did. With this, however, the foundation of the entire previous philosophy
was shaken. If the axiom of modern ethnology is correct, namely that it is not _we_ that think, but _it_ that _thinks in us_,[5] we shall no longer be able to explain our nature from our consciousness, from our ego, from our reason, but we shall have to pursue this momentous “It” that thinks in us, and since we cannot find it _in_ us we shall have to search for it _outside of_ us in the expressions of the human soul in the life of the race.
This is the fundamental idea of modern ethnology. It seeks to collect all the expressions of the human soul in the life of the species, and from them to derive its inferences as to the nature of man. It regards ethnic existence as the precipitate of human psychical existence, and not merely of that part of it which is conscious, but also of that part of it which is unconscious, that which is inaccessible to introspective observation, that which is not thought, but is merely lived. It enlarges accordingly the domain of psychology, which was restricted hitherto to the analysis of the human consciousness, by the incorporation of an additional domain unmeasured in extent.
These general conceptions of ethnology are also determinative for the science of ethnological jurisprudence, and from this results its peculiarity as contrasted with the other branches of juristic knowledge.
Ethnological jurisprudence places the centre of gravity of the science of law not like the previous juristic philosophy in the individual jural consciousness, but in the law viewed as a province of ethnic existence. It regards the laws of the nations as the precipitates of that which is now active and has been active as jural instinct in the entire human race. It assumes that when all the phenomena of law in the life of the nations have been fixed, an infinitely more valuable material will be drawn therefrom adapted to the disclosure of the nature of law than could have ever in the world been acquired by an analysis of the individual jural consciousness. It does not regard the individual jural consciousness as something innate in man and exempt from the altering effects of time, but as a product of the social conditions in which the individual has grown up. It assumes, therefore, that the individual jural consciousness changes with a change of the social conditions, so that a man who grows up under different social conditions possesses a different jural perception. This assumption, if we compare the expressions of the jural consciousness of races low in the scale of culture with those of civilised peoples, is one that cannot be escaped. We have only to recall to mind the irresistible force with which the jural sense of peoples that live under clan-constitutions demand vengeance of blood, whereas this species of retaliation no longer exists in our jural consciousness of to-day. Thus there are hundreds and thousands of jural instincts and conceptions which are present at certain stages of civilisation and disappear entirely at others.
Ethnological jurisprudence therefore assumes, that the juristic philosopher who lays at the foundation of his system essentially his own jural consciousness, simply enunciates therewith a system of law that answers perhaps to the current conceptions of his time and his people, but which can in no sense lay claim to a value beyond that.
Quite different, on the other hand, are matters conditioned when the inquirer has before him the laws of all the peoples of the earth from the lowest to the highest. Here he has in his possession a picture of the jural consciousness of the mind of humanity, which is no longer subject to alteration, but which, to the extent that the development of human jural life has advanced, is complete.
For the execution of its task ethnological jurisprudence first requires a collection of the laws of all the peoples of the earth. Each one of these laws is of equal value to ethnological jurisprudence in so far as the jural consciousness of humanity has found expression in it in any form. Especially deserving of consideration are the laws of the so-called savage peoples that have been so much neglected and contemned hitherto; since they bring to light the jural consciousness of humanity in its germinal stages, and since higher formations are invariably best understood when we know their first beginnings.
The solidest basis for ethnological jurisprudence would be furnished by a monographic treatment of the law of every single tribe and people of the earth. By such monographic treatments the entire social organisation of a given tribe or people would be exhibited in all its complicated reciprocal relations, and we should be able to follow the law in all the thousands of minute ramifications that connect it with the remaining provinces of national life. But such a monographic treatment of the law of all the nations of the earth is accompanied with great difficulties, and this part of the task of the science of law has as yet been undertaken only to a limited extent.
The condition of affairs is best in this respect where the nations themselves have collected and compiled their legal customs in books of laws. But such collections are found only among peoples that deserve to some extent the appellation of civilised peoples. Among the great majority of peoples the law is simply practised and handed down by oral tradition, so that here the legal customs must be collected by members of foreign civilised nations,—a very difficult labor and one that can be accomplished only by persons who take up their abode permanently among the races in question and become thoroughly familiar with their language and habits of life.
Collections of this character we possess unfortunately only to a very limited extent, and our knowledge accordingly of the law of uncivilised peoples is still very meagre. Even the books of law possessed by the various peoples have not all been made available to juristic science. In part they have not yet been printed, and in part they have not yet been translated into a generally understood language. Considerable time will yet be required before the existing material has been made wholly accessible.
Not before the legal customs of all the peoples of the earth have been collected will ethnological jurisprudence be in a position to furnish a successful solution of the task it has set itself,—the task namely of a causal analysis of all the phenomena of the jural life of the human race. Yet to a certain extent this task may be undertaken at present, even with a relatively limited store of material.
The starting-point for the ethno-juristic investigation of the phenomena of jural life is furnished by the ethno-juristic parallels, legal customs that are found uniformly appearing among the nations, without there being any reason to assume that one nation has received them from another. Legal customs of this character are in part so universally diffused over the earth that they may be characterised as a common possession of mankind; in part they appear sporadically among unrelated peoples; in part they are restricted to more limited domains. The most important legal customs are those that have universal dissemination; for here it may be assumed that they are a necessary emanation of the social side of human life. Legal customs that occur only sporadically, but appear uniformly among unrelated peoples, must likewise be regarded as the products of the universal nature of man, yet only as such that _can_ arise under definite conditions of existence. Legal customs that occur only in limited ethnological domains will have to be referred to the peculiar character of definite peoples and tribes. Legal institutions of universal character are, for example, the forms of marriage by capture and purchase of the bride, blood-vengeance, the right of refuge, the systems of composition, ordeals, oaths, and so forth. Almost universal are the levirate, and the betrothal of children. Sporadically among unrelated peoples appear: the seizure of the corpse of the debtor for debt; execution by fasting, whereby the creditor brings pressure to bear upon his debtor by having him fast a definite period of time before his dwelling; the custom of the chief doing combat with his grown up son, to whom the command of the tribe passes if he conquers his father; and so forth.[6] Frequently it is the most curious customs that thus recur, among peoples that are completely separated from each other by oceans and inaccessible mountain ranges and have unquestionably never been in communication with each other.
The explanation of these ethno-juristic parallel phenomena is in part not very difficult, inasmuch as many of them can be traced back to fixed forms of social organisation. Thus, for example, a whole group of universally recurring legal customs is associated with the peculiar formation of the clan-constitutions and clan-law which regularly appears among uncivilised peoples and characteristically differs from the form of political organisation familiar to the present age. Many legal customs are also based on religious conceptions and social customs, and their explication in such cases is frequently very difficult.
A complete explanation of all the legal customs of all the peoples of the earth with respect to their social causes would exhaust the work of ethnological jurisprudence as an ethnological discipline. But in the same way that the acquisitions of ethnology are in their turn utilisable towards the constitution of a universal philosophy, to which they will impart perhaps an entirely different character, so will the results of ethnological jurisprudence be in their turn utilisable towards the constitution of a universal science of law and for the philosophy of law, in which probably, through its means also, a powerful change will be inaugurated. These are the ideas, traced in their most general characters, that may be regarded as the fundamental ones in “ethnological jurisprudence.”
ALBERT HERMANN POST.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] Translated from the manuscript of Dr. Albert Hermann Post by Thomas J. McCormack.
[5] Bastian.
[6] The reader will find a brief survey of the ethno-juristic parallels appearing among the various peoples of the earth, in a treatise of mine entitled _Ueber die Aufgaben einer allgemeinen Rechtswissenschaft_ (1891), pp. 27 to 72.
AMERICAN POLITICS.
Nothing in this country appears to the stranger more intricate and inexplicable than our politics. The different parties, two big ones and several little ones, the various machines, county, state, and national, the “bosses,” “heelers,” and “workers” present such a confusion of ideas and a terminology so varied, that it is only after many years that the foreigner begins to comprehend our system of government and the principles underlying our political movements. Indeed, the majority of Americans themselves are no better off and have no clear perception of the part they are playing in the administration of affairs or the ethical effects of the ballot which they cast. Ask the ordinary voter why he supports the candidates of a certain party and you will find that his reasons are reducible to a few concrete facts, and are rarely governed by any general principles.
In the Southern states the vast majority of the whites are democrats through opposition to the republican party which fought the war and deprived them of their slaves. The negroes on the other hand are republicans because it is to that party they owe their freedom, and from it they expect protection for themselves in the exercise of their political rights and the blessings of opportunity for education. The political question there becomes a race question, utterly regardless of the principles which the two great parties represent. Let there be a complete change of platforms and the result would be precisely the same as it has been for the past generation—the South would still remain democratic, and the votes of their presidential electors would still be cast for the candidates of that party.
There is a minor race question in the feeling against foreigners, more especially Irish, Italians, and Germans, influenced to some extent by the fact that a large number of these foreigners are Roman Catholics and that there is an uneasy suspicion on the part of some Americans that the Catholic church is hostile to the spirit of democracy, a suspicion not entirely unfounded if one should judge solely by the sayings and doings of some of the prelates of that church for the past forty years. This “Know-nothing” sentiment at one time threatened to create a solid foreign vote in opposition. Germans and Irish united under the protecting wings of Tammany Hall and, aided by clergymen who hoped to obtain part of the state educational fund for their private parochial schools, formed a strong ally to the national democratic party. Happily prejudices of race and religion are dying out and neither party can now claim a monopoly of the foreign vote. Strange as it may seem, however, the Irish and German elements, so recently the objects of proscription themselves, have in late years become embittered against the Chinese. To the patient industry of the Mongolian immigrants is due the building of the Pacific railroads, when it would have been impossible to obtain white labor, and the cultivation and development of the Pacific coast states. Congress was terrorised into passing the law excluding all Chinese laborers. It was more than race prejudice which contributed to this hatred of the Chinese. The chief reason for Chinese exclusion was an economic one. Great masses of laborers feared that the Chinese by immigrating in vast numbers would deprive them of work by taking their places at lower wages, and, having the ballot, they dictated to Congress the terms of the Anti-Chinese Act.
The alien contract labor law is a measure conceived in the same spirit and directed against the hiring of laborers abroad by American contractors, who could thus displace their employés at lower wages by Hungarians, or Poles, or Russians, ignorant of the language of this country and whose compensation could be the more easily reduced to a bare maintenance, and who in sickness or old age could be turned out on the roads to die without costing the contractor any contraction of his bank account. There was some excuse for this law, or at least for the feeling which prompted it, when the miners of a whole section could be evicted and they and their families made to suffer the pangs of slow starvation because the owners of the coal lands found they could obtain human machines at a less cost from abroad. It was natural that the laborers should demand a law which offered some immediate relief even at the risk of meeting wrong with wrong, rather than that they should attempt to regulate affairs on abstract principles of justice while their stomachs were empty and their wives and children were dying for want of sufficient nourishment. That feeling, however, is also vanishing and American workingmen are beginning to see that the increase in population, native-born as well as that imported by contract, is steadily adding to the number of competitors and lowering the rate of wages. Their attention is becoming more and more directed to the opening of new opportunities for work rather than to the restricting of the number of workers.
Another class of men, if they vote at all, do so on no general principle of public welfare, but solely for their own advantage at the expense of their fellow men. These are to be found among the rich manufacturers, the coal, and iron, and railway kings, and the manipulators of the crops of the nation. Rarely casting a ballot in person, they give notice to their thousands of employés that if the latter do not support the candidates or the party which they happen to favor, the employés’ places will be given to more pliant servants. These men are as non-partisan as the most ardent reformer could wish. One of them, a few years ago when questioned by an investigating committee of the New York state legislature, said: “In a republican district I was a strong republican; in a democratic district I was democratic; and in doubtful districts I was doubtful, but in politics I was an Erie railroad man every time.” Another famous man of the same type said he had no politics; that he found it cheaper to buy up one set of legislators after they were elected than to purchase two sets of candidates before election. These corrupt men, counting their wealth by tens of millions, influencing state legislatures and the national Congress, and throwing their weight into Presidential campaigns, constitute the chief “dangerous class” in the United States to-day, far more threatening to the permanency of free institutions than the anarchists who were hanged at Chicago.
Then there are the illy-paid employés of these men who do their bidding at the polls, voting for the candidates of their masters. Promise of office or patronage lures others into the support of one party or the other. Lastly come the poorest of the poor who live in the most miserable tenement houses, or when single hive in the big lodging-houses which are found chiefly in New York and Chicago. A ton of coal or a barrel of flour is the bribe to the former, frequently effected through the medium of the poor wretch’s wife who does not care for politics but sees a very material advantage in the food or fuel offered by the ward worker. The lodging-house voters, paid by drinks of whiskey or dollar bills, until recently in New York were marshalled in squads of twenty or thirty early on the morning of election day, given their ballots and compelled to hold them aloft between the thumb and forefinger of the right hand so that the heeler or paid servant of some political faction might watch them from the moment they took their place in the line of voters until their ballots were handed to the election inspectors and dropped in the box. Both parties wink at such frauds and their henchmen directly countenance and assist in them but the party that happens to be in the majority in any locality is usually the one most guilty. The result is that the minority affects great virtue and loudly denounces the corruption of its opponents.
Among those who do vote on principle are the prohibitionists, the greenbackers, the adherents of ephemeral labor parties and the socialists. The anarchists generally refrain from voting because they do not believe in any government by force and say that an enlightened public opinion will lead the people to dispense with such things as the army and navy and police and law courts. The socialists occasionally vote for the men of other parties whom they think represent the worst measures, in order the sooner, as they frankly avow, to produce revolutionary conditions, which they expect would assist them greatly in their propaganda. The prohibitionists, greenbackers, and labor men each take a partial view of political economy. The first see the evils and degradation arising from intemperance and think that everything else must yield to the one consideration of the abolition of the liquor traffic. The panacea of the greenbackers consists in the destruction of the monopoly of the currency now enjoyed by the national banks. The labor men have different shibboleths at different times such as the prevention of child labor in factories, an eight-hour work-day and the like—measures which might effect some relief but are minor matters compared with the great social problem of the increase of poverty in the midst of the greatest productive energies which the world has ever seen, a problem which is rapidly coming to the front and overshadowing all others.
But these minor movements hardly produce a ripple on the surface of our political waters. There are only two parties worthy of the name in the United States to-day, as there have been but two ever since the days of Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton. These parties go on forming platforms chiefly on the theory of offending the least number of voters and phrasing their declarations in vague terms which may be explained one way in one part of the country and another way in another part. Such is a cursory view of the field of American politics to-day.
It may seem that I have made out a pretty bad indictment of corruption against our politics and that the view of the cynic is correct that American politics are desperately wicked and there is no health in them. But the moral forces which are operating in the world are fortunately not dependent upon the changeable methods or the selfish objects of men. It is here in America, perhaps more than anywhere else, that the natural laws of social development have fullest play. It is here that the evolution of politics is working itself out freely, untrammelled by tradition or custom. It is here that the ultimate ideal of politics will first be reached. When the framers of the Declaration of Independence formulated their proposition that governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed, a step in the right direction was taken—a step that was in accordance with our old Saxon traditions, yet for the first time in the world’s history made on an extended scale, to base human government on the principles of natural law. And through all the vicissitudes of our country, its struggle for independence, its war for the liberation of its commerce, its civil conflict which would have dismembered any other nation, or would have left one section the subjugated serfs of the other, through a disputed presidential election which strained the written constitution to its utmost, the great moral force of natural law has been working, now through one party, now through another, gathering impetus as it goes and giving promise always of better times to come.
It is in this broad view that all the petty thieveries and striving for place and power sink into utter insignificance. The people do still rule. They may sleep for a time but are sure, sooner or later, to assert their rights in accordance with the instincts of the human mind, which are good and not bad. As long as the suffrage shall exist it is reasonably certain that this American government, “of the people, by the people, for the people,” shall not perish from the earth. If the wealthy monopolists could control the suffrage, the prospects might be different. The freedom of the voter has been impaired to a certain extent but the American people with quick instincts have awakened to the danger. The Australian system of voting, which secures secrecy and freedom from intimidation and almost extinguishes bribery is now becoming very popular. Fifteen of the states have adopted it and the other twenty-nine will, no doubt, follow their example in a few years. But the introduction of measures for its establishment presented the curious anomaly of being opposed by democrats in some localities and by republicans in others, both for partisan reasons, constitutional and high moral pretexts being of course advanced. When it becomes the general law, it will do more than anything else to purify electoral methods.
Entirely above the question of methods, however, there are certain principles involved in American politics which it becomes of the highest importance to comprehend and which furnish the key to the apparently inexplicable confusion. These principles, it seems to me, are reducible to two, which may be likened to the centripetal and centrifugal forces in nature. As both are needed for the stability of the physical universe, so both the centralising and decentralising tendencies in politics are necessary for the co-ordination of the state. It is in the free play of these forces, each in its proper sphere, that lies the assurance of the perpetuity of American institutions. But as the ideal has not yet been reached, the practical result is that one tendency begins to act, at first legitimately, then from the aggrandisement of power and the “cohesive force of public plunder” the administrators of government attempt to stretch it unduly, the opposition comes to power and the same story is repeated. In each case the liberal party succeeds the conservative, acts at first wisely, then corrupted by the subtle temptations of place and power, and wishing to retain both, it becomes opposed to change and begets a new conservatism, while new liberals arise on a higher plane of evolution to continue the never-ending struggle. And it must be recollected that the conservative party of each generation is far more liberal than the one which it displaced, thus giving assurance of perpetual progress.
This has been the epitome of all American history; each party government, by whatever name it may have been known, has been liberal in comparison with its predecessor and conservative as to its successor. When Washington organised his administration it was no doubt regarded in Europe as highly revolutionary and anarchistic. But such a class government, with laws of entail and slavery, and cruel punishments for petty offences, as existed then, would not be tolerated for a single year at the present time. Thomas Jefferson who founded the democratic party, then called the republican, was a consistent opponent of aristocracy and personally was a man far in advance of his time, but most of his followers would be horrified if they should now come back to earth and see the powers possessed by the general government to-day, necessary, legitimate powers, without which the affairs of the nation could not be administered for a single week. The United States soon got rid of laws of entail and the established churches. The democracy came to power and held it nearly sixty years. Long continuance in office endeared its possession to that party while the very growth of the nation, from five millions to thirty-one millions, demanded changes in internal policy which were not forthcoming. There were not lacking signs of popular discontent. In 1840 the democrats met their first defeat, and for three or four presidential terms the votes vibrated between the democrats and the whigs. But the latter were not united on a consistent policy. They needed a principle. The principle was shaping itself. Slavery, which had been abolished in the Northern states, was gradually strengthening in the South. The democrats forgot, or rather most of them never learned, that true democracy knows no distinction of color. The abolitionists were denounced by press and pulpit as socialists, as the disturbers of public order, as blasphemers against the very law of God contained in Holy Writ. The people, however, returned to power these same socialists and the institution of chattel slavery was doomed. That would have been the case in any event, but the civil war precipitated it, just as many other unjust wars in history have resulted in disestablishing the very institutions to perpetuate which the wars were made.
The republican party grandly and patriotically fulfilled its mission. By degrees, however, the enormous destruction of wealth during the war and the heavy debt entailed by it, created a burdensome system of taxation which substituted self-interest for patriotism. Duties were laid upon imports from abroad heavier than those which formed one of the chief causes for the revolt of the colonies against Great Britain. These duties enabled American manufacturers to make on American soil the same class of goods that were imported and charge the same price as the imported goods enhanced by the duty, of course pocketing for themselves the extra profit which the tariff aided them to obtain from consumers. The quickest way to wealth was to start some manufacture, get the government to put a tax on similar articles imported and pocket the difference, or to get an internal revenue measure passed taxing a certain line of domestic goods, pay the tax in the first instance and then charge it to the consumers with of course a good commission added for patriotic services. As long as the government had work for every man who could shoulder a musket, the pernicious effect of the system was not clearly seen. But when the war was over and one million men returned to productive avocations, wages began to fall. Then the question of taxation inevitably came to the front and has now become the living issue of the hour. The needle of the suffrage is again vibrating, the republican party has been deprived of power for four years and the democratic President emphasised the issue by pushing the question of tariff reform to the foreground. His re-election was defeated, but the question is debated with more vigor than ever, and all signs point to absolute free trade as one of the certainties of the future. Judging from the last Congressional elections, the people have at last turned their faces in the right direction.
It will be noticed that two elements, which I have called the centripetal and the centrifugal, have been predominant in shaping American politics. They may be termed the socialistic and the anarchistic forces. Socialism claims the direction of everything by a strong centralised government. Anarchists say with the democrats, “That government is best which governs least,” and logically argue for the abolition of all government. Now, the right or wrong of these principles depends upon their application. Only the most rabid anarchist would object to the Post Office, for instance, and few socialists would claim that the state has a right to regulate a man’s clothing or his religion. It is on the question as to what subjects these principles should be applied that all our American parties arise. The early federalists were socialistic in that they believed in a strong central government and in relegating as few things as possible to the states. President Jefferson introduced the anarchistic or centrifugal principle of decentralisation and individualism. But as the nation grew, it was seen that this wrought injustice, especially in the matter of slavery which was a violation of human rights, however the different states might regard it. Then the socialistic or centripetal principle began to act and slavery disappeared. Now it seems likely that the individualistic principle will again become dominant in an attempt to abolish all fiscal restrictions upon trade. After this may follow the socialistic principle of state ownership of railways and telegraphs. Perhaps this will be the work of the new political forces evidently gathering, as foreshadowed by the Farmers’ Alliance, after the breaking-up of parties and after the democrats, having given us free trade, will have resumed their natural position of conservatives. Then, in the remoter future, may come the anarchistic principle of the removal of the restrictions against female suffrage. And so it will go on, first one principle acting and fulfilling its mission, then the other, each bringing the nation to a higher plane of progress and uniting it more and more closely with the grand upward march of the human race.
What is this, after all? It is not socialism. It is not anarchy. It is neither democracy nor republicanism. It is EVOLUTION. It does not depend on the temporary success of party governments for its action. It does not even solely result from our unique position or our independence wrested from Great Britain. Back of it lie the broad principles of British liberty, of common law, of Magna Charta won from King John on the plains of Runnymede. Back of it is the great wave of democracy arising out of the darkness of the Middle Ages. Back of it are the injunctions of Him of Galilee who taught the natural law as no man ever taught before. Back of it is Roman jurisprudence and Greek art and culture and the early efforts of the days when Cadmus brought the alphabet to Europe with his Phœnician colony. Indeed, back of it lies the primeval impulse of the first man, God-endowed, ape-descended, who stood upon his feet and began to think. We may carry our thoughts still further to the times when the red sunlight first filtered through the thick clouds upon an uninhabited world, and still further may we go in thought into the ages of eternity, and assert with fullest confidence that the principles of progress to-day working themselves out in politics are but the reflection of the divine ideals founded in the laws of nature.
Can the course of such progress be turned back? Can we despair of the future in the light of all the past? Is not the general movement onward and upward? Will not the sneers at ephemeral phases of our American politics pass away with the incidents which they justly condemn, while the principles of progress remain forever?
THOMAS B. PRESTON.
ARTIFICIAL SELECTION AND THE MARRIAGE PROBLEM.[7]
By artificial selection I mean all conscious and purposive arrangements between men and women which have in view character of offspring. This is opposed to natural selection which is merely instinctive unteleological union with one of the opposite sex as impelled by animal passion or romantic love. All sexual union among the lower animals is by natural selection; they do not forecast consequences, and by conforming to known laws determine consequences. Among the lower races of men natural selection is the sole or at least dominant factor in marital matters, but as civilisation advances artificial selection becomes a more and more powerful element. A truly thoughtful and intelligent man in our day in view of marriage will most carefully consider his own life history and that of his parents and ancestors, and also that of his intended partner and her ancestors, as to physical or mental disease, which might be handed down to the issue of the proposed union. He would not, for instance, marry into a family which has a tendency to consumption or insanity, for this would be a crime against his possible descendants. Further, this growth of artificial selection with the progress of society is manifest not only as regards individual action but by state regulation. Even in barbarous states it soon becomes evident to the leaders that if strong healthy men are to be had to defend and maintain the nation, strict attention must be paid to the character of those who marry. In Sparta and other ancient states this principle was recognised, and modern governments seek in many more or less indirect ways to encourage marriage between the most fit, so that good citizens and warriors may be raised up to serve the state. All this regulation of marriage by either individual or state action which looks to the character of offspring I term artificial selection.
In the evolution of man as a rational animal artificial selection will more and more prevail, and human breeding will become a well defined art. Man is always artificial,[8] and it is his goal to become in all his life unnatural and thoroughly artful. There can ultimately be no _laissez-faire_ policy as to marriage or any other institution. The history of marriage is the history of the gradual retirement of natural selection; but art has come in here more slowly than in other relations of life owing to tremendous conservatism and the power of human passion. But the time has now come when man must more than ever before attend by artificial selection—that is, purposed care—to the perpetuation of the species in the line of its true advancement, spiritual achievement. I do not now see how the necessity of artificial selection can be gainsaid by any one who takes a broad view of the evolution of the race.
The methods of artificial selection are either negative, which restrain the unfit from propagating, or positive, which encourage the fit to propagate. The most radical negative method is mutilation, and is employed by man with the lower animals and with slaves, but this plan could hardly be used by civilised society for human breeding. Imprisonment temporarily restrains some classes of society from perpetuating themselves. Prevention of conception is at present mostly a voluntary means, but accomplishes the elimination of both fit and unfit. Celibacy of monk and nun, of bachelor and maid, works also in both directions. In many indirect ways society discourages from marriage those whom it supposes to be unfit as tested by wealth, rank, or birth.
It is not, however, so much by the extension of any negative methods, but rather by positive means that artificial selection may be best employed. I will mention three forms by which human breeding might be materially advanced.
By common law and custom the wife surrenders herself physically to submit and morally to obey the husband. This is not for the most part harshly and literally carried out in civilised countries; still there is a vast deal of oppression which is hidden from all eyes, and which is often passively received by women as her rightful lot. This again is a subject upon which delicacy—perhaps unwise—forbids free discussion, but its bearing is manifest. If women have the choice to bear or not to bear, and she with educated conscience choose by fitness of offspring, a large and powerful element of artificial selection may be introduced. Again all governments have laws concerning marriage which act in general toward encouraging the fit. Certain conditions as to age, etc., being fulfilled, the state grants a marriage licence, and public opinion might easily be led to make the requirements more stringent. As a physician has suggested to me a certificate of health from an approved medical examiner might be required of all applicants for legal marriage. This would certainly be a strong measure of artificial selection, and would save much misery springing from ignorance and vice. It surely seems scarcely fitting that those who cannot pass an examination for life insurance freely contract marriage with view to issue.
But the plan of artificial selection which seems to me most feasible at the present time would be voluntary associations of men and women who bind themselves to learn and apply the laws of heredity in their marriage relations, to seek for expert guidance, and in all their life to live not merely purely, but according to reason and science. Heredity societies of this stamp which should favor marriages only between members would ultimately become a rational aristocracy, and true and good blood would be perpetuated in the best manner. There is much, indeed, to be done in the science of heredity, especially as regards laws of transmission of mental and moral qualities,[9] but still we have even now a sufficient basis of knowledge to make the experiment well worth trying.
Many objections can be raised to such schemes. For instance, it will be said that they might assure us of obtaining men of talent, but we should forever lose men of genius. If such societies were in, vogue in the Elizabethan period, we might never have had a Shakespeare. What likelihood that a scientific expert would advise the marriage of John Shakespeare and Mary Arden! I answer that we should have had a dozen Shakespeares instead of one. The law of the production of geniuses is not beyond human ken. Maud S. is truly a genius in horseflesh, but she came into the world in no fortuitous or instinctive way, but by scientific breeding. The applicability of similar foresight in breeding men would produce geniuses in abundance. It may not be accomplished in an exactly analogous manner, an expert leading around eminent men to “make the season,” but the analogous practical results will nevertheless be obtained.
Another objection which might be urged is that any such scheme would seriously diminish population. True; but what thoughtful man applies the numerical test to the progress of the race! It is not quantity of citizens but quality, which constitutes the true greatness of states. The counting of heads instead of what is in heads, is a mistake into which democracies are peculiarly apt to fall. Were all men exactly equal a census would be a true test, but considering the tremendous inequalities in humanity it is sheer folly for a country to glory in the number of its adherents, or a sect in the number of its adherents, or a city in the number of its citizens. Civilisations are weighed down and ultimately crushed by the dead weight of the masses. The barbarian is not without but within the civilisation. By recent inquiries in New York and Chicago the slums appear to be five times as prolific as the most aristocratic portions; and while good may come from the lowest born, and bad from the highest born, still the chances are decidedly in favor of the high born. A few rise above the level of their birth, a few sink below it, but the great majority of men remain for their lives on the general level of society in which they were born. The United States would be a greater nation with 10,000,000 choice inhabitants than with ten times 10,000,000 of the ill bred and low bred. Athens by the vulgar test of numbers was but a small and mean city, but in true greatness as revealed in far reaching spiritual power, she stands in the very forefront.
Again it will be objected that scientific schemes for human breeding would inevitably destroy that beautiful flower of Christian civilisation, the poetry and romance of love. Sentiment and chivalry would wither, and brutality and cold calculation would supplant all tender and refined emotion. I should answer that the true refinement which refuses to obtrude the things of sense, and true purity which refuses to dwell on them salaciously, are perfectly compatible with the fullest knowledge and the consequent action. Lubricity breeds best upon a half knowledge acquired in dubious ways. A serious practical scientific treatment of this subject will not glorify the flesh with the fierce gusto of Walt Whitman, nor, with the Zola school, dwell upon animalism with the morbid detail of a heated imagination; but it will bring into the clearest light the laws of sex and the rules for the development of the human race into the perfect man. These laws of nature, which science reveals, are laws of duty and laws of God, and when once appropriated as such by Ethics and Religion, they will become the basis for all that is high in emotion and chivalrous in action.
In that most vital of matters, human breeding, man is far behind his progress in all other spheres of action; but here as elsewhere Science must enter, not to destroy but to fulfil, to build up manhood and womanhood into the perfected relations which can only come from rational action, illuminated by complete knowledge, and sanctioned by noblest sentiment.
HIRAM M. STANLEY.
FOOTNOTES:
[7] In an article in _The Arena_ for June, 1890, I endeavored to plainly set forth the renewal of society from its lowest elements as the greatest disease in our social life, and to show that the remedy lies in a thorough application of science to human breeding. Just how this application was to be made I did not state, for I did not include this in the scope of my discussion. Mr. Stead in his _Review of Reviews_ for July, 1890, and Mr. Wallace in the September _Fortnightly Review_ and October _Popular Science Monthly_, 1890, have drawn inferences on this point which I am not prepared to allow. Mr. Stead speaks in headlines and in text of “murder, mutilation, or imprisonment” as the methods which I hint at, and Mr. Wallace remarks upon my views “that such interference with personal freedom in matters so deeply affecting individual happiness will never be adopted by the majority of any nation, or if adopted would never be submitted to by the minority without a life-and-death struggle.” It seems incumbent then on me to state more clearly what I understand by artificial selection, and what forms of it are most expedient at the present time.
[8] By artificial I understand not what is unnatural or against nature but that which is after conscious deliberation more in accord with the laws of nature. It is a higher degree of the natural.
[9] See my remarks on this point in _Nature_, Oct. 31, 1889.
THOUGHT AND LANGUAGE.
I have read with interest Prof. Max Müller’s paper on the above subject in the current issue of _The Monist_, not only because it is in large part devoted to a consideration of my own work on “Mental Evolution,” but still more because the explanations which it supplies touching certain points of disagreement between us appear to show that I have not misrepresented his statements, even if, as he alleges, I have misapprehended his meanings.
The work to which allusion has just been made was published in 1888, and, as far as I am aware, it is only now that Prof. Max Müller has sought to meet my views as there expressed. Hence we may take it that his answer is, at all events, well matured. Furthermore, we may take it, from the tone in which his answer is conveyed, that he credits me with having had at least an honest desire to understand, and accurately to represent, his meaning in all the places where I have ventured to criticise it. It appears, however, that at all events in one important respect I have betrayed “a complete misapprehension” of his meaning—viz. with reference to his “theory of the origin of roots” (_The Monist_, p. 582); and it is for the purpose of correcting this misapprehension that he has published the latter half of his present paper. My reply, therefore, must take the form of excusing myself for the complete misapprehensions which are alleged.
It is desirable at the outset to emphasise a distinction which I was careful to draw in my work on “Mental Evolution in Man”—that, namely, between philology and philosophy. A man may be an excellent authority on the “Science of Language,” and yet but a very indifferent writer on the “Science of Thought.” On the other hand, a man may know nothing at first hand touching the special province of a philologist, and nevertheless be fully capable of criticising what a philologist has published in the way of theoretical deductions from his facts—especially where these deductions quit the sphere of philology, and soar into that of Darwinian, or anti-Darwinian, speculation. This distinction, indeed, between the particular science of philology and the general scope of philosophy, Prof. Max Müller himself recognises where he says: “While the student of language seems to me to have a perfect right to treat the roots of language as ultimate facts, it is difficult for the philosopher not to look beyond.” (_The Monist_, p. 579.) Nevertheless he complains of me because, while accepting all his philological facts upon his authority as a philologist (save in so far as they are not accepted by other philologists), I have been obliged to express dissent from not a few of his theoretical deductions—especially, as I have already indicated, where these have reference to the general doctrine of evolution as applied to the mind of man. But how, I may ask, could a treatise be written on “Mental Evolution in Man,” or “The Origin of Human Faculty,” without considering the results which have been gained by the science of comparative philology? Or how can it be maintained that, in order to deal with these results in relation to the general theory of descent, a writer must first of all himself become an authority in that particular science? At any rate, I deemed it enough for the only purposes which I had in view, to read attentively all the leading authorities in this science, and, after extracting from them the information upon matters of fact which their researches had established, to show what I regarded as the bearing of these facts upon the theory of mental evolution. Nor can I plead guilty to the charge of arrogant presumption, which the following words appear to convey:
“We see in his case how dangerous it is for a man who can claim to speak with authority on his own special subject, to venture to speak with authority on subjects not his own. Professor Romanes has, no doubt, read several books on philology and philosophy, but he is not sufficiently master of his subject to have the slightest right to speak of men like Noiré, Huxley, Herbert Spencer, to say nothing of Hobbes, with an air of superiority. That is entirely out of place.” (_The Monist_, p. 383.)
Now that any such “air of superiority” occurs in my book, I must deny—and this is a matter of fact. Noiré is alluded to only with reference to his theory of the origin of language, which I go further in accepting than does any “philosopher” or “philologist,” with the single exception of Prof. Max Müller himself. Huxley is mentioned in several places as a leading authority on anatomical matters, where my argument requires an authoritative statement upon them. Herbert Spencer, curiously enough, is never mentioned at all; while Hobbes is named only once, and then as sustaining, by a “shrewd analysis,” an opinion which I am advocating by quotations from recognised authorities in philosophy. Truly, therefore, it would be well for my critic “to say nothing of Hobbes”; and better still if he had looked at my index before condemning my supposed treatment of Herbert Spencer, Huxley, and Noiré. As it is, his allusion to these names “is entirely out of place.”
But even apart from this particularly unfortunate allusion, his more general charge as to my “venturing to speak authoritatively on subjects not his [my] own,” is equally out of place. The following is my introduction to the chapter on Comparative Philology, and I cannot see that it betokens any “air of superiority”:
“In now turning to this important branch of my subject, I may remark, _in limine_, that, like all the sciences, philology can be cultivated only by those who devote themselves specially to the purpose. My function, therefore, will here be that of merely putting together the main results of philological research, so far as this has hitherto proceeded, and so far as these results appear to me to have any bearing upon the ‘origin of human faculty.’ Being thus myself obliged to rely upon authority, where I find that authorities are in conflict, I will either avoid the points of disagreement, or else state what has to be said on both sides of the question. But where I find that all competent authorities are in substantial agreement, I will not burden my exposition by tautological quotations.”
* * * * *
Having thus disposed of a merely personal matter, I may pass on to my justification of the “complete misapprehension” into which I have fallen with respect to Prof. Max Müller’s work on the “Science of Thought.”
In the first place he tells us:
“On page 267 Mr. Romanes says that I profess, as a result of more recent researches, to have reduced the number of Sanskrit roots to 121. I wish I had. But the number of roots in Sanskrit stands as yet at about 800: the number 121 of which he speaks is the number of concepts expressed by these roots, many of them conveying the same, or nearly the same, idea.” (_The Monist_, p. 583.)
Now it is quite true that on page 267 I made the statement which is here challenged; but as I immediately go on to speak repeatedly of the “number 121” as being “the number of concepts expressed by the roots,”—and actually quote at length the whole 121 concepts with Prof. Max Müller’s own heading,—I am not sure that the point is worth the stress which is now laid upon it. Nevertheless, I may explain why in this one passage I used the word “roots,” instead of the word “concepts.” Briefly, the only reason was because, according to Prof. Max Müller’s theory of the origin of roots, it seemed to me virtually the same thing, from a psychological point of view, whether we speak of the reduction in question as pertaining to roots or to concepts. For, according to the theory, “every root embodies a concept,” or is the obverse side of a concept. Consequently, if the Sanskrit language presents some 800 roots, while it is expressive of only 121 concepts, the balance of the 800 roots must be concerned in conveying the same, or nearly the same, ideas—as Prof. Max Müller himself expressly asserts in the above quotation from _The Monist_. Indeed, the whole object of his psychological analysis of linguistic roots was to prove that such is the case; and, therefore, that the 121 roots which serve to convey the 121 concepts are the only roots required for the purposes of communication in Sanskrit speech. No doubt it would have been better if I had stated all this in my book; but even if its omission led to obscurity, I can scarcely see that on this account there could have been a “misrepresentation” where there was certainly no “misapprehension.” For, as already stated, I spoke of “121 roots” only once, while I alluded to “121 concepts” many times—and usually, moreover, in inverted commas. Lastly, it may be observed that, following his theory concerning the “origin of roots,” Prof. Max Müller himself so far identifies roots with concepts as to head one of his lists, in large capitals—ROOTS OR CONCEPTS. Therefore in saying that he professed to have reduced the psychologically efficient elements of Sanskrit speech to 121 constituents, it did not appear to me that I was departing from his own terminology when in one passage I spoke of these 121 constituents as roots, while everywhere else I spoke of them as concepts. “Give us,” he says, “about 800 roots, and we can explain the largest dictionary; give us about 121 concepts, and we can account for the 800 roots.” (“Science of Thought,” p. 551.) Well, if this is so, the 800 roots (i. e. phonetically separable elements) have been reduced to the 121 “concepts or roots” (i. e. psychologically separable elements). My critic cannot both have his cake and eat it. Either he must abide by the philological meaning of a root, as the ultimate result of philological analysis; or else he must abide by his own philosophical meaning of a root, as the embodiment of a concept. Under the former definition there will be about 800 roots of Sanskrit; under the latter definition, and according to his analysis, there will be only 121.
* * * * *
The next point with regard to which “complete misapprehension” is alleged may best be presented by my critic’s own words, thus:
“Professor Romanes thinks it necessary to remark that ‘these concepts do not represent the ideation of primitive man’! I never said they did. I never pretended to be acquainted with the ideation of primitive man. All I maintained was that, making allowance for obscure words, every thought, that of the lowest savage as well as of the most minute philosopher, can be expressed with these 800 roots, and traced back to these 121 concepts.” (_The Monist_, p. 584.)
Now, it is perhaps needless to say, I am extremely glad to learn that such was the meaning intended; but I trust that the following quotations will furnish a sufficient excuse for my misunderstanding of it:
“I hope that those who will carefully examine the results at which I have arrived, will admit that they prove by overwhelming evidence that the meanings of roots are really what we expected them to be, and that they express the primitive social acts of primitive social man, and the states more or less closely associated with such acts.” (“Science of Thought,” p. 403.)
From this it appears that if Prof. Max Müller never professed to be acquainted with the ideation of _primitive_ man, he did profess to have proved, by overwhelming evidence, a very large acquaintance, not only with the ideation, but also with primitive acts of primitive _social_ man. Possibly his acquaintance with both these matters is very much more intimate than mine; but as I have always taken it to be virtually certain that “primitive man” was “social” in his habits, I should like to learn the reasons which have induced my critic to believe in a still more “primitive man,” who was addicted to a solitary mode of life. For, otherwise, the only distinction on which his criticism appears to rest is a distinction without a difference.
Again he says:
“The Science of Thought assures us that every thought that ever crossed the mind of man can be traced back to about 121 simple concepts.” (Ibid., p. 418.)
And that the word “man” here is not intended tacitly to exclude “primitive man” (whether “social” or solitary), I gathered from the fact of the 121 concepts in question being tabulated under the heading, in large capitals, THE 121 ORIGINAL CONCEPTS. For, if the word “original” here was intended to mean original only with reference to the Sanskrit language, why did the writer follow it up with his statement about the Science of Thought, assuring us that _every_ thought which had _ever_ crossed the mind of _man_ could be _traced back_ to these 121 original concepts?
Lastly, not only by such particular passages was I led to suppose that the writer was referring to “primitive man” when he was writing about “primitive social man,” etc.; but still more was I led to suppose this by the whole drift and tenor of his work. For what would be the sense of all his disquisitions upon the importance of linguistic science in its relation to the theory of evolution, if he intended to restrict his inferences to the _semi-civilised_ condition of man, which (as he allows) must have been the condition of the speakers of Sanskrit? Clearly, if this were his intention, there would have been _no_ sense in all these disquisitions; and therefore, here again, my critic cannot both preserve his cake and consume it. Either let him adopt the position which he takes up in _The Monist_, as a philologist pure and simple, who “never pretended to be acquainted with the ideation of primitive man,” who refuses to go beyond the “facts” of the “Science of Language,” or to speculate upon their theoretical relations to the “Science of Thought”: or else let him do as he does in his published works—superimpose upon his functions as a “Student of Language” the functions of a “Philosopher,” freely speculate upon “the origin of roots,” elaborately argue the whole psychology of “concepts,” and strenuously endeavor to show that “language is the Rubicon of mind,” which not only now, but at all times, has separated man from the lower animals, as a being mysterious in origin, if not unique in kind.
* * * * *
Next we are told:
“Professor Romanes dwells on what he calls the interesting feature of all roots being verbs. This is simply a contradiction in terms. In giving the meaning of roots scholars generally employ the infinitive or the participle, “to go,” or “going”; but they have stated again and again that a root ceases to be a root as soon as it is used in a sentence.” (_The Monist_, p. 584.)
Now, by a “verb” I understand a word that signifies either an action or a state; and by a “root” I understand—here agreeing with Prof. Max Müller himself—“an element of human speech,” so far as this has been hitherto reduced by philological analysis. Again, I hold—in this also agreeing with him—that “as soon as a root is used for predication it becomes a word, whether outwardly it is changed or not.” (“Science of Thought,” p. 440.) Well, if we are agreed upon these points, I do not see how there can be any “contradiction in terms” when I stated the fact “of all roots being verbs.”
In the first place, if one were to agree with Prof. Max Müller himself in holding that originally every root was “something real, something that was actually used in conversation” (Ibid. p. 420), there can be no contradiction in terms if we translate this into saying that originally every root was a word—for the mere quibble that not until it was spoken did the root become a word does not affect the matter, any more than if we were to say the same of any word now in use, which has given birth to a progeny of other words. But even if we disagree with Prof. Max Müller, and suppose that roots are merely “phonetic elements,” or the residual extract of a group of originally allied words, we should still be correct in saying that the “concepts” which they “embody” are all concepts which now admit of being expressed in equivalent words.
So much for the “contradiction in terms,” which is alleged to arise if we speak of roots as _words_. Touching the second point, or the accuracy of saying that the words which roots express are always _verbs_, my defence is sufficiently easy. For to say, as my critic says, that “in giving the meaning of roots scholars generally employ the infinitive or the participle,” appears to me a most unphilosophical observation, since it appears to indicate that in the opinion of its writer the significance of a verb is but conventionally given to a root by the verbal form into which it is thrown by scholars. But the fact is that, even if they tried, scholars could rarely deprive a root of its significance as a verb, no matter into what verbal form they might choose to throw it. Take any root at random, such as HA _to go_. However much we may ring the changes, as “to go,” “going,” “goer,” it is impossible to get rid of the fundamental significance of the root as a verb. And although it is, of course, possible to select a root which presents a more equivocal interpretation, the cases in which this can be done are, comparatively speaking, not numerous, and apparently never such as to exclude the probability of its having primarily conveyed the force of a verb. For instance, HUR _to fall_, may be regarded either as a verb or a noun-substantive; but we cannot say that there is anything to render more probable the view of the root having been originally expressive of a fall than of the act of falling; and inasmuch as there do not appear to be any roots which _can_ only have originally had the force of nouns or adjectives, while there are so many which _can_ only have originally had the force of verbs, we may fairly conclude that in the accidentally more equivocal cases the roots were likewise originally expressive of actions or of states. For, if not, why are there not as many roots which convey such meanings as _sky_, or _blue_ (which never can have had equivalents in the forms of verbs), as there are roots like HA, where we cannot doubt that the meaning from the first must have been the meaning of a verb?
I am the more surprised at this head of Prof. Max Müller’s criticism, because it belongs to the very essence of his own theory touching “the origin of roots,” that they _must_ all originally have conveyed the meaning of verbs. Therefore from end to end of his own book he constantly alludes to roots as expressive of “actions”; never as expressive of objects or qualities. For instance:
“All, or nearly all, the roots of Sanskrit, or rather of the Aryan family in general, express, as we shall see, acts, and more particularly the commonest acts performed by members of a primitive society.” (“Science of Thought,” p. 272.)
And even in _The Monist_ article itself the same thing is stated thus:
“Let us remember that a most careful psychological analysis had led Noiré to the conclusion that the germs of all conceptional thought were to be found in the consciousness of our own repeated acts. And let us place by the side of this, the well-ascertained fact that the germs of all conceptional language, what we call roots, express with few exceptions the repeated acts of men.” (_The Monist_, p. 580.)
Again:
“We begin with the fact that the great bulk of a language consists of words, derived, according to the strictest rules, not from cries, but from articulate roots. No one denies this. We follow this up with a second fact, that nearly all the roots express acts of men. No one denies that.” (p. 588.)
Very well then, I submit that the only real distinction between Prof. Max Müller’s rendering of this “fact,” and my own rendering of it, consists in my having added “states” to “acts,” and observing that then the comparatively few outstanding roots may be included with the “nearly all” under the one category of “verbs.”
For the distinction which he draws in _The Monist_ is not a real distinction: it is merely a verbal distinction.
Here it is:
“If Professor Romanes approves of my saying that roots stood for any part of speech, just as the monosyllabic expressions of children do, I can only say that, if I ever said so, I expressed myself incorrectly. A root never stands for any part of speech, because as soon as it is a part of speech it is no longer a root.” (_The Monist_, p. 585.)
This, as I have previously observed, is merely a quibble. If originally every root was “something real, something used in conversation,” originally all roots were _words_, in just the same sense as “the monosyllabic expressions of children” are words. And if “nearly all these roots express the acts of man,” while most (if not all) the outstanding residuum were apparently expressive of states, it follows that the roots in question were not only words, but _verbs_. And in stating this “fact” I supposed that I was but following Prof. Max Müller’s statement of it, where he constitutes it the philological basis of his theory on the “origin of roots”—viz. that all roots sprang from sounds made by “primitive social man” when engaged in their “social _acts_.” But, while accepting this fact, I objected to the theory raised upon it, because the latter did not consider that roots which originally had the force of verbs must have been more likely to have survived, and so to have come down to us, than those which may originally have had the significance of any other parts of speech. And it was only in order to supply this further consideration that I alluded to the “fact” at all.
* * * * *
We come next to some disparaging remarks upon “babies,” “parrots,” and the lower animals generally (_The Monist_, pp. 586-7). Prof. Max Müller “refuses to argue” with me, “or any other philosopher, either in the nursery or the menagerie.” So be it. As a philologist, of course, he is assuredly right; no one would expect him so to argue. But as a philosopher, who has written a large book on the “Science of Thought,” he is no less assuredly wrong. And one may be pardoned for wondering at this intentionally ostrich-like attitude on the part of a philosopher—who is “going beyond the origin of roots”—with respect to the fundamental germs of the sign-making faculty.
Again, my critic appears to imagine that I am a supporter of the onomatopoetic theory—to the extent of regarding _all_ human language as having originated in imitations of natural sounds. (_The Monist_, pp. 586-7.) But over and over again I have stated that this is not my view. I believe, indeed, that there is a very large amount of truth in this theory; but I deem it on all grounds most improbable that the principle of imitation has been the _only_ principle concerned in the origin of speech. I have argued that probably many other principles must have been concerned, including the “synergastic” principle suggested by Noiré, and enthusiastically adopted by my critic as alone sufficient to explain the whole problem of the origin of speech—and this although it is clearly but a particular branch of the general onomatopoetic theory. Hence, so far as I am concerned, it does not signify one iota whether any given root owed its origin to the principle of imitation, or to some other of the general principles which I believe to have been concerned in the birth of articulate language. And, if possible, still less does it signify whether or not in the development of any given word, such as “thunder,” the original root-sound has been afterwards imitatively modified, “from a feeling that it should be so.” These matters are no doubt of importance within the four corners of philology; but in relation to the “biological theory” of descent they present no importance at all.
Yet I am told:
“Those who cannot see the difference between a man, or for all that, between a mocking-bird, saying _Cuckoo_, and a whole community fixing on the sound of TAN, as differentiated by various suffixes and prefixes, and expressing the concept of stretching in such words as _tonos_, _tone_, _tonitru_, _thunder_, _tanu_, _tenuis_, _thin_, should not meddle with the Science of Language.” (_The Monist_, pp. 588-9.)
Doubtless. But as no word of this applies to me, I may be permitted to observe that if any one who has read my book can possibly suppose that it does, he should not meddle with the Science of Thought.
* * * * *
In conclusion, if it be the case that I have completely misapprehended Prof. Max Müller with regard to the points which he has mentioned,—and all of which I have now considered,—have I not furnished sufficient justification? Even now I cannot see in what respects it is possible to amend any subsequent edition of my book, so as to correct the misapprehensions which are alleged. But although my “mistakes” are thus far from “clear,” I am glad to have had this opportunity of publicly discussing them with Prof. Max Müller, if only for the sake of adding the following remarks.
Be it observed, in the first place, that whatever may be thought of the foregoing “justification,”—whether it be held that the misapprehensions are due to ambiguity on the one side or to obtuseness on the other,—at least it is certain that the misapprehensions complained of all have reference to points of no importance whatsoever as regards the general theory of descent, even although some of them are not altogether without importance as regards the particular science of philology. Thus it is quite immaterial, so far as the doctrine of _Mental Evolution_ is concerned, whether we say that the roots of Sanskrit are 800, philologically speaking, or 121, psychologically speaking. Again, as soon as it is explained by Prof. Max Müller that by his “121 original concepts” he means the number of concepts “original” only as regards the Sanskrit language; that by “primitive social man” he means only the semi-civilised progenitors of the Indo-European race; that by “every thought that ever crossed the mind of man” admitting of being “traced back to about 121 simple concepts,” he means no more than that such is the case as regards the recent and highly evolved Aryan branch of the human species;—when once all this is explained, it becomes evident that thus far there _can_ be no difference of opinion between us. For in that case he is not dealing with “the Origin of Human Faculty,” either in regard to language or to thought: he is considering merely the higher inflorescence of both. Once more, whether all, or nearly all, the roots of Sanskrit can properly be called _words_, and, if so, whether we must not go still further and call them _verbs_,—these are questions of mere terminology. If the roots were originally “used in conversation,” and if, as thus used, they were, with but few doubtful exceptions, all expressive of “acts” or “states,” it becomes mere verbal hair-splitting to challenge the propriety of saying that the roots were originally verbs. At all events, the matter has nothing to do with the general question of man’s derivative origin. Lastly, the same has to be said of the purely philological question as to how far the principle of imitation has obtained in the first formation of these archaic “words,” or “roots.” For, archaic though they be in a philological sense, in a phylological sense they are things of yesterday, and so can scarcely be said to have any direct relation at all to “the origin of speech,” or the rise of articulate sign-making. This has to be inferred from observations in the “menagerie,” as distinguished from research in the library; and the fact that Prof. Max Müller expressly refuses to give me the pleasure of his company where the best materials for studying the really “primitive” condition of the sign-making faculty are to be met with, merely renders more impossible than ever any real collision between his linguistic studies on the one side, and my “biological theory” on the other.
But although it thus appears sufficiently evident that my “misapprehensions” of his linguistic conclusions are as unimportant in relation to the theory of descent as they are few—and, I think, also excusable—in themselves, it is impossible to doubt that far below the level of Sanskrit roots, and far beyond the range of philological science, there is a wide difference of opinion between us. For when he passes from the “Science of Language” to the “Science of Thought,”—when he quits his sphere as a philologist to enter that of the philosopher,—he persistently and consistently affirms that what he calls “the old barrier between man and beast” remains, and that he is as yet unable to perceive how it can ever be removed. This barrier of course is predicative language—the obverse side of conceptional thought; and the firm opinion thus expressed by so eminent a philologist is not only of weight _per se_, but is rendered more so on account of the manifest freedom from prejudice with which it is associated. It is on this account that I devoted so much space in my book on “Mental Evolution” to a consideration of his views; and therefore I am sorry that his present reply has not been directed to meeting my criticisms on this really important matter of philosophical doctrine, rather than to indicating “misapprehensions” with regard to such merely trivial matters of a purely philological kind as those which I have here been dealing with. But perhaps at some future time he may give me the benefit of his criticism upon my work as a whole, or not merely on the fringes of such details as really have no bearing on the objects of that work.
And, if he should ever see his way to doing this, I am quite sure that the discussion would be one of a friendly character. For the points at issue would all have reference to that large and vague domain of speculative theory touching “the origin of human faculty,” where it is inevitable—and, in my judgment, even desirable—that wide differences of opinion should obtain. We are but at the commencement of a great and obscure problem, which only in our own generation has been presented by the science of biology to the contemplation of philosophy. Therefore it would be folly indeed if any man were to regard his own opinions upon it as other than provisional—and even more foolish if he were to introduce any “_meum_ and _tuum_ into these discussions.”
Thus I invite Prof. Max Müller to state the grounds of his assertion in _The Monist_, that “all the facts of real language are against” me as an advocate of what he calls the biological theory of the developmental origin of man. This theory, he says, “derives no support whatever from the Science of Language.” I believe, on the other hand, that these are wholly unwarranted statements; and that the Science of Language does support the theory in question to as high a degree as is possible from the nature of the case. On account of this great difference of opinion, I felt, when writing my book, that I should be doing but scant justice to the matured judgment of so eminent a philologist if I did not carefully consider all that he had written upon the subject. And so, as I have said, I devoted more of my book to a consideration of his views than to those of any other philologist; and while accepting his scientific facts on his authority as a philologist, I nevertheless felt it incumbent on me to show why his philosophical deductions, where they had reference to the theory of descent, appeared to me by no means of equivalent value. This distinction, as I observed at the commencement of the present article, is surely a legitimate distinction; and I should be sorry indeed if anything that I have ever said can appear inconsistent with the genuine admiration which is due to Prof. Max Müller as “a student of language,” or with the no less genuine esteem which I have the best reason for knowing is due to him as a friend.
GEORGE J. ROMANES.
THE CONTINUITY OF EVOLUTION.
THE SCIENCE OF LANGUAGE VERSUS THE SCIENCE OF LIFE, AS REPRESENTED BY PROF. F. MAX MÜLLER AND PROF. GEORGE JOHN ROMANES.
All the sciences form, or at least ought to form, one great system, culminating in the science of sciences. Therefore it is more than doubtful how any science could exist without being somehow in contact with other sciences; and all of them must stand in some relation to philosophy. It is necessary that each science should develop in relative independence of the other sciences. We cannot expect to decide, for instance, chemical problems by physical or purely mechanical laws before we have carefully searched the nature and conditions of chemical processes. But as soon as this has been done we can expect that a comparison between the results of two or more sciences will throw new light upon the subject-matter on both sides. Solomon says: “To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” Thus the sciences have to grow, each one on its own grounds, and when they have reached a certain state of maturity, they will coalesce with each other. And two sciences will by their coalescence fertilise the one the other so as to produce a new department which may by and by develop into a special science.
Now it appears to the uninitiated as if the spiritual world of science were in every respect different from the world of objective realities around us. While in the world of bodily realities the struggle for existence is fought eternal peace is supposed to reign in the sacred halls of intellectual aspirations. Says the German poet:
“_Härt in dem Raume stossen sich die Körper,_ _Leicht bei einander wohnen die Gedanken._”
This is true only in a very limited sense. Ideas are the most intolerant beings imaginable. The struggle for existence is raging as fiercely in the intellectual realm as in the world of realities, and there also the law that the fittest will survive holds good.
Far be it from us to denounce this state of general warfare, for although it is hard on those who succumb, it is the means by which evolution becomes possible; and evolution in the domain of science means a nearer approach to truth. If in the evolution of thought two neighboring sciences have developed so far as to meet, a struggle will ensue. The ideas on the two sides will have to fight before they coalesce. It is natural that different scientists look at things from different standpoints. They have developed a terminology which exactly suits their purpose and thus the representatives of the different sciences are often like people of a different nationality. They do not understand each other because they speak different languages. Moreover they have not unfrequently a different religion; that means, their ideas about truth and the test of truth appear to be different and sometimes they regard one another as no better than heathens. The battle is unavoidable, and considering all in all, the battle is desirable, it should not be avoided. The fittest to survive being the truest, the whole progress of science through the struggle for existence among ideas consists in the approach to truth.
It may be objected that there are peacemakers who will reconcile the contending parties. True. And it is further true that the aim of every war is peace. But a peacemaker can be successful only if his mind is broad enough to let the whole battle be fought out within himself. The battle itself is and will remain unavoidable. Idea stands against idea, and the mental process of reflection is nothing but a struggle of conflicting ideas which takes place in one and the same mind. The aim of all reflection is the settlement of the conflict, so that all ideas will agree. The two parties disappear in one; errors are given up, and that which is consistent only will remain. In other words Dualism makes room for Monism.
It is a good sign of the times that a battle has begun to rage between the so-called natural sciences and the science of language. The old Hegelian distinction between the _Geisteswissenschaften_ and the _Naturwissenschaften_ has been surrendered; and Prof. F. Max Müller was among the foremost to inculcate the truth that philology is a natural science. If philology is a natural science it cannot be but that its subject of investigation is a part of nature and as such it stands in close relation to other parts of nature. One and the same thing may be the subject of investigation of different sciences. One and the same plant may be an object of observation to the physiologist, to the botanist, to the druggist, to the physician, and to the chemist. Their standpoints and their purposes being different, they will bring to light very different results, and if these results are contradictory among each other the conflict is at hand. It cannot be shirked but must be decided by an honest and square fight. We have witnessed of late a conflict between philology and anthropology concerning the origin of the Aryas and it looks as if this conflict will contribute much to promote our knowledge of the oldest history of mankind, although the last word has not as yet been spoken: _adhuc sub judice lis est_.
We are now confronted with a conflict between Philology and Biology. The first skirmishes have been fought by two men who are entitled to speak, each one in behalf of his science. Prof. F. Max Müller stands up for philology and Prof. George John Romanes for biology.
Professor Romanes takes it for granted that the rational mind of man has developed gradually from the lower stage of the brute. He says in his book “Mental Evolution in Man,” p. 276:
“The whole object of these chapters has been to show, that on psychological grounds it is abundantly intelligible how the conceptual stage of ideation may have been gradually evolved from the receptual—the power of forming general, or truly conceptual ideas, from the power of forming particular and generic ideas. But if it could be shown—or even rendered in any degree presumable—that this distinctly human power of forming truly general ideas arose _de novo_ with the first birth of articulate speech, assuredly my whole analysis would be destroyed: the human mind would be shown to present a quality different in origin—and, therefore, in kind—from all the lower orders of intelligence: the law of continuity would be interrupted at the terminal phase: an impassable gulf would be fixed between the brute and the man.”
And Prof. Max Müller criticises the position of Professor Romanes in an article on Thought and Language (_The Monist_, Vol. I. No. 4, p. 582); he says:
“My learned friend, Professor Romanes, labors to show that there is an unbroken mental evolution from the lowest animal to the highest man. But he sees very clearly and confesses very honestly that the chief difficulty in this evolution is language and all that language implies. He tries very hard to remove that barrier between beast and man.... Professor Romanes is, I believe, a most eminent biologist, and the mantle of Darwin is said to have fallen on his shoulders. Far be it from me to venture to criticise his biological facts. But we see in his case how dangerous it is for a man who can claim to speak with authority on his own special subject, to venture to speak authoritatively on subjects not his own.”
It is not at all my intention to appear on the battle-field as a peacemaker between these two generals, or to settle the problems that arise from the conflict between philology and biology. That will be better done by the parties concerned, and I am rather inclined to speak with Schiller when he thought of the struggle between the transcendentalist philosopher and the empirical naturalist:
“Enmity be between you! Your alliance would not be in time yet. Though you may separate now, Truth will be found by your search.”
I look forward with great interest to further discussions which will bring out with more clearness the positions of both parties, and it is not impossible that both parties as soon as they have better understood each other, will agree much better than either of them expected. But it may be permitted me to make a few comments upon a proposition that is involved in this conflict, which, however, properly considered, is neither of a philological nor a biological nature. This is the idea of the continuity of evolution. Prof. Max Müller says somewhere that, if a Darwinian means an evolutionist, he had been a Darwinian long before Darwin. “How a student of the science of language,” he says, “can be anything but an evolutionist is to me utterly unintelligible.” So there is no doubt about his being an evolutionist as much as Professor Romanes. But the question is, What means evolutionist? Is he an evolutionist who believes in a piecemeal evolution interrupted here and there by acts of special creation? In my conception of the term, an evolutionist believes in evolution wherever there is life and this involves the wholesale rejection of special-creation acts as well as of the idea that any being or organism (the organism of language included) could ever have made its appearance in full growth and maturity or that any phenomenon of life could present a break in the continuity of evolution.
The Greek myth tells us that the Goddess of Reason, the blue-eyed Pallas Athene, was not born like other gods and mortals in the natural way of a slow development. She jumped out of the head of Zeus full-armed in all her beauty and gifted with the powers of her unusual accomplishments. Is this myth true after all? Does the Logos of rational thought present us with an instance in which the development process has been interrupted? If so, we shall have to abandon the evolution theory as a theory and return to the old-fashioned view of special-creation acts. The difference between these two views is not of degree, but of kind. He who accepts the principle of evolution as the law of life abandons forever the idea of special and unconnected beginnings as much as that of special-creation acts. He cannot with consistency believe in an evolution with interruptions, for the theory of evolution is serviceable only if evolution is conceived as continuous. Prof. Max Müller of course has a right to define and use the word evolutionist as he sees fit, but if he excludes continuity from the idea of evolution, we declare that he has taken out the quintessence of its meaning and the core of its truth.
Why this is so, we shall now briefly discuss.
The evolution theory has been gradually developed by empirical investigations and it owes its all but universal acceptance to the great mass of _a posteriori_ evidence furnished by the natural sciences. It rests nevertheless upon a better and safer foundation than isolated instances of hap-hazard experience. Its foundation is quarried out of another and more reliable material. The evolution theory rests upon the ground of _a priori_ arguments.
By _a priori_ we do not understand anything mysterious, but simply such cognition as possesses universality and necessity. That cognition which is in possession of universality and necessity is also called formal cognition. The formal sciences (for instance arithmetic, mathematics, pure logic, and pure mechanics) give us information about such truths as are applicable, because they are purely formal, to the formal conditions of anything and everything possible. Because we know _beforehand_ that the purely formal laws will hold good under all conditions Kant called their formulated theorems “a priori.” All the objections to the idea of apriority made by John Stuart Mill and other empiricists are due to their misinterpretation of the term.[10]
Mr. Mill was mistaken when he thought Kant meant _a priori_ cognitions were innate ideas which came to man from spheres unknown. The very first sentence of Kant’s “Critique of Pure Reason” proves that Kant knew of no other knowledge than that which begins with experience. Kant says, “That all our knowledge begins with experience there can be no doubt.” But our knowledge consists of two elements, viz. the empirical and the formal. The former bears always the character of the special and incidental, the latter of the universal and necessary. The former is sensory, being furnished by the senses, the latter is properly mental originating in and with the action of the mind in dealing with sense-materials, in arranging them and bringing them into certain relations.
Formal knowledge is different in kind from empirical knowledge. The rule “twice two is four” will hold good for all possible cases, but the statement “A swan is white” does not hold good for all possible cases. European swans as a rule are white, but Australian swans are black, and for all we know, we might find swans that are blue, or red, or yellow. Empirical knowledge is full of exceptions, formal knowledge is rigid, there is no exception to any rule of formal knowledge.
All formal knowledge has developed by degrees. The history of the sciences, of mathematics, logic, arithmetic, and also of the natural sciences furnishes sufficient evidence. The formal part of the natural sciences, by Kant called _reine Naturwissenschaft_, consists of such cognitions as the law of cause and effect and the law of the conservation of matter and energy. The formulation of these laws has been accomplished after much and careful empirical investigation. And it could not be otherwise. The latter law was elaborated in its full clearness long after Kant. The law of causality and the law of the conservation of matter and energy are purely formal, they are not sense-impressions and do not contain any sensory elements. They are general rules of universal applicability which being rigidly universal and without exceptions are necessary under all conditions. Before we make any experiment we can know that they will hold good in the experiment. Indeed all our experimenting is based upon the supposition that the law of causation holds good and that there can be neither an increase nor a decrease of matter and energy.
The mistake made by the so-called transcendentalists is this, that they consider formal thought as having an independent existence, being ready at hand before cognition is possible, while in fact it is a part of cognition which at least in its germ is present in every actual experience.
The theory of evolution is not more and not less a formal principle than the law of causation and the law of the conservation of matter and energy. Indeed it is nothing but the same thing applied to a special case. The theory of evolution is the principle of the conservation of matter and energy applied to the province of life. The theory of evolution denies the possibility of special acts of creation. There cannot come something out of nothing. And the new creations that actually originate daily before our eyes are not creations from nothing, they are simply transformations. There was a time on earth in which no living being existed, neither plant nor animal. How did life originate? Our answer is, It did not originate out of nothing, but it evolved. Non-organised matter organised. That non-organised matter must contain the elementary conditions of organised life is a conclusion which we cannot escape from our point of view; and which is fully and satisfactorily corroborated by our daily experience that water, earth, and air under the sun’s influence are changed into wheat; and wheat is manufactured into the bread which nourishes man and sustains his life. Non-organised particles of matter are constantly being organised in living organisms and displace the worn-out materials in their tissues—not one atom of the latter remaining for good in a healthy living body.
The theory of evolution may be called an hypothesis, an assumption, a presumption. But in that case we must say with Mill that the rule twice two is four is also a mere assumption. The evidence for the latter is not stronger than that for the former. Mill declares that after all twice two might somewhere be five. Exactly so and not otherwise evolution might be somewhere interrupted, so that something would originate out of nothing instead of evolving from other things through transformation.
Prof. Max Müller speaks very sarcastically about the speechless man, the _homo alalus_ who is supposed to be the ancestor of the present man. He says (l. c., p. 585):
“Of the _Homo alalus_, the speechless progenitor of _Homo sapiens_, with whom Professor Romanes seems so intimately acquainted, students of human speech naturally know nothing.”
Prof. Max Müller also condemns all efforts of approaching the problem of the origin of language through observation of children and animals. The former he calls “nursery philology” the latter “menagerie psychology.” And it is certainly true that the problem of the origin of language cannot be solved from observations of children or animals, because the problem lies in another field. The problem is not how a ready made language is transferred upon the growing mind of a baby but how speechless beings developed into speaking beings. And all the intelligence of clever animals is still very different from the rational thought of man. This is true, but it is also true that good observations of animal psychology and also of nursery philology will throw some light upon the evolution of rational thought.
Prof. Max Müller says:
“How can we attempt to realise what passes within the mind of an animal?... We can imagine anything we like about what passes in the mind of an animal,—we can know absolutely nothing.”
We are fully aware of the fact that the problem of the origin of language is quite different from the problems of animal psychology. A solution of the latter, which are extremely complex and difficult, would not help us to solve the former. This being conceded we can nevertheless see no reason why animal psychology should be condemned and given up as a hopeless task.
It is not true that “we can know absolutely nothing about what passes in the mind of an animal.” It is true we cannot see the animals’ feelings and thoughts, but we can see their actions which reveal their feelings as much as and sometimes even plainer than the speech of our brother man reveals his thoughts. Might we not say with the same reason, “We see only the printed book of a scientist (which is an expression of his views as much as the behavior of an animal is of its feelings) but we can know absolutely nothing about what passes in the mind of that scientist. All we can do is to judge from analogy”? And should we on that account give up all reading and studying and also all arguing with others?
Animal psychology is not only justified as a science, but we can even hope that correct observations of animal intelligence will assist us in correctly understanding the higher intelligence of human thought. And “that some useful hints may be taken from watching children is not denied” by Prof. Max Müller either, although this little concession appears only in the shape of a short foot-note. The _homo alalus_ is by no means a merely mythical figure, for according to the law of evolution man must have developed out of a being lower than the present man. His first ancestor must have been simple life-substance something like that of the amœba. He must have passed through a long period in which he was not capable of articulate speech. That we know nothing particular about the _homo alalus_ is no proof against his existence. Moreover every infant is an actual real _homo alalus_, a speechless man, or should we according to Prof. Max Müller class our babies among the brutes?
