The Monist, Vol. 2, 1891-1892 : A quarterly magazine

By Various

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Monist, Vol. 2, 1891-1892

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: The Monist, Vol. 2, 1891-1892
A quarterly magazine

Author: Various

Editor: Paul Carus

Release date: September 16, 2025 [eBook #76880]

Language: English

Original publication: Chicago: The Open Court Publishing Co, 1891

Credits: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONIST, VOL. 2, 1891-1892 ***

THE MONIST

A
QUARTERLY MAGAZINE

VOL. II

CHICAGO:
THE OPEN COURT PUBLISHING CO.
1891-1892

CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.

PAGE.

ARTICLES.

American Politics. By Thomas B. Preston 41

Anschauung, What Does —— Mean? Editor 527

Artificial Selection and the Marriage Problem. By Hiram M. Stanley 51

Clifford on the Soul in Nature, Professor. By F. C. Conybeare 209

Conservation of Spirit and the Origin of Consciousness, The. By
Francis C. Russell 357

Criminal Suggestion, On. By J. Delbœuf 363

Ethnological Jurisprudence. By Albert H. Post 31

Evolution, The Continuity of. The Science of Language versus The
Science of Life, as represented by Prof. F. Max Müller and Prof.
G. J. Romanes. Editor 70

Facts and Mental Symbols. By Ernst Mach 198

Littré, Émile. A Sonnet. By Louis Belrose Jr. 110

Logical Theory, The Present Position of. By John Dewey 1

Magic Square, The. By Hermann Schubert 487

Mechanical Invention, The New Civilisation Depends on. By W. T.
Harris 178

Mental Evolution. An Old Speculation in a New Light. By C. Lloyd
Morgan 161

Mind, The Law of. By Charles S. Peirce 533

Monism, Our. The Principles of a Consistent, Unitary World-View.
By Ernst Haeckel 481

Necessity, Mr. Charles S. Peirce’s Onslaught on the Doctrine of.
Editor 560

Necessity, The Doctrine of —— Examined. By Charles S. Peirce 321

Psychical Monism. By Edmund Montgomery 338

Religion and Progress. Interpreted by the Life and Last work of
Wathen Mark Wilks Call. By Moncure D. Conway 183

Spencer, Mr., on the Ethics of Kant. Editor 512

Things in themselves, Are There ——? Editor 225

Thought and Language. By George John Romanes 56

Will and Reason. By B. Bosanquet 18

LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE.

France. By Lucien Arréat 266, 386, 583

France. The Intellectual Awakening of the Langue D’Oc.
By Theodore Stanton 95

Germany. Christian Ufer 103, 272, 396, 593

DIVERSE TOPICS. CRITICISMS AND DISCUSSIONS.

Clergy’s Duty of Allegiance to Dogma and the Struggle between
World-Conceptions. Editor 278

Comte and Turgot. Prof. Schaarschmidt 611

Evolution and Language, Comment on the Discussion on. By F.
Max Müller 286

Haeckel’s Monism, Professor. Editor 598

James’s Psychology, Observations on Some Points in. By W. L.
Worcester 417

Littré, A Defense of. By Louis Belrose Jr. 403

Littré’s, Émile, Positivism. A Reply. Editor 410

Logical Theory, The Future Position of. Edward T. Dixon 606

Mind, The Nature of —— and the Meaning of Reality. Editor 434

Monism and Mechanicalism: Comments upon Prof. Ernst Haeckel’s
Position. Editor 438

Peirce, Mr. Charles S., on Necessity. Editor 442

Religion of Science, The. Editor 600

Thought and Language. A letter by G. J. Romanes 402

Thought-forms, The Origin of. Editor 111

BOOK REVIEWS.

Avenarius, Richard. _Der menschliche Weltbegriff_ 451

Baldwin, James Mark. _Handbook of Psychology_ 467

Bernheim. _Hypnotisme, Suggestion, Psychotherapie_ 465

Cornill, C. H. _Einleitung in das alte Testament_ 443

Curtis, Mattoon Monroe. _An Outline of Locke’s Ethical Philosophy_ 300

Delabarre, Edmund Burke. _Ueber Bewegungsempfindungen_ 297

Delbœuf, J. _Les Fêtes de Montpellier_ 131

Dillmann, Edmund. _Eine neue Darstellung der Leibnizischen
Monadenlehre auf Grund der Quellen_ 460

Dixon, Edward T. _The Foundations of Geometry_ 126

Erhardt, Franz. _Der Satz vom Grunde als Prinzip des Schliessens_ 631

Gruber, Hermann. _Der Positivismus vom Tode August Comte’s bis
auf unsere Tage (1857-1891)_ 133

Holzmann, H. J. _Synoptiker. Apostelgeschichte_ 287

Hübbe-Schleiden. _Das Dasein als Lust, Leid und Liebe_ 468

Husserl, E. G. _Philosophie der Arithmetik_ 627

Koenig, Edmund. _Die Entwickelung des Causalproblems in der
Philosophie seit Kant_ 457

Lasswitz, Kurd. _Seifenblasen_ 471

Loeb, Jacques. _Untersuchungen zur physiologischen Morphologie
der Thiere_ 468

Lombroso, C. L. _Nouvelles Recherches de Psychiatrie et
D’Anthropologie Criminelle_ 618

Lyons, Daniel. _Christianity and Infallibility_ 629

Mach, E. _Grundriss der Naturlehre für die oberen Classen
der Mittelschulen_ 617

Münsterberg, Hugo. _Schriften der Gesellschaft für psychologische
Forschung_ 289

Paszkowski, Wilhelm. _Die Bedeutung der theologischen Vorstellungen
für die Ethik_ 453

Pearson, Karl. _The Grammar of Science_ 623

Pellegrini, Pietro. _Diritto Sociale Tentativo in Bozza_ 298

Roberty, E. de. _Agnosticisme_ 631

Roberty, E. de. _La Philosophie du Siècle_ 293

Romanes, George John. _Darwin and After Darwin_ 612

Schmidkunz, Hans. _Psychologie der Suggestion_ 464

Schröder, Ernst. _Vorlesungen über die Algebra der Logik_ 618

Schurmann, Jacob Gould. _Belief in God_ 121

Schwarz, Hermann. _Das Wahrnehmungsproblem vom Standpunkte des
Physikers, des Physiologen und des Philosophen_ 455

Scripture, E. W. _Ueber den associativen Verlauf der Vorstellungen_ 137

Seth, Andrew. _The Present Position of the Philosophical Sciences_ 450

Toy, Crawford Howell. _Judaism and Christianity_ 123

Van Bemmelen, P. _Le Nihilisme Scientifique_ 298

Whitney, William Dwight. _Max Müller and the Science of Language_ 469

Wise, Isaac M. _Pronaos to Holy Writ_ 124

Ziehen, Th. _Leitfaden der physiologischen Psychologie in 14
Vorlesungen_ 461

PERIODICALS 140-160; 303-320; 472-480; 634-640

APPENDIX.

Kant and Spencer. Reprinted articles relative to Mr. Spencer’s estimate
of Kant. (In No. 4 of this volume.)

VOL. II. OCTOBER, 1891. NO. 1.

THE MONIST.

THE PRESENT POSITION OF LOGICAL THEORY.

The remarkable fact in the intellectual life of to-day is the
contradiction in which it is entangled. On one hand we have an enormous
development of science, both in specialisation of method and accumulation
of material; its extension and thorough-going application to all ranges
of experience. What we should expect from such a movement, would seem to
be confidence of intelligence in itself; and a corresponding organisation
of knowledge, giving some guide and support to life. The strange thing
is that instead of this we have, probably, the greatest apparent
disorganisation of authority as to intellectual matters that the world
has ever seen; while the prevalent attitude and creed of scientific men
is philosophic agnosticism, or disbelief in their own method when it
comes to fundamental matters. Such a typical representative of modern
science as Mr. Huxley virtually laughs to scorn the suggestion of Mr.
Frederic Harrison that science should or could become so organised as to
give any support, any authoritative stay, to life.

Now I do not intend to discuss this apparent contradiction. It seems
to me obvious enough that the contradiction is due to the fact that
science has got far enough along so that its negative attitude towards
previous codes of life is evident, while its own positive principle of
reconstruction is not yet evident. But without urging this view upon the
reader, I wish to ask how and where in the prevailing confusion logical
theory, as a synopsis of the methods and typical forms of intelligence,
stands. Logical theory at once reflects and transforms the existing
status of matters intellectual at any period. It reflects it, for
logical theory is only the express, the overt consciousness on the part
of intelligence of its own attitude, prevailing spirit. It transforms
it, because this express consciousness makes intelligence know where
it stands, makes it aware of its strength and of its weakness, and by
defining it to itself forces it to take up a new and more adequate place.

It is obvious, then, that as the prevailing influence in the intellectual
world to-day is science, so the prevailing influence in logical theory
must be the endeavor to account for, to justify, or at least to reckon
with this scientific spirit. And yet if there is such confusion as we
have indicated, then there is also manifested some chaos in logical
theory, as to the true nature and method of science. Were it otherwise,
were there at present a logical theory adequate to the specific and
detailed practical results of science, science and scientific men would
be conscious of themselves, and would be confident in their work and
attitude.

The especial problem of logic, as the theory of scientific method, is the
relation of fact and thought to each other, of reality and thought. It
is, however, differentiated from the metaphysical theory of knowledge.
Logic does not inquire into the ultimate _meaning_ of fact and thought,
nor into their _ultimate_ relations to one another. It simply takes
them from the attitude of science itself, its business being, not the
justification nor refutation of this attitude, but its development into
explicit doctrine. Fact means to logic no more, but certainly no less,
than it means to the special sciences: it is the subject-matter under
investigation, under consideration; it is that which we are trying to
make out. Thought too means to logic what it means to science: method.
It is the attitude and form which intelligence takes in reference to
fact—to its subject-matter, whether in inquiry, experiment, calculation,
or statement.

Logic, then, would have for its essential problem the consideration of
the various typical methods and guiding principles which thought assumes
in its effort to detect, master, and report fact. It is presupposed here
that there is some sort of fruitful and intrinsic connection of fact and
thought; that thinking, in short, is nothing but the fact in its process
of translation from brute impression to lucent meaning.

But the moment such a presupposition is stated, ninety-nine persons out
of a hundred think that we have plunged, _ex abrupto_, from the certainty
of science into the cloudland of metaphysic. And yet just this conception
of the relation of thought (method) to fact (subject-matter) is taken
for granted in every scientific investigation and conclusion. Here,
then, we have in outline the present position of logic. It is that any
attempt to state, in general, or to work out, in detail, the principle of
the intrinsic and fruitful relation of fact and thought which science,
without conscious reflection, constantly employs in practice, seems
“metaphysical” or even absurd. Why is this? The answer to this question
will give the filling-up of the outline just presented.

The chief cause is that superstition which still holds enthralled
so much of modern thought—I mean formal logic. And if this seems
like applying a hard name to what, at best and at worst, is only an
intellectual gymnastic, I can only say that formal logic seems to me
to be, at present, _fons et origo malorum_ in philosophy. It is true
enough that nobody now takes the technical subject of formal logic very
seriously—unless here and there some belated “professor.” It is true that
it is generally relegated to the position of a subject which, for some
unclear reason, is regarded as “disciplinary” in a young man’s education;
just as certain other branches are regarded as elegant accomplishments
in a young woman’s finishing. But while the subject itself as a doctrine
or science hardly ranks very high, the conception of thought which is at
the bottom of formal logic still dominates the _Zeitgeist_, and regulates
the doctrine and the method of all those who draw their inspiration
from the _Zeitgeist_. Any book of formal 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. Jevons puts it this way: “Just as we thus familiarly recognise
the difference of form and substance in common tangible things, so we
may observe in logic, that the form of an argument is one thing, quite
distinct from the various subjects or matter which may be treated in that
form.”[1]

Professor Stock varies the good old tune in this way: “In every act of
thought we may distinguish two things—(1) the object thought about, (2)
the way in which the mind thinks of it. The first is called the Matter;
the second the Form of Thought. Now formal ... logic is concerned only
with the way in which the mind thinks, and has nothing to do with the
particular objects thought about.”[2]

It is assumed, in fine, that thought has a nature of its own independent
of facts or subject-matter; that this thought, _per se_, has certain
forms, and that these forms are not forms which the facts themselves
take, varying with the facts, but are rigid frames, into which the facts
are to be set.

Now all of this conception—the notion that the mind has a faculty of
thought apart from things, the notion that this faculty is constructed,
in and of itself, with a fixed framework, the notion that thinking is
the imposing of this fixed framework on some unyielding matter called
particular objects, or facts—all of this conception appears to me as
highly scholastic, as the last struggle of mediævalism to hold thought in
subjection to authority. Nothing is more surprising than the fact that
while it is fashionable to reject, with great scorn, all the results
and special methods of scholasticism, its foundation-stone should still
be accepted as the corner-stone of the edifice of modern doctrine. It
is still more surprising when we reflect that the foundation-stone is
coherent only with the mediæval superstructure. The scholastics when they
held that the method of thought was a faculty pursuing its own method
apart from the course of things, were at least consistent. They did not
conceive that thought was free, that intelligence had rights, nor that
there was possible science independent of data authoritatively laid down.
Really believing what they professed,—that thought was something _in
se_,—they held that it must be supplied with a fixed body of dogmatic
fact, from tradition, from revelation—from external authority. They
held that thought in its workings is confined to extracting from this
dogmatic body of fact what is already contained in it, and to rearranging
the material and its implications. To examine the _material_, to test
its truth; to suppose that intelligence could cut loose from this body
of authority and go straight to nature, to history itself, to find
the truth; to build up a free and independent science—to this point
of incoherency mediæval scholasticism never attained. To proclaim the
freedom of thought, the rejection of all external authority, the right
and the power of thought to get at truth for itself, and yet continue
to define thought as a faculty apart from fact, was reserved for modern
enlightenment! And were it not somewhat out of my present scope, I should
like to show that modern culture is thus a prepared victim for the
skilful dialectician of the reactionary army. If the modern _Zeitgeist_
does not fall a prey to the cohorts of the army of external authority, it
is not because it has any recognised methods or any recognised criterion
by which it can justify its raising the “banner of the free spirit.” It
is simply the obstinate bulwark of outer fact, built up piecemeal by
science, that protects it.

The two main forces, which have been at work against the formulæ of
formal logic, are “inductive” or empirical logic on one side, and the
so-called “transcendental” logic, on the other. Of these two, the
influence of inductive logic in sapping in practical fashion and popular
results the authority of syllogistic logic has undoubtedly been much
the greater. I propose, briefly, to give certain reasons for holding,
however, that the inductive logic does not furnish us with the needed
theory of the relation of thought and fact. To show this adequately would
demand the criticism of inductive logic in the detail of its methods, in
order to show where it comes short. As this is impossible, I shall now
confine myself to a couple of general considerations.

To begin with, then, the empirical logic virtually continues the
conception of thought as in itself empty and formal which characterizes
scholastic logic. It thus has really no theory which differentiates it,
as regards the nature of thought itself, from formal logic. I cannot see,
for example, what quarrel the most stringent upholder of formal logic
can have with Mill as to the latter’s theory of the syllogism. Mill’s
theory is virtually simply a theory regarding the formation of the major
premiss—regarding the process by which we formulate the statement that
All _S_ is _P_. Now, if we once accept the syllogistic position, this
process lies outside the scope and problem of formal logic. It is not an
affair of what Jevons calls the form of argument at all, but simply of
the matter, the particular facts which make the filling of the argument.
I do not see that it is any part of the business of formal logic to tell
where the major premiss comes from, nor how it is got. And, on the other
hand, when it comes to the manipulation of the data contained in the
premiss, Mill must fall back upon the syllogistic logic. Mill’s theory,
so far as the thought-element is concerned, presupposes the syllogistic
theory. And if this theory, on its side, does not presuppose something
like Mill’s inductive theory, it is simply because the logician, as a
_philosopher_, may prefer “intuitionalism” to “empiricism.” He may hold,
that is, that the content of some major premisses is given by direct
“intuition” rather than gathered from experience. But in either case,
this consideration of the source of the content of the premiss belongs
not to formal logic, but to metaphysics.

If, then, the theory of the syllogism is incorrect in its assumptions
as to the relation of fact and thought, the inductive logic must be
similarly in error. Its great advantage over the old scholastic logic
lies not in its logic as such, but in something back of the logic—in
its account of the derivation of the material of judgment. Whatever the
defects of Locke’s or Mill’s account of experience, any theory which
somehow presupposes a first-hand contact of mind and fact (though it be
only in isolated, atomic sensations) is surely preferable to a theory
which falls back on tradition, or on the delivery of dogma irresponsible
to any intellectual criticism. But in its account of the derivation
of the material of judgment, inductive logic is still hampered by the
scholastic conception of thought. Thought, being confined to the rigid
framework in which the material is manipulated after being obtained, is
excluded from all share in the gathering of material. The result is that
this material, having no intrinsic thought-side, shrinks into a more
or less accidental association of more or less shifting and transitory
mental states.

I shall not stop to argue that, on this ground, the “inductive” logic
deprives science of its most distinctive scientific features—the
permanence and objectivity of its truths. I think no one can deny that
there is at least an _apparent_ gap between the actual results of
concrete science and these results as they stand after the touch of
the inductive logic—that the necessity and generality of science seem
rather to have been explained away, than explained. I think most of the
inductive logicians themselves (while endeavoring to account for this
apparent necessity as generated through association) would admit that
something of science _seems_, at least, to have been lost, and that the
great reason for putting-up with this loss is that the inductive logic
is the sole alternative to a dogmatic intuitionalism and to arbitrary
spinning-out of _a priori_ concepts.

Certainly as long as thought is conceived after the fashion of
syllogistic logic, as a scheme furnished and fixed in itself, apart from
reality, so long scientific men must protest against allowing thought any
part or lot in scientific procedure. So long some such _modus operandi_
as that given by Mill must be resorted to in order to explain scientific
methods and results. But, on the other hand, if the scholastic idea
of thought as this something having its character apart from fact is
once given up, the cause which at present cramps the logic of science
into the logic of sensationalism and empiricism is also given up. And
this brings us to the other point in general regarding the inductive or
empirical logic. It is not strictly a logic at all but a metaphysic. It
does not begin with the fact of science, the fact of the fruitful inquiry
into fact by intelligence, at all. It does not, starting from this fact
analyse the various methods and types which thought must take upon itself
in order to maintain this fruitful inquiry. On the contrary, it begins
with sensations, and endeavors by a theory of knowledge on the basis
of sensationalism to build up the structure of cognition, ordinary and
scientific. I am not concerned here with the truth of sensationalism as
a metaphysical theory of knowledge, nor with the adequacy of the notion
of sensation advanced by Mill. It is enough from the logical point of
view to point out that such a theory is not logic—that logic does not
deal with something _back_ of the fact of science, but with the analysis
of scientific method as such. And is it forcing matters to indicate that
this retreat from logic to metaphysic is also caused by the syllogistic
notion of thought? Formal thought, with its formulæ for simply unfolding
a given material, is of no use in science. There is, therefore, the
need of some machinery to take the place of thought. And this is found
in sensation and in “experience” according to the peculiar notion of
experience current in the inductive logic.

In a word, then (without attempting to show the insufficiency of
inductive logic as the theory of science by reference to its treatment
of specific points) inductive logic does not meet our needs because it
is not a free, unprejudiced inquiry into the special forms and methods
of science, starting from the actual sciences themselves. It is founded
and built up with constant reference to the scholastic notion of thought.
Where it is not affected positively by it, it is still affected by its
reaction from it. Instead of denying once for all validity or even sense
to the notion of thinking as a special, apart process, and then beginning
a free, unhampered examination with an eye single to the fact of science
itself, it retains this conception of thought as valid in a certain
department, and then sets out to find something to supply the gap in
another department. And thus we have the usual division of inductive and
deductive logic, inductive being interpreted as empirical and particular,
deductive as syllogistic and formal. They are counterpart and correlative
theories, the two sides of the notion of the separateness of fact and
thought; they stand and fall together.

“Transcendental” logic, while usually conceived as utterly opposed in
spirit and in results to inductive logic, has yet been one with it
in endeavoring to abolish formal logic as the sufficient method and
criterion of scientific truth. I say this although well aware that
inductive logic is usually conceived as specifically “scientific,” while
the transcendental movement is regarded as the especial foe of science—as
a belated attempt to restore an _a priori_ scholasticism, and to find
a scheme for evolving truth out of pure thought. This is because when
the “transcendental” school talks of thought, of the synthetic and
objective character of thought, of the possibility of attaining absolute
truth through thought, and of the ontological value of thought, it is
understood as meaning thought in the old, scholastic sense, a process
apart and fixed in itself, and yet somehow evolving truth out of its own
inner being, out of its own enclosed ruminations. But on the contrary,
the very meaning of “transcendentalism” is not only that it is impossible
to get valid truth from the evolution of thought in the scholastic sense,
but that there is no such thought at all. Processes of intelligence which
have their nature fixed in themselves, apart from fact and having to
be externally applied to fact, are pure myths to his school. Types of
thought are simply the various forms which reality progressively takes
as it is progressively mastered as to its meaning,—that is, understood.
Methods of thought are simply the various active attitudes into which
intelligence puts itself in order to detect and grasp the fact. Instead
of rigid moulds, they are flexible adaptations. Methods of thought fit
fact more closely and responsively than a worn glove fits the hand. They
are only the ideal evolution _of_ the fact,—and by “ideal” is here meant
simply the evolution of fact into meaning.

If this is a fair description of what the “transcendental” school means
by thought, it is evident that it is a co-worker with the spirit and
intent of “inductive” logic. Its sole attempt is to get hold of and
report the presupposition and rationale of science; its practical aim
is to lay bare and exhibit the method of science so that the true seat
of authority—that is, the authority, the _backing_, of truth—shall be
forever manifest. It has simply gone a step further than “inductive”
logic, and thrown overboard once for all the scholastic idea of thought.
This has enabled it to start anew, and to form its theory of thought
simply by following the principles of the actual processes by which man
has, thus far in history, discovered and possessed fact.

I shall not attempt here any defence of the “transcendental” logic; I
shall not even attempt to show that the interpretation of it which I
have given above is correct. It must go, for the present, simply as
my individual understanding of the matter. Simply taking this view of
“transcendental” logic for granted, I wish, in order to complete our
notion of the present position of logic, to consider the reasons which
have thus far prevented, say, the Hegelian logic from getting any popular
hold—from getting recognition from scientific men as, at least in
principle, a fair statement of their own basic presupposition and method.

The first of these reasons is that the popular comprehension of the
“transcendental” movement is arrested at Kant and has never gone on to
Hegel. Hegel, it is true, overshadowed Kant entirely for a considerable
period. But the Hegelian régime was partly pyrotechnical rather than
scientific in character; and, partly, so far as it was scientific, it
exhausted itself in stimulating various detailed scientific movements—as
in the history of politics, religion, art, etc. In these lines, if
we trust even to those who have no faith in the Hegelian method or
principles, the movement found some practical excuse for being. But
the result of the case was—and its present status is—that because
the principle of Hegel was, for the time, lost either in display of
dialectical fireworks, or in application to specific subjects, the
principle itself has never met with any _general_ investigation. The
immense amount of labor spent on Kant during the past twenty years has
made method and principle familiar, if not acceptable, to the body of
men calling themselves educated. And thus, so far as its outcome is
concerned, the transcendental movement still halts with Kant.

Now, at the expense of seeming to plunge myself deeper in absurdity than
I have already gone, I must say that the Kantian principle is by far
more “transcendental” in the usual interpretation of that term—more _a
priori_, more given to emphasising some special function of some special
thought-power—than the Hegelian. As against the usual opinion that while
some compromise between science and Kant is possible, the scientific
spirit and Hegel are at antipodes, it appears to me that it is Kant who
does violence to science, while Hegel (I speak of his essential method
and not of any particular result) is the quintessence of the scientific
spirit. Let me endeavor to give some reasons for this belief. Kant
starts from the accepted scholastic conception of thought. Kant never
dreams, for a moment, of questioning the existence of a special faculty
of thought with its own peculiar and fixed forms. He states and restates
that thought in itself exists apart from fact and occupies itself with
fact given to it from without. Kant, it is true, gives the death-blow
to scholasticism by pointing out that such a faculty of thought is
purely analytic—that it simply unfolds the material given, whether that
material be true or false, having no method of arriving at truth, and no
test for determining truth. This fact once clearly recognised, dogmatic
rationalism, or the attempt to get truth from the “logical” analysis of
concepts was forever destroyed. The way was opened for an independent
examination of the actual method of science.

But while Kant revealed once for all the impossibility of getting truth,
of laying hold of reality, by the scholastic method, he still retained
that conception of thought. He denied, not its existence, but its worth
as relates to truth. What was the result? Just this: when he came to his
examination (criticism) of knowledge, it fell apart at once into two
separate factors, an _a priori_ and _a posteriori_. For if Kant finds,
as against the dogmatic rationalist, that formal thought cannot give
knowledge, he also finds, as against the sceptical empiricist, that
unrelated sensation cannot give knowledge. Here too, instead of denying,
_in toto_, the existence of unrelated sensation, he contented himself
with denying its functional value for knowledge. Unrelated sensation and
formal thought are simply the complementary halves of each other. Admit
the one, and the other is its necessary counterpart.

Kant must now piece together his two separated factors. Sensation,
unrelated manifold of sensation, is _there_, thought, isolated, analytic
thought, is _here_. Neither is knowledge in itself. What more natural
than to put them together, and hold that knowledge is the union of a
matter or stuff, of sensations, atomic in themselves, on one hand, and a
form, or regulating principle of thought, empty in itself, on the other?
We have two elements, both existing in isolation, and yet both useless
for all purposes of knowledge. Combine them, and presto, there is science.

Such a “transcendentalism” as this may well stick in the crop of
scientific men. For consider what is involved in it: an _a priori_
factor, on one side, and an _a posteriori_, on the other. Kant, from
one point of view, seems thus to have simply combined the weaknesses of
empiricism and rationalism. He still continues to talk of experience
itself as particular and contingent, and denies that it gives a basis
for any universal laws. Aside from his effort in the “Kritik der
Urtheilskraft” to overcome his original separation, special scientific
laws are to him only more or less extensive generalisations from
experience—as much so to him as to Locke, or Mill. Scientific men indeed,
have accustomed themselves to this derogation of their own methods and
results, and, as “inductive” logicians, indulge in it quite freely
themselves. But an _a priori_ element, supplied by a thought fixed and
separate, scientific men cannot do away with. Nor do I know any reason
why they should.

It is coming short, in my opinion, of the full stature of science to
treat it as a quantitative and varying generalisation of contingent
particulars, but this, at least, leaves what science there is free and
unhindered. But _a priori_ elements supplied from outside the fact
itself, _a priori_ elements somehow entering into the fact from without
and controlling it—this is to give up the very spirit of science. For
if science means anything, it is that our ideas, our judgments may in
some degree reflect and report the fact itself. Science means, on one
hand, that thought is free to attack and get hold of its subject-matter,
and, on the other, that fact is free to break through into thought; free
to impress itself—or rather to express itself—in intelligence without
vitiation or deflection. Scientific men are true to the instinct of
the scientific spirit in fighting shy of a distinct _a priori_ factor
supplied to fact from the mind. Apriorism of this sort must seem like an
effort to cramp the freedom of intelligence and of fact, to bring them
under the yoke of fixed, external forms.

Now in Hegel there is no such conception of thought and of _a priori_, as
is found in Kant. Kant formulated the conception of thought as objective,
but he interpreted this as meaning that thought subjective in itself
_becomes_ objective when synthetic of a given sense-manifold. When Hegel
calls thought objective he means just what he says: that there is no
special, apart faculty of thought belonging to and operated by a mind
existing separate from the outer world. What Hegel means by objective
thought is the meaning, the significance of the fact itself; and by
methods of thought he understands simply the processes in which this
meaning of fact is evolved.

There has been, of late, considerable discussion of the place and
function of “relations” in knowledge. This discussion in English
speculation, at least, tends to turn largely about Thomas Hill Green’s
reconstruction of Kantianism. I consider it unfortunate that this
discussion has taken the form of a debate between empiricism and
Kantianism. The question of knowledge has thus come to be whether or
not certain relations are supplied by thought to sensations in order to
make an orderly whole out of the latter, chaotic in themselves. Now when
Hegel talks of relations of thought (not that he makes much use of just
this term) he means no such separate forms. Relations of thought are, to
Hegel, the typical forms of meaning which the subject-matter takes in
its various progressive stages of being understood. And this is what _a
priori_ means from a Hegelian standpoint. It is not some element _in_
knowledge; some addition of thought to experience. It is experience
itself in its skeleton, in the main features of its framework.

“Refutations” of Hegel, then, which attempt to show that “thought” in
itself is empty, that it waits for content from experience, that it
cannot by any manipulation evolve truth out of itself are, if taken as
having relevance to Hegel, simply meaningless. Hegel begins where these
arguers leave off. Accepting all that they can say, he goes one step
further, and denies that there is any such “thought” at all anywhere in
existence. The question of the relations or “categories of thought” is
just the question of the broad and main aspects of fact as that fact
comes to be understood.

For example, Kant would prove the _a priori_ character and validity
of the principle of causation by showing that without it science is
impossible, that it helps “make experience.” Now, in terms, Hegel’s
justification of this relation would be the same; he too would show
that the fabric of experience implies and demands the causal relation.
But in Kant’s case, the justification of the principle of causality
by reference to the possibility of experience means that thought must
continually inject this principle _into_ experience to keep it from
disappearing: that experience must be constantly braced and reinforced
by the synthetic action of thought or it will collapse. In short, the
need of experience for this principle of causation means its need for
a certain support outside itself. But Hegel’s demonstration of the
validity of the causal principle is simply pointing out that the whole
supports the part, while the part helps make the whole. That is to say,
Hegel’s reference is not to some outside action of thought in maintaining
fact as an object of knowledge; it is to the entire structure of fact
itself. His contention is simply that the structure of fact itself,
of the subject-matter of knowledge, is such that in one of its phases
it presents necessarily the aspect of causality. And if this word
“necessarily” gives pause, it must be remembered what the source of this
necessity is. It does _not_ lie in the principle of causation _per se_;
it lies in the whole fact, the whole subject-matter of knowledge. It is
the same sort of necessity as when we say that a complete man _must_ have
an eye; i. e., it is the nature of the human organism to develop and
sustain this organ, while the organ, in turn, contributes to and thus
helps constitute the organism.

It is then evident that the question upon which the “refutation” of
Hegel turns is not in showing that formal “thought” cannot give birth to
truth except through the fructifying touch of experience. The question
is simply whether fact—the subject-matter of knowledge—is such as Hegel
presents it. Is it, in general, a connected system as he holds it to
be? And, if a system, does it, in particular, present such phases
(such relations, categories) as Hegel shows forth? These are objective
questions pure and simple; questions identical, in kind, with the
question whether the constitution of glucose is what some chemist claims
to have found it.

This, then, is why I conceive Hegel—entirely apart from the value of any
special results—to represent the quintessence of the scientific spirit.
He denies not only the possibility of getting truth out of a formal,
apart thought, but he denies the existence of any faculty of thought
which is other than the expression of fact itself. His contention is
not that “thought,” in the scholastic sense, has ontological validity,
but that fact, reality is significant. Even, then, if it were shown
that Hegel is pretty much all wrong as to the special meanings which he
finds to make up the significance of reality, his main principle would
be unimpeached until it were shown that fact has not a systematic, or
interconnected, meaning, but is a mere hodgepodge of fragments. Whether
the scientific spirit would have any interest in such a hodgepodge may,
at least, be questioned.

Having dealt at such length with the first reason why as yet the
“transcendental” movement has found no overt coalescence with the
scientific, we may deal briefly with the remaining reason.[3] In the
second place, then, the rationality of fact had not been sufficiently
realised in detail in the early decades of the century to admit of
the principle of the “transcendental” movement being otherwise than
misunderstood. That is to say, the development and, more particularly,
the application of science to the specific facts of the world was
then comparatively rudimentary. On account of this lack of scientific
discovery and application, the world presented itself to man’s
consciousness as a blank, or at least as only stuff _for_ meaning, and
not as itself significant. The result was that Hegel must be interpreted
subjectively. The difficulties in the way of conceiving a world, upon
which science had not yet expended its energies in detail, as an organism
of significant relations and bearings were so great, that Hegel’s attempt
to point out these significant types and functions as immanent in reality
was inevitably misconstrued as an attempt, on Hegel’s part, to prove that
a system of purely “subjective” thoughts could somehow be so manipulated
as to give objectively valid results.

Hegel, in other words, anticipated somewhat the actual outcome of the
scientific movement. However significant fact may be, however true it
may be that an apart faculty of thought is an absurdity, however certain
it may be that there are no real types or methods of thought at all
excepting those of the object-matter itself as it comes to be understood,
yet to man this objective significance cannot be real till he has made
it _out_ in the details of scientific processes, and _made_ it applied
science in invention. Hegel’s standpoint was, therefore, of necessity
obscure. When the significant character of fact was not yet opened up
in detail, a method which worked upon the basis that the only possible
thought is the reflection of the significance of fact, had no chance of
fair interpretation.. And thus it was (and largely is) that when Hegel
speaks of objective thought and its relations, he is understood as having
the ordinary conception of thought (that is, of thought as a purely
separate and subjective faculty), and yet as trying to prove that this
apart faculty has some mysterious power of evolving truth.

The question which now confronts us, therefore, as to the present place
of logic is just this: Has the application of scientific thought to the
world of fact gone far enough so that we can speak, without seeming
strained, of the rationality of fact? When we speak of the rationality,
of the intrinsic meaning of fact, can these terms be understood in their
direct and obvious sense, and not in any remote, or _merely_ metaphysical
sense? Has the theoretical consideration of nature in its detailed
study, has practical invention, as the manifestation of the rationality
of fact, gone far enough so that this significance has become, or could
become with some effort, as real and objective a material of study as are
molecules and vibrations?

It seems to me that we are already at this stage, or are at the point of
getting to it. Without arguing this question, however, (which, indeed,
can be proved only by acting upon it, only _ambulando_,) I would point
out that the constant detailed work of science upon the world in theory
and in invention, must in time give that world an evident meaning in
human consciousness. What prevents scientific men from now realising this
fact, is that they are still afraid of certain “transcendent” entities
and forces; afraid that if they relax their hostility to metaphysic,
some one will spring upon them the old scholastic scheme of external,
supernatural unrealities. To those who take the prevailing agnosticism
not as a thing, but as a symptom, this agnosticism means just this: The
whole set of external, or non-immanent entities, is now on the point of
falling away, of dissolving. We got just so far, popularly, as holding
that they are unknowable. In other words, they are crowded to the extreme
verge. One push more, and off they go. The popular consciousness will
hold not only that they are unknowable, but that they are not.

What then? Science freed from its fear of an external and dogmatic
metaphysic, will lose its fear of metaphysic. Having unquestioned and
free possession of its own domain, that of knowledge and of fact, it
will also be free to build up the intrinsic metaphysic of this domain.
It will be free to ask after the structure of meanings which makes
up the skeleton of this world of knowledge. The moment this point is
reached, the speculative critical logic worked out in the development of
Kantian ideas, and the positive, specific work of the scientific spirit
will be at one. It will be seen that this logic is no revived, redecked
scholasticism, but a complete abandonment of scholasticism; that it deals
simply with the inner anatomy of the realm of scientific reality, and has
simply endeavored, with however much of anticipation, to dissect and lay
bare, at large and in general, the features of the same subject-matter,
which the positive sciences have been occupying themselves with in
particular and in detail.

That we are almost at the point of such conflux, a point where the
general, and therefore somewhat abstract lines of critical logic will run
in to the particular, and therefore somewhat isolated, lines of positive
science, is, in my opinion, the present position of logical theory.

JOHN DEWEY.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Jevons, _Elementary Lessons in Logic_, p. 5.

[2] Stock, _Deductive Logic_, p. 3.

[3] It should be understood that in the previous discussion so far as it
relates to Kant, I have taken him at his lowest terms—those of logical
self-consistency. So far as Kant does not succeed in freeing himself
from his original position—the existence of a formal, or apart, faculty
of thought—so far his emphasis of the _a priori_ in the sense already
attributed to him is inevitable. But that the _tendency_ of Kant is to
make the thought-relations _a priori_ simply in the sense of being fact’s
own anatomy and physiognomy I should not deny.

WILL AND REASON.

It has always been, I think, the practice in civilised society to speak
of reason or good sense as in some way influencing action. And of course
it must do so, if, as we suppose, it forms the radical distinction
between man and the lower animals. “Be reasonable,” we say, in reference
to action no less than to speculation. “Wisdom and blood,” says
Shakespeare, “combating in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one
that blood hath the victory.” Blood here means passion. How does wisdom
or knowledge combat passion? I do not say that wisdom and knowledge mean
the same thing, but if they do not, we should like to know the difference
between them.

In this prevalent notion of the conflict between reason and desire, it
may be observed that reason is, as a rule, supposed to be negative or
prohibitive. “Be reasonable” generally means “give up something you want
very much.” According to one account, the inward monitor of Socrates
was always negative, and throughout moral philosophy, and especially
throughout moralising philosophy, which is not quite the same thing, you
find the point of view that reason conflicts with desire, and has in fact
for its function very much to prevent you doing or caring about whatever
you very particularly want to do or incline to care about. This is what
gives rise to the state of things satirised in the old saying “Any
young man would rather face an imputation on his moral character than
an imputation on his horsemanship.” If moral character means a sort of
detachment from everything, this feeling is both natural and justifiable.
The popular interpretation of Aristotle leans in the direction of this
idea about reason, in so far as the conception of the reason seems to be
connected with commonplace notions about the evils of excess, strongly
represented in Greek proverbial philosophy. It was easy to add to these
ideas the conception of the evils of defect, which is little more than a
verbal refinement on the other. These quantitative expressions have not
much meaning in morality. Unquestionably, I think, the popular aspect of
the Aristotelian doctrine is an idea that you ought not to throw yourself
very deeply into anything. Reason is, in short, according to these
moralistic conceptions, though not according to Aristotle’s fundamental
view, a sort of check upon desire and little more.

This negative character of reason will, I hope, explain itself away as we
proceed. The primary point on which I want to insist is not why reason is
thus treated as negative, but how it comes that reason can be supposed
to conflict with or control desire at all. I speak for the present of
Desire, not of Will, because the meaning of desire is clearer; whereas
it is a doubt, until we have explained the nature of active reason, what
Will is, and whether it is distinguishable from desire.

Now, on the other hand, there is a sentence of Aristotle “Intelligence
as such moves nothing,” and this seems to come home to us quite as
naturally as the idea that reason controls action. All plain or
unambiguous instances of reason or reasoning or intelligence, seem to
deal with discovery of fact, couched in a form which is capable of truth
and falsehood. For our purpose we may treat it as elaborate perception,
whether direct or assisted through inference, such as calculation.
Calculation is the old meaning of reasoning, both in Greek and Latin.

How do we get across from perception or calculation to anything that can
interfere with desire?

Of course there is a meeting-point in the idea that attends desire.
Human desire, at least, is not blind. It is desire of something, which
is before the mind as an idea; and in the case of desire which issues
in action this something must be mentally specified in respect of the
particular means needed to bring it about. And also, the end or purpose
which is desired for its own sake, is, in the connection of cause and
effect, itself _de facto_ a means to other results _ad infinitum_, more
or less of which are foreseen by the person who acts. Thus the act,
as fully presented to the mind in idea, is a complication of external
circumstances, which are ideally distinguished, supposing the act to
be reflected on, as means, realisation of the purpose, and foreseen
consequences both of the means and of the realisation of the purpose.

It is, I think, all-important to remember, that these distinctions are
distinctions of relation to the acting subject, drawn very lightly by the
acting subject on the shifting surface of a complicated set of results
presented in idea, and are not at all complete distinctions, and lend
themselves very readily to self-deception. We shall see the importance of
this remark directly.

In the meantime, here we have one way in which reasonings about fact do
help to modify our actions. If we know distinctly what we desire, say,
a week’s holiday, then it is reasoning about matters of fact that will
tell us what we must do to get it, and, in part, what the results will be
both of our getting it and of what we do to get it. Now for philosophical
purposes we need not consider the foreseen consequences separately. They
must rank, morally, as means. That is to say, they are something which
you have to take into the bargain in order to get what you want. They
come in with all the other circumstances in determining whether you like
the action or not.

Now is _this_ connection between action and reason what we have in mind
when we say that a person ought to act reasonably, or that reason combats
desire? Do we understand by acting reasonably, that assuming some one
part of the imagined circumstances to represent the purpose, the agent
has got all the means to it, and the foreseen consequences of it, and
the interdependence of the parts of the purpose itself, set out in a
connection which is truly perceived or scientifically inferred?

We do sometimes appear to mean this. We say: it is unreasonable to ask me
to be at the station at nine when the train does not start till ten. It
is unreasonable, you may say, on the ground that the means demanded of
me are not, scientifically speaking, necessary to the end agreed upon.
Still more we should pronounce it unreasonable to adopt any means which
actually defeats your purpose; which could only happen, one would think,
either from moral self-deception, or in complicated matters where the
means are disputable. This second case does not matter to us; the first
carries us a little further, because it suggests that what you call the
means may really contain your purpose, or one of your purposes, perhaps
inconsistent with another. The hackneyed example of selfish charity is
as good a case of this unreasonableness as can be found. The gift, which
is professed to be merely a means to the good of another, is, under all
the conditions, a means contrary to that good, and is given because it
gratifies an impulse of the donor. It might seem, in this case again, a
fair explanation to pronounce such conduct unreasonable merely because
the means adopted are scientifically speaking inconsistent with the end
proposed. We might bear in mind, however, that we seem to have detected
here a probable conflict of ends, not merely of means to an end.

Admitting, then, for the moment, that we hold conduct to be unreasonable
if the perception, implied in it, of the relation between means,
ends, and consequences is flagrantly false, do we admit conduct to be
reasonable _simply_ because the intellectual perception in question is
clear and true? Taking truth in its ordinary sense, as truth of simple
fact, we must deny this. I may know perfectly well that so much wine
will make me drunk, and may drink it with that object and with that
result, and yet no one will pronounce this a reasonable action, though my
judgment of facts and results was as true and reasonable as could be. It
may be, however, that in a larger sense true judgment involves reasonable
action.

Thus it does not seem that truth of perception or correctness of
calculation as to the connection of the circumstances which are presented
in the idea of an act are sufficient to make the act reasonable, although
serious blunders in the perception or calculation seem to make the act
which implies them unreasonable. I even doubt whether the last clause
was rightly stated. I was obliged to say _flagrant_ errors, _serious_
blunders. For it seems doubtful whether a purely intellectual error, or
blunder of perception, does make an act “unreasonable,” which owing to
such a blunder misses its mark. I incline to think that the reason why
we are forced, in such cases as I have instanced, to lay stress on the
_flagrancy_ of the blunder, is that it makes us suspect self-deception
or moral neglect on the part of the agent, makes us suspect, in other
words, that the inconsistency between means and ends was not owing to
mere intellectual misjudgment, but was adopted with open or partially
open eyes. I do not think that I _should_ call my friend unreasonable
for wanting to meet at the station an hour before the departure of the
train, if he could show me _bona fide_ grounds which made him imagine
that it was necessary to arrive so early. I might in that case think him
mistaken, but should not venture to call him unreasonable, unless his
mistake seemed so obvious that I thought it was committed on purpose,
that is, was not an intellectual mistake at all. When I call him
unreasonable, perhaps I really suspect he is making a claim on my time
to meet some private convenience of his own—to avoid a crowd or to make
sure of some particular carriage, which I do not care about—and therefore
perhaps it may after all be his _purpose_ that I think unreasonable.

But there is one great doctrine of reasonableness which does reduce it to
a question of means and ends, and that is, the doctrine that everything
else is a means to pleasure, whether that of the agent or that of all
sentient beings. I do not want to discuss Hedonism psychologically
just now, I only want to use it as an illustration of one way in which
intelligence may be alleged to control action. The ultimate theory would
then be that this uniform purpose, pleasure, is a natural or obvious, or,
so to speak, a _given_ purpose, and that all definite action is or has
been prescribed by the intelligence dealing with matter of fact, as a
means to the realisation of this given purpose.

Then reasonable action would mean what our reasoning and perceptive
powers, dealing with matters of fact, pronounce to make for pleasure,
and unreasonable action would be all that does not. Here, though I
wish to avoid hackneyed criticism, I must note that there is a certain
difficulty in getting across from the idea of one’s own pleasure to that
of other people’s pleasure as a natural purpose, and sometimes we find
the contention that any person’s pleasure is a _reasonable purpose_ to
any person, which, like several indications before, takes us out of the
connection between reason and the mere calculation of means to an end.

Apart from this, I have, for our object, only to refer back to the
suspicion with which we regarded these distinctions between means, ends,
and consequences, in the presented idea of an action. The burden of
proof lies on those who limit the aspects in and for which activities or
results can be or ought to be desired. If we say that the whole complex
of our moral life is a means to a partial though necessary incident in
it, it seems to me that we are putting the cart before the horse. If you
could really say “moral life is the means, and pleasure is the end” then
it would follow that, should calculation tell you that moral life was not
the most effectual means, you would not prefer it. Now this old argument
may be pronounced unfair on the ground that it puts an impossible case;
just like the counter-question which is asked by the opposite side, “If
morality led only to increased pain, would you prefer it then?” Still,
if these two questions together bring out the fact that pleasure is an
incident of a whole complex of functions and activities which we cannot
suppose to be separated from it, we do get this much result, that there
is no firm ground for distinguishing part of the complex as the end from
the rest as the means. And it seems clear, also, that we differentiate
pleasures _in kind_ according to the activities which they accompany,
just as we have constantly found that the so-called means differentiates
and qualifies the so-called purpose.

Thus I do not think that it is possible to represent the reasonableness
of action as consisting in its guidance by right calculation of the means
to an end, not even to the alleged simple and universal end of pleasure.
At the same time, this view has one essential element of truth, that is
the recognition that a positive impulse or claim can only be combated or
defeated by a positive impulse or claim. The view goes so far indeed as
to say that one form of a general impulse can only be combated by another
form of that same impulse through the discrepancy of the alternative
means to its attainment. However this may be, so much does seem clear,
viz. that reasonableness cannot be, as popular language tends to make
it, something purely negative and prohibitive. Its negative aspect must
be secondary, and according to the suggestions furnished by the notions
we have been examining, must arise out of a discrepancy between two
sets of means to the same acknowledged or accepted end. This I think is
solid ground, so far that we are bound to deduce the negative side of
reasonableness from a positive nature, whether a general relation to one
and the same purpose, or relations to different purposes. We have learnt,
on the other hand, to distrust the absolute distinction between means and
end.

2. Now I turn for a moment to what I may describe as _maxims_ of
reasonableness. I will not call them “A priori principles,” because such
an expression raises a question about the nature of experience which does
not concern the point before us. But I do treat them as characteristic of
a view which explains reasonableness rather by rules than by purposes;
and it seems to follow from this that the rule must be alleged to be
self-evident, because if they were derivative, they would most naturally
be derivative from purposes. But in the history of speculation of course
the same principle may be recommended at one time as analogous to an
axiom of the reasoning power, and at another time as involved in the
purposes which are recognised as good. Even the same writer may combine
both views.

Now if such principles are supported as constituting the reasonableness
of action, either because connected with the predominance of the
speculative intelligence, or because of an analogy between such
principles and any axioms acceptable to the speculative intelligence, I
believe that this support of them is due to a sheer confusion.

I take two only, as illustrations, one of each type I have mentioned.

Plato, it seems to me, constantly fails to distinguish between the
reasonableness of conduct, and the reasonableness of abstract reasoning,
that is, of the scientific intellect. To the moral philosopher,
scientific or theoretical interest and activity are one interest and
activity among others; and the reasonableness of activity is not
insured by pursuing an activity of reasonableness. It _may_ be quite
unreasonable, in the moral sense, to pursue abstract reasoning as a
vocation in life. When we say that in every man the reason should be
uppermost, we do not mean that every man should devote himself to
intellectual pursuits. Plato knows this, as, in a sense, he knows
everything; but he uses all arguments for his purpose, and among others
I think he allows it to be supposed that occupation with intellectual
matter is in a moral sense a predominance of the reason. I may instance
his attempt to prove that intellectual pleasures are the pleasantest,
more especially with reference to his aim in making the attempt, which
is, I suppose, to recommend intellectual occupation as pre-eminently
reasonable in the moral sense. To this I say No; if and in as far as the
inference is meant to rest upon an identification of scientific with
moral reasonableness, I think it a sheer confusion. It is like saying
that because a doctor has to do with the promotion of health, therefore
it is a healthy profession to be a doctor. But Plato’s argument shows
how strongly this idea appealed to him, because he even recommends
intellectual pleasures on the score of their sheer pleasantness, implying
not only that intellectual occupation is reasonableness in the moral
sense, but that intellectual occupation, even when chosen by way of
self-indulgence, is still reasonableness in the moral sense. Of course
the matter is complicated by a substantive connection, the degree of
which is matter of opinion, between the two things, like that between
being a physician and leading a healthy life. Intellectual exercise and
ambition have a definite influence on certain capacities concerned in the
reasonable will. But it cannot be made out, that a tendency to the more
intellectual occupations is in itself a tendency to moral reasonableness.
Moral reasonableness must be a general characteristic of moral action,
not guaranteed by the special content of any form of activity.

Next I have to discuss a principle which is advocated as an expression
of the morally reasonable, on the ground of having a sort of analogy
to several maxims or axioms of the intellectual world. It used to be
said that justice is like a square; or that the rightness of an action
consists in its conformity to certain eternal proportions impressed upon
the world by God. I take one more modern form of these principles as a
type of them all. Bentham said, “One is only to count for one,” and it is
a mere amplification of this when Mr. Sidgwick maintains, if I understand
him, that it is objectively reasonable not to prefer my own interest or
pleasure simply because it is my own, to that of some one else. This
principle seems to me a commendable expression of moral judgment, and I
do not think that it is needless or empty. There is a famous passage in
Middlemarch where the heroine, in a matter which acutely touches her own
feelings, thinks to herself, “Now how should I act if I could compel my
own pain to be silent, and merely consider what is best for the lives of
all the persons concerned in the situation?” That I suppose is a concrete
rendering of what this principle means.

But if we look closer, we see its weak side. It is negative, and
consequently abstract. You are not to heed your own feelings unless they
are such that you would heed them if they were some one’s else in the
same circumstances. This amounts to no more than saying, “We believe
there is always, under all circumstances, a right course.” It is strictly
parallel to the theoretical principles of Uniformity or Causation. “We
believe that there is an explanation for everything; that nothing changes
without some reason.” These are useful maxims if they make us look for
the explanation, and so the other is a useful maxim, if it makes us look
for the right course. But it really falls between two stools. It is
not capable, as intellectual theorems are, of accurate development and
application by measurement and analysis. Yet on the other hand it makes
no special appeal to any special content, or tendency of reasonableness
embodied in definite ends. It is neither theoretically fertile, nor is it
a description of a practical influence.

It is a well-known phenomenon that those who suggest maxims or moral
axioms of this kind as defining moral reasonableness are apt to be
reduced to assuming a particular impulse, told off to assist or obey
the reason. Such are Plato’s “Spirited” element in the soul, Kant’s
reverence, Mr. Sidgwick’s general desire to do what is reasonable. This
seems to me to be creating a rule which has no positive content, and
therefore has not the character of a human purpose, and then imagining an
impulse to obey it the nature of which is not accounted for in reference
to any plan of life, but must simply be propounded as an isolated fact.

It kept suggesting itself to us above that reasonableness could not be
thoroughly explained on the basis of a distinction between means and
end, because actual ends are not simple and uniform, but are obviously
qualified by the so-called means, or context of circumstance. We agreed,
however, that what is reasonable must be so in virtue of a positive
content, whether as means or perhaps as end, and that its negative or
prohibitive aspect must arise from the conflict of two such positive
contents.

We have in this section looked at two interpretations of moral
reasonableness apparently suggested by analogies with intellectual
reasonings or principles, and we could not deny that each of them had a
certain appearance of truth, but one seemed to confuse the content with
the form, the other to consist of a form without any content.

3. It suggests itself therefore that moral reasonableness must be a
characteristic which we ascribe to purposes of action. Then we get a
variety of positive content, without relying on the distinction between
means and end; while the abstract principles which we feel to be
reasonable fall into their right place as very general descriptions of a
purpose or scheme of life which can be called reasonable.

But the idea of a reasonable purpose requires explanation.

First, it is irreconcilable with abstract Hedonism. You cannot have any
relations within a single and uniform purpose, and reason always involves
relations.

Secondly, it is not the most intellectual purpose, the purpose that has
most to do with reasoning. I have tried to explain this above.

Thirdly, it _is_ such a life or purpose as possesses a self-consistent
relation of the parts to the whole. This is the general characteristic of
any reasonable totality _qua_ reasonable, and it is this which forms the
general characteristic of reasonable purpose _qua_ reasonable.

Then what is the meaning of the self-consistent relation of parts to the
whole in the case of a human scheme of life?

We cannot demand that our specific purposes should be related consciously
to the purpose of the universe; because the universe as a whole is the
object of theoretical knowledge only, and this does not furnish us with
the idea of a concrete purpose at all. It seems then that the whole, by
consistency with which human purpose is or is not reasonable, must be the
whole of existing human purpose, taken of course as moving in a certain
direction, owing to the modification continually introduced through the
progressive realisation of purposes. I do not see that more than this can
be said without entering upon the analysis of the actual structure of the
moral world, of society and of history. What is important seems to me
to be that we cannot construct the reasonable world of morality from a
theoretical view of men in general and of nature. We have to take it as
it is, and are then perhaps able to show that it is an organised movement
in the direction of self-consistency of purpose.

Is there not more than one kind or type of self-consistency possible, as
when self-indulgence is restricted simply within the bounds of health and
decency? This is the question whether consistency demands completeness,
i. e. whether mere omission destroys consistency. It has often been
discussed, and I suppose the general answer is that _assuming the unity
of the total moral movement_, any elements omitted in any portion of the
movement must ultimately have their revenge by producing disturbance.

Then if we ask what after all is the relation of the theoretical reason
to the reasonable will or moral reason, the only answer seems to be
that the moral reason, in the individual or in the race, is the body of
intellectual ideas which are in fact predominant as purposes in either,
having become predominant by the power they have shown of crushing out
or adjusting to themselves the active associations of all other ideas.
And the power is what might be described as logical power; that is to say
it depends on the range and depth which enables one idea to include in
itself as in a system a great variety of minor purposes.

The intellect as such is for morality in the first instance simply the
medium in which the moral world or content of the moral world exists;
and which therefore conveys to that content its own peculiar character
of system and totality. Then, further, in theoretical reflection on the
moral world, I imagine that we notice this predominance of ideas which
have organising power, and we frame to express this predominance such
predicates as important, right, good. And the whole of these judgments
we must call wisdom as opposed to knowledge. But I cannot myself see how
these or any judgments can be judgments of the moral reason. They seem
to me to be, as judgments, necessarily judgments of the theoretic reason
dealing with the facts of the moral world. But then there is the further
complication that these judgments themselves, forming the content of
intellectual ideas, may, if they have organising power, become actively
predominant, and then again they will form a portion of the actual moral
world as general ideas or clues, inciting to the active search for
concrete ideas which are concordant with them. In this case they are not
acting _as_ judgments, which are true and false, but only as dominant
contents. It is one thing to judge that there is a right in the moral
world, and another thing to be mastered by the right in one’s own mind.

If I am asked, what I mean by the predominance of dominant ideas, which
I allege to form the content of the reasonable will, I start from the
position that every idea would produce action if unchecked, simply by
suggestions which through associative reproductions call up the necessary
movement. Desire may, I believe, or may not intervene, as a state of
tension between a pain of want and a pleasure produced by an idea. All
that is essential, it appears to me, is this idea which can suggest an
action.

In the formed life of a civilised man the organising ideas have long
asserted their predominant power, and in every moment crush out countless
intruders each of which has in itself suggestions quite capable of
leading to action. In childhood or insanity the yielding to every
suggestion is a mark of what is called absence or loss of will; that
is, not the loss of a _general_ power to check minor suggestions, but of
perfectly _definite_ habitual purposes which check them as a matter of
course.

This view sounds no doubt like an iron Determinism, and I am not much
concerned to defend it from that imputation. After all, if we are
determined by the content of our own minds, why then I suppose we
determine ourselves. And trivial examples of indifferent alternatives
such as “I can blow out this candle or not as I please” seem to me very
poor representatives of the moral will, compared with the necessary
pressure of an over-mastering idea which drives the man up to the point
of saying, “This is what must be decisive with one like me, and I have no
alternative.” We feel, as we say, that “we shall have to do it.” Almost
all really serious action, it seems to me, is of this type. And if I have
read at all correctly this lesson of the new psychology which owes its
origin largely to Herbart, it is an instructive meeting of extremes, that
the most analytic of psychologies should more than ever represent the
individual as the incarnation of a progressive order in ideas.

B. BOSANQUET.

ETHNOLOGICAL JURISPRUDENCE.[4]

There is in the history of jurisprudence no more significant event than
the foundation of the historical school by Gustav Hugo and Carl von
Savigny. Jurisprudence, up to that time, was not a science, at least
not a science in the modern acceptation of the term. It was an art,
which the practical lawyer learned and employed in strict conformity
with practical traditions, without reflecting on the reasons in virtue
of which a legal norm or a social institution existed. The only part
of jurisprudence of a scientific tendency was the philosophy of law.
This latter branch had, since Hugo Grotius, emancipated itself from the
church, but it had advanced no farther than to substitute for the will
of God, to which formerly right and wrong had been traced, the principle
of human nature, and to found upon the social instincts of man a system
of natural law,—an ideal jurisprudential state by reference to which
positive laws were tested in respect of their conformity with the ideally
right and the ideally wrong. This fundamental conception of the essential
character of law was only slightly modified by the substitution of the
human reason for human nature. The rational systems of jurisprudence also
derived the state and the law from the individuality of man, especially
from the social traits of this individuality, and definite notions and
principles were thus enunciated from which state and law were deductively
constructed.

The historical school first introduced a change in all this. It afforded
the legal practitioner the possibility of seeing that the law which he
applied was the slowly ripened product of a course of development that
extended over many centuries, and it afforded the philosophical juristic
inquirer the possibility of understanding, that the law was not founded
on immutable ideas and principles, but that it was a product of the
creative mind of a nation, that this product was subjected to processes
of transformation and development, and did not admit of regulation by
the individual reason of a single philosophical inquirer. But while the
history of law has become a universally recognised discipline in the
science of jurisprudence, the application of its underlying principles
to the philosophy of law has as yet by no means been universally carried
out. On the contrary, the reason still plays an extensive rôle as
foundation and evolutionary principle; and to a great extent the history
of law and the philosophy of law still pursue their solitary ways as
independent branches of knowledge.

In recent times, through the influence of ethnology, jurisprudence has
entered on a new epoch. A new branch of the science of law has arisen in
Europe, the so-called ethnological jurisprudence, and has already found
in Germany, Austria, Italy, France, Belgium, and Holland, enthusiastic
supporters. Ethnology, as it is known, is the science that has for the
subject of its investigations the totality of phenomena of social life of
all the peoples of the earth, and which makes use, in this investigation,
of the methods of inductive inquiry exclusively employed by physical
and natural science. After the science of ethnology had advanced to a
certain point, the extension of ethnological inquiry to the domain of
jurisprudence followed as of course.

To a certain extent the investigations of the history of law had prepared
the way for ethnological jurisprudence. The inductive method was common
to both. The idea of a history of the development of law was no longer
strange to jurisprudence. Only the courage was wanting to allow the eye
to range over the legal systems of all the peoples of the globe, instead
of, as before, restricting it to very narrow limits. The historical
investigation of law began in Europe with the history of the Roman law.
Thereupon it was immediately extended to the Germanic laws of Europe, so
that now all West-European peoples possess a highly developed history of
law of their own. Recently, also, the history of Slavonic law has been
assiduously treated.

Whereas in every case here it was a question of the sources of the
laws that stood in immediate historical connection with the prevailing
systems of Europe, jurisprudential investigation was slowly extended to
more remote ethnical fields. The first impulse in this direction came
from comparative philology. This science had succeeded in tracing the
languages of extended groups of peoples back to common primitive tongues.
Among these primitive tongues the Aryan, the common original language
of the Indo-Germanic group of nations, first occupied the attention of
inquirers, and the law of this group of nations thus became the first
object of investigation of a comparative jurisprudence extending beyond
the more restricted provinces of the history of law. The provinces of
Græco-Italic, Germanic, Slavic, Celtic, Iranic, and Indian law were
investigated with respect to a common origin, and various agreements and
various deviations were discovered. In very recent times the laws of the
Armenians and the Ossetes in the Caucasus have been added to the laws of
the Aryans, and the laws of the Afghans will probably soon follow these.

A number of more remote provinces of law have also been entered upon, in
connection with theological, philological, and connate inquiries. Thus,
particularly, in connection with biblical investigation the Israelitic
law, in connection with the study of Arabic the Islamitic, in connection
with the decipherment of the hieroglyphic writings the Old-Egyptian,
in connection with the decipherment of the cuneiform inscriptions the
Soumerian and the Assyrian-Babylonian, and in connection with sinology
the law of China. In very recent times the Japanese law has also been
treated.

In the laws of all these peoples, by the side of many peculiarities, were
also found many phenomena of frequent and universal recurrence.

After the science of law had so far extended its activity in this
direction, it was a final step only that ethnological jurisprudence
took when it declared that the subject of juristic science was the
investigation of the laws of _all_ the peoples of the earth. And yet
this step was perhaps a more important one than all that had hitherto
been taken. For a considerable group of peoples had up to then been
entirely neglected by the science of law, namely the uncivilised
peoples, the so-called primitive peoples or _Naturvölker_. And just the
laws of these savages furnished the most remarkable disclosures. They
exhibited everywhere the most singular parallel phenomena, and made it
possible to open up a complete early history of the law, and to bring
to light periods of jural development of which the history of civilised
peoples has preserved but a few unintelligible remains. Ethnological
jurisprudence is thus able to supply complementary information at a point
where the threads of the history of law are lost in the obscurity of
early times.

The condition of jural life in these primitive periods is very singular.
No juristic philosopher has ever lighted on the idea that primitive man
could exist with such jural conceptions as he actually does. That which
ethnological jurisprudence has brought to light in this connection is
something absolutely new and astonishing, something that no brooding
brain could have ever developed out of any idea or principle. Indeed, it
is so strange that it could not be conceived at all if we did not have it
before our eyes to-day among savage tribes.

The collecting of the laws of uncivilised peoples constitutes an
independent task of ethnological jurisprudence. In this way the latter
science will fill up the gaps which historical jurisprudential inquiry
left open in our knowledge of the jural life of man. But more important
than all, perhaps, will ethnological jurisprudence become for the future
development of the philosophy of law. In this connection it goes hand in
hand with the sociological tendency which dominates our time and has its
surest foundation in ethnology.

The prime significance of ethnological jurisprudence lies in the fact
that it is an ethnological science.

At first ethnology was a purely empirical science. It gathered together
all the attainable phenomena of ethnic existence, and separately, at
first, among single peoples and tribes. After an extensive store of
material had accumulated in this manner, the discovery was made that
in many provinces of ethno-social life, especially in the provinces of
religion, law, and morals, especially also in all provinces of social
custom, phenomena of essentially similar character presented themselves
among a great number of peoples in the case of whom neither any original
tribal relationship nor any infusion from one nation into the other could
be assumed; and, curious to say, these were frequently the most singular
phenomena, of which one would have thought at first that they had sprung
from the individuality of a determinate people. This discovery of
universal ethnographic parallels was all the more surprising in view of
the fact that historical special inquiry, whose province up to then had
been essentially national life, had placed especial emphasis on outwardly
prominent events occurring in a different form in every nation, whereas
phenomena that appeared uniformly among the different nations were little
noticed. People had therefore grown accustomed to regard every nation as
something existing by itself and peculiar to itself, and, particularly,
had also declared it as inadmissible to employ phenomena of the life of
one nation to explain corresponding phenomena of the life of another
nation.

The discovery of ethnographical parallels led to wholly different ideas.
It became clear that a great portion of human ethnical existence was
not founded in the peculiar character of particular peoples, but in the
character of the human race, in the universal nature of man. And it
became in addition clear that that which repeated itself everywhere on
the earth, which was therefore an expression of the universal human, was
something entirely different from that which previous philosophy had
declared to be the actual human. It also became clear, at the same time,
that the nations thought quite differently from what the individual man
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

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.)

γνλν.

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.)

γνλν.

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.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.]

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.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.]

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

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.)

Ω.

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.)

ωκ.

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.)

γνλν.

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.)

κρς.

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.)

κρς.

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.)

κρς.

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.)

κρς.

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
letter I am now writing.

Whoever holds that every act of the will as well as every idea of the
mind is under the rigid governance of a necessity co-ordinated with that
of the physical world, will logically be carried to the proposition
that minds are part of the physical world in such a sense that the laws
of mechanics determine everything that happens according to immutable
attractions and repulsions. In that case, that instantaneous state of
things from which every other state of things is calculable consists
in the positions and velocities of all the particles at any instant.
This, the usual and most logical form of necessitarianism, is called the
mechanical philosophy.

When I have asked thinking men what reason they had to believe that every
fact in the universe is precisely determined by law, the first answer
has usually been that the proposition is a “presupposition” or postulate
of scientific reasoning. Well, if that is the best that can be said for
it, the belief is doomed. Suppose it be “postulated”: that does not
make it true, nor so much as afford the slightest rational motive for
yielding it any credence. It is as if a man should come to borrow money,
and when asked for his security, should reply he “postulated” the loan.
To “postulate” a proposition is no more than to hope it is true. There
are, indeed, practical emergencies in which we act upon assumptions of
certain propositions as true, because if they are not so, it can make no
difference how we act. But all such propositions I take to be hypotheses
of individual facts. For it is manifest that no universal principle can
in its universality be compromised in a special case or can be requisite
for the validity of any ordinary inference. To say, for instance, that
the demonstration by Archimedes of the property of the lever would fall
to the ground if men were endowed with free-will, is extravagant; yet
this is implied by those who make a proposition incompatible with the
freedom of the will the postulate of all inference. Considering, too,
that the conclusions of science make no pretence to being more than
probable, and considering that a probable inference can at most only
suppose something to be most frequently, or otherwise approximately,
true, but never that anything is precisely true without exception
throughout the universe, we see how far this proposition in truth is from
being so postulated.

But the whole notion of a postulate being involved in reasoning
appertains to a by-gone and false conception of logic. Non-deductive,
or ampliative inference is of three kinds: induction, hypothesis, and
analogy. If there be any other modes, they must be extremely unusual
and highly complicated, and may be assumed with little doubt to be of
the same nature as those enumerated. For induction, hypothesis, and
analogy, as far as their ampliative character goes, that is, so far as
they conclude something not implied in the premises, depend upon one
principle and involve the same procedure. All are essentially inferences
from sampling. Suppose a ship arrives in Liverpool laden with wheat
in bulk. Suppose that by some machinery the whole cargo be stirred up
with great thoroughness. Suppose that twenty-seven thimblefuls be taken
equally from the forward, midships, and aft parts, from the starboard,
centre, and larboard parts, and from the top, half depth, and lower
parts of her hold, and that these being mixed and the grains counted,
four fifths of the latter are found to be of quality _A_. Then we
infer, experientially and provisionally, that approximately four fifths
of all the grain in the cargo is of the same quality. I say we infer
this _experimentally_ and _provisionally_. By saying that we infer it
_experientially_, I mean that our conclusion makes no pretension to
knowledge of wheat-in-itself, our ἀλήθεια, as the derivation of that word
implies, has nothing to do with _latent_ wheat. We are dealing only with
the matter of possible experience,—experience in the full acceptation
of the term as something not merely affecting the senses but also as
the subject of thought. If there be any wheat hidden on the ship, so
that it can neither turn up in the sample nor be heard of subsequently
from purchasers,—or if it be half-hidden, so that it may, indeed, turn
up, but is less likely to do so than the rest,—or if it can affect our
senses and our pockets, but from some strange cause or causelessness
cannot be reasoned about,—all such wheat is to be excluded (or have
only its proportional weight) in calculating that true proportion of
quality _A_, to which our inference seeks to approximate. By saying that
we draw the inference _provisionally_, I mean that we do not hold that
we have reached any assigned degree of approximation as yet, but only
hold that if our experience be indefinitely extended, and if every fact
of whatever nature, as fast as it presents itself, be duly applied,
according to the inductive method, in correcting the inferred ratio,
then our approximation will become indefinitely close in the long run;
that is to say, close to the experience _to come_ (not merely close by
the exhaustion of a finite collection) so that if experience in general
is to fluctuate irregularly to and fro, in a manner to deprive the ratio
sought of all definite value, we shall be able to find out approximately
within what limits it fluctuates, and if, after having one definite
value, it changes and assumes another, we shall be able to find that out,
and in short, whatever may be the variations of this ratio in experience,
experience indefinitely extended will enable us to detect them, so as
to predict rightly, at last, what its ultimate value may be, if it have
any ultimate value, or what the ultimate law of succession of values may
be, if there be any such ultimate law, or that it ultimately fluctuates
irregularly within certain limits, if it do so ultimately fluctuate.
Now our inference, claiming to be no more than thus experiential and
provisional, manifestly involves no postulate whatever.

For what is a postulate? It is the formulation of a material fact which
we are not entitled to assume as a premise, but the truth of which is
requisite to the validity of an inference. Any fact, then, which might
be supposed postulated, must either be such that it would ultimately
present itself in experience, or not. If it will present itself, we
need not postulate it now in our provisional inference, since we shall
ultimately be entitled to use it as a premise. But if it never would
present itself in experience, our conclusion is valid but for the
possibility of this fact being otherwise than assumed, that is, it is
valid as far as possible experience goes, and that is all that we claim.
Thus, every postulate is cut off, either by the provisionality or by the
experientiality of our inference. For instance, it has been said that
induction postulates that, if an indefinite succession of samples be
drawn, examined, and thrown back each before the next is drawn, then in
the long run every grain will be drawn as often as any other, that is to
say postulates that the ratio of the numbers of times in which any two
are drawn will indefinitely approximate to unity. But no such postulate
is made; for if, on the one hand, we are to have no other experience of
the wheat than from such drawings, it is the ratio that presents itself
in those drawings and not the ratio which belongs to the wheat in its
latent existence that we are endeavoring to determine; while if, on
the other hand, there is some other mode by which the wheat is to come
under our knowledge, equivalent to another kind of sampling, so that
after all our care in stirring up the wheat, some experiential grains
will present themselves in the first sampling operation more often than
others in the long run, this very singular fact will be sure to get
discovered by the inductive method, which must avail itself of every sort
of experience; and our inference, which was only provisional, corrects
itself at last. Again, it has been said, that induction postulates that
under like circumstances like events will happen, and that this postulate
is at bottom the same as the principle of universal causation. But this
is a blunder, or _bevue_, due to thinking exclusively of inductions
where the concluded ratio is either 1 or 0. If any such proposition were
postulated, it would be that under like circumstances (the circumstances
of drawing the different samples) different events occur in the same
proportions in all the different sets,—a proposition which is false and
even absurd. But in truth no such thing is postulated, the experiential
character of the inference reducing the condition of validity to this,
that if a certain result does not occur, the opposite result will be
manifested, a condition assured by the provisionality of the inference.
But it may be asked whether it is not conceivable that every instance
of a certain class destined to be ever employed as a datum of induction
should have one character, while every instance destined not to be so
employed should have the opposite character. The answer is that in that
case, the instances excluded from being subjects of reasoning would not
be experienced in the full sense of the word, but would be among these
_latent_ individuals of which our conclusion does not pretend to speak.

To this account of the rationale of induction I know of but one objection
worth mention: it is that I thus fail to deduce the full degree of
force which this mode of inference in fact possesses; that according to
my view, no matter how thorough and elaborate the stirring and mixing
process had been, the examination of a single handful of grain would
not give me any assurance, sufficient to risk money upon, that the next
handful would not greatly modify the concluded value of the ratio under
inquiry, while, in fact, the assurance would be very high that this ratio
was not greatly in error. If the true ratio of grains of quality _A_ were
0.80 and the handful contained a thousand grains, nine such handfuls out
of every ten would contain from 780 to 820 grains of quality _A_. The
answer to this is that the calculation given is correct when we know
that the units of this handful and the quality inquired into have the
normal independence of one another, if for instance the stirring has been
complete and the character sampled for has been settled upon in advance
of the examination of the sample. But in so far as these conditions are
not known to be complied with, the above figures cease to be applicable.
Random sampling and predesignation of the character sampled for should
always be striven after in inductive reasoning, but when they cannot be
attained, so long as it is conducted honestly, the inference retains some
value. When we cannot ascertain how the sampling has been done or the
sample-character selected, induction still has the essential validity
which my present account of it shows it to have.

I do not think a man who combines a willingness to be convinced with a
power of appreciating an argument upon a difficult subject can resist the
reasons which have been given to show that the principle of universal
necessity cannot be defended as being a postulate of reasoning. But then
the question immediately arises whether it is not proved to be true, or
at least rendered highly probable, by observation of nature.

Still, this question ought not long to arrest a person accustomed to
reflect upon the force of scientific reasoning. For the essence of
the necessitarian position is that certain continuous quantities have
certain exact values. Now, how can observation determine the value of
such a quantity with a probable error absolutely _nil_? To one who is
behind the scenes, and knows that the most refined comparisons of masses,
lengths, and angles, far surpassing in precision all other measurements,
yet fall behind the accuracy of bank-accounts, and that the ordinary
determinations of physical constants, such as appear from month to month
in the journals, are about on a par with an upholsterer’s measurements
of carpets and curtains, the idea of mathematical exactitude being
demonstrated in the laboratory will appear simply ridiculous. There is
a recognised method of estimating the probable magnitudes of errors in
physics,—the method of least squares. It is universally admitted that
this method makes the errors smaller than they really are; yet even
according to that theory an error indefinitely small is indefinitely
improbable; so that any statement to the effect that a certain continuous
quantity has a certain exact value, if well-founded at all, must be
founded on something other than observation.

Still, I am obliged to admit that this rule is subject to a certain
qualification. Namely, it only applies to continuous[53] quantity. Now,
certain kinds of continuous quantity are discontinuous at one or at
two limits, and for such limits the rule must be modified. Thus, the
length of a line cannot be less than zero. Suppose, then, the question
arises how long a line a certain person had drawn from a marked point
on a piece of paper. If no line at all can be seen, the observed length
is zero; and the only conclusion this observation warrants is that the
length of the line is less than the smallest length visible with the
optical power employed. But indirect observations,—for example, that the
person supposed to have drawn the line was never within fifty feet of the
paper,—may make it probable that no line at all was made, so that the
concluded length will be strictly zero. In like manner, experience no
doubt would warrant the conclusion that there is absolutely _no_ indigo
in a given ear of wheat, and absolutely _no_ attar in a given lichen.
But such inferences can only be rendered valid by positive experiential
evidence, direct or remote, and cannot rest upon a mere inability to
detect the quantity in question. We have reason to think there is no
indigo in the wheat, because we have remarked that wherever indigo is
produced it is produced in considerable quantities, to mention only
one argument. We have reason to think there is no attar in the lichen,
because essential oils seem to be in general peculiar to single species,
if the question had been whether there was iron in the wheat or the
lichen, though chemical analysis should fail to detect its presence,
we should think some of it probably was there, since iron is almost
everywhere. Without any such information, one way or the other, we
could only abstain from any opinion as to the presence of the substance
in question. It cannot, I conceive, be maintained that we are in any
_better_ position than this in regard to the presence of the element of
chance or spontaneous departures from law in nature.

Those observations which are generally adduced in favor of mechanical
causation simply prove that there is an element of regularity in nature,
and have no bearing whatever upon the question of whether such regularity
is exact and universal, or not. Nay, in regard to this _exactitude_, all
observation is directly _opposed_ to it; and the most that can be said
is that a good deal of this observation can be explained away. Try to
verify any law of nature, and you will find that the more precise your
observations, the more certain they will be to show irregular departures
from the law. We are accustomed to ascribe these, and I do not say
wrongly, to errors of observation; yet we cannot usually account for such
errors in any antecedently probable way. Trace their causes back far
enough, and you will be forced to admit they are always due to arbitrary
determination, or chance.

But it may be asked whether if there were an element of real chance in
the universe it must not occasionally be productive of signal effects
such as could not pass unobserved. In answer to this question, without
stopping to point out that there is an abundance of great events
which one might be tempted to suppose were of that nature, it will be
simplest to remark that physicists hold that the particles of gases
are moving about irregularly, substantially as if by real chance, and
that by the principles of probabilities there must occasionally happen
to be concentrations of heat in the gases contrary to the second law
of thermodynamics, and these concentrations, occurring in explosive
mixtures, must sometimes have tremendous effects. Here, then, is in
substance the very situation supposed; yet no phenomena ever have
resulted which we are forced to attribute to such chance concentration of
heat, or which anybody, wise or foolish, has ever dreamed of accounting
for in that manner.

In view of all these considerations, I do not believe that anybody, not
in a state of case-hardened ignorance respecting the logic of science,
can maintain that the precise and universal conformity of facts to
law is clearly proved, or even rendered particularly probable, by any
observations hitherto made. In this way, the determined advocate of exact
regularity will soon find himself driven to _a priori_ reasons to support
his thesis. These received such a sockdologer from Stuart Mill in his
Examination of Hamilton, that holding to them now seems to me to denote
a high degree of imperviousness to reason; so that I shall pass them by
with little notice.

To say that we cannot help believing a given proposition is no argument,
but it is a conclusive fact if it be true; and with the substitution
of “I” for “we,” it is true in the mouths of several classes of minds,
the blindly passionate, the unreflecting and ignorant, and the person
who has overwhelming evidence before his eyes. But that which has been
inconceivable to-day has often turned out indisputable on the morrow.
Inability to conceive is only a stage through which every man must pass
in regard to a number of beliefs,—unless endowed with extraordinary
obstinacy and obtuseness. His understanding is enslaved to some blind
compulsion which a vigorous mind is pretty sure soon to cast off.

Some seek to back up the _a priori_ position with empirical arguments.
They say that the exact regularity of the world is a natural belief, and
that natural beliefs have generally been confirmed by experience. There
is some reason in this. Natural beliefs, however, if they generally
have a foundation of truth, also require correction and purification
from natural illusions. The principles of mechanics are undoubtedly
natural beliefs; but, for all that, the early formulations of them were
exceedingly erroneous. The general approximation to truth in natural
beliefs is, in fact, a case of the general adaptation of genetic products
to recognisable utilities or ends. Now, the adaptations of nature,
beautiful and often marvellous as they verily are, are never found to
be quite perfect; so that the argument is quite _against_ the absolute
exactitude of any natural belief, including that of the principle of
causation.

Another argument, or convenient commonplace, is that absolute chance is
_inconceivable_. This word has eight current significations. The Century
Dictionary enumerates six. Those who talk like this will hardly be
persuaded to say in what sense they mean that chance is inconceivable.
Should they do so, it would easily be shown either that they have no
sufficient reason for the statement or that the inconceivability is of a
kind which does not prove that chance is non-existent.

Another _a priori_ argument is that chance is unintelligible; that is
to say, while it may perhaps be conceivable, it does not disclose to
the eye of reason the how or why of things; and since a hypothesis can
only be justified so far as it renders some phenomenon intelligible, we
never can have any right to suppose absolute chance to enter into the
production of anything in nature. This argument may be considered in
connection with two others. Namely, instead of going so far as to say
that the supposition of chance can _never_ properly be used to explain
any observed fact, it may be alleged merely that no facts are known
which such a supposition could in any way help in explaining. Or again,
the allegation being still further weakened, it may be said that since
departures from law are not unmistakably observed, chance is not a _vera
causa_, and ought not unnecessarily to be introduced into a hypothesis.

These are no mean arguments, and require us to examine the matter a
little more closely. Come, my superior opponent, let me learn from your
wisdom. It seems to me that every throw of sixes with a pair of dice is a
manifest instance of chance.

“While you would hold a throw of deuce-ace to be brought about by
necessity?” [The opponent’s supposed remarks are placed in quotation
marks.]

Clearly one throw is as much chance as another.

“Do you think throws of dice are of a different nature from other events?”

I see that I must say that _all_ the diversity and specificalness of
events is attributable to chance.

“Would you, then, deny that there is any regularity in the world?”

That is clearly undeniable. I must acknowledge there is an approximate
regularity, and that every event is influenced by it. But the
diversification, specificalness, and irregularity of things I suppose is
chance. A throw of sixes appears to me a case in which this element is
particularly obtrusive.

“If you reflect more deeply, you will come to see that _chance_ is only a
name for a cause that is unknown to us.”

Do you mean that we have no idea whatever what kind of causes could bring
about a throw of sixes?

“On the contrary, each die moves under the influence of precise
mechanical laws.”

But it appears to me that it is not these _laws_ which made the die turn
up sixes; for these laws act just the same when other throws come up. The
chance lies in the diversity of throws; and this diversity cannot be due
to laws which are immutable.

“The diversity is due to the diverse circumstances under which the
laws act. The dice lie differently in the box, and the motion given to
the box is different. These are the unknown causes which produce the
throws, and to which we give the name of chance; not the mechanical law
which regulates the operation of these causes. You see you are already
beginning to think more clearly about this subject.”

Does the operation of mechanical law not increase the diversity?

“Properly not. You must know that the instantaneous state of a system
of particles is defined by six times as many numbers as there are
particles, three for the co-ordinates of each particle’s position, and
three more for the components of its velocity. This number of numbers,
which expresses the amount of diversity in the system, remains the same
at all times. There may be, to be sure, some kind of relation between
the co-ordinates and component velocities of the different particles, by
means of which the state of the system might be expressed by a smaller
number of numbers. But, if this is the case, a precisely corresponding
relationship must exist between the co-ordinates and component velocities
at any other time, though it may doubtless be a relation less obvious
to us. Thus, the intrinsic complexity of the system is the same at all
times.”

Very well, my obliging opponent, we have now reached an issue. You think
all the arbitrary specifications of the universe were introduced in one
dose, in the beginning, if there was a beginning, and that the variety
and complication of nature has always been just as much as it is now. But
I, for my part, think that the diversification, the specification, has
been continually taking place. Should you condescend to ask me why I so
think, I should give my reasons as follows:

1) Question any science which deals with the course of time. Consider
the life of an individual animal or plant, or of a mind. Glance at the
history of states, of institutions, of language, of ideas. Examine the
successions of forms shown by paleontology, the history of the globe
as set forth in geology, of what the astronomer is able to make out
concerning the changes of stellar systems. Everywhere the main fact is
growth and increasing complexity. Death and corruption are mere accidents
or secondary phenomena. Among some of the lower organisms, it is a moot
point with biologists whether there be anything which ought to be called
death. Races, at any rate, do not die out except under unfavorable
circumstances. From these broad and ubiquitous facts we may fairly infer,
by the most unexceptionable logic, that there is probably in nature some
agency by which the complexity and diversity of things can be increased;
and that consequently the rule of mechanical necessity meets in some way
with interference.

2) By thus admitting pure spontaneity or life as a character of the
universe, acting always and everywhere though restrained within narrow
bounds by law, producing infinitesimal departures from law continually,
and great ones with infinite infrequency, I account for all the variety
and diversity of the universe, in the only sense in which the really
_sui generis_ and new can be said to be accounted for. The ordinary view
has to admit the inexhaustible multitudinous variety of the world, has
to admit that its mechanical law cannot account for this in the least,
that variety can spring only from spontaneity, and yet denies without
any evidence or reason the existence of this spontaneity, or else shoves
it back to the beginning of time and supposes it dead ever since. The
superior logic of my view appears to me not easily controverted.

3) When I ask the necessitarian how he would explain the diversity and
irregularity of the universe, he replies to me out of the treasury of his
wisdom that irregularity is something which from the nature of things we
must not seek to explain. Abashed at this, I seek to cover my confusion
by asking how he would explain the uniformity and regularity of the
universe, whereupon he tells me that the laws of nature are immutable and
ultimate facts, and no account is to be given of them. But my hypothesis
of spontaneity does explain irregularity, in a certain sense; that is, it
explains the general fact of irregularity, though not, of course, what
each lawless event is to be. At the same time, by thus loosening the
bond of necessity, it gives room for the influence of another kind of
causation, such as seems to be operative in the mind in the formation of
associations, and enables us to understand how the uniformity of nature
could have been brought about. That single events should be hard and
unintelligible, logic will permit without difficulty: we do not expect
to make the shock of a personally experienced earthquake appear natural
and reasonable by any amount of cogitation. But logic does expect things
_general_ to be understandable. To say that there is a universal law, and
that it is a hard, ultimate, unintelligible fact, the why and wherefore
of which can never be inquired into, at this a sound logic will revolt;
and will pass over at once to a method of philosophising which does not
thus barricade the road of discovery.

4) Necessitarianism cannot logically stop short of making the whole
action of the mind a part of the physical universe. Our notion that
we decide what we are going to do, if as the necessitarian says, it
has been calculable since the earliest times, is reduced to illusion.
Indeed, consciousness in general thus becomes a mere illusory aspect of
a material system. What we call red, green, and violet are in reality
only different rates of vibration. The sole reality is the distribution
of qualities of matter in space and time. Brain-matter is protoplasm
in a certain degree and kind of complication,—a certain arrangement of
mechanical particles. Its feeling is but an inward aspect, a phantom.
For, from the positions and velocities of the particles at any one
instant, and the knowledge of the immutable forces, the positions at all
other times are calculable; so that the universe of space, time, and
matter is a rounded system uninterfered with from elsewhere. But from
the state of feeling at any instant, there is no reason to suppose the
states of feeling at all other instants are thus exactly calculable; so
that feeling is, as I said, a mere fragmentary and illusive aspect of the
universe. This is the way, then, that necessitarianism has to make up
its accounts. It enters consciousness under the head of sundries, as a
forgotten trifle; its scheme of the universe would be more satisfactory
if this little fact could be dropped out of sight. On the other hand,
by supposing the rigid exactitude of causation to yield, I care not how
little,—be it but by a strictly infinitesimal amount,—we gain room to
insert mind into our scheme, and to put it into the place where it is
needed, into the position which, as the sole self-intelligible thing, it
is entitled to occupy, that of the fountain of existence; and in so doing
we resolve the problem of the connection of soul and body.

5) But I must leave undeveloped the chief of my reasons, and can
only adumbrate it. The hypothesis of chance-spontaneity is one whose
inevitable consequences are capable of being traced out with mathematical
precision into considerable detail. Much of this I have done and find the
consequences to agree with observed facts to an extent which seems to me
remarkable. But the matter and methods of reasoning are novel, and I have
no right to promise that other mathematicians shall find my deductions as
satisfactory as I myself do, so that the strongest reason for my belief
must for the present remain a private reason of my own, and cannot
influence others. I mention it to explain my own position; and partly to
indicate to future mathematical speculators a veritable goldmine, should
time and circumstances and the abridger of all joys prevent my opening it
to the world.

If now I, in my turn, inquire of the necessitarian why he prefers to
suppose that all specification goes back to the beginning of things,
he will answer me with one of those last three arguments which I left
unanswered.

First, he may say that chance is a thing absolutely unintelligible, and
therefore that we never can be entitled to make such a supposition.
But does not this objection smack of naïve impudence? It is not mine,
it is his own conception of the universe which leads abruptly up to
hard, ultimate, inexplicable, immutable law, on the one hand, and to
inexplicable specification and diversification of circumstances on the
other. My view, on the contrary, hypothetises nothing at all, unless it
be hypothesis to say that all specification came about in some sense,
and is not to be accepted as unaccountable. To undertake to account for
anything by saying boldly that it is due to chance would, indeed, be
futile. But this I do not do. I make use of chance chiefly to make room
for a principle of generalisation, or tendency to form habits, which I
hold has produced all regularities. The mechanical philosopher leaves
the whole specification of the world utterly unaccounted for, which is
pretty nearly as bad as to boldly attribute it to chance. I attribute
it altogether to chance, it is true, but to chance in the form of a
spontaneity which is to some degree regular. It seems to me clear at any
rate that one of these two positions must be taken, or else specification
must be supposed due to a spontaneity which develops itself in a certain
and not in a chance way, by an objective logic like that of Hegel. This
last way I leave as an open possibility, for the present; for it is as
much opposed to the necessitarian scheme of existence as my own theory is.

Secondly the necessitarian may say there are, at any rate, no observed
phenomena which the hypothesis of chance could aid in explaining.
In reply, I point first to the phenomenon of growth and developing
complexity, which appears to be universal, and which though it may
possibly be an affair of mechanism perhaps, certainly presents all
the appearance of increasing diversification. Then, there is variety
itself, beyond comparison the most obtrusive character of the universe:
no mechanism can account for this. Then, there is the very fact the
necessitarian most insists upon, the regularity of the universe which for
him serves only to block the road of inquiry. Then, there are the regular
relationships between the laws of nature,—similarities and comparative
characters, which appeal to our intelligence as its cousins, and call
upon us for a reason. Finally, there is consciousness, feeling, a patent
fact enough, but a very inconvenient one to the mechanical philosopher.

Thirdly, the necessitarian may say that chance is not a _vera causa_,
that we cannot know positively there is any such element in the universe.
But the doctrine of the _vera causa_ has nothing to do with elementary
conceptions. Pushed to that extreme, it at once cuts off belief in the
existence of a material universe; and without that necessitarianism
could hardly maintain its ground. Besides, variety is a fact which must
be admitted; and the theory of chance merely consists in supposing this
diversification does not antedate all time. Moreover, the avoidance of
hypotheses involving causes nowhere positively known to act—is only a
recommendation of logic, not a positive command. It cannot be formulated
in any precise terms without at once betraying its untenable character,—I
mean as rigid rule, for as a recommendation it is wholesome enough.

I believe I have thus subjected to fair examination all the important
reasons for adhering to the theory of universal necessity, and have shown
their nullity. I earnestly beg that whoever may detect any flaw in my
reasoning will point it out to me, either privately or publicly; for if
I am wrong, it much concerns me to be set right speedily. If my argument
remains unrefuted, it will be time, I think, to doubt the absolute
truth of the principle of universal law; and when once such a doubt
has obtained a living root in any man’s mind, my cause with him, I am
persuaded, is gained.

C. S. PEIRCE.

FOOTNOTES:

[53] _Continuous_ is not exactly the right word, but I let it go to avoid
a long and irrelevant discussion.

PSYCHICAL MONISM.

In modern thought, ever since Descartes introduced into the conception
of all-comprising nature that perplexing distinction between thinking
and extended substance, the problem of reconciling so radical a dualism
has formed the main task of those who have busied themselves with
philosophical interpretation.

In the light of the Cartesian system there seemed to exist two entirely
disparate, independent worlds; the one in individual consciousness, the
other outside of it; the one made of mental, the other of material stuff.

How to conceive these two antithetical worlds, as interdependent
constituents of one and the same unitary nature is, after many discarded
attempts, still the principal endeavor of systematic thinking.

Every student of philosophy knows how Descartes himself ascribed the
evident concordance and intercommunication of the two worlds to the
miraculous decree and intervention of the Deity; how Spinoza sought to
overcome the distracting dilemma by proving that the two substances are
but attributes of one single absolute substance; how Leibnitz made both
realms, that of inwardness and that of outwardness, form a consistent
universe and keep consonant time by means of a divinely pre-established
harmony; and how numbers of less illustrious devices likewise failed to
gain general acceptance.

A more important part in the development of modern thought was played by
those other attempts, which strove to reach a monistic interpretation
by showing that nature in all its manifestations is constituted, either
solely by mind and its original endowments; or, on the contrary, solely
by matter and its original endowments. Thinkers versed in physical
science felt inclined to look upon the material world as the matrix of
all natural occurrences; while those versed in psychical science were apt
to conceive the mental world as containing within itself all there is of
nature.

The physical hypothesis has proved its eminent efficiency by leading to
a vastly more correct and faithful knowledge of the perceptible universe
than had ever been previously attained.

Still, from the psychical standpoint it became nevertheless evident
beyond contention, that all so-called qualities of matter, all that
in any way enters into our perception of it, is composed of nothing
but mental constituents. And this means simply, that, whatever we
are actually conscious of, must of necessity form part of our own
consciousness, and not of anything outside of it.

As to the truth of this fundamental psychological conception there is no
longer any dispute among philosophers. But there remains to be solved
the all-important question, whether or not there exists outside this
consciousness of ours, either beyond its peripheral, perceptual range,
or beyond its central, conceptual sphere, another world which it merely
symbolically reveals. And in case such another extra-conscious world is
found actually to exist, how it comes to constitute, together with the
world of consciousness, that unitary system of being of which we mentally
and bodily seem to form part.

Professor Dewey in a series of articles in _Mind_ (Nos. 41, 42, 49,
57) and in one recently published in this journal (Vol. II, No. 1)
advocates—more profoundly and consistently than has been done before
by any Neo-Kantian or Neo-Hegelian—the view, that consciousness itself
intuits all phenomena of nature by force of its own intrinsic activity,
imparting to them their significance as knowledge by discriminating
their specific position and value within its own all-comprising organic
totality of being. He believes thus in no other world than that of
self-consciousness; asserting that neither its perceptual nor its
conceptual content are significative of any reality beyond.

The editor, though an ardent defender of cosmic Monism, is by no
means a convert to such purely psychical monism. He maintains, on the
contrary, in the same issue of _The Monist_ (p. 85), that, “The mental
picture of a tree becomes a symbol for a special object outside of us,
and is projected to the place where experience has taught us to expect
that object.” Consequently, the mental picture refers as knowledge
to something outside of us, to something not forming part of our
consciousness.

The present writer believes likewise, that the perceptual tree is merely
a mental symbol signalising an extra-mental, sense-stimulating existent;
and that the value of this symbol as knowledge consists altogether in
its implication of the existence of an entity subsisting outside our own
being and its consciousness, and having power to affect our sensibility
in definite more or less recognised ways.

The editor and the present writer assert then, that the content of
perceptual consciousness forms merely a symbolical representation of a
corresponding reality subsisting outside consciousness; while Professor
Dewey acknowledges as really existent only self-consciousness, and
nothing outside of it, either peripherically stimulating the senses, or
centrally imparting universality to individual intelligence.

The former view frankly admits duality in nature, so far as conscious
and extra-conscious existence are concerned. And in order to overcome
this dualism of _ordo idearum_ and _ordo rerum_—essentially the same
dualism as bequeathed to us by Descartes—it has to show how the world
within consciousness with its “mental picture,” and the world “outside of
us” containing the existent symbolically represented; how these totally
disparate worlds come to constitute a unitary nature, whose divers modes
of existence are throughout interdependently connected.

It is clear that the reality symbolised by the “mental picture”—if any
such reality actually exists—can be known to us solely as thus mentally
symbolised, and not known to us in any way as it subsists extra-mentally
“outside of us,” as it subsists in itself when not thus symbolically
represented by our casual and intermittent perception of it.

The mental picture being a mere representative symbol must needs differ
_toto genere_ from the non-mental existent symbolised thereby. We know
only what as mental representation is forming part of our consciousness.
We cannot possibly know anything we are not conscious of. The entity
“outside of us,” the “thing in itself”—if it at all exists—is therefore
as such of necessity unknown to us. This confession of ontological
ignorance is unavoidably involved in the acceptance of a symbolised
reality “outside of us.”

The complex and prodigious difficulties in the way of a monistic
interpretation, when we start with the dualistic presupposition of a
conscious and an extra-conscious world, are all effectively circumvented,
as soon as with Professor Dewey we deny altogether the existence of a
world of “things-in-themselves” or sense-affecting existents, and roundly
assert that consciousness as such constitutes, comprises, and has direct
knowledge of ultimate reality; that it is in fact itself the absolute
all-sufficient and all-efficient entity.

To understand the philosophical strength and influence of a position so
strangely at variance with that of current common sense, which holds as
self-evident the existence of body as well as mind, we have somewhat to
probe its deep-laid foundations in the history of modern thought.

It was rendered plausible through Descartes’s, Locke’s, Berkeley’s, and
Hume’s philosophical argumentation, that what we are consciously aware
of, what is actually present to us as perception or “idea,” and therewith
as the world at large, is altogether made up of a more or less complex
combination of our own actual and remembered sensations.

The conscious content itself was thus necessarily held to constitute
the exclusive object of philosophical research. And by starting with
sensations as its primordial elements, and taking all “ideas,” or facts
of memory, to be but faint reproductions of such elements, it became the
task of investigators “of the human mind” to analyse the given content of
consciousness into these its assumed elements, and to discover the “laws”
or general ways of their combination.

Proud of its purely experiential method, concerned about nothing but what
is actually found present in consciousness, this mode of philosophising
disclaimed, in consequence, all knowledge of any “power” giving rise
from without to sensorial “impressions” and their order of conscious
emergence. And it ignored likewise the existence of any “power” combining
and systematising them from within; and, moreover, of any entity for whom
the sensorially constituted experience had intelligent significance.

Such nominalistic, sensorial idealism has until lately reigned supreme
in English philosophy. Previous to the new departure introduced by it
philosophical interpretation had always followed the method of conceptual
evolution, carried on according to the rules of formal or deductive
logic. It took some widely inclusive, ready-made concepts as its starting
points or major premises, and extracted therefrom all knowledge that
seemed to be implicitly contained in them.

Even Kant in his younger days had no idea that valid knowledge or
truth could possibly be attained in any other way than by logically
deducing it from ready-made premises. At a later period he learned from
Hume to distinguish between what he termed analytical and synthetical
propositions, and what had been called by the former thinker connection
between vivid impressions or matter of fact on the one side, and
connection between their faint copies or the so-called ideas on the other
side.

The discovery on the part of Kant, that our knowledge of the actual
connection of matters of facts has in every instance to be learned from
direct experience and cannot be ratiocinatively deduced from ready-made
general notions, was a complete revelation to him. It changed his entire
way of thinking, and became the starting-point of his system of critical
or transcendental philosophy. He saw clearly, that, if all instructive
cognition is gained, and has always been gained, solely by means of
actual experience, if it has been synthetically built up bit by bit as
directly given to us, without our being able to construct a valid system
of knowledge transcending in any way actual experience; that reason then
as a knowledge-constituting faculty is impotent, and that metaphysics,
as the science of a realm of intelligible existence, must be ever more
rejected as a pure illusion.

