Part 3
But what is to be said of the property of feeling? If consciousness belongs to all protoplasm, by what mechanical constitution is this to be accounted for? The slime is nothing but a chemical compound. There is no inherent impossibility in its being formed synthetically in the laboratory, out of its chemical elements; and if it were so made, it would present all the characters of natural protoplasm. No doubt, then, it would feel. To hesitate to admit this would be puerile and ultra-puerile. By what element of the molecular arrangement, then, would that feeling be caused? This question cannot be evaded or pooh-poohed. Protoplasm certainly does feel; and unless we are to accept a weak dualism, the property must be shown to arise from some peculiarity of the mechanical system. Yet the attempt to deduce it from the three laws of mechanics, applied to never so ingenious a mechanical contrivance, would obviously be futile. It can never be explained, unless we admit that physical events are but degraded or undeveloped forms of psychical events. But once grant that the phenomena of matter are but the result of the sensibly complete sway of habits upon mind, and it only remains to explain why in the protoplasm these habits are to some slight extent broken up, so that according to the law of mind, in that special clause of it sometimes called the principle of accommodation,[8] feeling becomes intensified. Now the manner in which habits generally get broken up is this. Reactions usually terminate in the removal of a stimulus; for the excitation continues as long as the stimulus is present. Accordingly, habits are general ways of behavior which are associated with the removal of stimuli. But when the expected removal of the stimulus fails to occur, the excitation continues and increases, and non-habitual reactions take place; and these tend to weaken the habit. If, then, we suppose that matter never does obey its ideal laws with absolute precision, but that there are almost insensible fortuitous departures from regularity, these will produce, in general, equally minute effects. But protoplasm is in an excessively unstable condition; and it is the characteristic of unstable equilibrium, that near that point excessively minute causes may produce startlingly large effects. Here then, the usual departures from regularity will be followed by others that are very great; and the large fortuitous departures from law so produced, will tend still further to break up the laws, supposing that these are of the nature of habits. Now, this breaking up of habit and renewed fortuitous spontaneity will, according to the law of mind, be accompanied by an intensification of feeling. The nerve-protoplasm is, without doubt, in the most unstable condition of any kind of matter; and consequently, there the resulting feeling is the most manifest.
Thus we see that the idealist has no need to dread a mechanical theory of life. On the contrary, such a theory, fully developed, is bound to call in a tychistic idealism as its indispensable adjunct. Wherever chance-spontaneity is found, there, in the same proportion, feeling exists. In fact, chance is but the outward aspect of that which within itself is feeling. I long ago showed that real existence, or thing-ness, consists in regularities. So, that primeval chaos in which there was no regularity was mere nothing, from a physical aspect. Yet it was not a blank zero; for there was an intensity of consciousness there in comparison with which all that we ever feel is but as the struggling of a molecule or two to throw off a little of the force of law to an endless and innumerable diversity of chance utterly unlimited.
But after some atoms of the protoplasm have thus become partially emancipated from law, what happens next to them? To understand this, we have to remember that no mental tendency is so easily strengthened by the action of habit as is the tendency to take habits. Now, in the higher kinds of protoplasm, especially, the atoms in question have not only long belonged to one molecule or another of the particular mass of slime of which they are parts; but before that, they were constituents of food of a protoplasmic constitution. During all this time, they have been liable to lose habits and to recover them again; so that now, when the stimulus is removed, and the foregone habits tend to reassert themselves, they do so in the case of such atoms with great promptness. Indeed, the return is so prompt that there is nothing but the feeling to show conclusively that the bonds of law have ever been relaxed.
In short, diversification is the vestige of chance-spontaneity; and wherever diversity is increasing, there chance must be operative. On the other hand, wherever uniformity is increasing, habit must be operative. But wherever actions take place under an established uniformity, there so much feeling as there may be takes the mode of a sense of reaction. That is the manner in which I am led to define the relation between the fundamental elements of consciousness and their physical equivalents.