Prof. Max Müller says (_The Monist_, p. 585):
“If, like Professor Romanes, we begin with the ‘immense presumption that there has been no interruption in the developmental process in the course of psychological history,’ the protest of language counts for nothing; the very fact that no animal has ever formed a language, is put aside simply as an unfortunate accident.”
The theory of evolution rightly understood is no presumption in the usual sense of the word. It is no more a presumption than to say that something cannot come from nothing. And what is “the protest of language” which would disprove the continuity of evolution? That rational or human thought is something _sui generis_, that it is different in kind and not in degree from brute intelligence; that language is an impassable barrier between man and brute, being the Rubicon which no other animal has crossed. Very well. We agree entirely with all these propositions. Human reason is different in kind from brute intelligence and human reason has developed such as it is through language only. Nay reason is language. Noiré is right when he says, Man thinks because he speaks. But the Rubicon of language was not an absolutely impassable barrier. The speechless ancestor of man, whether we call him _homo alalus_ or anthropoid, or even man-ape, _has_ crossed it, and having crossed it he became the Cæsar of the animal creation.
Prof. Max Müller’s theory of the identity of language and thought[11] is so valuable because it bridges the gap between the rational sphere of man and the not-yet rational sphere of the brute creation. It explains the origin of reason. The origin of reason in the world of living beings is explained as soon as the origin of language is understood, for reason develops with language and rational thought is nothing but rational speech. If the origin of language were an unfathomable mystery, Prof. Max Müller’s view of the identity of language and thought would lose all practical importance.
The proposition of the identity of language and thought is a very radical idea; it is the fundamental idea of monism. In a more general form it was first pronounced by Giordano Bruno, who says somewhere that, if we could put the soul of a man into the organism of an animal, say of a snake, it would cease to be a human soul and become the soul of a snake. Speech would be changed into a hissing, in accordance with the snake’s organs for uttering sounds. And in the same way all the feelings, all the concepts, all the desires and inclinations—in short the whole psychical life would be that of a snake.
Thought is the soul of language. As there are no ghost-souls, so there are no ghost-thoughts. And the soul is not something distinct from the organism, it is the form of the organism. It happens in fairy-tales that the Prince is transformed into a frog, but if a fairy could transform a man into a frog, his soul would certainly also become a frog-soul. Language is the visible organism of the invisible thought, and as is language, exactly so is thought.
The problem how language has developed was first answered by the onomatopoetic theory, “the bow-wow theory” as Max Müller calls it. Language was conceived as an echo of nature, as a reflex action that takes place in a living and feeling being. Yet this theory had to be abandoned, because an historical investigation of language proved that words with very few exceptions were not imitations of external sounds. Yet the spirit of investigation was not daunted by this defeat, and the bow-wow theory reappeared in a modified form. Language was still considered as a reflex action; however, it was conceived to be a reflex which re-echoed the impressions of natural phenomena as they had affected man. This was the exclamation theory which seeks the origin of language in the “ohs and ahs,” the sighs and shouts of a feeling mind. Prof. Max Müller calls this theory “the pooh-pooh theory.” This theory had also to be discarded because it was in conflict with the actual facts of the evolution of language. Next Noiré and Prof. Max Müller came with their theory, called by Noiré “the synergastic theory,” which conceives language as the expression of common work, also called by Noiré the Logos theory, the sympathetic theory, and the causality theory. Prof. Max Müller in order to forestall any deriders of this theory suggests calling it “the yo-he-ho theory,” yo-he-ho being the sailors’ song when engaged in some common work as hoisting or hauling.
This yo-he-ho theory actually explains the origin of language, and it is, so far as we can see, not in conflict with any historical or philological facts. But in honor of the inventors of the onomatopoetic theory it must be recognised that the main idea of the yo-he-ho theory is the same as that of the bow-wow theory. The main idea is this: Language did not originate in man’s mind out of itself in some mysterious way representing a break in the continuity of evolution, but it is a certain reflex-action of living and feeling beings taking place in consequence of external stimuli. This reflex-action however is not direct, but indirect. It is not that of a single being, it is the reflex-action of a whole society, engaged in common work. It developed in consequence of their common activity and through their want of intercommunication.
* * * * *
Prof. Max Müller charges against the evolutionist, that “the very fact that no animal has ever formed a language is put aside simply as an unfortunate accident.” Is this a fair reprehension? Is not the fact that no animal, except man, crossed the Rubicon of language quite a distinct problem? And accepting Professor Noiré’s theory of the origin of language which considers speech as the product of a common activity accompanied by what may be called _clamor concomitans_, I see very good reasons why other animals did not develop language. First, there is no animal, with the sole exception perhaps of ants and bees, that lives in societies. Some of them live in herds, but there is a great difference between a herd and a society. This difference is first a difference of degree, but gradually it becomes a difference of kind. Secondly, animals have no organs to work with, while man has his hands, and we may add, thirdly, that no animal, not even the parrot, has the same power of articulation.
Prof. Ludwig Noiré accepts without equivocation the idea that the speechless ancestor of man became a rational being by developing language and I was always under the impression that Prof. Max Müller agreed with his late friend not only concerning the identity of language and reason, but also concerning the origin of reason. But if Prof. Max Müller agrees with Noiré, why does he object to the continuity of evolution which as he states in a private letter to us is “only a beautiful postulate”?
Now there are indeed facts which prove that the Rubicon of reason is not so impassable to animals as Prof. Max Müller makes us believe. Let us hear Noiré on the subject. He explains most logically that man performs his many labors and has become a civilised being only with the help of language, by naming things and handling them in his mind. Noiré says:
“It can be graphically shown, how ideas may represent for man the rôle of things real; how man has acquired the power of combining in his representative faculty the most remote objects, and thereby has been able to accomplish the great miracles of human industry and commerce. But all this would be utterly inconceivable without concepts, which impart to percepts their unity and self-dependence, bring about and multiply their rational connection. Hence also, no animal can ever advance a single step beyond _present_ perceptive representation, can never escape from the constraint with which Nature circumscribes the narrow sphere of its wants. Unfortunately, however, in apparent contravention of this rule, ants to the present day carry on a regular and methodical species of agriculture, keep livestock and domestics like we! Nay, they have been caught in conversations and social entertainments of a quarter of an hour’s duration—God save the mark!”[12]
This passage is full of humor, and the humor is slightly mingled with a comical anger and self-irony. There is a fine theory excellent in every respect worked out in all its details by the Professor and now he finds a few trifles of facts which possess the impudence not to adapt themselves to the theory. “_Gott besser’s_,” sighs Noiré, for it is not his fault that the ants accomplish things which they ought not to, and the good Lord is called upon to adapt nature with more rigidity to the Professor’s theories.
Is there not an obvious reason why ants stand so high in their performances? Are not ants social beings, more so than any other animal? We are ignorant still of all their means of communication. But that they have some means of communication seems to be an established fact. When ants from different hills but of the same kind give each other battle, it happens not unfrequently that a warrior attacks another warrior of the same people most fiercely, but both let go as soon as they touch each other with their feelers.[13] I refrain from telling stories about the life of these wonderful creatures partly because one well-authenticated report is sufficient for our purpose and partly because I must suppose that most of my readers are familiar with the facts as presented by Darwin, Lubbock, Forel, Huber, and many others. I will add only one observation which is so far as I know undisputed. If ants of a special kind rob the larvæ of another kind and educate them as their slaves, the slaves will in case of war or danger stand by their masters even against their own folks. They evidently speak the language of the hill in which they have been raised.
Professor Forel successfully made the experiment, with the assistance of ant-nurses, of raising together several kinds of ants from the larvæ of hostile species. The ferocious Amazons and the Sanguineæ did not show any enmity toward their comrades of the Pratensis and Rufa. When set at liberty and transferred to a new residence they remained together and behaved exactly as if they naturally belonged together. And this experiment may be quoted to corroborate the proposition of Prof. Max. Müller that “thought is thicker than blood.”[14]
Now it would be a desperate case for Professor Noiré to maintain his theory in the face of these facts, if by language we have to understand vocal signs only. Yet the idea of his and also of Prof. Max Müller’s theory consists in the truth that thoughts cannot walk about like ghosts in bodiless nudity: they are a system of notation. As such they are symbolised in signs and are inseparable from their signs. These signs are sounds with men, and by words we understand usually sound-symbols. But there are other systems of notation besides vocal signs and they are for that reason not less language than speech. We have reason to believe that ants are in possession of symbolical signs and that most of them are communicated through their feelers.
Professor Romanes describes the origin of ideas (in the second chapter of “Mental Evolution in Man,” p. 23) in the following way:
“Just as Mr. Galton’s method of superimposing on the same sensitive plate a number of individual images gives rise to a blended photograph, wherein each of the individual constituents is partially and proportionally represented; so in the sensitive tablet of memory, numerous images of previous perceptions are fused together into a single conception, which then stands as a composite picture, or class-representation, of these its constituent images. Moreover, in the case of a sensitive plate it is only those particular images which present more or less numerous points of resemblance that admit of being thus blended into a distinct photograph; and so in the case of the mind, it is only those particular ideas which admit of being run together in a class that can go to constitute a clear concept.”
Professor Romanes calls such a composite picture of sense-impressions as must be supposed to exist in the animal brain “a recept” and he distinguishes it from “the concept” of man. He says: “Reception means a _taking again_.... The word ‘recept’ is seen to be appropriate to the class of ideas in question, because in receiving such ideas the mind is passive.” By “concept” however he understands “that kind of composite idea which is rendered possible only by the aid of language or by the process of naming abstractions as abstractions.”[15]
We agree with Professor Romanes in the main point, viz. that the process of evolution must be considered as uninterrupted, but we cannot agree with him on several minor points.[16]
We must express our doubt concerning the propriety of calling the mind passive when receiving impressions. Every single sensation is an active process, just as much as a reflex motion, and it may be considered as a reaction that takes place in response to the stimulus of the impression. Conception of course is also an active process, and concepts, the products of conception, establish a new department in the mind. “Noiré, quoted by Prof. Max Müller, says: ‘All trees hitherto seen by me leave in my imagination a mixed image, a kind of ideal presentation of a tree. Quite different from this is my concept, which is never an image.’”[17]
And this is true.
We have on another occasion explained that sensations are sense-impressions which have acquired meaning.[18] Rays of light are reflected from an object and fall upon the retina of an eye. Here they produce a disturbance of nervous substance which is transmitted to the brain where it is felt as the image say of a tree. Now the ether-waves are not sight, but a certain form of ether-waves corresponds to a certain form of sight, and the latter comes to stand for the former. The mental picture of a tree becomes a symbol for a special object outside of us and it is projected to the place where experience has taught us to expect that object. In naming objects we repeat the process of expressing by symbols. Sensations are symbols, and names are symbols of symbols. The name and concept tree is not the composite picture of all the trees I have seen, but it is the symbol of this composite picture of sense-impressions. Sensations are like the chords of a piano and the concepts are like the keys. The key is different in kind from the chord which belongs to it. When I touch the key the chord will sound: when I pronounce a name the composite sensation of all its analogous memories will be awakened.
* * * * *
Can there be any question that difference in kind can originate by degrees? Professor Romanes uses the phrase “different in kind” as synonymous with “different in origin” and therefore declares that human reason and animal intelligence are “different in degree” only. The word “kind,” it is true, is at least as vague as the word species and a naturalist may often be doubtful where to draw the line. Man and monkey are different in kind, and they are also more different in origin than Carl Vogt assumed, for man is not the descendant of any of the monkey families now existent. But this does not disprove that they are of a still remoter common origin or at least that they originated in the same way in some amœboid form as simple life-substance.
New formations which originate through combining are as much new creations, i. e. things new in kind, as if they were produced through special-creation acts of God which are said to be creations out of nothing and not mere transformations.
Man builds houses out of bricks and timbers. Is not the house something different in kind from the trees and the clay from which the materials have been taken? Is not the boiler of a steam-engine different in purpose and accordingly also different in kind from a tea-kettle? Is not every invention something different in kind? And is not the same true of the products of thought? Is not a triangle something different in kind from a line? And the origin of the former is not more miraculous than that of the latter. A triangle is more complex than a line, but its existence in the mind is not more of a mystery than the existence of the line. Difference in kind need not include difference of origin. Harmony is different in kind from melody. Notes in succession produce melody, while simultaneous notes produce harmony. In either case it is simply a matter of combination.
Professor Romanes when speaking of the passivity of sense-impressions seems to think of the unconsciousness of the process. We are not conscious of the transformation of impressions into sensations while we can become aware of our efforts to change the sense-material into concepts. Yet the nature of mind is throughout activity. And no one has perhaps insisted more strongly on the activity of mind than Prof. Max Müller. But Prof. Max Müller distinguishes between the activity of the mind and the ego which as he supposes performs that activity. He says (“Science of Thought,” p. 63):
“We think of a mind dwelling in a body, and we soon find ourselves in the midst of psychological mythology. Let it be clearly understood, therefore, that by Mind I mean nothing but that working which is going on within, embracing sensation, perception, conception, and naming, as well as the various modes of combining and separating the results of these processes for the purpose of new discovery.
“But if Mind is to be the name of the work, what is to be the name of the worker? It is not yet the Self, for the Self, in the highest sense, is a spectator only, not a worker; but it is what we may call the Ego, as personating the Self; it is what other philosophers mean by the Monon, of which, as we shall see, there are many. Let us call therefore the worker who does the work of the mind in its various aspects, the Monon or the Ego.”
And in another passage (l. c., p. 552) he speaks of the simplicity of the monon:
“If then the process of thought is so simple as we saw, not less simple, at least, than that of speech, it follows, that the complicated apparatus which had been postulated by most philosophers for the performance of thought in its various spheres of manifestation, must make room for much plainer machinery. Instead of intuition, intellect, understanding, mind, reason, genius, judgment, and all the rest, we want really nothing but a self-conscious Monon, capable of changing all that is supplied by the senses into percepts, concepts, and names. These changes may be represented as something very marvellous, and we may imagine any number of powers and faculties for the performance of them.”
“Grant a Monon conscious of itself, and conscious therefore of the impacts made upon it or the changes produced in it by other Mona which it resists, and we require little more to explain all that we are accustomed to call Thought.”
The continuity of evolution naturally holds good according to Max Müller for the natural man, but not for the Self.
How is this? Is the monon perhaps conceived as not-natural or outside of nature. Hardly. For Prof. Max Müller speaks of the object also as being a monon.[19] If the objects are as much mona as the subjects the same laws must hold good for both, and the subject-monon must be supposed to be an object-monon if considered in its relation to other object-mona.
If Prof. Max Müller’s protest against the continuity of evolution is not based upon the dualism of natural and extra-natural mona, what can it mean when he says that evolution does not hold good for the Self?
If the Self is conceived as a monon, i. e. something “alone” like an atomic unit, it can have no evolution. Evolution is change of form through the production of new configurations. A monon or an isolated unit considered by itself cannot evolve. It is as it ever has been and will be—a monon.
If this is Prof. Max Müller’s meaning, we must ask, How does he know that the self is a monon and that objects are mona? Do they not, if so conceived, become highly mysterious entities? New mona are constantly born into this World. Whence do they come? Is every birth of a child the new creation of another monon by the creator, who so distributes the babes in the world that like babes are given to like parents thus producing the wrong impression of heredity as well as of a continuity of evolution? The idea of explaining all the activities of the mind by the postulate of a conscious monon is very simple indeed, but the problems which would arise from this postulate are extremely complex, and it seems to us that after all the proposition of evolution is by far the simplest solution of all the difficulties.[20]
Mind as we conceive it is the product of evolution. Mind has been evolved in a world which (judging from its product) must be conceived as being freighted not only with energy but also with the potentiality of feeling. Mind, as we know it in experience, is no monon, no indivisible unit, but a unitary system of feelings and thoughts produced through external impressions upon one part of the world by the rest of the world which surrounds it. Mind is an abstract term; it does not denote a part of the world, but a certain quality of a part of the world, viz. the feelings and thoughts of special kinds of organisms. Mind is produced through external impressions, but it does not consist merely of external impressions. Mind, as we have stated before, is not passive; it is active. It consists of the reactions which take place in response to impressions and also of the accumulated products of these reactions. Thus every mind is the concentrated effect of the whole cosmos upon one special part of the cosmos, not as it takes place in one moment, but as it has taken place in a definite and continuous period up to date. The accumulation of these effects makes the mind grow and expand and the system of the growth constitutes its specific character. We can as little think of the mind as appearing suddenly by an act of special creation as we can think that an oak tree can be created out of nothing or that it can exist without previous growth. The law of continuity holds good as much in the realm of the human mind as in the domain of animal and plant-life.
* * * * *
So far we have borne in mind the philosophical and scientific aspect only of the continuity of evolution. There is another aspect however of no less importance, that is the religious view of the subject. We do not believe that science and religion are two different spheres of thought and that something may be true in science which is not true in religion. Since the theory of evolution has revolutionised almost all our sciences, we ask, what influence must this change of thought exercise upon religion? Is not the religious idea of God destroyed and the whole system of religion overturned?
We think not. An old and very powerful system of theology which has been considered as orthodox for centuries will become untenable as soon as the idea of evolution and the continuity of evolution are recognised in their sweeping importance; but religion itself will enter into a new phase of evolution and the idea of God will not be cast aside as a mere superstition of the Dark Ages, it will be purified and appear in a greater and sublimer, in a nobler, higher, and in a truer conception than ever before.
The idea of God is an historical heirloom of past ages. The religious man and the philosopher of all times have tried to put into it their highest, their best, their grandest, and their purest emotions as well as thoughts. And these thoughts were not meaningless, they were not mere fancies. They contained the quintessence of their conception concerning that feature of reality which has produced us as living, thinking, and aspiring beings, and which still prompts us to aspire to higher aims. The world which has produced other beings and ourselves, cannot be and is not a meaningless congeries of material particles in motion. It is a living cosmos. It is a grand harmonious universe pregnant with mind, and nothing in it is suffered to exist for any length of time but that which conforms to its laws; and that which conforms to its laws we call moral.
The idea of God, however, as it is commonly taught in our schools is full of pagan notions, and the very paganism of the present God-idea is often supposed to be its deepest and holiest meaning. No wonder that atheism increases with the progress of science! And why should not atheism increase, if it is truer than a superstitious theism? Atheism I believe will increase more and more until theism is cleansed of its pagan notions. But atheism will not come to stay, for atheism is a mere negative view and negations have no strength to live. They have power to criticise and they will serve as a leaven in the dough. Their purpose is the purification of the positive views. Negations will pass away as soon as their purpose is fulfilled.
The old pagan conception (now considered as orthodox) places God in the dark nooks and crevices of our knowledge. Wherever science fails and wherever our inquiring mind is entangled in problems which we cannot hope to solve, wherever the continuity of nature and of the order of nature is hidden from our intellectual sight, the so-called orthodox believer comes forth and declares: “This is a holy place. Here is the finger of God’s special interference!” Consider what a degrading view of God this is! The place of darkness is conceived as an actual break in the order of the world and this break is supposed to be a special revelation of God! If we trust in truth, we need not shun the light of science and the God of science—in contradistinction to the pagan notion of God—reveals himself in the discoveries of science. God lives not in darkness but in light, and his existence is proved not through the breaks in nature (which we can be sure do not exist, and wherever they appear are due to our ignorance) but through the order of nature, for God _is_ the order of nature. God is that power through which we exist as living, thinking, and aspiring beings, and to which we have to conform in order to live.
When Darwin speaks of “life as having been originally breathed into a few forms or into one _by the Creator_,” he either uses allegorical language or he means that the beginning of life was an act of special creation. He apparently means the latter and is in this respect not a consistent evolutionist. Darwin was great as a reformer of natural science, but in theology he still stood upon the old standpoint. He calls God to rescue where science fails. The Creator did not originally breathe life into the organism, but his breath is constantly ensouling all living beings. Now suppose there were or there could be exceptions to the law of causation, to the conservation of matter and energy, or to the continuity of evolution, would that not rather be a drawback in nature? Are the patches on a coat better proof that it was made by a tailor than the whole coat? Any kind of theology which still recognises special-creation acts, or miracles, or breaks in evolution, we do not hesitate to say, is not yet free from paganism, for it still sticks to the religious conception of the medicine-man that God is a great magician. The God of the medicine-man lives in the realm of the unknown and he appears in man’s imagination where the light of science fails. The God of science however is the God of truth, and evidence of his existence is not found in the darkness of ignorance but in the light of knowledge. God’s being is not recognised in the seeming exceptions to natural laws, but in the natural laws themselves. God’s existence is not proved by our inability to trace here or there the order of cause and effect, as if a disorder in the world made it divine; on the contrary the only rational ground of a faith in God is the irrefragable cosmic order of the universe. It is true that we have to give up the idea of a personal God, but is not a superpersonal God greater than the idol which we have made unto our own likeness?
The God of science is perhaps more in agreement with the biblical God than the God of dogmatic theology. The interpretations of biblical passages which are at present generally considered as orthodox are (merely from the standpoint of impartial exegetics) untenable. The first chapter of Genesis has not one word about special-creation acts. Neither the Elohim nor the Jahveh-Adonai account declares that in the beginning there had been Nothing. Both accounts (Gen. Chap. I. 1 to II. 3, and II. 3 et seqq.) agree that God “shaped” the world. The word _barah_ (to shape, to form, to make) is nowhere used in the sense of creating out of nothing. The Psalmist says, “By the word of the Lord were the heavens made,” which was so interpreted in the New Testament that it meant “by the logos,” and the gospel of St. John adds καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος, i. e. and the word was God. Logos means rational speech or reason, and the world-reason through which the heavens were made can mean only the cosmic order of the universe. This idea of St. John’s thought out to its ultimate conclusions means monism.
There is a common error that scientific progress is dangerous to religion. Scientific progress is dangerous to superstition only. Religion (i. e. true religion) is not based upon our ignorance, but upon our knowledge; it is not a child of the darkness but of the light, and faith far from being a mere belief, i. e. the imperfect knowledge of an opinion for which no proof is forthcoming, is applied knowledge, it is knowledge plus the confidence that this knowledge can be made the basis of ethics and the supreme rule for regulating our conduct in life. The history of religion has been and is still a constant purification of our religious ideas, and the crucible in which the religious ideas are purified is science. We are slowly but constantly progressing toward a high religious ideal and this ideal is a cosmical religion free from the pagan notions so severely criticised by Christ and yet so carefully preserved by the Christian churches. This cosmical religion will be the religion of science. It will not consist of religious indifference nor of a toleration of any and every opinion as is so often erroneously proclaimed as the ideal of liberalism. On the contrary it will be in a certain sense the most orthodox religion, for its maxim will be to stand on the truth and nothing but the truth. And the truth is not at all indifferent or tolerant. The truth is extremely intolerant and suffers no error beside it, although, as a matter of course, the truth is very tolerant in so far as it sanctions no violence but employs only the spiritual sword of conviction by argument and logical proof.
We have given up the idea of special acts of creation as the calling forth disconnectedly of something out of nothing. We conceive the whole world as an orderly cosmos, well regulated by laws and evolving the forms of life in agreement with its laws. Is there less divinity in a cosmos than in a half chaotic world in which God makes exceptions and counteracts his own ordinances? Is the idea of creation less religious if it ceases to mean an origination of something out of nothing? Is not man at least just as wonderful if evolved step by step out of the dust of the earth through innumerable stages in the long process of evolution as if he were made directly out of clay? And is there less divinity in his soul, is he any less shaped unto the image of God because his growth took place according to natural laws? Natural laws, in the conception of purified religion, of the religion of science, are nothing but the ideas of God, eternal and immutable, and formulated by scientists not on the ground of special revelations but on the ground of the universal and unchangeable, and throughout consistent revelation of God in his works.
* * * * *
The science of language and the science of life are two important highroads to the cognition of truth. That both sciences will be consistent with each other, that their results will finally be seen to harmonise perfectly is beyond all doubt and also that their bearing upon religious ideas will contribute much to their purification. Prof. F. Max Müller and Prof. George John Romanes are two great scholars, each one is a leader in his own branch of knowledge, and where they come in conflict, it appears to us, that they rather complement than refute each other. Both are strong Monists, although emphasising different sides of Monistic truth and we feel convinced that their very differences will help us to elaborate more fully and clearly and more comprehensively the great truth of Monism—of that Monism which will more and more be recognised as the corner-stone of science and also of the religion of science.
EDITOR.
FOOTNOTES:
[10] Compare the article _The Origin of Thought-Forms_ in the present number, under the caption “Diverse Topics.”
[11] I should prefer to speak of the oneness or inseparableness of thought and language, but since Prof. Max Müller has sufficiently explained himself, I use here his term “identity” in the sense of inseparableness as it is used by Prof. Max Müller.
[12] _The Logos Theory_, by Ludwig Noiré. Translated from the German. _The Open Court_, iii. p. 2196. English translations of Noiré’s most important articles concerning the origin of language, have appeared in Nos. 33, 137, 139, 141, 142 of _The Open Court_.
[13] That ants communicate with each other through their antennæ is an undeniable fact. But Landois believes that they communicate also through sounds. Some ants possess in their stridulation-organ a kind of a rattle the sound of which, however, is perceptible to the human ear only in the Ponera ants.
[14] See _Three Lectures on the Science of Language_, p. 47. The Open Court Publishing Co., Chicago.
[15] Prof. Lloyd Morgan introduces several new terms, which seem well coined. The mental product which is called the object of sense he calls “construct”; the most prominent feature in a composite sense-image, he calls the “predominant”; and if the predominant is named and isolated by abstraction he calls it an “isolate.”
[16] An impartial criticism of Professor Romanes’s position has been made by Prof. Lloyd Morgan in his recent work _Animal Life and Intelligence_.
[17] This quotation is requoted from Prof. Lloyd Morgan, _Animal Life and Intelligence_, p. 325.
[18] _The origin of Mind_, in _The Monist_, Vol. I. No. I.
[19] L. c., p. 281. “So much about the subject or the monon. What now about the objects or the mona?”
[20] Prof. Max Müller is a great admirer of Kant and so am I. But it appears to me that we differ greatly in what we accept as the essential teachings of the master; and I grant willingly that Prof. Max Müller has preserved the doctrines of Kant more faithfully than I. I have attempted to modernise Kant. If I am called a Kantian (and I do not object to the name, on the contrary I am proud of it) it is because I proceed from Kant and I attempt to preserve the spirit of Kant’s philosophy rather than his doctrines. For the sake of the spirit of Kantian philosophy I have seen myself urged to surrender the idea of the thing-in-itself as something unknowable. Prof. Max Müller has preserved in his philosophy (for such is the _Science of Thought_) the Ding-an-sich theory. Believing in things-in-themselves he must consistently believe in a self or monon, for this monon is nothing but the thing-in-itself of the soul.
I have limited myself in the present article to the principle of continuity in evolution as a point of divergence between Prof. Max Müller and the views defended by _The Monist_. If I attempted at present to enter into the philosophical problem of things-in-themselves, I should be obliged to tax too much the patience of my readers. But as I am convinced that the reason of our difference with Prof. Max Müller concerning the continuity of evolution lies deeper still, I intend to treat the subject of things-in-themselves in a future number.
LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE
I.
FRANCE.—THE INTELLECTUAL AWAKENING OF THE LANGUE D’OC.
I have never seen mentioned in your periodical publications the _Revue des Pyrénées_; and perhaps I should never have heard of the periodical myself if I had not been in this interesting old city, and if my eye had not chanced on the title of one of the articles of a recent number advertised in a local journal. “Un Ariégeois sénateur des Etats-Unis d’Amérique: Pierre Soulé” was the title that attracted my attention and caused me to procure a copy, which I have found interesting in more ways than one.
The publication is a well-printed quarterly of 150 pages, and has completed some time since the second year of its existence. Its full title is as follows: _Revue des Pyrénées et de la France meridionale, Organe de l’Association Pyrénéenne et de l’union des Sociétés Savantes du Midi_. The founders of the periodical are the late JULIEN SACAZE, a savant much venerated in these parts, and DR. F. GARRIGOU, its present editor.
The Association Pyrénéenne, of which, as we have just seen, the _Revue_ is the organ, is an active and significant organisation. Here are some of its aims. While it recognises the greatness of the Capital, Paris, it advocates decentralisation, by “showing that workers living in the provinces are as capable as others, though enjoying less support and funds, to aid in the building up of the great scientific edifice of France.” The importance and boldness of this declaration can scarcely be appreciated by those who have not breathed for some time the excessively monopolistic atmosphere of the French capital, which has been so baneful to so many national interests. The Association would also act as a means of union between the various learned societies of the South, the Midi, and thus render it possible to organise an annual Congress “for the discussion and defense of the grand scientific, industrial, and commercial questions which concern Southern France.”
Here we see brought out still more precisely that rivalry between the South and North, characteristic of most nations, and which presents such curious aspects in the past and present history of France.
I never weary of quietly noting, while in the South, the delightful contempt which the _méridionaux_ show for their Parisian fellow countrymen. The other day at dinner, for instance, I heard a learned professor of one of the Southern Universities defending the Southern accent and preferring it to “the Parisian accent,” as he put it. But I would need pages of your space to develop this line of thought. Suffice it to say here that the Association Pyrénéenne and its organ the _Revue des Pyrénées_ intend to prove, and have succeeded in proving, if we may judge by this number of the _Revue_ and by the account of the proceedings of the first Congress of the Association, placed at the head of the number, that there are creditable savants and sound learning outside of the walls of Victor Hugo’s “Ville Lumière.”
Another object of the Association would be dear to Castelar’s heart. I give it in full: “To remove morally the grand Pyreneean curtain and to offer the hand of friendship to a nation justly proud of its past, whose interests touch our own, and which has the right, because of the illustrious sons of Catalonia, Aragon, and Navarre, to take part in an intellectual and Pyreneean association based on science.” This is a paraphrase of Louis XIV’s famous remark concerning the Pyrenees, when he placed his grandson on the throne of Spain. Nor can one be surprised at the strong affection which binds Southern France to the Iberian peninsula. The grand mountains, the “Pyreneean curtain,” which separate the two countries, are always in sight, their snow-capped peaks glittering in the sun; the various _patois_, especially the dialect of Pau, resemble the Spanish more than they do the French tongue; Spanish money is foisted on you at the shops, and picturesque Spanish mountaineers lend a peculiar charm to the country fairs, while the nation is ever on the eve of a pronunciamento, destined to give to Spain the republican institutions of France.
But to return to PIERRE SOULÉ who is the cause and starting point of this letter. Commandant Trespaillé’s eulogistic biographical sketch is of slight interest to American readers, who can find elsewhere a fuller and more exact account of the brilliant but rather disappointing career of the once famous Franco-Louisiana statesman. M. Trespaillé’s reference to “Old Hickory” as “the immortal Jackson,” his statement that the American people is full of prejudices against the French race, his metamorphosing New Hampshire’s only President into Pierre Francklin, and some other similar slips can be overlooked, for this essay offers a striking example of the dominant idea of the _Revue_, the Association and patriotic Southerners generally,—the glorification of the great men and great actions of the sunny South, the “Midi ensoleillé.”
And I must admit, foreigner though I am, that I share much of this enthusiasm for persons and things meridional, and especially for the latter. What a land this is for historical and archæological study! Take this number of the _Revue des Pyrénées_, for instance; it is full of it. Here, for example, are the titles of three of the papers read at the first Congress of the Association Pyrénéenne, to which Congress I referred above: “The Domitian Road from Narbonne to Perpignan,” “The Third Century School of Sculpture in Southern Gaul,” and “The Roman Road from Narbonne to Carcassonne.” There are several articles in the _Revue_ about the University of Toulouse, which is stated to be the oldest in France after that of Paris, having been founded in 1229, more than two hundred and fifty years before the discovery of America. The law school even antedates 1229 and its foundation is lost in the obscurity of the early centuries of the Christian era. Another article begins the publication of a list of the professors at the law school. The first recorded name dates from 1251. When one finds such themes as these on every hand, Rome, Gaul, the Middle Ages, and feudalism become almost living realities. And how inexhaustibly rich Languedoc is in these reminders of the distant past.
And the patois or dialects of this part of France are not the least ancient and interesting subjects for study. Wonder is often expressed that the English of America differs so slightly from the English of England, with three thousand miles of ocean separating the two countries. The wonder increases when you find that here in Languedoc the same patois differs in some particulars from town to town. Let me first mention some big differences and then touch upon some minor ones. If you take the train which leaves Toulouse at about half past eleven in the morning, you will arrive at Pau at half past four. During these five hours on a pretty slow train you have passed from one patois to another. The lower classes of Toulouse cannot understand the lower classes of Pau. And if you continue in the same train, at about half past eight you reach Mauléon, in the French Basque Provinces, where the populace of neither Toulouse nor Pau could carry on a conversation with the populace of Mauléon. Thus a nine hours’ ride of about 175 miles on an accommodation train carries you through a region where French is the vernacular of the educated classes and is the official language, but where the great mass of the population is divided into three groups, each speaking a different dialect.
The modifications which the same patois undergoes in neighboring localities is not less curious though of course not so radical. Roughly speaking it may be said that the same patois is spoken from Montpellier to Bordeaux and from Toulouse well up into the centre of France, which embraces the region where prevailed the Langue d’oc from which the present patois is derived. But, while a peasant could make himself understood throughout this wide territory, his ear would often be perplexed by more than one strange word and phrase. I was once told on the Riviera that the patois of Menton differed considerably from that of Nice and that this was particularly the case before the construction of the Corniche road and the railway, when a denizen of the former place could reach the latter city only by doubling Cape Martin under sail. I do not know how true this statement is, but I believe it to be correct, after a superficial study on these same lines which I have just made in the Department of the Tarn, one of the most isolated portions of Upper Languedoc. I find that the patois of towns as near together, as are New York, Newark, Patterson, Nyack and Tarrytown, for example, differs, not, perhaps, in its construction but in its vocabulary. Let me give some examples. Thus, potato, which is _truffet_ at Cordes, becomes _truffo_ at Castres. _Patano_, the word employed in the South East end of the Department is also heard at Castres, but never at Cordes, which is in the North West end of the Department, Castres being about in the centre. Dog is _cagnot_ and _cô_ at Cordes, and _gous_ at Castres. (At Montpellier, in a contiguous Department it is _tschi_, while at Pau they say _can_, which approaches very near the Latin.) Pig is _pourcel_ at Castres and _tessou_ at Cordes. Broom _engranicro_ at Castres and _balatso_ at Cordes. I have also noted the following difference between the Tarn patois and that of Pau. The _f_ of the former always becomes an aspirated _h_ in the latter. Thus, _femo_, woman (Castres) is _henno_ at Pau; _fourco_, pitchfork (Castres) _hourco_ (Pau); _foun_ fountain (Castres) _houn_ (Pau).
A comparison of this patois with the French as regards the spelling of geographical names reveals a fact that would somewhat dampen the ardor of our friend Colonel Shephard, of New York, in his effort to force the gazeteers to give geographical names as they are written in the countries where they are found. One might have thought that such near neighbors as the Langue d’oil and the Langue d’oc would have come to some rational understanding on this point and that the Ile-de-France would have accepted the spelling of Languedoc. But not so. The towns and rivers of this part of France look as different in French and patois printed pages and sound as differently when pronounced by educated and peasant mouths, as do the towns and rivers of Italy when seen in Italian and English books or when spoken by Americans and Italians. Thus Toulouso became Toulouse; Castros, Castres; Dourgnos, Dourgne; Carcassouno, Carcassonne; Narbouno, Narbonne; Billofranco, Villefranche; Labaou, Lavaur; Bibiers, Viviers; Boou, Vour; Abrayrou, Aveyron; Cordos, Cordes, etc.
These patois, these dialects of the old Langue d’oc, are awakening just now increasing interest in the literary circles of the Midi, for it is only within recent years that the French has appeared to threaten their extinction. The spread of the railroad system and especially the wide development of the primary school since the advent of the Third Republic, are dealing deadly blows at these popular dialects. But they are still far from moribund. I have frequently been told that even to-day one stumbles now and then on old peasants living up in the isolated Black Mountain, a spur of the Cévennes, and which divides Upper from Lower Languedoc, who cling to _oc_, although _obe_ or _ope_, or the French _oui_ and _si_, are the common affirmative particles of the patois.
It has often happened to me when taking a constitutional to ask my way and discover that I am addressing a person who neither understands nor speaks French, though, as a rule, all peasants understand French and the vast majority can speak the language too, but after a rather sorry fashion. A foreigner finds at least one comfort in all this: in Languedoc he uses the national tongue more correctly than thousands of native born Frenchmen! Nor is the knowledge of patois confined to the peasantry or the working classes of the towns. The _bourgeoisie_, with exceedingly rare exceptions, are quite at home in it, and the children of the nobility often prattle with their peasant nurse more easily in patois than in the polished speech of their parents. During a political campaign, it is a very common thing for a would-be deputy to address country voters in their familiar dialect, thereby gaining the favor not alone of the _félibres_; while, during this same period of electoral excitement, the local papers publish almost daily editorials written in patois. In hundreds of rural churches the short sermon after early mass is preached in patois, and many a time I have found myself turning with surprise when I heard French spoken in the streets of Languedocian towns of considerable size.
There was a time when the government and the ruling classes of Languedoc itself strove to eradicate these dialects and to substitute French for them. The aim was a patriotic one; greater national unity, it was believed, would thus be secured. But that period has gone by, and at present there is a strong tendency to preserve from destruction these linguistic souvenirs of a rapidly fading past. What the enthusiastic _félibres_ would do for Provençal, they and their disciples and imitators in Languedoc would do for the dialects of South Western France. At the Congrès d’Etudes Languedociennes, held recently at Montpellier, one of the members proposed that the French language should be taught in the primary schools through the medium of the langue d’oc. The suggestion is not so chimerical as it appears to be at first blush, for one of the greatest and never-ending difficulties of the country schoolmaster in this part of France is to teach his scholars the three R’s by means of the French, which is a foreign tongue to ninety-nine out of a hundred of them. One is not surprised, therefore, to find that one of the resolutions passed by this same Congress takes up the plan proposed in the paper just referred to, and declares in favor of “the utilisation of the langue d’oc for teaching French in the primary schools.”
At a recent sitting of the General Council of the Bordeaux University a resolution was passed calling for the creation of a chair of “Southern languages.” In explanation of this term, the _Gironde_, the leading Bordeaux newspaper, says: “Besides giving instruction in Spanish, one of the labors of the professor would be to teach our South Western dialects in which the most important historical documents of this part of the country were drawn up during several centuries.” The editor then goes on to say: “If the State does not feel able to found this chair, will not some private individual come forward and imitate the example of James E. Clark, who recently established at Worcester, Mass., a university endowed with a capital of $12,500,000?”
Speaking of primary schools reminds me of a curious fact which has frequently attracted my attention in Languedoc this winter. In no other part of France perhaps was it so common for a town to grow up around a castle; for this region was terribly harried by the Wars of Religion, and the poor peasants were forced to seek the protection of some lord. In order to render them more impregnable, these castles were generally built on some high hill. So now one sees on every hand decaying hamlets surrounding ruined castles left almost deserted on the very crown of some pyramidal mount, while the busy town of to-day has descended to the more accessible base of the hill. But since the advent of the Third Republic and the grand impetus given to primary instruction, these abandoned castles have taken a new lease of life, and been converted into school buildings. The other day during an hour’s drive in Upper Languedoc I saw two of these old useless feudal piles consecrated to popular nineteenth century education. What a train of reflections is thus suggested! Within the very same walls where some proud ignorant seignior once lorded it over his humble vassals, the descendants of these serfs, still speaking the tongue of their oppressed ancestors, but enjoying all the liberties then usurped by their masters, are now being instructed in branches of knowledge of which the feudal knight had scarcely an inkling. What a revolution was that of ’89!
THEODORE STANTON.
II.
GERMANY.—RECENT PUBLICATIONS IN THE DOMAIN OF PATHOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY.
The science of anthropology claims, as we know, to have discovered, that the various epochs of history are marked not only by characteristic religious, political, social, and literary conditions, but not unfrequently also by particular forms of disease; and it is the opinion of eminent medical authorities that nervous and mental diseases constitute the “pathological feature” of modern civilisation. This, of course, is not to be understood as meaning that diseases of this character have not appeared in previous epochs, but simply that they occur with unusual frequency at the present day and in unusually grave forms.
A book treating of the affliction of the age ought to count on a large circle of readers, and it will be all the more deserving of such if it thoroughly and skilfully fulfils its purpose of holding up the mirror to the time and of imparting the light and advice required in this matter. This has been done in an excellent manner by the work of the Bremen alienist Dr. SCHOLZ, entitled _Die Diätetik des Geistes—Ein Führer zu praktischer Lebensweisheit_, which has just appeared in its second and enlarged edition, Leipsic, E. H. Mayer. This book is distinguished from the majority of similar recent publications intended for a greater public by its relative thoroughness. It must be characterised as thorough and comprehensive, also, in comparison with the older and more celebrated work, which its title at once suggests, FEUCHTERLEBEN’S _Diätetik der Seele_. The character of the book is not “purely psychological,” overlooking the high importance of the influence of the body, as was the case with Beneke; nor does it lean towards the moralising of a Heinroth and Ideler; nor does the author treat his subject from an exclusively medical point of view: the work, in fact, is anthropological in character. Its contents possess chiefly in two respects great interest: (1) from a universal human point of view, in that it affords us a glance into the awful abysses of life, in the company of an expert guide who tells us how these depths are to be avoided, or at least gives consolation to those whose way leads necessarily through them; and (2) from a pedagogical point of view, in that it directs attention to the heredity of the morbid constitutions and abnormalities that oppose obstacles to education or may become such if improperly treated.
It is obvious that morbid mental dispositions must be taken into account in all work of education and instruction, if we wish to avoid an egregious violation of the universally recognised requirement to regard individuality. And from this point of view the book of Dr. Scholz will awaken in readers who have anything to do at all with education, the desire to learn more about the nature of morbid mental life in the young than is presented in this treatise destined for a large public.
Such a wish would have had to remain unsatisfied six years ago, when the _Diätetik des Geistes_ first appeared. It is true, English physicians particularly, like West, Conolly, Maudsley, and others, had a long time previously directed attention to the morbid phenomena of infant psychic life, but their work, like that of their French and German professional associates, lies buried in medical magazines and volumes not easily accessible. The first to apply himself to the work needed in this condition of affairs was Professor EMMINGHAUS, who digested and collected all the material, thus supplied, in a compendious work bearing the title _Die psychischen Störungen des Kindesalters_, Tübingen, Laupp, 1887. The fact indeed is not to be left unrecognised that the book, in so far as it may be used by those who have not had a medical training, possesses two defects,—defects, however, for which the author cannot be censured. In the first place, it is intended for physicians only, and is therefore, on account of the many technical terms it uses, at times not uniformly intelligible. To the serious student, however, who possesses the previous psychological and physiological knowledge most indispensable, it presents no difficulties of too great magnitude. The second defect likewise springs from the purpose of the work. It consists in the fact that, excepting a few occasional references and hints, the pedagogical aspect of the question is not considered. Pedagogists, here, are confronted with a problem which must be solved, and of which the solution will certainly not be a thankless task. The writer of these lines has approached one aspect of this question in a treatise of his entitled _Nervosität and Mädchenerziehung_, Wiesbaden, 1890, in the course of which study he has arrived at the conviction that an important factor is lacking in modern pedagogics and the training of teachers. This conviction he has put into words in another treatise, _Geistesstörungen in der Schule_, Wiesbaden, 1891, with what success it remains for the future to say.
Two years after the appearance of Emminghaus’s work a translation was published in Germany of a French book of a similar character. _Der Irrsin im Kindesalter_, by Dr. PAUL MOREAU, authorised edition by Dr. Demetrio Galatti, Stuttgart, 1889, Ferdinand Enke, publisher. Unfortunately, Moreau, as his own preface reveals, did not know, when he wrote his book, of the existence of the German work,—a circumstance that has not been without regrettable consequences. Taken in conjunction with the work of Emminghaus, however, Moreau’s book possesses, on account of the numerous morbid cases it gives, a high value; although it cannot bear comparison with the former work in richness of material and familiarity with the literature of the subject, and much less so in the psychological treatment of the subject, where Emminghaus is incomparably subtler and more profound.
A treatise that is closely related, in point of subject-matter, on the one hand to the works of Emminghaus and Moreau, and on the other to the books of Preyer (_Die Seele des Kindes_) and Pérez (_Les trois premières années de l’enfant_ and _L’enfant de trois à sept ans_) on the development of children, has just been published by a Leipsic teacher under the title of _Die Periodicität in der Entwickelung der Kindesnatur_, _Neue Gesichtspunkte für Kinderforschung und Jugenderziehung_, by GUSTAV SIEGERT, Leipsic, 1891, R. Voigtländer. The author endeavors, in a very interesting manner we must admit, to show that, in the development of the child, lasting states in regular alternate succession occur of mental and physical buoyancy on the one hand and depression on the other, of moral exaltation, likewise, and moral subsidence. The fundamental cause of this periodical alternation, of the general existence of which numerous proofs are adduced, is supposed to lie in the alternate strengthening and relaxation of the individual’s forces of action, brought on by the expenditure and reproduction of energy; additional determinative causes, accelerative as well as retardatory, are found in intercourse with the world and with other human beings. We may call the former the individual and the latter the social cause of the phenomena of periodicity. In the application of his results to juvenile education the author arrives at some far-reaching propositions of reform, the consideration of which, however, we shall have to leave to the pedagogical press.
We shall have to preserve the same attitude with regard to a new work of the well-known Leipsic professor Dr. STRUMPELL—_Die pädogogische Pathologie oder die Lehre von den Fehlern der Kinder_, Leipsic, 1890, Verlag von Georg Böhme Nachfolger. We must refer here to this otherwise highly deserving book only in one respect, where we have occasion for censure. The author does not in his expositions sufficiently take account of the intimate connection between physical and mental phenomena, and the consequence of this is among other things that he excludes pathological mental conditions (the physical causes of which he is forced to admit) as a matter of principle from the pedagogic system and consigns them entirely into the charge of the physician. In our treatise mentioned we have explained why this is not allowable, as well as, in addition, what portion of duty devolves on the teacher in the consideration of these pathological mental conditions. Strumpell’s mistake springs from the fact that he conceives with Herbart the essential object of education to be intellectual culture. Allowing that Herbart cannot be taken to task for entertaining this conception, we may yet demand of Strumpell the recognition of the results of recent physiological psychology to the extent at least of perceiving that psychical and physical phenomena are _one_ if not the _same_. Even the opponents of Monism dare not overlook this truth,—a truth moreover that admits very well of reconciliation with the Herbartian pluralism to which Strumpell is devoted.
We might cite here numerous pathological conditions of mind that very plainly spring from physical causes and to which the instructor has to give attention just as much as the physician. Instead, however, of citing particular cases, we will refer to three little treatises that are in the highest degree instructive on this point, not only for teachers exclusively but also for all who have to do with children. Dr. MAXIMILIAN BRESGEN, specialist in diseases of the nose and throat at Frankfort on the Main, has published at the house of Leopold Voss in Hamburg (1890) a brochure entitled _Ueber die Bedeutung behinderter Nasenathmung nebst besonderer Berücksichtigung der daraus hervorgehenden Gedächtniss- und Geistesschwäche_. A treatise of like character is that of Dr. med. LENZMANN of Duisburg, entitled _Ueber den schädlichen Einfluss der behinderten Nasenathmung auf die körperliche und geistige Entwickelung des Kindes_, Bielefeld, 1890, Anders Verlag. Both treatises contain, among other things not to be considered here, instructive examples of the rise and disappearance of that morbid mental condition to which Hack first directed notice in Germany but which elsewhere became known through the researches of the Dutch physician Guye by the name of _Aprosesia nasalis_. The third treatise is by Dr. med. RALF WIECHMANN, specialist for nervous diseases at Brunswick, and bears the title _Eine sogenannte Veitstanzepidemie in Wildbad_, Leipsic, 1890, Verlag von Georg Thieme. By St. Vitus’s dance (Ger. _Veitstanz_) we understand the disease of which the well-known symptoms are involuntary muscular twitchings usually accompanied by severe or light psychical disturbances, known in medicine by the name of _chorea minor_ and _chorea rhythmica_, and sometimes occurring in epidemics. At the school in Wildbad the number of the afflicted children rose in the course of time to twenty-six. Wiechmann expatiates at length in his book on the character of the contagion, and arrives through an exhaustive use of the existing literature on the subject at the result, that there was present in the individual children attacked substantially a physical predisposition, an unstable nervous system. As the first children attacked were not removed, the convulsive motions were seen and perceptually taken up by the other children, who were just approaching the period of puberty and labored under hereditary predispositions. “Once these images had entered perceptually into the unstable brain, they became competent to operate as stimuli and to be translated into involuntary muscular motions.”
The conclusion of my letter may be taken up with the discussion of a treatise that deserves a somewhat more detailed consideration. The director of the Royal Würtembergian State Insane Asylum at Zwiefalten, Dr. F. L. A. Koch, who already possesses eminent repute in the domain of psychiatry, has just published the first part of a new work called _Die psychopathischen Minderwertigkeiten—Erste; Abteilung: Einleitung, Die angeborenen andauernden psychopathischen Minderwertigkeiten_, Ravensburg, 1891, Verlag von Otto Maier. In this work the author extends the development of the ideas he some time previously outlined in his _Rudiments of Psychiatry_, second edition, 1889. In the expression “psychopathische Minderwertigkeiten” (psychopathical secondary factors) Koch embraces all those psychical irregularities, be they natural or acquired, affecting the life of the human personality, which though in the severest cases even not amounting to actual mental disorders, yet in the most favorable instances so affect the persons afflicted with them that they appear as lacking the full possession of mental normality and capacity. Primarily, of course, the treatise is intended for physicians, and the author counts on the gratitude of this profession in so far as he has undertaken to put in independent form the separate facts formerly scattered over the whole domain of psychiatry, to free them from other neuro- and psycho-pathological subjects, and to unite them into one special group of pathological states. But the author also counts on his book being used by the representatives of other professions, by pastors, tutors, teachers, jurists, sociologists, historians, and the like, and indeed with perfect justice.
The savers of souls, if they had mastered to a slight degree even the comprehension of the psychopathical secondary factors, would be astonished to see how many people there are in the case of whom medicine is more effective against “spiritual” vexations than pastoral advice, and that often such advice, being one-sided and starting from false assumptions, does harm only. They would see in the peculiarity of the religious needs and tribulations of many a man a psycho-pathological abnormality; they would come to understand how the otherwise unintelligible badness of many another has its source in a pathological basis: they would not regard and hail as absolutely good, moreover, many “good impulses”;—all this they would find out if they had learned to note and comprehend what the import is of such persons being descended from neurotic ancestors, of their exhibiting palpable indications of degeneration, and having also perhaps insane, idiotic, whimsical, and epileptical brothers and sisters. They would furthermore perfectly comprehend, that in the case of people who are descended from healthy parents, but who from being in times past happy and joyful Christians are now struggling with distractions of soul, it were often better first to inquire after the state of their organs of digestion. And they would be able to deal quite differently from formerly with many a soul entrusted to their care, perhaps also more easily to conquer, or at least to endure, some secret burden of their own lives. The import of the book for the educator is easily inferrible from the remarks made. For the jurist, who has to deal with the problems of accountability and the administering of punishment, its importance is manifest. Sociology, too, the deeper it enters into its problems, will not be able to dispense with psychopathology, and in this field it is precisely the psychopathical secondary factors that eminently demand attention. In that which concerns its connection with history we need only mention the names of Lombroso, Emminghaus (_Allgemeine Psychopathologie_) and Möbius (_Rousseaus Krankheitsgeschichte_), to point out the importance of a work like that before us. We recommend it without reserve to all whom it touches.
CHR. UFER.
Altenburg, July, 1891.
ÉMILE LITTRÉ.
Some debts there are that make the debtor proud; So ours to him, who could philosophise With common-sense, and sweep from starry skies The brain-spun webs that darken like a cloud.
We loved him, for his highest thoughts avowed Our own akin and less than ours allies; Born of the common soil but born to rise And light the labor of the laurel-browed.
Justice he traced to truth; morality, Back to the brutish primal needs of man; And stood himself for all the best might be.
He wrought in words, a faithful artisan; And lived to shame their loutish mockery Whose virtue ended where his own began.
LOUIS BELROSE, JR.
DIVERSE TOPICS.
THE ORIGIN OF THOUGHT-FORMS.
Dr. H. Potonié, the editor of the _Naturwissenschaftliche Wochenschrift_, Berlin, advances in one of its recent numbers (Vol. vi. 15) the following proposition concerning the origin of the forms of thought: “All the forms of thought have originated in the struggle for life not otherwise than the forms of organisms.” This is further explained in the following sentence: “Those conceptions which are called _a priori_, are inherited; they have been necessarily used by the primitive thinking organisms and are now in their disposition immediately present. Yet they have been gained by experience. Without any knowledge, for instance, of space and time, no action is possible; accordingly their conception is perhaps the oldest and therefore it appears aprioristic.”
I. THOUGHT-FORMS AND THE FORMS OF EXISTENCE.
We agree with Dr. Potonié that thought-forms grow naturally and that they grow such as they are, of necessity. In our opinion formal thought, with its so-called _a priori_ theorems, is derived from the thought-forms by abstraction. (See “Fundamental Problems” pp. 26-60, the chapter Form and Formal Thought.) If it had been possible for other thought-forms to have originated together with those which we possess at present, and it may be parenthetically remarked that we do not consider it as possible; but _if_ it had been possible, we do not deny that all the other thought-forms would have gone to the wall, they would have perished in the struggle for existence and our present thought-forms alone would have survived. In this we agree with Dr. Potonié, and a naturalist may be satisfied with this statement, because it suffices for his purposes. The recognition of the objective validity of the laws of formal thought is all that the specialist wants for this or that branch of science. But this recognition is not sufficient for the philosopher. He has to understand the problem why the subjective laws of purely formal thought possess an absolute and an objective validity for the world of real existences. He must understand not only how thought-forms originated, but also why and on what ground the laws of formal thought are considered as necessary and universal truths. The question of their origin and growth is of secondary importance compared with the question of their rigidity and apriority.
Mr. Herbert Spencer has made the same proposition as Dr. Potonié and his view briefly expressed is this: “The laws of formal thought are _a priori_ to the individual, but _a posteriori_ to the race.” In other words apriority must be explained by heredity. A dog cannot count, because none of his ancestors have ever counted, but a child has the faculty to learn counting because innumerable ancestors of his have counted and his brain possesses a predisposition to learn counting easily. Concerning our apprehension of space-relations which expressed as mathematical theorems appear to us necessary and are called _a priori_, Mr. Spencer says:
“We cannot think otherwise because during that adjustment between the organism and the environment which evolution has established, the inner relations have been so moulded upon the outer relations that they cannot by any effort be made not to fit them. Just in the same way that an infant’s hand, constructed so as to grasp by bending the fingers inwards, implies ancestral hands which have thus grasped, and implies objects in the environment to be thus grasped by this infantine hand when it is developed, so the various structures fitting the infant for apprehension of space-relations, imply such apprehensions in the past by its ancestors and in the future by itself.”
Man’s ability to learn counting is inherited, and there may be more or less of it in different people. Mathematical talent is inherited just as much as musical talent or other faculties. But the philosophical question concerning the apriority of mathematical theorems has nothing whatever to do with the origin of mathematical talent. When Mr. Spencer declares that apriority is but an inherited aposteriority, this is equivalent and is intended to be equivalent to an actual denial of all apriority. His very explanation proves that he does not see the real problem, and in the same way Dr. Potonié overlooks it entirely. The philosophical problem of the apriority is not an historical problem, it cannot be solved by tracing the evolution of thought-forms. The philosopher does not ask how did thought-forms originate, but why do we attribute to the laws of formal thought necessity and universality and on what ground can we justify our assumption?
Mr. Spencer compares our apprehension of space-relations to our inherited habit to grasp with our hands and to walk with our feet. This comparison is misleading and inappropriate. That we grasp with our hands and walk with our feet is incidental. There are animals who have developed other limbs for the same purposes. There are monkeys who grasp with their tails and the elephant grasps with his nose. There is no necessity and no universality in our predisposition of grasping with our hands. Yet there resides necessity and universality in the laws of formal thought so that wherever animals develop rational thought we are sure that to them twice two will always equal four just as much as it does to us. However they may be different in other respects: they may be winged creatures or may be somewhat like our ants, they may have developed other bodily structures than we can dream of, nevertheless their arithmetic, their logic, and their mathematics will in all essentials be exactly the same as ours. There are animals whose thought-forms are not as highly developed as in man, but there are no animals in whom they are developed differently. We must consider it as impossible even that on other stars rational creatures can be found whose reason differs from ours. To them also twice two will be four.
II. THE PROBLEM OF APRIORITY.
Kant did not call the formal laws _a priori_ in order to characterise them as innate ideas, but simply to denote that their validity is necessary and universal. If I have to walk twice a distance of two miles, I know “beforehand” (i. e. _a priori_) that I shall have to walk four miles—even before I have made the actual experience. And this wonderful quality of giving information beforehand is characteristic of all the laws of formal thought. It is certain that our ability of applying the laws of formal thought has been acquired by experience in the race as well as in the individual. But their necessity has to do with experience in so far only as its recognition is the indispensable condition of all methodical experience—i. e. of science. The laws of formal thought and our recognition of their necessity and universality (alias, “apriority”) are the organ of any and all scientific cognition. The methods of the sciences are exact measuring and counting based upon the faith that the laws of measuring and counting are unalterable and unfailingly reliable. We know beforehand that they will hold good for all possible cases.
Our experience of millenniums suffices to prove that the laws of formal thought agree with the laws of actual existence, and Kant’s view to consider them as merely subjective and not objective appears to me untenable. We may fairly consider Kant’s subjectivism as a thing of the past. And the agreement of the forms of objectivity with the forms of subjectivity is easily explained when we bear in mind that the thinking subject is a part of the objective world. It is but natural that the forms of existence are impressed upon the thinking subject as forms of thought.
Yet the question of the necessity and universality of the laws of form remains. Can we comprehend why the form of objective reality as well as of subjective thought must be such as they are, and might they not just as well be different? Is this question legitimate and can it be answered? We say Yes, the question is legitimate and can be answered.
All the laws of formal thought are products of thought-operations which are based on no other principle than that of identity (_A_ = _A_). As soon as thinking beings have developed to that degree of thought-ability in which they are able to deal with the abstract idea of pure form, they can make constructions of pure forms. So long as these constructions of pure forms are made consistently and correctly (i. e. in strict agreement with the principle of identity), they will be found to hold good in reality and we can _a priori_—before we have made the actual experience—rely on their applicability.
The laws of pure forms (forms of thought as well as forms of existence) can satisfactorily be proved to anyone who acknowledges the principle of identity. The principle of identity is not an assumption but it is the generalised statement of the simplest thought-operation, which, if employed with consistency, can serve as a rule for other and more complex thought-operations. Consistency is the condition of thought. Consistency produces order, and order is the most characteristic feature of thought. We create some pure form in some definite way, for instance in counting we posit a unit (we call it “one”). Now we create in the same definite way again a pure form, we again posit a unit (we again call it “one”). In so far as these two “ones” are the product of the same operation they will be the same and we express this truth in the sentence 1 = 1 or _A_ = _A_.
When, for the sake of assistance in the process of abstract thought, we use real objects to represent our pure forms, similarly as an abacus is employed for assisting the young mind of a child in learning arithmetic, the dissimilarity of the objects is of no account. The proposition of their identity has no reference to the material objects, but to the operation. Two operations being according to some special and definite method exactly the same, their products are also exactly the same, and the rest is not to be minded, because we have in our abstraction purposely excluded everything else.
Here is not the place to show the palpable advantages of the methods of abstract thought and especially of the abstract thought-operations with pure forms. It is sufficient to characterise its main principle of procedure. We may also parenthetically remark that from our position we are no longer in need of axioms either in mathematics or in any other formal science. The data of formal sciences are certain mental operations, viz. positing pure forms, and combining, separating, and recombining them. The subject matter of formal sciences consists in the products of these operations. To formulate some of the simplest products in axioms is a mistake which has been pointed out by Hermann Grassmann in his _Ausdehnungslehre_.
We are struck and overawed with the cosmic order of all natural phenomena which, as science teaches, is produced through the rigidity of the formal laws of existence. The planetary system with its regularity of motion which in spite of its many complications has been formulated by Kepler in most simple laws is an object of wonder to us. This order of nature is the same order as the grand harmony that prevails in mathematics and all the other formal sciences. The most complicated laws of both, forms of nature and forms of thought, are nothing but generalisations of special applications of the principle of identity in some kind of action that takes place. While the order of the objective world excites our wonder we can understand the order of the subjective world of thought-forms and know that, being the product of certain mental operations according to the principle of identity, it must be a matter of course. Thus the intrinsic necessity of the laws of our thought-forms gives us a clue to the intrinsic necessity of the laws of nature.
III. CONSERVATION OF MATTER AND ENERGY, AND CAUSATION.
The law of the conservation of matter and energy is nothing but an application of the principle of identity to nature as a whole. And the law of cause and effect is again a corollary only of the law of the conservation of matter and energy. The law of causation is a formula which maintains that there is identity in difference. Some motion produces a change of form. There is accordingly a different state after the motion than before. Yet the total amount of matter and energy remains the same. This is the identity in the change. David Hume and with him John Stuart Mill and the empiricists misunderstood the problem of causation. Instead of considering cause and effect as one continuous process that should be analysed, they considered cause and effect separately and attempted a synthesis. In addition to this mistake, causes as well as effects were defined to be objects. Hume says cause and effect are objects following one another. Cause however is a process; it is a motion, a change that takes place, an event that happens; it is not a thing. And effect is the product of such a process. Effect is a special form, a special state of things, a special configuration, but not the material of which this configuration consists. A certain poison introduced into the stomach of a living being produces certain motions in the bowels, called cramps, which may finally prove fatal. One change produces other changes and their product is a new state of things which is accompanied with pain and ends in death. It is wrong to call strychnine the cause and a dead mouse the effect. But if we call strychnine the cause and a dead mouse the effect, we must forever despair of solving the problem of causation by a reduction to the principle of identity, for strychnine is not at all identical with a dead mouse. No cause is the same thing as its effect, and we can by no means identify cause and effect. And yet the principle of identity holds good. The identity in causation is the conservation of matter and energy in a change of form.
It has been maintained that the law of cause and effect could never be proved; it is either an innate idea prior to experience (Schopenhauer and Schopenhauer’s interpretation of Kant) or it is an assumption derived from experience of which (since experience is not as yet exhausted) we cannot know whether it will hold good forever (J. S. Mill). In contradistinction to these views we maintain, that the law of cause and effect can satisfactorily be proved to anyone who accepts the principle of identity. So far as the principle of identity is recognised, all the formal laws are unequivocally determined, or popularly expressed they are as they are, they will remain so and cannot be otherwise, they are necessary. All the determining factors and also the procedure of an operation are set forth, no unforeseen events are possible, for the non-formal elements are excluded, and therefore the result will be in one case just as it is in any other. Thus it can _a priori_ be stated that formal laws will always hold good.
The question has been raised: Whether or not our knowledge of the apriority of formal laws is independent of experience. We answer: In a certain sense it is dependent upon experience, in another it is not. Historically and evolutionarily it is dependent upon experience. A store of innumerable experiences has to be gained before a rational creature will be able to make the abstraction of pure forms. As soon as this stage is attained, man possesses a world in himself. He can now experiment within himself with mental images, for instance with numbers: he can calculate. His mental operations with pure form are called “pure thought” and “pure thought” is now opposed to “experience through the senses.” The word “experience” accordingly is used in two ways; it has a broad and a narrow meaning. In its broad sense it means any acquisition of knowledge generally, in its narrow sense it means knowledge acquired through the sense-activity alone. Our knowledge of the apriority of formal laws rests upon experience in its broad sense, but not upon experience in its narrow sense. We can never derive the idea of necessity from sense-impressions. John Stuart Mill in rejecting innate ideas saw no other way than to derive the formal laws from experience (taking here experience in the broad sense). Yet he did not make a distinction between formal thought and sense-experience. He considered the nature of sense-experience as typical for all experience. And thus, again, taking experience in the narrow sense of the term, he was from his premises perfectly justified in rejecting the idea of necessity. If the process of cause and effect is really a synthesis of two things represented in two different sense-impressions following each other, then indeed we have no guarantee that the same sequences will always be observed; and there may be worlds in which the law of causality does not operate. Mill saw all the consequences of his mistake, he conceded freely that we are not justified in assuming that twice two will always be four: many thousands of experiences are in its favor, but we cannot be at all sure that no case will ever happen in which twice two makes five.
The ideas of causality and of the conservation of matter and energy are not derived from experience in the narrow sense of the word, not from sense-experience, but from experience in the wider sense of the word, i. e. from sense-experience arranged with the assistance of formal laws. We should not forget that mere sense-experience exists only in our abstract thought. In reality all sense-experience is relational, it is inseparable from its form. Form and the laws of form are not something purely mental which is transferred to the world of reality, form is something real, it is objective, it is a quality of the facts and the thought-forms of mind are a part and a product of the formal structure of the universe.
The ideas of causation and of the conservation of matter and energy are not prior to experience, they are a part of experience, i. e. experience in the wider sense. They are not part of the sense-experience, but the results of our experiments with purely formal thought-operations, and being the vital instrument or organ of cognition they are the condition of all methodical experience.
IV. WHY IS MR. MILL’S PROPOSITION UNTENABLE?
In practical life we all expect that 2 × 2 will under all circumstances make 4, and not 5. We reject Mr. Mill’s idea that there may be even a possibility of the latter. Is our expectancy really due to _a posteriori_ experience which having been repeated so often in the lives of our ancestors is now so firmly rooted in our minds that we imagine it to be necessary and _a priori_? No! certainly not. The experiences of our race in the struggle for life has produced our ability of thought, but it has nothing to do with the apriority of the products of formal thought-operations. A statement of formal thought such as “twice two makes four,” cannot be compared to statements of sense-experience such as that sugar has a sweet taste. There may be a moment in which the taste of sugar will be bitter to our tongue. This is quite possible. But to say that twice two might in the future or in any other world, as Mr. Mill maintains, make five is nonsensical, and the possibility of this assumption cannot be placed in one line with the possibilities of extraordinary and exceptional sense-experiences.
What does “twice two makes four” mean? Two means 1 + 1, and twice two means 1 + 1 plus 1 + 1. This sum is called “four”; and what we call five is 4 + 1. To maintain that the operation 2 × 2 might produce the result 5, is to admit conditions which have been excluded. Pure forms are not like animals which multiply; they are and remain such as they have been posited. When we put two amœbas into a glass and then add two other amœbas, it is quite possible that in the mean time one of the first set has divided into two. In that case we would have five amœbas. But the operation 2 × 2 cannot breed any additional units, so as to produce a greater number than the sum of 1 + 1 + 1 + 1. Nor can we let any of these units disappear into naught, so as to produce the result 3, without committing some inconsistency in our thought-operations, for the products of our thought-operations are rigid and must remain such as they have been posited. They are not animals blessed with fertility but pure forms and nothing but pure forms.
How could Mr. John Stuart Mill overlook so palpable a contrast as that between formal knowledge and sense-experience? He was apparently prejudiced against the term “a priori,” which as we freely confess is a very poor and inadequate expression. Mr. Mill himself states the cause of his prejudice in his autobiography. He says:
“There is not any idea, feeling, or power, in the human mind, which, in order to account for it, requires that its origin should be referred to any other source than experience.”
Mr. Mill was justly exasperated against anything _a priori_, for in his time, it had become customary among certain philosophers to classify all pet superstitions which could not be proved by experience as _a priori_. Mr. Mill continues:
“Whatever may be the practical value of a true philosophy of these matters, it is hardly possible to exaggerate the mischiefs of a false one. The notion that truths external to the mind may be known by intuition or consciousness, independently of observation and experience, is, I am persuaded, in these times the great intellectual support of false doctrines and bad institutions. By the aid of this theory every inveterate belief and every intense feeling, of which the origin is not remembered, is enabled to dispense with the obligation of justifying itself by reason, and is erected into its own all-sufficient voucher and justification. There never was such an instrument devised for consecrating all deep-seated prejudices.”
We appreciate the cause of Mr. Mill’s prejudice, but we cannot agree with him. And Mr. Mill is mistaken when he imagines that a rejection of apriority will abolish false doctrines and superstitions. On the contrary. The recognition of absolute necessity based upon the universality of formal thought will alone be a safe basis of science through which we can reject _prima facie_ the wrong pretensions of superstitions and pseudo-science. If we assume with Mr. Mill that all formal knowledge partakes of the nature of sense-experience, that there is no difference between the two, no general judgment would be allowable and the idea of necessity would be inadmissible. These consequences are accepted by Mill. In that case science would lose its value and philosophy would be without foundation. The most absurd superstition could not be rejected off-hand on the ground of being contrary to that which through logic and other formal sciences has been found to be necessary and a condemnation of any superstition on the part of science would be mere arrogance. Pseudo-science would have the same right with true science.
