identified; and this Mr. Mansel rightly holds to be the annihilation of both.” He considers it a degradation (p. 109) to apply personality to God: “Is it not possible that there is a mode of being as much transcending intelligence and will as these transcend mechanical motion?” And again (p. 112) he holds that the mere “negation of absolute knowing contains more religion than all dogmatic theology.” (P. 121,) “All religions are envelopes of truth, which reveal to the lower and conceal to the higher.” (P. 66,) “Objective and subjective things are alike inscrutable in their substance and genesis.” “Ultimate religious and scientific ideas (p. 68) alike turn out to be mere symbols of the actual, and not cognitions of it.” (P. 69,) “We come to the negative result that the reality existing behind all appearances must ever be unknown.”

In these passages we see a dualism posited in this form: “Everything immediate is _phenomenal_, a manifestation of the hidden and inscrutable essence.” This essence is the unknown and unknowable; yet it _manifests_ itself in the immediate or phenomenal.

The first stage of thought was unconscious that it dealt all the time with a mediated result (a dualism) while it assumed an immediate; that it asserted all truth to lie in the sensuous object, while it named at the same time “_matter_ and _force_,” categories of reflection.

The second stage has got over _that_ difficulty, but has fallen into another. For if the phenomenon _manifested_ the essence, it could not be said to be “unknowable, hidden, and inscrutable.” But if the essence is _not_ manifested by the phenomenon, then we have the so-called phenomenon as a self-existent, and therefore independent of the so-called essence, which stands coördinated to it as another existent, which cannot be known because it does not manifest itself to us. Hence the “phenomenon” is no _phenomenon_, or manifestation of aught but itself, and the “essence” is simply a fiction of the philosopher.

Hence his talk about essence is purely gratuitous, for there is not shown the need of one.

A dialectical consideration of essence and phenomenon will result as follows:

Essence and Phenomenon.

I. If essence is seized as independent or absolute being, it may be taken in two senses:

_a._ As entirely unaffected by “otherness” (or limitation) and entirely undetermined; and this would be pure nothing, for it cannot distinguish itself or be distinguished from pure nothing.

_b._ As relating to itself, and hence making itself a duality—becoming its own other; in this case the “other” is a vanishing one, for it is at the same time identical and non-identical—a process in which the essence may be said to appear or become _phenomenal_. The entire process is the absolute or self-related (and hence independent). It is determined, but by itself, and hence not in a finite manner.

II. The Phenomenon is thus seen to arise through the self-determination of essence, and has obviously the following characteristics:

_a._ It is the “other” of the essence, and yet the own self of the essence existing in this opposed manner, and thus self-nugatory; and this non-abiding character gives it the name of phenomenon (or that which merely _appears_, but is no permanent essence).

_b._ If this were simply another to the essence, and not the self-opposition of the same, then it would be through itself, and _itself_ the essence in its first (or immediate) phase. But this is the essence only as negated, or as returned from the otherness.

_c._ This self-nugatoriness is seen to arise from the contradiction involved in its being other to itself, i. e. outside of its true being. _Without_ this self-nugatoriness it would be an abiding, an essence itself, and hence no phenomenon; _with_ this self-nugatoriness the phenomenon simply exhibits or “manifests” the essence; in fact, with the appearance and its negation taken together, we have before us a totality of essence and phenomenon.

III. Therefore: _a._ The phenomenal is such because it is not an abiding somewhat. It is dependent upon other or essence. _b._ Whatever it posesses belongs to that upon which it depends, i. e. belongs to essence. _c._ In the self-nugatoriness of the phenomenal we have the entire essence manifested.

This latter point is the important result, and may-be stated in a less strict and more popular form thus: The real world (so-called) is said to be in a state of change—origination and decay. Things pass away and others come in their places. Under this change, however, there is a permanent called Essence.

The imaginative thinking finds it impossible to realize such an abiding as exists through the decay of all external form, and hence pronounces it unknowable. But pure thought seizes it, and finds it a pure self-relation or process of return to itself, which accordingly has duality, thus: _a._ The positing or producing of a somewhat or an immediate, and, _b._ The cancelling of the same. In this duality of beginning and ceasing, this self-relation completes its circle, and is thus, _c._ the entire movement.

All categories of the understanding (cause and effect, matter and form, possibility, etc.) are found to contain this movement when dissolved. And hence they have self-determination for their presupposition and explanation. It is unnecessary to add that unless one gives up trying to _imagine_ truth, that this is all very absurd reasoning. (At the end of the sixth book of Plato’s Republic, ch. xxi., and in the seventh book, ch. xiii., one may see how clearly this matter was understood two thousand, and more, years ago.)

To manifest or reveal is to make known; and hence to speak of the “manifestation of a hidden and inscrutable essence” is to speak of the making known of an unknowable.

Mr. Spencer goes on; no hypothesis of the universe is possible—creation not conceivable, for that would be something out of nothing—self-existence not conceivable, for that involves unlimited past time.

He holds that “all knowledge is _relative_,” for all explanation is the reducing of a cognition to a more general. He says, (p. 69,) “Of necessity, therefore, explanation must eventually bring us down to the inexplicable—the deepest truth which we can get at must be unaccountable.” This much valued insight has a positive side as well as the negative one usually developed:

I. (_a._) To explain something we subsume it under a more general.

(_b._) The “_summum genus_” cannot be subsumed, and

(_c._) Hence is inexplicable.

II. But those who conclude from this that we base our knowledge ultimately upon faith (from the supposed fact than we cannot prove our premises) forget that—

(_a._) If the subsuming process ends in an unknown, then all the subsuming has resulted in nothing; for to subsume something under an unknown does not explain it. (Plato’s Republic, Book VII, chap. xiii.)

(_b._) The more general, however, is the more simple, and hence the “_summum genus_” is the purely simple—it is Being. But the simpler the clearer, and the pure simple is the absolutely clear.

(_c._) At the “_summum genus_” subsumption becomes the principle of identity—being is being; and thus stated we have simple self-relation as the origin of all clearness and knowing whatsoever.

III. Hence it is seen that it is not the mere fact of subsumption that makes something clear, but rather it is the reduction of it to identity.

In pure being as the _summum genus_, the mind contemplates the pure form of knowing—“a is a,” or “a subject is a predicate”—(a is b). The pure “is” is the empty form of mental affirmation, the pure copula; and thus in the _summum genus_ the mind recognizes the pure form of itself. All objectivity is at this point dissolved into the thinking, and hence the subsumption becomes identity—(being = _ego_, or “_cogito, ergo sum_”;) the process turns round and becomes synthetic, (“dialectic” or “genetic,” as called by some). From this it is evident that self-consciousness is the basis of all knowledge.