Volume 2 — THE MONIST. (continued 3)

Mr. Conybeare is very explicit in the explanation of his transcendental “self.” He says:

“Feelings constitute a conscious self when they become the feelings of a conscious self and not before, for except as gathered up in the unity of a self which has [sic!] memory and remains the same throughout its differences, feelings can be neither new, nor repeated, nor joined by links.”

What does “self” mean? What can it mean? What is the “unity of the self”? These are questions which have not been answered to our satisfaction by the transcendentalists. Whenever they speak of the self, they lose themselves in mysticism. Their “self” is an assumed entity which they have carefully divested of everything real and actual. Their self is transcendental and not a being of the world; it is a myth.

Let us describe the simplest possible instance of psychical activity.

An irritation takes place in some sentient substance. This irritation produces an extra-commotion. We must say “extra-commotion” because all sentient substance is in a state of constant activity. This extra-commotion causes the sentient substance to assume a certain form, and while it lasts, a certain and special feeling takes place in some part of the sentient substance. This certain and special feeling ceases, as soon as the extra-commotion, caused through the irritation, abates. There can be no doubt that certain effects of this extra-commotion remain. Its trace is left in the sentient substance and this trace is preserved in the constant whirl of the sentient being’s normal activity. Now, we suppose that an irritation of the same kind takes place in the same sentient substance. This second irritation finds the substance no longer in the same condition. It finds the sentient substance prepared to receive it. The feeling which now appears is no longer a simple feeling. The second irritation causes a commotion as much as the first, and this commotion acts as a stimulant upon the trace left by the first irritation. This trace being again in a state of extra-commotion is revived and the same kind of feeling appears. Thus the second irritation is accompanied by a state of awareness in which two feelings are blended, the revival of the former feeling and the feeling of the present irritation.

The preservation of traces left in sentient substance is the condition of memory. We understand by memory the psychical aspect thereof, and the act of reviving, so that their correspondent feelings will reappear, is called recollection.

“Memory” has been the greatest stumbling-block to our psychologists as well as to our philosophers. Even modern works written from a positive standpoint treat memory frequently as a mysterious faculty of the mind. Mr. Conybeare speaks of the self as having memory, while in fact, memory is one of the features, indeed the most important feature, of mind-activity.

Says Mr. Conybeare:

“Such a feeling [of the togetherness of two feelings] would involve memory and memory involves self-hood.”

Memory does not involve any transcendental self-hood. True self-hood, viz. that which can reasonably be understood by self-hood, is not prior to, not the cause of memory; self-hood, i. e. the personality of a man, the organised unity of the psychical aspect of a human organism, is consequent upon, it is the effect of, memory. Self-hood is the product of memory.⁠[48]

The self is also called the ego. What is the ego?

The ego is a Latin term used in philosophical language to denote the pronoun “I,” and the pronoun “I” is quite a definite nerve-structure situated in quite a definite place of the centre of language. As all words, so also the term “I” is a symbol. Its general meaning is unequivocal; it stands for the name of the speaker. It stands for Mr. Brown, if Mr. Brown speaks of himself, for Mr. Smith, if Mr. Smith speaks of himself, etc.

What does Mr. Brown mean when he says, “I speak, I act, I will, I feel pain, I feel pleasure, I intend,” etc.?

When Mr. Brown speaks, a certain number of word-structures in the centre of language are in a state of commotion, innervating the muscles of speech. Correspondent to this physiological process, a state of consciousness obtains, which is an awareness of the situation. When he adds: “I say this,” it is again a special nerve-structure that is irritated into action and he might just as well say: “Mr. Brown says this.” The idea of Mr. Brown, viz. of his own personality, is just as much an idea as his idea of Mr. Smith. The main difference consists in the fact that the idea of one’s own personality is very much more important than the ideas representing other personalities.

