Volume 2 — THE MONIST. (continued 2)

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:

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:

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:

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.