Kant’s thought, like that of most of our own rationalistic thinkers, was
however predominantly swayed by the belief in an intelligible world,
the veritable home of man’s spiritual being, where it eternally abideth
in close communion with a supreme creative intelligence. After a brief
attack of Humian scepticism, the theologically trained, though rationally
wide-awake and profound thinker, set out to examine the faculties of
reason with a view to discover a philosophically legitimate ingress
into that cherished realm of intelligible subsistence. Hitherto reason
had been effectively used in philosophy only as an analytic instrument.
Real knowledge being, however, as proved by Hume, a matter of synthesis,
it would evidently be making proper way toward a rationally conceived
intelligible world, if it could be proved that reason is itself in
possession of synthetical powers.

After many years of profound meditation in this direction, Kant gave
its results to the philosophical world. He had become convinced that
mathematical truth, instead of being analytically derived as hitherto
believed, is on the contrary built up synthetically by intelligence
itself, and this without the aid of externally imparted experience; that
intelligence is therefore efficient to form synthetical propositions _a
priori_. It followed, as a matter of course, that time and space in which
mathematical figurations take shape, are not conditions of existence
outside of us, but original forms of our own perceptive faculty, and that
intelligence by dint of its synthetical powers constructs mathematical
figurations within these perceptual forms. And finally the conclusion
was reached that time and space, the empty forms of perception,
being themselves wholly deficient of any kind of activity, it must
be intelligence alone which possesses synthetical efficiency, which
exercises in fact whatever activity is operative in the conscious world.

But though Kant enthroned intelligence as the creator of pure
mathematics, and endowed it with the exclusive gift of synthetical
efficiency, he did not see his way to constitute it also the creator of
the sense-given material that comes experientially to fill the empty and
passive forms of perception. Against all denunciations of his system as
purely idealistic, he insisted that there exists outside our being and
its consciousness a world of things-in-themselves, having power to affect
our sensibility, so that time and space, its receptive forms, become
filled with experiential, though wholly unsynthetised material.

Reluctantly, though in faithful adherence to the unbiassed results of
his investigation, he was at last led to declare that intelligence or
reason as an instrument of knowledge—called by him theoretical reason in
contradistinction to practical reason, conceived as the leading principle
of moral conduct;—that such theoretical reason has power only over
sensorially given material, and is incapable of attaining knowledge of
the intelligible sphere.

Still Kant regarded his so-called categories or synthetical functions
of reason as modes of activity, belonging not only to individual
reason, but to reason in general. And on the strength of this realistic
generalisation he attributed to them the power of imparting necessity to
synthetical propositions, such propositions—otherwise merely subjective
or empirical—being rendered thereby objective or universally valid.
He showed, moreover, that the relation of every kind of knowledge
to a common centre of all-inclusive awareness,—that this “synthetic
unity of apperception” as he called it,—presupposes an intelligible
ego, whose veritable nature becomes however nowise manifest within
our time-and-space-conditioned experience. And he taught that an
all-comprehending intelligible being had to be hypostatised in order to
complete the totality of rational knowledge.

Thus, instead of giving us a monistic philosophy, Kant’s theoretical
speculations disclosed, on the contrary, a tripartite world. At the
centre the non-manifest intelligible ego in communion with a supernatural
sphere, and conceived as the veritable bearer of the synthetical reason.
In the median and only known region the synthetical reason itself,
constructing and cognising nature, by synthetically elaborating the
chaotic manifold in time and space. And at the periphery, beyond our own
being and its perception, an unknowable realm of things-in-themselves
affecting our sensibility.

So complex an appearance did existence assume under Kant’s critical
inspection. Contemplative man, however, never ceases to hanker after a
monistic world-conception. Though individualised, he feels himself one
with universal being, and strenuously strives to understand how those
bonds of union are established, and what part he in verity is playing in
this stupendous drama of being and becoming.

To most philosophers, before Kant, knowledge seemed to be given to us
ready-made, first conceptually as innate ideas or universal notions; and
then perceptually as the finished image of an outside world.

Kant has exerted, and still exerts, a controlling influence over
thinkers by having systematically demonstrated, that not only knowledge,
but nature itself as we know it, is constructed by powers inherent in
our own being. He taught that we ourselves, by force of our combining
and ordering intellectual organisation, fashion out of meaningless
sense-material the wondrous world we know. And, moreover, that by force
of our intelligible being we have power to bend the otherwise rigorously
mechanical course of nature in compliance with moral injunctions.

No wonder that so inspiriting a philosophy electrified to new vigor and
valiant self-reliance the dogmatically slumbering life of German thought.
And it was Fichte, above all other followers of Kant, who by his fervent
exposition kindled in crowds of hearers the vivifying spark of this “new
philosophy” of all-efficient intelligence.

Fichte is the real father of such psychical monism as has recently found
so proficient an expounder in Professor Dewey. Fichte understood, what
Kant failed to see, that the “dynamical idealism” of nature-constituting
reason involves, not merely the _elaboration_ of sense-given material,
but the _out and out production_ within consciousness of the entire
world of perception. For perception undeniably takes place within our
own being, and must therefore be, as regards matter as well as form, the
outcome of powers inherent in ourselves. Between a consistent dream and
the apperception of reality the difference lies merely in our feeling, in
the latter instance, compelled in a peculiar manner to perceive what we
perceive. But this feeling of compulsion is likewise a constituent of our
own consciousness, and, moreover, under the influence of hallucinations
even this test of reality fails us.

According to Fichte’s matured thought, our being consists altogether
in intellectual activity, an activity rendering explicit by means of
self-consciousness what it already implicitly contains. And it is
universal being that becomes thus self-conscious in us. Infinite reason,
constituting a system of ideas, a spiritual organisation, is the fount
and origin of all existence, its own self-revelation becoming manifest in
finite beings.

Thus, by force of logical consistency, was eliminated from Kantian
transcendentalism the world of things-in-themselves as superfluous
to all-constituting intelligence. And the unification of individual
self-consciousness with universal intelligence was established
by considering individual self-consciousness as partaking in the
self-revealing activity of universal intelligence.

Hegel elaborated systematically the psychical or idealistic monism thus
foreshadowed in Fichte’s later writings. Philosophical interpretation
turns principally upon the source and import of consciousness. And from
the recognition of the fact, that all constituents of perception form
part of this consciousness of ours, it obviously follows that objects,
and indeed the entire objective world realised in perception and solely
as perception; that the realisation of this entire world of perceptual
objects is in verity realisation of a world contained in our own being or
subject. Subject and object are therefore, from this point of view, at
bottom identical; the objective world—our human bodies included—being a
self-revelation of our all-comprehending subject. Mind as well as matter,
that which we call mental and that which we call material, are thus mere
abstract terms denoting the subjective and objective sides of one and the
same reality.

This reality transcendental idealism declares to be “intellectual
activity.” It is intellectual activity which—from its point of view—is
revealing itself in the conscious content, becoming thus self-conscious.
This process of recognition of one’s self as subject-object, as the
unitary essence and completion of both, is what Hegel calls the “Idea.”
And with him theoretical or logical self-recognition and practical
or ethical self-realization coincide as “Absolute Idea.” For to think
absolute truth and to will its realisation are but two sides of one and
the same activity. Thought, intelligence, reason, knowing itself as in
every sense veritable being is thus the absolute One and All.

Such out and out psychical monism is the legitimate outcome of a
conception which takes the content of consciousness to be ultimate
reality, signifying nothing beyond itself; and which then constitutes a
spiritually conceived entity, called thought, intelligence, or reason, as
the originator and bearer of such consciousness.

After a period of glorious triumph the Hegelian philosophy of
self-evolving intelligence became a general laughing-stock at home and
abroad. This ignominious fate overtook it, first in consequence of its
fawning prostitution by the master himself to the reactionary service
of Church and State; and then also in consequence of the ridiculous
“pyrotechnical” abuse of its dialectical method by the “Young-Hegelians.”

However, by “going back to Kant,” the teachings of transcendental
idealism have in our time once more gained the ascendency, and have
succeeded not only in conquering materialism, but also in invading and
almost supplanting English experientialism.

In Germany, after a season of complete estrangement between science and
philosophy, a re-approachment was effected by the Neo-Kantian movement.
It originated principally in the recognition on the part of science, that
sense-perception is above all a psychical and not a purely physiological
process, a mental not a material fact; that therefore the effort to
arrive at a correct “theory of knowledge” is by no means a vain endeavor,
and that psychics as well as physics deserves a place in the hierarchy of
sciences.

In England and America the Neo-Kantian movement owed, on the other hand,
its success, above all, to such theistic rationalism as found popular
expression in “Robert Elsmere.” In Professor Caird’s words it is said
to afford a means for the “vindication of the religious consciousness.”
And this it accomplishes “by an objective or absolute synthesis,”
which establishes “the indivisible unity of the intelligence and the
intelligible world,” “the unity of man as spiritual with an absolute
spirit.”

Dr. Hutchison Sterling’s “Secret of Hegel” gave the first effective
impulse to this transcendental mode of thinking among university men
of a speculative turn. The late Thomas Hill Green of Oxford and Prof.
Edward Caird of Glasgow became its foremost exponents, and made numerous
converts. The former by elaborately disclosing, by force of Kant’s
principle of synthetical reason, the insufficiency of the sensorial
experientialism generally accepted in England since Locke’s “Essay
Concerning Human Understanding.” The latter by consistently developing
the idealistic and transcendental implications of this same principle of
synthetical reason.

As repeatedly noticed, and never to be lost sight of, transcendental
idealism derives its convincing force from the undeniable truth, that
whatever we are directly aware of forms part of our own consciousness.
This involves the indivisible unity of such fact as we are directly
conscious of and the faculty through which we are conscious of it. This
unity of the realising self and the realised world, of object and subject
as content of consciousness; or rather the unity of the objective and
subjective factors of it, this subject-object oneness of conscious states
and occurrences is an irrefutable truth, from which one has to start,
whatever direction one may take. You assert, then, that that which exists
thus interblended as consciousness is itself ultimate reality, and you
will encounter but little difficulty in deducing therefrom a pretty
plausible psychical monism. For the power through which and as which
this ultimate reality exists is then immanent in us individually. And
when this power is conceived as intelligence or spirit, and the world
at large as existing solely as content of this spirit’s consciousness,
or indeed as such consciousness itself, it is clear that our own
self-and-world-awareness must be—according to this view—identical in
essence with the spiritual power which is ultimate and universal Reality.

In self-consciousness, when regarded as a totality of all actual and
potential awareness, our feelings as well as the perceptual objects
composed of them constitute an organically completed order. They all
stand in definite and interdependent relations to our unitary being.
This all-comprising being has time and space as modes of gradual
self-realisation, but is not—according to transcendentalism—itself in
time and space. And this is undeniably true, so far at least as the being
that combines all transient events of experience into a unitary system
of permanent knowledge cannot possibly itself form part of the ephemeral
flux of conscious states experienced by it.

Still the multifold individuations of the ultimate reality into
separate personal self-consciousnesses and deciduous bodily organisms
forms the great, if not insuperable, obstacle in the way of psychical
monism. If, on the one hand, we take with Green and Professor Caird
individual self-consciousness as a “reproduction,” and not as a mere
phase of universal consciousness; and on the other hand admit a natural
and gradual development “of man as an animal organism,” instead of
proving such natural development to be a misconception of our time
and space bound recognition, we are far from having as yet succeeded
in establishing a consistent psychical monism on Kantian lines. His
tripartite world remains ununified.

To achieve its unification is, however, after a profound study and
appreciation of the difficulties to be encountered, the arduous task
Professor Dewey has courageously undertaken. To accomplish his purpose
he has to show how individual consciousness proves itself to be ultimate
reality, and as such identical with universal consciousness; how man,
appearing among other perceptible objects in multifold individuated
specimens as a gradually developed organism, is nevertheless in reality a
complete, all-comprising entity, not essentially subject to time, space,
or numerical limitations. And he has to make clear how all conscious
content, including the external world as well as the feeling and thinking
subject, has no other existence and significance than in and for
consciousness.

Professor Dewey maintains that individual consciousness is in reality
one with universal consciousness, because it comprehends within itself
subject-and-object-consciousness; the abiding consciousness of oneself
as an ever-changing individual, and that of the world at large, though
figured in transient groups of sensations. This being so, that which
is thus the bearer and realiser of all being and becoming in nature,
cannot itself form part of this becoming, but must—according to
Professor Dewey’s view—be eternal and absolute. The all-comprehending
consciousness—and there is no existence outside of it—is thus identical
with universal intelligence, identical with that eternally active
intelligence which is everlastingly creating the organic synthesis of all
being and becoming.

“Consciousness the ultimate fact reveals itself as reason.” Sensations
have no self-existence, no meaning in themselves. They exist only as
intellectually apprehended and for intelligence alone. It is from
intellectual interpretation that they receive their entire significance.
On solicitation of sensations the ideal content of universal intelligence
becomes partially and interruptedly revealed to individual consciousness.
The sole office of sensations is to give in us occasion to this
self-realisation of the eternal content of intelligence.

Professor Dewey establishes his psychical monism by discovering
self-consciousness as the Absolute, the One and All. Individual idealism
or so-called solipsism, such as expounded by Fichte in his earlier
writings from the side of intellect, and in the writings of English
experientialists from the side of sensation, this individual idealism
presents itself likewise as a psychical monism, but as an absurdly narrow
one. Professor Dewey points out how it fails to understand that by
constituting mind, as such, the ego or subject for which all experience
exists, it artificially divides our unitary consciousness into two
separate constituents, and takes the subjective constituent to be the
bearer and realiser of the objective constituent; while in reality both
constituents are but elements of consciousness in general; are in fact
completely unified in eternal and absolute consciousness.

Now it is perfectly true, that during conscious awareness object and
subject-consciousness are inextricably interblended so as to constitute
a unified experience. It is true also, that the veritable subject that
thus consciously experiences, and that furthermore imparts intelligent
meaning to such experience, cannot itself form part of these its own
fragmentary and transient moments of awareness. Comprehending them all,
it must evidently be an enduring, at least a relatively persistent being.
It is undoubtedly to such a persistent being or subject that experience
gradually accrues, and in whom it is all retained and organised into more
or less systematic order.

But is there the least warrant for assuming that this persistent subject,
weaving thus intelligent experience out of its transient conscious
states, is itself “consciousness” or “intelligence”?

Intelligent consciousness is very obviously only one of the functions
of the persistent subject, and by no means its being or essence. And
the experience accruing to it, that at least of the external world,
bears nowise the characteristics of Platonic reminiscence, does nowise
consist in self-revelation, in the becoming explicitly aware of what
already implicitly existed within itself. We may indeed say, that our
emotions, when aroused, constitute such self-revelation. But, for
instance, yonder visual figuration, consisting of nothing but colored
forms, though intelligently interpreted as a landscape with plains,
woods, and creeks; interpreted thus by the aid of no end of former
experience; this landscape now perceived by me for the first time was
certainly not implicitly immanent in my consciousness previous to all
my individual experience. Its conscious realisation does assuredly not
render explicit as objective experience what for ever has been an organic
member of my self-consciousness. What is immanent in my being—not in my
consciousness—is the sensorial faculty of symbolically picturing whatever
sense-affecting agent is placed before me. The conscious picture itself
is an evanescent phenomenon, having no steadfast existence or reality.

To assert—as is usually done by transcendentalists and by Professor Dewey
among them—that our individual experience, when—as mostly occurs—not
actually conscious to ourselves, exists then nevertheless as conscious
content of a universal being; to venture such an utterly gratuitous
assertion, even when merely hypothetically advanced, transcends all
legitimate inference from given facts. When declared to be positively
justified by given facts, it all too obviously betrays the theological
bias by which it is inspired, the set purpose of vindicating the
religious consciousness which has faith in “the unity of man as spiritual
with an absolute spirit.”

Through consciousness we indeed become aware of the divers faculties
of our being, together with their functionally accruing experience.
All this, however, rises into conscious awareness only at times, when
casually awakened. To give to the vast system of consciously latent being
and experience the name of “consciousness,” to call that “consciousness”
whose principal distinction is to constitute a persistent subject
with an organised system of experience abiding for the most part in
extra-conscious latency; to do this only because all this extra-conscious
existence may and does at times become more or less conscious; this is
surely committing the fatal error of denoting a state of things by its
outright opposite.

There is no denying that most of the content of our being is usually
not present in consciousness. Consequently, abiding thus outside
consciousness, it cannot possibly form part of consciousness either
individual or universal.

Nothing could be more to the point than Professor Dewey’s statement,
that “only a living actual fact (let us say existent instead of fact)
can preserve within its unity that organic system of differences in
virtue of which it lives and moves and has its being.” There is not the
least doubt that the subject, who at times is conscious of more or less
of his experience, is exactly such an existent as here described. But
consciousness, though the medium in which and through which everything
is realised, is itself but an intermittent function of that living
actual subject which preserves within its unity the organic system of
differences in virtue of which it lives and moves and has its being. The
consciousness of the subject conveys information to it only interruptedly
and in broken bits. These become organically unified into a more or less
consistent totality of experience. But this process of unification takes
place, not in the dream like stuff which makes up consciousness, but in
the persistent, extra-conscious matrix whence our ever lapsing, ever
renewed moment of conscious awareness emerges ready-made.

The subject capable of thought and feeling becomes thinkingly and
feelingly manifest to _itself_, when its functions through which
consciousness arises are in operation; becomes manifest as bodily active
to _other sentient beings also_, when its functions through which such
activity arises are in operation.

But if the real nature of the experiencing subject is not
self-consciousness or intelligence, what then can it be?

Idealists, and with them Professor Dewey, become such by believing that
the perceptually realised objects are themselves veritable reality,
and not mere symbols of extra-conscious reality. Now can they in all
sincerity bring themselves to believe that a baby—to use one of Professor
Dewey’s illustrations—which experiences a sensation, say a pain caused
by the prick of a pin, that this pain-experiencing baby is no other
than that colored form within the perceptual consciousness of may be
half a dozen spectators; and that it is the perceptual pin within the
consciousness of each of them that has pricked the baby and caused the
pain?

Does the pain-experiencing baby derive its existence from the fact that
the intellect of the spectator interprets the perceptual form within his
consciousness to signify a baby, which has forever implicitly formed part
of the organic content of his own self-consciousness?

Surely the pain experienced by the baby is not experienced by the
perceptually realised baby, not by the baby existing as interpreted
perception in the consciousness of him who perceives it. The pain
experienced by the baby does nowise form part of the consciousness
of the perceiver. Consequently and incontestably, the subject that
experiences the sensation, that experiences in fact any kind of feeling
or thought, is itself an extra-conscious being, a being only casually and
symbolically realised in consciousness.

And if the perceptual baby is merely a conscious symbol signalising
an extra-conscious existent, then all perceptual existence, all that
constitutes what we perceptually realise as nature, symbolises likewise
an extra-conscious reality, a reality that has power so to affect our
sensibility as to arouse in us perceptual representations of itself and
its characteristics.

The matter stands then exactly as denied by Professor Dewey. It is
indeed the “baby thing-in-itself which is affected,” and it is “a
world thing-in-itself which calls forth the sensation.” It is not, as
maintained by Professor Dewey the baby known to him as his own perception
which experiences the sensation by having been pricked within the
beholder’s consciousness by a perceptually constituted pin.

But if the entity, which affects the beholder’s sensibility and awakens
in him the percept of a baby, exists in verity outside his, the
beholder’s, consciousness, and is known to him only as thus symbolically
pictured by his own percept; such sense-affecting entity is, on the other
hand, nowise to be construed as the unknowable “First Cause,” nowise as
that protean Persistent Force, which Mr. Spencer imagines capable of
assuming every kind of mental or material appearance.

The so-called material or physical modes which constitute in the beholder
the perceptually realised baby, and the so-called immaterial or mental
modes which are experienced by the baby as his sensations and emotions;
these material and mental modes are in no sense the manifestation of an
“Absolute Force” or “inscrutable Power,” as our Spencerians would lead us
religiously, and almost theologically to believe.[54]

The material modes that constitute the perceptually realised baby are
awakened in the beholder by a definite sense-affecting existent, which is
thus revealing not only its bare presence, but most vividly and minutely
also its perceptible and distinguishing characteristics. And in the same
manner it makes also known that it is interdependently connected with
the vast system of sense-affecting entities, that constitutes nature in
general.

All reality is interdependently conditioned. The “Unconditioned Reality”
of the Hamiltons, Mansels, and Spencers, has nowhere any existence,
either in consciousness or outside of it. It is altogether a fictitious,
superfluous, and most misleading conception.

As regards the mental modes experienced by the baby, they are evidently
exclusively his own affections as a highly and most specifically
organised being, and not by any means are they modes of appearance of
that most empty abstraction “The Unknowable,” that has with so many
believers usurped the throne of their former anthropomorphic Deity.

This coiled up thing over there, is it a rope or a snake? I see it move,
and my intellect interprets it to be a snake. Surely the significance
of the interpretation does not consist in my realising what was already
implicitly contained in my consciousness, but in knowing that in contact
with the being out there, which forms no part whatever of myself
though perceptually realised by me, I shall become affected in certain
additional ways taught by former experience.

Will any unbiassed and competent judge assert that the far-fetched
idealistic interpretation is more in accordance with what we really
experience, than the very simple one here given?

No doubt the immediate object of physical observation is not the
thing-in-itself, but its perceptual realisation. It is such, however,
only as symbolical representation of something subsisting outside
consciousness, only as a conscious affection awakened with compulsory
force in the observer from without. The observer offers his diversely
differentiated and delicately attuned sensibilities to the outside world
and carefully notices its specific modes of reaction upon definite modes
of stimulation. This in truth is the method of scientific observation,
from which all conclusions regarding the characteristics of nature are
drawn.

The conscious subject phylogenetically evolved in constant interaction
with the medium in which he lives and moves and has his being, possesses
realising faculties so adjusted as to correctly subserve his needs in
relation to such a medium. He then furthermore uses these faculties
in order to gain a fuller and more accurate knowledge of further
perceptible characteristics of this same medium.

A monistic interpretation of nature cannot possibly be reached by
assuming consciousness or intelligence to be ultimate reality, and
as such the One and All. It can be reached only by recognising that
consciousness is a function of subjects that stand in definite relations
to the rest of nature, and have power along with the other constituents
of nature so to affect the sensibility of other sentient beings as to
cause to arise therein the symbolical representation of themselves.

Systematised experience consists in the organised totality of such
symbolical representations. And this organised totality of experience
exists as potential possession of the subject in extra-conscious
latency, in what we figuratively call memory. Emerging on occasion
into consciousness it reproduces more or less faithfully the order and
connection of the manifold that constitutes the sense-affecting universe.

In highly developed sentient subjects self-realisation or the “inner
life,” which arises from the activity of their emotional and above all
their social nature, gains predominant influence over their sensual and
perceptual experience, urging them so to transform the given aspect of
the outer world as to render it subservient to the aspirations of that
inner life.

EDMUND MONTGOMERY.

FOOTNOTES:

[54] Mr. Spencer grapples with the problem of ultimate reality from
three different and widely divergent standpoints. First, by assuming
that our out and out conditioned nature and knowledge presupposes the
existence of an “Unconditioned Reality,” he arrives at the conception of
an “Absolute Cause.” Second, by attributing—in keeping with the principle
of the Conservation of Energy, all physical and psychical activity to the
interconvertible play of modes of force, he arrives at the conception
of an “Absolute Force,” whence all these manifest modes proceed;
hinting, moreover, that, as our experience of force-manifestation is
of a psychical nature, the “Absolute Force” may rather be conceived as
psychical than as physical. Third, besides explaining at times that
the psychical and physical modes, instead of being interconvertible,
are only two different aspects of one and the same reality—and
contrary to his assumption of the interconvertibility of psychical and
physical modes proceeding from an Absolute Force, he advocates in his
_Transfigured Realism_ the view, that our perceptual consciousness
figures representatively the corresponding characteristics of a world of
things-in-themselves. No wonder that Spencerians are getting somewhat
mixed, as the saying is.

THE CONSERVATION OF SPIRIT AND THE ORIGIN OF CONSCIOUSNESS.

The consideration of the relation that subsists between body and mind is
a topic that has led to several theories, one of which has found favor
with many on account of its supposed monistic implications. Dr. Carus in
his work “The Soul of Man” seems to adopt that theory, and his method of
explaining the matter is one of notable superiority. He says:

“Matter and mind (the elements of feeling) are to be considered
as one—not the same, but one. They are as inseparable as are
the two sides of a sheet of paper. If we look at it from the
mind side its activity represents itself as elements of feeling
and all kinds and degrees of actual feelings. If we look at it
from the matter side its activity represents itself as motions
or as all kinds of potential and kinetic energy.”

This doctrine of a double-faced unity has no doubt been favored because
it has seemed the best and perhaps the only refuge available against
the various forms of dualism. Still this same doctrine is very far from
inducing that final pacification of mind which we rightly expect from a
competent theory. It is open to the charge of being arbitrary, and it
brings no access of insight.

The expressions of those whom we must suppose to be well affected towards
any doctrine that gives promise of a monistic issue show this to be the
case. Thus Tyndall says:

“I do not think that he (i. e. the materialist) is entitled
to say that his molecular groupings and his molecular motions
explain everything. In reality they explain nothing. The
utmost that he can affirm is the association of two classes
of phenomena of whose real bond of union he is in absolute
ignorance. _The problem of the connection of body and soul is
as insoluble in its modern form as it was in the prehistoric
ages._”

And Huxley protests that,

“How anything so remarkable as a state of consciousness comes
about as a result of irritating nervous tissue is _just as
unaccountable_ as the appearance of the Djinn when Alladin
rubbed his lamp.”

In truth those who might be expected to speak with considerable reserve
in regard to the inabilities of human attainment have emphasised without
due sobriety the insuperable aspects of the problem. The past history
of culture should have counseled caution, especially in view of the
certainty that consciousness is _somehow_ dependent upon nerve action.

It is submitted that the recent progress of science should induce a
hopeful temper of mind on this question. Not only have physiology and
psychology brought to light more results in the last decades than in
centuries past, but in positive monism and formal thought philosophy
has also attained to a clearness of method which will prove beneficial
to all special investigations. A clear and concise statement of the
new positivism is found in the chapter Form and Formal Thought of
“Fundamental Problems” by Dr. Carus. Any one who has watched the
development of the algebra of thought and the philosophy of logic, will
naturally expect signal aid towards the solution of the world-questions
from a proper consideration of form and the laws of form. In Dr. Carus’s
book and especially in the above mentioned chapter will be found a most
popular exposition of that subject.

Those who hold that form and formal thought is the very constituted means
by which our information with respect to real existence may be improved,
ought to regard it a decided step towards the solution of any hitherto
apparently inexplicable problem, if we only but find ourselves able to
_formulate_ an idea or process that mediates between the known and the
unknown, and represents to our insight how it is possible to think of a
phenomenon in accordance with notions that yield perceptible imagery.

Riemann in what has been well characterised as his “stupendous” essay on
“The hypotheses that lie at the basis of geometry” remarks:

“We are quite at liberty to suppose that the metric relations
of space in the infinitely small do not conform to the
hypotheses of geometry; _and we ought in fact to suppose it if
we can thereby obtain a simpler explanation of phenomena_.”

So also Jevons in his “Principles of Science” commenting on “The
Character of the Experimentalist” refers to the audacity of speculation
that characterised Faraday and that was the leading of his efforts
towards some of his most brilliant discoveries. He says:

“We have only to notice the profound conviction in the unity of
natural laws, the active powers of inference and imagination,
_the unbounded license of theorising_.”

Theory must precede experiment. We must formulate before we can verify.
The words of Faraday: “Let us encourage ourselves by a little more
imagination prior to experiment,” shows us the method he followed.

Recent developments in connection with the study of electricity supply us
with at least an analogy that may instruct us as to how we may _suppose_
the appearance of consciousness as a result of nerve action.

The nature of electricity has long been an unformulated thesis. That it
may be produced by the motion of matter is proved by every dynamo in
operation: indeed the oldest experiments in static electricity are to the
same effect.

At the present time it seems to be an acceptable doctrine or at least a
good working hypothesis that electricity and magnetism are manifestations
of that once hypothetical medium called _the ether_.

Prof. G. F. Fitzgerald in his opening address before Section A of the
British Association for the Advancement of Science in 1888 made these
very important remarks:

“In a presidential address on the borderlands of the known,
delivered from this chair, the great Clerk Maxwell spoke of it
as an undecided question whether electro-magnetic phenomena are
due to direct action at a distance or are due to the action of
an intervening medium. The year 1888 will ever be memorable as
the year in which this great question has been experimentally
_settled_ by Hertz in Germany. Henceforth I hope no learner
will fail to be impressed with the theory—_hypothesis no
longer_—that electro-magnetic actions are due to a medium
pervading all known space.”

That the ether really exists: that it is a proved fact and that it is
the substantial basis out of which electricity and magnetism arises,
are pretensions too momentous to remain unchallenged if they lacked
good evidence in their favor. Yet instead of awakening dissent among
the critical hosts of science, these utterances of Professor Fitzgerald
have not only been received as voicing the convictions of the scientific
world but they are confirmed from time to time by the sometimes tacit and
sometimes express assent of all who discourse upon the matters involved.

Prof. Oliver Lodge, one of the leading scientific men of England and an
acknowledged authority upon the subject has recently published a work
entitled “Modern Views of Electricity.” In his preface he says:

“Few things in physical science appear to me more certain than
that what has so long been called electricity is a form or
rather a mode of manifestation of the ether.”

He supposes the ether as a compound of two constituents corresponding
to positive and negative electricity. Each of these constituents has
affinities, cohesions, or entanglements with the various kinds of
matter, which affinities, cohesions, or entanglements are greater or
less according to the kind of matter involved, so that by the motions of
certain sorts of matter under proper conditions the two constituents of
the ether are torn apart or separated, or in the language of dynamics,
strained. But at the same time these constituents also tend with
unceasing persistence to reunite and saturate one another into a state of
absolute neutrality. Separate, these constituents show an existence and
an energy towards one another. United neither of them shows any existence
at all nor any efficacy whatever. They are as though they did not exist.

It is of small moment to the present purpose whether or not this
electrical theory is well grounded. In either case its very formulation
supplies us with a suggestion as to how it is possible to think of
consciousness as a product of nerve action.

Just as the ether is supposed as the substantial basis out of which in
consequence of the motion of matter electricity and magnetism becomes
manifest, so may we suppose an analogous (perhaps the same) basis
surrounding and permeating all things, and out of which in consequence of
nerve action, consciousness becomes manifest.

Why may we not suppose this consciousness basis, (which suppose we name
spirit,) to be the ultimate substance which being variously modified
by energy manifests in one case the phenomena of mind, in another the
phenomena of electricity, magnetism, etc., and then again in a third case
that phenomenon, mass, or inertia, which is the essential attribute of
matter?

As with the ether in the absence of any cause that separates it so that
electricity and magnetism become manifest, so spirit may be supposed
to be utterly without manifestation and neutral until nerve action
modifies its condition, when like electricity in the one case, so here,
consciousness becomes manifest.

Why may we not imagine spirit as composed of two constituents
corresponding to feeling and volition which united saturate one another
into neutrality, but which separated by nerve action manifest feeling
that tends to pass into volition, or volition that tends to pass into
feeling? This would be in accordance with the phenomena if of reflex
action which is supposed to be the elementary type of mentality.

This is in harmony with the views of the author of “The Soul of Man,” for
he, although for other reasons, also explains the origin of consciousness
from tension. He says:

“Consciousness is an intensified state of feeling caused
through tension. It lies between a want and its satisfaction.
Satisfaction not being immediately attainable, feelings are no
longer in a state of equilibrium, and it is this tension which
concentrates and intensifies feeling into consciousness.

“It appears that consciousness never arises without a certain
tension. Days spent in an idyllic life flow away almost
unconsciously; there is little friction, there are no problems
to be solved; there are no unsatisfied wants, or if there are
any, they are quickly and easily attended to. There is no need
of consciousness, there is not much tension to call it into
play, so life passes dreamlike as a tale that is told. The
more life is burdened with problems that demand a man’s full
care and deliberation, and the stronger are his attempts to
solve the problems of his situation, the more intense will his
consciousness be.

“It appears to me very doubtful whether conscious beings could
exist in a world—if such a world were possible at all—where the
struggle for existence was unknown; for it is the struggle for
existence that presents the first and most imperative problems
to living and feeling beings.”

Spirit or the elementary basis of consciousness considered as a
quantity, would on this supposition remain the same, but the forms of
its manifestations would change. There would be more or less straining
of spirit and accordingly more or less manifestation of consciousness.
Or to formulate it in one sentence, we would have to postulate _the
conservation of spirit_.

Such a supposition or some similar supposition if tolerable would
bring our ideas into some sort of accord with scientific customs of
explanation, and would extricate our minds from that state of utter
stultification into which they are cast whenever they are confronted with
the relations of body and mind.

FRANCIS C. RUSSELL.

ON CRIMINAL SUGGESTION.

A widely known criminal trial has brought before thoughtful minds, on
both sides of the water, this question, viz.: Whether a subject in a
hypnotic condition possesses any free will, and whether in such a state,
it is possible to transform him into a criminal or at least, for the time
being into becoming an accomplice in crime! It is not the first time
that this question has been agitated; indeed at the very beginning of
Mesmerism, as it was then called, this idea was brought forward.

It was clearly formulated by Dr. Charpignon, whose own opinion
nevertheless is, that it was “much easier to restore moral rectitude to a
somnambulist who had fallen therefrom, than to pervert the integrity of
character of a woman of high moral standing.” In 1866 Dr. Liébeault, in
his work on, “Sleep and Kindred States of Being,” of which at that time
there were but six copies sold, coincides entirely with this opinion. The
passage is too noticeable, not to be quoted in its entirety. (P. 524.)

“We may postulate, as a first principle, that a subject during
the state of magnetic sleep, is at the mercy of the hypnotiser.
I have made experiments that have confirmed me in this opinion;
I have many a time, removed the hats of such persons, searched
their pockets, drawn off the rings from their fingers, untied
their shoes, etc., ... without their having noticed the action
at all, or having made the least resistance, the isolation into
which I had thrown them, being the cause of this absence of all
consciousness....

“How very grave, the possibilities, are which may ensue from
this state of being, we may readily conceive! What I have
advanced here, is the result of certain experiments which I
made upon a young girl, who, while being very intelligent in
her natural waking condition, became during hypnotic sleep the
most cross-grained and wilful person I had ever had to deal
with. Nevertheless I always ended by mastering her will. I was
able to excite in her mind the most criminal resolves; I roused
her passions to a high degree. I was able to cause her to fall
into a violent rage with a person, to fly out upon her with a
knife in her hand; having displaced in her mind the sentiment
of friendship, still armed with that instrument, I sent her to
stab her best friend, whom I told her she saw in front of her;
she obeyed, the knife burying itself in the wall opposite. I
almost prevailed upon another young girl, who was however less
under the influence, to kill her own mother, and though she
wept, she actually prepared to do the deed.

“After all, it has been known for a fact, that a man, who, up
to that moment, was of sound mind, hearing a voice continually
repeating: ‘Kill your wife. Kill your children’—has obeyed this
command, incited thereto by an irresistible impulse; and shall
the hypnotic subject already predisposed to hallucination,
escape this same involuntary impulse? I am firmly convinced,
after having made many other experiments, that a subject to
whom is suggested the commission of any bad action, will carry
out the crime after his awakening, by reason of what has
now become in him a fixed idea. The most moral will become
vitiated, the highest-minded perverted.

“If it has already been found possible to reform a woman
of loose morals and bring her to abandon entirely her evil
courses, why cannot the reverse be effected and by the same
means? It would be in the power of the magnetiser to suggest to
his subject, not only to become a tale-bearer, a calumniator,
a thief, dissolute, etc., at some period subsequent to the
magnetic sleep, but, he might use him, for example, as the
instrument of his personal vengeance and the poor dreamer,
unmindful of the primary incitement to the criminal action,
would commit on another’s account, instead of on his own, the
evil deed, prompted and forced on thereto, by the irresistible
suggestion and will, imposed upon him by another person. And
when the crime shall have been consummated, where shall he find
the medical jurist, who can hold up to Justice, the torch which
is to throw the Light of Truth upon the act, and challenge the
innocency of a man, who, up to the moment of the crime never
exhibited the slightest sign of insanity, had shown every mark
of a sound mind and yet, when convicted of the dreadful deed,
states with every apparent sign of good faith, that he has
committed it of his own accord? And who can tell whether such
cases have not already taken place.”

These momentous words passed unnoticed. At that time, the world did not
believe in Hypnotism. M. M. Richot and Charcot restored it to a place
of honor. The School of the Salpêtrière made its advent, and saw in
Hypnotism a pathological condition. Simultaneously with this school of
thought, there arose the rival one at Nancy, which following its leader,
Dr. Liébeault, saw in hypnotism, only a psychological phenomenon. One of
the masters in this school, M. Liégeois, Professor of the Faculty of Law,
in 1884, in his pamphlet on “Hypnotic Suggestion, in relation to Civil
and Criminal Law” also propounded to the public this idea of criminal
suggestion.

M. Liégeois, like M. Liébeault, did not confine himself merely to theory.
He went on to demonstrate and prove his thesis by conclusive experiments.

Strange to say, the Salpêtrière took issue on this point, adopting and
defending the opposite opinion.

I would now ask permission to raise my own voice in this debate, and I am
the more emboldened so to do, inasmuch as my own personal observations
and the study which I have brought to bear on this matter, have caused me
to pass, so to speak, from one rival camp to the other. The thesis upheld
by the School at Nancy, while it found in me at first an adherent, finds
me to-day an adversary.

Just a word about myself to the readers of _The Monist_.

I have always been a believer in Magnetism. At the outset, and until
towards 1875, merely on the faith of books, later, because I had been
present at one or two more or less public exhibitions. And it appears
singular enough, that though thus imperfectly trained in the knowledge
of it, I should have explained, as I did in 1869, the ecstasies and
the stigmata of the celebrated Louise Lateau, as coming simply from
auto-suggestion; and that even to-day, there should be neither jot nor
tittle to subtract from what I then wrote, regarding it.

I only began practising magnetism at the commencement of 1886. I was
returning from a visit to the Salpêtrière whither I had been attracted by
my doubts on this very transference of thought and from which I returned
with my doubts intensified. I have already recounted, in a series of
articles, that appeared in less than a year in the _Revue Philosophique_
(“Upon Memory in Hypnotic Subjects”; “On the influence of Imitation
and Education in Somnambulism, as exhibited in the so-called hypnotic
sleep”; etc.) my experiences, observations, and inductions. Not to speak
of my contributions to the Magazines, and notably to the _Revue de
l’Hypnotisme_, I introduced hypnotism into the science course of the
Royal Academy of Belgium by means of two works. One, on the “Origin,” the
other on the “Extent of the Curative Effects of Hypnotism” (1887-1890).
Besides many other polemical writings in favor of the liberty of holding
public exhibitions (“Letters to M. Chiriar, Representative,” 1888.
“Magnetisers and Physicians,” 1890). I related at length what M. Charcot
and his pupils had shown me in Paris, as well as what M. M. Liébeault,
Bernheim, and Liégeois, had let me witness at Nancy (“A Visit to the
Salpêtrière,” 1886—“A Visit to the School at Nancy,” 1889).

At the time then, that I took upon myself to hypnotise, I firmly believed
that the subject became the property of the magnetiser; passing over,
as of no importance, the manifest resistances that I met with at every
point and in every form on the part of subjects, who, in all other
respects I found perfectly adapted to such experiments; as for instance,
one who permitted his tongue to be pierced with a large darning needle
by my sceptical colleague, Dr. Masius; and to be burned several times,
both with a red hot iron and by thermocautery, by my colleague, the
surgeon Von Winiwarter, both these experiments having reference to the
curative effects of hypnotism. Thus, adhering entirely to the belief
of M. M. Liébeault and Beaunis, at the close of 1886 (“A Visit to the
Salpêtrière”) I wrote these words:

“M. Beaunis’s statement is perfectly exact. The somnambulist,
in the hands of the hypnotiser, is less than the _corpse_,
which the perfect disciple of Loyola should resemble. He is a
slave, with no will other than that of his ruler, and in order
to fulfil the commands laid upon him, he will push precaution,
prudence, cunning, dissimulation and falsehood, to their
extremest limits. He will open and shut doors noiselessly, walk
in his stockings; will listen and watch, with what keen sight,
what acute hearing! He will remember anything and everything
you want him to, will forget all you desire him to forget. He
will, in good faith, accuse a perfectly innocent man before a
Court of justice. He will have seen everything, that in reality
he has never seen, if you command him so to do; he will have
heard, what he never could have heard and done everything that
he never could have done. He will swear by his Household Gods,
that he has acted throughout, of his own free will, without any
external pressure, will invent motives if need be, and will
completely protect and cover his hypnotiser.

“Theoretically, such a power is the most dangerous thing on the
face of the earth! I believe though, that practically, with the
exception of what might relate to physical or moral abuses or
tampering with testamentary wills, there is actually little or
no danger. It appears to me the fear of this has been unduly
exaggerated.”

In a foot-note of mine, while mentioning with highest praise the memoir
of M. Liégeois, I added further: “I do not express any alarm that I
cannot show a good reason for.” Among other reasons, I pondered on the
difficulty, say rather, the impossibility there is, of obtaining from the
subject an absolute abnegation of will-power, whilst at the same time we
allow him to retain the necessary free will to cope with any unforeseen
accidents which might occur to compromise the fulfilment of the thought
and action suggested.

Two or three months later I should not have expressed myself thus; and
hence the remarks that accompany the experiments related in my articles
on Hypnotic Consciousness, _Revue Philosophique_, Feb., March, 1887,
experiments which took place about a year previous to this (see the
note to the contributed articles, Feb. 1887, p. 119). It may there be
noticed that my assent is tempered by certain marked reservations. I
was even then opposing practice to theory, i. e. I narrowed down these
apprehensions of danger to two legitimate causes of alarm, viz. attempts
against morals, and tampering with testamentary wills.

Upon these two points I am still of the same opinion, with this
exception, that what I then feared probable, I now regard as exceedingly
problematic. I mean to say, that a villain who was contemplating the
perpetration of a crime, would not easily find an accomplice in a subject
of good moral standing. And in any case, I still think as I thought then,
that such an accomplice would not only be inapt, but compromising. It
is this latter point, I wish to demonstrate to you, by the following
criticism upon an experiment never before published.

At the end of May, of last year, I was passing through Nancy with some
friends, among whom was Dr. L. Frédéricq, Professor of Physiology at the
University of Liège. We were spending the evening at M. Beaunis’s house
together with M. M. Liébeault, Bernheim, and Liégeois. Naturally this
question of Criminal Suggestion came upon the _tapis_ and was discussed
in all its phases, without advancing one step towards its solution. We
made an engagement to meet at the hospital on the following day, where M.
Bernheim invited me to be present at an experiment, which he maintained
would convince me. I will relate at length the occurrence, for in such
cases, the slightest details may acquire very great importance.

M. Bernheim threw into the magnetic sleep a great, tall fellow, quite
easily influenced, and whose illness did not prevent him from walking
about in the ward.

“Presently, when you have waked up, you will go and steal an orange from
the patient that you see over there, in that bed opposite. Remember that
what you are going to do is very wrong; it is strictly forbidden by
honesty and by the law, and you will run the risk of being punished.”
The man is waked. He appears to be collecting his thoughts. He rubs his
forehead, he is visibly meditating something.

“What is the matter with you? What are you thinking about?” I ask him.

“Nothing.”

“You seem preoccupied.”

“Well, yes, I have to do something.”

“What?”

“I am not obliged to render you an account of my actions.”

“Ah! one would almost say you were meditating some mischief, where are
you going?”

“That’s no business of yours.”

“Oh! very well then, I shall watch you and follow you.”

I follow him; he walks towards his companion’s bed, glances at the
orange, then leaning up against the window, he calls me to admire some
cherries growing on a potted plant. He keeps quite still. Why? Simply
because I had told him that I intended to watch him, _otherwise my
presence would not have troubled him in the least_. During this time, M.
Bernheim had acquainted the other patient with the intended proceeding,
he nevertheless having heard the whole transaction. “I do not think
he will do it,” said he to the Doctor, “he is one of my mates and he
wouldn’t steal from me.” I walk away and join the group of persons
present. I say to M. Beaunis, that this experiment will prove nothing,
he answers me by a gesture of surprise. The subject, as soon as he sees
me go away and _thinks that I am not watching him any more_, stretches
out his hand, seizes the orange that is behind his mate’s pillow, _the
latter meanwhile looking full at him_. A score for M. Bernheim, but one
also for M. Delbœuf! I should need twenty pages at least of commentary on
this experiment. But I shall only allow myself to point out the essential
points.

This hypnotised subject then, or to speak more correctly, this man
to whom a thought has been suggested, after I had warned him that I
was watching him, and from whom I never took my eye, goes with the
unerringness, so to speak, “of the falling stone,” to carry out the
suggested action, not however without a certain distrust of me, and
this only, because he had been forewarned. And moreover in his dim
consciousness, it is I alone, whom he is watching in that clumsy fashion,
in order to seize upon some momentary forgetfulness on my part. He
has never noticed at all, that his mate is intently watching him and
following his every movement with open eyes; so he steals the orange
from under his very nose! Let us not forget that it was M. Bernheim
the house physician, who suggested to him to take the orange. But M.
Frédéricq himself would equally well have fulfilled that command, even
preceded as it was by the little homily, recorded above. Why should he
have disobliged M. Bernheim? But indeed, the logic of my opponents is
very weak. If, say they, a somnambulist resists criminal suggestion, it
is because he is not a susceptible subject, or, that the experiment has
been ill conducted, or, that the suggestion has not been strong enough.
At that rate, it is useless to continue experimenting, if failure is
always to be explained away. On my side, I might with equal reason,
argue, that they had been dealing with some licentious mind, as yet all
unknowing its inner self, or with a born criminal or a latent thief; and
though I object to this kind of argument, it would often prove to be more
legitimate reasoning than theirs. Who among us is absolutely virtuous?
How many actions which the law calls criminal have we committed, or might
we commit, under the pressure of circumstances, without a shadow of
remorse? But let us further examine this experiment.

Our subject then put the orange in his trousers’ pocket which stuck
out very noticeably. This man might be a criminal, but he was not a
dissembler. Looking him straight in the face I said: “What have you been
doing?”

“Nothing, I have just done my errand.”

“You have stolen!”

“What nonsense!”

“What have you got in your pocket?”

“Nothing” (notice the absurdity of this reply).

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing!”

“What do you call that?”

“Why! it’s an orange! it’s a very fine orange! _Ma foi!_ I can’t imagine
how it came there!”

M. Bernheim intervenes: “You took it from a fellow-patient, from a
comrade! That was very wrong.”

“Yes, that’s so, but I wanted it. Look! did you ever see such a fine
orange? I took a fancy to it and I determined to have it. Besides, _he
hadn’t seen it_(!) It’s not stealing when it isn’t missed.”

Then I asked: “What is that you said?”

“Why, yes, it is not stealing to take what nobody misses,” answers he,
with a scarce perceptible cunning and significant wink.

A few minutes later, after we had ceased noticing him, he came up to M.
Frédéricq of his own accord laughingly told him that he was in the habit
of abstracting tobacco from his companions on this same ground, that if
they never missed it, it was not stealing. “It is all in fun, you know!”

I conclude therefore, that this subject had in him latent tendencies to
theft, or if you prefer it, to pilfering. And dare any of us, honestly
confess to himself that we have not, deep down in ourselves, the germs
of any such vices? Who among the most upright of us, does not consider
himself perfectly entitled to defraud the government, or to get the
better of a Railway Company, or quietly to appropriate an object which he
may casually find?

M. Liégeois will very likely say to me: “We will grant that this
experiment has not fulfilled the desired requirements; the subject has
not very high moral qualities, and he juggled a little. But here now, are
some experiments absolutely unimpeachable.” Thereupon M. Liégeois relates
the histories of Miss E..., of N..., of Mme. G..., and of Mme. C... Here
are the facts as collated by him in the Gouffe trial.

_First narrative._ M. Liégeois believed that he had produced in Miss E...
such absolute automatism, so complete an annihilation of moral sense and
of all liberty of action, that he caused her, without moving a muscle, to
place the muzzle of a revolver close to her mother and fire upon her. The
youthful criminal appeared completely awake and far calmer than were the
witnesses of this scene. (Take notice of this.) Her mother, immediately
reproaching her and telling her that she might have killed her, Miss
E... answers smiling, with a great deal of common sense: “I have not
killed you, since you are speaking to me now.”—“Is any one likely to
believe that this is merely pretence and acting,” adds M. Liégeois, “that
a daughter will amuse herself by firing at her mother with a revolver,
_which she does not know is not loaded_, simply to deceive the public?”

Well, shall I say it? The hypothesis of simulation, the simulation which
is practised in the hypnotic state appears to me to be the only plausible
explanation. The calm, smiling attitude of Miss E... is an unanswerable
proof of this. I have no doubt that if in a dream she had seen herself
firing at her mother, she would have suffered as in a terrible nightmare.

Lately, it was in the beginning of January, I dreamed I was present at
a sale of paintings. Among others exposed for sale, there was a long
picture, nineteen or twenty feet high and less than three feet wide,
representing the assumption of some saint. Hardly had the auctioneer
mentioned the price, 6,000 francs, than I made a sign of assent. It is
knocked down to me. I start for home with my purchase, but on the way I
am seized with remorse. Where shall I hang the religious picture? And
even if I find a place for it on the staircase what will it look like in
my house, with its old black frame and its extraordinary dimensions? And
what a price to have paid, at such a moment when the house bills are
pouring in! In the midst of these reflections, I woke up, my heart was
beating tumultuously and during the remainder of the night I continued
under the most disagreeable impressions. In spite of my knowing that I
was awake and reasoning with myself, congratulating myself that it was
nothing but a dream, the enormity of my absurd action weighed upon my
mind and I kept continually dreading the reproaches of my family, when
they should learn the stupid bargain I had made. How widely different
is this mental distress from the placid, smiling condition of Miss E...
and how naturally one is brought to suppose that during the hypnotic
state the subject is not even under the sway of the ordinary illusions of
dreamland.

M. Liégeois affirms that Miss E... _was not aware that the pistol was
not loaded_. I do not believe it. Upon what grounds are we to infer that
a somnambulist is an imbecile? You and I, and everybody would easily
surmise that M. Liégeois’s revolver was not loaded! Then why should not
Miss E... surmise the same? Is it not for the very reason that he handed
it to her, to fire at her mother, that she would opine as much? Might
she not have gathered this from the attitude of the spectators, full of
expectancy unmixed by any apprehension? and might she not have wished to
astonish them by her docility and _sang-froid_? All sorts of suppositions
are both rational and possible. Besides all this, somnambulists who
are absorbed in the work in hand, generally speaking, show a quicker
and surer perspicuity; their sensibilities are finer, their quickness,
their memory, overstep the ordinary limits as exhibited in their normal
state. Do we not hear of scholars, who in the hypnotic sleep, learn their
lessons in a very short time and write their essays admirably? I have
recorded in the _Revue Philosophique_, August, 1886, some facts about a
subject, upon whom I experimented before one of my classes.

“The experiment I am about to give an account of might serve
very well as the explanation of many a miracle. B.[55] is in
the hypnotic sleep. We wish to give him some peculiar order,
which he shall execute, after he is awake, at a special
signal. The signal is to be a knock given by me on the desk;
the action, to carry a glass of water (a carafe of water
and glass being on a chair) to the student Eucher. He does
not know any of the fifteen students present, nor has he yet
heard their names. The pupils take their places, without any
special order, some standing, some sitting. B. is awakened.
We chat a little. I give the signal. B. rises, fills a glass,
and _without the slightest sign of hesitation_, carries it
to the student mentioned before, who was sitting on one of
the back benches, beside a fellow student. We looked at each
other with stupefaction. The intention of the experiment had
been, to see how he would obey an obscure command. There
were in my audience, certain persons, with leanings toward
belief in second-sight. This result seemed to overthrow all my
convictions. I again throw him into the sleep, and I command
him to carry a glass of water to the student Gérard; we are
all standing, awaiting with impatient curiosity what will take
place. B. fills the glass and this time sends a questioning
look over all the spectators, presents the glass first to one,
then to another, and finally I had to point out the student
Gérard, to whom he brought the water and made him drink it. I
again put him to sleep, and asked him to whom he carried the
first glass of water. To M. Eucher—Did you know him? No—How did
you recognise him?—By his attitude, he looked as if he wanted
to hide away.”

And this is how the mystery was solved. We had unconsciously prepared
the scene, and it was this preparation which betrayed us. But it is none
the less a remarkable example of the perspicuity shown by somnambulists.
This goes to prove that hypnosis, instead of dulling the understanding,
sharpens it.

The second of M. Liégeois’s experiments appears to me quite as open to
suspicion, and exactly for the same reasons.

“I offered N. a white powder, of the nature of which he is
ignorant; I said to him: ‘Pay great attention to what I am
about to tell you. This paper contains arsenic. You will go
presently to such a street to your Aunt’s Mme. M. _who is here
now_. You will take a glass of water, carefully dissolve the
arsenic in it and then you will offer it to your Aunt.’ ‘Yes
Sir’—That evening I received the following note from Mme. M.:
‘Mme. M. begs leave to inform M. Liégeois that the experiment
succeeded perfectly. Her nephew offered her the poison.’ The
criminal remembered nothing about it, and it was very difficult
to persuade him that he had indeed wished to poison an Aunt for
whom he had a deep affection. The automatism had been complete.”

I cannot help seeing here an erroneous line of reasoning. They
conclude, from the absence of all remembrance, that the somnambulist
is an automaton, and from this they go on to deduce that he swallows
everything that is said to him. But, since he listens to the voice of
his hypnotiser; since he knows that to accomplish the behest, he must
do things that have not been expressly pointed out, though they are
understood in the execution of the deed:—such as to get the water from a
well or pump—why do they not allow that he is able also to reflect upon
the nature of the deed which he is told to do? Why is it that N..., who
is aware that he is being used in an experiment, cannot say to himself
during his hypnotic state, that this is only an experiment, that the
paper does not contain arsenic, that M. Liégeois never would really want
him to poison his aunt, _his aunt who is present at the time, and who
hears every word_?

I repeat again, a hypnotic subject is not an idiot—quite the reverse. All
the precaution which M. Liégeois takes to render the experiments reliable
and conclusive, turns against the proof desired. Can you imagine the
poisoner, Dr. Castaing, saying to his servant before Hypolite Ballet,
whom he intended to kill, “Here is some poisoned wine, you will presently
give it to the sick man, whom you see over there in that bed.” If he had
done this, he would not have been condemned to lose his head, but they
would simply have shut him up in a lunatic asylum. And, as far as that
goes, the servant might easily, without any suspicion being attached to
the action, have given the poison to Hypolite Ballet, and the latter have
drunk it.

But we have dallied long enough over these absurd suppositions. Let us
pass on now to the third narrative:

M. Liégeois caused Mme. G... to fire at M. P..., an ex-magistrate. In
order to show clearly that the revolver was loaded, M. Liégeois fired a
shot in the garden and came in, showing a piece of card-board, through
which the ball had passed. “With absolute unconsciousness and perfect
docility Mme. G... advances to M. P... and fires. Being questioned
on the spot by the Chief Magistrate (who was present at the _séance_)
she avows the crime with entire indifference. She has killed M. P...
_because he was not pleasing to her_(!) They can arrest her; she knows
quite well what awaits her. If they take away her life, she will pass
into the other world like her victim, whom she sees stretched out, and
bathed in his own blood. They ask her whether it was not I who suggested
to her the idea of the murder. She denies it, and says she did it
spontaneously; that she alone is guilty; she is resigned to her fate, she
will accept without complaint the consequences of her deed.”

The more I meditate to-day upon these experiments, the less they appear
to me to prove what it is desired they should. This perfect tranquillity
of Mme. G..., her generosity in not inculpating M. Liégeois; her
resignation to the fate that awaits her, establish entirely the fact that
she is present in mind and knowledge of events; and just because of this
very attitude, that she possesses her full presence of mind. She never
dreamed for an instant that she would really kill M. P.... She plays
her part conscientiously, she faithfully recites a lesson which she has
learned by heart and with which she intermingles side play of her own,
childish tricks, as for instance, saying that _her victim had displeased
her_. Let us recall to mind the patient who stole an orange, _because it
was a fine one_. That Mme. G.... sees M. P.... bathed in his own blood,
is more than doubtful. I can produce numberless proofs of facts that go
to prove that fictitious somnambulists are not dupes of the illusions
suggested to them; their calmness proves this. That it is possible to
make them commit an action dangerous to themselves or to others, I am not
prepared to deny. I will explain myself later upon this point. But from
this state, to that of criminal participation, there is an incalculable
distance.

That the somnambulist repeats a lesson that he has learned, is shown
forth by M. Liégeois’s fourth narrative.

“Mme. C.... was to give some arsenic in a liquid to M. D....
who was thirsty. But M. D.... asked a question that I had not
foreseen; he asked what was in the glass. With a frankness that
precluded all idea of simulation Mme. C.... answered ‘Arsenic.’

“I was then obliged to amend my suggestion, and I said: ‘If you
are asked what is in the glass, say it is sweetened water.’

“Mme. C.... answered the question the second time, ‘Sweetened
water.’

“Very courageously M. D.... swallowed the supposed poison.
Questioned by the Chief Magistrate Mme. C. remembers nothing;
she had seen nothing, done nothing, given no drink to any one.
She does not know what they are talking about.”

Again all this is proof to me, that Mme. C. feels that she is being told
to perform an innocent action. It would have been interesting to have
awakened her in the middle of the act, to see whether she would have
remembered her thoughts, just at the moment when she was giving the
drink to M. D.... I am not sure but that she would have answered like
Miss E... that she had no doubt the poison was imaginary, and the scene
prearranged.

We have seen M. D... ask an unforeseen question, which upset the carrying
out of the crime. We have witnessed M. Bernheim’s patient steal an orange
under the nose of its proprietor, who was looking at him. Admitting,
therefore, that all had been foreseen, that M. Liégeois had warned
Mme. C... of all the possible questions that might be put to her; that
M. Bernheim had strongly recommended his subject to commit his theft
secretly, and that every possible detail had been perfectly carried
out—should we have even then a faithful transcript of a crime? Can we
have the unerring certitude from these occurrences, that a subject in the
hypnotic sleep, a bona fide somnambulist will allow himself to be used as
an accomplice by a veritable criminal?

* * * * *

In the preceding paragraphs, I carefully analysed the slightest details
invalidating experiments, in which the hypnotic subject acts the part
of a criminal, in a fictitious crime. I was able to show, that in all
these tests, there had been certain suspicious traits suggesting doubt
as to the complete illusion of the actor therein, and I finally added:
Supposing that everything had worked smoothly, i. e. that everything had
been foreseen and that the subject had not been tripped up anywhere, are
we authorised in maintaining that a subject thus far unimpeachable as
regards a fictitious crime, would accomplish this same deed in reality? I
answer, No.

In order to justify this denial, it will be necessary for us to enter
into the Psychology of Hypnosis.

A person in the hypnotic sleep, as well as in the natural sleep, is not
so absolutely withdrawn from the real world about him as is generally
supposed. The hypnotic subject even less so, than the sleeper, for the
former remains in intelligent communication with his magnetiser. If the
latter tells him to take a book from a table upon which is an inkstand,
some boxes, a statuette, he will pick up the book and not any of the
other objects. If he is enjoined to walk straight before him in a room
encumbered with chairs he will manage to avoid them, and even if the
illusion is pushed further he may knock up against them, but the action
will be done quite cautiously. And this is why, in public séances, he
never hurts himself, in spite of the wildness and apparent excitement of
his movements. This is also the reason, that in experiments intended to
demonstrate this absolute automatism, the preparation for the proposed
crime, the attitude of the spectators, while the subject is carrying out
his part, the integrity of the person who is suggesting the action, the
calmness of the intended victim; all these things, render the suggestion
less illusive than even an ordinary dream would be.

M. Liégeois asks this question at the conclusion of his first narrative:
“Where is the spectator, who could believe that this scene was only a
melodrama with clever acting; and that a daughter for her amusement,
and solely to deceive an audience, would fire an unloaded revolver at
her mother?” To this I answer: And why should she not play her part in
this melodrama, when she sees M. Liégeois devise it, her mother lend her
co-operation, and the audience watch it with curiosity and interest?

Here again we find the same fallacy in the argument: Because a subject
does not reveal what is going on within himself, and only puts into
visible speech what is suggested to him, it is taken for granted that he
is going through a mental process identical with that of his magnetiser.
But allow me to ask in my turn: Will it be easily credited, that a
daughter, would, deliberately and without a trace of feeling, shoot at
her mother, unless, she fully believed the action would have no serious
consequences, and that the person who had suggested this impious deed,
was only requiring her to act a part?

Hypnotic subjects do not take long to realise that they are being used
as tests in experiments. Some are always gracious in responding to them,
many end by refusing to lend themselves to be used in such fashion,
especially in public séances. All these details go far to prove that in
hypnosis, the subjects retain, at least a partial independence.

If a sleeper, who dreamed he was murdering his mother, should behold
her terrified, beseeching, invoking the pity of her son, calling for
help to the horrified spectators, he would feel that he was induced
to commit this deed by some sort of motive, which, absurd or unlikely
though it might be, would still be the controlling power; in a word, the
dream would be in reality a kind of incoherent and unreal drama, though
composed of very real elements, in which horror would play a very present
part. But if he should see his ostensible victim smiling and conversing
with him amidst a company animated only by a sentiment of curiosity, he
might well suspect, even in his sleep, that what he sees and what he
is doing, is a pure delusion. And this is exactly what he would say to
himself, should it come into his head to fire upon a _magistrate_, and
for the reason _that his looks displeased him_.

These prearranged scenes fail in verisimilitude and no more deceive the
actors in them, than they do the spectators or the author.

To this you may object: But, if the pistol had been loaded, Miss E. would
have shot her mother! This rests upon the supposition that the mother and
the spectators, still believed it to be unloaded, otherwise, their terror
alone, would have been quite sufficient to call back the subject to the
reality. And even with this assumption, this murder-test would have borne
a greater resemblance to a simple homicide from imprudence. By this I
mean to say, that so far as the spectators, the victim, and the assassin
were concerned, the act would not have been changed in its character,
simply because the magnetiser, had by mistake, given a loaded instead of
an unloaded pistol to the subject. I need hardly remark that a real crime
would never be perpetrated in this manner.

Thoroughly convinced though I was, of the impossibility of making
experiments that would entirely fathom this question, circumstances
nevertheless, allowed me once more to make a test which is well adapted
to show that it is not as easy as some may think, to transform an
hypnotic subject into a murderous automaton.

J... is that excellent somnambulist to whom my experiments have given a
certain notoriety. It is she together with her sister, whom I made use
of in my studies on “Memory in Hypnosis,” on “Imitation,” and “Hypnotic
Consciousness.” She it is, who three several times allowed herself to be
experimented upon by blistering on corresponding parts of the body; and
notably in one case where in accordance with suggestion no inflammation
took place.[56] She is tall, robust, intelligent, industrious, healthy.
She is now married and has had a child. The _accouchement_ took place in
the hypnotic sleep. The case being in the hands of M. Fraipont, Professor
of Obstetrics in the University of Liège; and never was the power of
hypnotism more remarkably exhibited.[57] In the case of this patient
there remained no trace of remembrance whatever, after awakening.

I have gone into these details merely to show the reader that no
better subject could have been found for my purpose. I have in another
place (see _Revue Philosophique_, article on “Hypnotic Consciousness”)
pointed out certain traits in her case, which at my _début_, were
strongly calculated to make me a believer in the absolute servility of
the hypnotic subject; traits which I shall subsequently recall to your
attention and comment upon.

To judge more fairly of the value of the experiment, I must further
state, that J. is both resolute and courageous. During several summers
she remained in the country in the environs of Seraing in attendance upon
my wife who was in ill-health, and in whose room she slept. After the
summer vacation it often happened that she spent the whole night alone
with her. At the head of the bed hung a six-barrelled revolver, loaded; a
precaution that we had taken on account of the well-known strikes which
took place in 1886, amongst the workmen of the numerous factories in our
neighborhood.

In the summer of 1887 I happened to be absent. A man came one night,
prowling round the garden and fumbling at the lock of the door, which he
even tried to force. The barking of the dogs wakened J., she opened the
window, perceived the man, took the revolver and went down into the hall
watching for the moment in which to fire at the nocturnal visitor. The
man hearing the noise slipped away with celerity. And the same year that
this occurrence took place, J. slept on the first floor with her loaded
revolver hanging on a nail beside her bed.

The 24th Feb. 1888, without communicating my intentions to anybody
except to my daughter, and that only at the very moment of beginning the
experiment, I discharged the revolver. It was six o’clock in the evening.
A young lady, (herself an hypnotic subject,) and my daughter, were seated
at a table, cutting out articles from a newspaper, which they afterwards
tied up in bundles. I called J. and at the moment she opened the door, I
hypnotised her by a motion. I said to her in an agitated tone—“Here are
some thieves, who are carrying off papers.”—J. came quickly forward and
turning towards me said: “No sir, they are playing with them—Why sure
enough they are taking them.” Then she walked resolutely up to them and
tore the papers out of their hands, put them on the table in front of her
and in an imperious tone said: “Don’t you touch them any more.”

I—“You are never going to let those knaves remain in the house—run and
fetch the revolver” (it was in the adjoining room). J. ran without
hesitation. She returned holding the weapon in her hand and stood on the
threshold. “Fire,” cried I.

“Sir, we must not kill them.”

“Thieves? Why certainly!”

“No sir! I will not kill them.”

“You must.”

“I won’t do it.” And she walked backwards still holding the revolver, I
following her and energetically reiterating my command. “I won’t. I won’t
do it. I will not murder.” She then placed the revolver on the floor but
_cautiously_. She continued to go backwards, I, meanwhile insisting and
following her. “I will not do it.”—Having come to a dead stand in the
corner of the room, she repulsed me violently and I thought it prudent to
awaken her, upon which she came to herself smiling in her usual pleasant
manner. She remembered, however, nothing whatever, although at the sight
of the revolver lying on the floor, she seemed to have a kind of vague
recollection. She did not seem at all discomposed in manner. If this
scene had taken place in a dream, she would certainly have exhibited more
excitement.

This is what we may term conclusive evidence, that is to say if ever
negative evidence can be called so. Let us comment now upon these facts.

It will be noticed that J. is not the dupe of the hallucination to which
she has been subjected. She does not take either of the young ladies
for thieves, nor the newspapers for valuable papers. Her first answer
is very significant—“No sir, they are playing with them.” Besides which
her expression, her attitude, the manner in which she looked at the
two reputed thieves, and tore the newspapers out of their hands, had
something so keenly observant, so prepared, so theatrical, that both my
witnesses and myself could not possibly believe her actions ingenuous. I
have often questioned her about the illusions that I suggested to her. I
asked her for example, if, when I appeared to her under another aspect,
for instance under the appearance of a young man, with clustering locks
and a black beard, she ever perceived anything of my real resemblance.
She invariably answered, that she saw my actual person, as it were in a
cloud, behind the figure which I had called up before her mental vision.
It is very probable that she recognised my daughter and her friend in the
persons whom I pointed out as the robbers. I might have assured myself of
this by causing her to recall her thoughts at the time. I am aware that
the opponents of this opinion challenge, and not unreasonably, tests made
in this manner because they have doubts about the suggestion.

If then the facts were such as are related, J. was playing a rôle not
perhaps strictly in accordance with the rules of ordinary acting, knowing
that she was reciting a part, but feeling nevertheless that she had a
certain part to play and must enter into the spirit of it.

It is incontrovertible that the hypnotic subject really does play his
part in precisely this fashion. When, for example, you extend his arm and
defy him to put it down he seems to make an effort to lower it, but in
reality he does not bring the required muscles into play at all. If you
bid him keep his hand open, he never dreams of using the flexor muscles.
Again, if the spectators try to change the position of either hand or
arm, they meet with energetic resistance.

You will ask me how it was that J. did not carry out her acting all
through? Why, after she had gone for the revolver with such deliberation,
she did not fire it? It was because, the action being so rapid in its
development, she had no time for reflection; she must have thought and
she actually did believe, that the revolver was loaded as it always was.
This is proved by the precaution with which she handled it and put it on
the floor. It is evident that she thought it was a dangerous game. If I
had known how the affair would terminate, I would have taken the pistol
and told her that I would fire myself, in order to see what her thought
and action would have been. But notwithstanding all this, supposing she
had fired could we have concluded from this, that she really had latent
murderous tendencies? We could not have drawn any legitimate conclusions
even yet. For if, as we have just stated, J. was not entirely withdrawn
from her actual surroundings, she might naturally suppose that I was only
joking, and that I should never make her fire on my own child, and on
this account she need not feel any anxiety in fulfilling the order that I
had given her.

The problem is a serious one. It is also a psychological problem. I have
already partially disclosed the solution which I myself am led to give
to it, and I can best translate my thoughts by these words and in the
following formula: Persons in hypnosis will only execute acts similar to
those they would naturally perform in dreams. I have asked a number of
persons, among others, those connected with the law, whether they had
ever dreamt they committed murders or robberies, and up to the present
time all have answered in the negative. And yet, lawyers interrogate
criminals, and it would be quite within the realm of possibility through
one of those duplications of personality which I pointed out in my work
on “Sleep and Dreams,”[58] that they should take up for an instant the
rôle of an assassin. This is not an impossible supposition. Does it ever
happen that the novelist or the actor, in portraying or impersonating an
infamous character, the creation of his imagination, does so identify
himself for the nonce, with his own invention, that even in sleep, for
a brief space, he incorporates himself, so to speak, into the fictitious
personage he has evoked. There are some very curious investigations
to make on this subject. But even if any positive facts could be
gathered from this, we should still be left in doubt, as to whether by
post-hypnotic suggestion the subject would continue to carry out the same
rôle.

Doubtless, an anatomist may dream that he is dissecting a body, but
could we produce an hypnotic condition such as to make him use the
knife as freely upon a living body? Can I make a butcher believe that
a child is a sheep? I consider the thing to be perfectly feasible, yet
my thesis is not at all weakened by this concession. We will take it
for granted that, animated by evil designs you proceed to hypnotise
beforehand, the anatomist and the butcher, and then bring them at a given
moment to the victim! And let us further imagine that the combination
succeeds perfectly. How will you manage to veil in deepest secrecy all
your previous manœuvres and cast a semblance of likelihood over the
culpability of your accomplices?

Will not the old adage, _Cui bono_, be quoted against you? In order to
insure perfect impunity, you would have to overcome such an accumulation
of material _impedimenta_, the lightest of which would suffice to
dissipate all apprehensions in the minds of those in whom chimerical
fears have not entirely obliterated their common sense. It is therefore
evident that in so far as we know now, from experiments intended to
test this theory and these possibilities of Criminal Suggestion, no
positive results can be obtained. These criminal actions, so appositely
named—Laboratory Crimes—bear no resemblance to actual ones.

If this debate is ever to be closed it can only be before a Criminal
Court when a Troppman, a Pranzini, or an Eyraud, shall have been the
operator, and it shall have been clearly shown, what interest the
assassin had in making use of a so-called, unconscious and automatic
accomplice. Then only, shall we be able to appreciate to what degree
hypnotism may become a dangerous enemy to society at large. And even
then, we shall have to remind ourselves that all our medicines are
poisons and that they have the power of destroying even more surely, than
that of healing.

Thus the problem is still unsolved.

Here is a story told me by Dr. Liébeault. He, or perhaps it was M.
Bernheim, or both together, hypnotised a workman and told him to steal
a couple of little plaster figures, that were used as ornaments on the
mantel-piece in a house where he was working. He did so. The affair had
been forgotten for some time because the suggestion had not been carried
out on the spot. About three months after the occurrence, this same
workman was arrested for stealing a pair of trousers from the front of a
shop. Upon which the previous hypnotic suggestion was remembered.

My opinion is that the workman—and how many there are of the same
calibre—had a very slight regard for _meum and tuum_. This reminds us
of that hospital patient, whom we saw pilfering the tobacco from his
comrades, and I do not think it was at all necessary to have thrown
the workman into the hypnotic sleep in order to make him steal the
statuettes. But from another point of view, this experiment, which did
not prove anything, might give rise to party arguments from those who
deem it desirable to maintain that it was the initiatory suggestion that
first gave this man the taste for stealing.

To sum up in a few words this portion of my investigation; the result of
my experiments and of my analyses is this: that the experiments of my
opponents prove nothing.

For the present I shall confine myself to this purely negative conclusion.

But there are other grounds besides experiments on which we may examine
this question. We can do so by careful observation and minute analysis of
the actions of hypnotised persons.

I have said before that the degree of morality observable in the dreams
of the subject, gives the measure of what may be expected from him during
hypnosis.

According to my opinion, hypnotism is less powerful in inciting to
actions of grave moral import, than the corrupting influence of word or
example, the love of gold, or the excitement of the passions.

All truly scientific experiments have brought into prominence the analogy
between physiological and incited dreams, and to-day we may say that this
is the doctrine of the future. Thus if an hypnotic subject admits without
opposition that he is made of sugar, or of glass, that he feels he is
melting in the rain, or being broken to atoms by the awkwardness of the
bystanders; if he thinks he is a lamp, or allows himself to be trundled
along like a wheelbarrow; if such a subject, I repeat, refuses to steal
a purse, or to receive an embrace, the conclusion forces itself upon one
that the hypnotic subject has more power over himself than some persons
would wish us to believe; in spite of his docility, there are some things
he absolutely refuses to do.

If then, reasoning by analogy has ever been legitimate, it is surely so
in this case, when the inference can be drawn that the man who refuses to
give a blow will refuse to use a knife; and that the woman who refuses
to give a token of affection will certainly refuse to allow of serious
tampering with morals.

Let us then pay close attention to what observation may teach us.

I shall hope to be able to demonstrate by actual facts, that persons in
an hypnotic condition, preserve at least a sufficient portion of their
intelligence, their reason, together with freedom of action, to prevent
them from committing deeds that neither their conscience nor their habits
approve of.

J. DELBŒUF.

FOOTNOTES:

[55] A lad of about 15, very bright. Has been one of Donato’s subjects.
Very susceptible and having been hypnotised in a great many public
séances.

[56] See my pamphlet on _The Origin of Curative Effects in Hypnotism_.

[57] See _Revue de L’Hypnotisme_. April, 1891.

[58] _Sleep and Dreams_, p. 24 et seqq. (Paris: Félix Alcan).

LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE

FRANCE.

When, some ten years ago, M. de Roberty published in the _Review of
Positive Philosophy_ a series of articles, under the title of the
“New and the Old Philosophy,” I was much impressed by the work. The
conception of the three types; the idealistic, the materialistic, and the
sensualistic, under which nomenclature he ranged the various philosophic
systems, seemed to bring order into the history of philosophy. He also
proceeded to treat, after the same manner and in a very happy way, the
“law of the three states” of Auguste Comte, by this means rectifying
and justifying the latter. The law of the three states, wrote M. de
Roberty, corresponds with the present state of philosophy, which is again
explained by science, so that to whatever measure knowledge may attain
to, it will be equalled by philosophy, which borrows its types and its
characteristics from the sequence of facts, at the point where it leaves
the sphere of explanatory hypotheses.

Since then M. DE ROBERTY has completed by a new study, his first work on
this subject. In the “Unknown” he has laid his finger on one of the weak
points of modern positivism; perhaps by dint of searching into details,
he has shown himself a little too severe on Comte in the book about
which I am going to speak to-day, _The Philosophy of the Century_ (_La
Philosophie du Siècle._).

This book contains a thoughtful criticism of the three doctrines that
occupy contemporaneous thought; and which are: criticism, positivism,
and evolutionism. He considers these in conformance to his _criterium_,
as simply the varieties of one single species and the absolutely
identical manifestation of a common fund of beliefs and hypotheses held
generally by all. According to him critical philosophy derives its
direct origin from idealism. Positive philosophy, from materialism; and
the philosophy of evolution from sensualism. Going further still, he
considers critical philosophy as the legitimate outcome of sensualistic
idealism; and positive philosophy, similarly, as the product of
sensualistic materialism. Sensualism is thus the common ancestor; the
three systems inter-penetrating each other. But the promoters of these
systems must be judged with equity, put back into their proper places,
and ranged according to their epochs. In my opinion, a philosophical
doctrine is valuable, not so much by the clear solutions it affords us,
as by its methods of procedure, may I say, even by the coloring it gives
to thoughtful minds.

I do not hesitate to recognise in Kant, the strong, rough-handed workman
of modern philosophy; in Comte, the most utilitarian; in Spencer the
subtlest as well as the most successful. Kant possesses the greatest
speculative vigor; Comte, the clearest scientific turn of mind; Spencer,
the keenest conception of, and insight into, psychological subjects.
Taking these philosophers as a whole, Spencer, in spite of his merits,
appears to me the least original, the least remarkable of the three.
His universal metaphysics has feet of clay. The classification of the
sciences that he wished to substitute for that of Comte is obscure,
devoid of general utility; in short the influence of Comte on succeeding
generations will be more considerable than Spencer’s, if indeed there are
any philosophers who will be bold enough to avow themselves deliberately
as Comtists.

This contradiction should not surprise us. It not seldom happens that the
influence of a master continues even when his doctrines have suffered
shipwreck. We notice this in the great schools of thought of the
present day. We may say with truth, that the criticists are inclined to
dialectics; the positivists, to methods and systems; the evolutionists
to facts. The first excel in the analysis of ideas, but they expose
themselves to be lost in abstractions. The second endeavor to reduce to
a system all scientific matter, but they run the risk of being either
rigorists or becoming too elementary. The last while making rapid strides
in the genesis of the subtler phenomena of life, incur the danger of
accepting arbitrary _liaisons_, or of remaining in an inchoate condition.
Each one possesses most valuable qualities, which it would be desirable
indeed to meet with in the same mind. Each has rendered services which it
is but just to recognise and which it would be unwise to disregard.

The main thing is always to be able to understand one another upon the
question of what philosophy means and its relation to science. What M. de
Roberty cares most for, in all his writings, is the elucidation of this
problem. We must concede, that it is one which is worth striving after.
And it is surely not asking too much if we demand of every philosopher,
that he shall know, more or less, what is meant by philosophising.

Philosophy will be, in the future, very much what it has always been in
the past, a general _conception of the world_. This is a fixed fact for
M. de Roberty. Is it true that philosophy preceded science, or, that on
the contrary it has always been and will continue to be subsidiary to
it? Many are, we know, partisans of the first opinion; it has seemed to
them that the sciences have separated little by little from the hazy and
indistinct conglomerate which bore the name of theology, metaphysics,
in a word, of philosophy. M. de Roberty does not hesitate to adopt the
contrary opinion. Philosophy, according to him, has always sprung from
science, it has always been the equal of science. But though he proclaims
this equality as existing between science and philosophy, this does not
in the least oblige him to recognise any equality in their manifestations
“in history.” The knowledge of a given science, implies a certain
_conception of the world_; this is the supreme law of philosophical
evolution. Philosophy is an abstract science of general interest, having
for its end, the integration of the documentary evidence furnished
by the various sciences. Comte was strongly imbued with this truth.
Spencer made it his own, but he makes a more serious mistake than his
predecessor, when he asserts that philosophy is able to “play an active
part” in scientific discovery. In the opinion of M. de Roberty, it is
neither the antecedent of science, nor is it even to be called an art.
Must it then be called a science? Or is it to be comprehended in science?
Neither the one, nor the other. He prefers rather to regard it as a link
(“_un trait d’union_”) between these two different kinds of intellectual
activity, science and art. The mental faculties may, he tells us, aim
at subjugating nature, either in a direct manner, the result of which
will be called science; or in an indirect way, in which case we name it
art; or they may have still a third intention, taking a kind of middle
course between the utility of _science_ and the indirect utility of art,
which while actively participating in both, facilitates as well the
transition from one to the other, from which springs _philosophy_. “Most
unmistakably identical,” says he finally, “are the elements which produce
a particular combination, in the one, they are called science, in the
other philosophy.”

But we must not confound the two propositions. “If a house is to be
built of brick, does that mean that we are not to distinguish between
the materials required in its erection?—that we are to apply to its
construction, the ingredients and the procedures used in the making and
firing of bricks? We never should build a house if we acted thus.”

Let us not misunderstand this comparison! The house here spoken of is
entirely figurative. The hypothesis which underlies it is universally
accepted, but its primal condition is always wanting—i. e. universal
knowledge. It would be presumptuous indeed, to draw, to-day, the plans
and define the style of architecture which shall be used in our future
philosophical habitation, since we do not yet possess even the materials
wherewith to build it. We can only hope to erect such a temporary
shelter, a fort, that may be swept away in a few hours, whenever the
enemy shall have discovered an explosive powerful enough to blow it into
atoms. I do not care very much, I confess, for the distinction spoken of
“between a direct and an indirect utility” and the idea of philosophy
forming a link between art and science. This way of representing the
facts of the case, seems to me both cumbersome and incomplete. I will
not stop here to discuss it. The thoughtful study of M. de Roberty is
not compromised by such a small detail, and I would rather remember the
positive teaching which is given in the very striking book that I have
just been criticising.

“Philosophy and science,” writes the author, “are terms which define
two principal _species_ of the vast _genus_ designated under the one
name,—knowledge.” The most marked trait of the philosophy of the future,
will be the _distinction_ between the two species, as _confusion_ was the
predominant characteristic of the philosophy of the past.

* * * * *

The work of M. de Roberty gave us a methodic history of philosophy.
That of M. F. PICAVET, _The Ideologists—An Essay on the Scientific,
Philosophic, Religious, etc., ideas and theories in France since 1789_,
stretches over a very vast area of descriptive history. His book
conducts us from Condorcet to Destutt de Tracy, and Cabanis; from these
to Degérando and Laromiguière; it embraces thus nearly the whole of
the philosophy of the eighteenth century, which it carries back to the
seventeenth, from thence following the thread of its history, through
the intervening years, down to our own times. The name “Ideologist” is
vague, as are all the rest of the battle-cries which are used by the
leaders of parties, or that their adversaries may make use of against
them. Ideology, in the sense used by Destutt de Tracy, signifies, that
philosophers must confine themselves to psychological research, more
particularly to that which concerns the origin and the formation of
ideas, an immense field, embracing philology, ethnology, etc. With
regard to the wrong sense which Napoleon attached to this word, it was
justified in a certain measure by the pretensions of the philosophers in
governing life, politics, and law, by doubtful hypotheses, which did not
often accord with practice. It cannot be denied that since the time of
Rousseau, we pass much too easily from theory to action, and that we fall
back too readily on our imagination, to supplement our actual experience.
We find in M. Picavet’s book, new and valuable information about all the
men who have contributed to the intellectual life of the French nation,
during and since the time of the Revolution. We can trace there the
origin of certain doctrines, which have appeared to spring up suddenly
before our eyes, and shall often be extremely surprised by what we shall
read there. It is a most valuable and important work, showing an enormous
amount of erudition, fine critical acumen, and a rare descriptive talent.
It is quite voluminous (more than 600 pp. 8vo.), and some might indeed
consider that it could have been more condensed. But it is primarily a
book of reference, in whose pages we shall surely not complain of finding
a large amount of information, when we refer to it.

* * * * *

With the book of M. BERNARD PÉREZ, _Le Caractère, de l’enfant à l’homme_,
(Character, from Childhood to Manhood), we leave the domain of philosophy
and history to enter into that of psychology. M. Pérez modestly disclaims
all pretension to founding a science of character. Nevertheless, that
which he has given us and produced here, bears the stamp of originality
in a subject in which authors have hitherto only repeated one another.
His work is composed of two parts, of which the second forms the
completion of, or rather a commentary on, the first. We find here, to
start with, a classification of characters, illustrated by portraits
which render the developments more tangible; secondly, a study on the
common combinations of the principle traits of personality.

The classification of M. Pérez is founded on movements, that is to say
it is displayed in sufficiently complete groups connected with some
distinct mode of expression, such as rapidity, slowness, and energy of
movements. It offers the practical advantage of substituting for the four
or six temperaments of the old schools, which are frequently hard to
distinguish, classes more flexible and distinguished by visible gestures
which betray, more or less clearly, their physiological foundation. M.
Pérez has provisorily established six of these classes. He distinguishes
the vivacious, the vivacious-ardent, the ardent, the sluggish, the
sluggish-ardent, and lastly the balanced type. The last category is
in my judgment a sort of utility-box, apparently designed to receive
specimens which we are at a loss where else to put. For one of two things
is certainly true, either this balance is an insignificant trait or it
is one that is dominant in the person, and it is absolutely necessary to
state which.

Many will undoubtedly question this doctrine that the movements of
a person express all his character and that consequently they are
competent to reveal it to us. We might maintain, indeed, that if the
movements supply us with the labels of each class, it is not always to be
distinctly seen how the different traits of character and of intelligence
(the author does not separate the two, and gives his reasons for so
doing) subordinate themselves to one another and vary with the motor sign
chosen to express them. There can be no question, however, that rapidity,
energy, or slowness of movement, do not have certain actual and profound
connections with our visceral and cerebral functions, and that the motor
sign is easy to be made use of, although it does not reach all the facts
which it is employed to describe, and although the explanation of these
facts still remains to be sought in the physiological substratum.

M. Pérez has secondly attempted a systematisation of character-traits, by
successively studying the relations of gaiety and sadness, irascibility
and gentleness, courage and fear, kindness and malevolence, self-love and
will, with the principal emotional intellectual and volitional traits
of character. He has perceived, instinctively as it were, that the
pointing out of generic, specific, and individual marks does not possess
its entire worth except on the condition that we also point out _the
subordination_ of the same, and he has given this factor much prominence
in the last chapters of his book. This portion of the work is replete
with subtle observations, and ingenious and profound reflections, but it
is fragmentary in character, a half-way production, I might say, between
the disconnected literature of the moralist and a reasoned and methodical
description such as ethology ought to furnish later on, after the manner,
if possible, of the natural sciences.

The desiderata which I here briefly refer to, are not set forth to
diminish the value of the work of M. Pérez. It will in its present form
render great services, and I should not be at all surprised if the
terminology which he has invented should pass into the language of the
day, as it is convenient and easily lends itself to the description of
character-portraits. Even readers who shall find here much to criticise,
will not refuse to accord to it real and solid merit.

* * * * *

After the work of M. Pérez, a study of my own naturally ranges itself—_La
Psychologie du peintre_[59]—concerning which I ask permission to
offer a few remarks. I have set myself the problem, in this work, of
determining a professional type, and I have chosen one of those which
are certainly the most distinctly defined. If other authors could give
us the psychology of the musician, of the lawyer, of the physician, and
of the geometer, such a task would not be an indifferent performance in
what concerns our knowledge of _character_, and we should arrive at the
construction of a natural history of society from a different point of
view and by different methods from those at the disposal of the novelist.
We should accomplish, unquestionably, the passage from general and
_abstract_ psychology, to _concrete_ psychology.

Do professional types really exist? and if they exist, what are they
composed of? The question as I view it, is not bereft of interest for the
psychologist. We do, no doubt, find among painters, vivacious, sluggish,
and ardent individuals, and we may indeed, in studying this or that
particular painter, discover in him some one or other of the combinations
described by M. Pérez. But that does not stand in the way of the growth
and constitution of social types, and individuals may find a natural
place in the different categories of a general classification without
ceasing to belong to their professional category in consequence of a
natural self-grouping of their intellectual faculties, and a definite
tendency of the traits of their emotional nature. It would be justifiable
to say, at the same time simplifying and enlarging a little the facts,
that originally our viscera form our character but our cerebral organism
forms our profession; and if it is true furthermore that a certain
physiological state brings with it a definite intellectual mode of
operation, it is none the less true that the same culture of the mind and
the long-continued habits of a profession are apt to impose upon one’s
personality a definite discipline and mean equilibrium of tendencies and
sentiments; and it is in this sense that it has seemed to me we are at
liberty to speak of a professional type without equivocation or violence.

Those who will not accept this manner of looking at this subject will
find, I hope, some additional interest in my work on the score of the
special questions which are treated of there: the heredity of genius,
memory, the classification of the sentiments (implied rather than
formulated), the relations of the will to the design considered as
writing, the evolution of art in its connection with visual analysis,
and so forth. There is here a sufficiently abundant supply of materials
capable of being wrought up in social psychology and the criticism of
art. But it does not become me to bestow praises on my own work, and it
would be too easy for me to subject it to criticism. My readers will
find in it themselves the weak portions, without my pointing them out to
them; and it would be a source of great pleasure to me to have the same
assurance that they will discover in it qualities which I do not perceive
there.

* * * * *

There remains still to be mentioned _La Première partie d’une étude sur
la théorie du droit musulman_,[60] by SAVVAS PACHA, one time governor
and governor general, one time minister of public works and foreign
secretary of Turkey. Savvas Pacha—a Christian of Greek descent—has held
high positions in the Ottoman Empire and is esteemed as one of the most
learned men in Islamic law who have ever lived. His book therefore
demands the greatest consideration; it will not possess less interest for
philosophers than for statesmen and jurists. In my opinion, works of this
class should be consulted by psychologists as much as by sociologists; we
are too much inclined nowadays to neglect certain social studies which
offer us valuable information respecting the genius of races and the
conditions of their moral existence.

The work of Savvas Pacha will undoubtedly contribute much toward the
elucidation of some mooted points of very first importance; I should like
to mention—the history of creation, and the exposition of the principles
of a law which rules more than a million human beings and is intimately
interwoven with their political life; a more exact knowledge of the
Semitic genius; an estimate of the relations which have existed between
the juridical metaphysics of the Semitic peoples and that of the schools
of Greece, between the Mohammedan law and the Roman law in provinces once
Romanised but afterwards subjected to the empire of the Caliphs.

It does not seem at all doubtful that the ontology of Aristotle in
particular has exercised an influence on the philosophy of the Arabian
jurisconsults. A second truly remarkable fact, too, is not the new
ontology which they have produced, but the use they have made of it in
their legislative fabrics. It is impossible to enter into details here; I
limit myself to the mere pointing out of the facts.

With respect to the originality of the institutions that belong to the
period of the first Abbassids, the same has been contested by a number of
historians. M. Renan, among others has maintained that they are the work
of the Iranian genius. Savvas Pacha refutes this opinion in a peremptory
manner, and we shall no longer be able to deny, after having read him,
that the Mohammedan civilisation, with the _corpus juris_ which stands
for its most perfect production, has really proceeded from the genius of
the races that bore the banner of Islam from the confines of China to the
Straits of Gibraltar.

Shall I add that we may deduce from this work, so learned and so
suggestive, the elements of an instructive comparison between two grand
divisions of human history whose evolution seems still to be pursued on
lines wholly apart—that which we call Christianity and that which has
sprung from the teachings of Mohammed?

I fervently hope that Savvas Pacha will not delay the publication of
the other works which he has promised. When they appear he will have
furnished us with the most considerable work which we possess on the
institutions of a great division of humanity, still too little known to
us.

LUCIEN ARRÉAT.

FOOTNOTES:

[59] All the works so far mentioned are published by F. Alcan.

[60] Published by Marchal et Billard, Paris.

II.

GERMANY.

Productions of a literary-historical character are under certain
circumstances also entitled to mention in a philosophical magazine,
especially if they present to us the intellectual development and
physiognomy of an individual or of a community in a scientific manner, as
is done in the _Essays_ of KARL WEIGAND which have just been published by
Merhoff, of Munich. Of the larger essays contained in this book we will
especially mention those on Voltaire, Rousseau, Baudelaire, and Taine, to
which in psychological respects a high value is to be accorded, and which
although not exactly easy are nevertheless pleasant reading.

Viewed from this standpoint the _History of North American Literature_ by
KARL KNORTZ (Berlin, 1891, Lustenöder) hardly admits of consideration;
not even Edgar Allen Poe, who in the psychological point of view is of
unexceptionally great importance, is in any respect profoundly treated.
The work is made up of a series of well written articles which first no
doubt were published in newspapers and magazines for the public at large.
We deem it proper, however, to mention the work in this place, because it
contains a chapter on the philosophical literature of North America, in
which, we must admit, philosophy does not appear to the best advantage.
The representatives of philosophy in North America, the author says,
are in the main doctors of divinity and securely installed university
professors, and this department of study has therefore no dangerous
connections; the gentlemen calmly wend their way along the ancient and
well-trodden path of the aprioristic philosophers and proscribe without
any ado all modern innovations, Darwinism in particular.

As they have not as yet consigned the belief in God and immortality and
the freedom of the will to the lumber-room of traditional opinions, and
as they are as a rule only superficially acquainted with the results of
the exact sciences, despite the fact that many assure us of the contrary,
they accordingly fancy that they are easily able to solve the imagined
chief problem of philosophy, the reconciliation of religion and science.

This judgment may contain much that is true, but from the little that
we personally know of things in North America, is to be decidedly
restricted. Moreover, we by no means share the low opinion which the
author entertains of all attempts to reconcile religion and science.
Religion is a phenomenon of too great antiquity and its influence
in the life of nations is too thoroughly established to entitle us,
on the ground of science with which it is still involved in violent
conflict, summarily to disregard it; and consequently every attempt at
reconciliation is worthy of the best efforts of the noblest. It is of
course a question whether we shall ever arrive at the point where we
will completely understand _all_ religious things, but we certainly
must with time arrive at a point where religion shall no longer contain
inconsistencies, contain nothing, that is, of which the absurdities are
patent.

There was indeed, in Germany also, a time when the belief was very
widely spread that religion as compared with science might be ignored
completely; it was the time when Ludwig Büchner and Karl Vogt were so
much read, when the magazine _Gartenlaube_ counted its greatest number
of readers. But this time is long since past, and just as since that
time employment with philosophy, especially with ethics, has become
more comprehensive, so also the interest in religio-philosophical
questions, which aim at a reconcilement of the two hostile powers, has
been considerably augmented. Aside from the German productions which have
been written in a conciliatory tone, like the book, to give an example,
of Moriz Carrière on Christianity and the Modern World Conception,
foreign works of this same class have also been much read, particularly
Drummond’s _Natural Law in the Spiritual World_, to which indeed in
our judgment no particular value is attributable, as it does not help
us to any real knowledge but contents itself with analogies which
scientifically are absolutely worthless.

Recently the little treatise _Ernste Gedanken_ of the Saxon officer VON
EGIDY (Leipsic, 1891, Wilh. Wigand) has been much talked about. The
reformatory effect of this brochure has, indeed, hitherto been very
slight and will hardly become more extensive in the future, but the
response that it has met with in the widest circles of the German public,
proves that many ardent friends of religion anxiously desire that the
dogmatic shackles and integuments shall be stripped from the body of the
Christian beliefs, and that it shall appear, in the clearest and purest
light, that which it is, the religion of love.

Theological criticism has not taken an exactly favorable attitude towards
the little book of Lieut. Egidy, and even the liberals, who pay the
fullest credit to the good intentions of the author call attention to the
fact that the greater part of what Egidy advances has been said before
and said better, and that there is an almost absolute lack of positive
proposals to be adopted. The Egidy movement will thus probably have, they
conclude, no lasting effects.

We cannot indeed absolutely say that these critics are wrong, if we
are at all conversant with the development of protestant theology.
A very instructive and opportune work in this respect is a book
of the well-known Berlin professor OTTO PFLEIDERER, who, as his
religio-philosophical treatises evidence, himself belongs to the
reconcilers of Christianity and the modern world-conceptions. In the
year 1889, at the instigation of the editor of the Library of Philosophy
issued by Swan, Sonnenschein, & Co. of London, he published in the
English language a work on _The Development of Protestant Theology
since Kant and in Great Britain since 1825_, and this same work has now
just appeared in German (published by Mohr of Freiburg) in a somewhat
more extended form. As its title proclaims, and as its belonging to the
Library of Philosophy would signify, the work is chiefly concerned with
the influence which philosophy has exercised on theological thought.
To make this influence plain, the author presents at the start, in the
form of an introduction, a concise but extremely lucid exposition of the
philosophical doctrines that especially demand consideration in this
direction. Of German philosophers, Kant, Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel,
and of English, Herbert Spencer are treated of at length.

In view of the great respect which Hegel still enjoys in America, it will
perhaps interest many of the readers of _The Monist_ if I give here an
utterance of Pfleiderer, which in the point of view of the history of
religion is also deserving of consideration, at least on the part of
those who are recognised adherents of evolutionism.

“No other branch of inquiry,” says Pfleiderer, “owes so much to Hegel as
History; the arbitrary construction of details from the philosophical
concept which had crept in by Hegel and his immediate followers, has
of course been discarded by exact historical inquirers, but there has
remained that profounder conception of historical life generally as a
development of the common mind of all ages and nations, conformable
to law, dominated by ideas, and aiming at necessary general purposes;
there has remained that profounder insight into the intricate play of
phenomena, into the kernel of things and men, into the dominating ideas
that lie as guiding impulses at the foundation of even the apparent
disharmony of individual passions; there has remained that unprepossessed
understanding for the necessity of even the contrarieties and struggles,
for the errors and passions of men, for conflict is the father of all
things, as Hegel says with Heraclitus, and as it is only through the
struggle of partial rights and one-sided truths that the whole truth of
the idea can force its way into existence; there has remained finally
that intelligent respect for the heroic figures of history in which the
genius of a people and of an age have been incarnated, which as the
instruments of a higher power have awakened the thought that slumbered
in all souls, given it clear expression, and infused in it life by their
mighty deeds. Neither a Leopold Ranke, nor a Thomas Carlyle, nor a
Ferdinand Christian Bauer would be conceivable without Hegel’s philosophy
of history.”

Pfleiderer expresses himself here very cautiously concerning Hegel, and
in other passages his caution is extended further still. Nevertheless, it
will seem to many as if that philosopher has been too highly estimated by
Pfleiderer. Especially will the followers of Herbart be dissatisfied, who
was involved in violent combat with Schelling and Hegel. It is not the
place here to enter minutely into this subject; but it is to be mentioned
that the name of Herbart does not occur once in this large book. Perhaps
Pfleiderer is of Edward Zeller’s opinion who says in his “History of
Modern Philosophy,” that the philosophy of Herbart has proved itself
unfruitful. It must be confessed, indeed, that the philosophy of Hegel
has proved itself for religious doctrine very fruitful; but whether we
should be satisfied with its results is quite a different question. Be
that however as it may; still, after Schoel has presented Herbart’s ideas
concerning religion in a special work, since men like Drobisch, Thilo,
and Strumpell have further elaborated these ideas; since particularly
Ziller in his Ethics has also profoundly treated religious problems in
the sense of Herbart, it is no longer allowable to omit the name of
Herbart when we treat of the modern philosophy of religion.