The nervous structure representing the feeling of the idea “I” must be the centre of innumerable nervous tracts connecting it with all those activities which when performed are thought of as done by ourselves. The “I do this” is almost constantly ready to fill the present state of consciousness and to accompany any action performed through the innervation of other brain structures.

Sentient substance is not always actually feeling. It is feeling only when in a state of extra-commotion. Systems of sentient substance are called organisms; all its structures are interconnected and most so those structures in which sentiency as well as motory impulses are differentiated—viz. the nervous structures. The extra-commotions which agitate the different nervous structures, the memories of former sense-perceptions, of sounds, of words, of ideas depend upon the conditions of the moment. Now this and now another structure will represent the summit of commotion and the feeling of the strongest commotion at a given time will under normal conditions appear as the contents of consciousness. It is as it were the focus in which the attention of the whole organism is centralised. That which appears in the focus is clear and distinct, while the other weaker feelings rapidly disappear into the undistinguishable general feeling of the organism as a whole, commonly called cœnæsthesis or Gemeingefühl.

The centre of attention is constantly changing; yet whenever a thinking creature stops to ask himself, who is doing this? Who is willing this? Who is thinking this? the answer is given: “I am doing this; I am willing this; I am thinking this.” The structure of the little pronoun “I” seems to be the most ticklish of all; it is always ready to force itself into the foreground.

The answer, “I am doing this,” proposes the totum pro parte. The whole personality is supposed to do what a part of it is performing. The hands are executing this work; these hands of course are innervated from certain regions of the brain. Some parts of the personality are in a relative rest and have nothing to do with the work presently on hand. A commotion in a certain number of brain-structures represents the physiological aspect of a deliberation, perhaps the planning of some action. Psychologically considered certain ideas appear successively and sometimes simultaneously in the focus of consciousness. The ideas disagree and other ideas replace them until a combination is formed in which the ideas do agree. This state of agreement brings a temporary peace into the tumult of conflicting ideas; the plan is ready; it may pass into action at once, or, perhaps, the ego-structure will appear in consciousness and will quietly think: “I will do it.”

When certain motory nerve-structures are innervated, they cause under normal conditions their respective muscles to contract, they produce motion. Under normal conditions the nervous process accompanying the idea “I will raise my arm” serves as an irritation upon the cortical centre of arm-raising, yet it is not the “I” that in some mystical way raises the arm. The idea “I” has as little and as much to do with this discharge of energy as any other idea. The idea “I” is not the power behind the veil that produces the will.

What is will? As soon as some plan of action is joined with the idea that it should be executed, supposing it be not counteracted by any stronger idea that it should not be done, this combination represents a will. A will accordingly is the psychological aspect of an incipient action, and it is usually, or if it is not it can always be accompanied with the thought “I will it.” But this accompanying thought however is not the energy displayed in the act of willing.

The “I will it,” or “I do it,” or “I perceive it” being always ready to appear together with the strongest idea in the field of consciousness, the term “ego” has acquired a specialised meaning. It means that part of a man’s personality which at the time is the contents of the “I will,” or “I think,” i. e. it is his present state of consciousness. Every organism is a coherent system and thus all the feelings of an organism naturally blend into a unity. The strongest feeling however appears in the normal state of waking in a distinct clearness thus representing a centre of consciousness.

However, whether we use the term “ego” in the sense of the idea “I” meaning the whole personality of the speaker, or in the sense of the present centre of consciousness, it designates in either case a definite reality, the origin and action of which are natural facts and as plain as any other psychological phenomena.

Neither the ego-idea nor the centre of consciousness are transcendental. The former is as little mystical as are the ideas dog, horse, man, etc.; the latter no less miraculous than any other feeling or display of sentiency.

VIII. THE EGO-CENTRIC VIEW ABANDONED.

The contrast between the old and the new psychology appears strongest in their conceptions of the ego. The former believes that the ego is “the thing in itself” of man’s soul and takes it to be the centre of all psychical phenomena, while the latter looks upon the ego-idea as one idea among many other co-ordinated ideas and considers the centre of consciousness as the strongest feeling at a given time, which as such naturally predominates over and eclipses the other feelings of the organism.