It remains to consider the physical relations of general ideas. It may be well here to reflect that if matter has no existence except as a specialisation of mind, it follows that whatever affects matter according to regular laws is itself matter. But all mind is directly or indirectly connected with all matter, and acts in a more or less regular way; so that all mind more or less partakes of the nature of matter. Hence, it would be a mistake to conceive of the psychical and the physical aspects of matter as two aspects absolutely distinct. Viewing a thing from the outside, considering its relations of action and reaction with other things, it appears as matter. Viewing it from the inside, looking at its immediate character as feeling, it appears as consciousness. These two views are combined when we remember that mechanical laws are nothing but acquired habits, like all the regularities of mind, including the tendency to take habits, itself; and that this action of habit is nothing but generalisation, and generalisation is nothing but the spreading of feelings. But the question is, how do general ideas appear in the molecular theory of protoplasm?
The consciousness of a habit involves a general idea. In each action of that habit certain atoms get thrown out of their orbit, and replaced by others. Upon all the different occasions it is different atoms that are thrown off, but they are analogous from a physical point of view, and there is an inward sense of their being analogous. Every time one of the associated feelings recurs, there is a more or less vague sense that there are others, that it has a general character, and of about what this general character is. We ought not, I think, to hold that in protoplasm habit never acts in any other than the particular way suggested above. On the contrary, if habit be a primary property of mind, it must be equally so of matter, as a kind of mind. We can hardly refuse to admit that wherever chance motions have general characters, there is a tendency for this generality to spread and to perfect itself. In that case, a general idea is a certain modification of consciousness which accompanies any regularity or general relation between chance actions.
The consciousness of a general idea has a certain “unity of the ego,” in it, which is identical when it passes from one mind to another. It is, therefore, quite analogous to a person; and, indeed, a person is only a particular kind of general idea. Long ago, in the _Journal of Speculative Philosophy_ (Vol. III, p. 156), I pointed out that a person is nothing but a symbol involving a general idea; but my views were, then, too nominalistic to enable me to see that every general idea has the unified living feeling of a person.
All that is necessary, upon this theory, to the existence of a person is that the feelings out of which he is constructed should be in close enough connection to influence one another. Here we can draw a consequence which it may be possible to submit to experimental test. Namely, if this be the case, there should be something like personal consciousness in bodies of men who are in intimate and intensely sympathetic communion. It is true that when the generalisation of feeling has been carried so far as to include all within a person, a stopping-place, in a certain sense, has been attained; and further generalisation will have a less lively character. But we must not think it will cease. _Esprit de corps_, national sentiment, sympathy, are no mere metaphors. None of us can fully realise what the minds of corporations are, any more than one of my brain-cells can know what the whole brain is thinking. But the law of mind clearly points to the existence of such personalities, and there are many ordinary observations which, if they were critically examined and supplemented by special experiments, might, as first appearances promise, give evidence of the influence of such greater persons upon individuals. It is often remarked that on one day half a dozen people, strangers to one another, will take it into their heads to do one and the same strange deed, whether it be a physical experiment, a crime, or an act of virtue. When the thirty thousand young people of the society for Christian Endeavor were in New York, there seemed to me to be some mysterious diffusion of sweetness and light. If such a fact is capable of being made out anywhere, it should be in the church. The Christians have always been ready to risk their lives for the sake of having prayers in common, of getting together and praying simultaneously with great energy, and especially for their common body, for “the whole state of Christ’s church militant here in earth,” as one of the missals has it. This practice they have been keeping up everywhere, weekly, for many centuries. Surely, a personality ought to have developed in that church, in that “bride of Christ,” as they call it, or else there is a strange break in the action of mind, and I shall have to acknowledge my views are much mistaken. Would not the societies for psychical research be more likely to break through the clouds, in seeking evidences of such corporate personality, than in seeking evidences of telepathy, which, upon the same theory, should be a far weaker phenomenon?
C. S. PEIRCE.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] I am rejoiced to find, since my last paper was printed, that a philosopher as subtle and profound as Dr. Edmund Montgomery has long been arguing for the same element in the universe. Other world-renowned thinkers, as M. Renouvier and M. Delbœuf, appear to share this opinion.
[2] By a _vera causa_, in the logic of science, is meant a state of things known to exist in some cases and supposed to exist in other cases, because it would account for observed phenomena.
[3] Wiedemann, _Annalen_, 1887-1889.
[4] See Maxwell on Spherical Harmonics, in his _Electricity and Magnetism_.
[5] The word _system_ has three peculiar meanings in mathematics. (_A._) It means an orderly exposition of the truths of astronomy, and hence a theory of the motions of the stars; as the Ptolemaic _system_, the Copernican _system_. This is much like the sense in which we speak of the Calvinistic _system_ of theology, the Kantian _system_ of philosophy, etc. (_B._) It means the aggregate of the planets considered as all moving in somewhat the same way, as the solar _system_; and hence any aggregate of particles moving under mutual forces. (_C._) It means a number of forces acting simultaneously upon a number of particles.
