Part 4
It is interesting to remember that this struggle of opinions has passed through the same stages in Europe wherever the love of truth has had an abiding place. This is especially true of Germany, where also philosophy has had so large a development in relatively modern times. But we need something more than opinions to counteract the dangers which threaten earnestness of character in this country, which I have pointed out. Active organisations are necessary, which shall resist tendencies to crystallisation from both sides. Non-theological people must be stimulated to maintain ethical ideals; and theological people must be restrained from smothering them under useless and obstructive dogmas and practices. It is too true that while some theological dogmas include high ethical ideals, other dogmas discredit them by deriving them from incredible sources, and seeking to sustain them by incredible sanctions. Where such dogmas are sincerely held, true thought is suppressed, knowledge makes slow progress, and ethical life is more difficult.
As already remarked, we cannot yet claim to be, as a nation, distinguished for profound thinking on the subjects of highest human interest; nor yet are we the most thoughtless. Ignorance of the possibilities of mind is not so general as in some parts of Europe, but it is greater than in others. Material objects and interests occupy almost as exclusively the minds of the majority of our citizens whom we are accustomed to consider “intelligent,” as among the unintelligent. Hence our proneness to boast of our material greatness, instead of our intellectual conquests. Hence that weakest of all forms of self-praise, the publication of the dimensions of our country and its rapid growth, as though these were indications of our superiority as a people or as a race. This is repeated _ad nauseam_, while our real merits, our contributions to the stock of the world’s progress in thought, knowledge, and mental power, are passed by in silence. Our newspaper press reflects this state of affairs, since they generally think it their best policy to follow rather than lead public opinion. There are, however, noteworthy exceptions to this character of the press both in the east and the west, which we owe to the superiority of the men who edit and direct them.
In the conduct of our schools and of our scientific organisations, we have a corresponding exhibition of mediocrity or worse, with a few noble and distinguished exceptions. A mere interest in education and research does not confer competency to direct and sustain them; yet an interest in such matters is generally the only qualification demanded of the directors of such institutions, provided they understand how to buy, sell, and invest money. It is to be hoped that this state of affairs will some day pass away, and that men who are influential in such matters will some time know enough themselves to distinguish between the false and the true, and between men of ability and adventurers who are after the money and position with which our institutions of learning and our scientific enterprises can endow them. This reform will progress exactly in proportion as it is understood how much human happiness depends on true research and on correct thinking, and how little on revelation and on ancient dogma.
It is not, I repeat, sufficiently understood, how much human conduct depends on correct thinking. How much financial dishonesty would be averted by a rational thought as to the inevitable consequences? How much social irregularity would be prevented by a similar treatment of the subject? How much hatred and wasteful antagonism would the world lack, if the ordinary conditions of living were understood and acted on! So the cultivation of the rational mind is of incalculable importance, and if we wish to prosper as a nation we must bend our energies to the pleasant task this problem presents to us. Neglect of our mental powers means degeneracy and decay; while their cultivation means power and happiness. Wealth, except as a means of attaining this end, after physical necessities are supplied, is simply useless.
E. D. COPE.
MENTAL MUMMIES.
If we should name the most important factor in the changes which have gradually widened the contrast between modern science and the scholasticism of the Middle Ages, we might define it as a “progressive recognition of hereditary influences.”
There was a time when each individual of the human race was considered a separate accident, called into existence by an act of unlimited, arbitrary power, and apt to be as suddenly changed, even unto a complete inversion of his former moral being, by a merciful, or revengeful, caprice of the same power.
Biology has since taught us to apply the doctrine of evolution to the problems of our own moral and physical nature, to trace the tendencies of bygone times to their effects in the present age, to consider individuals the outcome of a long series of precedent influences, and to recognise the truth that the length of those influences is proportioned to the persistence of the result.
Intelligent statesmen were the first to appreciate the practical value of those facts. The advisers of Alexander II. did not waste their time in a hopeless attempt to convert the freedom-worshipping natives of the Caucasus into devotees of Muscovite despotism, but at once confronted them with the alternative of exile or death. Our Indian commissioners early realised the impossibility of turning the descendants of a long ancestry of deer-hunters into tillers of the soil, and transferred the survivors of the long race-war to a territory where they could for better or worse, indulge their incurable penchant. The Groot Fontein penitentiary of the Transvaal Republic became the grave of so many Caffirs that the managers at last abandoned the plan of inuring nomads to the restraints of sedentary occupation, and saved the lives, if not the souls of their convicts by sending them about in chain-gangs to mend the irrigation ditches of the border settlements.