The new psychology brings about a change of standpoint similar to that effected by the Copernican system in astronomy. In astronomy the geo-centric, and in psychology the ego-centric standpoint had to be abandoned. And all things seem to be upset to those who are still accustomed to the old conception. To them the physical and moral world-conceptions appear to become impossible. If the new view were correct, so they imagine, the entire universe would break to pieces. All our modes of speech are formed in accord with the old view. We speak of sunset and sunrise, and so in our daily conversation the little pronoun “I” plays a part which makes it seem as if the ego-idea were the centre of all soul-life and as if this “I” were the active agent in all acts of willing and doing.

The advantage of the Copernican system lies in this, that we can think of the motions of the sun and the planets in a systematic and unitary conception without being either involved in contradictions or obliged to invent mysterious qualities in the stars for explaining the velocities, directions, or other phenomena of the celestial bodies. The most important advantage however is the practical applicability of the new theory.

The old theory of the soul necessarily leads to mysticism. Fictitious facts of a transcendent character must be invented in addition to the facts observed, in order to explain the latter. The new theory after abandoning the ego-centric standpoint of the thing in itself of a soul shows the facts of psychic life in an harmonious and unitary conception. All facts agree among themselves and we are not in need of supplementing them with mysterious inventions. It must be emphasised, at the same time, that the new conception throws a new light upon ethics; it shows the error and perversity of all egotism, for it would be a mistake to act as if the ego were really the centre of soul-life.

Here the new psychology comes in contact with religion. What is the practical aim of all the great religions of the world but a surrender of the ego, a renunciation of the self as the centre of our being, and the acceptance of the moral law as the regulative power of our actions? The new psychology gives a justification and a scientific explanation of Christian ethics while the latter from the standpoint of the old psychology necessarily appears as mystical and supernatural.

IX. PERSONALITY AND EVOLUTION.

The ego, i. e. the centre of consciousness, is constantly shifting, while the personality of a man is relatively constant, certain important ideas being stable and thus lending character to the whole system of thoughts and intentions.

The term personality indicating the self-hood of a man is used in several ways. First, we understand by a man’s personality his bodily appearance; secondly the whole system of his mentality, viz. his knowledge, his temperament, his character; thirdly the history of his life, past, present, and future; fourthly his position in life, his possessions, his connections, his influence, or at last we mean by it all these four items together. In all these applications the man and his personality are conceived as a unity. And they are a unity. Wherever the term unity is applicable, it is most certainly applicable here. All the many facts of the history of his life are one continuous process; all the parts of his body are parts of a system, and the world of his ideas also will under normal conditions bear a certain harmonious character. Wherever in any soul the concord among the ideas has been disturbed, a state of unrest will ensue until the peace of soul is restored in one or another way. But with the same necessity as every water surface tends to present a smooth level, so the ideas in one and the same soul tend to come to a state of agreement. As every water surface has its ripples so even that mind which has attained an undisturbed peace of soul is constantly confronted with some problems—be they ever so trifling—producing some slight disturbances in his life.

The unity of a self, it is apparent, is the inevitable consequence of given conditions. It is not something which exists outside the personality and its constituent parts, it is in the personality and it develops together with it. Mr. Conybeare supposes that “the unity of a self remains the same throughout.” This is an error, and this error vitiates Mr. Conybeare’s whole conception of growth and evolution. He says:

“Properly speaking a thing can only be said to grow or develop when it remains the same with itself all through the process and unfolds therein capacities which were anyhow latent in it to start with.”