[6] But, in fact, an inspection of these curves is sufficient to show that they are of a higher degree than the third. For they have the line _V_ = 0, or some line _V_ a constant for an asymptote, while for small values of _P_, the values of (_d_²)_P_/(_dV_)² are positive.
[7] Anticipated by Clausius as long ago as 1857; and by Williamson in 1851.
[8] “Physiologically, ... accommodation means the breaking up of a habit.... Psychologically, it means reviving consciousness.” Baldwin, _Psychology_, Part III ch. i., § 5.
THE FUTURE OF THOUGHT IN AMERICA.
History teaches us the nature of the degenerative and destructive agencies in national life. These are of various kinds, but they may be generally included under the heads of Physical Vices, Superstitions, and Selfish Ambitions. These have become possible through excess of emotional, and deficiency of rational states of the mind. When a large part of a population is influenced by emotional rather than by rational modes of thought, unethical conduct has full opportunity, and suffering and destruction are sure to follow. All races and nations are subject to such disorders, if only in some cases during their periods of infancy and of degeneracy.
The peoples of Europe have difficulties and dangers which are due to their own peculiar situation. The people of North America have to meet certain risks of a somewhat different character, owing to our peculiar position. In Europe we see an accumulation of many races who reached their _Ultima Thule_ at the coast of the Atlantic, and who have had to accommodate themselves to each other as best they could. Speaking different languages and having different political organisations, they have consolidated into separate nations. This result has only been reached after many conflicts, and the result has been the combination and absorption of smaller states into greater, such as we find them to-day. This result has not terminated conflicts; it has reduced their frequency but has increased their scope and importance. To-day the antagonisms of these nations impose great burdens upon them, but they are at the same time productive of great good.
With men as with other animals excellence is the result of use and exercise. With animals this exercise has been compulsory, and has been due largely to the pressure of hunger. Among men intellectual and ethical excellence may be due to compulsion, or it may result from the capacity to develop lofty ideals. In the former case man is driven; in the latter case he is led. Now the organisation of human society is such, that if man will not be led, he is driven. The “mills of the Gods” are ever ready for those who lag behind in the progress of the race. But there are mills and mills, and no mill has yet appeared in human history better calculated to grind out a good grist from an intellectual point of view, than western Eurasia, or Europe. The emulations and antagonisms of so many nations have stimulated men to do their best, and have stimulated governments to aid them in doing it, for several centuries. The result has been modern art, modern science pure and applied, and modern philosophy. To produce all this however, Europe has been under pressure, and the pressure has been in some, if not all of its countries, more or less galling.
The European, in order to escape local tyranny, political, social, or theological, or to better his chances of physical living, has come to America. He has taken possession, and has bettered his condition from a physical point of view, most successfully. The question that interests us now, is whether he has bettered himself in any other way, and whether he is going to continue the mental progress which has so distinguished his history in Europe. Population is rapidly increasing, and the increasing severity of the “struggle for existence” which will follow, will stimulate men to increased excellence in their methods of obtaining a livelihood, but will it develop the mind in any other direction? We have before us in the case of China, the effect of close industrial competition in a dense population, without corresponding intellectual development. What is the outlook for the American? Will the process of natural selection only, the “devil-take-the-hindmost” doctrine of Darwin, be sufficient to develop the higher mental faculties, or having developed them, to enable them to survive and to become general, or not?
In the first place we lack in America the great stimulus to mental progress already referred to, international jealousy and emulation. In this respect we are situated very much like the Chinese, but if anything less favorably. We practically own the continent. We have no fear of Tartar invasions from the west nor Japanese from the north east. The Canadians are of identical race with ourselves, and are almost certain to become identical in nationality with us. We are accustomed to boast ourselves of this, and to look with great satisfaction on our isolated position among nations. But our self-gratulation must be greatly tempered by the reflection that such isolation is only beneficial so long as we can maintain our ideals without external stimulus. And this is something that few nations have so far been able to accomplish. It is true, however, that the Atlantic ocean is not so wide as it was formerly, and we are truly one of the family of the Indo-European nations. But we will miss the effect of the daily stimulus which they afford each other, and the daily contact which transmits so much from man to man.