Hereditary influences cannot be obliterated by force of rhetoric or of government edicts and it would solve many riddles if we would apply that principle to phenomena of ethical and religious evolution. How else shall we explain the fact that in less than sixty years the doctrine of Protestantism spread from central Germany to the highland hamlets of Scotland and Scandinavia, while in Spain, Portugal, and Italy a very decided progress in general intelligence has failed to lead to a similar result? How shall we account for the success of Christian missionaries in Tasmania and Otaheiti and their utter failure in Burmah and Hindostan? How for the persecution-proof vitality of Judaism, the ready collapse of Mormonism, or the revival of crass mystic delusions in the midst of our realistic civilisation?
There is no doubt that the average Spanish sailor, or village-shopkeeper of to-day possesses a larger stock of general information than the average Brunswick school-teacher of the sixteenth century. Yet one of the least learned of those school-teachers could, by instinct, sufficiently appreciate the significance of the Protestant revolt to celebrate its triumph by a big bonfire and what our western friends would, call a “grand war-dance,” on a height near the little town of Wolfenbüttel. Why does Pedro Gonzales still cross himself at the mention of a heretic, while Peter Jansen would as soon return to the pig-sty hovels of the mediæval serfs as crawl back under the yoke of Jesuitry? How could the bogs of foggy Ireland and the vegas of sunny Spain nourish equally imperishable roots of a plant that failed to get a firm foot-hold in the sands of Brandenburgh?
The solution of those enigmas can be found in the circumstance that the doctrine of anti-naturalism had extended its influence to the character of many European nations, and that the character-traits of a race are less amenable to rapid changes than its intellectual standards. On the soul-organism of the Latin races the thousand years influence of monastic tyranny has left traces which the light of science will fail to efface for centuries to come. The propaganda of a manlier creed has thus been defeated, not only by their ignorance, but by their aversion to mental efforts, by their habitual reliance on miracles, by their incurable indifference to the claims of truth and the merits of intellectual independence, by their hereditary mistrust in the competence of their natural instinct. To their moral palate a doctrine which nauseates their northern neighbors has become a pleasant narcotic; they have been forced to swallow the opium of pessimism till a craving for the repetition of the mind-enervating dose has become a second nature; they hug the cross that has proved a symbol of death to their noblest reformers.
Against that influence of perverted instincts the logic of mental revelations avails but little. “Propositions which would appear self-evident to certain mental constitutions,” says Dr. Carpenter, “are apt to be very differently received by others, according to their conformity or discordance with that _aggregate of preformed opinion_ which has grown up in the minds of each. For just as we try whether a new piece of furniture which is offered us does or does not fit into a certain recess in our apartment, and accept or decline it accordingly, so we try a new proposition which is offered to our mental acceptance. If it either at once fits in or can by argument or discussion be brought to fit in to some recess in our fabrics of thought, we give our assent to it by admitting it to its appropriate place. But if it neither fits in the first instance nor can by any means be brought to fit, the mind automatically rejects it.”
It is true that logical demonstrations may become complete enough to defy dissent, but even from facts which force themselves upon the acceptance of every rational human being, different individuals will draw widely different inferences. That the mind of man may become a receptacle for irreconcilable doctrines is strikingly illustrated, by the simultaneous acceptance of the Old and New Testament of our heterogeneous scripture, and in the same way obstinate bigots manage to associate scientific truth and dogmatic absurdities. Darwin and Moses may occupy adjoining quarters in the fabric of the same cosmogony; the rule of three may become a passive concomitant of Trinitarian dogmas. The torch of truth may be permitted to flicker in a secluded recess of souls which refuse it the privilege of throwing its rays in certain directions. Education may fail to reclaim hereditary bigotry. In the winter of 1559 the rabble of Madrid assembled to witness the death of Don Carlos de Seso, a Spanish nobleman whose ancestors had fought at Granada and Toledo. His brother had been the favorite hunting-companion of Charles V.; one of his uncles had sacrificed his life in deciding the victory of Pavia; Don Carlos himself had acquired renown both as a soldier and a scholar, but in the latter capacity he had confessed his sympathy with certain doctrines of Martin Luther, and the Holy Inquisition had sentenced him to anticipate his doom in the flames of the stake. King Philip II. honored the _auto da fé_ with his presence, and frowned in a way which the condemned freethinker mistook for a disapproval of his sentence. “O King! can you thus witness the torture of your subjects?” exclaimed De Seso. “Deliver us from so cruel a death which even our enemies admit we have not deserved.” “I would help carrying faggots to burn my own son,” replied the King, “if he had incurred your unspeakable guilt.” Yet Philip the Second was one of the best-educated princes of his century. In mathematics, astronomy, ancient and modern languages, geography, and history, he was far better informed than Landgraf Philip of Hessen, who would have risked his own life to save that of a loyal cavalier.