In other respects also we are not always in full accord with the author.
So, for example, in Hausrath’s _Neutestamentliche Zeitgeschichte_, a work
to which we ourselves are very much indebted, the perfection of the form
of the presentment is justly praised, as is also the merit of having
inserted into the greater setting of universal history the development
of early Christianity; but it is not mentioned that Hausrath has often
allowed himself to be misguided into combinations whose flimsiness cannot
escape the notice even of the lay student.

But these are only slight deficiencies of a work that is otherwise
excellent and full of matter, closing with the words: “This much is
certain, that the labors of the best and wisest of all the theologians of
our century, who have here been passed in review before the eyes of the
reader, however different the paths may be which individually they have
entered upon, have yet been all directed to the one end that Christianity
shall strip itself of its dogmatic coverings and fetters and evince its
world-conquering power in the ethical idealism of a love that unites us
with God and joins together the hands of humanity into the federation of
brotherhood.”

If this aim were universal, that is if it were also recognised by the
theologians, a not inconsiderable portion of the dispute between religion
and science would be done away with, and the sole question would then
turn on the contrariety of theological and philosophical ethics. But even
respecting this point a settlement would be much sooner brought about,
if those concerned would evince the same spirit of reconciliation as
HANS GALLWITZ, city pastor of Sigmaringen, has recently done in his book
_Das Problem der Ethik in der Gegenwart_ (Göttingen, 1891, Vandenhoeck
and Ruprecht). The author, it is true, deals critically not only with
the philosophical ethics of a Paulsen and a Wundt, but also with the
theological ethics of a Hermann and a Kaftan; still the settlement of
things with the philosophers forms the bulk of this rather extensive
work, the contents of which we cannot of course give here. Gallwitz also
speaks in considerable detail of Kant, whom he opposes in respect of the
psychological questions here involved, wholly rejecting anything like
a transcendental will. If we must agree with him in this respect, we
can nevertheless not follow him in his assumption of a special ethical
constitution of the soul.

In conclusion let me note the titles of two works to which I shall revert
in a subsequent letter. On _The Psychology in Kant’s Ethics_ Dr. ALFRED
HEGLER of Tübingen presents a meritorious and compendious treatise of 300
pages (Freiburg, 1891, Mohr), and Professor HOSTINSKY of Prague publishes
an exposition and interpretation, based on the sources, of _Herbart’s
Æsthetics_, in which, as is well known, ethics and æsthetics in the
restricted sense are wholly severed from psychology.

CHR. UFER.

CRITICISMS AND DISCUSSIONS.

THOUGHT AND LANGUAGE.

_To the Editor of The Monist_:

SIR—I am glad to hear that Prof. Max Müller intends to answer our
double-barrelled criticism of his article on the above subject.
Meanwhile, however, I should like to say a few words with regard to the
point which he selects for immediate response (see _The Monist_, Jan.
1892, p. 286). And my object in saying these few words is to remove from
his mind the idea that with regard to the point in question I had the
smallest intention of bringing against him “a serious charge of want of
accuracy, unpardonable in a scholar.” On the contrary, as regards this
point I was simply defending myself from _his_ charge against _me_—to
wit, the charge of arrogance.

In his article on “Thought and Language” he observed, “Professor Romanes
has no right to speak of men like Noiré, Huxley, Herbert Spencer, to say
nothing of Hobbes, with an air of superiority.” In answer to this charge
I stated the bare facts of the case,—viz. that in my book I had alluded
to Noiré merely for the sake of stating his theory as to the origin
of speech, and of expressing my large measure of agreement therewith;
that I had quoted Huxley only in places where my argument needed
authoritative opinions on matters of comparative anatomy; that I had
only once mentioned Hobbes, and then in order to back by his authority a
philosophical doctrine for which I was contending; and, lastly, that I
had never mentioned Herbert Spencer at all. Now, if my critic feels that
a mere statement of these facts amounts to a serious charge against him
as a scholar, I can only express my regret that he should have imposed on
me the necessity of stating them.

But what now is his reply to this simple statement of facts? Briefly,
he drops his own “serious charge” as regards Noiré, Huxley, and Hobbes,
and takes his stand upon the case of Herbert Spencer. “It is true,” he
says, “Mr. 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 Herbert Spencer who regards
the copula as an essential ingredient of a proposition.” As if it were
one man alone who takes this view, and that man Herbert Spencer! Or as
if Herbert Spencer’s name were so specially identified with it, that
in calling it a philosophically foolish view I expected my readers to
understand a disrespectful allusion to him! Surely my critic knows as
well as I do that this question touching the function of the copula
is one which has been debated for centuries; and therefore that with
much more show of reason he might accuse me of making an attack on the
President of the United States, on the ground that I had expressed a
decided opinion in favor of free trade.

But more than this. So far is it from being “well known that it is
Herbert Spencer who regards the copula as an essential ingredient of a
proposition,” that I am under the necessity of asking Prof. Max Müller
for references in proof of such a statement. Chapters X and XI of the
“Principles of Psychology” (Vol. II) are those which, as far as I am
aware, most nearly approach the subject. Yet the word “copula” does not
once occur in them. Moreover, with all that Mr. Spencer has there said
upon the nature and structure of propositions I am, and always have been,
in full agreement.

Yours faithfully,

GEORGE J. ROMANES.

Oxford, Feb. 12.

A DEFENSE OF LITTRÉ.

_To the Editor of The Monist._

If all the readers of _The Monist_ for October were acquainted with the
life and writings of Littré I should not have to defend him against your
criticism, as everyone could see that there is more truth than poetry
in my sonnet. But I fear that “the voice, the spirit, and the soul of
Positivism” is not so well known as he deserves to be, and I venture to
ask for space to reply.

Proceeding in order, I should like to correct the impression left by the
following passage: “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.” The misunderstanding between the two
men had a more serious origin than these family squabbles and arose from
the fact that Littré would not follow Comte through the mystic vagaries
of the _Politique Positive_. He admits that being under his intellectual
ascendency he went too far on the new way, but he soon found that the
master was violating his own method and, having to choose between them,
he held to the method. Littré’s refusal to join Comte in his adhesion
to the régime of the coup d’état of 1851 was the immediate cause of the
rupture. His “excessive tolerance” did not extend to the Bonapartes, whom
he detested cordially. It is characteristic of the man that he continued
his yearly subscription to the fund that he had created for his friend’s
support notwithstanding this break in their relations.

As to his tolerance, I think with you that he carried it a little too far
in his own family. Greater firmness might have spared us the vision of
priests bedeviling him in his agony and dragging his body in triumph to
holy ground. But the case that you take as an example does not seem to
me conclusive. It was not necessary to possess his knowledge of history
in order to appreciate the difficulties attendant upon interference with
his catholic wife in the education of their daughter, and as success was
impossible he wisely limited his endeavor to fields unobstructed by the
“eternal feminine.”

Seriously, we admit that Littré was tolerant to excess, but not that the
attitude of his philosophy is, as you say, “mere scepticism leading to
indifferentism.” In the words of M. Wyrouboff, who aided him for many
years in editing the magazine called _La Philosophie Positive_, “men, no
matter how superior they may be, are never abstract formulas interpreting
with equal facility all the parts of a mental conception; they always
represent a mixture of strength and weakness in variable proportions....
It seemed as if intellectual activity had absorbed all the living forces
of his (Littré’s) being, leaving in the place of physical activity only
the faculty of passive resistance to the will of others.” This refers
to the man in his old age but in youth he was an athlete of remarkable
strength. Renan said of him: “While his temperament was calm his mind was
revolutionary, and therefore he never gave way. In July 1830, he was in
the first line of those who broke into the place du Carrousel and George
Farcy was shot through by his side.” I am tempted to quote a little
more from this master of words. “So great was his love of truth that,
perhaps alone in our century, he could retract without lessening himself.
Truth led him like a child.... It is not well to be too perfect.... His
apparent negations were only the extreme reserve of a mind that dreads
hazardous appreciations. He was so much afraid of going beyond what he
saw clearly that he often stopped short of it. Hesitation that implies a
thousand times more delicate worship of the eternal ideal than the rash
solutions that satisfy superficial minds.”

Even in old age there were no signs of “indifferentism” in his conduct.
In the words of Pasteur, “At the Mesnil he was consulting physician for
the whole village (always gratuitously). Continuing his labors till three
o’clock in the morning, the light of his lamp shone afar during the night
like a beacon that reassured the sick. It was known that at the first
call, M. Littré would leave his work and go wherever his aid was needed.”

These are the words of men that knew him, but my first-hand opinion of
him was formed solely from his writings and his public acts as senator,
etc.; fancy such a man in _our_ senate!

The note in which you say that I attended positivistic lectures
(Comte’s?) in France together with Mr. Frederic Harrison is a flattering
anachronism.

Littré’s father received a sword of honor while in the navy for beating
off an English ship of superior force, and the son’s philosophy prompts
not only to action but to action, if necessary, in the good old fashioned
positive way.

My second objection refers to the line where you say that your positivism
“has nothing to do with Comte or with any of Comte’s disciples,” and,
leaving Comte aside, I hope to show that you and Littré are much better
friends than you imagine. A view noted by him on p. 27, Vol. 1, of his
magazine, _La Philosophie Positive_, ought to assure this happy result.

In the preface of your valuable work entitled “Fundamental Problems” you
draw particular attention to the part that treats of “Form and Formal
Thought,” which, you say, discusses a subject of fundamental importance.
“A correct conception of form and the laws of form will clear away many
mysteries; it will afford a satisfactory explanation of causality and
shed a new light on all the other problems of philosophy.”

The part referred to begins thus: “In the introduction to his ‘Critique
of Pure Reason,’ Immanuel Kant proposes the question: How are synthetical
Judgments _a priori_ possible? on the solution of this problem the
whole structure of his philosophy rests, which he characterises as
_Transcendental Idealism_.” (“A priori, as used in the limited sense by
Kant, is purely formal knowledge, while a posteriori is identical with
experience.”)

Further on I read, “Our own views grew out of a study of Kant’s
Transcendentalism”; and the first words of your “Conclusion” are these:
“Although Kant’s Transcendental Idealism cannot be considered as a final
solution of the basic problem of philosophy, it nevertheless pursues the
right method and has thus actually led us to a solution which, we hope,
will in time be recognised as final.”

In looking for the difference between the two solutions to find the
part in yours that belongs to you alone, I see on p. 50 of “Fundamental
Problems” that “Kant thinks it is a strange and wonderful fact that
our formal thought (the rules of arithmetic, mathematics, logic, etc.,
which are _a priori_) agrees so precisely with the highest (i. e. the
most general) laws of nature, which can be ascertained and verified by
experience. Kant sees only two ways of solution. Either the laws of pure
reason, he says, have been gathered by experience from nature, or, on
the contrary, the laws of nature have been deduced from our _a priori_
rules. The former solution is impossible, since the formal sciences
are proven to have been formulated with the exclusion of all sensory
experience. ‘Therefore,’ says Kant, ‘the second solution only remains.
Reason dictates its laws to nature’; i. e. ... the sensory impressions
are the raw material only from which the well-ordered whole of nature, as
an object of science, is created by the synthetic faculty of reason....
Kant has taken into consideration two ways only. He overlooks the third
and most obvious explanation.... The third possibility is that which has
been propounded in the foregoing pages. According to our explanation, the
formal (the highest or most general) laws of nature and the formal laws
of thought are identical. Their agreement is not wonderful but inevitable
as both are expressions of the forms of existence in general.”

This then is your “solution of the basic problem of philosophy.”

Turning back to page 34, I find under the title “The Origin of the A
Priori”: “Kant answers the question ‘How are synthetic judgments _a
priori_ possible?’ by showing that such synthetic judgments undoubtedly
exist.” “He might have ventured a step further by proposing another
question: ‘What is the origin of the _a priori_?’ Only by answering
this question could he have shown _how_ synthetic judgments _a priori_
are possible. This he did not do, and the omission has produced great
confusion among German, French, and English thinkers.” On the next
page, 36, I find “According to our view, form is a property of reality
as well as of our cognition. Formless matter does not exist. Form and
matter as they exist in reality, are inseparable.... Knowledge also
in its primitive shape, when it is, so to say, natural and crude, is
an intimate combination of sense-perceptions and formal cognition.
The sense-perceptions are the real substance of knowledge, while
formal cognition is the principle which arranges and systematises
sense-experiences.” ... “Logic does not create order and system in our
brain, but it makes us conscious of the order that naturally grew in our
mind.”

In the division entitled “The Order of Nature” you say that “Formal
thought represents the mere laws of thought in their abstractness, and
has been acquired by abstraction. The mere forms of thought exhibit
a wonderful regularity.... This regularity of formal thought, which
is expressed in all logical laws, arithmetical calculations, and in
all mathematical conceptions, has naturally grown in our mind as the
psychical expression of a physical regularity in the arrangement of the
various brain-structures and their combinations. The arrangement of
brain-structures in certain regular forms has been effected in accordance
with the same laws that govern the development of forms generally.”

This answer to the question, “What is the origin of the _a priori_” is
what you call the corner-stone of your positivism, which, you say, “it is
to be hoped, will prove the only true Monism.”

Now I give my translation of Littré’s view, which he published in 1867,
in an article entitled “The Three Philosophies.”

“The effective certainty that the mathematical laws of number, of figure
and of motion are at the base of physical phenomena, and the inductive
belief that they are equally at the base of chemical and of biological
phenomena induce me to note here a view upon the relation that must be
found between subjective phenomena and objective phenomena, that is to
say upon the relation that causes the subject to draw from the object
a science and laws. The nervous substance, which is the organ of all
intelligence, is made up of material elements which arrive with their
conditions; and when this substance becomes capable of thinking, it
passes under the conditions proper to the elements that form it; which
results in (_se traduit par_) a science and its laws. The material
work that takes place in the brain while it fulfils its office, is, as
is known, a work of nutrition, which consists of a chemical exchange
of molecules. Every chemical action is, in turn, equivalent to a
certain quantity of heat; and again, this heat is equivalent to a
certain quantity of motion. Thus thought, no matter how we represent
to ourselves the relation to nervous substance, is connected with
mathematical modes of which it becomes conscious when it becomes
luminous. Not that I would in any way have it understood that thought
is but an equivalent of heat or of motion. Far from that, equivalence
is not identity; and whenever we change from one degree to another in
the natural and scientific order we meet a new unknown which is the
characteristic of this degree. The induction that leads us to connect
thought with mathematical conditions, leads us also to connect it with
physical, chemical, and biological conditions, of which it is necessarily
participant. Finally, when, at the highest point, it arrives face to face
with itself, it studies itself experimentally like the rest, and forms
its own doctrine. If it attempts to go out metaphysically into space,
it is reduced to combining subjectively its own elements, turns in a
circle without issue and falls back upon itself. If, on the contrary, it
makes the same attempt towards nature from which it emanates, then the
ways open, science is established, and positive philosophy appears. The
material constitution of the nervous substance is the point of junction
between the human mind and laws or general facts. If I had been younger,
I should have made a work of this view, not a paragraph; but old age must
hasten.”

I have translated more than was necessary so as to give the “view” as
a whole. Does it not contain the answer to your question, “What is the
origin of the _a priori_”?

Though Littré solved your “basic problem of philosophy” he did not attach
so much importance to this solution as you do because his philosophy is
based upon a generalisation from all facts and not upon any one fact,
however important it may be.

“Positive Philosophy is the conception of the world that results from the
systematised ensemble of the positive sciences” and does not depend upon
the solution of any psychological problem, although it recognises the
importance of all psychological facts.

Your originality lies in your application of Littré’s discovery.

The reader has his choice between Littré’s positivism and your
neo-Kantism, but if he side with you he must at least thank Littré for
the solution on which your philosophy is based.

You say that “Comtean Positivism, especially as it is represented by
Littré, consists mainly if not exclusively of the doctrine to ‘let
metaphysics alone.’” Is this fair to the man that solved your “basic
problem of philosophy” in a paragraph?

Positivism as represented by Littré gives due importance to the
subjective element. He recognised that three essentials were necessary
to the completion of Comte’s philosophy: a political economy, a cerebral
theory, and what, for want of a better name he termed the subjective
theory of humanity. This last comprised ethics, æsthetics, and
psychology. Speaking of a confusion that obscures the whole discussion
relative to psychology, he says: “_Cerebral theory_, _mental_ or
_psychological theory_ are taken in two very different senses, which
are never distinguished. These terms signify sometimes the organic
conditions under which intelligence manifests itself, sometimes the
formal conditions under which the intellect operates. As soon as these
two significations are separated we perceive the means of settling the
debate as to the place of psychology; for to the question: Where should
these two orders be studied? it will be answered that the first should
be studied in anatomy, physiology, zoölogy, the evolution of ages,
pathology, it belongs therefore without contest to biology; but it will
be answered that the second should be studied in the total development
of history and in the application to all the modes of cognition; it
belongs incontestably to philosophy. Thus there are two psychologies,
one biological, the other philosophical, one relating to the individual
man, the other to the collective man, one furnishing what is necessary
in order to pass from biology to sociology, the other examining the
subjective instrument by the light of all positive knowledge. But
this complement of philosophy I do not call psychology, I call it the
_subject-theory_ of _humanity_; because while including psychology, it
includes much more.” That is to say; ethics and æsthetics.... “In the
order of the positive method it is at first by means of the object that
human knowledge is built up, and we end with the subject.” “The theory of
the subject is the indispensable complement of the theory of the object.”

Of positive philosophy Littré says: “While it constructs the series of
the partial philosophies and thus embraces all objective knowledge, it
constructs at the same time the series of effective methods and thus
embraces all logical power. I borrow this expression from M. Comte, who
so happily named these effective methods the logical powers of the human
mind. When it has terminated its first series it is found to have also
terminated the second. Thus the ensemble of the methods represents the
function of the subject; the ensemble of the partial philosophies, the
function of the object.”

Is this what you call a “one-sided philosophy”?

You say that Littré is the worst kind of a metaphysician because he
maintains that we can know nothing about first and final causes; I quote
him to show his position: “Positive philosophy is at the same time a
system that comprises all that is known of the world, of man and of
society, and a general method including all the ways by which things have
been learned. What is beyond, either, materially, the depths (fond) of
boundless space, or, intellectually, the endless enchainment of causes,
is absolutely inaccessible to the human mind. But inaccessible does not
mean null or non-existent. Immensity, both material and intellectual,
holds by a narrow tie to what we know and becomes by this alliance a
positive idea of the same order; I mean to say that by touching and
bordering it, this immensity appears in its double character, reality and
inaccessibility. It is an ocean that washes our shore, and for which we
have neither bark nor sail, but whose clear vision is as salutary as it
is formidable.” _Aug. Comte et la Phil. Pos._, 2d Ed., p. 519.

As Littré had found this shore encumbered with the wrecks of expeditions
that had started out in search of first causes and final causes, it is no
wonder that he was a little timid. His metaphor needs explanation in the
light of other passages, otherwise it might seem to discourage pursuit
of the unknown. He did not discountenance hypotheses but he was very
much afraid of our inclination to take guesses for truth; and this, by
the way, is the reason why he is not appreciated in this country, where
we are so fond of guessing. What he really did was to discourage those
navigators who would go in search of the Jumping-off-place, for the best
that can befall them is to come back to where they started. The men that
know the earth is round are the only men that find new worlds.

In answer to your statement that Littré’s philosophy “is an inventory
rather than a plan to guide science in its further evolution” I will only
repeat in his words, what he has shown so well, that “positive philosophy
is the ensemble of human knowledge, disposed according to a certain order
which enables us to grasp its connections and its unity, and to draw from
it the general directions for each part and for the whole.”

You say that “Littré rejects the evolution theory and its attempts to
explain ethics.” I quote him from _La Philosophie Positive_, March, 1880:
“Positive philosophy does not deny the evolution of ethics; far from
doing so, it maintained and inculcated this evolution long before the
utilitarian doctrine made it its ethical pivot.”.... “General morality,
born of the gradual culture of the sentimental basis of the human
soul under the social protection of progressive centres, is entirely
disinterested, and this is what makes its purity and its force.”

In your philosophy you have a god and a religion, in his we have the same
things, but as they are so different from what is generally understood by
these terms, we use others. Here are some of the _Paroles de Philosophie
Positive_: “In the eyes of history, there are no false religions, there
are only incomplete religions which make their way through time and
perfect themselves.... The definition of religion is taken from its
office, which is: to put education, and consequently moral life, en
rapport with the conception of the world at each phase of humanity.
Whoever examines this definition will find that it satisfies all the
conditions of religion, either in the past, the present, or the future.
It will be perceived that theology is not inherent in the religious
idea. It was not always there in the past; for we cannot give the name
of theology to primordial fetichism, which addressed its worship to
neighboring objects, nor to the religions that adore natural agents, such
as air, wind, night, dawn; it is with polytheism that theology begins. As
for the future, general science, conceiving the world differently from
the way in which it was conceived during the reigns of the successive
religions, takes an office equivalent to the religious office, and must
in its turn place education and moral life in accord with the universe as
it appears to us.”.... “We do not outrage the old doctrine, whose past
is glorious and venerable; but there is a public for which it is a dead
letter; and it is to this public that we address ourselves and for this
public that we labor.”

Is this not aspiration to be in unison with “the order of the world,”
which you call God? And when Littré traces this aspiration back to its
organic origin is he not explaining what you affirm?

Our philosophies are not perfect, but we must apply them, such as they
are, to the needs of the day. The most pressing of all these needs, in
my opinion, is unity of action among those who are animated with the new
spirit.

Let us pull together.

Very truly yours,

LOUIS BELROSE, JR.

ÉMILE LITTRÉ’S POSITIVISM.

An editor cannot make it a rule to accept criticisms of considerable
length which have reference to a remark incidentally made in a book
review. The present case, however, although it belongs in this category,
is of a peculiar nature. First, the remark on Littré was made by the
editor himself, and accordingly he feels personally responsible for it;
secondly, it contains a brief delineation of Littré’s character as a man
and as a philosopher in the way in which he is usually regarded by the
most prominent historians of philosophy. Mr. Belrose presents Littré in
quite a new light and quotes passages in corroboration of his conception
of Littré which are perhaps not generally known, for they are buried in
articles of the positivistic journal _La Philosophie Positive_, and this
journal enjoyed neither a long life nor a large circulation; nor is it
to be had in any of the libraries accessible to me. Seventeen editorial
articles were republished in bookform, (_La Science. Au point de vue
philosophique, par_ É. LITTRÉ. Paris, 1873), but the article “The Three
Philosophies” is not among them.

If Mr. Belrose’s conception of Littré proves to be true, I shall not
only gladly correct my own wrong view of Littré, but I wish also to call
attention to the fact that he has been misrepresented by almost all and
certainly by the best and most painstaking philosophical historians.

I cannot however in the main points accede to Mr. Belrose’s view and will
have to sustain my former opinion that M. Littré was an agnostic. He
made it a matter of principle to suspend his opinion on some of the most
fundamental philosophical problems, which he considered as inaccessible.
His positivism, accordingly, differs _toto cœlo_ from the positivism
presented in _The Monist_. His philosophy, like that of Comte, is so far
as I understand it, a policy of let-metaphysics-alone. It gives up the
struggle with metaphysics as a hopeless undertaking. Therefore, I should
say, Littré’s positivism has not conquered metaphysics, and although it
lets metaphysics alone, metaphysics plays an important part in it. Littré
is an agnostic and like every agnostic that believes in the unknowable, a
metaphysician without knowing it.

The doctrine of the three stages of knowledge, viz., the theological,
metaphysical, and positive stages, appears to me of less importance. The
doctrine of the three stages is at the same time not properly a Comtean
idea; Comte adopted it from Turgot, the great statesman and one of the
greatest men as a thinker and also as a character that ever lived and who
is too little appreciated as such.

The main doctrine of Comte’s positivism is the doctrine that first and
final causes cannot be known, and we must abandon our search for them;
that human knowledge is limited to the middle, while the two ends are
inaccessible. These insoluble questions, he declares, have made no
progress from the beginning. Mr. Lewes in his book “Comte’s Philosophy of
the Sciences” expresses this agnosticism in the following words (p. 31):
“Our province is to study her [nature’s] laws, to trace her processes,
and, thankful that we can so far penetrate the divine significance of the
universe, be content—as Locke wisely and modestly says—to sit down in
quiet ignorance of all _transcendent_[61] subjects.”

This idea has so far as I am aware never been given up by Littré; it
remained the basis of his belief in the unknowable and his works abound
in expressions that concerning the main problems of life, “the positive
philosophy will neither assert nor deny anything.”

Littré concludes the last article of his volume “La Science” with the
following words:

“Le domaine ultérieur est celui des choses qui ne peuvent
pas être connues. La science positive professe de n’y rien
nier, de n’y rien affirmer; en un mot, elle ne connaît pas
l’inconnaissable, mais elle en constate l’existence. Là est la
philosophie suprême; aller plus loin est chimérique, aller moin
loin est déserter notre destinée.”

This quotation alone, I think, settles the first main point at issue.

Now I maintain that Comte’s view of causation where he refers to first
and final causes is fundamentally wrong; causation is transformation
and causality is the formula under which we comprehend the changes of
matter and energy that take place. The expressions first and final causes
are misnomers (see “Fundamental Problems,” the chapter The Problem of
Causality). First cause is either the starting point of a series of some
longer chain of causes and effects, or as the term is generally applied
or rather misapplied, stands for the last ground or reason, i. e. the
answer given to the ultimate question why?, which is the most general
_raison d’être_ that would explain and contain all the other and less
general _raisons d’être_ regarding the nature of existence. The term
final cause, again, means either the last cause in a series of causes or
(and so it is generally used) it is a misnomer for purpose; and the final
cause supposed to be inaccessible to human comprehension is the purpose
of the existence of the world at large. I object to there being three
kinds of causes. There is one kind of causality only, and the causes of
this causality in all the causal processes with which we are confronted
are perfectly intelligible.

The problem of the first cause of the origin of our world, viz. the
solar system and the milky way, was attacked first by Kant and later by
Laplace, and the latter, without knowing of Kant’s solution, solved it
in the main in the same way. All recent investigations stand upon this
Kant-Laplace hypothesis so called, having added corrections only as to
details. Shall we declare that these labors are vain and gratuitous
efforts of vague speculations? Littré says, with reference to such
speculations, concerning the past and future states of the world (le
monde):

“La dissémination primordiale de la matière qui devait le
composer, la dissémination future de la matière qui le compose,
dépassant toute expérience, dépassent toute conjecture.”

If I misunderstand Littré, it appears to me a pardonable mistake.

Yet is not the problem as to the origin of the world at large, why
matter and energy exist at all, insolvable? Littré says that the
positive cosmogonies, such as the doctrine of evolution do not touch
the absolute; they have nothing to do with first and final causes. He
says: “Les cosmogonies positives la [i. e. la place des cosmogonies
religieuses] remplissent, non pas qu’elles aient la prétention ni le
pouvoir de pénétrer dans l’absolu et d’embrasser, les causes premières et
finales.”—l. c., p. 560.

That kind of causality which is sometimes called “ontological,” having
reference to the existence, not of single things as transformations from
other things, but of the world at large and formulated in such questions
as how did the universe itself, the world as a whole, originate, is
properly speaking no causality, it is not a question concerning a cause,
but concerning a _raison d’être_. However without haggling about the
words cause and _raison d’être_, this ontological causality so called
is by no means beyond human comprehension. The ontological question
has found a very definite answer in the formulation of the law of the
conservation of matter and energy; which declares that existence at
large did not originate, the total amount of matter as well as of energy
existed always and will exist always. It has not been created; it is
uncreatable and indestructible; it is eternal.

Littré is quite explicit in declaring that the positive philosophy lets
alone all theological and metaphysical problems. It is neither atheistic
nor theistic, and does not side with either materialism or spiritualism.
He says:

“Ni spiritualiste, ni matérialiste, la philosophie positive
écarte de la science générale les débats que la science
particulière a depuis long temps et à son grand profit
rejetés.”—Preface d’un disciple in Comte’s “Course de Phil.
pos.” p. xxvii.

Littré characterises as the main object of the positive philosophy, “to
give to philosophy the positive method of the sciences, to the sciences
the idea of the unity of philosophy.” He says: “Ainsi fut accompli ce
qu’on doit appeler l’œuvre philosophique du dix-neuvième siècle, donner
à la philosophie la méthode positive des sciences, aux sciences l’idée
d’ensemble de la philosophie.” Preface, p. viii.

I am in perfect agreement with Littré that this is the object of
positivism; but, if I understand Littré correctly, I disagree from his
conception of the positive method. He limits the positive method to what
he calls “experience,” and excludes every notion of the _a priori_.
Littré apparently misunderstood the proper meaning of Kant’s idea of
the _a priori_, for he used as a matter of course the _a priori_ method
wherever it was indispensable, so for instance in mathematics and in the
application of mathematics.

Mr. Belrose says:

[Littré] “solved your basic problem of philosophy [i. e. what is the
origin of the _a priori_] in a paragraph.”

The problem of the _a priori_ reasoning is the question “Why can we
know certain things before we have tested them by experiment? Man has
not arrived by experience but by pure reasoning at the conclusion that
the sum of the angles of every plane triangle has 180 degrees. How is
he justified in declaring _a priori_ that the angles of a certain plane
triangle make up 180 degrees, although he has not measured them?” This
problem is the fundamental problem of the scientific or positive method;
it is the same problem which Mr. Charles S. Peirce discusses in his
article (see pp. 321 et seqq. of the present number of _The Monist_), for
the problem of apriority is identical with the question of necessity.

Littré has, so far as I know, never discussed the problem of apriority
and necessity. He has simply rejected the idea of the _a priori_ as
the method of a false metaphysics, which is incompatible with the _a
posteriori_ method of positive science. The passage quoted by Mr. Belrose
most certainly does _not_ contain a solution of the problem. Littré
declares therein that every chemical action is equivalent to a certain
quantity of heat; and again this heat is equivalent to a certain quantity
of motion. Thus, he says, thought is connected with mathematical modes
of which it becomes conscious. Thought, he adds, is not an equivalent of
heat or motion, for equivalence is not identity, but it is connected with
mathematical conditions. This means that that kind of brain-action which
represents conscious thought, depends upon definite proportions. But
what in all the world has this idea to do with the problem of apriority?
The phrase “mathematical modes” (which is misleading in this passage) is
an unfortunate expression for “proportions” and we must add that Littré
is mistaken when he says that the nervous substance when it becomes
luminous, becomes conscious of these mathematical modes with which it is
connected. Aside from “luminous” being simply an allegorical expression
for conscious, it is wrong to say that the nervous substance becomes
conscious of the mathematical modes of heat as they are proportioned in
the brain. A sentient being knows through sensation nothing about the
mechanism or the mechanical proportions of its own sentient structure.
Sensation is the act of a becoming conscious not of the sentient
structure itself but of the meaning which this sentient structure has
acquired, and a consciousness of the mathematical modes which according
to Comte’s hierarchy of the sciences ought to be the beginning of
knowledge develops at a very late period. Any explanation of the origin
of _a priori_, be it ever so brief, would lead us too far away from the
points of our controversy. It is sufficient here to point out that the
passage quoted by Mr. Belrose, contains no solution of the problem of
our knowledge and certitude of mathematical, arithmetical, and other
purely formal laws. On the contrary, this very passage is replete with
error; it is a misstatement of facts and does not even bring to light the
difficulties of the problem.

Littré was prejudiced against the _a priori_, and his prejudice induced
him to underrate its importance. I read in one of Littré’s passages
quoted by Mr. Belrose:

“If it [thought] attempts to go out metaphysically into space,
it is reduced to combining subjectively its own elements, turns
in a circle without issue and falls back upon itself.”

The _a priori_ method of thought subjectively combining its own elements,
is by no means a turning in a circle without issue so that in the end it
will fall back upon itself. The _a priori_ method of thought subjectively
combining its own elements is employed by arithmetic, mathematics, and
logic, and we are confronted with the astonishing fact that rules, or
formulas, or calculations which were made by pure thought subjectively
combining its own elements, are applicable and hold good as reliable
guides in our experiments. If there were no _a priori_, how could we
foretell or, what is more still, how could we predetermine the course
of nature? The _a priori_ has been wrongly employed by the so-called
metaphysical philosophers to give us information about the substance and
essence of the world. But the misapplication of the _a priori_ is no
reason for denouncing it as radically wrong.

The existence of the _a priori_ is an undeniable fact. Kant was
right in recognising it in its sweeping importance, yet he was wrong
in his interpretation of the _a priori_, which according to his
transcendentalism was based exclusively upon a peculiarity of the mind
and not upon the nature of things. The positivists in France did not only
object to the wrong interpretation of the transcendentalists but also
denied the existence of the _a priori_. Accepting the principle that
every knowledge must ultimately be a statement of facts, the question
How is the _a priori_ to be based upon facts? became in my conception of
philosophy the burning problem which was next in order as a conciliation
between Kant and Comte.

The French positivists, foremost among them Comte and Littré, have not
given us an explanation of what is true and false in the theological
and metaphysical notions of first and final causes, of the _a priori_
of God, of substance, of force, etc.; they have simply abandoned the
investigation of these ideas which are after all the most important tools
in the household of the human mind for scientific and ethical purposes;
and thus they have, in spite of their positivism in questions of detail,
retained the metaphysical method of _a priori_ reasoning which is quite
legitimate in the formal science but out of place concerning facts. Take
for instance the following argument concerning the materiality of things:

“Là, c’est à dire dans les sciences positives, on ne connaît
aucune propriété sans matière, non point parce que, _a priori_,
on y a l’idée préconçue qu’il n’existe aucune substance
spirituelle indépendante, mais parce que, _a posteriori_,
on n’a jamais rencontré la gravitation sans corps pesant,
la chaleur sans corps chaud, l’électricité sans corps
électrique, l’affinité sans substances de combinaison, la
vie, la sensibilité, la pensée, sans être vivant, sentant et
pensant.”—_La Science_, p. 307.

I do not mean to say that there are immaterial or spiritual substances,
but I should say that any purely _a posteriori_ argument in favor of
their non-existence is insufficient. Would Littré mean that a Zulu
should declare that ice cannot exist because he has never seen water
frozen as hard as a stone? Any amount of experience, i. e. all _a
posteriori_ evidence, is in parts and will out of itself never acquire
universal validity.

How strongly Littré is still implicated in the metaphysical method of
applying _a priori_ ideas to _a posteriori_ experiences can be learned
from the following statement:

“Le monde est constitué par la matière et par les forces de
la matière: la matière dont l’origine et l’essence nous sont
inaccessible; les forces qui sont immanentes à la matière. Au
delà de ces deux termes, matière et force, la science positive
ne connaît rien.” Preface, p. ix.

The metaphysical ideas, matter and force, are _a priori_ notions of
mystical entities or things in themselves, and thus it appears natural
that experience should know nothing of them. But real matter and actual
force are not unknowable existences. They can be known. We know something
of them and positive science is engaged in broadening and deepening this
knowledge. Says Littré:

“Les propriétés physiques sont manifestes en toute substance,
dans quelque état qu’elle soit, isolée ou non isolée, et
s’exercent sur les masses; les propriétés, n’apparaissent
qu’entre deux substances, ont besoin de la binarité et
s’exercent sur les molécules; enfin les propriétés vitales
dépassant la binarité, ne sont compatibles qu’avec un état
moléculaire plus composé.” Preface, p. x.

One of the fundamental principles of positivism, as I conceive it,
is the definition of knowledge as a description of facts or of their
properties. We call certain properties of the facts (i. e. the objects
of our experience) matter and others force. When we say that we do or do
not know a certain phenomenon we mean that we have or have not as yet
succeeded in placing them properly in that system of thought-symbols of
which our mind consists. Yet there is no sense in speaking of matter and
force as being unknowable while the properties of matter and force are
said to be manifest and appearing under certain conditions.

I have presented the main reasons why I still hold that there is a
radical difference between Littré’s view of positivism and my own.
Littré is an agnostic and he was an agnostic before that name had been
invented. His objection to metaphysicism consists in the doctrine not
that the object of metaphysics is a chimerical non-existence, but that
the object of metaphysics exists yet it cannot be known. Thus Littré is
as much a metaphysician as those philosophers whom he censures for their
metaphysical views. He does not censure them for believing that the
metaphysical exists, but for believing that it is knowable and attempting
to investigate its nature.

As to the hierarchy of the sciences I shall simply quote a few extracts
from Eugen Dühring’s criticism of Comte. Dühring says (_Krit. Gesch. der
Phil._, p. 486):

“If Comte’s _positivism_ were nothing more than what we have
here laid down, its main contents would, strange enough,
consist in _negativity_. The criticism of a certain kind of
metaphysics, viz. of an ontology phantastical to a greater or
lesser extent, would form its most significant character. The
other element which consists in presenting a hierarchy and
unitary conjunction of some of the sciences which are called
positive in the usual sense of the term, cannot pretend to
be philosophy in the higher sense of the word or even to be
useful for science. A general view of knowledge, whether it
consists of six or sixty volumes, does not add the least iota
to the contents of our knowledge.... We cannot expect that a
specialist should be pleased with a hierarchical sketch of his
science, especially if the delineations are filled out with
details of which he would be a better judge.”

It is true, and I concur in this with the French positivists, that a
positive philosophy must be a systematic arrangement of knowledge. But I
conceive it to be the philosopher’s work, not to take an inventory of the
sciences, but to define the fundamental concepts of scientific enquiry
and to elucidate the methods of cognition. Such fundamental concepts
are the ideas, truth and criterion of truth, cause and effect, mind,
thought, knowledge, ethics, etc. Concepts are the tools of thought and
the practice of using them correctly has to be learned.

Positivism is not the original invention of a world-system, but the
systematising of statements of facts so as to produce a world-system.
The old philosophers gave us first a world-system, from which and in
accord with which they defined their views of truth, cognition, cause,
etc. They began to build their philosophy from the top down. Positivism
begins from the bottom and is building up to the top with the assistance
of the special sciences. A positive philosophy is inseparable from, but
it cannot be replaced by, the sciences. The field of philosophy is to
superintend the method and the plan of building, so as to compare the
details and bear in mind the unity of the whole. In this sense Dühring
says in criticising Comte (p. 486):

“However, concerning the form of the connections of methodical
reflections, something can be done. Yet it must be possible
to separate everything of such a kind and also new insights,
so as to constitute a special branch of knowledge. Otherwise
they will escape the specialists’ attention.... Not only Comte
but all philosophers given to the idea of systematisation and
construction of particular knowledge have made attempts in
this direction which at most may range as sketches or popular
presentations in a higher sense.”

Concerning Littré’s view of Comte’s religious vagaries Dühring says (p.
483):

“His [Comte’s] biographer, the Academician Littré of Paris,
and also Stuart Mill are right in considering ‘The Course of
Positive Philosophy’ as the main and fundamental work which is
decisive as a contribution of his and a source of instruction
to the world. However, they are very one-sided when they
overlook that the philosopher even in his vagaries exhibited a
universality of mind which remains superior to the standpoint
of either Littré or Mill.”

I agree with Mr. Belrose that Comte’s religion as he conceived it
consists of vagaries, but the main idea of developing the religions
of the past which, as Littré says, are not false but only incomplete
religions, into a religion that shall be in accord with the science of
our day is no vagary, but a great and an important ideal.

Far be it from me to belittle Littré because I disagree from him in
some fundamental questions. He was in his time, he is still, and will
remain for ever a star of first magnitude in our philosophical galaxy.
That which I consider as his errors does not detract from his greatness.
Were not Kant’s mistakes in a similar way closely interwoven with his
greatest merits? It is flattering to me that Mr. Belrose finds an
agreement between his master’s and my views concerning the basic problem
of philosophy, but I cannot discover it. Yet I gladly acknowledge that
there exists an agreement of aim, and this agreement of aim which finds
its truest expression in the word “positivistic” is perhaps of greater
importance than the agreement of views.

P. C.

FOOTNOTES:

[61] Italics are not mine.

OBSERVATIONS ON SOME POINTS IN JAMES’S PSYCHOLOGY.[62]

In calling attention to some objections to the views advanced by
Professor James on the subjects of Belief, Emotion, and Will, it is only
justice to myself to express the admiration I feel for his work as a
whole. The thoroughly scientific spirit which pervades it, the author’s
candor in admitting and his skill in surmounting difficulties, his
learning and his originality, his aptness in illustration, and the energy
and vivacity of his style combine to make it full of interest as well as
instruction. It is because it should be, and doubtless will be widely
influential, that it is important that any doubtful positions assumed in
it should be subjected to a careful examination.

I shall endeavor to avoid any misrepresentation of the views which I
combat, but space will not allow me to do full justice to the arguments
by which they are supported, if such a thing is possible for an
antagonist. For this, I must refer the interested reader to the original
book. If what I have to say should have the effect of increasing the
number of its readers, I shall not have written altogether in vain,
whether I succeed or fail in setting the truth in a clearer light.

I. BELIEF.

Professor James entitles the chapter devoted to this subject “The
Perception of Reality,” and defines belief to be “the mental state
or function of cognising reality.” He explains that, “As used in the
following pages, ‘Belief’ will mean every degree of assurance, including
the highest possible certainty and conviction” (Vol. II, p. 283).

According to this definition, erroneous beliefs, such, for instance, as
the belief that the earth is flat, stationary, and the centre of the
universe, or the delusion of an insane man that he is Jesus Christ, are
cognitions of reality. Professor James would probably say that they are
realities to the mind entertaining them, and it is true that the feeling
of belief is the same, whether the thing believed be true or false.
I think, however, that it is more customary to use the verb which he
employs in connection with beliefs which agree with the objective facts,
and that the “feeling” or “sense” of reality would be a better term than
“perception” or “cognition.”

This, however, is not, to my mind, the most serious objection to the
definition. Although Professor James does not use the word “knowledge”
in this connection, it seems evident, from the passage quoted above, and
from what he says elsewhere, that he considers all kinds, as well as all
degrees of certainty to be beliefs. It seems to me evident, on the other
hand, that many of our cognitions of reality are not properly called
beliefs. As an instance, I will quote the illustration with which he
opens the discussion of “The Various Orders of Reality” (p. 287).

“Suppose a new-born mind, entirely blank and waiting for
experience to begin. Suppose that it begins in the form of a
visual impression (whether faint or vivid is immaterial) of a
lighted candle against a dark background, and nothing else, so
that whilst this image lasts it constitutes the entire universe
to the mind in question. Suppose, moreover (to simplify the
hypothesis), that the candle is only imaginary, and that no
‘original’ of it is recognised by us psychologists outside.
Will this hallucinatory candle be believed in, will it have a
real existence for the mind?

“What possible sense (for that mind) would a suspicion have
that the candle is not real? What would doubt or disbelief
of it imply? When _we_, the onlooking psychologists, say the
candle is unreal, we mean something quite definite, viz.
that there is a world known to _us_ which _is_ real, and to
which we perceive that the candle does not belong; it belongs
exclusively to that individual mind, has no status anywhere
else, etc. It exists, to be sure, in a fashion, for it forms
the content of that mind’s hallucination; but the hallucination
itself, though unquestionably it is a sort of existing fact,
has no knowledge of _other_ facts; and since those _other_
facts are the realities _par excellence_ for us, and the only
things we believe in, the candle is simply outside of our
reality and belief altogether.

“By the hypothesis, however, the mind which sees the candle
can spin no such considerations as these about it, for of
other facts, actual or possible, it has no inkling whatever.
That candle is its all, its absolute. Its entire faculty of
attention is absorbed by it. It _is_, it is _that_; it is
_there_; no other possible candle, or quality of this candle,
no other possible place, or possible object in the place, no
alternative, in short, suggests itself as even conceivable;
so how can the mind help believing the candle real? The
supposition that it might possibly not do so is, under the
supposed conditions, unintelligible.”

I readily grant that it is, under the supposed circumstances,
unintelligible that the candle should be thought to be unreal, but it
seems to me equally so that it should be believed to be real. What does
Professor James mean by a belief in the reality of the candle under such
conditions? Nothing more than that the mind is conscious of a sensation
which we know, but it does not, is like that produced by the sight of
a candle. This sensation is certainly a reality, and the only possible
reality to that mind. Professor James must, then, be understood as
maintaining that a sensation, pure and simple, is a belief in an object
exciting the sensation. If, for instance, the first consciousness of the
supposed mind were the odor of a rose, or the whistle of a locomotive,
he must admit that the mind would believe in the rose or the locomotive.
If I have a headache, or am hungry or tired, I not only have beliefs
about these sensations, but the headache, the hunger, the weariness, are
themselves beliefs. Now I submit that this is contrary to all ordinary
use of language. It is, perhaps, impossible for an adult, with his mind
full of memories of past experiences, to have a sensation without some
sort of a belief about it, but although the sensation and the belief
may be inseparable, they are not indistinguishable, and, as a matter of
fact, every one does distinguish between his sensations and his beliefs
about them. I do not think it would be quite correct to say even of an
adult who had never seen or heard of a candle, that, on seeing one for
the first time, he would believe in the reality of the candle, although
doubtless he would believe he saw something real—a real flame, for
instance.

If it be admitted that sensations are entitled to be called beliefs,
it seems impossible to stop short of the conclusion that all states of
consciousness are beliefs.

Emotions and volitions are as much realities as sensations, and are known
as such by the mind that experiences them. That memory and imagination
involve belief, is too evident to need discussion. But if this be the
case, the chapter on belief could have been very greatly abbreviated—need
not in fact, contain more than four words. To say that all consciousness
is belief would perhaps simplify matters, but it would not advance our
knowledge very much, nor would it accord with the ordinary use of the
word, which has reference to a particular kind of consciousness, which
every one knows, however hard he may find its definition.

It seems to me, therefore, that Professor James’s definition of belief
is defective in two ways. There are beliefs which are not cognitions
of reality, and there are cognitions of reality which are not beliefs.
Especially in regard to the latter class, I think that the definition
confuses a distinction that is real and important, between different
kinds of knowledge. We know our sensations, emotions and volitions in a
way which differs not only in degree but in kind from any usual, or, I
think, legitimate sense of the word “Belief.”

Perhaps it would be the safer course to rest content with pointing out
the objections to the author’s definition without laying myself open
to retaliation by attempting one of my own, but it does not seem to me
impossible to give one which will include all that is understood by the
term and nothing more. I should say that belief is the sense or feeling
of relation between mental objects. That we have belief whenever we have
this feeling, seems to me too plain to require argument, and I am unable,
after a good deal of reflection, to call to mind any belief that is not
included in the definition. If I see, or imagine that I see a lighted
candle, it may excite in my mind a great variety of beliefs, as, that the
flame is hot, that the light and heat are caused by the chemical union of
oxygen with carbon and hydrogen, that the material of which the candle
is composed is wax, paraffine or tallow, that it has a cotton wick, that
it is of a certain size, weight, and color, and so on indefinitely.
All of these are evidently ideas of relation. To say “flame,” or “hot”
does not express a belief, unless something else is understood, but to
say “flame is hot” does so. If I say that the color red is equal to the
square of the hypothenuse of a right-angled triangle, I fail to express
a belief because the mind perceives no relation between the objects, and
the answer to such a statement would be, not that it is or is not true,
but that it has no meaning. The only cases which occur to me in which it
might be plausibly argued that a belief did not involve the feeling of
relation are such impersonal expressions as “it rains,” or, “it is cold.”
The exception, however, is only apparent, arising from the erroneous
idea that everything which is implied in language must be expressed.
When we say, “it rains,” we mean, “rain is falling.” In either form of
language, the thought conveyed is that of the relation of the drops of
water and their motion. The stock-broker, with his prearranged code,
may communicate the ideas of a long sentence in a single word, or the
Freemason may do the same to the initiated by a gesture. In such a case,
it would be absurd to contend that no relation is felt or communicated
because there is no formal subject or predicate.

Whatever may be thought of the sufficiency of my definition, I risk the
assertion that it includes all beliefs that can be affirmed, denied or
doubted. We never question our sensations, emotions or volitions—we
have them, are aware of them, and that is the end of the matter. It is
the relations of our sensations to each other, and to our pleasures
and pains, our choices and rejections, that involve us in all sorts of
perplexities. The whole question of the grounds of belief in general, and
the truth or falsehood of particular beliefs is a question of relations.
It is, then, in the sense indicated above that I shall use the word
hereafter.

Having settled the definition, it may be worth while to consider for
a moment whether this feeling of relation, which can only be known by
experience, is enough like any other mental states to be classed with
them. On this point Professor James says: “_In its inner nature, belief,
or the sense of reality, is a sort of feeling more allied to the emotions
than to anything else._ Mr. Bagehot distinctly calls it the ‘emotion’
of conviction. I just now spoke of it as acquiescence. It resembles
more than anything else what in the psychology of volition we know as
consent. Consent is recognised by all to be a manifestation of our active
nature. It would naturally be described by such terms as ‘willingness’
or the ‘turning of our disposition.’ What characterises both consent
and belief is the cessation of theoretic agitation through the advent
of an idea which is inwardly stable, and fills the mind solidly to the
exclusion of contradictory ideas. When this is the case, motor effects
are apt to follow. Hence the states of consent and belief, characterised
by repose on the purely intellectual side, are both intimately connected
with subsequent practical activity. This inward stability of the mind’s
content is as characteristic of disbelief as of belief. But we shall
presently see that we never disbelieve anything except for the reason
that we believe something else that contradicts the first thing.
Disbelief is thus an incidental complication to belief, and need not be
considered by itself.” (P. 283).

I am unable to satisfy myself whether, in the above passage, Professor
James has in mind the feeling of belief or other feelings which often
accompany it. The “cessation of theoretic agitation,” “willingness,”
“turning of our disposition,” are accompanied by feelings which I should
say are not only like, but identical with emotion. In the case of old,
confirmed beliefs, however, theoretic agitation ceased, and the turning
of the disposition occurred, if at all, long ago, and I am unable to
recognise anything resembling emotion in my belief that two and two make
four, that cows eat grass, that iron is a metal, and many others that
might be mentioned. Nor do these beliefs, at the present time, give rise
to motor effects, which, so far as I am able to see, only result from
such beliefs as are, directly or indirectly, associated with emotion.
If such beliefs as I have mentioned are not purely intellectual, as
distinguished from emotional phenomena, I should be at a loss to know
where the distinction is to be made between “the head” and “the heart.”
The sense of relation seems to me to be the most purely intellectual of
all the mental functions, and, although it may give rise to all sorts of
emotions, the more settled, undisturbed and unquestioning the belief,
the less likely is it to give rise to any but the feeling of calm, which
seems to me to be the antithesis of emotion. I should say that belief is
a feeling _sui generis_, without enough analogy with any other to justify
classing them together.

I have already quoted the illustration with which Professor James opens
the discussion of the subject of Reality. After quoting from Spinoza,
to the same effect, the supposed case of a horse with wings imagined to
be real in the absence of any contradictory thought, he goes on to say:
“The sense that anything we think of is unreal can only come, then, when
that thing is contradicted by some other thing of which we think. _Any
object which remains uncontradicted is ipso facto believed and posited as
absolute reality._” (P. 288). Elsewhere he says:

“... _all propositions, whether attributive or existential, are
believed through the very fact of being conceived, unless they
clash with other propositions believed at the same time, by
affirming that their terms are the same as the terms of those
other propositions._” (P. 290).

This, I think, is stated too strongly, at least, in the latter quotation.
A proposition that is uncontradicted will be believed, but it is not
necessary that the contradictory proposition should be believed in
order that the first may fail of belief. I believe nothing, at present,
contradictory of the proposition that it is now raining in Boston. I
think it not improbable that such may be the case, but at the same time
the contrary proposition is present to my mind, that it may not be
raining in Boston, and the result is the state of mind which Professor
James very properly regards as the opposite of belief—doubt. But
supposing that a proposition is presented to the mind, which, being for
the time uncontradicted, is believed, and that subsequently another,
contrary proposition is presented, is it certain that the latter will
be disbelieved? May not a state of doubt replace belief in this case
also? Or supposing that two propositions, which have been believed
independently, are brought into juxtaposition in such a way as to show
that they are inconsistent, how are we to determine which if either,
shall be believed? Professor James seems to teach that it is a matter of
choice.

“That we can at any moment think of the same thing which
at any former moment we thought of is the ultimate law of
our intellectual constitution. But when we now think of it
incompatibly with our other ways of thinking of it, then we
must choose which way to stand by, for we cannot continue to
think of it in two contradictory ways at once. _The whole
distinction of real and unreal, the whole psychology of
belief, disbelief and doubt, is thus grounded on two mental
facts—first, that we are liable to think differently of the
same; and second, that when we have done so, we can choose
which way of thinking to adhere to and which to disregard._[63]
The subjects adhered to become real subjects, the attributes
adhered to real attributes, the existence adhered to real
existence; while the subjects disregarded become imaginary
subjects, the attributes disregarded erroneous attributes, and
the existence disregarded an existence in no man’s land, in the
limbo ‘where footless fancies dwell.’” (P. 290).

The doctrine that belief is, in the last analysis, a matter of choice
is a prominent feature of Professor James’s teaching, to which I shall
have occasion to refer again. It seems to me to involve him in some
inconsistencies. For the present, it should be noted that he admits the
reality of every mental object in its proper relations.

“If I merely dream of a horse with wings, my horse interferes
with nothing else and has not to be contradicted. That horse,
its wings, and its place are all equally real. That horse
exists no otherwise than as winged, and is moreover really
there, for that place exists no otherwise than as the place
of that horse, and claims as yet no connection with the other
places of the world. But if with this horse I make an inroad
into the _world otherwise known_, and say, for example, ‘That
is my old mare Maggie, having grown a pair of wings where
she stands in her stall,’ the whole case is altered; for now
the horse and place are identified with a horse and place
otherwise known, and _what_ is known of the latter objects is
incompatible with what is perceived of the former. ‘Maggie
in her stall with wings! Never!’ The wings are unreal, then,
visionary. I have dreamed a lie about Maggie in her stall.” (P.
289).

Here, the dream is a reality, and the winged horse is as really a part of
it as the mare Maggie is of the outside world. The reality of the winged
horse in the one case, and his unreality in the other, depend on his
relations to other mental objects. So, for instance, if any one should
say that a mermaid was a creature with the portion of a man from the
waist up united to the body and limbs of a horse, I should be justified
in contradicting him, and saying that it was not a mermaid but a centaur
that he had in mind. It would not be a valid answer to say that there
were really no such things as mermaids and centaurs. In mythology, a
centaur has as definite a structure as a giraffe has in zoölogy, and
it is as inexcusable to confound the one as the other with anything
else. This point is amplified by the author in a section on “The Many
Worlds,” in which the various objects of thought are found in their
proper relations, and out of which each one selects a world of practical
realities, according to his dominant habits of attention. _In the
relative sense_, in which we contrast reality with unreality, or consider
one object more real than another,

“_Reality means simply relation to our emotional and active
life_ ... in this sense, whatever excites and stimulates our
interest is real.” (P. 295).

“_Whatever things have intimate and continuous connection with
my life are things of whose reality I cannot doubt._” (P. 298).

This power of exciting and stimulating our interest, Professor James
finds to be possessed in a pre-eminent degree by sensations, which thus
become, directly or indirectly, our tests of reality, and among which
those which are pleasurable or painful hold the first rank. Next to them,
if not of equal power, are emotions.

“The greatest proof that a man is _sui compos_ is his ability
to suspend belief in the presence of an emotionally exciting
idea. To give this power is the highest result of education.
In untutored minds the power does not exist. Every exciting
thought in the natural man carries credence with it. To
conceive with passion is _eo ipso_ to affirm.” (P. 308).

Professor James’s account of the grounds of belief seems to me inadequate
in that it fails to show the connection between our sensations and
emotions and other mental states and our beliefs. Why is it that the
sight of the heavenly bodies, for instance, awakens in different minds
such diverse beliefs as the Ptolemaic and the Copernican systems of
astronomy? What does a man who is frightened believe? What belief would
necessarily result from a colic? It is not enough to say that sensations
and emotions are connected with belief; we want to know how they are
connected.

Bearing in mind the definition of belief as the sense of relation between
objects, the question resolves itself into the origin of feelings of
relation. As relations are of various kinds, they may be suggested to the
mind by different circumstances. They may, I think, be divided into three
classes:

1) Relations of likeness and unlikeness. These result from the
comparison and discrimination of objects. All the beliefs involved
in the recognition and classification of objects arise in this way.
When, on seeing a certain object, I say that it is a bay horse, and
will weigh about eleven hundred pounds, I give expression to relations
of comparison. The comparison may be immediate, between objects
simultaneously present to the senses, or alike present only to memory
or imagination, or between a present object and a remembered one, or
mediate, by comparison of two or more objects with some other. All
mathematical truths are of this kind.

2) Relations of cause and effect, of substance and quality, of whole and
component parts, of order in time and space, are due to association.
When I say of the horse that his movements are caused by muscular
contractions, that he is of a gentle disposition, that he has a bony
skeleton and red blood, that he is five years old and is harnessed
to a carriage, I express relations of association. In his chapter on
Association Professor James says:

“_Belief_ in anything _not_ present to sense is the very
lively, strong, and steadfast association of the image of that
thing with some present sensation, so that as long as the
sensation persists the image cannot be excluded from the mind.”
(Vol. I, p. 598).

I do not think it is a fact that the image of the thing believed in need
be associated with any present sensation. I am not aware, for instance,
that there is, at present, any such association in my belief in the
existence of the city of Constantinople, or that Queen Victoria is
reigning in England. The associations in these and similar cases are with
objects of memory and not with present sensations. On the other hand,
what we mean by belief in a present object always involves memory of the
past. When we say that we believe in anything, we either mean that it is
like other things of the same sort of which we have had experience, or
that it stands in some other relation to them. Complete loss of memory
would not only destroy all our past beliefs, but, if it were permanent,
would prevent our ever forming any new ones. The universe, in such a
case, would be a mere chaos of sensations.

In order that things may be associated, they must first be discriminated,
otherwise, as Professor James has shown, in his chapter on Discrimination
and Comparison, they are thought of, not as associated things, but as
one thing. In like manner, when discriminated things have once been
associated, the tendency is, in the absence of contrary experience, to
think of them as belonging together. A child, attracted by the brightness
of the teapot, touches it and burns his fingers. He naturally expects the
teapot to be hot the next time he sees it. He is told that his Christmas
gifts were brought down the chimney by Santa Claus. Until the statement
is contradicted, he believes it. Why should he not? Or the association
of things in the mind may come about without any external suggestion.
I remember that the first time that I ever heard a person snore, the
thought came into my mind that the strange noise was made by a bear, and
I lay awake most of the night, in fear of being devoured. The tendency
is to think of things as related in the way in which they are first
presented to the mind, until they come up in some different relation.
This seems to be the explanation of the tendency to “believe as much as
we can,” to “affirm immediately the reality of all that is conceived,”
of which Professor James speaks. With increased experience, we find that
there is a difference in the uniformity of associations, and accordingly
the coincidence of two or more things is associated with the doubt
whether or not the association is a constant one.

3) In addition to the relations considered above, there are some which,
although expressed in terms of association and comparison, seem to me to
have a different origin. That the whole is greater than any of its parts
is a relation of comparison; that a thing cannot be in two different
places at the same time, that every event has a cause, that there is
an external world, are relations of association. Although they do not
arise independently of experience, they contain more than is given in
experience, and the uniformity and firmness with which they are believed
can, it seems to me, only be accounted for by the assumption of an innate
propensity to look upon things as related in these ways.

So far as I am able to judge, beliefs always arise in one or another
of these three ways. But a still more interesting question, from the
practical point of view, than that of the origin of beliefs, is that of
the comparative validity of the various grounds of belief. Are they all
of equal worth, and if not, is there any way of determining which are to
be given the preference, or is belief, like taste, a matter about which
“_non disputandum_”?

Professor James does not go very deeply into the discussion of this
question. As we have seen, he assigns to sensation the greatest efficacy
in producing belief, and discusses the comparative power of various
sorts of sensations in this respect. Emotion he makes a close second.
But the question which gives us the more reliable information, in cases
in which they conflict, he does not discuss at all. As a matter of fact,
there is no doubt that a man under the influence of strong emotion often
draws different conclusions from the evidence of his senses from those
at which he would arrive in its absence. Is he warranted in doing so?
Would any degree of personal interest warrant a man in believing or
disbelieving the doctrine of transubstantiation, the Newtonian theory of
gravitation, the Mosaic or the Darwinian view of the origin of species?
There is no doubt that belief on such subjects as these is influenced by
our interest, real or supposed, in one or the other view, and perhaps
Professor James would say that he deals with the working of minds as they
are, not as we imagine that they ought to be, but the general knowledge
that a class of considerations is reliable or the reverse is another
thing that not only ought to, but actually does affect our beliefs, and
the question of the method to be pursued in ascertaining the actual
relations of things, of forming true beliefs instead of false ones, is
one which hardly ought to be ignored in a discussion of the subject.

Referring to the three classes of relations already considered, it is, I
think, evident that there are differences in the way in which they affect
our belief. In comparison, the essential thing is the accuracy of the
observation. One who has once fully comprehended the proof that the sum
of the angles of a triangle is equal to two right angles, is as sure of
it as he could be after any amount of experience. In comparing sensible
objects, we may, it is true, and our belief confirmed by repetition, but
this is only in case that we doubt whether the comparison was rightly
made in the first place. That red does not look like blue, nor sweet
taste like sour, we are as certain on one trial as a hundred. If we
apply a foot measure to an object eight inches long, nothing can add
to our certainty that they are not of the same length. In matters of
association, on the other hand, a great deal depends on the uniformity of
the association—the number of times that we have experienced it without
contrary experience. When I hear a crow, for instance, I believe that it
is black, because all the crows that I have ever seen have been so. A
sheep I assume to be white, but with a less degree of confidence, because
black sheep are more numerous than white crows. In the case of a horse,
I have no belief in regard to the color within a certain range, unless
I have some means of knowing about the particular animal in question.
If I were told that my friend had bought a horse, I should have no idea
whether it was bay, or black, or white, or some mixture of these colors.
If, however, I were told that the natural color of my friend’s horse
was green, I should be much more confident that the statement was false
than if the same person should tell me he had seen a white crow, for,
the same reason that I should more readily believe in a black sheep than
in the latter. In the customary use of the word, I might say I _knew_
it was not so. In the case of intuitive judgments experience has little
or nothing to do with the strength of belief. The adult man is no more
firmly convinced of the existence of something external to himself than
the child, and, although he may come to doubt it on speculative grounds,
he no more fails than the child to show by his actions that he has a
practical faith in it.

In many, if not most of our beliefs, all of these elements are present.
If I see an orange, for instance, I have the intuition of externality,
the comparison with other oranges that I have already seen, and
associations of internal structure, taste, smell, and the like. All of
these, and very possibly some emotion, as, for instance, a desire to eat
it, may arise, simultaneously or so nearly so as not to be distinguished
in time, as parts of a single mental state.

There is one kind of association, of importance enough to deserve
mention, of which Professor James makes no mention. The beliefs, or
alleged beliefs of other people have an influence on our minds which
is, I think, not inferior to that of emotion. The man who can, without
misgiving, maintain an opinion which contradicts all that he learned
in childhood and all that is held by those whose good opinion he most
values is, I fancy, quite as rare as he who can suspend judgment in the
presence of an emotionally exciting idea. Most of us take our religious,
political, scientific, and practical beliefs at second hand, from the
friends with whom we associate or the books and papers we read. Take a
young man out of his home and put him, for instance, in college, and it
will probably work a change in his moral standards, not necessarily for
the better. At home, if he knew of a theft, or an assault, he would very
probably be ready to bring the offender to justice, but if the offender
is his classmate, and the sufferer a member of the succeeding class, he
will very probably think it a more shameful thing to report the wrong
than to do it. At the same time, he doubtless considers it utterly
reprehensible that ignorant Italian peasants should feel in the same way
about betraying their neighbors who are guilty of robbery or murder.

Coming now to the influence of emotion on belief, it will not, I presume,
be disputed that it comes about by way of association. Professor James,
as we have seen, holds that “every emotionally exciting thought, in
the natural man, carries credence with it.” I suspect that this is true
only in the sense that, in the absence of experience, not only every
exciting thought, but every thought is believed. However this may be,
in respect to the natural man, I think it is pretty certain that, in
the case of such artificial beings as those who reflect on the causes
of their emotions and beliefs, it will be found that in order for an
idea to excite our emotions, a certain degree of belief is necessary.
Professor James illustrates his position by the fact that a man can
walk along a curbstone without any apprehension of falling, because
the thought of falling awakens no emotion of dread, while on the edge
of a precipice the emotion caused by the thought of the consequences
of a mis-step may quite overcome his belief in his ability to keep his
balance. But a chamois-hunter or an acrobat will pass along the same
place without the slightest apprehension, not because he does not think
of what would happen if he should fall, nor because he has more liking
than any one else for being dashed to pieces, but because he has what the
inexperienced man lacks, entire confidence in his ability to avoid the
danger.

Since I began writing the last paragraph, a number of thoughts have
passed through my mind, any one of which would be sufficiently exciting
if I believed in them, as, that I may die within the next half hour;
that I may fall heir to a fortune, and the like, none of which have
produced any emotional disturbance, because I do not believe that there
is any probability of their being true. Why was it that not only the
medical profession but the public in general became so much interested,
recently, in the announcement that Dr. Koch had discovered a substance
that promised to be a cure for tuberculosis? Partly on account of the
interests involved, but at least equally because his reputation was such
as to inspire confidence in what he said. There are plenty of medicines
advertised in the newspapers for which greater claims are made than
Dr. Koch made for his discovery, which fail to arouse any such general
interest. These examples are probably enough for illustration of the
familiar fact that belief is the most common cause of emotion, and that a
thought that is not believed is apt to leave us unmoved.

Nevertheless, it is a notorious fact that emotion has a great deal to do
with determining the sort and degree of evidence which is satisfactory
to us. Love and hate, respect and contempt, affect our beliefs in regard
to the character of their objects in matters entirely independent of the
qualities which originally inspired the feelings. We find it an easy
matter to believe that a man whose religious or political opinions we
think pernicious is a bad man in matters which have nothing to do with
his opinions, and may find it almost incredible that one whom we like
personally should think differently from ourselves on matters in which we
are deeply interested. But what particular evil we shall believe of the
person whom we dislike, or good of the one whom we like, depends entirely
on circumstances. A man, for instance takes a dislike to a stranger
on account of some lack of good manners. Whether he shall suspect him
of being a clergyman or an infidel, a drinker or a prohibitionist, a
Sunday-school teacher or a gambler, or both, is likely to depend very
largely on his own tastes and principles in regard to such matters.
So, on the other hand, his views in regard to religion, temperance and
gambling, are probably due in great measure to the practice of the
people whom he likes. A woman who has been brought up with a horror of
drunkenness hears that a man with whom she is violently in love is a
drinker. She will probably disbelieve it at first, but if she becomes
convinced of the truth of the report, she will very likely come to think
that a drunkard need not be such a bad fellow after all. If there is any
one thing that more affects our beliefs than what the people we like say,
it is what they do.

In like manner, emotional states without any definite object, such as
we call moods if they are transient, and disposition or temperament if
they are habitual, color our belief, not by originating any definite
propositions, but by making us receptive to those that tend to confirm
them. It is not when a man is broken in spirit by repeated calamities
that he is most ready to believe that “where there’s a will there’s a
way,” nor in the flush of youth, health and triumph that the doctrine
that “all is vanity,” comes home to his heart. In whatever way such
states of mind come about, whether as a result of original constitution,
or of experience, or of disease, they make the mind inhospitable to
whatever does not harmonise with them. In the case of insanity, this
disposition may outweigh the plainest evidence of the senses, so that
a man may believe that he is rolling in wealth and luxury when he is
destitute of the ordinary comforts of life, or that his wife and children
are dead when they are present before his eyes. In a lower degree, most
of us probably have experience of something of the sort in “fits of the
blues,” but while the general character of the belief may be decided
by the emotional tone of the mind, its precise form is determined by
the man’s interests. Low spirits would not be likely, for instance, to
effect a man’s opinion as to the probable course of the stock market,
unless he were in some way interested in stocks, and the view favored by
his emotional condition would depend on the side of the market on which
his interest lay. Beliefs which, in our ordinary state of mind, are not
associated with any strong feeling, such as mathematical truths and the
physical and chemical laws of matter, remain unaffected in all kinds and
degrees of emotional disturbance.

It seems clear, then, that, as a matter of fact, emotions affect our
beliefs through association. It is not difficult to see how this comes
about. Emotions tend to perpetuate themselves. A man who is in high
spirits will laugh at vexations which, if he were in an irritable frame
of mind would seem intolerable. We allow liberties to our friends which
would offend us in persons to whom we are indifferent. The same inertia
of the mind which is shown in these cases offers a resistance to any
thought that tends to disturb it. If I like a man and hate dishonesty,
evidence that the man is dishonest calls up at the same time two contrary
emotional states, which cannot subsist together. One of three things must
happen; either the association of the feeling of liking with the person
of the man, or of that of repugnance with dishonesty, or of the quality
of dishonesty with the man must be given up, or at least impaired. But
the feeling of affection for my friend and that of hatred for the alleged
fault are old established associations, while that of dishonesty with
his personality is a new one, which, in order to find lodgement, must
expel the original inhabitant. Although I may have formed no definite
association of honesty with him, the difficulty is of precisely the same
sort as if I had. In either case it is the breaking up of an habitual
association.

Such being the way in which emotion affects belief, its value as a
ground of belief must be determined in the same way as in other cases
of association. If any emotion is so exclusively connected with some
definite object that the one is never present without the other, we are
warranted in inferring the existence of the object from the presence of
the emotion, as Robinson Crusoe inferred from the human footprints on the
sand that men had been there. As a matter of fact, there is comparatively
little uniformity in associations of this kind. The same things affect
different persons differently, and the same persons differently at
different times. Our hopes and fears are sometimes realised and
sometimes disappointed, and people to whom, on slight acquaintance, we
feel attracted, often develop qualities of a different kind from what
we expected as we come to know them better. If I am fond of money, and
also of idleness, or of friendship, and also of having my own way at all
times, it does not follow that taking my ease is the way to get rich, nor
that always insisting on my own way is the course to make friends. The
most, I think, that can be said in favor of emotion as a ground of belief
is, that its existence presupposes the existence of some object adapted
to excite it. Avarice may be said, in a sense, to prove the existence of
wealth—if there were no wealth there would doubtless be no avarice—but
not that a particular avaricious man will be wealthy. Fear implies the
existence of harm, but not necessarily that harm is coming upon the
one that fears. These are matters in which we can apply the test of
experience to our beliefs, and it seems evident that emotion adds nothing
to our knowledge. We know the things independently of the emotions they
excite, and every one recognises that to expect a thing merely because we
either desire or fear it is, in matters which we can test by experience,
utterly fallacious.

But there are matters lying outside the range of our experience in regard
to which it is often confidently asserted that our desires and fears are
sufficient proof of their reality—a view in which I cannot agree. If it
could be shown that we long for something of an entirely different kind
from anything we have known, that might perhaps be an argument in favor
of its existence, but such is not the case. The wish for immortality,
for instance, is nothing more than the wish for life. Probably there
are but few who would not rather have immortality without death than
after it, but experience has at last convinced the most hopeful that
this is not to be expected, and the search for fountains of youth and
elixirs of life has few devotees. We want life, and we have life; we want
happiness, and we know happiness, whether we ourselves have it or not,
but to say that the fact that we want more than we get of both is a
reason for supposing that we shall ever have all that we want of either
is to reason in a way which we should all see to be fallacious if applied
to things of every-day life. I conclude, then, that the emotions which
a belief excites are utterly valueless as a test of its truth, and that
we may expect that, both with individuals and the race, emotion will
play a smaller and smaller part in belief as true knowledge and culture
increase. This is not saying that, in cases of doubt, it is unreasonable
to hope that things may turn out as we wish.

As to innate beliefs, it is enough to say that we cannot altogether rid
our minds of them, and that they answer perfectly the purpose of working
hypotheses. A man may question the reality of an external world to his
heart’s content, but if he runs his head against a wall, or drops a brick
on his toe, it will hurt him just as much as the most thorough-going
materialist. The consequence is that such a doubt does not affect our
conduct. Abstractly, these beliefs do not all impress us with the same
degree of certainty. That the same thing cannot be in two different
places at once, is, I think, felt to be more absolutely and necessarily
true than that there is such a necessity in the order of events as is
implied in the idea of causation, but for all practical purposes we are
as sure of the one as of the other.

I have already quoted Professor James’s assertion of our ability to
choose which among different ways of thinking of the same we shall
adhere to and which disregard. Perhaps the most prominent feature of his
teaching on the subject of belief is that it is an active, not a passive
state of the mind—a choice, not a necessity. One or two more quotations
on this point will make this plain.

“As bare logical thinkers, without emotional reaction, we give
reality to whatever objects we think of, for they are really
phenomena, or objects of our passing thought, if nothing
more. But, _as thinkers with emotional reaction, we give what
seems to us a higher degree of reality to whatever things we
select and emphasise and turn to WITH A WILL_. These are our
_living_ realities, and not only these, but all things that are
intimately connected with these (p. 297).

“Now the important thing to notice is that the difference
between the objects of belief and will is entirely immaterial,
as far as the relation of the mind to them goes. All that the
mind does is in both cases the same; it looks at the object and
consents to its existence, espouses it, says ‘it shall be my
reality.’ It turns to it, in short, in the interested emotional
way” (p. 320).

Although the doctrine is stated, in these and other passages, without
qualification, it is hard to reconcile it with some other statements. He
devotes a chapter to “Necessary Truths,” and says:

“We _must_ attach the predicate ‘equal’ to the subject
‘opposite sides of a parallelogram’ if we think those terms
together at all” (p. 617).

I do not know that it makes much difference whether we say that, in a
case like this, we cannot think differently of the same, or that, having
thought so, we cannot choose which way of thinking to adhere to and which
to disregard. The proposition that a horse is a vertebrate animal cannot
be called a necessary, _a priori_ truth, but I find it as impossible to
think of a horse that is not a vertebrate animal as of a parallelogram
with the opposite sides unequal. A figure with the opposite sides unequal
would not be a parallelogram, and anything that was not animal and
vertebrate would not be a horse. Whether the difficulty in the two cases
is the same or not, it is clear that, by Professor James’s admission,
here is a restriction of our choice as to what we will believe.

Again, he speaks of pleasurable and painful sensations as
“belief-compelling.” Compulsion, so far as it exists, excludes choice,
and if this expression is justified it implies another limitation on the
freedom of belief.

With regard to painful sensations, it seems to me that the fact is that
they, and their associations, force themselves on our attention, rather
than that we “select, and emphasise and turn to them with a will.” If I
have a toothache, I may believe that if I retain the tooth it will keep
me in pain for a long time, and if I have it extracted, that will also
be a painful process. It does not seem to me that the expressions quoted
above accurately describe my state of mind in regard to either of these
beliefs.

According to Professor James, when a man becomes convinced that he is
financially bankrupt, or that he has lost his good name, or that he
is suffering from an incurable and fatal disease, it is because he
“espouses” this view of the matter, “consents to its existence,” says
“it shall be my reality.” This notwithstanding that such a belief may
drive him to determine that, so far as in him lies, all existence, all
reality shall cease; to consent to death and espouse the grave. Would
not the criminal who hears his death-sentence pronounced prefer, if he
could, to disbelieve his eyes and ears, and to feel that it was all a bad
dream? So far as I can judge with regard to many unwelcome beliefs, they
are not like the highwayman who offers the alternative of “your money or
your life,” but like him who throws you down, binds and robs you without
offering any choice.

Perhaps the most striking example of the view under consideration is
found in a foot-note on p. 318, in which, after quoting, with approval, a
statement of Royce that “The ultimate motive with men of every-day life
is the will to have an external world,” he goes on to say:

“This immixture of the will appears most flagrantly in the fact
that although external matter is doubted often enough, minds
external to our own are never doubted. We need them too much,
are too intensely social to dispense with them. Semblances
of matter may suffice to react upon, but not semblances of
communing souls. A psychic solipsism is too hideous a mockery
of our wants, and, so far as I know, has never been seriously
entertained.”

Leaving aside the question whether any one who really disbelieved that
there was any reality, outside of his own mind, in objects of sense,
could believe in the existence of that which he only infers from the
conduct of those objects, it seems to be distinctly stated that the
reason of these beliefs is, not that we cannot help believing so, but
that we choose to believe so, and not otherwise, and that we are able,
having so chosen, to believe as we wish. That there may be no doubt as to
the sense in which the term “Will” is used, I will quote the explanation
with which he opens his chapter on that subject:

“We desire to feel, to have, to do, all sorts of things which
at the moment are not felt, had, or done. If with the desire
there goes a sense that attainment is not possible, we simply
_wish_; but if we believe that the end is in our power, we
_will_ that the desired feeling, having or doing shall be real;
and real it presently becomes, either immediately upon the
willing or after certain preliminaries have been fulfilled” (p.
486).

Now each one must judge for himself whether this, or anything like this
is the way in which he came to believe in an external world. Judging from
my own experience, I should say that the reason we originally have such
a belief is that it arises spontaneously in our minds, and that, for a
long time, it never occurs to us that it can be otherwise. However that
may be, I am certain that when the contrary possibility was presented
to my mind, it struck me as strange, rather than dreadful, and that I
firmly believe many things that seem to me far more hideous than the
doctrine that I am the universe. So far as society is concerned, if I
can _be_ Shakespeare and Milton and Goethe, Plato and Bacon, Newton and
Darwin, Luther and Columbus and Washington, as well as all the people
of my acquaintance, it strikes me that I can be pretty good company for
myself. To use the universality of the belief as a proof of its voluntary
nature seems to me very much such an argument as to say that because all
bodies attract each other in the ratio of their mass and inversely as the
square of the distance, the falling of a stone must be a purely voluntary
matter. I do not see what stronger argument, in a case like this, could
be made for the necessity of a belief than the alleged fact that no one,
under any circumstances, is free from it.

Now, if we substitute the term “Propensity” for “Will” in the passage
quoted above, it would seem to me an entirely accurate description of
the facts, and I can only understand how the authors quoted could take
the ground they do except on the assumption that all propensities, or
at least all which prevail, are choices or volitions. That such is not
the case seems to me clear enough in regard to belief from some of
the instances which I have already mentioned, but it will perhaps be
still more evident from cases in which belief is not in question. The
propensity to remember and constantly think of painful and distressing
things, which we would gladly banish from our thoughts, or such things as
silly rhymes and trifling tunes; to tremble and lose our presence of mind
in danger, when we have most need of the full use of all our faculties;
to express our emotions by muscular movements when we wish to conceal
them, and many others that might be mentioned, are examples of the fact
that an invincible propensity may be quite the reverse of a choice.

That belief is an activity of the mind may be freely admitted. The
mind—whatever the substratum of our states of consciousness may be—is
not a receptacle, to hold indifferently whatever may be poured into
it nor a sheet of blank paper, on which this or that may be written
by circumstances; it has a character of its own, and reacts to its
environment. What the reaction shall be depends both on the character of
the mind and what is presented to it, but it seems incorrect to assume
that all the dispositions of the mind are of the nature of desires or
aversions. In the last analysis of which we are capable, our character
is probably due to our physical constitution, original and acquired, and
our beliefs may be profoundly affected by a few glasses of whiskey or an
attack of fever. Whether the reactions of the matter of which our brains
are formed are as invariable as those of inorganic matter need not be
discussed here; the present point is that while belief is a sense of the
relations of things as they are, the essence of will is the desire to
have them otherwise than as they are. To make belief a matter of choice
is the same as to say that I may at the same time choose that things
shall be as they are and otherwise.

Professor James closes the chapter with a practical observation:

“If belief consists in an emotional reaction of the entire man
on an object, how _can_ we believe at will? We cannot control
our emotions. Truly enough, a man cannot believe at will
abruptly. Nature sometimes, and indeed not very infrequently,
produces instantaneous conversions for us. She suddenly puts
us in an active connection with objects to which she had till
then left us cold. ‘I realise for the first time,’ we then say,
‘what that means!’ This happens often with moral propositions.
We have often heard them; but now they shoot into our lives;
they move us; we feel their living force. Such instantaneous
beliefs are truly enough not to be achieved by will. But
_gradually_ our will can lead us to the same results by a very
simple method; _we need only in cold blood act as if the thing
in question were real, and keep acting as if it were real, and
it will infallibly end by growing into such a connection with
our life that it will become real_. It will become so knit with
habit and emotion that our interests in it will be those which
characterise belief. Those to whom God and Duty are now mere
names can make them much more than that, if they make a little
sacrifice to them every day. But all this is so well known in
moral and religious education that I need say no more” (p. 321).

The above passage seems to me to illustrate at the same time the force
of Professor James’s rhetoric and an occasional tendency on his part to
be carried away by it into statements that are altogether too sweeping.
In an immense proportion of cases, the method that he recommends is
precisely the surest way to convince ourselves that the thing in question
is _not_ real. It is the method which the small boy takes to convince
himself that the gun is not loaded; the drunkard and spendthrift to
satisfy themselves that their vices will not bring them into poverty and
disgrace. A man may sit all day at the fork of the road, and believe that
the broad way does not lead to destruction, but when he puts his belief
in practice he discovers the truth. So far as practical matters, capable
of being brought to the test of experience, are concerned, it can only be
said that _if they are real_, we shall convince ourselves that such is
the case by acting as if they were real. Doubtless Professor James had
not such prosaic things as these in mind when he wrote the passage, but
a method that will not serve us in regard to such questions as whether
water will wet us or fire burn us, can hardly be called infallible. But
even in regard to questions that must always remain matters of opinion
it is not true in the unqualified sense in which Professor James puts
it. Probably many men, brought up in the belief that it was their duty
to observe the first day of the week by religious worship because the
Hebrews were required to abstain from labor on the seventh day, have come
to modify their belief without any material change in their practice,
and even the belief in regard to the nature and attributes of God may be
affected in advance of a change in the conduct based upon it.

The law of association in this regard is subject to the same limitations
as we have already found to hold in respect to other matters.
Associations of action with belief have a tendency to strengthen it, but,
as in the case of emotion, they may be overcome by other considerations,
and it is entirely possible for a man to go on for the better part of
a lifetime in punctilious conformity to usages which in his heart he
despises, and break out in open rebellion at last. From the ethical
point of view, the advice which seems to be implied, of deliberately
choosing a way of setting doubts at rest which is as efficacious on the
side of error as of truth, of vice as of virtue, seems to me, to say the
least, of doubtful tendency. We must often act in doubtful cases, and
take the risk, amongst others, of thus confirming ourselves in error,
but certainly there can be no more solemn motive for weighing well our
beliefs before committing ourselves to them by action than the fact that
we may, by habit, pervert our moral sense, blind our judgment and stifle
our conscience.

To the man who believes that there is a universe, of which he forms an
infinitesimal part, and that all his interests depend on his attitude
toward the power that works in it, it is of infinitely more interest to
know how he can know the truth than how he can convince himself of this
or that. Shall truth be our master, to be followed and obeyed, though he
command us to give up all else that we hold dear, or our servant, to be
employed as suits our passion or caprice, and dismissed when he will no
longer serve our purpose?

This is perhaps the most momentous question that we are called on to
decide. The man who makes the wrong choice may or may not attain what he
seeks, but though he gain the whole world, he will lose his own soul.

W. L. WORCESTER.

FOOTNOTES:

[62] _The Principles of Psychology_, by William James, Professor of
Psychology in Harvard University. In two volumes. New York: Henry Holt &
Company, 1890.

[63] The italics, in this and my other quotations, are the author’s.

THE NATURE OF MIND AND THE MEANING OF REALITY.[64]

Professor William James’s supposition of “an hallucinatory candle” seen
by a “new born mind entirely blank and waiting for experience to begin”
is an impossible and self-contradictory figment. We might as well speak
of the dry Niagara falls employed in the manufacture of some material
goods out of nothing. For, first, a mind entirely blank is no mind
and, secondly, a blank mind if it could exist at all, would have no
hallucinations. An hallucinatory candle can be produced only out of the
memories or the combination of memories of former candle-sensations. A
blind man sees in his dream no colors, and a deaf man hears no symphonies.

A new-born babe is already in possession of many inherited memories. Thus
the first sense-impressions after the babe’s birth find the organism,
especially its skin, nerves and muscles predisposed for their reception.
The babe’s organism accordingly presents an instance of a relative but
not of an absolute blank; an absolute blank of a something that is to
develop into mind can mean only a lump of sentient matter at the moment
of formation. As soon as it is formed it is exposed in every second
of its existence to innumerable impressions which fill the blank with
contents and these contents are the mind that is developing.

Sentient substance is not at rest, but like a flame it is possessed of
an incessant activity. The form of this activity is both extraordinarily
plastic and stable. It is plastic, for every impression together with the
reaction of the impression modifies it and leaves a trace: it is stable
for the traces of all the impressions and reactions are preserved.

The first sense-impression of a lump of sentient substance produces an
irritation which objectively considered is a commotion of the sentient
substance and subjectively considered a feeling, the substance being
sentient _ex hypothesi_. This first and primitive feeling is meaningless,
for it has not, and cannot have, any reference to any other feeling,
memory or mind, and meaning is created through the interaction of
feelings with memories of feelings.

Some later sense-impression of the same kind will not only produce
the same irritation but also serve as an irritation to awaken the
memory-trace left by the former sense-impression. The new feeling will
melt into one with the reawakened memory of the former feeling. In the
long run many traces of the same kind which are, as it were, deposited
in the same place will constitute an organ predisposed to receive the
correspondent impressions; and now a sense-impression received by such an
organ may be called a sensation. A sensation is not merely a feeling, it
is a feeling of a special kind and it is felt to be of a special kind. In
other words, a sensation is a feeling that has acquired meaning; and this
meaning is the product of the interaction and coöperation of feelings
and memories. Sensations have become symbols representing the cause of
the sense-impression which produced the sensation, and ideas are symbols
of a higher order representing either whole classes of a certain kind
of causes of sense-impressions or certain features thereof, or certain
relations among them.

Thus every mind is a system of sentient symbols. These symbols being as
it were pictures intended somehow to represent or allegorically speaking
to portray things are called “ideas,” while the things symbolised are in
their totality called objective existence or “reality.”

Considering the nature of mind, it is obvious that there cannot be
an entirely blank mind. We might as well speak of an entirely blank
picture. But an entirely blank picture is a canvas and no picture at
all. That a mind which is not as yet a mind can have neither sensations
nor hallucinations is almost self-evident. Similarly there is no sense
in saying that a picture that consists of an utter blank and thus is
properly speaking no picture at all but an empty canvas, either does or
does not correctly represent a certain object.

The word “real” is used in two senses (1) as a name for everything that
exists and (2) to signify that kind of existence which is the object of
our sensory and mental experience, i. e. the objective world so-called.
The former of these two definitions is more comprehensive; for it
includes the realm of mentality, the ideal world of subjectivity. The
latter is used in contrast to the subjective world of mental life and
thus expressly excludes the ideal realm of the mind and of mental symbols.

The questions as to What is reality? and Is there anything real at all?
must not be formulated as they are by Professor James, in terms of belief
but in a statement of facts and by defining certain facts as real.

An hallucination is real in the first sense of the word; it is an actual
existence; it is a feeling taking place in the mind of some organism.
It is also real in the second sense of the word in so far as it is a
vibration of a brain structure. However an hallucination is not real
in the second sense of the word in so far as its meaning has not its
correspondent analogue.

Let the meaning of a certain mental symbol be a candle, under which
name we comprise a certain group of experiences, and let the cerebral
structure of this mental symbol be awakened by another stimulus than
that which is generally called a candle. Those experiences which as a
group are called a candle are of a certain kind. If a piece of paper
approaches the lighted candle, it will burn. An hallucinatory candle will
leave the paper intact, although the person who has the hallucination may
see the paper burn. Thus the ideas or images of objects are built up of
experiences which have taught us that under certain conditions certain
events happen; in consequence of certain actions there are constantly
certain reactions taking place. Reality consists of such facts; it is the
sum total of all reactions; reality is the nature of objects which react
somehow.

Those who jump at the conclusion that our subjective sensations, such as
colors, tastes, sounds, etc., must be regarded as objective properties
of things, are grossly mistaken. Our sensations are not qualities of
things but subjective phenomena: they do not inform us about the nature
of things, but reveal to us how things affect our senses. Those however
who deny or doubt objective existence are no less mistaken. The world
is not a subjective phenomenon of sensations, but an objective existence
symbolised in sensations.

The question is not “Does reality exist?” but “What is Reality?” or
“What is the meaning of ‘real’?” When we say “Objects are real,” we
mean that they resist, they react, their presence produces somehow some
effect. When we say, We ourselves are real, we mean that we react upon
the objects with which we come in contact, we mean, that in our bodily
existence we are objects in an objective world.

Actions and reactions are taking place. This is a fact. He who denies
it is like the man who declares that he is not at home; he contradicts
himself: for the denial of a question is a reaction upon an action. The
term reality is the symbol of the nature of actions and reactions in
their efficacy, it denotes the essence of facts and thus the question
“Does reality exist?” has no sense. We denote that which exists, that
which acts and reacts, that which is a fact, or howsoever we may
express it, by the word “reality.” We might deny that the reactions of
the objective world are constant, or that a certain idea of a certain
reaction is erroneous, viz. that the reaction if put to the test would
prove to be different from what it was expected—but all these denials and
doubts which are of daily occurrence in the domain of science presuppose
that there are reactions taking place and reality or objective existence
is only a collective name for these reactions and their nature. The name
object still preserves the idea of reaction, for object is that which
reacts upon touch, which resists, which is objected.

We shall lose ourselves in inextricable confusion by making a matter of
doubt and belief what is really a statement of facts. To speak of a doubt
or belief in the reality of things in general is tantamount to speaking
of a belief in our experiences which, whatever their particular nature
may be, are facts. And to doubt our experiences, not the correctness
of a particular experience, but experience in general, i. e. the very
existence of experience is tantamount to doubting our own being.

A consideration of what we mean by an hallucination can best make clear
what we mean, and rationally can only mean, by reality. A real candle is
a mental symbol of something which will under certain conditions react
in a certain way. An hallucinatory candle is also a mental symbol, but
the thing which it purports to mean, does not exist; i. e. there is
nothing that will react. The symbol is there, but not that something the
existence of which the symbol of the idea “candle” would indicate.

This method of dealing with the problem of the old naïve realism and the
pseudo-critical idealism of former times is not based upon the assumption
of the reality of things (which means, of the reality of reality); it
is simply a careful formulation of the problem to prevent our being
entangled all about with contradictions; it is the method of rendering
clear the basic principle of positivism, that all knowledge is a
description of facts, which description of facts is made for the purpose
of, dealing with facts.

P. C.

FOOTNOTES:

[64] This article was suggested by Dr. W. L. Worcester’s criticism on
Professor James’s Psychology. When Dr. Worcester discusses Professor
James’s supposition of an hallucination in a blank mind, saying that it
would be “the only possible reality of that mind,” he almost seems to
adopt Professor James’s views of the subject himself. Clearness about
such fundamental terms as mind and reality, are so much needed that the
following remarks may not be out of place as a further explanation of the
subject. Exactness in fundamental and general terms will save much labor
in detail work.

MONISM NOT MECHANICALISM.

COMMENTS UPON PROF. ERNST HAECKEL’S POSITION.

Prof. Ernst Haeckel’s Anthropogeny, the fourth edition of which appeared
of late,[65] brings again into prominence that conception of monism which
identifies the monistic view with mechanicalism.

A review of this book has appeared already in _The Open Court_, No.
231, in which we called attention to the great merits of a work which
has become a household book, not only for the scientist, but for every
educated reader who is interested in man and the origin of man. Our
knowledge in Anthropogeny, certainly, will influence not only our general
world-conception, but through our general world-conception it will extend
its influence not only over every branch of science but also into the
broader fields of man’s daily life and his practical morality.

Professor Haeckel is the most popular naturalist of to-day and there
is no one, perhaps, who has made a more effective propaganda for the
monistic world-conception than he. So it is almost a matter of course
that his definition of monism is generally accepted as the standard.
We have formulated our view of monism in a way which in principle and
general outlines concurs with the commonly accepted usage of the term,
yet it deviates from it in some important points which are perhaps not
merely matters of detail. It will be difficult to say how far we agree
and how far we disagree with Professor Haeckel’s monism because those
subjects in which we disagree, have never been elaborated by him, and we
are inclined to believe that he would modify some of his expressions, if
he devoted a quiet hour’s thought to the objections we have to make to
his definitions.

Professor Haeckel’s monism being mechanicalism savors strongly of
materialism. He says in the latest edition of his “Anthropogenie” which
is now before us, Vol. II, p. 851:

“There can be no doubt that a thorough consideration and unprejudiced
deliberation of these facts will lead to a decisive victory of that
philosophical conception which with one word we call monistic or
mechanical in opposition to the dualistic and teleological. Upon the
latter are based most of the philosophical systems of antiquity, of
the mediæval times, and also of the present time. The mechanical or
monistic philosophy declares that certain and immutable laws obtain
everywhere in the phenomena of human life as much as in nature generally,
that a necessary causal connexus obtains everywhere in phenomena and,
accordingly, that the knowable world forms throughout a unitary whole, a
monon. Monism moreover maintains that all phenomena are produced alone
through mechanical causes (_causæ efficientes_) not through premeditated
purposive causes (_causæ finales_).”

And in the first lecture “The History of Evolution and Philosophy,” (p.
15) he says:

“We shall clearly recognise in the following investigations how
the most wonderful enigmas of human and animal organisations,
heretofore considered as inaccessible, have become accessible
to a natural solution through Darwin’s reform in the doctrine
of evolution by a mechanical explanation of purposeless
efficient causes.”

In agreement with these views, Professor Haeckel regards the terms
necessity and mechanicalism as equivalent terms. He rejects any kind of
teleology, any kind of final causes, and also the freedom of the will.
He opposes the so-called moral world-order as contradictory to the idea
that the world is regulated by mechanical law and he adopts the latter to
the exclusion of the former. All these points come out very strongly and
clearly in Professor Haeckel’s letter to the editor of _The Open Court_,
where his view of monism is graphically presented in a concise tabular
form.

We here reproduce this table from No. 212 of _The Open Court_, for the
convenience of our readers:

Now we agree with Professor Haeckel in one main point, viz. “that certain
and immutable laws obtain everywhere in the phenomena of human life as
much as in nature generally, and that the knowable world forms throughout
a unitary whole, a monon.” But we cannot agree to his proposition that
“the wonderful enigmas of organised life are accessible to a natural
solution by a mechanical explanation of purposeless efficient causes.”
We grant willingly that mechanical explanations will serve for all
motions that take place in the world; even the motions of the brain
take place in strict obedience to the laws of molar and molecular
mechanics. But a mechanical explanation is not applicable to that which
is not motion. If it were applicable it would not be desirable, for
it would be of no avail. Mechanical explanations are to be limited to
mechanical phenomena. Feeling however is not a mechanical phenomenon,
and an idea, being a special and a very complex kind of a feeling, or
rather and more accurately expressed, being the special meaning of a
very complex feeling, is not a mechanical phenomenon either. It is true
that when a feeling takes place and when an idea is thought in the
brain of an organised being, that a certain nervous action takes place.
The nervous action is a motion and this motion represents a definite
amount of energy. There is no theoretical difficulty, although there are
almost insurmountable practical difficulties, in measuring the definite
amount of potential energy that is changed into kinetic energy when a
man thinks. Yet the brain-motion is not the idea and by a mechanical
explanation of the brain-motion we have not even touched the problem of
what the nature of the idea is, why ideas originate and how they act.

We know that Professor Haeckel when he so vigorously insists on
mechanicalism, opposes those philosophers who believe that there are
motions which cannot be explained by mechanical laws. We side with
Professor Haeckel against any one who maintains that some motions are
mechanical (molar or molecular) and others are exceptions to the laws of
mechanics, representing a kind of hypermechanics. But we cannot admit the
explanation by mechanical laws of non-mechanical phenomena.

Professor Haeckel speaks of purposeless efficient causes—_zwecklos
thätige Ursachen_. He speaks of efficient causes, as excluding final
causes. He is right in his objection to final causes as the term is
commonly used. But while there are causes that are _zwecklos_, there
are no causes that are _ziellos_. Every process of causation takes a
definite course, it has a certain and definable direction. The end of
this direction need not be a conscious aim, but it is an aim whatever it
be, it is a _Ziel_. In this sense every efficient cause is at the same
time a final cause. The gravitating stone has no purpose, yet it has an
aim. So the evolution of organised life is a natural process having a
very definite aim. And this aim of the evolution of organised life is
determined by factors of a very complex nature. One of these factors is
almost imperceptible at the beginning, but it is of a constantly and
rapidly growing importance; and this factor is the psychical element
that appears with organised life. This factor is nothing supra-natural,
nothing extra-natural, and yet it is not something material or
mechanical. It is this factor which in its highest efflorescence changes
aims into purposes, and with this change it creates again a new factor of
evolution which is the purposive aspiration to conform to the world-order
and thus to advance the further progress of mankind. This aspiration is
in one word called morality.

When we speak of a moral world-order we mean that such moral behests
as were formulated in prescripts by Confucius, by Buddha, by Moses,
by Jesus, and other moral teachers of mankind have an objective and
immutable foundation in the nature of things. The mechanical law in the
province of motions, the logical law in the realm of thought, geometrical
proportions in mathematics, the regularity of natural laws, etc., form in
our world-conception a part of this moral world-order. The laws of social
life are not opposed to them but correlative.