What is our present intellectual rank among these nations to-day; meaning by this our status in actual production of intellectual work, and leaving aside history? Without any great competence to speak on many branches of such work, I may be not far from correct; if I summarise as follows: In music and sculpture unproductive; in painting and literature (as an art) good, but weak in quantity in comparison with our population. In sciences, feeble in many branches, but very productive in some others. I refer to pure science. In applied science we stand high. In philosophy as a nation, weak.
But we have the future before us. If there is a demand for the products of pure thought in this country, the supply will come. Much may be expected of our race. We will hope that the demand will grow, for at present it is not as large as it ought to be. It is of course easy for thought to “run in accustomed channels,” and many people there are in this as in all other countries, who believe that sufficient is already known, and that he who would disturb current opinions is a “disturber of the peace.” Strange as it may seem, in this comparatively new country we have one special inducement to this habit of mind. This is to be found in our political system, which requires an unhesitating submission to the will of the majority.
* * * * *
Here is our second danger. We are apt to confuse mental submission with physical submission. Physical submission to the will of the majority is generally necessary for physical reasons, with which we are all familiar. Ballots are simply a peaceful representation of bullets, and we anticipate the submission to the latter by submission to the former. But the mind should be free. Current or popular opinions are not always correct. In fact if they were, reform or progress would be unnecessary. A proposal for change always begins with a minority, and much time may often elapse before such change becomes acceptable to the majority. Before the majority accepts a new step of progress the progressive idea cannot govern physically. It must be content to be unpopular for a greater or less time. Now the politician naturally dreads unpopularity, for it is political death. And just in proportion as we are politicians do we share in this unfortunate mental attitude. And how many Americans are not politicians? It is the prevalent ethical disease of Americans. If it becomes general, the progress of this country is ended, and her fate among nations is sealed. Her manhood is gone, and woman may well feel her hand itch to
“Defeat their dirty tricks Confound their politics.”
The prevalence of the habit of submission to what we know to be wrong in this country is simply detestable. Herbert Spencer has given us some excellent advice on this subject, and we will do well to heed it. The habit extends all the way through political, scientific, and domestic economy. The unpopularity of the reformer is expressed in the term “kicker,” which is applied to him among the lower classes in this country. As one of its advocates once said to me, it is the “American System,” and there was a strong element of truth in his assertion. With such people, criticism is identical with quarrelling, for they cannot conceive of any motive for endeavoring to reform some abuse or correct some error, but personal rancor. Such an attitude is a sure mark of intellectual mediocrity and ethical incapacity, and it infinitely increases the pains of the reformer, and readily converts him into a martyr. However, there are a good many men left in this country, and there are agencies at work which will probably keep up the supply.
In the absence of compulsion in the form of external or civil wars and other disasters, the churches are doing a good work in keeping ideals before the people, and in inviting corresponding practical life. It is true that their efforts are more or less retarded by the insistence on erroneous and even absurd opinions about some things, but they do infinite service in teaching that “man shall not live by bread alone,” nor by the mere display of physical possessions. They teach that there are ideals of truth and beauty better worth living for, and that the mind is the greater part of man. It is the churches which make the majority of scientists and philosophers, as they formerly did of painters. Then let the churches flourish. Like the nations of Europe, their emulations and antagonisms bring out the truth. The Presbyterians have to solve the knotty questions of biblical inspiration and divine order. The Methodists will have to study the nature and value of human emotions. The Friends will know what is to be known of immediate divine influence. The Catholics have learned how to restrain in some measure the most thoughtless of mankind. The Unitarians and Ethical Culturists are proving that man may retain and live up to high ideals without much or any theology. So long as there is no philosophy or none to speak of in America, the evolution of thought will come from the conflicts of the theologies; a peaceful war which is far less wasteful than physical wars. Theology has been generally in Europe the parent of philosophy, and so it will be here. From the various stages and conditions of the agitation will spring science and art. By this method man is led into progress by measures which involve the best attributes of his nature, instead of being driven by appeals to his lower motives, or by physical force. In this progress moral courage is not lost, but it is developed; and criticism is truth’s best weapon, and is not a cause of offense. That this progress in the churches is real, is proven by our Woodrow, McQueary, Briggs, and others, and it will go on as long as the love of truth and moral courage exist in those organisations.