The truth contained in this proposition may be expressed thus: When a thing develops, some part of it remains the same during the change, so that a continuity is preserved. Yet every change of a part of an organism—such is the intimate interconnection of all its parts—produces an alteration, be it ever so small, of the whole unity. And in the course of evolution the character of the whole thing may be changed. Think of the growth of a caterpillar into a butterfly, or of an egg-cell into a man. However, the changes in the character of an adult man will become slighter and slighter the stronger certain features of his existence preserve their sameness, although the most stable personality will, nevertheless, be subject to, at least, unimportant changes as long as life lasts.

Mr. Conybeare, like his master Professor Green and all the transcendentalists, is still under the influence of a belief in the thing in itself. The unity of an organism which is the product of the co-operation of its parts, is not some independent thing whose business it is to gather up their single activities and bring them into relation with one another. The unity of a self is the combination of all those relations which make of its parts a systematised whole, and this unity is changing together with its constituents; as a matter of fact, we have to state that it does not remain constant or the same with itself. Mark that I do not deny the unity of the soul, nor do I underrate the enormous importance of this unity. But I do deny that this unity exists independent of its parts. It is as much immanent in its parts as is a melody in its notes. There is as little a transcendental self-hood as a melody in itself independent of its sounds.

The assumption of a transcendental unity which throughout the process of evolution remains the same with itself naturally leads to a wrong conception of what Mr. Conybeare calls “latent capacities.” The terms potential existence and latent qualities are fertile and useful ideas but we must beware not to employ them incorrectly. Any heap of iron ore can be called a potential sword. This is a mode of speaking which expresses the possibility that the ore can be changed somehow into a sword. But the sword does not exist at all, not even as a latent quality of the ore. The ore has no latent qualities of that kind. Those qualities of the ore which represent the potential sword are very patent to everybody who knows the art of using them properly and changing them into an actual sword.

We may say that the hen’s egg contains a potential chick; but this is a mere mode of speech devised to say that the egg can be changed into a chick under certain conditions. There is no chick at all contained in the egg and nothing that is like a chick.

Evolution is not, as the name suggests, a process of unfolding; evolution is, as Christian Friedrich Wolff calls it, an “epigenesis,” i. e. the process of the additional growth of new formations. The chick is something different in kind from the egg. The unity of the egg-cell organism in the yolk is radically different from the unity of the full-fledged chick. The former shows traces of irritability but not of consciousness, while the latter exhibits unmistakable symptoms of psychical activity. The formation of the chicken-soul is a new formation as much as the growth of feathers. The feathers of the chick are an additional growth; there are no latent feathers in the egg. We might express ourselves to the effect that the egg contains the potential existence of feathers, but with the same logic we might say the egg contains a potential chicken broth.

It is however true that something remains constant in the process of growth. There is a preservation of form in the constant change of material particles and this is the physiological basis of memory, so that a man of eighty may say “I remember when I was a child,” although not one particle of the substance of which the child consisted is left in him. The continuity produced through this preservation of form makes growth and evolution possible.

The preservation of memory-structures constitutes the possibility of reviving the feelings of the past, it constitutes a preservation of soul. The material parts of the body are thrown out but the form being preserved, the soul remains. And this preservation of the soul is the basis of its additional growth through new and enlarged experience. The soul of the child is not lost in the man, it is preserved. It has lost certain features and at the same time it has gained new features, it has developed, and the unity of the soul has more or less changed with the development.

What is true of the individual is also true of mankind. Mankind as a whole is different in the savage and in civilised society. Nevertheless the latter has developed from the former. Certain traits have been dropped, other radically new features have appeared. That which was valuable in the soul of primitive man is not lost. The better part of his soul still lives in the highest developed man of to-day; the continuity is preserved. And to-day all our moral instruction aims at this, so to live that our souls also will be preserved in the future evolution of humanity. The gist of ethics is to make the soul immortal.⁠[49]

X. PROFESSOR MACH’S POSITION.

The problem, “Are there things in themselves?” is closely connected with the subject of my discussion with Professor Mach. Professor Mach as well as myself are aspiring to arrive at a consistent and harmonious or unitary world-conception. Both of us recognise that things in themselves have no room in a monistic philosophy, both of us recognise that concepts are means only of orientation, they are the mental tools of living beings developed as an assistance in dealing with the surrounding world. They are symbols in which the processes of nature are copied and imitated and which can serve for planning or modeling and thus predetermining the course of nature. So far we agree, but then there appears a difference which it is difficult for me to understand or formulate in precise terms.