The purpose of a man’s action reveals his character, and the character
of the man is his innermost nature. In an analogous way the aim of
evolution and especially the aim of the evolution of organised beings
reveals the character, the innermost nature of the universe. Psychic life
is absent so far as we can see in the primordial world substance as it
appears in the form of a nebula; it is absent still in the primordial
state of planets. It appears with the subjective states of awareness that
rise into existence in organised life. The subjectivity of unorganised
matter is, in comparison with man’s subjectivity, to be considered as
a blank; i. e., if there is in it a state of awareness, which we have
reasons to doubt, it is apparently without meaning; it does not symbolise
external objects; it is no mind; it is, as it were, blind. Yet the aim
of evolution being the development of psychical life, shows that the
subjectivity of unorganised matter is spiritual in its innermost nature.
And the aim of psychical life being the development of moral ideals, we
are very well justified in speaking of the world-order as moral. When
speaking of the world-order as moral we mean that the moral prescripts of
the great ethical teachers of mankind are founded in and derived from the
world-order of nature.

There is one objection to calling the world-order moral, and we therefore
dislike to use the phrase. It is this: Morality means conformity to
a certain standard. The standard is not moral, but those who do or
do not conform to it are moral or immoral. Therefore if there is any
truth in the idea of God it is this that there is a standard for human
conduct to conform to, there is an authority which has to be obeyed
and this authority is God. To speak of God as moral or immoral is
anthropomorphism. If “God” means anything, it means that power of the
world-order obedience to which is called morality. If we say God is
moral, God ceases to be God, the moral authority above him to which he
has to conform would be the really true God. Thus logically the personal
conception of God leads to a superpersonal conception of God.

These are in brief our objections to Professor Haeckel’s definition
of monism as being identical with mechanicalism and perhaps also with
materialism. My opinion that Professor Haeckel may after all accede to
our view of monism is based upon an interesting and friendly conversation
which I enjoyed with him several years ago in Jena. Professor Haeckel
is not the one-sided naturalist that he is often represented to be by
orthodox clergymen. He does not see the workings of the natural laws
only, he sees also the moral aspect to which a consideration of the
natural laws leads. That his books emphasise the former without entering
into the problems of the latter is natural for a scientist, but he
personally is certainly even broader than are his books, and I should say
that his very opposition to certain errors which have been foisted by an
antiquated dogmatism upon our religious institutions, show the deeply
religious spirit of his character.

P. C.

FOOTNOTES:

[65] _Anthropogenie oder Entwickelungsgeschichte des Menschen._
Keimes-und Stammesgeschichte. By Ernst Haeckel. Mit 20 Tafeln, 440
Holzschnitten und 25 genetischen Tabellen. Vierte, umgearbeitete und
vermehrte Auflage. Leipzig: Engelmann.

MR. CHARLES S. PEIRCE ON NECESSITY.

Mr. Charles S. Peirce is one of those thinkers who in the investigation
of a subject go right down to the bottom of the problem. This
appears to me the more conspicuously so, as the result to which his
investigations lead stand in a strong contrast to my own views. Yet I
cannot help admiring the boldness of his trenchant critique which finds
the difficulties at the point where really the main difficulty of all
philosophical inquiry lies buried. It lies buried, i. e. it does not
appear on the surface of things. If it lay on the surface, our most
superficial thinkers would naturally light on it; but most of them walk
their way in peace, unmolested by the question, Is there any truth in the
idea of necessity. An editorial treatment of this problem may be expected
in a forthcoming number of _The Monist_.

P. C.

BOOK REVIEWS.

EINLEITUNG IN DAS ALTE TESTAMENT. By _C. H. Cornill_, Professor at the
University at Königsberg.

When Darwin and his followers first gave to the world the astonishing
results of their studies, few were those who at once recognised the
importance of the new theories and still fewer those who readily accepted
them. But within the last thirty years, gradually but steadily the
number of those who have adopted as virtually true the hypotheses of the
new school, has been increasing until to-day those are in the minority
who teach a view different from Darwin on the origin and evolution
of the universe. The history and fate of the new studies in Biblical
criticism bear a striking analogy to the reception accorded to Darwinian
researches. At first they were met with well nigh universal opposition.
They were declared to be subversive of the holiest interests of religion.
They were held to rob the Bible of its glory. But by slow degrees the
first passion yielded to wiser counsel. Curiosity led to the examination
of the new positions; and in consequence in ever widening circles the
conviction gained ground that far from taking away from the dignity of
the old Hebrew literature, these new investigations and the method upon
which they footed, lent new lustre to the collection of ancient writings.
And to-day the battle has been won by the school of Wellhausen and
Kuenen. Few are those who to-day urge the old views on the authorship
date and historical succession of the several parts composing what is
called the O. T. or even on the canonisation of the whole collection.

The startling assumptions of Wellhausen, Graf, and their Dutch colleagues
had their forerunners, as had Darwin and Wallace. But when George and
Vatke in the fourth decade of our century and Reuss, in his first
academic lectures, virtually anticipated the lines of research of their
later successors, the world was too busy with other matters to give their
labors much attention. (Cfr. this work, p. 8.) For all this, primitive
orthodoxy had only few representatives in this domain, at least in
Germany. While Hävernick and Keil and Hengstenberg, are ranged on the
extreme right of the line defending with all the resources of a vast
erudition the traditional views, the middle ground is occupied by such
men as Ewald, and Hitzig, and the teacher of these De-Wette, a school
of critics that to-day yet counts among its protagonists such men as
Dillmann and Schrader and Kittel. With Graf, a new era may be said to
have begun for Biblical criticism. Notwithstanding the violent opposition
encountered, the school has won the day. Its greatest triumph was perhaps
the acquiescence in its positions shortly before his death by that master
of Biblical science, Professor Delitzsch of Leipzig. What the cardinal
point of contention is between the warring camps, is well known. It is
the relative age and position of what is technically designated as the
Priestly code, in the Hexateuch. According to the new school this portion
is the capping stone of the edifice, as it were. For Dillmann it is
pre-exilic; for Wellhausen post-exilic.

The book before us places itself without equivocation on the standpoint
of this latest criticism. It is thus another leaf in the laurel wreath
crowning the men of the new dispensation. For the name of the author is
guarantee of the scholarly character of the work; and views which have
the endorsement of a man of the renown and the scholarship of Professor
Cornill carry the presumption of having truth on their side. Professor
Cornill is however, a new-comer in this special field. His life work, as
he himself says, lies in another province of the vast realm of Biblical
critical studies. His fame is associated with his critical edition of
the text of Ezekiel, a work which will forever stand as the best guide
for all who would venture on the dangerous ground of conjectural textual
emendations. For Cornill was the first to lay down the method which above
all must be followed in so venturesome a task and his new version is the
classic illustration of the correctness of his method of proceeding. That
a man who has established for himself the reputation of being methodic
and painstaking almost to a fault, a man who is dowered with critical
acumen of the highest order, should after going anew over the whole
ground cast the weight of his scholarly authority in favor of the views
of the new critical school is a fact the significance of which cannot be
blinked. We are indeed glad that the publishers entrusted this number of
their intended series of manuals for theological students, to a scholar
who had hitherto not written _ex cathedra_ on this particular subject.
Thus was ensured a new and impartial examination of all the points
involved.

The ends which this series of manuals is to serve, decided of course the
style and scope of this work. Of introductions (_Einleitungen_) to the O.
T. there was no scarcity; but (see preface) they were either too bulky
and too full and thus did not answer the requirements of the student,
not yet a scholar; or they were too brief, mere “ponies” as we here in
America would say, intended to be learnt by heart for the purpose of
passing a good examination. The difficulty thus consisted in combining
thoroughness with the necessary brevity without sacrificing lucidity.
No mere results on the other hand were to be stated. The student was to
be initiated into the course of the investigations, the reasons for the
conclusions and thus his interest was to be awakened and the way prepared
for independent research on his own part. That the author has succeeded
in carrying out this his programme, every section of the book confirms.
His fear that the full analysis in paragraph 12, of the priestly code
will be found to be out of place in an “outline of this kind” is
groundless. We do not hesitate that this very section is the gem of the
whole work full as it is of numerous passages which cannot but stir to
profitable reflection the student. None can lay this book aside without
confessing that he has gained a “Gesammtanschauung,” an insight into
the unity and coherence of the new views, apt to convince all earnest
and unbiased minds of the truth that in this science (_Wissenschaft_)
criticism is standing on firm ground. In the selection of the books
named at the head of each chapter, or in the course of the discussion,
the Professor has displayed most consummate skill. There is scarce one
important work which with profit may be consulted but is mentioned; and
what is more in the right connection. This feature is not the least
valuable in the whole work; the student thus has at ready command a
bibliography which excludes the chaff and stores the wheat.

But let us dwell a little more specifically on the plan and execution
and the contents of this book. Two plans may suggest themselves to
the writer of an “introduction” of this kind. He may attempt to give
a picture of the rise of literature among the ancient Hebrews and
treat of the different writings which have come down to us, often the
fragments of larger works, in the order of their composition and at the
same time connect with this discussion the reasons for departing from
the traditional views as to their dates and so forth and for assigning
them to a new age. This would be virtually writing a history of the
literature. It is this plan which Reuss adopted. But according to our
Professor, investigation has not proceeded far enough to make such a
history possible. He even doubts whether it ever will (p. 2). Perhaps his
verdict is justified. At all events he is right when he urges that in
such a sequence much which belongs to the branch which he is to teach,
will scarcely find its proper or organic place. And therefore it was a
wise conclusion of his to adhere to the second plan, the traditional, for
such _Einleitungen_ which treats of the different books in the order of
the Hebrew canon and finally takes up the discussion of such questions
as the collection of the canon, the condition of the text, the different
ancient versions and their value for the reconstruction, if possible, of
the true original. But what is an _Einleitung_? It is that theological
“discipline” which concerns itself about holy scripture as a book. It is
its business to fix the time when and the manner how the several writings
were composed, which now collectively form the holy scriptures, again it
is one of its main objects to understand at what period and under what
conditions the several writings were collected and also the manner of
the tradition of this collection down to us. The method of this inquiry
can be none other but the historic critical. To this definition of the
character of this discipline, to retain this German name, none will take
exception. It is both succinct and complete. The second paragraph gives a
full survey of the history of the studies in this field. It covers within
the brief space of ten pages the results of scholarly labors extending
over a period of over fourteen hundred years. It is not a dry enumeration
of names and book titles. Under each scholar, the salient element of his
contribution is emphasised. The living principle of these studies is thus
illustrated in its growth and successive development. Take for instance
this description of Wellhausen’s method, and in a similar manner that
of all other predecessors or co-laborers is brought out: “At the hand
of the history of the cultus and that of tradition, he shows how these
two lines of development run parallel to each other, how the religious
process of evolution at every halt and turn finds its expression and at
the same time its corroboration in the productions of literature: Israel
and Judaism are two concepts radically different from each other; it is
the canon that differentiates Judaism from old Israel.” Paragraph three
states the author’s reasons for treating the single books first before
taking up the discussion of their collection into a canon, and also why
the apocrypha are excluded. These not being in the canon, are foreign to
the purposes of an introduction into the canon books. None will deny that
the Professor’s arguments on these points are irrefutable. His inquiry
into the age of the art of writing among the Hebrews concludes this
general preliminary. He is of the opinion that as far back as the memory
of the Hebrews goes, they were acquainted with this art as nowhere there
is a sign that among them there was a dim recollection of an analphabetic
period. Recent finds have made it plain that during the reign of the
Pharaoh of the exodus a lively correspondence was kept up between
Palestine and Egypt, while for the reign of David the names of his court
officials is documentary proof that there were writers at his court. The
use of the pen must have been pretty general among the people as is shown
by Judges viii, a chapter which belongs to the oldest layer of historical
compositions.

Our space is too limited to abstract every chapter of this remarkable
book. Much as we should like to do this, and especially as in this
manner alone we can hope to do justice to its merits, we must confine
ourselves, now that we come to the “special introduction” to a few
selections taken from the discussion of the main points in reference to
books which have been the centre of critical study. The Pentateuch as
is natural receives the lion’s share of the author’s attention. We have
no hesitancy in saying that his is the best exposition of the modern
views which has yet come under our notice. The Pentateuch cannot be the
work of Moses; internal evidence, as already pointed out by Aben Esra,
Hobbes, Peyrerius, and Spinoza, render the traditional assumption of
Mosaic authorship untenable. But the Pentateuch cannot be the work of
one author. The critical labors of one and a half century, sketched
most skillfully, has made it plain that the Pentateuch has been “worked
together” from four independent original writings, (_Quellenschriften_)
a yahwistic work, J. an elohistic, E. a Deuteronomistic D. and a
priestly which after Kuenen is denoted as P. On this general division
the scholars are agreed, the relative age of the separate parts alone
is yet under controversy. In paragraph seven an analysis is given of
the first four books as assigned to the three sources. Deuteronomy
occupies a position of its own. It is characteristically different in
language and thought from the others; it is something essentially new
and is in itself homogeneous. In the main Deuteronomy is the book of
the covenant mentioned in II. Kings xxiii; this original D. is now
incorporated in chapters xii, xiii, xiv-xvii, where however certain
verses and even parts of verses must be eliminated. Perhaps xxviii, or
as Professor Cornill argues, something more succinct but of the same
general nature, a curse, may have belonged to the original D. This must
have been the book published under such extraordinary circumstances
in 621. Who is its author? It presents itself as the work of Moses.
But this is characteristic of the tendency of the age to take a great
man as the father of a new literary production, a tendency which was
perfectly well understood and was far above the level of a literary
deception. Its early manifestation in D. is merely proof that even then
Moses was among the people the law-giver _par excellence_. The author
of D. must be looked for in the circle of the pious who in consequence
of Manasse’s retrogression were bound all the more closely unto each
other. In other words among the men of the prophetic party, who must have
had influence also over certain priestly orders, for D. is a compromise
and an alliance between the prophets and the priests. Besides these
components of original D. the book contains in its present form additions
and duplicates which partly are historical and hence are denoted by
D.h, partly parenetic, hence D.p; but again in these are many later
interpolations. For the particulars in this regard, we must refer to the
work of Cornill itself. His analysis displays a keen eye and will on the
whole be sure to be accepted as final. The date of D. being 621, what
is the time of the other great sources of the present Pentateuch. It
is clear that D. is acquainted with the “book of the covenant” Ex. xx,
23.-xxiii, 33. and with both Decalogues (?). Thus it was acquainted with
JE. P. on the other hand is totally unknown. The historical portions of
D. confirm this deduction from the legislative pieces. JE is clearly
known to D. while of a knowledge of P. there is not the least trace.
How far back of 621 may we go to fix the date of both J. and E.? The
period of the first kings seem to be the limit, or more particularly
the reign of David. But which of the two is the elder, J. or E.? There
can be no question that J. is. For he is more naïve as appears from
a comparison among others of chapters Gen. xx, 1-17, xxi 22-32 which
belong to E., with chapter Gen. xxvi. 1-33 which is J.’s. E. appears
to be a theological recasting of J. E. is the work of the Northern
kingdom. Joseph always appears as the leader of his brothers and other
features confirm this impression. The year 722, when in the Northern
realm national consciousness was at its high water mark may then be
supposed to be the _terminus ad quem_. But is E. as we have it a literary
unit? Kuenen has proven that it is not. A century after its original
composition a second edition so to speak must have been made with a
view to meet the requirements and prejudices of the Judaic population
of the South. Ex. chapters 32-33, are of great decisive importance in
this connection. They are a rebuke for the golden calf worship at Dan
and Bethel. Thus E. is divided again into two E.1 and E.2, to which come
yet other later amplifications f. i. Num. xxi, 32-35. E.1 then belongs
to the reign of Jeroboam II (750); and E.2 is the work of a later author
living in Judah and under the influence of prophetic ideas. The locality
of J. is a point of controversy. Cornill sides with those who maintain
that his home is the Southern kingdom of Judah. The incidents in the
Patriarchal biographies which seem to weaken such an assumption are
explained as original traits of tradition which J. had no interest to
change. J. again is not a literary unit; it compromises J.1, J.2, and
even J.3. The reasons for these subdivisions are clearly given in the
book. J. must have been composed in its different parts between 850-625.
The priestly code occupies a whole paragraph, the signal merit of which
we have noticed above. This is indeed the master-piece of a great
critical master. The many points which are involved in the discussion of
this mooted problem are treated with a clearness and a calmness which
carry conviction to the most sceptical. P. presents a spiritual unity
but not a literary. P. is the offspring of P.1 an old priestly record
and P.2 a narrative and legislative composition which is as it were
the substance and skeleton of P. around which younger accretions have
gathered at different times for which Cornill in order to simplify his
symbols proposes the designation of P.x. J. S. Vater as early as 1805 has
proven that in the so-called Mosaism, of the influence in literary and
legislative respect of our P. there is no evidence before the captivity.
Wellhausen and Kayser and Kuenen have demonstrated what for Vatke was a
dim suspicion. Dillmann, Kittel, and Delitzsch as little as Baudissin
have succeeded in saving the pre-exilic character of P. Certain it is
that before Esra 458 (444), this code had no official recognition. From
Nehemiah we have the proof that our P. corresponds to the “Book of the
Law of Moses” which was read at the great assembly in October 444. On the
other hand the book of Chronicles is based on P. as it details history,
as it would have been, if P. had been the law regulating life and liturgy
and temple service. Had P. been known before D. what reason should the
priest have had who promulgated it to substitute for it another code
less advantageous for his own order? P. is clearly a development of
D. D. presents itself as something new in all of its demands, in its
insistence on centralisation, in one sanctuary and in one priestly order
on the legitimacy of the tribe of Levi exclusively. Of the tabernacle
there is not one syllable in the whole of the pre-exile literature.
It is a clear projection into antiquity of the Deuteronomic Central
sanctuary. The relations of P. to Ezekiel make this still plainer. This
prophet is the link of transition between D. and P. The omissions in the
festal cycle of E. can only be explained that this prophet-priest was
unacquainted with P. The captivity is thus the time for the composition
of P. in the main. Its emphasis on circumcision as the sign of the
covenant which decides the connection with the chosen seed and nation,
is proof of this. And the chronology finally corroborates all previous
inferences as the chronology of Genesis which is so important a part
of P. is unmistakably a reconstruction after certain principles of the
Babylonian history of the beginnings. (Oppert.) P. was written during
the century from Ezekiel to Esra (570-458). It was not merely P.2 that
Esra read before the assembled people. P.1 and P.2 seem thus to have
been united even at this time. But it is not to be assumed that under
Esra P. was already a part of the other portions of our Pentateuch. P.
itself contains parts which are later than Esra. P.x is undoubtedly
later and these additions are easily explained on the very assumption
of the official introduction of P. P. is not the work of an individual;
it is that of a whole school, a school which naturally formed in the
captivity. Besides these “source-writings,” the Pentateuch contains
smaller pieces of great antiquity mostly of a poetic character which
had for a long time an independent existence. Such is Gen. xlix, Exodus
xv, and others. Exodus xxi-xxiii, the so-called book of the covenant,
requires also a treatment by itself. It is characteristic of this book
that it ignores totally the Decalogue. Kuenen has solved the difficulties
in which this collection of judicial precedents is involved by pointing
out that it is the predecessor of D. D. is merely the substitute for
this. As it is older than E. and is the precipitate of the unwritten law
of the earlier kingly period, we place its date in the ninth century.
Lev. xvii-xxvi while betraying in many regards affinity with P. is still
distinct from it. It stands between Ezekiel and P.; it is one of the many
priestly Thoroth which undoubtedly were current among the class whom
they concerned. How now did these component parts finally combine? This
is elucidated in paragraph fourteen. First J. and E. were put together,
by an editor of Jehovistic leanings, whom Wellhausen has styled Rj. (R.
standing for German Redacteur, Editor). This Rj. worked over, and that
often decidedly, his materials in keeping with his own convictions. This
Rj. probably lived about 650. His position is pre-deuteronomic. A second
editor combined the work of Rj. with D. He is designated as Rd. His
was the placing of the old book of the covenant near Sinai in order to
gain room for Deuteronomy. He thus became the cause of much confusion.
He lived during the second half of the Babylonian captivity. JED. was
finally combined with P. by a third editor (Rp.) who is characterised by
considerable reverence for the old documents. He omitted much to guard
against repetition but at the same time where the relations differed he
preserved them most faithfully and endeavored to place them into their
proper position and connection. Rp. was thus virtually the author of our
Pentateuch. But living after Esra even with him the Pentateuch was not
yet closed. Many younger hands had a share in its final shaping. Glosses
were added or crept into the text, as is shown by comparison with the
lxx. The book of Joshuah is a necessary continuation and complement of
the Pentateuch.

But here we must stop quoting in detail. Much as we should desire to
reproduce Cornill’s own words relating to other Biblical books, want
of space precludes even the attempt. Suffice it to say that as in his
treatment of the Pentateuch, so every question bearing on Biblical
criticism is handled with the skill of the master. At whatever turn we
ask information of this book we receive it most abundantly. This is
indeed a students book. It stimulates while it instructs. It leads while
it describes the road passed over. In the discussion of the critical
problems on the Psalms, the prophets Isaiah and Zechariah, on the final
collection of the canon, the translation of the Bible and the relation of
the different recensions to each other, the historical books as distinct
from Chronicles, and Esra, and so forth, every point is treated with a
lucidity of style and a fulness of material which is the rare gift of
a man who is saturated with his science and loves it for its own sake.
This book is destined to rank among the classics. Its earnest study and
repeated consultation can therefore be recommended to all who wish to
inform themselves about the method and the achievements of the critical
schools. The kindred book by Driver, recently published will not make
a translation into English of Cornill’s manual less desirable. We take
leave from the author with a feeling of great gratitude for the pleasure
and the profit we derived from his contribution to the literature of
Biblical scholarship. The book is well printed and singularly free from
typographical errors.

DR. E. G. HIRSCH.

THE PRESENT POSITION OF THE PHILOSOPHICAL SCIENCES. An Inaugural Lecture.
By _Andrew Seth_, M. A. Edinburgh and London: William Blackwood and Sons.
1891.

As stated by the author, this lecture deals, not with the circle of
the philosophical sciences, but only with the subjects traditionally
associated with a Chair of Logic and Metaphysics in Scotland.
These subjects belong to the three-fold classification of logical,
psychological, and metaphysical, or philosophical in the strict sense.
They therefore embrace the study of the conditions to which valid
reasoning must conform, the investigation, introspectively and otherwise,
of the phenomena of consciousness, and the study of the two-fold question
of knowing and being, which as epistemology and metaphysics are included
under the designation of Philosophy. These three lines of learning are
cognate, and the first two are in a measure introductory to the third, or
at least, says Professor Seth, if we go beneath the surface they lead us
into the very heart of philosophical difficulties. The lecturer refers in
his sketch of the present outlook in these three departments of science
to the marvellous activity displayed in the department of psychology. All
the influences at work may be said to meet and come to fruition in Mr.
Ward’s “masterly treatise” in the “Encyclopædia Britannica” and “the rich
and stimulating volumes” of Professor James, of Harvard. Experimental
psychology is now widely spread in Germany and has been enthusiastically
taken up in America, “where every well-equipped college aims at the
establishment of a psychological or psycho-physical laboratory.”
Professor Seth thinks, however, that the experimental psychologists
magnify their office overmuch. The field of experiment is necessarily
limited to the facts of sensation, the phenomena of movement, and the
time occupied by the simpler mental processes. The results are often
so contradictory as to leave everything in doubt, and where definite
results are obtainable, their value is often not apparent. Moreover,
many of the results are of a purely physiological nature, and are only
by courtesy included in psychological science. We would remark on this,
that without the experiments the results would not have been obtained
and that their value will become apparent when the methods of experiment
are perfected. After referring to the critical function of philosophy as
a doctrine of knowledge, Professor Seth states that as constructive it
should lay special stress on a _teleological_ view of the universe. By
this is meant, that philosophical teleology should concentrate itself
upon the proof that there is an end of evolution, “that there is an
organic unity or purpose binding the whole process into one and making
it intelligible—in one word, that there _is_ evolution and not merely
aimless change,” such as is supposed in a purely mechanical view of the
universe. As to the nature of the end, although the lecturer accepts
Hegel’s view that all things are relative to man as rational, he cannot
accept “the abstraction of the race in place of the living children of
men.”

Ω.

DER MENSCHLICHE WELTBEGRIFF. By Dr. _Richard Avenarius_, Ord. Professor
der Philosophie an der Universität Zürich. Leipsic: O. R. Reisland. 1891.

This monograph is as it were a self-confession. The author endeavors
to attain clearness in his own philosophical standpoint. He looked
back upon the path he has traveled and feels that “the solution of
the problem-attained is fundamentally a personal self-liberation”
(Preface, ix). This book is most commendable reading to all idealists
and agnostics. It is an interesting and instructive little work,
tracing with a keen psychological criticism the vagaries of certain
philosophical conceptions, through which not alone the author but the
thinkers of mankind in general have strayed. The philosopher begins
with what Avenarius calls the “natural world-conception.” But this
natural world-conception leads to contradictions and the evil spirit of
speculation leads us in a circle through the barren fields of idealism.
Avenarius asks: “Is the world really of such a nature that it appears
unitary and consistent only to the superficial thinker, while it
leads every one astray who attempts to grasp it more precisely in its
entirety—the more so the more consistently the thinker proceeds?” (p.
xiii.)

The author proposes the question: “In what consists the inevitableness
of the contradiction to which every general world-conception seems to
have led? Or, if the world really be unitary what is the evil spirit that
leads those astray who hunger and thirst after a true cognition of the
world?”

The author has entirely abandoned the idealistic standpoint, an
inclination to which he showed in his first publication, “Philosophie
als Denken der Welt gemäss dem Princip des kleinsten Kraftmasses.”
He says: “Doubt of the correctness of my way heretofore pursued was
induced through the barrenness of theoretical idealism in the field
of psychology; and yet cognition and experience should belong to this
science as psychological ideas.”

The author in explaining the development of thought as it takes place in
man proceeds in a personal way, so much so that every idealist ought to
be satisfied. There are whole pages which teem with _ME_’s and _I_’s.
The method of notation is what might be called American. Europeans often
complain about our abbreviations, the Y. M. C. A., the S. A. S., the C.
B. & Q. Ry., etc., which are great puzzles to the uninitiated new-comer.
In a similar way Avenarius introduces such algebraic signs as _R_ and
_E_, which means reality and the sensations which our fellow-men are
supposed to have. _M_ is Man, _T_ is fellow-man. _T₁_ is the bodily
appearance of _T_, it is _R_; while _T₂_ is the _E_ of _T_, i. e. his
soul or spirit. _C_ is the nervous central organ, etc. Thus Avenarius
says (p. 18):

“I can in a relative consideration assume _R_ to be the condition of
changes in the _E_ values, supposed to exist in _M_, only if _M_ and in
_M_ the system _C_ are parts of my supposition,” and in a note (p. 117)
he adds:

“The skeleton in Goethe’s poem, ‘The Dead’s Dance,’ scents without an
organ of smell, sees without eyes, thinks without a brain; it also
moves without muscles. To consider such acts as true is now universally
declared to be superstition. The time will come when the assumption of
psychical phenomena without the coördination of the system _C_ will
universally be considered in the same way.”

The first three chapters remind us very much of W. K. Clifford’s article
“On the Nature of Things in Themselves.” But the article is nowhere
mentioned and it is most probable that it is unknown to the author. If
Avenarius had known Clifford’s view, he might have presented his ideas
with more economy of space. But if he did not know Clifford’s article,
the coincidences of procedure and to a great extent also of the result
attained are the more remarkable. What Avenarius calls the _E_ values are
termed by Clifford “ejects,” and the formation of ejects is called by
Avenarius “introjection.”

On page 52 we read the following sentence on the three phases of the
cognition of the data of experience:

“The first phase alone, that of ingenuous empiricism, cognises, i.
e. explains the totality of these facts without the assistance of
a non-sensible ... the second that of ingenuous realism conceives
the non-sensible as supersensible, and the third, that of ingenuous
criticism, as the pre-sensible. The epithet ingenuous has reference to
the foundation, not to the doctrinary system built upon it. That which
makes the said realism and criticism ingenuous is a survival of the
ingenuous empiricism.”

The theory which conceives the external cause of an experience as an
object, effecting _in_ the subject sensations, passes successively
through the following views. The object is said to be (1) not within
the range of experience, (2) not within the range of cognition, (3)
not-existing. Thus it reaches _via_ agnosticism its climax in idealism
and “pure experience becomes a something that is never truly experienced,
it becomes the totality of mere or pure sensations” (p. 62).

The third part of the pamphlet is devoted to “the restitution of the
natural world-idea.” Here the author comes, at least in some expressions,
very close to the solution editorially upheld in _The Monist_. Avenarius
says: “The task is ... to _describe_ the what of my experience so as to
make a practical application of it in my dealings with my fellow-men” (p.
79).

Professor Avenarius sums up his conclusions in the term “empirio-critical
principal-coördination” which he defines as the inseparability of
the ego-experience from the surrounding experience. “The ego and the
surrounding belong in the same sense to every experience. It is a
co-ordination peculiar to all experience” (p. 83). If we understand
Avenarius correctly he means to say, to express it in our terms, that
there is no object but there is a subjective aspect of it, no subject but
it appears objectively. Thus there is no subjectivity in itself and there
is no objectivity in itself. This is exactly our position, which we call
Monism.

The “introjection” was according to Avenarius the evil spirit that led
speculation astray. To get rid of this evil spirit the proposition is
made to discard “introjection” and replace it by the empirio-critical
principal-coördination. But closely considered the latter is only
an improved modification of the former, and this plan would better
be characterised as discarding the error implied in that kind of
introjection theory which assumes that sensations alone are given. The
data of experience are not mere feelings, not mere subjectivity, as
is maintained by the idealist; nor are they mere objectivity, as is
maintained by the ingenuous realist; the data of experience are states
of subject-objectness, they are feelings of a certain kind possessing
objective significance, and the ideas subject as well as object are
abstractions made in a late stage of mental development from this one
inseparable whole of subject-objectness (see _The Monist_ I, No. 1, pp.
78-79).

Avenarius says in a note (p. 132), “The question should not be ‘Why do we
believe in the reality of an external world?’ but ‘Why did we not believe
that the external world is real?’” We should say that neither question
is admissible. We should first ask: What do we mean by real? Reality is
the sum total of our experiences, including the meaning of sensations
and ideas, and finds its special application in their reliability. The
question, Is the candle I see real? means, Does it react in special ways?
Every name of a special object signifies a certain group of actions or
reactions observable by the subject. This is what we _call_ real and the
idealist would have to deny the existence of his own experience to deny
the reality of objects in this sense.

Avenarius’s books are not easy reading to the English and American
student, for his style is sometimes heavy and his constructions are
involved. So are his thoughts. But his thoughts show the earnest thinker;
the evolution of his views goes in the right direction and his works
deserve the attention of his co-workers in the philosophical field.

κρς.

DIE BEDEUTUNG DER THEOLOGISCHEN VORSTELLUNGEN FÜR DIE ETHIK. By Dr.
_Wilhelm Paszkowski_. Berlin: Mayer & Müller. 1891.

Religion originates everywhere, according to the author, in the
self-consciousness of man who feels himself an acting and willing being
limited by and dependent upon greater and higher powers. The religious
relation consists in the regulation of his actions as well as his will
with reference to the ordinances of these powers. Dr. Paszkowski lets
all the best known religions pass in review before our eyes, tracing
in all of them the connection between the properly religious elements
and morality and singling out those religious factors which are most
effective in determining man’s will in a moral way. In the second part
of the little volume he endeavors to show in how far the ecclesiastical
organisation of religion in dogma and cult have strengthened and in how
far they have weakened this result.

Concerning the most important dogma, which is the belief in immortality,
Paszkowski declares that it had its undoubted effects favorable and
unfavorable upon the social and moral life of mankind. It has prevented
some crimes while it has enhanced others. The question is, he says,
whether an individual immortality such as the religions usually picture
it, is tenable or not. Modern science and anthropology seem to have
proved it an illusion. Yet, as Paulsen says, the belief in immortality is
not a mere imagination. Every reality and so also man’s life is eternal.
It is nonsensical to think of death as a finality. That which has been
alive is a necessary, an eternal and inexpugnable part of reality and can
never again be blotted out. Through death the continuance of a man’s life
is cut off, but the contents of his life can never again be annihilated.
The real is in its very nature eternal. Paszkowski adds to Paulsen’s
remarks that man should find the norm of moral action in his relation to
his fellow-men and posterity, so that morality need not depend upon any
religious views. He will also have to act morally after he has resigned
the belief in the reality of the beautiful immortality-dream as it is
presented by enthusiastic religiosity.

It appears to us that if the usual conception of immortality is
scientifically untenable it devolves upon the moral teacher to present an
immortality conception that is tenable. The true immortality conception
will never enhance crimes, it will always have a favorable effect upon
the morality of mankind. Furthermore man’s relation to mankind and also
to the universe is of a religious nature. The social order to which
man has to conform is one part of those powers a recognition of which
constitute religion. If these powers are conceived to be outside the
world we have a supernatural deity, if they are the highest, best,
and greatest of, and in the world itself, we have an immanent deity
and ethics still remains intimately connected with and dependent upon
religion.

This it appears must be after all the author’s meaning, for he says in
prominent print, p. 89: “So long as there are men religion will not
cease, for it is one of the constitutional elements of human nature.” “In
the same measure as religion becomes spiritual, the moral conceptions
also will be purified, the mere ceremonial and the cult-element will lose
their importance in religion” (p. 92). “To divide the ethical factor from
the religious, as a matter of principle, will be seen to be impossible.
We can only conciliate the one with the other, both having originated out
of the same source of emotions” (p. 90).

κρς.

DAS WAHRNEHMUNGSPROBLEM VOM STANDPUNKTE DES PHYSIKERS, DES PHYSIOLOGEN
UND DES PHILOSOPHEN. Beiträge zur Erkenntnisstheorie und empirischen
PSYCHOLOGIE. By Dr. _Hermann Schwarz_. Leipsic: Duncker & Humbolt 1892.

Dr. Hermann Schwarz treats the most fundamental problem of
philosophy—viz. that of perception. He says in the preface: “There is
a triple state of facts to which obvious yet strange as it appears to
thought, the attention of the naturalist and the philosopher is drawn:
the physical, the physiological, the psychical.” The physical is the
empire of mechanical motion that can be observed with great accuracy to
take place everywhere. The physiological is the fact that when certain
impressions produce mechanical effects upon the nerves, the result
consists in certain sense-data; nervous action is accompanied with
sensation. The psychical state of things exhibits the fact that whether
or not we want it to be so, colors, sounds, odors, tastes, and touches
are always referred to external things, never to the own internal states
of the mind. Every one of these facts is strange in itself, for every
one represents the contrary of what might be expected _a priori_. Who
would expect that the machine-like world of jostling atoms and the
glorious world of colors and sounds should have anything in common? And
the sense-organs appear to the physiologist as mere physical apparatuses
modifying the ether-vibrations somehow. We do not see on the one hand how
consciousness can acquire information concerning the external world and
on the other hand, how motions can develop something so heterogeneous
as is consciousness. If we were confronted with one set of facts only,
everything would be plain, but this triple set of facts produces a
problem, it makes an explanation necessary and to this explanation Dr.
Schwarz has devoted a careful investigation of some four hundred and odd
pages.

Schwarz distinguishes two elements in what he calls “ingenuous realism,”
(1) its methodology and (2) its metaphysics. The methodology of physical
science consists in arranging the sense-data, while the metaphysics
assume that the objectivity of the sense-data is correctly represented
as “things, qualities, and effects.” Natural science arrived at a
scepsis of the usual metaphysics of naïve realism by a correction of the
ingenuous-realistic method, and Kant by critically investigating the
background or frame of its theory of cognition. The question is, What is
altered by physical science in the conception of ingenuous realism, what
by physiology, what by philosophy and why?

In the consciousness of an ingenuous realist the data of touch receive a
preference over those of the other senses, which is due to their greater
stability. The color of an object disappears, the sounds cease, while the
objects remain comparatively the same things to the sense of touch. Thus
they are considered as the real objects having certain qualities which
produce the phenomena of the other senses. This view is called by Schwarz
the first methodological dogma of ingenuous realism. The second dogma is
the conception that sense-data are considered as relatively permanent. So
colors are conceived to exist objectively in the dark, an error which has
been sufficiently explained by Helmholtz in his “Physiological Optics,”
§ 26. The third dogma completes the second; it is the view that the
relative permanence or disappearance of the qualities of objects depends
upon causes. Fire is said to be the cause which makes a wire red-hot. The
ingenuous realist knows no reciprocal causation, no action and reaction,
no _Wechselwirkung_. He assumes in addition to the objects certain
force-beings which are regarded as the causes of all change. The sun is
said to produce light.

Schwarz explains very well how this view of ingenuous realism naturally
arises and also how in the progress of thought it naturally corrects
itself. Suppose there were thinking beings with whom smell took the
place of touch and sight, would not their world-conception be based upon
the data of the sense of smell as is ours upon the data of mechanical
motions? If the females of a certain butterfly (_Frostspanner_) are
caught in the country and placed at a great distance in some house of
the city, the males will be seen on the next morning in great numbers
fluttering before the window of the room in which the females are kept.
What a perfection of the sense of smell while the senses of touch and
sight are very poorly developed! The dog owes his intelligence mainly
to the development of the sense of smell. Would not beings whose
intelligence is mainly due to the sense of hearing rather attempt to hear
the world than to grasp or comprehend it,—to _behorchen_ rather than to
_begreifen_?

Ingenuous realism is not consistent, and its methodology leads to
alterations of its metaphysics. We shall have to attribute either to
all the sense-data objective reality or to none of them. The data of
touch cannot be treated as exceptions and thus we have the alternative
either to return from our scepsis to realism, not to the ingenuous but
to a critically modified view of it, or to adopt the extremest form of
idealism, be it that of Berkeley or the subjectivism of Fichte.

The author (not unlike Professor Avenarius in his book “Der menschliche
Weltbegriff”) takes the former view. He says in the concluding chapter
(_Die Mängel der Ding-an-sich-Hypothese_): “This view, viz. that of
ingenuous realism, will in the end of our inquiry be seen to be not only
the most natural, and practically considered the most useful metaphysical
theory, but also that conception which is freest from all theoretical
obscurities” (p. 381).

We believe that the book which contains much valuable material, would
have been more useful than it actually is, if a chapter had been added
containing a summary of the whole inquiry and delineating in great
outlines the critically modified form of realism whose most appropriate
name we should say is monism—not materialism or mechanicalism which
allows all facts to be swallowed up by the conception that the world
consists only of matter in motion, but that monism which is a unitary
view of the whole, mindful of the fact that the sense-data as well as our
concepts are one-sided aspects only of the one and all. If we bear this
truth in mind we shall avoid from the beginning the three dogmas (alias
errors) of ingenuous materialism.

κρς.

DIE ENTWICKELUNG DES CAUSALPROBLEMS IN DER PHILOSOPHIE SEIT KANT. Studien
zur Orientirung über die Aufgaben der Metaphysik und Erkenntnisslehre.
(Part II.) By Dr. _Edmund Koenig_. Leipsic: Otto Wigand.

The present work forms the conclusion of a volume published by Dr. Koenig
in 1888, entitled _Die Entwickelung des Causalproblems von Cartesius
bis Kant_. This same subject is here pursued in the history of modern
philosophy since Kant.

The problem of causality, according to Dr. Koenig, has two aspects, an
epistemological and a metaphysical. The pre-Kantian efforts dealt chiefly
with the latter, the post-Kantian more principally with the former. The
latter, the metaphysical question, is, How do things in the world of
reality produce effects in one another? The former, or that which relates
to the theory of knowledge, is, (1) What is the logical foundation of
the idea of causality, what do we imply when we set up two objects
as cause and effect, and (2) By what right and to what extent are we
justified in imputing to the axiom of causality an objective validity?
With respect to the latter, the epistemological, point of view, Hume and
Kant believed they had established indisputably that experience as given
does not furnish sufficient grounds either for the idea or the axiom of
causality. On the other hand, others, like Maine de Biran, Schopenhauer,
and Trendelenburg, hold, that causality is given us in experience, that
we apprehend the causal relation subsisting between things, together with
the things. Herbart maintains that the idea of the causal relation has
been reached by the logical elaboration of experience in conformity with
the general laws of logical thought. Mill and Spencer see in this idea an
element that goes beyond experience, but justify it only psychologically,
not logically. According to Lotze, Riehl, Wundt, v. Hartmann, Volkelt,
the idea is either wholly or partly of intellectual origin. Finally,
Comte and a few modern scientists look upon the idea of causality as
logically valueless and scientifically superfluous.

This is, in brief, the opinions of the greatest thinkers whom Koenig
treats of, respecting the logical composition of the idea of causality.
But another question, that namely as to the character of the relation
in which in the causal judgment the notions of the concrete causes
and their effects exist, is one closely allied with this. Some hold,
(Trendelenburg, Goering, Herbart, Hamilton, Spencer,) that the relation
is one of identity; others that it is synthetical. This aspect is also
developed in connection with the last-named thinkers.

With respect to the axiom of causality, we find diametrically opposed to
each other the doctrines of empiricism and apriorism; but a number of
intermediate opinions have also established themselves. Of the first,
Schopenhauer, Lotze, and Volkelt are representatives, but only the theory
of the first-named is developed at length. The empiricism of Mill and
Goering meets with exhaustive treatment, as does the opposed view of
Laas, Riehl, and Wundt and the conciliatory view of Spencer.

With respect to the metaphysical aspect of the question, above-mentioned,
we find the modes of conception of phenomenalism and realism opposed.
The latter only is, in the nature of its doctrine, required to explain
ontologically the coming about of the causal relation in reality; the
former does not recognise Being in itself, and hence there can be no
causal connection of such. Schopenhauer’s attempt (the view of the
forces of nature as the emanation of a Universal Will), and the splendid
ontological theories of Herbart and Lotze are regarded by Dr. Koenig
as being no more a solution of the problem than were the efforts of
their famous predecessors Spinoza, Malebranche, and Leibnitz. These
dogmatic realists, as Koenig calls them, proceed from the assumption of
the knowableness of the absolute; opposed to them, in this regard, are
Spencer, Von Hartmann, and Volkelt, the critical realists, the first of
whom gives an ontology that is a vague and metaphysical rendering of the
principle of the conservation of energy, the two last of whom impute a
transcendental ontological significance to the idea of causality.

The connection, Dr. Koenig concludes, is thus apparent and definite
between the metaphysical and epistemological divisions of the question.
The ontologist, unless he proceed dogmatically, must prove, that
the notion of causality in the form in which critical analysis has
established it as a valid and indispensable empirical idea, calls
inevitably for the notion of an absolute reality and of a state of things
in that reality corresponding to the forms of the connection given.
Therefore, the logical analysis of the idea of causality is in any
philosophy, pre-eminently determinative of its whole position and bearing.

On the whole, then, in the treatment of the problem forming the subject
of this work, four comparatively independent views are found opposed
to one another and considered in this opposition; viz., Sensualism and
Intellectualism, Positivism and Rationalism, Empiricism and Apriorism,
Realism and Phenomenalism. The author views the result of his researches
to be, the proof of the untenability of Sensualism, Rationalism,
Empiricism, and Realism, so far as this, by an historico-critical
analysis, is possible.

This is but a brief sketch of the treatment pursued by the author.
The author’s own view has been barely hinted at. He is a Kantian. He
calls himself a “transcendental idealist.” Dr. Koenig’s developments,
appreciative, acute and pointed as they are, are too detailed and
exhaustive to be separately taken into discussion here; but we may
illustrate his point of view by a summary of a few remarks of his on the
ontological problem as solved by physics. They are as follows.

The _natural_ modes of thought cling irresistibly to the notion of
a constant substratum; this being so, how does process, how does
change spring from an invariability of existence? Physical science
answers, by _force_; which exists as a constant potentiality of the
substratum, is now active, now latent. Dr. Koenig maintains that in
this physical science accomplishes nothing towards the solution of the
present problem; it does not by its notion of force make intelligible
the _acting_ of bodies on each other, for when it comes to define the
mode of action of force it involves itself in hopeless difficulties.
What is the consequence then, of this dilemma of science, where it can
neither render plain the “nature” of the material substratum, nor the
nature of “force,” which is, so to speak, the source of the activity of
the substratum? It is either agnosticism, which places limits to our
knowledge, and which Dr. Koenig rejects as unbecoming true thought, or
it is that theory which regards the phenomena alone as real and views
the concepts of theoretical physics as the mere shifts and helps of
thought whereby we bring the phenomena into connection with one another.
This latter view also Dr. Koenig cannot accept. His express contention
is, that we can interpret, _ontologically_, the phenomena of reality
by the notions of substance, force, etc.; he holds that the position
of transcendental idealism is the correct theory here, the position
namely that matter and force conceived as transcendent, independent
entities cannot be _thought away_, because substantiality and causality
are _forms_ of transcendental apperception, which alone can make
nature an object of cognition; matter and force must, for purposes of
empiric observation, of necessity possess the same reality as phenomena
themselves.

In connection with this subject Dr. Koenig contests Mach’s doctrine, that
natural laws are simple economical descriptions of phenomena; he contends
that “law” is the foundation of natural science, and particularly so the
law of causality.

This, however, does not say much. For the formal laws _in themselves_
are empty. The law, the axiom of causality may, _a priori_, be without
exception; but this circumstance, the _conviction_ we may call it,
offers us no hold on nature. When we investigate nature we have to
perceive _definite facts_; about which we formulate particular laws or
statements. The law of causality, however, does not help us to _discern_
the determinative facts or features of any phenomenon. It simply says
that _if_ we have hit upon the determinative facts and formulated a law
describing them, that law holds good throughout all nature. But what is
to tell us _what_ the characteristic and determinative features of a
given event are and when we have lighted on them? The law of causality?
Surely not. The law of causality cannot tell us that for falling bodies
_v_ = _gt_, i. e. that _t_ is decisive. It simply says that when once
this fact has been _discerned_ it holds universally good. But it would
have asserted the same thing with regard to Galileo’s first (false)
assumption, namely that _v_ = _Cs_. If, then, the law of causality cannot
tell us what those features are between which the causal connection is
assumed to exist, what is to tell us? Our observation simply, which
must be tested by experience. But our observation has no limits placed
to it except this, that it shall select some fact that _represents_ the
phenomenon and best and most easily enables _us_ to represent it. And
there is nothing that requires that there should be only _one_ feature
or _one_ aspect of an event by which it is representable; there may
be several, as the development of science proves. Accordingly, what
selection we make may depend on arbitrary and historical circumstances.
And this, as we take it, is Prof. Mach’s contention. If it is true, Dr.
Koenig’s criticism of Mach’s view does not hold in its whole extent.

Dr. Koenig’s treatment of the separate representative thinkers is
exhaustive and in an eminent degree scientific. His work is distinguished
by accuracy and pointedness of characterisation, and by special
knowledge of great range. It is a valuable contribution which he has
given us, to the study of the theory of knowledge and metaphysics, and he
has been true to his promise, as we judge, critically to discuss and not
summarily to dispose of the opinions of others.

μκρκ.

EINE NEUE DARSTELLUNG DER LEIBNIZISCHEN MONADENLEHRE AUF GRUND DER
QUELLEN. By _Eduard Dillmann_. Leipsic: O. R. Reisland, 1891.

The author is an admirer of Leibnitz’s monadology which he considers
as “the most beautiful, most perfect fruit of philosophic thought and
the most glorious system to be found in the history of philosophy.”
This enthusiasm however is not shown in panegyrics but in a careful
investigation of the great master’s work and we should scarcely know
the attitude of the author toward the philosopher whose thoughts he
discusses, if he did not give vent to his feelings in a few sentences of
the concluding chapter. The rest of the book consists of purely critical
and historical studies by a sober and cool-headed scholar. Leibnitz’s
system as it is represented in our histories of philosophy and as it is
currently conceived lacks a unitary and leading idea, so that many of
its most fundamental propositions appear to be at variance. Mr. Dillmann
maintains that Leibnitz’s philosophy as it really is does not lack this
unity; he has made an extensive and most diligent study of Leibnitz’s
works and proves with great plausibility through the assistance of many
pertinent quotations the justice of his cause.

Leibnitz’s monadology is according to Dillmann essentially a conciliatory
system. It attempts to reconcile the world-conceptions of his time. The
mechanical explanation of nature as it was proposed in modern times and
according to which all processes should be conceived as motions of bodies
is harmonised with the formalistic views of classical antiquity and of
the schoolmen which seeks for the causes of all phenomena in substantial
forms. In aiming at such a combination, he had to show that all single
phenomena of bodies and also their qualities had some ground and that
the principle of the body itself consisted in a substantial form. This
led him to conceive of bodies and of all things not as phenomena of an
external world but as representations in the mind, and thus an entirely
new standpoint was gained (p. 511). Representations are the inner states
of Monads (p. 318). Monads are substances because representations are
units; for representations are the many expressed in a unity (p. 319).
Every monad is a concentration of the universe (p. 313). It is as if God
had multiplied the universe as often as there are souls (p. 314). Every
substance is a little world in itself, expressing the great world of the
universe. The substance imitates in its little world what God does in the
universe (p. 313).

Leibnitz’s God-idea has suffered most from a misconception of the
fundamental idea of his system. Dillmann declares that the traditional
view, especially Fischer’s, is in conflict with the philosopher’s own
words. While Fischer says that Leibnitz’s God has created the substances
and arbitrarily endowed them with their natures, Dillmann maintains on
the ground of ample quotations that Leibnitz considers the forms of all
possible existences as given: not even God can alter them. God however
can and did compare all possible worlds, and then created that which his
wisdom found to be the best world. “God,” says Leibnitz, “does not select
a general Adam, but such a one,” i. e. an individual Adam, “whose perfect
representation is found among all the possible beings which exist in
the ideas of God. The nature of every creature is determined by eternal
truths which are in the understanding of God independent of his will.”
“God’s decree consists alone in the decision arrived at after having
compared all possible worlds and having admitted into existence that one
which is the best of all.”

κρς.

LEITFADEN DER PHYSIOLOGISCHEN PSYCHOLOGIE IN 14 VORLESUNGEN. By Dr.
_Th. Ziehen_, Docent in Jena. Mit 21 Abbildungen im Text. Jena: Gustav
Fischer. 1891.

The merits of these 14 lectures on physiological psychology are
thoroughness, lucidity, and conciseness; the whole book is a pamphlet
of 174 pp. only. The method of presentation is in all its detail work
positive, stating the facts as they have been found to be by experience
and as they are corroborated by experiment. Upon the whole it is a good
résumé of the present state of knowledge. A translation would be very
desirable and it is to be hoped that some of our psychologists will
undertake the work.

The contents are briefly as follows: I. Contents and scope of psychology.
II. Sensation, association, action. III. Stimulus, sensation. IV.
Taste, smell, touch. V. Hearing. VI. Vision. VII. Affective aspect of
sensation (pleasure and pain). VIII. Sensation, memory, concept. IX.
Association of ideas. X. Judgment and syllogism. XI. Attention, voluntary
thought, the ego (Ziehen says: “psychologically considered the simple
ego is a theoretical fiction,” p. 139). XII. Diseased thinking, sleep,
hypnosis. XIII. Action, expressive motions, language. XIV. Will, general
conclusions.

Although Dr. Ziehen’s pamphlet is upon the whole an excellent treatise,
we cannot agree with the author in several questions which are of great
importance in their consequences.

Dr. Ziehen acknowledges that the specifically nervous processes, a
sensible stimulus and a reaction, which latter is a motory effect,
cannot be explained from physical laws alone (p. 4). Yet at the same
time he denies that the fact that the reflexes are adapted to a purpose
(_Zweckmässigkeit_) proves the presence of a psychical parallelism.
“Pflüger,” he says, “was wrong in attributing for this reason to the
spinal cord a spinal-cord-soul.” The _Zweckmässigkeit_ of reflexes (i.
e. their being adapted to a purpose) has originated not otherwise than
the _Zweckmässigkeit_ of the color of the bird’s plumage, i. e. through
natural selection and inheritance. This argument might be admissible,
if we had not to account for the gradual origin of consciousness also.
There was a time when our personal consciousness did not exist, and there
was also a time when no conscious being lived upon the earth. Unless we
assume that consciousness suddenly appeared, creating out of its own
subjectivity alone the objective world which appears to us as what we
call matter in motion, we shall have to adopt some monistic view of the
subject. To consider the psychical states as known and the objectivity of
existence as utterly unknown is no monism.

Dr. Ziehen is opposed to the idea of psychical parallelism which he
conceives to be dualism, but he proposes a spiritual monism in its stead,
the difficulties of which he does not explain. It is to be regretted
that Dr. Ziehen has not understood the main idea of the parallelism
doctrine. He says in a foot-note (p. 6): “In the most extreme way, but
with quite insufficient reasons Lewes has maintained the omnipresence
of consciousness.” This is a misstatement of Lewes’s view, which by the
bye is held by the reviewer also, although he confesses that the term
parallelism is inappropriate and leads to misunderstandings. The theory
of parallelism, (at least as the reviewer holds it) is not dualistic
but monistic. It implies that the subjectivity and objectivity of
existence are two different abstractions of one and the same reality.
Its parallelism is a parallelism of these two sets of abstraction, while
the reality from which they have been derived is one throughout. There
exist no subjects that are not objects to other subjects, and every
object admits of a subjective aspect. There is a something supposed to
be present throughout nature which under certain conditions appears as
consciousness. This certain something is called by Clifford elements
of feeling, by Lloyd Morgan metakinesis, it has been characterised in
the editorials of _The Monist_ as the subjectivity of existence, and
the presence of this something in the spinal cord was called by Pflüger
_Rückenmarksseele_.

It appears to me that if we could explain the well adapted reaction of
nervous substance without assuming a psychical element in it, we could
explain the whole process of evolution and the historical development of
mankind, without the assumption of consciousness. Yet it is obvious that
even the explanation of the color of the bird’s plumage by the theory
of natural selection and heredity presupposes the presence of psychical
elements somewhere. Either the bird and his mates show a color sense, or
his enemies do, whose persecution he escapes, or the animals upon whom he
preys do. Man’s entire existence, physical and psychical, including his
feelings of pleasure and pain, can be explained by the theory of natural
selection and heredity; yet this is no proof that psychical elements do
not exist in him.

It has become customary at present to define “psychical” as that only
which appears in states of consciousness, and to exclude subconscious and
unconscious states. Dr. Ziehen says: “Everything given in consciousness
and that alone is conscious” (p. 3). Yet he introduces after all the
expression “psychically latent,” “latent memory pictures,” and similar
expressions. Dr. Ziehen says, “We cannot even have a conception of that
which an unconscious idea can be”; yet what is a latent memory-picture
but an unconscious idea?

There are two kinds of unconscious ideas: (1) Latent ideas. Every man’s
brain is full of latent ideas, i. e. of memory-pictures which are at
present unconscious but can become conscious at once if their activity
is roused by an appropriate stimulus. (2) Ideas unrelated to the
centre of consciousness. Those active ideas which, although at present
in a state of activity, are unrelated to the centre of consciousness
that constitutes the ego of the man, remain unconscious. Unconscious
cerebration (which takes place in dreams, in diseased brains and also in
certain phases of healthy brains being, as it were, a by-play of their
conscious activity) need not be destitute of feeling. Any pain may be
lessened when our attention is called away from it. The nervous disorder
remains the same, the feeling substance of the nervous structures in
which the pain was perceived also remains the same, its activity and
throbbing pulsations do not cease. Yet if we succeed in separating its
immediate relation to the centre of consciousness it sinks down into
subconsciousness. There is no reason for assuming that the feeling, no
longer perceived, is wiped out entirely.

While Dr. Ziehen’s pamphlet is a presentation of the results of positive
science, we were astonished to find in the first chapter the following
statement: “Later on we shall have to investigate whether there are for
all psychical phenomena such material parallel processes in the central
nervous system, and our answer will be decidedly in the negative.”
And again we find in the schedule of psychology a distinction between
(_a_) psychical processes _not_ contingent upon cerebral functions
(transcendental psychology), and (_b_) psychical processes contingent
upon cerebral functions (physiological psychology). These statements
are the more perplexing as the author joins the opposition made by
Münsterberg against Professor Wundt’s idea of apperception, which is
rejected as metaphysical, mystical, and even animistic. While we cannot
in all points agree with Professor Wundt’s theory of apperception,
which received a critical examination by Professor Delabarre (see _The
Monist_ II, No. 2, p. 297), we can most positively say that Dr. Ziehen
in so far as he classes Wundt’s view among the dualistic theories,
misunderstands Wundt’s position. Wundt’s physico-psychical parallelism
cannot be identified with the metaphysical fiction of a subject, be
this subject called ego or soul.[66] Wundt says in a late publication
of his: “Psychology of to-day, since Kant has shown the way, seeks the
nature of the soul again, as did Aristotle of yore, in the facts of the
spiritual life themselves and not in an unknowable ‘thing in itself’....”
_Deutsche Rundschau_ of 1891, p. 203. Wundt’s “apperception” is no
metaphysical being, but simply means the focus of perception, the centre
of consciousness. Wundt is certainly not infallible and we are inclined
to believe that in some details he is mistaken. He is nevertheless one
of the very greatest leaders among the investigators of the soul and his
monism as well as his antimetaphysical tendencies cannot be doubted.

Ziehen reaches his monism by considering objective existence, as
it appears to us and which we call matter, as “something utterly
unknowable.” He says, “The psychical series alone is given.... Thus the
psycho-physical dualism or parallelism is apparent only. Considering
that the psychical series alone is given, we shall understand, that we
had repeatedly to face in our investigations such factors in which the
material foundations are missing. I here remind you of the projection
of our sensations into space and time, for which we could not find a
psycho-physical explanation.”

We hope that Dr. Ziehen will soon find occasion to explain his
philosophical views. Such an explanation may throw light on his
psychological theory. We do not as yet see how he can solve without
inconsistency the many difficulties in which his philosophical standpoint
will involve his psychology.

κρς.

PSYCHOLOGIE DER SUGGESTION. By _Dr. Hans Schmidkunz_. Stuttgart,
1892,—pp. 425. Large 8vo.

The rapidly increasing devotion to the study of Hypnotism has yielded
many valuable results, both practical and theoretical. Its application
to the cure of disease—psychotherapeutics—has been most extensively
introduced and bids fair to become the representative in scientific form
of the germ of truth buried amongst the vast rubbish-heap of suspicious
practices and pseudo-scientific “isms.” New light has been thrown on the
questions of responsibility and the legal aspects of slightly abnormal
states. Education and ethics, it has been more than hinted, are to find
practical aids in hypnotism; while in the light of modern scientifically
recognised phenomena, many of the events influential in the development
of religions find a rationalistic interpretation. But the science which
more than all others, the study of hypnotism is destined to enrich, is
that of Experimental Psychology; and it is this phase of the subject to
which Dr. Schmidkunz has devoted his volume.

The central core of the whole subject is the fact of suggestion,—a fact
so comprehensive that it is almost easier to say what it is not than what
it is. If we make allowance for that portion of our conduct that is based
upon individual acquisitions and proceeds by logically reasoned steps,
all the rest is more or less the result of suggestions, of one kind or
another. To appreciate the psychology of this process it is necessary
to appreciate its varieties and universality. We receive suggestions
from things and deeds; the sight of food makes us hungry; the sight of
our neighbor consulting his watch induces a strong desire to know what
time it is. Words are powerful implements of suggestion; we accept those
doctrines that we hear about us and are influenced much more frequently
than we are convinced. The personal factor in suggestion is important;
to some we feel attracted and accept as leaders, while others excite
repulsion and antagonism. The indirectness of the process of suggestion
is to be noted; in most cases we are quite unconscious of the influences
exerted upon us and by which our conduct is guided, and this ignorance of
the motives of our acts, Spinoza tells us, is the cause of the illusion
of free will. Sympathy, imitation, the contagion of masses, the action
of the mind upon the body, the formation of public sentiment,—all
exemplify the process of suggestion and add their testimony to its power
and domain.

We must recognise, too, that our suggestibility is a variable phenomenon;
at some moments we are self-assertive and determined, at others passive
and readily following another’s lead. Sometimes we take the reins in
our own hands, and again allow the vehicle to find its way as it will.
Every night we pass into a condition in which conscious control is
abandoned and logic gives way to suggestion. A trifling illness, a dose
of medicine may increase our suggestibility, and place us in a position
allied to that of the hypnotic subject. All this prepares the way for
recognising as the distinctive characteristic of the hypnotic condition,
an exaggerated suggestibility. Not alone is there a ready yielding to
every suggestion of the operator, but functions normally not under
volitional control may be appealed to and utilised by the slighter and
subtler processes of hypnotic suggestion. The variable threshold between
the voluntary and the involuntary is shifted to a surprising extent. That
complex interrelation of centres with which the sense of personality is
intimately connected yields to the same influences and makes possible an
experimental study of this vexed problem.

This, then, is the Psychology of Suggestion, the contribution that
Hypnotism makes to Psychology. It lays stress upon the great rôle
this process plays in every day mental life and thus asks us to see
in hypnotism a condition closely allied to the normal, and simply
illustrating in an unusually striking way, one great factor in our mental
composition. It rearranges the hierarchy of mental faculties and finds
a more important place for suggestion than has been before accorded
to it. From a somewhat obscure and sporadic phenomenon occasionally
entering into mental states, it is raised to the dignity of one of the
most frequent, most important, most fertile generalisations of scientific
psychology. Whether one fully agrees with this position or not, it is
certainly a service to have it so comprehensively, even if at times
prolixly stated, and to be assured that the study of Psychology is
deriving as much benefit from the researches in hypnotism as are the more
practical sciences.

J. J.

HYPNOTISME, SUGGESTION, PSYCHOTHEROPIE. Études Nouvelles par le _Dr.
Bernheim_, Professeur à la Faculté de médécine de Nancy. Paris: 1891.
Octave Doin, pp. 518.

The literature of the new science of Hypnotism continues to increase with
unabated pace; most of the contributions consist of studies of a few
cases or a brief exposition of a single point, in most cases of points
relative to the application of hypnotism to disease. The present volume,
however, is of special importance not alone because of the authority that
Dr. Bernheim’s name brings with it,—but because of the comprehensiveness
and the skill and interest of the exposition. It is supplementary to Dr.
Bernheim’s former volume, “Suggestive Psychotherapeutics,” (1886-87,
English translation, 1889) and reflects the progress that has resulted
from continued and systematic observation. The therapeutic interest in
it naturally finds most complete representation and about half the volume
is devoted to the description of cases cured or benefited by suggestive
treatment. Although nervous complaints predominate in these well arranged
and well described cases, yet the method is shown applicable to all the
ills that flesh is heir to. While this portion of the volume will be of
greatest interest to the medical world, the psychologist will find most
food for reflection in the first and more theoretical half of the book.
He will find there an interesting historical sketch illustrating how
processes similar to those now studied as hypnotism have been in use from
ancient times; how all the various healers, and the various processes
and agencies used by them, involve different modes of application of the
one principle of suggestion. “It is the human imagination that works
miracles.”

Suggestion is defined as the act by which an idea is introduced in
the brain and accepted by it, and thus many of the means by which one
person influences another under every day, normal circumstances would be
included in the term. Hypnotism is simply one of the most important and
efficient methods of producing a state of increased suggestibility. In
every day life we have abundant evidence of the tendency of ideas to be
realised in actions; with every change in thought and emotion there is
associated some motor expression, too subtle perhaps for analysis and
description, but still present and significant. Under excitement and
nervous strain these motor accompaniments of thought are increased and
serve as the basis of the muscle reader’s skill. Again the possibility
of disbelief and of recognising the illusory character of a sensation
involve the control of higher directing powers; the accumulated
experience of the past passes sentence upon the new candidate. If we
imagine a condition in which this form of control is abolished, we should
have a subject accepting as real almost any idea or sensation that is
suggested to him, and expressing freely and unreservedly his acceptance
of the same. And this it is that hypnotism does. It builds upon the
natural credulity which it is the difficult task of reason to shape and
control, and brings into prominence the automatic, subconscious phases
of mental action. It does not endow subjects with new faculties or
deprive them of their individuality, but shows in a strangely perverted
perspective the various faculties and processes that go to build the
endlessly complex elements of a personality. This “suggestion” view of
hypnotism is the contribution of the Nancy School, and is fast becoming
the recognised view of science; one will nowhere find a clearer and more
convincing exposition of it than in Dr. Bernheim’s pages.

It is clearly impossible to summarise the various details that make
up the body of the volume; but all the important topics are discussed
and result in conclusions unusually free as well from vagueness as
from narrowness. The processes inducing the state, the proportion of
susceptible individuals, the various kinds and stages of hypnotism,
its relation to sleep and other normal states, the rôle of memory in
hypnotism, the interesting post-hypnotic, negative and retroactive
hallucinations, its relation to hysteria, its possible use in
crime,—these are some of the chief topics treated. The volume is a
valuable contribution to the literature of the subject, reflects its most
recent acquisitions, and would well merit a presentation in an English
translation.

J. J.

HANDBOOK OF PSYCHOLOGY. In two volumes; Senses and Intellect, and,
Feeling and Will. By _James Mark Baldwin_, M. A., Ph. D., Professor in
the University of Toronto. New York: Henry Holt & Co., 1891.

These are two books diligently worked out, the former of 343, the latter
of 397 pp. They cover almost the entire field of psychology excluding
however the treatment of such abnormal states as are Mental Pathology
and Hypnotism. The author is a disciple of Dr. McCosh, and is strongly
influenced by Wundt, of Leipzig, and Rabier, of Paris; yet he has
developed an independent view of the nature of the soul which perhaps
comes nearest to that of Prof. William James, of Harvard. The two books
are actually two parts of one work, the one complementing the other. The
former however is not, as the name suggests, an exposition of the nature
of the senses in their relation to or as the basis of the intellect; it
is an inquisition into consciousness, sensation, perception, association,
imagination, rational thought, and kindred subjects. The latter, after
an introduction of 50 pp., characterising the mechanism of the nervous
system, treats of feeling as sensation, as pleasure and pain, as interest
and belief, as emotion, and passes over to the subject of a motor
consciousness, or will, ending in a chapter on volition.

Professor Baldwin states that “after we enter consciousness we find a
principle of apperception to which there is no analogy in physiological
integration,” adding in a foot-note: “Since the section of the ‘Unity
of Composition’ theory was written, Professor James has published an
acute criticism in substantial agreement with it, and the passage quoted
makes reference to the sixth chapter of Professor James’s Psychology
in which he rejects the so-called ‘mind-stuff,’ theory, declaring a
self-compounding of mental facts to be inadmissible and proposes at last
what he calls ‘soul-theory.’” Professor James in this chapter commits the
mistake indicated in the editorial of the last number of _The Monist_ (p.
248) that he considers things as things in themselves and then looks for
a relation producing principle. He says:

“In the parallelogram of forces, the ‘forces’ themselves do not combine
into the diagonal resultant; a _body_ is needed on which they may
impinge, to exhibit their resultant effect.”

“Take a sentence of a dozen words, and take twelve men and tell to each
one word. Then stand the men in a row or jam them in a bunch, and let
each think of his word as intently as he will; nowhere will there be a
consciousness of the whole sentence.”

Thus Professor W. James is in need of what he calls a “medium.” He says:

“_All the ‘combinations’ which we actually know are EFFECTS, wrought by
the units said to be ‘combined,’ UPON SOME ENTITY OTHER THAN THEMSELVES._
Without this feature of a medium or vehicle, the notion of combination
has no sense.”

We observe that feelings which originate through the impressions of
the outer world upon some sentient organism, enter into relations to
each other, as naturally as things are in relations, or under certain
circumstances will enter more closely into relations with each other.
The “soul” accordingly is postulated by Professor James as a medium to
combine the effects of the manifold brain processes in order to “escape
the absurdity of supposing feelings which exist separately and then ‘fuse
together’ by themselves. The separateness is in the brain-world, on
this theory, and the unity in the soul world, and the only trouble that
remains to haunt us is the metaphysical one of understanding how one sort
of world or existent thing can affect or influence another at all.” This
is dualism and we suppose that Professor James is conscious of it.

κρς.

UNTERSUCHUNGEN ZUR PHYSIOLOGISCHEN MORPHOLOGIE DER THIERE. II.
ORGANBILDUNG UND WACHSTHUM. By Dr. _Jacques Loeb_. Mit 2 Tafeln in
Lithographie und 9 Figuren im Text. Würzburg: Georg Hertz. 1892.

Dr. Jacques Loeb formerly of Zürich and lately returned from the
Zoological station at Naples has been appointed Professor at Bryn Mawr
College, Pennsylvania. Former publications of his were reviewed in _The
Monist_ I, No. 2, p. 300. The present pamphlet is a continuance of his
investigations in physiological morphology. Some of his experiments are
made with _Antennularia antennina_ (a hydroid polyp) and the author
describes how without mutilation, simply by giving the creature a fixed
position he succeeded in making it develop certain organs in certain
places, thus proving gravitation to be an important factor in determining
the growth of certain limbs. Dr. Loeb adds a few articles on the
dependence of the longitudinal growth and also of the regeneration of
Tubularia upon the concentration of the salt-water. His experiments with
_Ciona intestinalis_ (a solitary ascidia) prove that (1) a section in the
side of the oral orifice as well as of the anus will cause the formation
of ocelli on the margin of the section, (2) after an extirpation of the
central nervous system the reflexes continue although with a higher
threshold of the stimulus, and (3) the ciona is capable of developing the
central nervous system again.

κρς.

DAS DASEIN ALS LUST, LEID, UND LIEBE. Die altindische Weltanschauung in
neuzeitlicher Darstellung. Ein Beitrag zum Darwinismus. Mit 2 Tondrucken,
24 Zeichnungen und 10 Tabellen. By Dr. _Hübbe-Schleiden_. Braunschweig:
C. A. Schwetschke & Sohn, 1891.

The author of this book is Dr. Hübbe-Schleiden, editor of _The Sphinx_,
a monthly magazine published in Germany which professes to “lay down
historically and experimentally the supersensible World-Conception upon
a monistic basis.” Love of Mysticism is the main feature of _The Sphinx_
as well as Dr. Hübbe-Schleiden’s book. _The Sphinx_ contains reports
of cases of telepathy and is quite serious in investigating the spook
of a haunted house. The present book contains the author’s confession
of faith. The symbols by which he depicts his world-conception reveal
a cabalistic taste, and we believe that the illustrations will be
rather repugnant to the man of science, as they give the impression of
fantasticism. The main idea of the book is to modernise the old Hindoo
view that “Kama” desire or _Lust_ is the ground of all being, as is said
in the Brihad-Aranyaka Upanishad (IV, 4, 5): “Man consists entirely of
desire (_Kama_); as is his desire, so is his will (_Kratu_); as is his
will, so is his life (_Karma_, i. e., activity); as is his life, so is
his fate.”

Dr. Hübbe-Schleiden rejects the Hindoo view of a migration of soul in
so far as it suggests the idea of something personal; he prefers to
speak of a transformation of soul. This, he says, has been and it may be
called “metaphysical Darwinism”, and we must confess that the nucleus
of the idea touches the most vital point of all the problems of life.
We cannot explain ethics and the ethical instinct of man without taking
into consideration that man lives and aspires for something that will
outlast his individual existence. The author says: “Why do you strive
for something higher, for perfection, for completion or whatever your
aim may be called? Why all that, if you imagine that your individuality
has only this one life upon earth and you can realise only a very small
part of what you strive for? Why all your trouble, if the main thing is
in vain?” We agree with the author that our moral instinct, our ideals
and aspirations which are most powerful realities in life point to a life
beyond the grave, they indicate that death is no finality and evolution
teaches us that our souls actually continue to exist. Our souls in their
individual features are parts only of the whole evolution of our race and
these very individual features of our souls can be and will be preserved
in the future generations.

Dr. Hübbe-Schleiden’s book is characteristic of a strange tendency of
our time to combine the results of modern science with the old notions
of occultism. There is in it a psychological and ethical truth overgrown
with a fanciful imagination.

κρς.

MAX MÜLLER AND THE SCIENCE OF LANGUAGE. A Criticism. By _William Dwight
Whitney_, Professor in Yale University. New York: D. Appleton and
Company. 1892.

The Professors W. D. Whitney and F. Max Müller are not on good terms.
They do not only disagree on several fundamental and many minor points,
concerning the science of language, but their warfare, as is well known,
is at the same time of a personal nature. The present little volume is a
criticism of the new edition of Max Müller’s “Science of Language.” The
great Yale philologist recognising that this work of his antagonistic
Oxford colleague “is still the principal and most authoritative text-book
of that study,” and noting that “its author has gained no new light from
the criticisms that have been made upon his work,” feels called upon to
warn the reader that “it may not be trusted where it is untrustworthy and
so do harm to the science which it was intended to help.” The title of
the book, according to Professor Whitney, ought to be “Facts and Fancies
in Regard to Language and Other Related Subjects.”

Schleicher says: “Languages are natural organisms which, without
being determinable by the will of man, grew and developed themselves
in accordance with fixed laws.... Its method is on the whole and in
general the same with that of the other natural sciences.” Professor
Whitney censures Max Müller for calling the first part of Schleicher’s
proposition “sheer mythology,” and then adopting the inference made
therefrom considering the science of language as a physical science. Now
it is true that the expression “organism” must not be taken literally;
languages are not animals or plants, but they have some quality that is
comparable to animals and plants. Their life and the development of their
life is in many respects analogous to the life of organisms. Professor
Whitney regards language as “a body of conventional signs for ideas” and
protests against Prof. Max Müller’s usage of the word “conventional” as
if it implied “a convention of people gathered to discuss and decide
on the words and forms by which conceptions should be represented.” In
contradistinction to Max Müller who holds that philology is a physical
science, Professor Whitney regards it as an historical science. “Physical
science,” says Max Müller, “deals with the works of God, historical
science with the works of man.” Thus optics is a physical science,
painting an historical science. Whitney declares that individuals
initiate changes and the community either accepts and uses them, making
them language by its use or rejects and annuls them by refusing to use
them. In one word Max Müller says language is φύσει, a product of nature,
and Whitney says it is θέσει, an institution of man. We believe that
Professor Whitney stands almost alone in his conception of language.

Another no less important point is Professor Whitney’s objection to Prof.
Max Müller’s proposition of the Identity of Language and Thought. Here
Professor Whitney will find many supporters for his case; but we must
add that Prof. Max Müller does not exactly mean what he says. He means
by identity inseparableness. It is not so much Max Müller’s position
that should be attacked as his misleading terminology. Concerning the
origin of language Professor Whitney finds an instructive parallel in the
beginnings of writing which were mutually intelligible signs, or in the
written language of mathematics. “So we do no longer see,” he says, “the
two and three strokes in our figures 2 and 3, although they are really
there disguised from view.” This is a good simile, and undoubtedly _cum
grano salis_ true. But it is rather strange that Professor Whitney should
find Noiré’s theory of the origin of language “utterly fantastic.”

These are fundamental differences. There are some more, less important
points such as the etymology of king being the Sanskrit _janaka_. Max
Müller proposes a very improbable reason for the change of meaning in the
Lat. _fagus_, O. Germ. _boka_ (beech), Greek _phegos_, Lat. _quercus_,
and Germ. _foraha_ (fir). Professor Whitney might have mentioned that a
more probable reason for this change has been proposed of late by those
who seek the home of the Aryans in Europe. A migrating people would
naturally have called in their old home the beech, in their new the oak
“a tree with edible fruit.” The same method is applicable to explain the
change of meaning in _forah-a-quercus_ which means in northern countries
a fir and in Italy an oak.

Professor Whitney sums up his case as follows (p. 77): he finds “language
study ... declared on transparently false grounds, to be a physical
science, and language an existence which man had no part in making
and changing; dialectic growth misunderstood, families of language
regarded as exceptional, and a ‘Turanian’ barathrum arranged to catch
all little-known varieties of speech; antecedent unity of dialect taught
in one case and denied in another; a word held to be killed by the
least mispronunciation; _conventional_ explained to mean ‘voted by a
convention’; thought and its expression viewed as inseparable, and even
identical; the origin of language seemingly ascribed to an instinctive
ding-dong of the tongue—and so on; to complete the list would be almost
to give a table of principal contents of the two volumes—and a style of
discussion used throughout which indicated that the author was playing
with his subject rather than investigating it seriously.... The book is
not science, but literature. Taken as literature, it is of high rank, as
the admiration of the public sufficiently testifies; its author has a
special gift for interesting statement and illustration, for lending a
charm to the subjects he discusses; and he carries captive the judgments
of his hearers and of many of his readers. He is a born _littérateur_.”

Professor Whitney concludes: “Now as heretofore, I rest my defense on not
the just intent alone, but the real substantial justice of my criticisms;
if they are unfounded, I deserve reprehension for making them; if they
are right, then there is nothing, either in the degree of importance of
the subjects to which they relate, or in the personality against whom
they are directed, to call for their condemnation.”

κρς.

SEIFENBLASEN. Moderne Märchen. By _Kurd Lasswitz_. Hamburg and Leipsic:
Leopold Voss. 1890.

“Märchen,” in the province of science, we are inclined to believe are
a prize problem for our modern poets. Who will solve it? Kurd Lasswitz
has made an attempt and considering the great difficulty of the problem,
we are not inclined to criticise him. The author, who has worked in
scientific fields and has proved his ability as a close student, exhibits
in these “soap-bubbles” a fertile imagination and poetic invention. Most
of his sketches fall short of the ideal märchen of science as we conceive
it, but their reading is suggestive and deserves the attention of those
whose disposition favors the creation of a middle ground between science
and poetry.

κρς.

FOOTNOTES:

[66] Ziehen declares (p. 129) that the problem of physiological
psychology consists in reducing the different forms of thinking up to
the most complex argumentation to simple associations of ideas and its
laws. Wundt says, that there are many psychical idea-combinations which
cannot be explained simply by association of ideas. So, Ziehen continues
(p. 130), Wundt assumes above idea associations a special faculty of the
soul called apperception, which serves now as attention, now as will, but
is in either case a metaphysical faculty of the soul, the active subject
which independent of mechanical causality is said to be the cause of
these phenomena.—I do not think that anyone who knows Wundt will accept
this as a fair representation of his views.

PERIODICALS.

REVUE PHILOSOPHIQUE.

CONTENTS: December, 1891. No. 192

UN PROBLÈME D’ACOUSTIQUE PSYCHOLOGIQUE. By _L. Dauriac_.

LES ORIGINES DE NOTRE STRUCTURE INTELLECTUELLE ET CÉRÉBRALE.
II. L’ÉVOLUTIONNISME. By _A. Fouillée_.

LÉONARD DE VINCI ARTISTE ET SAVANT. By _G. Séailles_.

SUR LES DESSINS D’ENFANTS. By _J. Passy_.

SUR UN CAS D’INHIBITION PSYCHIQUE. By _A. Binet_.

CONTENTS: January, 1892. No. 193.

LE PROBLÈME DE LA VIE. By _Dunan_.

LA MALADIE DU PESSIMISME. By _B. Pérez_.

PHILOSOPHES ESPAGNOLS DE CUBA: F. VARELA, J. DE LA LUZ. By
_J.-M. Guardia_.

VARIÉTÉS: LE PROBLÈME D’ACHILLE. By _J. Mouret_.

CONTENTS: February, 1892. No. 194.

LES MOUVEMENTS DE MANÈGE CHEZ LES INSECTES. By _A. Binet_.

LE PROBLÈME DE LA VIE (2nd article). By _Dunan_.

PHILOSOPHES ESPAGNOLS DE CUBA (concluded). _J.-M. Guardia_.

REVUE GÉNÉRALE: JUSTICE ET SOCIALISME, D’APRÈS LES PUBLICATIONS
RÉCENTES. By _Belot_.

One of the problems of the unique and great work of Carl Stumpf’s
“Tonpsychologie” is the subject of L. Dauriac’s essay. The question
is when several sounds enter the ear at the same time, the plurality
of which is not directly known, do you have your information through
an inner sense? Does every unit of the irritation correspond to a
distinct unit of sensation? Is there in consciousness a simultaneousness
of sensations similarly as outside of consciousness there is a
simultaneousness of vibrations? M. Dauriac maintains that Stumpf’s
question can be answered only on the ground of metaphysical postulates,
and if preconceived solutions are to be excluded, it must be considered
as insoluble.

Alfred Fouillée, in his second article on the origin of our intellectual
and cerebral structure, which treats on evolutionism, comes to the
conclusion that the hypothesis which in the most simple way explains the
agreement of thoughts and objects is the doctrine of a radical unity
generally called Monism.

J. Passy notes certain characteristic and psychologically interesting
features of the drawings of children.

M. A. Binet presents two physiognomical pictures of the same face, one
representing disgust or scorn, the other a good-humored and happy smile.
The upper parts of both faces are exactly alike and yet the eyes of
the former look disdainful while the very same eyes of the latter are
full of jest and merriment. This is the fact. M. Binet psychologically
interprets the fact as a phenomenon of automatic inhibition. The fact is
interesting, but its interpretation seems doubtful.

Charles Dunan discusses the metaphysical aspect of the problem of life.

B. Pérez’s article is a contribution to pathological psychology with
special reference to M. Magalhâes’s work on the subject. Pessimism,
M. Pérez says, is a disease only if exaggerated, yet he believes that
medico-psychological studies which consider the relation between the
physical system and morality are very helpful even if carried too far.

M. J.-M. Guardia’s article will have a special interest for Americans.
Three men arose in Spain of late, Valentin Almirall, M. L. Mallada,
and J.-M. Escudor, who spoke bold and hard words of truth to their
country. Cuba is the hen that lays golden eggs for Spain, but the Cubans
are treated with great contempt in Spain; and yet the Spaniards are
by no means their intellectual superiors, for while Spain is poor in
philosophy, Cuba is the only country of Latin America where philosophy
has taken root. M. Guardia sketches in the first article the history and
philosophy of Don Félix Varélay y Moralès who is the harbinger of the
other Spanish-Cuban philosopher, José de la Luz. The second article in
the February number treats of the latter (1800-1862) whom Guardia calls
the master.

George Mouret with reference to Frontera’s book on Zeno’s argument
against motion makes a few remarks concerning the Eleatic sophism about
Achilles and the tortoise.

An injury of a thalamus opticus produces in horses and other animals
the effect of their making rotatory movements when intending to walk
straight on. Forel proved that a similar effect is produced in ants by a
lesion of one of their lobes. M. Binet publishes in the present essay his
experiments on certain water-beetles, exhibiting diagrams of their normal
and abnormal walk. (Paris: Félix Alcan.)

κρς.

ZEITSCHRIFT FUR PSYCHOLOGIE UND PHYSIOLOGIE DER SINNESORGANE. Vols. II
and III.

CONTENTS: November, 1891. No. 6.

UEBER BRÜCKES THEORIE DES KÖRPERLICHEN SEHENS. By Dr. _C. du
Bois-Reymond_.

MEIN SCHLUSSWORT GEGEN WUNDT. By _C. Stumpf_.

ERWIDERUNG. By _O. Flügel_.

LITTERATURBERICHT.

CONTENTS: December, 1891. No. 1.

VERSUCH, DAS PSYCHOPHYSISCHE GESETZ AUF DIE FARBENUNTERSCHIEDE
TRICHROMATISCHER AUGEN ANZUWENDEN. By _H. v. Helmholtz_.

UNTERSUCHUNGEN ÜBER BINOKULARES SEHEN MIT ANWENDUNG DES
HERINGSCHEN FALLVERSUCHS. By Dr. _Richard Greeff_.

BEMERKUNGEN ZU DEM AUFSATZE VON DR. SOMMER “ZUR PSYCHOLOGIE DER
SPRACHE.” By Prof. _A. Pick_.

LITTERATURBERICHT.

Dr. C. du Bois-Reymond believes that corporeal vision is either produced
by one eye running in succession over several places or two eyes viewing
two aspects of the object. Mach’s theory of the influence of shade upon
the production of the third dimension in vision which affords quite a
new and a better explanation of the phenomenon is not mentioned. Stumpf
closes his controversy with Wundt with a few remarks in answer to Wundt’s
reply (in _Philos. Studien_ VII, pp. 298-327); and Flügel objects to
Professor Rehmke’s proposition made in a criticism of Flügel’s book “Die
Seelenfrage,” that Herbart’s psychology, being atomism, is at bottom
materialism.

Dr. Richard Greeff describes Hering’s apparatus for investigating the
cause of binocular vision. Wheatstone believes that the perspective
of the two retina pictures produces the effect of corporeality while
Brücke declares that it is mainly due to muscle-sensations. Hering sides
with Wheatstone, and the experiments as described by Greeff prove that
the third dimension is unfailingly perceived whenever the ocular axes
diverge, while in other cases the same result is not attained.

Dr. Sommer had presented in a former article the facts of an interesting
case of aphasia, (see _The Monist_, Vol. I, No. 4, p. 629) where the
patient, his name is Voit, could remember and pronounce words only when
writing them. Prof. A. Pick objects to Dr. Sommer’s regarding the case as
contrary to our present experience and following two French authorities
Ballet and Bernard, adduces cases of Aphasia by right-sided hemiphlegia
where patients could read only when they were able to write or represent
to themselves the writing motions of their hand. Thus one patient of
Charcot could only read print, and not written words “because,” as
he said, “it was easier for him to reproduce in his mind the written
letter.” This reminds one of the case a deaf-mute who said: “I feel
whenever I think of the motions of my fingers although they are perfectly
at rest. I see internally an image of my moving fingers.” Professor Pick
concludes that the case Voit is a good argument against Max Müller’s
proposition of the identity of language and thought. Max Müller however
includes in his conception of word any symbol of an idea. The finger
motion of a deaf-mute is a word, and the writing motion of Voit is also a
word, according to Professor Max Müller’s theory.

Prof. H. v. Helmholtz publishes the tables of his experiments in applying
the psycho-physical law upon color differences of trichromatic eyes, and
presents the three fundamental colors diagrammatically in an equilateral
triangle in the centre of which lies white. A curve winding round
this centre shows the relation of the rainbow spectrum in the system
of three fundamental colors. The results do not as yet agree with the
investigations of A. König and C. Diterici who make similar inquiries
with bichromatic eyes. (Leipsic: O. R. Reisland.)

κρς.

VIERTELJAHRSSCHRIFT FÜR WISSENSCHAFTLICHE PHILOSOPHIE. Vol. XVI. No. 1.

CONTENTS:

BEITRÄGE ZUR LOGIK. (Erster Artikel.) By _A. Riehl_.

DIE DIMENSIONEN DER WAHRSCHEINLICHKEIT UND DIE EVIDENZ DER
UNGEWISSHEIT. By _Ad. Nitsche_.

UEBER DIE FORTSCHREITENDE ENTWICKLUNG DES MENSCHENGESCHLECHTS.
II. By _F. Rosenberger_.

ERNST PLATNER’S WISSENSCHAFTLICHE STELLUNG ZU KANT IN
ERKENNTNISSTHEORIE UND MORALPHILOSOPHIE. I. By _B. Seligkowitz_.

UEBER SPRACHREFLEX, NATIVISMUS UND ABSICHTLICHE SPRACHBILDUNG.
X. By _A. Marty_.

Prof. A. Riehl begins in this number a series of articles on logic. The
first two chapters are (1) concepts and definitions. Riehl distinguishes
between a definition and a predicating sentence (_Aussage_), for
instance, “Space has three dimensions,” is a mere definition, but “Space
is the form of our intuition,” is an _Aussage_. (2) Conceptual sentences
and judgments. The former are merely representative and cannot as the
latter be said to combine or separate ideas.

Ad. Nitsche criticises Johannes v. Kries’s idea that the calculus
of probabilities is admissible only if the chances are equivalent.
Equivalent Chances (_gleiche Spielräume_), he objects, are apparently
impossible, yet he admits that upon the degree of a knowledge of the
conditions will depend the reliability of the probability.

The Object of B. Seligkowitz’s article is to rescue from oblivion a
philosopher who especially as a critic of Kant deserves to be better
known than he is, Ernst Platner (1744-1818.)

The tenth and concluding article of A. Marty on the origin of language
reviews Paul Regnaud’s work _Origine et philosophie du langage_.
(Leipsic: O. R. Reisland.)

κρς.

THE AMERICAN JOURNAL OF PSYCHOLOGY. December, 1891. Vol. IV. No. 2.

CONTENTS:

A SKETCH OF THE HISTORY OF PSYCHOLOGY AMONG THE GREEKS. By
_Charles A. Strong_.

STUDIES FROM THE LABORATORY OF EXPERIMENTAL PSYCHOLOGY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN. By Prof. _Joseph Jastrow_, Ph. D.

THE SIZE OF SEVERAL CRANIAL NERVES IN MAN AS INDICATED BY THE
AREAS OF THEIR CROSS-SECTIONS. By _Henry H. Donaldson_, Ph. D.

VISUALISATION AS A CHIEF SOURCE OF THE PSYCHOLOGY OF HOBBES,
LOCKE, BERKELEY, AND HUME. By _Alexander Fraser_, B. A.

ANATOMICAL OBSERVATIONS ON THE BRAIN AND SEVERAL SENSE-ORGANS
OF THE BLIND DEAF-MUTE, LAURA DEWEY BRIDGMAN. II. By _Henry H.
Donaldson_, Ph. D.

PSYCHOLOGICAL LITERATURE. I. Nervous System. By Prof. _H. H.
Donaldson_.

A LABORATORY COURSE IN PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY. II. By _E. C.
Sanford_.

PSYCHIATRY. PSYCHOSES FOLLOWING ACUTE SURGICAL AND MENTAL
AFFECTIONS AND IN MULTIPLE NEURITIS. By _William Noyes_, M. D.

The post mortem examination of Laura Bridgman shows a brain in which the
olfactory bulbs and nerves, the optic nerves, the auditory nerves, and
possibly the glossopharyngeal, had all been more or less destroyed at
their peripheral ends. This destruction caused a degeneration—most marked
in the optic nerves—which extended towards the centres and involved them
indirectly.... This case represents a maximum loss in these defective
senses with a minimum amount of central disturbance, thus offering the
very best sort of opportunity for education by way of the surviving
senses.... Mental association was for Laura Bridgman limited to various
phases of the dermal sensations and the minor and imperfect senses of
taste and smell.... The motor centre there had lost some, but not all its
associative connections. (Clark University, Worcester, Mass.)

κρς.

INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF ETHICS. January, 1892. Vol. II. NO. 2.

CONTENTS:

THE ETHICAL ASPECTS OF THE PAPAL ENCYCLICAL. By _Brother
Azarias_.

THE THREE RELIGIONS. By _J. S. Mackenzie_, M. A.

THE ETHICS OF HEGEL. By _Rev. J. Macbride Sterrett_.

A PALM OF PEACE FROM GERMAN SOIL. By _Fanny Hertz_.

AUTHORITY IN THE SPHERE OF CONDUCT AND INTELLECT. By _Prof. H.
Nettleship_, Oxford.

DISCUSSIONS AND REVIEWS.

Brother Azarias paraphrases and praises the ethics of the Papal
Encyclical. J. S. Mackenzie starts from Kant’s famous remarks that two
things fill our minds with reverence, the starry, heavens above and the
moral law within. The worship of these two separately and the worship of
them in combination are set forth as the three great religions of the
world. Fanny Hertz pleads for the abolishment of war. She quotes largely
from Bertha Suttner’s novel, “Die Waffen nieder,” and from Friederich’s
letters. Authority, according to Professor Nettleship, is “the power
which in the sphere of conduct, in the long run determines our practice
and in the sphere of intellect in the long run determines our assent.”
There are roughly speaking four kinds of authority: (1) the authority
of law, (2) the authority of religious bodies, (3) the authority of
society or public opinion and (4) the authority of great men. Where
is the seat of authority? “For each individual,” Professor Nettleship
maintains, “the absolute guide can, in the long run be no other than his
own conscience.” The origin of conscience and the criterion whether the
voice of conscience be true or not are not explained. (Philadelphia:
_International Journal of Ethics_, 118 S. Twelfth Street.)

κρς.

MIND. New Series. No. 1. January, 1892.

CONTENTS:

PREFATORY REMARKS. _The Editor._

THE LOGICAL CALCULUS. (1) General Principles. By _W. E.
Johnson_.

THE IDEA OF VALUE. By _S. Alexander_.

THE CHANGES OF METHOD IN HEGEL’S DIALECTIC. (1) By _J. Ellis
McTaggart_.

THE LAW OF PSYCHOGENESIS. By _Prof. C. Lloyd Morgan_.

DISCUSSIONS: The Feeling-Tone of Desire and Aversion. By _Prof.
H. Sidgwick_. Sur la Distinction entre les Lois ou Axiomes et
les Notions. By _George Mouret_.

CRITICAL NOTICES.

W. E. Johnson says: “As a material machine is an instrument for
economising the exertion of force, so a symbolic calculus is an
instrument for economising the exertion of intelligence. And, employing
the same analogy, the more perfect the calculus, the smaller would be the
amount of intelligence applied as compared with the results produced.” He
continues:

“But as the exertion of _some_ force is necessary for working the
machine, so the exertion of _some_ intelligence is necessary for working
the calculus.”

Here we feel inclined to stop our author. That which makes of a certain
amount of metal, brass, and wood a machine, is the form in which they
are composed, and this form is instrumental in using a certain amount of
energy for doing a certain kind of work. Intelligence is not analogous
to force but to the form of force. Not intelligence is necessary to run
the instrument of intelligence, but some power, some force, some energy,
and this power needed for running the instrument of intelligence, as it
exists in man, is generally called will. So we are at variance with Mr.
W. S. Johnson from the outset. Mr. Johnson from his standpoint considers
it “important to examine the kind and degree of intelligence that are
demanded in the employment of any symbolic calculus. It will appear that
the _logical_ calculus stands in a unique relation to intelligence; for
it aims at exhibiting, in a non-intelligent form, those same intelligent
principles that are actually required for working it.”

We abstain here from discussing the details of this highly suggestive
article which contains much that is of interest to logicians. The author
claims especially with regard to his interpretation of the universal and
particular that his results exactly correspond with the interpretation
given by Dr. Venn and Mr. Peirce, and worked out by Dr. Keynes.

The Germans distinguish between _Urtheil_ and _Beurtheilung_, the first
being judgment in general, the latter a judgment that declares something
to possess value from the view of truth, beauty or goodness. In this
sense Mr. S. Alexander deals with the idea of value. He states two main
principles. (1) That value is “the efficiency of a conscious agent
to promote the efficiency of society” and this, the author says, was
maintained indirectly in opposition to the view that value was determined
by pleasure. (2) That value is itself no something separable from other
mental facts by a wide gulf, but was itself a fact of a purely natural
order. “Sollen” is one kind of “Sein.”

Mr. J. Ellis McTaggart in discussing the changes of method in Hegel’s
Dialectic arrives at a conclusion which according to the author must
be admitted to be quite un-Hegelian. Hegel apparently regarded the
procession of the categories with its advance through oppositions and
reconciliations as presenting absolute truth. From this the author
dissents, “for,” he says: “the true process of thought is one in which
each category springs out of the one before it, and not by contradicting
it, but as the expression of its deepest nature, while it, in its turn,
is seen to have its deepest reality in again passing on to the one
after it. There is no contradiction no opposition, and consequently no
reconciliation. There is only development, the rendering explicit what
was implicit, the growth of the seed to the plant. In the actual course
of the dialectic this is never attained. It is an ideal which is never
quite realised, and from the nature of the case never can be quite
realised. In the dialectic there is always opposition, and therefore
always reconciliation. We do not go straight onward, but more or less
from side to side. It seems inevitable, therefore, to conclude that
the dialectic does not completely and perfectly express the nature of
thought.”

Prof. C. Lloyd Morgan starting from the proposition that “the business
of consciousness is the control of action” shows that “we identify
ourselves rather with the action of our control centres than with our
lower animal instincts. Through experience we learn, and habits being
formed by individual repetition become innate.” Professor Morgan reviews
use-inheritance natural selection, sexual selection, the law of beauty,
and conduct and verification with regard to psychogenesis. “Our nature,”
he says, “is intellectual, æsthetic, moral, and sensitive”:

“The false is rejected as incongruous to our nature as intellectual;
the ugly is avoided as incongruous to our nature as æsthetic; the wrong
is shunned as incongruous to our nature as moral; so is the painful, so
far as possible, avoided as incongruous to our nature as sensitive....
The guidance of pleasure and pain is of great importance—so great that
some are found to argue that in moral matters we are influenced solely
by considerations of happiness.... Only by extending the meaning of the
words pleasure and pain so as to be coextensive with what I have here
termed congruous and incongruous can it be said that our actions and
our thoughts are determined by pleasure and pain.” (London: Williams &
Norgate.)

κρς.

THE PHILOSOPHICAL REVIEW. Vol. I, No. 1. January, 1892.

CONTENTS of No. 1.

PREFATORY NOTE.

THE CRITICAL PHILOSOPHY AND IDEALISM. By Prof. _John Watson_.

PSYCHOLOGY AS SO-CALLED “NATURAL SCIENCE.” By Prof. _George T.
Ladd_.

ON SOME PSYCHOLOGICAL ASPECTS OF THE CHINESE MUSICAL SYSTEM. By
_Benj. Ives Gilman_.

REVIEWS OF BOOKS AND SUMMARIES OF ARTICLES.

CONTENTS of No. 2:

PSYCHOLOGY, EPISTEMOLOGY, AND METAPHYSICS. By Prof. _Andrew
Seth_.

A PLEA FOR PSYCHOLOGY AS A “NATURAL SCIENCE.” By Prof. _William
James_.

ON SOME PSYCHOLOGICAL ASPECTS OF THE CHINESE MUSICAL SYSTEM.
II. By _Benj. Ives Gilman_.

DISCUSSIONS: Dr. Münsterberg’s Theory of Mind and Body and its
Consequences. By _Charles A. Strong_.

REVIEWS OF BOOKS AND SUMMARIES OF ARTICLES.

This is a new magazine which will be an additional proof that the
philosophical interest in America is by no means so poor as the
inhabitants of the old world generally suppose it to be. The character
of the journal, it is to be expected, will be in harmony with the
publications of its scholarly editor, Prof. J. G. Schurmann, whose
position is clearly set forth in a little volume of his “Belief in God,”
in which he conceives God in three ways (1) as the cause or ground of the
world (2) as the realising purpose of the world, and (3) as the father of
spirits.

Professor Watson reviews in an elaborate article Edward Caird’s work
“The Critical Philosophy of Emanuel Kant.” “The philosophy of Kant,”
says Watson, “was accepted at first by submissive disciples, but it had
afterwards to submit to a severe process of criticism which culminated
in the Absolute Idealism of Hegel. The synthesis of Kant, as based upon
an untenable opposition of the phenomenal and the real, was weighed
and found wanting.... We must be grateful to any one who helps us,
not merely to see Kant, but to see beyond him. This is the task which
Professor Caird, in his exhaustive work on the Critical Philosophy, has
set himself to perform,” and adds Watson, “he has done it in a way that
leaves nothing to be desired.”