It is obvious that without being obliged to consider the apriority of formal laws as innate, we need not accept the consequence of Mr. Mill’s philosophy. We can and we do retain the idea of necessity and we consider it as the corner-stone of all science.
V. THE MEANING OF “NECESSARY.”
We have to be on our guard lest we introduce some mystical element into the idea of necessity. There is nothing mystical about necessity. Necessary means that a certain operation, if it is exactly the same operation as another one, will produce exactly the same result. When we posit two units twice, we shall have the same result as when we posit one unit four times; and we call this result four. We shall reach the same product whenever we repeat the same operation. Knowing that we shall always reach the same result, we can, _a priori_ (or beforehand) and with certainty, determine the result of certain operations after we have mentally gone through the same operations for all possible cases and under any imaginable conditions. That a perfect apriority with an unfailing certainty is possible only in the domain of formal thought is natural. The reason is that we know our thought-forms exhaustively. They contain nothing but that which has been predicated about them. Our sense-experience however is always piecemeal and never exhaustive.
Comprehension is actually a tracing of form relations and a formulating them in concise statements. The scientist’s work is based upon the methods of measuring and counting (i. e. the methods of formal sciences) and he undertakes to show that certain phenomena, different in some respects, are the same in other respects, that their sameness can be stated in a comprehensive and exact formula. In this way he marks out their determining factors in terms of formal thought (for instance in numbers), so that we can compute them and predict them according to their determining factors, so that we can know, according to their conditions, that they will be always as they are.
The importance of formal thought is paramount in science and the problem about the necessity which attaches to the laws of formal thought is the fundamental problem of philosophy.
There are many philosophers, still, troubling themselves to solve the problem in the fashion of Schopenhauer or of Mill or looking upon the problem as insolvable. We do not doubt that the solution here presented is the only possible solution which as soon as it is understood will find a general acceptance.
Must it be added that the solution of this fundamental problem does not involve the ready solutions of all other minor problems? Oh no! We all know that the solution of one problem is only a stepping-stone for attacking other problems. The possibilities of progress are as unlimited as the scope of cognition. Light on this general subject gives us hope that we shall succeed in throwing light also upon other subjects which are still shrouded to the philosophical inquirer in impenetrable darkness.
VI. MODERN LOGIC.
The problem of modern logic is at bottom no other problem than that of formal thought and of the origin of thought-forms. Professor Dewey in the excellent essay which appears as the leading article of this number says: “Any book of logic will tell us what this conception of thought is: that thought is a faculty or an entity existing in the mind apart from facts and that it has its own fixed forms with which facts have nothing to do—except in so far as they pass under the yoke.” This is the old conception of thought, rightly criticised by Professor Dewey, for, closely considered, it turns out to be dualistic. However, as soon as a proposition is recognised to contain or to rest upon dualism, it becomes a problem. The problem of modern logic is, How can we arrive at a monistic conception of logic, how can we rid ourselves of the dualism on the one side of facts not yet rationalised by the method of thought-forms and on the other side of mind with its empty thought-forms assimilating facts to its own nature.
Our solution of the difficulty has been proposed, in the sense outlined by Professor Dewey, in “Fundamental Problems.” Professor Dewey, according to our opinion, is right when he says there is no such a thing as transcendental thought, or pure thought, thought by itself. And there is no such a thing either as fact, crude irrational chaotic fact. The world of fact, indeed, is a cosmos and no chaos; there never was a chaos and never will be a chaos, for the laws of form are an essential and the most characteristic feature of the world.
Can there be any question how the order found in thought-forms originates in a world in which the inorganic and unfeeling mineral crystallises in a regular shape according to strict mathematical laws, i. e. the laws of form? A world in which the plant grows not otherwise than according to strict mathematical laws building up roots and stem and leaves and petals and stamens and all other organs obedient to a certain plan which will vary according to circumstances, but throughout consistent with the principles of formal laws? Can there be any question that in this world of cosmic harmony thought-forms will develop in feeling beings as a microcosm exhibiting the same regularity and conformity to law as do in this world all other things animate and inanimate? Our pure, i. e. merely formal, thought is an abstraction which serves the purpose of comprehension. And so is the concept “matter,” being that which produces sense-impressions. There are no such ghosts as pure matter or pure thoughts in reality.
Modern logic, so far as we conceive it to be right, is by no means an overthrow of the old formal Logic, generally called Aristotelian. It is simply an amendment made in order to exclude an erroneous interpretation. And so is modern mathematics not so much a revolution as an extension of the old Euclidian system. It is a revolution only against a certain unclear conception of mathematics according to which this science is said to rest upon axioms, these axioms representing absolute truth—unprovable, incomprehensible, and mysterious.[21]
The main truth of monism is that reality forms one indivisible whole and all our concepts are mere abstractions representing certain parts or certain features of the whole. As soon as we try to think of any of them as things in themselves we become involved in inextricable contradictions. It appears as if the formal sciences contained some truths which were absolute and independent of actual reality. But let any one think of any number, of 2 or 3, and he will soon find that conceived as absolute beings they are meaningless and unthinkable.
This is not to say that numbers are phantoms, but that conceived as absolute beings they are phantoms. Numbers and all formal concepts represent something real, they represent pure forms. And form is as much a part and feature of reality as is matter and energy.
P. C.
FOOTNOTES:
[21] Hermann Grassmann, one of the founders of modern mathematics, has called attention to the fact that Euclid had a clearer conception of the fundamental concepts of mathematics than his ill-informed translators and interpreters. Grassmann says in his _Ausdehnungslehre_: “From the imputation of confounding axioms with assumed concepts Euclid himself, however, is free, Euclid incorporated the former among his postulates (αἰτήματα) while he separated the latter as common concepts (κοιναὶ ἐννοιαι)—a proceeding which even on the part of his commentators was no longer understood, and likewise with modern mathematicians, unfortunately for science, has met with little imitation. As a matter of fact, the abstract methods of mathematical science know no axioms at all.”—Quoted from _The Open Court_, Vol. II. No. 77, _A Flaw in the Foundation of Geometry_, by Hermann Grassmann, translated from his _Ausdehnungslehre_ by μκρκ.
BOOK REVIEWS.
BELIEF IN GOD. Its Origin, Nature, and Basis. Being the Winkley Lectures of the Andover Theological Seminary for the Year 1890. By _Jacob Gould Schurmann_. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. 1890.
The learned Sage Professor of Philosophy in Cornell University, after tracing the historical origin and development of the belief in God, expresses his conviction that the problem of the modern theist consists in the union of the Aryan and Semitic modes of interpreting existence. We shall then have “a synthesis of the Father of all spirits with the ground of all nature.” This is the hypothesis developed in the course of the lectures delivered by Professor Schurmann last year before the Andover Theological Seminary on the Winkley foundation, that form the contents of the present volume. The theism embodied in that hypothesis is called by the author _anthropocosmic_, because, while it is based on the facts of the universe and those of human nature, the universe must be interpreted in the terms of man, and not man in the terms of the universe. The key to the universe is the self-conscious spirituality which makes us selves and persons. Hence anthropocosmic theism is the doctrine of a Supreme Being “who is ground both of nature and of man, but whose essence is not natural but spiritual.”
Before considering the evidence for this hypothesis, let us see what the author has to say with reference to the logical character of the belief in God. He shows that _agnosticism_—of which he treats under its three significations as referring to the method of knowledge, the object of knowledge, and the subject of knowledge—is not consistent with the insight into nature and the constitution of knowledge gained by the Newtonian method of hypotheses and verifications. Science, as opposed to pure phenomenalism, assumes that what has not originated in the percipient subject is objectively real, and it postulates the universality of law in nature, a postulate which is the expression of a conviction of “the unity and universal inner connection of all reality.” The objective world cannot be understood without reference to our own conscious experience, and as the only reality we know from the inside is a spiritual _ego_, self-conscious spirit must be ascribed to the one ultimate reality whose existence science assumes, as that which will alone satisfy the requirement of unity in the midst of change.
It might be objected here, that the existence in man of a spiritual _ego_ requires proof before that of a universal spirit or world-soul can be inferred from it. The author takes the existence of the _ego_ for granted, a course which is quite allowable from the theistic standpoint, although, in the face of what is now known as to the dissolution of the ego under abnormal conditions of the organism, not scientific. Having made that assumption and inferred the existence of God from that of the human spirit, the author explains the nature of the one by reference to that of the other. He tells us, that the finite spirit is identical, within the limits of its range, with the infinite spirit, because it is an _ego_, and that in the _ego_ we have, not merely a mode of the divine activity, but a part of the divine essence. Such being the case, the author has no difficulty in inferring the attributes of God from the phenomena exhibited by man. Thus God is a God of righteousness because the moral capacity in the human spirit must have its ground in the infinite Spirit. Again universal benevolence or love is the ideal of which human morality is the realisation; hence we must conceive of the Spirit of the universe as a God of love.
We do not think the author’s final conclusion, that “the phenomena both of the universe and of human life require the thinking mind to postulate a Supreme Ground of things which we are entitled to describe as self-conscious Spirit and loving Father,” is warranted by his premises. But we can accept the statement that our knowledge of God must continue to grow with our knowledge of man and nature. Through these alone can we know Him, but the difficulty is to interpret the revelation. Let it be admitted also that the end of nature is the production of man, and that what is referred to by the author as the human spirit is “the organ of that communication of God which is the end of the universe.” This does not in reality throw any light on the nature of God. The utmost that can be said is that, as man is an organism possessing certain functions, the universe, viewed as God, must have an organic existence with functions _corresponding_ to those exhibited by the human organism.
The author’s reasoning in support of the belief in God as cause or ground of the world, and as realising purpose in the world is very ingenious. He affirms that the creational form of the argument from causality is insufficient. It satisfies the devotional needs of a certain class of worshipers, but what the religious, as well as the scientific, consciousness demands is a God “here in the world, not there outside of it or making it.” It has not yet been shown that the universe has had a beginning in time, and the argument in favor of the eternity of matter ends with an assurance of the eternity of spirit alone. Spirit is the eternal reality, and nature its eternal manifestation, the latter being no more separable from the former “than the spoken word from the thought it symbolises.” The causal relation is, however, absolutely necessary for our apprehension of the facts of the universe, and as it cannot be interpreted without contradiction as an action between independent beings, it must be explained as the eternal dependence of the world upon God. This implies that God must be volitional as well as self-conscious; “for without will there could be no activity, no efficient causation, no material universe.” The universe is thus the eternal expression of the divine will. But what is the purpose realised in creation? The activity of the divine will precludes the notion of a blindly working nature. As creation is the eternal self-revelation of God, the supreme and preconceived end of all things must be the glory of God. But man is indispensable for the attainment of God’s glory, and therefore the end of nature as a realised scheme of divine ideas is the production of man. The volitional and teleological arguments as thus stated by the author are consistent with the theory of evolution developed by Darwin, but they may be combatted on other grounds connected with the conditions of the existence of God as one with Nature. With this observation, we must leave Professor Schurmann’s very thoughtful book which, although for the reasons we have stated, not conclusive, presents the theistic argument with great clearness and in its strongest form.
Ω.
JUDAISM AND CHRISTIANITY. A Sketch of the Progress of Thought from Old Testament to New Testament. By _Crawford Howell Toy_. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1890.
This work is another contribution to that genuine history which is alone competent to impart any true instruction. In it the author undertakes to give an account of the genesis of Christianity as a child of Judaism.
It seems to be the thesis of the author that those conceptions and beliefs that characterise any form of religion are rather determined by the social evolution than that the social progress and its features are determined by the evolution of ideas among which the religious ideas are specially influential. In his introduction the author sketches out his view of the general laws of social progress as the same are related to religious thought. He notices in history the tendency of ethnic religions to give way to or to develop into universal religions, and argues that Christianity is destined to overcome all its rivals and prevail universally. This kind of a conclusion is a natural one to follow from the theory that the character of thought is determined by social circumstances and progress. But if it be true that the special course of the evolution of thought and its characteristic form at any epoch is determined by causes that are uncontrolled by social conditions, that as between thought and society thought is the masterful factor, then quite another conclusion may ensue. But the dubitable nature of the main thesis of the work does not much detract from the great excellence of the work in general. As a history of the evolution of Jewish religious conceptions and beliefs from the very first until the establishment of Christianity, it is in the highest degree interesting and instructive.
After a discussion of the literature of the Jews and the formation of the canon, the author proceeds to describe in full detail the nature genesis and mutations of the cardinal religious doctrines as they revealed themselves to the Israelite, Jewish, and early Christian insight. The entire body of the data are interpreted in consonance with the modern scientific idea of the organic nature of society. Jesus is regarded as the master spirit that created the Christian Church, and Paul whom many would install as the real author of the same is accordingly given only a second place. Altogether it may be said that Professor Toy has given us a most valuable contribution to religious history and to the scientific interpretation of the same.
ρσλ.
PRONAOS TO HOLY WRIT. Establishing, on Documentary Evidence, the Authorship, Date, Form, and Contents of each of its Books, and the Authenticity of the Pentateuch. By _Isaac M. Wise_. Cincinnati: Robert Clarke & Co. 1891.
Rabbi Isaac Wise, the president of the Hebrew Union College of Cincinnati and the Nestor of Orthodox Judaism in America, presents in the “Pronaos to Holy Writ” a review of the Biblical books with comments as to their authenticity and the times in which they were written. Having read these “books and every word thereof in the original for a term of sixty-six years, i. e. from boyhood up to his seventy-second birthday,” and having “acquainted himself with all the ancient versions and commentaries and a large portion of the modern translations and commentaries of the Bible,” the author is entitled to be heard. Rabbi Wise is a stern monotheist and he declares: “God only did create light out of darkness; man cannot produce truth out of fiction, unless in his self-delusion problematic truth satisfies him. All so-called gems of truth buried under the quicksand of fiction and deception are problematic at best, if not supported by authoritative corroborants.” This is true. All truth depends upon verification. We cannot make truth, but must find it, we must be able to corroborate it, and the corroborants of truth are its authority. Dr. Wise’s idea of a corroborant is different from ours, he says: “No one can speak conscientiously of Bible truth before he knows that the Bible is true, and especially in its historical data.” This seems to indicate that we must have a belief in the truth of the Bible before we investigate it and that moral truths, the ethics, the philosophy of the Bible depend upon its historical data. We cannot go so far with the author of the Pronaos. Dr. Wise says: “The science commonly called Modern Biblical Criticism, actually Negative Criticism which maintains on the strength of unscientific methods that the Pentateuch is not composed of original Mosaic material, no Psalms are Davidian, no Proverbs Solomonic, the historical books are unhistorical, the prophecies were written post festum, there was no revelation, inspiration, or prophecy, must also maintain that the Bible is a compendium of pious or even impious frauds, wilful deceptions, unscrupulous misrepresentations.” Dr. Wise thought it necessary to meet Negative Criticism with the documentary evidence and for this purpose he wrote his Pronaos, which is to be an entrance-hall to the Temple of Biblical Truth. We do not side with the negativism of certain biblical critics, for we believe that historical investigations have proved large portions of the Pentateuch to be Mosaic, several psalms to be Davidian, and the historical books to contain as much history as many old historical books contain. We believe that they have to be judged and searched and commented just as much and in the same spirit of scientific inquiry as our philologists treat Herodotus or Livy. But the value of the Bible, in our opinion, does not depend upon the acceptance or rejection of these or those historical data; nor is it necessary to consider the Hebrew prophets as special revelations of God, in contradistinction to the divine revelation in nature and the history of mankind in general. It may be true enough that the orthodox God-idea of Monotheism depends upon the belief in special revelation and prophecies, and it is also true that most of the Biblical criticism has been destructive and negative. But there is a way possible between both standpoints which may be called positive criticism. This positive criticism attempts to understand the very life and meaning of the old religion, it attempts to comprehend the belief of the orthodox and construe it in the terms of science—i. e. of rational and clear thought. Religion is certainly not a mere fraud or a vain illusion, it is an ideal which developed naturally out of certain needs of man and the conditions of society. That religious ideas, especially the idea of God as the cosmic power which represents the moral authority, are no mere fictions, is proved by their survival, and those who believe in evolution should not be blind to the fact that there is something good, something true, something well adapted to surroundings in religion. To find these elements of truth and goodness which constitute the life of religion is not mere negative criticism, but positive criticism, and it is not at all necessary for those who aspire in this direction, to believe in any historical data, or in special revelations, or in prophecies, or in the personality of God, but simply to trust in truth. Truth is the only way of salvation even though it may shatter the most sacred idols of a venerable orthodoxy.
The contents of the book show that the standpoint of the author does not blind him to the finer traits of the natural development of his religion. So, for instance, Solomon’s rationalism is excellently contrasted with the spirit which manifested itself in the Judges as well as the Prophets. The author of the Judges was an outspoken theocratic democrat. “He literally pours out his abhorrence of the monarchical anti-theocratic institution in narrating the story of the first usurper Abimelech, the son of Gideon.... Entirely different are the language and tendency of the two appendices, evidently written by another author, who evinces his animosity to the democratic form of government by saying four times: ‘In those days there was no king in Israel,’ to which he adds twice ‘every man did what seemed right in his sight’” (p. 46). “The Solomonic ethics is a commentary on the Mosaic ethics, as by reason understood.... Man’s knowledge of ethical doctrine is identical with his knowledge of God’s moral attributes, and all moral obligation has its root in the Mosaic God-idea....” According to Solomon “wisdom based upon and rooted in the fear of Jehovah with the revealed material before them was all-sufficient, without any further special oracles of any prophets. This peculiar rationalism brought upon him the ire of prophets and rabbis” (p. 111).
Some reviewers of Dr. Wise’s book will probably find fault with him that he has taken little if any account of the results of modern biblical investigations. And this is a grievous fault in our times where it seems to be essential for a scholar and author to have read the very latest things published on a subject while an acquaintance with the views of the classical old authorities is considered unnecessary. It appears that Dr. Wise did not intend to present his views or criticisms of and his answers to the latest biblical investigations. It may even be that he is not familiar with many of them. Granting this to be a fault of his book it is, nevertheless, refreshing to us to find an author who has actually read and is excellently familiar with all the old sources of the subject he is writing upon.
κρς.
THE FOUNDATIONS OF GEOMETRY. By _Edward T. Dixon_. Cambridge (Eng.): Deighton, Bell & Co. 1891.
This work is divided into three parts, the first containing such doctrines of psychology and logic as the author deems sound and useful for his purposes, the second exhibiting the author’s “subjective theory of geometry deduced from the two fundamental concepts _position_ and _direction_,” and the third “on the applicability of the foregoing subjective geometry to the geometry of material space.”
In his preface the author expresses his desire that those who criticise his work shall “consider categorically” certain questions relating to his theory of definition, to the definitions and axioms prescribed by him, to his proofs of propositions and to the “objective applications” of his three axioms.
Geometry may be studied for two distinct purposes, neither of which necessarily involves the other. Unless the aim is mainly the discipline of the logical faculty, it is plainly a poor method of study to pore over the definitions, axioms, postulates, theorems, problems, and demonstrations of Euclid or any similar text-book. Practical resources and geometrical information can be acquired much better and more rapidly by a course of mechanical drawing with here and there a more or less loose explanation of the grounds and reasons that warrant the geometrical doctrines, than by means of the Euclidian course. Under such a method of instruction the student would rarely feel any real doubt as to the truth of his geometrical knowledge.
But where the paramount aim is the training of the reason the Euclidian rigor is all important. Hence the perfection of that method by the discovery and certification of the ultimate grounds on which, and the principles by which, it may be unfolded systematically and in necessary and sufficient sequence without presumption or fallacy, is an object of the most momentous concern to science, to philosophy, and to culture in general. For it is well known that however good an account elementary geometry may give of its superstructure the reports given of its foundations are all very far from satisfactory.
Repeated and strenuous efforts have been made, and by the most competent of our race, to discover and certify the true state of the case in respect to the geometrical foundations, in order that the whole edifice of that science shall display throughout the same thorough-going necessity and sufficiency that distinguishes it in general.
The author of the work under review is persuaded that he is now able to perform this so desirable service. He avers his belief that the system of geometry he “has set forth in this book is _logically sound_ and that consequently the more it is discussed and criticised, the more firmly will it become established.” He takes his stand upon two fundamental concepts, _position_ and _direction_, which he defines not explicitly but “implicitly.” This leads us to consider his first question and his theory of definition.
The embarrassments that involve the foundations of elementary geometry are mainly, if not wholly, those which involve the general problems of definition. Now a definition is the certification of the purport of a name by means of a statement or a conspiracy of statements necessary and sufficient to that end. But names are constituents absolutely necessary for the formation of any statement, so that the above definition of a definition may be restated thus: A definition is the certification of the purport of one name by means of other names, necessary and sufficient to certify the purport of the one defined. Evidently then, definition can only lead us from name to name in unending process, or to some undefinable name, or to some name that we choose to leave undefined; and the question arises, on what sort of names shall we take our stand as ultimate grounds?
Our author answers this question as follows: “The propounder of a scientific theory is not of course expected to teach his readers to speak, it is only necessary for him to define the terms peculiar to his science, or those to which he wishes to attach peculiar meanings. He may therefore assume that the meanings of all other words are known to his readers.”
He then propounds that “all that is logically required for a definition is one or more assertions with regard to the word to be defined or, its attributes,” provided “they are not demonstrably incompatible with each other.”
Although our author conceives that logical competence requires no more than this for a good definition, he yet goes on to remark, that “if the definition is to form the basis of a deductive science it is further advisable that the assertions should be independent,” and that “where it is required to define a term whose denotation is already known, it is further necessary not only that the assertions should be commonly accepted as true with respect to it, but that they should restrict the meaning of the term exactly to its accepted denotation, neither more nor less, and should do so in the simplest manner that can be devised.”
It is upon this theory of definition that our author requests of his critics a “categorical” answer to his first question, “Do you accept the requirements I have laid down for a logical definition? (If not please state which of them you object to, why you object to it, and what you would propose to substitute for it.)”
Since it is a “categorical” answer that is requested and since also it is the matter of definition that is put in issue, we wish that our author had been more definite and had made his propositions better issuable, for we must protest that we regard ourselves obliged to answer to what we can best conceive to be the author’s true meanings rather than to what he has explicitly said.
We do not conceive that he regards it as _necessary_ to a definition that the defining assertions should be expressed “in the simplest manner that can be devised.” We have also to take his use of the word “restrict” as importing completion as well as limitation, and his use of the word “requirements” as intending conditions that together are sufficient as well as necessary.
If we are right in our understanding of the meanings of our author he contemplates four cases, first, the definition of a name that has no denotation already known and that is not to form the basis of a deductive science, second, the definition of a name that has no denotation already known but which is to form the basis of a deductive science, third, the definition of a name that has a denotation already known but which is not to form the basis of a deductive science, and fourth the definition of a name that has a denotation already known and is to form the basis of a deductive science.
In this fourth case our author deems it requisite for a logical definition that there shall be made one or more assertions about the subject of definition that are not demonstrably incompatible with one another, that are independent of one another, that are commonly accepted as true in respect to the subject defined and that “restrict” the meaning of the name under definition exactly to its accepted denotation.
It seems to us that this last requirement dispenses with the necessity of all the rest. If we have provided an assertion or a set of assertions that do in fact complete and limit the meaning of the subject of definition exactly to its proper denotation that is a definition in full. It implies that the defining assertions are all consistent with one another, and in case any assertion is dependent upon one or more of the rest that is a circumstance wholly immaterial. _Utile per inutile non nocetur._
Again, what is it to be commonly accepted as true? Does logical competence depend on the altering states of our knowledge or on the fluctuations of opinion? Was a whale logically defined as a fish before we learned that it was a mammal?
The third case allows of the application of the same comment as that made upon the fourth. But in the first and second cases the doctrines of the author as well as his suppositions are very notable. He supposes the anomaly of names without any known denotation, by which he may mean those which have no application whatever. In respect to such he propounds that they may be given a logical definition by making one or various consistent assertions as applicable to them or to their attributes.
“The proof of the pudding will be found in the eating,” as our author says. So let us say that a troft may be perceived whenever our attention is excited, and that trofts are of multitudinous variety. Do these assertions constitute a logical definition? It is a prime requisite for a definition that the defining assertion or assertions shall have a meaning, which is the same as to say that names must be employed that are already significant. These significant names must be so used that the intellectual sensibility shall be excited to perceive in a determinate way that which is intended to be defined. In other words, sense and not nonsense must be produced in the mind that considers the definition. Perhaps, however, our author intends such words as electricity, or spirit, or energy.
Because of the considerations above indicated and others we cannot accept the author’s requirements for a logical definition as a whole. Some of them are in some of his cases unnecessary, while taken together they supply no new means whereby to solve the several problems of definition.
The author’s subjective theory of geometry is plainly the outgrowth of his confidence in the solvent power of the concept of direction as a prime datum of geometry.
Everything of consequence in his essay depends upon the worth of this concept as a geometrical foundation. Considering the disparagement that has been visited upon that concept by numerous writers of good geometrical rank we naturally look for considerations tending to remove the discredit that has befallen that notion. Instead however of this we find the most palpable set of circular definitions. Direction is defined by direction in the most distracting way, thus:
“(_a_) A direction may be conceived to be indicated by naming two points as the direction from one to the other.”
The inaptitude of the term direction for use in geometry is rooted in its ambiguous purport. As commonly used it means at least three distinct but closely associated notions which become confused in thought and expression unless the most solicitous care is taken to distinguish them. When we speak of the direction of one point from another or of the direction from one point to another we mean the straight off-ness or from-ness or to-ness which one bears to the other; in other words a relation of separation and straight mediation. When again we speak of the direction of a motion we intend the indefinite straight sense of its procession, which is not a relation but an attribute of the motion. When still again we speak of the direction of a line we mean its straight _lay_ as compared or as comparable with other actual or possible correlates which is again a relation but not necessarily the same relation as that that obtains between two points.
In all these meanings the notion of straightness is involved, and could we say in lieu of straightness first directness and then direction and holding fast in thought this sense of the word, make a noun of it, so that a direction would intend the same as a straightness and no more, it might obtain a useful geometric term and notion.
To define it we might first define a line thus: A line is a space boundary that is indefinitely long but not otherwise of any extent. Then, a direction is a line such that between the points that bound any assigned parcel of it no copy of said parcel is possible.
But direction purports to our author the second of the meanings above set forth, namely, the indefinite straight sense of the procession of a motion. Definite parcels of a direction thus understood are identical with vectors.
Now the notion of straightness is after the notions of point and line the most fundamental one of geometry and the one which is altogether the most prominent and useful. It is the necessary means for any definition of a vector or of the notion which our author deems so important. As straightness is attributable only to lines and long things which a line may represent it makes no difference whether we define straightness or a straight line, but a masterful performance of this definition is absolutely necessary before the foundations of geometry can be abidingly certified.
Our author defines a straight line thus: “A straight line is a continuous series of points extending from each of them in the same two directions.” What kind of a thing a continuous series of points may be we are not told but as a point is defined to be “a portion of matter so small that for the purpose in hand variations of positions within it may be neglected” we take it that a straight line is a continuous series of particles of matter. The “purpose in hand” in this case must of course be the purpose of geometry.
In defining an angle our author first lays down that “The difference between two directions is called their _inclination_ to one another” and then “The measure of an inclination is called an _angle_.”
Considering that it is the doctrine of the author that every straight line has two contrary directions the measure of whose inclination is an angle of one hundred and eighty degrees, we imagine a northeast southwest line cutting an east west line and wonder if the right hand upper angle is really two angles according to whether or not the directions both pass to the left or both pass to the right or pass one to the left and the other to the right.
Were this an ordinary work we might regard it as due to the author to notice the many excellencies which characterise it, in spite of the defects which we notice. But as our author evidently realises, the eminent dignity of the topic challenges and its singular importance demands unsparing criticism. He who offers to instruct the world on the foundations of geometry draws his sword and throws away the scabbard, and like a doughty champion he will scorn to accept any favor, prizing only such success as he shall take at the point of an efficacy of treatment that conquers all competent and candid criticism.
Stringent as are such terms of contest an author who is a worthy competitor in the field of geometric research can be well content with them in the perception that the very same conditions apply in full force to the comments of his critics.
The author is undoubtedly an able man and a close thinker. He has concentrated his mind upon a work that is worth the energy of a lifetime. But we must confess our judgment to be that in spite of his capacity and evident devotion he has come short of the high result to which he has aspired.
ρσλ.
LES FÊTES DE MONTPELLIER. PROMENADE A TRAVERS LES CHOSES, LES HOMMES ET LES IDEES. By _J. Delbœuf_. Paris: Félix Alcan.
We have here a charming narrative by the well-known Professor at the University of Liège of his visit to the fêtes of Montpellier, undertaken in great measure to make the personal acquaintance of M. Dauriac, the critic in the _Revue Philosophique_ of the author’s work “La matière brute et la matière vivante.” The description given of the fêtes, which marked the sixth centenary of the University of Montpellier, is very entertaining, as is the account of the journey through the South of France; but as M. Delbœuf says that he was more curious to become acquainted with men than with places, what he tells us about the former will be the more interesting.
The author, with the companions of his tour, could not pass Nancy without stopping to see “the masters in the science of hypnotism” there. An account of what he saw and heard gives the author the opportunity of repeating “That he does not regard forgetfulness on awaking as characteristic of profound hypnosis, and that experience is against the efficacity of criminal suggestion unless the subject is criminally inclined.” The fêtes at Montpellier commenced with a religious service in the Cathedral, during which the Bishop, M. de Cabrières, preached a sermon so liberal in tone, that M. Delbœuf thinks the time is arriving when the church will demonstrate that Moses was the precursor of Darwin. At the University reception which followed, M. Delbœuf sought out among the professors for his friend M. Dauriac, whom he had figured when first he heard from him as small, thin and dark, but now found, in accordance with the usual rule in such cases, that he was tall, robust and fair. In the course of their subsequent conversations the two Professors made mutual confidences, M. Dauriac confessing that his true vocation was music, and that he was preparing a work on the psychology of the musician; while M. Delbœuf informed his friend that he was about to reply to his criticism of “La matière brute et la matière vivante,” and that he would throw the greatest light on the origin, which was still obscure, of life and death. If the genial Liège Professor can do this, he may be the first to reap the benefit referred to in his own words: “The discovery of the cause of death could not fail to assure the immortality of its author and its inspirer, and sooner or later that of humanity at large.” For, according to a medical adage, if the cause of a disease is known it is already conquered.
Montpellier was honored during the fêtes with the presence of Helmholtz, to whom but for national jealousy would have been confided the part of speaking in the name of the foreign universities. Nevertheless he was the true hero of the occasion, and when at the official reception, on the President of the Republic shaking his hand and saying a few gracious words someone feebly hissed, Helmholtz received in response a perfect ovation of applause. M. Delbœuf met with a congenial spirit in the Professor of Zoology, M. Sabatier, who has a laboratory at Cette. Their views on free-will were in sympathy. They agreed in allowing freedom not only to the superior animals, and to inferior animals and plants, but even to so called inorganic matter. M. Sabatier is a Christian and at the same time a convinced transformist; having arrived at his views from religious considerations. He cited M. Dauriac as saying, “The reign of determinism is not in the objective world; its empire extends itself over nature only after having been exercised over thought. There is no other necessity than that of logic or mathematics.” M. Delbœuf is evidently an “indeterminist” by nature. He heartily sympathised with the students in all their demonstrations of freedom, although one of them assumed a somewhat serious character. Dining in the open air with M. Milhaud the author of an article in the _Revue Philosophique_ on non-Euclidian geometry, he was prepared to talk mathematics. The surroundings were too much for him, however, and in recalling the scene he cries, “To the devil with philosophy and mathematics! I cannot recall what we said; in my remembrances, I see only blooming faces, I hear only the indistinct bursts of gaity.” M. Delbœuf’s sympathetic nature is shown in the fact, which he records, that wild animals in confinement soon become familiar with him.
One of the principal objects of the author’s journey was to see M. Gabriel Tarde, “one of the most prolific and original publicists in France, if not in Europe,” who resides at Sarlat. After quoting passages from an article of M. Tarde on Social Darwinism, which appeared in the _Revue Philosophique_, M. Delbœuf remarks that nothing is more attractive and at the same time more fatiguing than the reading of his works. M. Tarde is “the locomotive that carries you to the end of your journey across countries by turns wild, agricultural, industrial, picturesque; but without giving you time to regard and admire.” Referring to M. Tarde’s acute criticisms of Lombroso and his theories, the author says, “It is not that he strikes the pseudo-thinker with formidable blows, but he makes him drop gently to the ground.” The French publicist sees in _imitation_ the source of social life, and he has been long engaged in developing the idea, to the great importance of which M. Delbœuf bears witness; although he objects to the use which M. Tarde makes of terms taken from mathematics, physics, and biology, to express his sociological views. On the question of free-will there was no agreement. Although the latter is a determinist, he believes in penal responsibility, on the ground of personal identity; the diseased person or the madman is no longer himself, in which they differ from the criminal.
We can say nothing of M. Delbœuf’s visit to the canons of the Tarn. Here was captured a lizard which displayed, when compared with a Spanish lizard in captivity with it, as much difference in character as could be found between two men chosen at hazard. The author concludes an amusing description of the habits of the two captives by recommending their history to the politicians and the historians of France and Spain, as likely to throw light on that of the peoples themselves. We leave M. Delbœuf, whose book of seventy-five pages may be said to be as full of interesting matter as an egg is of meat, with quoting his postscript: “On the day that these lines appear (March 1891) the Spanish lizard has finally cast off his savage character and follows in the footsteps of the French. Effect of imitation.”
Ω.
DER POSITIVISMUS VOM TODE AUGUST COMTE’S BIS AUF UNSERE TAGE (1857-1891). By _Hermann Gruber_, S. J. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder’sche Verlagshandlung. 1891.
This pamphlet of 194 pages is the continuation of another pamphlet on August Comte, the founder of Positivism, which was reviewed in _The Open Court_, No. 134. The author is a Jesuit and it is a matter of course that all the facts he relates, all the doctrines he explains are represented from the standpoint of Roman Catholicism. The booklet is of great importance in so far as we learn through it what an erudite Catholic mind thinks of that recent movement of philosophy which has been called by the collective name Positivism. The method pursued by Hermann Gruber is most recommendable. He states facts and quotes abundantly so as to let the various philosophers speak for themselves. He is economical with the salt of his own opinion, yet he uses it with such a discretion that Roman Catholics can become thoroughly acquainted with infidel views without suffering in their faith.
The book consists of two parts: (I) The Positivism of the schools in connection with Comte and of the Positivistic movement outside of these schools. The first part begins with a discussion of Littré. Littré, “the voice, the spirit and the soul of Positivism,” as Bourdon calls him, is characterised as a philological genius. Although he had chosen the medical profession, which however he abandoned early, and although he regarded the propaganda of the positive philosophy as his life-work, all his talents lay in the direction of special investigation in the literary, historical, and linguistic fields, and the editing of the French dictionary remains his main achievement.
Comte had not nominated a successor who should in his place be the _Directeur du positivisme_. Littré had forfeited this honor on account of his quarrels with Comte in which he strongly sided with Madame Comte against her husband. After Comte’s death P. Lafitte was elected as a temporary director and he has kept this office ever since, which he conducts with remarkable devotion and unselfishness. Although without property himself he proposed not to use the positivistic funds until he had shown himself through his work worthy of using them. He ekes out a scanty living for himself by giving lessons in mathematics, and devotes all the rest of his time to the management of and the propaganda for the Positive Church. His co-workers are Audiffrent, Antoine, Robinet, and others—all of them as the reviewer thinks strange people, visionary enthusiasts, and, to use an expressive Americanism, regular cranks. Lack of space prevents us from recapitulating their ceremonies, their sacraments, festivals, pilgrimages, memorials, and other forms of service. Their whole behavior proves that they are and will remain infidel Roman Catholics and it would have been wiser if they had not left the church at all. The positivistic orthodoxy culminates in the positivistic mystery of Comte’s idea of a “Virgin-Mother” (_Vierge-Mère_) which according to Lafitte is destined to elevate the intercourse between the sexes, while Audiffrent, Lagarrigue, and the Brasilian Lemos stick closely to Comte’s view “to represent positivism as directly conceived under the Utopia of a virgin-mother.”[22] General Lemos goes so far as to say “We prefer to be looked upon with St. Paul for the sake of our faithfulness toward Comte as fools than to be praised by the contemporary frivolity as sages.” And Audiffrent defends against Lafitte the diplomatic action of Comte’s with the General of the Jesuits concerning an alliance between Positivism and Catholicism. Positivism, he says, invites all who have ceased to believe in God to become positivists, but it induces all those who still believe in God to turn Catholics, thus making an alliance possible of the disciplined against the non-disciplined.
If the Jesuit General ever has seriously considered the offer, he would perhaps have accepted it, for there is no doubt that he would have made the better bargain as all the discipline we should say is on his side.
The English group of Comtean Positivists consists mainly of Fr. Harrison, Richard Congreve, George Eliot and James Cotter Morison. The second part of the book which treats of the positivistic movement outside of the positivistic schools in England, France, Germany and other countries will be less interesting to English and American readers partly because the subject is better known to them partly because our author is apparently more familiar with his French than with his English sources. The second part begins with John Stuart Mill and Herbert Spencer. It mentions Bain, Lewes, Clifford, Maudsley, Darwin, Sully, Romanes, Huxley, Tyndall. Clifford’s view is sketched in sixteen lines but in such a way that it appears grotesque. As French positivists outside the schools are mentioned Taine, Ribot, Fouillée, Guyau, Charles Richet, J. Luys, Cl. Bernard, and Roberty. It is correctly said of Ribot that his doctrine of personality is most characteristic of his views. The unity of a personality in the ego does not grow from above downwards but from below upwards, but Gruber is mistaken in saying of Charles Richet, the editor of the _Revue Scientifique_, that he represents about the same views as Th. Ribot. Richet’s publication on telepathic experiments in which he confidently believes, would never be countenanced by Ribot.
As the first German positivist is mentioned Eugen Dühring. Riehl, Laas, Lange, Vaihinger and Avenarius are disposed of together in the next following chapter. Several pages are devoted to Wundt.
The little chapter headed _Nord-America_ (p. 171) consisting of two and a half pages begins with the words: “According to the testimony of G. Stanley Hall philosophy in the new world is in its swaddling-clothes still (_in den Kinderschuhen_). Philosophers over there are as rare as snakes in Ireland (_Schlangen in Norwegen_).[23] For scientific instruction in the United States are used as guiding stars Spencer, Lewes, Darwin, Huxley, and Haeckel.” As a representative Atheist is named Ludeking, a man unknown to fame, while Colonel Ingersoll is not mentioned at all. It is maintained that J. D. Bell, a professor in New York had proclaimed the same confession of faith as Comte in _The Modern Thinker_—a journal which we have never seen nor ever heard of. The societies for ethical culture are characterised as avowing “a purely natural religion” while in fact natural religion, the religion of science and philosophy, as a basis of ethics is as rigorously rejected by Professor Adler as any dogmatic religion, and more than half of the two and a half pages is filled with a masonic proclamation of the Sovereign Grand Commander, Albert Pike, of Washington, which preaches the belief in an unknowable God and denounces Atheism.
The booklet closes with the following sentences: “The full and true positivism is embodied in the Catholic Church. The divine revelation which she represents is that which is truly real ... truly sure ... truly precise ... truly organic ... truly useful. The deepest root, however, and the most essential nature of all true positivism (this is vouched for by reason as well as by revelation) is not the relative but the absolute.”
Here we conclude our review of the book. We have however to add a few words which concern _The Monist_ as well as all the publications of The Open Court Publishing Co. Hermann Gruber mentions in his book _The Open Court_ and its editor together with the societies for ethical culture. We have, ourselves, characterised our views as positivism and as monism, but we stated at the same time that our positivism had nothing to do with Comte or with any one of Comte’s disciples.[24] They have (with the sole exception of Ribot and I should hesitate to call him a Comtean) contributed little if anything to the formation of our views. The name Positivism is a good and expressive word and we have adopted it because taken in its proper meaning it represents the true principle of modern philosophy. However we cannot agree with any of the fundamental tenets either of Comte or of his most positivistic and most scientific disciple Littré.[25] Comte as well as Littré are radical agnostics they repeat again and again that “We can know nothing about first and final causes. Positive philosophy denies nothing and maintains nothing.” According to our view of the subject this attitude is rather negativism than positivism. But it is not even negativism; it is worse, it is mere scepticism leading to indifferentism. It sounds very philosophical to speak of the inscrutability of first and final causes but the very terms “first causes” and “final causes” are most nonsensical and self-contradictory concepts. (See “Fundamental Problems,” pp. 88-90, and 101.) Comte and Littré imagine to have conquered metaphysics, but in fact they are the worst kind of metaphysicians. They believe in the ghosts of metaphysics as strongly as some mediæval minds believe in devils but are afraid to wrestle with them, because, as they maintain these metaphysical ghosts cannot be conquered.
Comtean Positivism, especially as it is represented by Littré, consists mainly if not exclusively of the doctrine to “let metaphysics alone” (which latter includes the object of religious worship) and limits science to positive issues. Thus the oneness of the sciences, a unitary world-conception is lost, for the hierarchy of the sciences which are to serve as a substitute for philosophy is rather a summing up of the stock of knowledge than a system of the sciences exhibiting their organic growth. It is an inventory rather than a plan to guide science in its further evolution. It is an anatomy rather than a physiology, for the very life and spirit of the sciences is missing. And outside the pale of the hierarchy of the sciences there is looming around an awful something quite different in its nature, like an infinite ocean surrounding a forlorn island, the unknowable first and final causes! That which is called by former philosophers “metaphysics,” which is at the same time the essence of religion, is by no means either unknowable or indifferent. It is not something beyond, something extramundane, it is the very life of the world and our religious and philosophical opinions are not only of a theoretical interest. They are the main factors of our lives which in the long run will determine the direction of our development. That this is so, has not been sufficiently recognised, and we would suggest in this connection that a history of the United States should be written to point out that the political liberty of the country and its republicanism are nothing but the application of its religious principles and of the Puritan conviction of religious independence. The historic growth of the colonies remained faithful to this maxim. The religion of a man and of a nation is the most important thing. In the same way the structure of a seed predetermines the whole plant, and the angle of crystallisation together with the shape of the crystal-nucleus from which the process of crystallisation starts, will determine the formation of the whole crystal.
His sceptical attitude led Littré to what he and his friends call “tolerance.” Littré’s wife was a devout Catholic and his daughter was educated in her mother’s faith. He had intended to explain to her his views of the subject when she had reached maturity, and leave the choice to her. But when the moment came, he declared that “the experiment was not worth the tears which it would cause.” Our view of “tolerance” is radically different. Whatever the truth may be it should be struggled for, cost it ever so many tears or pains.
We cannot sympathise with Littré’s method of constructing ethics upon the nutritive and sexual instincts, the former producing egotism, the latter altruism. Emotions are, says Littré, as much as ideas, the result of brain-processes in consequence of external impressions and “the struggle between both kinds of emotion make up the moral life.” Littré rejects the evolution theory and its attempts to explain ethics. (See Gruber’s book p. 20.) Having explained our views of ethics on other occasions, it is sufficient here to state that we consider Littré’s attempt as a failure. We cannot even adopt the so-called “positive method,” of which Littré says: “Whoever adopts this method is a positivist and whether he acknowledges the fact or not, also a disciple of Comte. Whoever employs another method is a metaphysician. It is the surest mark by which a careful mind will discriminate what belongs to the positive philosophy and what is foreign to it.” What is this method? Says Littré: “It is an acknowledged principle of positive science that nothing real can be stated through reasoning (_raisonnement_). The world cannot be guessed.” Littré is opposed to so-called _a priori_ arguments. Hermann Gruber says in the preface: “This positive method is embraced by all the representatives of the lines of thought here discussed. All of them intend to build up their systems with the exclusion of scholastic, respectively of Kantian, Hegelian, or any _a priori_ speculations after purely ‘scientific’ methods upon the foundation of the facts of experience.” We certainly intend to build our world conception “upon the facts of experience” but the most important facts among them are their formal relations and these formal relations when represented in thought are exactly that element which Kant called _a priori_. The sense-element affords us the building stones, but the _a priori_ element represents the mortar without which we could not build. So much do we oppose this one-sided philosophy which takes its stand upon what is wrongly called the purely scientific method, that our views have been called the Philosophy of Form, and justly, for Form is that feature of the world which makes of it a cosmos and formal thought is the organ of our comprehension.
κρς.
UEBER DEN ASSOCIATIVEN VERLAUF DER VORSTELLUNGEN. Inaugural-Dissertation. By _E. W. Scripture_, M. A., Fellow of Clark University. Leipzig: Wilhelm Engelmann. 1891.
This essay of 102 pages characterises most excellently some of the proceedings and methods of Professor Wundt’s psychological laboratory. The author, a disciple of Wundt, is a native American who studied in Berlin, Zürich, and Leipzig, and took his degree of Doctor on the ground of this dissertation. The object of the treatise is not so much to solve as to formulate the problem of the associative course of concepts, and the author hopes that in a future treatise he will be able to propound his theory based upon the facts here related.
The experiments were made with the assistance of seven friends, among them German students, a doctor of philosophy, a doctor of medicine, and a teacher. They were of different nationality, three Germans, one Belgian, one Japanese, one Englishman from the Cape, and two Americans, the author included. The apparatus used was so arranged that the person operated upon sat in the dark, before him was a plate of ground glass intercepting from a camera an image which was exposed for four seconds. Pictures of all kinds, colors, and plainly printed words were used. For other sense-impressions the observer was also seated in the dark. Several instruments for producing sounds were ready on a table. Tastes were effected by liquids which the person operated upon had to drink, and the sense of touch was investigated through handing him cards to which some small objects had been attached. The author was partly operator, partly observer, i. e. the person operated upon. The ideas evoked through the sense-impressions produced in this way, are enumerated in tabular form in the order in which they arose.
Among the experiments made in this way we find one kind which is of special interest. Sir William Hamilton made the remark in his Lectures on Metaphysics that unconscious ideas may serve as connecting links between two ideas otherwise unassociated. He represented his view in the following way: Let _A_, _B_, _C_, be three ideas, _A_ does not suggest _C_, but both are associated with _B_. It happens that _A_ is directly followed by _C_ in consciousness. In such a case _A_ may recall _B_ and _B_ may recall _C_, but _B_ being a _minimum visibile_ or _minimum audibile_ does not enter consciousness. Thus the idea of the mount Ben Lomond called into Hamilton’s mind the system of Prussian education. Subsequent reflection taught him that he had met on Ben Lomond a German. The recollection of the place was associated with the ideas—a German, Germany, Prussia. These ideas were too weak to enter consciousness yet they reawakened another idea which did enter consciousness, the system of Prussian education.
This is a mere suggestion of Hamilton’s but Dr. Scripture proved its truth by actual experiment. He took cards containing some simple words, such as MENSCH, GEHEN, KOMMEN, BLUME, etc., and also Japanese words in Roman characters HANA, HITO, IUKU, KURU. To every word was attached another Japanese word in Japanese characters so that the same character appeared on HANA and BLUME; HITO and MENSCH; JUKU and GEHEN; KURU and KOMMEN. The words were shown twice so as to give a stronger impression. The Japanese gentleman was excluded from these experiments, and indeed, the unknown Japanese characters which were only dimly or not at all remembered, evoked the corresponding words: HITO—MENSCH; KURU—KOMMEN; BLUME—HANA, etc. Dr. Scripture adds: “These associations were involuntary, the observer imagined them to be wrong, and could find no reason for the involuntary appearance of the words. He had not thought at all of the connecting links.”
It appears that the links in a chain of concepts need not be all conscious and the result of his experiments in this line is formulated by Dr. Scripture as follows: A concept apperceived can bring another concept into the focus of consciousness although it was never associated with it, if there are other psychic elements of lower degrees or even outside of consciousness which are connected with both—provided that there are no other elements stronger than these. The effect of the unconscious link however is much weaker than that which was conscious.
Pages 71-101 are devoted to the investigations of the after-effect of concepts. The phenomena of ideation being extremely complex, we cannot assume that the process of a so-called reproduced concept is analogous to the original idea. A sensation changes during its presence with reference to the degree of consciousness of its parts and even the concepts as a whole may be altered. The process is different according to circumstances. The renewed concepts differ from their originals, (1) in the degree of the consciousness of the whole idea, (2) in the degree of the consciousness of its parts among themselves, (3) in form, color, relations, etc., (4) in duration. In order to avoid the metaphysical influence of hypothetical theories we ought to avoid all kinds of terms suggestive of a theory and stick closely to a simple description of facts. Therefore Dr. Scripture proposes to discard such words as “retention, reproduction, revival,” etc., and suggests the term “after-effect.” Yet he adds, quoting from Wundt, “these after-effects themselves are as little ideas as the effects produced upon nerves and muscles by exercise can be called actions of will.”
Dr. Scripture avoids explaining what he conceives these after-effects to be. We see no reason for disagreement and should say that the result of the after-effects is what generally goes by the name of “disposition.” And a certain disposition is produced according to the law of the conservation of form in living structures. (See “The Soul of Man,” pp. 418-424.)
Dr. Scripture is led by a consideration of his observations to the following statement: “Each concept is conditioned through the effects of the elements of the present state of consciousness and the after-effects of many (if not of all) previous elements of consciousness.”
This result is not compatible with the theory of reproduction now almost universally accepted by the association-psychology. Wundt says: “If only certain single concepts were renewed, we might perhaps explain why in the memory-picture certain elements of a former reproduction are missing: but we could not explain why the elements of a concept change so often qualitatively as is indeed the case. This, it appears, is possible only because a memory-picture and others of a kindred nature affect each other mutually.”
This will find explanation in the following experiment. The observer sees a dog, and thinks of a circus, which he saw a year ago. There is no direct association between the picture of the dog and the special reminiscence of that circus visited a year ago. The association was formed at the moment. Former sensations of dogs had their after-effects and this special reminiscence was localised.
Dr. Scripture maintains that Höffding’s association theory contains too many hypothetical elements; it presupposes faculties of the soul to join like with like and to combine simultaneous or consecutive events.
κρς.
FOOTNOTES:
[22] ... “A represénter le positivisme comme directement résummé par l’utopie de la Vierge-Mère”—Comte to Audiffrent, the 8th of St. Paul 69 (May 28, 1857.)
[23] Good philosophers, it is true, are rare in America, perhaps rarer than in Europe. Nevertheless the interest in philosophy is exceedingly strong here. There are metaphysical and philosophical clubs all over the country, and the crop of philosophical dilettanti is at least as great on this side of the Atlantic as in Paris.
[24] It is a matter of course that we are in strong sympathy with many philosophers and scientists whom Hermann Gruber classes among the positivists outside of the positivistic schools, not only Th. Ribot, but also Guyau, Fouillée, Roberty, and others. How much they were influenced by the Comte-Littré or the Comte-Lafitte Positivism is difficult to say. It is certain that many of them would have accomplished the same work in the same way with or without Comte. Roberty was first a fervid disciple of Comte, but he soon combated not only Comte’s law of the three stages (which latter by the bye was according to Schaarschmidt first pronounced by Turgot) but also his agnosticism, declaring that Comte was still entangled in metaphysicism, and that the last bulwark, the idea of the unknowable, had to be conquered also.
[25] We publish in this number a sonnet by Louis Belrose, Jr. to Émile Littré. Mr. Belrose is a positivist who attended together with Mr. Fred. Harrison positivistic lectures in France. We publish Mr. Belrose’s poem as an expression of his gratitude and admiration toward a master mind but not as an expression of our view of Littré.
PERIODICALS.
MIND. July, 1891. No. LXIII.
CONTENTS:
THE PROBLEM OF PSYCHOLOGY. By _E. W. Scripture_.
THE PHYSICAL BASIS OF PLEASURE AND PAIN. I. By _H. R. Marshall_.
SCHOPENHAUER’S CRITICISM OF KANT. By _W. Caldwell_.
DISCUSSION: On the Origin of Music. (1) By _R. Wallaschek_; (2) By Prof. _J. McK. Cattell_; The Coefficient of External Reality. By Prof. _J. Mark Baldwin_.
CRITICAL NOTICES: James’s “The Principles of Psychology”; Pfleiderer’s “Development of Theology in Germany”; Keynes’s “Scope and Method of Political Economy”; Lehmann’s “Die Hypnose und die damit verwandten normalen Zustände.”
As all sciences treat, to a great extent, of the same objects, they can be separated only according to _how_ they treat things. On this principle, Mr. Scripture divides sciences into Special Sciences, General or Philosophical Sciences, and Didactic Sciences. The Special sciences are, I, the Mathematical Sciences, treating the _forms_ of all experience; II, the Phenomenal Sciences, treating of the _contents_ of all experience; the second class is divided into the Physical Sciences, which treat experience from its objective side, and Mental Sciences, which treat experience from its subjective side. The group of Mental Sciences is best divided, according to Wundt’s scheme, into the sciences of mental processes, Psychological Sciences; the sciences of mental products, Philological Sciences; and the Sciences of mental development, Historical Sciences. Psychology as a science of mental phenomena has a two-fold relation to the physical sciences: it is complementary to them, a necessary auxiliary; they are complementary to it, accessories in psychological investigation. States of mind always remain states of mind; they cannot be resolved into motions of particles of matter, and it is a fundamental axiom that _mental phenomena cannot influence or be influenced by material phenomena_. But we are justified in talking about a nervous stimulation becoming a percept, a muscular contraction following an act of will, as long as we remember that these are only substitutes for unknown quantities. Physiology investigates nervous changes; Psychology, mental changes; Physiological Psychology, the relations between the two. Mental phenomena are of two kinds, mental processes and mental products. Psychology is the science of mental processes; it seeks the exact description and explanation of the operations of our inner experience. The relation of Psychology to Philosophy is a burning question. Metaphysics, or Philosophy in the narrower sense, seeks from the agreement of the results of all other sciences to establish a system of the principles that underlie all existence, i. e. a theory of the universe, material and mental. After the general principles have been determined by metaphysics, philosophy has the duty of correcting the special sciences when they set up one-sided hypotheses, and of helping where they are unable to proceed alone. Psychology is considered a part of philosophy, but as a special science, treating mental processes from its own standpoint, it is distinct from psychology as a general science treating mind, relations of mind and matter, etc., from the standpoint of philosophy. The latter should be termed Philosophical Psychology. The relation of Psychology to Logic depends on what the latter is. Logic is a science of thought, but thought is also a subject of psychology. Psychology treats thoughts as we think them; Logic, as we ought to think them. Each of the sciences, Epistemology, the doctrine of knowledge, and Methodology, the doctrine of methods, treats of thought for its own distinct purpose. The former determines what the truth is; the latter determines how we ought to think. The didactic sciences are of two kinds: the sciences of the general principles or ends to be obtained, and the sciences of the means to attain these ends. Among the former is General Pedagogy, which determines the ends to be sought for in education. Psychology furnishes the foundation of fact; the science of general pedagogy judges which of these facts are desirable, in much the same way as epistemology judges which are true.
In a former article (_Mind_ No. 56) Mr. Marshall showed that Pleasure and Pain are primitive qualities which, under proper conditions, _may_ appear with any psychosis, whatever be its content. He now finds that all the most notable pleasure-pain theories may in the first instance be placed in four groups, determined by the emphasis of certain kinds of pleasure or pain. An examination of pleasure-pain theories shows, _first_ that there is a general agreement, with but few dissenting voices, that all pleasure is at bottom the same thing, and that all pain in its essence is a single psychological phenomenon, and further that pleasures and pains are unifiable; _second_, that there are certain facts so marked in experience as to have become the basis of the majority of pleasure-pain theories. Mr. Marshall proceeds to consider the theory that “the activity of the organ of any content if efficient is pleasurable, if inefficient is painful.” He concludes that pleasures and pains are involved with the nutritive conditions of the active organ, and lays down the principle that “all pleasure-pain phenomena are determined by the action in the organs concomitant of the conscious state, as related to the nutritive conditions of the organs at the time of the action.” The difference between the hypernormality of pain and of pleasure, turns upon the fact that pleasure is obtained where the organ has been _rested_. Rest in an organ which is sometimes active means storage of energy derived from blood supply; and action after rest means the use of stored energy. But as action of an organ after rest gives a psychic content which is pleasurable, we have the working hypothesis: “Pleasure is experienced wherever the physical action which determines the content involves the use of stored force—the resolution of potential into actual energy; or, in other words, whenever the energy involved in the reaction to a stimulus is greater in amount than the energy of the stimulus.” By a similar process of reasoning we obtain the hypothesis: “Pain is experienced whenever the physical action which determines the content is so related to the supply of nutriment that the energy involved in the reaction to the stimulus is less in amount than the energy of the stimulus.” We may also say in general, “Pleasure and pain are primitive qualities of psychic states which are determined by the relation between activity and capacity in the organs, the activities of which are concomitants of the psychosis.” Mr. Marshall then supplies the psychological interpretation of the physiological phenomena attendant on the pleasures of Rest and of Relief, and of the pain of Obstruction or hindered activity. He concludes the present article with the statement that the physical concomitants of pleasure-pain phenomena are to be found in general qualities common to all processes which are at the basis of our conscious life; and that this is corroborated by introspective analysis of pleasures and pains. Mr. Marshall’s idea does not appear to us as a happy solution of the problem.
The object of Mr. Caldwell’s paper is to explain Kantism through Schopenhauer, who claimed to be Kant’s only true successor in philosophy. Schopenhauer came to the conclusion that Kant’s only real discovery, given in the “Æsthetic,” was that Space and Time were known by us _a priori_. The principle of Causality is the only element of value he finds in the “Analytic,” and a much simpler account could have been given of it. The “Dialectic” represents the Negative side of the Critical Philosophy, which although conclusive, might have been stated more simply. In Ethics Kant rendered the immortal service of showing, by his attribution of a noumenal freedom to man, compensating for his phenomenal necessary determination, “that the kingdom of virtue is not of this world”; although the _K. d. prakt. V._ is only an application to ethics of the principles already reached in the sphere of the Pure Reason. Schopenhauer finds the _K. d. Urtheilskraft_ to contain the characteristic defect of Kant’s whole Philosophy—the starting from indirect instead of direct knowledge. Lastly, the criticism of the Teleological Judgment only shows what the _K. d. r. V._ already showed, the subjectivity of what we may call the ontological categories. According to Schopenhauer, the chief tendency of the Kantian philosophy is to establish “the total diversity of the real and the ideal.” The Ideal he explains as “the visible, spatial appearance with the qualities that are perceived on it,” and the Real as the “thing-in-and-for-itself,” which is the reality underlying and determining the world of experience, and, as such, a real and not a hypothetical entity. Schopenhauer never speaks of it in the plural, as Kant does, and so keeps consistently to a monistic point of view. He says, “The way in which Kant introduced such a thing-in-itself and sought to reconcile it with his philosophy was faulty.” This concerns Kant’s method, against which Schopenhauer directs the full force of his criticism. The fundamental principle of Kant’s method Schopenhauer takes to be the starting from indirect reflective knowledge: Philosophy is for Kant a science of conceptions, while for himself it is a science _in_ conceptions; philosophy being a conceptualised or _generalised_ statement of our knowledge. Schopenhauer sees all Kant’s errors contained in the following sentence from the _K. d. r. V._: “If I take away all thought” (through the categories), “from empirical knowledge, there remains absolutely no knowledge of an object, for through mere perceptions nothing at all is thought.” In endeavoring to construct a philosophy out of pure conceptions Kant failed to solve the problem, in having the thing-in-itself left on his hands. This proved to Schopenhauer that the path of abstract reflection was closed as the path of philosophy. Mr. Caldwell demurs to Schopenhauer’s statement that the “Æsthetic” is Kant’s only discovery, yet as the “Æsthetic” shows the tendency to conceptual abstraction, his view of Space and Time is of extreme importance. It is of the “Logic” of the _K. d. r. V._ that Schopenhauer’s criticism is materially and formally most radical. He gives a different account of the functions of the Soul, rejecting altogether the faculty-distinctions of Kant: he associates Kant’s faculty of Understanding more with Sense and the category of Cause with the spatio-temporal or perceptual construction of the world, and holds the other eleven categories to be mere blind windows put into a scheme through Kant’s love of symmetry; and, secondly, he holds Kant’s account of Reason to be utterly false, and substitutes his own doctrine of the thing-in-itself for Kant’s three Ideas of Reason. By Reason Schopenhauer means the power the mind has of forming general conceptions and of knowing by way of conception or idea, the matter for conceptions and ideas being of course derived from Perception. Reasoned knowledge is an abstraction from perceived knowledge, and all knowledge, as Schopenhauer says, is originally and in itself perceptive. The confusion in Kant’s account of the elements entering into knowledge, is Schopenhauer’s reason for holding that Kant can only have had the fundamental principle of his method imperfectly present to his mind. His whole difficulty in relating the elements of knowledge to each other arose from the fact that he in his thought likened the categories to conceptions through want of an explicit and persistent recognition of the nature of conception. Schopenhauer himself classifies the categories according to the planes or stages of experience they characterise: the perceptual, the mathematical, the logical, and the ethical in order. The categories are all abstractions, but not conceptions or notions. Conceptions are a particular kind of abstractions, and so are categories: to conceptions _material_ entities correspond, but to categories only relations or forms. Knowledge consists in the detection of relations existing between the different planes or sections of the perceptual continuum, the difference in perceived things being that some are immediately and others only mediately perceived. The true reason of Schopenhauer’s revolt from the method of conceptions is to be found in the difficulties in which he felt himself involved by the theory of Subjective Idealism. Philosophy, he says, is a search for the Thing-in-itself, but he tells Kant that from the idea nothing but the idea follows, and that the path of Reflexion or Knowledge is closed as the path of philosophy. Had Schopenhauer kept more true to his ruling that knowledge is originally and in itself perception, he would not have maintained that the world is my idea. The Thing-in-itself is the shadow cast by the Reflective or Abstracting Understanding. With both Kant and Schopenhauer it is primarily invented to get rid of the difficulty bred of a belief in an abstraction or unreality, and as it is a pure mental fiction, we may safely deny that there is any such thing in reality.
Mr. Wallaschek finds the origin of music in a rhythmical impulse in man. The sense of rhythm arises from the general appetite for exercise, which recurs in rhythmical form owing to sociological as well as psychological conditions. On the one hand, there is the social character of primitive music, compelling a number of performers to act in concert. On the other hand, our perception of time-relations involves a process of intellection, by means of which the mind is able to comprehend them as a whole. Since music is produced not merely as an auditory impression and expression, but also in order to evoke reflexion, it must contain the qualities of time-order and rhythm. Mr. Herbert Spencer’s theory of the origin of the general appetite for exercise is said to afford the most valid explanation. It is the surplus vigor in more highly evolved organisms, exceeding what is required for immediate needs, in which play of all kinds takes its rise. We owe our musical faculty to the time-sense rather than to our sense of hearing. The perception of particular tones and tunes plays a very low part, if any, in primitive music. In almost all the examples furnished by ethnology, we see that music is the expression of emotion, which is also one of the sources of human language. Mr. Spencer is said to be wrong, however, in thinking that musical modulation originates in the modulations of speech Music and speech have a reciprocal influence, and primitive human utterance, using sound-metaphors and onomatopœia, may resemble primitive musical tones. Nevertheless, an early separation of distinct tones and indistinct sounds seems to have taken place, not as a transition from the one as prior to the other as succeeding, but as a divergence from a primitive state which is, strictly speaking, neither of the two.
Professor Cattell objects that the theories of Darwin and Spencer on the origin of music, describe what probably took place, rather than explain why it was necessary that it should have taken place. As to Spencer’s explanation of harmony, he affirms that it amounts to saying that harmony gives pleasure because it is pleasant. After referring to the connection of harmony with the existence of overtones, Prof. Cattell states that music is not, as commonly supposed, a creation of the imagination, freer than the other arts from a physical basis, but is rather a discovery and a development. All the combinations of music are latent in the sounds Of nature, and the history of music bears witness to the gradual adoption of such as are more remote. The difference in voices rests on the overtones present, and the immense emotional effects of music are due to the fact that music expresses the emotion of the human voice, using and developing those combinations of tones which the voice uses when moved by sorrow and joy, despair and exultation.
By the _Coefficient_ of External Reality, Professor Baldwin means the something which attaches to some presentations in virtue of which we attribute reality to them; while others, not having the coefficient, are discredited. Diametrically opposed solutions of this question are held. To one class of writers, the coefficient of the reality of an image is its independence of the will; to another class, the coefficient is subjection to the will. If we make a distinction between a memory-coefficient of reality—that is, the something about a memory which leads us to believe it represents a real experience—and a sensational coefficient, that is, the criterion of present sensational reality, we see that those two kinds of reality differ in their relation to the will. A present sensible reality is not under the control of any will, but a memory coefficient is subjected to will, in the sense that we are able to get the image again as a sensation by repeating the series of voluntary muscular sensations which were associated with it in its first experience. This memory-coefficient of external reality must be distinguished from the coefficient of memory itself; the latter being the feeling that an image has been in consciousness before, i. e. recognition, or sense of familiarity. A true memory is an image which I can get at will by a train of memory-associates, and which, when got, is further subject to my will. (London: Williams & Norgate.)
INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF ETHICS. July, 1891. Vol. I. NO. 4.
CONTENTS:
THE MODERN CONCEPTION OF THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION. By Prof. _Edward Caird_.
THE FUNCTIONS OF ETHICAL THEORY. By Prof. _James H. Hyslop_.
THE MORALITY OF NATIONS. By Prof. _W. R. Sorley_.
J. S. MILL’S SCIENCE OF ETHOLOGY. By _James Ward_.
VICE AND IMMORALITY. By _R. W. Black_.
THE PROGRESS OF POLITICAL ECONOMY SINCE ADAM SMITH. By _Francis W. Newman_.
PROGRAMME OF SCHOOL OF APPLIED ETHICS.
DISCUSSIONS: The Moral Aspect of “Tips” and “Gratuities.” By _Christine Ladd Franklin_.
Ideas and facts, says Professor Caird, are continually being woven together as warp and woof, into the web of man’s intellectual life. The idea of the unity of mankind has within the last century become an almost instinctive presupposition of all civilised men. It has special application to the history of religion. In a man’s religion we have expressed his ultimate attitude to the universe. Even atheism or agnosticism involves a definite attitude towards the ultimate problem of human life. The modern ideas of the organic unity and the organic evolution of man inevitably compel us to seek for the one principle of life which is striving towards the full realisation of itself.
Professor Hyslop remarks, that two questions may be asked: (1) Why is it that any disturbance in ethical speculation at once brings men up in arms about the consequences? (2) Why is there such a tendency even in speculative ethics to bring its theories into harmony and sympathy with “practical” problems? The preliminary answer is the distinction between science and art. The aim of science is to find causes; the aim of art to produce ends by means of these causes. But art may be divided into productive and practical art. Every consideration of the scope and aim of ethics shows it to be both a science and an art. As a science it endeavors to explain something; as an art, to realise something. Its complications are thus two-fold. Ethics may be a science in two distinct relations. First, it aims to show the general conception which will reduce the various motives actually governing human conduct to unity. Secondly, it aims to show the end that ought ideally to govern conduct, and this is the supreme object of ethics as a science.
In relation to the Morality of Nations, Professor Sorley says that the relations of the state, diplomatic or military, with other states may be compared with the relations of one individual to another, but the two sets of relations are not the same. A crime is an act punishable by law, and it is absurd therefore to speak as if the state, acting legally, could commit a crime. But if theft ceased to be a crime it would be as much an offense against morality as before. Taxation to which the taxed have not consented and unfair taxation cannot be regarded as theft, as some suppose. Individual morality becomes mixed with national morality when those through whom the state acts act for themselves and for their own interests, instead of for the common good. Within a nation the state is above all individuals, but there is no corresponding superior power over nations. What remains is a general obligation upon states to observe justice in their dealings with one another. National morality differs from individual morality in that a nation’s first duty may be said to be to itself. There is no selfishness, there is only patriotism, in its recognising the fact and acting upon it. The intercourse of nations can only reach a full measure of development under a common moral law, which recognises the rights of one nation as of equal value with the rights of any other.
Mr. Ward points out, that Mill, in his exposition of what he called Ethology, or the Exact Science of Human Nature, repeated in all the issues of his “Logic,” remarks that Ethology must first proceed deductively. The laws of the formation of character “are derivative laws, resulting from the general laws of mind, and are to be obtained by deducing them from those general laws.” There was a want of clearness in Mill’s conception of an individual. The notion of a Self proved, on his own admission, “the real stumbling block” to his psychological theory. In discussing the influence of remarkable men, Mill allows that “whatever depends on the peculiarities of individuals, combined with the accidents of the positions they hold, is necessarily incapable of being foreseen.” When we attempt to estimate the influence of circumstances on individuals, we must often know how the circumstances appear to _them_,—this personal equation so to say is frequently incalculable.
In the main, says Mr. Black, sin exists intimately in, or as an inseparable affection or potentiality of, the person as a whole, and to discourage it is to discourage the person, and tantamount, therefore, to discouraging his goodness as well. At this point the division of sin into vice and immorality becomes essential to a rational solution. Immorality is crime against living moral agents. Vice may be defined as the spending of the forces of one’s own life to the detriment of its moral capabilities.
Mr. Francis W. Newman, who began the study of Political Economy seventy years ago, when he was sixteen, gives in this article his views on the evils of land tenure in England.