There are mental mummies who cannot be revived by removing their grave-shrouds and clothing them in modern drapery; the principle of conservatism has penetrated their very veins and the marrow of their bones. It is by no means unconceivable that a popular leader like Garibaldi or Porfirio Diaz should succeed in persuading a million of his countrymen to renounce the yoke of Rome and build Protestant chapels, but the result would be largely limited to a change of nomenclature. Before long the dissenters would march in procession with a wonder-working tooth of John Wesley or kiss a shred from the petticoat of the Holy Maid of Kent. They would groan at the mention of Rome, but exorcise spooks with the initials of Ulric Zwingli, and abstain from work on the anniversary of every Protestant martyr. They would try to redeem drunkards by sprinkling them with consecrated water from the holy rivers of Kansas, and celebrate Arbor Day only by invoking the spirit of Prof. G. P. Marsh, as a patron-saint of climate-improving forests. Under the stimulus of industrial influences, they might transfer the cross from way-side shrines to telegraph-poles, but they would persist in the worship of sorrow.
The creed which has turned the happiest countries of our globe into a grave of their former prosperity, is a medley of miraculism and anti-naturalism, and the experience of the last century has proved that both can survive the repudiation of Rome and even of Galilee. The mania of renunciation, after the abolishment of monasteries and nunneries, continued its dismal rites in Quaker-garb and Shaker temples of celibacy. The miracle-hunger of millions who have learned to scorn the clumsy tricks of the cowled exorcist, gratifies its appetite in the mystic gloom of the dark cabinet. Rustic supernaturalists, deprived of such luxuries, indemnify themselves by retailing the marvels of the serpent-charm and joint-snake superstition.
A curious psychological problem suggests itself in the question how far the charm of the “sour-grape philosophy” may contribute to the persistence of certain forms of moral nihilism. Condemned criminals almost invariably “renounce the vanities” of a life which the Court of Appeals has refused to save, and in a scaffold-speech, quoted in Galignani’s _Messenger_ of May 6th, 1837, the English murderer Joseph Greenacre expressed his conviction that his crime had been the means of saving his soul, because “death on the gibbet was one of the surest passports to heaven.”
For similar reasons degenerate nations, after realising the doom of their national welfare, are apt to renounce the glory of a forfeited world, and to consider misery, poverty, and shame so many stepping-stones to the bliss of a better life beyond the grave. After habitual sins against the health-laws of nature have avenged themselves in cureless diseases, decrepit bigots may find solace even in that most insane tenet of their dualistic creed which teaches them to despise the body as the enemy of the soul.
A natural effect of pessimism may thus, in course of time, become one of its perpetuating causes.
FELIX L. OSWALD.
THE NERVOUS GANGLIA OF INSECTS.
I.
Although the internal structure of the brain of insects has been the object of numerous and important investigations, among which we must place those of Dietl, Flögel, Bellonci, and Viallanes (who have applied the method of sections to the study of this organ), no attention has as yet been paid to the other nerve-centres of insects, and in particular to the ganglia of the ventral chain. Writers have contented themselves with describing the external form of these ganglia, and their anatomical relations to the other organic parts; but nothing has been done to throw light upon their inward structure. All the knowledge which we have on this subject is very meagre and dates far back to the works of the old writers, who, like Newport, had at their disposal no other means of study than the microscopic examination of organs viewed either transparently or in dilacerated preparations. A method so defective could render but incomplete results, and indeed in many cases erroneous ones.
We have sought to supply this much to be regretted lack of entomological knowledge, by applying to the ventral ganglia of insects the admirable method of sectional cutting, which has brought about such marked advances in contemporaneous zoölogy.
I need hardly insist on the interest of this research. We shall only remark that all anatomical study bears an unfinished aspect, up to the moment at which we grasp the meaning of the organs which we describe; physiology is a necessary complement of anatomy, it is that which gives to it a meaning. Therefore, when we dissect an organ, which, as in the case of an insect’s brain, is endowed with the most complex psychical properties of which these animals are capable, we find ourselves in the presence of parts whose functions almost entirely escape us. What is, for example, that peculiar organ to which we have given the name of the “pedunculate” body? Anatomists have described with the greatest care its connections and portrayed its external contour; but we cannot discover, or even conjecture its uses. It would be necessary to understand the habits of thought and the feelings of an insect, to be able to assign a rôle to parts so complex and so delicate as those contained within its brain.