Professor Ladd criticises Professor James’s Psychology as so-called
natural science.

“What we wish to have in the name of cerebral psychology, is a
description, in terms of a comprehensible theory of molecular physics;
and, also, a statement of the formulæ which define the relations between
the molecular changes and the ‘corresponding’ orders of mental phenomena.
But this is precisely what Professor James avoids doing, even to the
extent which so-called ‘nerve-physiology’ makes possible. And, nothing
worthy of the name ‘science’ _is_ possible for any one in this branch of
cerebral psycho-physics.”

Professor James replies to the criticism in the second number of _The
Philosophical Review_. He says:

“Psychology is to-day hardly more than what physics was before Galileo,
what chemistry was before Lavoisier. It is a mass of phenomenal
description, gossip, and myth, including, however, real material enough
to justify one in the hope that its study may become worthy of the
name of natural science at no very distant day. I wished, by treating
Psychology _like_ a natural science, to help her to become one.”

Professor Ladd is a transcendentalist and Professor James has great
expectations of the work inaugurated by the Society for Psychical
Research.

Theoretically they stand much nearer than practically, as well indicated
by Professor James’s remark:

“In Professor Ladd’s own book on ‘Physiological Psychology,’ that ‘real
being, proceeding to unfold powers that are _sui generis_, according to
laws of its own,’ for whose recognition he contends, plays no organic
part in the work, and has proved a mere stumbling block to his biological
reviewers.”

He adds in a foot-note:

“I mean that such a being is quite barren of particular consequences. Its
character is only known by its reactions on the signals which the nervous
system gives, and these must be gathered by observation after the fact.
If only it were subject to successive reincarnations, as the theosophists
say it is, so that we might guess what sort of a body it would unite with
next, or what sort of persons it had helped to constitute previously,
those would be great points gained. But even those gains are denied us;
and the real being is, for practical purposes, an entire superfluity,
which a _practical_ psychology can perfectly well do without.”

Andrew Seth, the well-known coryphæus of philosophy and psychology
at Edinburgh, presses the importance of distinguishing the different
standpoints of psychology, epistemology, and metaphysics. Locke,
Berkeley, Hume and other English as well as Continental thinkers “speak
sometimes from one point of view, sometimes from the other without being
aware that the two points of view are different.”

“Psychology, assuming the existence of a subject or medium of
consciousness, seeks to explain, mainly by the help of association or
processes practically similar, how out of the come-and-go of conscious
states, there are evolved such subjective facts as perceptions, the
belief in an independent real world, and the idea of the Ego or subject
himself.... Metaphysics has to do with the ultimate nature of the reality
which reveals itself alike in the consciousness which knows and the world
which is known.... The epistemological thing-in-itself to be identified
with the metaphysical essence.... The problem of knowledge and the Real,
is the question which Epistemology has to face.” (Boston, New York,
Chicago: Ginn & Co.)

κρς.

VOPROSUI FILOSOFII I PSICHOLOGII.[67] Vol. III. No. 11. January, 1892.

CONTENTS:

POSITIVE PHILOSOPHY AND THE UNITY OF SCIENCE. Part V.
Sociology. By _B. Tchitcherin_.

COUNT GIACOMO LEOPARDI AND HIS PESSIMISM. Part IV. Continued
from No. 10 of this review. (Conclusion.) By _V. Stein_.

AN HISTORICAL SKETCH OF THE CONCEPTIONS OF NATURE.
(Conclusion.) By _M. Menzhir_.

J. V. KIRYEBSKII AND THE ORIGIN OF MUSCOVITE SLAVOPHILISM.
Public lecture delivered November 20, 1891, for the benefit of
the rural districts suffering from the bad harvests. By _Paul
Vinogradoff_.

FOUILLÉ AND THE METAPHYSICS OF THE FUTURE. Part III. General
estimate of Fouillé’s views. Continued from No. 10 of this
review. (Conclusion) By _Aleksei Vnedenskii_.

TELEPATHY. To be concluded in the next number. By _M.
Petrovo-Solovo_. [This is a review of the publications of and
the work done by the Society for Psychical Research in England.]

SPECIAL PART: (1) Wundt’s System of Philosophy. By _K.
Ventzel_. (2) Hegel’s Ontology. By _N. P. Hilyaroff-Platonoff_.
New Researches on Plato. By _A. Kozloff_.

CRITICISM AND BIBLIOGRAPHY. Review of Russian and Foreign
Periodicals. Book Reviews. Bibliographical Index of recent
Philosophical works. Answer to an anonymous letter received
by N. Strachoff on the subject of his article: “Opinions
concerning L. N. Tolstoï.” By _N. Strachoff_. Transactions of
the Moscow Psychological Society. (Moscow, 1892.)

FOOTNOTES:

[67] _Questions of Philosophy and Psychology._

VOL. II. JULY, 1892. NO. 4.

THE MONIST.

OUR MONISM.

THE PRINCIPLES OF A CONSISTENT, UNITARY WORLD-VIEW.

The question, What are the essential features of Monism? was brought home
to me when I read in the last number of _The Monist_ the critical remarks
made with reference to the new edition of my “Anthropogeny.” I shall
here endeavor briefly to draw up the outlines of my conception of the
world in a manner which will indicate the most characteristic features
of my views. Thus both the agreements with and the divergences from the
position editorially upheld in _The Monist_ will plainly appear.

As is the case with the majority of philosophical differences, so also
in the present instance I find that the divergences which exhibit
themselves in our respective unitary conceptions of the world are in part
only apparent and in part occasioned by the divergent significances of
our fundamental ideas. But this will, perhaps, be made clearer by the
following methodically arranged eight theses.

I. MONISM.

Like all general concepts of fundamental scope, that of monism also
is liable to different definitions and divergent modifications,—the
natural result of individual differences of subjective conception. In the
determinate sense in which monism is at present employed by the majority
of philosophers and physical inquirers, the sense which I believe I
was the first to establish in 1866 in my “General Morphology” (Vol. I,
p. 105), it denotes a unitary or _natural_ conception of the world, in
opposition to a _supernatural_ or mystical one, that is, in opposition
to _dualism_. For us, accordingly, there exists (in the sense of Goethe)
_no_ opposition whatsoever between nature and mind, between World and
God. Mental existences, “spirits,” outside nature, or in opposition to
nature, do not exist. What are commonly termed the “mental sciences,”—for
example, philology, history, and philosophy,—are in reality simply a part
of _physical philosophy_, of _Natur-philosophie_. The latter discipline
embraces, in our opinion, the entire body of human knowledge; it is
based upon _empiricism_, on the experiences, the observations, and the
experiments of physical inquiry; but it does not become _philosophy_
until it has brought together and united its empiric products, abstracted
general laws from its isolated experiential facts, and _synthetised_ the
isolated results which _analysis_ has empirically ascertained.

II. MECHANICALISM.

Since an early date, this important fundamental concept has frequently
been used in three different and divergent senses, namely:

_A._ In its widest sense, as synonymous with _monism_; wherein mechanical
causes (_causæ efficientes_), in the sense of Kant, are assumed as the
sole effective causes and are placed in opposition to the teleological
causes (_causæ finales_) in the sense of dualism. “Mechanical conception
of the world” is in this sense synonymous with “monistic conception of
the world.”

_B._ In its more restricted sense, as a universal _motion_-principle
of physics, so that, for example, the postulated ether-vibrations of
optics, of electricity, and so forth, as well as the grosser material
oscillations of acoustics, heat, and so forth, are designated as
mechanical processes subject to definite laws. “Mechanical natural
philosophy,” in this sense, is identical with _physics_.

_C._ In its narrowest sense, as that _branch_ of physics which deals
with the grosser and visible processes of _motion_; as gravitation,
locomotion, and the phoronomy of organisms. Mechanics, in this the most
restricted sense, is viewed as opposed to optics, acoustics, etc., as the
usages of the schools indicate.

Since, now, the phrases “mechanical laws” and “mechanical
explanation,” at the present day even, are frequently understood in
these three distinct senses, no end of misunderstandings arise. Such
misunderstandings may be best avoided, perhaps, by retaining the notion
of mechanics in its narrowest (_C_) sense, and by substituting _physics_
for the next narrower sense (_B_) and _monism_ for its most extended
sense (_A_).

III. PSYCHISM.

In exactly the same way as the idea of mechanicalism, so also that of
psychism is employed in a three-fold divergent sense. As in the former
case _motion_, so here _feeling_ is conceived, now as a universal
world-principle, now simply as a vital activity of all organisms, now
simply as the particular mental activity of man.

_A._ In its widest sense: _Panpsychism_. All matter is ensouled, because
all natural bodies known to us possess determinate chemical properties,
that is to say react uniformly and by law when subjected to the
determinate chemical (i. e. molecular-mechanical) influences of other
bodies: _chemical affinity_. Simplest example: sulphur and quicksilver
rubbed together form cinnabar, a new body of entirely different
properties. This is possible only on the supposition that the molecules
(or atoms) of the two elements if brought within the proper distance,
mutually _feel_ each other, by attraction move towards each other; on the
decomposition of a simple chemical compound the contrary takes place:
repulsion. (Empedocles’s doctrine of the “love and hatred of atoms.”)

_B._ In its more restricted sense: _Biopsychism_. The _organisms_ alone
are regarded as “ensouled,” because here the chemical processes are
more complicated and more striking (producing motions in cyclically
repeated succession) than in the case of the so-called “dead matter” of
the inorganic bodies. In particular does organic “irritability” appear
here as a higher form of the physical reaction called “_Auslösung_”
[the setting free, disengagement], and “soul-activity” (reflexes)
again as a higher form of irritability. However, all the phenomena
of organic life ultimately admit of being reduced to “mechanical”
(or “physico-chemical”) processes that differ from the processes of
the inorganic world only in point of degree or quantitatively, not
qualitatively. (“General Morphology,” I, Chap. V; VII, pp. 109-238.
“Natural Creation,” VIII, First Edition, Lecture XV.)

_C._ In its narrowest sense: _Zoopsychism_. Irritability, or universal
organic soul-activity, such as is the attribute of all organisms,
(identical with “life,”) reaches a higher stage through abstraction,
through the formation of _ideas_. _Feeling_ and _will_ become more
distinctly separated. This real soul-life, which is the attribute only
of the higher animals, passes through a long succession of different
stages of development, the most perfect of which is the soul of man.
The so-called “freedom of the will” is apparent only, as each single
volitional action is determined by a chain of precedent actions which
ultimately rest either upon _heredity_ (propagation) or upon _adaptation_
(nutrition). As these last are (“mechanically”) reducible to molecular
motions, the same also holds true of the former.

IV. THEISM.

The idea of god that alone appears to be logically compatible with
monism, is pantheism (or “cosmotheism”) in the sense of Goethe and
Spinoza. God according to this view is identical with the sum-total
of the force of the universe, which is inseparable from the sum-total
of the matter of the universe. In opposition to this view stands
_anthropotheism_. This is the outcome of dualism, which places God
as a personal being in opposition to the “world” created by him,
and consequently is always forced in its reasonings to resort to
anthropomorphic expedients.

V. MATERIALISM.

The most important differences of form in which this much misunderstood
and variously interpreted movement of philosophy has presented itself,
may be classed as follows:

_A._ In its most extended sense: as synonymous with _monism_ (or with
mechanicalism). All the phenomena of the world are founded upon material
processes, upon _motions_ (mechanicalism) or upon _feelings_ (psychism),
both of which, as fundamental qualities, are inseparable from matter.
Immaterial forces or immaterial “spirits” (minds) are unknown to us. As
Goethe once said, “Mind can never exist and act without matter, matter
never without mind.”

_B._ In its more restricted sense: originally matter alone exists and
creates _secondarily_ force (or “mind”). The fallacy of this view lies in
its regarding the two things “matter and force” as disjoint and separate.
According to our view the two are inseparably connected,—united in each
atom from the very first.

VI. SPIRITUALISM.

This phase also of the world-conception has been the subject of the same
misunderstandings and perverted conceptions as its apparent opposite,
materialism.

_A._ In its most extended sense, spiritualism is susceptible of
identification with _psychism_—consequently also with monism. For
_feeling_ (pleasure and pain) is just as much a thoroughly universal and
fundamental property of matter (of each atom!) as is _motion_ (attraction
and repulsion). Every single “spirit” is inseparably united with some
“matter.”

_B._ In its more restricted sense: originally force alone exists and
creates _secondarily_ matter. This view, which is very old and very
widely spread (“creation of the world”), is just as false and as
one-sided as its contrary (5 _B_).

VII. IMMORTALISM.

The “belief in immortality” is scientifically (_critically_) tenable only
as a _general_ proposition, and is in this case identical with the most
universal law of physics, the _conservation of energy_ (coincidently,
of course, the conservation of matter). On the other hand, the widely
disseminated _dogmatic_ belief in a _personal_ immortality, a belief
supported by the mass of the ecclesiastical religions, and of utmost
importance as the consciously or unconsciously assumed _base_-axiom of a
great number of philosophical systems, is, _scientifically_, absolutely
untenable. The “human soul” (i. e. the sum-total of the individual
life-activity: feeling, motion,—will,—and idea) is simply a transient
developmentary phenomenon—a very highly developed “vertebrate-soul.”

VIII. COSMISM.

The determinate, and, as I believe, logical, form of the conception of
the world, the principles of which I have advocated for thirty years,
and whose most important aspects have been briefly outlined in the
preceding paragraphs, may also be designated _cosmism_, to the extent
that it proceeds from the fundamental idea that _cosmogeny_ or the
“world-process,” as world-_development_, is, within certain limits,
(within the limits namely of a reduction to the basic notions: matter
and its two inseparable fundamental qualities motion and feeling,) a
_knowable_ natural process. Cosmism is opposed, thus, to _agnosticism_.

* * * * *

One highly important principle of my monism seems to me to be, that
I regard _all_ matter as _ensouled_, that is to say as endowed with
_feeling_ (pleasure and pain) and with _motion_, or, better, with the
power of motion. As elementary (atomistic) attraction and repulsion
these powers are asserted in every simplest chemical process, and
on them is based also every other phenomenon, consequently also the
highest-developed soul-activity of man. For the comprehension of this
_graduated_ psychical development of matter perhaps my three stages will
be useful: III _A._ (Panpsychism), III _B._ (Biopsychism), III _C._
(Zoopsychism). So too consciousness, as the highest psychical action and
the one most difficult to be explained, is in my views imply a higher
stage of brain-activity, based upon the association, the abstraction,
and centralisation of groups of ideas. Perhaps I have expressed myself
poorly in these expositions, as I am little accustomed to dealing with
philosophical axioms abstractly, and am too exclusively engaged in the
concrete activity of my own special department. I cherish the hope,
however, of being able within two or three years to devote more of my
time to purely philosophical labors; when my work with the Challenger
material, which has now absorbed twelve years of unremitting toil, is
ended, my special zoological activity will have been completed; and I
shall then find the opportunity of contributing more frequently to your
highly valued magazines _The Monist_ and _The Open Court_.

ERNST HAECKEL.

THE MAGIC SQUARE.

INTRODUCTORY.

Among the philosophies of modern times there is no other which emphasises
so much the importance of form and formal thought as the monism of _The
Monist_. An expression thereof is found in the following passages:

“The order that prevails among the facts of reality is due
to the laws of form. Upon the order of the world depends its
cognisability.

“... The laws of form are no less eternal than are matter and
energy and ‘Verily I say unto you, till heaven and earth pass,
one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law!’

“The laws of form and their origin have been a puzzle to all
philosophers. ‘Ay, there’s the rub!’ The difficulties of Hume’s
problem of causation, of Kant’s _a priori_, of Plato’s ideas,
of Mill’s method of deduction, etc., etc., all arise from a
one-sided view of form and the laws of form and formal thought.”

Considering the great results which engineering and other applied
sciences accomplish through the assistance of mathematics, we must
confess that the forms of thought are wonderful indeed, and it is not
at all astonishing that the primitive thinkers of mankind when the
importance of the laws of formal thought in some way or another first
dawned on their minds, attributed magic powers to numbers and geometrical
figures.

We shall devote the following pages to a brief review of magic squares,
the consideration of which has made many a man believe in mysticism.
And yet there is no mysticism about them unless we either consider
everything mystical, even that twice two is four, or join the sceptic in
his exclamation that we can truly not know whether twice two might not be
five in other spheres of the universe.

[Illustration: ALBERT DÜRER’S ENGRAVING

MELANCHOLY OR THE GENIUS OF THE INDUSTRIAL SCIENCE OF MECHANICS]

The author of the short article on “Magic Squares” in the English
Cyclopædia (Vol. III, p. 415), presumably Prof. DeMorgan, says:

“Though the question of magic squares be in itself of no use,
yet it belongs to a class of problems which call into action
a beneficial species of investigation. Without laying down
any rules for their construction, we shall content ourselves
with destroying their magic quality, and showing that the
non-existence of such squares would be much more surprising
than their existence.”

This is the point. There obtains a symphonic harmony in mathematics which
is the more startling the more obvious and self-evident it appears to him
who understands the laws that produce this symphonic harmony.

* * * * *

On the wood-cut named “Melancholia”[68] of the famous Nuremberg painter,
Albrecht Dürer, is found among a number of other emblems, which the
reader will notice in our reproduction of the cut, the subjoined square.
This arrangement of the sixteen natural numbers from 1 to 16 possesses
the remarkable property that the same sum 34 will always be obtained
whether we add together the four figures of any of the horizontal rows
or the four of any vertical row or the four which lie in either of the
two diagonals. Such an arrangement of numbers is termed a magic square,
and the square which we have reproduced above is _the first magic square
which is met with in the Christian Occident_.

[Illustration: Fig. 1.

+--+--+--+--+
| 1|14|15| 4|
+--+--+--+--+
|12| 7| 6| 9|
+--+--+--+--+
| 8|11|10| 5|
+--+--+--+--+
|13| 2| 3|16|
+--+--+--+--+
]

Like chess and many of the problems founded on the figure of the
chess-board, the problem of constructing a magic square also probably
traces its origin to Indian soil. From there the problem found its way
among the Arabs, and by them it was brought to the Roman Orient. Finally,
since Albrecht Dürer’s time, the scholars of Western Europe also have
occupied themselves with methods for the construction of squares of this
character.

The oldest and the simplest magic square consists of the quadratic
arrangement of the nine numbers from 1 to 9 in such a manner that the sum
of each horizontal, vertical, or diagonal row, always remains the same,
namely 15. This square is the adjoined.

[Illustration: Fig. 2.

+-+-+-+
|2|7|6|
+-+-+-+
|9|5|1|
+-+-+-+
|4|3|8|
+-+-+-+
]

Here, we will find, 15 always comes out whether we add 2 and 7 and 6, or
9 and 5 and 1, or 4 and 3 and 8, or 2 and 9 and 4, or 7 and 5 and 3, or 6
and 1 and 8, or 2 and 5 and 8, or 6 and 5 and 4.

The question naturally presents itself, whether this condition of the
constant equality of the added sum also remains fulfilled when the
numbers are assigned different places. It may be easily shown however
that 5 necessarily must occupy the middle place, and that the even
numbers must stand in the corners. This being so, there are but 7
additional arrangements possible, which differ from the arrangement
above given and from one another only in the respect that the rows at
the top, at the left, at the bottom, and at the right, exchange places
with one another and that in addition a mirror be imagined present with
each arrangement. So too from Dürer’s square of 4 times 4 places, by
transpositions, a whole set of new correct squares may be formed. A magic
square of the 4 times 4 numbers from 1 to 16 is formed in the simplest
manner as follows. We inscribe the numbers from 1 to 16 in their natural
order in the squares, thus:

[Illustration: Fig. 3.

+--+--+--+--+
| 1| 2| 3| 4|
+--+--+--+--+
| 5| 6| 7| 8|
+--+--+--+--+
| 9|10|11|12|
+--+--+--+--+
|13|14|15|16|
+--+--+--+--+
]

We then leave the numbers in the four corner-squares, viz. 1, 4, 13, 16,
as well also as the numbers in the four middle-squares, viz. 6, 7, 10,
11, in their original places; and in the place of the remaining eight
numbers, we write the complements of the same with respect to 17: thus 15
instead of 2, 14 instead of 3, 12 instead of 5, 9 instead of 8, 8 instead
of 9, 5 instead of 12, 3 instead of 14, and 2 instead of 15. We obtain
thus the magic square

[Illustration: Fig. 4.

=34 =34
\ /
+--+--+--+--+
| 1|15|14| 4|=34
+--+--+--+--+
|12| 6| 7| 9|=34
+--+--+--+--+
| 8|10|11| 5|=34
+--+--+--+--+
|13| 3| 2|16|=34
+--+--+--+--+
34 34 34 34
]

from which the same sum 34 always results. It is an interesting property
of this square that any four numbers which form a rectangle or square
about the centre also always give the same sum 34; for example, 1, 4,
13, 16, or 6, 7, 10, 11, or 15, 14, 3, 2, or 12, 9, 5, 8, or 15, 8, 2,
9, or 14, 12, 3, 5. We may easily convince ourselves that this square is
obtainable from the square of Dürer by interchanging with one another the
two middle vertical rows.

II.

EARLY METHODS FOR THE CONSTRUCTION OF ODD-NUMBERED SQUARES.

Since early times rules have also been known for the construction of
magic squares of more than 3 times 3, or 4 times 4 spaces. In the first
place, it is easy to calculate the sum which in the case of any given
number of cells must result from the addition of each row. We take the
determinate number of cells in each side of the square which we have to
fill, multiply that number by itself, add 1, again multiply the number
thus obtained by the number of the cells in each side, and, finally,
divide the product by 2. Thus, with 4 times 4 cells or squares, we get:
4 times 4 are 16, 16 and 1 are 17, and one half of 17 times 4 is 34.
Similarly, with 5 times 5 squares, we get: 5 times 5 are 25, and 1 makes
26, and the half of 26 times 5 is 65. Analogously, for 6 times 6 squares
the summation 111 is obtained, for 7 times 7 squares 175, for 8 times 8
squares 260, for 9 times 9 squares 369, for 10 times 10 squares 505, and
so on. The Hindu rule for the construction of magic squares whose roots
are odd, may be enunciated as follows: To start with, write 1 in the
centre of the topmost row, then write 2 in the lowest space of the
vertical column next adjacent to the right, and then so inscribe the
remaining numbers in their natural order in the squares diagonally
upwards towards the right, that on reaching the right-hand margin the
inscription shall be continued from the left-hand margin in the row just
above, and on reaching the upper margin shall be continued from the lower
margin in the column next adjacent to the right, noting that whenever we
are arrested in our progress by a square already occupied we are to fill
out the square next beneath the one we have last filled. In this manner,
for example, the last preceding square of 7 times 7 cells is formed, in
which the reader is requested to follow the numbers in their natural
sequence (Fig. 5).

[Illustration: Fig. 5.

=175 =175
\ /
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
|30 |39 |48 | 1 |10 |19 |28 |=175
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
|38 |47 | 7 | 9 |18 |27 |29 |=175
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
|46 | 6 | 8 |17 |26 |35 |37 |=175
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 5 |14 |16 |25 |34 |36 |45 |=175
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
|13 |15 |24 |33 |42 |44 | 4 |=175
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
|21 |23 |32 |41 |43 | 3 |12 |=175
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
|22 |31 |40 |49 | 2 |11 |20 |=175
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
175 175 175 175 175 175 175
]

For the next further advancements of the theory of magic squares and
of the methods for their construction we are indebted to the Byzantian
Greek, Moschopulus, who lived in the fourteenth century; also, after
Albrecht Dürer who lived about the year 1500, to the celebrated
arithmetician Adam Riese, and to the mathematician Michael Stifel, which
two last lived about 1550. In the seventeenth century Bachet de Méziriac,
and Athanasius Kircher employed themselves on magic squares. About
1700, finally, the French mathematicians De la Hire and Sauveur made
considerable contributions to the theory. In recent times mathematicians
have concerned themselves much less about magic squares, as they have
indeed about mathematical recreations generally. But quite recently the
Brunswick mathematician Scheffler has put forth his own and other’s
studies on this subject in an elegant form.

[Illustration: Fig. 6.

| 7|
| |
| 6| |14|
| | | |
| 5| |13| |21|
+==+==+==+==+==+==+==+
| 4| |12| |20| |28|
---|--+--+--+--+--+--+--|---
3| |11| |19| |27| |35
------|--+--+--+--+--+--+--|------
2 |10| |18| |26| |34| 42
--------|--+--+--+--+--+--+--|---------
1 9| |17| |25| |33| |41 49
--------|--+--+--+--+--+--+--|---------
8 |16| |24| |32| |40| 48
------|--+--+--+--+--+--+--|------
15| |23| |31| |39| |47
---|--+--+--+--+--+--+--|---
|22| |30| |38| |46|
+==+==+==+==+==+==+==+
|29| |37| |45|
| | | |
|36| |44|
| |
|43|
]

The best known of the various methods of constructing magic squares of an
odd number of cells is the following. First write the numbers in diagonal
succession as in the preceding diagram (Fig. 6). After 25 cells of the
square of 49 cells which we have to fill out, have thus been occupied,
transfer the six figures found outside each side of the square, without
changing their configuration, into the empty cells of the side directly
opposite. By this method, which we owe to Bachet de Méziriac, we obtain
the following magic square of the numbers from 1 to 49:

[Illustration: Fig. 7.

+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 4|29|12|37|20|45|28|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|35|11|36|19|44|27| 3|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|10|42|18|43|26| 2|34|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|41|17|49|25| 1|33| 9|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|16|48|24| 7|32| 8|40|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|47|23| 6|31|14|39|15|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|22| 5|30|13|38|21|46|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
]

III.

MODERN MODES OF CONSTRUCTION OF ODD-NUMBERED SQUARES.

The reader will justly ask whether there do not exist other correct
magic squares which are constructed after a different method from that
just given, and whether there do not exist modes of construction which
will lead to all the imaginable and possible magic squares of a definite
number of cells. A general mode of construction of this character
was first given for odd-numbered squares by De la Hire, and recently
perfected by Professor Scheffler.

To acquaint ourselves with this general method, let us select as our
example a square of 5. First we form two auxiliary squares. In the
first we write the numbers from 1 to 5 five times; and in the second,
five times, the following multiples of five, viz.: 0, 5, 10, 15, 20.
It is clear now that by adding each of the numbers of the series from
1 to 5 with each of the numbers 0, 5, 10, 15, 20, we shall get all the
25 numerals from 1 to 25. All that additionally remains to be done
therefore, is, so to inscribe the numbers that by the addition of the
two numbers in any two corresponding cells each combination shall come
out once and only once; and further that in each horizontal, vertical,
and diagonal row in each auxiliary square each number shall once appear.
Then the required sum of 65 must necessarily result in every case,
because the numbers from 1 to 5 added together make 15, and the numbers
0, 5, 10, 15, 20 make 50.

We effect the required method of inscription by imagining the numbers
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 (or 0, 5, 10, 15, 20) arranged in cyclical succession,
that is 1 immediately following upon 5, and, starting from any number
whatsoever, by skipping each time either none or one or two or three etc.
figures. Cycles are thus obtained of the first, the second, the third
etc. orders; for example 3 4 5 1 2 is a cycle of the first order, 2 4 1
3 5 is a cycle of the second order, 1 5 4 3 2 is a cycle of the fourth
order, etc. The only thing then to be looked out for in the two auxiliary
squares is, that the same “cycle” order be horizontally preserved in all
the rows, that the same also happens for the vertical rows, but that the
cycle order in the horizontal and vertical rows is different. Finally we
have only additionally to take care that to the same numbers of the one
auxiliary square not like numbers but _different_ numbers correspond in
the other auxiliary square, that is lie in similarly situated cells. The
following auxiliary squares are, for example, thus possible:

[Illustration: Fig. 8.

+--+--+--+--+--+
|3 |4 |5 |1 |2 |
+--+--+--+--+--+
|5 |1 |2 |3 |4 |
+--+--+--+--+--+
|2 |3 |4 |5 |1 |
+--+--+--+--+--+
|4 |5 |1 |2 |3 |
+--+--+--+--+--+
|1 |2 |3 |4 |5 |
+--+--+--+--+--+
]

and

[Illustration: Fig. 9.

+--+--+--+--+--+
| 0|10|20| 5|15|
+--+--+--+--+--+
| 5|15| 0|10|20|
+--+--+--+--+--+
|10|20| 5|15| 0|
+--+--+--+--+--+
|15| 0|10|20| 5|
+--+--+--+--+--+
|20| 5|15| 0|10|
+--+--+--+--+--+
]

Adding in pairs the numbers which occupy similarly situated cells, we
obtain the following correct magic square:

[Illustration: Fig. 10.

+--+--+--+--+--+
| 3|14|25| 6|17|
+--+--+--+--+--+
|10|16| 2|13|24|
+--+--+--+--+--+
|12|23| 9|20| 1|
+--+--+--+--+--+
|19| 5|11|22| 8|
+--+--+--+--+--+
|21| 7|18| 4|15|
+--+--+--+--+--+
]

It will be seen that we are able thus to construct a very large number
of magic squares of 5 times 5 spaces by varying in every possible manner
the numbers in the two auxiliary squares. Furthermore, the squares thus
formed possess the additional peculiarity, that every 5 numbers which
fill out two rows that are parallel to a diagonal and lie on different
sides of the diagonal also give the constant sum of 65. For example:
3 and 7, 11, 20, 24; or 10, 14 and 18, 22, 1. Altogether then the sum
65 is produced out of 20 rows or pairs of rows. On this peculiarity is
dependent the fact that if we imagine an unlimited number of such squares
placed by the side of, above, or beneath an initial one, we shall be
able to obtain as many quadratic cells as we choose, so arranged that
the square composed of any 25 of these cells will form a correct magic
square, as the following figure will show:

[Illustration: Fig. 11.

2|13|24|10|16| 2|13|24|10|16| 2
--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--
9|20| 1|12|23| 9|20| 1|12|23| 9
--+--+--+--+--+==============+--
11|22| 8|19| 5¦11|22| 8|19| 5¦11
--+--+--+--+--¦--+--+--+--+--¦—
18| 4|15|21| 7¦18| 4|15|21| 7¦18
--+--+--+--+--¦--+--+--+--+--¦—
25| 6|17| 3|14¦25| 6|17| 3|14¦25
--+--+--+--+--¦--+--+--+--+--¦—
2|13|24|10|16¦ 2|13|24|10|16¦ 2
--+--+========¦=====+--+--+--¦—
9|20¦ 1|12|23¦ 9|20¦ 1|12|23¦ 9
--+--¦--+--+--+=====¦========+--
11|22¦ 8|19| 5|11|22¦ 8|19| 5|11
--+--¦--+--+--+--+--¦--+--+--+--
18| 4¦15|21| 7|18| 4¦15|21| 7|18
--+--¦--+--+--+--+--¦--+--+--+--
25| 6¦17| 3|14|25| 6¦17| 3|14|25
--+--¦--+--+--+--+--¦--+--+--+--
2|13¦24|10|16| 2|13¦24|10|16| 2
--+--+==============+--+--+--+--
9|20| 1|12|23| 9|20| 1|12|23| 9
--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--
11|22| 8|19| 5|11|22| 8|19| 5|11
]

Every square of every 25 of these numbers, as for example the two
dark-bordered ones, possesses the property that the addition of the
horizontal, vertical, and diagonal rows gives each the same sum, 65.

As an example of a higher number of cells we will append here a magic
square of 11 times 11 spaces formed by the general method of De la
Hire from the two auxiliary squares of Figs. 12 and 13. From these two
auxiliary squares we obtain by the addition of the two numbers of every
two similarly situated cells, the magic square, exhibited in Diagram 14,
in which each row gives the same sum 671.

[Illustration: Fig. 12.

+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10| 11|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10| 11| 1 | 2 |
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10| 11| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 7 | 8 | 9 | 10| 11| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 9 | 10| 11| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 11| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10| 11| 1 |
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10| 11| 1 | 2 | 3 |
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10| 11| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 8 | 9 | 10| 11| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 10| 11| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
]

[Illustration: Fig. 13.

+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 0 | 11| 22| 33| 44| 55| 66| 77| 88| 99|110|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 33| 44| 55| 66| 77| 88| 99|110| 0 | 11| 22|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 66| 77| 88| 99|110| 0 | 11| 22| 33| 44| 55|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 99|110| 0 | 11| 22| 33| 44| 55| 66| 77| 88|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 11| 22| 33| 44| 55| 66| 77| 88| 99|110| 0 |
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 44| 55| 66| 77| 88| 99|110| 0 | 11| 22| 33|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 77| 88| 99|110| 0 | 11| 22| 33| 44| 55| 66|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
|110| 0 | 11| 22| 33| 44| 55| 66| 77| 88| 99|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 22| 33| 44| 55| 66| 77| 88| 99|110| 0 | 11|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 55| 66| 77| 88| 99|110| 0 | 11| 22| 33| 44|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 88| 99|110| 0 | 11| 22| 33| 44| 55| 66| 77|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
]

[Illustration: Fig. 14.

+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 1 | 13| 25| 37| 49| 61| 73| 85| 97|109|121|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 36| 48| 60| 72| 84| 96|108|120| 11| 12| 24|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 71| 83| 95|107|119| 10| 22| 23| 35| 47| 59|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
|106|118| 9 | 21| 33| 34| 46| 58| 70| 82| 94|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 20| 32| 44| 45| 57| 69| 81| 93|105|117| 8 |
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 55| 56| 68| 80| 92|104|116| 7 | 19| 31| 43|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 79| 91|103|115| 6 | 18| 30| 42| 54| 66| 67|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
|114| 5 | 17| 29| 41| 53| 65| 77| 78| 90|102|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 28| 40| 52| 64| 76| 88| 89|101|113| 4 | 16|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 63| 75| 87| 99|100|112| 3 | 15| 27| 39| 51|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 98|110|111| 2 | 14| 26| 38| 50| 62| 74| 86|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
]

IV.

EVEN-NUMBERED SQUARES.

Of magic squares having an even number of places we have hitherto
had to deal only with the square of 4. To construct squares of this
description having a higher even number of places, different and more
complicated methods must be employed than for squares of odd numbers
of places. However, in this case also, as in dealing with the square
of 4, we start with the natural sequence of the numbers and must then
find the complements of the numbers with respect to some other certain
number (as 17 in the square of 4) and also effect certain exchanges of
the numbers with one another. To form, for example, a magic square of 6
times 6 places, we inscribe in the 12 diagonal cells the numbers that in
the natural sequence of inscription fall into these places, then in the
remaining cells the complements of the numbers that belong therein with
respect to 37, and finally effect the following six exchanges, viz. of
the numbers 33 and 3, 25 and 7, 20 and 14, 18 and 13, 10 and 9, and 5 and
2. In this way the following magic square is obtained.

[Illustration: Fig. 15.

+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 1|35|34| 3|32| 6|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|30| 8|28|27|11| 7|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|24|23|15|16|14|19|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|13|17|21|22|20|18|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|12|26| 9|10|29|25|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|31| 2| 4|33| 5|36|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
]

This square may also be constructed by the method of De la Hire, from two
auxiliary squares with the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 and 0, 6, 12, 18,
24, 30 respectively. In this case, however, the vertical rows of the one
square and the horizontal rows of the other must each so contain two same
numbers thrice repeated that the summation shall always remain 21 and 90
respectively. In this manner we get the magic square last given above
from the two following auxiliary squares:

[Illustration: Fig. 16.

+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 1| 5| 4| 3| 2| 6|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 6| 2| 4| 3| 5| 1|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 6| 5| 3| 4| 2| 1|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 1| 5| 3| 4| 2| 6|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 6| 2| 3| 4| 5| 1|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 1| 2| 4| 3| 5| 6|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
]

and

[Illustration: Fig. 17.

+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 0|30|30| 0|30| 0|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|24| 6|24|24| 6| 6|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|18|18|12|12|12|18|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|12|12|18|18|18|12|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 6|24| 6| 6|24|24|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|30| 0| 0|30| 0|30|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
]

It is to be noted in connection with this example that here also as in
the case of odd-numbered squares, it is possible so to inscribe six
times the numbers from 1 to 6 that each number shall appear once and only
once in each horizontal, vertical, and diagonal row; for example, in the
following manner:

[Illustration: Fig. 18.

+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 2| 4| 6| 1| 3| 5|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 3| 6| 5| 2| 1| 4|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 5| 3| 1| 6| 4| 2|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 6| 5| 4| 3| 2| 1|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 4| 1| 2| 5| 6| 3|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+
]

But if we attempt so to insert, in a like manner, the other set of
numbers 0, 6, 12, 18, 24, 30 in a second auxiliary square, that each
number of the first auxiliary square shall stand once and once only in
a corresponding cell with each number of the second square, all the
attempts we may make to fulfil coincidently the last named condition will
result in failure. It is therefore necessary to select auxiliary squares
like the two given above. It is noteworthy, that the fulfilment of the
second condition is impossible only in the case of the square of 6, but
that in the case of the square of 4 or of the square of 8, for example,
two auxiliary squares, such as the method of De la Hire requires, are
possible. Thus, taking the square of 4 we get

[Illustration: Fig. 19.

+--+--+--+--+
| 1| 2| 3| 4|
+--+--+--+--+
| 4| 3| 2| 1|
+--+--+--+--+
| 2| 1| 4| 3|
+--+--+--+--+
| 3| 4| 1| 2|
+--+--+--+--+
]

and

[Illustration: Fig. 20.

+--+--+--+--+
| 0| 4| 8|12|
+--+--+--+--+
| 8|12| 0| 4|
+--+--+--+--+
|12| 8| 4| 0|
+--+--+--+--+
| 4| 0|12| 8|
+--+--+--+--+
]

The reader may form for himself the magic square which these give.

The existence of these two auxiliary squares furnishes a key to the
solution of a pretty problem at cards. If we replace, namely, the
numbers 1, 2, 3, 4 by the Ace, the King, the Queen, and the Knave, and
the numbers 0, 4, 8, 12 by the four suits, clubs, spades, hearts, and
diamonds, we shall at once perceive that it is possible, and must be so
necessarily, quadratically to arrange in such a manner the four Aces,
the four Kings, the Four Queens, and the four Knaves, that in each
horizontal, vertical, and diagonal row, each one of the four suits and
each one of the four denominations shall appear once and once only. The
auxiliary squares above given furnish the appended solution of this
problem:

[Illustration: Fig. 21.

To fix the solution of the problem in the memory, observe that, starting
from the several corners, each suit and each denomination must be placed
in the spots of the move of a Knight. If we fix the positions of the four
cards of any one row, there will be only two possibilities left of so
placing the other cards that the required condition of having each suit
and each denomination once and only once in each row shall be fulfilled.

Of magic squares of an even number of places we have up to this point
examined only the squares of 4 and of 6. For the sake of completeness we
append here one of 8 and one of 10 places. The mode of construction of
these squares is similar to the method above discussed for the lower even
numbers.

[Illustration: Fig. 22.

+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 1|63|62| 4| 5|59|58| 8|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|56|10|11|53|52|14|15|49|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|48|18|19|45|44|22|23|41|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|25|39|38|28|29|35|34|32|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|33|31|30|36|37|27|26|40|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|24|42|43|21|20|46|47|17|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|16|50|51|13|12|54|55| 9|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|57| 7| 6|60|61| 3| 2|64|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
]

[Illustration: Fig. 23.

+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 1 | 99| 3 | 97| 96| 5 | 94| 8 | 92| 10|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 90| 12| 88| 14| 86| 85| 17| 83| 19| 11|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 80| 79| 23| 77| 25| 26| 74| 28| 22| 71|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 31| 69| 68| 34| 66| 65| 37| 33| 62| 40|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 60| 42| 58| 57| 45| 46| 44| 53| 49| 51|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 50| 52| 43| 47| 55| 56| 54| 48| 59| 41|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 61| 32| 38| 64| 36| 35| 67| 63| 39| 70|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 21| 29| 73| 27| 75| 76| 24| 78| 72| 30|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 20| 82| 18| 84| 15| 16| 87| 13| 89| 81|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 91| 9 | 93| 4 | 6 | 95| 7 | 98| 2 |100|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
]

The magic squares of even numbers thus constructed are not the only
possible ones. On the contrary, there are very many others possible,
which obey different laws of formation. It has been calculated, for
example, that with the square of 4 it is possible to construct 880, and
with the square of 6, _several million_, different magic squares. The
number of odd-numbered magic squares constructible by the method of De la
Hire is also very great. With the square of 7, the possible constructions
amount to 363,916,800. With the squares of higher numbers the multitude
of the possibilities increases in the same enormous ratio.

MAGIC SQUARES WHOSE SUMMATION GIVES THE NUMBER OF A YEAR.

The magic squares which we have so far considered contain only the
natural numbers from 1 upwards. It is possible, however, easily to
deduce from a correct magic square other squares in which a different
law controls the sequence of the numbers to be inscribed. Of the squares
obtained in this manner, we shall devote our attention here only to such
in which, although formed by the inscription of successive numbers, the
sum obtained from the addition of the rows is a determinate number which
we have fixed upon beforehand, as _the number of a year_. In such a case
we have simply to add to the numbers of the original square a determinate
number so to be calculated, that the required sum shall each time appear.
If this sum is divisible by 3, magic squares will always be obtainable
with 3 times 3 spaces which shall give this sum. In such a case we divide
the sum required by 3 and subtract 5 from the result in order to obtain
the number which we have to add to each number of the original square.
If the sum desired is even but not divisible by 4, we must then subtract
from it 34 and take one fourth of the result, to obtain the number which
in this case is to be added in each place. If, for example, we wish to
obtain the number of the year 1890 as the resulting sum of each row, we
shall have to add to each of the numbers of an ordinary magic square of
4 times 4 spaces the number 464; in other words, instead of the numbers
from 1 to 16 we have to insert in the squares the numbers from 465 to
480. As the number of the present year 1892 is divisible by 11, it must
be possible to deduce from the magic square constructed by us at the
conclusion of Section III a second magic square in which each row of 11
cells will give the number of the year 1892. To do this, we subtract from
1892 the sum of the original square, namely 671, and divide the remainder
by 11, whereby we get 111 and thus perceive that the numbers from 112 to
232 are to be inscribed in the cells of the square required. We get in
this way the preceding square, from which _one and the same sum, namely
1892, can be obtained 44 times_, first from each of the 11 horizontal
rows, secondly from each of the 11 vertical rows, thirdly from each of
the two diagonal rows, and fourthly twenty additional times from each
and every pair of any two rows that lie parallel to a diagonal, have
together 11 cells, and lie on different sides of the diagonal, as for
example, 196, 122, 158, 205, 131, 167, 214, 140, 187, 223, 149.

[Illustration: Fig. 24.

+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+
| 112| 124| 136| 148| 160| 172| 184| 196| 208| 220| 232| = 1892
+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-------
| 147| 159| 171| 183| 195| 207| 219| 231| 122| 123| 135| = 1892
+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-------
| 182| 194| 206| 218| 230| 121| 133| 134| 146| 158| 170| = 1892
+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-------
| 217| 229| 120| 132| 144| 145| 157| 169| 181| 193| 205| = 1892
+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-------
| 131| 143| 155| 156| 168| 180| 192| 204| 216| 228| 119| = 1892
+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-------
| 166| 167| 179| 191| 203| 215| 227| 118| 130| 142| 154| = 1892
+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-------
| 190| 202| 214| 226| 117| 129| 141| 153| 165| 177| 178| = 1892
+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-------
| 225| 116| 128| 140| 152| 164| 176| 188| 189| 201| 213| = 1892
+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-------
| 139| 151| 163| 175| 187| 199| 200| 212| 224| 115| 127| = 1892
+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-------
| 174| 186| 198| 210| 211| 223| 114| 126| 138| 150| 162| = 1892
+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-------
| 209| 221| 222| 113| 125| 137| 149| 161| 173| 185| 197| = 1892
+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+
1892 1892 1892 1892 1892 1892 1892 1892 1892 1892 1892
]

VI.

CONCENTRIC MAGIC SQUARES.

The acuteness of the mathematicians has also discovered magic squares
which possess the peculiar property that if one row after another be
taken away from each side, the smaller inner squares remaining will
still be magical squares, that is to say, all their rows when added
will give the same sum. It will be sufficient to give two examples here
of such squares, (the laws for their construction being somewhat more
complicated,) of which the first has 7 times 7 and the second 8 times 8
places. The numbers within each of the dark-bordered frames form with
respect to the centre smaller squares which in their own turn are magical.

[Illustration: Fig. 25.

+--+---+---+--+--+---+---+
| 4| 5| 6 |43|39| 38| 40|
+--++================++--+
|49||15| 16|33|30| 31|| 1|
+--||--++========++--||--+
|48||37||22|27|26||13|| 2|
+--||--||--+--+--||--||--+
|47||36||29|25|21||14|| 3|
+--||--||--+--+--||--||--+
| 8||18||24|23|28||32||42|
+--||--++========++--||--+
| 9||19| 34|17|20| 35||41|
+--++================++--+
|10| 45| 44| 7|11| 12| 46|
+--+---+---+--+--+---+---+
]

[Illustration: Fig. 26.

+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
| 1 | 56| 55| 11| 53| 13| 14| 57|
+---++=====================++---+
| 63||15| 47| 22| 42| 24|45|| 2 |
+---||--+==============++--||---+
| 62||49||25| 40| 34|31||16|| 3 |
+---||--||--+---+---+--||--||---+
| 4 ||48||28| 37| 35|30||17|| 61|
+---||--||--+---+---+--||--||---+
| 5 ||44||39| 26| 32|33||21|| 60|
+---||--||--+---+---+--||--||---+
| 59||19||38| 27| 29|36||46|| 6 |
+---||--++=============++--||---+
| 58||20| 18| 43| 23| 41|50|| 7 |
+---++=====================++---+
| 8 | 9 | 10| 54| 12| 52| 51| 64|
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+
]

In the first of these two squares the internal square of 3 times 3 places
contains the numbers from 21 to 29 in such a manner that each row gives
when added the sum of 75. This square lies within a larger one of 5 times
5 spaces, which contains the numbers from 13 to 37 in such a manner that
each row gives the sum of 125. Finally, this last square forms part of
a square of 7 times 7 places which contains the numbers from 1 to 49 so
that each row gives the sum of 175.

In the second square the inner central square of 4 times 4 places
contains the numbers from 25 to 40 in such a manner that each row gives
the sum of 130. This square is the middle of a square of 6 times 6 places
which so contains the numbers from 15 to 50 that each row gives the sum
165. Finally, this last square is again the middle of an ordinary magic
square composed of the numbers from 1 to 64.

VII.

MAGICAL SQUARES WITH MAGICAL PARTS.

If we divide a square of 8 times 8 places by means of the two middle
lines parallel to its sides into 4 parts containing each 4 times 4
spaces, we may propound the problem of so inserting the numbers from 1
to 64 in these spaces that not only the whole shall form a magic square,
but also that each of the 4 parts individually shall be magical, that
is to say, give the same sum for each row. This problem also has been
successfully solved, as the following diagram will show.

[Illustration: Fig. 27.

+--+--+--+--++--+--+--+--+
| 1| 4|63|62|| 5| 8|59|58|
+--+--+--+--++--+--+--+--+
|64|61| 2| 3||60|57| 6| 7|
+--+--+--+--++--+--+--+--+
|42|43|24|21||34|35|32|29|
+--+--+--+--++--+--+--+--+
|23|22|41|44||31|30|33|36|
+===========++===========+
|13|16|51|50|| 9|12|55|54|
+--+--+--+--++--+--+--+--+
|52|49|14|15||56|53|10|11|
+--+--+--+--++--+--+--+--+
|38|39|28|25||46|47|20|17|
+--+--+--+--++--+--+--+--+
|27|26|37|40||19|18|45|48|
+--+--+--+--++--+--+--+--+
]

The 4 numbers in each row of any one of the sub-squares here, gives 130;
so that the sum of each one of the rows of the large square will be 260.

Finally, in further illustration of this idea, we will submit to the
consideration of our readers a very remarkable square of the numbers from
1 to 81. This square, which will be found on the following page (Fig.
28), is divided by parallel lines into 9 parts, of which each contains 9
consecutive numbers that severally make up a magic square by themselves.

[Illustration: Fig. 28.

+---+---+---++---+---+---++---+---+---+
| 31| 36| 29|| 76| 81| 74|| 13| 18| 11|
+---+---+---++---+---+---++---+---+---+
| 30| 32| 34|| 75| 77| 79|| 12| 14| 16|
+---+---+---++---+---+---++---+---+---+
| 35| 28| 33|| 80| 73| 78|| 17| 10| 15|
+===========++===========++===========+
| 22| 27| 20|| 40| 45| 38|| 58| 63| 56|
+---+---+---++---+---+---++---+---+---+
| 21| 23| 25|| 39| 41| 43|| 57| 59| 61|
+---+---+---++---+---+---++---+---+---+
| 26| 19| 24|| 44| 37| 42|| 62| 55| 60|
+===========++===========++===========+
| 67| 72| 65|| 4 | 9 | 2 || 49| 54| 47|
+---+---+---++---+---+---++---+---+---+
| 66| 68| 70|| 3 | 5 | 7 || 48| 50| 52|
+---+---+---++---+---+---++---+---+---+
| 71| 64| 69|| 8 | 1 | 6 || 53| 46| 51|
+---+---+---++---+---+---++---+---+---+
]

Wonderful as the properties of this square may appear, the law by which
the author constructed it is equally simple. We have simply to regard the
9 parts as the 9 cells of a magic square of the numbers from I to IX and
then to inscribe by the magic prescript in the square designated as I the
numbers from 1 to 9, in the square designated as II the numbers from 10
to 18, and so on. In this way the square above given is obtained from the
following base-square:

[Illustration: Fig. 29.

+----+----+----+
| IV | IX | II |
+----+----+----+
| III| V | VII|
+----+----+----+
|VIII| I | VI |
+----+----+----+
]

VIII.

MAGIC SQUARES THAT INVOLVE THE MOVE OF THE CHESS-KNIGHT.

What one of our readers does not know the problems contained in the
recreation columns of our magazines, the requirements of which are to
compose into a verse 8 times 8 quadratically arranged syllables, of
which every two successive syllables stand on spots so situated with
respect to each other that a chess-knight can move from the one to the
other? If we replace in such an arrangement the 64 successive syllables
by the 64 numbers from 1 to 64, we shall obtain a knight-problem made
up of numbers. Methods also exist indeed for the construction of
such dispositions of numbers, which then form the foundation of the
construction of the problems in the newspapers. But the majority of
knight-problems of this class are the outcome of experiment rather than
the product of methodical creation. If however it is a severe test of
patience to form a knight-problem by experiment, it stands to reason that
it is a still severer trial to effect at the same time the additional
result that the 64 numbers which form the knight-problem shall also form
a magic square.

This trial of endurance was undertaken several decades ago, by a
pensioned Moravian officer named Wenzelides, who was spending the last
days of his life in the country. After a series of trials which lasted
years he finally succeeded in so inscribing in the 64 squares of the
chess-board the numbers from 1 to 64 that successive numbers, as well
also as the numbers 64 and 1, were always removed from one another in
distance and direction by the move of a knight, and that in addition
thereto the summation of the horizontal and the vertical rows always
gave the same sum 260. Ultimately he discovered several squares of this
description, which were published in the _Berlin Chess Journal_. One of
these is here appended:

[Illustration: Fig. 30.

+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|47|10|23|64|49| 2|59| 6|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|22|63|48| 9|60| 5|50| 3|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|11|46|61|24| 1|52| 7|58|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|62|21|12|45| 8|57| 4|51|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|19|36|25|40|13|44|53|30|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|26|39|20|33|56|29|14|43|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|35|18|37|28|41|16|31|54|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|38|27|34|17|32|55|42|15|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
]

The move of the knight and the equality of the summation of the
horizontal and vertical rows, therefore, are the facts to be noted here.
The diagonal rows do _not_ give the sum 260. Perhaps some one among our
readers who possesses the time and patience will be tempted to outdo
Wenzelides, and to devise a numeral knight-problem of this kind which
will give 260 not only in the horizontal and vertical but also in the two
diagonal rows.

IX.

MAGICAL POLYGONS.

So far we have only considered such extensions of the idea underlying
the construction of the magic square in which the figure of the square
was retained. We may however contrive extensions of the idea in which
instead of a square, a rectangle, a triangle, or a pentagon, and the
like, appear. Without entering into the consideration of the methods for
the construction of such figures, we will give here of magical polygons
simply a few examples, all supplied by Professor Scheffler:

1) The numbers from 1 to 32 admit of being written in a rectangle of 4 ×
8 in such a manner that the long horizontal rows give the sum of 132 and
the short vertical rows the sum of 66; thus:

[Illustration: Fig. 31.

+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 1|10|11|29|28|19|18|16|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
| 9| 2|30|12|20|27| 7|25|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|24|31| 3|21|13| 6|26| 8|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
|32|23|22| 4| 5|14|15|17|
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+
]

2) The numbers from 1 to 27 admit of being so arranged in three regular
triangles about a point which forms a common centre, that each side of
the outermost triangle will present 6 numbers of the total summation 96
and each side of the middle triangle 4 numbers whose sum is 61; as the
following figure shows:

[Illustration: Fig. 32.

26 3 6 10 24 27
20 9 11 21
18 2
16 17
15 8
22 5
12
7 13
4 23
19
1 14

25
]

3) The numbers from 1 to 80 admit of being formed about a point as common
centre into 4 pentagons, such that each side of the first pentagon from
within contains two numbers, each side of the second pentagon four
numbers, each of the third six numbers, and each side of the fourth,
outermost pentagon eight numbers. The sum of the numbers of each side of
the second pentagon is 122, the sum of those of each side of the third
pentagon is 248, and that of those of each side of the fourth pentagon
254. Furthermore, the sum of any four corner numbers lying in the same
straight line with the centre, is also the same; namely, 92.

[Illustration: Fig. 33.

1
26 54
31 49
10 15 80
76 36 44 9
50 70 72 32
55 71 16 66 27
5 45 25 65 37 2
11 61 60 24 14
30 20 17 53
40 56 59 43
35 21 64 48
69 57 58 73
6 79
77 75 62 23 67 8
46 41 19 22 63 18 38 33
51 12 39 68 74 42 13 28
4 29 34 7 78 47 52 3
]

4) The numbers from 1 to 73 admit of being arranged about a centre,
in which the number 37 is written, into three hexagons which contain
respectively 3, 5, and 7 numbers in each side and possess the following
pretty properties. Each hexagon always gives the same sum, not only when
the summation is made along its six sides, but also when it is made along
the six diameters that join its corners and along the six that are
constructed at right angles to its sides; this sum, for the first hexagon
from within, is 111, for the second 185, and for the third 259.

[Illustration: Fig. 34.

1 5 6 70 60 59 58
63 8
62 19 53 46 22 45 9
61 20 24 64
2 48 31 42 38 49 57
3 47 39 40 44 56
67 51 41 37 33 23 7
66 50 34 35 54 11
65 25 36 32 43 26 12
10 30 27 13
17 29 21 28 52 55 72
18 71
16 69 68 4 14 15 73
]

MAGIC CUBES.

Several inquirers, particularly Kochansky (1686), Sauveur (1710), Hugel
(1859), and Scheffler (1882), have extended the principle of the magic
squares of the plane to three-dimensioned space. Imagine a cube divided
by planes parallel to its sides and equidistant from one another,
into cubical compartments. The problem is then, so to insert in these
compartments the successive natural numbers that every row from the right
to the left, every row from the front to the back, every row from the top
to the bottom, every diagonal of a square, and every principal diagonal
passing through the centre of the cube shall contain numbers whose sum is
always the same. For 3 times 3 times 3 compartments, a magic cube of this
description is not constructible. For 4 times, 4 times 4 compartments a
cube is constructible such that any row parallel to an edge of the cube
and every principal diagonal give the sum of 130. To obtain a magic cube
of 64 compartments, imagine the numbers which belong in the compartments
written on the upper surface of the same and the numbers then taken
off in layers of 16 from the top downwards. We obtain thus 4 squares of
16 cells each, which together make up the magic cube; as the following
diagrams will show:

[Illustration:

First Layer Second Layer Third Layer Fourth Layer
from the Top. from the Top. from the Top. from the Top.
+--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+
| 1|48|32|49| |63|18|34|15| |62|19|35|14| | 4|45|29|52|
+--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+
|60|21|37|12| | 6|43|27|54| | 7|42|26|55| |57|24|40| 9|
+--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+
|56|25|41| 8| |10|39|23|58| |11|38|22|29| |53|28|44| 5|
+--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+
|13|36|20|61| |51|30|46| 3| |50|31|47| 2| |16|33|17|64|
+--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+ +--+--+--+--+
]

The same sum 130 here comes out not less than 52 times; viz. in the first
place from the 16 rows from left to right, secondly from the 16 rows from
the front to the back, thirdly from the 16 rows counting from the top
to the bottom, and lastly from the 4 rows which join each two opposite
corners of the cube, namely from the rows: 1, 43, 22, 64; 49, 27, 38, 16;
13, 39, 26, 52; 61, 23, 42, 4.

For a cube with 5 compartments in each edge the arrangement of the
figures can so be made that all the 75 rows parallel to any and every
edge, all the 30 rows lying in any diagonal of a square, and all the
4 rows forming any principal diagonal shall have one and the same
summation, 315.

Just as the magic squares of an odd number of cells could be formed with
the aid of _two_ auxiliary squares, so also odd-numbered magic cubes can
be constructed with the help of _three_ auxiliary cubes.

[Illustration:

First Layer from Top. Second Layer from Top. Third Layer from Top.
+---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+
|121| 27| 83| 14| 70| | 2 | 58|114| 45| 96| | 33| 89| 20| 71|102|
+---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+
| 10| 61|117| 48| 79| | 36| 92| 23| 54|110| | 67|123| 29| 85| 11|
+---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+
| 44|100| 1 | 57|113| | 75|101| 32| 88| 19| | 76| 7 | 63|119| 50|
+---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+
| 53|109| 40| 91| 22| | 84| 15| 66|122| 28| |115| 41| 97| 3 | 59|
+---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+
| 87| 18| 74|105| 31| |118| 49| 80| 6 | 62| | 24| 55|106| 37| 93|
+---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+

Fourth Layer from Top. Lowest Layer.
+---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+
| 64|120| 46| 77| 8 | | 95| 21| 52|108| 39|
+---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+
| 98| 4 | 60|111| 42| |104| 35| 86| 17| 73|
+---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+
|107| 38| 94| 25| 51| | 13| 69|125| 26| 82|
+---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+
| 16| 72|103| 34| 90| | 47| 78| 9 | 65|116|
+---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+
| 30| 81| 12| 68|124| | 56|112| 43| 99| 5 |
+---+---+---+---+---+ +---+---+---+---+---+
]

In this manner the preceding magic cube of 5 times 5 times 5 compartments
is formed, in which, it may be additionally noticed, the middle number
between 1 and 125, namely 63, is placed in the central compartment; by
which arrangement the attainment of the sum of 315 is assured in the four
principal diagonals and the 30 sub-diagonals. The condition attained in
the magic squares, that the diagonal-pairs parallel to the sub-diagonals
also shall give the sum 315 is not attainable in this case but is so in
the case of higher numbers of compartments.

CONCLUSION.

Musing on such problems as are the magic squares is fascinating to
thinkers of a mathematical turn of mind. We take delight in discovering
a harmony that abides as an intrinsic quality in the forms of our
thought. The problems of the magic squares are playful puzzles, invented
as it seems for mere pastime and sport. But there is a deeper problem
underlying all these little riddles, and this deeper problem is of a
sweeping significance. It is the philosophical problem of the world-order.

The formal sciences are creations of the mind. We build the sciences of
mathematics, geometry, and algebra with our conception of pure forms
which are abstract ideas. And the same order that prevails in these
mental constructions permeates the universe, so that an old philosopher,
overwhelmed with the grandeur of law, imagined he heard its rhythm in a
cosmic harmony of the spheres.

H. SCHUBERT.

FOOTNOTES:

[68] The term melancholy meant in Dürer’s time, as it did also in
Shakespeare’s and Milton’s, “thought or thoughtfulness.” Says Milton in
_Il Penseroso_:

“Hail, thou Goddess, sage and holy,
Hail divinest melancholy
Whose saintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human sight,
And therefore to our weaker view
O’erlaid with black, staid Wisdom’s hue.”—I, 12.

Thought that does not lead to action produces a gloomy state of mind.
Thoughtfulness which cannot find a way out of itself is that melancholy
which engenders weakness,—a truth which is illustrated in Hamlet.
Shakespeare still uses the words thought and melancholy as synonyms,
saying:

“The native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought.”

Dürer’s melancholy does not represent the gloominess of thought, but the
power of invention. Soberness and even a certain sadness are considered
only as an element of this melancholy, but on the whole the genius of
thought appears bright, self-possessed, and strong.

Dürer represents the Science of Mechanical Invention as a winged female
figure musing over some problem. Scattered on the floor around her lie
some of the simple tools used in the sixteenth century. A ladder leans
against the house, that assists in climbing otherwise inaccessible
heights. A scale, an hour-glass, a bell, and the magic square are hanging
on the wall behind her.

At a distance a bat-like creature, being the gloom of melancholy, hovers
in the air like a dark cloud, but the sun rises above the horizon, and at
the happy middle between these two extremes stands the rainbow of serene
hope and cheerful confidence.

MR. SPENCER ON THE ETHICS OF KANT.

Mr. Herbert Spencer published in the _Fortnightly Review_ for July 1888
and in the _Popular Science Monthly_ for August of the same year an
article on “The Ethics of Kant” in which he so strangely misrepresents
Kant’s position that Kant to any uninitiated reader must appear not only
as superficial and shallow, but even as palpably nonsensical.

Mr. Spencer’s article on “The Ethics of Kant” is a severe criticism
mainly of the nonsensical idea, erroneously imputed to Kant, of a will
that has no end. At the same time Mr. Spencer reproaches Kant with
assuming the simplicity of conscience and believing in a non-evolutionary
origin of the minds of living beings.

In reply to Mr. Spencer an editorial article appeared in _The Open
Court_ under the caption “Herbert Spencer on the Ethics of Kant” (Nos.
51 and 52), which was supplemented by another article entitled “Kant on
Evolution” (No. 158), the latter being elicited by a renewed attack of
Mr. Spencer upon Kant’s views (which appeared in _Mind_, No. LIX, p. 313).

Mr. Spencer has republished his article “The Ethics of Kant” together
with many other older articles in a work of three volumes entitled
“Essays Scientific, Political, and Speculative,” 1891, in which he
repeats the following sentence:

“Thus the basis of the argument by which Kant attempts to
justify his assumption that there exists a good will apart from
a good end, disappears utterly; and leaves his dogma in all its
naked unthinkableness.”

To this sentence he adds the following foot-note as a reply to my
criticisms:

“I find that in the above three paragraphs I have done Kant
less than justice and more than justice—less, in assuming
that his evolutionary view was limited to the genesis of
our sidereal system, and more, in assuming that he had not
contradicted himself. My knowledge of Kant’s writings is
extremely limited. In 1844 a translation of his ‘Critique of
Pure Reason’ (then I think lately published) fell into my
hands, and I read the first few pages enunciating his doctrine
of Time and Space: my peremptory rejection of which caused
me to lay the book down. Twice since then the same thing has
happened; for, being an impatient reader, when I disagree with
the cardinal propositions of a work I can go no further. One
other thing I knew. By indirect references I was made aware
that Kant had propounded the idea that celestial bodies have
been formed by the aggregation of diffused matter. Beyond
this my knowledge of his conceptions did not extend; and my
supposition that his evolutionary conception had stopped
short with the genesis of sun, stars, and planets, was due
to the fact that his doctrine of Time and Space, as forms of
thought anteceding experience, implied a supernatural origin
inconsistent with the hypothesis of natural genesis. Dr. Paul
Carus, who, shortly after the publication of this article
in the _Fortnightly Review_ for July, 1888, undertook to
defend the Kantian ethics in the American journal which he
edits, _The Open Court_, has now (Sept. 4, 1890), in another
defensive article, translated sundry passages from Kant’s
‘Critique of Judgment,’ his ‘Presumable Origin of Humanity,’
and his work ‘Upon the different Races of Mankind,’ showing
that Kant was, if not fully, yet partially, an evolutionist in
his speculations about living beings. There is, perhaps, some
reason for doubting the correctness of Dr. Carus’s rendering
of these passages into English. When, as in the first of
the articles just named, he failed to distinguish between
consciousness and conscientiousness, and when, as in this
last article, he blames the English for mistranslating Kant,
since they have said ‘Kant maintained that Space and Time are
intuitions,’ which is quite untrue, for they have everywhere
described him as maintaining that Space and Time are _forms_
of intuition, one may be excused for thinking that possibly
Dr. Carus has read into some of Kant’s expressions, meanings
which they do not rightly bear. Still, the general drift of
the passages quoted makes it tolerably clear that Kant must
have believed in the operation of natural causes as largely,
though not entirely, instrumental in producing organic forms:
extending this belief (which he says ‘can be named a daring
venture of reason’) in some measure to the origin of Man
himself. He does not, however extend the theory of natural
genesis to the exclusion of the theory of supernatural genesis.
When he speaks of an organic habit ‘which in the wisdom of
nature appears to be thus arranged in order that the species
shall be preserved’; and when, further, he says ‘we see,
moreover, that a germ of reason is placed in him, whereby,
after the development of the same, he is destined for social
intercourse,’ he implies divine intervention. And this shows
that I was justified in ascribing to him the belief that Space
and Time, as forms of thought, are supernatural endowments. Had
he conceived of organic evolution in a consistent manner, he
would necessarily have regarded Space and Time as subjective
forms generated by converse with objective realities.

“Beyond showing that Kant had a partial, if not a complete,
belief in organic evolution (though with no idea of its
causes), the passages translated by Dr. Carus show that he
entertained an implied belief which it here specially concerns
me to notice as bearing on his theory of ‘a good will.’ He
quotes approvingly Dr. Moscati’s lecture showing ‘that the
upright walk of man is constrained and unnatural,’ and showing
the imperfect visceral arrangements and consequent diseases
which result: not only adopting, but further illustrating,
Dr. Moscati’s argument. If here, then, there is a distinct
admission, or rather assertion, that various human organs are
imperfectly adjusted to their functions, what becomes of the
postulate above quoted ‘that no organ for any purpose will be
found in it but what is also the fittest and best adapted for
that purpose’? And what becomes of the argument which sets out
with this postulate? Clearly, I am indebted to Dr. Carus for
enabling me to prove that Kant’s defence of his theory of ‘a
good will’ is, by his own showing, baseless.”

Mr. Spencer’s reply to my criticisms is surprising in more than one
respect.

First, without even mentioning the objections I make he discredits my
arguments by throwing doubt upon the correctness of the translations of
the quoted passages.

Secondly, he alleges, with a view of justifying his doubt, that in the
first of my articles I “failed to distinguish between consciousness and
conscientiousness.”[69]

Thirdly, Mr. Spencer declares that I had “read into some of Kant’s
expressions, meanings which they do not rightly bear.”

Fourthly, Mr. Spencer bases this opinion upon a double mistake: he blames
me for not distinguishing between the Kantian phrases that “Space and
Time are intuitions” and that they are “forms of intuition.”

Fifthly, acknowledging after all that Kant had at least “a partial belief
in organic evolution,” Mr. Spencer accuses him of inconsistency.

Sixthly, several statements concerning Kant’s views are made not because
Kant held them but because Mr. Spencer assumes for trivial reasons that
he is “justified in ascribing them to him.”

Seventhly, these statements so vigorously set forth are accompanied by
Mr. Spencer’s remarkably frank confession of unfamiliarity with the
subject under discussion.

It may be added that Mr. Spencer calls my criticisms “defensive
articles.” He says that “I undertook to defend the Kantian ethics”;
while, in fact, my articles are aggressive. Kant needs no defense for
being misunderstood, and it would not be my business to defend him, for
I am not a Kantian in the sense that I adopt any of the main doctrines
of Kant. On the contrary I dissent from him on almost all fundamental
questions. In ethics I object to Kant’s views in so far as they can be
considered as pure formalism.[70] I am a Kantian only in the sense that
I respect Kant as one of the most eminent philosophers, that I revere
him as that teacher of mine whose influence upon me was greatest, and
I consider the study of Kant’s works as an indispensable requisite for
understanding the problems of the philosophy of our time. Far from
defending Kant’s position, I only undertook to inform Mr. Spencer of what
Kant had really maintained, so that instead of denouncing absurdities
which Kant had never thought of, he might criticise the real Kant.

* * * * *

I shall now take up the details of Mr. Spencer’s reply:

I am sorry to see that Mr. Spencer, instead of frankly acknowledging
his errors, has taken refuge in discrediting the translations, which
might very easily have been examined either by himself or by friends of
his; especially as the German original of the most important passages,
wherever any doubt might arise, and also of those expressions on the
misconception of which Mr. Spencer bases his unfavorable opinion of Kant,
were added in foot-notes.

II.

But Mr. Spencer adduces, as if it were a fact, an instance of my grave
mistakes. He says that I failed to distinguish between “consciousness”
and “conscientiousness.” Mr. Spencer makes much of a small matter, which,
if it were as he assumes, would have to be considered as a misprint.

Mr. Spencer’s statement is so positive that it must make on any reader
the impression of being indubitably true. However, in the whole first
article of mine, and indeed in both articles, “conscientiousness”
is nowhere mentioned and it would be wrong to replace the word
“consciousness” in any of the passages in which it occurs by
“conscientiousness.”

I should be glad if Mr. Spencer would kindly point out to me the
passage which he had in mind when making his statement, for since there
is not even so much as an occasion for confounding consciousness and
conscientiousness, I stand here before a psychological problem. Mr.
Spencer’s statement is a perfect riddle to me. Either I have a negative
hallucination, as psychologists call it, so that I do not see what is
really there, or Mr. Spencer must have had a positive hallucination. That
which Mr. Spencer has read into my article, was never written and it is
not there. The alleged fact to which he refers, does not exist.

This kind of erroneous reference into which Mr. Spencer has inadvertently
fallen is a very grievous mistake. It appears more serious than a simple
slip of the pen, when we consider that Mr. Spencer uses the statement for
the purpose of incrimination. He justifies upon this exceedingly slender
basis his doubt concerning the correctness of the translations of the
quoted passages, and Mr. Spencer’s doubt concerning the correctness of
these translations is his main argument for rejecting my criticisms _in
toto_.

It is not impossible, indeed it is probable, that Mr. Spencer meant
“conscience” instead of “conscientiousness.” There is one passage in
which a superficial reader might have expected “conscience” in place of
“consciousness.” However that does not occur in any of the translations,
but in a paragraph where I speak on my own account. This passage appears
in the appended reprint on page 23, line 14. Whatever anybody might have
expected in that passage, I certainly intended to say “consciousness,”
and only a hasty reader, only he who might merely read the first line of
the paragraph, would consider the word “consciousness” a mistake.

To avoid any equivocation, however, even to hasty readers, and to guard
against a misconstruction such as Mr. Spencer possibly has given to the
sentence, I propose to alter the passage by adding a few words as follows:

“It is quite true that _not only conscience, but_ every state
of consciousness is a feeling,” etc.

The italicised words are inserted, simply to show that here I mean
“consciousness,” and _not_ “conscience.” For the rest, they do not alter
in the least the sense of the sentence. In this passage as throughout the
whole article the terms “consciousness,” and “conscience” have been used
properly.

* * * * *

Observing that Mr. Spencer appears to have committed the same mistake for
which he erroneously blames me, I do not mean to say that he “failed to
distinguish between” conscientiousness and conscience. I should rather
regard it as trifling on my part if I drew this inference from what is
either a slip of the pen or an oversight in proof-reading. But it strikes
me that that knavish rogue among the fairies whom Shakespeare calls Puck
and scientists define as chance or coincidence played in a fit of anger
and perhaps from a sentiment of pardonable irony a humorous trick upon
Mr. Spencer. The moral of it is that when an author censures his fellow
authors with undue severity for things that might be mere misprints, he
should keep a close eye on his own printer’s devil.

III.

Mr. Spencer discredits my knowledge of Kant. He says of me:

“One may be excused for thinking that possibly Dr. Carus has
read into some of Kant’s expressions, meanings which they do
not rightly bear.”

I did not give Mr. Spencer any occasion for making this personal
reflection. I do not boast of any extraordinary familiarity with Kant’s
writings. There are innumerable German and also English and American
scholars and philosophers who know Kant almost by heart. But the question
at issue is not what I conceive Kant’s ideas to be, but what Kant has
really said, and I was very careful in letting Kant speak for himself.

My criticism of Mr. Spencer’s conception of Kant consisted almost
exclusively in collating and contrasting Mr. Spencer’s views of Kant with
quotations from Kant’s works. How can I read anything into some of Kant’s
expressions, if I present translations of the expressions themselves,
adding thereto in foot-notes the original whenever doubts could arise?
And the general drift of the quotations alone suffices to overthrow Mr.
Spencer’s conception of Kant.

The truth is that Mr. Spencer committed the mistake himself, for which
he censures me unjustly. “Mr. Spencer has read into some of Kant’s
expressions meanings which they do not rightly bear.”

IV.

But Mr. Spencer adduces a fact, which, if it were as Mr. Spencer
represents it, would show an inability on my part of making important
distinctions. He says of me:

“He blames the English for mistranslating Kant, since they have
said ‘Kant maintained that Space and Time are intuitions,’
which is quite untrue, for they have everywhere described him
as maintaining that Space and Time are _forms_ of intuition.”

This is a double mistake: (1) Kant and his translators did not make
the distinction of which Mr. Spencer speaks, and (2) the quotation Mr.
Spencer makes from my article is represented to mean something different
from what it actually means in the context.

Before I speak for myself as to what I actually said, let us state the
facts concerning Kant’s usage of the terms “intuitions” and “forms of
intuition.”

Kant defines in § 1 of his “Critique of Pure Reason” what he understands
by “Transcendental Æsthetic.” He distinguishes between “empirical
intuition” (_empirische Anschauung_) and “pure intuition” (_reine
Anschauung_). He says:

“That sort of intuition which relates to an object by means of
sensation, is called an empirical intuition.”

Representations contain besides that which belongs to sensation some
other elements. Kant says:

“That which effects that the content of the phenomenon can be
arranged under certain relations, I call its _form_.”

And later on he continues:

“This pure form of sensibility I shall call pure intuition.”

These are Kant’s phrases in J. M. D. Meiklejohn’s well known translation.
The term “pure intuition” is repeated again and again, and we find
frequently added by way of explanation the phrases “as a mere form
of sensibility,” “the mere form of phenomena,” “forms of sensuous
intuition,” and also (as Mr. Spencer emphasises as the only correct way)
“forms of intuition.”

Kant says:

1) “_Diese reine Form der Sinnlichkeit wird auch selber reine
Anschauung heissen._ § 1.

2) “_Zweitens worden wir von dieser (der empirischen
Anschauung) noch alles abtrennen, damit nichts als reine
Anschauung und die blosse Form der Erscheinungen übrig bleibe._
§ 1.

3) “_Raum ... muss ursprünglich Anschauung sein._ § 3.

4) “_Der Raum ist nichts anderes als nur die Form aller
Erscheinungen äusserer Sinne._ § 3.

5) “_Der Raum aber betrifft nur die reine Form der Anschauung._
(This passage appears in the first edition only, the paragraph
containing it is omitted in the second edition.) § 3.

6) “_Die Zeit ist ... eine reine Form der sinnlichen
Anschauung...._ § 4.

7) “_Es muss ihr[71] unmittelbare Anschauung zum Grunde
liegen._ § 4.

8) “_Die Zeit ist nichts anderes als die Form des inneren
Sinnes._ § 6.

9) “_... dass die Vorstellung der Zeit selbst Anschauung sei._
§ 6.

10) “_Wir haben nun ... reine Anschauung a priori, Raum und
Zeit._ § 10. _Beschluss der transcendentalen Æsthetik._”

These quotations do not pretend to be exhaustive, nor is that necessary
for the present purpose.

Kant, as we learn from these quotations, makes no distinction between
_reine Anschauung_ and _Form der Anschauung_. He uses most frequently the
term _reine Anschauung_ and designates in several places Space and Time
simply as _Anschauung_. (See the quotations 3, 7, and 9.) So far as I can
gather from a renewed perusal, the expression proposed by Mr. Spencer,
“form of intuition,” _Form der Anschauung_, occurs only once and that too
in a passage omitted in the second edition.

It is almost redundant to add that the English translators and
interpreters of Kant follow the original pretty closely. Accordingly it
is actually incorrect “that they have everywhere(!) described Kant as
maintaining that Space and Time are _forms_ of intuition.” In addition
to the quotations from Meiklejohn, I call Mr. Spencer’s attention to
William Flemming’s “Vocabulary of Philosophy” (4th ed., edited by Henry
Calderwood) which reads _sub voce_ “Intuition,” p. 228 with reference to
Kant’s view:

“Space and time are _intuitions_ of sense.”

To say “Time and Space are forms of intuition” is quite correct according
to Kantian terminology. No objection can be made to Mr. Spencer on that
ground. But to say “Time and Space are intuitions” is also quite correct,
and Mr. Spencer is wrong in censuring the expression.

Why does Mr. Spencer rebuke me so severely on a point which is of no
consequence? He appears confident that I have betrayed an unpardonable
misconception of Kant’s philosophy. But having pointed out by quotations
from Kant that this is not so, I shall now proceed to explain why the
quotation which Mr. Spencer makes from my article, although the eight
words in quotation marks are literally quoted, is a misquotation. It
is torn out of its context. I did not blame the English translators
of Kant at all, but I blamed his interpreters, among whom the English
interpreters (not all English interpreters, but certainly some of them)
are the worst, for “mutilating Kant’s best thoughts, so that this hero of
progress appears as a stronghold of antiquated views”; and as an instance
I called attention to the misconception of Kant’s term _Anschauung_,
saying:

“How different is Kant’s philosophy, for instance, if his
position with reference to time and space is mistaken! ‘Time
and Space are our _Anschauung_,’ Kant says. But his English
translators declare ‘Kant maintained that space and time
are intuitions.’ What a difference it makes if intuition
is interpreted in the sense applied to it by the English
intuitionalist school instead of its being taken in the
original meaning of the word _Anschauung_.”

The word “intuition” implies something mysterious; the word _Anschauung_
denotes that which is immediately perceived, simply, as it were, by
looking at it. So especially the sense-perceptions of the things before
us are _Anschauungen_.

Mr. Spencer, believing that he had caught me in making unawares a
blunder, tears the passage out of its context, ignores its purport,
makes a point of an antithesis which had nothing in the world to do
with the topic under discussion, only to throw on me the opprobrium
of incompetence. Even if Mr. Spencer’s antithesis of “intuition” and
“forms of intuition” were of any consequence (as, unfortunately for Mr.
Spencer, it is not), it would count for nothing against me because I did
not speak of “forms” in the passage referred to, I simply alluded to one
misinterpretation of the term _Anschauung_, which is quite common among
English Kantians. It was not required by the purpose I had in view, to
enter into any details as to what kind of _Anschauung_ I meant, and an
allusion to “form” or to any other subject would have served only to
confound the idea which I intended to set forth in the paragraph from
which Mr. Spencer quotes.

Misquotation of this kind, into which Mr. Spencer was inveigled by a
hasty reading, should be avoided with utmost care, for it involves an
insinuation. It leads away from the main point under discussion to side
issues, and it misrepresents the author from whom the quotation is made.
It insinuates a meaning which the passage does not bear and which was not
even thought of in the context out of which it is torn.

Mr. Spencer quotes the passage as if I had preferred the term “intuition”
to the term “form of intuition,” or at least, as if I had no idea that
Kant conceives Time and Space as “forms.” Yet Mr. Spencer in trying to
make out a point against me betrays his own lack of information. Kant
insisted most emphatically on calling the forms of our sensibility (i. e.
space and time) “_Anschauungen_.”

But Mr. Spencer’s case is worse still. While he insists upon the
statement that according to the translators of Kant space and time are
“forms of intuition,” which is at least correct, he uses twice in the
very same paragraph the expression that according to Kant “space and
time are forms of thought,” which is incorrect. The forms of thought
according to Kantian terminology are not space and time but the domain of
the transcendental logic. Anyone who confounds the two terms “forms of
intuition” and “forms of thought” proves himself unable to form a correct
opinion on Kant’s philosophy. That is just characteristic of Kant that
he regards time and space not as thought, nor as forms of thought, but
as _Anschauungen_ and in contradistinction to sense-intuitions (i. e.
sensations) he calls them _reine Anschauungen_ or _Formen der Anschauung_.

Mr. Spencer commenting upon his criticism of Kant’s idea of a Good Will,
says:

“Clearly, I am indebted to Dr. Carus for enabling me to prove
that Kant’s defence of his theory of ‘a good will’ is, by his
own showing, baseless.”

Kant’s idea of a good will has nothing to do with evolution, and we can
abstain here from discussing whether or not Kant was an evolutionist.
Whether evolution is true or not, what difference does it make to the
proposition, that a good will is the only thing which can be called good
without further qualification (_ohne Einschränkung_)? Pleasure is good,
but it is not absolutely good, there are cases in which pleasure is a
very bad thing. We must qualify our statement and limit it to special
cases. A good will, however, says Kant, is in itself good under all
circumstances.

Did Mr. Spencer prove the baselessness of Kant’s proposition by proving
evolution? Is it inconsistent to believe in evolution and at the same
time to regard a good will as absolutely good, as good without reserve or
limitation? I think not!

VI.

Mr. Spencer in admitting that “the general drift of the passages quoted
makes it tolerably clear that Kant must have believed in the operation of
natural causes ... in producing organic forms,” adds:

“He does not, however, extend the theory of natural genesis to
the exclusion of the theory of supernatural genesis.”

How does Mr. Spencer prove his statement? Does he quote a passage from
Kant which expresses his belief in supernaturalism? No, Mr. Spencer does
not quote Kant, and it would be difficult to find a passage to suit that
purpose. Mr. Spencer adduces a few unmeaning phrases gleaned at random
and torn out of their context, and from these phrases he concludes
that Kant believed in the supernatural. Kant spoke somewhere of “the
wisdom of nature” who has things so arranged that the species might be
preserved. If the wisdom of nature in preserving the species is to be
taken literally, the phrase might prove that Kant believed nature to be a
wise old woman. Kant spoke further of “the germ of reason placed in man
whereby he is destined to social intercourse.” Does the usage of the word
“destined” really “imply divine intervention,” as Mr. Spencer says? Mr.
Spencer adds:

“And this [viz. Kant’s usage of these phrases] shows that I was
justified in ascribing to him the belief that Space and Time,
as forms of thought [sic!], are supernatural endowments.”

What might we not prove by this kind of loose argumentation!

Kant did not introduce any supernatural explanations; on the contrary, he
proposed to exclude “supernatural genesis.” He says e. g. in a passage of
the “Critique of Judgment” quoted on page 41 of the appendix:

“If we assume occasionalism for the production of organised
beings, nature is thereby wholly discarded ... therefore it
cannot be supposed that this system is accepted by anyone who
has had to do with philosophy.”

And furthermore Kant rejects the partial admission of the supernatural,
saying:

“As though it were not the same to make the required forms
arise in a supernatural manner at the beginning of the world as
during its progress.”

Mr. Spencer charges Kant with inconsistency. We do not intend to say that
Kant was in all the phases of his development consistent with himself.
But we do say that the charge of Mr. Spencer against Kant consists in
this: the real Kant has said things which are incompatible with Mr.
Spencer’s view of Kant.

This settles the sixth point.

VII.

Mr. Spencer’s reply to my criticism is a very strange piece of
controversy and I have actually been at a loss, how to account for it.

The situation can be explained only by assuming that Mr. Spencer,
being an impatient reader, when finding out that he disagreed with my
propositions, could go no further and wrote his reply to me without
having read my articles. This is very hard on a critic who, carefully
avoiding everything that might look like fault-finding, is painstakingly
careful in giving to the author criticised every means of investigating
the truth himself and helps him in a friendly way to correct his errors.

There is only one consolation for me, which is, that I am in good
company. The great thinker of Koenigsberg is very severely censured in
almost all of Mr. Spencer’s writings for ideas which he never held. And
now Mr. Spencer confesses openly and with ingenuous sincerity, that his
knowledge of Kant’s writings is extremely limited. But why he condemns a
man of whom he knows so little Mr. Spencer does not tell us.

Mr. Spencer says:

“My knowledge of Kant’s writings is extremely limited. In 1844
a translation of his “Critique of Pure Reason” (then I think
lately published) fell into my hands, and I read the first few
pages enunciating his doctrine of Time and Space: my peremptory
rejection of which caused me to lay the book down.

“Twice since then the same thing has happened; for, being
an impatient reader, when I disagree with the cardinal
propositions of a work I can go no further.

“One other thing I knew. By indirect references I was made
aware that Kant had propounded the idea that celestial bodies
have been formed by the aggregation of diffused matter. Beyond
this my knowledge of his conceptions did not extend; and my
supposition that his evolutionary conception had stopped short
with the genesis of sun, stars, and planets was due to the
fact that his doctrine of Time and Space, as forms of thought
[sic] anteceding experience, implied a supernatural origin
inconsistent with the hypothesis of natural genesis.”

Kant has been a leader in thought for the last century. It is very
important to criticise his ideas wherever they are wrong, but his errors
cannot be conquered by _ex cathedra_ denunciations.

Darwin’s habits in investigating and weighing the pro and con of a
question were very different from Mr. Spencer’s, and Darwin’s success is
in no small degree due to the sternness with which he adhered to certain
rules of reading and studying. We find in his “Autobiography” certain
reminiscences labeled “important” from which the following is most
instructive:

“I had also, during many years, followed a golden rule, namely,
that whenever a published fact, a new observation or a thought,
came across me, which was opposed to my general results, to
make a memorandum of it without fail, for I had found by
experience that such facts and thoughts were far more apt to
escape from the memory than favorable ones.”

Experience teaches that we can learn most from those authors with whom we
do not agree. The ethics of reading and studying demand other habits than
laying a book down when we disagree with its cardinal propositions. Such
habits prevent progress and create prejudices.

* * * * *

Mr. Spencer has not answered my criticism at all. Mr. Spencer did
not even take into consideration the passages quoted from Kant. He
republished all the false statements of Kant’s views, so inconsiderately
made, together with all the perverse opinions based upon them. The
assurance with which Mr. Spencer makes statements which have no
foundation whatever is really perplexing even to a man who is well
informed on the subject, and it will go far to convince the unwary
reader. What, however, shall become of the general tenor of philosophical
criticism and controversy if a man of Mr. Spencer’s reputation is
so indifferent about being informed concerning the exact views of
his adversary, if he is so careless in presenting them, if he makes
positively erroneous statements on confessedly mere “supposition,” and
finally, if in consequence thereof he is flagrantly unjust in censuring
errors which arise only from his own too prolific imagination?

We feel confident that Mr. Spencer will explain his side of the question
satisfactorily. His mistakes being undeniable, we do not believe that he
will seek to deny them. Yet we trust that Mr. Spencer as soon as he finds
himself at fault, will not even make an attempt at palliation, that he
will not blink the frank acknowledgment of his misstatements and also of
having treated Kant with injustice. A man who has devoted his life to the
search for truth will not suffer any blot to remain on his escutcheon.

EDITOR.

FOOTNOTES:

[69] This article “Herbert Spencer on the Ethics of Kant” was
electrotyped at the time it appeared in _The Open Court_. It is appended
to this number of _The Monist_ as documentary evidence of the fact, that
there is not even so much as an occasion in the article for confounding
“consciousness” and “conscientiousness.”

[70] See _Fundamental Problems_, pp. 197-206; and _The Ethical Problem_,
p. 32, seq., especially p. 33, lines 18-20.

[71] Second edition reads “_ihnen_” in place of “_ihr_,” viz. _der Zeit_.
The word “_ihnen_” refers to _Theilvorstellungen der Zeit_.

WHAT DOES ANSCHAUUNG MEAN?

Mr. Spencer’s erroneous statement that Kant conceives space and time as
forms of thought instead of forms of intuition induces me to make a few
explanatory remarks concerning the term _Anschauung_.

Kant means that space and time are immediately given in experience and
not inferences drawn from the data of experience; they are not thoughts,
but objects of direct perception.

Sense-impressions are data, they are prior to ideas, the latter being
constructions made out of sense-impressions. Sense-impressions are
facts, but ideas are of an inferential nature; they are (to use Lloyd
Morgan’s excellent term) constructs. Now Kant claims that space and
time are in the same predicament: they also are immediately given, they
also are _Anschauungen_. Kant did not trouble himself much to prove
that they are forms; he seems to have taken that for granted. But he
was very careful to show that they are not ideas, not thoughts, not
abstractions, not generalisations, but that they are as direct data
as are sense-impressions and he calls the knowledge which man has by
directly facing the object of knowledge “_Anschauung_.”

The conclusion which Kant draws from this may be characterised as follows:

Sensations are not things but appearances; they are subjective, not
objective, they are not the objects themselves but what our sensibility
makes of objects. Space and time being _Anschauungen_, Kant argues that
they are of the same kind as the sense-data of knowledge, that they
are inherent in our nature. Thus Kant maintains: “Sensations are the
products of our sensibility, and space and time are the forms of our
sensibility.”

The word _Anschauung_ has been a _crux interpretum_ since translations
have been made from Kant, and it is quite true that no adequate word to
express it, exists in English. I enjoyed of late a discussion on the
subject with Mr. Francis C. Russell who called my attention to several
notes in _The Journal of Speculative Philosophy_. The following is from
the pen of Dr. W. T. Harris (Vol. II, p. 191):

“Through a singular chance, the present number of the journal
contains two notes from two contributors on the proper
translation of the German word _Anschauung_. Mr. Kroeger holds
that the word _Anschauung_, as used by Fichte and also by Kant,
denotes an act of the Ego which the English word _Intuition_
does not at all express, but for which the English word
‘contemplation’ is an exact equivalent. Mr. Peirce suggests
that no person whose native tongue is English will translate
_Anschauung_ by another word than _Intuition_. Whether there
is a failure to understand English on the one hand or German
on the other, the Editor does not care to inquire. It is
certain that while intuition has been adopted generally as an
equivalent for the word under consideration both by English
and French translators, yet it was a wide departure from the
ordinary English use of the term. Besides this, we have no
English verb _intuite_ (at least in the Dictionaries), and
the reader will find that the verb used by Meiklejohn (in the
translation of Kant’s _Kritik_) for it, is _contemplate_,
and the same rendering is given by Smith in his excellent
translation of Fichte’s Popular Works (London, 1849).”

Mr. Charles S. Peirce says:

“No person whose native tongue is English will need to be
informed that contemplation is essentially (1) protracted (2)
voluntary, and (3) an action, and that it is never used for
that which is set forth to the mind in this act. A foreigner
can convince himself of this by the proper study of English
writers. Thus, Locke (Essay concerning Human Understanding,
Book II., chap. 19, § 1) says, ‘If it [an idea] be held
there [in view] long under attentive consideration, ’tis
_contemplation_”; and again, (_Ibid._, Book II., chap. 10, § 1)
‘Keeping the _Idea_, which is brought into it [the mind] for
some time actually in view, which is called _Contemplation_.’
This term is therefore unfitted to translate _Anschauung_;
for this latter does not imply an act which is necessarily
protracted or voluntary, and denotes most usually a mental
presentation, sometimes a faculty, less often the reception of
an impression in the mind, and seldom, if ever, an action.

“To the translation of _Anschauung_ by intuition, there is,
at least, no such insufferable objection. Etymologically the
two words precisely correspond. The original philosophical
meaning of intuition was a cognition of the present manifold
in that character; and it is now commonly used, as a modern
writer says, ‘to include all the products of the perceptive
(external or internal) and imaginative faculties; every act of
consciousness, in short, of which the immediate object is an
_individual_, thing, act, or state of mind, presented under the
condition of distinct existence in space and time.’ Finally, we
have the authority of Kant’s own example for translating his
_Anschauung_ by _Intuitus_; and, indeed, this is the common
usage of Germans writing Latin. Moreover, _intuitiv_ frequently
replaces _anschauend_ or _anschaulich_. If this constitutes a
misunderstanding of Kant, it is one which is shared by himself
and nearly all his countrymen” (_ibid._ p. 152 et seqq.).

Mr. Peirce adds the following explanation concerning the term intuition
in another note (_ibid._ p. 103):

“The word _intuitus_ first occurs as a technical term in St.
Anselm’s Monologium. He wished to distinguish between our
knowledge of God and our knowledge of finite things (and, in
the next world, of God, also); and thinking of the saying of
St. Paul, _Videmus nunc per speculum in œnigmate: tunc autem
facie ad faciem_, he called the former _speculation_ and the
latter _intuition_. This use of ‘speculation’ did not take
root, because that word already had another exact and widely
different meaning.

“In the middle ages, the term ‘intuitive cognition’ had two
principal senses, 1st, as opposed to abstractive cognition,
it meant the knowledge of the present as present, and this is
its meaning in Anselm; but 2d, as no intuitive cognition was
allowed to be determined by a previous cognition, it came to
be used as the opposite of discursive cognition (see Scotus,
In sentent. lib. 2, dist. 3, qu. 9), and this is nearly the
sense in which I employ it. This is also nearly the sense in
which Kant uses it, the former distinction being expressed
by his _sensuous_ and _non-sensuous_. (See Werke, herausg.
Rosenkrantz, Thl. 2, S. 713, 31, 41, 100, u. s. w.)

“An enumeration of six meanings of intuition may be found in
Hamilton’s Reid p. 759.”

If we have to choose between the two translations “intuition” and
“contemplation,” we should with Mr. Peirce decidedly prefer the
word “intuition.” The word contemplation corresponds to the German
_Betrachtung_ and all that Mr. Peirce says against it holds good. But
we must confess that the term intuition (as Mr. Peirce himself seems to
grant) is not a very good translation either. The term intuition has
other meanings which interfere with the correct meaning of _Anschauung_
and was actually productive of much confusion.

The English term intuition is strongly tinged with the same meaning that
is attached to the German word _Intuition_. It means an inexplicable
kind of direct information from some supernatural sources, which mystics
claim to possess as the means of their revelations. In this sense
Goethe characterises it satirically in Faust (Scene XIV). Mephistopheles
describes the process as follows:

A blessing drawn from supernatural fountain!
In night and dew to lie upon the mountains;
All Heaven and Earth in rapture penetrating;
Thyself to Godhood haughtily inflating;
To grub with yearning force through Earth’s dark marrow,
Compress the six days’ work within thy bosom narrow,—
To taste, I know not what, in haughty power,
Thine own ecstatic life on all things shower,
Thine earthly self behind thee cast,
And then the lofty intuition [with a gesture] at last.

The satire is good on _Intuition_ but it would not apply to _Anschauung_,
for the latter word excludes rigidly any mysticism or supernaturalism
which the former essentially involves. To employ the term “intuition” for
both ideas must necessarily weaken the meaning of _Anschauung_.

Besides we should bear in mind that the German _Anschauung_ is
vernacular and should find a correspondent Saxon word. Such Latin words
as intuition convey in English as much as in German the impression of
being terms denoting something very abstract. Vernacular terms much more
strongly indicate the immediateness and directness which is implied in
_Anschauung_. In my conversation with Mr. Russell, we tried to coin a
new word that should cover the meaning of _Anschauung_ as an act of
“atlooking” and the word “atsight” readily suggested itself.

The word “atsight” is an exact English equivalent of the German
_Anschauung_. It describes the looking at an object in its immediate
presence. At the same time the word is readily understood, while
philologically considered, its formation is fully justified by the
existence of the words “insight and foresight.”

* * * * *

One of the most important of Kant’s doctrines is the proposition that
all thought must ultimately have reference to _Anschauung_, i. e. to
atsight. Through atsight only the objects of experience can be given us.
All speculations not founded upon this bottom rock of knowledge are mere
dreams. This is the maxim of positivism and it is the basis of all sound
philosophy. Says Kant in the “Anhang” to his Prolegomena (in reply to a
critic who had misunderstood his idealism) as a summary statement of his
views:

“_Der Satz aller echten Idealisten, von der eleatischen Schule
an bis zum Bischof Berkley, ist in dieser Formel enthalten:
‘alle Erkenntnis durch Sinne und Erfahrung ist nichts als
lauter Schein, und nur in den Ideen des reinen Verstandes und
Vernunft ist Wahrheit.’_

“_Der Grundsatz, der meinen Idealismus durchgängig regiert
und bestimmt, ist dagegen: ‘Alles Erkenntnis von Dingen, aus
blossem reinen Verstande oder reiner Vernunft, ist nichts als
lauter Schein, und nur in der Erfahrung ist Wahrheit.’_”

“The doctrine of all genuine idealists from the Eleatic School
down to Bishop Berkeley is contained in this formula: All
cognition through the senses and experience is nothing but
illusion; and in the ideas of the pure understanding and reason
alone is truth.

“The principle, however, that rules and determines my idealism
throughout is this: All cognition out of pure understanding
or pure reason is nothing but mere illusion and in experience
alone is truth.”

Kant then proposes in order to avoid equivocation to call his views
“formal or critical idealism,” adding that his idealism made any other
idealism impossible. Criticism truly is the beginning of philosophy as
an objective science. It gives the _coup de grace_ to those worthless
declamations which still pass among many as philosophy. Says Kant:

“_So viel ist gewiss: wer einmal Kritik gekostet hat, den ekelt
auf immer alles dogmatische Gewäsche._”

“That much is certain: He who has once tasted critique will be
forever disgusted with all dogmatic twaddle.”

It is strange that in spite of Kant’s explicit declaration, which leaves
no doubt about the positive spirit that pervades the principles of his
philosophy, he is still misunderstood by his opponents no less than by
those who profess to be his disciples.

* * * * *

There is no occasion now to treat the subject exhaustively, but it may be
permitted to add a few remarks on Kant’s proposition that space and time
are atsights.

We must distinguish three things:

1) Objective space.

2) Space as atsight, and

3) Space-conception.