Mrs. Franklin thinks “the subjective feeling of worth and dignity” which distinguishes the people of this country will be injured by “giving fees to our inferiors when they perform some service for which they are (or ought to be) otherwise well paid.” That the matter is not “absolute ethics” is apparent from the fact that in Japan a totally different sentiment prevails. The editor, Prof. Josiah Royce (under the signature of J. R.) in commenting on Mrs. Franklin’s communication after referring to the evils of the German custom of Trinkgeld as detailed by v. Ihering, says that if it harms the manhood of our writers to “tip” them the mischief should be met by organised devices such as v. Ihering proposes, and not by individual action. (Philadelphia: _International Journal of Ethics_, 1602 Chestnut Street.)
Ω.
REVUE PHILOSOPHIQUE.
CONTENTS: June, 1891. No. 186.
LES RESULTATS DES THEORIES CONTEMPORAINES SUR L’ASSOCIATION DES IDEES. By _B. Bourdon_.
COMMENT LA SENSATION DEVIENT IDEE. By _J. Payot_.
NOTES ET DISCUSSIONS. QU’EST-CE QUE LA PHYSIOLOGIE GENERALE? By _Durand_ (_de Gros_).
CONTENTS: July, 1891. No. 187.
LA NOTION DE LIMITE EN MATHEMATIQUES. By _G. Milhaud_.
COUP D’OEIL SUR L’HISTOIRE DE LA PHILOSOPHIE EN RUSSIE (I). By _F. Lannes_.
LES SOURCES DE LA PHILOSOPHIE DE L’INDE. By _P. Regnaud_.
M. Bourdon reviews the modes of association proposed by various psychologists, and the factors which intervene to give force to associations. Wundt alone; among psychologists has the great merit of not placing ideas and sensations in actual opposition. The laws of ideology are almost the same as those of physics; and the law of association ought to be true not only for ideas, but for sensations and for objects. M. Bourdon’s conclusion is that the theory of the association of ideas has hitherto been treated from a too subjective and idealistic point of view. He would substitute for the theory of _association_ of idea a theory of a _society_ of phenomena, which conception he thinks better explains the process.
In a preceding contribution to the _Revue Philosophique_ (May, 1890) M. Payot showed that sensation is the translation into terms of consciousness of that which, considered from the objective point of view, is a reaction of the organism, as a whole, to an external impression. Sensations are the irreducible element of the psychic life. They contribute the materials which the mind modifies, combines, and classes according to their relations, variable or invariable. This is chronologically posterior to sensation, which has an affective origin. The reactions corresponding to the most frequent sensations become more and more rapid until consciousness, “which translates only physiological states of a sufficient duration,” has not time to appear. Here we have a reflex-act. In an intermediate zone where reactions take a time sufficient for them to be conscious, the intellectual states, to which the abstract name of the intellectual faculty has been given, have birth. Differentiation operates between sensible and intellectual facts, until they seem to belong to two irreducible faculties; but the intellectual states are grafted on the sensible states, and although the graft develops so greatly that the sensibility appears like a parasite, the latter is the primitive trunk and through it the graft exists by a kind of continued creation. Sensations are convenient abstractions but nothing more. A sensation never presents itself in the adult consciousness without a crowd of instantaneously evoked relations. There is never absolute exclusion between perception and sensation: these are two states which dissolve into each other, which have no difference in nature, and which are separable only in gross. Properly speaking there are no sensations, only perceptions more or less complex. In sensation the state of mind is considered in itself without reference to its relations; in perception attention is paid chiefly to the relations. But sensation exists only for consciousness, as it can never enter directly into intellectual constructions, but only through the state of remembrance. Every sensation so far as we are sensible of it is purely felt, and we effectuate our mental constructions not with sensations, but with our remembrances of sensations. But the rôle of sensation is still more restricted. However rapid its flight across consciousness it instantaneously provokes the remembrance of numerous sensations of differences and resemblances with anterior sensations. It is an occasion for this, and nothing more. To be perceived, a sensation must be followed by sensations different from itself. The mind seizes relations of resemblance between sensations and resemblances between relations: it classes them, the chaos unravels and organises itself. The organisation has been progressive, but at all stages the procedure is alike; it consists in disengaging remembrances more or less masked by dissimilarities: this is the universal procedure of the mind and the condition _sine qua non_ of thought.
In his article on _General Physiology_, M. Durand (de Gros) in criticism of M. Ch. Richet’s article on this subject which appeared in the April number of the _Revue Philosophique_, points out that Richet in applying the term “general anatomy” to the anatomy of the tissues, and “special anatomy” to the anatomy of the organs, overlooked the fact that _generality_ and _speciality_ when used to express the two opposite sides of a science express relations of abstract, nominal extension and not real extension. Thus, by general chemistry is intended the consideration of the higher laws governing the molecular actions of bodies, the one on the other, whatever that may be, and the modes of composition which result therefrom for each of them. General physiology should be, therefore, the philosophy of the science of the functions of life, that is to say, the higher laws embracing all these various particular functions; special physiology having for its object these particular functions in what is proper to each of them and distinguishes it from the others. Physiology has reference, however, to the other animals as well as man, and also to plants, and hence the term general physiology has been applied to the physiology common to all living beings, and special physiology to that which concerns the various animal and vegetal species taken separately. But this is in reality comparative physiology, and thus positive physiologists have made a false use of the term general physiology, and have left the true general physiology unrecognised and unnamed. In conclusion, M. Durand presents his conception of “organology.”
In the form of a dialogue M. Milhaud meets the objections made to the notion of limit in Mathematics. The question whether to have a limit, for anything variable, is not synonymous with attaining a limit, is considered in connection with Zeno’s problem of Achilles and the tortoise, the strict solution of which is, not that Achilles will never overtake the tortoise, but that he will not overtake it on this side of a spot situated at a distance of 10/9 of a metre from the starting-point, within a period equal to 10/9 of a second commencing at the instant of starting. To the objection that by its very nature the limit cannot be attained, as where the limit and the variable element which indefinitely approaches it are essentially different, it is replied that when a variable element has a limit, this element is a _quantity_ and the limit is a quantity of the same kind, quality being neglected. In the proposition: the length of the circumference is the limit of the perimeters of the inscribed polygons, the limit is a quantity of the same kind, that of length. It is not necessary to know whether the definition accords with reality. M. Milhaud then shows by reference to the properties of an unlimited series of inscribed polygons and the corresponding circumscribed polygons, that two such series of geometrical lengths satisfying the required conditions can always be considered as defining a new length, superior to all the first and inferior to all the others. As to its existence, it can be said only that a length exists only as determined, as limited; and a state of length, or a particular length has a right to exist, provided that the properties of quantity which condition it are not contradictory. The essence of mathematical space, breadth, length is only the content of their definitions. Mathematics owes its existence to the condition of creating for itself a world of fictions. There is a divergence of opinion as to whether incommensurables should be represented by lengths or by numerical symbols, but the divergence is a last echo of the endless discussions which the notions of infinity and continuity have raised among mathematicians.
Philosophic thought, says M. Lannes, presents, in Russia, in its past history, a very poor condition. Philosophy does not exist, unless that name be given to such moral precepts, or domestic recommendations as we find in “the instruction” of a Vladimir Monomaque or in the “Domostroï.” The Russian mind was easily guarded against the liberties of thought, regarding science and philosophy with contempt and holy dread. There, as during the Middle Ages in the rest of Europe, the end to attain, to which all others were subordinated, was the safety of the soul. It was only with Peter the Great that thought took a freer flight, notwithstanding the restrictions that it had still to support. The Little Russians were the first to turn towards western instruction. In order to meet the Jesuits, who appeared in Russia about the middle of the 16th century, with the arms they used, scholastic philosophy was introduced into the college of Pierre Mohila, at Kief. Aristotle was taken as guide and the teaching was in Latin. Under Alexis Mikhaïlovitch, rational, natural, and moral philosophy began to be taught in a formal manner at the Academy of Moscow. Peter the Great ordered an important place to be given to rhetoric and dialectics, and the mention of logic, psychology, and metaphysics in the programme of the Academy. In 1755 logic, metaphysics, and morality entered into the teaching of philosophy at the University. In the 18th century two currents of ideas manifested themselves, of which some are connected with mysticism, others with the influence of French philosophy. The former became associated, through Novikof and Schwartz, with free-masonry, which was regarded as a means of acquiring a knowledge of God, of nature, and of man, of becoming a better Christian, a better citizen, and a better family head. Novikof and Schwartz founded the “Society of the Friends of Instruction,” and through their zeal a mass of moral and religious books were published for distribution in places of instruction. The influence of the French “philosophers” of the 18th century was preponderant in Russia in the second half of the 18th century. Voltaire enjoyed the greatest favor, and his renown was universal. Freethought penetrated the middle classes, and even conservative and religious men denied miracles in the course of history, considered religion as a political instrument, and attacked the ignorance and cupidity of the clergy. On the happening of the French revolution Catherine was frightened and took rigorous measures against those who wished to use freedom of thought.
Questions of pedagogy held a great place in the thoughts of Catherine. She confided the care of pedagogic reforms to Betski, who showed that true education is that which unites the development of the body, of the mind, and of the heart; but the moral element ought to have the first place. Alexander I. re-established philosophic liberalism and sought to excite interest in social, economic, and political questions. The university of Moscow was reorganised, and one of the faculties included dogmatic and moral theology, theoretical and practical philosophy, natural, political and popular rights. Philosophy also established itself in the new universities of Kharkof, Kazan, and Petersburg. But minds were possessed with more living ideas and various tendencies, political, moral, religious, sceptical, led to the establishment of numerous secret societies whose starting point was the masonic alliance. About 1816, Schröder had introduced into the foreign lodges a spirit of cosmopolitan humanity. Fessler saw in the lodges a means of moral education, the basis of civic education. In order to be received as a mason, it was necessary to pass through certain “consecrations,” to obtain certain “degrees of knowledge.” Among those “consecrated” by Fessler was Spéranski who, notwithstanding his mysticism, was imbued with the principles of the Revolution. On the reaction under Prince Galitzyn, the minister of public instruction, science was given a mystical end, and religion was declared to be the supreme science. The sciences which could do injury to religion, as geology, were either discarded, or directed to be taught according to the spirit of Holy Scripture. As to philosophy, the teaching of moral philosophy, which does not separate morality from the faith, was alone allowed. The treatises of the Kantian Jacob were forbidden, as containing scandalous theories. In general, in the universities, during the first year of the nineteenth century the objects of philosophic study were somewhat vague. The utility of the sciences, of education, of the individual characters of peoples, enthusiastic discourses on free will, on the rights of reason, on the spirit and forces of nature. Fessler and Vellanski introduced the German philosophy and principally that of Schelling, which became in some sort the lever which put in movement ideas on the independence and the nationality of civilisation. The most ardent champion of Schelling’s doctrine was Odoievski, whose external personality marks curiously the idea entertained of philosophy and philosophers between 1820 and 1845. A philosopher was represented as a sort of romantic Faust, leading a kind of life different from common mortals. If he occupied himself with physical sciences, the philosopher was regarded as the equal of a sorcerer with terrible powers. M. Lannes concludes his present article with a sketch of the life and philosophy of Galitch, who on his return to St. Petersburg from a three years tour through Europe wrote a dissertation on philosophy, in which he explained the development of beings by the double action of _activity_ and _passivity_, the one being cause, the other product. In 1819 Galitch taught in the University logic, psychology, and metaphysics, and later he received authority to teach the history of philosophy, to which he gave an _eclectic_ character, in accordance with the instructions of his hierarchical superiors. In his _esoteric_ teaching he initiated his friends into the philosophy of Schelling. In that year he published a “History of Philosophic Systems,” the appearance of which was a rare novelty in the Russian Scientific World. He subsequently published several other works, but the manuscript of one on the “Philosophy of the History of Humanity,” which cost him much labor was destroyed by fire. The merit of Galitch is to have wished to establish in Russia philosophy _as science_. He assigned to the study of philosophy the whole encyclopedia of the sciences, but true philosophic knowledge is the knowledge of the unity from which external phenomena flow. M. Lannes gives an analysis of Galitch’s “Picture of Man,” where, before M. Renouvier, he says of freedom, “it can itself begin an entire series of phenomena, which are then linked together in the relations of dependence, that is to say are the necessary acts of a voluntary principle.” Galitch deserves to occupy a small place in the general history of the philosophy of humanity. If there existed before him a science of the relations of the soul and the body, he was at least one of the first to elaborate a programme of what is called to-day _comparative psychology_.
M. Regnaud finds the sources of the philosophy of India in India itself, as they appear in all their simplicity and primitive character in the Rig-Veda, the very ancient collection of liturgical hymns of the Brahmans. The whole doctrine implied by both the Vedic cult and the text of the hymns is resumed in a verse of the Rig Veda. “Each day the same liquid rises and descends; the rains vivify the earth, the fires of the sacrifice vivify the sky.” The libations destined to feed the fire of sacrifice and which consisted of inflammable liquids, such as the _ghrita_ or clarified butter, were poured out each time that the sacrifice was celebrated into the atmosphere (or the sky) whose life they maintained, in like manner as liquid and solid foods sustain the life of man. The whole religious conception of the Vedic epoch consists then in the idea of an endless _circulus_, of a perpetual exchange of the elements of life, in an immense body which is the universe, whose arterial centre is the sacrifice, and the fire the motor, the distributer, and so to say the brain. (Paris: Félix Alcan.)
Ω.
REVUE DE L’HYPNOTISME. April, 1891. No. 10. 5th YEAR.
CONTENTS:
(1) ACCOUCHEMENT DANS L’HYPNOTISME. By _Dr. Fraipont_ and _M. J. Delbœuf_. (2) ACCOUCHEMENT PENDANT LE SOMMEIL HYPNOTIQUE. By _Dr. M. G. Kingsbury_. (3) MEMOIRE RELATIF A CERTAINES RADIATIONS PERQUES PAR LESSENSITIFS. By _Baron de Reichembach_. (4) DISCUSSIONS ET POLEMIQUE: La Nutrition dans l’hypnotisme. By _Gilles de la Tourette_ and _H. Cathelineau_. (5) RECUEIL DE FAITS: Contribution à l’application de la thérapeutique suggestive. By _Dr. P. Van Velsen_. Huit observations d’accouchement sans douleur sous l’influence de l’hypnotisme. By _Dr. Marie Dobrovosky_. REVUE BIBLIOGRAPHIQUE.
Dr. Fraipont terminates his interesting memoir with the remark that save under very exceptional circumstances, as when the subject is very sensitive or has before suffered a sort of trance, hypnotism can scarcely have any practical importance in accouchment. M. Delbœuf refers in a postscript to the case of a patient described in his writings by the initial J..., and states that her accouchment confirms him in his view of the rôle of the brain, which he regards as a moderating and inhibiting organ, and consequently in the opinion expressed by him in the _Revue Philosophique_ as to the essence of freedom, which he regards as having an arresting and not an inciting effect.
MM. de la Fourette and Cathelineau confirm the conclusion drawn from researches made by them for Professor Charcot, that nutrition is affected during the hypnotic sleep, and therefore that hypnotism is a pathological condition. (Paris: 170 Rue Saint-Antoine.)
PHILOSOPHISCHE MONATSHEFTE. Vol. XXVII. Nos. 9 and 10.
CONTENTS:
GOETHES VERHAELTNISS ZU SPINOZA UND SEINE PHILOSOPHISCHE WELTANSCHAUUNG. By _G. Schneege_. I.
WILHELM WUNDT’S “SYSTEM DER PHILOSOPHIE.” By _Johannes Volkelt_. I.
RECENSIONEN: (1) A. Fouillée, L’Avenir de la métaphysique fondée sur l’expérience. By _C. Schaarschmidt_. (2) Th. von Varnbüler, Widerlegung der Kritik der reinen Vernunft. By _E. König_. (3) Bericht über neuere Erscheinungen aus dem Gebiete der Geschichte der Æsthetik. By _E. Kühnemann_. (4) C. Baeumker, Das Problem der Materie in der griechischen Philosophie. By _P. Natorp_.
LITTERATURBERICHT.
Johannes Volkelt continues his review of Wilhelm Wundt’s “System of Philosophy.” Prof. C. Schaarschmidt criticises Fouillée’s view of a future metaphysics as based upon experience, from the Kantian standpoint. Dr. E. König explains with sufficient strength the futility of Varnbüler in his bold attempt of refuting Kant’s “Critique of Pure Reason,” and Dr. Paul Natorp, the editor, devotes an article to Prof. Clemens Baeumker’s book “Das Problem der Materie in der Griechischen Philosophie,” in which the author sets forth that the problem of matter is not a limited problem, but the sum total of all those questions which have reference to the existence of some cause of sensory phenomena which in its nature is different from consciousness. The problems of psycho-physics and of the theory of cognition are modern and were unknown to the ancients. Their standpoint remained throughout that of realism. A résumé of the views of Greek philosophers from Thales down to the New Platonists follows.
The leading article is devoted to Goethe’s relation to Spinoza and his philosophical world-conception.
Goethe’s philosophical and religious opinions are naturally of the greatest interest, because Goethe, the child of nature in the highest sense of the word, represents a genius not such as our great contemporary Cesare Lombroso conceives him to be, i. e. a species of the abnormal man and a kind of insane person, but such as genius is conceived by the layman, i. e. an abnormally normal man, a man whose excellencies lie in a rare harmony of highly developed perfections—not in eccentricities. Goethe’s eccentricities were not worse or more extended than those of average people, but he had more sense, more humor, more depth, and more spirit. Well, Goethe as a son of man and as a type of an unusually perfect man was a poet, a philosopher, a scientist, an historian, an artist, a man of the world, and a man of practical life, all in one, and the opinions of this man in the religio-philosophical field show at least that they accord with man as a child of nature.
Goethe’s philosophical views were strongly influenced by Spinoza yet not so as if Spinoza had impressed his view upon Goethe. Goethe happened to read Spinoza’s “Ethics” while still immature in mind and felt himself powerfully attracted by the spirit of the book. “What I may have read out of or into that work,” he writes, “I could give no account. Yet I found a pacification of my passions. A great and free vista upon the sensual and moral world seemed to open before my eyes. That strange sentence ‘_He who loves God must not demand of God to love him in return_,’ with all its premises and conclusions filled all my thoughts. To be unselfish in everything and most so in love and friendship was my highest delight, my maxim, my practice, so that the bold expression of later years ‘If I love thee, it is none of thy business’ came right from my heart. In addition to this, it must be recognised that the most intimate combinations result from contraries. The all-pervading calmness of Spinoza contrasted with my excited aspirations, his mathematical method was a counterpart of my poetical thoughts and habits.” In Spinoza’s doctrine of necessity Goethe found comfort concerning man’s dependence upon the outer world which caused him so much pain. It is probable that the famous sentence of the liberation from passions through a clear comprehension of them was very sympathetic to Goethe, for it is a characteristic feature of his poetry that they were confessions as well as liberations of all that moved and disturbed him. As soon as Goethe was able to give to himself a clear account concerning that which had affected his soul and as soon as he could give a poetical form to it so that it became something independent and outside of him, he gained, in the sense of Spinoza’s doctrine of liberation from passions, the peace and liberty of his soul. Yet Spinoza’s doctrine of necessity was a metaphysical conception. Goethe transferred it into the domains of practical ethics, thus giving rise to his idea of resignation. Goethe writes in the beginning of the sixteenth book of “Wahrheit und Dichtung”: “Our physical as well as our social life, customs, habits, worldly wisdom, philosophy, religion, even many incidental events, everything demands of us that we should resign ourselves. So many things which most intrinsically belong to us we are not allowed to develop. That of the outer world which we want as a complement of our nature is taken away and many things which are foreign to us and disagreeable are thrown upon us. We are deprived of everything that we have with difficulty acquired, of everything that is friendly and before we fully comprehend it we find ourselves obliged _to surrender our very personality_, first piecemeal and finally in its entirety.” Professor Schneege says that Goethe’s practice of resignation gave him solace when he felt low-spirited concerning the limits of human willing and wishing and hoping, and his resignation was as a matter of principle a total resignation. A partial resignation leads to the pessimistic outcry “All is vanity,” yet the total resignation affords an inner peace and produces that “air of peace,” _die Friedensluft_ as Goethe calls it, which surrounds us when reading Spinoza.
One of Goethe’s maxims is quite Spinozistic. Goethe says (_Max. und Refl. Abth._ v.): “He who declares himself to be free will feel himself at once dependent but he who dares to declare himself dependent, feels himself free.”
Goethe rejected the idea of a personal and transcendent Deity which was urged so strongly upon him by Lavater. Rejecting Lavater’s view, he says (_Wahrh. und Dicht._ xiv.): “I assured him in accord with my Realism which is inborn as well as acquired that since it had pleased God and Nature to make me as I am, I must remain so.” The expression “God and Nature” savors strongly of Spinoza’s “Deus sive natura.”
According to Eckermann (_Gesp. m. G._ ii, p. 169) Holbach’s _Systéme de la nature_ had also made a strong impression upon Goethe. Nevertheless he was dissatisfied with the spirit of French materialism. He says: “How empty and hollow is this sad atheistic twilight, in which the earth with all its forms and the heaven with all its stars disappear. Matter only is said to exist, being in motion from eternity to eternity, thus producing to the right and to the left without further ado all the innumerable phenomena of being.” Goethe’s view of “God and nature,” did not deny the Deity as such, but identified both in the sense of Spinoza. In this sense Goethe interpreted the sentence: _Qui deum amat conari not potest, ut Deus ipsum contra amet—si homo id conaretur, cuperet ergo ut Deus quem amat, non esset Deus_. The latter idea, “if a man wished that God should love him in return, he would wish that God be not God” is a corollary only to the impersonal conception of Spinoza’s non-anthropomorphised Deity. We cannot and we must not think of God as a human being who like a monarch makes favorites of those who are faithful not so much to the divine laws of ethics but to God personally.
Goethe agreed in his views of Spinoza with Herder, who in a letter to Jacobi writes: “The πρὼτον ψεῦδος, my dear Jacobi, in all anti-spinozistic systems is that God is supposed to be the great _ens entium_, the cause of all phenomena, a cypher, an abstract idea which we have formulated. However, that is not so according to Spinoza; God is to him the most real and active unity which says to itself ‘I am that I am, and shall be in all the changes of my phenomena that which I shall be.’ What you mean, my dear fellows, by an existence outside of the world, I do not understand. If God does not exist in the world, and indeed, everywhere unlimited in his totality and entirety, he does not exist at all. The limitation of personality does not belong to the infinite being, since a person originates with us by limitation as a kind of _modus_ or as an aggregate of beings whose activity is endowed with the illusion of unity.” A modification of Spinoza’s view consists in the recognition of the creative activity which Herder attributes to God. In another letter to Jacobi, Herder writes: “You wish God in the shape of man like a friend who thinks of you. Consider that in that case he must think humanly of you. If he is partial to you he will be partial against others. Explain to me why you need him to be human. He speaks to you, he affects you through all noble men who are his organs and most so through his organ of organs, the core of his spiritual creation, his only begotten. I must confess that this philosophy makes me exceedingly happy. Goethe has read Spinoza since your departure and it is a test case to me that he has conceived him exactly as I do.”
Herder was a clergyman and he held the highest position of his church, being Superintendent General. Would the protestant state churches of to-day either in England or in Germany have room for a man like Herder?
Goethe concurred with Herder, that the idea of an extramundane Deity has no sense, an outside God is powerless and an immanent God alone is a reality. He puts in the mouth of Faust the following lines:
“The God that in my breast is owned Can deeply stir the inner sources. The God above my powers enthroned He cannot change external forces.”
_Faust I, Scene 4, Tr. Bayard Taylor._
Spinoza makes a difference between _natura naturans_ and _natura naturata_. A similar contrast is made by Goethe in the following lines which are found among the _Zahme Xenien_, Part vii.
“Life dwells in each celestial body And on its self-selected roads It likes to travel with the others. There are in our earth’s deep abodes The forces, shrouded now in night And rising up again to light If with eternal repetition Some circles infinitely roam, If thousand stones in strong construction Together build life’s glorious dome, Then through all things is pleasure thrilling, The great, the little, both are blessed, _Yet all this yearning, all this striving_ _In God the Lord, is eternal rest_.”[26]
According to Schneege, Goethe was an agnostic. Faust says:
“Mysterious even in open day Nature retains her veil, despite our clamors. That which she doth not willingly display, Cannot be wrenched from her with levers, screws and hammers.”
_I, 1. Tr. Bayard Taylor._
This quotation however expresses Faust’s despair and not Goethe’s philosophical view. It is true that Goethe has made a few utterances which savor of agnosticism, but most of them are expressive of the idea that we can never be through with our wisdom; every new solution proposes new problems.
“_Will mich jedoch des Worts nicht schämen:_ _Wir tasten ewig an Problemen._”
_Zahme Xenien_, vii.
[Will not be ashamed of the confession: We are dealing with problems without intercession.]
How little Goethe was in accord with the view of modern agnosticism or phenomenalism, that we know the outside of nature only and not her inside, can be learned from his opposition to Haller’s famous lines:
“Nature’s Within from mortal mind Must ever lie concealed. Thrice blessed e’en he, to whom she has Her outer shell revealed.”
In answer to the agnostic sentiment of the famous naturalist, Goethe answered with the following verses (quoted in the translation given in “Fundamental Problems,” p. 142):
“_Nature’s ‘within’ from mortal mind_” Philistine, sayest thou, “_Must ever lie concealed?_” To me, my friend, and to my kind Repeat this not. We trow Where’er we are that we Within must always be.
“_Thrice blessed e’en he to whom she has_ _Her outer shell revealed?_” This saying sixty years I heard Repeated o’er and o’er, And in my soul I cursed the word, Yet secretly I swore. Some thousand thousand times or more Unto myself I witness bore: Gladly gives Nature all her store, She knows not kernel, knows not shell, For she is all in one. But thou, Examine thou thine own self well whether thou art kernel or art shell.
We ought to bear in mind that Goethe was no philosopher in the strict sense of the word and did not attempt to have a system that should be free from contradictions. So we read in one place: “Man is not born to solve the problem of the world, but to seek for the limit of the incomprehensible and then to remain within the limits of the comprehensible,” and in another place “Man must hold fast to the belief that what seems incomprehensible is comprehensible, for otherwise he would cease to investigate.”
The idea of evolution was the basis of Goethe’s idea of immortality. Here also he remains in accord with Herder who had proposed in his “Ideas for a Philosophy of the History of Mankind” his views of the development of beings by degrees. Goethe wrote from Rome (See “Herder’s Nachlass,” ed. Düntzer, Frankfort, 1756, i, p. 17.): “How much I enjoy Herder’s ‘Ideas,’ I can scarcely express. Since I expect no Messiah, this [viz. the prospect of further evolution] is to me the dearest Gospel.”
Goethe’s idea of the soul is not clearly worked out in its philosophical aspect. He speaks of souls as of monads and believes in a migration of the soul. “I am sure,” Goethe said to Falk, “I have been here some thousand times and expect to come again some thousand times.”
Goethe was very decided in practical and ethical respects. Goethe deviated from Spinoza by introducing a strong trait of individualism into Spinoza’s cosmism.
“_Zweck sein selbst ist jegliches Thier._”[27]
[Every creature has its purpose in itself.]
And man is the last product of constantly higher evolving Nature—_das letzte Product der sich immer steigernden Natur_. Nature’s intention according to Goethe’s view is to produce constantly more perfect creatures. He says: “Imagine Nature standing as a gamester before the roulette table constantly shouting _au double_. With all she has won through all the phases of her activity she continues to play on into infinity. Stone, plant, animal, everything is risked in such hazarding ventures again and again, and who can tell whether man himself is not but a venture for a higher aim.” Death was to Goethe no destruction but a dissolution. A destruction or annihilation appeared as an impossibility to him. And his idea of immortality was not one of existence after death but of a continued activity. In the year 1825 Goethe declared to Chancellor von Müller (“Gespräche m.d. Kanzler von Müller,” p. 99), that he should not know what to do with an immortality in which he would not find new tasks to do and new difficulties to conquer. (Heidelberg: Georg Weiss.)
κρς.
ZEITSCHRIFT FÜR PSYCHOLOGIE UND PHYSIOLOGIE DER SINNESORGANE. Vol. II. No. 4.
CONTENTS:
ZUR PSYCHOLOGIE DER KOMPLEXIONEN UND RELATIONEN. By _E. Meinong_.
WUNDT’S ANTIKRITIK. By _C. Stumpf_.
UEBER DIE UNTERSCHIEDSEMPFINDLICHKEIT FUER KLEINE ZEITGROESSEN. Eine vorläufige Mitteilung. By _F. Schumann_.
LITTERATURBERICHT.
Professor A. Meinong discusses Ch. v. Ehrenfels’s article “Ueber Gestaltqualitäten”[28] adding the results of his own investigations suggested to him by this essay. Ehrenfels starts from Professor Mach’s consideration of figure and melody (see Mach’s _Beiträge zur Analyse der Empfindungen_) and proposes the question, What are figure and melody in themselves? Are they merely a combination of elements or are they something in contradistinction to their elements, something entirely new? Melodies and figures, says Ehrenfels, can be so transposed that not any one of their original elements will remain. Thus the similarity of figures in space as well as of tones is something different from the similarity of their elements; they must be something different than their mere sum. This is “the figure-quality” or _Gestaltsqualität_, and Ehrenfels distinguishes between two kinds, (1) those of time (2) those of space, which he calls (1) _Tongestalten_ and (2) _Raumgestalten_. In addition to these are discussed the figure-qualities of sensations and of inner apperception. Ehrenfels proposes the psychological question whether these figure-qualities are immediately given together with their foundations or whether they must be considered as the product of a special activity, and he decides in favor of the former possibility. Professor Meinong whose work has been in similar lines, refers to his article “Phantasievorstellung und Phantasie”[29] and criticises the term “figure-quality,” proposing in its stead the words _fundierend_ and _fundiert_, using the German term _Fundament_ as a correlative expression of “relation.” There is no relation without complexity and psychological experience has actually to deal with complex facts only. Melody and figure are names for the totality of the foundations including their “founded” contents.
It may be that we are unduly prejudiced in favor of our own terminology, but it seems to us that the expression “form” will prove to be the most appropriate word. Form is neither quality nor quantity, but form can produce qualities. Let the same qualities, say of chemical elements, combine in different forms, and we shall obtain substances with different qualities. Figure and melody are special kinds of form. Forms consist in and originate through combination, and the unity produced through a special form-combination is actually something new, as much so as if it were a special-creation act. This wonderful power of form makes the study of form all-important in all branches of science. A neglect of the study of form will lead either to materialism when matter and motion are conceived as the only quality-producing factors, or to agnosticism as soon as a deeper inquiry proves that matter and motion are not sufficient to explain the most essential properties of the objects of investigation. We cannot judge from the present article how much Ehrenfels and Meinong are in sympathy with our standpoint, but we can see that their efforts are in the same direction.
The second article is a rejoinder by Prof. C. Stumpf of Munich to Prof. W. Wundt’s reply to his critic. Professor Stumpf complains of Wundt that he ignored the points raised in his criticism and that his “Antikritik” consisted only of “a chain of distortions and insinuations.”
F. Schumann publishes his results regarding sensibility for the difference between smallest quantities of time. He employed a chronograph modified in two respects from Wundt’s chronograph. First he replaced the expensive chronometer by a treading-wheel and introduced Pfeil’s time-marker, which, as he thinks, is handier as well as more precise than Wundt’s time-marker. Schumann’s results agree with the results of Professor Mach showing a maximum of 0.3-0.4 seconds, the relation of the perceptible difference to the normal time being in different persons only 0.022. (Hamburg and Leipsic: L. Voss.)
κρς.
PHILOSOPHISCHES JAHRBUCH. Vol. IV. No. 3.
CONTENTS:
ENTHAELT DIE CHEMISCH-PHYSIKALISCHE ATOMTHEORIE WIDERSPRUECHE? By _S. J. Linsmeier_.
NOCH EINMAL ZU PLATON’S TIMAEUS p. 51 E-p. 52 B. By _Clemens Baeumker_.
DAS GESETZ VON DER ERHALTUNG DES LEBENS. (Zusatz der Redaction.) By _W. Frye_.
DIE LOGISCHEN GAENGE DES DENKENS. By _Dr. G. Grupp_.
W. WUNDT’S SYSTEM DER PHILOSOPHIE. By _C. Gutberlet_.
RECENSIONEN UND REFERATE.
The publishers and editors of _The Monist_ are not Roman Catholics and we suppose that the majority of our readers are not either. But all the more it appears to us necessary to state as a matter of justice that the Roman Catholic publications (i. e. those which avowedly and confessedly represent Roman Catholic thought) are far superior to their analogous Protestant contemporaries. The latter are debating their particular sectarianisms and do not seem to be interested in the progress of their times. They do not heed the discoveries of science or the views of philosophers, they live in a world of their own. It is different with Roman Catholics. The present magazine proves that they have thinkers among them who keep abreast of the time. It is true that there is more discipline in the camp of Roman Catholics which shuts their champions out from free enquiry in a certain direction concerning some fundamental tenets, but with all this discipline goes along a broad-mindedness in attacking the different problems of modern science and philosophy and bringing them into harmony with the Roman Catholic faith.
The _Philosophisches Jahrbuch_ is published by the _Görres-Gesellschaft_ and edited by Dr. Const. Gutberlet. Jacob Joseph Görres is the well-known champion of the Catholic Church (1776-1848)—a restless spirit who began his public career as an enthusiastic defender of the French Revolution for the propagation of which he published a fanatical journal _Das rothe Blatt_. With the rise of Napoleon he despaired of the cause of liberty, but he took courage again in the war of independence (1813-1815). In his journal _Der Rheinische Merkur_ he denounced bitterly those Germans who still held to the French; he recommended his countrymen to have more love for their language, customs, and traditions and exhorted the princes to stand united against the common foe and re-institute the empire. The war over he was persecuted by the Prussian government on account of his renewed interests in revolutionary affairs (he had published in 1820 a pamphlet “Germany and the Revolution”) and showing a decided inclination to mysticism (“Emanuel Schwedenborg, his Visions and his Relation to the Church,” 1827) he joined the Ultramontane party in the conviction that his ideals could be realised in the Roman Catholic Church. The rest of his life he remained faithful to Rome and was the most active, the most vigorous, and also the ablest defender of Roman Catholic views and interests. The present magazine is a Quarterly conducted with scholarship and tact, although as a matter of course not without that prejudice which necessarily results from the principle of giving all thoughts into captivity under a special and foredetermined faith. The last volume (vol. iii) is rich in interesting articles. Prof. Dr. Hayd, strange enough, defends the liberty of investigating the authority of faith, which the editor, however, without rejecting the idea off-hand considers as bold (_gewagt_). There are articles on the freedom of will, on the infinite number of possibilities, mongolian cosmology, Pascal’s position toward scepticism, analogies between cognition of God and cognition of nature with special reference to Kant’s criticism of the evidences of the existence of God. The present number of vol. iv contains an article on the chemico-physical theory of atoms. The question is proposed whether or not this theory contains contradictions. The author starts from Dalton’s Definition, whom he regards together with Wallaston as the founder of modern atomism. The four weightiest objections are considered, but the author arrives at the conclusion that all of them are based upon misconceptions. He sums up: “Chemists and Physicists do not repudiate eyes and senses when proposing and defending the atomistic theory. On the contrary they use for their view and build it upon an exceedingly richer material of observation than is employed by their antagonists.... This denial of the validity of the most important objections, however, does not imply that the atomistic theory is without difficulties, gaps, unexplained details, etc. It is not as yet so certain a fact as for instance the heliocentric world-conception. It is an hypothesis still and will have to remain such for quite a long time. Yet we can confidently assert that the difficulties are by far less than those offered to the acceptance of the Copernican hypothesis at the time of the first condemnation of Galileo (1616) which were solved afterward by Galileo in the year 1632. We have further to state that the atomistic theory has been developed more and more since Dalton, the number and the importance of the explanations offered in it have constantly increased.”
Dr. Frye of Jena discusses Preyer’s latest view of “The Self-Gubernation of Life—_Die Selbststeuerung des Lebens_” which appeared in a recent number of the _Naturwissenschaftliche Wochenschrift_ (Berlin). Preyer considers his newly discovered law as a corollary to the conservation of matter and energy and maintains that the total amount of life in the world is as much constant as are matter and energy. Living mass (_Mz_) plus inanimate mass (_Mn_) are constant (_C_); _Mz_ + _Mn_ = _C_. So far scientists will agree, but Preyer adds that each separate item is constant for itself. He declares that “the total amount of protoplasm in the world remains unchanged in quantity.” It is hardly probable that Preyer’s view will be adopted by science.
Dr. Grupp discusses the logical paths of thought, and the editor, Professor Dr. Gutberlet explains and criticises Wundt’s System of Philosophy.
One of the most valuable features for Catholic readers must be considered the book reviews. Here the thoughts of the most advanced thinkers are as it were digested for the Catholic world. The material is carefully sifted but the exposition of heretic opinions is not evaded. The criticisms from the pen of Dr. Gutberlet are often trenchant and should not be left unheeded by the adversaries of the Church. (Fulda: Verlag der Fuldaer Aktien-Druckerei.)
κρς.
RIVISTA ITALIANA DI FILOSOFIA. July and August, 1891.
CONTENTS:
LA SCIENZA DELL’EDUCAZIONE NELLE SCUOLE E NELLE RIVISTE ITALIANE. By _F. Cicchitti-Suriani_.
LA FILOSOFIA DI EMPEDOCLE. By _S. Ferrari_.
SCIENZE FILOSOFICHE E SOCIALI: RELAZIONE SUL CONCORSO AI PREMII MINISTERIALI. By _A. Chiappelli_.
ALCUNE CONSIDERAZIONI SULL’ECLETTISMO. By _L. Ferri_.
BIBLIOGRAFIA, ETC.
_The Science of Education in Italian Schools and in Italian Reviews._ Every nation is said to possess a peculiar physiognomy of its own, through which it is distinguished from every other nation; and consequently any nation will adopt a system of education that is best suited to its own national genius, to its racial, religious, and historical traditions. This may be true in a purely practical sense; but on the other hand, education, theoretically, as science or pedagogics, passes the narrow limits of any state or form of government, and ought to be ruled by principles and general laws common to the entire human family. Historically, ever since the 16th century, the educational movements in Italy have been directly called forth by the Catholic revival and reaction during and immediately following the period of the renaissance. Such was the origin of the _Filippini_, _Ignorantelli_, _Barnabiti_, _Ignaziani_, _Calasanziadi_, _Somaschi_, and of many other religious teaching-bodies that have made Italy until recently a bustling arena of ecclesiastical educational systems.
_The Philosophy of Empedocles._ This first instalment of Signor Ferrari’s studies deals with the cosmological ideas of the great Agrigentine poet-philosophers. From the formation of the first elements to the highest functions of the human soul throughout, we perceive that everything is governed by the same laws, and that which is best, all happiness in fact, is only found in unity and harmony, evil and pain in disagreement and in separation. The law of evolution, in the modern sense of the word, prevails everywhere in the physical system of Empedocles. Yet his philosophy did not exclusively consist in mechanical evolution. To his cosmological doctrines were added moral and religious tenets, which, however, are not evolved continuously with the former. (Rome. Tipografia delle Terme Diocleziane di G. Balbi—160 Via Cavour, 162.)
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VOPROSUI FILOSOFII I PSICHOLOGII. Vol. II. No. 4. May, 1891.
CONTENTS:
ETHICS OF LIFE AND OF THE FREE IDEAL. By _K. Ventzel_. (In this article the writer explains and criticises the well-known ethical theories of the late French thinker M. Guyau.)
THE PESSIMIST THEORIES OF KNOWLEDGE: CRITICISM, POSITIVISM. By _E. de Roberti_.
RELIGIOUS METAPHYSICS OF THE MOSLEM ORIENT. (Conclusion.) By _S. Umanetz_.
LETTERS ON COUNT TOLSTOÏ’S BOOK. “On Life.” (Conclusion.) By _A. Kozloff_.
(The writer concludes his letters to Mr. N. N. with remarks to the effect that count Tolstoï’s philosophy in all its aspects and phases is manifestly characterized by a principle of _dualism_. In the development of this general principle through the different phases of his system and in his theory of knowledge this dualism might assume the name of rationalism, in metaphysics, that of idealism, and in ethics the name of ascetical, quietistic eudemonism.
ON DETERMINISM IN CONNECTION WITH MATHEMATICAL PSYCHOLOGY. By _N. Shishkin_. Lecture delivered before the Moscow Psychological Society. February, 1891.
THE DOMAIN AND LIMITS OF SUGGESTION. By _N. Bajenoff_. Lecture delivered at the annual session of the Moscow Psychological Society. January, 1891.
ANENT THE FICTIONS OF PROFESSED CHRISTIANITY. By _Vladimir Solovieff_.
(This article has appeared in an English translation in _The Open Court_, Nos. 206 and 208, under the title “Christianity: Its Spirit and its Errors.” It is a remarkable contribution to the literature of to-day. Professor Nicolas von Grote of Moscow writes about its author: “Vladimir Solovieff is at present, besides the Count Tolstoï, our most eminent thinker; he is a distinguished philosopher as well as theologian.... You Americans should be familiar with his works on religious and ecclesiastical ‘questions’.” Vladimir Solovieff is the author of the following works: “The Religious Foundations of Life,” “The Dogmatic Development of the Church,” “Judaism and the Christian Question.” (These titles are translated from the Russian.) Other writings of his are “L’idée russe,” “La Russie et l’église universelle,” “Geschichte der Theokratie.”)
SPECIAL DEPARTMENT. (1) Hegel’s Ontology. A Posthumous Dissertation. By _N. P. H. Platonoff_. (2) The Influence of fatigue upon the intuition of special relations. By _Nik. Marün_. (3) Fundamental moments in the evolution of the new philosophy. Main tendencies of the new philosophy. Empiricism and Naturalism. Bacon and Hobbes. By _N. Grote_. (Moscow.)
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FOOTNOTES:
[26] Specially translated for _The Monist_.
[27] _Metamorphose der Thiere._
[28] _Vierteljahrsschr. f. wissensch. Phil._ 1890. 3, p. 249-292.
[29] _Zeitschrift für Phil. n. philos. Kritik._ Vol. 95, p. 173. 1889.
VOL. II. JANUARY, 1892. NO. 2.
THE MONIST.
MENTAL EVOLUTION.
AN OLD SPECULATION IN A NEW LIGHT.
The theory of organic evolution, now generally accepted, needs to be supplemented by a theory of mental evolution. On a superficial examination of the matter the necessity for such a supplementary theory does not perhaps strike one as obvious, the mental seeming naturally to arise out of the organic and to be part of one continuous development. But closer investigation and a more rigid and exact treatment bring to light certain important and peculiar features, and disclose the necessity of some such hypothesis as it is my purpose to set forth briefly in the following pages.
By organic evolution I mean the natural development, whether by “selection” alone or by this in co-operation with other natural processes, of the organisms which live upon the surface of this earth; and by mental evolution I mean the natural development of the mental faculties in at least the higher animals among these organisms. Now with regard to organic evolution there is no common and general agreement in respect of the first origin of primitive life on the earth. Some evolutionists believe that the living was somewhen, somehow, and somewhere evolved from the not-living. Others do not feel justified in holding this view, and deem it wiser to restrict their speculations as to natural genesis within the limits of the organic. So too at the other end of the developmental curve; there is no common and general agreement as to the evolution of the mental faculties or spiritual being of man. Some evolutionists believe that both in body and in mind, man is the product of natural development; others do not feel justified in holding this view, and retain unshaken the conviction that man in his spiritual essence is no part nor product of the common elements of nature. Seeing then that on either side there is want of agreement, on the one hand as to the origin of life, on the other as to the origin of man, I shall deal for the most part with that large area concerning which there is a more unanimous consensus of opinion, and in the main confine my speculations within the field of mental evolution in animals, ranging, say, from the amœba to the dog.
Few will be found to deny or even to question the fact that our dumb companions and four-footed friends have mental faculties which enable them accurately to adjust their actions to the varied circumstances in the midst of which their lives are passed. Even if we see cause to hesitate, as I myself hesitate, before we ascribe to them self-consciousness and reason, in the narrower sense in which this word is used; still we must acknowledge that their instincts are powerful, their intelligence wonderfully keen and active; and that they are capable of strong emotional feeling both of affection and of antipathy. Should we so welcome them as our companions and friends if we regarded them as unconscious, insentient automata? But when we turn to the other end of the scale of life, to the amœba and all the myriad minutiae that swarm in ponds and stagnant pools, we are wont to speak with less confidence. Their consciousness, if so we can call it, is of so simple an order, their sentience of so low a grade, that we can hardly with any accuracy use the phrase “mental faculties” with reference to organisms so lowly. We feel uncertain whether in their case unconscious automatism does not after all pretty accurately express the facts. At any rate it would trouble us little or not at all if some one proved their automatism to-morrow. And yet, on the theory of evolution, out of such lowly beginnings have sprung the sagacity and affectionate devotion of the dog. But if the amœba and his tribe are insentient automata, at what stage of the development did consciousness creep in? And whence came it? Or put what is fundamentally the same question in another way. In the common course of generation the dog is developed from a minute egg-cell, one hundredth of an inch or less in diameter, with which a yet more minute sperm has entered into fertile union. Supplied with shelter, warmth, and nutriment by that maternal self-sacrifice which is a deeply significant fact of organic progress, this little speck of living stuff passes, by a process strictly continuous, though profoundly modified by the catastrophe of birth, into the dog with its wealth of intelligence and affection. It is surely impossible without extravagance to speak of the fertilised ovum as conscious. Where then in the continuous process of development does consciousness come in? How, and whence? We are not nowadays to be put off with the ambiguous assertion that consciousness and intelligence are “potentially” present in the germ. We ask: What is _actually_ present therein as the basis of this potentiality? Or are we told that consciousness dawns at or shortly after the catastrophe of birth? Then again we ask: Whence comes this dawning consciousness, and by what means does it become associated with the puppy’s brain? In yet another form does a question of like general implication suggest itself. Granted that in the ovum there is present something which we may call the germ of consciousness somehow associated with the protoplasmic material of which that ovum is constituted. How comes it that, in the adult dog, consciousness is associated with the brain? Why is the association of consciousness concentrated, so to speak, in this one tissue of the many which arise during the differentiation of development? That the association is so concentrated or specialised is now generally admitted to be the fact. We speak indeed of the skin, the palate, the nose, the eye, the ear, as each in its kind sensitive. But none the less we believe that the seat of consciousness is the brain or some part of it. Only when the nerves running inwards from skin, palate, nose, eye, or ear, have conveyed their appropriate stimuli to the brain, does that organ tingle with the accompaniment of consciousness. There and there only does consciousness “emerge”; not in peripheral sense-organ or ingoing nerve. But why? How comes it that there is this peculiar association of consciousness with the functioning of a particular organ?
Perhaps we are told that consciousness is the special product of brain-tissue. But let us note that the word “product” is here used in an unwonted sense. We are not likely, it is to be hoped, to fall into the crude and demonstrably false materialism expressed in the formula, “as the liver secretes bile, so does the brain secrete consciousness.” Consciousness being immaterial, the second and fourth terms are incommensurable, and the formula is sheer nonsense. Nor are we likely (though here there is greater danger) to fall into the more subtle error of regarding consciousness as a mode of energy. “Granted,” says Professor Tyndall, “that a definite thought and a definite molecular action of the brain occur simultaneously; we do not possess the intellectual organ, nor apparently any rudiment of the organ, which would enable us to pass by a process of reasoning from the one to the other: the chasm between the two classes of phenomena would still remain intellectually impassable.” Consciousness is something _sui generis_. It is neither matter nor energy. It may accompany the transformations of energy in the dog’s brain; but to the category of these transformations of energy it does not, and, for any clear thinker, can not belong. And if we are told that the word “product” is used in the sense implied by Professor Huxley when he speaks of phenomena of consciousness being “called into existence” by physical processes; then we must again ask whence they are called into existence. We do not now speak of matter or energy being called into existence from a shadowy nowhere. When a cloud is called into existence on a mountain peak we know that the material particles have only assumed a new form. When the electrical current is called into existence or generated as we phrase it, we know that we are dealing with one of the many transformations of energy. And when phenomena of consciousness are said to be called into existence, we have a right to ask: Do you mean, by this phrase, creation _ex nihilo_? Or do you mean, origin by transformation? And if the latter, transformation of what?
Having thus opened up these several questions, all of like implication, let us now endeavor to set forth the answer which seems most philosophical and most closely in accordance with scientific analogies. And to this end let us consider the living dog. His frame is pulsating with life and restless activity, and somehow associated with the transformations of energy in that brain of his there is consciousness—or what in the dog is the analogue of that consciousness with which alone I can claim any acquaintance at first hand, my own. Were his skin and the walls of his skull as transparent as glass; did the molecular vibrations of his brain lie open to the keenest scrutiny of the physical investigator; could we trace in detail all the varied and orderly transformations of energy of which that brain is the theatre; the accompanying consciousness would still be beyond our reach. _We_ might follow the changes of energy; he alone would feel the states of consciousness. But suppose that the dog dies. His body lies before us stiff with the _rigor mortis_. If we had weighed it previous to death, and if we were to weigh it again after death, the scales would give us no information of the departure of anything material. All signs of consciousness, however, are gone. And could we see through skin and skull into the brain, which during life was the theatre of so complex and orderly a sequence of transformations of energy, we should find that it was still and motionless. It is true that we cannot actually do this. But we know that, whereas, during life, the functional action of the brain gives rise to certain material products, at death the production of these substances ceases. We are therefore justified in saying that, omitting minor qualifications, the orderly transformations of energy in the brain and the concomitant consciousness cease together at death. Closely associated during life, varying together in health and sickness, ceasing together at death, what is the nature of their connection?
On the hypothesis of scientific monism it is believed that they are different aspects of the same phenomena: that what objectively to the physical investigator are transformations of energy in the brain, are subjectively to the dog states of consciousness? Let us look into this hypothesis. Let us see whither it will lead us; and if it will in any way help us over some of our difficulties. But first let us pay a moment’s attention to the impatient exclamation which some may feel inclined to interpose, that this assumption of the ultimate identity of brain-energy and consciousness, the two being respectively the objective and subjective aspects of the same occurrences, does not in the least do away with the mystery of the matter. That the same two occurrences should have different aspects, objective and subjective, is, it will be said, just as mysterious as that two separate existences energy and consciousness should be associated together. Of course it is. I should be shallow and pretentious indeed if my object were by any _hocus pocus_ to attempt to hide the so-called mystery. _All_ ultimate facts are mysterious. The fall of a stone to the ground is to-day as mysterious as it was in the days before Newton; the phenomena of life, as mysterious as in the days before Darwin. Our advances in science and in thought may do away with minor mysteries, but they leave the great ultimate facts of nature as mysterious as before. The end of our explanations is always to bring us face to face with the inexplicable. Not, therefore, in any hope of doing away with an ultimate mystery do I suggest that we look into and follow out some implications of this so called identity hypothesis.
Let us regard the matter from the objective aspect first, from the side to which the occurrences present themselves as transformations of energy. The state of consciousness being _ex hypothesi_ accompanied or “called into existence” by certain complex and orderly molecular vibrations in the brain or some part thereof, we have to note that from the physical point of view these molecular vibrations constitute an exceeding complex and orderly mode of energy. It is upon this energy that we must fix our attention; the material structure of the brain being what we may call the vehicle of its manifestation. I am anxious that the reader should carefully follow me here. We are too apt to regard the _structure_ as the essential thing on which to concentrate our mental gaze, partly no doubt because, through the invaluable labors of microscopists, we know so much that is definite about this structure. But a more penetrating insight enables us to see that the structure is merely the necessary basis of what is the really important thing—the manifestation of energy. The material structure of a steam-engine is of importance. But why? Because it is the vehicle for the performance of work. That is the really essential part of the business. In like manner nerve-structure is of importance. But why? Because it is the vehicle for what Professor Huxley happily termed the neurosis, the complex and orderly manifestation of energy. The essential importance of looking at the _going_ machine, at the performance of work, at the energy of the matter in motion, not merely the material structure that is moved—the essential importance, I say, of fixing our attention on this, being fairly grasped, we may now proceed to enquire from what the complex and orderly vibrations of the dog’s brain have been evolved. In the fertilised ovum from which the dog was developed, (and the same is true of the amœboid ancestor from which, hypothetically, the race of dogs has been evolved,) there is certainly nothing approaching the orderly complexity of these molecular vibrations. But there are simpler organic modes of motion from which these complex molecular vibrations have arisen by a continuous process of development. It is from these simpler modes of energy in the simpler organic substance of the ovum that the more complex modes of energy which characterise the workings of the dog’s brain have been evolved. In the development of the ovum into the embryo, and thence into the puppy and the dog, we may trace step by step all the stages of the evolution of those material structures which are the vehicles of these special manifestations of organic energy. We may watch the further and further differentiation of the nervous tissue, and the fashioning of the brain and its parts. It is true that we cannot indicate the exact moment when, in the increasing complexity of the tissues, the simpler forms of organic energy pass into the higher form of brain energy accompanied by consciousness. But that is just because it is a continuous development, an evolution. That the passage from the one into the other does actually take place we are bound, by all the canons of logical reasoning, to admit. It is only during life, however, that neurosis occurs or is possible. A great number of modes of organic energy proceed side by side in the pulsating tissues of the living dog, their orderly continuance being what we term _life_. And only in and through their orderly continuance is the maintenance of the structure of the tissues rendered possible. The organic structure is like a spinning top. Only so long as it spins and manifests its proper energy is its stability maintained. All around it are forces which tend to make it totter to its fall. But so long as it spins freely it can resist all minor attempts to upset its stability. And when the dog dies; what happens then? The molecular vibrations of the brain in common with all other forms of organic energy cease. The top no longer spins; and the structure totters to its fall. Decomposition sets in. The orderly organic changes which characterise life, give place to the destructive changes which characterise decay. But according to the law of the conservation of energy, although there is decomposition of the tissues of which the body was composed there is no destruction or annihilation of energy. The particular modes of energy through which the body was instinct with life pass away; but only to give rise to their equivalents in other modes of energy. Just as the puddle in the road disappears, but only to give origin to an equivalent mass of invisible water-vapor; just as the candle disappears, but only to give rise to its equivalent mass in the products of combustion; so throughout life and in death the energy which throbs in the tissues neither appears nor disappears except at the expense of, or to the gain of, other modes of energy. Life is like a vortex in a rapid stream; on surrounding energy it is dependent for its continued existence; into surrounding energy it melts away. And this is true not only of individual life but of life in its entirety. Some believe that the vortex had a natural origin, the organic being evolved from the inorganic. Others hold that it was through the direct interposition of the finger of God that the tiny vortex of primitive life was set a twirling. Be this as it may, once initiated the vortex of life is dependent on surrounding stores of energy.
Turning now from the objective aspect to the subjective aspect we pass from neural processes to states of consciousness. In the language of the identity hypothesis, here provisionally adopted, the states of consciousness in the dog’s mind, are the subjective aspect of what, from the objective aspect, are the molecular vibrations of his brain-tissues. And as in considering the matter objectively, so now in regarding the mental aspect, we must ask from what the complex and orderly states of consciousness of the dog’s mind have been evolved. In the fertilised ovum from which the dog is developed, (and the same is true of the amœboid ancestor from which, hypothetically, the race of dogs has been evolved,) nothing so complex as a state of consciousness is to be found. From what then have the states of consciousness been evolved? Do we not seem forced by parity of reasoning to answer: From something more simple than consciousness but of the same order of existence, which answers subjectively to the simpler organic energy of the fertilised ovum? Such, at any rate, is the hypothesis which appears to me the most philosophical and the most logically consistent. It requires, however, no little effort of thought to conceive the existence of those elementary states from which consciousness may have had its origin. We may be aided in doing so, perhaps, if we fix our attention on the close association of brain-energy and states of consciousness, regarding them as _distinguishable_ but not _separable_. Now the nervous energy of the brain is extraordinarily complex; and yet we believe that it arises by a process of continuous development from the much less complex energy of the fertilised ovum. In the ovum there is no brain-energy; there is only the far simpler germinal energy from which it is evolved. So too, the consciousness in the dog’s mind is wonderfully complex; but if it has arisen by a process of development, it must have been evolved from something of like nature only indefinitely simpler. May we not fairly suppose, therefore, that in the fertilised ovum, though there is no consciousness, there are the germinal states from which consciousness may be evolved? Or to put the matter tersely, may we not say: As the complex molecular vibrations of the brain are to the simpler molecular vibrations of the ovum; so are the complex states of consciousness associated with the former to the simpler states of infra-consciousness, if we may so call them, associated with the latter? It is the association of consciousness and infra-consciousness with energy—its objective manifestation—that is the distinguishing feature of the view which I am endeavoring to set forth. Concomitant with the evolution of higher modes of organic energy from those lowly modes which alone obtain in the ovum or the amœba, is the evolution of consciousness from lowly modes of infra-consciousness.
It is true that it is only through the exercise of the conceptual faculty of reason, never through the senses or by direct perception, that we can reach this suggested infra-consciousness. But this will hardly be regarded as a valid objection by those who believe in the existence of the ether, or by those who adopt the atomic theory, neither of which could be reached by the senses or by perception alone. Still less will it be regarded as an objection by those who have grasped the distinction between energy as manifested in the objective world, and consciousness as inevitably subjective. Of no consciousness other than our own have we direct and first-hand experience. And yet certain manifestations of energy as exhibited by other living beings force upon us the conviction that we are not alone in possessing the subjective attribute of consciousness. That not only the dog and the elephant, but the bee also and the spider are endowed with this attribute and are conscious, though not self-conscious, few of us doubt for a moment. But their consciousness is presumably far simpler than ours. Carrying this simplification yet farther down the scale of animal life, we reach in the jelly-fish, the sea-anemone, and the sponge, forms of life which can hardly be said to be conscious at all with a consciousness comparable to our own. Yet they would seem to be endowed with the dim foreshadowings of such consciousness. Finally in the amœba and the monad we have these dim foreshadowings reduced to the lowest terms that are suggested by the study of organic life. If, then, in the series of organic forms, down even to the lowest, we admit consciousness or its foreshadowing, though it lies and must ever lie beyond the reach of our senses, why should we hesitate to generalise our belief in logical and scientific form, and hold that all organic modes of energy are associated with conscious or infra-conscious states?[30] It may perhaps, be objected that such a view, carried to its logical conclusion involves the supposition that all the tissues of the body are conscious or at least infra-conscious, whereas it is a well-established scientific conclusion that consciousness is specially associated with the nervous tissue of the brain. I see no reason, however, why this conclusion should not be accepted. If the organic transformations of energy in the ovum are associated with what for lack of a better term I have here called infra-consciousness, then there are two possibilities. Either the accompanying consciousness is _entirely_ concentrated in association with the molecular vibrations of the brain; or it merely becomes _dominant_ in the functioning of that tissue and continues in the dim infra-conscious condition in the other tissues of the body. Now to judge from our own experience it is only the dominant molecular vibrations in the brain that are accompanied by the clear light of consciousness. The sub-dominant neural changes are indeed accompanied by a dim sub-consciousness. But there are many molecular changes (even in the cerebral hemispheres themselves where consciousness is “called into existence”) which do not rise to the level of consciousness at all or are quite lost in the glare of that consciousness. Why this should be so I am not prepared to say. It seems to be a law of our mental being. Certainly it is convenient that it is so; and it may have been fostered or established by natural selection. We all know the sense of confusion that arises when, in certain states of intense nervous excitement, a host of ideas are crowding up into dominance and jostling each other for supremacy. An organism so constituted that such a state of things was normal, would, we may suppose, stand but a poor chance of survival. Hence perhaps there has arisen that due subordination of conscious, sub-conscious, and infra-conscious states which characterises the normal life of conscious beings. Having regard, then, to the cerebral hemispheres where consciousness emerges, not all the molecular changes there transpiring rise to the level of full consciousness. There is not a little of what Dr. Carpenter used to call unconscious cerebration. We seem forced to admit the existence of submerged states of consciousness; states which are infra-conscious, but which may become conscious at any moment by rising into dominance. And if in the cerebral hemispheres there are infra-conscious states, why should there not be associated with every molecular thrill of the living body yet lower states of infra-consciousness too deeply submerged ever in man to become dominant?
It is, however, one thing to show that there is no insuperable objection to accepting the existence of such infra-conscious states, if such existence be otherwise probable, and another thing to establish this probability. And this leads us back again to the grounds on which their existence may fairly be regarded as probable. We are told that the mental faculties of the dog in common with his physical or organic frame, have arisen in the course of ages by a process of development. It is clear that such a statement is intended to apply to the living dog with active faculties; to a _going_ mechanism, or rather organism which is also conscious. Well and good. The material structure has been evolved from lower forms of matter: the organic modes of energy (in virtue of which he lives), from lower forms of energy, the mental states (in virtue of which he is conscious), from—what? I suggest in continuation and conclusion of this sentence—from lower forms of infra-consciousness; that is to say, of what is of the same order of existence as consciousness, but has not yet risen to the level of consciousness. Many people will no doubt see no necessity for such a conclusion. It is making an unnecessary bother, they will say, about a very simple matter. At some undefined stage of organic evolution—perhaps when nervous tissue had its genesis, perhaps earlier—consciousness began to dawn and has since developed in clearness and brightness during the evolution of higher and higher organisms. According to this view, the ascending curve of evolution is divisible at some undefined point into two portions: of which one represents organic evolution previous to the dawn of consciousness; the other organic evolution subsequent to the dawn of consciousness. But the question at once suggests itself: From what did consciousness dawn at this undefined point? In answer to which there are some who do not hesitate to reply that the consciousness arose out of the physical conditions; that when the rhythmic dance of organic molecules reached a certain intensity and intricacy consciousness was developed. There is, indeed, a certain class of nerve-physiologists, or of medical men who write on nerve-physiology, who, if they do not hold that states of consciousness are generated from the energy which accompanies the working of the brain-tissues, at any rate write as if this was their belief. But such a view is quite untenable. If there is one thing clearly established, both by those who have approached the matter from the scientific side, and by those who have approached the matter from the metaphysical side, it is that the distinction between energy and consciousness is radical and absolute. No conceivable increase in the orderly complexity of the molecular vibrations of brain-tissue could give rise to that consciousness which differs _toto cœlo_ from any manifestation of energy.
And yet though stated in a form that is philosophically false, and therefore misleading, the conclusions of these earnest students of nerve-physiology are practically sound. Grant, for the moment, that the states of consciousness in the dog’s mind are the subjective aspect of the molecular energy of his brain. Then the following diagram (Fig. 1.) will represent the ascending curve of development which, from the objective aspect, is a development of modes of energy, and from the subjective aspect is a development of modes of consciousness.
Now what the nerve-physiologists are sometimes apt to do is, at some moment of development say _a_, to change their point of view, from the subjective aspect which deals with consciousness to the objective aspect which deals with energy. Their conclusions are practically sound because they are still dealing with the same developmental curve. They state these conclusions in language which is philosophically misleading because they suddenly jump from the subjective aspect to the objective aspect and ignore the great distinction between the two. When they say that consciousness emerges from the physical conditions at _a_, they presumably mean that at this point we are first justified in speaking of consciousness or the subjective aspect in anything like a human sense. But is it not more logical to hold that, just as from the objective standpoint the complex energy of the dog’s brain has been developed from the simpler energy of the ovum, so from the subjective standpoint, the complex consciousness of the dog’s mind has been developed from the simpler infra-consciousness of the ovum? And if we do not accept this view, do we not seem committed to the unevolutionary doctrine that the conscious aspect suddenly makes its appearance, without those lowly germinal beginnings which it is of the essence of any theory of development to postulate?
It will perhaps be said that all this assumes an identity hypothesis, with its supposed double aspect, which is not accepted by the majority of men of science. Let us look at the matter, therefore, from what would seem the only other point of view open to one who accepts the theory of development as applicable alike to the dog’s mind and to the dog’s body. If states of consciousness and the molecular transactions in the brain are not different aspects of the same occurrences, they are parallel, concomitant, or associated phenomena. Our diagram will thus become that given below.
Here the parallel or associated phenomena occur together at the higher end of the developmental curve, and, at _a_, the consciousness is supposed to emerge. On this view there is less justification for the nerve-physiologists’ assertion that it arises out of physical processes; for it is not simply another aspect of these processes, but something wholly different arbitrarily associated with them. Even on this view it would seem more logical to suppose that since the association of mental states with the dominant neural energy is of normal occurrence from _a_ onwards, the consciousness there emerging has been evolved from infra-consciousness parallel and concomitant with the physical processes in the ovum. If this be not so, we may once more ask: From what has the parallel line to the right of the diagram been evolved? We cannot say from the neural conditions without changing our point of view and ignoring the great distinction between matter and energy on the one hand and consciousness on the other. From what then has the consciousness been evolved, if not from something of like nature only indefinitely simpler which has here been spoken of as infra consciousness?
We must now take a further step, one however in which all evolutionists will not be prepared to follow us. Attention has already been drawn to the fact that those who accept the theory of evolution are not agreed in their faith—for it is on either side a matter rather of belief than of demonstration—with respect to the origin of life. Some believe that the primitive organic germs were not produced by natural development nor through any process of evolution. For such, the hypothesis I am advocating must be submitted in the following form—when first the life-energy was started by the direct interposition of the finger of God it was endowed with some dim form of infra-consciousness which in the course of evolution developed into consciousness. And presumably those who see in the amœba and the fertilised ovum some dim foreshadowings of consciousness may follow me thus far. But for those who believe that the organic has arisen on this earth by process of natural development from the inorganic, the hypothesis must be more sweeping in its range. We must say that all modes of energy of whatever kind whether organic or inorganic have their conscious or infra-conscious aspect.[31] Startling as this may sound there is, I believe, no other logical conclusion possible for the evolutionist _pur sang_. For where are we to draw the line? The states of consciousness of the higher animals have been evolved from lower forms of infra-consciousness in the amœba-like or yet more simple protoplasmic germs in the dawn of life. But if those low forms of organic infra-consciousness were themselves evolved, from what could they arise if they were not developed from yet more lowly forms of infra-consciousness similar in kind but inferior in degree associated with inorganic transformations of energy? In any case it is here submitted that this doctrine that infra-consciousness is associated with _all_ forms of energy is necessarily implied in the phrase mental evolution for all thinkers who have grasped the distinction between consciousness and energy. And if this be admitted there is disclosed, by implication, an answer behind and beyond that ordinarily given to a question which has again and again been asked—the question:—Is there a conservation of consciousness analogous to the conservation of energy? The negative answer generally given to this question results from the fact that the question itself has always been put in a form which does not admit of a satisfactory solution. There is not a conservation of consciousness any more than there is a conservation of neural energy or a conservation of electricity. There is no conservation of neural energy because this is only one mode of energy which may be transformed into other modes. Not until we have generalised energy so as to include _all_ its modes can we speak of conservation in reference to it. So too not until we have generalised that universal form of existence, of which consciousness is only the highest and most developed mode, so as to include all modes, can we speak of conservation in reference to it. But so generalised I submit that there is a conservation of that form of existence which includes both consciousness and infra-consciousness, co-ordinate and coextensive with the conservation of energy.[32] Just as the dominant neural transformations in the dog’s brain are like a special vortex in the onward-flowing stream of the world’s energy, so are the states of consciousness in his mind like a special vortex in the onward flowing stream of that mode of existence which, whether it have risen to the level of consciousness or not, is still of the conscious order. For the believer in scientific monism there is but one vortex, objectively presented as energy, subjectively felt in consciousness. For the dualist there are two vortices, (1) an objective vortex and (2) a subjective vortex associated with the other and “called into existence” by it. In either case the vortex is dependent for its continual existence on surrounding stores of that out of which it has arisen; and in either case the modern tendencies of scientific thought suggest conservation which is but the antithesis of creation _ex nihilo_.[33]
In conclusion it should be noted that this hypothesis is but a new presentation of an old speculation. It differs as it here stands from any theory of “mind-stuff” in that it regards the question rather from the dynamical than from the statical point of view. Not “mind-stuff” answering to matter but a universal conscious order or aspect of existence answering to universal energy is the leading idea I have sought to develop. In its newer form, again, this hypothesis differs from the view that “all force is will-power,” or the view that “all matter is conscious,” or the theory of “intelligent monads,” in endeavoring, not to carry anything like _our_ consciousness down into association with the simpler manifestations of energy, but rather to seek in association with these lower manifestations the germinal states indefinitely simpler than consciousness, from which nevertheless consciousness has been developed. Finally the keynote of this newer presentation is that which is the keynote of all modern theories of life and of thought—the doctrine of evolution.
C. LLOYD MORGAN.
FOOTNOTES:
[30] I have elsewhere (_Animal Life and Intelligence_, p. 467) suggested the term _kinesis_ for the manifestation of energy, and the term _metakinesis_ for its conscious or infra-conscious aspect.
[31] In the phraseology I have elsewhere suggested, there is no kinesis unaccompanied by its metakinetic aspect.
[32] That is to say, a conservation of metakinesis co-ordinate and coextensive with the kinetic conservation of energy.
[33] The bearing of this conservation of consciousness and infra-consciousness (metakinesis) on Eastern conceptions of immortality and on transmigration would be an interesting theme to follow out but is beyond the scope of the present paper.
THE NEW CIVILISATION DEPENDS ON MECHANICAL INVENTION.