The study of the ventral ganglia seems to us to be capable of conducting us to a better result, for in everything that concerns these nerve-masses, physiology is more advanced, and, in all cases, clearer. The ganglia of the thorax, for example, are in the main motory centres; the principal nerves that are sent out from them are to be found in the wings and in the feet; the study of the terrestrial, aquatic, and aerial locomotion of insects has already formed the subject of quite a number of important scientific works; we are now upon well-known ground, and we may hope that it will be possible to establish some connection between the anatomical structure of ventral ganglia and the functions which these ganglia control.
This hope appears to us to be the more legitimate, because we can make use of all the resources of comparative anatomy to work out the problem. If we consider any particular function, for example, that of flying, we notice that in species which resemble each other this function is exercised under totally different conditions; the same organ acquires different uses, and these variations become singularly instructive when we can trace their relationship to the particular structure of a nerve-ganglion. Thus, one of the large wings of the dragon-fly, which is almost like a bird in the range and power of its flight, becomes the elytrum of the beetle; the elytrum is a stiff wing covered by chitinised matter and serving as a protection to a part of the thorax and abdomen. Sometimes the elytrum is used in flying, as in the case of the cockchafer. In other lamellicorn insects, in the _Cetonia_ for instance, the elytrum is not used in flight; it merely moves aside so as to allow the second pair of wings to unfold. Its rôle becomes still less active in the golden carabus, in _Procrustes_, in _Blaps_, and many other _Coleoptera_, whose two elytra are found on one vertical line, and form but one single and immovable portion; then the second pair of wings disappear; from the physiological point of view, the animal becomes apterous. In another and different order, the order _Diptera_, it is the second pair of wings that undergo an important modification; they cease to be used in flying, and are transformed into an organ of equipoise: they are used for maintaining equilibrium.
All these physiological variations, taking place in the self-same organ, must in all probability have their counterpart in the internal anatomy of the ganglion that governs the organ, and the comparative study of this ganglion in different species will enable us perhaps to discover the functions of some of its parts. Thus, if we consider by hypothesis, as the nerve-centre of flight, some small lobe which is found occupying this or that place in a thoracic ganglion, the disappearance or modification of this lobe in species not possessing the faculty of flying, might serve to throw additional light upon such an interpretation.
What we have just said with regard to flight is equally applicable to terrestrial locomotion, which also represents in itself many varieties. The typal insect possesses three pairs of feet, whence the name of hexapods, but there are particular species which drop a pair of feet, for instance, the _Lepidoptera_ of the genus _Vanessa_; in others, the physiological function of the foot varies; in the case of the carrion-beetle (a necrophagus coleopter) it serves as an instrument of tillage, to dig with; for the cricket, the third pair of feet are used for the purpose of leaping; for the _Dytiscus_, it serves as an oar, and so on. We must also bear in mind the curious fact that there exists in the larvæ of certain insects what are called supplementary feet, having only a transient existence and disappearing at maturity; the caterpillar, the larva of the butterfly, has five pairs of supplementary feet. These notable facts demonstrated by comparative anatomy, cannot fail to furnish us with valuable information concerning the functions of the complex organs found in the ganglia of the thorax.
But this is not all. We have not enumerated all the contributions of comparative anatomy to the problem which we are now about to consider; we may make use of the method of comparison without bringing the different types into juxtaposition, but by viewing the nervous system of only a single animal in its entirety. We know in fact that the body of an insect is formed by a definite number of segments, all constructed on the same fundamental plan and arranged in a linear series. Each one of these segments is joined to a nerve-ganglion, which is all its own and supplies it with sensibility and motility, the two elementary properties of nervous activity. In the course of development, these ganglia have the power of changing their positions; and it is not uncommon to find that the greater number of the abdominal ganglia move up into the thorax; each one, nevertheless, retaining its nerve-relationship to its own segment. Now all the segments of an insect’s body are not called upon to play the same rôle; a division of labor has been effected among them with regard to the functions which they are found to exercise: as we have already seen, the ganglia of the thorax are essentially centres of locomotion; in the head, one of the ganglia, the sub-œsophageal, furnishes the nerves of the buccal portions; the other one, the brain, is connected with particular nerves and becomes the centre of the highest form of psychical activity of which the creature is capable. We have here a number of modifications superadded to the original plan. Yet the original plan should again be met with in the ganglia that have been least differentiated, such as those in the abdominal region; and the comparison between an abdominal and a thoracic ganglion, for instance, is well calculated to show what are the primal and fundamental structures, and what are the secondary ones which have been superadded and have become necessary for the execution of the more complex functions. The study of embryonic and larval forms so easily observed in insects, will most probably conduct us to the same result. And thus perhaps by continuous efforts, all guided by the same governing idea, we shall ultimately arrive at the analogies that exist between the cerebroid ganglia and the humblest ganglia belonging to the ventral chain, and thus finally be able to understand the action of the nerve-substance.