Space as atsight is the datum. It is the immediate presence of relations
among the sensory impressions. This, however, is not as yet that
something which we generally call space. That which generally goes by the
name of space is a construction built out of the relational data that
obtain in experience and we propose to call it space-conception. Our
space-conception, accordingly, (and here I include the mathematician’s
space-conception) is based upon space as atsight, but it is more
than atsight. It is an inference made therefrom, it is the product
of experience. Space-conception, however, is as are all legitimate
noumena, no mere subjective illusion, it possesses objective validity;
it describes some real existence and this real existence represented in
space-conception is what may be called objective space.

Objective space is the form of reality. Space as atsight is the form of
sensibility. Space as space-conception is a construct of an abstract
nature and serves as a description or plan of the form of reality.

The same is true of Time. Time as atsight is the relation of succession
obtaining in the changes of experience. Time as time-conception is the
noumenon constructed out of these data to represent that feature of
reality which may for lack of a better term be called objective time.

Briefly: Space and Time are not things, not essences, not entities,
but certain features of existence. They are the forms of reality. When
existence finds a representation in the feelings of a sentient being,
time and space appear as their forms, and these forms furnish the
material out of which are built the conceptions of Space and Time.

EDITOR.

THE LAW OF MIND.

In an article published in _The Monist_ for January 1891, I endeavored
to show what ideas ought to form the warp of a system of philosophy, and
particularly emphasised that of absolute chance. In the number of April
1892, I argued further in favor of that way of thinking, which it will be
convenient to christen _tychism_ (from τύχη, chance). A serious student
of philosophy will be in no haste to accept or reject this doctrine; but
he will see in it one of the chief attitudes which speculative thought
may take, feeling that it is not for an individual, nor for an age, to
pronounce upon a fundamental question of philosophy. That is a task for
a whole era to work out. I have begun by showing that _tychism_ must
give birth to an evolutionary cosmology, in which all the regularities
of nature and of mind are regarded as products of growth, and to a
Schelling-fashioned idealism which holds matter to be mere specialised
and partially deadened mind. I may mention, for the benefit of those who
are curious in studying mental biographies, that I was born and reared
in the neighborhood of Concord,—I mean in Cambridge,—at the time when
Emerson, Hedge, and their friends were disseminating the ideas that they
had caught from Schelling, and Schelling from Plotinus, from Boehm, or
from God knows what minds stricken with the monstrous mysticism of the
East. But the atmosphere of Cambridge held many an antiseptic against
Concord transcendentalism; and I am not conscious of having contracted
any of that virus. Nevertheless, it is probable that some cultured
bacilli, some benignant form of the disease was implanted in my soul,
unawares, and that now, after long incubation, it comes to the surface,
modified by mathematical conceptions and by training in physical
investigations.

The next step in the study of cosmology must be to examine the general
law of mental action. In doing this, I shall for the time drop my tychism
out of view, in order to allow a free and independent expansion to
another conception signalised in my first _Monist_-paper as one of the
most indispensable to philosophy, though it was not there dwelt upon;
I mean the idea of continuity. The tendency to regard continuity, in
the sense in which I shall define it, as an idea of prime importance in
philosophy may conveniently be termed _synechism_. The present paper
is intended chiefly to show what synechism is, and what it leads to.
I attempted, a good many years ago, to develop this doctrine in the
_Journal of Speculative Philosophy_ (Vol. III.); but I am able now
to improve upon that exposition, in which I was a little blinded by
nominalistic prepossessions. I refer to it, because students may possibly
find that some points not sufficiently explained in the present paper are
cleared up in those earlier ones.

WHAT THE LAW IS.

Logical analysis applied to mental phenomena shows that there is but
one law of mind, namely, that ideas tend to spread continuously and to
affect certain others which stand to them in a peculiar relation of
affectibility. In this spreading they lose intensity, and especially the
power of affecting others, but gain generality and become welded with
other ideas.

I set down this formula at the beginning, for convenience; and now
proceed to comment upon it.

INDIVIDUALITY OF IDEAS.

We are accustomed to speak of ideas as reproduced, as passed from mind to
mind, as similar or dissimilar to one another, and, in short, as if they
were substantial things; nor can any reasonable objection be raised to
such expressions. But taking the word “idea” in the sense of an event in
an individual consciousness, it is clear that an idea once past is gone
forever, and any supposed recurrence of it is another idea. These two
ideas are not present in the same state of consciousness, and therefore
cannot possibly be compared. To say, therefore, that they are similar
can only mean that an occult power from the depths of the soul forces
us to connect them in our thoughts after they are both no more. We may
note, here, in passing that of the two generally recognised principles of
association, contiguity and similarity, the former is a connection due to
a power without, the latter a connection due to a power within.

But what can it mean to say that ideas wholly past are thought of at
all, any longer? They are utterly unknowable. What distinct meaning can
attach to saying that an idea in the past in any way affects an idea in
the future, from which it is completely detached? A phrase between the
assertion and the denial of which there can in no case be any sensible
difference is mere gibberish.

I will not dwell further upon this point, because it is a commonplace of
philosophy.

CONTINUITY OF IDEAS.

We have here before us a question of difficulty, analogous to the
question of nominalism and realism. But when once it has been clearly
formulated, logic leaves room for one answer only. How can a past idea be
present? Can it be present vicariously? To a certain extent, perhaps; but
not merely so; for then the question would arise how the past idea can
be related to its vicarious representation. The relation, being between
ideas, can only exist in some consciousness: now that past idea was in no
consciousness but that past consciousness that alone contained it; and
that did not embrace the vicarious idea.

Some minds will here jump to the conclusion that a past idea cannot in
any sense be present. But that is hasty and illogical. How extravagant,
too, to pronounce our whole knowledge of the past to be mere delusion!
Yet it would seem that the past is as completely beyond the bonds of
possible experience as a Kantian thing-in-itself.

How can a past idea be present? Not vicariously. Then, only by direct
perception. In other words, to be present, it must be _ipso facto_
present. That is, it cannot be wholly past; it can only be going,
infinitesimally past, less past than any assignable past date. We are
thus brought to the conclusion that the present is connected with the
past by a series of real infinitesimal steps.

It has already been suggested by psychologists that consciousness
necessarily embraces an interval of time. But if a finite time be meant,
the opinion is not tenable. If the sensation that precedes the present
by half a second were still immediately before me, then, on the same
principle the sensation preceding that would be immediately present, and
so on _ad infinitum_. Now, since there is a time, say a year, at the end
of which an idea is no longer _ipso facto_ present, it follows that this
is true of any finite interval, however short.

But yet consciousness must essentially cover an interval of time; for
if it did not, we could gain no knowledge of time, and not merely no
veracious cognition of it, but no conception whatever. We are, therefore,
forced to say that we are immediately conscious through an infinitesimal
interval of time.

This is all that is requisite. For, in this infinitesimal interval,
not only is consciousness continuous in a subjective sense, that is,
considered as a subject or substance having the attribute of duration;
but also, because it is immediate consciousness, its object is _ipso
facto_ continuous. In fact, this infinitesimally spread-out consciousness
is a direct feeling of its contents as spread out. This will be further
elucidated below. In an infinitesimal interval we directly perceive the
temporal sequence of its beginning, middle, and end,—not, of course,
in the way of recognition, for recognition is only of the past, but in
the way of immediate feeling. Now upon this interval follows another,
whose beginning is the middle of the former, and whose middle is the end
of the former. Here, we have an immediate perception of the temporal
sequence of its beginning, middle, and end, or say of the second, third,
and fourth instants. From these two immediate perceptions, we gain a
mediate, or inferential, perception of the relation of all four instants.
This mediate perception is objectively, or as to the object represented,
spread over the four instants; but subjectively, or as itself the subject
of duration, it is completely embraced in the second moment. [The reader
will observe that I use the word _instant_ to mean a point of time, and
_moment_ to mean an infinitesimal duration.] If it is objected that,
upon the theory proposed, we must have more than a mediate perception
of the succession of the four instants, I grant it; for the sum of the
two infinitesimal intervals is itself infinitesimal, so that it is
immediately perceived. It is immediately perceived in the whole interval,
but only mediately perceived in the last two thirds of the interval.
Now, let there be an indefinite succession of these inferential acts of
comparative perception; and it is plain that the last moment will contain
objectively the whole series. Let there be, not merely an indefinite
succession, but a continuous flow of inference through a finite time;
and the result will be a mediate objective consciousness of the whole
time in the last moment. In this last moment, the whole series will
be recognised, or known as known before, except only the last moment,
which of course will be absolutely unrecognisable to itself. Indeed,
even this last moment will be recognised like the rest, or, at least be
just beginning to be so. There is a little _elenchus_, or appearance
of contradiction, here, which the ordinary logic of reflection quite
suffices to resolve.

INFINITY AND CONTINUITY, IN GENERAL.

Most of the mathematicians who during the last two generations have
treated the differential calculus have been of the opinion that an
infinitesimal quantity is an absurdity; although, with their habitual
caution, they have often added “or, at any rate, the conception of an
infinitesimal is so difficult, that we practically cannot reason about it
with confidence and security.” Accordingly, the doctrine of limits has
been invented to evade the difficulty, or, as some say, to explain the
signification of the word “infinitesimal.” This doctrine, in one form or
another, is taught in all the text-books, though in some of them only as
an alternative view of the matter; it answers well enough the purposes of
calculation, though even in that application it has its difficulties.

The illumination of the subject by a strict notation for the logic
of relatives had shown me clearly and evidently that the idea of an
infinitesimal involves no contradiction, before I became acquainted with
the writings of Dr. Georg Cantor (though many of these had already
appeared in the _Mathematische Annalen_ and in _Borchardt’s Journal_,
if not yet in the _Acta Mathematica_, all mathematical journals of the
first distinction), in which the same view is defended with extraordinary
genius and penetrating logic.

The prevalent opinion is that finite numbers are the only ones that we
can reason about, at least, in any ordinary mode of reasoning, or, as
some authors express it, they are the only numbers that can be reasoned
about mathematically. But this is an irrational prejudice. I long ago
showed that finite collections are distinguished from infinite ones
only by one circumstance and its consequences, namely, that to them
is applicable a peculiar and unusual mode of reasoning called by its
discoverer, DeMorgan, the “syllogism of transposed quantity.”

Balzac, in the introduction of his _Physiologie du mariage_, remarks that
every young Frenchman boasts of having seduced some Frenchwoman. Now, as
a woman can only be seduced once, and there are no more Frenchwomen than
Frenchmen, it follows, if these boasts are true, that no French women
escape seduction. If their number be finite, the reasoning holds. But
since the population is continually increasing, and the seduced are on
the average younger than the seducers, the conclusion need not be true.
In like manner, DeMorgan, as an actuary, might have argued that if an
insurance company pays to its insured on an average more than they have
ever paid it, including interest, it must lose money. But every modern
actuary would see a fallacy in that, since the business is continually
on the increase. But should war, or other cataclysm, cause the class
of insured to be a finite one, the conclusion would turn out painfully
correct, after all. The above two reasonings are examples of the
syllogism of transposed quantity.

The proposition that finite and infinite collections are distinguished by
the applicability to the former of the syllogism of transposed quantity
ought to be regarded as the basal one of scientific arithmetic.

If a person does not know how to reason logically, and I must say that
a great many fairly good mathematicians,—yea, distinguished ones,—fall
under this category, but simply uses a rule of thumb in blindly drawing
inferences like other inferences that have turned out well, he will,
of course, be continually falling into error about infinite numbers.
The truth is such people do not reason, at all. But for the few who do
reason, reasoning about infinite numbers is easier than about finite
numbers, because the complicated syllogism of transposed quantity is not
called for. For example, that the whole is greater than its part is not
an axiom, as that eminently bad reasoner, Euclid, made it to be. It is a
theorem readily proved by means of a syllogism of transposed quantity,
but not otherwise. Of finite collections it is true, of infinite
collections false. Thus, a part of the whole numbers are even numbers.
Yet the even numbers are no fewer than all the numbers; an evident
proposition since if every number in the whole series of whole numbers be
doubled, the result will be the series of even numbers.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, etc.
2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, etc.

So for every number there is a distinct even number. In fact, there are
as many distinct doubles of numbers as there are of distinct numbers. But
the doubles of numbers are all even numbers.

In truth, of infinite collections there are but two grades of magnitude,
the _endless_ and the _innumerable_. Just as a finite collection is
distinguished from an infinite one by the applicability to it of a
special mode of reasoning, the syllogism of transposed quantity, so,
as I showed in the paper last referred to, a numerable collection is
distinguished from an innumerable one by the applicability to it of
a certain mode of reasoning, the Fermatian inference, or, as it is
sometimes improperly termed, “mathematical induction.”

As an example of this reasoning, Euler’s demonstration of the binomial
theorem for integral powers may be given. The theorem is that _(x+y)ⁿ_,
where _n_ is a whole number, may be expanded into the sum of a series
of terms of which the first is _xⁿy⁰_ and each of the others is derived
from the next preceding by diminishing the exponent of _x_ by 1 and
multiplying by that exponent and at the same time increasing the exponent
of _y_ by 1 and dividing by that increased exponent. Now, suppose this
proposition to be true for a certain exponent, _n_ = _M_, then it
must also be true for _n_ = _M_ + 1. For let one of the terms in the
expansion of _(x+y)ᴹ_ be written A_xᵖy𐞥_. Then, this term with the two
following will be

=Transcriber’s Note:= Unicode has no subscript q character, so the Greek
subscript phi character ᵩ is used in these formulæ to represent it.
Italics have been removed for readability.

Axᵖy𐞥 + A(ᵖ⁄ᵩ₊₁)xᵖ⁻¹y𐞥⁺¹ + A(ᵖ⁄ᵩ₊₁)(ᵖ⁻¹⁄ᵩ₊₂)xᵖ⁻²y𐞥⁺²

Now, when _(x+y)ᴹ_ is multiplied by _x+y_ to give _(x+y)ᴹ⁺¹_, we multiply
first by _x_ and then by _y_ instead of by _x_ and add the two results.
When we multiply by _x_, the second of the above three terms will be the
only one giving a term involving _xᵖy𐞥⁺¹_ and the third will be the only
one giving a term in _xᵖ⁻¹y𐞥⁺²_; and when we multiply by _y_ the first
will be the only term giving a term in _xᵖy𐞥⁺¹_, and the second will be
the only term giving a term in _xᵖ⁻¹y𐞥⁺²_. Hence, adding like terms,
we find that the coefficient of _xᵖy𐞥⁺¹_in the expansion of _(x+y)ᴹ⁺¹_
will be the sum of the coefficients of the first two of the above three
terms, and that the coefficient of _xᵖ⁻¹y𐞥⁺²_ will be the sum of the
coefficients of the last two terms. Hence, two successive terms in the
expansion of _(x+y)ᴹ⁺¹_ will be

A[1+(ᵖ⁄ᵩ₋₁)]xᵖy𐞥⁺¹ + A(ᵖ⁄ᵩ₊₁)[1+(ᵖ⁻¹⁄ᵩ₋₂)]xᵖ⁻¹y𐞥⁺²

= A(ᵖ⁺𐞥⁺¹⁄ᵩ₊₁)xᵖy𐞥⁺¹ + A(ᵖ⁺𐞥⁺¹⁄ᵩ₊₁). (ᵖ⁄ᵩ₊₂)xᵖ⁻¹y𐞥⁺².

It is, thus, seen that the succession of terms follows the rule. Thus if
any integral power follows the rule, so also does the next higher power.
But the first power obviously follows the rule. Hence, all powers do so.

Such reasoning holds good of any collection of objects capable of being
ranged in a series which though it may be endless, can be numbered so
that each member of it receives a definite integral number. For instance,
all the whole numbers constitute such a numerable collection. Again, all
numbers resulting from operating according to any definite rule with
any finite number of whole numbers form such a collection. For they may
be arranged in a series thus. Let F be the symbol of operation. First
operate on 1, giving F(1) Then, operate on a second 1, giving F(1,1).
Next, introduce 2, giving 3rd, F(2); 4th, F(2,1); 5th, F(1,2); 6th,
F(2,2). Next use a third variable giving 7th, F(1,1,1); 8th, F(2,1,1);
9th, F(1,2,1); 10th, F(2,2,1); 11th, F(1,1,2); 12th, F(2,1,2); 13th,
F(1,2,2); 14th, F(2,2,2). Next introduce 3, and so on, alternately
introducing new variables and new figures; and in this way it is plain
that every arrangement of integral values of the variables will receive a
numbered place in the series.[72]

The class of endless but numerable collections (so called because they
can be so ranged that to each one corresponds a distinct whole number) is
very large. But there are collections which are certainly innumerable.
Such is the collection of all numbers to which endless series of
decimals are capable of approximating. It has been recognised since the
time of Euclid that certain numbers are surd or incommensurable, and
are not exactly expressible by any finite series of decimals, nor by a
circulating decimal. Such is the ratio of the circumference of a circle
to its diameter, which we know is nearly 3.1415926. The calculation of
this number has been carried to over 700 figures without the slightest
appearance of regularity in their sequence. The demonstrations that this
and many other numbers are incommensurable are perfect. That the entire
collection of incommensurable numbers is innumerable has been clearly
proved by Cantor. I omit the demonstration; but it is easy to see that to
discriminate one from some other would, in general, require the use of an
endless series of numbers. Now if they cannot be exactly expressed and
discriminated, clearly they cannot be ranged in a linear series.

It is evident that there are as many points on a line or in an interval
of time as there are of real numbers in all. These are, therefore,
innumerable collections. Many mathematicians have incautiously assumed
that the points on a surface or in a solid are more than those on a line.
But this has been refuted by Cantor. Indeed, it is obvious that for every
set of values of coördinates there is a single distinct number. Suppose,
for instance, the values of the coördinates all lie between 0 and + 1.
Then if we compose a number by putting in the first decimal place the
first figure of the first coördinate, in the second the first figure of
the second coördinate, and so on, and when the first figures are all
dealt out go on to the second figures in like manner, it is plain that
the values of the coördinates can be read off from the single resulting
number, so that a triad or tetrad of numbers, each having innumerable
values, has no more values than a single incommensurable number.

Were the number of dimensions infinite, this would fail; and the
collection of infinite sets of numbers having each innumerable
variations, might, therefore, be greater than the simple innumerable
collection, and might be called _endlessly infinite_. The single
individuals of such a collection could not, however, be designated, even
approximately, so that this is indeed a magnitude concerning which it
would be possible to reason only in the most general way, if at all.

Although there are but two grades of magnitudes of infinite collections,
yet when certain conditions are imposed upon the order in which
individuals are taken, distinctions of magnitude arise from that cause.
Thus, if a simply endless series be doubled by separating each unit into
two parts, the successive first parts and also the second parts being
taken in the same order as the units from which they are derived, this
double endless series will, so long as it is taken in that order, appear
as twice as large as the original series. In like manner the product of
two innumerable collections, that is, the collection of possible pairs
composed of one individual of each, if the order of continuity is to be
maintained, is, by virtue of that order, infinitely greater than either
of the component collections.

We now come to the difficult question, What is continuity? Kant confounds
it with infinite divisibility, saying that the essential character of
a continuous series is that between any two members of it a third can
always be found. This is an analysis beautifully clear and definite;
but unfortunately, it breaks down under the first test. For according
to this, the entire series of rational fractions arranged in the order
of their magnitude, would be an infinite series, although the rational
fractions are numerable, while the points of a line are innumerable.
Nay, worse yet, if from that series of fractions any two with all that
lie between them be excised, and any number of such finite gaps he made,
Kant’s definition is still true of the series, though it has lost all
appearance of continuity.

Cantor defines a continuous series as one which is _concatenated_ and
_perfect_. By a concatenated series, he means such a one that if any
two points are given in it, and any finite distance, however small, it
is possible to proceed from the first point to the second through a
succession of points of the series each at a distance from the preceding
one less than the given distance. This is true of the series of rational
fractions ranged in the order of their magnitude. By a perfect series, he
means one which contains every point such that there is no distance so
small that this point has not an infinity of points of the series within
that distance of it. This is true of the series of numbers between 0 and
1 capable of being expressed by decimals in which only the digits 0 and 1
occur.

It must be granted that Cantor’s definition includes every series that
is continuous; nor can it be objected that it includes any important
or indubitable case of a series not continuous. Nevertheless, it has
some serious defects. In the first place, it turns upon metrical
considerations; while the distinction between a continuous and a
discontinuous series is manifestly non-metrical. In the next place, a
perfect series is defined as one containing “every point” of a certain
description. But no positive idea is conveyed of what all the points
are: that is definition by negation, and cannot be admitted. If that
sort of thing were allowed, it would be very easy to say, at once, that
the continuous linear series of points is one which contains every point
of the line between its extremities. Finally, Cantor’s definition does
not convey a distinct notion of what the components of the conception of
continuity are. It ingeniously wraps up its properties in two separate
parcels, but does not display them to our intelligence.

Kant’s definition expresses one simple property of a continuum; but
it allows of gaps in the series. To mend the definition, it is only
necessary to notice how these gaps can occur. Let us suppose, then, a
linear series of points extending from a point, _A_, to a point, _B_,
having a gap from _B_ to a third point, _C_, and thence extending to
a final limit, _D_; and let us suppose this series conforms to Kant’s
definition. Then, of the two points, _B_ and _C_, one or both must be
excluded from the series; for otherwise, by the definition, there would
be points between them. That is, if the series contains _C_, though
it contains all the points up to _B_, it cannot contain _B_. What is
required, therefore, is to state in non-metrical terms that if a series
of points up to a limit is included in a continuum the limit is included.
It may be remarked that this is the property of a continuum to which
Aristotle’s attention seems to have been directed when he defines a
continuum as something whose parts have a common limit. The property may
be exactly stated as follows: If a linear series of points is continuous
between two points, _A_ and _D_, and if an endless series of points be
taken, the first of them between _A_ and _D_ and each of the others
between the last preceding one and _D_, then there is a point of the
continuous series between all that endless series of points and _D_, and
such that every other point of which this is true lies between this point
and _D_. For example, take any number between 0 and 1, as 0.1; then, any
number between 0.1 and 1, as 0.11; then any number between 0.11 and 1, as
0.111; and so on, without end. Then, because the series of real numbers
between 0 and 1 is continuous, there must be a _least_ real number,
greater than every number of that endless series. This property, which
may be called the Aristotelicity of the series, together with Kant’s
property, or its Kanticity, completes the definition of a continuous
series.

The property of Aristotelicity may be roughly stated thus: a continuum
contains the end point belonging to every endless series of points which
it contains. An obvious corollary is that every continuum contains its
limits. But in using this principle it is necessary to observe that a
series may be continuous except in this, that it omits one or both of the
limits.

Our ideas will find expression more conveniently if, instead of points
upon a line, we speak of real numbers. Every real number is, in one
sense, the limit of a series, for it can be indefinitely approximated
to. Whether every real number is a limit of a _regular_ series may
perhaps be open to doubt. But the series referred to in the definition
of Aristotelicity must be understood as including all series whether
regular or not. Consequently, it is implied that between any two points
an innumerable series of points can be taken.

Every number whose expression in decimals requires but a finite number of
places of decimals is commensurable. Therefore, incommensurable numbers
suppose an infinitieth place of decimals. The word infinitesimal is
simply the Latin form of infinitieth; that is, it is an ordinal formed
from _infinitum_, as centesimal from _centum_. Thus, continuity supposes
infinitesimal quantities. There is nothing contradictory about the idea
of such quantities. In adding and multiplying them the continuity must
not be broken up, and consequently they are precisely like any other
quantities, except that neither the syllogism of transposed quantity, nor
the Fermatian inference applies to them.

If A is a finite quantity and _i_ an infinitesimal, then in a certain
sense we may write A + _i_ = A. That is to say, this is so for all
purposes of measurement. But this principle must not be applied except
to get rid of _all_ the terms in the highest order of infinitesimals
present. As a mathematician, I prefer the method of infinitesimals to
that of limits, as far easier and less infested with snares. Indeed,
the latter, as stated in some books, involves propositions that are
false; but this is not the case with the forms of the method used by
Cauchy, Duhamel, and others. As they understand the doctrine of limits,
it involves the notion of continuity, and therefore contains in another
shape the very same ideas as the doctrine of infinitesimals.

Let us now consider an aspect of the Aristotelical principle which is
particularly important in philosophy. Suppose a surface to be part red
and part blue; so that every point on it is either red or blue, and, of
course, no part can be both red and blue. What, then, is the color of the
boundary line between the red and the blue? The answer is that red or
blue, to exist at all, must be spread over a surface; and the color of
the surface is the color of the surface in the immediate neighborhood of
the point. I purposely use a vague form of expression. Now, as the parts
of the surface in the immediate neighborhood of any ordinary point upon a
curved boundary are half of them red and half blue, it follows that the
boundary is half red and half blue. In like manner, we find it necessary
to hold that consciousness essentially occupies time; and what is
present to the mind at any ordinary instant, is what is present during a
moment in which that instant occurs. Thus, the present is half past and
half to come. Again, the color of the parts of a surface at any finite
distance from a point, has nothing to do with its color just at that
point; and, in the parallel, the feeling at any finite interval from the
present has nothing to do with the present feeling, except vicariously.
Take another case: the velocity of a particle at any instant of time is
its mean velocity during an infinitesimal instant in which that time
is contained. Just so my immediate feeling is my feeling through an
infinitesimal duration containing the present instant.

ANALYSIS OF TIME.

One of the most marked features about the law of mind is that it makes
time to have a definite direction of flow from past to future. The
relation of past to future is, in reference to the law of mind, different
from the relation of future to past. This makes one of the great
contrasts between the law of mind and the law of physical force, where
there is no more distinction between the two opposite directions in time
than between moving northward and moving southward.

In order, therefore, to analyse the law of mind, we must begin by asking
what the flow of time consists in. Now, we find that in reference to any
individual state of feeling, all others are of two classes, those which
affect this one (or have a tendency to affect it, and what this means we
shall inquire shortly), and those which do not. The present is affectible
by the past but not by the future.

Moreover, if state _A_ is affected by state _B_, and state _B_ by state
_C_, then _A_ is affected by state _C_, though not so much so. It
follows, that if _A_ is affectible by _B_, _B_ is not affectible by _A_.

If, of two states, each is absolutely unaffectible by the other, they are
to be regarded as parts of the same state. They are contemporaneous.

To say that a state is _between_ two states means that it affects one
and is affected by the other. Between any two states in this sense lies
an innumerable series of states affecting one another; and if a state
lies between a given state and any other state which can be reached by
inserting states between this state and any third state, these inserted
states not immediately affecting or being affected by either, then the
second state mentioned immediately affects or is affected by the first,
in the sense that in the one the other is _ipso facto_ present in a
reduced degree.

These propositions involve a definition of time and of its flow. Over and
above this definition they involve a doctrine, namely, that every state
of feeling is affectible by every earlier state.

THAT FEELINGS HAVE INTENSIVE CONTINUITY.

Time with its continuity logically involves some other kind of continuity
than its own. Time, as the universal form of change, cannot exist
unless there is something to undergo change, and to undergo a change
continuous in time, there must be a continuity of changeable qualities.
Of the continuity of intrinsic qualities of feeling we can now form but
a feeble conception. The development of the human mind has practically
extinguished all feelings, except a few sporadic kinds, sound, colors,
smells, warmth, etc., which now appear to be disconnected and disparate.
In the case of colors, there is a tridimensional spread of feelings.
Originally, all feelings may have been connected in the same way, and the
presumption is that the number of dimensions was endless. For development
essentially involves a limitation of possibilities. But given a number of
dimensions of feeling, all possible varieties are obtainable by varying
the intensities of the different elements. Accordingly, time logically
supposes a continuous range of intensity in feeling. It follows, then,
from the definition of continuity, that when any particular kind of
feeling is present, an infinitesimal continuum of all feelings differing
infinitesimally from that is present.

THAT FEELINGS HAVE SPATIAL EXTENSION.

Consider a gob of protoplasm, say an amœba or a slime-mould. It does
not differ in any radical way from the contents of a nerve-cell,
though its functions may be less specialised. There is no doubt that
this slime-mould, or this amœba, or at any rate some similar mass of
protoplasm feels. That is to say, it feels when it is in its excited
condition. But note how it behaves. When the whole is quiescent and
rigid, a place upon it is irritated. Just at this point, an active motion
is set up, and this gradually spreads to other parts. In this action, no
unity nor relation to a nucleus, or other unitary organ can be discerned.
It is a mere amorphous continuum of protoplasm, with feeling passing
from one part to another. Nor is there anything like a wave-motion. The
activity does not advance to new parts, just as fast as it leaves old
parts. Rather, in the beginning, it dies out at a slower rate than that
at which it spreads. And while the process is going on, by exciting the
mass at another point, a second quite independent state of excitation
will be set up. In some places, neither excitation will exist, in others
each separately, in still other places, both effects will be added
together. Whatever there is in the whole phenomenon to make us think
there is feeling in such a mass of protoplasm,—_feeling_, but plainly no
_personality_,—goes logically to show that that feeling has a subjective,
or substantial, spatial extension, as the excited state has. This is, no
doubt, a difficult idea to seize, for the reason that it is a subjective,
not an objective, extension. It is not that we have a feeling of bigness;
though Professor James, perhaps rightly, teaches that we have. It is that
the feeling, as a subject of inhesion, is big. Moreover, our own feelings
are focused in attention to such a degree that we are not aware that
ideas are not brought to an absolute unity; just as nobody not instructed
by special experiment has any idea how very, very little of the field of
vision is distinct. Still, we all know how the attention wanders about
among our feelings; and this fact shows that those feelings that are not
co-ordinated in attention have a reciprocal externality, although they
are present at the same time. But we must not tax introspection to make a
phenomenon manifest which essentially involves externality.

Since space is continuous, it follows that there must be an immediate
community of feeling between parts of mind infinitesimally near together.
Without this, I believe it would have been impossible for minds external
to one another, ever to become coördinated, and equally impossible for
any coördination to be established in the action of the nerve-matter of
one brain.

AFFECTIONS OF IDEAS.

But we are met by the question what is meant by saying that one idea
affects another. The unravelment of this problem requires us to trace out
phenomena a little further.

Three elements go to make up an idea. The first is its intrinsic quality
as a feeling. The second is the energy with which it affects other
ideas, an energy which is infinite in the here-and-nowness of immediate
sensation, finite and relative in the recency of the past. The third
element is the tendency of an idea to bring along other ideas with it.

As an idea spreads, its power of affecting other ideas gets rapidly
reduced; but its intrinsic quality remains nearly unchanged. It is long
years now since I last saw a cardinal in his robes; and my memory of
their color has become much dimmed. The color itself, however, is not
remembered as dim. I have no inclination to call it a dull red. Thus, the
intrinsic quality remains little changed; yet more accurate observation
will show a slight reduction of it. The third element, on the other
hand, has increased. As well as I can recollect, it seems to me the
cardinals I used to see wore robes more scarlet than vermilion is, and
highly luminous. Still, I know the color commonly called cardinal is on
the crimson side of vermilion and of quite moderate luminosity, and the
original idea calls up so many other hues with it, and asserts itself so
feebly, that I am unable any longer to isolate it.

A finite interval of time generally contains an innumerable series
of feelings; and when these become welded together in association,
the result is a general idea. For we have just seen how by continuous
spreading an idea becomes generalised.

The first character of a general idea so resulting is that it is living
feeling. A continuum of this feeling, infinitesimal in duration, but
still embracing innumerable parts, and also, though infinitesimal,
entirely unlimited, is immediately present. And in its absence of
boundedness a vague possibility of more than is present is directly felt.

Second, in the presence of this continuity of feeling, nominalistic
maxims appear futile. There is no doubt about one idea affecting another,
when we can directly perceive the one gradually modified and shaping
itself into the other. Nor can there any longer be any difficulty about
one idea resembling another, when we can pass along the continuous field
of quality from one to the other and back again to the point which we had
marked.

Third, consider the insistency of an idea. The insistency of a past idea
with reference to the present is a quantity which is less the further
back that past idea is, and rises to infinity as the past idea is brought
up into coincidence with the present. Here we must make one of those
inductive applications of the law of continuity which have produced such
great results in all the positive sciences. We must extend the law of
insistency into the future. Plainly, the insistency of a future idea with
reference to the present is a quantity affected by the minus sign; for it
is the present that affects the future, if there be any effect, not the
future that affects the present. Accordingly, the curve of insistency is
a sort of equilateral hyperbola. [See the figure.] Such a conception is
none the less mathematical, that its quantification cannot now be exactly
specified.

[Illustration]

Now consider the induction which we have here been led into. This curve
says that feeling which has not yet emerged into immediate consciousness
is already affectible and already affected. In fact, this is habit, by
virtue of which an idea is brought up into present consciousness by a
bond that had already been established between it, and another idea while
it was still _in futuro_.

We can now see what the affection of one idea by another consists in.
It is that the affected idea is attached as a logical predicate to the
affecting idea as subject. So when a feeling emerges into immediate
consciousness, it always appears as a modification of a more or less
general object already in the mind. The word suggestion is well adapted
to expressing this relation. The future is suggested by, or rather is
influenced by the suggestions of, the past.

IDEAS CANNOT BE CONNECTED EXCEPT BY CONTINUITY.

That ideas can nowise be connected without continuity is sufficiently
evident to one who reflects upon the matter. But still the opinion may
be entertained that after continuity has once made the connection of
ideas possible, then they may get to be connected in other modes than
through continuity. Certainly, I cannot see how anyone can deny that the
infinite diversity of the universe, which we call chance, may bring ideas
into proximity which are not associated in one general idea. It may do
this many times. But then the law of continuous spreading will produce a
mental association; and this I suppose is an abridged statement of the
way the universe has been evolved. But if I am asked whether a blind
ἀνάγκη cannot bring ideas together, first I point out that it would not
remain blind. There being a continuous connection between the ideas, they
would infallibly become associated in a living, feeling, and perceiving
general idea. Next, I cannot see what the mustness or necessity of this
ἀνάγκη would consist in. In the absolute uniformity of the phenomenon,
says the nominalist. Absolute is well put in; for if it merely happened
so three times in succession, or three million times in succession, in
the absence of any reason, the coincidence could only be attributed to
chance. But absolute uniformity must extend over the whole infinite
future; and it is idle to talk of that except as an idea. No; I think we
can only hold that wherever ideas come together they tend to weld into
general ideas; and wherever they are generally connected, general ideas
govern the connection; and these general ideas are living feelings spread
out.

MENTAL LAW FOLLOWS THE FORMS OF LOGIC.

The three main classes of logical inference are Deduction, Induction,
and Hypothesis. These correspond to three chief modes of action of the
human soul. In deduction the mind is under the dominion of a habit or
association by virtue of which a general idea suggests in each case
a corresponding reaction. But a certain sensation is seen to involve
that idea. Consequently, that sensation is followed by that reaction.
That is the way the hind legs of a frog, separated from the rest of the
body, reason, when you pinch them. It is the lowest form of psychical
manifestation.

By induction, a habit becomes established. Certain sensations, all
involving one general idea, are followed each by the same reaction; and
an association becomes established, whereby that general idea gets to be
followed uniformly by that reaction.

Habit is that specialisation of the law of mind whereby a general idea
gains the power of exciting reactions. But in order that the general
idea should attain all its functionality, it is necessary, also, that
it should become suggestible by sensations. That is accomplished by a
psychical process having the form of hypothetic inference. By hypothetic
inference, I mean, as I have explained in other writings, an induction
from qualities. For example, I know that the kind of man known and
classed as a “mugwump” has certain characteristics. He has a high
self-respect and places great value upon social distinction. He laments
the great part that rowdyism and unrefined good-fellowship play in the
dealings of American politicians with their constituency. He thinks that
the reform which would follow from the abandonment of the system by which
the distribution of offices is made to strengthen party organisations
and a return to the original and essential conception of office-filling
would be found an unmixed good. He holds that monetary considerations
should usually be the decisive ones in questions of public policy. He
respects the principle of individualism and of _laisser-faire_ as the
greatest agency of civilisation. These views, among others, I know to
be obtrusive marks of a “mugwump.” Now, suppose I casually meet a man
in a railway-train, and falling into conversation find that he holds
opinions of this sort; I am naturally led to suppose that he is a
“mugwump.” That is hypothetic inference. That is to say, a number of
readily verifiable marks of a mugwump being selected, I find this man
has these, and infer that he has all the other characters which go to
make a thinker of that stripe. Or let us suppose that I meet a man of a
semi-clerical appearance and a sub-pharisaical sniff, who appears to look
at things from the point of view of a rather wooden dualism. He cites
several texts of scripture and always with particular attention to their
logical implications; and he exhibits a sternness, almost amounting to
vindictiveness, toward evildoers, in general. I readily conclude that
he is a minister of a certain denomination. Now the mind acts in a way
similar to this, every time we acquire a power of coördinating reactions
in a peculiar way, as in performing any act requiring skill. Thus, most
persons have a difficulty in moving the two hands simultaneously and in
opposite directions through two parallel circles nearly in the medial
plane of the body. To learn to do this, it is necessary to attend, first,
to the different actions in different parts of the motion, when suddenly
a general conception of the action springs up and it becomes perfectly
easy. We think the motion we are trying to do involves this action, and
this, and this. Then, the general idea comes which unites all those
actions, and thereupon the desire to perform the motion calls up the
general idea. The same mental process is many times employed whenever we
are learning to speak a language or are acquiring any sort of skill.

Thus, by induction, a number of sensations followed by one reaction
become united under one general idea followed by the same reaction;
while by the hypothetic process, a number of reactions called for by one
occasion get united in a general idea which is called out by the same
occasion. By deduction, the habit fulfils its function of calling out
certain reactions on certain occasions.

UNCERTAINTY OF MENTAL ACTION.

The inductive and hypothetic forms of inference are essentially probable
inferences, not necessary; while deduction may be either necessary or
probable.

But no mental action seems to be necessary or invariable in its
character. In whatever manner the mind has reacted under a given
sensation, in that manner it is the more likely to react again; were
this, however, an absolute necessity, habits would become wooden and
ineradicable, and no room being left for the formation of new habits,
intellectual life would come to a speedy close. Thus, the uncertainty of
the mental law is no mere defect of it, but is on the contrary of its
essence. The truth is, the mind is not subject to “law,” in the same
rigid sense that matter is. It only experiences gentle forces which
merely render it more likely to act in a given way than it otherwise
would be. There always remains a certain amount of arbitrary spontaneity
in its action, without which it would be dead.

Some psychologists think to reconcile the uncertainty of reactions with
the principle of necessary causation by means of the law of fatigue.
Truly for a _law_, this law of fatigue is a little lawless. I think it is
merely a case of the general principle that an idea in spreading loses
its insistency. Put me tarragon into my salad, when I have not tasted
it for years, and I exclaim “What nectar is this!” But add it to every
dish I taste for week after week, and a habit of expectation has been
created; and in thus spreading into habit, the sensation makes hardly
any more impression upon me; or, if it be noticed, it is on a new side
from which it appears as rather a bore. The doctrine that fatigue is
one of the primordial phenomena of mind I am much disposed to doubt.
It seems a somewhat little thing to be allowed as an exception to the
great principle of mental uniformisation. For this reason, I prefer to
explain it in the manner here indicated, as a special case of that great
principle. To consider it as something distinct in its nature, certainly
somewhat strengthens the necessitarian position; but even if it be
distinct, the hypothesis that all the variety and apparent arbitrariness
of mental action ought to be explained away in favor of absolute
determinism does not seem to me to recommend itself to a sober and sound
judgment, which seeks the guidance of observed facts and not that of
prepossessions.

RESTATEMENT OF THE LAW.

Let me now try to gather up all these odds and ends of commentary and
restate the law of mind, in a unitary way.

First, then, we find that when we regard ideas from a nominalistic,
individualistic, sensualistic way, the simplest facts of mind become
utterly meaningless. That one idea should resemble another or influence
another, or that one state of mind should so much as be thought of in
another is, from that standpoint, sheer nonsense.

Second, by this and other means we are driven to perceive, what is
quite evident of itself, that instantaneous feelings flow together into
a continuum of feeling, which has in a modified degree the peculiar
vivacity of feeling and has gained generality. And in reference to such
general ideas, or continua of feeling, the difficulties about resemblance
and suggestion and reference to the external, cease to have any force.

Third, these general ideas are not mere words, nor do they consist in
this, that certain concrete facts will every time happen under certain
descriptions of conditions; but they are just as much, or rather far
more, living realities than the feelings themselves out of which they
are concreted. And to say that mental phenomena are governed by law does
not mean merely that they are describable by a general formula; but that
there is a living idea, a conscious continuum of feeling, which pervades
them, and to which they are docile.

Fourth, this supreme law, which is the celestial and living harmony,
does not so much as demand that the special ideas shall surrender
their peculiar arbitrariness and caprice entirely; for that would be
self-destructive. It only requires that they shall influence and be
influenced by one another.

Fifth, in what measure this unification acts, seems to be regulated only
by special rules; or, at least, we cannot in our present knowledge
say how far it goes. But it may be said that, judging by appearances,
the amount of arbitrariness in the phenomena of human minds is neither
altogether trifling nor very prominent.

PERSONALITY.

Having thus endeavored to state the law of mind, in general, I descend
to the consideration of a particular phenomenon which is remarkably
prominent in our own consciousnesses, that of personality. A strong
light is thrown upon this subject by recent observations of double and
multiple personality. The theory which at one time seemed plausible that
two persons in one body corresponded to the two halves of the brain
will, I take it, now be universally acknowledged to be insufficient.
But that which these cases make quite manifest is that personality is
some kind of coördination or connection of ideas. Not much to say, this,
perhaps. Yet when we consider that, according to the principle which we
are tracing out, a connection between ideas is itself a general idea,
and that a general idea is a living feeling, it is plain that we have at
least taken an appreciable step toward the understanding of personality.
This personality, like any general idea, is not a thing to be apprehended
in an instant. It has to be lived in time; nor can any finite time
embrace it in all its fulness. Yet in each infinitesimal interval it is
present and living, though specially colored by the immediate feelings
of that moment. Personality, so far as it is apprehended in a moment, is
immediate self-consciousness.

But the word coördination implies somewhat more than this; it implies
a teleological harmony in ideas, and in the case of personality this
teleology is more than a mere purposive pursuit of a predeterminate end;
it is a developmental teleology. This is personal character. A general
idea, living and conscious now, it is already determinative of acts in
the future to an extent to which it is not now conscious.

This reference to the future is an essential element of personality.
Were the ends of a person already explicit, there would be no room for
development, for growth, for life; and consequently there would be
no personality. The mere carrying out of predetermined purposes is
mechanical. This remark has an application to the philosophy of religion.
It is that a genuine evolutionary philosophy, that is, one that makes the
principle of growth a primordial element of the universe, is so far from
being antagonistic to the idea of a personal creator, that it is really
inseparable from that idea; while a necessitarian religion is in an
altogether false position and is destined to become disintegrated. But a
pseudo-evolutionism which enthrones mechanical law above the principle of
growth, is at once scientifically unsatisfactory, as giving no possible
hint of how the universe has come about, and hostile to all hopes of
personal relations to God.

COMMUNICATION.

Consistently with the doctrine laid down in the beginning of this paper,
I am bound to maintain that an idea can only be affected by an idea in
continuous connection with it. By anything but an idea, it cannot be
affected at all. This obliges me to say, as I do say, on other grounds,
that what we call matter is not completely dead, but is merely mind
hide-bound with habits. It still retains the element of diversification;
and in that diversification there is life. When an idea is conveyed
from one mind to another, it is by forms of combination of the diverse
elements of nature, say by some curious symmetry, or by some union of a
tender color with a refined odor. To such forms the law of mechanical
energy has no application. If they are eternal, it is in the spirit
they embody; and their origin cannot be accounted for by any mechanical
necessity. They are embodied ideas; and so only can they convey ideas.
Precisely how primary sensations, as colors and tones, are excited, we
cannot tell, in the present state of psychology. But in our ignorance, I
think that we are at liberty to suppose that they arise in essentially
the same manner as the other feelings, called secondary. As far as
sight and hearing are in question, we know that they are only excited
by vibrations of inconceivable complexity; and the chemical senses
are probably not more simple. Even the least psychical of peripheral
sensations, that of pressure, has in its excitation conditions which,
though apparently simple, are seen to be complicated enough when we
consider the molecules and their attractions. The principle with which
I set out requires me to maintain that these feelings are communicated
to the nerves by continuity, so that there must be something like them
in the excitants themselves. If this seems extravagant, it is to be
remembered that it is the sole possible way of reaching any explanation
of sensation, which otherwise must be pronounced a general fact
absolutely inexplicable and ultimate. Now absolute inexplicability is a
hypothesis which sound logic refuses under any circumstances to justify.

I may be asked whether my theory would be favorable or otherwise to
telepathy. I have no decided answer to give to this. At first sight, it
seems unfavorable. Yet there may be other modes of continuous connection
between minds other than those of time and space.

The recognition by one person of another’s personality takes place by
means to some extent identical with the means by which he is conscious
of his own personality. The idea of the second personality, which is as
much as to say that second personality itself, enters within the field of
direct consciousness of the first person, and is as immediately perceived
as his ego, though less strongly. At the same time, the opposition
between the two persons is perceived, so that the externality of the
second is recognised.

The psychological phenomena of intercommunication between two minds have
been unfortunately little studied. So that it is impossible to say, for
certain, whether they are favorable to this theory or not. But the very
extraordinary insight which some persons are able to gain of others from
indications so slight that it is difficult to ascertain what they are, is
certainly rendered more comprehensible by the view here taken.

A difficulty which confronts the synechistic philosophy is this. In
considering personality, that philosophy is forced to accept the doctrine
of a personal God; but in considering communication, it cannot but admit
that if there is a personal God, we must have a direct perception of that
person and indeed be in personal communication with him. Now, if that be
the case, the question arises how it is possible that the existence of
this being should ever have been doubted by anybody. The only answer
that I can at present make is that facts that stand before our face and
eyes and stare us in the face are far from being, in all cases, the ones
most easily discerned. That has been remarked from time immemorial.

CONCLUSION.

I have thus developed as well as I could in a little space the
_synechistic_ philosophy, as applied to mind. I think that I have
succeeded in making it clear that this doctrine gives room for
explanations of many facts which without it are absolutely and hopelessly
inexplicable; and further that it carries along with it the following
doctrines: 1st, a logical realism of the most pronounced type; 2nd,
objective idealism; 3rd, tychism, with its consequent thorough-going
evolutionism. We also notice that the doctrine presents no hindrances to
spiritual influences, such as some philosophies are felt to do.

C. S. PEIRCE.

FOOTNOTES:

[72] This proposition is substantially the same as a theorem of Cantor,
though it is enunciated in a much more general form.

MR. CHARLES S. PEIRCE’S ONSLAUGHT ON THE DOCTRINE OF NECESSITY.

The problem of necessity lurks at the bottom of all problems, and
according as we accept or reject the idea of necessity we shall be led to
two entirely different world-conceptions.

The conception of indeterminism generally offers itself first to the
doubting mind; and it is apparently a pleasant idea. It promises
freedom, it leaves room for the imagination, it makes the world and
its possibilities wide, much wider than it could be on the plan of
determinism. Determinism is at first sight an oppressive notion and we
naturally shrink from it. It seems to destroy the freedom of the will
and all moral responsibility. From infinite possibilities it narrows the
world down to one single actuality; and thus it seems to destroy all the
charms of life.

The former view may be represented as conceiving the all-power of
the whole in which and through which we live as a well meaning and
yielding ruler or a kind-hearted parent who if strongly plied with
prayer, will for a trifle in order to please an importune favorite
change his decisions. The dispensations of his government will be
full of exceptions, of private cabinet decrees, of counter orders and
irregularities. The latter view, however, would represent the entirety
of the All as an inexorable and uncompromising sovereign, or as a severe
educator, a stern father who unfalteringly clings to his principles.
He leaves full independence to his children, he does not prevent their
mistakes, yet rigidly lets them bear the consequences of their actions.
He never answers prayers except that the prayer itself has its educating
effects upon him who prays; but he never alters objective facts for the
sake of him who requests his interference, and he never makes exceptions
either in favor or disfavor of anybody. In brief; the God of him who
accepts the former view, will be Chance, while the God of him who accepts
the latter view will be Law.

The choice between the two views seems to remind us of the choice left
to the heroes of our fairy tales. He who chooses that which appears
pleasant will be led into inextricable confusion, he who chooses that
which appears rigid and oppressive will be led on a path where in spite
of many difficulties he will be able to make firm and certain steps and
will arrive at clearness as well as moral freedom. It is not the golden
casket that contains Portia’s picture.

Science constantly operates on the basis of the maxim that there is no
chance, that everything that happens, happens as it does with necessity.
The question is, Is this maxim a mere assumption, a non-verifiable
working hypothesis; or is there any reliable evidence in its favor? Is it
true, and if it is, how can it be proved?

DAVID HUME REDIVIVUS.

Mr. Charles S. Peirce’s article entitled “The Doctrine of Necessity
Examined,” which appeared in the last number of _The Monist_, must have
been a surprise to many thinking readers. It must have affected them in
a somewhat similar manner as Hume’s “Treatise of Human Nature” affected
Kant. It roused him from his dogmatic slumber: He abandoned dogmatism
but nevertheless did not accept Hume’s skepticism; he remained positive;
yet he propounded a better positive view than was the old dogmatism; he
established in philosophy the method of critique.

The parallelism between David Hume, who doubted the validity of our
conception of causation, and Mr. Charles S. Peirce who denies the
universality of the doctrine of necessity, is very marked in more than
one respect. It is, in spite of many differences, a case of close
analogy, and the answer which we shall have to give to either, will in
many respects be suited to both. Both shake the ultimate ground of
scientific research at its very root. Both call in question the most
fundamental concept upon which all our methods of investigation and
philosophy rest. Both challenge the reliability of an idea of which few
would hesitate to say that it is all but universally accepted. In fact
the ideas “causation” and “necessity” are more than kin. If analysed,
many of their elements will be found to be actually identical. Thus the
one cannot be either established or doubted without establishing or
doubting the other. Accordingly Mr. Peirce, in some respect, repeats
David Hume’s onslaught upon the current conception of the basis of human
knowledge with the more formidable weapons which a century of close
thought and scientific investigation have furnished him.

If Kant’s answer to Hume had been satisfactory, Mr. Peirce probably
would not have renewed the attack or he would have had to modify it
considerably. Kant, however, whom we both, Mr. Peirce as much as I
myself, admire as a master of philosophic thought, did not solve the
question satisfactorily. Yet Kant pointed out the way of solving it,
which was the middle way between dogmatism and scepticism, called by him
and his followers “Criticism,” and it is this way on which we trust is
safest travelling.

Mr. Peirce is right that the doctrine of necessity cannot be
“postulated,” for “to postulate a proposition is no more than to hope it
will be true.” The doctrine of necessity is, indeed, usually treated as
a postulate, and Mr. Peirce’s attack appears formidable because he shows
the weakness of the arguments which are commonly brought forward in its
favor and which we grant to be insufficient.

Mr. Peirce says (_The Monist_, II, 3, p. 330):

“In view of all these considerations, I do not believe that
anybody, not in a state of case-hardened ignorance respecting
the logic of science, can maintain that the precise and
universal conformity of facts to law is clearly proved, or even
rendered particularly probable, by any observations hitherto
made. In this way, the determined advocate of exact regularity
will soon find himself driven to _a priori_ reasons to support
his thesis. These received such a sockdologer from Stuart Mill
in his Examination of Hamilton, that holding to them now seems
to me to denote a high degree of imperviousness to reason; so
that I shall pass them by with little notice.”

Mr. Peirce is right when saying that necessitarianism must be founded
on something other than observation. Observation is _a posteriori_; it
has reference only to single facts, to particulars; yet the doctrine
of necessity, if there is anything in it at all, is of universal
application. The doctrine of necessity, let us not be afraid to pronounce
it clearly, is of an _a priori_ nature. The scientist assumes _a priori_,
i. e. even before he makes his observations or experiments, as a general
law applicable to every process which takes place, that, whatever
happens, happens of necessity in consequence of a cause and in conformity
to law, so that the same cause under the same circumstances will produce
the same effects. If all the _a priori_ reasons, as Mr. Peirce maintains,
received a sockdologer from Stuart Mill, then indeed we shall have to
abandon the idea of necessity as the superstition of a past and erroneous
philosophy and we shall have to start the world of science over again.

Mr. Peirce denies the strict regularity of natural law and introduces an
element of chance. He says (ibid. p. 336):

“To undertake to account for anything by saying boldly that it
is due to chance would, indeed, be futile. But this I do not
do. _I make use of chance chiefly to make room for a principle
of generalization, or tendency to form habits, which I hold
has produced all regularities._[73] The mechanical philosopher
leaves the whole specification of the world utterly unaccounted
for, which is pretty nearly as bad as to boldly attribute it to
chance. I attribute it altogether to chance, it is true, but
to chance in the form of a spontaneity which is to some degree
regular.”

Mr. Peirce is the pathfinder of a new and as yet untried road. He strikes
out boldly into the tumultuous ocean of chance, hoping to find in his
journey the connection between the East and the West, between contrasts
that seem to him otherwise unconnectible. The confidence of the bold
discoverer is set forth in the warnings he gives to all seafaring people.
He attempts to frighten the ill-informed minds who might innocently
venture out in other directions; and he will thus naturally prevent
many from falling either into the Charybdis of doubting the propriety
of applying the logic of probabilities to the problem of necessity
and causation in general, or, worse still, into the Scylla of the _a
priori_. The former, he tells us denotes “a state of case-hardened
ignorance respecting the logic of science,” the latter “a high degree of
imperviousness to reason.”

Mr. Peirce is well known as one of the keenest logicians now living.
Considering this fact I am slow to take up arms against him in defending
a case which he so strongly brands beforehand. I must from the beginning
plead guilty to a belief in necessity, and having critically revised
my view once more I cannot help upholding it. I am fully conscious of
the fact that hundreds, thousands, and millions of single experiences
(which in Kantian terminology are called _a posteriori_ arguments) cannot
establish a solid belief in necessity, nor can any imaginable number of
sequences prove the rigidity of causation, and I confess freely that I
support my thesis with _a priori_ reasons. Yet at the same time attention
must be called to the fact that neither Mr. Hamilton nor Mr. Mill had any
adequate conception of the _a priori_, and Mr. Mill’s sockdologer does
not disturb in the least the assurance of my view; for the _a priori_
can, in my opinion, be based upon the firm ground of experience.

All the many sense-experiences at our command, if considered singly,
cannot constitute knowledge. In order to weave the woof of the _a
posteriori_ into coherent cloth we want the warp of the _a priori_, and
I do not see how we can do without it. But the _a priori_ is not that
mystical hocus-pocus of absolute truth with its impertinent assumptions
such as it is presented by pseudo-Kantians and justly denounced by Mill;
it is not as Mr. Peirce brands it an “I cannot help believing,” it is
not a “natural belief,” nor is it as others conceive it an innate idea.
It is, briefly described, simply and solely formal knowledge, such as 2
× 2 = 4, to which we attribute universality and necessity and with the
assistance of which we are enabled to predict and predetermine certain
results beforehand (i. e. _a priori_). We might invent a new name for the
_a priori_, the latter having become odious through the denunciations of
its enemies and worse still, having been distorted beyond recognition
through the misuse to which it was put by its defenders and suppositional
friends. Yet that would be another question, and the idea of the _a
priori_, i. e. of formal knowledge involving universality and necessity
would remain the same.

The universality and necessity of formal knowledge are as a rule taken
for granted by scientists. But philosophy can take nothing for granted,
and the problem rises: How is the belief in the universality and
necessity of formal knowledge to be justified? Mr. Peirce’s onslaught on
the doctrine of necessity is a challenge to answer this question.

II.

CAUSATION NOT MERE SEQUENCE.

Mr. John Venn published some twenty-five or six years ago an excellent
treatise called “The Logic of Chance.” This work opened the eyes of many
to the great importance of the calculus of probabilities as a method
of science which was of much wider application than had before been
suspected. This admirable work we may boldly say marks a new epoch in the
study of logic, it opened new vistas, and many expectations created by
it have since been realised. Yet it is to be regretted that the author
adopts Hume’s erroneous conception of causality and thus implicitly
paves the way which Mr. Peirce has actually followed and which leads
to a denial of the doctrine of necessity. Concerning “the doctrine of
universal causation” Mr. Venn says, in Chapter XIV:

“We will employ the word simply in the sense which is becoming
almost universally adopted by scientific men, viz. that of
invariable unconditional sequence.

“It is in this sense that the word _cause_ is used by Mr.
Mill....

“This meaning of the term is rapidly becoming the popular, or
rather, the popular scientific one.”

This idea of “sequence” however was exactly Hume’s mistake, adopted by
Mr. Mill and through Mr. Mill popularised among English thinkers. If
the nature of cause and effect were really constituted by invariable
sequence, then the night might be called the effect of the day because
night is invariably consequent upon day.

Hume, taking the ground that cause and effect constitute a sequence,
attempted a synthesis of both; he searched for a proof of their identity
and failed. And it was natural that he failed, for cause and effect are
so radically different that we cannot bring them into the formula of an
equation as “cause = effect.” There is no cause that is equal to its
effect.

Hume should have considered causation as one single process, and instead
of attempting a synthesis, he should have made an analysis. The analysis
would have shown that cause and effect are two abstract and correlative
terms of one whole and inseparable event. Cause is not identical with
effect, but the whole event is identical with itself.

If my finger touches a key of the piano, a chord is struck; the chord
swings and produces certain air-vibrations. In this process from the
beginning to the end all the energy employed and the mass of the material
particles remain in amount the same, yet there is a change of form taking
place. Causation is not mere sequence, but a sequence of quite a special
kind. It is a sequence of two states which belong together as an initial
and a final aspect of one and the same event.

So long as we know of two events simply that they follow one another,
although the sequence may in every case be invariable and unexceptional,
we are not justified in calling them cause and effect. No amount of
experience is sufficient to constitute causation by a mere synthesis of
sequences, and to have appreciated this truth is the immortal merit of
the great Scotchman who boldly took the consequence of the argument and
acquiesced in scepticism.

The problem, however, is not so desperate as Hume thought. If Hume
could have considered his argument in the light which the law of the
conservation of matter and energy sheds upon it, he would most likely
have abandoned his scepticism; for causality is perfectly intelligible if
conceived not as a synthesis of two radically different events, but as a
process of transformation, of which the prior state is called cause and
the final one effect.

That two radically different events, which are not thought of as
transformation, invariably follow each other without our being able to
discover any connection between them, will naturally appear as a mystery;
but that two forms are radically different things, although they may be
forms of the same amount of matter and energy, is no mystery. The effect
is, or may be, something entirely new.

The configuration of things as it appears in the effect, did not exist
before. But for that reason, it is no creation out of nothing, it is not
an incomprehensible event, it is no miracle.

It is a very wonderful thing that two congruent regular tetrahedrons,
when put together, will form a hexahedron, but the laws of form do
perfectly and satisfactorily explain it. Supposing we had no idea of the
laws of form or only an incoherent and fragmentary knowledge of them,
should we not look upon the result of this combination as a strange and
incomprehensible mystery. Two heaps of flour one poured upon the other
will give one heap of the same kind and shape but of a larger size.
However, the combination of the two four-sided bodies does not produce
another four-sided body doubly as large as any of the two four-sided
bodies. Nor does it produce an eight-sided body. It produces a six-sided
body, which is something quite new. The result is not contained in the
conditions singly, for no one can say that six-sidedness is a quality
implicitly contained in four-sided bodies.

The process of combining hydrogen with oxygen into water (H₂O) is
an immensely more complex case, and the qualities resulting from a
difference of density as well as configuration are entirely unknown to
us. There is nevertheless no reason whatever to consider the process
as different in principle; it is a case of transformation in which the
amount of matter and energy remains the same.

Whatever the value of the logic of chance may be for scientific reasoning
in establishing gradations of certainty and formulating the reliability
of a certain belief, we deny most positively its applicability to the
principle of causation in general. If we ask what the chance is of a
combination of two congruent tetrahedrons becoming a hexahedron, we must
answer that the probability is exactly 1, which means certainty, and
certainty is but another name for necessity.

Mr. Peirce does not object to necessity in certain cases, he objects
to necessity being a universal feature of the world. He objects to the
rigidity of causation in so far only as to allow a trifle of chance to
enter into nature.

One or two cases or even a hundred, and a thousand, nay millions of
millions of cases in which causation is explicable as transformation
is no proof that this must always be so. Mr. Peirce may grant and most
likely he does grant that causation in a definite set of experiences is
transformation, yet what guarantee do we have for saying that it is the
only kind of causation. Might there not be room in this world for another
causation which for lack of a full comprehension of its nature, we may
call the causation of chance?

We answer that form is a quality of this world, not of some samples of
it, but throughout, so far as we know of existence even in the most
superficial way, and thus we know beforehand or _a priori_ that the laws
of form hold good so far as our telescopes sweep through space. We are
ignorant as to the qualities dependent upon special forms of matter or
energy, and we can acquire any knowledge thereof only through experience;
but that is no reason to doubt the validity of causation in general,
or to surmise the probability of there being somewhere a different
arrangement of nature.

Thus we come to the conclusion that the calculus of probabilities is not
applicable to the order of the world as to whether it may or may not
be universal. And in corroboration of this our position we quote the
following passage from a high authority in the science of logic, who is
no less than Mr. Charles S. Peirce himself. “Illustrations of the Logic
of Science,” (_Popular Science Monthly_, 1877, p. 714):

“The relative probability of this or that arrangement of
Nature is something which we should have a right to talk about
if universes were as plenty as blackberries, if we could put
a quantity of them in a bag, shake them well up, draw out a
sample, and examine them to see what proportion of them had
one arrangement and what proportion another. But, even in
that case, a higher universe would contain us, in regard to
whose arrangements the conception of probability could have no
applicability.”

Mr. Peirce is still more emphatic in another passage which reads (ib.
1878, p. 205):

“If any one has ever maintained that the universe is a pure
throw of the dice, the theologians have abundantly refuted him.
‘How often,’ says Archbishop Tillotson, ‘might a man, after
he had jumbled a set of letters in a bag, fling them out upon
the ground before they would fall into an exact poem, yea,
or so much as make a good discourse in prose! And may not a
little book be as easily made by chance as this great volume
of the world?’ The chance world here shown to be so different
from that in which we live would be one in which there were
no laws, the characters of different things being entirely
independent; so that, should a sample of any kind of objects
ever show a prevalent character, it could only be by accident,
and no general proposition could ever be established. Whatever
further conclusions we may come to in regard to the order of
the universe, thus much may be regarded as solidly established,
that the world is not a mere chance-medley.”

Here follows a close reasoning of several pages which ends (on p. 207)
with a paragraph beginning with the words:

“This shows that a contradiction is involved in the very idea
of a chance world.”

And a long paragraph on p. 208 winds up with these sentences:

“The actual world is almost a chance-medley to the mind of a
polyp. The interest which the uniformities of Nature have for
an animal measures his place in the scale of intelligence.”

This is exactly the position which I defend. If universes were as plenty
as blackberries we might talk about the order of other universes. They
might be four- or five- or _n_-dimensional. Yet even in all these cases
they would not be void of form. The four-dimensional universe would have
another arrangement, but its laws would be none the less orderly, none
the less regular, and a higher universe would contain them all. Supposing
there were four- or five-dimensional space somewhere, we could state
with absolute precision all the formal laws by which bodies of so many
dimensions were governed.[74]

The order of form and the rigidity of formal laws is as universal and
omnipresent as God. They encompass our path and our lying down, they have
beset our behind and before. If we ascend up into heaven they are there,
if we make our beds in hell, behold they are there. If we take the wings
of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there
they shall lead us and hold us.

III.

MR. PEIRCE’S LOGIC OF SCIENCE.

In spite of the fundamental difference that obtains between Mr. Peirce’s
and our own world-conception, we must state that there are many
most important points of agreement. Mr. Peirce says in his article
“Illustrations of the Logic of Science,” (ibid. p. 3 and 7):

“The object of reasoning is to find out, from the consideration
of what we already know, something else which we do not know....

“The settlement of opinion is the sole object of inquiry.”

There are according to Peirce several methods of settling opinion, which
swayed humanity in an historic succession: (1) The method of tenacity.
Doubt being an uneasy and dissatisfied state, we cling tenaciously not
merely to believing, but to believing just what we do believe. (2) The
method of authority, which is that of the Roman Church and of all great
political and religious institutions of the past. (3) The _a priori_
method, by which Mr. Peirce understands the fixing of belief agreeably to
reason, i. e. to the subjective conviction of the individual thinker. All
these methods have their merits, says Mr. Peirce (ibid. p. 13):

“The _a priori_ method is distinguished for its comfortable
conclusions. It is the nature of the process to adopt whatever
belief we are inclined to, and there are certain flatteries
to the vanity of man which we all believe by nature, until we
are awakened from our pleasing dream by some rough facts. The
method of authority will always govern the mass of mankind....
But most of all I admire the method of tenacity for its
strength, simplicity, and directness.”

It is apparent that the merit of the _a priori_ method so called
is really a vice. The _a priori_ method so called is the basis of
agnosticism. If according to my reason this, and according to your reason
that, may be the truth, where does truth remain? If truth is purely
subjective, truth becomes impossible. The method of settling belief
agreeably to our individual tempers is the death of objective truth, of
science and philosophy.

Mr. Peirce fully recognises the practical importance of thought. He says:

“The production of belief is the sole function of thought”
(ibid. p. 289).

“Our beliefs guide our desires and shape our actions” (ibid. p.
5).

“What is belief? First, it is something that we are aware of;
second, it appeases the irritation of doubt; and third, it
involves the establishment in our nature of a rule of action,
or, say for short, a _habit_” (ibid. p. 291).

“Thus, we come down to what is tangible and practical, as
the root of every real distinction of thought, no matter how
subtile it may be; and there is no distinction of meaning so
fine as to consist in anything but a possible difference of
practice” (ibid. p. 293).

Mr. Peirce is very far from considering philosophy as a mere matter of
speculation or theory without practical importance. He says:

“What sort of a conception we ought to have of the universe,
how to think of the _ensemble_ of things, is a fundamental
problem in the theory of reasoning.”

The _a priori_ method, so called by Mr. Peirce, translated into practical
life is not only the death of truth but also of morality. The objective
criterion of truth is gone, and with it goes the objective standard of
right and wrong. If that is true which seems so to my individual reason,
then that is right which pleases me best. What is right to me might be
wrong to you. Thus this method leads either to moral indifference, or to
basing ethics upon the greatest amount of pleasure attainable, (Hedonism,
as represented by Mr. H. Spencer, Prof. Harald Höffding, Professor
Gizycki, and others,) or to relying upon the individual conscience as an
absolute and ultimate authority.[75]

The method of settling opinion agreeably to individual reason is at
present the most fashionable and widely spread conception, and it shows
its influence in the almost universal acceptation of agnosticism to-day.
Is that the final decision with which we have to rest satisfied? If it
were, we would better return to the method of authority or tenacity.
No, it is not the sum of all wisdom. The _a priori_ method so called
represents a period of transition, which, if persistently pursued, will
lead to the bankruptcy of thought, the desperate appearance of which is
well disguised in the big sounding and modesty-parading term agnosticism.
And here we return to the exposition of Mr. Peirce’s views. Mr. Peirce
does not accept the _a priori_ method, he believes in “the logic of
science.” Mr. Peirce says:

“To satisfy our doubts, therefore, it is necessary that a
method should be found by which our beliefs may be caused by
nothing human, but by some external permanency—by something
upon which our thinking has no effect.... The method must be
such that the ultimate conclusion of every man shall be the
same. Such is the method of science” (ibid. p. 11.)

“That whose characters are independent of how you or I think is
an external reality” (ibid. p. 298).

“All the followers of science are fully persuaded that the
processes of investigation, if only pushed far enough, will
give one certain solution to every question to which they can
be applied.... They may at first obtain different results, but,
as each perfects his method and his processes, the results
will move steadily together toward a destined centre.... The
opinion which is fated to be ultimately agreed to by all who
investigate, is what we mean by the truth, and the object
represented in this opinion is the real” (ibid. pp. 299-300).

The word “fated” must be understood as Mr. Peirce understands it. He adds
in a foot-note:

“Fate means merely that which is sure to come true, and cannot
be avoided.”

IV.

NECESSITY IN THOUGHT PRESUPPOSES NECESSITY IN FACTS.

I have thus outlined Mr. Peirce’s views, not only because his line of
reasoning[76] is admirable and deserves to be universally known and
recognised, but also because it seems to me to have some bearing upon the
question at issue.

If the ultimate conclusion of every man concerning reality shall be the
same, there must be some truth in the idea of necessity. If there is an
opinion “fated to be ultimately agreed to,” we are confronted in our
representation of reality with something that is inevitable. Shall there
be necessity in thought but not in that of which all our ideas are but
images and symbols? We can conceive of the necessity in the ideal realm
of thought only as a reflection of that necessity which pervades the
original and prototype of our thought, which lives in reality.

MR. PEIRCE’S EVOLUTIONISM.

I have tried to find an explanation of Mr. Peirce’s position which
appears to me self-contradictory and I believe I have found the key that
will explain it.

I read somewhere a stray remark of Mr. Peirce’s in which he demanded
that evolutionism should be thorough-going. The conception of evolution
in vogue at present, he said, stops short at a certain point, and
substitutes for an explanation the unknowable. Mr. Peirce says:

“Does not space call for some explanation? Is not that a
half-way philosophy which in these our days does not explain,
or at least hold out some promise of explaining, why space
is continuous, why it has such a wonderful uniformity in all
its parts, why there are neither more nor less than three
dimensions everywhere, why every closed curve can, by a
continuous change of position, size, and form, be brought into
coincidence with every other, and why the three angles of a
triangle make exactly one hundred and eighty degrees, or at
least so very closely so that we cannot tell whether they make
more or less?”

Mr. Peirce does not intend to halt before these problems, but to explain
them and carries the principle of evolution to its ultimate conclusions,
so as to explain from it not only the forms of living organisms but also
the laws of nature including the laws of space. Mr. Peirce declares in
his article “The Architecture of Theories” (_The Monist_, Vol. I, No. 2,
p. 165):

“Uniformities are precisely the sort of facts that need to be
accounted for.... Law is _par excellence_ the thing that wants
a reason.”

And what he means by it is further elucidated in his article “The
Doctrine of Necessity Examined” (_The Monist_, Vol. II, No. 3, p. 334):

“That single events should be hard and unintelligible, logic
will permit without difficulty: we do not expect to make the
shock of a personally experienced earthquake appear natural and
reasonable by any amount of cogitation. But logic does expect
things _general_ to be understandable. To say that there is a
universal law, and that it is a hard, ultimate, unintelligible
fact, the why and wherefore of which can never be inquired
into, at this a sound logic will revolt; and will pass over
at once to a method of philosophising which does not thus
barricade the road of discovery.”

It is perfectly true that “law is _par excellence_ the thing that wants
a reason,” and any explanation that explains it by the assumption of an
unknowable is unphilosophical. I agree with Mr. Peirce that we must not
halt here; but I have no confidence in his method of explanation. Mr.
Peirce’s original idea, then, and I should add, his main mistake, is that
he proposes to explain the origin of natural law by evolution.

In his legitimate anxiety to explain law, Mr. Peirce declares chance to
be exempt therefrom. He says:

“That a pitched coin should sometimes turn up heads and
sometimes tails calls for no particular explanation.” (_The
Monist_, Vol. I, No. 2, p. 165.)

But chance in our opinion needs exactly as much explanation as anything
else. Mr. Peirce very improperly identifies “that which cannot be
accounted for” with “that which need not be accounted for.” Absolute
chance, if it existed, would _not_ so much _not_ call for a particular
explanation as actually be unexplainable, and being incapable of
explanation, it would have to be considered as an unintelligible fact,
as inscrutable, incomprehensible, and mystical. On the assumption that
chance need not be accounted for, Mr. Peirce builds the architecture of
his theory. He says:

“Chance is first, law is second, the tendency of habits is
third.”

The application of this general statement is set forth in the following
passage:

“In psychology Feeling is First, Sense of reaction Second,
General conception Third, or mediation. In biology, the idea of
arbitrary sporting is first, heredity is second, the process
whereby the accidental characters become fixed is third.”

How little after all we can escape the determinism of law as being a
feature of the world will be seen from the fact, that the explanation
for the evolution of law is presented by Mr. Peirce as being itself a
law, i. e. a formula describing a regularity supposed to obtain in facts.
Does not Mr. Peirce’s formula, supposing it to be true, deserve the same
reproach which he casts upon natural law in general, viz., that it is “a
hard, ultimate, unintelligible fact, the why and wherefore of which can
never be inquired into”?

VI.

WORLD-CONSTRUCTIONS.

There are two methods of philosophising, one starts with ideas which
are supposed not to need any explanation, the other starts from facts
and uses facts as data. The former is the method of the constructionist
or ontologist, the latter that of the positivist. The constructionist
attempts to beget a world-theory in the same way that God was supposed
to have created the world; he attempts to bring it into being either
out of a real nothing or out of something like nothing. He constructs a
world-theory out of the self-evident, out of the absolute, out of the
indubitable, or out of that the contrary of which is inconceivable. The
positivist, however, employs facts as the given material, which he works
out into a consistent and systematic whole. The former view is synthetic
and constructive, the latter is analytic and descriptive. The former view
is the method of Hegel, Oken, and also of Mr. Spencer, the latter is the
method of all scientists and the ideal of the positive philosophy.

Mr. Peirce although very positivistic in his logic of science, must in
philosophy still be counted among the constructionists.

Chance is to Mr. Peirce as much absolute as was to Hegel the idea
of “abstract being,” which as such, Hegel said, is equivalent to
“non-being.” Non-being need not be accounted for. So Hegel starts with
this idea, and finding that “becoming” is the oscillation between being
and non-being launches his abstract thought upon the terra firma of
reality.

In the same way and with similar ingenious ingenuity Oken starts
the world with zero. Zero or non-being need not be accounted for.
Its existence calls for no particular reasons. What is zero? We can
conceive it as “0 = 1 - 1.” Thus we have “+1” and “-1,” two units. The
whole world, according to Oken, is only a disintegration of Nothing,
an equation of enormous complexity but always equal to zero. And that
explains the world!

Mr. Spencer, adopts “the principle of setting out with propositions of
which the negations are unconceivable,” without being aware that any
inveterate belief or prejudice can be defended from that standpoint.
The principle is purely subjective. It does not admit of any objective
verification and limits knowledge to individual conception. If Mr.
Spencer’s principle were admissible, we could not refute the adversaries
of the Copernican system, when they declare that the rotation of the
earth up on which we stand is inconceivable. The maxim that that
proposition is most certain the negation of which is inconceivable might
after all, and it actually did very often, come into conflict with facts.
Many propositions are now confidently accepted which were formerly
declared to be positively inconceivable.

Mr. Peirce, I say, starts the world with an abstract idea of a something
of which he assumes we need not give any account, as did the great
ontologists of former times. He constructs, agreeably to his reason, a
theory of the way in which the world might have originated, and thus he
falls into the mistake criticised by himself as the _a priori_ method.
Yet the weakest point of Mr. Peirce’s system is that his “absolute
chance” begets order; irregularity becomes law by practice, as if by a
sufficiently prolonged shaking the dice would by and by acquire the habit
of turning up the same faces each time.

The present world-conception of the scientist regards natural laws as
eternal. The order that prevails in these laws constitutes the principle
of evolution and changes the chaos of a nebula into a well-arranged
planetary system. Thus the original chaos is properly speaking no chaos.
It is in all its parts regulated by law and only appears chaotic in
comparison with more advanced stages of evolution.

Desirous to account for the regularities of nature Mr. Peirce proposes
the idea that nature in the beginning was a real, true chaos, without
order, without laws, the single actions of reality taking place
irregularly and in a sportive manner. Absolute chance prevailed.
Everything was undetermined, exactly as much so as a man is undetermined
in his action before his belief is settled. Yet a man, by and by, forms
a belief and acts accordingly, not once or twice, but often, until a
habit is formed. Thus Mr. Peirce assumes, Nature’s actions are first
undetermined, they may be of this kind or of another kind. The same
particle of reality may under the same conditions act in different ways,
yet it acts somehow; it acts again, and repeats a certain kind of action
more frequently than others, thus forming habits. Laws according to Mr.
Peirce are the habits acquired by nature.

The proposition of Mr. Peirce’s logic of science points out another
method of constructing a world-conception. The recognition of reality in
the sense as he conceives it, admonishes us that our world-conception
should be a picturing, a mirroring, an imitation of the objective world
of facts. It should not be the architecture of a theory, but first
an analysis and then a reconstruction of experience; it should be a
description of facts, methodically arranged.

VII.

FACTS AND LAWS.

That which we call natural law is not the description of a certain
special and concrete form of existence which is now or then and here
or there, but of some general quality of facts which is everywhere and
always. The former, i. e. every special and concrete form of existence,
can be explained by evolution, the latter, i. e. natural law, cannot. The
former has to be accounted for by the law of causation, the latter by the
principle of sufficient reason. And it is this distinction between cause
and reason which Mr. Peirce does not seem to have regarded.

Every special form of existence must, at least theoretically, be
traceable as the effect of some cause and every law of nature must be
explainable by showing its connection with other natural laws. The only
thing in the world of which we cannot and need not give account is the
existence of facts itself, or being in general, which is the stubborn
presence of reality in us ourselves and also outside of us, objected
to our own being as an independent power to which we have to adapt our
conduct. We need not prove its existence, for it exists. If anything
is ultimate, facts are ultimate; and cognition is nothing but the
reconstruction of facts for the purpose of orientation among them, it is
a methodical description of reality in the symbols of the feelings that
exist in sentient beings.

A scientist having observed a special process of nature, describes it,
if possible, in such a way that it is recognised as a transformation. A
description of this kind is called an explanation. It renders the process
intelligible to us; it is complete and exhaustive. In order to make such
a description available for comprehending other cases of the same or
similar kind, we have to introduce another principle, which is that of
economy. We must single out those features which are common to a certain
class and remove all diversity and specificalness. All specificalness
and diversity are transient features due to special conditions; they
disappear with these special conditions. Thus the notion of natural law
involves as an essential characteristic and fundamental quality the
absence of the incidental and the temporal.

Natural laws describe the facts of nature _sub specie aeternitatis_. They
cease to be natural laws in the proper sense of the word as soon as they
are conceived, like legal laws, as products of evolutions, which have
appeared in time and may disappear again. Eternity is the characteristic
feature of a natural law, it is its backbone, the essence of its being,
its _conditio sine qua non_.

Thus in considering a natural phenomenon we are led to distinguish
between its cause and its reason: Its cause is something special, it is
an individual event, happening in time, and accordingly being transient;
it is an occurrence of some kind, it is a single and definite fact.
However its reason is not anything special, it is something general;
it is not a single and definite fact, but it is a law of universal
application; it is not transient, but a conception of things in which the
incidental and temporal are eliminated. A reason is applicable to all
cases of the same kind and also to all cases of any time. A cause, i. e.
a fact, if it truly exists, is real (not true); a law, i. e. a reason,
if it really obtains in nature, is true (not real), and any attempt at
explaining natural laws as a product of evolution, being based upon the
view that regards them as causes not as reasons, as real not as true, as
a description of temporal existences, not as viewing facts _sub specie
aeternitatis_, must from the outset be a failure.[77]

Mr. Peirce attempts to explain natural laws as if they were single and
concrete facts. Where we have to look for reasons he evidently employs
the method of searching for causes. He treats that which in its very
nature is eternal, as if it were temporal. He regards the everlasting,
the imperishable, the immutable as if it had originated, as if it were
transient, as if it were the product of a development.

VIII.

LAWS NOT INEXPLICABLE.

But is not Mr. Peirce justified in declaring that law remains
unexplained? Is law really as he says “hard, ultimate, inexplicable,
immutable”? Law is to be regarded as immutable but not as ultimate or
inexplicable, and thus Mr. Peirce’s denunciation of natural law is not
justified. All natural laws must be conceived as forming one system
ascending from the lower to the higher, from the more special to the
more general. And the more comprehensive law represents in each case the
reason for the less comprehensive law which is comprised in it. Thus we
must finally reach the most general or all-comprehensive law, which is a
description of that which is a universal quality of existence.

There is wrong notion prevalent among many thinkers that the most
comprehensive description (law or reason) of a certain kind should,
as in a nutshell, contain and immediately explain all that which it
embraces, so that if once in its possession, we should be omniscient as
to all the rest. The most universal law is looked upon as the centre of
existence—_das Innerste der Welt_. If we could but get there, we should
solve all the world-problems by mere intuition. This is the old error of
the students of magic, whose hope is expressed by Faust when he says:

“_Dass ich erkenne, was die Welt_
_Im Innersten zusammenhält._”

That I may detect the inmost force
Which binds the world and shapes its course.—_Bayard Taylor._

Comprehension is not attained simply by finding out and stating the most
general feature of a certain class of facts; comprehension does not alone
consist of generalisation but also of discrimination. The differences
among less general laws must be recognised as results of special
conditions. And any knowledge of a general law reveals nothing about the
special conditions under the influence of which the same law will work
differently.

It is but too often overlooked that the more general a statement is, the
less it will contain, the vaguer it will appear, the emptier it must be.
There is no royal road to cognition and mere generalisation is of no
avail. We shall have to investigate the details of every case and view
it in its relation to the general law. The general law must be viewed
under those conditions which will invariably produce the same special
modifications.

But do not the most general reasons remain uncomprehended? Do we not at
last arrive at an ultimate law which, then, must be hard and inexplicable?

Those laws which appear in every respect to be universal are the formal
laws of mathematics, arithmetic, and their kindred sciences. And all
these formal sciences are not only _not_ mystical, unintelligible, and
inexplicable, but they are the most perspicuous, most reliable, and most
certain knowledge we possess. All their theorems admit of the most rigid
demonstration, and the last shadow of mysticism has been removed by
Hermann Grassmann. Owing to his searching investigations we are no longer
in need of axioms which were formerly supposed to be the indispensable
basis of mathematics.

There is however a basis of formal thought left which we cannot dispense
with; that is the idea of sameness, generally formulated as the law of
identity. Is perhaps the law of identity by which all the regularities
of nature are to be accounted for, inexplicable? Hardly! The idea of
sameness has a solid basis in the facts of experience.[78]

IX.

CONCLUSION.

The contrast between Determinism and Indeterminism is old, yet Mr.
Peirce has worked out quite a new aspect of Indeterminism and places it
upon a basis that appears to be a more solid foundation than it ever
before possessed. At the same time he succeeds in making some of its
consequences so plausible, that in this new garb it will appeal more
strongly than before to scientifically trained minds. With all deference
to the logical acuteness of Mr. Peirce and with all admiration for the
originality and depth of his thought, we cannot, however, accede to the
new philosophy which he proposes.

Mr. Peirce’s propositions go to the core of all problems, they upset
everything that has heretofore been considered as firm ground, they
question the most fundamental concepts of the world-conception upon
which all scientific reasoning and the methods of the positive philosophy
rest. Thus they set us a-thinking and will help us to attain greater
clearness on points which are to all of us of greater concern than may
at first sight appear. For the fundamental problems of philosophy have
a deep practical importance. Their importance is less noticeable, less
obvious, but at the same time more sweeping the more fundamental they are.

Let us here in concluding this article consider only one, but the most
striking one, of the consequences to which both views lead.

Indeterminism leads to a conception of God which although we may call
it “mind” and place it at the beginning of the world, is pure chance or
the indeterminateness of an arbitrary sporting. Determinism on the other
hand leads to a recognition of God as that something in nature that is
as it is, that has been and will be. Science, whose method of cognising
the truth is and can only be to know in parts, attempts to describe the
partial qualities of this something in natural laws.

It is of great consequence in practical life whether God is what the
name Jahveh intends to convey, eternal and unalterable being, immutable
sameness in the perpetual flux, irrefragable law in the changes of
evolution, or whether it is the Τυχή of the pagans, i. e. indeterminable
and absolute chance, unaccountable, irregular, capricious, and uncertain.

The God-idea is the basis of ethics. It matters little whether we use or
avoid the name God, for the atheist has also a God-idea in his conception
of that existence in which he lives and moves and has his being. This
God-idea is always the ground from which we derive our rules of conduct;
and whenever we change, not our terminology but our idea of God, we shall
as a matter of consistency have to change our views of ethics also.

EDITOR.

FOOTNOTES:

[73] Italics are ours.

[74] See _Fundamental Problems_, p. 55.

[75] This is the position of the Societies for Ethical Culture which are
not confessedly but practically agnostics. Professor Adler’s position is
characterised in _The Monist_, Vol. I, No. 4, p. 567, 599, and _The Open
Court_ Nos. 225 and 234. Mr. Salter bases ethics upon “the immovable rock
of conscience.” (See his _Ethical Religion_, p. 295.)

[76] Ernst Schroeder in his great work _Vorlesungen über die Algebra der
Logik_ adopts in the main the results of Peirce. A sketch of Mr. Peirce’s
line of thought, (his _Gedankengang_, as Schroeder calls it,) is found in
the _Einleitung_, pp. 107-118.

[77] I laid down my views on the subject in a short monograph of only 82
pages, entitled _Ursache, Grund und Zweck, eine philosophische Abhandlung
zur Klärung der Begriffe_ (Dresden: R. von Grumbkow, Hof. Verlag, 1883).
In all main points I maintain the same standpoint still. See also
_Fundamental Problems_, the chapter on Causality, pp. 79-91 and 96-109.

Since the publication of my German pamphlet my confidence that we can,
(not only in the special sciences such as chemistry, mineralogy, botany,
etc., but also in philosophy) arrive at truth, has rather been confirmed
than shaken. We can create a common ground on which all philosophers
agree, as much as mathematicians agree concerning the Pythagorean
theorem. But in order to achieve this ideal, philosophers must abandon
all attempts at originality. The hankering after originality is an
inherited evil in the family of philosophers. The first philosophers
were poets, priests, and prophets; later on in the natural evolution
of human culture, a differentiation of their combined functions took
place. Originality is a virtue in the poet but a vice in his brother,
the philosopher. The philosopher’s ideal must be to free himself of all
individualism, subjectivity, and original conceptions; he must become
strictly objective. He must renounce his personal likes and dislikes, and
make his soul a mirror of nature, faithfully and correctly to represent
the facts and nothing but the facts. This is the ethics of philosophical
inquiry, and the philosophy that takes its stand on this principle we
call positivism.

Almost all divergencies of importance in the different philosophical
systems can be traced to different conceptions or rather misconceptions
of causation.

This last century since Kant has been the most fertile age of original
world-theories, all different in style and manner of construction, but
all alike in so far as the author of each system had strained his utmost
efforts to be original. Thus all these world-theories were so many
beautiful poems on ontology, they were so many grand air-castles produced
by the magic wand of a fairy-tale causation. The philosopher’s aspiration
must not be to present original ideas but to reach that one solution
which any other unbiassed thinker must find, to express that truth which
in the end will have to be recognised universally, to formulate facts in
objective exactness. The degree of originality in philosophic thought
marks the degree of aberration from the common aim of the one sole
solution, and the greatest source of original ideas is the confusion of
cause and reason, of _Ursache_ and _Grund_, of event and law, of fact and
truth.

[78] I expect to discuss the problems of sameness, of chance, of
mechanicalism, and the freedom of will in the next number of _The Monist_
under the caption _The Doctrine of Necessity: Its Basis and its Scope_.

LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE

FRANCE.

Professor Lombroso is unremitting in bringing up new facts in support
of his doctrines. His _Nouvelles Recherches de Psychiatrie et
d’Anthropologie criminelle_ (New Researches in Psychiatry and Criminal
Anthropology) comprise a good many, gathered from the latest works
relating to criminality. In adding psychiatry to anthropology in the
title to this volume, writes the learned author, “I return to my
starting point and to the true source of these studies, which is only
a clinical demonstration, but a more perfect one, of what is called in
old psychiatry, moral insanity and masked epilepsy.” Lombroso may be
reproached with a certain exaggeration, a certain haste, in his views
respecting criminal man: yet can we conceive of an opinionated inquirer
who would not have faith in his work, and who could resist the desire
to generalise from the facts already obtained? But I have little doubt
that the works of his school will end in producing a precise conception,
which will force itself on the attention of legislators and jurists. I
say _precise_, because one has a glimpse of the truth in criticising
the evidence offered to us in such variety, though what one perceives
sometimes vanishes.

How can we conceive of the criminal type? This is a prime question on
which it is not useless to insist. Crime, as M. Tarde tells us, has
become a real profession in our modern societies. Although there is some
truth in it, we must not allow ourselves to be deceived by the subtle
form of this paradox. There is no want of delinquents carrying on a
business; the army of crime recruits itself from all classes, it includes
peasants and workmen, chemists and physicians, lawyers and merchants,
soldiers and poets, that is to say, subjects possessing some one at least
of the aptitudes which form a calling. We have here, then, on the one
side, wretches destitute of all aptitude for a trade, and on the other
men who do not adhere to the exercise of their profession, although
capable of making use of it. The delinquent appears to us, in short,
as stricken with some degree of professional incapacity, and if crime
has become a profession in some sort, the criminals of every category
first represent, if I may thus say, a professional or social waste. The
study of the causes and the signs of this waste is just what has been
undertaken.

The social causes of crime have often been put in prominence. They are
numerous, and persons unacquainted with these questions are inclined to
attribute the largest proportion of crimes and offences to distress and
misery. But, according to the inquiries of Morrison, for example—and by
the confession also of M. Troal, of whom I shall speak immediately—misery
rarely produces crime, and if we examine carefully, one after the other,
the social causes of crime, we shall soon be convinced that poverty,
drunkenness, etc., feed criminality by producing degeneracy of the race,
rather than that they directly arouse the criminal.[79] We are compelled
then to seek the immediate reason for a crime in the criminal himself,
and to learn to distinguish the delinquent by means of the methods fixed
upon by anthropologists and physicians.

At first, as we know, Lombroso recognised only one criminal type. He has
since found that there are many. The distinction between the thief and
the murderer is classical. Benedikt has described the born vagabond;
Brouardel, the feminine type. It is always necessary in describing a
type to resort to the methods of natural history, to pass in review the
emotional and intellectual characters, the physiological or functional
characters, the anatomical or morphological characters, and endeavor
to seize certain constant correlations between the signs one has been
successful in observing. The delinquent may be described as abnormal
from the emotional standpoint, and as deficient or perverted from the
intellectual point of view. We could then begin by describing exactly
certain intellectual and emotional types, and it is no exaggeration
to say that experienced magistrates in their way have done so, those
even who, with M. Proal, we shall see to be the most hostile to
anthropological theories. But they are reluctant to admit any relations
between the moral agent and physical nature, whereas the new school, on
the contrary, makes every effort to discover and determine them.

How far is it successful? That is the question.

If we take the ensemble of the emotional and intellectual characters, we
shall affirm with Professor Pelman (whose opinion Mr. Christian Ufer has
made known in _The Monist_) that the portrait of the imbecile traced by
Sollier corresponds strongly to that of the born criminal of Lombroso.
We shall aver also that this portrait does not answer equally well for
all kinds of delinquents, and that we pass gradually from the malignant
imbecile to the average or mediocre man. The same observation applies
when we study the physiognomical characters of which the little book of
Lombroso furnishes a great variety. We shall have evidently to consider,
with respect to physiognomical characters and physical marks, a strong
type (certainly inborn), a weak type, and, I would add, an _acquired_
type.

If we take functional anomalies—those of touch, sight, etc.—we shall be
struck with their number as well as with their importance, and, I may say
in passing, the alienist physicians who continue to be the adversaries
of Lombroso discover every day fresh examples of them, which could
give to the conception of the type, the reality they still deny it to
possess. The latest discovery, and certainly one of the most striking,
is that which Ottolenghi has just made, in the clinic of Lombroso
himself, respecting the visual field of epileptics and of the morally
insane. According to the researches of Ottolenghi, the visual field will
be remarkably limited, both with epileptics not in paroxysms, and with
born delinquents, but more often with the latter. They present a partial
hemiopia, vertical and heteronymous; the periphery of the field is
sinuous and irregular. This discovery tends, then, to confirm the analogy
of epilepsy with criminal tendencies; it will furnish a sign of the first
order for a well marked category of delinquents.

Let us pass on to morphological characters. The abundance of evidence
is truly extraordinary, and one cannot abstain from remarking, in this
relation, that a certain number of the anomalies designated ought to
be found, and indeed are found, in morally healthy subjects, and that
therefore they do not alone suffice to furnish a ground of distinction
from the medium normal type. As certain functional anomalies are not
wanting either in many subjects whose morality remains perfect, it would
be necessary to aim, it seems to me, at establishing an approximate
_quantum_ for the criminal type, or rather for the _kinds_ which ought to
lead, by sensible gradations, from the most pronounced type to that which
is the least so. Some scattered elements of this work will be found in
the book of Lombroso; the studies of Clouston on the palate (deformation
of the palate existed in 19 per cent. of the general population, 61
per cent. of imbeciles, 35 per cent. of criminals, and 33 per cent. of
madmen); the monographs of Ottolenghi and Roncoroni on the pathological
anomalies of 100 criminals, with an indication of the number and the
nature of the anomalies, etc.

In short, it cannot be questioned that the new school holds its ground
well, since it circumscribes and makes more and more precise the object
of its researches. In my humble opinion, it is of importance for it to
get rid of hazardous or useless explanations, for it to tell us as little
as possible of remote atavism—for if heredity is constant, it is not
possible to trace it link by link as far as the deluge!—and finally for
pure anthropologists and psychiatrists to beware of themselves drawing
practical conclusions from their doctrines. The applications concern
jurists, and constitute a question of another kind, into which other
considerations also enter.

* * * * *

In the juridical domain, a French magistrate, M. LOUIS PROAL, has
just published a considerable work, _Le Crime et la Peine_ (Crime and
Punishment) which is truly the performance of an adversary, but not of
such an adversary as M. Tarde. M. Proal is an irreconcilable, and all
his dialectic—charged a little too much with citations of which many are
useless or prove nothing—turns on the absolute affirmation of free-will.
He flatters himself to have demonstrated freedom, in which he is wrong.
It is a matter of faith, as criticists have very well perceived. Human
science can know only determinism; it proves only what it finds.[80]

M. Proal claims then to found on free-will the two principles of the
moral responsibility of the delinquent, and the moral character of
punishment, in opposition to the purely social point of view in which
the new criminalists place themselves. The physical anomaly of the
criminal seems to him a chimera, and he goes so far as to deny, or falls
little short of it, the relations of frenzied impulsion with degeneracy.
Willingly, perhaps, he would accept as truly mad and irresponsible only
the insane, those who are shut up forever in the asylums!

Certainly, M. Proal possesses the experience of the magistrate, he
has erudition and triumphs easily, in details, by the defects and
deficiencies of the doctrine he combats. His objections, nevertheless, do
not touch the general conception which connects crime, in a great number
of cases, with the disorders of the living machine. He is not willing
for the criminal to differ from the honest man otherwise than by his
inclinations and will, as though will and inclinations had no dependence
on the state of our organs, and as though heredity entered for nothing
into the “personal factor” of character! He is not averse to saying that
moral and physical decadence is always the effect of criminality, as
though it was never its cause! He allows with that attenuations of moral
responsibility, resulting from physiological and physical influences, as
though a weakened responsibility was a true moral responsibility in the
sense he understands, and as though the judge had the means of deciding
at what moment morbid evolution involves irresponsibility!

These absolute principles once established, he defines an offense “the
violation of a social duty,” and he grants that the judge “ought to take
account of the importance of the social evil resulting from the crime.”
It is sufficient for him that the _intention_ and the _responsibility_
is appreciated, in order to attach the penalty to morality. In default
of which, writes he, there would be no more justice. It is a noble
solicitude, that of wishing to justify punishment in the eyes of the
guilty person himself, and to inflict it on him as an expiation of the
evil he has committed. But here an error is fallen into, which is, in
my opinion, to suppose that the law punishes “morally.” The law has
not the power to inflict moral chastisement. It strikes the delinquent
materially, in his goods, in his person; the rest depends not on the
judge who applies the law, but on the judge who is in ourselves,
the avenger more or less severe according to the complex incidences
of education and heredity. Moral chastisement can exist only in the
conscience of the delinquent, and, if this conscience is wanting, or
nearly so, all the affirmations of the judge cannot cause the punishment
to have the quality of moral expiation for the guilty. The criminal will
submit to it through force, and the magistrate will apply it by necessity.

Such is, I think, the true situation. The new school of criminology
will introduce reforms in the practice of the tribunals and in the
administration of the penal laws; it will not change justice and could
not compromise morality. And now pardon me for adding to these some
further remarks, in connection with the books of which I have still to
speak.

* * * * *

The interests and the passions of men, habits too long acquired to alter,
can be considered as the immediate and constant motives of societies,
the _vis à tergo_ of their evolution. Political theories work on a
pre-existing social matter, and more or less in the direction of the
tendencies which have produced the state of things that they aspire to
reform or overturn. In a general manner, they possess then neither the
power necessary to create, attributed to them by utopists, nor the power
to destroy, which makes them appear so formidable to conservatives.
Without denying all efficiency to the intellectual ideal, it is
permissible to say that its action has a bearing purely conditional,
and that the revolutions of growth of social organisms never absolutely
depend on the theorist who establishes its diagnosis, and endeavors to
regulate its march. We behold, in a word, history making itself, rather
than that we make it ourselves and according to our inclination. It is
hardly possible for us to foresee the remote effects of our inventions,
of our discoveries. In sociology as well as in physics, man remains the
servant and the interpreter of nature.

There is in this, if I am not deceived, a reason for reassuring ourselves
concerning certain alarming predictions as to the future of our
civilisation. In his book _La Civilisation et la Croyance_ (Civilisation
and Belief), the second edition of which has just appeared, M. CHARLES
SECRÉTAN estimates that our societies will sink down, at least that they
will neither return to a purified Christianity—a Christianity that has
never yet been practised—nor restore the great principles of the free
soul and of God. M. Secrétan is a brilliant writer and has a noble heart,
and his book contains at least one truth of the first order, always good
to repeat, which is that nothing durable is founded on hatred. He dare
not flatter himself, however, that his warnings will be listened to, his
lessons observed. Perhaps he exaggerates the real dangers which menace
us, because he enlarges, unknown to himself, the rôle of philosophic
doctrines, and attributes to the mind a kind of discretionary power over
the sentiments and the interests of mankind.