By reason of his physical nature man is hampered by three wants—he needs food, clothing, and shelter. In his first and lowest stage of civilisation man lives in a state of enthrallment to nature. He dreads and worships the cruel forces of matter. But by the aid of science, and invention which flows from science, man attains domination or control over things and forces and directs them into the service of humanity for use or for beauty. The soul conquers nature by science and machinery and then it next desires to see this conquest over nature reflected in works of art. Hence it creates architecture, sculpture, painting, music, and poetry, all of these fine arts portraying man’s victory over wants and necessities.
If the spectacle of pauperism and crime, the savagery that still lingers in the slums of our cities, sternly reminds us of the yet feeble hold which our civilisation has obtained even in cities—if the census of mankind proves that three-fourths are yet counted as below the line that separates the half-civilised from the civilised—yet we are wont to console ourselves by the promise and potency which we can all discern in productive industry aided by the might of science and invention. This view is always hopeful. We see that there is a sort of geometric progress in the conquest over things and forces. The ability of man to create wealth continually accelerates. The more he obtains the more he can obtain. The more each one gets the more his neighbor also can get. Even the weakling of society, the pauper or beggar, the insane, and the criminal all fare better in the centres of wealth than they do at a distance from them where there is no wealth to beg or steal and no asylums created and sustained by wealth to shelter and heal their diseased bodies.
Wealth in the modern sense of the word, far more than in its ancient sense, is self-productive. It is capital, and capital is wealth that generates wealth. Capital represents conquered forces and things—conquered for the supply of human wants. Capital consists of natural forces yoked and set to work for food, clothing, shelter, and the facilities of human culture. The three physical wants (food, clothing, and shelter) are produced by nature—they are the chains and fetters whereby nature asserts her right to enslave humanity—to keep man in a state of thralldom.
But the Promethean cunning of man, realised first in science and next in useful machines, has succeeded in subduing the powers of nature and imposing on them the task of supplying and gratifying the very needs which nature creates in us. Nature had chained man to the task of daily toil for food, clothing, and shelter. But man turns back upon nature and compels her to take the place of human drudgery and produce an abundance of these needed supplies and bring them wherever they are needed for consumption. This is accomplished by mechanical combinations that secure the service of steam, electricity, and various devices of earth, air, fire, and water.
This self-generating wealth that exists in the shape of capital is so much on the increase that it fills all classes of our population with hopes or if not with hopes at least with discontents—and discontent is certainly the product of hope struggling up from the depths of the soul. Without the vivid perception of a higher ideal and without the feeling that it is attainable, there would not be any such thing as discontent. The average production of man, woman, and child in the United States increased in the thirty years between 1850 and 1880 from about 25 cents per day to 40 cents per day—an increase of over 60 per cent. This means the production of far more substantial improvements for human comfort. Much more wealth is created that possesses an enduring character and may be handed down to the next generation. Finer dwellings, better roads and streets, fences for lands, drainings and levelings, and the processes necessary to bring wild land under cultivation, artificial supplies of water and gas, the warehouses and elevators, and the appliances of commerce—and finally the buildings and furnishings of culture, including churches, schools, libraries, museums, asylums, and all manner of public buildings. Great Britain, the leading nation in commerce and manufactures, according to the returns for 1888 (see Mulhall’s “Dict. Statistics,” new edition) distributed comfortable incomes of $1000 and upwards to each family of 30 per cent. of the entire population, and the remaining 70 per cent. averaged $485 per annum (for each family). France provided incomes of $1300 per annum for 24 per cent. of its families. This shows what great capitalists are doing for the creation and distribution of wealth. Italy showed by its income returns that less than 2 per cent. received incomes of $1000 and upwards, while 98 per cent. of the families averaged less than $300 income. Italy makes little use of steam power and labor saving machines.
If science progresses and its concomitant, useful invention, progresses as fast for the next hundred years as it has done for the past forty years, the vision of Edward Bellamy of comfort for all will be realised without the necessity of any form of socialism. There will be comfort and even luxury for all who will labor a moderate amount of time.
Science inventories nature and discovers properties and possible combinations. Invention uses these combinations to meet mechanical problems. Can any one doubt who looks into the state of science and its continually improving methods that the conquest of nature will be more rapid in the coming century than it has been in the past century?
But we are challenged by the question: What is the good of annihilating the necessity for bodily toil? Will not man degenerate spiritually as he comes to possess luxury at cheaper and cheaper rates? These material advantages gained by useful invention which create a steady and permanent supply of food, clothing, and shelter, are they not mere sumptuary provisions and do they imply progress in civilisation? To this challenge we reply by pointing out the relation of invention to the communication of intelligence and the diffusion of knowledge by newspaper and book.
In the first place it is obvious that the three classes of employments devoted chiefly to the supply of the physical wants—namely agriculture, manufactures, and commerce—are undergoing change by aid of mechanic invention in such a manner as to bring the laborer everywhere more and more into relation with his fellow men. In other words commerce increases more and more, and becomes a part of all employments. In exchanging goods each gets something that he needed more than what he parted with. But the best result of the exchange is the acquaintance formed between producer and consumer. Each has learned something of the other’s ideas, modes of looking at the world and habits of action. Each one’s life is enriched by the addition of the knowledge of the life of the other.
Man as a spiritual being has for his problem the exploration of the two worlds—the worlds of nature and man. The problem is too great for the individual and he must avail himself of the work of others. Each man may inventory a small portion of nature different from all others. Each one may live a life different from another’s. But the individual gets a very small glimpse of nature by the aid of his own senses. He gets a very small arc of the total of human life in his survey of his own biography.
But by intercommunication each one may extend and supplement his own observations of nature and of the experience of life,—he may avail himself of the aid of the sense-perceptions of others and still more of the aid of the thoughts and reflections of others.
We see at once that man is man because he possesses and uses this means of re-enforcing his individual observations and reflections by those of the race. Man is an individual endowed with the power of absorbing the results of the race. We have with this a definition of civilisation and a standard of measurement by which we may determine the rate of progress. Advancement means that there are improved means realised by which each individual can give to the rest of mankind the results of his living and doing and thinking and at the same time share in the lives, thoughts, and deeds of others.
Looked at in the light of this definition we shall be enabled to claim progress in civilisation on substantial grounds. We shall be able to see something more hopeful in the material progress promised us in the coming century than the cheap supply of bodily comforts. We see a progressive increase of intercommunication which will enable each individual to command the results of the rational intelligence of all mankind.
Man is first a speaking animal and next a writing animal. Each word that he uses expresses a general meaning. Each word therefore stores up an indefinite amount of experience. All men may pour into it their experience and by it recognise the experience of others. The art of writing at once increases infinitely the possibility of intercommunication because it preserves the experience recorded for persons widely separated in space and far removed in time. It renders every _where_ in some sense a _here_ and every _when_ a _now_. But mechanic invention comes to the aid of speech and the elementary arts of writing by printing with movable types. Printing and gunpowder are two great elementary arts both attributed to the Germanic race—the two wheels of modern civilisation so to speak. But the Anglo-Saxon has added the steam engine and the telegraph. The one makes locomotion possible to an increasing degree and the other makes instantaneous intercommunication with all places possible.
Armed with these instrumentalities our modern civilisation lives in a sort of spiritual border land. It looks across the frontier and is in a constant process of interaction with all other nations. The great instrument of this process is the daily newspaper. Our people are becoming from year to year a travelled people—in a short time the per cent. of the population that has crossed the ocean has doubled. The per cent. that has visited the western border land has quadrupled. But the number of people who live in constant daily interrelation with all mankind by aid of the daily newspaper has increased a hundred fold within a single generation.
The test of a civilisation is its efficiency in re-enforcing the endeavors of each individual so as to give him access to the labors of the world. We are approaching a spiritual civilisation as well as an era of the general distribution of wealth.
W. T. HARRIS.
RELIGION AND PROGRESS.
INTERPRETED BY THE LIFE AND LAST WORK OF WATHEN MARK WILKS CALL.
On August 20, 1890, died Wathen Mark Wilks Call, M. A.,—a spirit finely touched to fine issues. The posthumous work before me revives the sense of personal bereavement, but soothes it with the satisfaction of holding another interview with the beloved scholar on themes that through many years engaged our conversation. Here is a casket of golden thoughts cast up from the deep where went down the white-winged ship freighted with such treasures. The general world is unconscious that it is poorer; its ports and marts had little welcome for the dainty wares of this unfamiliar bark. Many an American thinker will through this specimen of the sunken treasures realise the world’s loss when it is irreparable; and some who used to hover around the silver sail now vanished, and come ashore laden with its gifts, have wondered that this writer, valued by Mill, George Eliot, and the scholarly English circle, should have courted obscurity rather than fame. He was not indolent, though his published volumes were few: “Lyra Hellenica” (1842), “Reverberations” (1849, second edition 1876), “Golden Histories” (1871). Besides his poems, his contributions in the reviews,—some, like “The Nero Saga” (_Theological Review_, July, 1871), equal to volumes,—would make a substantial and important collection. There is enough thought and learning in his poems and anonymous articles, to have earned fame for an ambitious and pushing author. Why then did the world get so much less than it ought to have got from this fine and active brain, and why is he so little known?
Many years ago I heard from his own lips the story of his life, which is partly told in the fifty pages that introduce this book, under the title “A Chapter from my Autobiography.” It will there be seen that even so late as thirty-six years ago the finest minds and hearts that could not accept creed-dogmas might be almost mortally wounded. From that time he lived and wrote as from a retreat. The actual case, as he told it me, was that his sister, a widow, left him executor of her last will and testament, and the guardian of her children. He was tenderly attached to this sister and to her children. She knew his opinions and his doubts. When he went into the court for confirmation of his trust he was confronted by the postscript of a letter he had written to a supposed friend intimating his “dissent from the creeds of the churches.” For this mild and vague heresy he was prevented from acting as the guardian of his sister’s children, and fulfilling a sacred trust.
At this time he was a clergyman in the Church of England, which to-day contains many ministers more unorthodox than Mr. Call was when he received this crushing legal blow. This public disgrace of a sensitive scholar, the loss of position, the alienation of friends, added to the grief of seeing his sister’s children carried to strangers, parted him from the world. He seemed to have no place in it. Stunned, lacerated, he had no heart to enter on any new profession. But from his retreat came the poems, pathetic but hopeful, entitled “Reverberations,” some of which are sung in the liberal chapels of England. Deified egotism and vengeance had brought home to him all their heartlessness: all nature was overcast with this chilling cloud.
Silently bearing his grief, he gave himself to the search for truth in those matters which had been predetermined for him by a thousand subtle influences and associations. Born in 1817, he had graduated at Cambridge,—the chief poet of its Magazine,—had passed through his Shelleyan phase of scepticism, and entered the church (1845) through one of the many casuistical blind-ways provided in that old minster for those who hesitate at the main portal. Eleven years were occupied in passing from one to another theoretical cloister or tower of the venerated church before he finally discovered that it had no place for him. Nor was there any church which he could honestly enter. He must be the hermit of his truth. But in that retreat, where the lonely scholar must eat his own heart, the healing hand of a true divinity found him.
Love found him. He married (1857) a lady whose beauty was the expression of her genius. Her father was Dr. Brabant, the friend of Strauss, and founder of the _Westminster Review_. In early life she married C. C. Hennell, author of “An Inquiry into the Origin of Christianity,”—a work which made a deep impression on Theodore Parker, who made it the subject of an article in the old _Dial_. Miss Brabant, versed in ancient and modern languages, did excellent work on the _Westminster Review_, assisted by her friend Marian Evans, afterwards known as “George Eliot.” These two ladies, as I have heard, undertook together the translation of Strauss’s “Leben Jesu,” and were more than half through it when Miss Brabant married. By a contrivance of Mrs. Hennell the name of Marian Evans alone, and to her regret, appeared on the title-page. “George Eliot” thereby gained a reputation helpful to her, though somewhat embarrassing, implying as it did a knowledge of Hebrew and Greek which she did not possess.
Mr. Call’s marriage was most happy. The Calls were regarded by their circle of kindred spirits as representing the true ideal union. They had together shared the friendship of the finest intellects, and had moved abreast in intellectual progress, for more than the life of a generation when parted by death.
About seven years ago trouble for the first time entered this almost sacred household. A formidable consumption of one lung set in, threatening Mr. Call’s life. I have always believed that this was the long latent bequest of pious cruelties suffered in earlier life. Six years ago the case became hopeless, in its normal course, and the physicians said that the only possibility of recovery lay in a rare and difficult operation, imperilling the few months of life that might remain. The patient and his devoted wife resolved to incur this risk. A tube was inserted through the back; through it the pus was drained from the ulcerated lung; and little by little the tube was withdrawn, by infinitesimal degrees, as the healing process went on behind it. It was a painful anxious process of many weeks. At this time, when he was kept motionless, I marvelled at his cheerful spirit; though the slightest miscarriage in the wearisome operation might prove fatal, the patient was always serene. One of his physicians, by no means sure of the result, approached him on the subject of religion, and the condition of his soul. Soon after Mr. Call gave me an account of the conversation. In religious matters the doctor had dabbled where Call had dived; it ended in the physician’s being compelled to consider the condition of his own soul, and why he should be holding the religion of primitive man along with a science almost able to raise the dead.
The wonderful operation was perfectly successful. Love had healed the young man’s broken heart; science had healed the mature man’s dying frame. The real miracles that supplant fictitious ones, and fulfil their fables, had been brought home to him. Five happy years were added to his life, during which he wrote the important work to be hereafter considered. On a summer evening last year he passed a pleasant evening at home, ended with a game of cribbage with his wife. During the night he died painlessly of heart disease; a _post mortem_ examination proved the lungs quite sound. My friend’s body and mind and affections were so combined in organic unity that his very ailments had for me symbolical significance. The unsuspected failure of the heart, for instance, seems a last sequel of the spiritual lesion given him by Dogma as a parting blow: its counterpart is to me visible in the fact that after writing this work he hardly had heart to publish it. The substance of it was completed in 1887; it was entirely finished in 1889; it lay in his library one year. His wife wished him to publish it—so she told me—but he thought the world would not be interested in his views. So deep had bigotry been able to send this man into the vale of Humiliation; and what an intellect was thus discouraged may be partly estimated by those who shall read this book on “Final Causes” published by his widow.
In the last generation many young men, awakened by the song of Byron and Shelley, started out on a new spiritual pilgrimage. Their path was at first fringed with poetic flowers, and in the distance shone the city called Beautiful. But the path at length became flinty, the city became more dim with progress towards it, and many a pilgrim turned back. Those who pressed on were unique men, so that they came to parting ways, and each had to advance on his individual and lonely path, albeit they were travelling in the same direction. The records of these pilgrimages, wherever found, are chapters in the scriptures of their generation. There is one thing common to them all,—the tenacity with which they have clung to their old faith, and after it to their old church, until beaten off by bigotry or by conscience. “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” It was no mere cry, but a question reaching far into the ages, and stirring innumerable crucified hearts that have found no voice. Men do not forsake their God; their God forsakes them. They have invested some ancient name with all the pearls of their heart; they have idealised him as wisdom, justice, love, compassion; but no sooner do they think an honest thought, or maintain justice and love against unjust and heartless dogmas, than their Good Shepherd beats such tender lambs with his crook and sets the wolves on them. Yet even then, so long as they can, they keep in the fold, and lift their lacerated hands in prayer. They will even practice some self-deception that they may continue the old formulas after the truth has forsaken these.
Mr. Call’s youthful scepticism,—a spell wrought by Byron and Shelley,—being chiefly the expression of others’ experiences, and with but little root in his own, carried him no further than the study of philosophy and theology. It was not deep enough to prevent his entering on residence in the University of Cambridge with a view of becoming a clergyman. The struggle being not yet in the arena of his own life and heart, but a combat for his soul between the Humes and the Jeremy Taylors, poetic sentiment easily carried the day. His nature clamored for a realised ideal, and the Church captivated him. “The church, as the embodiment of celestial truth, as the aggregate of noble and beautiful spirits, dead or living, appeared a sublime conception.” When a youth falls in love does he consider whether his beautiful lady’s bloom may not be hectic, or hereditary cancer be hovering near the fair breast? Our young scholar weds our Lady of the Litany amid the light of stained windows, and the white-robed choristers. He presently finds that the lovely creature insists on his preaching the doctrine that all who do not yield to her charms are to be burnt at the stake eternally. “Human philosophy had failed to explain to me the mystery of existence; Christian philosophy explained it to be the perpetuation of sin and misery, intensified by omnipotent intervention.” Recoiling from this the young clergyman went through years of critical investigation; he mastered the exegesis of the Germans and the French; and at length found himself a simple believer in the religion of Humanity. He, a clergyman of the Church of England!
In the fifty preliminary pages of this posthumous book, comprising “A Chapter from my Autobiography,” we have a succinct and useful summary of the crucial criticisms under which biblical authority and supernaturalism have been relegated to professional casuistry. This we will not study here—profoundly interesting as it is—but dwell for a little on the situation in which the scholar found himself.
“While I had thus been working my way through darkness into light—the sober light of sad reality—life had been bringing to all who belonged to me, as well as to myself, varied experiences of pain and sorrow. For their sake I had already done violence to my better nature. Was I now to render the previous sacrifice nugatory? Was the black shadow of my unbelief to enfold those who had already more than their share of the burden of life to sustain? Sympathising friends had early encouraged me to retain my position in the church. A beneficed clergyman, advanced in years, whose studies had ended, like my own, in the abandonment of dogmatic Christianity, had drawn up a statement of the motives which, as he argued, justified him in the retention of his preferment. This statement was forwarded to me. A celebrated and venerable German professor had sent me a message deprecating the abandonment of a post which, he thought, I might continue to occupy without dishonor to myself and with profit to others. I had hitherto deferred to the judgment of persons whom I regarded as superior to myself in knowledge of life and in ability to determine questions of moral obligation; but the progress of unbelief and enlarged experience decided me, at last, on the adoption of an independent course of thought and action. Taking counsel of my own heart, I resolved to terminate a conflict which had become intolerable. Painful and singular complications preceded, accompanied, and followed my retirement from the English Church.”
Here is the “Robert Elsmere” of real life. Since Mr. Call left the Church of England, thirty-five years ago, it has become a largely rationalistic institution. Legal prosecutions of clergymen for heresy have resulted in proving that the evangelical and orthodox have no more right to the Church, in Law, than the liberals. They were usurpers of authority not guaranteed by the constitution, in which there is nothing requiring a clergyman to believe in hell, or the devil, or miracles, or the infallibility of the Bible. Many clergymen are now honestly preaching a simple theistic and humanitarian religion, and when told they ought to leave the Church need only reply, “If you think so you have a right to prosecute me.”
The English charlatan who calls himself “Father Ignatius,” who could only make himself ridiculous as a heresy-hunter abroad, seems to have found the Episcopal Church in New York provincial enough to take him seriously. He would never venture to suggest the prosecution of a Broad Churchman at home. His ignorant tribe have too keen a recollection of their severe falls in grappling with Bishop Colenso, and the authors of “Essays and Reviews.” We have, however, to deal with America, where the sects, by departure of some of their best brains, seem falling more and more under control of their illiberal constituents, though the consecration of Bishop Phillips Brooks show that reactionists will not have it all their own way. The passage I have quoted above bears upon a moral problem which has already become urgent among us, and in the progress of inquiry must inevitably become of very serious importance to large numbers of ministers and their families. I therefore introduce here a little digression on this subject.
What is the moral duty of a young minister who finds himself occupying the pulpit of a denomination in whose generally accepted doctrines he has ceased to believe? The New York _Evening Post_ recently declared this to be a plain moral question. If—thus it argues—a man has voluntarily entered the ministry of a church, and afterwards forms opinions which, if known, would have prevented his admission, he is morally bound to resign. But the question is much more complex than that. In a majority of cases the minister has not entered “voluntarily,”—within the genuine moral scope of that term. His orthodox parents, abetted by their preacher, have kept light from him, repressed his reason, imprisoned him in Sunday schools and prayer-meetings; he has been accorded no free choice; he has been led as a captive, before his intellect was capable of judgment, artificially terrified about his soul, and the world’s danger of damnation, and at length found himself in the pulpit. When the victim finds himself disabused of these fictions, what is his duty? In my belief it would be immoral for him to resign without having first secured a public decision of his church on the issue. His paramount obligations are to the community in which he lives. He is morally bound to preach the truth as he sees it, openly, honestly, plainly. He cannot utter the discredited creeds, prayers, or dogmas. But he has a right,—nay he is bound,—to throw upon the church which has entrapped him the responsibility of repudiating his principles and doctrines. He should say to his church: “You are responsible for the unhappy situation in which I find myself. By your zealous propaganda you frightened or persuaded my parents, my friends, myself, into acceptance of dogmas I now find false. The logical result of taking you seriously was to turn from all worldly occupations, and devote my life to the work of saving mankind from a terrible doom. Now, awakened from the nightmare superinduced by you, I find myself past the opportunities of youth, the time for preparations in other professions irrecoverably lost, and a family dependent on me. The situation concerns not only you and me, but others we have involved. For years I have been laboring with you to try and persuade other youths into the same situation as my own. Something is due to them. I have deceived them and must undeceive them. You say I must be true, but you must be true also. I have innocently reached a position which enables me to compel you to publish to the world exactly where you stand. I will clearly define my convictions: if you cannot tolerate them in your pulpit the youth will know the precise limits to their freedom they agree to in entering your ministry. If you can tolerate them they will know your liberalism. Therefore I remain here proclaiming my truth, and will not help you to cover the truth up by a resignation relieving you of the duty of proclaiming your position with equal clearness. You have got me here, and if I go now you must turn me out. So shall the cause of truth be advanced.”
While this may be affirmed, I think, as a general ethical principle, it is equally true that each case must be judged by itself. The above principle depends on the condition that the ministry has been honestly entered from religious motives, there being no mental reservations at that time. It will be observed that in the case of Mr. Call the consideration entered that he had passed through a phase of Shelleyan scepticism in early youth. This had to be weighed, and perhaps may have had much to do with his determination to retire voluntarily from the ministry. He never concealed his views, however, and it is well known that great efforts are made by older preachers to beat down the scepticism that often arises in the minds of young candidates for the ministry. In such case these unwise advisers assume a large share of responsibility for the event, whether enough to justify the subsequent heretic in compelling a conflict must depend on the minister’s conscience. Although, therefore, Mr. Call decided rightly, in accordance with his moral consciousness, it were by no means fair to maintain, with the author of “Robert Elsmere,” that ministers who find themselves more liberal than the majority of preachers in their church should surrender to such mere superiority of physical force without testing its legality and laying on it responsibility for its exercise of power. Robert Elsmere should, on moral principles, have remained in the church. By so remaining Colenso, Dean Stanley, Charles Kingsley, Max Müller, Professor Jowett, Matthew Arnold, and others, have revealed the fact that, in their church, thought is not delivered up by law to the despotism of a majority.
The case, however, is somewhat different again where the new opinions adopted by a minister amount to an abandonment of the fundamental doctrines of his church. That may not exonerate him from demanding a formal and public declaration of the church, but this being secured, it must affect his relation to the general world. Should it be proved that he may be legally tolerated, he must then consider whether it is his legitimate means of influence, or whether he would be substituting for his own expression the mask of an extinct faith. The ethical principle above affirmed relates to the first practical step of the minister whose beliefs have changed. The progressive and inquiring mind that continues in a church where it is barely tolerated does so at great peril. Where the swift foot agrees to march with the halt the pace must be that of the halt. Sceptical minds occupying pulpits even of liberal denominations are likely to discover, should such engagements end, that they have been unconsciously arresting their own development in finding a conciliatory _modus vivendi_ with the reactionary brethren. There is, indeed, a class of fine intellects, like the great English Broad Churchmen already named, whose comparatively advanced views are the result of larger learning; they have discovered that two and two are four, and gathered courage to deny that the amount is five. These constitute the right leaven by which great organisations are raised to higher standards of knowledge and veracity. But there are original and philosophic inquirers whose particular power were only buried in such organisations, without elevating them. These are due to the corps of pioneers in the direction whither the organisations are advancing. Their task is original research. These cannot wisely wear the uniform of any religious or political party.
Mr. Call was such an original mind, and after he had left the English church his course was to the maturity represented in this ripe book on “Final Causes.” But had he not passed eleven of his best years in the church, out of his true habitat, we should have more fruit of this fine flavor. It is therefore a voice from his experience that here reaches us, as from his grave:
“Scepticism has been vigorously advancing in the nation—I might say, in Europe. And not only has it extended its sphere, but it includes within that sphere some of the loftiest and profoundest intellects of the age—men renowned for vast and exact erudition, for scientific research or critical acumen. Philosophers, poets, historians, novelists, openly or silently disavow Christianity. In palaces, in lordly mansions, in college halls, in secluded homesteads, and here and there in rectory or vicarage, scepticism, if it has not a bold and fearless utterance, at least expresses itself in a guarded whisper. It becomes doubly a duty, then, when notwithstanding the general diffusion of avowed or latent unbelief, we trace everywhere the presence of a conservatism that conceals and hesitates and trembles at the doubts which it cannot suppress, that individual dissentients should candidly disclose their theological divergences. Christianity, indeed, which has had its triumphs in the past, will long conserve a portion of its power, and continue to furnish guidance not only for the unreasoning multitude, but for thousands of excellent men and women who cannot abandon the old religious ideal. But there is no final arrest for the intellectual progress of mankind.”
We now turn to Mr. Call’s work on “Final Causes.” In an introductory chapter of eight pages he compresses the history of the doctrine of Design in nature from Anaxagoras, B. C. 500, to our own time, stating its modifications, criticisms, denials. In the second chapter a brief account is given of “Natural Theology,” whose modern form is found to rest fundamentally on Newton’s generalisation, that a body at rest continues at rest unless acted upon by some external force; and on the geometrical order of planetary revolutions. Starting anew from this point the human mind has discovered in the varied realms of nature apparent evidences of a supersensuous Intelligence. Kant, however, is brought to criticise Newton. “Kant notes with delight that the ‘harmonical relations which excite the feelings in a more sublime manner than even the contingent beauties of nature originate in the properties of space’; and this inevitable congruity he refers ultimately, indeed, to Divine Wisdom, but directly to a common dependence on a single sovereign ground, to a unity of possibilities which it is no more difficult to conceive as self-existent than it is to conceive an Intelligent Cause as self-existent.” Matter is not, then, naturally inert, but an aggregate of forms and forces, and nature a self-adjusting, self-evolving power. In a chapter on “Order and General Adaptation” it is shown that nature contains vast realms of Disorder; and alleged “special adaptations” are shown too as often as otherwise for cruelty and agony. “With what feelings,” asks G. H. Lewes, “can we contemplate the destruction of such an organism as that of man for the sake of some microscopic animal made to live upon it? With what feelings can we think of a human being sacrificed to the growth of cancer-cells? What is the contrivance and benevolence here?” Particular illustrations of design on which teleologists have depended,—the eye, the bee’s cell, the bird’s wing—are examined with critical and scientific care, and imperfections, gratuitous and cruel if ascribed to omnipotent wisdom, found everywhere. “To assert that the Creator of the world is infinitely powerful and infinitely wise were to deny that he is infinitely good.”
To escape the dilemma just stated, some theists postulate a “limited or constitutional deity.” Dr. Martineau’s idea of a “material datum objective to God” is an effort to relieve the deity of responsibility for the evils of nature, but Mr. Call declares the selection of “power” as the limited attribute is arbitrary. We have, he thinks, no more logical right to limit the deity’s power than his intelligence, or his benevolence. (This is doubtful, however, and requires more consideration than is here given it.) “The Evolutionary God” is next considered, and disproved by the uselessness and unfitness of some structures in various organisations, the often injurious character of others, (e.g. the intestinal canal called the vermiform process,) while the moral sense is still offended by the general predatory method of natural selection.
The validity of the Design argument disposed of, Mr. Call leaves to the theist whatever evidences of a deity he may find in his ideals, emotions, aspirations, intuitions. He points out that the Designer thus disproved has never been able to satisfy the intellect or heart, the like being true of the “Unknowable.” The sole sacred ideal left us is that of humanity; not of the whole race but of the purer, nobler constituents of it.
“As Humanity will be the sole Ideal Object to which dutiful obligation and exalted sentiment will be referred, so the world of Humanity will be the world revealed, not by divine inspiration or metaphysical intuition, but by Positive Science The shadowy abstractions of the speculative rationalist, the fanciful conceptions of the theologian, will gradually pass away. To the Semitic explanation of the world and of man will succeed that of Laplace and Darwin. The great and majestic truths of the stellar universe, the mysteries of life, of light, of heat, of sound; the wonders of natural history, the magic of geologic lore, the epic of man’s progression in time; the exaltation, the solace, the delight which flow from poetry, music, painting, sculpture; the interest in the arts, industrial no less than æsthetic; in the fellowship of work which ameliorates the common lot; in friendships of man and woman, short of passionate love, and in the happier profounder affection of wife and husband; in all home charities and patriotic activities, and in the identification of personal ‘feelings with the entire life of the human race’;—all these incidents of thought and varieties of emotion and action will possess the intellect and fill the heart of future generations, in a mode and degree which we can now only imperfectly realise, and which, in the end, will leave men but little reason to regret that the raptures of saint or prophet, or the splendours of ancient theocracy, or the power and glory of the Mediæval Church, or the imposing premise of Hellenic or of Teutonic speculation, are as the dreams of a night that has passed forever away.”
Have we, in this prophetic conclusion, the afterglow of a faith sunk beneath the horizon? Why should we suppose that such beautiful things will come to pass in the future? Such prophecies have hitherto been inspired by belief in an overruling and omnipotent Love. But we are now brought by science and philosophy to the misgiving of Solomon, “We are born at all adventure.” Things, the sceptic may say, will grow better if man compels them so, otherwise they can as easily grow worse.
It appears to me that in the old dogma of Jehovah’s curse on the world and its redemption by Jesus there is buried, as in a sarcophagus, a skeleton of human nature, and of moral history, resembling the man of to-day, and the history we are making. There was an appeal of the human heart from Jehovah to Jesus,—from the cursing to the saving deity. The terrible arraignments of nature written by some of the greatest men since Darwin’s discovery have not found any one to answer them. The severest indictment of the world, perhaps, is that by the late Cardinal Newman, who declares, “Either there is no Creator, or this living society of men is in a true sense discarded from his presence.... _Since_ there is a God, the human race is implicated in some terrible aboriginal calamity.” From a deity who having created his own materials, built up a creation liable to such calamity, mankind are once more appealing. The ancient case was Jesus _vs._ Jehovah; the present case is Humanity _vs._ the Creator of Nature. This rebellion of the moral sentiment and of compassionateness is not intellectually conscious; it goes on, and for a long time must go on, with ceremonial respect to the Final Cause of all the evils humanity tries to heal; but it appears to me certain that the heart and enthusiasm which once went out to a personal God are again turning to a crucified humanity. The humanitarian movements of our time have arisen simultaneously with the overwhelming evidences of nature’s cruelty and imperfections revealed by Science. The earlier deists appealed from biblical superstitions and ecclesiastical cruelties to the God visible in the order and beauty of the universe. With the existence of evil in external nature they never grappled. Bishop Butler’s “Analogy” first stated the problem. He answered deistic objections to the inhumanities of the Bible by pointing out the like in nature. Instead of answering the deists he set them on a new departure which has ended in results summed up in Mr. Call’s book. The omnipotent creator of nature is following the biblical Jehovah into extinction. But the instincts and aspirations of the human heart and mind remain the same; the religious sentiment remains. The stream that is dammed up in one direction or another does not lose any force thereby; it streams into other channels if it can find such, or floods field and village if it finds none. It will beat earthward as strongly as it once beat heavenward; it will, if channels be not provided, carry away institutions as it has carried away gods and goddesses.
It has become therefore of great importance to recognise if possible the lines of least resistance along the mighty stream of religious enthusiasm, and provide that its energies shall not be destructive but conservative of human welfare. At present the most conservative force in the earth is ignorance: were the suffering masses of the world to discover, suddenly and universally, that the old creeds are fictions, their evils not providential, their heavenly hopes vain, every nation would be filled with convulsions. Fortunately the sun is not shot up into the heavens. But enlightenment progresses rapidly, and we have begun none too soon turning the rising flood of light and fire into the human channels long obstructed by sanctified inhumanities.
Mr. Call’s little book, which I hope will find publication and wide circulation in America, sums up succinctly and cogently the present religious situation, and the steps by which it has been reached. It remains for us all to sweep the new horizon with eye and telescope, to compare our observations and to catch the first ray of the star that shall point wise men to the new incarnation. To my own mind this book is one of the many signs and promises that the divine will be steadily merged into and identified with the human. Not with humanity as an objective and historical entity, as Comte believed, but with the distinctive characteristics of humanity, the supreme qualities of reason and love: this will become the ideal of the reasoners and the lovers; it will then become the creating Word, instructing all; it will finally be made flesh and dwell among us, and all shall behold in it the glory of the kingdom of Man.
MONCURE D. CONWAY.
FACTS AND MENTAL SYMBOLS.
I perceive from Dr. Carus’s answer to my letter in No. 3 Vol. I of _The Monist_, that amid all the agreement of our mutual endeavors a material difference of opinion exists between us on an important question of special character. As I was not successful in rendering my thought clear on this point, I shall endeavor on the present occasion to explain _what_ it was that forced me to abandon my old position (1863), which is very near to that of Dr. Carus, and to assume a new one. The supposition that our difference of opinion is merely apparent and can be adjusted by a precise agreement as to the terms employed is a very natural one in philosophical discussions. It is hardly tenable, though, when the divergent views in question arise _subsequently_ to one another in the _same_ person.
I must state, in starting, that I pursued in my youth physical _and_ philosophical studies, particularly psychology, with equal ardor. There was hardly the question at that time of an experimental psychology, of a relation of psychological to physiological research. No more so did physics at that day think of a psychological analysis of the notions it was constantly employing. How the notions of “body,” “matter,” “atom,” etc., were come by, was not investigated. Objects were given of which physicists never questioned the inviolability and with which they unconcernedly pursued their labors.
The fields of physical and psychological research thus stood _unconciliated_ the one by the side of the other, each having its own particular concepts, methods, and theories. No one questioned, indeed, that the two departments were connected in some way. _The way_, however, appeared an insoluble riddle; as it yet appears to Dubois-Reymond.
Now although this condition of things was not such as to satisfy my mind, it was nevertheless natural that as a student I should seek to acquire tentatively the prevailing views of both provinces and put them into consistent connection with one another.
I thus formed provisorily the view that Nature has two _sides_—a physical and a psychological side. If psychical life is to be harmonised at all with the theories of physics we are obliged, I thought, to conceive of the atoms as _feeling_ (ensouled). The various dynamic phenomena of the atoms would then represent the physical processes, while the internal states _connected therewith_ would be the phenomena of psychic life. If we accept in faith and seriousness the atomistic speculations of the physicists and of the early psychologists (on the unity of the soul), I still see hardly any other course to arrive at a half-way supportable monistic conception.
It is unnecessary to set forth at length here what a prominent place the artificial scaffolding we employ in the construction of our knowledge assumes in these monadic theories as contradistinguished from the facts that deserve knowledge, and how poorly such theories satisfy in the long run a vigorous mind. As a fact, employment with this cumbrous artifice was in my case the means that effected very soon the appearance of my better conviction, already latently present.[34]
In the further progress of my physical work I soon discovered that it was very necessary _sharply to distinguish_ between what we _see_ and what we mentally _supply_. When, for example, I imagine heat as a substance (a fluid) that passes from one body into another, I follow with ease the phenomena of conduction and compensation. This idea led Black, who established it, to the discovery of specific heat, of the latent heat of fusion and vaporisation, and so forth. _This same_ idea of a constant quantity of heat-substance _prevented_ on the other hand Black’s successors from using their eyes. They no longer mark the fact which every savage knows, that heat is _produced_ by friction. By the help of his undulatory theory Huygens follows with ease the phenomena of the reflexion and refraction of light. The same theory _prevents_ him, for he thinks solely of the longitudinal waves with which he was familiar, from marking the fact of polarisation which he himself discovered, but which Newton on the other hand, undisturbed by theories, perceives at once. The conception of fluids acting at a distance on conductors charged with electricity facilitates our view of the behavior of the objects charged, but it _stood in the way of_ the discovery of the specific inductive capacity, which was reserved for the eye of Faraday undimmed by any traditional theories.
Valuable therefore as the conceptions may be which we mentally (theoretically) supply in our pursuit of facts, bringing to bear, as they do, older, richer, more general, and more familiar experiences on facts that stand alone, thus affording us a broader field of view, nevertheless, the same conceptions may, as classical examples and our own experience demonstrate, lead us astray. For a theory, indeed, always puts in the place of a fact something _different_, something more simple, which is qualified to represent it in some _certain_ aspect, but for the very reason that it is different does _not_ represent it in other aspects. When in the place of _light_ Huygens mentally put the familiar phenomenon of _sound_, light itself appeared to him as a thing that he knew, but with respect to polarisation, which sound-waves lack, as a thing with which he was doubly unacquainted. Our theories are abstractions, which, while they place in relief that which is important for _certain fixed_ cases, neglect almost necessarily, or even disguise, what is important for other cases. The law of refraction looks upon rays of light as homogeneous straight lines, and that is sufficient for the comprehension of the geometrical aspect of the matter. But the propositions that relate to refraction will never lead us to the fact that the rays of light are periodical, that they interfere. Just the contrary, the favorite and familiar conception of a ray as a smooth straight line will rather render this discovery difficult.
Only in rare cases will the resemblance between a fact and its theoretical conception extend _further_ than we ourselves postulate. Then the theoretical conception may lead to the discovery of _new_ facts, of which conical refraction, circular polarisation, and Hertz’s electric waves furnish examples that stand in opposition to those given above. But as a general rule we have every reason to distinguish sharply between our theoretical conceptions of phenomena and that which we observe. The former must be regarded merely as auxiliary instruments that have been created for a _definite_ purpose and which possess permanent value only with respect to that purpose. No one will seriously imagine for a moment that a real circle with angles and sines actually performs functions in the refraction of light. Every one, on the contrary, regards the formula sinα/sinβ = _n_ as a kind of geometrical model that _imitates in form_ the refraction of light and _takes its place_ in our mind. In this sense, I take it, all the theoretical conceptions of physics—caloric, electricity, light-waves, molecules, atoms, and energy—must be regarded as mere helps or expedients to facilitate our viewing things. Even within the domain of physics itself the greatest care must be exercised in transferring theories from one department to another, and above all more instruction is not to be expected from a theory than from the facts themselves.
But instances were not lacking that demonstrated to me, how much greater the confusion was which was produced by the direct transference of theories, methods, and inquiries that were legitimate in physics, into the field of psychology.
Allow me to illustrate this by a few examples.
A physicist observes an image on the retina of an excised eye, notices that it is turned upside down with respect to the objects imaged, and puts to himself very naturally the question, How does a luminous point situated _at the top_ come to be reflected on the retina _at the bottom_? He answers this question by the aid of dioptrical studies. If, now, this question, which is perfectly legitimate in the province of physics, be transferred to the domain of psychology, only obscurity will be produced. The question why we see the _inverted_ retina-image _upright_, has no meaning as a psychological problem. The light-sensations of the separate spots of the retina are connected with sensations of locality from the very beginning, and we _name_ the places that correspond to the parts down, _up_. Such a question cannot present itself to the perceiving subject.
It is the same with the well-known theory of projection. The problem of the _physicist_ is, to seek the luminous object-point of a point imaged on the retina of the eye in the backward prolonged ray passing through the point of intersection of the eye. For the perceiving subject this _problem_ does not exist, as the light-sensations of the retinal spots are connected from the beginning with determinate space-sensations. The entire theory of the psychological origin of the “external” world by the projection of sensations outwards is founded in my opinion on a mistaken transference of a _physically_ formulated inquiry into the province of _psychology_. Our sensations of sight and touch are bound up with, are connected with, various _different_ sensations of space, that is to say these sensations have an existence _by the side of_ one another or _outside of_ one another, exist in other words in a _spatial_ field, in which our body fills but a part. That table is thus self-evidently _outside of_ my body. A projection-problem does not present itself, is neither consciously nor unconsciously solved.
A physicist (Mariotte) makes the discovery that a certain spot on the retina is blind. He is accustomed to associating with every spatial point an imaged point, and with every imaged point a sensation. Hence the question arises, what do we see at the points that correspond to the blind spots, and how is the gap in the image filled out? If the unfounded influence of the physicist’s method of procedure on the discussion of psychological questions be excluded, it will be found that no problem exists at all here. We see _nothing_ at the blind spots, the gap in the image is _not_ filled out. The gap, moreover, is not felt, for the reason that a defect of light-sensation at a spot blind from the beginning can no more be perceived as a gap in the image than the blindness say of the skin of the back can be so perceived.
I have chosen intentionally simple and obvious examples, such as render it clear what unnecessary confusion is caused by the careless transference of a conception or mode of thought which is valid and serviceable in one domain, into another.
In the work of a celebrated German ethnographer I read recently the following sentence: “This tribe of people deeply degraded itself by the practise of cannibalism.” By its side lay the book of an English inquirer who deals with the same subject. The latter simply puts the _question why_ certain South-Sea islanders eat human beings, finds out in the course of his inquiries that our own ancestors also were once cannibals, and comes to understand the position the Hindus take in the matter—a point of view that occurred once to my five-year-old boy who while eating a piece of meat stopped suddenly shocked and cried out, “_We_ are cannibals to the animals!” “Thou shalt not eat human beings” is a very beautiful maxim; but in the mouth of the ethnographer it sullies the calm and noble lustre of unprepossession by which we so gladly discover the true inquirer. But a step further and we will say, “Man _must_ not be descended from monkeys,” “The earth _shall_ not rotate,” “Matter _ought_ not everywhere to fill space,” “Energy _must_ be constant,” and so on. I believe that our procedure differs from that just characterised only in degree and not in kind, when we transfer views reached in the province of physics with the dictum of sovereign validity into the domain of psychology, where they should be tested anew with respect to their serviceability. In such cases we are subject to dogma, if not to that which is forced upon us by a power from without like our scholastic forefathers, yet to that which we have made ourselves. And what result of research is there that could not become a dogma by long habit of use, since the very skill which we have acquired in familiar intellectual situations, deprives us of the freshness and unprepossession which are so requisite in a new situation.
Now that I have set forth in general outlines the position I take, I may be able perhaps to establish my opposition to the _dualism of feeling and motion_. This dualism is to my mind an artificial and an unnecessary one. The way it has arisen is analogous to that in which the imaginary solutions of certain mathematical problems have arisen—by the improper formulation of the questions involved.
In the investigation of purely physical processes we generally employ notions so abstract that as a rule we only think cursorily or not at all of the sensations that lie at and constitute their foundation. For example, when I establish the fact that an electric current of 1 Ampère develops 10½ cubic centimetres oxyhydrogen gas at 0° C. and 760 mm mercury pressure in a minute, I am easily disposed to attribute to the objects defined a reality wholly independent of my sensations. But I am obliged in order to arrive at what I have determined to conduct the current through a circular wire having a definite measured radius, so that the current, the intensity of terrestrial magnetism being given, shall turn the magnetic needle at its centre a certain angular distance out of the meridian. The intensity of terrestrial magnetism must have been disclosed by a definite observed period of vibration of a magnetic needle of measured dimensions, known weight, and so forth. The determination of the oxyhydrogen gas is no less intricate. The whole statement, so simple in its appearance, is based upon an almost unending series of simple sensory observations (sensations), particularly so when the observations are added that guarantee the adjustment of the apparatus, which may have been performed in part long before the actual experiment. Now it may easily happen to the physicist who does not study the psychology of his operations, that he does not (to reverse a well-known saying) see the trees for the woods, and that he slurs over the sensory elements at the foundation of his work. Now I maintain, that every physical notion is nothing more than a definite connection of the sensory _elements_ which I denote by _A_ _B_ _C_ ..., and that every physical fact rests therefore on such a connection. These _elements_—elements in the sense that no further resolution has for the present been effected of them—are the most ultimate building stones of the physical world that we have as yet been able to seize.
Physiological research also may have a purely physical character. I can follow the course of a physical process as it propagates itself through a sensitive nerve to the spinal column and brain of an animal and returns by various paths to the muscles of the animal, whose contraction produces further events in the environment of the animal. I need not think, in so doing, of any feeling on the part of the animal; what I investigate is a purely physical object. Very much is lacking, it is true, to our complete comprehension of the details of this process, and the assurance that it is all motion can neither console me nor deceive me with respect to my ignorance.
Long before there was any scientific physiology people perceived that the behavior of an animal confronted by physical influences is much better viewed, that is understood, by attributing to the animal _sensations_ like our own. To that which I see, to _my_ sensations, I have to _supply mentally_ the sensations of the _animal_, which are not to be found in the province of my own sensation. This contrariety appears still more abrupt to the scientific inquirer who is investigating a nervous process by the aid of colorless abstract notions, and is required for example to add mentally to that process the sensation green. This last can actually appear as something entirely novel, and we can ask ourselves how it is that this miraculous thing is produced from chemical processes, electrical currents, and the like.[35]
Psychological analysis has taught us that this surprise is unjustified, since the physicist deals with sensations in everything on which he employs himself. This analysis is also able to render it clear to us that the mental addition by analogy of sensations and complexes of sensations which at the time being are not present in the field of sense or cannot even come into it, is also daily practised by the physicist, as when for example he imagines the moon an inert heavy mass although he cannot touch the moon but only see it. The totally strange character of the intellectual situation above described is therefore an illusion.
The illusion disappears when I make observations (psychologically) on my own person which are limited to the sensory sphere. Before me lies the leaf of a plant. The green (_A_) of the leaf is united with a certain optical sensation of space (_B_) and sensation of touch (_C_), with the visibility of the sun or the lamp (_D_). If the yellow (_E_) of a sodium flame takes the place of the sun, the green (_A_) will pass into brown (_F_). If the chlorophyl granules be removed,—an operation representable like the preceding one by elements,—the green (_A_) will pass into white (_G_). All these observations are _physical_ observations. But the green (_A_) is also united with a certain process on my retina. There is nothing to prevent me in principle from physically investigating this process on my own eye in exactly the same manner as in the cases previously set forth, and from reducing it to its elements _X_ _Y_ _Z_.... If this were not possible in the case of my own eye, it might be accomplished with that of another, and the gap filled out by analogy exactly as in physical investigations. Now in its dependence upon _B_ _C_ _D_ ..., _A_ is a _physical element_, in its dependence on _X_ _Y_ _Z_ ... it is a _sensation_. The green (_A_) however is not altered at all _in itself_, whether we direct our attention to the one or to the other form of dependence. _I see, therefore, no oppositions of physical and psychical, no duality, but simply identity._ In the sensory sphere of my consciousness everything is at once physical and psychical.
The obscurity of this intellectual situation has arisen according to my conviction solely from the transference of a physical prepossession into the domain of psychology. The physicist says: I find everywhere bodies and the motions of bodies only, no sensations; sensation therefore must be something _entirely different_ from the physical objects I deal with. The psychologist accepts the second portion of this declaration: To him, it is true, sensation is _given_, but there corresponds to it a mysterious physical something which conformably to physical prepossession must be _different_ from sensation. But what is it that is the really mysterious thing? Is it the Physis or the Psyche? or is it perhaps _both_? It would almost appear so, as it is now the one and now the other that is intangible. Or does the whole reasoning involved rest on a fallacious circle?
I believe that the latter is the case. For me the elements designated by _A_ _B_ _C_ ... are immediately and indubitably given, and for me they can never afterwards be volatilised away by any considerations which are after all based in every case on their existence.[36]
To the department of special research having for its subject the sensory, physical, and psychical province which is not made superfluous by this general orientation and Which cannot be forestalled, the relations of _A_ _B_ _C_ ... only remain to be ascertained. This may be expressed symbolically by saying that it is the purpose and end of special research to find equations of the form _f(A, B, C_, ...) = 0.
I hope with this to have designated the point in which I am in opposition to Dr. Carus, with whom I agree so much in other respects. I am obliged, notwithstanding the latter fact, to regard this point as essential, inasmuch as my whole mode of thinking and direction of inquiry have been changed by the view it involves, and because, moreover, I do not believe that the difference in question can be dissipated by any verbal explanations however exact.
This whole train of reasoning has for me simply the significance of negative orientation for the avoidance of pseudo-problems. I restrict myself, moreover intentionally here, to the question of sense-perceptions, for the reason that at the start exact special research will find here alone a safe basis of operations.
ERNST MACH.
FOOTNOTES:
[34] A Greek philosopher to whom change of spatial configuration, pressure, and percussion were probably the only natural processes of which he had any intimate knowledge, thought out the atomistic theory. This theory we retain to-day, though it be in a modified form. And in fact natural phenomena really do exist that act _as if_ the pressure and impact of very small particles were involved in their production (the dynamical theory of gases), phenomena that admit therefore by this conception of being more clearly viewed. However, this conception, like that of caloric, possesses value only in certain fields. We know to-day that pressure and impact are by no means simpler phenomena than are for example the phenomena of gravitation. The contention that in physics everything can be reduced to the motion of smallest particles is, taken at its best, a more than improper draft on the future. Utterances of this kind afford no assistance to the solution of burning special questions, but only confound, and have about the same explanatory value as the utterances of the late physical philosophy of Oken which prescribe for example with the greatest ease the course of the creation of the world by a division of zero-quantities into _+a_ and _-a_ (0 = _+a_ _-a_).
The motion of a _single_ body as a totality does indeed appear simpler at first glance than any other process, and this is the justification of attempts at a _physical_ monadic theory. The thoughts of a _single_ man are connected together; the thoughts of two different men are not. How can the processes of the different parts of the brain of one man be connected? In order to make the connection very intimate, we collect everything which requires to be psychically connected in _a single_ point, although the connection is not explained by this procedure. Thus the psychological monadic theory is created on the basis of a motive and of an illusion similar to that on which the physical rests.
Let us assume for a moment the proposition in the text; viz., that the atoms are endowed with feeling. By the space coördinates _x_, _y_, _z_, _x′_, _y′_, _z′_ ... of the atoms are determined _in the atoms_ internal conditions α, β, γ, α′, β′, γ′ ... and _vice versa_. For we feel by our senses our physical environment, and our physical invasions of our environment are conditioned by our sensations. The idea is then at hand, α, β, γ ... alone being directly given, to set up by the elimination of _x_, _y_, _z_ ... equations directly between α, β, γ, α′, β′, γ′.... This latter point of view would be very near to my present one, aside from the fact that the latter wholly rejects metaphysical considerations.
[35] The following is a legitimate question: To what kind of nervous processes is the sensation green to be mentally added. Such questions can be solved only by special inquiry, and not by a reference in a general way to motion and electric currents. How disadvantageous our remaining satisfied with such general conceptions is, can be seen from the fact that inquirers have been repeatedly on the brink of abandoning the _specific energies_, one of the greatest acquisitions we have made, simply because they were unable to discover any difference in the currents of different sensory nerves. I was impelled as early as 1863 in my lectures on psycho-physics to call attention to the fact that the _most diverse kinds_ of nervous processes can conceal themselves in a current. Current is an abstraction and places in relief but one feature of the process—the passage of energy though a transverse section. A current in diluted sulphuric acid is something entirely different from a current in copper. We must therefore also expect that a current in the acoustic nerve is something entirely different from a current in the optic nerve.
[36] It is the transitoriness of sense-perceptions that so easily leads us to regard them as mere appearances as contrasted with permanent bodies. I have repeatedly pointed out that unconditioned permanent states do not exist in nature, that permanences of connection only exist. A body is for me the same complex of sight-and-touch-sensations every time that it is placed in the same circumstances of illumination, position in space, temperature, and so forth. The supposed constancy of the body is the constancy of the union of _A_, _B_, _C_ ... or the constancy of the _equation f_(_A_, _B_, _C_ ...) = 0.
PROFESSOR CLIFFORD ON THE SOUL IN NATURE.
No one can read Clifford’s Lectures and Essays, without feeling that, if their author is less known and valued as an original thinker than as a master of mathematical analysis, it is only because having turned the force of his genius onto mathematics first he had time to complete some work in that direction, whereas his premature death in 1879 only allowed him to give us an earnest of the philosophical work which he had it in him to perform.
The short biography which Prof. F. Pollock contributed to the first edition of his lectures and essays gives an interesting sketch of the phases of opinion through which Clifford passed. It appears that before he took his degree in 1867 and for a little time after he was a high churchman; but, says Pollock, “there was an intellectual and speculative activity about his belief which made it impossible that he should remain permanently at that stage.” “He never slackened in the pursuit of scientific knowledge and ideas,” and conscious of a hiatus between orthodox views and some of the results of science he yet held that religious beliefs are outside the region of scientific proof and that there is a special theological faculty or insight, analogous to the scientific, poetic, and artistic faculties, the persons in whom this genius is exceptionally developed being the founders of new religions and religious orders. This is not unlike the solution of religious doubts which Hume playfully suggested and which John Henry Newman has seriously adopted, namely that “divinity, or theology, has a foundation in _reason_ so far as it is supported by experience. But its best and most solid foundation is _faith_ and divine revelation.” “When or how,” continues his biographer, “Clifford first came to a clear perception that this position of quasi-scientific Catholicism was untenable I do not exactly know; but I know that the discovery cost him an intellectual and moral struggle, of which traces may be found here and there in his essays. Most readers of these essays would consider that Clifford is very unfair to the Christian beliefs which he had abandoned and beyond doubt he felt a certain grudge against them for having so long duped him.”[37] The theories of Mr. Darwin and Herbert Spencer took the place in Clifford’s mind of the old fashioned creed; Natural selection was to unriddle the universe, to yield a new system of ethics and education. We read that Clifford had an extraordinary power of taking up a theory provisionally, of throwing himself into it, accepting it, applying it, and of rejecting it in case it was not satisfactory; and this may account perhaps for his somewhat dogmatic assertion in many cases of crude views. There is one characteristic of Clifford however which all may emulate, and that is the candor and fearlessness of his thinking and speaking. Let me quote a few words from one of the best and most stirring of these essays:
“If I let myself believe anything on insufficient evidence, there may be no great harm done by the mere belief; it may be true after all, or I may never have occasion to exhibit it in outward acts. But I cannot help doing this great wrong towards man, that I make myself credulous. The danger to society is not merely that it should believe wrong things, though that is great enough; but that it should become credulous, and lose the habit of testing things and inquiring into them; for then it must sink back into savagery.... If a man, holding a belief which he was taught in childhood or persuaded of afterwards, keeps down and pushes away any doubts which arise about it in his mind, purposely avoids the reading of books and the company of men that call in question or discuss it, and regards as impious those questions which cannot easily be asked without disturbing it—the life of that man is one long sin against mankind.”
The essay on the nature of things in themselves marks the furthest limit at which Clifford’s speculation arrived. In it Clifford begins by discarding the ordinary distinction between reality and ideas, eternal object and eternal subject, of feeling and thing. The distinction is really between two orders of feeling; there is the subjective or inner order, in which sorrow succeeds the hearing of bad news, and the objective or outward in which the feeling of letting go is followed by sight of falling object. It is with the latter order that physical science concerns itself, and all the inferences of natural science are inferences of my real or possible feeling. Since an object is a set of changes _in_ my consciousness and not anything out of it, is just my feeling real or possible and therefore part of me, it might seem as if we were shut up in ourselves and excluded from participation in any other reality. So we should be, says Clifford, if we made no other inferences beside those of physical science; but when I come to the conclusion that _you_ are conscious and that you have objects in your consciousness similar to those in mine, I am not inferring any actual or possible feelings of my own, but _your_ feelings, which are not and can never be objects in my consciousness. To feelings and consciousness thus inferred to exist in another, Clifford gives the name of _eject_, because in the very act of inference they are _thrown out_ of my consciousness, recognised as outside of it, as _not_ being a part of me. “The existence of my conception of you in my consciousness carries with it a belief in the existence of you outside of my consciousness.... How this inference is justified, how consciousness can testify to the existence of anything outside of itself I do not pretend to say; I need not untie a knot which the world has cut for me long ago.” (Vol. II, p. 73.)
Thus, _objects_ in the sense of things presented in _my_ consciousness, my phenomena, are not the sole or chief reality; ejects are equally real and my conviction of your existence as a conscious being like myself is coeval and of equal weight with my belief in my own conscious existence. You and your feelings are strictly speaking the only things which are real outside of myself and my consciousness. For though my objects or phenomena are external to my body they are not outside my consciousness, but part and parcel thereof. Nay, more than this an individual object, i. e. an object which is mine and mine only, never exists at all, according to Clifford, in the mind of man; for with each object as it exists in my mind is bound up the thought of similar objects existing in other men’s minds. All the objects in fact of which we are ever conscious are objects of consciousness in general, are in Clifford’s phrase social objects. “A fixed habit causes an object as it is found in my mind to be formed as a social object and insensibly embodies in it a reference to the minds of other men.” This belief in ejects is moreover the root of all language and all morals:—of language, because any sound which, becoming a sign to my neighbor, becomes thereby a mark to myself, must by the nature of the case be a mark of the social object and not of the individual object: of morals, because the “first great commandment, evolved in the light of day by healthy processes wherever men have lived together, is, ‘Put yourself in his place.’”
So far there is nothing to distinguish Clifford’s theory from ordinary Idealism, which denies that the universe is real except as a phenomenon or appearance before a Self conscious thereof. The future course of Clifford’s argument turns upon two assumptions. One of these, borrowed from the current physiology of the brain, is this: that the changes in my consciousness—ejective facts he calls them—run parallel with the changes in my brain, which are objective facts. The parallelism between them is one of complexity, an analogy of structure. The complex ejective facts are the same sort of complication of simple ejects as the complex motions of the brain are of simple molecular movements. Clifford illustrates the points from the relation of speech to writing, the sentence spoken is the same function of the elementary sounds as the same sentence written is of the corresponding letters. In like manner the complex human mind is the same function of simple feelings as the brain is of primary atoms.
The other assumption is based upon the current doctrine of evolution. Our bodies have been evolved step by step out of inorganic matter, and we have before our eyes a line of organisms connecting man with the simplest atom of matter. In this series there is no hiatus between one form and another, no breach of morphological continuity, but one species arises by insensible gradation out of its predecessors. Now in the case of organisms of a certain complexity we cannot help inferring consciousness, and as we go back along the line we not only see the complexity of the organism and of its nervous system insensibly diminishing, but for the first part of our course we have reason to think that the complexity of consciousness insensibly diminishes also.[38] The conclusion is forced upon us that nature is animate from top to bottom and that the humblest atom has an elementary feeling or eject of its own as simple in comparison with the complex intelligence of man as the atom is itself simple in comparison with his very complex brain. Unless we admit this we are in a dilemma. The ejective facts which we cannot help inferring in the case of all animals must extend further down through vegetables to inorganic phenomena, or else there must be a point at which we could say: here the object begins to have an inner or ejective fact corresponding to it as my mind corresponds to my body. But the series of objective forms presents no sudden break anywhere, not even between animals and vegetables, such as to warrant our supposing that ejective facts extend thus far down in the series and no further.
Clifford is not quite as explicit about the nature of the elementary ejects, which answer to moving molecules, as we should like him to be. Of one thing however he is quite certain; they are elementary feelings which yet are neither modifications of a consciousness nor yet imply a consciousness in which alone they can exist. Every feeling may be part of a consciousness, but it need not be so. Consciousness is only a derivative and secondary result, following on the arrangement of feeling in a particular way and it is evolved at a very late period in the history of the world. In itself a feeling is an absolute _Ding-an-sich_, whose existence is not relative to anything else. _Sentitur_ is all that can be said of it.
Thus strictly speaking it is not _consciousness_ which extends throughout the series of objective forms from man down to the molecule. It is only feeling. Consciousness proper only belongs to the later and higher members of the series. “If we make a jump from man say to the tunicate mollusks, we see no reason there to infer the existence of consciousness at all.” Therefore the doctrine of evolution itself forbids us to regard all ejects as being of the _same_ substant as mind. They are only of like substance ὁμοιούσιον not ὁμοούσιον, only quasi-mental[39] and not in themselves either rational, intelligent, or conscious.[40]
Besides the evolutionist’s reason that it is absurd to attribute consciousness and personality to tunicate mollusks there is another reason drawn from human introspection for asserting elementary feelings to be absolute and unrelated existence. “A feeling, at the instance when it _exists_, exists _an und für sich_ and not as _my_ feeling.”[41] The self-perception of the ego, the sense that in all my various feelings it is _I_ who am conscious, this “unity of apperception” does not exist in the instantaneous consciousness which it unites, but only in subsequent reflection upon it. It consists further in the power of establishing a certain connexion between the memories of any two feelings which we had at the same instant.
There is one other point of extreme importance to be noticed in Clifford’s account of the elementary feelings or ejects. They are connected together in their sequence and coexistence by counterparts of the physical laws of matter. Were it not so their correspondence with motions of matter could not be kept up. That they should be thus connected with one another militates at first sight with the characteristic of absoluteness above ascribed to them by Clifford. We must suppose therefore that when Clifford says that their existence is not relative to anything else, he means no more than that they are not ultimately related to a personal consciousness. We must suppose that it is these laws of the sequence and coexistence of elementary feelings which, “when molecules are so combined together as to form the film on the under side of a jelly-fish, so combine the elements of mind-stuff which go along with them as to form the faint beginnings of sentience. The same laws combine feelings so as to form some kind of consciousness, when the molecules are so combined as to form the brain and nervous system of a vertebrate” (p. 85).
We are now after these preliminary explanations in a position to appreciate what is the gist and core of Clifford’s speculations. It is this, that the reality external to our minds which is represented in our minds as matter is in itself mind-stuff or elementary feelings. The universe consists entirely of mind-stuff. Some of this is woven into the complex form of human minds containing imperfect representations of the mind-stuff outside them and of themselves also, as a mirror reflects its own image in another mirror, _ad infinitum_. Such an imperfect representation is called a material universe. The two chief points therefore of the doctrine as summed up by Clifford himself are:
1) Matter is a mental picture in which mind-stuff is the thing represented.
2) Reason, intelligence, and volition are properties of a complex which is made up of elements themselves not rational, not intelligent, not conscious.
We shall do Clifford an injustice if we interpret the foregoing theory as a dualistic and not as a monistic view, i. e. as a view which postulates two ultimate principles of reality rather than one. Clifford however often speaks as if feeling and matter were two coördinate aspects of reality, irreducible to one another. For example he allows himself to speak of mind-stuff as going along with the material object, of laws connecting the elements of mind-stuff which are only _counterparts_ of the physical laws of matter and not those laws themselves. Again he writes (p. 78) as follows: “The distinction between eject and object, forbids us to regard the eject, another man’s mind, as coming into the world of objects in any way, or as standing in the relation of cause or effect to any changes in that world.” Such language reminds us of Spinoza’s doctrine that body alone can determine body to move and only thought determine thought to think, but we must not therefore suppose that for Clifford as for Spinoza the two rival kingdoms of thought and extended matter are irreconcilably severed or nominally united by the figment of a single substance of which they are attributes: What Clifford means is that the thing _is_ a feeling so far as it is anything at all and that, if things coexist or succeed each other according to laws, they only coexist and follow _as_ feelings and conformably to laws of feeling. Not only is the elementary feeling a thing itself, but things-in-themselves are elementary feelings.
It is incumbent therefore on us to ask if an elementary feeling is equal to the double burden put upon it by this theory of being the real universe of things and of creating the human intelligence. In answering this question we must be careful to divest feelings beforehand of any characteristics which they only possess as gathered up into the unity of a self, for at the stage in which we are considering reality selves have not yet arisen. It is hard to conceive what is left of feeling after these characteristics have been removed, nor does introspection help us here, for, as Clifford very truly says, the fundamental deliverance of consciousness affirms its own complexity and it seems impossible, as I am at present constituted, to have only one absolutely simple feeling at a time. Elementary feelings however could hardly constitute the cosmos without they follow one another, coexist, and connect themselves together in their groupings according to certain laws, i. e. by some inherent necessity always take up the same attitudes toward each other, and this much Clifford assumes that they do. Yet these assumptions will not bear examination. Let us examine first the postulate that feelings follow in a fixed order; call them _a_ _b_ _c_ _d_, _b_ succeeds _a_ and precedes _c_ and it makes a difference, which comes after or before the other. Now being absolute feelings, not only is _a_ past and non-existent before _b_ begins to be, so _b_ before _c_, but each is in turn the entire reality and there is no consciousness before which they pass in procession. The real would thus fall into disconnected and mutually indifferent moments _a_ _b_ _c_ _d_; and as each of these in turn exhausts reality and is also unconscious of what goes before and after, there would be no real succession at all. In a real succession it makes a difference whether _b_ comes before _or_ after _a_, but in the case we suppose it could make no difference. In truth there can be no relation of before and after between two terms except for a self, which takes note of the one disappearing and of the other appearing; and whenever we speak of things following one another we tacitly presuppose a self before whom the procession passes.
It is even more difficult to understand how elementary feelings can be grouped and complicated in a fixed order of coexistence. Mind has not yet emerged, so we must suppose that the grouping takes place in space. In that case one feeling must be right or left, above or below another. The futility of such speculation will come home to anyone who will try to realise how a feeling of smell can be above or below one of taste.
We have next to consider Clifford’s account of the genesis out of elementary feelings of personal consciousness. The hypothesis of mind-stuff, we must remember, was framed in order to preserve the same continuity of ejective facts as we see to exist in the case of objective facts, to provide, that is, a gradual development of the human mind out of the simpler feelings of amœbæ and even of atoms. It must be denied however that the hypothesis is a success if we retain the usual meanings of the words continuity and development. Properly speaking a thing can only be said to grow or develop when it remains the same with itself all through the process and unfolds therein capacities which were anyhow latent in it to start with. Thus a tadpole develops into a frog, a grub into a butterfly, and the child grows into the man. But in the series of ejects which begins from atoms and after running through amœba and ape finally culminates in the human intelligence there is no point of identity, no community between the first and last terms. The eject which is the molecule is denied by Clifford to be either conscious or rational, nor has it even will, like the philosophical factotum of Schopenhauer or Von Hartmann. It is a purely negative conception, the abstract opposite of that mind into which it is to ultimately develop. The hiatus between our intelligence and a thing in itself, which call it feeling, or mind-stuff, or what we will, is merely all that our intelligence is not, is none the less of a hiatus, because it is, with the help of apes and amœbæ, spread out thin, so to speak. It would be better frankly to avow the chasm that exists than to gloss over it with words like evolution and development.
“When a material organism,” writes Clifford, “has reached a certain complexity of nervous structure, the complex of ejective facts which goes along with its action reaches that mode of complication which is called consciousness. When a stream of feelings is so compacted together that at each instant it consists of (1) new feelings, (2) fainter repetitions of previous ones, and (3) links connecting these repetitions, the stream is called a consciousness. Consciousness is thus a relative thing, a mode of complication of certain elements, and a property of the complex so produced.” If we look into this statement we see that it only amounts to this: that feelings constitute a conscious self when they become the feelings of a conscious self and not before, for except as gathered up in the unity of a self which has memory and remains the same throughout its differences feelings can be neither new nor repeated nor joined by links.
1) That a feeling is new means that I attend to it, contrast it with former ones, and decide that I have not felt it before.
2) That a feeling is a previous feeling now repeated means that I recognise it as having already occurred.
3) If feelings are joined by links of what nature are these links? Clifford does not say that they also are feelings, so presumably they are not; in that case no link is left save a connecting self. But even if the link is a feeling it cannot be less than a feeling of the togetherness of two other feelings, but such a feeling would involve memory of those feelings and memory involves self-hood. It is really, however, an abuse of words to apply the term feeling in such a case. We might with Hume ask of this feeling which links other feelings “Is it a taste, a smell, a sound, an impression of sight or touch?”
Clifford makes a reference to Haeckel’s treatise upon “Zellseelen und Seelenzellen.”[42] Haeckel’s view is that every protoplasmic cell has a soul of its own and that when a number of these are combined under certain conditions, as in the human brain, they generate as their resultant the human soul. He helps out his theory by pointing to such phrases as national spirit, a nation’s conscience, a people’s will. Nothing, he contends, could be more real than these entities, which are yet only resultants of the wills, spirits, and consciences of the separate individuals who compose the nation.
This is an interesting speculation, which it would be a pity to dismiss abruptly merely because it is groundless. No doubt our bodies and brains may be regarded as colonies of protoplasmic units of which each has an independent life of its own, of which each is born, nourishes itself, reproduces itself, and at last breaks up and dies. The colorless cells especially in our blood are such units and have as good a claim to be called individuals as the amœba which we find swimming about by itself in any pond. These units are certainly alike and must be allowed to have inner states of their own. It may also be freely conceded that the existence of certain inward states in these cells of which my brain and nerves are composed is the condition of certain states of feeling and emotion arising in me. But all these admissions fail to advance us a step toward Haeckel’s conclusion. That any number of atoms of protoplasm have souls and soul-states is not enough _per se_ to produce an extra soul which is none of them, yet _like_ their souls and possessed of a life of its own. Even if the molecules of my brain were each in possession of a self-consciousness as ample as my own, their mere juxtaposition could not give rise to my self-consciousness. From first to last their soul-states remain theirs, mine remain mine. The reasoning employed by Haeckel involves a fallacy of composition:—because each of a colony of cells _a_, _b_, _c_, _d_, has a soul of its own, therefore the colony as a whole has a soul of its own, which is not the soul of any one of them. Nor do the analogies Haeckel invokes help him at all, for the life of a nation does not exist at all except as the lives of the individuals composing that nation, nor do we expect to find any traits in our so-called national spirit which are not ultimately contributed by individuals; Haeckel however would have us believe that the mere composition of the primitive and simple souls of separate amœbæ results in a _human_ soul with its wealth of intuitions and interests. The utmost we are entitled to say is that given a certain collocation of cells in the brain there may by an entirely new act of the infinite be generated a human soul. It is only by playing fast and loose with words that we can deduce this new soul from an aggregate of other souls either like or unlike itself.
It is surprising that Clifford should have recognised that the reality underlying so-called matter is akin to mind and yet have identified it rather with the quasi-mental facts of an amœba or of an atom than with the intelligence of man. The argument by which he arrives at this conclusion is as follows: You as a face, a voice, a touch, as an object to my senses in short, are a mere phantasm or appearance in my consciousness, part and parcel of myself and not distinct from me in any way. But I cannot help inferring an eject, to wit feelings and a consciousness like my own, behind the sensible show of your person; and this consciousness of yours which I address as _you_, is the truth of the object or appearance, which I have. _You_ are the reality which I really perceive, so far as I perceive anything more than my own feelings. Similarly when I watch an amœba, what I perceive as a somewhat formless mass of protoplasm is really in itself the struggling life within. Lastly what I handle and perceive as a crystal or metal is really the eject. If here we read force or unconscious will instead of eject or mind-stuff, Clifford’s view would practically coincide with Schopenhauer’s; for force is truly an eject in Clifford’s sense, not an object or appearance to me.
Now the human intelligence arises late in the history of things and is altogether a secondary and derivative thing. Consequently the world is not really what it is for my consciousness. My _Weltanschauung_ is false in proportion as my mind is complex and derivative. Conversely, the _Weltanschauung_ of each being approximates to truth and becomes less and less illusive in proportion as the eject which it in reality is approaches the primitive simplicity of mind-stuff. I am _really_ very little of what I am _consciously_. If you want a truer exponent of the truth of things you must go to the amœba or lower still. It, as compared with me, is _consciously_ most of what it is _really_. The absolutely simple atom is probably the only being who is quite free from delusions. The conclusion then to which Clifford conducts us is this: that the universe is not really such as it appears to our intelligence, still less, I presume, such as it would appear to a higher intelligence than ours. It is really such and such only as it would appear to the being whose eject is the lowest rung in the ladder of mind-stuff. Our universe spread out in space and time, with all its splendours and harmonies, is a delusion; nay, more, the human soul with its æsthetic and moral sensibilities, its fears and aspirations, is the parent delusion which breeds the delusion of a cosmos. “We are such stuff as dreams are made of.”
The loose way in which Clifford used the word feeling, as equivalent to any form of consciousness, blinded him to the fact that a qualified thing as such is not given in feeling at all and led him to suppose that the universe as we know it would continue to stand in the absence of all complex ejects whatever. Mr. Green has shown that all theories of the object which ignore the workmanship of thought manifest therein and identify the _esse_ of things with their _percipi_ lead straight to nihilism. To such nihilism Clifford’s doctrine, like Hume’s which it resembles, immediately bring us. But Hume did not take seriously the demolition of reality involved in his theory that things are only real as they are felt and that feelings are “entirely loose and separate” (Treatise I, 559) while the solid framework of reality is an illusion bred of a propensity of our minds to feign connections and relations where there are none. Hume tells us that he regarded his own speculations as “philosophical melancholy and delirium,” as “clouds to be dispelled” (Treatise I, 501). He writes “I dine, I play a game of backgammon, I converse and am merry with my friends; and when, after three or four hours’ amusement, I would return to these speculations, they appear so cold, and strained, and ridiculous, that I cannot find it in my heart to enter into them any further.” But Clifford, like Huxley, took Hume _au grand serieux_, forgetting that feeling as such does not reveal an object at all. There is a passage in a letter of Clifford’s written to Professor Pollock in September, 1874, à propos of Green’s introduction to Hume, which evinces pretty clearly that Clifford did not discern the true drift of Hume’s speculations in the way Hume did himself. “I hope,” he writes, “you have seen Sidgwick’s remarks on the introduction; he points out that to prove Hume insufficient is not to do much at the present day.... Green, for instance, points out that Hume has no complete theory of the object;—to find fault with Hume for the omission is like blaming Newton for not including Maxwell’s electricity in the Principia.” Here Clifford hardly writes as if he saw that his own theory of the object as e. g. an unrelated feeling is open to exactly the same criticisms as Hume’s, as if he understood, what Hume had an inkling of, that, in proving the ego to be a relative thing instead of the heart and centre of reality, you dissipate the universe into nothing. There are several other features in Clifford’s doctrine that call for criticism. It should for example be pointed out that the entire view that ejects are the truth of objects is in the first instance a deliverance of consciousness itself. I only transcend my individual feelings, says Clifford, so far as I infer a consciousness more or less like my own to underlie them; and this underlying eject is the sole reality. “How this inference is justified, how consciousness can testify to the existence of anything outside of itself, I do not pretend to say; I need not untie a knot which the world has cut for me long ago.” (Vol. II, p. 73.) But if consciousness is but the property of a temporary conjunction of unconscious feelings, what value shall we attach to its assurances? They are certainly not valid except for itself; they do not hold good for the atomic feelings of which the world ultimately consists. But my belief that the real is in the last resort an atom of feeling is simply an extension of my conviction that ejects are the truth of my feelings. Prove this conviction an illusion—and Clifford does prove it to be such, when he declares consciousness to be a relative thing—and you prove the entire theory an illusion. Thus the tail of Clifford’s theory is bitten off by the head.
The hypothesis that feelings can be felt, without being felt as my feelings, is a very noteworthy one. “A feeling at the instant when it _exists_, exists _an und für sich_, and not as my feeling.” This is why a Greek said δέδορκα in the sense of I see, because the act of perception is necessarily over, when we become conscious of it. “When,” continues Clifford, “I remember the feeling as _my_ feeling, there comes up not merely a faint repetition of the feeling, but inextricably connected with it a whole set of connections with the general stream of my consciousness.” This is very truly and acutely observed but it is an admission that the unrelated feeling is no element in our experience, that in our cosmos at least there is no ὕλη whatever, but that every corner of it is illumined by the presence of a relating self. _My_ consciousness never directly testifies at all to the existence of an absolute feeling. To be _my_ feeling a feeling must already be brought by connections of content into the web of my experience, but what do I know of feelings which are not mine. Are not “absolute feelings” an inference based on observation of low organisms like the amœba, which we are convinced have no self and yet feel? It should be also noticed that this supposition that we are not directly but only _ex post facto_ conscious of our feelings ἔξεισιν εις ἄπειρον. Thus Clifford writes: “This memory (of a feeling which existed _an und für sich_ as _my_ feeling) is, _qua_ memory, relative to the past feeling, which it partially recalls; but in so far as it is itself a feeling, _it_ is absolute, _Ding an sich_.” That is to say, I am not directly but only _ex post facto_ conscious even of what I remember. To be conscious of the content of a memory I must _remember_ that I remember it. Surely this new memory in turn cannot be known _ex post facto_ and so I must _remember_ that I remember that I remember _et sic ad infinitum_, before I become really _conscious_ of anything at all.
One other point might be raised. What is the nature and origin of the laws which govern the sequence and coexistence of feelings. We have already seen that feelings as such neither follow nor coexist apart from a self.
“These laws are counterparts of the laws which govern physical phenomena.” Clifford in writing thus conducts his speculation Without prejudice to his common-sense belief in a world of necessarily and rationally related things. He does not see that with the reduction of the real to a feeling physical facts disappear and with these facts the laws to which laws of feeling shall correspond. He is evidently confusing the laws of feeling with the psychological laws of association which depend upon the environment of the individual’s senses by a world already real. He does not see that the problem he really imposes on himself is this: starting from no world at all to arrive at one, or starting from the world as it may be supposed to picture itself in the feelings of an amœba to arrive at it as it exists for the human intelligence. We must not concede to Clifford any more than to Hume this postulate of a real cosmical order which shall give the cue to feelings when and how to follow and coexist. Huxley only allows it to Hume, because not having passed the threshold of Idealistic philosophy he cannot divest himself of it. If, however, this postulate be denied, then the doctrine that the _esse_ of things lies in their _percipi_ will recommend itself to no one.
F. C. CONYBEARE.
FOOTNOTES:
[37] On the whole, however, it is probable that in dealing such hard blows as he did at priests and dogmas he was actuated by sheer love of truth, and those who knew him best assure us that he was entirely free from bitterness and from the vanity which sets some people upon beating their grandmother in public by way of showing that they are grown up in their opinions.
[38] _Clifford’s Essays_, Vol. ii, p. 83.
[39] Vol. ii, p. 61.
[40] Vol. ii, p. 87.
[41] P. 80.
[42] _Deutsche Rundschau_, July, 1878.
ARE THERE THINGS IN THEMSELVES?
The proposition that things in themselves cannot be known, has often, and perhaps justly, been proclaimed as the central idea of Kant’s philosophy. Kant concludes the first section of his “Transcendentale Elementarlehre” with this “critical admonition”:
“That in general nothing which is intuited in space is a thing in itself, and that space is not a form which belongs as a property to things; but that objects are quite unknown to us in themselves, and what we call outward objects are nothing else but mere representations of our sensibility, whose form is space, but whose real correlate, the thing in itself, is not known by means of these representations, nor ever can be.” (“Kritik d. r. V.” § 4.)
The term “thing in itself” means originally the object as it is, independent of the thinking subject’s cognition. For instance: A rainbow appears in the clouds; the rainbow is not a thing in itself, but the appearance of a thing in itself. The rainbow exists in man’s sensibility only. The colors of the spectrum, indeed all colors, the colors of the sky, of the clouds, of trees, of living beings, are sensations only; they are subjective phenomena, they are certain kinds of feelings representing objective realities, but they are not these objective realities themselves. They are perceived in the brain and are projected to a place outside the organism. The rainbow, as it is seen, is not a thing, but it is something seen, it is an appearance only. And this is true of all things seen and heard and perceived by any one of the senses. The sense-pictures are localised in space, they are projected outside to a spot where the combined experience of the senses has taught a sentient being to expect them. But all the objects of the objective world as they are perceived are and remain subjective sense-perceptions. The world of our senses around us is woven of our sensations. It is mere appearance. This is not a question concerning which there is any doubt, this is simply a matter of fact. But the question arises, “Can we know things as they are independent of sensation? Can we know things in themselves?”
The physicist and every scientist is engaged with the problem, What are natural phenomena independent of sensation? Light is a sensation of vision, but what is the objective process that takes place when a human eye perceives light? The physicist answers this problem by eliminating in his mind the sense-element and by describing the facts of the process in terms of matter and motion. His answer is that light, objectively considered, is a certain vibration of the ether. If we can rely upon physical science, the thing in itself of a rainbow would be a certain refraction of ether-waves. These vibrations of the ether-waves are transmitted from the sun, and being broken in the falling raindrops actually take place independent of cognition, they are real whether we look at them or not.
The ultimate aim of science is a description of the natural phenomena not in terms of sense-elements, but in terms of form. That feature of a thing which we call its matter, constitutes its reality, but the form of a thing, of a motion, or of a process makes the thing that which it is; every act of causation is a change of form, and the forms of things are determined with the assistance of the operations of purely formal thought, i. e. through measuring or counting. Such is science, not only as it ought to be, but also as it actually is. All our scientists, each one in his field, are consciously or unconsciously working out a solution of this problem. And a solution of this problem means, in our conception, the objective cognition of the world—i. e., a description of the natural processes as they are independent of sensibility.
Kant knew very well that a description of things and of natural processes in terms of form was possible. He clung, nevertheless, to the proposition that things in themselves are unknowable. And why? A description of things and of natural processes in terms of form was in his opinion not as yet a description of things in themselves, for—and here we are confronted with the original idea and the fundamental error of Kantian thought—Kant did not consider the forms of things as an objective quality of theirs, he maintained that the formal element is purely mental and merely subjective. The thinking mind, he declared, attributes them to the object. Space and time, the pure forms of existence, together with all other forms, such as causation, are, according to Kant, not qualities of the objective world, but of the thinking subject. The thinking subject cannot help viewing the world in the form of its own cognition, it transfers these forms to the objects. Therefore the thing in itself according to Kant would not be represented in a description of the thing purely in terms of form, the thing in itself would mean the thing as it would be, independent of time and space.
Let us here point out a distinction between the thing in itself and noumenon. Noumenon means “a thing of thought.” The noumenal world is the world of thoughts in a thinking being’s mind. The noumenon must not be identified with the thing in itself. The two terms are often confounded, but they have to be distinguished. The idea of reflected ether-vibrations is a “noumenon,” but the reflected ether-vibrations themselves, the objective process are a thing, i. e. an objective reality, and in so far as they are a reality, considered as being independent of sensation, we may call them “a thing in itself.” Now when Kant denies the objectivity of time and space, he must, implicitly, also deny the objective validity of a description made in terms of measuring and counting. The pictorial world of our sense-perception is subjective, it is built up of sensations, it is not objective; and the world of thought is the attempt to reduce the subjective world of sense-imagery to terms of objective validity, i. e. to terms of form. But this world of thought is according to Kant purely mental, it is purely noumenal, or, in other words, noumena do not represent things independent of cognition, they represent things as our mind thinks them. The sensory world is mere appearance, it is a subjective phenomenon, but the world of thought, says Kant, is no less subjective, it is a world of thought which describes things in terms of purely mental properties and not in properties of the things themselves. This is tantamount to the proposition, that things in themselves cannot be known.
The term “thing in itself,” in the sense of a thing as it is independent of sensibility, would better be called “the objective thing,” and we shall so call it when we wish to distinguish it from Kant’s thing in itself. The objective thing is the thing, not expressed in terms of subjective elements, such as feelings or sensibility, but in terms of objective elements, i. e. in terms of form. That a description of things in terms of forms is possible has never been denied either by Kant or by any Kantian; but they deny that these descriptions are anything more than mere noumena; Kant and the orthodox Kantians deny that they represent the things as they are in themselves. Thus the term thing in itself in the Kantian sense comes to mean the thing as it is independent of space and time.
That every noumenon is a mental sign is a matter of course; the noumenal world is ideal. But we maintain that these mental signs represent real qualities of the objective world; they have a meaning; the things represented by them are actual features of reality. Kant denies this. To him the noumenal world is purely noumenal. To Kant there is no space outside the space-conception, and so he declares that space is ideal; it is not an objective quality of things. However, we maintain, that our space-conception describes, i. e. depicts, or represents space, our space-conception is ideal, yet space is not ideal but real; it is an objective quality of the world.
Kant’s view is dualistic, or at least necessarily leads to dualism, and it appears to rest on an unpronounced dualistic assumption. Kant treats “the subject” as something quite distinct and separate from “the object.” If he had borne in mind that the subject is always at the same time an object, he would have treated both subject as well as object as mere abstractions of one and the same reality. Resting upon this erroneous presupposition, Kant’s most consequential mistake, in our opinion, was his conception of what he called “the ideality of time and space.” If time and space were purely ideal, purely mental, purely subjective, then indeed, the things as they are would forever remain unknown to us, then indeed the thinking mind would be as if shut up within a hollow globe out of which it could never escape, then indeed the world would be divided into two parts, the objective world, and the subjective world; and the gap between both could never be bridged over. The thinking mind would have within itself a noumenal world built upon the subjective elements of sense-impressions. This subjective world would possess no objective value, it would not describe realities, and the objective world would thus be unknowable, inscrutable, and mystical.
The idea of a thing in itself found another support in a mistaken conception of the unity of certain things, especially of organisms. The unity of a combination of parts is not merely the sum of the parts, it consists in their peculiar combination which makes an harmonious co-operation possible. This unity is an additional element; it is an entirely new creation which exhibits features not contained in any of its parts. There is no latent watch contained in a heap of little wheels and cogs, the watch is created through the combination of these wheels and cogs. The unity of a thing is its form, consisting in a special arrangement of its parts; and this form although not material is nevertheless real.
The materialistic conception overlooks the importance of form; but the spiritualist and also the transcendentalist materialise it as some spiritual substance, as entities or independent existences. They are in this way as much materialistic as the materialist.
The question has seriously been asked, What is a melody in itself. The question has sense when we understand by it, What are those new qualities which appear through a certain combination of sounds? Those qualities are not nothing, they are something quite peculiar. We call one of them rhythm, another one is the fixed succession of notes of a different pitch. The qualities of a melody as a whole are not qualities of its separate parts; yet therefore the melody is not a thing in itself. We might just as well speak of a watch in itself, meaning thereby that peculiar unity of the combination of its parts which makes of them a watch. But if we thus speak of “the watch in itself,” we must be aware that this idea has not somewhere in a transcendental fairy-land an independent existence above space and time, and outside of its parts. The unity of a certain interacting group of parts is, on the one hand, no mere addition of the thinking subject, it is not purely noumenal, it is real and objective; on the other hand it is not a thing in itself, independent of its parts, it is the product of the relations in which its parts affect one another.
Is not perhaps the basis of these vagaries a mistaken conception of language? We call a certain sensory picture a tree and we say, the tree has roots, a stem, branches, leaves, and fruits. Autumn sets in and the wind shakes the leaves off the branches. Now we speak of a leafless tree. We cut the tree down and we speak of a rootless tree. We burn the trunk and the branches, and the tree as a phenomenon is gone, all its properties are taken away. What remains? The tree in itself is left, but the tree in itself does not exist. If all the property of a person is taken from him, the person himself is still left. The properties of a tree, however, are not properties in the same sense; they are qualities. If all the qualities and parts of a tree are gone, if only the tree in itself is left—then there is left nothing but the empty word tree, the idea of a tree.
II. KANT’S VIEW OF SPACE AND TIME.
Let us briefly consider the ground upon which Kant bases his view of the ideality of space and time. Kant asks:
“What then are time and space? Are they real existences? Or are they merely relations or determinations of things, such however as would equally belong to these things in themselves, though they should never become objects of intuition; or _are they such as belong only to the form of intuition, and consequently to the subjective constitution of the mind_, without which these predicates of time and space could not be attached to any object?”[43] (Kr. d. r. V. § 2; “Meiklejohn,” p. 23.)
We should say, to state our opinion briefly, that space and time are not “real existences,” i. e. they are not concrete objects, but they are real nevertheless; they are not material things; not thingish realities, yet they are objective properties of things. They are the forms of things and processes, and belong to the things whether they become objects of cognition or not. In this sense, they actually belong to the things in themselves, viz. to the objective things.
Kant argues that space and time are not conceptions derived from outward experience; they have not been abstracted from sense-impressions. They are necessary representations _a priori_, they are not discursive ideas or generalisations, for there is but one space and one time, space being represented as infinite and time as eternal.
From these arguments Kant draws the conclusions that space and time do not represent qualities of an object but that they are the form of all sensory phenomena, space being the form of the external, time of the internal sense. In other words, space and time belong to the subjective condition of the sensibility and not to the objective world.
We answer that our conceptions of space and time are after all derived from experience. Space and time are abstractions. There is no time in itself. There is no space in itself. Space and time are not directly derived from outward experience, nor are they derived from the sense-elements of experience. Inner experience, i. e. reflection to the exclusion of sense-impression, the experimenting with pure forms, will lead to the construction of the concepts of space as well as of time. Space and time, magnitudes and numbers having been constructed in the mind of a thinking subject are applied to practical experience. When counting three trees we do not abstract the number “three” from the three trees, but we apply to them the system of numbers in our possession.
Says Kant:
“We never can imagine or make a representation to ourselves of the non-existence of space, though we may easily enough think that no objects are found in it. It must therefore be considered as the condition of the possibility of phenomena and by no means as a determination dependent upon them and is a representation _a priori_, which necessarily supplies the basis for external phenomena.”
Space being the generalised concept of extended form, and time that of motion without reference to any contents, it is naturally impossible to think the non-existence of space and time. Thinking is an act, it is a process; and any act, any process, any event, is a reality which implies or presupposes the existence of the forms of reality. We can think of matter without reference to form, i. e. we can have the abstract idea of matter; but we cannot think that there is any matter void of form. This does by no means prove that form has nothing to do with matter. On the contrary, it proves that form and matter are inseparable. The form of existence need not therefore be called “the basis” of existence, it is simply one universal feature of existence. And the form of existence being bound up with existence itself, it is necessary that any thinking existence in so far as it is real, in so far as it is at the same time an object and part of the objective world should also be in possession of the conditions to evolve the idea of form out of itself through inner experience.
This inner experience of experimenting with pure forms is also a kind of experience. It is not a purely subjective process; it is a subjective process to the thinking subject, which to other subjects, however, would appear as an objective process. The laws of pure form as stated in the sciences of purely formal thought, are not merely subjective; they possess objective validity. It is true and from our standpoint a matter of course that the laws of form are _a priori_, which means, they hold good for any pure form.
Modern positivism, such as we defend it, is monistic. We consider the entire world as one great whole and do not forget that all noumenal representations of certain features of the world, of matter, mind, form, even of things and our own souls included, are mere abstractions. Reality itself remains undivided and indivisible. Abstract concepts are mental symbols invented to represent certain features of reality. But although we can in our mind separate these features and distinguish them from other features, in the world of reality they cannot be cut out or thought of as things in themselves. Granting the oneness of reality which dawns upon us instinctively before consciousness is fully matured, we are inevitably led to the conception that there is but one form of reality, which implies that there is but one space and one time.
III. FORM NOT IMPORTED BY THE MIND INTO REALITY.
Kant says, and in this we agree with Kant, that “all thought must directly by means of certain signs relate ultimately to _Anschauungen_.” The word _Anschauung_ (the “onlooking,” generally translated by “intuition”) means the immediate presence of sense-perception. Says Kant: “The effect of an object upon our faculty of representation is called sensation, and that intuition which refers to an object by means of sensation is called empirical intuition.” For instance, I see a rose: The image of the rose which I see is the appearance or the phenomenon. Kant continues:
“That which in the phenomenon corresponds to the sensation I term its _matter_, but that which effects that the contents of the phenomenon can be arranged under certain relations, I call its _form_.”
In other words matter is that which affects the senses and form is to be expressed in relations. The difference between the formal and the material is obvious. The formal is of great importance, nay, it is of paramount importance, but the formal is neither anything apart from the material nor is it a substance. Both concepts are disparate, but they have been derived by mental abstraction from the same reality.
We fully agree with Kant when he continues:
“That in which our sensations are merely arranged, and by which they are susceptible of assuming a certain form, cannot be itself sensation.”
But we do not agree with Kant when from this proposition he derives the following conclusion:
“It is, then, the _matter_ of all phenomena that is given to us _a posteriori_; the _form_ must lie ready _a priori_ for them in the mind, and consequently can be regarded separately from all sensation.”
Here lies the great fallacy of Kant, which rests upon an erroneous statement and an actual distortion of fact. The phenomenon of a rose which I see before me is not merely sensory, but also formal. The phenomenon, i. e. the image of the rose (_die Anschauung_) is a sensation of a special form. The term sensation as it is generally used implies its having a special form. Accordingly the form does not, at least not from the beginning, lie ready _a priori_ in the mind; the form is given together with the sensation.
Kant speaks of “that which is annexed to perception by the conceptions of understanding,” as if our understanding added the formal out of the mind to the sensory elements given by experience. What is the mind? The mind is a product of the world; it is a system of symbols representing the things of the world and their relations including such possible relations as are worthy of aspiring for. In short, the mind consists of ideas and ideals.[44]
It has often been said that the mind is the creator of the sensory and noumenal world. This is incorrectly expressed, for mind _is_ the sensory and noumenal world itself. The sense-pictures, the thought-symbols, and the ideals of a man are actual parts of his mind. They are not products but constituents of his mind. Their organised totality is his mind itself. The activity which takes place in a mind, i. e. the combining, the separating, and recombining of memories, thoughts, and ideals are the actual realities, and if we speak of a man’s understanding, or reason, or any other so-called faculty, we have to deal with abstractions. The activity of mentally separating form and matter might be called by the general term understanding. However the faculty of understanding is not a distinct mental organ, it consists in the single acts of understanding, and the word understanding is a mental symbol representing them all together as if they were one thing.
And certainly these acts of understanding as little import the formal into the world of sensation as the miner carries the metals into the mines. The formal, the relational, or the _a priori_, is first extracted out of the data of experience not otherwise than iron is gained out of the ores. The ore is not iron but it contains iron, the phenomenon of a rose is not purely a sense-impression, it is a sense-impression of a certain form. We are aware of the fact that mind is an entirely new creation different from the non-mental world, yet at the same time we maintain that the elements from which mind develops are the same as the elements of the non-mental world. Nature furnishes the entire raw material and whatever new creation the product of a new development is, nothing can be added to the raw material, of which the formal is the most indispensable part.
The raw material of sensory phenomena as soon as it is worked out, and also the activity of working it out are called mind. Mind accordingly originates with the appearance of sentient substance as the organisation of feelings and the memories of feelings—these memories being conditioned through the preservation of the form of sentient substance. Mind is not something different from the world but must be considered as its product and highest efflorescence. Mind is made of the same substance as the universe and the mind-forms are the forms of objective existence.
As soon as a system of forms has developed in a sentient being, thus constituting its mind, this system can again be referred to the objective forms of things. In this sense we can say with Kant, that the understanding imports form into phenomena; and this re-importation, this referring the objectively formal to the subjective system of formal thought, is an essential element in cognition.
IV. PROFESSOR JODL’S VIEW OF THE THING IN ITSELF.
The idea of a thing in itself independent of space and time and the unknowableness of the thing in itself are the basis of all agnosticism. And an agnostic tendency is at present predominant even among positive workers and thinkers. Agnosticism is still the philosophy of the day even among those who have surrendered its basis (which is Kant’s transcendental idealism) and accept the monistic world-conception. Friedrich Jodl, professor at the University of Prague and author of the well-known “History of Ethics,” in answer to a letter of mine formulates in concise terms this modernised view of a thing in itself. He writes:
“You are right. The thing in itself is a dangerous idea,—one that easily leads astray. But so long as we have no better expression to represent the relation for which it stands we shall have to use it. You also accept the following three momenta: (1) Objective existence or reality. (2) Effectiveness of Reality upon consciousness, i. e. sensation. (3) Effectiveness of sensation upon consciousness and reproduction of sensation in consciousness, i. e. representation. Nobody, however, can maintain that in sensation, and still less in representation, the whole of reality will appear in consciousness. First we learn from history what progress has been made in the cognition of reality and secondly it is obvious that we are infinitely far from an actual comprehension of reality. We have strong reasons to suspect that there are many processes in reality which in no way affect our sensibility and cannot enter into consciousness, and we know for sure that we do not comprehend—i. e. reconstruct from them assumed causes—many things, indeed most things, which we observe in their effects. Our cognition of nature, if we begin to construct, always leads us to some _x_. It may be doubted whether this _x_ is an unknown or an unknowable. In my opinion it is both—anyhow we cannot eliminate it.
“I am convinced that many things which are unknown to-day and appear as unknowable will be known and knowable in a thousand years. But I doubt whether the total mass of the Unknowable has been noticeably diminished. For the Unknowable is infinite and the infinite if divided by any finite number can never produce a finite number. Every solved problem contains new and greater problems. What shall we call this? I believe that the term “thing in itself” is after all the best expression. Whoever wants to turn a mystic on account of it cannot be prevented. This state of things can be brought out of existence by an act of violence only.”
It is most certainly true, as Professor Jodl says, that sensations do not depict the whole of reality. But why should they? Cognition is possible only by limiting the attention to a special point. Every sense organ is an organ of abstraction. Every sense depicts the effects of reality in its own way and in this way alone. It may freely be granted that there are many processes in reality which do not affect our sensibility. Yet there is nothing in reality which does not affect something in some way. If it did not, it could not be said to exist. The chemical rays of light do not affect our eye, they are invisible and were for that reason not noticed. But these rays are not without any effects. If we cannot observe them directly, we can invent sensitive plates or other instruments for observing their effects indirectly. Indirect observation makes it possible that the limitation of our senses does not result in a limitation of knowledge.
Says Professor Jodl:
“Our cognition of nature if we begin to construct always leads us to some _x_.”
This sentence indicates that Professor Jodl’s and our conception of cognition are different. Cognition is not a reconstruction of assumed causes; it is a unification of our representative sensations or ideas. Something is again noticed, it is re-cognised, to be the same thing. Cognition is adaptation of new facts to our present stock of knowledge; it is the proper arrangement of new data in our system of mental representations. Cognition, accordingly, is the reduction of the unknown to terms of the known. How can it ever lead to an _x_? The positive conception of cognition is, as Kirchoff defines, it “an exhaustive and most simple description of facts.” It is a reconstruction of facts or, as Mach says, _Ein Nachbilden der Thatsachen_. Cognition is based upon _Anschauungen_; it will lead to an ultimate _x_, only in case we expect that cognition instead of being a description of facts will have to give us information about how it happens that facts exist, how they originated out of nothing.
Professor Jodl’s thing in itself is not outside of Space and Time (as is Kant’s thing in itself) but it is the overwhelming infinitude of problems to be solved with which we cannot hope to get through even though our life lasted billions of light-years. Let me repeat here what I said in the second edition of “Fundamental Problems,”
“A philosophy which starts from the positive data of experience, and arranges them in the system of a monistic conception of the world, will meet with many great problems and in solving them will again and again be confronted with new problems. It will always grapple with something that is not yet known. The unknown seems to expand before us like an infinite ocean upon which the ship of knowledge advances. But the unknown constantly changes into the known. We shall find no real unknowable wherever we proceed. The idea of the unknowable is like the horizon—an optic illusion. The more we advance, the farther it recedes. The unknowable is no reality; the unknowable can nowhere prevent knowledge nor can the horizon debar a ship in her voyage, from further progress.” (p. 271.)
Man’s knowledge has value as positive information concerning the facts he has to deal with, and the infinitude of the not known, the infinitude of other problems and things which he will never face, is of no consequence whatever. Positivism commences and has to commence with the positive facts of the given experience and not with the infinitude of possibilities which lie beyond our horizon. Compare knowledge to property and suppose a man is to buy a farm. Shall we discourage him with the idea that the whole amount of soil on the surface of the earth and of other planets is infinite, and this infinitude of all existences if divided by his finite little possession can never result in a finite number. Even if it were doubled, if it were multiplied a thousand times, it remains as good as nothing in comparison with the rest of the world which he cannot acquire. However, his possession is something to him, whatever the relation of infinite possibilities may be in proportion to it.
The concept of infinitude serves a good purpose in its place, but we cannot use it for analogies in other fields or bring it in relation to concrete realities. We produce confusion and drop into mysticism as soon as we handle the idea of infinitude as if it were a positive thing. The infinite is a function which is mathematically expressed by 1/0 = ∞, and whenever we bring anything in relation to the infinite, we at once dwarf the greatest number no less than the smallest number into zero.
Clearness of thought is the indispensable method of sound philosophy for constructing a positive world-conception, which in great outlines is a description of the facts of reality. By suffering mysticism as a legitimate conception either in science or in philosophy, we enhance the interests of those who prefer the chiaroscuro of vague notions to clear thought.
V. CLIFFORD’S AND SCHOPENHAUER’S CONCEPTIONS OF THE THING IN ITSELF.
When Clifford speaks of things in themselves he does not mean Kant’s thing in itself, he means neither the object independent of the thinking subject nor the thing independent of space and time. He means the thing as it would be if viewed from the thing itself.
A man appears to other thinking beings as an active body, as an organism that is in motion; but to himself he appears as a feeling being. The subjectivity of things as they appear to the things themselves consists in our own case of states of awareness, and this subjectivity is called by Clifford the thing in itself.
A certain brain motion is in its subjective aspect a feeling. This feeling is according to Clifford the thing in itself of the visible, observable, and measurable motion. The thing in itself of so-called inanimate beings is not feeling, but elements of feeling. In other words, the world-substance is everywhere in itself potentiality of feeling and Clifford therefore calls it “mind-stuff.”
Schopenhauer arrives at his conception of the thing in itself practically in the same way. There is the world as it appears to us, the objective world of motion in space and time. What the kernel of this world may be, we can know from self-observation. The kernel of ourselves, Schopenhauer says, is Will; and the will is also the kernel of things; the will is the thing in itself.
We understand by will the passage into action, i. e. an incipient motion of the organism if accompanied with the psychical element of consciousness, and this consciousness is a state of awareness of the will including its direction and aim. Will, as the term is generally used, is always conscious. Schopenhauer however speaks of the will as being blind, i. e. without knowledge, without awareness of itself and its aim. This indicates that he uses the word not in its original but in a figurative meaning.
The fall of a stone may be characterised as a blind motion without awareness and without the stone’s having a consciousness as to its direction or aim; and in a similar (although not in the same) way Clifford speaks of the elements of feeling as being not rational. We agree with Schopenhauer that that factor in a stone which makes it fall when placed in a certain position is as much a natural process as the act of a man, only of a lower grade and a simpler kind. Schopenhauer calls that which both have in common “will.” Yet in common language we call the objective aspect of that which both processes have in common, “motion.” What then is the subjective aspect of a falling stone? It is not a state of awareness, it is no feeling, but it is the potentiality of a state of awareness, it is potential feeling. There _is_ a subjective aspect, but this subjective aspect is so far as we can judge of no account to the stone.
That something in the stone which corresponds to man’s consciousness, viz. the stone’s subjectivity, is not mind, but it is potential mind. And potential mind is not as Mr. Conybeare expresses it “mind diluted,” potential mind is no mind at all.
The world-substance as it exists in inorganic matter is not mind. But the universe taken as a whole, the All, is for that reason not less than mind. On the contrary, it is infinitely more than mind. The All is not brute force and inert matter only, the universe is a cosmos, and its subjectivity necessarily develops, according to the laws of form which characterise the cosmos throughout, into mind. We disagree with Professor Clifford most emphatically when he describes the mind-stuff of which according to his terminology the world consists, as not rational.
The world it is true is not rational in its elements, but the world as a whole, the entire cosmos with its laws and especially in its formal order, is the prototype of all rationality. Human reason is rational only in so far as it conforms with, as it reflects, as it describes the order of the cosmos. The human mind is a microcosm. We do not call the macrocosm, in whose image the microcosm has been created, a mind, because we understand by the term mind not reality itself but reality pictured in symbols of feeling. We understand by mind the individual conception of the world as it is mapped out in the brain of a sentient being, and not the universe itself, not the all-being. We understand by mind a creature and not the creator, a soul and not God.
The cosmos, the All, God, that which creates the mind, is not dead, not irrational, and not inferior to mentality. It is the source of all life, it is the condition of all order, it is the standard of all morality. All the minds that exist are but parts of it. In it, with it, and through it we live and shall live forever. For although we shall die, our being can never be blotted out. Existence knows no annihilation and life knows no death. What we call death is a dissolution of life in a special part, but the contents of a life, the thoughts, the ideas, and the ideals are preserved and transmitted, they are implanted into other minds; the soul continues to live. And this continuance of the life of the soul is not a mere dissolution in the All, it is not the immortality of force and matter; it is the preservation of its special existence, of its most characteristic and individual features for an immeasurably long period hence, which will last as long as the conditions of life remain favorable upon earth. Yet even if a whole solar system were broken to pieces, life will reappear; mind will be born again to struggle for truth and to aspire to live in conformity with truth.
VI. THINGS AND RELATIONS.
The proposition that things in themselves are unknowable finds a strong argument in the statement that we can know relations only, that all knowledge is relative. It is undoubtedly true that all knowledge is relative and knowledge is a knowledge of relations. But what is a relation? When I once proposed this question, I was answered:
“A relation is the connection between two things; it is that something in which the one stands to the other, in short, it is the betwixtness of things.”
This is exactly what a relation is not. From such a definition of relation agnosticism will necessarily follow. It is a misstatement of the case, and when we come to follow out the idea, we shall be led into inextricable contradictions, and unless we revise the whole argument, we shall have to confess that we are at our wit’s end.
The question, what is a relation? was one of the issues between the two great mediæval schools of philosophy, the Nominalists and the Realists.[45] The Nominalists answered: “A relation is a mere product of the mind,” while the Realists declared that “a relation without which the thing cannot be, is in the thing.”
Both schools relied upon Aristotle’s authority. Aristotle had declared that matter is mere possibility of existence (it is δυνάμει ὄν) and form is that which makes it real, the formal is the real, form is existence or being (οὐσία). The metal of a statue, Aristotle says, is its matter, the idea of the statue is its form, both together make the real statue. The metal having had another form before, did not exist with the inherent purpose of being this metal of the statue. The metal is the mere potentiality of becoming a statue.[46] Hence, says Aristotle, not the matter but the form constitutes the reality of the statue, the form is that which is real, or that which makes actual, ἐνεργείᾳ ὄν, it is the being in completeness or actuality, ἐνετλεχείᾳ ὄν, i. e. that which makes a thing exist in its purpose (ἐν τέλει ἔχειν). If the formal alone is and makes real, relations must be real. This is in favor of the Realists.
Yet Aristotle’s philosophy is not in every respect clearly worked out. In fact there are two Aristotles, the one being a Platonist, the other a naturalist, the one believing in universals, the other investigating concrete things and taking individuals as real beings. But both Aristotles and with them both parties of the schoolmen had no clear conception of the nature of ideas, what they are, and what they purport, and how we can discriminate between their subjective and objective elements. Ideas have a meaning. Is their meaning purely mental or has it an objective value? We say that it has.
The same Aristotle who considered the formal as that which makes real, denied the objective existence of relations. He said that such qualities as greater, or smaller, double or half, indeed all relations (the πρός τι of things) did not belong to the things, but were added to them by the thinking subject. Ergo relations are mere products of the mind, they have no objective value. This was in favor of the Nominalists.
Now it is true that some relations are purely mental in so far as the comparison upon which they rest is purely imaginary. An answer to the question, Who was the greater, Alexander or Cæsar? depends upon the standard of measurement which we create for the special purpose. Some such relations have no objective value, they are not facts but a play of imagination dependent on the recognition of the standard of measurement. But how is it, if we express the relation between the gravity of a stone and the whole mass of the earth as it manifests itself in the stone’s fall? Is that also a mere product of the mind? Certainly Newton’s laws describing gravitation in exact and mathematical formulas are a product of the mind, but this product of the mind has an objective value, it has a meaning, it describes facts, and these facts are certain relations between certain things.
* * * * *
The fault of the modern misconception of relativity lies in the assumption that the two or more things are considered as things in themselves. We are apt to consider the gravity of two masses, of a stone and of the earth, as a relation between two independent things. Here is the stone and there is the earth and the relation is considered as some third item, being the connection in which the one stands to the other.
In reality there are not two things and, in addition to them a betweenness of the two things. The world is not a sum of things, not even a system of things, but a whole indivisible entirety and what we call things are abstractions which serve special purposes in the household of cognition. All things consist as it were of innumerable relations to all other things. When we abstract one special process which takes place in the province of what we are wont to call _two_ things, we have to deal with a relation.
There are no relations of themselves and there are no things of themselves. Relations describe certain features of reality obtaining between what we call two or more things, and in this description all other features of which the real things consist are purposely omitted.
There is no quality of things but it is at the same time a quality of relation. Every quality of a thing characterises it under a certain condition; it appears as an effect upon something and thus it is actual as a relation. Cognition analyses things into bundles of relations and all these relations together make up the things.
The modern idea that we can know relations only and that there are things in themselves which are unknowable is an old error inherited from mediæval scholasticism, and its roots can be traced back to the philosophy of Aristotle. The difficulty disappears as soon as we consider the whole world (ourselves included) as an interacting whole, and that the conceptions “things” and “relations” have been invented for describing certain of its parts and certain of its interactions or interconnections.
If we push the idea of things in themselves to the ultimate extreme we arrive at the atomistic conception of the universe. _Atoms are the things in themselves reduced to the point system._ If we consider the world as a heap of innumerable atoms, we are at a loss how to explain the interaction among these atoms. The atomist universalises the substance-abstraction and will be disappointed afterwards not to be able to deduce from his universalisation other qualities which are found in reality, such as the relations of things, their interconnections, their spontaneity of motion, the life of organised beings, and the mind of thinking creatures.
Ideas are symbols and symbols have a meaning. The whole realm of mental representations may be viewed in their symbolism or in their significance. Considering their symbolism, ideas of things as well as of relations, are products of the mind, considering their meaning, ideas represent realities; in other words: their contents or that which they signify is real.
It appears that neither Nominalism nor Realism is right; yet if we stretch them only a little, if we are allowed to interpret them in the light of a monistic world-conception, both are right. They cease to be contradictory and become complementary. Universals are real, say the Realists, i. e. the forms and relations of things are actualities. Universals are names, say the Nominalists, i. e. the relations and forms in which we describe the world are mental symbols.
The Realists had the misfortune to defeat the Nominalists entirely, and thus had a chance to insist upon being right in every respect. All opposition having ceased, the errors of Realism grew in extraordinary exuberance. Nominalism in the mean time raised its head in opposition to the recognised authority of the church as well as the schools, slowly yet powerfully and irresistibly. The errors and the tyranny of Realism gave strength to the Nominalistic movement which reached its height in Kant’s philosophy. The Realists had gone to the extreme of declaring that universals were things, real substances, independent of single and concrete objects, and the Nominalists on the other hand, represented by Kant, went so far as to declare that all relations, time and space included were _mere_ products of the mind.
If the relations are mere products of the mind, all knowledge being a knowledge of relations, knowledge becomes impossible. That last consequence was drawn by Kant and is emphatically insisted upon by agnosticism.
There is but one world-conception that can dispense with these conclusions: it is that View which conceives of the All as a whole; and of knowledge as a description of its parts, qualities, and relations, ever mindful on the one hand that the parts are parts, that qualities and relations are certain features only, not entire realities, or isolated entities, and that the symbols thereof frequently overlap each other; on the other hand that there is nothing absolute,[47] and that there are no things in themselves.
The relativity of knowledge, whether we conceive of it as the relativity of the object to the subject in general or as an appreciation of the fact that all knowledge gives and can give information of relations only, does not lead to the conclusion that knowledge is impossible. Relativity is a fundamental feature of knowledge, and we shall understand that it must be so if we consider that reality itself is a great system of relations.
* * * * *
The interconnection of all things with all things appears to be so complete, that if we intended to explain or understand one single fact fully and exhaustively in all its relations, past, present, and future, we should be obliged to give a complete description of the universe. Says Tennyson:
“Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies;— Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower—but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is.”
We might address in the same way anything else, an atom of hydrogen, a grain of sand as well as the sun, the action of a tiny speck of irritable protoplasm as well as the soul of man.
VII. IS THE EGO A THING IN ITSELF?
Prof. Lloyd Morgan in his excellent work “Animal Life and Intelligence” uses repeatedly the word “mind” as if it were a thing in itself. Professor Morgan is a monist and he does not intend the word to mean a thing in itself; yet such is the influence of language that we, all of us, unless we are constantly on our guard, will inadvertently slip into dualistic expressions. Professor Morgan says, with reference to certain sensations of animals (p. 309):
‘From these stippled sensations the mind in all cases elaborates a continuum.’
The unity which arises out of stippled sensations and which through their interaction becomes a continuum is called mind. To speak of mind as working out the continuum is mythological language, it is the transformation of the abstract idea “mind” into a real and independent thing whose existence is conceived to be independent of the reality from which it has been abstracted.
Again, Professor Morgan says: “Our constructs are literally our handiwork.” Our constructs, i. e. our mental signs constructed to represent realities, constitute our soul; they are we ourselves.
Professor Morgan, as I understand him, does not believe in a mind behind the psychical facts of mental activity, he does not assume the pre-existence of mind to the continuum elaborated. His view of mind appears to be the same as ours. The more noteworthy, then, is his usage of the term “mind.” It is a remarkable instance of how language naturally inveigles us into a belief in things in themselves. Words seem to denote concrete existences and as soon as we use words in this way we are entangled in dualism.
Prof. F. Max Müller as well as the late Prof. Thomas Hill Green, the founder of the Oxford transcendentalist school, start from this assumption, that man’s mental activity is performed by a something which is quite distinct from it. This something is the thing in itself of the human soul. Prof. F. Max Müller says:
“If mind is the name of the work, what is the name of the worker?... It is what we may call the ego as personating the self; it is what other philosophers call the monon. Let us call therefore the worker who does the work of the mind in its various aspects, the Monon or the Ego.”
This conception which asks for the worker of the work is based upon a materialistic view of the human organism. An organism is not a dead machine which must be set a-going by somebody who attends to it. Organisms are active and not passive, they are living and not dead. Every part of an organism is a worker and so is the whole. And if we speak of its “life” we must bear in mind that “life” is an abstract which denotes a certain inseparable quality of the organism. The work and the worker are two abstracts of one and the same thing. The reality from which these terms have been abstracted is “something working.” This something working does not consist of a worker and his work, but the worker is in every part of his work. The worker of our mental activity is the work itself. Both are identical.
The objection is made: “Whence does the activity come which appears in the realm of organised life.” The answer is: Activity is a universal quality of all existence. There is no such a thing as absolutely inert matter. Every chemical element combines with other elements spontaneously, according to its inherent nature and not through the influence of a worker manipulating its atoms. Spontaneity is a universal feature of reality. Nature is throughout self-working activity. And this its most remarkable character is preserved in its highest efflorescence in the soul of man.
The present number of _The Monist_ contains a lucid presentation of the transcendentalist position by Mr. F. C. Conybeare, an Oxford scholar and a personal disciple of Professor Green, with special reference to the views of Prof. William Kingdon Clifford. Mr. Conybeare, like Prof. F. Max Müller, assumes a Self independent of the reality from which the idea of self has been abstracted, and he attempts to prove the existence of this self as follows:
“In truth there can be no relation of before and after between the two terms except for a self which takes note of the one disappearing and of the other appearing; and whenever we speak of things following one another we tacitly presuppose a self before whom the procession passes.”
The transcendentalist adopts, in the realm of psychology, the error of atomism. If we accept the view that the world consists of isolated atoms, we are at a loss how to bring the atoms into relations; the unity of every group of atoms, every thing and every system of things will become a mystery. And if we look upon feelings as unrelated things in themselves, their connection becomes a deep problem. Mr. Conybeare solves this problem of the connection that obtains among the feelings supposed to be atomical, by postulating a relation-producing entity, called the self. He says:
“No link is left, save a connecting self.”
And this assumed entity of a connecting self or ego is taken to be “the heart and centre of reality.” Reality, that which we have to deal with in real life and what is commonly called reality, appears as a second class of reality in comparison with this assumed thing in itself of our existence. The thing in itself is thus regarded as something realer than real; it is conceived to be a reality of a higher degree.
Mr. Conybeare is very explicit in the explanation of his transcendental “self.” He says:
“Feelings constitute a conscious self when they become the feelings of a conscious self and not before, for except as gathered up in the unity of a self which has [sic!] memory and remains the same throughout its differences, feelings can be neither new, nor repeated, nor joined by links.”
What does “self” mean? What can it mean? What is the “unity of the self”? These are questions which have not been answered to our satisfaction by the transcendentalists. Whenever they speak of the self, they lose themselves in mysticism. Their “self” is an assumed entity which they have carefully divested of everything real and actual. Their self is transcendental and not a being of the world; it is a myth.
Let us describe the simplest possible instance of psychical activity.
An irritation takes place in some sentient substance. This irritation produces an extra-commotion. We must say “extra-commotion” because all sentient substance is in a state of constant activity. This extra-commotion causes the sentient substance to assume a certain form, and while it lasts, a certain and special feeling takes place in some part of the sentient substance. This certain and special feeling ceases, as soon as the extra-commotion, caused through the irritation, abates. There can be no doubt that certain effects of this extra-commotion remain. Its trace is left in the sentient substance and this trace is preserved in the constant whirl of the sentient being’s normal activity. Now, we suppose that an irritation of the same kind takes place in the same sentient substance. This second irritation finds the substance no longer in the same condition. It finds the sentient substance prepared to receive it. The feeling which now appears is no longer a simple feeling. The second irritation causes a commotion as much as the first, and this commotion acts as a stimulant upon the trace left by the first irritation. This trace being again in a state of extra-commotion is revived and the same kind of feeling appears. Thus the second irritation is accompanied by a state of awareness in which two feelings are blended, the revival of the former feeling and the feeling of the present irritation.
The preservation of traces left in sentient substance is the condition of memory. We understand by memory the psychical aspect thereof, and the act of reviving, so that their correspondent feelings will reappear, is called recollection.
“Memory” has been the greatest stumbling-block to our psychologists as well as to our philosophers. Even modern works written from a positive standpoint treat memory frequently as a mysterious faculty of the mind. Mr. Conybeare speaks of the self as _having_ memory, while in fact, memory is one of the features, indeed the most important feature, of mind-activity.
Says Mr. Conybeare:
“Such a feeling [of the togetherness of two feelings] would involve memory and memory involves self-hood.”
Memory does not involve any transcendental self-hood. True self-hood, viz. that which can reasonably be understood by self-hood, is not prior to, not the cause of memory; self-hood, i. e. the personality of a man, the organised unity of the psychical aspect of a human organism, is consequent upon, it is the effect of, memory. Self-hood is the product of memory.[48]
The self is also called the ego. What is the ego?
The ego is a Latin term used in philosophical language to denote the pronoun “I,” and the pronoun “I” is quite a definite nerve-structure situated in quite a definite place of the centre of language. As all words, so also the term “I” is a symbol. Its general meaning is unequivocal; it stands for the name of the speaker. It stands for Mr. Brown, if Mr. Brown speaks of himself, for Mr. Smith, if Mr. Smith speaks of himself, etc.
What does Mr. Brown mean when he says, “_I_ speak, _I_ act, _I_ will, _I_ feel pain, _I_ feel pleasure, _I_ intend,” etc.?
When Mr. Brown speaks, a certain number of word-structures in the centre of language are in a state of commotion, innervating the muscles of speech. Correspondent to this physiological process, a state of consciousness obtains, which is an awareness of the situation. When he adds: “I say this,” it is again a special nerve-structure that is irritated into action and he might just as well say: “Mr. Brown says this.” The idea of Mr. Brown, viz. of his own personality, is just as much an idea as his idea of Mr. Smith. The main difference consists in the fact that the idea of one’s own personality is very much more important than the ideas representing other personalities.
The nervous structure representing the feeling of the idea “I” must be the centre of innumerable nervous tracts connecting it with all those activities which when performed are thought of as done by ourselves. The “I do this” is almost constantly ready to fill the present state of consciousness and to accompany any action performed through the innervation of other brain structures.
Sentient substance is not always actually feeling. It is feeling only when in a state of extra-commotion. Systems of sentient substance are called organisms; all its structures are interconnected and most so those structures in which sentiency as well as motory impulses are differentiated—viz. the nervous structures. The extra-commotions which agitate the different nervous structures, the memories of former sense-perceptions, of sounds, of words, of ideas depend upon the conditions of the moment. Now this and now another structure will represent the summit of commotion and the feeling of the strongest commotion at a given time will under normal conditions appear as the contents of consciousness. It is as it were the focus in which the attention of the whole organism is centralised. That which appears in the focus is clear and distinct, while the other weaker feelings rapidly disappear into the undistinguishable general feeling of the organism as a whole, commonly called cœnæsthesis or _Gemeingefühl_.
The centre of attention is constantly changing; yet whenever a thinking creature stops to ask himself, who is doing this? Who is willing this? Who is thinking this? the answer is given: “I am doing this; I am willing this; I am thinking this.” The structure of the little pronoun “I” seems to be the most ticklish of all; it is always ready to force itself into the foreground.
The answer, “I am doing this,” proposes the _totum pro parte_. The whole personality is supposed to do what a part of it is performing. The hands are executing this work; these hands of course are innervated from certain regions of the brain. Some parts of the personality are in a relative rest and have nothing to do with the work presently on hand. A commotion in a certain number of brain-structures represents the physiological aspect of a deliberation, perhaps the planning of some action. Psychologically considered certain ideas appear successively and sometimes simultaneously in the focus of consciousness. The ideas disagree and other ideas replace them until a combination is formed in which the ideas do agree. This state of agreement brings a temporary peace into the tumult of conflicting ideas; the plan is ready; it may pass into action at once, or, perhaps, the ego-structure will appear in consciousness and will quietly think: “I will do it.”
When certain motory nerve-structures are innervated, they cause under normal conditions their respective muscles to contract, they produce motion. Under normal conditions the nervous process accompanying the idea “I will raise my arm” serves as an irritation upon the cortical centre of arm-raising, yet it is not the “I” that in some mystical way raises the arm. The idea “I” has as little and as much to do with this discharge of energy as any other idea. The idea “I” is not the power behind the veil that produces the will.
What is will? As soon as some plan of action is joined with the idea that it should be executed, supposing it be not counteracted by any stronger idea that it should not be done, this combination represents a will. A will accordingly is the psychological aspect of an incipient action, and it is usually, or if it is not it can always be accompanied with the thought “I will it.” But this accompanying thought however is not the energy displayed in the act of willing.
The “I will it,” or “I do it,” or “I perceive it” being always ready to appear together with the strongest idea in the field of consciousness, the term “ego” has acquired a specialised meaning. It means that part of a man’s personality which at the time is the contents of the “I will,” or “I think,” i. e. it is his present state of consciousness. Every organism is a coherent system and thus all the feelings of an organism naturally blend into a unity. The strongest feeling however appears in the normal state of waking in a distinct clearness thus representing a centre of consciousness.
However, whether we use the term “ego” in the sense of the idea “I” meaning the whole personality of the speaker, or in the sense of the present centre of consciousness, it designates in either case a definite reality, the origin and action of which are natural facts and as plain as any other psychological phenomena.
Neither the ego-idea nor the centre of consciousness are transcendental. The former is as little mystical as are the ideas dog, horse, man, etc.; the latter no less miraculous than any other feeling or display of sentiency.
VIII. THE EGO-CENTRIC VIEW ABANDONED.
The contrast between the old and the new psychology appears strongest in their conceptions of the ego. The former believes that the ego is “the thing in itself” of man’s soul and takes it to be the centre of all psychical phenomena, while the latter looks upon the ego-idea as one idea among many other co-ordinated ideas and considers the centre of consciousness as the strongest feeling at a given time, which as such naturally predominates over and eclipses the other feelings of the organism.
The new psychology brings about a change of standpoint similar to that effected by the Copernican system in astronomy. In astronomy the geo-centric, and in psychology the ego-centric standpoint had to be abandoned. And all things seem to be upset to those who are still accustomed to the old conception. To them the physical and moral world-conceptions appear to become impossible. If the new view were correct, so they imagine, the entire universe would break to pieces. All our modes of speech are formed in accord with the old view. We speak of sunset and sunrise, and so in our daily conversation the little pronoun “I” plays a part which makes it seem as if the ego-idea were the centre of all soul-life and as if this “I” were the active agent in all acts of willing and doing.
The advantage of the Copernican system lies in this, that we can think of the motions of the sun and the planets in a systematic and unitary conception without being either involved in contradictions or obliged to invent mysterious qualities in the stars for explaining the velocities, directions, or other phenomena of the celestial bodies. The most important advantage however is the practical applicability of the new theory.
The old theory of the soul necessarily leads to mysticism. Fictitious facts of a transcendent character must be invented in addition to the facts observed, in order to explain the latter. The new theory after abandoning the ego-centric standpoint of the thing in itself of a soul shows the facts of psychic life in an harmonious and unitary conception. All facts agree among themselves and we are not in need of supplementing them with mysterious inventions. It must be emphasised, at the same time, that the new conception throws a new light upon ethics; it shows the error and perversity of all egotism, for it would be a mistake to act as if the ego were really the centre of soul-life.
Here the new psychology comes in contact with religion. What is the practical aim of all the great religions of the world but a surrender of the ego, a renunciation of the self as the centre of our being, and the acceptance of the moral law as the regulative power of our actions? The new psychology gives a justification and a scientific explanation of Christian ethics while the latter from the standpoint of the old psychology necessarily appears as mystical and supernatural.
IX. PERSONALITY AND EVOLUTION.
The ego, i. e. the centre of consciousness, is constantly shifting, while the personality of a man is relatively constant, certain important ideas being stable and thus lending character to the whole system of thoughts and intentions.
The term personality indicating the self-hood of a man is used in several ways. First, we understand by a man’s personality his bodily appearance; secondly the whole system of his mentality, viz. his knowledge, his temperament, his character; thirdly the history of his life, past, present, and future; fourthly his position in life, his possessions, his connections, his influence, or at last we mean by it all these four items together. In all these applications the man and his personality are conceived as a unity. And they are a unity. Wherever the term unity is applicable, it is most certainly applicable here. All the many facts of the history of his life are one continuous process; all the parts of his body are parts of a system, and the world of his ideas also will under normal conditions bear a certain harmonious character. Wherever in any soul the concord among the ideas has been disturbed, a state of unrest will ensue until the peace of soul is restored in one or another way. But with the same necessity as every water surface tends to present a smooth level, so the ideas in one and the same soul tend to come to a state of agreement. As every water surface has its ripples so even that mind which has attained an undisturbed peace of soul is constantly confronted with some problems—be they ever so trifling—producing some slight disturbances in his life.
The unity of a self, it is apparent, is the inevitable consequence of given conditions. It is not something which exists outside the personality and its constituent parts, it is in the personality and it develops together with it. Mr. Conybeare supposes that “the unity of a self remains the same throughout.” This is an error, and this error vitiates Mr. Conybeare’s whole conception of growth and evolution. He says:
“Properly speaking a thing can only be said to grow or develop when it remains the same with itself all through the process and unfolds therein capacities which were anyhow latent in it to start with.”
The truth contained in this proposition may be expressed thus: When a thing develops, some part of it remains the same during the change, so that a continuity is preserved. Yet every change of a part of an organism—such is the intimate interconnection of all its parts—produces an alteration, be it ever so small, of the whole unity. And in the course of evolution the character of the whole thing may be changed. Think of the growth of a caterpillar into a butterfly, or of an egg-cell into a man. However, the changes in the character of an adult man will become slighter and slighter the stronger certain features of his existence preserve their sameness, although the most stable personality will, nevertheless, be subject to, at least, unimportant changes as long as life lasts.
Mr. Conybeare, like his master Professor Green and all the transcendentalists, is still under the influence of a belief in the thing in itself. The unity of an organism which is the product of the co-operation of its parts, is not some independent thing whose business it is to gather up their single activities and bring them into relation with one another. The unity of a self is the combination of all those relations which make of its parts a systematised whole, and this unity is changing together with its constituents; as a matter of fact, we have to state that it does _not_ remain constant or the same with itself. Mark that I do not deny the unity of the soul, nor do I underrate the enormous importance of this unity. But I do deny that this unity exists independent of its parts. It is as much immanent in its parts as is a melody in its notes. There is as little a transcendental self-hood as a melody in itself independent of its sounds.
The assumption of a transcendental unity which throughout the process of evolution remains the same with itself naturally leads to a wrong conception of what Mr. Conybeare calls “latent capacities.” The terms potential existence and latent qualities are fertile and useful ideas but we must beware not to employ them incorrectly. Any heap of iron ore can be called a potential sword. This is a mode of speaking which expresses the possibility that the ore can be changed somehow into a sword. But the sword does not exist at all, not even as a latent quality of the ore. The ore has no latent qualities of that kind. Those qualities of the ore which represent the potential sword are very patent to everybody who knows the art of using them properly and changing them into an actual sword.
We may say that the hen’s egg contains a potential chick; but this is a mere mode of speech devised to say that the egg can be changed into a chick under certain conditions. There is no chick at all contained in the egg and nothing that is like a chick.
Evolution is not, as the name suggests, a process of unfolding; evolution is, as Christian Friedrich Wolff calls it, an “epigenesis,” i. e. the process of the additional growth of new formations. The chick is something different in kind from the egg. The unity of the egg-cell organism in the yolk is radically different from the unity of the full-fledged chick. The former shows traces of irritability but not of consciousness, while the latter exhibits unmistakable symptoms of psychical activity. The formation of the chicken-soul is a new formation as much as the growth of feathers. The feathers of the chick are an additional growth; there are no latent feathers in the egg. We might express ourselves to the effect that the egg contains the potential existence of feathers, but with the same logic we might say the egg contains a potential chicken broth.
It is however true that something remains constant in the process of growth. There is a preservation of form in the constant change of material particles and this is the physiological basis of memory, so that a man of eighty may say “I remember when I was a child,” although not one particle of the substance of which the child consisted is left in him. The continuity produced through this preservation of form makes growth and evolution possible.
The preservation of memory-structures constitutes the possibility of reviving the feelings of the past, it constitutes a preservation of soul. The material parts of the body are thrown out but the form being preserved, the soul remains. And this preservation of the soul is the basis of its additional growth through new and enlarged experience. The soul of the child is not lost in the man, it is preserved. It has lost certain features and at the same time it has gained new features, it has developed, and the unity of the soul has more or less changed with the development.
What is true of the individual is also true of mankind. Mankind as a whole is different in the savage and in civilised society. Nevertheless the latter has developed from the former. Certain traits have been dropped, other radically new features have appeared. That which was valuable in the soul of primitive man is not lost. The better part of his soul still lives in the highest developed man of to-day; the continuity is preserved. And to-day all our moral instruction aims at this, so to live that our souls also will be preserved in the future evolution of humanity. The gist of ethics is to make the soul immortal.[49]
X. PROFESSOR MACH’S POSITION.
The problem, “Are there things in themselves?” is closely connected with the subject of my discussion with Professor Mach. Professor Mach as well as myself are aspiring to arrive at a consistent and harmonious or unitary world-conception. Both of us recognise that things in themselves have no room in a monistic philosophy, both of us recognise that concepts are means only of orientation, they are the mental tools of living beings developed as an assistance in dealing with the surrounding world. They are symbols in which the processes of nature are copied and imitated and which can serve for planning or modeling and thus predetermining the course of nature. So far we agree, but then there appears a difference which it is difficult for me to understand or formulate in precise terms.
Professor Mach objects to the dualism of motion and feeling, which he declares he conceives as a unity not as a duality. But so do I. It appears to me that we must differ somehow in the method of constructing the unity. I see indeed a contrast of physical and of psychical. This contrast, however, in my conception does not belong to the object but to the subject. It is a contrast of our conception of things, but it is not a contrast existing objectively in the real things themselves. The world is not composed of the psychical and the physical, but certain features of the world are called physical, and others psychical. Both terms are abstracts.
Professor Mach said in his first article and repeats it again in the present article that his former standpoint resembles very closely my present standpoint. When reading Professor Mach’s lectures of 1863, I took pains to look for the similarity, and finding many things in which I could agree I dropped the differences taking the agreements as the essential points. In reading, however, Professor Mach’s résumé of his former position as stated in this present article, I find that he attaches prominence to several points which I cannot endorse. I do not accept the theory that atoms feel, that they are endowed with consciousness. I have never spoken of atoms when dealing with psychological problems. The term “atom” is a chemical term invented as a help for thinking the equivalence of the weight of the elements which always combine in definite proportions. The term “atom” has in my opinion no sense if applied to other phenomena. The term “atom” has not been abstracted from psychical phenomena nor has it been invented for describing them. There is accordingly no probability that it can find there any appropriate application. We might as well expect that mathematical terms such as lines, points, circles, etc., are applicable in psychology. The idea of conscious circles or points can not in my mind be more absurd than that of conscious atoms. The rule must be observed that we can use abstractions made for a special purpose for that purpose only; they will not serve any other purpose as well. It is true that they are often employed as analogies, but in such cases, we must bear in mind that we are dealing with mere analogies.
In addition to the impropriety of using the term atoms in psychology, it appears to me erroneous to attribute feeling or anything like feeling to physical processes of any description. Natural processes are so constituted, that under certain conditions, such as take place in animal organisms, they will develop feelings. Clifford speaks in this sense of the elements of feeling. Lloyd Morgan calls it metakinesis, and I find that feelings being simply states of awareness represent the subjectivity of natural processes. We have reasons to suppose that in the processes of unorganised nature this subjectivity is neither feeling nor anything like feeling: but the subjectivity of the natural processes is as it were the stuff out of which our own feelings are formed.
I accept all the arguments of Professor Mach that our ideas are artificial products; and I am also anxious to distinguish in our ideas between that which describes facts and that which has been added to the description of facts in shape of theories or conjectures.
The sense-pictures of objects and ideas also are not things but images and symbols of things created for the purpose of representing things; they are as Prof. Lloyd Morgan says, “constructs.” But these constructs are not mere fancy, they are not air-castles. They are constructed in order to imitate certain realities. Now, in building these constructs as an imitation or a copy of reality, we are often at a loss how to build them. There is for instance in the objective reality observed, a something somewhere high in the air, the basis of which is invisible, and being limited in our means of acquiring information we are ignorant of the real state of things. So in reconstructing or imitating the facts, we build scaffolds to support it, and we are too apt to forget that these scaffolds do not represent objective facts but are artifices to make certain facts, which we know in parts only, thinkable, i. e. representable without breaks in mental constructs.
XI. TRUTH IN MYTHOLOGY.
There is one point which I have emphasised and which it appears to me Professor Mach neglects, namely that our noumenal world of ideas has an objective meaning. The ideal constructs represent realities. They do not consist of scaffolds alone and there is no scaffold which has not been erected to help in building up representations of facts. Let us call the representation of facts positive science or simply truth and the scaffolding the mythology of science, and we shall see that the road to truth leads everywhere through mythology. Certain facts of the surrounding world impress themselves upon a sentient being and these impressions come to represent facts. These facts are not seen at once in their causal connection, they appear unconnected among themselves, and in the attempt to formulate them, to represent them, to construct them in mental images, we fill out the gaps of our knowledge with such inventions as are supplied by analogy.
Mythology is, in religion as well as in science, the indispensable ladder to truth. We cannot build without scaffolds. So we cannot construct truth without mythology. We have to introduce allegorical expressions in order to fill out gaps with analogies.
Mythology becomes fatal to the building up of truth, as soon as we consider it as truth itself. The scaffold is erected simply as an assistance for building and if the building is finished the scaffold should be torn down. The progress of science which is so much helped by mythology has periods of purification in which the mythology is discarded. This is sometimes a difficult task, because the very terms of science are mostly both at the same time truth and mythology, building-stones and scaffold.
Take, for instance, the term atom. The chemist observes that the elements always combine in certain proportions and formulates the law of the equivalence of their atomic weights. In order to think this process, to reconstruct it in mental images, he imagines that matter consists of infinitely small particles of constant weight. This is a fiction useful for its purpose but it may be just as erroneous as the method employed in the infinitesimal calculus of thinking of a continuous curve as consisting of a broken line of infinitely small parts, or of thinking of a certain force as being composed of a parallelogram of forces. The parallelogram of forces is a scaffold helpful for representing in mental symbols the coexistence of different abstractions of the same kind (e. g. motions of a different velocity and direction). But this scaffold is not a mere scaffold, it is not erected without any purpose, its final aim is the description of facts.
The proposition to consider light as rays traveling in straight lines is a scaffold, it is mythology; but this analogy contains a truth, it contains a real building-stone which should not be torn down with the scaffold. This truth is one-sided; it represents one feature of light and disregards other features. It disregards entirely the transversal oscillations of the ether, yet it describes another feature—viz., the transmission and refraction of light for the comprehension of which we need not take into consideration the undulation theory. The physicist calculates with his formula sinα/sinβ = _n_ the angle of refraction. There is certainly neither a sineα nor a sineβ in reality, but there are certain relations of reality which are described in these expressions and the action of the light has a definite quality which can be determined with the assistance of the formula sinα/sinβ = _n_.
If the scientist succeeds in determining such real qualities of things, even though it be done with the assistance of mythology, he discovers a truth. He has with the help of his scaffolds succeeded in placing a building-stone where it belongs.
Some scaffolds have to be torn down because they hinder further building; other scaffolds must remain because they assist us in modeling, and planning, and predetermining certain processes of nature. They are like staircases which enable us to reach with ease otherwise inaccessible places on towers or domes.
* * * * *
The idea that science is full of mythology appears strange to the non-scientific, and it is often overlooked by scientists themselves. But the idea that religious mythology in spite of its many irrational superstitions and wrong analogies beams with truth is also little heeded by the many. In fact, man’s method of reaching truth is the same in religion as in science.
The religious ideas such as God and soul are mental constructs which copy certain realities; but these very terms, such as they are used, are mythological expressions; they are still surrounded by their scaffolds. Many people know by their own experience the usefulness and indispensability of the scaffold. Without the scaffold they would never have had an inkling of the truth, for the representation of which it was built, and it is natural that they consider the scaffold as the building itself. This is the reason why the narrow-minded orthodox denounce anyone who would lay hand on or tear down any part of the scaffold, which has become a hindrance to the further development of religious ideals.
Positivism, i. e. the representation of facts without any admixture of theory or mythology, is an ideal which in its purity perhaps will never be realised. Nevertheless it is no _ignis fatuus_, no will-o’-the-wisp that leads us astray. Our science is constantly more and more approaching this ideal and the progress of humanity is intimately connected with it.
Science has not merely a theoretic value, its aim and purpose consist in its application to practical life. Science is throughout ethical. Thus ethics has also its mythological phase. In agreement with Professor Mach (p. 204), we should find it ridiculous if one who presumes to be an ethical teacher of mankind would say:
“Man _must_ not be descended from monkeys,” “The earth _shall_ not rotate,” “Matter _ought_ not everywhere to fill space,” “Energy _must_ be constant,” and so on.