Here we have the intellectualist mistake. It appears chiefly in the
revolutionist propaganda which agitates our Europe, and of which M.
J. BOURDEAU makes known the ideas and the progress, in a clear and
interesting manner, in his work _Le Socialisme allemand et le Nihilisme
russe_ (German Socialism and Russian Nihilism). It is a fact well worthy
of remark, that the genial promoter of the theories of Fourier, St.
Simon, and others—I refer to J. J. Rousseau—had had the conjecture of a
social physiology: fragments of his that have been published show well
that he did not regard the age of gold as one of savagery, and that
he foresaw the part that human nature had to do in our calculations
of government. What is found just in his writings could even well be
intimately connected with this naturalist point of view. But he lived
in the century _par excellence_ of rationalism, where such ideas could
be neither developed nor understood; he constructed the political world
according to reasoning, and I shall not be far wrong in thinking that
socialism represents in its turn, definitively, at least in its essential
features, a last offshoot from this rational school which has already, a
hundred years ago, made us the villainous present of Jacobinism.

Absolute communism has no chance of ever realising itself. Neither Karl
Marx, nor Engels, has ventured even to indicate the possible form of
the society of which they dream. The action of the socialists, in turn,
could have as its result the substitution for our régime of excessive
individualism and of disordered democracy, a régime of corporations and
of more regular co-operation, by one of those reversions to institutions
anciently delineated that history presents to us, and which respond to a
sort of “law of oscillation” of social phenomena. There is no occasion,
however, to give it long consideration to establish that these returns
do not exclude novelty, for the apparent form of social arrangements is
of less moment than the nature of the ideas and of the relations which
sustain them, and here is what I would readily call a “law of progressive
repetition.” As to the exact sense of the evolution which there manifests
itself, the great task of disengaging it falls to the sociologists. But
the school of Marx has wished to see things only from one side, and his
theory, which is too simple, does not embrace the complexity of the
phenomena.[81]

Without any pretension to renew the face of the world and to interpret
economic phenomena in favor of an arbitrary thesis, M. AD. COSTA, in his
opuscule _Alcoholisme ou Épargne_ (Alcoholism or Thrift) places before
us the truly immediate question of socialism, in the presence of this
“social dilemma” which reformers willingly mask in their discourses:
on one side, alcoholism, life from day to day, the unreasonable and
momentary illusion that one imbibes with stimulants, the wasting of daily
resources, finally the pauperism which leads to social servitude; on the
other side, thrift under all its forms, a provident life ordered with
intelligence, abstention from dangerous stimulants, progressive comfort
and increasing happiness, more and more freedom. Yes, here are the two
issues between which the workers have to choose. Those who read this
little book can learn there, both what milliards of salaries alcohol has
devoured, and what misery both physical and moral it engenders, and the
degradation that it brings to those who give themselves up to it. To
many this may be only the small side of a great problem. Without thrift
and the qualities which render it possible, there is neither family nor
morality. How can a man pretend to possess instruments of labor when he
deteriorates the chief of all, his own living machine? How can a social
class have the illusion to believe that a revolution ever profits him who
is neither able nor capable of preparing and conducting it?

* * * * *

The last work of M. E. DE LAVELEYE, _Le Gouvernement dans la Démocratie_
(Democratic Government),[82] published a few months before his death,
treats chiefly of the organisation of public powers. This question has
importance to-day, writes the learned author, only in relation to the
great questions which will agitate the world of to-morrow, the social
question and the religious question. Conservatives make use of government
as a brake; revolutionists seek to seize hold of it as a lever. The fact
is that our Europe marches towards democracy. But will democracy give
us freedom? On what conditions can it form an acceptable régime and one
compatible with high culture?

It is not necessary for me to explain here the reasonings and conclusions
of M. de Laveleye. His book, to speak the truth, is less a book than a
collection of Review articles and historical sketches. The politics of
action will find in it too much theory, and philosophers will regret the
absence of master-ideas. It is well to read this work for its practical
advice and the rich details that it contains; we must not look there for
a real historical or social conception.

The sentiment which is dominant, finally, in all the writings of which
I have just spoken is inquietude, and unfortunately it is only too well
justified. We see, in our Occident, alcoholism increasing with salaries,
the hatred of classes with wealth, immorality with enfranchisement,
public burdens with political progress, the aggregation of individuals
with great industry, criminality even with education. The wealth acquired
is compensated for by new evils; it seems that all our conquests have the
result of putting social order in peril, and that the civilisation of
which we are so proud is bound, in a short time, to become bankrupt.

We have, nevertheless, a weighty capital with which to restore ourselves,
and it is only right to say that it is beginning to be applied. But we
must give up some errors as to which it is good time to open one’s eyes.
One of the gravest, certainly, is always to place instruction before
education, and the mind before the heart. We have allowed to drop, at
the same time with religion, the difficult task of forming moral habits.
Let us understand in a word that, in a society, the most valuable thing
is neither the steam engine, nor the bank note, but the man himself,
and that in the man even it is not ability or special knowledge but
_character_.

LUCIEN ARRÉAT.

FOOTNOTES:

[79] I reserve, as well understood, the question of education, in order
to simplify matters here.

[80] A ground of mutual understanding would be supplied by accepting
the distinction proposed by P. Carus between _constraint_, which alone
excludes freedom, and _necessity_, which leaves our will free within
the limits of our character. Already Plotinus had written: “How can it
be said of this being (he who obeys his nature) that he obeys, if he is
not constrained to follow something external?” (6th _Enn._ lib. viii.)—I
recommend to the curious on these questions the book of M. BERTAULD,
_Méthode Spiritualiste, Esprit et Liberté_. M. Bertauld places freedom
in _autonomy_, which is perfectly reconcilable with psychological
determinism; there is on the contrary, he declares, no radical
contradiction between determinism and free-will, and indeterminism is
an absurd conception. The work is well written, and I do not intend to
belittle it by mentioning it in a simple note.

[81] In this relation, I will particularly refer to the great work, in
course of publication, of M. B. MALON, _Le Socialisme intégral_, and I
recommend at the same time the article _Justice and Socialism_ of M.
Belot, which has been much spoken of, in the number for February last of
the _Revue Philosophique_.

[82] All the works mentioned in this article are published by F. Alcan.

II.

GERMANY.

In the January number of _The Monist_ I mentioned a treatise written
by G. Ludwigs, in which the novels of Wilhelm Walloth were criticised,
and expressed my surprise that in the work discussed a personality
unquestionably diseased was stamped as a poet of almost the first order.
Much that then struck me as strange and was unclear to me, was later
rendered plain and intelligible; and the explanation was not long in
forthcoming.

As the newspapers shortly afterwards announced, Ludwigs was simply the
pseudonym of a sixteen year old gymnasium student of Darmstadt, who had
already attracted the attention of wider circles by the poems he had
written. It happens at times that individualities of this description
bear out in the advanced years of their life the promise of their youth.
Extraordinary things were to be expected, though I cannot say _hoped_,
of Ludwigs; but the expectation was not fulfilled. He, an instance of
real decadence, yet a boy in years, voluntarily took his own life,
deeply mourned by his literary associates, the “Young Germans,” in whose
magazine _Die Gesellschaft_ a brother of the deceased is now publishing
biographical notes and literary remains—novels and poems—all more of a
psychological than literary interest. The biographical notes plainly
mark out a personality smitten with psychosis and suffering in a marked
degree with hyperæsthesia, and the literary remains reflect this mental
condition; light-sensations especially playing an important rôle. His
nervous system was too weak to assert itself permanently against the
outer world. This pressure, which objectively considered was not at all a
powerful one, did not admit of the rise of a powerful sense of life; and
especially oppressive to the precocious youth was the life of the school
in the most varied ways, and in an unexpected moment the flame of his
life went out.

As psychologists, we should find considerable interest in the study
of this phenomenon of Ludwigs. We must admire his abilities and his
capacity for work, which not only enabled him to perform his duties as
a student of the gymnasium, but also left him time enough, in addition
to his literary work, to employ himself with the psychological writings
of Wundt and Münsterberg, which he desired to turn to account in the
field of poetry. We must mourn too his sad fate. But we have no reason to
_glorify_ such a diseased personality, as is done on many sides in the
April number of _Die Gesellschaft_.

But this is a peculiar characteristic of the Young-German writers and
their confrères abroad, that they make the diseased take the place of
the sound, and the ugly of the beautiful, and thus help greatly to
undermine the health of the common mind. There are it is true a goodly
number of trusting souls who believe that we may regard with security and
composure, the endeavors and tendencies of the naturalistic apostles, as
our taste in literature and art—a few cases excepted—can surely not be
reversed into its opposite. On this point, perhaps, those who so think
are not wrong. But the stage may easily be reached where literary taste
no longer remains determinative, and the place of the æsthetical interest
in things is taken by the scientific, before whose judgment-seat no
difference of the beautiful and the hideous exists.

This view is the direct outcome of philosophical materialism. The latter
doctrine may at present, it is true, be regarded in all its main points
as definitively overthrown, so far as philosophy is concerned; but in
the domain of _belles lettres_—a term not quite allowable here—the wave
which it has created still sweeps mightily onward. Two new works seek
to break its force, which have been published in the series _Gegen den
Materialismus_ edited by Dr. Schmidkunz (Stuttgart: Krabbe). The first
treatise bears the title _Materialismus und Æsthetik_ and has no less a
person as author than MORIZ CARRIÈRE; the second treats of _Materialism
in Literature_ and is the production of the northerner OLA HANSSON. I
am unable to say that these two treatises have especially satisfied me.
Both authors look at the subject too one-sidedly from the point of view
of æsthetics, and have not by far given a sufficient recognition to the
psychological aspect of the subject. I recognise indeed with Carrière,
in spite of all the apparent mutability of taste, a normative æsthetics;
but that man bears within him an ideal of life, as the seed does the
plant with its blossom and its fruit, I am unable for psychological
reasons to concede. I grant that I find with Ola Hansson psychology is so
far poorly represented in the naturalistic literature as the growth and
evolution of character is made to appear a much too simple process; and
I concede furthermore that the evolution of character in the individual
case is very far removed from anything like resemblance to an example
in mathematics, inasmuch as quantities may be lacking us in such a case
which are absolutely necessary to be taken account of for a correct
solution of the problem; but these missing quantities need not for that
reason be at all matters of mystery, in their true nature wholly unknown
to us.

To what limits the domain of mystery has shrunk and to how great an
extent its expressions may be made intelligible and to a certain degree
even may be “regulated,” provided, equipped with thorough knowledge, we
courageously look the things in the face, is exemplified in a marked
degree by a voluminous work of the above mentioned Dr. Schmidkunz. The
so-called Suggestion passed for a long time as something wonderful
and had to rest its defence in the hands of the representatives of a
psycho-physical mysticism as opposed to a “surface”-psychology which
in the words of Du Prels occupied itself exclusively with surface work
without penetrating to the depths. SCHMIDKUNZ now points out in his
_Psychologie der Suggestion_ (Stuttgart, 1892: Ferdinand Enke) in a
very comprehensive manner what others had very plainly hinted at before
him, namely, that in the case of a very great number of phenomena we
have, exactly viewed, to deal only with some very simple and quite
explainable things which unite in the composition of what is commonly
called suggestion. The contents of the work, however, are not exhausted
with this; under the influence of a tremendous scope of reading, the
author treats the whole domain of suggestion, and if he understood more
perfectly the art of good writing, he would have earned a much greater
gratitude than that which in any event is his due.

Schmidkunz touches repeatedly in his work upon a domain which still
belongs to the most obscure of the history of civilisation, namely
witchcraft and the trials of witches. This topic, likewise viewed from
a psychological point of view, forms the subject of a special treatise
by SNELL, entitled _Hexenprocesse und Geistesstörung_ (Munich, 1891:
J. F. Lehmann). In this book no rôle is ascribed to suggestion, but as
the title indicates the treatment centres about the question of what
significance mental disorders generally may have possessed in the trials
of witches. The author concedes that demented persons became the victims
of the trials for witchcraft either because they had rendered themselves
by their character open to the suspicion of a compact with the devil,
or because they had by self-obtrusion directly drawn upon themselves
this persecution, but asserts nevertheless, that the number of demented
persons that fell victims to the trials for witchcraft, was comparatively
very small. Mental disorder however played in so far a great rôle in the
trials for witchcraft as demented persons, especially such as suffered
from hysteria, became false witnesses and brought sound and healthy
people into the hands of the persecuting judges.

As I am now treading the province of psychiatry, I will mention, that
WILHELM GRIESINGER’S celebrated work _Pathologie und Therapie der
psychischen Krankheiten_ has just been published in its fifth edition
under the direction of Dr. Levinstein-Schlegel, the director of the
Maison de Santé in Schöneberg (Berlin: August Hirschwald). I do not of
course specify this work solely for the sake of the physicians who may be
readers of _The Monist_, but am rather impelled to the act by a universal
psychological consideration, for Griesinger in the first edition of
the work also made a name for himself as a psychologist. It appeared
originally in 1845, and possessed a compass of 396 pages; the fifth
edition numbers 1100 pages and has increased considerably in size as
compared with the fourth. Whether the augmentations have added anything
to the value of the work is a question which must first be submitted for
answer to our physicians. In psychological respects its value has in so
far been very much increased as the experiential data have assumed much
greater proportions: the psychological analysis however has been somewhat
neglected.

Psychological analysis in fact is not the strong side of the majority of
our psychiatrists. What Griesinger and still more so Spielmann sought
after in this direction, has been greatly forced in the background.
As a general rule our inquirers content themselves with a description
of symptoms and the construction of a more than copious nomenclature,
in the midst of which the connections are Very easy to be overlooked.
Among the commendable exceptions is to be named in this respect the
well-known Vienna professor THEODOR MEYNERT. In addition to his extensive
psychiatrical works he has also published a considerable number of
lectures and discourses partly in magazines and partly in separate
brochures. These discourses are now presented in collected form in a
book entitled _Sammlung von populärwissenschaftlichen Vorträgen über den
Bau una die Leistungen des Gehirns_ (Vienna, 1892, Wilhelm Braumüller).
The most noticeable discourses are the following: The Significance of
the Brain for the World of our Ideas; The Mechanics of the Cerebral
Structure; On the Feelings; On Illusion; On the Significance of the
Development of the Forehead; The Mechanics of Physiognomy; Brain and
Culture; The Co-operation of the Parts of the Brain; On Artificial
Disturbances of the Psychic Equilibrium. No words need be wasted in the
recommendation of the book of Meynert.

CHR. UFER.

DIVERSE TOPICS.

PROFESSOR HAECKEL’S MONISM.

There are two Latin proverbs which are both good rules for
controversialists who seek for the truth on different roads. The one
reads: _In verbis simus faciles dummodo conveniamus in re_, the other
reads: _In verbis simus difficiles ut conveniamus in re_. A difference
of terms often prevents two thinkers from noticing that they actually
agree. Therefore let us be lenient in terms and never lose sight of their
meaning and purport. On the other hand terms are not indifferent, and
the selection of terms should not be regarded as arbitrary. In order to
arrive at a solid and permanent agreement, permanent because it is based
upon objectively demonstrable truth, we have to be scrupulously careful
with our terminology; and we must not allow the arbitrary employment of
terms where they are inappropriate. An inappropriate usage of terms will
lead us astray and involve us in confusion and error.

Says Professor Haeckel:

“The divergences which exhibit themselves in our respective
unitary conceptions of the world are in part only apparent
and in part occasioned by the divergent significances of our
fundamental ideas.”

This seems to me very true and, indeed, I have very good evidence that it
is true. Professor Haeckel writes in his letter to me:

“I have marked in _red_ those passages of your kind review of
my ‘Anthropogeny’ in which I agree with you and in _blue_ those
in which I differ.”

Now I find all those passages where I should have anticipated an
objection on Professor Haeckel’s part marked red, while a blue mark
appears where in my opinion there is only a difference of terminology. It
is the following sentence on page 441:

“Psychic life is absent so far as we can see in the primordial
world-substance as it appears in the form of a nebula; it is
absent still in the primordial state of planets. It appears
with the subjective states of awareness that rise into
existence in organised life. The subjectivity of unorganised
matter is, in comparison with man’s subjectivity, to be
considered as a blank; i. e., if there is in it a state of
awareness, which we have reasons to doubt, it is apparently
without meaning; it does not symbolise external objects;
it is no mind; it is, as it were, blind. Yet the aim of
evolution being the development of psychical life, shows that
the subjectivity of unorganised matter is spiritual in its
innermost nature.”

This difference is probably a difference of terminology only, for I
insist most strongly on the doctrine that all nature is alive. However, I
make a difference between “life” and “soul.” Nature is alive throughout,
but it is not ensouled; the action of chemical elements and of the
falling stone are no psychical actions.[83]

Another blue stroke appears at the following passage:

“We grant willingly that mechanical explanations will serve
for all motions that take place in the world; even the motions
of the brain take place in strict obedience to the laws of
molar and molecular mechanics. But a mechanical explanation
is not applicable to that which is not motion. If it were
applicable it would not be desirable, for it would be of no
avail. Mechanical explanations are to be limited to mechanical
phenomena. Feeling however is not a mechanical phenomenon,
and an idea, being a special and a very complex kind of a
feeling, or rather and more accurately expressed, being the
special meaning of a very complex feeling, is not a mechanical
phenomenon either.”

The subsequent sentences are again approved by Professor Haeckel; they
are marked red:

“It is true that when a feeling takes place and when an
idea is thought in the brain of an organised being, that a
certain nervous action takes place. The nervous action is
a motion and this motion represents a definite amount of
energy. There is no theoretical difficulty, although there are
almost insurmountable practical difficulties, in measuring
the definite amount of potential energy that is changed into
kinetic energy when a man thinks. Yet the brain-motion is not
the idea and by a mechanical explanation of the brain-motion
we have not even touched the problem of what the nature of the
idea is, why ideas originate and how they act.”

We do not understand how Professor Haeckel can object to the view that
ideas and feelings are no motions. We fully grant that the nervous
action that takes place when an idea is thought is a motion, and that,
considered as a brain-action, it is mechanically explainable. But by
feeling we understand not the brain-action but a state of awareness, and
states of awareness are not objective phenomena, they are subjective
phenomena; whereby we do not at all deny that there are no feelings which
must not in their objective existence at the same time be supposed to be
brain-motions.

Feelings are not motions but ideas are still less motions. Ideas are
the meanings which certain feelings that are representative of certain
sets of experiences have acquired. Is the meaning of a word a motion?
Can the significance of words be mechanically explained? The meaning of
ideas, the significance of words, the representativeness of feelings are
phenomena which have nothing to do with motions but constitute a domain
of their own.

Professor Haeckel in our opinion can mean only that there are no feelings
in themselves, but all our feelings are at the same time brain-motions,
and as such they are mechanical phenomena. We have to add, however, that
an explanation of the mechanism of brain-action does not as yet explain
the significance of mental operations.

Professor Haeckel insists so strongly upon his view of monism as being
mechanicalism that this seems to mark a difference in our conceptions
which might be of consequence.

I was very glad to notice the long strokes of red along the passages
which contain my proposition that “the evolution of organised life is a
natural process having a definite aim”; further, along the paragraphs
concerning the world-order as being moral in so far as the world-order is
the basis of morality, and also those which represent God as being that
power of the world-order obedience to which is called morality.

Professor Haeckel’s agreement with these passages indicates that those
expressions of his to which we should take exception, and which he
employs again in his article of the present number, might not be regarded
as divergences.

Professor Haeckel’s definition of God appears to us insufficient, and
also his definition of immortality.

God is not only the sum-total of matter and force, God is also that
quality of the world which the naturalist describes in natural laws.
God is the life of the world, he is that feature of existence which
makes mind and knowledge possible. In addition he is that which men
call progress, the ideal of the future that lives in our souls and the
principle of evolution in nature.

There is a deeper truth too in the doctrine of immortality. There is a
conservation of matter and energy, but there is also a preservation of
soul. Says Professor Haeckel, “the human soul is a very highly developed
vertebral soul.” If that is so, the soul of our fossil ancestors
continues to live in us. This soul has been altered, it is true, but the
alterations are not so much a loss as a gain. The alterations consist in
the additional growth of new powers and represent a higher development.
All that which was worth preserving has been preserved.

And as it has been in the past, so we can confidently expect that it
will be in the future. All that is worth preserving of our souls will be
preserved in the ages to come. Our souls will live and develop to higher
possibilities. They will be transmitted from generation to generation,
advancing on the unlimited path of evolutionary progress.

P. C.

FOOTNOTES:

[83] We intend to express our views more fully in a special article to be
published in a subsequent number of _The Monist_.

THE RELIGION OF SCIENCE.

There was during the last winter great excitement in Germany, concerning
a new school-bill proposed by the chancellor Caprivi, and the late
Prussian minister of cultus, Zedlitz-Trützschler. This school-bill
proposed to take the direction of the public schools out of the hands of
scientific men and transfer it to the clergy. The idea of the Emperor
was to let the education of the young be guided in a religious spirit. He
intended to wage a war against atheism.

Among the pamphlets which were written during the crisis, is especially
noteworthy the monograph of the late minister of cultus, Herr von Gosler,
whom we should count among the most conservative of Prussian officials.
His opposition, accordingly, is the more remarkable, and his objections
had much weight with the Emperor.

The Emperor has withdrawn the bill. Nevertheless, the spirit of
ultra-conservatism, which shows itself in an outspoken hostility against
science, still remains strong enough, and new onslaughts upon the
progressive policy in school and church, may be expected in the future.
The question is timely still and will remain timely until there be a
common agreement concerning the principles of education, so that our
school politics may no longer be decided by and subjected to partisan
strife.

Attacks that are made upon the very spirit of the institution of our
civilisation and the political crises following thereupon are beneficial
in one respect. They make people pause; they make them reconsider the
principles by which they allow their conduct to be regulated. They make
men conscious of the maxims that ought to underlie their lives and which
generally are accepted by the majority without much reflection. The
Prussian school-bill has indeed exercised a wholesome influence, for it
called attention to the importance of principles and roused the German
nation from religious indifference. During the conflict many scientists
and professors of universities, who as a rule interfere little with
politics, have raised their voice in warning, and many valuable ideas
were expressed that found a strong echo in the heart of the people.

There are two articles written by German professors which have commanded
very wide attention inside and outside of Germany. The one article
was written by Professor Haeckel of Jena, in the _Freie Bühne_, the
most important passages of which appeared at the time in _The Open
Court_, No. 243. The other article was written by Friedrich Jodl, of
Prague. It appeared first in the Augsburger _Allgemeine Zeitung_, and
was republished in pamphlet form by Cotta, in Stuttgart. The former
is an enthusiastic appeal to let science, which is the basis of our
civilisation, remain the basis of our educational maxims in schools and
universities. The latter discusses the philosophical principles of the
conflict.

We are greatly in sympathy with the spirit in which Professor Jodl
has treated his subject. Nay, more, we substantially agree with him
concerning all main facts, and also concerning the sense in which our
future development should be directed. Nevertheless there are points of
disagreement, which we consider of sufficient importance to point out and
explain.

The ultra-conservative party stands upon the platform that there can be
no morality without religion, and no religion without dogmatism. For this
reason dogmatism should rule supreme in the schools, and science should
be subservient to religious creed. That this means curtailment of the
freedom of investigation, and the suppression of the liberty of science,
is understood by all the parties concerned. The liberals so apprehend it,
and the ultra-conservatives do not deny it. In the face of this situation
Professor Jodl proposes the question, “Is there a humanitarian morality
possible?” (p. 8 of the pamphlet “Moral, Religion, und Schule.”) He says:

“A mere glance into the numerous anthologies of the moral
wisdom of all times and centuries, shows that the agreement
concerning moral ideas and norms is much greater, and it
recedes much more into the dim past than is usually assumed.
The writings of Laotse and Confutse, the popular literature
of Buddhism, the fragments of old Egyptian law, the didactic
poetry of Islam, contain a great wealth of moral wisdom, and
treasures of the noblest ethical sentiment which the Christian
Occident likes to regard as its own exclusive property.
Especially the ancients, whose civilisation, in spite of much
opposition, is still the basis of our civilisation, furnish us
with a series of the most beautiful moral types and ideals,
and there we find, beside many valuable features of Christian
ethics, other no less valuable gems which we seek for in vain
in the old Christian morality, and which were not recognised
until Christianity came into contact with the Teutonic nations
of northern Europe. Our ultra-conservatives argue that without
catechisms humanity would stand helpless before the question of
what is right and wrong, and what the growing generation should
be taught in order to make them useful and honorable members of
society.”

In opposition to these views Professor Jodl urges that

“If society of to-day can at all tolerate that such doctrines
as Christian morality are taught in our schools as the
foundation of practical conduct of life, this is possible only
because the ethics of the old biblical Christianity has, in
the course of centuries, grown to be something quite different
from what it was in the beginning. The throughout communistic,
labor-abhorring, world-hating, miracle-infatuated morality of
original Christianity, constantly dreaming of the collapse
of the world near at hand, and suited only to the demands of
the paupers of the time, could only be changed and adapted
to the conditions of later periods of radically different
conditions, with great difficulty. The Catholic church has
done much to accomplish this purpose, and in a still higher
degree Protestantism has made many concessions to humanitarian
ethics and practical reason. These concessions, however, must
appear from the historical standpoint, as adulterations of the
Christian ideas. Exactly in the degree that Christian morality
in modern times has remained a living power, it has ceased
to remain Christian in the historical sense.... The tendency
of the whole development of the modern world is to conceive
the moral norms as natural conditions of human society, and
to understand them in their connection of the individual with
the whole. This thought and sentiment must become in the child
a living power, and morality cannot expect in this respect
help from religion. Religion knows only the relation of the
individual to God, as it is expressed in the mystical ideas of
sin and mercy. Religion knows no duties and goals for humanity,
but only for the egotistic desire of salvation for the
individual. Religion knows no progress, no evolution, but only
eternal life or eternal damnation. The civilised nations of
Europe had to go through with many hard struggles in order to
arrive at the idea that there is a humanitarian, and a natural,
morality, in comparison with which all religious dogmatism must
be considered as indifferent additions. Only on the basis of
this conviction is it possible that there exist to-day so many
religious confessions of faith, and among them also those
who are religious without having any special confession. Here
lies the great duty of our time for enlightened legislation,
for our schools, to take care that the universal Christian
be developed from the narrow dogmatism, and, further, the
universal human ideal, from the universal Christian. To expect
this of the clergy of the different religious societies, would
be a mistake.... The theological spirit and the principle of
free investigation, are irreconcilable adversaries. Every
religion, of whatever denomination it may be, is stable in its
very nature. It pretends to be eternal truth, and whenever it
compromises with the idea of progress, it does so reluctantly,
and in the form of concessions.”

We agree with Professor Jodl in his opinion that our present dogmatic
religions are entirely unfit to understand the demands of the present.
And it is true that the humanitarian ideas of morality have been slowly
developed from the crude and immature notions of the apostolic times. The
aim of our moral development must be humanitarian ethics. But we disagree
with professor Jodl that we cannot expect a further evolution of our
moral ideas from the clergy.

It seems to me that here lies the important difference between the old
and the new world. Conditions favor religious progress in America,
while the conditions in Europe cut off all hope and produce an ominous
stagnancy.

The clergy of the old world, in Germany as well as in England, and in
all Catholic countries, are appointed only on the condition of being
ultra-conservative in religious matters, as well as otherwise. No young
man whose enthusiasm would carry him so far as to suggest reforms on
broader humanitarian principles, would be admitted in the church as
ministers. And if he had been admitted by mistake, he would meet with
a fate similar to that of the Abbé Lamennais, whose experiences are
admirably described by George Julian Harney, in No. 213 of _The Open
Court_.

The situation is greatly different in America. Our clergymen, our
congregations, our churches, are perhaps more orthodox in many respects,
and especially in their belief, than those of Europe. Nevertheless, they
are more liberal in principles, and they are less obstinate concerning
dogma. Most of our churches here do not even possess dogmatic creeds, or
confessions of faith. The clergy of the Baptists, the Congregationalists,
the Unitarians, are not bound by oath before taking orders; to believe
in sundry articles and to preach certain doctrines which are supposed
to be absolute truth. The Baptists, it is true, are as a rule very
orthodox and very dogmatic, but they are liberal in spite of it, open to
conviction, and not averse to going onward with the times. This attitude
of the American clergy must appear inconsistent to Europeans who can, in
ecclesiastical affairs, only judge from their own experiences. And it
may be that their position is as much inconsistent as was for instance
that of Newton, who considered the trash he wrote on some theological
questions concerning the apocalypse as infinitely superior to his
mathematical and astronomical works and did not see that the recognition
of the law of gravitation would go far toward freeing humanity from many
of those nonsensical ideas which he cherished so highly.

In former times I was inclined to blame the clergy for the lack of
progressiveness in the churches, but I have come to the conclusion that
not the clergy are to be blamed for retarding the broadening of the
religious spirit, but the lay-members of the churches. I am personally
acquainted with several clergymen of different denominations, Christian
as well as Jewish, who conceive it their duty to point out the way of
progress and to further the spirit of a scientific world-conception in
religious matters. They advance exactly as quickly and exactly as far as
they can in working out of the narrow dogmatism of the religious views of
their flock the ideas of a broad humanitarianism.

It has often happened that clergymen, encouraged by their congregations,
have grown too broad in the opinion of their narrower brethren, and it
was customary, in former years, to cast them out according to the old
fashion of dealing with heretics, which is still customary in European
churches. The churches have become more careful here, for, whenever such
a case happened, these liberal clergymen were, as a rule, not deserted
by their congregations. Thus every act of removing a clergyman usually
led to a schism, and it seems that, at least to some extent, the churches
have of late given up their policy of removing heretics within their
ranks.

This much is certain, that many among the American clergy are ready to
progress with the times, and to accept the truth wherever they find it.
In Europe religion is dictated to the people from above by government and
church authority. The clergymen are servants of these authorities. Their
consciences are not bound, as they ought to be, to teach the truth and
nothing but the truth, but to teach the doctrines which their employers
bid them teach. And this policy is still considered right and natural,
even among liberal minded people.

In America the clergy are exponents of the views of their congregations.
In Europe the congregations are separated from their pastors by a deep
gap: there is no gap between the congregation and the clergy in America.
Both are in the closest contact. Our congregations are more orthodox than
European congregations; therefore our clergy is more sincerely orthodox,
and more honestly narrow, than the European clergy. The European clergy
are more scholarly, yet at the same time there may be more hypocrites
among them in Europe who know better than they preach. But there is no
doubt that with a further development of intellectuality and scientific
insight, our congregations will become broader and more liberal and
more humanitarian, and, with the congregations, our clergy are bound to
develop in the same lines.

European theology is much superior to American theology in scholarly
critique, in historical investigation, and in philosophical depth.
Nevertheless, we must not hope from European theologians that they
will undertake the great work of reform that is so much needed in our
churches, which is nothing less than to reconcile religion with science;
to let religion develop into a religion of science, preaching boldly and
unreservedly those humanitarian ethics which stand upon the principles
of truth; that is, of scientifically proved truth, which finds the
sanction of the moral “ought” in the facts of experience.

Professor Jodl says:

“The main objection of the supporters of dogmatism in school
politics is this: They propose it is not so much religion that
is needed in education; not the contents of ecclesiastical
doctrines, but to give to morality a foundation; to give it
what science calls the sanction of ethical rules.... From this
standpoint, every attempt that is liable to weaken the ethics
of religious sanction must appear equivalent to the attempt of
abolishing criminal law and penal institutes, and to deliver
the peaceful citizens into the hands of murderers and robbers.”

Professor Jodl continues:

“The nature of religious sanction consists in this: that the
moral rules are conceived as the behests of an all-powerful,
omniscient being, that promises to immortal man for their
fulfilment, eternal rewards, and for their non-fulfilment
eternal punishment in the life beyond.”

In opposition to this view Professor Jodl maintains that

“Man’s morality, on the one hand, has never been preserved from
error by an outlook into the beyond of heaven and hell, and, on
the other hand, there have never been missing those impulses
that originate in the depths of human nature working in the
line of moral ideas.”

These impulses are, according to Professor Jodl, the purely moral
sanction of conscience. And conscience is represented as, and in another
place called, “the natural sanction of morality.”

This view of regarding conscience as the natural sanction of morality
does not appear to us as a happy expression, and it seems to us that
Professor Jodl did not intend it as it might be understood. For Professor
Jodl speaks in another passage of “the natural impulses of morality as
having their sanction in _experience_.”

If that be so, conscience would not be the ultimate authority, but
conscience would have to be regulated and corrected by a rationalised
experience.

If “the natural impulses of morality have their sanction in experience,”
the ultimate authority would be the facts represented in experience; and
the facts of experience, in their totality, are nothing more or less than
the whole universe with its natural laws and conceived in its cosmical
order. The universe, the All, nature, or whatever you call it, is indeed
an omnipotent reality which man cannot resist, and in which he can live
only by adapting himself to its laws. If this ultimate authority of the
natural laws be called by the religious term “God,” we shall see at once
that the old dogmatic religions express a very deep truth in mythological
language. The ultimate sanction of morality is not our conscience, but
that omnipotent power which resides in the objective world of realities,
in the cosmical order of the universe.

We might as well say that everybody shall regard his watch as the
ultimate standard of time as to make his conscience the criterion of
morality. May everybody use his watch wisely and regulate it well. And so
may everybody revise his conscience and investigate diligently whether
it agrees with the laws of that all-power of which we are a small part
and through which alone we exist.

Professor Jodl praises very highly the French institution of a so-called
purely moral instruction in the public schools. Father H. Gruber,
however, points out some serious shortcomings in this system of moral
education, resulting from a lack of principle. (See _Stimmen aus
Maria-Laach_, Freiburg i. B., 1892, No. 4.)

It is apparent that moral commands cannot be based upon purely subjective
notions or ideals, they must be based upon some objective authority which
is a power that enforces obedience. Such a power exists. It is the world
in which we live. It is that All-being of which we are a part. And that
feature of nature which enforces that conduct which we call moral is
named God in the terminology of religious language.

A consideration like this points out the way to a reconciliation between
science and religion. There is a truth in the old religions, and this
truth need only be purified from the errors that cluster about it, hiding
its grandeur, beauty, and importance. Let the church and its authorities
recognise science and the principle of free investigation; let them
be ready to accept the scientific methods of research; let them be
willing to accept truth as it can be proved by arguments and verified by
experience as well as by experiments; and we need no longer worry about
dogmatism and the narrowness of their sectarian doctrines. All these
accidental features of religion will, then, pass away, and we shall have
a religion which the scientist and the philosopher can embrace.

This is what we call the Religion of Science; and the Religion of Science
is bound to be the religion of the future. The Religion of Science will
not abolish the religions of the past, but it will develop them, broaden
them, perfect them, into the cosmical religion of humanitarianism.

To teach an ethics that either has no sanction, or whose sanction is
built upon the diverging opinions of individuals, will not do. Ethics
must be based upon the sanction of some objective authority, and the
recognition of an objective authority, of a power which enforces a
certain kind of conduct, being religion, we say that no ethics can be
without a religious basis.

The problem at present is not how to teach irreligious ethics—all such
attempts are failures at the start; but to change the mythology of
the old religions into a clear, scientific conception of the natural
conditions which demand of man that he should observe those rules which
we are wont to call moral.

P. C.

THE FUTURE POSITION OF LOGICAL THEORY.

In last October’s number of _The Monist_, Professor John Dewey gives a
sketch of what in his view is “the present position of logical theory.”
According to this the basis of the position seems to be that “the only
possible thought is the reflection of the significance of fact,” and
that therefore logic, which is the science of the laws of thought,
rests in reality on an objective basis. He supports Hegel in denying
“the existence of any faculty of thought which is other than the
expression of fact itself.” Now it is doubtless the case that this is
the position at present taken up by a large number of logicians, but as
this position seems to me to be fundamentally erroneous I should like
to put before your readers what I hope will be “the future position of
logical theory.” I have elsewhere worked out in some detail a theory of
reasoning which differs from that commonly accepted chiefly in this,
that it recognises not two, but three kinds of reasoning, which I call
Objective, Subjective, and Symbolic. Reasoning is commonly divided into
two branches, denoted by various pairs of terms, such as Objective and
Subjective, Inductive and Deductive, Empirical and Formal. The lines
of division indicated by these various pairs of terms are not quite
identical; but they none of them indicate what seems to me the most
important distinction of all, namely that between real, and symbolic
argument. There _does_ exist (I will not say a “faculty of thought,” but)
a method of argument which “is other than the expression of fact itself,”
whether of objective or of subjective fact. The term “formal reasoning”
is indeed often used to denote this kind of argument, but this is a bad
name to give it, since it seems to imply, and frequently is held to
imply, that it deals with the _forms_ of objective or subjective facts,
whereas in reality it deals only with symbols, which are arbitrarily
defined, and which do not necessarily correspond to any things whatever,
whether objective or subjective. That this kind of argument not only
exists, but flourishes is evident as soon as it is grasped that pure
mathematics is nothing but a branch of symbolic logic. It may be that
there exists somewhere a fact of which any conceivable mathematical
formula might be regarded as the reflexion, but it must surely be evident
that it was not to the reflexion of such facts that mathematical formulæ
in general owe their existence or validity. It may perhaps be true “that
fact, reality is significant,” and even that thoughts are themselves such
significant realities, but it is the thoughts that are given to us first,
or rather sensations which are the elements of thoughts, and we can only
infer the realities from them, and not _vice versa_.

The essence of my theory of logic may be briefly stated thus. The
meaning of a logical term contains two parts, its denotation and its
connotation. Either of these parts may be laid down arbitrarily as its
_definition_, leaving the other part which I call its _import_ to be
found out by experience. To understand both parts of the meaning of any
term is therefore to possess real knowledge. Pure symbolic reasoning
deals only with the definitions of terms, and is not therefore founded
on real knowledge, nor can it alone ever lead to real knowledge. Thus
if in any proposition the definitions of the terms are deducible from
one another, the proposition may be proved symbolically and is what I
call a truism: it gives no real information. But if the definitions of
the terms are independent of each other, and yet not inconsistent, the
proposition can only be intended to assert the identity of the imports
of the terms; it therefore ascribes import to the terms and gives real
information, whether true or false. If any terms in a symbolic argument
are however known to have real import, it may be ascribed to them in
real propositions, and any conclusions of the argument which contain only
such terms will _ipso facto_ be made to yield real information, which may
be new in the sense that it was not before recognised, though it was of
course implied in the real assertion or assertions which ascribed import
to the terms of the symbolic argument.

It is in this way possible to separate any science into two branches,
one of which consists purely of symbolic argument founded on definitions
alone, while the other may be expressed in a series of propositions,
the definitions of whose terms are independent of each other, and which
ascribe real import (whether objective or subjective) to the terms of the
symbolic science, or some of them.

This is as far as pure logic can go. The question how the truth of any
real propositions comes to be known is not, in my opinion, any part of
logical theory, but belongs to metaphysics. However that is no reason for
not discussing it here, especially as it is the chief question discussed
in Professor Dewey’s paper.

“Truth” means some sort of consistency in a proposition. We may compare
a symbolic argument to a game with counters, the rules of which are laid
down arbitrarily, and to say that a given conclusion of such an argument
is true only means that the game has been “played fair.” But the truth of
a real proposition does not depend on any arbitrary rules. It expresses
a consistency between two real facts, either that two named groups of
things possess certain common attributes, or that certain of the things
possessing named groups of attributes are identical. The essential
element of all real knowledge is then a connecting link between a thing
and an attribute, such as is afforded by a well-understood word.

Now the only “things” which we can apprehend directly are our subjective
sensations and conceptions. We can compare two or more sensations or
conceptions, and recognise in them common attributes. Thus I can say
of my own knowledge that the sensations I denote by “the taste of
sugar” and “the taste of lead acetate” have a common attribute, which
I call “sweetness.” This is a real assertion, for its truth is not
deducible from the definitions of its terms, and yet I know, by direct
apprehension, that it is true. But it is only a subjective truth. The
corresponding objective assertion would be sugar and acetate of lead
both produce, when tasted, the sensation of sweetness. And I have no
direct apprehension of this fact. That the tastes referred to in the
former proposition were produced by objective things denoted by the terms
sugar and acetate of lead, can only be inferred by the process called
induction, which can never lead to a positive or necessary truth.

Thus we may from a pure symbolic science proceed one step further, to a
subjective science, by the aid of direct apprehension, and the results
of such a subjective science may in certain cases attain the position
of absolute, or necessary truths. But on the other hand, all objective
sciences must rest on induction. Now the true nature of induction is,
I am persuaded, commonly misapprehended, because it is not realised
sufficiently clearly that the prime data of induction are not themselves
objective, but subjective facts. An “objective fact” is really only
an hypothesis, postulated to account for certain of our subjective
sensations. The only justification for making such an hypothesis is
that it actually does explain certain sensations, and the measure of
its probability (for we can never assert it as a necessary certainty)
is the number and complexity of the sensations which it accounts for.
The first of all such objective hypotheses is that we have an objective
environment to whose action our sensations, or some of them, are due.
This suggests at once a more general hypothesis, commonly known as the
law of causation, namely that the conditions obtaining in the objective
universe at any one moment are the effective causes of those obtaining
at the next, and so at any subsequent moment. These two hypotheses,
together with certain subsidiary ones, do suffice to account for an
enormous number, if not all, of our sensations, and so we are justified
in entertaining them. But to leave out the notion of _effective_
causation, and to substitute a mere rule of sequence, is to remove the
only justification we have for assuming the hypothesis of causation at
all. It is perhaps conceivable that the hypothesis may be false, that
our sensations are not “caused by” an objective environment but if so
what reason remains for believing in that environment at all? I can never
know anything whatever about an objective universe, unless some of my
sensations about which alone I know anything directly, are caused by
that universe. It is perhaps thinkable that there should be an objective
universe in which events occur which in no sense _cause_ my subjective
sensations, but to which those sensations nevertheless happen to
correspond; but if this is so the sensations afford me no ground whatever
for believing in the occurrence of the events, or the objectivity of the
universe.

Well then, the essence of induction is the assumption of an hypothesis to
account for observed facts—first of all of directly observed sensations,
and then of facts assumed to be objective in virtue of the primary
hypothesis. That this account of induction is the true one is I think
particularly enforced by the consideration of those cases to which at
first sight it does not seem to apply. A common example of induction is
afforded by our belief that the sun will rise to-morrow. That it has
risen every morning for the last four thousand years or more is no reason
whatever for believing that it will rise to-morrow, unless it is held to
point to some explanatory hypothesis. Such an hypothesis has actually
been framed by astronomers, and no one would now pretend to found his
belief in the sun’s rising to-morrow on the mere fact that it has often
risen before, but would go on to explain that it must rise unless the
earth were to stop revolving, etc. If at Monte Carlo the red turned up
ten times running, would that be any reason for expecting it to turn up
again, the eleventh time? No, it would not unless the succession of reds
seemed to point to some explanatory hypothesis, such as a defect in the
roulette. Again, the fact that in the last fifty years the death rate
in London has been about twenty-eight per thousand would be no reason
for believing that it will be about that figure this year except on
the assumption that the constancy of the death rate indicated certain
constant causes, which we have no reason to believe have been altered
this year.

Having once assumed that our environment is objective, and as a corollary
the hypothesis of causation, the whole of physical science follows,
step by step. Subsidiary hypotheses are introduced at each stage and
justified by the way they account for observed results. To show how a
single hypothesis is capable of explaining a large number of observed
results, the full meaning of the hypothesis is elucidated by symbolic
reasoning. By such reasoning it is for example shown that the same
hypothesis, of universal gravitation, is capable of accounting, not only
for the movements of the stars, but for the tides, the flow of rivers,
the falling of unsupported bodies, the rising of balloons, the movements
of the balance in Cavendish’s experiment, and so on. That such wide
extensions of an hypothesis are possible tends greatly to confirm, not
only the hypothesis itself, but the fundamental hypotheses of objectivity
and causation also. But it does not prove either the one or the others.
We cannot know anything about the objective universe with absolute
certainty, but we may reasonably believe a certain hypothesis about it
with any degree of conviction we think suitable; that is we may (and of
course we actually do) act on all occasions _as if_ we knew absolutely
that they were true.

We may then believe, and I for one do believe, not only in the
objectivity of the universe, but that even my own subjective sensations
are mere bye-products of that universe. I _believe_ that objective facts
are, if I may so express it, more real than subjective sensations; that
in fact the objective universe might have existed, and might exist again
without any subjective element in it anywhere. But I cannot _know_
this, it is with me a matter of faith. Thus I cannot agree with Hegel,
that “all possible thought is the reflexion of the significance of
fact” (except perhaps in the sense that thought is the reflexion of the
significance of certain changes in the grey matter of the brain) for
this would seem to imply that stupid or contradictory thoughts reflected
stupid or contradictory significance in certain facts. But I believe that
men of science are gradually evolving a system of thought which will
more and more faithfully reflect the significance of fact, and that thus
science is actually building up truth. But all science must begin with,
and be founded upon, subjective knowledge, and therefore any theory of
positivism contradicts itself for it must be founded on faith. Science
is thus founded on faith, faith in things not directly apprehended, just
as truly as religion is. It is only because we unconsciously acquire
this faith in our infancy, and that it is in most cases amply justified
by subsequent experience, that we do not even recognise the fact that it
is faith, in exactly the same sense that belief in God is. But just as
men have sometimes lost their faith in God, so it may happen to a man to
loose his faith in reality, and logic is quite as incapable of shaking a
man out of the one position as out of the other.

This I take it is the key to the agnosticism of such men of science as
Mr. Huxley. I do not for a moment suppose that Mr. Huxley believes less
than most men; he probably has good grounds for believing a great deal
more. Only he rightly refuses to say that he _knows_ facts of which
he can have had no direct apprehension and which he can only infer
more or less probably, to be true. Hypotheses which as we push our
investigations are shown to be capable of explaining more and more facts,
that is, ultimately, more and more sensations, will in the end come to
be believed in without doubt or hesitation. If a man says he _knows_ the
law of gravitation to be true, he commits a logical blunder; but there
is nothing to prevent a scientific man from believing in any miracle
or prodigy, so long as the account he gives of it does not contradict
itself. Not only may two equally reasonable men form very different
estimates of the probability of the same event, even with the same
evidence before them, but one man may put his faith to a proposition with
admittedly much lower degree of probability than would be required to
convince another. Only, a scientific man will always distinguish between
what he knows and what he believes, and will admit that though he has
made up his mind to act _as if_ he knew to be true the propositions he
only believes to be so, yet another man may reasonably take a different
view of any one of them.

EDWARD T. DIXON.

Trin. Coll., Cambridge, Jan. 8, 1892.

COMTE AND TURGOT.

On page 410 of the last number of _The Monist_, it was stated that the
doctrine of the three stages of knowledge was not properly a Comtean idea
but belonged to Turgot. The following letter from Professor Schaarschmidt
of Bonn informs us of the passages in Turgot where the statement of the
doctrine is found:

_To the Editor of The Monist_:

To your note of inquiry of the 22d of last month I have the
honor to reply, that the Comtean theory of the _trois états_
may be traced back to utterances of Turgot made by him in his
_Second discours sur les progrès successifs de l’esprit humain
prononcé le 2me décembre 1750_—namely in the Sorbonne. You will
find the discourse referred to in the edition of the works of
Turgot which I now have before me, namely that of Guillaumin,
Paris, 1844, in Vol. II, at pages 597 et seqq. The passage in
question is found at p. 600-601. However, it is highly probable
that the so-called _loi des trois états_ was _directly_
transmitted to Comte by St. Simon, who reproduced the idea
of Turgot in his _Introduction aux travaux scientifiques du
XIXme Siècle_, at pages 62-63. For Comte was dependent in many
respects on St. Simon, while it is probable that he had never
studied Turgot. To St. Simon, in fact, is due the expression
“philosophie positive,” as well as the germ-notion of the
division of the Sciences, which Comte further elaborated.

SCHAARSCHMIDT.

BOOK REVIEWS.

DARWIN AND AFTER DARWIN. I. THE DARWINIAN THEORY. By _George John
Romanes_, M. A., LL. D., F. R. S. London: Longmans, Green & Co. Chicago:
The Open Court Publishing Co. 1892.

In the present work by Professor Romanes, who may be regarded as the
special exponent of Darwin’s theory of organic evolution, we have a
complete and systematic presentation of “Darwinism according to Darwin.”
It is the outcome of a course of lectures delivered by the author in 1889
before the Royal Institution, London, and forms only part of a much more
extensive treatise on the Darwinian theory, embracing the early history
of biology, and a discussion of the further developments of the theory
subsequent to the death of the great naturalist who gave it birth. The
present part is limited to what is distinctly Darwinian, dealing with it
and with the main objections raised against the general theory of organic
evolution it enforces.

The subject naturally divides into two parts, and Professor Romanes
accordingly deals with it in two sections, in the first of which he
considers organic evolution as a fact, stating the main evidences in
support of the doctrine, while in the second section he furnishes “the
evidences which thus far have been brought to light touching the causes
of organic evolution considered as a process.” The author points out
in his introductory remarks, that in order to establish a theory of a
continuous transmutation of species, which is what is meant by organic
evolution, it is not necessary to furnish proof of _all_ the natural
causes which have been at work. The issue is between the theory of a
supernatural cause, as operating immediately in numberless acts of
special creation, and the theory of “natural causes as a whole whether
these happen, or do not happen, to have been hitherto discovered.”
Moreover, the discussion is concerned only with the origin of species,
and not with that of life, as to which the author says with truth,
“although in the opinion of most biologists it is a question which we may
well hope will some day fall within the range of science to answer, at
present, it must be confessed, science is not in a position to furnish so
much as any suggestion upon the subject; and therefore our wisdom as men
of science is frankly to acknowledge that such is the case.”

The idea of evolution implies continuity, and the author refers to
the fact that the uniformity of nature’s method in the production of
phenomena to which continuity is due, recognised in other fields of
science, strongly recommended the theory of organic evolution for
acceptance on merely antecedent grounds. There is another important fact,
from the antecedent point of view, to which Professor Romanes draws
attention. He states it in the words of Mr. Wallace, who lays down as a
general law that “every species has come into existence coincident both
in space and time with a pre-existing and closely allied species.” This
is a necessary consequence of natural evolution, but no reason can be
assigned for it on the theory of special creation, and the existence of
such a correlation may be regarded as a test-question between the two
theories.

The direct evidence in favor of organic evolution brought together in
the first section of the present work is considered under the several
heads of classification, Morphology, Embryology, Palæontology, and
Geographical Distribution. As to the first of these subjects, the object
of classification has been the arranging of organisms in accordance
with their natural affinities. Organisms have been compared for the
purpose of ascertaining which of the constituent organs are of the most
invariable occurrence, and therefore of the most typical significance,
and the author shows that “all the general principles and particular
facts appertaining to the natural classification of plants and animals,
are precisely what they ought to be according to the theory of genetic
descent; while no one of them is such as might be—and indeed, used, to
be—expected upon the theory of special creation.” In connection with
the important subject of Morphology, the author, after showing that the
theory of descent with continued adaptive modification fully explains
all the known cases of divergence from the typical structure which an
organism presents, devotes himself especially to the argument from
rudimentary structures. These are of such general occurrence that they
are found in every species, and such obsolescent or vestigial structures,
as the author terms them, are of great value as evidence for the theory
of evolution, particularly those found in adult man. To human vestigial
structures the author pays particular attention, his observations being
accompanied by excellent illustrations from nature. It is noteworthy that
he abandons the flattening of the tibia in man, and the disposition of
valves in human veins, as arguments in support of man’s natural origin,
which is abundantly supported, however, by reference to other rudimentary
organs.

The science of Embryology is of special importance, on account of the
history it affords of the _process_ of evolution, and thus supplying
evidence of the fact, although the author remarks, “the foreshortening of
developmental history which takes place in the individual lifetime may
be expected often to take place, not only in the way of condensation,
but also in the way of excision.” To understand the argument from
embryology it is necessary to trace the first beginning of individual
life in the ovum, and for this purpose to consider the phenomena
of reproduction in their most simple form. In connection with this
subject, Professor Romanes, after examining the features in which
the cell-division of protozoa differs from that of metazoa, and after
considering the grounds on which it may be concluded that there is a
physiological continuity between growth and sexual reproduction, points
out that the constructive argument in favor of evolution derived from
embryology commences with the fertilisation of the metazoal ovum. As
this first stage has not been adequately treated by any other writer,
the author deals with it at considerable length. The later stages of
individual development, including that of the vertebrata, on the lines
of Haeckel’s ideal primitive vertebrate, are more concisely treated.
The science of embryology, covers the whole field of animal life, and
it is not surprising therefore that it is considered by the author and
other evolutionists as furnishing the strongest support to the theory of
evolution.

As to the palæontological evidence, Professor Romanes does not ascribe
to it the paramount importance which it has in popular judgment.
Nevertheless he asserts that, not only is no positive proof against the
theory of descent to be drawn from a study of palæontology, but it proves
two very important general facts in favor of it. These are that from the
earliest to the latest times there has been a constant and progressive
increase in the diversity of types both of animals and plants, and that
“through all these branching lines of ever-multiplying types, from the
first appearance of each of them to their latest known conditions, there
is overwhelming evidence of one great law of organic nature—the law of
gradual advance from the general to the special, from the low to the
high, from the simple to the complex.” These general facts are supported
by detailed consideration of fossil horns, bones, teeth and shells, which
supply four special lines of evidence. The evolution of mammalian limbs
with particular reference to the hoofed animals is treated with a fulness
its importance requires.

As the geological argument is concerned with the distribution of species
in time, so that based on the present geographical distribution of
animal and plant species is concerned with their distribution in space.
This, although not regarded by the author as a crucial test between the
rival theories of creation and evolution, is declared to be one of the
strongest lines of evidence in favor of the latter. The general facts
relied on are, the discontinuity of distribution of certain species, the
absence of any _constant_ correlation between habitats and animals or
plants suited to live upon them, and the presence in every biological
region of species related to other species in genera, and usually also
genera related to other genera in families; this correlation between a
geographically restricted habitat and the affinities of its fauna and
flora being repeated over and over again throughout the earth’s surface.
But further, the correlation between habitats and their animals and
plants is not limited to the now existing species, that is, the dead
and living species are allied, showing that the latter are modified
descendants of the former. Moreover, where the areas of distribution are
not restricted, through species wandering away from their native homes,
the course of their wanderings is marked by the origination _en route_ of
new species. Another important consideration is that a double correlation
exists in the geographical distribution of organic types. That between
the geographical restriction and natural affinity among inhabitants of
the same areas has already been mentioned. The second is the correlation
between _degrees_ of geographical restriction and _degrees_ of natural
affinity. This is consonant with the theory of descent with modification,
as “the more distant the affinity, and therefore, _ex hypothesi_, the
larger and the older the original group of organisms, the greater must
be the chance of dispersal.” These general considerations are supported
by detailed illustrations drawn from the distribution of aquatic and
terrestrial organisms. The author shows that an examination of the
faunas and floras of oceanic islands establishes the general law “that
_wherever_ there is evidence of land-areas having been for a long time
separated from other land-areas, there we meet with a more or less
extraordinary profusion of unique species, often running up into unique
genera.” There is, moreover, a constant correlation between the _degree_
of this peculiarity, and the time during which the fauna and flora have
been isolated. The author concludes this part of his argument by the
forcible observation that “if the doctrine of special creation is taken
to be true, then it must be further taken that the one and only principle
which has been consistently followed in the geographical disposition of
species, is that of so depositing them as to make it everywhere appear
that they were not thus deposited at all, but came into existence where
they now occur by way of genetic descent with perpetual migration and
correlative modification.”

The second part of this work, that which treats of selection, under the
two heads of Natural Selection and Sexual Selection, although in some
respects the most important, does not need to be noticed so fully as that
which deals with the facts of natural evolution. After stating the theory
of natural selection, the author notices various fallacies connected
with it which are largely prevalent among the adherents of Darwinianism,
although nowhere fallen into by Darwin himself, and the still greater
fallacies found in the writings of his opponents. In the two following
chapters Professor Romanes, after stating the main arguments in favor
of the theory of natural selection, reviews the main objections which
have been urged against it. The first argument is that, as a matter of
observation, “the struggle for existence in nature does lead to the
extermination of forms less fitted for the struggle, and thus makes room
for forms more fitted.” The second argument, which the author considers
of overwhelming significance, is that there is not a single instance, in
either the vegetable or the animal kingdom, of a structure or an instinct
which is developed for the exclusive benefit of another species. Its
importance may be judged by the fact that Darwin considered that a single
instance to the contrary would invalidate the whole theory of natural
selection. The third argument is based on the facts connected with the
variation of animals and plants under domestication. Ocular evidence
of the value of this argument is furnished by a series of drawings
prepared for the present work representing varieties of pigeons, and of
eight other animals. As special illustrations of natural selection the
author considers the subjects of protective colouring, warning colours,
and mimicry. In referring to his treatment of the criticisms of the
natural selection theory, in the course of which he deals with the main
objections, we cannot do more than mention that based on the possession
by the skate of an electric organ, which, owing to the weakness of
its discharges, cannot apparently be of any use to the animal. This
difficulty seems to be unexplainable according to the principles of
natural selection, and Professor Romanes, in admitting the fact, remarks
that it is of a magnitude and importance “altogether unequalled by that
of any other single case—or any series of cases—which has hitherto been
encountered by the theory.”

The last chapter of the work is devoted to the consideration of the
theory of Sexual Selection, which was suggested by Mr. Darwin to furnish
a scientific explanation of the wide generality of beauty in organic
structures. It is an observed fact that sexual selection does take place
among the higher animals, and it is inferred that, the selection has
reference to an æsthetic taste on the part of the animals themselves;
and that this cause is adequate to explain the phenomena of beauty
presented by such animals. After stating the evidence in favor of these
conclusions, the author considers at length Mr. Wallace’s views on the
subject. These constitute the objections urged against the theory of
sexual selection, of the truth of which, however, Darwin shortly before
his death expressed himself as remaining firmly convinced.

Professor Romanes concludes his present volume with a few general remarks
on the philosophical relations of Darwinism to the facts of adaptation
on the one hand and to those of beauty on the other. In none of these,
says the author, do we meet with any independent evidence of supernatural
design, although there is abundant evidence throughout organic nature of
natural causation. And yet natural causation furnishes no disproof of the
existence of a Supreme Being. The whole of organic and inorganic nature
is made subject to one rule of government, but “the ulterior and ultimate
question touching the nature of this government as mental or non-mental,
personal or impersonal, remains exactly where it was.” Moreover, if
there be an intelligent First Cause, of whose Will all secondary causes
are the expression, their operation must be uniform, so far as the Will
is consistent, and therefore it must appear as what we call mechanical.
Thus according to the pure logic of the matter, “the proof of organic
evolution amounts to nothing more than the proof of a natural process.”

In an appendix to Chapter V, Professor Romanes offers suggestions as to
the imperfection of the geological record, and meets various objections
against the theory of organic evolution on that ground. But we must now
leave this excellent work, which will undoubtedly answer the expectation
with which it was prepared, of being “a compendium, or handbook, adapted
to the requirements of a general reader or biological student, as
distinguished from those of a professed naturalist.”

It is enriched by a very good portrait of Darwin, in whose footsteps
the author has sought to tread by “avoiding dogmatism on the one hand,
and undue timidity as regards general reasoning on the other.” In
his introductory observations he dwells on the remarkable influence
exercised by Darwin over the method of investigation of organic nature,
by treating the discovery or accumulation of facts, not as an end, but
as a means for generalisation, thus bringing natural history into a line
with other inductive sciences.

The value of the work is materially increased by the addition of numerous
well executed original illustrations, besides various plates derived from
Haeckel’s works and other sources, some of them American. It has also a
good Index which will add much to its usefulness.

Ω.

GRUNDRISS DER NATURLEHRE FÜR DIE OBEREN CLASSEN DER MITTELSCHULEN. Von
Dr. _E. Mach_. Ausgabe für Gymnasien. Mit 358 Abbildungen. 315 pp. Vienna
and Prague: F. Tempsky. Leipsic: G. Freytag.

The principles that have guided Professor Mach in the preparation of
these outlines of Physics, are in the main as follows:

The concepts and notions of physical science should not be set forth
dogmatically, but should be presented as much as possible under the
influence of the actual natural facts that lead to them. Hypotheses
and theories should be employed only when actually necessary. Long
mathematical developments and pages of formulæ only impede the scholar’s
total view of his subject and afford of themselves no insight. _Logical_
finish should not be sought after in elementary presentations; the method
of the inculcation of truths should, so to speak, be _psychological_: the
method of their acquisition.

From the brief statement of these guiding principles, the reader will
observe that Professor Mach’s conception of the proper form of an
elementary text-book, differs greatly from that usually entertained.
The method of presentation is not the dogmatic, the “logical,” which
sets forth a science as a ready-made and perfected, mystically created,
product; but the genetic, the historical, the natural. We are constantly
made aware, in the study of this book, of what knowledge really means
and what it does not. We are not treated, in its introductory chapter,
as we are in most of the text-books of Physics, to disquisitions on the
insolubility of the questions What is Matter, What is Energy, What is
Force, and to like professions of metaphysical ignorance, which make us
wonder how people can request us to read hundreds of pages about things
it is impossible to have knowledge of; but we are presented throughout
with a simple statement and description, in terms of facts, of what
our fundamental, as well as our derived, notions _are_, and what their
import. It is unnecessary to say that the need of such a book is very
great. And it is pleasant, constantly to discover how well its idea
has been executed. Concise, unburdened by unnecessary and self-evident
developments, it is in our judgment a model of elementary exposition.

With characteristic modesty, Professor Mach disclaims all pretension to
having fully realised his conception, and views his performance simply as
an attempt. The book was submitted, before publication, to a number of
competent educators, whose advice in regard to alterations was frequently
acted upon.

μκρκ.

NOUVELLES RECHERCHES DE PSYCHIATRIE ET D’ANTHROPOLOGIE CRIMINELLE. By _C.
Lombroso_. Paris: Félix Alcan. 1892.

Prof. C. Lombroso’s activity reaches a climax that is almost superhuman.
He contributed to the Italian Archives of Psychiatry two articles,
one of which proves that, at least in Italy, the sense of touch is
weaker in women than in men; it is still weaker and more irregular in
criminal women than in normal women. (Archiv. di. Psichiatr. Sc. pen.
ed. Antrop. Vol. XII, 1891, p. 1-6). The other article (l. c. p. 58-108)
is an inquiry concerning thought-transmission, which contains besides a
critical review of the usual rubbish of so-called telepathic phenomena
two strange observations. The first is the case of a low-bred hysterical
lad who does not possess the faculty claimed by him to understand
telepathically the intentions of whosoever employs him, but strange
enough, if sufficiently charged with whiskey, is able to read any writing
through the envelope with closed eyes. The other case is a somnambulistic
compositor, who sets type correctly in the state of somnambulism.
Blindfolded he draws the figures drawn behind his back upon a slate, and
hypnotised he guesses the numbers which the experimenter thinks. Lombroso
is one of our greatest psychologists, but these experiments perhaps with
the same subjects should be repeated by other psychologists so as to make
sure of their correctness. Lombroso concludes that there seems to be some
foundation in thought-transmission.

The present little volume of new researches applies Lombroso’s theories
concerning morphological abnormalities of the criminal type in the
anthropological field. It appears natural that the criminal type should
show abnormal features, but sometimes Lombroso’s eagerness to discover
abnormal features, even in political criminals such as Charlotte Corday,
is exaggerated. At least we must confess that many abnormalities appear
very frequently among peaceful and law-abiding citizens. The Corday
skull, although a trifle platycephalic, is beautifully rounded and
normal. M. Topinard finds no abnormal features but Lombroso maintains
that its platycephaly is doubly abnormal and he adds: “The capacity of
the skull is 1.360 cubic centimeters while those of Parisian women is
1.337. Must we not conclude that its capacity exceeds the average?” We
read on p. 124 and sq.: “The more our women will be forced to enter
the economical struggle for existence, the more will they become
criminals.... The result (of letting them enter public life) will be to
lower the nature of women.”

The booklet is very instructive even to those who disagree with the
professor, for it is full of facts and valuable observations.

κρς.

VORLESUNGEN ÜBER DIE ALGEBRA DER LOGIK. (Exakte Logik.) By Dr. _Ernst
Schröder_. Erster Band mit viel Figuren im Texte. Leipsic: B. G. Teubner.
1890.

Professor Mach says, “The essence of science is economy of thought.”
If that is so, there is no discipline more imbued with the spirit of
science than algebra. When operating with algebraic symbols we cease
to think out the whole calculation at every stage, and we are enabled
to keep track of the different factors, and of their mutual relations
during the operation from the beginning to the end. In common arithmetic
these factors are lost like rivers in an ocean of homogeneous numbers
which increase and decrease without betraying the way by which they were
reached. Algebraic symbols generalise calculation, and thus we have
the advantage of calculating from the resultant formula any particular
example with machine-like exactness and without the trouble of going
over the whole operation again. The ease with which we can operate
with symbols brings it about that we sometimes out-run our thought and
the correct result may be obtained by an operator who only partially
understands the operation, just as an engineer is able to run a machine
the mechanism of which he but partially understands.

Mathematics having gained so great advantages through the introduction of
algebraic symbols, the question suggests itself whether the same method
might not with some advantage be introduced into the other provinces of
formal science, especially in the domain of logic. The first logicians
who borrowed signs from algebra and introduced them into logic by
generalising their meanings, were two Germans, Gottfried Ploucquet and
Johann Heinrich Lambert. Ploucquet wrote “Principia de substantiis et
phaenomenis, accedit methodus calculandi in logicis ab ipso inventa, cui
praemittitur commentatio de arte characteristica universali,” Frankfort
and Leipsic, 1753, ed. II. 1764.[84] Lambert’s investigations on the
subject are found in his “Logische Abhandlungen.” Prof. Venn, in his
“Symbolic Logic,” p. xxxii, says of Lambert, “He fully recognised that
the four algebraic operations of addition, subtraction, multiplication,
and division, have each an analogue in Logic; that they may here be
respectively termed aggregation, separation, determination, abstraction,
and be symbolised by +, -, ×, :. He also perceived the _inverse_ nature
of the second and fourth as compared with the first and third; and no one
could state more clearly that we must not confound the mathematical with
the logical signification.”

The algebra of logic which through the work of these ingenious men,
had received so favorable a start, was very soon neglected; yet it was
revived after some time in England by Boole, DeMorgan, and Jevons. It
remained for quite a while the almost exclusive property of the English
where at the present time Prof. Venn may be considered as the greatest
English authority on the subject. Venn’s works were rivalled by an
American scholar, Mr. Charles S. Peirce, the same who has contributed
several articles to _The Monist_. The algebra of logic which had been
so long neglected in Germany, is now reviving in the country of its
first birth. The author of the work, the first volume of which lies now
before us for review, is Professor of Mathematics at the Polytechnicum of
Karlsruhe in Baden. The second volume is not yet worked out in detail,
but its publication may be expected in one or two years. The whole work,
when completed, will be the most comprehensive treatise on the algebra
of logic that has as yet appeared. The plan and treatment of Professor
Schröder’s “Vorlesungen über die Algebra der Logik” exhibit that uncommon
thoroughness and exhaustiveness, for which German scholars are justly
famous. The book, in one word, will be the standard work on the algebra
of logic for a long time to come.

It would lead us here too far to review or to sketch the main contents
of Professor Schröder’s work, which, it seems to us, is difficult to
explain without entering into the details and thus going beyond the scope
of mere review. But we shall briefly set forth the chief foundations
upon which Schröder builds his algebra of logic. Professor Schröder has
inscribed two mottos on the title page of his book, but we confess that
we suspect at least one of them is intended to be ironical; it certainly
seems to have been selected when the author was in a mood of humor. Being
conscious of the great value of theoretical speculation, he quotes from
Goethe the following Mephistophelian sentiment:

“I say to thee, a speculative wight
Is like a beast on moorlands lean,
Led circling there by some malicious sprite
While all around lie pastures fair and green.”

There are two kinds of speculation: first, that which attempts to find
out by pure thought a substantial extension of knowledge; and secondly,
that which investigates the methods of inquiry. The former is futile, the
latter is fruitful. The former is that which Goethe censures. To censure
the latter would be a grave mistake. The man who would try to forge bread
out of iron must meet with disappointment, but the smith who invented and
shaped the plow did more for the production of bread than many thousand
farmers taken together, although it may be he did not raise a blade of
wheat. Speculation that attempts to find out things by mere brooding
is _prima facie_ wrong; but speculation that constructs the methods of
investigation is the basis of all progress in science.

The other motto of Schröder’s book is Goethe’s saying: “Man is not born
to solve the problem of the world, but to seek for the point where the
problem begins and then to keep within the limits of the comprehensible.”
It would be well to compare this saying of Goethe’s with another one by
the same author which is “Man should hold fast to the belief that that
which seems incomprehensible, is comprehensible. Otherwise, he would
not investigate.” Schröder follows rather the spirit of the second than
that of the first quotation. He says on p. 105 of the recent volume,
with reference to some critical remarks made by the late Professor
Lotze of Göttingen, who was more brilliant and ingenious than exact
in his philosophical views and who showed an undisguised dislike for
any severe method that has recourse to numbers, figures, schedules, or
classifications, as does the algebra of logic: “If Lotze concludes his
logic with the wish that German philosophy should rise to the attempt at
comprehending the course of the world instead of merely calculating it,
we should answer, Could we first calculate it, then we should certainly
comprehend it so far as comprehension on earth is possible.” But how
is it possible? Simply by properly limiting and defining the field of
investigation; and here we can see that the first saying of Goethe’s
should not be construed in such a way as to appear contradictory to the
second.

Every thinker starts with certain limits of comprehension, but he extends
them so that the stock of knowledge increases in every generation,
and there is no probability that we shall ever reach the limits of an
absolutely incomprehensible. There is no solid progress to be made by
making wild raids in the domain of the unknown, a method which is pursued
only by dreamers and metaphysicians. We must start from the boundary
of the present stock of knowledge, and let our progress be confined
to single well defined and limited problems. How a solution of the
world-problem is possible in this sense, is explained by Schröder on p.
103: “The answer is given in the old parable of the bundle of arrows,
which resists all attempts at breaking it. As a whole it withstood, but
it yielded to him who untied the bundle and broke the arrows singly. The
difficulties which present themselves to the progress of knowledge can
also only be overcome singly, and in their one-sidedness. In the division
of labor thus produced, lies exactly the advantage and the strength of
the diverse disciplines,—_qui trop embrasse, mal étreint_.”

Professor Schröder advertises his book with the following words:

“From the title the reader will observe that here the deductive or formal
logic alone is treated. The calculative treatment of the deductive
logic, through which this discipline is redeemed from the fetters by
which through the power of habit, word-language has bound the human
mind, should deserve, more than anything else the name ‘Exact Logic’!
This method alone can give to the laws of valid inference, their most
pregnant, concise, and clear expression, and is thus enabled to reveal
numerous and important gaps,—why not mistakes,—in the older presentations
of the subject.”

“Since the appearance of the author’s ‘Operationskreis des Logikkalkuls,’
this method of treatment has made progress of highest importance,
especially through the works of the Americans, Mr. Charles S. Peirce and
his school. To Mr. Peirce, more than to anybody else, is due the merit
of having built a bridge from the older and purely verbal treatment
of our discipline to the new calculative method; a bridge which the
professional philosophers rightly found lacking and to which lack is well
to be ascribed the fact that the new method received only a partial and
bewildered attention. Through Mr. Peirce’s works, upon which also the
author has had some influence, the theory is now so far developed and
perfected that for the first and main part of its whole system, a final
presentation and arrangement may be obtained.”

“Endeavoring to offer so far as possible such a final and comprehensive
presentation, the author desires to offer at the same time and in
a systematic way a handbook of the most valuable materials of the
literature of the subject which especially in the English language, is
quite considerable.”

The book addresses two kinds of readers which are of a greatly different
turn of mind, and it will go far in reconciling the methods of both, the
mathematicians and the philosophers.

In the preface Schröder says, “In consideration of the formulæ which
appear in the book, it may be wise to state, that no mathematical
training or any specific knowledge is presupposed to be known by the
reader. We might repeat the words of Dedekind, prefixed to one of his
books: ‘Everybody can understand this work who is in possession of what
is generally called, common-sense.’ But we may add another saying from
another author: ‘The beaux esprits certainly, who are not accustomed to
the severe demands of thought, will very soon turn away from it.’”

The introduction is comparatively long, comprising no less than 125
pages. But, considering that it is more than an introduction, that it
explains the foundation on which the whole work rests, it is not too
long, for it forms an essential and indeed the most important part of
the book. Schröder discusses in it the character and the limitation of
his problem. He explains induction, deduction, contradiction and valid
inference. He considers the nature of signs and names. He says, on p.
38: “Humanity, it appears, does not rise above the absolute zero of
civilisation and the level of animal life, until it develops the activity
of denotation and symbolising. And there is indeed nothing to which the
human mind owes so much for its progress as to the signs of things.

“The sign which speaks in attitude and gesture to emotion, speaks in word
and sentence to the intellect. And it possesses, in accordance with the
laws of the association of ideas, the power of producing in the person
addressed certain ideas.

“While the sign coalesces with the idea, it reacts upon thought itself.
Through signs the ideas which otherwise would remain confused and vague,
are analysed and they become as separate elements, a permanent possession
over which the thinking mind has forthwith free control. Through the sign
we distinguish, we fix differences and make them ready for new peculiar
combinations. The sign, is as it were, the handle by which we take hold
of the objects of thought. Through the sign only, the idea is liberated
from the elements of sense, which are attached to it, and is enabled to
rise into the sphere of generalisation. Thus thinking is on the one hand
liberated, on the other determined by the sign.

“Further, through the sign alone which makes it possible that the same
idea the same purpose can live in many, there is _one_ will, _one_ soul,
and a community of human aspirations exists upon which is based the life
of mankind as a life of individuals in society. And this again is the
basis of our morality and civilisation.

“The efficacy of the sign spoken is considerably increased by the
invention of writing.”

Professor Schröder discusses those two methods of logic which are known
by the names: the Logic of Intension and the Logic of Extension. (_Logik
des Inhaltes_, and _Logik des Umfangs_.) This leads to a discussion of
definition, the categories, and conceptual writing which would find
its ideal in a system of pasigraphy, or universal language, for the
perfection of which an algebra of logic would be indispensable.

The symbols employed by Schröder are borrowed to a great extent from
Peirce, but they are considerably improved and it is probable that
Schröder’s innovations will be universally accepted.

We purposely refrain here from discussing the particulars of Schröder’s
work, stating only in a general way that his proposition of a new symbol
for subsumption, (he proposes to replace the old symbol [symbol] by
[symbol] to signify “equal to or subsumed under”), his treatment of the
symbols 0 and 1, the former representing an absence of certain marks,
or as it has been called their “incompossibility,” as being excluded by
the presence of other marks; the other the universe of the whole subject
under discussion, and all the other problems which he separately treats
in his lectures are admirably presented and command almost throughout
the reader’s consent. We now conclude our review with the quotation of
the last paragraph of Schröder’s introduction on p. 125. Having declared
that “logical inquiry should not be judged from the short-sighted or
narrow-minded, not to say _borné_, utilitarian standpoint,” he points out
the great practical importance of his science, saying:

“Similarly, as with other sciences, so logic also may be expected to
realise and produce undreamed of results, which may incidentally bring
about, in a most surprising way, incalculable advantages. Let me only
point out one thing. Since the impulse which this science has of late
received, there have been already constructed three logical machines
which although we grant, scarcely deserve their name, because their
efficacy remains still very rudimentary, may be compared to Papin’s pot
that in a more advanced state became the steam-engine. Indeed, nobody can
presage whether after all a thinking machine might not be constructed,
which would be analogous to, but more perfect than the calculating
machines. The latter have relieved man of a considerable portion of much
fatiguing thought-work, just as the steam-engine has been successful in
relieving him from physical labor.

“To be sure we must not expect to reap while we are still sowing, and
least so in such a case as this where the harvest is to be expected from
trees.”

κρς.

THE GRAMMAR OF SCIENCE. By _Karl Pearson_, M. A. With 25 figures in
the text. London: Walter Scott, 24 Warwick Lane. Imported by Charles
Scribner’s Sons, New York.

We are greatly in sympathy with the methods and principles of Professor
Karl Pearson’s “Grammar of Science.” The work is a comparatively popular
and also brief exposition of the modern ideal of scientific inquiry.
“The goal of science is clear—it is nothing short of the complete
interpretation of the universe. But that goal,” adds the author, “is an
ideal one—it marks the _direction_ in which we move and strive.”

The best part of the book is in our opinion the introductory chapter
which sets forth “the scope and method of science” and shows the need of
a “Grammar of Science.” Says the author in the summary of this chapter:

“The scope of science is to ascertain truth in every possible branch
of knowledge. There is no sphere of inquiry which lies outside the
legitimate field of science. To draw a distinction between the scientific
and philosophical methods is obscurantism.”

The present generation is in a state of fermentation. While one man
finds a restlessness, a distrust of all authority, a questioning of the
basis of all social institutions and long established methods, another
pictures for us a golden age in the near future. One teacher propounds
what is flatly contradicted by a second. We require some guide in the
determination of our actions, and not for our own private but also our
public duties. “Every citizen is thrust into an appalling maze of social
and educational problems; and if his tribal conscience has any stuff
in it, he feels that these problems ought not to be settled, so far as
he has the power of settling them, by his own personal interests, by
his individual prospects of profit or loss. He is called upon to form a
judgment apart from his own feelings and emotions if it possibly may be—a
judgment in what he conceives to be the interests of society at large.

“How is such a judgment to be formed?” The answer is by science. Such
a judgment can only be based on a clear knowledge of facts, on an
appreciation of their sequence and relative significance. The judgment
based upon them ought to be independent of the individual mind which
examines them, and this frame of mind which is that of the scientist is
an essential of good citizenship. Not as if the scientist were _eo ipso_
a good citizen, but society has an interest in the propagation of the
methods of modern science. Sound citizenship will be promoted by training
the mind to an exact and impartial analysis of facts.

How much a grammar of science is needed can be learned from the confusion
that prevails concerning the fundamental concepts of science. Says
Pearson:

“Anything more hopelessly _illogical_ than the statements with regard
to force and matter current in elementary text-books of science, it is
difficult to imagine; and the author, as a result of some ten years’
teaching and examining, has been forced to the conclusion that these
works possess little, if any, _educational_ value; they do not encourage
the growth of _logical_ clearness or form any exercise in scientific
method.

“The views expressed in this _Grammar_ on the fundamental concepts of
science, especially on those of force and matter, have formed part of
the author’s teaching since he was first called upon to think how the
elements of dynamical science could be presented free from _metaphysics_
to young students.”

Professor Pearson calls attention to the danger that arises from two
modes of thought, viz. that of the metaphysician and that of the
agnostic. He says:

“The poet is a valued member of the community, for he is known to be a
poet; his value will increase as he grows to recognise the deeper insight
into nature with which modern science provides him. The metaphysician is
a poet, often a very great one, but fortunately he is not known to be a
poet, because he clothes his poetry in the language of apparent reason,
and hence it follows that he is liable to be a dangerous member of the
community. The danger at the present time that metaphysical dogmas may
check scientific research is, perhaps, not very great.”

Fortunately the danger that arises from metaphysicism is past. “For,”
adds Pearson, “The day has gone by when the Hegelian philosophy
threatened to strangle infant science in Germany;—that it begins to
languish at Oxford is a proof that it is practically dead in the country
of its birth. The day has gone by when philosophical or theological
dogmas of any kind can throw back, even for generations, the progress of
scientific investigation.”

The scientist will, it is true, often have to confess: “There I am
ignorant.” But it would be absurd to restrict science to the limited
field of thought which it occupies to-day. Professor Pearson continues:

“It is true that this view is not held by several leading
scientists, both in this country and Germany. They are not
content with saying, ‘We _are_ ignorant,’ but they add, with
regard to certain classes of facts, ‘Mankind must _always_ be
ignorant.’ Thus in England Professor Huxley has invented the
term _Agnostic_, not so much for those who are ignorant as for
those who limit the possibility of knowledge in certain fields.
In Germany Professor E. du Bois-Reymond has raised the cry:
‘_Ignorabimus_’—‘We shall be ignorant,’ and both his brother
and he have undertaken the difficult task of demonstrating that
with regard to certain problems human knowledge is impossible.
We must, however, note that in these cases we are not concerned
with the limitation of the scientific method, but with the
denial of the possibility that any method whatever can lead to
knowledge. Now I venture to think that there is great danger in
this cry: ‘We _shall_ be ignorant.’ To cry ‘We are ignorant,’
is safe and healthy, but the attempt to demonstrate an endless
futurity of ignorance appears a modesty which approaches
despair. Conscious of the past great achievements and the
present restless activity of science, may we not do better
to accept as our watchword that of Galilei: ‘Who is willing
to set limits to the human intellect?’—interpreting it by
what evolution has taught us of the continual growth of man’s
intellectual powers.”

The introductory chapter presents the general plan of Professor Pearson’s
book. The following chapters contain the detailed work of the plan.
The headings of these chapters are: II, The Facts of Science; III, The
Scientific Law; IV, Cause and Effect—Probability; V, Space and Time; VI,
The Geometry of Motion; VII, Matter; VIII, The Laws of Motion; IX, Life;
X, The Classification of the Sciences.

Professor Pearson follows Professor Ernst Mach in his expositions
(especially in Chap. II) very closely, and especially refers to the
latter’s contributions to _The Monist_. Pearson emphasises with Mach
the distinction between the conceptual and perceptual, between ideas
or noumena and sensations. He rejects, as does Professor Mach, the
assumption of unknowables beyond our groups of sense-impressions, saying:
“It is idle to postulate shadowy unknowables behind that real world of
sense-impression in which we live” (p. 88), and yet he says in another
passage on p. 134: “There is mystery enough in the chaos of sensations
and in its capacity for containing those little corners of consciousness
which project their own products, of order and law and reason, _into an
unknown and unknowable world_.”

It appears to us that the deeper reason of this apparent inconsistency
can be traced to the author’s conception of the import of knowledge. He
follows Kirchhoff in the acceptance of the theory that scientific law is
a brief description of facts in mental shorthand. But at the same time he
follows Clifford and Mach too closely; the former in the respect that we
can know the “how” only and not the “why,” and the latter in overlooking
the fact that concepts are symbols which stand for something and have a
meaning. Pearson says on p. 145, “Science describes how they [motions]
take place, but the _why_ remains a mystery.” But should we not, we ask,
rather supplant the old and metaphysical conception of the “why” (the
sense of it as here implied) by a better and more correct conception? The
metaphysical “why” is not so much a mystery as it is the incorporation of
an illegitimate problem. The “why” of positive science demands as answer
an exhaustive description of those conditions which as the outcome of a
definite transformation inevitably produce a certain phenomenon.

But here we must criticise Professor Pearson’s view of “description,”
as well also as his view of causation. Cause and effect are to him, as
they were to Mill, mere sequences; necessity belongs exclusively to
the conceptual realm, and is “illogically transferred to the world of
perceptions.”

An exhaustive description will trace the process of causation, and
whenever we succeed in this we have answered the question “why” in the
only sensible meaning it possesses. Sense-impressions do _not_, as
Professor Pearson expresses it, “shut us in,” so that the beyond remains
a mystery to us. Sense-impressions represent the beyond of reality and
they represent it in such a way as to enable us to deal with it properly.
This representation is knowledge and thus the world is _not_ unknowable.
The world is full of mystery, but knowledge itself is not mysterious.
Having sense-impressions and interpreting them in our conceptual
inferences we know something of the world.

We are not prepared to accept Professor Pearson’s views that “change is
perceptual, motion conceptual,” and also that “we are not compelled to
postulate a space outside of self for phenomena” (p. 196). We should
say that our concepts, the concepts motion and space included, represent
certain features of reality. We might give a special name to those
features of reality which are represented by the terms motion and space,
but we could not deny their objective reality without at the same time
denying the validity of the concepts.

Says Professor Pearson, “All things move—but only in conception” (p.
385). “What moves in conception is a geometrical ideal, and it moves
because we conceive it to move.” These propositions have no meaning if
pronounced from our standpoint. Observe also that Professor Pearson
inculcates the conceptuality of motion by unnecessarily repeating the
word in the formula on page 341 which begins as follows: “Every corpuscle
in the _conceptual_ model of the universe must be _conceived_ as
moving....” When we conceive something as moving we mean that not only in
the conceptual model, but also in reality there is an action taking place
which we represent by the concept motion. To say that we have knowledge
only of changes but that we do not know whether those changes which we
describe as mechanical are really motions, appears to us idle subtlety.
The point is whether this method of describing those events enables us to
deal with them properly. If it does it answers the purpose.

In spite of all our disagreements we feel ourselves in close contact with
the author of “The Grammar of Science,” for we agree with respect to the
principles of science and we certainly can leave the settlement of our
differences to a common test on the basis of these principles. Moreover,
the attitude of the author seems to us very much like that which we take
ourselves. We quote from a former publication of his, the following
passage[85]:

“I set out from the standpoint that the mission of Freethought
is no longer to batter down old faiths; that has been long
ago effectively accomplished, and I, for one, am ready to put
a railing round the ruins, that they may be preserved from
desecration and serve as a landmark. Indeed I confess to have
yawned over a recent vigorous inditement of Christianity, and
I promptly disposed of my copy to a young gentleman who was
anxious that I should read a work entitled: _Natural Law in the
Spiritual World_, which he told me had given quite a new width
to the faith of his childhood.”

κρς.

PHILOSOPHIE DER ARITHMETIK. Psychologische und logische Untersuchungen.
By Dr. _E. G. Husserl_. Erster Band. Halle-Saale: C. E. M. Pfeffer. 1891.

The present volume does not pretend to be a complete system of the
philosophy of arithmetic, but it attempts to prepare, in a series of
psychological and logical investigations, the scientific foundation
for a future construction of this discipline, which would be of equal
value to the mathematician and philosopher. The first volume which is
now before us analyses in its first part the ideas plurality, unity, and
number, so far as they are directly given us and not in their indirect
symbolisation. The second part considers the symbolical representations
of plurality and number, and the author attempts to show that the fact
of our being almost throughout limited to symbolical ideas of number
determines the meaning and the purpose of that view which the author
calls “Anzahlenarithmetik.”

The author criticises several theories which in different ways explain
the origin of plurality and unity. There is one theory which explains
the origin of the unit from the unity of consciousness; there is another
one which explains the origin of number from a succession in time. F.
A. Lange bases his theory of number upon space-conception and Bauman
declares there is something mathematical in the external world which
corresponds to the mathematical in us. The theory of difference held
by Jevons, Schuppe, and Sigwart, is declared to be superior to all
others, but even that is rejected by the author. Jevons says, “Number
is but another name for diversity. Exact identity is unity, and with
difference rises plurality.... Abstract number then, is the empty form
of difference.” Dr. Husserl objects: if numbers are all empty forms of
difference, what makes the difference between two, three, four, etc.? The
contents of these numbers are very different. The inability of defining
this difference shows the imperfection of the theory of difference.
Dr. Husserl proposes what he calls “collection” as a special method of
combination by which unities are formed.

Although the book contains many valuable suggestions, it is very hard
reading. The author’s views are not at all clearly set forth. Neither
is the table of contents so systematically arranged as to give us a
clue to the plan of the book, nor is there any index that might give us
assistance in finding out the most characteristic passages. The reader is
supposed to read the book right through, in order to understand detached
chapters or even sentences. And even then we are not sure whether or not
we have understood the author’s propositions the consistency of which is
not as apparent as it might be expected. For, after having criticised
so many attempts at explaining and analysing the ideas, plurality,
unity and number, and after having proposed definitions, explanations,
and analyses of his own, we find on p. 130 a passage where these ideas
are incidentally declared to be incapable of definition. Speaking of
Frege’s theory, Dr. Husserl says, “As soon as we come down to elementary
concepts, all definition has an end. Such concepts as quality, intensity,
place, time, etc., cannot be defined. The same is true of elementary
relations, and of those concepts upon which they are founded. Equality,
similarity, gradation, whole and part, plurality and unity, etc., are
concepts which are utterly incapable of a formal-logical definition.
All we can do in such cases is to produce the concrete phenomena from
which they have been abstracted, and to explain the method of this
process of abstraction. One can, where it is necessary, exactly fence in
(umgrenzen) by diverse circumscriptions, the concepts in question, and
thus prevent confusion with kindred concepts.” We must confess that we do
not understand the author’s idea; what is an act of defining if not an
“umgrenzen,” a fencing in of the concept? The book contains many similar
passages, which, it seems to us, are not properly thought out by the
author. But the subject is a difficult one, and, as the author says in
the preface, “A work of this kind should, with regard to the difficulties
of the problem it treats, be judged with leniency.”

κρς.

CHRISTIANITY AND INFALLIBILITY. Both or Neither. By the Rev. _Daniel
Lyons_. New York: Longmans, Green & Co., 1891. Chicago: A. C. McClurg &
Co.

This little book of Dr. Lyons’s is got up in a much more substantial
and prepossessing form than the majority of the works that come from
Catholic quarters. It contains 284 pages and is supplied with the _Nihil
obstat_ of a Catholic “censor deputatus” and with the _Imprimatur_ of the
Bishop of Denver. In this book, therefore, the reader may be sure that he
possesses a correct exposition of Catholic doctrine.

The purpose of Dr. Lyons is to establish the thesis,—a thesis always
insisted upon by the Catholic church,—“that Christianity, to maintain
its rightful hold on the reason and conscience of men, needs a living,
infallible Witness to its truths and principles; a living, infallible
Guardian of its purity and integrity, and a living, infallible
Interpreter of its meaning.” By Christianity Dr. Lyons means “that body
of sacred truths which the Almighty revealed through the _ministry_ of
Christ and His Apostles.”

We italicise the word “ministry,” for on this word hinges in our
judgment the main and unmistakable argument of Dr. Lyons’s advocacy.
If the results of modern Biblical criticism are at all true, the
“Church,” so-called, must have existed before the New Testament. And
in establishing the authority of the church, the Catholic theologians
regard and use the Bible merely as an “historical narrative, whose
trustworthiness (at least in the parts quoted) can be proved in the same
way as that of any other history, sacred or profane.” They take their
argument “for the institution, mission, and authority of the Church
from the Bible as a mere human record of the sayings and doings of our
Divine Lord and His Apostles.” What is the mission of the church? “_And
he said unto them. Go ye into all the world, and preach the Gospel to
every creature. He that believeth and is baptised shall be saved, but he
that believeth not shall be damned._” These are awful powers, and awful
are the sanctions placed by the same Divine letter-patent in the hands
of the institution that dispenses them. And in the face of the great
complexity and peculiar nature of the Holy writings, in view of their
recognised liability to manifold and multifarious interpretation, does
not such a great and fearful commission of power as this necessarily
and logically imply a concession of Infallibility—of infallibility, let
us add, as _technically_ understood. “Who can suppose that God would
formally commission anybody to teach in his name and command all to hear
and accept His teaching under the severest of penalties, and at the same
time not secure that teacher against the possibility of teaching error
for truth? Suppose the Church thus commissioned by God did actually teach
error, even then would not all (there is no exception made), by reason of
the divine command, be bound to believe? And in that case would not God
Himself be accountable for the erroneous belief? I conclude, therefore,
that the formal commission to teach the Gospel in God’s name, and by His
authority, joined to the express command to believe carries with it a
pledge of the divine assistance of Infallibility as a guarantee to all
men that in yielding the obedience of faith, they are perfectly secure
against all danger of error.” This inference is incorporated in a dogma,
a “Catholic dogma,” of infallibility, which is this: “that the Pope, by
virtue of a special supernatural assistance of the Holy Spirit of Truth
promised to him, in and through St. Peter, is exempt from all liability
to err when, in the discharge of his Apostolic Office of Supreme Teacher
of the Universal Church, he defines or declares, in matters of or
appertaining to Christian faith or morals, what is to be believed and
held, or what is to be rejected and condemned by the faithful throughout
the world. This definition substantially embodies the whole Catholic
teaching on the subject of Infallibility.”

Dr. Lyons’s arguments are well put and well reasoned out. He sees
clearly where the vulnerable point of the present condition of the
Christian churches lies,—which the majority of Protestant theologians
do not see. He sees clearly, though he does not say it, that the
rococo superstructure of neo-Christian dogmatism was long and long ago
undermined by science and that it is now toppling in the minds of the
unscientific generally; and he justly advises all who have set their
hearts on the preservation of the subtle and irrelevant externalities
of religion, to forsake their ancient dwelling-place and seek a safe
and easy abode in the grandly simple and grandly spacious, Roman temple
of Papal infallibility. That edifice is safe against the artillery of
science. It has by one simple act placed itself beyond the reach of all
scientific attacks. For science, or rather the _method of science_,
directly owes its origin to the consciousness of our individual
liability to error and the consequent aspiration of man to establish an
_objective_ criterion of truth. If it attempted to demolish doctrines
of infallibility of any kind, it would simply seek to justify its own
foundations, which it has long ago done. In so far as the doctrine of
infallibility is the only logical outcome of a dilemma in which the
Christian church has, discreetly or indiscreetly, implicated itself,
science has no objection to it; or for that matter to any other
conclusion that logically results from premisses it does not grant.
The question really most worthy of the attention of the “thoughtful,”
“truth-seeking,” and “religious” mind, as Dr. Lyons styles it, is not the
doctrine of infallibility, but the questions, What is religion, What is
God, etc., etc.; and such questions the _truth_-seeking mind will find
it impossible to answer arbitrarily: it must, perforce, answer them in
conformity with that objective criterion of truth called science. And
such subjects are as much the object of science as are motion and matter.

μκρκ.

DER SATZ VOM GRUNDE ALS PRINZIP DES SCHLIESSENS. By Dr. _Franz Erhardt_.
Halle a. S.: C. E. M. Pfeffer. 1891.

This little pamphlet of fifty-six pages, written and published to
acquire for the author the _venia legendi_ at the philosophical faculty
of the University of Jena, treats the several figures of the syllogism
from the standpoint that the middle term of the premisses is, logically
considered, the consequence (_Folge_) of the subject and the reason
(_Grund_) of the predicate in the conclusion. A few remarks are added on
induction and analogy, without, however, entering into the problem as
to the rôle which the method of induction plays in the evolution of the
method of deduction.

κρς.

AGNOSTICISME. Essai sur quelques Théories pessimistes de la Connaissance.
By _E. de Roberty_. Paris: Félix Alcan.

By the publication of this little book M. de Roberty redeems a promise
made in his larger work, on the philosophy of the present century,
already reviewed in _The Monist_ (January, 1892). The pessimist
theories of knowledge of which he treats are the three systems, those
of Criticism, Positivism, and Evolutionism, to which he reduces
contemporaneous philosophy. As these systems are regarded as parallel
manifestations of a common stock of beliefs and general hypotheses, they
must equally adopt the doctrine of Agnosticism. It is the aim of the
present work to point out the several forms assumed by this doctrine and
to show its falsity by an examination of the principles on which it is
based. The author properly insists on the importance of distinguishing
between the affirmation of the unknown and that of the unknowable. The
recognition of the former is essential to all progress in knowledge,
but the latter is “the direct negation of all possibility whatever of
utilising the deficiencies of knowledge,” and leads infallibly to the
worship of ignorance. The best definition of the mental phenomenon
of agnosticism, says M. de Roberty is the _pessimism_ of the theory
of knowledge, and it is not for nothing therefore that Kant preceded
Schopenhauer in the development of idealism.

Modern agnosticism is based on the old notion of the separation of the
phenomenon from the noumenon, and it was Kant who cleared it from its
early theological and metaphysical conceptions. He affirmed the reality
of the “thing in itself” as a fundamental postulate, and then declared
that we can know nothing of things considered in themselves. Among
the conceptions formed by the human mind through the exercise of its
imaginative faculty are three which exhaust the entire content of the
Unknowable. Thus it may be reduced to the idea of a reality other than
that of which we are sensible; to the idea of a subject which perceives
in a different manner from the real subject; and finally to the idea that
our cerebral organisation reveals the world to us under delusive colors,
all of which M. de Roberty declares to be simple fiction. His own ideas
on the subject will appear later on.

Positivism stands towards materialism in the same relation as criticism
stands towards idealism, whose noumenon becomes the unknowable thing
in itself; as the simple matter of materialism becomes the unknown
existence about which positivism says we can neither affirm nor deny
anything. Modern agnosticism may be regarded thus as representing the
long sought synthesis of the purest materialism and the most transcendent
spiritualism, and it offers a striking demonstration of the fundamental
equivalence of the hypotheses hitherto formulated as to the origin and
essence of things. It proves also, says M. de Roberty, that the great
law of the identity of contraries is applicable directly to all our
very general conceptions. Contradictory as they seem to be, universal
postulates must, by virtue of that law, be fundamentally identical. This
introduces a discussion of the antinomies, developed but not invented
by modern criticism, which found in them ample justification for its
conclusion of the reality of the unknowable.

The double antinomy of time and space is regarded by the author as always
presenting itself under the aspect of a long chain of contradictions
which are manifestly merely verbal. The opposition between finite and
infinite may be resolved into the distinction between concrete and
abstract, between particular and general, if infinity is taken as
synonymous with, or the perfect substitute for, general and abstract
quantity, the universal attribute of things isolated from the things
themselves. As to the problems connected with the ideas of a vacuum,
matter, force and motion, M. de Roberty supposes them to have a purely
psychological solution. Such ideas go beyond the “conceptive” capacity
of mechanics and belong to psychology considered, not as a branch of
philosophy, or as philosophy itself, but as a science of abstract
concepts.

The philosophy of evolution, although monistic in the sense that it
recognises the law of the identity of opposites, shows itself not to
be so in reality by its doctrine of the unknowable. In this monism and
agnosticism contradict each other, as it is contrary to reason “to
affirm at the same time the identity of every phenomenon and their
unknowability. The first marks the supreme term of the second. Identity
in general serves to define knowableness. So that, if we remain on
the elevated summits of pure abstraction too long, we run the danger
anticipated by the law of identity of contraries. We fall directly
into the error of taking the apparent negation of identity or of pure
knowledge, the unknowable, for something really distinct, really
separated from the knowable.” This is the illusion of Spencer and of
all the philosophers who have undertaken the difficult task of applying
monism as a corrective of agnosticism.