Why is it ridiculous? Because we cannot prescribe a certain deportment to facts. It is however not ridiculous to let a precise and carefully sifted knowledge of facts determine our own deportment.
Science has to teach ethics. But here also we should distinguish between positive facts and mythology. Ethics based upon mere theories, upon our interpretations of nature which we add to facts, is mythological; positive ethics is simply that deportment which is suggested by a comprehension of the facts themselves.
Mythological ethics may be quite correct, just as much so as the application of a mythological theory of science may be within certain limits reliable as a working hypothesis. But it is desirable to understand the nature of mythological ethics in order to distinguish between truth and fiction.
When Professor Mach speaks of sensations as being the elements of the world and of things as being complexes of these elements he apparently does not use the word sensation in its usual sense. It has ceased to be an abstract term which represents one feature only of a process of nature and has become a symbol for an entire reality. And is not such a usage of terms as if they were not abstracts but the things themselves liable to lead to misconceptions?
Professor Mach’s “elements,” it seems to me, are only elements, i. e. ultimate and unanalysable materials, if considered as terms of a psychological view of the world; they are not elements in the domains of other abstractions, such as are made by physiology or physics. Moreover, although this method eliminates the duality of soul and body, mind and matter, feeling and motion, it does not explain the problem.
Professor Mach might answer that the problem as to the duality of mind and matter is a sham problem, just as much as the problem why do we see things upright when the retina picture of the eye shows the things inverted? But a problem is to him who has solved the problem always a sham problem. Every problem disappears as a problem as soon as it is solved. It is true that we see as little with the blind spot of the eye as with the skin of our back. The problem of the blind spot is not why do we not see with the blind spot, (which is simply a matter of fact,) but why do we not notice, when using only one eye, its lack of sight in a spot surrounded with sight-seeing structures? We have to employ artificial means to convince ourselves that we are really blind in that spot!
All problems are merely subjective; they are a conflict between two conceptions and as Professor Mach himself says, the solution of problems consists in the adaptation of thought to facts, i. e. to new facts or new views of facts. By an adaptation of our thought to the enlarged field of vision the problem vanishes; it has ceased to be a problem. In fact it never existed as an objective phenomenon. There are no problems in nature. There are problems only to the investigating mind. But even the formulation of problems is a problem to be solved, and perhaps the most difficult and subtle kind of problems is to discover the flaw in wrongly formulated problems.
The problem of the duality of body and soul, matter and mind, feeling and motion, ceases to be a problem to him who has worked his way through to a monistic conception, but to those who have not as yet succeeded in establishing a unitary view of these ideas, because they take them to be separate and distinct existences, it is a problem of great importance.
XII. THE ONENESS OF SUBJECTIVITY AND OBJECTIVITY.
The world is not rigid being, but activity, not absolute existence but a system of changing relations, not an abstract _Sein_ but a concrete _Wirklichkeit_—a constant working of cause and effect. There is no dualism in this, for the _Wirklichkeit_ is one and undivided.
Yet every relation admits of two standpoints, just as the line _AB_, which may serve to represent a certain and definite relation, is determinable from both ends, _A_ as well as _B_. Let us call _A_ the subject and _B_ the object. Neither _A_ nor _B_ is a reality, a whole complete _Wirklichkeit_. A thing in order to be real must be active, it must work, it must stand in relation to something else. _A_ is a mere mathematical point, but _AB_ representing a process does something, it performs work, it is real. A thing in itself, if it could exist at all, would be tantamount to non-existence, it would represent a _Sein_ without being _Wirklichkeit_. When bearing this in mind, it appears natural that the oneness of existence, representable in such relations as is that of _AB_ = -_BA_ will admit of two standpoints, _BA_ representing subjectivity, and _AB_ representing objectivity. We can consider the relation of the world at large to one special point (which latter may in its turn stand for a whole system of relations) or vice versa the relation of this point to the world at large. The former standpoint is that of the microcosm, or the soul, the latter that of the macrocosm or the universe; the former results in awareness, the latter appears as matter in motion. The former is subjectivity, the latter objectivity.
Reality must not be conceived of as being a compound of the elements of feeling and of motion, of subjectivity and objectivity or of kinesis and metakinesis. I do not think there are atoms one-half of which contains the potentiality of sentience while the other half is freighted with energy. I conceive of reality as being one throughout, but, being throughout resolvable in relations, it will as a matter of course have two sides. What these two sides are like can be known through experience only, and experience teaches that under certain conditions the subjective side develops into feeling and consciousness, while the objective side is represented in the feeling of conscious beings as motions.
This view explains the duality of our conception of psycho-physical facts, but it is certainly not dualism. The duality belongs to the scaffold not to the facts themselves. The facts can only be thought of as being one and undivided, and no conception can stand except it be monistic.
Subjectivity and objectivity are terms that express relations and not things in themselves. There are, however, philosophers who show a great grief unless either the subjectivity of being, or the objectivity of being, or the unities in which things or personalities are gathered up, are considered as things in themselves. All those features of reality which appear to their conception unexplainable, such as the relations that obtain among things and especially the thoughts of thinking beings are supposed to be the effects of some transcendental entity, of a thing in itself. And if a philosophy denies the existence of transcendentalistic thought-entities or of any such things in themselves, which serve as cement to combine the _disjecta membra_ of their world-conception, it is generally declared to lead straight on to nihilism—not because the world itself but because their world-system would thereby be annihilated.
All things that exist, if considered as separate things, will pass away; but if considered as parts of the all-existence of reality, they are eternal. In fact things are not separate things, in the sense of isolated, absolute, or abstract beings, although we may speak of them as such for our ephemeral purposes. All things that exist, the human soul included, are and will remain parts of the One and All.
This destroys their individuality as little as a brick ceases to be a brick because it serves its part in the building of a dome. The soul of a man if his life be well spent, is not annihilated in death, his soul has become a living stone in the temple of humanity. It continues to live and marches on in the general progress of the race.
We are parts of a great whole now, and we shall remain parts of the same great whole forever. We have never been and shall never be transcendental selfhoods or metaphysical egos, or any kind of things in themselves. Our personality is real life, it is actual being. As such it is bound up in the universal life of the One and All and no particle of it will be lost. We need not fear death, for the air we breathe is immortality.
EDITOR.
FOOTNOTES:
[43] Italics are ours. Kant affirms the italicised question.
[44] The problem of “The Origin of the Mind” having been the subject of a former paper need not be discussed here. See _The Monist_, Vol i, No. 1, p. 69-86, and _The Soul of Man_, pp. 23-46.
[45] It is scarcely necessary to mention that mediæval Realism is different from modern Realism.
[46] Aristotle’s idea of matter being potential existence is a fiction. Fictions of that kind are useful for certain purposes, but we must not forget that they are fictions. We might just as well introduce any other system of fictions. For instance we might with certainly not less propriety look upon the idea in the mind of an artist as potential reality while its appearance in a material shape is conceived to produce actual reality.
[47] The term “absolute” is for that reason neither meaningless nor redundant. It denotes a certain method of viewing things, but is not an objective quality of things.
[48] See the chapter “Soul Life and the Preservation of Form” in _The Soul of Man_, p. 418.
[49] The abandonment of the ego as a metaphysical being is not, as it appears to many, a surrender of the soul or of its immortality. That the immortality of the soul from the standpoint of modern psychology is preserved, that it appears in a new light, grander and nobler than before, and that this conception of immortality is of an enormous practical importance, have been the main incentives of Mr. E. C. Hegeler in founding _The Open Court_ and _The Monist_.
LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE
I.
FRANCE.
The recent work of M. F. PAULHAN, _Le Nouveau Mysticisme_, places us in the presence of a feature of modern life, if not extremely important, at least very curious.
We assist at the formation of a new spirit. But what is it? What is its value? A reply to this question would exact a long and minute analysis of all social facts. M. Paulhan does not flatter himself that he has exhausted it, and he offers us only portions, although excellent and instructive, of the required work. He shows us in rapid review, the dissolution of the ancient world, the intellectual and moral anarchy which has to-day reached its highest possible point; he seeks, in the ruins amidst which we tread, the constructive elements of a new order of things, and makes an effort to foresee what it will be.
“The scientific mind,” writes he, “the religious spirit, pity for suffering, the sentiment of justice, social mysticism, the attraction for mysterious perhaps dangerous facts that we begin to have a glimpse of, the kind of new power which the knowledge of them can give us, a general need of universal harmony: such are the principal characters of the spirit which is forming itself.” They are not, he himself says, all new. It is not the presence of these elements which is significant, but rather the singular combination in which they occur, and we could say, the precipitate that they give in the particular chemical solution where they find themselves thrown. In every case, the phenomenon does not affect entirely, it seems to us, the same characters, according to whether we observe it in the philosophic or scientific order, in the practical order, or in that of sentiment, which literature represents. The name of mysticism does not belong to every part of the new spirit equally; or more exactly, the spirit which is produced could well not be truly mysticism, but only a side phenomenon, and the very evident resurrection of the spirit which is disappearing.
M. Paulhan, if I do not deceive myself, sometimes allows himself to be too much influenced by a certain literature, to which I do not allow a very great value, and of which even the sincerity may be suspected. It represents at first, to my mind, individual conditions, and it evidently impeaches some authors of a morbid diathesis. Many of our prophets, as is known in the _Quartier Latin_, have or affect vices which exclude by themselves all generating power. Then, it is very difficult, in our age, to appreciate exactly the relations of literature to the public mind, seeing the diversity of romantic books, and the correlation of one to the other is perhaps not so strict, so profound as it has been in other junctures of history. In short, the modern romance is a document the relative value of which needs to be established by a most severe critic.
Some facts dominate the question, viewed as a whole. It is necessary to show the work of the scientific mind, which has the result of creating new mental habits. It is necessary to consider also that the disorder, _the spirit of evil_, so finely analysed by M. Paulhan, corresponds chiefly to the interpretations of ignorance, to the exaggerations of sentiment, and to the dreams, more or less monstrous, of inventive fantasy. It is necessary, finally, if they wish to augur of the future, to endeavor to disengage the laws of construction, still badly defined, of our political fabrics. The thought of M. Paulhan is good at bottom, and the materials with which he constructs the _possible future_ are taken from the positive conditions of our mental and social life: in the practical order, “co-operation” is added to the social systems already existing, although disturbed, such as the family and the nation; in the ideal order, the conception, beyond that of humanity, of a “cosmical whole,” and a “universe,” which, to repeat it after Comte, will be favorable to man, in a certain sense, seeing that he causes it to exist.
We recommend the reading of this book. One’s time is never lost with a thinker of the stamp of M. Paulhan; he has the merit this time of disclosing to us in a few pages a vast horizon, where some points are delineated with clearness. Logicism has caused much evil in our country. Let us now beware of mysticism!
* * * * *
One of the most curious episodes of this new mysticism is assuredly the Buddhist preaching, begun in France by a small group of writers. M. AUGUSTIN CHABOSEAU, one of the representatives of this religious tendency, publishes a work, _Essai sur la philosophie boudhique_,[50] which it is expedient to mention. M. Chaboseau has thought it would be of interest to sum up in a volume the results of the studies on Buddhism, and to present it “such as science has proved it, that is to say very different from what Christian polemists, worldly amusers, theosophic fanatics, endeavor to disseminate.” He has had the ambition to write this volume, and for my part, I do not refuse him my curiosity.
But that Buddhism truly contains a religious formula capable of attracting to it the souls of our Occident, I have difficulty in believing. This India is very far from us, and its confused philosophy is behind us. I do not think that the nations of to-day will return to a by-gone mode; and then, this doctrine of Sakya-Muni has something against it, that I hesitate to say, as it might seem puerile: its god is too fat. Its god or its sage, as you wish. Yes, that breadth of form, that opulence of flesh, taken as a mark of goodness and power, shocks our artistic taste. Do not forget that every religion which claims our will ought to satisfy our æsthetic sentiment: it is one of the essential factors of the religious sentiment, a compound sentiment where all the emotions of a race ought to find their harmony. The opposition of India to us, so striking in the ideal of the beautiful, still continues in metaphysical speculation. We are too moderate, too sober, for the debauches of imagination in which it delights. Buddhism will be to us only a passing excrescence, and I ask myself if it lives well in the souls where it has sincerely penetrated.
I should have much to do to speak, in the briefest manner, of all the books or treatises, which in a direct or indirect manner relate either to the war of Aryanism against Semitism, and principally against the Christianism in which certain authors see the most disastrous conquest of Semitic genius; or to the reviving of mystic traditions, strange dreams, and monstrous desires; or to a religious restoration, of which the most ordinary prejudice is to assure the immortality of the soul and to reopen the beyond to man. These works are in general of slight value; they are the multiplication of decays, and we are compelled to consider them as social wastes, of which the abundance betrays unquestionably the bad health of the organism, or at least a difficult crisis of its evolution.
* * * * *
But let us return to the works of philosophy properly so-called. What are we to think of that of M. F. RAUH? I deceive myself much if his _Essai sur le fondement métaphysique der la morale_ is considered of much service in his own circles. M. Rauh, who belongs to the philosophic youth, the youth of the age, can be well assured that the partisans of scientific morality will not upbraid him for “the admiration of high metaphysical thoughts” with which he does himself honor, but he can fear lest the metaphysicians accuse him of further compromising metaphysics by the denser obscurities he casts on it. One is stupefied to find again in a modern book a phraseology so made up of abstract words, of substantives with capitals, and logical shadows which affect the posture of realities. Much study, much work, without advancing one step, and still worse, in order to throw us again into the _culs-de-sac_ from whence we have had so much difficulty to disengage ourselves. All the profit one can derive from this dialectic is to contemplate at the end the vague shadow of its own body that is perceived on the wall.
The metaphysicians of a certain school are not only reluctant to have to accept that morality is a natural formation, a social product, an historical fact; they wish further that the existence even of moral society should depend on the intelligence that they have of it, or of the explanation that they give of it. They affirm boldly, and these are the words even of M. Rauh, that “the fate of morality is united to that of metaphysics”—their metaphysics. This is a pretension as exorbitant as would be that of a naturalist who should refer the reality of the animal world to the idea he formed of zoölogical types, or that of a chemist who should subject the value of the positive results of science to a particular hypothesis as to the constitution of bodies.
* * * * *
There are certain difficulties of language to criticise in the work of M. ISIDORE MAUS, barrister in the Court of Appeals at Brussels, _De la justice pénale, étude philosophique sur le droit de punir_. A curious spectator, he tells us, of the battle waged between the new school of anthropology and the ancient penal jurisprudence, he seeks to divine the issue of it. It will probably end, according to him, in the formation of a medium penal jurisprudence, which will accept limited responsibilities, and which, while protecting society, will do its best “to give to punishment all the advantages it can.”
It would be exaggerated no doubt, I willingly grant it, to take away from repression every mark of moral reparation, all weight of “reformative power”; but I am always shocked to hear partial responsibilities spoken of. From the social point of view, the responsibility remains perfect; it is united, indeed, to the very act of having caused injury, beyond all appreciation. From the point of view of the individual, the word responsibility has the grave inconvenience of implying that the quantity of liberty or free-will attributable to the delinquent is measured. It would be less compromising and more exact, to value simply the quality, the worth of the delinquent, according to the totality of his affective, intellectual, voluntary, and pathological character, according to the nature and the conditions of the act of which he is accused, etc. We should thus escape contradictions of words which easily become contradictions of fact; we should no more stumble at this latent difficulty of free-will, in medium cases—for _serious cases_ are never difficult. Words exercise a tyranny which jurists would do well to distrust.
Is not this, moreover, just about what M. Maus means by his favorite formula—that justice ought “to individualise as much as possible”? It is a pity only that he does not present his conclusions with the requisite clearness. His exposition is not distinct and frank. He has mental habitudes, subtilities of reasoning, which are of value at the Palais, but which it is suitable to rid oneself of when writing a book: his would gain much by being entirely remodeled, made clear and disentangled.
* * * * *
M. E. DE LAVELEYE offers to the public a fourth edition, revised and considerably augmented, of his great work, _De la propriété et de ses formes primitives_. We have not to recall the numerous facts which this work contains and the knowledge of which has become sufficiently general; nor to commend M. de Laveleye, who no longer expects fresh praises for it. I have only to express the regret that he should have retained the theory of property expounded in the last chapter of his book, or rather the metaphysical conception of right with which he connects it. It seems as if he wished to excuse himself from reducing property to the simple value of a fact, modifiable in its forms, by indicating as a fixed point an “order” which shall be the best, which shall be _known_ and _wished_ of God, _sought_ and _realised_ by man.
M. de Laveleye knows it as well as any one. Right is only a rule, an expression of the relations of men among themselves, in a determined geographical and historical medium. Its changes depend, in part on external conditions, in part on the characters of man himself, the state and variable equilibrium of his passions and of his mentality. If certain forms of right establish themselves proportionally, in the course of the life of nations, the fact is explained by the constancy and the universality of certain conditions, either physical or mental; the repetition of social arrangements, which produces ultimately a more stable structure and constitutes a sort of axis of development, is somewhat analogous, if we may be permitted this comparison, to the repetition of the essential elements in all architecture, or of the primitive forms in all the products of the ceramic art. What is the good of enveloping with mystery the ideal we create ourselves, and of rendering obscure a notion that we can positively explain? But let us leave here this little quarrel, for it does not touch the solid groundwork of the book.
Still to signalise are: _Premiers principes métaphysiques de la science de la nature_, translated from Kant by M. M. CH. ANDLER and ED. CHAVANNES, who have written an interesting introduction _On the philosophy of nature in Kant_; and _L’Année philosophique, Iʳᵉ année_ 1890, published under the direction of F. PILLON, former manager of _La Critique philosophique_. There will be found in this last volume two profound studies, one by M. Renouvier on the phenomenist method, the other by M. Pillon on the criticism of the infinite, an excellent article by M. L. Dauriac on philosophy and particularly on the æsthetics of Guyau, finally a bibliography of French works which appeared in 1890. I wish good success to this publication; it will become valuable, and it will be still more so, in my opinion, if M. Pillon, will not recoil before the fatigue, no doubt sufficiently great, of adding to the Bibliography a critical sketch of the review articles published in the course of the year.
LUCIEN ARRÉAT.
FOOTNOTES:
[50] Georges Carré, publisher. The other works mentioned in this article belong to the _Librarie Alcan_.
II.
RECENT GERMAN WORKS IN PSYCHOLOGY.
A well-known alienist, Professor Pelman of Bonn, in a recently published work, advanced the assertion that the literary taste of the day pointed to a considerable decline of the intellectual health of the present generation. To him who assumes with Pelman some causal foundation of this state of affairs, it is indeed an alarming sight to pass in review the show windows of our great book centres Leipsic and Berlin and to discover the great number of editions that the products of the literature of a certain class are passing through.
Among the books that are at present all the vogue, Tolstoï’s “Kreutzer Sonata” stands in the front rank. Numberless articles in the newspapers and the magazines have already made this wonderful work the subject of discussion, both from the æsthetical and from the moral point of view. Now comes a physician, who discusses the psychological aspect of the story, and discusses it in a manner which must claim our interest and to which in the main points it emphasises we cannot deny our assent.
Dr. H. BECK has published at the house of Rauert and Rocco of Leipsic, a brochure bearing the title _Des Grafen Leo Tolstoï Kreutzer Sonate vom Standpunkte des Irrenarztes_, and arrives on the basis of a careful analysis at the result that Tosdnischew is a decidedly neuropathical character. Now as Tolstoï, on his own express declaration in his concluding remarks, places his own views in Tosdnischew’s mouth, this judgment respecting the principal character of the story also holds good in great measure of its author. Generally, indeed, Beck is very considerate towards Tolstoï’s person, in the expression of his opinions; but he is nevertheless very plainly outspoken when he says at the conclusion of his little book: “Let us characterise this monstrous product, the ‘Kreutzer Sonata,’ as that which it appears to every person of sound sentiments—as the emanation, namely, of a diseased brain, of a degenerated Psyche.”
The Munich physician Dr. Puschmann, who in the year 1873 in a special treatise represented Richard Wagner, then still alive, as psychically diseased, has thus found, as we see, in a certain sense a successor in Dr. Beck. But while Puschmann’s pamphlet, having been occasioned by certain conditions of affairs in Munich, was written in a hostile spirit, and while the little book of Beck’s makes no secret of its author’s aversion to Tolstoï and his works, a notorious representative of unhealthy “young Germany,” the novelist Wilhelm Walloth, meets at other hands with an uncommonly tender treatment. There is indeed nothing remarkable in this, for if anyone is in need of tender treatment it is a man who is sick. But it is very remarkable that the diseased state of a nervous system should be accredited to the writer Walloth as a great poetic excellence.
G. LUDWIGS, the author of the treatise _Wilhelm Walloth_, Leipsic, 1891, Verlag von Wilhelm Friedrich, had in so far the advantage of Puschmann and Beck, that he was not placed under the necessity of originally demonstrating what the actual state of the nervous system of his hero was, from his works. This condition had already been established by expert physicians in a much talked of trial before the District Court of Leipsic for circulating obscene publications. Ludwigs was able therefore to proceed immediately with his problem of ascertaining the extent to which a diseased state of the nervous system had effect in Walloth’s novels and poems. His discussion of this last question possesses great interest for the psychologist, although the reader will find considerable difficulty in accommodating his thoughts to Ludwigs’s occasionally very singular style. Setting aside the odd expressions of Ludwigs, we may say that there is exhibited in a pre-eminent degree in the writings of Walloth, first, what the physicians call hyperæsthesia, and by this is meant not only an excessive sensitiveness of the senses but also—a condition that is connected with the last—an extraordinary intensity of the emotional activity. Secondly, are found numberless bold associations of ideas which are much better known to the physician than to the æsthetician.
Unfortunately Walloth is not the only one of the representatives of “young Germany,” in whose works the characters of disease appear in such intensity, and the circumstance that books of this class are bought in such numbers and read in still greater, places the tastes and sentiments of a large portion of the educated German public in a questionable light.
If we turn our glance away from the sensational phenomena of literature to the phenomena of ordinary life, which are not uncommonly enacted in the halls of justice, it is in first rank the incorrigible swindlers and sharpers that excite our attention. We have received on this subject from Dr. ANTON DELBRUECK, a physician of a Swiss insane asylum, an interesting little work bearing the title _Die pathologische Lüge und die psychisch abnormen Schwindler_, Stuttgart, 1891, Verlag von Ferdinand Enke. In this book the author makes an investigation of the gradual transition of a normal psychological process into processes exhibiting pathological symptoms, and shows, in so doing, by ample material, that in every kind of intentional deception the consciousness of intention can exhibit very different degrees of intensity and can imperceptibly sink in a succession of cases to zero. As a matter of course, Delbrück’s treatise is primarily of interest to medical experts and lawyers, but it will also be of interest in a secondary degree to all circles that devote their attention to psychological studies generally, particularly so to educators who have not infrequently to do with pathological lies, as G. Stanley Hall quite recently pointed out in a very instructive article in _The America Journal of Psychology_ on the lying of children, and as is developed in the work of Dr. Sollier, before mentioned in _The Monist_, entitled _La psychologie de l’idiot et l’imbécile_, which is also to be had in a very good German edition, translated by Paul Brie, under the title _Der Idiot und der Imbecille_, published by Leopold Voss of Hamburg.
In the German edition of Sollier’s book Professor Pelman, whom we have above mentioned, has written an introduction in which he speaks of the work in words of praise similar to those expressed by Lucien Arréat in _The Monist_. “Sollier,” says he, “has put us into the possession of a psychology of mental imbecility, in a completeness in which hitherto it was not at our disposal.” Then follows another passage which we will also quote, as it forms an important supplement to the remarks of Arréat. It is this: “Imbecility had remained the step-child of the science of psychiatry and has not by any means met with the consideration which in view of its social importance is due to it. If we go through the works, as great in number as they are in voluminousness, which have been published in the style of Lombroso on criminals and their peculiar characteristics, we shall be unable to escape the impression produced in our minds that the characteristics of imbeciles portrayed by Sollier recur point for point in the typical criminal. Here as there, the same insufficiency of all ethical development, the same frivolity, and the same incapacity for being of use in society exist. That which in Sollier’s explanation decides the whole anthropological position of the imbecile—his anti-social, society-hostile attitude—is emphasised by all writers as the characteristic trait common to all criminals, and the description of imbeciles and criminals coincides as completely in this respect as if the same individual had sat for both pictures. The conclusions that follow from this can only enlist new adherents in the ranks of the anthropological school, and this result also I should place to the profit-account of the present book.”
However profitable and necessary employment with the diseased states of the human soul may be, personally at least it is an unpleasant subject for us, and we are glad therefore that we may abandon this domain for the present letter.
The occasion of this is afforded by a valuable gift from Prof. W. PREYER, formerly of Jena, now of Berlin. Professor Preyer has presented us with a rather large volume bearing the title _Wissenschaftliche Briefe von Gustav Theodor Fechner und W. Preyer. Nebst einem Briefweschsel zwischen K. von Vierordt und Fechner sewie mehreren Beilagen. Mit dem Bildnisse Fechner’s und vier Holzschnitten_. Hamburg und Leipsic, 1890. Verlag von Leopold Voss. The work contains a correspondence extending from the year 1873 to the year 1883, in which the two distinguished scientists discuss (chiefly) myo-physical and psycho-physical questions, and will be of great interest to many readers of _The Monist_, especially as it makes its appearance simultaneously with the issuing of a new edition of Fechner’s _Elemente der Psychophysik_ by Wilhelm Wundt.
The much fought over and much disputed province of psycho-physics has also been entered on by a younger psychologist, who has already acquired a considerable name,—by Hugo Münsterberg, docent at the university of Freiburg in Baden. In his _Beiträge zur experimentellen Psychologie_, which are published in parts at indefinite periods by Mohr of Freiburg in Baden—three parts have already been published—Münsterberg raises, in the first place, a vigorous protest against Wundt; repudiating on the basis of the results of independent experiment the apperception hypothesis which has been propounded by the scientist mentioned, and producing proof that all kinds of so-called apperception are reducible to associations of the representative activity. Secondly, he offers us in the third part a new foundation on which to base psycho-physics. It is, of course, impossible, in so difficult a subject, to reproduce briefly yet clearly the developments to which Münsterberg devotes one hundred and twenty-two pages. But we will at least supply a few hints with regard to what this new foundation of psycho-physics is.
In the first place, Münsterberg rejects the notion that prevails with Fechner and his school, that a powerful sensation is a multiple of a weaker one, by which the first can be measured. The stronger sensation is, says he, in comparison with the weaker one something wholly new; for, accurately considered, the intensity of a sensation is also of a qualitative nature. However, we are not by any means at liberty to infer from this that the measurement of psychical quantities is impossible. To appreciate this, it is first requisite that we should get clear ideas with respect to the psychological foundation of our physical measurements. The only foundation of these last is our muscular feeling, to this extent, that all measurement is founded on the measurement of quantities of space, time, and mass, and any estimate of the latter is only possible on the basis of the muscular feeling that enters as a factor in the conceptions involved. All physical measurement rests on the establishment, and therefore reproduction, of _like_ muscular sensations; on exactly the same foundation rests also all measurement of psychical quantities, of intensities of sensation, and since this foundation is the same, for this very reason the same justification is due to the measurement of psychical intensity as is due to physical measurements. This is the foundation on which the psycho-physics of Münsterberg is raised, which for a fuller view must be studied in the third part of the “Beiträge” itself.
CHR. UFER.
Altenburg, November, 1891.
DIVERSE TOPICS.
THE CLERGY’S DUTY OF ALLEGIANCE TO DOGMA AND THE STRUGGLE BETWEEN WORLD-CONCEPTIONS.
A late number of the _Gegenwart_ of Berlin (Vol. xl, No. 30) contained an article by Mr. Eugene Schiffer, a German justice, on the subject “World-Conception and the Office of Judge,” in which attention was called to the fact that the performance of duties, not only in the pulpit but in all the professions, and preëminently in the dispensation of justice through the courts, depends upon and stands in a more or less close connection with some definite world-conception; thus showing that religion of some kind forms and must form the background of the practical life of society. He says:
“The Church demands of its disciples as an indispensable condition of serving her the confession of a certain world-conception; she requires that every one who intends to take upon himself her rights and duties, should in his inmost heart agree with her concerning the contents of her faith, especially concerning the dogmas on eschatology, on God and world, body and soul, the origin and end of things; and this is but a matter of course, for the essential part and also the foundation of her activity lie in these very doctrines and in their propagation. It is a hard and a severe demand. Although on the one hand the morally free fulfilment of her requests contains the germ of an harmonious development of life and promises an extraordinary concentration and elevation of all faculties, it leads on the other hand to serious conflicts, of which the pages of history not less than the experiences of our daily life exhibit innumerable and sad instances. We recollect the terrible spiritual struggles in the souls of those who commenced to doubt, and the outcome is generally a pitiful catastrophe, either submission and hypocrisy with the weak, or tribulation, renunciation, and ruin with those who thought higher of truth than of their worldly emoluments.
“Most of the other professions and trades know nothing of the indispensability of a certain world-conception. The merchant, the mechanic, the lawyer, the soldier, the teacher, the laborer, can upon the whole think concerning these highest problems of life as they please. An inner and ideal conflict between their views and their calling seems definitely excluded. Outer and practical conditions—such as administrative injunctions of a certain kind, the aspiration of progress, the ambition to be better off, etc.—may sometimes produce conflicts.
“Yet this character of indifference concerning a general world-conception which is found in the secular professions and trades does not bear the stamp of permanence. For ultimately the entire doing and achieving of every thinking man, so far as it rises above the mere vegetative functions, is intimately connected with that common world-conception which everywhere influences and guides him. This is unnoticeable so long as the harmony of the connection remains undisturbed, but it manifests itself in consciousness as soon as its harmony is threatened through some important change of any of its parts. Even to-day a deep-going change is preparing itself; even now the struggle about the world-conception is fought more severely and more bitterly than ever and a new doctrine goes far enough to uncover the ultimate roots of our civilisation, of our position in life, of our calling; it attacks and shakes the present world-conception.
“This implies the possibility of a conflict between the old and the new faith even outside the pale of the church, and this conflict may influence the choice of a calling. This possibility has become an imminent probability concerning the office of judge, especially the judge of a criminal court.
“The dispensation of justice rests to a great extent upon the presupposition of guilt and the criminal law of to-day is almost throughout built upon this idea of guilt. It is true that this view has not always been taken. The Greek law and the old Germanic law interfered even in the gravest cases exclusively on account of the objective state of things without taking into consideration the criminal intent of the defendant. But this view was superseded in the former case by the Roman, in the latter by the canonical law, both requiring the conception of a moral and a subjective guilt, and at present the criminal law of every civilised nation (with the sole exception of the Chinese who threaten with capital punishment him who accidentally kills no less than the intentional murderer) rests upon the foundation of a belief in guilt.
“But there is no room for guilt in the materialistic world-conception. Everything that happens, the activity of the human soul included is to be explained according to mechanical principles and thus the view that man’s will is not free is proposed as one of its fundamental doctrines. While in this way there is no possibility left that a man might have acted differently than he actually did, this view takes away his responsibility. And this movement which either cancels or weakens the momentum of guilt, has taken hold of the minds of men far beyond the circle of decided materialists.
“The foundation of our criminal law stands or falls with the idea of guilt. With it stands and falls also the office of the judge, whose duty is the dispensation and utilisation of justice. He who does not believe in the possibility of guilt cannot without inconsistency pronounce any one guilty. He who as a matter of principle or at least within certain not well defined limits denies the freedom of the human will can no longer serve as a judge, certainly not as a criminal judge.”
Justice Eugene Schiffer is a conservative man. He demands that for the protection of the old world-conception the office of judge should be carefully guarded against such intruders as are not in sympathy with the present world-conception. He says:
“Exactly as the church, in order to preserve herself and to guard against her theology being diluted into a watery philosophy of religion, is bound not to separate the conditions of her life from a definite world-conception, so also justice, in order to deserve its name, should oblige its servants to take a definite position toward the ultimate world-problems.... He who does not accept in his conviction the moral foundations of a certain calling, must not choose it, or if he has chosen it, he must renounce it—or he must in his profession act against his conviction—unless he risks being discharged from his office on account of a neglect of duties.”
We agree with Justice Schiffer in one most important point, viz., the intimate connection of religion with practical life and of our world-conception with all our doing and achieving. But we differ from him in another no less important point, viz., in the proposition to prevent the present world-conception from undergoing a further growth and higher evolution. His proposition is nothing less than to make humanity and all its institutions stationary.
Everything that exists has a natural right to defend its existence, and so has the present world-conception. But that which grows and develops out of the conditions of the present existence has also a natural right to attain existence. The ideal world of the “is to be” is not a non-existence, as it might appear to the unknowing, but a germ existence, and if there is no room for both the actual existence of the present state and the germ existence of a new state, a struggle will ensue. There are at present and always have been many spurious world-conceptions which if they overcame the present world-conception would lead humanity backward to the beginning of civilisation. Indeed most propositions of reform are reversals which would undo the results of evolution and reduce mankind to primitive conditions. The fermenting minds of those who still hope to cure all the ills and woes of society by one stroke, have not yet outgrown the idea of the perfection, nobility, and happiness of the so-called original state of nature,
“When wild in woods the noble savage ran.”
Yet among all the plans of reform there is one which is correct, answering the wants of the time; and among all the world-conceptions which struggle to exist there is also one which is the legitimate outcome of the present world-conception. It is the present world-conception enlarged through additional experience and purified of certain errors. And it is an often repeated occurrence in history that the old and the new, father and son, have to fight with each other. The heir apparent either does not know that he is the child of his antagonist, or the latter the defendant of the present state does not know that he fights with his own son. This often repeated fact has found a mythological expression in the old Teutonic song of Hildebrand meeting in combat his son Hadubrand, a legend which in similar versions appears again in other Aryan sagas, the best known of which is the tale of Rustem’s struggle with Sohrab in Firdus’s great Iranian epic.
Can the struggle between the old and the new world-conception be avoided? No, it cannot and should not, for the new has to prove its legitimacy by showing its intrinsic strength; it must show that it has the power to exist. The struggle cannot be avoided, but the bitterness, the severity, the barbarity of the struggle can be avoided. Let Hildebrand and Hadubrand measure swords in a spiritual encounter, let the vanquished ideas yield to the stronger ideas, and they will prepare the gradual change of an evolution instead of the sudden rupture of a revolution.
Freedom of thought is always the best soil for a peaceful evolution but any system that binds the consciences of men and ties their ideas down to the average level of a certain age will be as dangerous as a boiler without a valve. There are periods of instability in history when the strengthening of the conservative spirit by imposing fetters upon the consciences of men appears useful and almost a condition for the development of some kind of a civilisation. This found expression in the historic legends of Lycurgus and Solon, binding their countrymen by oath not to alter the laws of the state. But these periods are after all ephemeral, and we ought to know by this time that we cannot bid the sun stand still or check the spirit of progress and the growth of mankind. There are nations which develop slowly because they rush into innovations, but there are other nations which have gone to the wall because of over-conservatism through which they were induced to suppress the freedom of thought and to deny the right of doubting the absolute validity of the prevailing world-conception.
The proposition of Justice Schiffer to bind the conscience of the judge by an oath of allegiance to that world-conception which is at present recognised as orthodox, is actually a law in the constitution of the church, and conflicts in the consciences of clergymen are of a common occurrence. The opinion that a clergyman who has ceased to believe in certain dogmas of his church has to resign this position is very common among freethinkers as well as orthodox believers. At first sight this seems to be the only choice left to a man of honesty and a lover of truth. I held this opinion myself for a long time. There is nevertheless another view of the subject which caused me to change my opinion entirely, and I am glad to perceive that such a man as Mr. Moncure D. Conway who held himself a position in the church and having grown more and more liberal has retired from active service, declares most emphatically that a clergyman who has grown liberal should not resign but stay in the church and wait till the church forces him to leave his position. This is an honest course, a clergyman has a right to pursue it and he will thereby open the eyes of his fellow-men; he will further the interests of mankind, and people will thus be enabled to judge better whether or not it is just to impose these burdens upon the pastors of the church.
Let us consider the case more closely. First, the oath which a young clergyman gives at his ordination is a promissory oath, and like all promissory oaths it holds good on the supposition that all the main conditions remain the same. If a man promises and binds himself by an oath to start to-morrow morning on a journey he does so on the supposition that it will be possible. So far as he can foresee it is possible, but incidents may happen which will make it impossible to-morrow. A promissory oath will be a weight on the conscience if it has to be broken, but it has no legal force. Thus soldiers swear an oath of allegiance to their king, and under ordinary circumstances there will be no cause for doubt as to the propriety of remaining faithful to the oath. But many cases of great perplexity will appear when a civil war splits a nation in twain so that brother stands against brother and faithfulness to the king may be the most degrading felony toward one’s highest and holiest ideals, perhaps also toward one’s bodily parents and nearest kin. Who does not recollect the sad end of Ludwig II, king of Bavaria. When the mind of the unfortunate monarch was too much deranged to leave him in possession of his royal power, a commission of several authorised men went to the castle where he resided to place him under the care of a physician. The king refused to receive the commission and ordered his faithful guards by whom he was surrounded to seize the commission, gouge out their eyes and treat them otherwise in the most outrageous way. The commission not being protected were for a moment in great danger, but happily the guards perceiving the seriousness of the situation did not execute the king’s orders and we might say,—broke their oath.
Did they really break their oath? No, they did not, for when they were sworn to obey their sovereign master and lord, it was supposed that the king was and would remain in his right mind. He became insane and this changed the situation entirely.
The oath of allegiance which the ministers of a church swear at their ordination is made in the bona fide conviction on both sides,—the church on the one side and the man that takes orders on the other side,—that the dogmas to which he pledges his troth are the truth. The oath holds good so long as a minister believes that the dogmas of the church are the truth; it still holds good so long as he considers it possible that they may be true. But the oath to believe them ceases to bind in the sense in which it was demanded as soon as a minister sees clearly that they are not true and that their truth is an actual impossibility. It ranks in the same category as the oath of allegiance to a sovereign who has become insane.
But the case is more complex still. If promissory oaths have no legal force because in certain cases a man would have to act against the letter of the oath, have these oaths no binding power whatever, as soon as a minister recognises the incongruity of the church belief with truth? I should say that they have a binding power, yet this binding power must be sought not in the letter but in the spirit of the oath.
One of the most prominent of juridical authorities, Prof. Rudolf von Jhering, has written a book entitled “Der Zweck im Recht.” He finds that all laws, all wills, all decrees have a purpose, and this purpose is their spirit. There are laws worded so badly that obedience to the letter of the law would under certain and unforeseen circumstances enforce exactly the contrary of that which the law was made for. Instances of this kind are of not an uncommon occurrence especially with regard to wills; testators and their legal advisors being often unable to formulate their intentions in a logical shape. Jhering maintains that a judge in construing a will, a decree, or a law has to find out the intention and purpose of the testator, the magistrate that gave the decree, or the legislator, and it is this intention or purpose with which his decisions have to agree. Supposing however that this purpose of a will or a law is wrong in itself or nonsensical, a judge has to construe it so that it will have sense. If the purpose is criminal the whole transaction is illegal, if it is irrational or illogical, it has to be interpreted so as to make it rational and logical. If it has reference to antiquated views, customs or institutions it has to be adapted to the corresponding modern views and to existing conditions.
An instance from practical life will explain the last point. There are many institutions in Northern Germany which were founded as cloisters or monasteries. The nuns and monks have been engaged partly in teaching, partly in attending to the sick, and in other useful purposes. The funds of these institutions exist still, and serve now those purposes directly which they have served formerly indirectly through the service of nuns and monks. Most of them are employed for the maintenance of schools, some of them as hospitals, others as homes for unmarried daughters of government officials or for homeless aristocratic ladies without means, etc. These changes have been wrought by history as the natural consequence of new conditions. Many of them were made in actual violation of the letter of the testators’ will; yet they were made bona fide with the intention to remain faithful to its spirit? The question is not what a testator intended his will to be half a millennium ago, but what he would intend it to be in the living present, knowing all the changes which the progress of the times have wrought and having progressed with the times.
Before we answer the question, What is the purpose of the minister’s oath? we should first see clearly, what is the purpose of the church. Is the purpose of the church really to be sought in the propaganda of some absurd dogmas? Or does not rather the preaching of these dogmas itself serve a purpose?
The dogmas of Christianity were some time ago supposed to be the indispensable instruments of ethical instruction. All the churches are educational institutions to inculcate the moral ought on the basis of a popular world-conception. The church of England for instance is a national institute and it is not true that one church party has the right to impose its religious conception upon the rest of the nation. When the church was founded some crude notions were taken to be absolute truths and no man can at the present time be required to believe these crudities. All institutions are conservative but most conservative are the courts of justice and the church. The conservatism of jurisprudence is characterised in the saying which appears to be its leading principle _fiat justicia et pereat mundus_. Jurisprudence too often forgets that the dispensation of justice serves the purpose of sustaining life, of promoting the general welfare and enhancing the prosperity of the community; it overlooks the spirit and clings to the letter.
Our justices are inclined to believe that if a new world-conception arises, (which by the bye will as we believe not be materialistic nor will it destroy the idea of moral responsibility, although it may change our views about guilt,) their whole system of jurisprudence will break down. They are afraid of a _pereat justicia et vivat mundus_. Justice Schiffer is not at all anxious to prove the truth of the old world-conception, he is satisfied with proving that the new world-conception is incompatible with the old view of justice. Criminal law means punishment and punishment presupposes the idea of guilt. He argues:
“The question remains whether the conflict between the new and the old world-conception could be avoided by adapting our views of justice to the new world-conception; yet this question is to be denied, for the notions of guilt and punishment belong to each other according to logical, ethical, and moral principles. To punish without assuming guilt is as nonsensical as it is immoral.”
It would lead us too far here to show that moral responsibility still subsists on the supposition of a strict determinism and that the criminal law with its punishments will not be abolished in the future. Yet there is no doubt that our views of punishment will have to be changed; indeed they have changed and how much they have changed, can be learned by a comparison of an execution of to-day with one of a few hundred years ago. The idea of punishment in the sense of inflicting pain as a retribution has gone and it has gone forever. There is no more burning of the criminal with hot irons, or twitching with hot tongs, or tearing out his tongue, or stretching on the wheel. The criminal is executed with as little pain to him as possible. Why this change? Because a new world-conception has entirely altered our views of punishment and it is going to alter them still more. Penology is not to be based upon sentimentality as some so-called philanthropists intend to do; nevertheless it is to and it will become humane because we have abandoned the old conception of guilt which as Justice Schiffer correctly states was a fundamental idea in the old jurisprudence, and this antiquated conception of guilt has partly but not as yet entirely been overcome.
The church is in a position similar to that of the criminal law courts. A change of our world-conception has set in and the church is not as yet adapted to the change. The church having found it necessary for its purpose of preaching ethics to insist on the belief in a world-conception which demonstrates a moral world order, now attempts to perpetuate certain errors of our ancestors’ conception of this moral world-order.
The oath of a clergyman having been asked and given bona fide on the supposition that the dogmas of the church were the truth, holds good still, but it must be construed as in similar cases a judge would have to construe a faulty will or an ill-worded law. It has to be construed in the spirit and not in the letter.
Clergymen who have grown liberal should not leave the church. It is their duty to stay in the church and to make their influence felt to broaden the spirit of the church. If the church removes them from their position, they yield to the authority at present in power, but they should not yield without a struggle, to be conducted on their part modestly but firmly, with reverence toward their authorities, with tact and decency, but fearlessly and bravely, for they are fighting not only for their personal interests but for the progress of mankind, they are fighting for the holiest treasures of the church—for truth.
The abolition of these burdens on the consciences of the clergy would be a natural consequence of repeated struggles. Let a pastor be bound to respect his church authorities, to obey them in all matters of administration, let him be bound to revere the ecclesiastical traditions of which he should never speak lightly, but do not prescribe to him a belief of any kind. Pledge him to serve the truth, to speak the truth and to live the truth; and that simple pledge will have more weight than the requirement to believe dogmas which, his superiors know but too well can no longer be believed literally but must be taken _cum grano salis_.
Christ says concerning the observances insisted upon by the Scribes and Pharisees: “They bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne: and lay them upon men’s shoulders.” This passage is applicable also to the present system of ordination. Christ’s saying is read in the churches and it is, as most of his words are, as new to-day as it was at his time, but who thinks of its application to our present system of burdening the consciences of men?
P. C.
A COMMENT BY PROF. F. MAX MÜLLER CONCERNING THE DISCUSSION ON EVOLUTION AND LANGUAGE.
_To the Editor of The Monist:_
I must thank you and Professor Romanes for the frank and searching criticism to which you have both subjected my article on “Thought and Language,” published in _The Monist_. You have shown that you care for truth and not for victory, and you have carefully abstained from any personal remarks which are so apt to embitter scientific controversy and in consequence to render its chief object, the discovery of more truth, illusory. We all have the same object, we all want to know what is true—why then should we not all work together, listen to friendly criticism, accept useful advice, confess our mistakes, and work as hard as we can in the special field allotted to each of us.
As soon as I find a little more leisure, I shall not fail to reply fully to both your articles. At present I only write to you to defend myself against an undeserved charge brought against me by Professor Romanes. I had said that Professor Romanes had no right to speak of men like Noiré, Huxley, Herbert Spencer, to say nothing of Hobbes, with an air of superiority. Professor Romanes replies that he never mentioned Mr. Herbert Spencer at all, that it would have been well for me, if, before condemning his supposed treatment of Herbert Spencer, Huxley, and Noiré, I had looked at his Index. This is a serious charge. It would show a want of accuracy unpardonable in a scholar. It is true, Mr. Herbert Spencer’s name does not occur in the Index. But on p. 230 we read: “So here again we meet with additional proof, were any required, of the folly of regarding the copula as an essential ingredient of a proposition.” Now it is well known that it is Mr. Herbert Spencer who regards the copula as an essential ingredient of a proposition. I have shown that the facts of language are against Mr. Herbert Spencer, but I should not therefore think it right to charge him with folly. This will show that if I wrote without Index, I did not write without book.
Yours truly,
F. MAX MÜLLER.
Oxford, Oct. 28, 1891.
BOOK REVIEWS.
SYNOPTIKER. APOSTELGESCHICHTE. Bearbeitet von Professor _H. J. Holzmann_. Zweite verbesserte und vermehrte Auflage. Freiburg, i. B.: Akademische Verlagsbuchhandlung von J. C. B. Mohr. 1892.
This book is the first volume of the “Hand-Commentar zum Neuen Testament” edited by the Professors H. Holtzmann, R. A. Lipsius, P. W. Schmiedel, and H. v. Soden.
No better man could have been selected for the first part of this great work than Prof. H. J. Holtzmann, who is not only a theologian of most comprehensive scholarship but also has devoted his energies to this special subject. He has lectured regularly for a number of years at the university of Strassburg six or eight times weekly on the synoptic gospels and three times weekly on the Acts. The principle of his method has been laid down in a former work of his, viz. “Lehrbuch der historisch-kritischen Einleitung in das Neue Testament.” The present book contains an enormously voluminous material condensed into a comparatively small space of 448 pp. large octavo. The author being a theologian his attitude toward his subject is naturally reverent, paying an unreserved homage to the greatness of Jesus. Yet at the same time his investigations are strictly scientific and in accordance with the rules of criticism as employed in any historical investigation. It is no exaggeration to consider Professor Holtzmann’s work as representative in the highest degree; it embraces the most complete knowledge at present attainable and that too in a most concise form as a practical handbook with parallel tables and indexes of reference for students of the New Testament.
The author first formulates “the synoptic problem,” which has been solved after innumerable vain attempts by the so-called “Marcus-Hypothesis,” which is at present considered as satisfactory, because it alone fulfils every condition and explains all the difficulties. Holtzmann regards the figure of Christ as historical. The impression of his powerful personality was a living presence in the first congregation at Jerusalem. But all the interest centred in his words. The words of their Lord were faithfully preserved by oral tradition. Sentences so short and yet so pregnant with meaning as “Blessed are the peacemakers,” or “Ye are the salt of the earth,” “But let your communication be, Yea, yea: Nay, nay, etc.,” are so impressive that whoever has heard them once, will never forget them. The interest in the word was soon complemented by an interest in facts and events which was much later followed by an interest in dogma. The first differences among the Christians originated through the mission among the heathens. The gentile Christian became indifferent concerning the Jewish traditions and clung with all his religious enthusiasm to the Christ as his saviour. Christianity became a cosmic religion while the Jewish Christians still looked upon Christ as the Messiah of the people of Israel. The Jewish view of Christianity is represented by Matthew, the gentile view by Luke. Mark however does not show any development of dogma. According to Papias, the Apostle St. Peter had whenever it became necessary for an explanation of the words of Christ, occasionally told certain events of the life of Jesus; which were afterwards written down by Mark. We find in Mark, Matthew, and Luke the same building stones, but how differently arranged! Mark shows evidence of relating real facts of history, he begins with John the Baptist, tells us how Jesus became baptised, how he preached the kingdom of God; according to Mark, Jesus does not declare himself as the Messiah from the beginning. His activity grows by degrees, his disciples increase, he heals the sick, and it is from the mouth of these that he was first proclaimed as the Messiah. He becomes a power among the people and makes himself offensive to the authorities who consider him as dangerous and attempt to take his life. Jesus forbids those whom he heals to proclaim that he is the Messiah. He sends out his disciples not to preach him as the Messiah, but to proclaim the kingdom. At last in Peter the idea dawns that prompts him to declare: “Thou art the Christ.” Yielding before the persecution of his enemies, Jesus travels North and East and here he accustoms himself to the idea of a suffering son of man. His self-confidence increases and he travels courageously to Jerusalem where, as he could foresee, he would meet his fate. The drama of his life culminates in his word “ἐγώ εἰμι” (1462) in which he reveals his self-consciousness as being the Messiah. Being triumphantly hailed in Jerusalem by people of Galilee and such as believed in him he hastened his doom. It is not likely that Jesus could have publicly been held to be the Messiah for any length of time, for the Roman police was wont to suppress such movements without discrimination. They did not stop to investigate the case as to the character or motive of the movement whether or not it was purely religious or political. They never tolerated any “son of David” or “king of Israel” who held any influence over large masses of the people.
While Mark still preserves the development of Jesus’s messianic consciousness, Luke as well as Matthew have entirely obliterated it. According to Mark, Jesus proclaims the kingdom; Matthew and Luke make him preach his person. They make Jesus proclaim himself as the Messiah from the very beginning and his command not to speak it out openly given to those whom he healed and also to his disciples has no sense here. Matthew has a liking for cabalistic numbers, there are three times seven generations the names of which are not without doing violence to historical facts adjusted to the pattern, there are three temptations, seven parables, etc. Throughout we notice reflection, purposive selection of the material, and artificial adjustment to a plan. The book has a tendency to show that Jesus was the King of Israel predicted by the prophets and in the psalms. Luke on the other hand has also a dogmatic programme. It is the gospel of gentile Christianity as founded by Paul.
The critical school finds adversaries among theologians as well as unchristian thinkers, both of whom are apt to speak of fraud when religious books are written with certain dogmatic tendencies. Professor Holtzmann objects to such a view of the development of Christianity. He says that a religion which did not rouse sufficient enthusiasm to develop a religious poetry would be very poor and lifeless. Even the apocrypha of the New Testament are evidence of the vigor of the new religion, although we must be aware of the fact that the Church showed good judgment when adopting its canon to accept those which were full of moral meaning and to reject those which were mere myth without any deeper significance.
We have given this abstract of one part of Holtzmann’s work with the omission of all the learned by-work for those not familiar with theological investigation. Similar results are obtained by an inquiry into the origin of the Acts. The apostles were the first and living representatives of the Christ. Out of the interest in the apostles’ words grew an interest in their actions and lives, and there are a great many writings of this subject preserved. One only has been received into the canon.
It is impossible to follow Professor Holtzmann into the details of his work, but we can warmly recommend it as the best compendium existing, not only for the student of theology but for everybody who is interested in the results of the scientific criticism of the synoptic gospels and the Acts.[51]
κρς.
SCHRIFTEN DER GESELLSCHAFT FUER PSYCHOLOGISCHE FORSCHUNG. Heft 2. Ueber Aufgaben und Methoden der Psychologie. By _Hugo Münsterberg_. Leipsic: Ambr. Abel. 1891.
In this monograph Professor Münsterberg prepares the way for greater and more important work. His aim is to define the province of psychology and to investigate the methods which have to be employed. Psychology is not philosophy; accordingly the consideration whether there is a reality of an outside world does not belong here. The psychologist is not bound to wait till this and other metaphysical questions are decided with certainty; the reality of the outside world has simply to be assumed together with its cognisability.
What means ‘to explain’? “To explain means simply to render clear that which is not clear or to reduce the unknown to the known, the complex to the simple (p. 104).... It is an indispensable presupposition of any natural science to consider nature as being capable of explanation (_erklärbar_), and this presupposition means that natural processes can be perfectly separated into most simple mechanical processes. This presumption can be realised to-day only on the basis of the atom-conception. It is accordingly not an experience, but a postulate of natural science to derive the whole material world-process from the mechanism of atoms. A description becomes an explanation in the measure in which it approaches this aim” (p. 105). The question is, whether in psychology, description can be supplanted by explanation, whether laws can be stated instead of mere rules.
Professor Münsterberg takes that ground in psychology which as it appears to us is the only tenable ground, viz. that feelings are not motions and cannot be explained as converted physical processes. Professor Münsterberg says: “A sensation, a feeling, a will can never fill even the very smallest space. What is extended in space can never itself be a state of consciousness. To the psychologist this distinction is now a matter of course, so much so that it is difficult to call to one’s mind how much trouble it cost to acquire this insight. The object of psychology accordingly can never be an object in space, it can never be a process of motion, accordingly, even brain-irritation can under no circumstances ever become the object of psychology” (p. 97). Psychology has to investigate the psychical phenomena of the individual consciousness (p. 102), it has to separate it into its elements, i. e. those ingredients which are no longer divisible; which being done, psychology searches for the rules for the combinations of these psychical elements and shows us the different complex contents which are formed in this way by the elements up to that totality of single combinations which is given us as the contents of our spiritual personality (p. 103).
“The question is, (1) Are there psychological processes in us, the development of which presents itself with immediate certainty as necessary, and (2) can we reduce all the individual and with them all the spiritual phenomena to such spiritual processes recognised as necessary? The first question can be affirmed, although only in a limited sense, and the second question must be unequivocally denied, thus making an immediate explanation of psychical phenomena impossible” (p. 107). The first question is to be affirmed in a limited sense, because “if certain premises are thought, the conclusion, it appears to us as a necessity, can be thought thus and not otherwise” (p. 108). But this is “a logical and not a psychological necessity.” To actually think the conclusion depends upon the will to think it. The will actually existing, the logical necessity becomes a psychological, for “the connection between the willing and the willed (_zwischen Willen und Gewolltem_) always appears to us as necessary.... Where there is inner will there is an inner necessity.” Now, in order to make explanations in the physical world, we supplement that which has been actually observed with not-observed connections. But we cannot, according to Münsterberg, in an analogous way supplement in the world of psychical phenomena the conscious states with any other kind of states which are not conscious, thus referring our spiritual life and acts of will to unconscious processes, for “the very nature of psychical states is consciousness, i. e. a state of being conscious. _Ihr Sein ist das bewusst-sein...._ A state of consciousness, says Münsterberg, which is not conscious, is comparable not to a body which is not perceived, but to one which does not exist. Accordingly unconscious psychical phenomena do not exist. All psychical phenomena are directly given and the reduction of their combinations in a certain way through hypothetical psychological supplements is once for all excluded” (p. 110).
We agree in all the main positions with Professor Münsterberg, but in the last mentioned point we disagree. Professor Münsterberg limits psychical states or feelings to states of consciousness without considering that there are subconscious and even unconscious feelings. By consciousness we understand those feelings alone which are concentrated so as to be connected with the ego, i. e. the present centre of consciousness. We assume that even the spinal ganglions of the brainless frog are feeling if the skin is irritated, but this feeling can never become conscious, it can no more be telegraphed to the central station so as to become co-ordinated with other feelings which are registered in the brain. The objection may be raised, We do not know whether the ganglion is feeling; and I should answer, I call feeling anything that is of the same nature as the elements of which consciousness consists, and we have all reasons to assume that there is such an elementary psychical accompaniment of the ganglionic irritations, and that consciousness rises from many such elements through their co-ordinate combination in the brain. Isolated feelings are never conscious, and consciousness is a co-operative system of feeling. This distinction between consciousness and feeling is a mere matter of terminology. If we find another terminology more practical we are willing to surrender ours. Yet such a distinction between consciousness and feeling seems to be necessary for a proper description of the psychical facts. The assumption of subconscious states and even of unconscious feelings is a great help in explaining the phenomena of consciousness. But unless we are grossly mistaken, our disagreement is merely apparent, for Professor Münsterberg, rejecting the idea of a psychological explanation, believes in the parallelism of psychical and physical phenomena. “The physical acts” (he says on p. 125) “reducible to mechanical axioms can be explained through causation, the psychical acts follow one another without inner necessity. If we connect both, we are enabled to transfer the necessity-connection of the physical upon the psychical and offer thus an explanation where otherwise description only was possible.” But in doing this, have we not supplemented those psychical elements which appear as conscious states by other psychical elements which have not entered into that combination which makes them actually conscious? It is an hypothetical addition for the sake of explanation, a _Hilfsconstruction_ just as much as the supposition of the existence of atoms or electric currents or other physical phenomena which are not directly observed, but indirectly in their effects only.
Supplements are necessary for explanation wherever the immediate facts do not contain all the elements of a certain process. If an observable phenomenon has not its conditions in observable facts we hypothetically assume unobservable facts as its causes. But we may incidentally remark that description and explanation are not different in kind, but in degree. Explanation is an exhaustive description set forth in its greatest possible simplicity. An exhaustive description enumerates all the determinative factors of a process and it drops everything that is of no account, so that information is imparted with the greatest economy as well as completeness. An exhaustive description is a reliable guide to preascertain the outcome of a process, and reveals in this way the identity in the change, the continuity of the process and the conservation of matter and energy in their transformations, or, in other words, it reveals the necessity of the result. There is perhaps no natural science in which the processes can be exhaustively described without hypothetical supplements and so the science of psychology forms no exception to the general rule.
The aim of psychology in its wider sense will be “to separate all the contents of consciousness into their elements, to state their laws of combination, and to seek in an empirical way for the diverse elementary psychical contents, their correspondent physiological irritations, in order to explain in this way mediately from the coexistence and succession of physiological irritations the purely psychological laws of combinations which as such are unexplainable” (p. 127).
Our objection to this view resembles much some of the objections which Professor Münsterberg himself makes when speaking of the availability of the mathematical method so-called. He says: “Measuring and counting of psychological phenomena have been made repeatedly, directly as well as indirectly, and it has been proved that mathematics can be applied to psychology.... Nevertheless it would be a misuse of the word if we named these numerical descriptions an ‘application of the mathematical method.’ If an historian of literature counts the poems and dramas of authors, if he also calculates how long it took them to write their literary products, who would call his work a mathematical history of literature? Even astronomy would be no mathematical science if we counted only the stars in the sky.” If the aim of psychological explanation were as Professor Münsterberg here asserts to be reached through the explanation of physiological states only, we should say, that the physiological method were alone admissible in psychology, a principle to which our author rightly objects. Psychical states sometimes demand a physiological explanation, and we cannot understand psychology without having a certain amount of physiological knowledge. Nevertheless, the explanation of psychical states and the necessity of certain connections must be understood mainly from the psychical elements themselves. Psychical elements, i. e. feelings, as has been explained on other occasions, have acquired and constantly do acquire meaning. This meaning which appears in sensation-symbols and thought-symbols and which is different in the different forms of feeling (correspondent to different forms of nervous action), creates a new domain,—the domain of spirit,—and thus psychical states are changed into spiritual facts. Suppose for instance that a merchant receives his mail; he opens a letter containing some important news which sets at once all his nerves into irritation, makes him neglectful of all other things in order to attend with great haste to one special affair. How can we explain this instance, or any other spiritual act through a consideration of physiological conditions. Is it not the meaning alone which special sense-impressions convey that produces the extraordinary effects? The physiologist would as little be able to detect this meaning through an analysis of the sense-impressions, as an electrician would be to understand the import of a telegram when measuring the strength of the electric current in the telegraph wires. The combinations of the purely psychical states may after all not be quite unexplainable, while their physiological concomitants are in many cases insufficient to account for spiritual interconnections.
In discussing the methods of psychology Professor Münsterberg rejects the speculative and the mathematical methods; he claims a great importance (and we agree with him) for self-observation. But self-observation is no easy task; it requires a high degree of training. “He who does not understand botany cannot make observations of plant-life. The same things which call into play certain associations in the botanist are also seen by the layman, but they remain unobserved. Self-observation is in a similar way ... not without its presuppositions; it is dependent upon a rich store of ready associations” (p. 164).
Psychological investigations under natural conditions are classified by Münsterberg according to their objects, as those of the normal man, the child, the savage, the insane, the animal, etc. In experimental psychology, psychopetal, psychofugal, and psychocentral processes are distinguished. For psycho-physiological investigations we have besides, (1) the immediate experiment in the laboratory, (2) the method of anatomy, (3) of comparative anatomy, (4) and of physiology. Professor Münsterberg concludes with an appeal to institute special professorships of psychology, which is at present a mere branch of philosophy. It takes all the energy of one man to keep abreast with the progress of psychological investigation. “No medical man, no lawyer, no theologian, or educator should enter into practical life without having passed an examination in psychology ... the growing generation of children, the sick, the criminal, and the comfort-seeking souls of mankind have to suffer if teachers, physicians, judges, and preachers are ignoramuses in the matter of human soul-life.... But here also the gods have placed sweat before virtue.”
κρς.
LA PHILOSOPHIE DU SIÈCLE. By _E. de Roberty_. Paris: Félix Alcan.
The author of the present work, which forms a volume of the Library of Contemporary Philosophy, is one of those disciples of the founder of French positivism who, while following in his footsteps to a certain point, do not hesitate to diverge from the beaten track when they think their leader has gone astray in his philosophic quest. M. de Roberty speaks of Comte with reverence as his first guide and his best master, and he finds in the very contradictions of the Master the germ of his own conception of the general trend of philosophic development.
The fundamental thesis of the present work is that the three contemporaneous philosophic systems, those of Criticism, Positivism, and Evolutionism, are merely varieties of a single species, as strictly parallel manifestations of a common stock of beliefs and general hypotheses. The basic identity of the thought of this century is shown by the ever increasing convergence of the great leading ideas, as exhibited in the prevailing theories of knowledge, by the preponderance of relativism, and of agnosticism. It reveals itself, especially in the similar conceptions formed by the most varied systems, not only of the essential characters of philosophy, its method, and the ends it ought to pursue, but also of the scientific laws which govern its evolution. We cannot follow the author through his discussion of all these points and we must therefore restrict ourselves to the most salient features of his argument.
Modern philosophy is represented by three principal schools: Criticism which originated with Kant, Positivism founded by Comte, and Evolutionism introduced by Spencer. These three systems had a common ancestry, that of sensualism. The critical philosophy is the legitimate heir of sensuous idealism, and the positive philosophy the immediate descendant of sensuous materialism. The evolution philosophy is itself rooted in sensualism, but it is really a conciliator of the two great philosophies which preceded it, Criticism and Positivism. This conclusion, which appears to us just, is supported by various considerations to which reference here is not necessary. M. de Roberty bears testimony to the influence of the philosophy of Kant over the development of the evolutionist conception, which could be applied to society only by giving an apparent universality to the mechanical hypothesis. This was accomplished by Spencer, as it had been done to some extent by Comte. The popularity of the evolution philosophy is explained by the author as due to its admixture of agnosticism with a monism which captivates the masses “by the audacious assertion that it has raised all veils and resolved all enigmas.” Kant, Comte, and Spencer have equally seized this characteristic trait of the genius of our century. They each treat, says M. de Roberty, of the most transcendent problems of metaphysics, and place them carefully under the cover of the experimental method. Let us add that they are each different expressions of that genius, which marks the progress of the mental evolution of mankind.
The second part of M. de Roberty’s work deals in the first place with the conceptions of philosophy, its nature and its end, framed by the three great modern systems. The confusion generally made between philosophy and science is first pointed out, the evil of which arises from the fact that allowance is not made for the progress of scientific knowledge. The author is strongly inclined to favor the idea of the general equivalence of science and philosophy, in the sense that every effect is identified with its cause. But as the effect is always modified with its cause, neither the content not the general conception of philosophy can remain unchangeable. Philosophy becomes thus the co-ordination of the sciences in view of their general and abstract finality—by which is meant simply the last term of an evolution—a conception of the world.
In what do the conceptions of philosophy held by the criticist, the positivist, and the evolutionist, differ from that formulated by M. de Roberty? He affirms that they all entertain certain errors of method derived chiefly from ancient metaphysics. The prototype is found in Kant, who says that philosophy is a system of universal acquirements formed of abstract notions, and that it has for its aim the passage of our understanding from sensible to suprasensible knowledge. The latter is the _a priori_, the permanent and verifiable hypothesis, for each of them. It is the transcendental element which all modern philosophy has derived from the past, and which forms the bond of alliance between faith and knowledge. Of the three postulates of Spencer, the universal hypothesis is in the first, an Unknowable Force. The other two belong to psychology, proving that the English evolutionist, like Comte, confounds science with philosophy, which to him, as to his predecessors, is a simple theory of knowledge.
Philosophy is a method which conducts to a conception of the world. But, says M. de Roberty, modern philosophies fail in that they deal with hypotheses. Now, although hypothesis is the soul of the special sciences, for philosophy it must always be a purely mental recreation. To render valid the universal hypothesis constructed by philosophers, it would be necessary that the sum of the final truths of science should include the sum of the phenomena which constitute nature.
We cannot follow the author through his ingenious criticisms of Spencer’s great synthetic formula, to which he devotes the twelfth chapter of the present work, and which he characterises as the perfect type of the universal unverifiable hypothesis. Nor can we do more than give a passing glance at his views of the psychology of the three modern systems of philosophy. He affirms that the metaphysical transformation by criticism of psychology into philosophy left hardly anything to the special science. To positivism is due the conception of psychology as forming an integral part of biology, which has led to the important psycho-physical experiments of the present day. But the biological analysis of the individual should be followed by social analysis, the study of mental manifestations in society, in connection with which should be created a special concrete science to embrace the higher psychology, as pointed out by the author in his work “La Sociologie.” Science, art, and industry are a projection into the external world of the thinking, feeling, acting subject, and psychology ought also to be thus projected by fusion with biology, or with biology and sociology, which it is necessary to study if we would discover psychic laws.
In the chapter on the Supremacy of Science, the author affirms that the philosophy which will result from the progress of psychology and sociology will present a striking contrast with all known metaphysical forms, but it will always remain a world-conception, and it will have to submit to the law of correlation which explains the character and destinies of its predecessor. Agnosticism, which invites men to bend before the _Deus ignotus_ of all religions, marks the fatal termination of ancient anthropomorphism, influenced by a progressive knowledge, and thus appears as the final integration of all theology. It also represents, however, the condition of incognisance to which the opposite state will succeed when the cycle of abstract sciences is completed and a really scientific psychology formed. Then hypotheses as to universal causes will receive their psychological solution, and it will remain for philosophy only to confront and co-ordinate them with the general results of other sciences. Having arrived at this point M. de Roberty formulates the conclusion that Philosophy and Science are terms which connote two principle _species_ in the vast _genus_ designated by the single term _knowledge_. The most marked trait of future philosophy will be the distinction of these two species, as their confusion was the most general character of the philosophy of the past. Philosophy and science will then be perfectly identified, but the identity will be general and not specific. Thus philosophy will not be positive in the sense of Comte, it will never _completely_ identify itself with science.
In his last chapter, entitled “The Intellectual Series,” M. de Roberty continues his criticism of the views of Comte as to the law of the evolution of philosophy. He shows that, so far from this being the most general law of intellectual evolution, and therefore the supreme law of all social phenomena, philosophy is only one of three intermediate terms, the others being art and industry, by the aid of which the evolution of scientific ideas acts on the ensemble of the social evolution. The intellectual evolution is the direct consequence of the social fact, but the social evolution is subject to the laws of intellectual evolution, which embrace four great classes of conceptions, answering to the four well recognised groups of facts known as science, philosophy, art, and industry. We have here the same series of special evolutions as those supposed by Comte, with the important change, however, marked by the inversion of the first two members of the series. In this relation, the author affirms that Comte’s law of the three states is false so far as concerns the evolution of the sciences, and is of very secondary importance as regards the evolution of philosophy and the two succeeding evolutions.
The author concludes his work with a criticism intended to show that the principal defects of Comte’s system arise from the confusion previously insisted on in relation to the first terms of the intellectual series, science and philosophy. That confusion is exhibited in the statement that among the ancients philosophy was developed before science and art. M. de Roberty, moreover, declares Comte’s theory that the industrial development is the point of departure of modern civilisation, leads to a complete subversion of the logical and historical. Instead of the useful or the proper being, as that theory would require, the foundation of the good and this, in its turn, the germ of the true, the true is the foundation of the beautiful, and of the good and the useful. But the true is more complex than supposed by Comte. It possesses at least two aspects, science and philosophy, which may be really distinguished, although the line which separates them is yet undetermined.
We have given a summary of M. de Roberty’s general argument, instead of referring to particular propositions which may be open to criticism, because his work appears to us a very valuable contribution towards the elucidation of the important question as to the position of philosophy in relation to science. We shall look with much interest for the appearance of the author’s two further works which he announces as supplementary to the present one. That on Agnosticism is already in the press. The subject of the other work is Monism, which M. de Roberty characterises as “the chimerical pursuit which has essayed, through the ages, to fix the so-called unity of things, the extra or supralogical identity of phenomena.” This hypothetical monism of philosophy is dealt with incidentally in the present work. The “supralogical identity of phenomena” is a different kind of monism from that of _The Monist_.
Ω.
UEBER BEWEGUNGSEMPFINDUNGEN. Inaugural-Dissertation zur Erlangung der Doctorwürde vorgelegt der hohen philosophischen Facultät der Albert-Ludwigs-Universität zu Freiburg i. B. By _Edmund Burke Delabarre_ of Massachusetts. Freiburg in Baden: Hch. Epstein, 1891.
Dr. Edmund Burke Delabarre introduces himself to the world of science with an excellent monograph on motion-sensations, based upon careful observations which were made in Professor Münsterberg’s psychological laboratory at Freiburg i. B. The subject of the dissertation is of great importance and there is much confusion prevalent at present even among the most prominent authorities. It appears to us that Dr. Delabarre has adopted the right view and he certainly defends it with great ability. Professor Wundt rejects in his Physiological Psychology all the theory of the so-called “muscle-sense” and admits that there is some truth in the three explanations devised as an explanation of our consciousness of performed motions, which thus would be a complex of (1) pressure-sensations, (2) specific muscle-sensations, and (3) innervation-sensations. This third kind of sensations is of a very hypothetical nature. The term signifies that, when muscles are innervated we are supposed to have a direct sensation of the innervation in the central nerve-organs; and this view is objected to by Münsterberg, who says that “a brain irritation which is not accompanied with centripetal effects or central after-effects of former muscular activity has its physiological consequences but excites no conscious states.” Thus, according to Dr. Delabarre, without the motion of the sense-organs, i. e. muscular activity, there is no consciousness; all consciousness derives its data from the periphery. Dr. Delabarre goes over the whole field of the literature of the subject and weighs all pros and cons. He finds that all cases are intelligible without the supposition of central innervation-sensations. He admits that the term muscle-sense is vague, but he believes that the term having been generally introduced may be retained. He defines it as that complex of sensations which results from muscular activity.
The second part of the dissertation contains the reports of the experiments, describing the instruments used and the methods employed.
We are informed that Dr. Delabarre has been appointed to the chair of psychology in Brown University.
κρς.
LE NIHILISME SCIENTIFIQUE. I. Dialogue entre le Doctor Oudèn et L’Etudiant Ti son Neveu. Rapporté par _P. Van Bemmelen_. Leide: E. J. Brill, 1891.
Dr. Oudèn’s nephew thus summarises the scientific, or rather “philosophic” views of his uncle: “There is no God, but there is the world. In this world there are neither souls, nor mind, nor life; there is only matter and its elementary forces. Nevertheless these forces do not exist; there is only movement, the sole function of matter, which is inert. In its turn, matter has no reality; it is composed of geometrical points which are susceptible of movement. But as there is neither time nor space, there is no movement.” Nothingness is thus reached, but beyond is illusion, the _maja_ of the Hindoos, which explains all our conceptions of nature including that of our own being. This scientific _maja_ is not the semblance of a real world, but that of a world which does not exist, so that illusion and nothingness are the same thing. From which it follows that there is no illusion and no mind to be deceived! Mr. Van Bemmelen’s opuscule is an ingenious _jeu d’esprit_, evidently intended to exhibit a certain phase of speculation as a _reductio ad absurdum_.
Ω.
DIRITTO SOCIALE TENTATIVO IN BOZZA. Dell’Avv. _Pietro Pellegrini_. Borga a Mozzano. 1891.
There is no denying the activity of the statesmen and scholars of modern Italy in the cause of radical, social reconstruction and, as remarked by a recent traveller in Italy, in the “building up again a Commonwealth, founded on high principles of right and equality.” “Diritto Sociale,” in Italian jurisprudence, of course, relates to municipal and positive law, in its social-economical and social-political aspects. But, in a country with the municipal and political traditions of Italy, this “Diritto Sociale,” even in modern times, exhibits a tendency to crystallise into a kind of concrete, social religion. The Avvocato Signor Pietro Pellegrini, the learned author of this book, appears to feel deeply concerning the present condition of this branch of jurisprudence in Italy.
In his preface the author says, that during the present century legal science has not made any very substantial progress; that the revolution of the last century, while asserting the famous rights of man, forgot the rights of juridic persons, of corporations, and law became an _individualista_—or, individualiser. On the strength of his juridic personality man thereupon engaged in a struggle for his rights on the vast social field, but he found himself alone—an individual and nothing more. As such, he could not form a juridic, social organism, but he merely sought to adapt himself to an actual, external juridic organisation, differing but slightly from old-time despotism. On this basis the State still continues to create municipal and positive laws, more or less adapts them to the facts of reality, arbitrarily creating juridic persons and administrative bodies, such as the _mandamenti_, _circondarii_, _provincie_ of the modern Italian kingdom—all of which are only hybrid administrative _entia_, that do not in the least satisfy a number of local public needs; and therefore, there is no harmony between individual men and the juridic persons, between the public administrative entia and the State, and there is bloody war among the States themselves.
The ultimate cause of all this conflict is to be ascribed to the individualism of the law, in not recognising organic, juridic relations; and this, moreover, necessarily called forth the reaction of an exaggerated socialism.... Person has a much wider significance than individual; person cannot be isolated, individual, because, juridically, person implies an exchange of relations with others; hence, juridic persons ought to enjoy a greater legal authority than they actually enjoy in our modern jurisprudence. The _plasma sociale_, or the original social mould, is developed by degrees into a vital, practically real, organism, endowed with a physical body, that needs the material means of nutrition, in order to live, to preserve, and develop itself. These, however, do not exist; because nature furnishes only sufficient means to preserve man in a purely savage, animal condition. But, at least, there exist the sources, or fountain-heads, from which it is possible to derive the desired nutritive materials; on condition of molding or transforming those fountain-heads, and of assuming their efficacious, practical direction. In the individualised or individual system there takes place a struggle among the individuals for the possession of that nourishment, in which case, however, the sources themselves are appropriated rather than the nutritive materials they contain. Such is the exclusive nature of the social means of nutrition, present and future, through which a large number of individuals will be at the mercy of a few, while the notorious “rights of man,” remain powerless....
The rights emanating from the organic concept of personality, together with the physico-economical laws of the fountain-heads of social nourishment, spontaneously furnish the equitable distribution of the nutritive materials to each organic member, so that there is no monopolising of those natural fountain-heads, but a normal nutrition of all the organs, according to their needs, and their actual capacity as juridically displayed....
Those fountain-heads, besides being limited, are scattered through space, because it is impossible to unite or concentrate them on any particular point of the globe. Hence this _plasma sociale_ or social mold is distributed through space according to imperative laws, that result from the combined capacities of the respective juridic, that is, social persons, with the capacities of the respective sources of social nourishment—of different municipal organisations, of cities, townships, and villages. All these are pre-eminently juridic and social persons, each one possessing its peculiar functions, that cannot be exercised by other persons. The present work contains a lengthy but valuable introduction in four chapters, discussing the general concept of law; and thereupon the book is divided into three parts, in which are explained the principles and development of positive law in its respectively civil-social, social-economical, and social-political aspects. This work, throughout, presents a number of equally important and novel points of view, through which the author’s concept of an organic municipal and social law everywhere becomes the surest means of creating unity and harmony, not only within the general department of law, but also within the sphere of practical legislation.
γνλν.
AN OUTLINE OF LOCKE’S ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. By _Mattoon Monroe Curtis_, M. A. Leipsic: Gustav Fock, 1890.
This excellent study was presented to the University of Leipsic as the Inaugural Dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy, and it is well deserving of publication, if for no other reason than the need of such a work. There appears to have been hitherto no complete account of Locke’s System of Ethics, which does not even find a place in Mackintosh’s “Dissertation on Ethical Philosophy.” The author has not been able to discover any trace of the treatise on Ethics which Locke proposed to write, but his published works “abound in ethical observation and severally took their rise from ethical considerations,” so that there is no deficiency of materials from which to ascertain his ideas on that subject.
Mr. Curtis very justly remarks that it is important to ascertain an author’s views before criticising them, a truism which is not always acted on, as indeed was the case with Locke’s own critics. He does not, however, profess to criticise but, as the title of his work shows, to give an outline of Locke’s Ethical Philosophy. In his Preface he states that his author adopted the Stoic division of Philosophy into Physics, Ethics, and Logic. The object of Ethics, is described by Locke, in his noted “Essay,” as the seeking out of those rules and measures of human actions, which lead to happiness, and the means to practice them. The end of this, is not bare speculation, and the knowledge of truth; but _right_, and a conduct suitable to it. In the application of its principles Locke may be said to have gone further than any of his predecessors and of most of his successors. As pointed out by Mr. Curtis, he maintains that the institutions of government, religion, and education are, in essence, ethical and that all are parts of a system which must be based upon, and be in harmony with, the fundamental physiological and psychological principles of human nature. This follows from Locke’s principle that the Individual, and not the Family, is the real social unit. Man is a rational, social, religious, and political being, and, therefore, “in the individual is contained, potentially, all institutionalism.”
It must be noticed, however, that to Locke the moral dynamic in human society is the concept of God. He regards this idea “as a natural, formal, necessary and transcendental principle at the root of human nature and institutions, and consistently declares that the denial of it dissolves all,” as it alone gives a sufficient explanation and sanction to the principles of morality. This brings us to the very foundation of ethics. All depends, however, on our conception of God. Locke maintained that duty “cannot be understood without a law, nor a law be known or supposed without a law giver, or without reward or punishment.” His conception of God, therefore, was that of a law-giver, and he believed that the existence of God could be demonstrated not only by teleological argument, but also by psychological proof drawn from the being and nature of man. Locke was so thoroughly convinced of the dependence of morality on the existence of God, that, notwithstanding his general liberality of thought, he excluded atheists from toleration. He writes: “Promises and Covenants, and Oaths, which are the bonds of human society, can have no hold upon an Atheist.”
It would be a mistake to suppose that, because Locke believed morality to be founded in our conception of God, he considered the moral law referable simply to the divine will, and therefore to be arbitrary and changeable. So far from this, he regarded the moral law as eternal and immutable, and affirmed that its cardinal principles could be discovered and laid hold of by the light of nature. As says Pfleiderer, when speaking of Locke and Wolff, “Locke also considers a supernatural revelation to be possible, and to have actually taken place in Christianity, but he insists as strongly as Wolff does, and even more logically, that this revelation must not in any way contradict the natural revelation given us by God in our reason.” Locke expressly declares, that the reason _is_ natural revelation, while revelation is natural reason enlarged. The latter he regarded as necessary because, although reason is sufficient for the virtuous, penalties must be relied upon for influencing the multitude; and in revelation the doctrine of immortality with future rewards and punishments is made known. Whether this revelation is true or false, the fear of future punishment has undoubtedly had a restraining influence over the vicious. But reason would not be sufficient for the virtuous without an inclination natural or acquired, to virtue. It is a question of disposition, and this will be virtuous or vicious, according to the conditions under which the individual has come into being and been “educated,” in the fullest sense of this term. Reason forms part of these conditions which, so far as they are not purely objective, are dependent on or referable to human nature; as, indeed, must be the supposed revelation of enlarged natural reason.
In relation to the ethical life, Locke declares that happiness is the only idea which reason takes up out of the sphere of pleasure and pain, and yet that if we aim directly at happiness, we shall miss it. What then has to be done is to seek out “the rules and measures of human actions which lead to happiness.” This is the office of ethics, the end of which is virtue, and thus happiness and virtue are one. With Locke moral actions are only those that depend “upon the choice of an understanding and free agent.” The agent here intended is, as pointed out by Mr. Curtis, the man, and not the will. Locke says that the proper question in connection with freedom, is not “whether the will be free, but whether the man be free.” The will is determined by the mind, and liberty is “a power to act, or not to act, according as the mind directs.” In his “Thoughts concerning Education” Locke affirms that “the result of our judgment, upon examination, is what ultimately determines the man, who could not be free, if his will were determined by anything but his own desire, guided by his own judgment.” The position of Locke is, says the author, that of Plato and Kant: Reason is given as the governor of the will, by its sway to constitute it good. Thence we may rightly conclude, that those who are not governed by reason have not true freedom.
We have not space to consider the views entertained by Locke on Institutional Ethics, beyond referring to his doctrine that property rights are given only by labor, and not by occupation, and that labor is the source of all values. The latter doctrine cannot now be accepted as sound, whatever may be said as to the former, but Locke deservedly holds a high place as a political economist. He seems indeed to have been a kind of universal genius. Mr. Curtis refers to the remark made of him “that no philosopher since Aristotle has made and recorded so many valuable observations, or given so great a stimulus to human thought.” Any fresh light that can be thrown on the opinions entertained by so profound a thinker, especially on the important question of ethics, is of value and hence we welcome the present work as an acceptable addition to philosophic literature.
Ω.
* * * * *
N. B.—Owing to lack of space, reviews of a number of new works have been crowded out of the present number of _The Monist_; among which the following will appear in No. 3: _Die Entwickelung des Causalproblems in der Philosophie seit Kant_, by Dr. Edmund Koenig; _Spinoza’s Erkenntnisslehre in ihrer Beziehung sur modernen Naturwissenschaft und Philosophie_, by Dr. Martin Berendt and Dr. Julius Friedländer; _Leitfaden der physiologischen Psychologie_, by Dr. Th. Ziehen; _Handbook of Psychology_, by J. M. Baldwin; _An Essay on Reasoning_, by Edward T. Dixon; _Das Dasein als Lust, Leid und Liebe_, by Hübbe-Schleiden; _Die Bedeutung der theologischen Vorstellungen für die Ethik_, by Wilhelm Paszkowski; and _Einleitung in das Alte Testament_, by Prof. C. H. Cornill.
FOOTNOTES:
[51] A companion work on the Old Testament has been written by Professor Cornill. We shall review it in our next number.
PERIODICALS.
VOPROSUI FILOSOFII I PSICHOLOGII.[52] Vol. II. No. 6. September, 1891.
CONTENTS:
POSITIVE PHILOSOPHY AND THE UNITY OF SCIENCE. By _B. Tchitcherin_.
PHILOSOPHY OF THE CHRISTIAN THEOCRACY IN THE FIFTH CENTURY. The Cosmic Views of St. Augustine in his Genesis. By _Prince E. Trubetzkoi_.
ETHICS OF LIFE AND OF THE FREE IDEAL (conclusion). By _K. N. Ventzel_.
OPINIONS CONCERNING L. N. TOLSTOÏ. By _N. Strachoff_.
FROM THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. By _Vladimir Solovieff_.
SPECIAL PART: (1) Fundamental Moments in the Evolution of the New Philosophy. Metaphysical Philosophy: Descartes and Occasionalists. By _N. Grote_. (2) Measurableness of the Simplest Mental Acts. By _E. Tchelpanoff_.
CRITICISM AND BIBLIOGRAPHY. Review of Philosophical Periodicals. Book Reviews.
APPENDIX: 1) Recent Publications. 2) Transactions of the Moscow Psychological Society.
_Positive Philosophy and the Unity of Science._ This article is made up of extracts from a lengthy competitory dissertation presented by the author to the Moscow Psychological Society. The writer points out the fallacy of the “fundamental law” of the Comtist philosophy—the supposed gradual evolution of human thought through three successive phases,—the theological, metaphysical, and positive stage of development. The writer contends, that the so-called “positive stage,” as conceived by Comte, is really neither positive, nor even scientific, if we examine its main foundations. As all the world knows, Comte was not satisfied with the results of the particular sciences, but wished to effect their comprehensive unity. The writer lays stress on the fact that Comte failed to perceive the inward contradiction of his whole system. His followers, in order to overcome this difficulty, were compelled to advance still another step. Despite the teaching of Comte, they recognised in mathematics the whole of a science that derived its principles from experience. This is shown by Littré in his criticism of the system of Comte (_Aug. Comte et la Philosophie positive_, page 567), where Littré refers himself to the analysis of Stuart Mill in his Logic. The author, in order to reach a definite and satisfactory solution of this important problem, in his next, concluding article, will investigate the nature and alleged solidity of the mathematical principle.
_The Philosophy of the Christian Clergy in the Fifth Century._ In analysing the whole literary activity of St. Augustine, we observe, in the evolution of his doctrine, three stages, that closely correspond to his own personal struggle against the three heresies of his time—Manicheism, Donatism, and Pelagianism. Yet all of these three stages are characterised by one and the same principle—the ideal unity of the Christian churches. This ideal aspiration reveals itself as a kind of constructive principle of the universe; as the supreme principle of a social organisation of humanity, as the substance and contents of subjective, human freedom. The Bishop of Hippona,—after thus having developed the several aspects of his doctrine against the heresies,—sums up, and concentrates his teaching, in its widest bearings, against the heathen. Here this Christian ideal attains its fullest and final expression, and is formulated as a _Civitas Dei_, as the unity of a universal, divine Sovereignty.
_Ethics of Life and of the Free Ideal._ In concluding his exhaustive reflections on the subject of Guyau’s system of ethics, in which the writer frequently has occasion to cite the critical parallel views of A. Fouillé and of other English and Russian philosophers, Mr. Ventzel remarks, that his aim has been, not only to introduce M. Guyau’s system of ethics to his Russian readers, but also and mainly to show the relations of this system of ethics to moral obligation. The writer wishes to say in conclusion a few words about Guyau’s relation to ethical sanction. Guyau rejected any moral sanction, in the strict sense of the word, that was distinguished or detached from social sanctions, as such. In this sense he conceives moral sanction and moral obligation in his Ethics of Life, in his _Equisse d’une Morale_. If life, of itself, creates an obligation to work, simply, on the strength of our capacity to work, in such case life also will create its own ethical sanction. Even when generously giving itself away, life will without fail, again and again, find itself. No matter how it be cut short, life will preserve a vivid consciousness of its fulness and significance and will reappear in some other place and under other conditions; for, truly, nothing in this world lives and works in vain.
_Opinions Concerning Leon N. Tolstoï._ Mr. Strachoff’s psychological study would doubtless possess an additional interest to western readers if the writer had really given an exclusively Russian estimate of Tolstoï’s character and intellectual activity. In this respect, however, we must not expect to find any very marked deviation from the well-known current views of the reading public of other nations. “The main cause,” Mr. Strachoff observes, “why people are incensed against Tolstoï, is to be found in the fact, that, of all men, Tolstoï has most widely deviated from universally received ethical notions, and that he antagonises his century, even in certain delicate problems, that will always be the dearest to mankind. You cannot help feeling this, when you listen to the clamour, reproach, and vituperation, that have been raised against him throughout the civilised world. For the rest, it seems rather odd, that, at the close of the nineteenth century, there should have risen such a number of deadly foes against an inoffensive writer and thinker like Tolstoï; and yet, long ago, we had been accustomed to the intemperate utterances of a host of enraged freethinkers, whom we have endured with patience and meekness. Why, accordingly, have we all of a sudden lost our patient tolerance, and why are we almost ready to start a systematic persecution against the thoughts and words of a book like the _Vasnaya Polyana_ (Clear Field)?... It must be admitted, that there is a certain originality in his writings. Every line possesses a freshness and novelty that are entirely his own; and yet his language is tame, and the subjects even more common than in other writers. He frequently describes the birth and death of very plain people. He tells us how these same people amuse themselves, eat, drink, and dance on feast-days, cut the hay, go to church, to confession, and so forth. Occasionally he tells how a jealous husband kills his wife,—a fact, that has been told in so many other literatures. But in anything he relates, he has the art of throwing a strong, clear light upon his subject, so that it seems to us, as if those time-worn scenes were seen and heard for the first time. In this consists the real originality of Tolstoï’s art. And he is the same in his ethical teachings. They strike us by their directness, vigor, sincerity; and for this very reason they powerfully arouse our love and our yearning for those deep, spiritual cravings that invite man to lead a higher life—“to live a god-like life.” Here also, at times, it appears to us, that we hear about those lofty aspirations for the first time; but when you pay close attention, you will find that his doctrine is really based on the ethics of the past, and you meet with traits of that self-same Christian doctrine with which you have been familiar from early childhood.”
_From the Philosophy of History._ Mr. Solovieff, this time also, has chosen a title that scarcely conveys a definite idea of the aim and contents of his article, which describes the specific relations of the Christian idea to the historical evolution and political ideal of the nations of antiquity. (Moscow, 1891)
γνλν.
MIND. October, 1891. No. LXIV.
CONTENTS:
BELIEF. By _G. F. Stout_.
THE PHYSICAL BASIS OF PLEASURE AND PAIN. (II.) By _H. R. Marshall_.
THE FESTAL ORIGIN OF HUMAN SPEECH. By _J. Donovan_.
INDUCTION AND DEDUCTION. By _L. T. Hobhouse_.
DISCUSSION: (1) Dr. Münsterberg and Experimental Psychology. By _E. B. Titchener_. (2) On the Origin of Music. By _H. Spencer_.
VALEDICTORY.
Under “Belief” Mr. Stout includes every mode and degree of assent or dissent. To disbelieve a proposition is to believe its contradictory. Doubt is belief in a disjunctive judgment. In a former article he dealt with the “Genesis of the Cognition of Physical Reality.” He now treats of the various kinds of real existence; as follows. _The Real in Sensation._ The real as immediately apprehended in sensation must not be confounded with the percipient mind. Sensation as such is real in so far as it limits and controls the movement of attention, by restricting the range of subjective selection. _The Real in Judgments of Comparison._ In and through the peculiar movement of attention in endeavoring to keep it fixed on _A_ in the very act of fixing it on _B_, the points of agreement and difference between _A_ and _B_ gradually emerge into clear consciousness. _Objective Attributes of Presentation._ Dr. Pikler’s theory of the psychology of Objective Existence fails to distinguish between the phenomena which are merely observed by voluntary attention and those which are actually produced by it. The act of introspection modifies more or less the mental processes which it examines. Their pre-existing strength and mode of operation can be ascertained only by elimination of the peculiar reinforcement or enfeeblement which they acquire by emergence into distinct consciousness. _The Objectivity of Space and Spatial Relations._ Although we can produce change of place by moving our bodies, according to our will, this freedom of selective selection has rigid limits imposed on it by the very nature of space. This control imposed on our freedom by the nature of the object constitutes its objectivity. The constant possibility of transition from one position to another is apprehended as inherent in the very nature of space independently of our will. Whenever I distinctly attend to the nature of a spatial limit, I must of necessity admit that space is boundless. What has been said about the objectivity of space in general applies _mutatis mutandis_ to the objectivity of space-relations as treated by the geometrician. The psychological conditions of my subjective certitude lie ultimately in the impassable barriers, arising from the very nature of space, which confine the freedom of my constructive movement. _Reality in the Association of Ideas._ Association is a cause of belief. If certain contents of consciousness have once been copresented in a certain relation to each other, the reproduction of the one tends to bring about the reproduction of the other in the same relation in which they were originally copresented. A comparatively feeble association may command belief merely from the absence of counter-associations. This is the basis of Bain’s doctrine of primitive credulity. _Subconscious Conditions of Belief._ The presentations which successively emerge into the forms of consciousness are only fragmentary portions of the total mental system. Many, if not most, of our beliefs depend on the operation of subconscious elements which, in massive combination, co-operate to support a certain connection of ideas which appears in consciousness as an object of attention. But such massive support may arise from the connexion of the belief with practical interests or æsthetic enjoyments, or with some powerful organic sensation. _Apperception and Belief._ Ideal combinations may be separable or inseparable according as this or that apperceptive system happens to be predominant. This is best seen in its pathological exaggeration in the case of suggestible patients. Under normal conditions the necessary alternation of different apperceptive masses produces a corresponding variation in the conditions of belief. _The Real in the Products of Constructive Imagination._ The work of imagination either imposes an illusion on the mind, or it does not. In both cases there is a certain reference to reality. Illusion is a temporary and often more or less imperfect belief in the product of constructive imagination; a belief which can be indirectly produced or dissipated at will. _The Real as Physical Resistance._ In the experience of the irregular interruption of otherwise continuous series of muscular sensation, which, apart from this restriction, are producible at will, we apprehend real existence. The reality, however together with that of sensation as such, being communicated to the interpretations which we are constrained to put both upon sensations and their order, gives rise by a very complex process to the presentation of a physical world. _Conclusion._ The law of conflict is the psychological counterpart of the logical law of contradiction.
In the present paper Mr. Marshall examines in detail his thesis that Pleasure and Pain are determined by the relations between the amount of activity in, and the nutritive conditions of the organ which determines the conscious content (_Mind_ No. 63). He states the psychological conditions for Pleasure to be: “A content which appears normally at regular intervals will tend to be indifferent. If it appear with hypernormal intensity or frequency suddenly in the course of the normal regularity, it will for a relatively short time appear as pleasurable, but this pleasurableness will soon fall away into indifference.” The psychological condition of Pain is said to be: “If a content which has already often appeared in consciousness appear with unusual frequency or exceptional intensity, it will ordinarily be accompanied at first by pleasure, which usually will wane until the content appears indifferent. If the hypernormal stimulus continue (except as after described) the content will become painful, and this pain will increase in amount, and having reached a maximum will decrease gradually until it disappears, but in general with it will also gradually disappear the content itself, not to reappear in consciousness for a considerable time, if ever. In some cases, however, if the content be not over intense, we may look for a gradual decrease of the pain felt at the beginning until a condition of indifference is reached.” Time is an essential factor in the process of organic repair. For each organ there will be a certain time after action has ceased at which recurrent activity will be most effective. Here we have the physical basis of the gratifications obtained through rhythms. There is also a relation of rhythm to pain. The throbbing of acute pain, so far as it is not directly traceable to _pressures_ of blood-supply, is probably indirectly traceable to the _rhythm_ of blood-supply. Turning to Psychology proper, the laws of Pleasure-Pain may be stated in terms of Attention. Pleasure, as involving the use of stored force, implies a continuance of activity in the organ of pleasurable content, and therefore a tendency to continuance of Attention upon that content. Pain, on the other hand, implies a tendency to cessation of activity in the organ of the painful content, and therefore the disappearance of the content. The notion that pleasure is mere absence of pain is denied by this theory, which accounts for the connexion, in a broad way, between Pleasure and Pain and activities respectively advantageous and disadvantageous. In relation to Ethics this theory teaches that the _act_ of will, _per se_, is pleasurable as the outcome of the conditions of opposition which are anterior to the will-act. Further, action in the direction of the greatest desire is the most pleasant action. But this does not show that the effect of habit may not be such as to lead to action against the strongest desire and away from the greatest pleasure. Further, the object of desire, whilst it may be, is not necessarily the attainment of pleasure.
A scrutiny of the psychological aspect of musical pleasure, says Mr. Donovan, will lead to the conviction that its origin required simpler psychological machinery than the origin of speech, which was possible only through the aid of that machinery. The ear is superior to the eye in respect of their relative contributions toward making up our mental life and activity. The superiority of the ear rests on its functional passivity. This allowed auditory impressions to force themselves into consciousness in season and out of season. The facts of history and ethnology which may be given a new aspect when regarded in the light of the analysis of music cover a very wide field, beginning with the first and rudest vestiges of communal sympathy and tribal glorification, and extending up to the national song or epic. It is peculiar to man to give expression to communal interest in a way which has nothing to do with life-caring instincts. That interest finds its first and rudest expression in bodily play-excitement: (1) bodily play-movements in imitation of actions, (2) rhythmic beating, (3) some approach to song, and (4) some degree of communal interest, display themselves as the most constant elements of all festal celebrations. If we start from the generally-accepted explanations of play-movements in animals, and grasp the ultimate reason why play-excitement became infused with the communal spirit, there will be no difficulty in tracing evidence of this spirit even where they are most hidden by accompanying habits. Success in a common enterprise tends to preserve it. The natural modes of expression of the communal elation follow, i. e. the bodily play-movements in imitation of the successful actions and the rhythmic beating. These movements give to consciousness preservative elements of sensation. Every step of tonal development was made in order to prove the effectiveness of the elements of sensation which could preserve the content of consciousness springing out of play-excitement and communal elation. The attention-drawing power a musical tone possessed was enhanced by the conditions of its production which ensured repetition in a persistent temporal succession. Animals’ excited cries were both before and after the stimulating rhythmic beating—produced tones. The same excitement which impelled to these cries also impelled to rhythmic beating, and thus produced a persistent auditory model for the cries. The philologist says that roots are elements of words which analysis can reduce no further. The psychologist can trace them back to the musical tones which became reproductive agents of the vague presentative elements of actions as they had been repeatedly held together in consciousness by the psychological machinery of nascent musical pleasure.
In a previous article (_Mind_, No. 62) Mr. Hobhouse aimed at proving that all reasoning involved generalisation from observed facts, and that all such generalisation could be shown to proceed on a definite principle. There are two main ways in which Induction and Deduction may be distinguished. First we may distinguish the assertion of a universal from its application. The application of a universal to a particular case is represented by the syllogism in which the major is a general judgment and the minor a particular judgment of perception. When two judgments are compared they are found to be (1) Tautologous—the same assertion of the same fact. (2) Different statements of the same fact. (3) Assertions of different facts. A judgment expresses a relation between two terms, and hence two judgments may be said to assert the same fact when they assert the same relation between the same terms. But if either of the terms or the relation differs, then they assert different facts. Generalisation involves a universal principle connecting different facts. Syllogism does not. Syllogism appears as simply the opposite side of generalisation. In the latter we assert a universal for the first time, in the former we apply a universal already asserted. But in both we are dealing with the same relation of universal and particular. Whether we assert or apply our universal, the same ultimate logical fact, expressed in the axiom of Induction, is at the bottom of the process. But a different distinction may be drawn between Induction and Deduction. The whole process of bringing particular facts under universals by observation of similar particulars may be called Induction, while the combination of several universals in a chain of reasoning is called Deduction. In the first, Generalisation, we assert a universal on the ground of a particular, or a particular on the ground of a similar particular. In the second, Construction, we assert a relation between two universals on the ground of the relation of each to one or more intermediate relations. Construction involves generalisation at every step, and is a true reasoning process. The nature of the generalisation may be shown by the typical Deductive axiom. If, where two terms are in any way related to a third, a relation between the two is observed, then when any other two terms are similarly related to any third, the relation between these two will be similar to that observed between the first two. The simplest construction on which others rest is that of two relations to the same type, and this axiom applies to relations so understood. The axioms postulated by Reasoning lay down the conditions under which facts not presented may be known to exist, and they are thus distinguished from those principles called the “Laws of Thought.”
Mr. Titchener severely criticises Dr. Münsterberg’s experimental psychology, pointing out various errors, and concludes that “whether the theories of the _Beiträge_ stand or fall, their experimental foundation has very little positive worth.”
In reply to the criticisms in _Mind_, No. 63, Mr. H. Spencer points out that Dr. Wallaschek has overlooked a passage in which the former recognises rhythm as an essential component of music. He does not coincide with Dr. Wallaschek’s view, however, since it regards music as acquiring its essential character by a trait which it has in common with other things, instead of by a trait which it has apart from other thing. It is from the emotional element of speech that music is evolved—not from its intellectual element.
After referring to the fact that harmony, as ordinarily understood and as spoken of by him, is concerned with the fundamental tones and ignores the overtones, Mr. Spencer states that he cannot accept Prof. Cattell’s view that harmony has been developed from melody. To establish the evolution of the one from the other, there must be found some identifiable transitions between the combinations of tones constituting _timbre_, which do not constitute harmony to our perception, and those combinations of tones which do constitute harmony to our perception.
In his Valedictory on retiring from the Editorship of _Mind_, Professor Robertson refers to the establishment of the _Review_ in 1876, on the initiative of Professor Bain, by whom it has since been sustained, and he mentions that most of the experimental research has been contributed by the American hands “that have been or are now organising psychological laboratories over all the breadth of their own land.” (London: Williams and Norgate.)
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INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF ETHICS. October, 1891. Vol. II. No. I.
CONTENTS:
THE UNITY OF THE ETHICS OF ANCIENT GREECE. By Prof. _Leopold Schmidt_.
THE PROBLEM OF UNSECTARIAN MORAL INSTRUCTION. By _Felix Adler_, Ph. D.
THE THEORY OF PUNISHMENT. By Rev. _Hastings Rashdall_.
AN INTERPRETATION OF THE SOCIAL MOVEMENTS OF OUR TIME. By Prof. _Henry C. Adams_.
THE PREVENTION OF CRIME. By Dr. _Ferdinand Tönnies_.
THE ETHICAL TEACHING OF SOPHOKLES. By Prof. _Arthur Fairbanks_.
THE RIGHT OF PRIVATE PROPERTY IN LAND. By Prof. _J. Platter_.
DISCUSSIONS.
Prof. Schmidt’s article is a reply to a criticism of his work on the ethics of the ancient Greeks which had appeared in the _International Journal of Ethics_.
Dr. Adler’s article is the introductory lecture of his course on Moral Instruction before the School of Applied Ethics at Plymouth. He refers first to the difficulty in the way of combining moral and religious instruction in the public schools arising from the difference in religious belief of the tax payers, and to the devices suggested to circumvent the difficulty. The first of these devices is that Catholics, Dissenters, and Jews, shall formulate a common platform of belief. There are two obvious objections to this proposal. It would leave out of account the party of the agnostics and be a gross injustice to them, and it would never content the really religious minds of any denomination. It would be acceptable only to the comparatively small class of so-called rationalists or theists pure and simple, and they have no right under the specious plea of reconciling the various creeds, in effect, to force their own creed upon the rest of the community. The second device is that religious and moral instruction combined shall be given in the public schools by persons of the several denominations. The high authority of Germany is invoked in favor of that system but Dr. Adler states that the example of Germany cannot be quoted as a precedent owing to the relation between the state and the schools in that country. The system, moreover is not a happy one as, agreeably to Professor Smith’s propositions that scientific instruction must be unsectarian and religious instruction must be sectarian, the latter ought to have no place in state schools, at least in a country where the separation of church and state is complete. To the third arrangement proposed, that each sect should build its own schools, and draw upon the fund supplied by taxation according to the number of children which it educates, there are two objections. Owing to the power of sects and their influence, direct and indirect, the rules and regulations prescribed by the state for the schools to conform to would not be enforced. And secondly, the purpose for which the public school exists would be defeated, as the sectarian schools tend to prevent the growth of that national unit which it is the very business of the public school to create and foster. The correct answer to the question as to the way in which to impart moral instruction so as to satisfy all parties will be the solution of the problem of unsectarian moral education. The answer is: It is the business of the moral instructor in the school to deliver to his pupil the subject matter of morality, but not to deal with the sanctions of it; to give his pupils a clear understanding of what is right and what is wrong, but not to enter into the question why the right should be done and the wrong avoided. The conscience can be enlightened, strengthened, and always without once raising the question why. Professor Adler, it appears to us, overlooks the intimate connection between the two questions of what is wrong, and why is it wrong. With the “why,” which is the moral sanction so-called, he excludes the criterion of right and wrong and confines himself to conventional morality. Professor Adler proposes, that the material for the moral lessons should be “the stock of moral truths accepted by all good men.” This would be a very simple solution of the ethical problem. Mankind need no longer remain in doubt as to what good and bad is. We have only to accept the propositions of “all good men.” But where is the judge that shall decide who are to be considered as good men? Either Professor Adler considers his own views of moral goodness as authoritative and ultimate or his reasoning moves in a vicious circle.
Professor Tönnies and the Rev. Hastings Rashdall discuss punishment as a preventive of crime. Professor Adams finds that the genius of invention established the factory system replacing the old domestic system of industry. The change of a society based upon tools into a society based upon machinery means that the worker has lost control over the conditions of labor which he now tries to regain. Arthur Fairbanks says that according to the ethics of Sophokles, conscience was sense of conformity to an æsthetic ideal. J. Platter of Zürich rejects Henry George’s theory as “nonsense.” (Philadelphia: _International Journal of Ethics_, 1602 Chestnut Street.)
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RIVISTA ITALIANA DI FILOSOFIA. September and October, 1891.
CONTENTS:
L’IMMAGINAZIONE NELLE SUE RELAZIONI NORMALI E MORBOSE COLLA SENSIBILITA. By _L. Ambrosi_.
L’ORIGINE INDIANA DEL PITAGORISMO SECONDO L. VON SCHRÖDER. By _P. D’Ercole_.
LUIGI VIVES, PEDAGOGISTA DEL RINASCIMENTO. By _A. Piazzi_.
LA FILOSOFIA DI EMPEDOCLE. By _S. Ferrari_.
_Imagination in its normal and diseased relations to sensibility._ The writer calls our attention to the endless variety of different and apparently contradictory things that are usually attributed to the faculty of imagination. To some this faculty of the human mind is the main cause of human errors, and with Montaigne they call it “la folle du logis”; but to others, imagination plays a rather important part in the discovery of great scientific theories. All unanimously admit, that imagination lends fuel to the flames of all kinds of evil passions; but on the other hand it cannot be denied, that imagination sustains the will in every work of great stress, or great sacrifice, by the vivid representation of an expected final success. All human votaries and possessors of this fleeting, inconstant mental faculty are by turns “happy, unhappy, sane, sick, wealthy or poor; it makes us believe, doubt, or deny reason; it makes fools and sages.” (Pascal, _Pensées_, Art. 3, § 3). Yet how can the psychologist reconcile all this; how can he find the different circumstances, through which one and the same cause produces such an endless variety and discrepancy of facts? Several psychologists, who have tried to follow the flights of imagination throughout all its different manifestations by the sole aid of style and language, have been poets rather than true philosophers. Such was Delille in his poem _l’Imagination_; and such was even Professor Mantegazza himself, in that chapter of his _Physiology of Pleasure_, which he has dedicated to the “Gioie della fantasia,” where he describes this faculty with far more enthusiasm than scientific precision. Bonstetten, in his _Recherches sur la nature et lois de l’imagination_, Genève, 1807, is supposed to have been the first to give a minute and exclusively psychological analysis of imagination; but his investigations seem to prove, that a delicate subject of this kind, like certain volatile essences, evaporates at the moment we wish to analyse it, and cannot be defined by any strict scientific formulas and classifications. And yet, if we really wish to study the psychology of imagination, we must not be frightened by these difficulties, or regard them as insurmountable. We may not be able to reduce all these varied phenomena to very definite and limited categories, but it does not follow from this, that we have only to make a simple, empirical registration of these phenomena. As Michaut observes (_L’Imagination_, Introduction): “Wherever we find a general element, there also we shall find room for science.” Despite the inconstancy of the phenomena, it remains true, that also in the facts of imagination there is something constant and regular; that they are subject to laws, which might be probably severed from the phenomena, and be reduced to a certain unity and uniformity, without forgetting, at the same time, that this fleeting and delicate subject is not always reducible to absolutely strict classification.
How are we, accordingly, to obtain that harmony and unity of view, that will unite and group all those diversified manifestations? Mind cannot be conceived as a collection of different states, but we have to assume, that within the Psyche there is something substantial; there is unity, constancy in its energy; and that this side of its being is also the principle of its transitory actions. We recognise therefore the existence of two distinct sources of spiritual energy, that will better make us understand the diversity of its products: on the one side, the soul itself, with the formal laws of its simple being, and, on the other side, the power or force of its sensible representations,—of its reactions. This distinction, applied to the present problem, will on the one hand cause us to consider images as the products of an activity of an inferior order, called psyche soul, but we shall behold on the other, that same soul, when it has freed itself from the tyranny of the senses, itself becoming properly what is called mind, its emancipation rising to the higher function of arranging and organising the images produced by the aid of the senses. Hence follows, that the relations of either conflict or harmony which these products of the soul have among each other, and to mind proper, will serve as a criterion of a classification, in which we have to take note: (1) of the reciprocal action between sensations and images; (2) of that between images and images; (in both of which instances the power of the products possesses an advantage over the power of mind;) and (3) of the action of mind upon images. By this road it will be possible to follow all the phases of the evolution of mind from the moment when overcome by obstinate images it is reduced to a life of disorder, incoherency, or, as it were, to death of mind, until the moment when in its own turn mind takes hold of the numerous images by which it is besieged, and by subjecting them to its own laws—to laws of unity and harmony—it creates out of that disorderly chaos of images the wonderful synthesis of science and works of art. From that instant we behold mind rise through a series of intermediate stages, from abject servitude to the loftiest heights of freedom, from a state of humiliating impotency to an unhampered display of its true, inward activity,—from folly to genius. In other words, it is chiefly this psychic activity, in all its different stages of development and power, that must be our guiding criterion in the study of the phases and phenomena of imagination.
The writer, thereupon, seeks to explain the nature of this psychic activity in its application to images. He briefly investigates the origin of images, their immediate derivation from the sensations, and their intimate reciprocal connection, by virtue of which the one cannot be produced without the other; and whence there arise many different relations, that not only explain, but even enable us to classify a large number of facts relating to this mental faculty. The writer concludes with some general remarks on the diseases of imagination.
_The Hindu Origin of Pythagorism according to L. von Schroeder._ This article was suggested by Dr. L. v. Schroeder’s monograph: _Pythagoras und die Inder. Eine Untersuchung über die Herkunft und Abstammung der Pythagorischen Lehren_. The discussion about the local origin of Pythagorism began with the ancients themselves, is being continued in our own time, and, from the nature of the subject itself, bids fair to be protracted for an indefinite period still. In recent times this arduous problem has invaded the domain of comparative ethnology, comparative religion, philology, in brief, of all the historical sciences, receiving, doubtless, striking and copious illustrations from all these, yet at the risk of almost losing sight of itself. In Pythagorism, as in certain other products of the human mind, it is difficult to discriminate with absolute historical certainty between “mine” and “thine.” The real solution of the problem may perhaps be found in the original unity of the evolution of the Indo-European mind. The writer, however, views the problem simply as one of comparative religion and the history of philosophy. The ancients advocated the Italic, or Tyrrhenian origin of the Pythagorean system, and among modern Italians, Vico and Gioberti have done the same. The Chinese origin was defended by Gladisch. The third, the Egyptian origin, also dates from antiquity, and in modern times has been ardently defended by Roth. The fourth, the supposed Hellenic origin, has had the greatest number of followers, and has been ably championed by Dr. Edw. Zeller in his work, _Die Philosophie der Griechen_. As regards the last, the alleged Hindu origin, this was suggested of course by the numerous striking analogies found between Hindu and Pythagorean doctrine. Still, all that has been said on the subject by Schroeder, Max Müller, Weber, and others, has failed to thoroughly convince the writer. In his next article he promises to show, that everything has induced him to believe that the Hindus themselves rather borrowed their doctrine of transmigration from the philosophical system of Pythagoras.
_Luigi Vives. A Pedagogist of the Renaissance._ The interesting subject of this article is probably to this day but little understood or appreciated by the pedagogists of northern Europe. To this day, many among them seem ignorant of the fact, or, perhaps, are unwilling to frankly admit, that along with the Catholic revival, and the intellectual renaissance of the Latin nations, there was initiated the tradition of really humane pedagogics, founded on the nature of man, and, in its aim and workings, vastly superior to the educational systems of the nations beyond the Alps. It was an earnest, liberal, refining educational system, that professed an affectionate regard for youth. It banished corporal punishment, and addressed itself directly to the heart and the intelligence. The Jesuit maxim: “debetur pueris maxima reverentia,” still recalls the original spirit of this humane system of education. It is perhaps not an exaggeration to maintain, that, in the spirit of the time, it also aimed at the _beautiful_ in education. It was a declared enemy to any thought, speech or action in _bad form_. To the subject of this article, the Spanish bishop of Valencia, Louis Vives, is due the honor of having been one of the most ardent and successful promoters of this new educational system, and to have been the Jean Jacques Rousseau of his time. Vives was born in the year 1492, and died in the year 1540. He had studied at the University of Paris, and was an intimate friend of Erasmus of Rotterdam. He is moreover the author of a number of valuable educational works. Bishop Vives, however, must also be regarded as a clergyman, who in his practical career would at times find it difficult to reconcile his broad-minded scholastic ideals with the duties of his calling, and with the exaggerated ascetical tendencies by which he was surrounded. As a matter of fact, in a short time the church is seen practically to override all this liberal educational movement of the renaissance. Within the college- and convent-walls, in the Latin countries, the humane paternal pedagogics of the renaissance soon and easily degenerated into oppressive, injurious, personal surveillance, and an odious theocratic tyranny. With all our sincere admiration for the work initiated by men like Louis Vives, we must nevertheless maintain, that all, or nearly all, the ecclesiastic educational systems of the Latin countries during the following centuries, can scarcely lay valid claims to a place within the pale of true pedagogical science.
_The Philosophy of Empedocles._ In this concluding article the writer exhaustively discusses the religious tenets and ethical precepts of Empedocles, as both appear in the Proëmium, in the third book on Physics, and in the poem of the “καθαρμοί”—or expiatory atonements.
_Bibliography._ In this department we notice a lengthy review of Prof. E. Dal Pozzo di Mombello’s _Lectures on Monism_, delivered at the University of Perugia. In this number are also contained the _Bollettino Pedagogico Filosofico_, _Critical Notices_, and _Recent Publications_. (Rome. Tipografia delle Terme Diocleziane. 1891.)
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REVUE PHILOSOPHIQUE. November, 1891. No. II.
CONTENTS:
LES ORIGINES DE NOTRE STRUCTURE INTELLECTUELLE ET CÉRÉBRALE. I. Le Kantisme. By _A. Fouillée_.
DU RÔLE DE LA VOLONTÉ DANS LA CROYANCE. By _J. J. Gourd_.
In discussing the part of the will played in belief, M. J. J. Gourd considers our belief in an ultra-phenomenal reality which he calls “metaphysical belief.” “All thought,” he says, “involves a relation, viz. a relation between subject and object. Every relation presupposes a comparison of its terms and this comparison is not established if the subject and object belong to different worlds. The subject is undoubtedly found in consciousness, the object must be there also. All the ingenious arguments to escape this conclusion are vain. Accordingly, one may well believe in the truth of the metaphysical belief, but this belief is not true.”
M. G. Tarde, the great criminologist and an opponent of Professor Lombroso’s school reviews the penological and criminological literature of recent times in France, Italy, and Belgium.
Alfred Fouillée revises in the article on “the origin of our intellectual and cerebral structure” several solutions of the problem of the nature of thought-forms, especially Kant’s view of the _a priori_. Strongly influenced by Schopenhauer, he makes of the great pessimist’s will-theory quite an original and peculiar application and finds that the question of “_idées-forces_” is also at the bottom of the question of the origin of ideas. In comparing the origin of ideas to the origin of solar systems, he says: “Ideas are the condensation of that which exists everywhere in a nebulous state into luminous centres and conscious focuses. Sensation is desire.” And he sums up his view in the sentence: “Nihil est in intellectu quod non prius fuerit in sensu et voluntate.” (Paris: Félix Alcan.)
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ZEITSCHRIFT FÜR PSYCHOLOGIE UND PHYSIOLOGIE DER SINNESORGANE. Vol. II. No. 5.
CONTENTS:
DIE SINNE DER VERBRECHER. By _C. Lombroso_ and _S. Ottolenghi_. (Mit 4 Figuren.)
UEBER VERGLEICHUNGEN VON TONDISTANZEN. By _Gustav Engel_.
LITTERATURBERICHT.
Cesare Lombroso and his assistant S. Ottolenghi communicate the results of their investigations of the senses of born criminals in a similar way as the former of the two had done in his “Studies in Criminal Anthropology,” _The Monist_, Vol. i, No. 2, p. 177 et sqq. Our authors say: “Since the days of the famous Greek sage who said that nothing came into the intellect save through the gateway of the senses, it could be foreseen that a study of the senses would become the gateway to ethics.” And, it is a fact recognised for some time but not as yet proved by exact methods that a lack of moral sense is often accompanied with an obtusity of the sense-organs. Dr. Azam’s famous Felida showed an entire absence of the moral sense when she was in a state of analgesia; Romanes has pointed out that the sensitiveness to pain is greater in tame animals than in wild beasts, this is especially noticeable in the dog. It is noteworthy also that savage peoples are almost insensible to pain while civilisation often increases sensibility till it becomes hyperæsthesia.
Obtusity of the sense-organs in criminals should not be confounded however with the anæsthesia of criminals, because the rarity of laterality, the absence of isolated insensible places, the lack of motory anomalies, etc., exclude the supposition of hysteria.
Our authors found among 15 criminal boys between 10 and 14 years no less than ten cases of absolute analgesia, which proves that this symptom cannot be the effect of alcoholism, syphilis, marasmus, or overwork of a special trade.
Several anecdotes are told about the insensibility to pain. An old thief had his leg amputated with the greatest apathy: the operation done, he took the limb into his hand and joked about it. An inveterate murderer, his penal servitude being ended, was dismissed out of the bagnio of the island S. He asked the warden to be retained, because he did not know how to get food and shelter. His demand being refused, he opened his bowels with the handle of a spoon, went to bed as usual, and died without even a sigh. Mandrin, a criminal, shortly before his execution allowed himself to be cut in eight places without giving a sign of pain; criminal R. flayed the skin of his face with a piece of glass. In the penitentiary at Chatham during the years 1871 and 1872, 841 voluntary wounds and injuries were made. Among them 27 convicts had mutilated some limb, and in 17 cases the limb had to be amputated.
This obtusity of the sensory organs in criminals is supposed to be of a cortical origin and being similar to the phenomena of savage life is interpreted as atavism. Criminals show deficiencies in the senses of touch, smell, taste, and hearing, but not of sight. And this is analogous to the savage in whom the sense of sight is naturally very strong, and no criminal could execute numerous thefts or escape the arm of justice without a high development of the sense of sight.
In the second article on comparisons of tone-distances Gustav Engel, Professor at the Royal High-school of Music in Berlin, takes occasion to explain his views of the subject with reference to the severe criticism of C. Stumpf on Carl Lorenz’s theory. Wilhelm Wundt had taken part in the discussion in favor of Lorenz. The subject of the article lies in the border-land between the physiology of hearing and music; and Professor Engel comes to the conclusion that affinity of tones, i. e. the interval-sense in a melodious succession does not lead to the same accuracy and reliability of hearing as their concord. He objects to the idea of an arithmetical difference as proposed by Lorenz and Wundt, and proves it through the fact that the Pythagorean tierce in the unaccompanied scale makes a less noticeable disturbance than in a concord, while the approximately pure tierce (which is too low only by a small fracture of a comma) is excellent in the concord while it causes a slight disturbance in the melody. Musical intervals are not identical with the geometrical intervals, yet they are based upon them as a selection made among innumerable possibilities for certain purposes. Their acceptance is established only in harmonic music, but this fact too adds some difficulties to the investigations made in this field, for if two tones sound together, we can no longer distinguish them separately, as would be required for the investigation; and if we let the one succeed the other their geometrical relation is no longer discerned with the same precision. (Hamburg and Leipsic: Leopold Voss.)
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VIERTELJAHRSSCHRIFT FÜR WISSENSCHAFTLICHE PHILOSOPHIE. Vol. XV. Nos. 3 and 4.
CONTENTS of No. 3:
PSYCHISCHE UND PHYSISCHE ACTIVITÄT. By _H. Höffding_.
UEBER SPRACHREFLEX, NATIVISMUS UND ABSICHTLICHE SPRACHBILDUNG. (Achter Artikel.) By _A. Marty_.
ZUR PHILOSOPHIE DER MATHEMATIK. By _Chr. v. Ehrenfels_.
DER FOLGERUNGSCALCUL UND DIE INHALTSLOGIK. By _E. G. Husserl_.
CONTENTS of No. 4:
DIE GESETZMÄSSIGKEIT DER PHYSISCHEN ACTIVITÄT. By _H. Höffding_.
ETHNOLOGIE UND ÆSTHETIK. By _E. Grosse_.
UEBER DIE FORTSCHREITENDE ENTWICKLUNG DES MENSCHENGESCHLECHTS. (Erster Artikel.) By _F. Rosenberger_.
UEBER SPRACHREFLEX, NATIVISMUS UND ABSICHTLICHE SPRACHBILDUNG. (Neunter Artikel). By _A. Marty_.
UEBER FERNWIRKUNG UND ANORMALE. WAHRNEHMUNGSFÄKHIGKEIT. Methodologische Randglossen. By _M. Offner_.
Prof. H. Höffding’s article on psychical and physical activity is an answer to a criticism by Professor Kroman. Professor Höffding had proposed, concerning the relation of the psychical to the physical, a theory which he called the “identity hypothesis,” according to which the physical and psychical activities are not different in their nature but only in their phenomenal appearance. K. Kroman, a countryman and colleague of H. Höffding—both are professors at the University of Copenhagen—rejected in his recent work “Logic and Psychology” the identity hypothesis and characterised it as “Duplicism,” a name against which Höffding protests. Kroman’s objections are as follows: _a_) Natural science knows of no reason to conceive of the relation of the psychical to the material in the way expressed by the identity-hypothesis. _b_) On the basis of the identity-hypothesis it remains unexplained how we can know anything about the external world. _c_) It is inexplicable how an identity can obtain of two so different things as are the bodily multiplicity and the psychical unity. Professor Höffding investigates these three objections separately and comes to the conclusion that his identity-hypothesis shows the relation between the psychical and material nature in a clear and simple light. It excludes on the one hand materialism and on the other hand spiritualism. The question whether either phenomenon, spirit or matter, represents the absolute nature of existence, cannot, according to Höffding, be answered. It appears to us that Professor Höffding’s position is sound in all main points and may be considered as that view which is most prevalent among modern psychologists. However, concerning the question whether spirit or matter represents the absolute nature of existence, we refer the reader to the editorial article “Are there Things in Themselves?” section XII, “The Oneness of Subjectivity and Objectivity.” In our opinion the question itself is illegitimate. Neither the subjectivity of spirit, nor the objectivity of matter represents the absolute nature of existence; both together form the nature of existence; and we omit here the word “absolute” purposely. The question as to which abstract, matter or spirit, represents the absolute nature of existence seems to us similar to the question which of the two terms _A_ and _B_ represents in the relation _A:B_ the absolute nature of the relation. The obvious answer is neither.
The eighth article of A. Marty of Prague on Language-reflex is mainly of a controversial nature directed against L. Tobler’s article on the origin of language in the _Zeitschrift für Völker-Psychologie_. By Nativism, Marty understands the theory that certain involuntary articulate sounds are associated with certain ideas, while the so-called empirical theory attempts to explain the origin of the first words without such innate mechanical relations between sounds and concepts. Marty represents the empirical solution of the problem and objects to the extreme nativism, but he grants that Tobler’s modified nativism approaches very much to his own position.
The longest article of the present number (63 pp.) is an essay full of valuable hints by Chr. v. Ehrenfels on the Philosophy of Mathematics. The epistemological basis of mathematics demands a psychological investigation of its contents. Accordingly the author proposes to present a psychological characterisation of the number-conceptions, from which he derives some conclusions concerning the theory of cognition. He investigates the origin of the unity conception which is generally defined as “positing a unit” or as “conceiving as a unit.” We usually believe that we abstract numbers directly from the objects, when we look for instance at one house with two doors and five windows. But this process of abstraction is not quite so direct as it seems. The number-conception is not taken from external observation, but carried into the same; yet this is done involuntarily and inadvertently so that it appears as if they were _eo ipso_ contained in it.
What is the origin of the concepts “unity” and “multiplicity”? Two methods present themselves: 1) The concentration of attention and (2) the act of bringing into relation. The former produces a unity and, when successively directed to several objects, a series of units. The latter appears to be required by the consideration that the conception of a number is conditioned by acts of distinguishing. The number “two” requires two acts of distinguishing, “three” requires three, “four” requires six and the number _n_ requires _n_/2(_n_-1) acts of distinguishing. This explains why we can have clear and direct conceptions only of very low figures. The idea that a combination of both methods will explain the facts is by no means excluded. But there is a third source which may be used to explain the unity conception, viz. inner experience. “The unity of consciousness,” Ehrenfels says, “has been misused in philosophy to demonstrate the substantiality, simplicity, and indestructibility of the soul.” Nevertheless there is some truth in the unity idea, for the present psychical phenomena present themselves in a peculiar amalgamation, which admits of a comparison between two elements while it erects a barrier between the _ego_ and the _tu_. Our psychical contents will always appear to us as a unit; and on this basis we might declare that the unity conception is derived from this source. [Here Ehrenfels does not see that the concentration of attention is practically the same as the unity of consciousness, for attention means consciousness, and concentration produces unity.]
Number-conceptions originate by counting. We disjoin things; for instance, we throw a number of apples into a basket, or we let the finger slide over the division lines of a measuring stick naming each unit while proceeding in the act. From such processes the function of counting can be abstracted while the details are neglected as unimportant. Most of the higher numbers are never directly but only indirectly realised. So for instance twenty is to many that number which will be reached by counting up to twenty, yet the single units of the number are lost sight of entirely. Such number-conceptions belong to the class of “indirect concepts” which represent objects not through marks belonging to the object itself, but originating through its relation to other objects. The basis of such indirect concepts had been called by Ehrenfels _Gestaltsqualitäten_, i. e. figure qualities, and by Meinong _fundierte Inhalte_ or founded contents. Thus indirect conceptions are parts contingent upon some such basis.
Number-conceptions are not always clearly thought out and there are some helps to represent higher or more complex numbers. Thus we can think of ten as represented by the outside and inside corners of a pentagram, twelve as the edges of a cube, etc., and common among all nations is the usage of the fingers to represent numbers up to ten. Such helps are quite different from indirect number-conceptions and may be called figurative number-conceptions.
That there are mathematical conceptions of magnitudes which have no objective analogon is quite natural, for there is even in an indirect conception no warrant for its objective reality; and we ought to consider how many word- and idea-combinations are possible without their possessing some analogous reality. Yet the so-called irrational cannot properly be called a number, it is the demand of a number which in fractions can sufficiently for certain purposes but never fully be realised.
Negative numbers always presuppose a contrast and such conditions arise naturally wherever the fundamental ideas imply two opposite directions, for instance past and future in time, credit and debit in business, etc. It is a matter of course that there are in reality as little either positive or negative numbers, as there are positive or negative colors or sounds.
Concerning the necessity idea, Ehrenfels says: “Nobody will consider it as possible that five plus seven will in some cases make any other number than twelve. We are confident that the same addition will under all circumstances yield the same sum.” Ehrenfels grants the psychical certitude of this but not the mathematical, and thinks that on this point there is a difference of opinion allowable. Here we disagree from Ehrenfels and refer the reader to former articles on kindred subjects in _The Monist_, especially the article on “The Origin of Thought-forms,” Vol. II, p. 111. We must bear in mind that in mathematics we are moving in a realm of pure forms and the statement 7 + 5 = 12 is, as the Germans express it, _eindeutig bestimmt_, i. e. it is determined exhaustively in one and the only one possible way. The numbers 7 and 5 being rigid, their sum and their product will also be rigid.
This difference of opinion may be contingent upon a difference of the conception of the _a priori_. Ehrenfels defines as “a priori” such judgments which having come into our possession, are readily accepted without proof. We follow Grassmann in rejecting the acceptance of anything without proof, including the idea of mathematical axioms. The _a priori_ in our terminology becomes identical with that which pertains to formal thought: and it would make no difference whether the instance presented is as simple as 1 + 1 = 2 or extremely complex as are the differential calculus and logarithms. Accordingly we disagree also from Ehrenfels when he finds even in such additions as for instance 825 + 217 = 1042 vestiges of an _a posteriori_ character. The employment of the logarithms accordingly appears to Ehrenfels also _aposterioristic_ because the fruits of other peoples’ labors are utilised!
Concerning John Stuart Mill’s view of the subject, Ehrenfels says that “it is still deeply entangled in the errors of that conception which it so bitterly opposes, viz. in the formalism of the old purely _a priori_ conception. For only he who adheres to the view that all mathematics are deduced from a few axioms can think of attributing to those axioms the highest degree of plausibility which is assumed for them on the ground of comprehensive deduction.” We agree with Ehrenfels’s objection to Mill, but we cannot agree with his view that mathematics derives any elements from _a posteriori_ elements, although we grant that quite new departments are created simply by a different employment of certain functions. Accordingly mathematics cannot be derived from a few axioms only but is the products of certain functions.
Ehrenfels calls attention to the fact that the mathematician operating with symbols often forgets entirely what he has to think of in connection with these symbols. “This is not strange,” he adds, “for thoughtless word-combinations present analogous instances, yet it is strange that the result almost without exception comes out right; _es stimmt!_” We object here; operations with mathematical symbols are not thoughtless combinations, at least, they are not meaningless. They are operations not with things, but with symbols representing certain relations among things. When gamblers play with chips representing real money, they need not think during the game of the value represented by a chip, and yet when the account is made, the result attained with the assistance of the chips will come out right. There is no reason to wonder at it. Chips like mathematical symbols might in a certain sense be called thoughtless, for certainly they do not think; but they are not thoughtless in the sense that they are meaningless, that nothing is thought by them.
Ehrenfels apparently sees a problem where there is none and this is closely connected with another point. He looks upon the mathematician’s inability of thinking out in every respect the objective meaning of mathematical symbols as a shortcoming of man’s intellect. While it appears that we cannot think anything by many mathematical symbols (for instance by _a⁰ = 1_) except the symbol itself, the enormous success of mathematical thought is evidence that they must have some definite meaning although it is to be excogitated only by those beings who will transgress the average intelligence of to-day, the first germs of whose existence are the mathematical geniuses of the present generation. It appears to us that undoubtedly every mathematical symbol has a definite meaning, representing the result of some function. That the result will sometimes be unattainable or unrealisable, that especially all operations with zero make the whole calculation indefinite (which naturally arises from the nature of zero) does not alter the truth of this proposition in the least.
We have to make one additional remark. The peculiarity of mathematics that we do not throughout our operations think out the meaning of the symbols is not a shortcoming of our intelligence, but the strength of mathematical science. The advantage of all the formal sciences and especially of mathematics consists in this that we _need not_ think out every detail, but that we can, through the assistance of mathematical symbols, perform the most intricate operations with machine-like exactness. The economy of thought produced in this way is not a deficiency of man’s mind, but a virtue.
Prof. H. Höffding (in No. 4) insists upon the causal law as being indispensable in psychology. There are some people and among others his colleague Professor Kroman who regard moral motives as an exception. “Yet,” says Professor Höffding, “should the decisive moment of a decision not be determined by the causal law, the will could never be determined through a reflection on the possible effects of the action and thus every reason would be missing to attribute to man any responsibility.”
E. Grosse expatiates on the proposition to apply the comparative method of ethnology to æsthetics. Ferd. Rosenberger proposes the following programme: “Knowledge is power; activity based upon such power is the cause of happiness. Therefore with the increase of knowledge, there is an increase of happiness, successful activity however is impossible without virtue. Therefore we conclude that an increase of happiness will be accompanied with an increase of virtue.” A. Marty in this his ninth article blames Steinthal for having misrepresented the eighteenth century theories of the origin of language.
M. Offner reviews Dr. Charles Richet’s reports of his telepathic experiments, but the reviewer cannot assent to Richet’s opinion “that these facts possess a strange coincidence and that they are, probably, the result of a relation and not of pure chance.” (Leipsic: O. R. Reisland.)
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PHILOSOPHISCHE MONATSHEFTE. Vol. XXVIII. Nos. 1 and 2.
CONTENTS:
ZUM BEGRIFF DER UNBEWUSSTEN VORSTELLUNG. By _E. v. Hartmann_.
UEBER DAS GEBET. EIN RELIGIONSPHILOSOPHISCHES FRAGMENT. Sendschreiben an Herrn E. Renan in Paris. By _M. J. Monrad_.
WERKE ZUR PHILOSOPHIE DES SOCIALEN LEBENS UND DER GESCHICHTE. Erster Artikel (H. Spencer, Sociologie, Bd. III). By _F. Tönnies_.
RECENSIONEN: H. Münsterberg, Beiträge zur experimentellen Psychologie No. 3. Neue Grundlegung der Psychophysik. By _Th. Ziehen_. W. Enoch Der Begriff der Wahrnehmung. By _P. Natorp_. Ch. Bénard. L’esthétique d’Aristote et de ses successeurs. By _A. Döring_.
LITTERATURBERICHT.
The well-known philosopher Edward von Hartmann defines his position with reference to the idea of an unconscious representation. Granting that there are no unconscious sensations, perceptions, conceptions or memories, because feeling either is conscious or not at all, he introduces the idea of unconscious representations again as the most adequate determination. He says, “Either we must renounce all speaking and thinking of non-sensual objects or we must be satisfied with using figurative expressions.”
M. J. Monrad, a Norwegian, argues, in the second article against M. E. Renan’s theory of prayer, whom he had visited some years ago in Paris, that prayer has after all an effect upon the objective world and it is not limited to a merely subjective and psychological influence. Monrad presupposes a belief in God, prayer bringing the individual in unison with God, changes the will of the individual into a co-ordinate willing of God and thus renders the individual a co-worker of God. This, however, should not be conceived to take place by magic and in contradiction to nature, but through nature, man using the laws of nature.
F. Tönnies of Kiel gives an exposition of Mr. Spencer’s social views which are, briefly expressed, “the final victory of society over the state.” Professor Tönnies answers that “we all want a higher civilisation, but the development of a higher civilisation is not conditioned by the final victory of society over the state. On the contrary, it may be said that it depends upon a victory of the state over society in so far as public rights will supersede private rights.... The truth is that state and society are contingent, the one upon the other and also limiting each other.” (Berlin: Dr. R. Salinger.)
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FOOTNOTES:
[52] _Questions of Philosophy and Psychology._ In the Russian language.
VOL. II. APRIL, 1892. NO. 3.
THE MONIST.
THE DOCTRINE OF NECESSITY EXAMINED.
In _The Monist_ for January, 1891, I endeavored to show what elementary ideas ought to enter into our view of the universe. I may mention that on those considerations I had already grounded a cosmical theory, and from it had deduced a considerable number of consequences capable of being compared with experience. This Comparison is now in progress, but under existing circumstances must occupy many years.
I propose here to examine the common belief that every single fact in the universe is precisely determined by law. It must not be supposed that this is a doctrine accepted everywhere and at all times by all rational men. Its first advocate appears to have been Democritus the atomist, who was led to it, as we are informed, by reflecting upon the “impenetrability, translation, and impact of matter (ἀντιτυπία καὶ φορὰ καὶ πληγὴ τῆς ὕλης).” That is to say, having restricted his attention to a field where no influence other than mechanical constraint could possibly come before his notice, he straightway jumped to the conclusion that throughout the universe that was the sole principle of action,—a style of reasoning so usual in our day with men not unreflecting as to be more than excusable in the infancy of thought. But Epicurus, in revising the atomic doctrine and repairing its defences, found himself obliged to suppose that atoms swerve from their courses by spontaneous chance; and thereby he conferred upon the theory life and entelechy. For we now see clearly that the peculiar function of the molecular hypothesis in physics is to open an entry for the calculus of probabilities. Already, the prince of philosophers had repeatedly and emphatically condemned the dictum of Democritus (especially in the “Physics,” Book II, chapters iv, v, vi), holding that events come to pass in three ways, namely, (1) by external compulsion, or the action of efficient causes, (2) by virtue of an inward nature, or the influence of final causes, and (3) irregularly without definite cause, but just by absolute chance; and this doctrine is of the inmost essence of Aristotelianism. It affords, at any rate, a valuable enumeration of the possible ways in which anything can be supposed to have come about. The freedom of the will, too, was admitted both by Aristotle and by Epicurus. But the Stoa, which in every department seized upon the most tangible, hard, and lifeless element, and blindly denied the existence of every other, which, for example, impugned the validity of the inductive method and wished to fill its place with the _reductio ad absurdum_, very naturally became the one school of ancient philosophy to stand by a strict necessitarianism, thus returning to the single principle of Democritus that Epicurus had been unable to swallow. Necessitarianism and materialism with the Stoics went hand in hand, as by affinity they should. At the revival of learning, Stoicism met with considerable favor, partly because it departed just enough from Aristotle to give it the spice of novelty, and partly because its superficialities well adapted it for acceptance by students of literature and art who wanted their philosophy drawn mild. Afterwards, the great discoveries in mechanics inspired the hope that mechanical principles might suffice to explain the universe; and though without logical justification, this hope has since been continually stimulated by subsequent advances in physics. Nevertheless, the doctrine was in too evident conflict with the freedom of the will and with miracles to be generally acceptable, at first. But meantime there arose that most widely spread of philosophical blunders, the notion that associationalism belongs intrinsically to the materialistic family of doctrines; and thus was evolved the theory of motives; and libertarianism became weakened. At present, historical criticism has almost exploded the miracles, great and small; so that the doctrine of necessity has never been in so great vogue as now.
The proposition in question is that the state of things existing at any time, together with certain immutable laws, completely determine the state of things at every other time (for a limitation to _future_ time is indefensible). Thus, given the state of the universe in the original nebula, and given the laws of mechanics, a sufficiently powerful mind could deduce from these data the precise form of every curlicue of every