M. de Roberty concludes the present work with a discussion of the
relation between idea and reality, the thought and the object thought of,
in which he gives us his opinion on that disputed point. He says that
what philosophy calls “the object” is composed essentially of external
nature, in which is included our own organism. Very complicated systems
of motions are transmitted to the grey nuclei or opto-striated bodies
of the central regions of the brain. Here these motions determine new
motions of which the totality is described in psycho-physics by the term
“unconscious ideation.” But this internal motion, continually tending to
become again an initial or external motion, gives rise to unconscious
reflex activity. The motion passes by the white nerve-fibres to the
cortical periphery of the brain which becomes “the seat of a phenomenon,
an excitation, a motion which prolongs or repeats the immediately
preceding phenomenon, excitation, or motion, while giving it a shorter
and more steady action.” The sensations and the reflex-actions derived
from them traverse the opto-striated nuclei without retardation and
without giving rise to any system of ideas; while consciousness resides
in the systemisation or union of the same sensations and reflex-actions.
The notion of the ego results from the union or memory of certain ideas,
sensations, and actions, which before their union and preservation by
the cerebral cortex were unconscious. But before becoming unconscious
ideas, those “intellectual virtualities” were in every other part of the
organism, and in all the media which surround it, as, “manifestations
of energy or of motion, it may be objective phenomena.” Thus, says M.
de Roberty, if the universe is composed of two parts, the ego and the
non-ego, it can be affirmed that they form an uninterrupted circuit.
He supposes that when the cosmical energy has produced the phenomena
of unconscious mentality in the brain-centres, it is divided into two
currents, one of which returns to its source and becomes directly cosmic
energy again, and this will be the fate of the other current also when
the life of the organism ceases.

This view the author supports by a consideration of the morphological
and functional difference supposed to exist between the facts which
constitute the notion of the “ego” and the primordial facts of
unconsciousness comprised under the generic denomination of the
“non-ego.” He regards conscious ideas as the telegraphic alphabet, the
stenographic writing of the cosmos. Consciousness serves to coördinate
the incoherent crowd of events which at each instant invades the normal
brain. In these we may see effects of the cause called “universe,” and
therefore its representatives and substitutes, which they could not
be unless there was identity between the two. Thus the “ego” could be
defined as the final synthesis of the “symbolic abridgments,” of the
micrographical abbreviations, of the “non-ego.” Thus the ego serves only
for the purpose of concentrating or condensing, so to say the non-ego,
which it represents in a manner more or less durable and efficient.

This monistic theory gets rid of the unknowable and therefore is a great
improvement on that of the materialist or of the idealist. Nevertheless
it requires further elaboration. There is no difficulty in understanding
that cosmic motion may become transformed within the organism into a
feeling. This still, however, leaves unaccounted for the existence of the
organism itself. A true monism will, therefore, require that the organism
must be in some way identifiable with the cosmos. This is the true
problem that has to be solved, and its solution will be greatly aided by
the overthrow of agnosticism, against which M. de Roberty has made so
vigorous and successful an attack in the present volume.

Ω.

FOOTNOTES:

[84] See Aug. Friedr. Böck. _Sammlung von Schriften, welche den logischen
Calcul des Prof. Pl. betreffen_, Frankfort and Leipsic, 1766.

[85] The book from which we quote, namely _The Ethic of Freethought_,
like the book here under discussion, contains much detail matter in which
we differ most emphatically from the author; (he is, for instance, in our
opinion very unjust to Martin Luther;) but it seems to us that he pursues
an aim that we have in common with him.

PERIODICALS.

ZEITSCHRIFT FÜR PSYCHOLOGIE UND PHYSIOLOGIE DER SINNESORGANE. Vol. III.
Nos. 2 and 3.

UEBER DIE EMPFINDLICHKEIT DES GRÜNBLINDEN UND DES NORMALEN
AUGES GEGEN FARBENÄNDERUNG IM SPEKTRUM. By _E. Brodhun_.

KÜRZESTE LINIEN IM FARBENSYSTEM. By _H. v. Helmholtz_.

DIE RAUMANSCHAUUNGEN UND DIE AUGENBEWEGUNGEN. By _Th. Lipps_.

EINE BEOBACHTUNG ÜBER DAS INDIREKTE SEHEN. By _Th. Wertheim_.

UEBER EINIGE EIGENTÜMLICHKEITEN DES TASTSINNS. By _G. Sergi_.

BEITRÄGE ZUR VERGLEICHENDEN PSYCHOLOGIE. I. Das Verhalten
wirbelloser Tiere auf der Drehscheibe. By _K. L. Schaefer_.

GEGENANTWORT AUF DIE ERWIDERUNG VON O. FLÜGEL. By _J. Rehmke_.

LITTERATURBERICHT.

The value of the first article on the sensitiveness of the green-blind
and the normal eye in perceiving color-variations in the spectrum
consists mainly in the three diagrams that exhibit the results obtained
in the author’s experiments.

Professor H. v. Helmholtz published in a former number his attempt at
propounding “a formula which should play the same part in the province
of color-sensations as the formula of the length of the linear element
plays in geometry.”... As geometry begins with the concept of a shortest
line between two points, so our fundamental formula in this subject shall
enable us to find that series of transitions between two given colors
for which the sum of the perceptible differences is a minimum. Helmholtz
proposes to call them “shortest color-lines” and comes to the conclusion
that the whole domain of these apparently irregular phenomena are easily
subsumed under a generalised formulation of Fechner’s law.

Professor Th. Lipps criticises Wundt with regard to the latter’s
theory of measuring the visual field by ocular motion. Wundt’s theory,
he declares, is in need of several auxiliary hypotheses, such as the
assumption that certain ocular motions are supposed to be more difficult
than others: the visual field is said to possess the form of a spherical
surface, etc. The author maintains that ocular motions do contribute to
the construction of our space-conception, but in a different way than
Wundt assumes. The most interesting part of the article appears to be the
discussion of the genesis of the third dimension which is not given in
the data of sensation but added to them as a judgment concerning these
data. It is an interpretation of the data. There are still psychologists
who regard the third dimension as immediately given. Professor Lipps
refers as an instance to Prof. William James’s article “The Perception
of Space” in (_Mind_, Vol. XII), where the latter declares that “no
arguments in the world can prove a feeling which actually exists, to be
impossible.” While Wundt says that to the resting eye the form of the
visual field is spherical because the sky appears to us as spherical;
Lipps declares that we might just as well say that the visual field of
the resting eye is a plane, because the earth appears to us as a level
surface. We attribute to the visual field the form which certain reasons
prompt us to. Certain convergences of the eyes induce us to place certain
points at certain distances. We read, as it were, the distances out of
the convergences of the ocular axes. Accordingly, when we cease to feel
any difference in our feeling of convergency we cannot help attributing
the same “depth” throughout to all the things with respect to which such
feeling is wanting, and we place all objects beyond a certain range upon
a spherical surface. Thus Lipps interprets the spherical form of the
firmament as the result of our using both eyes, which use from habit has
become the form of monocular vision also, and not as Wundt does from the
spherical form of each visual field, which by habit has been transferred
to binocular vision. There is a strange fact that distances on the left
side are overestimated in comparison with those on the right side; and
this fact is also claimed by Professor Lipps to be incompatible with
Professor Wundt’s theory, but in favor of his own views.

Th. Wertheim has made an observation which tends to prove that positive
as well as negative fluctuations of light-intensity, cause the
disappearance of objects indirectly seen.

G. Sergi publishes the results of his investigations concerning the
sense of touch made in the Institute for Anthropology and Experimental
Psychology at the University of Rome.

Karl L. Schaefer’s results of experiments with invertebrate animals
upon the rotatory table show that in the beginning a counter-rotation
takes place, but not in all animals. It does not take place in some
caterpillars; it does take place in black beetles, ants, flies, earwigs,
provided they are at the time in actual motion. There is no after-affect
from the rotation and thus they are not subject to vertigo as are the
vertebrates. (Hamburg and Leipsic: Leopold Voss.)

κρς.

VIERTELJAHRSSCHRIFT FÜR WISSENSCHAFTLICHE PHILOSOPHIE. Vol. XVI. No. 2.

BEITRÄGE ZUR LOGIK. (Zweiter Artikel. Schluss.) By _A. Riehl_.

ERNST PLATNER’S WISSENSCHAFTLICHE STELLUNG ZU KANT IN
ERKENNTNISSTHEORIE UND MORALPHILOSOPHIE. (Zweiter Artikel.
Schluss.) By _B. Seligkowitz_.

UEBER BEGRIFF UND GEGENSTAND. By _G. Frege_.

BEMERKUNGEN ZU RICHARD AVENARIUS’S “KRITIK DER REINEN
ERFAHRUNG.” By _R. Willy_.

A. Riehl discusses in the second instalment of his “Contributions to
Logic” the forms of judgment and the different kinds of conclusion. B.
Seligkowitz concludes his article on Ernst Platner’s relation to Kant,
setting forth the former’s criticism of the latter’s views of synthetic
judgments _a priori_, his moral theology, his psychological ideas, and
moral philosophy. G. Frege explains his view of “concept and object” with
reference to the idea of Benno Kerry, who does not recognise between the
two any absolute difference. (Leipsic: Reisland.)

κρς.

PHILOSOPHISCHE MONATSHEFTE. Vol. XXVIII. Nos. 3 and 4.

CONTENTS: April, 1892. No. 3.

DIE WIRKLICHKEIT ALS PHÄNOMEN DES GEISTES. By _A. Rosinski_.

RECENSIONEN.

LITTERATURBERICHT.

CONTENTS: May, 1892. No. 4.

UEBER DAS ABSOLUTE GEHÖR. By _J. v. Kries_.

DIE ZWEITEN PURKINJESCHEN BILDER IM SCHEMATISCHEN UND IM
WIRKLICHEN AUGE. By _L. Matthiessen_.

BESPRECHUNGEN.

LITTERATURBERICHT.

Adolf Rosinski describes reality as a phenomenon of the mind and,
following Quäbicker, he regards “the real as belonging to that complex
which is given us in appearance. Being (_Wesen_) is not behind or beyond
appearance; Being, being that which exists, existence is appearance.
Appearance shows nothing but that which is in Being, and there is in
Being nothing which is not manifested.” (Berlin: Dr. R. Salinger.)

There are but few musicians who are able to recognise directly and
without reference to another note, the pitch of a sound. This ability
is called by musicians “absolutes Gehör.” Professor Kries investigates
in a long article, the conditions of this absolute musical ear so
called, exhibiting the difficulties of an explanation without arriving
at a definite result, which, however, may be expected from further
investigations of the subject. Mr. Matthiessen’s article on the second
Perkinje-pictures, in the ideal and the real eye, consists exclusively
of measurements and calculations of the curvature of the lens. The same
number contains an appreciative and long (37 pp.) review of Prof. W.
James’s “Principles of Psychology.” (Hamburg and Leipsic: Leopold Voss.)

κρς.

THE AMERICAN JOURNAL OF PSYCHOLOGY. April, 1892. Vol. IV. No. 3.

ON CERTAIN PECULIARITIES OF THE KNEE-JERK IN SLEEP IN A CASE OF
TERMINAL DEMENTIA. By _William Noyes_, M. D.

THE GROWTH OF MEMORY IN SCHOOL CHILDREN. By _T. L. Bolton_, A.
B.

STUDIES FROM THE LABORATORY OF EXPERIMENTAL PSYCHOLOGY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN. By Prof. _Joseph Jastrow_, Ph. D.

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL FOUNDATION OF REALISM. By _Alexander Fraser_,
A. B.

PSYCHOLOGICAL LITERATURE: I. Nervous System. By Prof. _H. H.
Donaldson_, Clark University; II. Association, Reaction. By
Prof. _J. McK. Cattell_, Columbia College; III. Hypnotism and
Suggestion. By Prof. _Joseph Jastrow_, University of Wisconsin;
IV. Sight.

LETTERS AND NOTES.

Dr. Noyes’s investigations seem to corroborate the theory that not only
the lower but also “the higher activities of the brain are also subject
to a rhythmic rise and fall synchronous with vascular dilatation and
contraction.” Mr. Bolton publishes the results of his examination of the
span of memory in the Grammar Schools of Worcester, Mass. The memory
span measuring the power of concentrated and prolonged attention,
increases with age rather than with the growth of intelligence. The
girls have better memories than the boys. Memory can be increased by
practice. The tests made before and after school do not show that the
pupils suffer fatigue from the day’s work. Memory-images before they
are completely lost first suffer a confusion of order, then a loss of
certain of its elements which are often replaced by similar elements.
Previous ideas being one of the factors of confusion. Professor Jastrow’s
article presents a description of a series of experiments made in his
psychological laboratory. He reproduces the Zöllner figures, briefly
summarising their different interpretations by Zöllner, Hering, Aubert,
Classen, Lipps, Hoppe, Wundt, Pisco, and Helmholtz. He further presents a
study of involuntary movements of the hand on the glass plate apparatus,
and describes the experiments of time measurement in classifying ideas,
and in finding a given object within a given field. Mr. Fraser defends
the Natural Realism of the Scotch school, making the tactumotor sense the
ultimate test of reality. (Worcester, Mass.: Clark University.)

κρς.

REVUE PHILOSOPHIQUE.

CONTENTS: April, 1892. No. 196.

LES PROCESSUS NERVEUX DANS L’ATTENTION ET LA VOLITION. By
_Charlton Bastian_.

LA RESPONSABILITÉ. By _F. Paulhan_.

REVUE GÉNÉRALE: LE SPIRITISME CONTEMPORAIN. By _Janet_
(_Pierre_).

ANALYSES ET COMPTES RENDUS: Der Positivismus vom Tode August
Comte’s bis auf unsere Tage. By _H. Gruber_. Die Psychologie
der Suggestion. By _H. Schmidkunz_.

TRAVAUX DU LABORATOIRE DE PSYCHOLOGIE PHYSIOLOGIQUE: Etude
expérimentale sur deux cas d’audition colorée. By _Beaunis and
Binet_. Etude sur un nouveau cas d’audition colorée. By _Binet
and Philippe_.

CONTENTS: May, 1892. No. 197.

DU SENS DE L’INÉGALITÉ. By _G. Mauret_.

LA RESPONSABILITÉ (concluded). By _F. Paulhan_.

LE PROBLÈME DE LA VIE (third and last article). By _Dunan_.

ANALYSES ET COMPTES RENDUS: Leçons cliniques sur l’hystérie
et l’hypnotisme By _Pitres_. Corps et âme. Essais sur la
philosophie de St. Thomas. By _J. Gardair_. Agnosticisme.
By _E. de Roberty_. La physique de Straton de Lampsaque.
By _Rodier_. Das Wahrnehmungsproblem vom Standpunkte des
Physikers, des Physiologen und des Philosophen. By _H. Schwarz_.

REVUE DES PÉRIODIQUES ÉTRANGERS: Vierteljahrsschrift für
wissenschaftliche Philosophie.

CORRESPONDANCE ET INFORMATIONS.

The processes of attention and volition lie at the basis of all our
mental and physical activities. Mr. Charlton Bastian discusses their
nervous condition and comes to the conclusion _Voluntas et intellectus
unum et idem sunt_. M. Paulhan treats the problem of responsibility under
healthy and morbid conditions, in two consecutive articles. M. Mouret,
whose former articles on relations will be reviewed in a future number by
Mr. F. C. Russell, treats in a long article of the sense of inequality.
M. Ch. Dunan concludes his essay on the problem of life, viewing the
subject from a rather metaphysical standpoint. M. Pierre Janet presents
us with a very accurate review of the importance of the contemporary
spiritism and spiritualism. He calls attention to the fact that modern
psychology owes to the researches of the spiritualists, many new,
startling, and interesting facts. He does not share their standpoint, yet
his review is kind and sympathetic. (Paris: Félix Alcan.)

κρς.

VOPROSUI FILOSOFII I PSICHOLOGII.[86] Vol. III. No. 12. March, 1892.

POSITIVE PHILOSOPHY AND THE UNITY OF SCIENCE. (Continuation).
By _B. N. Tchitcherin_. Article crowned by the Psychological
Society of Moscow.

HOW DOES THE MINISTRATION TO THE GENERAL GOOD OF ALL RELATE TO
THE CARE FOR THE SALVATION OF OUR OWN SOUL? A letter to the
Editor. By the _Archimandrite Antonii_.

HUXLEY AS REPRESENTATIVE OF THE MODERN SCIENTIFIC THEORY OF THE
WORLD.

TELEPATHY. (Concluded.) By _Petrovo-Solovo_.

THE BASIS OF ETHICAL OBLIGATION. By _N. Grote_.

SPECIAL DEPARTMENT. About Ethical Fragments from Democritus. By
_J. Radloff_. One of the Possible Cosmic Theories. A Study. By
_A. Wilkins_.

CRITICISM AND BIBLIOGRAPHY. I. Review of Periodicals. II.
Review of Recent Publications. Transactions of the Moscow
Psychological Society. (Moscow, 1892.)

MIND. New Series. No. 2. April, 1892.

PLEASURE AND PAIN. By _A. Bain_.

THE CHANGES OF METHOD IN HEGEL’S DIALECTIC. II. By _J. Ellis
McTaggart_.

THE LEIPSIC SCHOOL OF EXPERIMENTAL PSYCHOLOGY. By _E. Bradford
Titchener_.

THE LOGICAL CALCULUS. II. By _W. E. Johnson_.

DISCUSSIONS: Dr. Münsterberg and his Critics. By _S. Alexander_.

CRITICAL NOTICES.

Prof. A. Bain criticises Mr. H. R. Marshall’s theory of pleasure and
pain as being determined by the relation between the energy given out
and the energy received, saying that it leaves a very large region
untouched and inexplicable. J. Ellis McTaggart defends the Hegelian
dialectic system which, he declares, “is not so wonderful or mystic
as it has been represented to be. It makes no attempt,” he says, “to
deduce existence from essence; it does not even attempt to eliminate the
element of immediacy, in experience, and to produce a self-sufficient
and self-mediating thought.” E. Bradford Titchener gives a general
survey of the researches carried out in Wundt’s Institute, and of the
other psychological contents of the _Philosophische Studien_, from the
date of Professor Cattell’s paper on “The Psychological Laboratory at
Leipsic” to the present time. W. E. Johnson, in his paper on “The Logical
Calculus,” brings out some of the underlying principles and assumptions
which belong equally to the ordinary Formal Logic, to Symbolic Logic,
and to the so-called Logic of Relatives. Prof. S. Alexander takes
issue with Mr. Titchener’s criticism of Professor Münsterberg’s
psychological investigations. Mr. Titchener’s article which appeared
in the October number of _Mind_, 1891, leaves the impression that the
whole of the work under review is valueless. “Many of his objections,”
however, says Professor Alexander, “refer to unimportant points, and
the graver theoretical ones are really groundless,” and thus the
critic “has contrived to give a one-sided judgment by neglecting the
other considerations which give Dr. Münsterberg’s work its value and
significance.” (London: Williams & Norgate.)

κρς.

THREE AMERICAN MAGAZINES.

INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF ETHICS. April, 1892. Vol. II. No. 3.

ECONOMIC REFORM SHORT OF SOCIALISM. By _E. Benj. Andrews_.

PLEASURE AND PAIN IN EDUCATION. By _Miss M. S. Gilliland_,
London.

THE ESSENTIALS OF BUDDHIST DOCTRINE AND ETHICS. By Prof.
_Maurice Bloomfield_.

THE THREE RELIGIONS. (Concluded.) By _J. S. Mackenzie_, M. A.

DISCUSSIONS AND REVIEWS.

THE SCHOOL OF APPLIED ETHICS.

THE PHILOSOPHICAL REVIEW. Vol. I. No. 3. May, 1892.

HERBERT SPENCER’S ANIMAL ETHICS. By Prof. _Henry Calderwood_.

THE ULTIMATE GROUND OF AUTHORITY. By Prof. _J. Macbride
Sterrett_.

WHAT IS REALITY? By _David G. Ritchie_.

NATURAL SCIENCE AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE. By Dr. _B. C.
Burt_.

A MATHEMATICAL VIEW OF FREE WILL. By Prof. _J. E. Oliver_.

DISCUSSIONS: Professor Ladd’s Criticism of James’s Psychology.
By Prof. _J. P. Gordy_.

REVIEWS OF BOOKS AND SUMMARIES OF ARTICLES.

THE NEW WORLD. Vol. I. No. 1. March, 1892.

THE EVOLUTION OF CHRISTIANITY. By _Lyman Abbott_.

THE HISTORIC AND THE IDEAL CHRIST. By _Charles Carroll Everett_.

THE FUTURE OF LIBERAL RELIGION IN AMERICA. By _J. G. Schurmann_.

THE COMMON, THE COMMONPLACE AND THE ROMANTIC. By _William
Rounseville Alger_.

ABRAHAM KUENEN. By _Crawford Howell Toy_.

THE THEISTIC EVOLUTION OF BUDDHISM. By _J. Estlin Carpenter_.

“BETWEEN THE TESTAMENTS.” By _Thomas R. Slicer_.

THE NEW ORTHODOXY. By _Edward H. Hall_.

THEOLOGICAL ASPECTS OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF THOMAS HILL GREEN. By
_Charles B. Upton_.

INTRODUCTORY NOTE.

BOOK REVIEWS.

There have sprung up within the last two years not less than four
American magazines of progressive thought, which now compete in the
proposition of their religious and philosophical conceptions to the
world. These four magazines are, in the chronological order in which
they were founded, _The Monist_, _The International Journal of Ethics_,
_The Philosophical Review_, and _The New World_. _The Monist_ represents
that world-conception which takes its stand upon facts and systematises
facts into a unitary view. Thus it recognises the methods of science
as the methods of all knowledge, to the exclusion of supernatural
revelation, or intuitionalism, or any kind of mysticism. But _The Monist_
does not rest satisfied with this. _The Monist_ preaches a religion; and
the prophets of this religion are not only the great ethical teachers
of mankind, but everybody who reveals truth, Kant and Comte, Kepler,
Copernicus, Darwin, and all living representatives of scientific inquiry.
Thus _The Monist_ is a magazine that points out the religious import of
science and philosophy.

_The International Journal of Ethics_ follows in the same line in so
far only as it has nothing to say to the old orthodox conceptions of
religion. It tries to teach a higher morality, but in establishing ethics
it pursues quite another course. It is the organ of the Ethical Societies
and the leaders of the Ethical Societies are confident that they can have
ethics not only without theology but also without religion, science, or
philosophy. They consider the world-conception of a man as something
indifferent, or unessential, in ethics, and by proposing a non-committal
policy with respect to religious and philosophical views, they expect
to be the better fitted to preach good conduct. (Philadelphia:
_International Journal of Ethics_, 118 S. Twelfth Street.)

_The Philosophical Review_ represents a philosophical conception
which has still a strong hold upon the Universities on this side of
the Atlantic. Transcendentalism, metaphysicism, and that theological
philosophy which still operates with supernatural quantities, or at
least has not discarded the dualistic features of supernaturalism, are
represented in its columns. Certainly they are well represented and by
their best upholders of the present time, and authors of more modern and
positivistic views are not excluded. Exactly so in _The Monist_, the
representatives of metaphysicism and those who still believe in the dual
existence of man, in his self, or ego, and his transcendental existence
are welcome; but there is nevertheless a fundamental difference in the
world-conception of the two magazines. (Boston, New York, Chicago: Ginn &
Co.)

_The New World_ is the latest new-comer in the field of magazine
literature, and we welcome its appearance most cordially. There are
strongly marked differences between _The New World_ and _The Monist_,
for the former is a theological magazine that deepens religion with the
assistance of philosophy while the latter, rather the reverse, is a
philosophical magazine that widens philosophy and applies it to practical
life so as to become a religion. But for that very reason _The New World_
seems to meet _The Monist_ half way. _The New World_ is an offshoot of
modern theology. Its contributors come largely from the ranks of the
maturest unitarian thinkers. They practically accept the principles of
criticism and scientific inquiry and thus they are approaching rapidly
that common goal of human thought, which _The Monist_ propounds as the
leading maxim of philosophy and religion, namely, to regard nature as the
only revelation and experience as our guide in life; to base religion
upon and to derive ethics from a critically-sifted statement of facts.
(Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co.)

κρς.

FOOTNOTES:

[86] _Questions of Philosophy and Psychology._

APPENDIX TO THE MONIST, VOL. II, NO. 4

KANT AND SPENCER

TWO ARTICLES REPRINTED FROM NOS. 51, 52, AND 158
OF THE OPEN COURT

1. THE ETHICS OF KANT
2. KANT ON EVOLUTION

BY
DR. PAUL CARUS

CHICAGO:
THE OPEN COURT PUBLISHING COMPANY

THE ETHICS OF KANT.

IN CRITICISM OF MR. HERBERT SPENCER’S PRESENTATION OF KANTISM.

Mr. Herbert Spencer has published in _The Popular Science Monthly_ for
August, an essay on the Ethics of Kant; a translation of this article
had appeared in the July Number of the _Revue Philosophique_, and it
cannot fail to have been widely noticed. It is to be regretted that
unfamiliarity with the German language and perhaps also with Kant’s
terminology has led Mr. Spencer into errors to which attention is called
in the following discussion.[87]

Mr. Spencer says:

“If, before Kant uttered that often-quoted saying in which,
with the stars of Heaven he coupled the conscience of Man, as
being the two things that excited his awe, he had known more
of Man than he did, he would probably have expressed himself
somewhat otherwise.”

Kant, in his famous dictum that two things excited his admiration, the
starry heaven above him and the conscience within him, contrasted two
kinds of sublimity.[88] The grandeur of the Universe is that of size and
extension, while the conscience of man commands respect for its moral
dignity. The universe is wonderful in its expanse and in its order of
mechanical regularity; the conscience of man is grand, being intelligent
volition that aspires to be in harmony with universal laws.

Mr. Spencer continues:

“Not, indeed, that the conscience of Man is not wonderful
enough, whatever be its supposed genesis; but the wonderfulness
of it is of a different kind according as we assume it to
have been supernaturally given or infer that it has been
naturally evolved. The knowledge of Man in that large sense
which Anthropology expresses, had made, in Kant’s day, but
small advances. The books of travel were relatively few, and
the facts which they contained concerning the human mind as
existing in different races, had not been gathered together and
generalized. In our days, the conscience of Man as inductively
known has none of that universality of presence and unity of
nature which Kant’s saying tacitly assumes.”

Mr. Spencer apparently supposes that Kant believed in a supernatural
origin of the human conscience. This, however, is erroneous.

Mr. Spencer’s error is excusable in consideration of the fact that some
disciples of Kant have fallen into a similar error. Professor Adler, of
New York, who attempts in the Societies for Ethical Culture to carry into
effect the ethics of Pure Reason, maintains that the commandments of the
_ought_ and “the light that shines through them come from beyond, but its
beams are broken as they pass through our terrestrial medium, and the
full light in all its glory we can never see.”

Ethics based on an unknowable power, is mysticism; and mysticism does not
essentially differ from dualism and supernaturalism.

Kant’s reasoning is far from mysticism and from supernaturalism. He
was fully convinced that civilized man with his moral and intellectual
abilities had naturally evolved from the lower state of an animal
existence. We read in his essay, “Presumable Origin of the History
of Mankind” (Muthmasslicher Anfang der Menschengeschichte. Editio
Hartenstein, Vol. IV, p. 321):

“From this conception of the primitive history of mankind it
follows that the departure of man from the paradise represented
to him by his reason as the earliest place of sojourn of his
race, has been nothing else than the transition from the rude
condition of a purely animal existence to the condition of a
human being; a transition from the leading-strings of instinct
to direction by reason, in a word, from the protectorate of
nature to a status of freedom.”

The view that the conscience of man is innate, in the sense of a
non-natural, of a mysterious, or even of a supernatural origin, is
untenable. Those disciples of Kant who entertain such views have
certainly misinterpreted their great master, and the passages adduced by
Mr. Spencer from so many sources are sufficient evidence of the fact that
“there are widely different degrees” [we should rather say kinds] “of
conscience in the different races.” Mr. Spencer continues:

“Had Kant had these and kindred facts before him, his
conception of the human mind, and consequently his ethical
conception, would scarcely have been what they were. Believing,
as he did, that one object of his awe—the stellar Universe—has
been evolved,[89] he might by evidence like the foregoing
have been led to suspect that the other object of his awe—the
human conscience—has been evolved; and has consequently a
real nature unlike its apparent nature.” ... “If, instead of
assuming that conscience is simple because it seems simple to
careless introspection he had entertained the hypothesis that
it is perhaps complex—a consolidated product of multitudinous
experiences received mainly by ancestors and added to by
self—he might have arrived at a consistent system of Ethics.”
...

“In brief, as already implied, had Kant, instead of his
incongruous beliefs that the celestial bodies have had an
evolutionary origin, but that the minds of living beings on
them, or at least on one of them, have had a non-evolutionary
origin, entertained the belief that both have arisen by
Evolution, he would have been saved from the impossibilities of
his Metaphysics, and the untenabilities of his Ethics.”

Mr. Spencer believes that Kant had assumed conscience to be “simple,
because it seems simple to careless introspection.” But there is no
evidence in Kant’s works for this assumption. On the contrary, Kant
reversed the old view of so-called “rational psychology” which considered
conscience as innate and which was based on the error that consciousness
is simple. Des Cartes’s syllogism _cogito ergo sum_ is based on this
idea, which at the same time served as a philosophical evidence for
the indestructibility and immortality of the _ego_. The simplicity of
consciousness had been considered as an axiom, until Kant came and showed
that it was a fallacy, a paralogism of pure reason. Dr. Noah Porter has
written, from an apparently dualistic standpoint, a sketch entitled “The
Ethics of Kant,” in which he says:

“The skepticism and denials of Kant’s speculative theory
in respect to noumena, both material and psychical, had
unfortunately cut him off from the possibility of recognizing
the personal _ego_ as anything more than a logical fiction.”

Kant says in his “Critique of Pure Reason”:[90]

“In the internal intuition there is nothing permanent, for the
_Ego_ is but the consciousness of my thought.... From all this
it is evident that rational psychology has its origin in a mere
misunderstanding. The unity of consciousness, which lies at
the basis of the categories, is considered to be an intuition
of the subject as an object; and the category of substance is
applied to the intuition. But this unity is nothing more than
the unity in _thought_, by which no object is given; to which
therefore the category of substance cannot be applied.”[91]

Concerning the statement that Kant had believed in the non-evolutionary
origin of living beings, we quote from his essay on _The Different Races
of Men_, Chap. III, where Kant speaks of “the immediate causes of the
origin of these different races.” He says:

“The conditions (_Gründe_) which, inhering in the constitution
of an organic body, determine a certain evolutionary process
(_Auswickelung_[92]) are called, if this process is concerned
with particular parts, _germs_; if, on the other hand, it
touches only the size or the relation of the parts to one
another, I call it _natural capabilities_ (_natürliche
Anlagen_).”[93]

And in a foot-note Kant makes the following remark:

“Ordinarily we accept the terms natural science
(_Naturbeschreibung_) and natural history in one and the
same sense. But it is evident that the knowledge of natural
phenomena, as they _now are_, always leaves to be desired
the knowledge of that which they _have been_ before now and
through what succession of modifications they have passed in
order to have arrived, in every respect, to their present
state. _Natural History_, which at present we almost entirely
lack, would teach us the changes that have affected the form
of the earth, likewise, the changes in the creatures of the
earth (plants and animals), that they have suffered by natural
transformations and, arising therefrom, the departures from the
prototype of the original species, that they have experienced.
It would probably trace a great number of apparently different
varieties back to species of one and the same kind and would
convert the present so intricate school-system of Natural
Science into a natural system in conformity with reason.”[94]

Kant has nowhere, so far as we know, made any objection to the idea of
evolution. But he opposed the theory that all life should have originated
from _one single_ kind. In reviewing and epitomizing Joh. Gottfr.
Herder’s work, “_Ideen zur Geschichte der Menschheit_,” Kant says:

... “Book II, treats of organized matter on the earth.... The
beginnings of vegetation.... The changes suffered by man and
beast through climatic influences.... In them all we find one
prevailing form and a similar osseous structure.... These
transitional links render it not at all impossible that in
marine animals, in plants, and, indeed, possibly in so-called
inanimate substances, one and the same fundamental principle
of organization may prevail, although infinitely cruder and
more complex in operation. In the sight of eternal being, which
beholds all things in one connection, it is possible that the
structure of the ice-particle, while receiving form, and of
the snowflake, while being crystallized, bears an analogous
relation to the formation of the embryo in a mother’s womb....
The third book compares the structure of animals and plants
with the organization of man.... It was not because man was
ordained to be a rational creature that upright stature was
given him for using his limbs according to reason; on the
contrary he acquired his reason as a consequence of his upright
stature.... From stone to crystals, from crystals to metals,
from metals to plant-creation, from thence to the animal,
and ultimately to man, we have seen the form of organization
advancing, and with it the faculties and instincts of creatures
becoming more diversified, until at last they all became united
in the human form, in so far as the latter could comprise
them.... As the body increases by food, so does the mind by
ideas; indeed, we notice here the same laws of assimilation, of
growth, and of generation. In a word, an inner spiritual man is
being formed within us, which has a nature of its own and which
employs the body as an instrument merely.... Our humanity is
merely a preliminary training, the bud of a blossom to come.
Step by step does nature cast off the ignoble and the base,
while it builds and adds to the spiritual and continues to
fashion the pure and refined with increasing niceness; thus are
we in a position to hope from the artist-hand of nature that in
that other existence our bud of humanity will also appear in
its real and true form of divine manhood.” ...

[Herder’s idea of evolution would stand on the whole if his conception of
“the spiritual” did not imply a preternatural agent.]

“The present state of man is probably the link of junction
between two worlds.... Yet man is not to investigate himself in
this future state; he is to believe himself into it.”

Kant makes no objection whatever to the evolutionary ideas of Herder.
But Herder was not free from supernaturalism and from fantastic ideas
in reference to the future development of man. He had not yet dropped
the dualistic conception of the ‘duplicity’ of man and believed in the
immortality of a distinct spiritual individual within his body. Kant’s
objection, therefore, is two-fold; 1) against Herder’s supernaturalism
which leads him beyond this world; and, 2) against the descent of _all_
species from _one and the same genus_. He says:

“In the gradation between the different species and individuals
of a natural kingdom, nature shows us nothing else than the
fact that it abandons individuals to total destruction and
preserves the species alone.... As concerns that _invisible_
kingdom of active and independent forces, we fail to see why
the author, after having believed he could confidently infer
from organized beings, the existence of the rational principle
in man did not rather attribute this principle directly to
him merely as spiritual nature, instead of lifting it out of
chaos through the structural form of organised matter.... As
to the gradation of organized beings, our author is not to
be too severely reproached, if the scheme has not met the
requirements of his conception, which extends so far beyond
the limits of this world; for its application even to the
natural kingdoms here on earth leads to nothing. The slight
differences exhibited when species are compared with reference
to their common points of resemblance, are, where there is
such great multiplicity, a necessary consequence of just this
multiplicity. The assumption of common kinship between them,
inasmuch as one kind would have to spring from another and all
from one original and primitive species, or from one and the
same creative source (Mutterschoss)—the assumption of such
a common kinship would lead to ideas so strange that reason
shrinks from them, and we cannot attribute this idea to the
author without doing him injustice. Concerning his suggestions
in comparative anatomy through all species down to plants,
the workers in natural science must judge for themselves
whether the hints given for new observations, will be useful
and whether they are justified.... It is desirable that our
ingenious author who in the continuation of his work will find
more _terra firma_, may somewhat restrain his bright genius,
and that philosophy (which consists rather in pruning than in
fostering luxuriant growth) may lead him to the perfection of
his labors not through hints but through definite conceptions,
not by imagination but by observation, not by a metaphysical or
emotional phantasy but by reason, broad in its plan but careful
in its work.”

Kant rejected certain conceptions of evolution, but he did not at all
show himself averse to the idea in general. He touched upon the subject
only incidentally and it is certain that he did not especially favor or
entertain the belief in a non-evolutionary origin of living beings.

Before proceeding to the main points of his criticism, Mr. Spencer calls
attention to what he designates as Kant’s _abnormal_ reasoning. Mr.
Spencer says:

“Something must be said concerning abnormal reasoning as
compared with normal reasoning.” ...

“Instead of setting out with a proposition of which the
negation is inconceivable, it sets out with a proposition of
which the affirmation is inconceivable, and therefrom proceeds
to draw conclusions” ...

“The first sentence in Kant’s first chapter runs thus: ‘Nothing
can possibly be conceived in the world, or even out of it,
which can be called good without qualification, except a Good
Will.’” ...

“Most fallacies result from the habit of using words without
fully rendering them into thoughts—passing them by with
recognitions of their meanings as ordinarily used, without
stopping to consider whether these meanings admit of being
given to them in the cases named. Let us not rest satisfied
with thinking vaguely of what is understood by ‘a Good Will,’
but let us interpret the words definitely. Will implies the
consciousness of some end to be achieved. Exclude from it every
idea of purpose, and the conception of Will disappears. An
end of some kind being necessarily implied by the conception
of Will, the quality of the Will is determined by the quality
of the end contemplated. Will itself, considered apart from
any distinguishing epithet, is not cognizable by Morality at
all. It becomes cognizable by Morality only when it gains its
character as good or bad by virtue of its contemplated end as
good or bad.” ...

“Kant tells us that a good will is one that is good in and for
itself without reference to ends.”

It is unfortunate that Mr. Spencer misunderstood the first sentence of
Kant’s book (_Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten_). Kant does not
speak of “a good will without qualification,” nor does the expression
“without qualification” refer to “a will without reference to ends.” Kant
speaks of good will in opposition to other good things. Nothing, he
says, can without qualification (_ohne Einschränkung_) be called good,
except a good will.[95] Dr. Porter sums up the first page of Kant’s essay
in the following words:

“The first section of the treatise opens with the memorable
and often-quoted utterance, that ‘nothing can be possibly
conceived in the world, or even out of it, which can be called
good without qualification, except a good will.’ If character
is compared with gifts of nature, as intelligence, courage,
and gifts of fortune, as riches, health, or contentment, all
these are defective, ‘if there is not a good will to correct
their possible perversion and to rectify the whole principle of
acting, and _adapt it to its end_.’[96] A man who is endowed
with every other good can never give pleasure to an impartial,
rational spectator unless he possesses a good will. ‘Thus a
good will appears to constitute the indispensable condition of
being worthy of happiness.’ ... ‘Moreover, a good will is good
not for what it effects but for what it intends, even when it
fails to accomplish its purposes, ... as when the man wills
the good of another and is impotent to promote it, or actually
effects just the opposite of what he proposes or wills.’”

In the passages quoted by Dr. Porter, Kant speaks of “the _end_ to which
good will adapts other goods”; and in another passage of the same book,
Kant directly declares that “it is the _end_ that serves the will as
the objective ground of its self-determination.” Mr. Spencer must have
overlooked these sentences. Kant says:

“The will is conceived as a power of determining itself to
action in accordance with the conception of certain laws. And
such a power can only be met with in rational beings. _Now it
is the END that serves the will as the objective ground of its
self-determination_, and this end, if fixed by reason alone,
must hold equally good for all rational creatures.”

* * * * *

Mr. Spencer interrupts his essay on the Ethics of Kant by a digression
on Kant’s conception of time and space. It would lead us too far at
present if we would follow Mr. Spencer on this ground also. A comparison
of Spencer’s remarks on the subject with Kant’s “Critique of Pure Reason”
will show that Kant’s view of space and time is radically different from
that view which Mr. Spencer represents as the Kantian conception of time
and space.

* * * * *

Kant rejects the idea that happiness is the end and purpose of life
and at the same time he declares that ethics must be based not on the
pursuit of happiness but on the categorical imperative or more popularly
expressed on our sense of duty.

Mr. Spencer argues:

“One of the propositions contained in Kant’s first chapter is
that ‘we find that the more a cultivated reason applies itself
with deliberate purpose to the enjoyment of life and happiness,
so much the more does the man fail of true satisfaction.’” ...

“That which Kant should have said is that the _exclusive_
pursuit of what are distinguished as pleasures and amusements
is disappointing.” ...

“It is not, as Kant says, guidance by ‘a cultivated reason,’
which leads to disappointment, but guidance by an uncultivated
reason.”

The passage quoted by Mr. Spencer from Kant, reads in its context as
follows:

“In the physical constitution of an organized being we take it
for granted[97] that no organ for any purpose will be found
in it but such as is also the fittest and best adapted for
that purpose. If in a being possessing reason and will, the
preservation, the prosperity, in a word, the happiness of that
being, constituted the actual purpose of nature, nature had
certainly adopted an extremely unwise expedient to this end,
had it made the reason of that being the executive agent of its
purposes in this matter. For all actions that it had to perform
with this end in view, and the whole rule of its conduct, would
have been far more exactly prescribed by _instinct_, and this
end would have been far more safely attained by this means than
can ever take place through the instrumentality of _reason_.”
...

“As a matter of fact we find that the more a cultivated
reason occupies itself with the purpose of enjoying life and
happiness, the farther does the person possessing it recede
from the state of true contentment; and hence there arises in
the case of many, and pre-eminently in the case of those most
experienced in the exercise of reason, if they are only frank
enough to confess it, a certain degree of misology or hate of
reason; for after weighing every advantage that they derive,
I will not say from the invention of all arts facilitating
ordinary luxury, but even from the sciences, (which after
all are in their eyes a luxury of the intellect,) they still
discover that virtually they have burdened themselves more with
toil and trouble than they have gained in point of happiness,
and thus, in the end, they are more apt to envy than contemn
the commoner type of men who are more immediately subject to
the guidance of natural instinct alone, and who do not suffer
their reason to influence in any great degree their acts and
omissions.”

Kant uses the expression “cultivated reason” not in opposition to
“uncultivated reason,” but to “instinct” as that inherited faculty
which teaches a being to live in accordance with nature and its natural
conditions, without the interference of thought and reflection.

That uncultivated reason would lead to disappointment, Kant never would
have denied. He would have added: “It does more, it leads to a speedy
ruin.”

But if reason does not produce happiness, what then is the use of reason?
Kant answers, reason produces in man the good will.

It is reason which enables man to form abstractions, to think in
generalizations and to conceive the import of universal laws. When his
will deliberately and consciously conforms to universal laws, it is good.
Kant says:

“Thus will (viz. the good will) can not be the sole and whole
Good, but it must still be the highest Good and the condition
necessary to everything else, even to all desire of happiness.”
...

“To know what I have to do in order that my volition be good,
requires on my part no far-reaching sagacity. Unexperienced
in respect of the course of nature, unable to be prepared for
all the occurrences transpiring therein, I simply ask myself:
Can’st thou so will, that the maxim of thy conduct may become a
universal law? Where it can not become a universal law, there
the maxim of thy conduct is reprehensible, and that, too, not
by reason of any disadvantage consequent thereupon to thee or
even others, but because it is not fit to enter as a principle
into a possible enactment of universal laws.”

If a maxim of conduct is fit to enter as a principle into a possible
enactment of universal laws, it will be found in harmony with the
cosmical laws; if not, it must come in conflict with the order of things
in the universe. It then cannot stand, and will, if persistently adhered
to, lead (perhaps slowly but inevitably) to certain ruin.

Concerning the proposition that happiness may be regarded as the purpose
of life Kant in his review of Herder’s “Ideen zur Philosophie der
Geschichte der Menschheit” (Ed. H. IV, p. 190), speaks of the relativity
of happiness and its insufficiency as a final aim of life:

... “First of all the happiness of an animal, then that of a
child and of a youth, and lastly that of man! In all epochs
of human history, as well as among all classes and conditions
of the same epoch, that happiness has obtained which was in
exact conformity with the individual’s ideas and the degree
of his habituation to the conditions amid which he was
born and raised. Indeed, it is not even possible to form a
comparison of the degree of happiness nor to give precedence
to one class of men or to one generation over another....
If this shadow-picture of happiness ... were the actual aim
of Providence, every man would have the measure of his own
happiness within him.... Does the author (Herder) think perhaps
that, if the happy inhabitants of Otaheite had never been
visited by more civilized peoples and were ordained to live
in peaceful indolence for thousands of years to come—that we
could give a satisfactory answer to the question why they
should exist at all and whether it would not have been just as
well that this island should be occupied by happy sheep and
cattle as that it should be inhabited by men who are happy only
through pure enjoyment?”

Concerning the mission or purpose of humanity and its ultimate
realization, Kant interprets Herder’s views as follows:

“It involves no contradiction to say that no individual
member of all the offspring of the human race, but that
only the species, fully attains its mission (Bestimmung).
The mathematician may explain the matter in his way. The
philosopher would say: the mission of the human race as a whole
is _unceasing progress_, and the perfection (Vollendung) of
this mission is a mere idea (although in every aspect a quite
useful one) of the aim towards which, in conformity with the
design of providence, we are to direct our endeavors.”

We learn from the passages quoted from Kant that his idea of good will is
neither mystical and supernatural, nor is it vague. It is a conception
as logically and definitely defined as any mathematical definition.
Good will in the sense in which Kant defines it, is only possible in
a reasonable being by the power of its reason. The good will is the
intention of conforming to universal principles and thus of being in
harmony with the All. This good will is the corner-stone of Kant’s
ethics; it appears as the categoric imperative of duty, so to act that
the maxim of one’s conduct may be fit to become a universal law. It is
formulated in another passage: “Act so as if the maxim of thy conduct by
thy volition were to become a natural law.”

It is easily seen that, in Kant’s conception, the _ought_ of morals (viz.
of the categoric imperative) does not stand in contradiction to the
_must_ of natural laws. Kant’s conception is monistic, not dualistic.
Kant says:

“The moral _ought_ is man’s _inner_, _necessary_ volition as
being a member of an intelligible world and is _conceived_ by
him as an ought only in so far as he considers himself also as
a member of the sensory world.”[98]

Our way of explaining it would be: Man _feels_ in his activity the
categoric imperative as an ought. So the snow crystal, if it were
possessed of sensation, would _feel_ its formation as an “ought.” But
both are, and to an outside observer will appear, as a “must.”

* * * * *

In the Spencerian system of ethics, which is utilitarianism, the moral
maxim or the idea of duty is not distinguished from the feeling of
pleasure or pain that accompanies ethical thoughts and acts, and their
consequences. This lack of distinction induces Mr. Spencer to consider
man’s pursuit of happiness as the basis of ethics. Accordingly the
aim of ethics, he maintains, is not the performance of duty, not the
realization of the good; to the utilitarian this is only the means. The
end of ethics is the greatest happiness of the greatest number.

It is strange that Mr. Spencer’s essay contains a passage which, although
intended as a point of objection to Kant, is a corroboration of Kant’s
ethics, and a refutation of Mr. Spencer’s own views. While denying the
statement that “a cultivated reason, if applied with deliberate purpose
to the enjoyment of life and happiness, will fail to produce true
satisfaction,” Mr. Spencer says:

“I assert that it is untrue on the strength of personal
experiences. In the course of my life there have occurred
many intervals, averaging a month each, in which the pursuit
of happiness was the sole object, and in which happiness was
successfully pursued. How successfully may be judged from the
fact that I would gladly live over again each of those periods
without change, an assertion which I certainly cannot make of
any portions of my life spent in the daily discharge of duties.”

This statement, if it proves anything, proves that happiness is one thing
and duty is another; it proves that Kant’s theory of ethics, which is
based on the discharge of duty and not on the pursuit of happiness, is
correct, and that Mr. Spencer’s theory which identifies duty with the
pursuit of happiness, is wrong.

However, we must in this place express our opinion that Mr. Spencer’s
statement _cannot_ be quite correct. The discharge of duty, unpleasant
though the drudgery part of it may have been, was undoubtedly accompanied
and followed by a certain satisfaction, which perhaps was less in
quantity, but certainly higher in quality than the pleasure derived from
the mere pursuit of happiness. And in the valuation of the intrinsic
and of the moral worth of pleasures, the quality alone should be taken
into consideration, not the quantity. In this sense only can an ethical
hedonism or utilitarianism be acceptable. The man whose pleasures and
pains are of a higher kind, of a nobler form, and of a better quality, is
morally and generally the more evolved man. And then, the basis of ethics
would be, not so much pleasure or happiness as the quality of pleasure or
happiness; it would be an aspiration to evolve toward a higher plane of
life, to shape our lives in nobler forms, and to enjoy nobler, greater,
and more spiritual pleasures, or, as Kant says, “unceasing progress.”

Mr. Spencer’s assertion, if taken in the sense in which it stands, is a
contradiction of his ethical theory. But even if Mr. Spencer had declared
that the discharge of duty affords a kind of happiness or satisfaction,
as it truly does, there would still remain a deep gap between his and
Kant’s ethics. Mr. Spencer reduces ethics to mere worldly prudence; he
says that we must do the good in order to be happy, and for the sake of
its utility, and Kant says we must act so as to be in agreement with
universal law. Mr. Spencer says:

“But now, supposing we accept Kant’s statement in full, what
is its implication? That happiness is the thing to be desired,
and, in one way or another, the thing to be achieved.” ...

“An illustration will best show how the matter stands. To
a tyro in archery the instructor says: ‘Sir, you must not
point your arrow directly at the target; if you do, you will
inevitably miss it; you must aim high above the target, and you
may then possibly pierce the bull’s-eye.’ What now is implied
by the warning and the advice? Clearly that the purpose is
to hit the target. Otherwise there is no sense in the remark
that it will be missed if directly aimed at; and no sense in
the remark that to be hit, something higher must be aimed at.
Similarly with happiness. There is no sense in the remark that
happiness will not be found if it is directly sought, unless
happiness is a thing to be somehow or other obtained.” ...

“So that in this professed repudiation of happiness as an end,
there lies the inavoidable implication that it _is_ the end.”

The pursuit of happiness is by no means repudiated by Kant as wrong or
immoral; it is only maintained to be insufficient as a foundation of
ethics. Kant’s remark that happiness will not be found if it is directly
sought has no reference to his own ethics. Kant, speaking from the
standpoint of one who takes the view of utilitarianism, says that if a
cultivated reason applies itself to the sole purpose of enjoying life and
happiness, it will meet with a failure.[99]

Any other explanation of the moral _ought_ than that from the Good Will,
Kant declares to be _heteronomy_. Will would no longer be itself, and the
principle of action would lie in something foreign to the will. Kant says:

“Will in such a case would not be a law to itself; but the
object by its relation to the will would impose the law upon
the will.... This would admit of hypothetical imperatives
only: ‘I ought to do a certain thing, because I want something
else.’ The moral and therefore categorical imperative, on the
contrary, says: ‘I ought to act so or so, even if I had nothing
else in view.’ For instance: the hypothetical imperative
of heteronomy says: ‘I ought not to lie, if I ever wish to
preserve my honor.’ The categorical imperative says: ‘I ought
not to lie even if it would not in the least bring me to
shame.’”

Mr. Spencer quotes the following passage from Kant:

“I omit here all actions which are already recognized as
inconsistent with duty, although they may be useful for this
or that purpose, for with these the question whether they are
done _from duty_ can not arise at all, since they even conflict
with it. I also set aside those actions which really conform
to duty, but to which men have _no_ direct _inclination_,
performing them because they are impelled thereto by some
other inclination. For in this case we can readily distinguish
whether the action which agrees with duty is done _from
duty_, or from a selfish view. It is much harder to make this
distinction when the action accords with duty, and the subject
has besides a _direct_ inclination to it. For example, it is
always a matter of duty that a dealer should not overcharge an
inexperienced purchaser, and wherever there is much commerce
the prudent tradesman does not overcharge, but keeps a fixed
price for every one, so that a child buys of him as well as any
other. Men are thus _honestly_ served; but this is not enough
to make us believe that the tradesman has so acted from duty
and from principles of honesty: his own advantage required it;
it is out of the question in this case to suppose that he might
besides have a direct inclination in favor of the buyers, so
that, as it were, from love he should give no advantage to one
over another[!]. Accordingly the action was done neither from
duty nor from direct inclination, but merely with a selfish
view.

“On the other hand, it is a duty to maintain one’s life, and,
in addition, every one has also a direct inclination to do
so. But on this account the often anxious care which most men
take for it has no intrinsic worth, and their maxim has no
moral import. They preserve their life _as duty requires_, no
doubt, but not _because duty requires_. On the other hand,
if adversity and hopeless sorrow have completely taken away
the relish for life; if the unfortunate one, strong in mind,
indignant at his fate rather than desponding or dejected,
wishes for death, and yet preserves his life without loving
it—not from inclination or fear, but from duty—then his maxim
has a moral worth.

“To be beneficent when we can is a duty; and besides this,
there are many minds so sympathetically constituted that
without any other motive of vanity or self-interest, they find
a pleasure in spreading joy around them, and can take delight
in the satisfaction of others so far as it is their own work.
But I maintain that in such a case an action of this kind,
however proper, however amiable it may be, has nevertheless no
true moral worth, but is on a level with other inclinations.”
(pp. 17-19)

Kant’s metaphysics of ethics is to practical ethics what pure mathematics
is to applied mathematics, or what logic is to grammar. Kant’s method of
reasoning _in abstracto_ everywhere shows the mathematical bent of his
mind. In a foot-note (Editio Hartenstein, IV), p. 258, he says:

“As pure mathematics is distinguished from applied mathematics
and pure logic from applied logic, so may the pure philosophy
(the metaphysics) of ethics be distinguished from the applied
philosophy of ethics, that is, as applied to human nature.
By this distinction of terms it at once appears that ethical
principles are not based upon the peculiarities of human
nature but that they must be existent by themselves _a
priori_,—whence, for human nature, just as well as for _any_
rational nature, practical rules can be derived.”

Schleiermacher says:

“A good is any agreement (“unity”) of definite sides [certain
aspects] of reason and nature.... The end of ethical praxis
is the highest good, _i. e._, the sum of all unions of nature
and reason.... The moral law may be compared to the algebraic
formula which (in analytical geometry) determines the course
[path] of a curve; the highest good may be compared to the
curve itself, and virtue, or moral power, to an instrument
arranged for the purpose of constructing the curve according to
the formula.” (Quoted from a translation of Ueberweg.)

Kant declares in other passages that in examples taken from practical
life, it will be difficult to separate clearly and unmistakably the
sense of duty as the real moral motive from other motives, inclinations,
habits, etc. But such a distinction must be made, if the moral value of
motives is to be considered _in abstracto_. This is necessary for a clear
conception of the essential features of morality. Mr. Spencer has on
other occasions highly praised the power of generalization, which indeed
is fundamentally the same faculty, as thinking _in abstracto_; here,
however, he does not follow Kant’s argument, but declares “that the
assumed distinction between sense of duty and inclination is untenable.”
He says:

“The very expression _sense_ of duty implies that the mental
state signified is a feeling; and if a feeling it must,
like other feelings, be gratified by acts of one kind and
offended by acts of an opposite kind. If we take the name
conscience, which is equivalent to sense of duty, we see the
same thing. The common expressions ‘a tender conscience,’ ‘a
seared conscience,’ indicate the perception that conscience
is a feeling—a feeling which has its satisfactions and
dissatisfactions, and which _inclines_ a man to acts which
yield the one and avoid the other—produces an _inclination_,”
(p. 476).

It is quite true that every state of consciousness is a feeling, but
we can and must discriminate between consciousness or feeling and the
idea or thought which becomes conscious, in which the feeling appears,
and which is, so to speak, the special form of a certain feeling. The
consciousness and its special form, the feeling and the mental object
of feeling, are in reality one and the same. Yet they are different and
must _in abstracto_ be well distinguished. Mr. Spencer’s method is that
of generalization, but generalizing can lead to no satisfactory results,
if it is not constantly accompanied by discrimination. We must generalize
and discriminate.

If a certain group of states of consciousness takes the form of a
logical syllogism, it must not be expected that logic will find its
explanation in feeling, although it cannot be denied that all the
states of consciousness are feelings. Not the feeling in this case is
to be explained, but logic. In our generalizations we must discriminate
_in abstracto_ between the feeling and the idea which feels. We must
positively abstract from feeling and cannot consider whether the feeling
of logical arguments is pleasant or unpleasant. Mr. Spencer’s method
of explaining ethics, if applied to logic, would be as follows: “Man’s
logical sense is a very complex feeling and has developed from simple
percepts such as can be observed in the lowest animals; percepts are
a higher evolved form of reactions against irritations such as take
place in protoplasm. The old method of explaining logic is that of
deduction, modern logic will be inductive. Formerly pure logic was
considered as a science _a priori_; but the evolution-philosophy shows
that logic is developed by steps, it appears _a priori_ to the individual
now, but it is in reality a consolidated product of multitudinous
experiences received mainly by ancestors and added to by self. Logical
sense accordingly finds its explanation in most simple feelings. Our
conceptions of logically incorrect feelings will be more and more
avoided because they will ultimately be found to be unpleasant; logical
correctness is striven for because of the feeling of satisfaction that
accompanies the conception of a logically correct conclusion.”

Sense is feeling, there can be no doubt. Logical sense and mathematical
sense are feelings and if a person thinks a mathematical axiom or a
logical syllogism or an ethical maxim, he has a feeling. Logical sense
of reason is the product of evolution, and it cannot be denied either
that one man has a more logical or mathematical or moral sense than
another. But it does not follow that an explanation of mathematics, or
logic, or ethics, must be derived from feeling pleasure and pain, or
happiness. On the contrary we must abstract from feeling altogether and
concern ourselves with the object of feeling only, which is the idea
or the special form in which and as which feeling appears. States of
consciousness (never mind whether they are painful or pleasurable) must
be considered as moral if their mental object, _i. e._, the idea, the
thought, the motive, the form in which feeling becomes manifest, is in
harmony with the universal order of things.

* * * * *

Mr. Spencer declares that the world would be intolerable “if Kant’s
conception of moral worth were displayed universally in men’s acts.”
And it must be acknowledged that Kant’s ethics in their logical and
irrefutable rigidity not only impressed the literary world of his time
with the grandeur and sublimity of ethics; Kant’s ethics also astounded,
and overwhelmed his readers with awe. Virtue no longer appeared to be the
fervid enthusiasm of sentiments; it congealed into the cold idea of duty
which can be fixed in abstract rules and will operate like the correctly
calculated gear of a machine. Objections have been raised by some of
Kant’s own disciples; but it must be known that the Kantian view of
ethics does not suppress feelings, emotions and inclinations, it excludes
them only from an estimation of the moral worth of actions. Kant gave the
_coup de grace_ to all sentimentality which had taken the lead in ethical
questions too long. Mr. Spencer says:

“If those acts only have moral worth which are done from a
sense of duty ... we must say that a man’s moral worth is
greater in proportion as the strength of his sense of duty
is such that he does the right thing not only apart from
inclination but against inclination. According to Kant,
then, the most moral man is the man ... who says of another
that which is true though he would like to injure him by a
falsehood; who lends money to his brother though he would
prefer to see him in distress.”

Schiller, although an admirer of Kant, makes in his Xenions a similar
objection to this corollary of the ethics of pure reason. He says:

“Willingly serve I my friends; but ’tis pity, I do it with pleasure.
And I am really vexed, that there’s no virtue in me!”

And he answers in a second distich:

“There is no other advice than that you try to despise friends,
And, with disgust, you will do what such a duty demands.”

The difficulty is removed under the following consideration: A man with
good inclinations is less exposed to temptation than a man with bad
inclinations. If both act morally under conditions otherwise the same,
the latter has shown greater strength of moral purpose than the former.
The former’s character (viz., his inherited inclinations and habits which
represent the sum total of the moral energies of his ancestors,) is more
moral than that of the latter. But the latter deserves more credit than
the former for overcoming the temptation; he has in this special act
shown more moral strength of will than his more fortunate and morally
higher advanced fellow-man. To those who have accepted the Kantian view,
Mr. Spencer’s and Schiller’s objection can serve as a warning, not to
lose sight of emotions altogether. Man is not only a reasonable being, he
is at the same time a feeling creature. The instinctive faculties of man,
the so-called subconscious states, are the basis of his consciousness.
They form the roots of his soul from which spring the clear conceptions
of his reason. The more man’s habits and inclinations agree with morals,
the more strength of purpose is left for further ethical advancement and
moral progress.

Similar objections have also been made to Kant’s mechanical explanation
of the origin of the planetary systems and milky ways. It seemed as if
the divinity of nature were replaced by the rigid law of gravity. In his
poem “The God’s of Greece,” Schiller complains:

“Fühllos selbst für ihres Künstlers Ehre,
Gleich dem todten Schlag der Pendeluhr,
Dient sie knechtisch dem Gesetz der Schwere,
Die entgötterte Natur.”

“Dead even to her Master’s praise,
Like lifeless pendulum’s vibration,
Lo, godless Nature now obeys,
Slave-like, the law of gravitation.”[100]

Such objections are always raised when a scientific explanation destroys
the mystic view that a spirit or at least something unexplainable is
the supposed cause of certain phenomena. Our sentiments are so closely
connected and intimately interwoven with our errors that truth appears
hostile to sentiment, and it becomes difficult to part with errors
sanctified by emotion. Sentimentality always complains that clear thought
is an enemy of romanticism, and romanticism is the only possible poetry
to the taste of the sentimental.

Now it cannot be denied that a one-sided knowledge not only appears
rigid, it truly _is_ so, and will be destructive of such emotions as
reverence, awe, æsthetic taste, religion and art. Criticism is a most
essential feature of science and philosophy, and how negative, how
desolate and melancholy appear the results of criticism! But the pruning
process of criticism is very wholesome, and true science will only profit
by discarding the vagueness of indistinct conceptions. Alpine lakes that
are really deep can only gain by lucidity. Thus the clearness of genuine
science and broad philosophy will only show the depth of truth into which
by all its lucidity our emotions can plunge without ever finding it
shallow or fathoming it in all its profundity.

Kant’s doctrine of ethics is a truth that can stand the severest test.

Ethics, in the sense of the word as used by Kant, can be found in
man only, in so far as he is a reasonable being. A truly reasonable
being does not allow himself to be guided by impulses but is led by
maxims. Inclinations and habits are remnants of instinct. Not he who
in instinctive good-naturedness acts morally, is the ethical man, but
he who deliberately and consciously considers himself a representative
of the general order of things. The man, who adopts such maxims as can
become universal principles, identifies his will with the laws of the
universe. Man’s moral dignity must not be sought in vague feelings or in
instinctive inspirations; it is based upon his reason and is developed in
so far only as he makes use of his reason.

FOOTNOTES:

[87] Quotations from Mr. Spencer’s essay will be distinguished
by quotation-marks, while those from Kant will appear in hanging
indentations.

[88] Kant distinguishes two kinds of sublimity: 1) the mathematical, and
2) the dynamical. His definitions are: 1) sublime is that in comparison
with which everything else is small; and 2) sublime is that the mere
ability to conceive which shows a power of emotion (Gemüth), the latter
transcending any measurement by the senses. [1) Erhaben ist, mit welchem
im Vergleich alles andere klein ist. 2) Erhaben ist, was auch nur denken
zu können ein Vermögen des Gemüths beweist, das jeden Maasstab der Sinne
übertrifft. Editio Hartenstein, Vol. V, pp. 257, 258.]

[89] The stellar Universe, of course, has not been evolved; Mr. Spencer
means that according to Kant’s mechanical explanation the planetary
systems and milky ways of the stellar Universe are in a state of constant
evolution.

[90] Translation by J. M. D. Meiklejohn, pp. 244, 249.

[91] Compare also Kant’s “Prol. zu jeder künftigen Metaphysik,” § 46.

[92] We call attention to Kant’s peculiar expression, in this passage, of
_Auswickelung_ which has now yielded to the term _Entwickelung_.

[93] Die in der Natur eines organischen Körpers (Gewächses oder Thieres)
liegenden Gründe einer bestimmten Auswickelung heissen, wenn diese
Auswickelung besondere Theile betrifft, _Keime_; betrifft sie aber nur
die Grösse oder das Verhältniss der Theile unter einander, so nenne ich
sie _natürliche Anlagen_.

[94] Wir nehmen die Benennungen _Naturbeschreibung_ und _Naturgeschichte_
gemeiniglich in einerlei Sinne. Allein es ist klar, dass die Kenntniss
der Naturdinge, wie sie _jetzt sind_, immer noch die Erkenntniss von
demjenigen wünschen lasse, was sie ehedem _gewesen_ sind und durch
welche Reihe von Veränderungen sie durchgegangen, um an jedem Ort
in ihren gegenwärtigen Zustand zu gelangen. Die _Naturgeschichte_,
woran es uns noch fast gänzlich fehlt, würde uns die Veränderung der
Erdgestalt, imgleichen die der Erdgeschöpfe (Pflanzen und Thiere), die
sie durch natürliche Wanderungen (sic! I take it as a misprint for
_Wandelungen_) erlitten haben, und ihre daraus entsprungenen Abartungen
von dem Urbilde der Stammgattung lehren. Sie würde vermuthlich eine
grosse Menge scheinbar verschiedener Arten zu Racen ebenderselben
Gattung zurückführen, und das jetzt so weitläuftigte Schulsystem der
Naturbeschreibung in ein physisches System für den Verstand verwandeln.

[95] The original of the first sentence reads: “Es ist überall nichts in
der Welt, ja überhaupt auch ausser derselben zu denken möglich, was ohne
Einschränkung für gut könnte gehalten werden, als allein ein guter Wille.”

[96] _Italics are ours._

[97] The phrase “we take it for granted” (in the original “nehmen wir es
als Grundsatz an)” reads in the translation quoted by Mr. Spencer: “we
take it as a fundamental principle.” Mr. Spencer objects to the passage
declaring that there _are_ many organs (such as rudimentary organs) in
the construction of organized beings which serve _no_ purpose. This
however does not stand in contradiction to Kant’s assumption that organs
of organized beings serve a special purpose. The rudimentary organs have
under other conditions served a purpose for which they then were fit and
well adapted and are disappearing now because no longer used.

[98] Das moralische Sollen ist also ein eigenes nothwendiges Wollen als
Gliedes einer intelligiblen Welt, und wird nur sofern von ihm als Sollen
gedacht, als er sich zugleich wie ein Glied der Sinnenwelt betrachtet.
Ed. Hartenstein vol. IV. p. 303.

[99] The passage referred to is quoted in full on page 16.

[100] Slightly altered from B. W. BALL’S translation in THE OPEN COURT,
p. 83.

KANT ON EVOLUTION.

IN CRITICISM OF MR. HERBERT SPENCER’S PRESENTATION OF KANTISM.

It is very strange that Mr. Herbert Spencer will again and again attack
the philosophy and ethics of Kant for views which Kant never held.[101]
It is possible that there are disciples of Kant who deny the theory of
evolution. Yet it is certain that Kant himself is not guilty of this
mistake. Thinkers who reject the theory of evolution are in this respect
as little entitled to call themselves disciples of Kant as, for instance,
the Sadducees were to call themselves followers of Christ. Kantian
philosophy was foremost in the recognition of the need of evolution, and
that at a time when public interest was not as yet centered upon it.

Mr. Spencer’s merits in the propagation of the theory of evolution are
undeniable, and he deserves our warmest respect and thanks for the
indefatigable zeal he has shown in the performance of this great work,
for the labors he has undergone, and the sacrifices he has made for it.
Yet recognising all that Mr. Spencer has done, we should not be blind to
the fact that Kant’s conception of evolution is even at the present day
more in conformity with the facts of natural science than Mr. Spencer’s
philosophy, although the latter commonly goes by the name of the
philosophy of evolution.

It is painful to note that in many places where Mr. Spencer refers to
Kant’s philosophy, he does it slightingly, as though Kant were one of the
most irrational of thinkers. Kant’s reasoning is denounced as “abnormal”
and “vicious.” I find such phrases as, “It is a vice of Kant’s
philosophy ...,” “If Kant had known more of Man than he did ...,” etc.
Mr. Spencer characterises Kant’s method as follows:

“Instead of setting out with a proposition of which the
negative is inconceivable, it sets out with a proposition of
which the affirmation is inconceivable, and proceeds to draw
conclusions therefrom.”

These attacks of Mr. Spencer on Kant are not justifiable. Kant is not
guilty of the faults for which he is arraigned by Mr. Spencer.

* * * * *

It is, however, fair to state that these misunderstandings appear
excusable if the difficulties are borne in mind with which the English
student of Kant is confronted. First, Kant cannot be understood without
taking into consideration the historical development of his philosophy,
and, secondly, most translations of the fundamental terms, he employs,
are so misleading that errors can scarcely be avoided.

Kant’s philosophy is by no means a perfected system; it rather represents
(as perhaps necessarily all philosophies do) the development of a
thinker’s mind. The “Critique of Pure Reason” especially shows traces
of the state of Kant’s mind at different periods, and thus it is that
we discover passages which closely considered will be found to be
contradictory. When reading this remarkable work we feel like travelers
walking over the petrified relics of a powerful eruption. There are
strata of ideas of the oldest formation close to the thoughts of a recent
date. There are also vestiges of intermediate phases. Here they stand
in the petrification of printed words, peacefully side by side, as
memorials of a great revolution in the development of human thought. It
is this state of things which more than anything else makes of Kant’s
writings such difficult reading. At the same time it is obvious that we
cannot simply take the results of Kant’s philosophy; we must follow him
in the paths by which he arrived at any given proposition.

There is no philosopher that has been worse misinterpreted than Kant;
and the English interpreters of Kant have succeeded in mutilating his
best thoughts so that this hero of progress appears as a stronghold of
antiquated views. Mistranslations or misconceptions of his terms are
to a great extent the cause of this singular fate. As an instance we
mention the errors that attach to Kant’s term _Anschauung_. _Anschauung_
is the present object of our senses; it is the impression a man has
from looking at a thing and might have been translated by “perception”
or perhaps “sensation.” It is usually translated by “intuition.” The
_Anschauung_ of objects comprises the data of knowledge, and they are
previous to our reflection upon them. An intuition in the sense of the
English Intuitionalists is defined as “a presentation which can be
given previously to all thought,” yet this presentation is supposed
to be a kind of revelation, a knowledge that comes to us without our
contemplation, a cognition the character of which is immediate as well as
mysterious; in short something that is supernatural.

How different is Kant’s philosophy, for instance, if his position
with reference to time and space is mistaken! “Time and Space are our
_Anschauung_,” Kant says. But his English translators declare: “Kant
maintained that space and time are intuitions.” What a difference it
makes if intuition is interpreted in the sense applied to it by the
English Intuitionalist School instead of its being taken in the original
meaning of the word _Anschauung_.

* * * * *

Any one who knows Kant through Mr. Spencer’s representations only, must
look upon him as having the most perverse mind that could possibly
exist; and yet it is Kant from whom Spencer has indirectly derived the
most characteristic feature of his philosophy. What is Mr. Spencer’s
agnosticism but a popularisation of Kant’s view that things in themselves
are unknowable?

We conclude from the animosity which Mr. Spencer shows toward Kant that
he does not know how much in this respect he agrees with Kant, how much
he has unconsciously imbibed from the _Zeitgeist_ which in part was
formed under the influence of this huge error of the great philosopher.

I feel confident that any clear thinker who studies Kant and arrives
along with him at the “thing in itself” will soon free himself from this
error of Kantian thought. Kant himself suggests to us the method by which
we are to find the way out of agnosticism. As a proof I quote the views
of two independent thinkers; both influenced by Kant’s criticism but
neither a blind follower. Professor Mach says:

“I have always felt it as a special good fortune, that early
in my life, at about the age of fifteen, I happened to find
in the library of my father Kant’s ‘Prolegomena to Any
Future Metaphysic.’ The book made at that time a powerful,
ineffaceable impression upon me that I never afterwards
experienced to the same degree in any of my philosophical
reading. Some two or three years later I suddenly discovered
the superfluous rôle that ‘the thing in itself’ plays.” _The
Monist_, Vol. I, No. 1, pp. 65 and 66.

And Schiller guided by similar considerations says in one of his Xenions:

“Since Metaphysics, of late, without heirs to her fathers was gathered:
Under the hammer are now ‘things in themselves’ to be sold.”

The latest attack of Mr. Spencer upon Kantism is in the article “Our
Space-Consciousness,” in _Mind_, written in reply to Professor Watson.
Mr. Spencer there repeats his misconception of Kantism, so that I feel
urged to utter a few words of protest against his gross misrepresentation
of Kant’s views. I shall confine myself mainly to quotations from Kant’s
works—and the passages quoted will speak for themselves. Should there
indeed be any disciples of Kant who are, as Mr. Spencer says, “profoundly
averse to that evolutionary view which contemplates mind as having had a
genesis conforming to laws like those conformed to by the genesis of the
body,” these quotations will suffice to prove that they have misconstrued
the views of their master. Philosophers hostile to the theory of
evolution had better select another patron for their ideas. Kant is too
radical a mind to protect those men who in the domains of thought give
the signal for retreat.

Mr. Spencer adopted the evolution theory as it was presented by Von Baer,
who explains “_Entwickelung_” as a progress from the homogeneous to the
heterogeneous.

Baer’s “Developmental History of Animals” was published in 1828. Mr.
Spencer adopted the theory in 1854. But the history of the theory of
evolution is older than Von Baer’s book. Professor Baer concludes
his work with a few corollaries among which near the end we find the
following passage:

“If we survey the contents of the whole Scholia, there
follows from them a general result. We found that the effect
of generation continues to advance from a part to a whole
[Schol. 2.]; that in development, self-dependence increases
in correspondence with its environment [Schol. 2.], as well as
the determinateness of its structure [Schol. 1.]; that in the
internal development special parts shape themselves forth from
the more general, and their differentiation increases [Schol.
3.]; that the individual, as the possessor of a fixed organic
form, changes by degrees from more general forms into more
special [Schol. 5.].

“The general result of our inquiry and consideration can now
well be declared as follows:

“That the developmental history of the individual is the
history of increasing individuality in every relation; that
is, Individualisation.

“This general conclusion is, indeed, so plain, that it needs
no proof from observation, but seems evident _a priori_. But
we believe that this evidentness is merely the stamp of truth,
and therefore is its guarantee. Had the history of development
from the outset been perceived as just expressed, it could and
should have been inferred, that the individual of a determinate
animal type attains to this by changing from a general into
a special form. But experience teaches everywhere, that
deductions are always safer if their results are discovered
beforehand by observation. Mankind would have obtained a still
greater intellectual possession than it really has, had this
been otherwise.

“But if this general conclusion has truth and contents, it is
_one fundamental idea_ which runs through all forms and degrees
of animal development, and governs every single relation. It is
the same idea that collected in space the distributed particles
into spheres and united them in solar systems; which caused the
disintegrated dust on the surface of our metallic planet to
grow up into living forms; but this idea is nothing else than
life itself, and the words and syllables in which it expresses
itself, are the different forms of life.”

These corollaries were not inserted by Baer because he intended to
proclaim a new truth, but simply to excite a popular interest in a
strictly scientific work, in order to extend the circle of its readers.
Baer says in the preface:

“So much about the first part. In order to procure for the
work readers and buyers, I have added a second part in which
I make some general remarks under the title of Scholia and
Corollaries. They are intended to be sketches of the confession
of my scientific faith concerning the development of animals,
as it was formed from the observation of the chick and by other
investigations.”

* * * * *

The “Encyclopædia Britannica” says of Baer that he “prepared the way for
Mr. Spencer’s generalisation of the law of organic evolution as the law
of all evolution.”[102]

Baer declares that individualisation is “the one fundamental idea that
goes through _all_ the forms of cosmic and animal development.” The
generality of the law of evolution is clearer in the language employed
by Baer, in the full context of the Scholia than appears from the short
statement of the “Encyclopædia Britannica.” Nevertheless it is clear
enough in the quoted passage that Baer made a statement of universal
application. How can such a universal statement be made more general?

We must add here that Mr. Spencer and his disciples overvalue the
importance of generalisation. It is not the power of generalisation that
makes the philosopher and the scientist but the power of discrimination.
The habit of generalising whatever comes under our observation is very
common among the uneducated and uncivilised, and almost nine tenths of
human errors arise from unwarranted generalisations.

In Kant’s time the interest in the theory of evolution was confined to a
few minds. It is well known that Goethe was one of its most enthusiastic
supporters.[103] In the middle of the eighteenth century there were
three views proposed to explain the origin and the development of
organised beings: (1) Occasionalism, (2) the theory of Evolution, and
(3) the theory of Epigenesis. Occasionalism maintained that God created
on each new occasion a new animal. The word evolution was used in a
different sense from that in which it is now understood: evolutionism, as
maintained by Bonnet, Haller, and others, was the view that the sperma
contained a very small specimen of the animal that was to grow from it.
The hen’s egg was supposed to contain an excessively minute but complete
chicken. The theory of epigenesis, however, propounded in 1759 by Caspar
Friedrich Wolff in his “Theoria Generationis,” explained development
by additional growth, and it is this theory of epigenesis which later
on, after the total defeat of the old evolutionism, was called (but
improperly) the evolution theory. The word “evolution” has thus again
admitted the erroneous idea of an unfolding.

In Kant’s time the battle between the occasionalists, the evolutionists,
and the adherents of the epigenesis theory was hot indeed; and Kant
unquestionably gave preference to the epigenesis theory. The most
important passage on the subject appears in his “Critique of Judgment.”
It is as follows:

“If now the teleological principle of the generation of
organised beings be accepted, as it would be, we can account
for their internally adapted form either by _Occasionalism_
or by _Prestabilism_.[104] According to the first, the
supreme world-cause would, in agreement with its idea, on the
occasion of every coition directly give the proper organic
form to the material thereby blended; according to the second,
it would have implanted into the original products of its
designing wisdom merely the power by means of which an organic
being produces its like and the species itself is constantly
maintained and likewise the death of individuals is continually
replaced by their own nature, which is operating at the same
time for their destruction.

“If we assume occasionalism for the production of organised
beings, nature is thereby wholly discarded, and with it the use
of reasoning in determining the possibility of such kinds of
products; therefore, it cannot be supposed that this system is
accepted by any one who has had to do with philosophy.”

“As to _Prestabilism_, it can proceed in a two-fold manner,
namely, it considers every organic being produced by its like,
either as the _educt_ or as the _product_ of the first. The
system which considers generated beings as mere _educts_ is
called that of _individual preformation_, or also the _theory
of evolution_; that which makes generated beings _products_ is
named the system of _epigenesis_. The latter can also be called
a system of _generic preformation_, because the productive
power of those generating was virtually preformed to agree with
the internal adapted arrangements that fell to the lot of their
race. The opposing theory to this view should be named that
of individual preformation, or still better, the _theory of
evolution_.”

“The defenders of the theory of evolution, who exempt each
individual from the formative power of nature, in order to
derive the same directly from the hand of the Creator, would
not dare to permit this to happen in accordance with the
hypothesis of occasionalism, so that coition would be a mere
formality, a supreme national world-cause having decided to
form every particular fœtus by direct interference, and to
resign to the mother only its development and nourishment.
They declared themselves in favor of preformation, _as though
it were not the same to make the required forms arise in a
supernatural manner at the beginning of the world, as during
its progress_; and as if a great multitude of supernatural
arrangements would not rather be dispensed with through
occasional creation which were necessary in order that the
embryo formed at the beginning of the world should, throughout
the long period up to its development, not suffer from the
destructive forces of nature, but endure and maintain itself
intact; moreover, an immensely greater number of such preformed
beings would be made than ever would be developed, and with
them as many creations be thus rendered unnecessary and
purposeless. They still, however, resign at least something to
nature, in order not to fall in with complete hyperphysics,
which can dispense with explanation from nature. They still
held fast indeed, to their hyperphysics; even finding in
monsters (which it must be impossible to regard as designs
of nature) cases of adaptation which call for admiration,
although the only purpose of that adaptedness might be to make
an anatomist take offence at it as a purposeless adaptedness,
and have a sense of melancholy admiration. Yet they could
not well fit the generation of hybrids into the system of
preformation, but were obliged still further to endow the sperm
of male creatures with a designedly acting power, whereas they
had otherwise accorded it nothing except mechanical force to
serve as the first means of nourishment of the embryo; yet
this designedly acting force, in the case of the products of
generation between two creatures of the same kind, they would
grant to neither of them.

“If on the contrary the great advantage was not at once
recognised which the theory of epigenesis possessed over the
former in view of the experimental foundation on which the
proof of it rested; yet reason would be especially favorably
predisposed from the outset for this mode, of explanation,
inasmuch as it regards nature—with reference to the things
which originally can be conceived as possible only in
accordance with the theory of causality and design, at least
so far as propagation is concerned—as self-producing and
not merely as developing, and thus with the least possible
employment of the supernatural, leaves all that comes
afterwards, from the very beginning on, to nature: without
concerning itself with the original beginning, with regard to
the explanation of which physics in general miscarries, try
with what chain of causes it may.”

Kant recognises neither the stability of species nor any fixed limits
between them. And this one maxim alone suffices to prove that he was
of the same opinion as the great biologist who wrote the “Origin of
Species.” Kant says (Ed. Hart. III. p. 444):

“_Non datur vacuum formarum_, that is, there are not different
original and primitive species, which were, so to say, isolated
and separated by an empty space from one another, but all the
manifold species are only divisions of a single, chief, and
general species; and from this principle results again this
immediate inference: _datur continuum formarum_, that is, all
differences of species border on each other, and allow no
transition to one another by a leap, but only through very
small degrees of difference, by which we can arrive at one
from another; in one word, there are no species or sub-species
which, according to reason, would be _next_ each other in
affinity, but intermediate species are always possible, whose
difference from the first and second is less than their
difference from one another.”

In Kant’s “Critique of Judgment” (§. 80) we find the following passage:

“The agreement of so many species of animals, with reference
to a definite, common scheme, which appears not only to be
at the foundation of their bony structure, but also of the
arrangement of their other parts, in which, by abridgment of
one and prolongation of another, by envelopment of this and
unfolding of that, a wonderful simplicity of plan has been able
to produce so great a diversity of species—this agreement casts
a ray of hope, although a weak one, in the mind, that here,
indeed, something might be accomplished with the principle of
the mechanism of nature, without which in general there can be
no physical science.

“This analogy of forms, so far as they appear, notwithstanding
all their diversity, to be produced after the model of a common
prototype, strengthens the conjecture of a real relationship
between the same by generation from a common ancestral
source, through the gradual approach of one animal species to
another, from man, in whom the principle of design appears
to be best proved, to the polyp, from this to the moss and
lichen, and finally to the lowest stage of nature perceptible
to us, to crude matter, from which and its forces, according
to mechanical laws (like those which work in the production
of crystals), the whole technic of nature (which is so
incomprehensible to us in organised beings that we imagine
another principle is necessitated for their explanation)
appears to be derived.[105]

“The Archæologist of nature is now free to make that great
family of beings (for such we must conceive it, if the
uninterrupted relationship is to have a foundation) arise out
of the extant vestiges of the oldest revolutions, following
every mechanism known to him or which he can suppose.”

Kant adds in a foot-note:

“An hypothesis of such a kind can be named a daring venture of
reason, and there may be few of the most sagacious naturalists,
through whose minds it has not sometimes passed. For it is not
absurd, as the _generatio equivoca_, by which is understood
the production of an organised being through the mechanical
action of crude unorganised matter. But it would still be
_generatio univoca_ in the common understanding of the word,
in so far only as something organic was produced out of
another organic body, although specifically distinguished
from it; for instance, if certain aquatic animals by and by
formed into amphibia, and from these after some generations
into land animals. _A priori_ this does not contradict the
judgment of pure reason. Only experience shows no example
thereof; according to it, rather, all generation which we know
is _generatio homonyma_ (not mere _univoca_ in opposition to
production out of unorganised material), that is, the bringing
forth of a product homogeneous in organisation, with the
generator; and _generatio heteronyma_, so far as our actual
experience of nature goes is nowhere met with.”

The treatise “Presumable Origin of Humanity,” Kant sums up in the
following sentence:

“From this representation of the earliest human history it
results, that the departure of man from what, as the first
abode of his kind, his judgment represented as Paradise, was
no other than the transition of mere animal creatures out of
barbarism into man, out of the leading-strings of instinct into
the guidance of reason, in a word, out of the guardianship of
nature into the state of freedom.”

In his work “Upon the Different Races of Mankind,” Kant discusses the
origin of the species of man in a way which would do honor to a follower
of Darwin. It is written in a spirit which recognises the difference of
conditions as the causes that produce different species. We select a few
passages from this work.

In a foot-note we read:

“Ordinarily we accept the terms natural science
(_Naturbeschreibung_) and natural history in one and the
same sense. But it is evident that the knowledge of natural
phenomena, as they _now are_, always leaves to be desired
the knowledge of that which they _have been_ before now, and
through what succession of modifications they have passed in
order to have arrived, in every respect, at their present
state. _Natural History_, which at present we almost entirely
lack, would teach us the changes that have effected the form
of the earth, likewise, the changes in the creatures of the
earth (plants and animals) that they have suffered by natural
transformations and, arising therefrom, the departures from the
prototype of the original species that they have experienced.
It would probably trace a great number of apparently different
varieties back to a species of one and the same kind, and would
convert the present so intricate school-system of Natural
Science into a natural system in conformity with reason.”

We adduce another passage, no less remarkable in clearness, which proves
that Kant has a very definite idea, not only of the gradual evolution of
man, but also of the survival of the fittest:

“The cry which a child scarcely born utters, has not the tone
of misery, but of irritation, and violent rage; not the result
of pain, but of vexation about something; probably for the
reason that it wishes to move itself and feels its incapacity,
like a captive when freedom is taken from him. What purpose
can nature have in providing that a child shall come with a
loud cry into the world, which for it and the mother is, in the
_rude natural state_, full of danger? Since a wolf, a pig even,
would in the absence of the mother, or through her feebleness
owing to her delivery, be thus attracted to devour it. But
no animal except man as he now is announces with noise its
new-born existence; which in the wisdom of nature appears to
be arranged _in order that the species shall be preserved_. We
must also assume that in what was an early epoch of nature for
this class of animals (namely in the period of barbarism) this
outcry of the child at its birth did not exist; consequently
only later on a second epoch appeared, after both parents had
arrived at that degree of civilisation which was required for
home-life; yet without knowing how and by what interweaving
causes nature arranges such a development. This remark leads us
far; for example, to the thought whether after the same epoch,
still a third did not follow accompanied by great natural
revolutions, during which an orang-outang or a chimpanzee
perfected the organs which serve for walking, for feeling
objects, and for speech, and thus evolved the limb-structure of
man; in which animals was contained an organ for the exercise
of the function of reason, which by social cultivation was
gradually perfected and developed.”

Kant’s view concerning the origin of the biped man from quadruped animal
ancestors is most unequivocally stated.

In a review of Dr. Moscati’s Lecture upon the difference of structure in
animals and in men, Kant says:

“Dr. Moscati proves that the upright walk of man is constrained
and unnatural; that he is indeed so constructed that he may
be able to maintain and move in this position, but that,
although by needful and constant habit he formed himself thus,
inconvenience and disease arise therefrom, which sufficiently
prove, that he was misled by reason and imitation to deviate
from the first animal arrangement. Man is not constructed
internally different from other animals that go on all fours.
When now he raises himself his intestines, particularly
the embryo of pregnant individuals, come into a pendulous
situation and a half reversed condition, which, if it often
alternates with the lying position or that on all-fours, cannot
precisely produce specially evil consequences, but, by constant
continuance, causes deformities and numerous diseases. Thus,
for example, the heart, because it is compelled to hang free,
elongates the blood vessels to which it is attached, assumes
an oblique position since it is supported by the diaphragm and
slides with its end against the left side—a position wherein
man, especially at full growth, differs from all other animals,
and thereby receives an inevitable inclination to aneurism,
palpitation, asthma, chest-dropsy, etc., etc. With the upright
position of man the mesentery, pulled down by the weight of the
intestines, sinks perpendicularly thereunder, is elongated and
weakened, and prepared for numerous ruptures. In the mesenteric
vein which has no valves, the blood moves slowly and with
greater difficulty (it having to ascend against the course of
gravity) than would happen with the horizontal position of the
trunk....”

“We could add considerably to the reasons just adduced to
show that our animal nature is really quadrupedal. Among all
four-footed animals there is not a single one that could not
swim if it accidentally fell into the water. Man alone drowns,
except in cases where he has learned to swim. The reason is
because he has laid aside the habit of going on all-fours; for
it is by this motion that he would keep himself up in the water
without the exercise of any art, and by which all four-footed
creatures, who otherwise shun the water, swim....”

“It will be seen, accordingly, that the first care of nature
was that man should be preserved as animal for _himself and
his species_, and for that end the position best adapted to
his internal structure, to the lay of the fœtus, and to his
preservation in danger, was the quadrupedal position; we see,
moreover, that a germ of reason is placed in him, whereby,
after the development of the same, he is destined for _social
intercourse_, and by the aid of which he assumes the position
which is in every case the most fitted for this, namely, the
bipedal position,—thus gaining upon the one hand infinite
advantages over animals, but also being obliged to put up with
many inconveniences that result from his holding his head so
proudly above his old companions.”

[[106] In the double-leaded quotation on pages 43 and 44 Kant speaks
about the explanation of organised life from man down to the polyp
“according to mechanical laws like those which work in the production
of crystals,” and he adds, in organised beings the whole technic of
nature is so incomprehensible to us “that we imagine another principle is
necessitated for their explanation.”

This “other principle” would be the principle of design, or the
teleological explanation of phenomena. In his old age Kant inclined more
to teleology than in his younger years, and it is for this reason that
Professor Ernst Haeckel accuses Kant of inconsistency.

After having pointed out that “Kant is one of the few philosophers
that combine a well-founded knowledge of the natural sciences with
extraordinary precision and depth of speculation” and further that “he
was the first who taught ‘the principle of the struggle for existence’
and ‘the theory of selection.’” Haeckel says in his “Natürliche
Schöpfungsgeschichte,” 8th edition, p. 91:

“Wir würden daher unbedingt in der Geschichte der
Entwickelungslehre unserem gewaltigen Königsberger Philosophen
den ersten Platz einräumen müssen, wenn nicht leider diese
bewundernswürdigen monistischen Ideen des jungen Kant später
durch den überwältigenden Einfluss der dualistisch christlichen
Weltanschauung ganz zurückgedrängt worden wären.”

This “influence of the dualistic Christian world-conception” is according
to Haeckel, Kant’s recognition of a teleological causation in the realm
of organised life. Haeckel says on the same place:

“Er behauptet, dass sich im Gebiete der anorganischen Natur
unbedingt sämmtliche Erscheinungen aus mechanischen Ursachen,
aus bewegenden Kräften der Materie selbst, erklären lassen, im
Gebiete der anorganischen Natur dagegen nicht.”

Haeckel does not stand alone in denouncing the old Kant. Schopenhauer
distinguishes between the author of the first and the author of the
second edition of the “Critique of Pure Reason,” regarding the former
only as the real Kant. These accusations are not without foundation, but
we believe with Max Müller that they have been unduly exaggerated.

As to teleology for which Kant’s preference appears to be more strongly
marked in his later than in his younger years we should say that it is
a problem that should, in an historical investigation, as to whether or
not Kant was a consistent evolutionist, be treated independently. No one
can deny that there is an adaptation to ends in the domain of organised
life. It is not so much required to deny teleology in the domain of
organised nature as to purify and critically sift our views of teleology.
There is a kind of teleology which does not stand in contradiction to the
causation of efficient causes so called.

Mr. Spencer’s denunciations of Kant would have some foundation, if he had
reference to the old Kant alone. But everyone who censures Kant for the
errors of his later period is bound to qualify his statement, and indeed
whenever such strictures of Kantism appear I find them expressly stated
as having reference to “the old Kant.”

That Kant who is a living power even to-day is the young Kant, it is
the author of the first edition of the “Critique of Pure Reason.” He is
generally called “the young Kant,” although he was not young; he was,
as we say, in his best years. The old Kant who proclaimed that he “must
abolish knowledge in order to make room for faith” is a dead weight
in our colleges and universities. The young Kant is positive, the old
Kant is agnostic. The young Kant was an investigator and naturalist of
the first degree; he gave an impetus to investigation that it had never
before received from philosophy. The old Kant, I should not exactly say
reverted but certainly, neglected the principles of his younger years
and thus became the leader of a reactionary movement from which sprang
two offshoots very unlike each other but children of the same father;
the Oxford transcendentalism as represented by Green and the English
agnosticism as represented by Mr. Spencer.

It is strange that Mr. Spencer has so little knowledge concerning the
evolution of the views he holds. If he were more familiar with the
history of the idea “that the world-problem is insolvable,” he would show
more reverence toward the old Kant and his mystical inclinations; for
Kant, whatever Mr. Spencer may say against it, is the father of modern
agnosticism.[107]]

* * * * *

The history of Mr. Spencer’s philosophical development shows that the
first idea which took possession of his mind and formed the centre of
crystalisation for all his later views was M. Condorcet’s optimism.
Condorcet believed in progress; he was convinced that in spite of all the
tribulations and anxieties of the present, man would at last arrive at
a state of perfection. He saw a millennium in his prophetic mind, which
alas!—if the law of evolution be true—can never be realised. Condorcet
died a martyr to his ideals. He poisoned himself in 1799 to escape death
by the Guillotine.

The influence of Condorcet’s work _Esquisse d’un tableau historique
des progrès de l’esprit humain_ is traceable not only in Mr. Spencer’s
first book, “Social Statics,” published in 1850, but in all his later
writings. How can a true evolutionist believe in the Utopia of a state
of perfect adaptation? Does not each progress demand new adaptations?
Take as an instance the change from walking on four feet to an upright
gait. Did not this progress itself involve man in new difficulties, to
which he had to adapt himself? Let a labor-saving machine be invented,
how many laborers lose their work and how many others are in demand! The
transition from one state to the other is not easy, and as soon as it is
perfected new wants have arisen which inexorably drive humanity onward on
the infinite path of progress which can never be limited by any state of
perfection. There is a constant readjustment necessary, and if we really
could reach a state of perfect adaptation human life would drop into the
unconsciousness of mere reflex motions.

Any one who understands the principle of evolution and its universal
applicability, will recognise that there can be no standstill in the
world, no state of perfect adaptation. Our solar system has evolved, as
Kant explained in his “General Cosmogony and Theory of the Heavens,” out
of a nebula, and is going to dissolve again into a nebular state. So our
social development consists in a constant realisation of ideals. We may
think that if we but attain our next and dearest ideal, humanity will be
satisfied forever. But as soon as we have realised that ideal, we quickly
get accustomed to its benefits. It becomes a matter of course and another
ideal higher still than that just realised appears before our mental gaze.

Herder, in his “Ideas for a Philosophy of the History of Mankind,” not
unlike Mr. Spencer, was also under the spell of the Utopian ideal, that
humanity will reach at last a state of perfect happiness. Kant, in his
review of Herder’s book, discusses the relativity of happiness and its
insufficiency as a final aim of life. He says:

“First of all the happiness of an animal, then that of a
child and of a youth, and lastly that of man! In all epochs
of human history, as well as among all classes and conditions
of the same epoch, that happiness has obtained which was in
exact conformity with the individual’s ideas and the degree
of his habituation to the conditions amid which he was
born and raised. Indeed, it is not even possible to form a
comparison of the degree of happiness nor to give precedence
to one class of men or to one generation over another....
If this shadow-picture of happiness ... were the actual aim
of Providence, every man would have the measure of his own
happiness within him.... Does the author (Herder) think perhaps
that, if the happy inhabitants of Otaheiti had never been
visited by more civilised peoples and were ordained to live
in peaceful indolence for thousands of years to come—that we
could give a satisfactory answer to the question why they
should exist at all, and whether it would not have been just
as well that this island should be occupied by happy sheep and
cattle as that it should be inhabited by men who are happy only
through pure enjoyment?”

“It involves no contradiction to say that no individual
member of all the offspring of the human race, but that
only the species, fully attains its mission (Bestimmung).
The mathematician may explain the matter in his way. The
philosopher would say: the mission of the human race as a whole
is _unceasing progress_, and the perfection (Vollendung) of
this mission is a mere idea (although in every aspect a very
useful one) of the aim towards which, in conformity with the
design of providence, we are to direct our endeavors.”

It is indubitable that Kant’s views of evolution agree better with the
present state of scientific investigation, than does Mr. Spencer’s
philosophy, which has never been freed from Condorcet’s ingenuous
optimism. The assumption of a final state of perfection by absolute
adaptation is irreconcilable with the idea of unceasing progress, which
must be true, if evolution is a universal law of nature.

FOOTNOTES:

[101] See Mr. Spencer’s article in _Mind_, No. LIX, p. 313.

[102] The passage in the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ on Baer runs as
follows:

“In his _Entwickelungsgeschichte der Thiere_, p. 264, he distinctly tells
us that the law of growing individuality is ‘the fundamental thought
which goes through all forms and degrees of animal development and all
single relations. It is the same thought which collected in the cosmic
space solar systems; the same which caused the weather-beaten dust on
the surface of our metallic planet to spring forth living beings.’ Von
Baer thus prepared the way for Mr. Spencer’s generalisation of the law of
organic evolution as the law of all evolution.”

[103] See Haeckel, _Goethe on Evolution_, No. 131 of _The Open Court_.

[104] _Præstabilismus_, that is, the theory that the phenomena of nature
are the result of pre-established law.

[105] The proposition that Kant is no easy reading found an unexpected
and strong opposition. Immediately after the publication of this article,
Sept. 4th, 1890, Mr. Charles S. Peirce made the following incidental
remark in a letter to the author dated Sept. 6th, 1890: “I have heard
too much of Kant’s being hard reading. I think he is one of the easiest
of philosophers; for he generally knows what he wants to say, which is
more than half the battle, and he says it in terms which are very clear.
Of course, it is quite absurd to try to read Kant without preliminary
studies of Leibnizian and English philosophers, as well as of the
terminology of which Kant’s is a modification or transmogrification. But
there is a way of making out what he meant, while such writers as Hume
and J. S. Mill, the more you study them the more they puzzle you.”

[106] This passage on pages 48, 49, and 50 which is enclosed in brackets
did not appear in _The Open Court_. It has been added since and is
published here for the first time.

[107] In this connection we call attention to a book, _Kant und Darwin,
ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Entwickelungslehre_, Jena, 1875, by Fritz
Schultze, formerly Privat docent in Jena, now Professor of philosophy at
the Polytechnic Institute in Dresden. This little book is a collection
of the most important passages of Kant’s views concerning evolution,
the struggle for existence, and the theory of selection, and it is
astonishing to find how much Kant had to say on the subject and how
strongly he agrees with and anticipates Darwin. If Kant had not lived
before Darwin one might be tempted to conclude that he was familiar with
his _Origin of Species_ and _The Descent of Man_.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONIST, VOL. 2, 1891-1892 ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:

• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”

• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.

• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.

• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.