Professor Mach objects to the dualism of motion and feeling, which he declares he conceives as a unity not as a duality. But so do I. It appears to me that we must differ somehow in the method of constructing the unity. I see indeed a contrast of physical and of psychical. This contrast, however, in my conception does not belong to the object but to the subject. It is a contrast of our conception of things, but it is not a contrast existing objectively in the real things themselves. The world is not composed of the psychical and the physical, but certain features of the world are called physical, and others psychical. Both terms are abstracts.

Professor Mach said in his first article and repeats it again in the present article that his former standpoint resembles very closely my present standpoint. When reading Professor Mach’s lectures of 1863, I took pains to look for the similarity, and finding many things in which I could agree I dropped the differences taking the agreements as the essential points. In reading, however, Professor Mach’s résumé of his former position as stated in this present article, I find that he attaches prominence to several points which I cannot endorse. I do not accept the theory that atoms feel, that they are endowed with consciousness. I have never spoken of atoms when dealing with psychological problems. The term “atom” is a chemical term invented as a help for thinking the equivalence of the weight of the elements which always combine in definite proportions. The term “atom” has in my opinion no sense if applied to other phenomena. The term “atom” has not been abstracted from psychical phenomena nor has it been invented for describing them. There is accordingly no probability that it can find there any appropriate application. We might as well expect that mathematical terms such as lines, points, circles, etc., are applicable in psychology. The idea of conscious circles or points can not in my mind be more absurd than that of conscious atoms. The rule must be observed that we can use abstractions made for a special purpose for that purpose only; they will not serve any other purpose as well. It is true that they are often employed as analogies, but in such cases, we must bear in mind that we are dealing with mere analogies.

In addition to the impropriety of using the term atoms in psychology, it appears to me erroneous to attribute feeling or anything like feeling to physical processes of any description. Natural processes are so constituted, that under certain conditions, such as take place in animal organisms, they will develop feelings. Clifford speaks in this sense of the elements of feeling. Lloyd Morgan calls it metakinesis, and I find that feelings being simply states of awareness represent the subjectivity of natural processes. We have reasons to suppose that in the processes of unorganised nature this subjectivity is neither feeling nor anything like feeling: but the subjectivity of the natural processes is as it were the stuff out of which our own feelings are formed.

I accept all the arguments of Professor Mach that our ideas are artificial products; and I am also anxious to distinguish in our ideas between that which describes facts and that which has been added to the description of facts in shape of theories or conjectures.

The sense-pictures of objects and ideas also are not things but images and symbols of things created for the purpose of representing things; they are as Prof. Lloyd Morgan says, “constructs.” But these constructs are not mere fancy, they are not air-castles. They are constructed in order to imitate certain realities. Now, in building these constructs as an imitation or a copy of reality, we are often at a loss how to build them. There is for instance in the objective reality observed, a something somewhere high in the air, the basis of which is invisible, and being limited in our means of acquiring information we are ignorant of the real state of things. So in reconstructing or imitating the facts, we build scaffolds to support it, and we are too apt to forget that these scaffolds do not represent objective facts but are artifices to make certain facts, which we know in parts only, thinkable, i. e. representable without breaks in mental constructs.

XI. TRUTH IN MYTHOLOGY.

There is one point which I have emphasised and which it appears to me Professor Mach neglects, namely that our noumenal world of ideas has an objective meaning. The ideal constructs represent realities. They do not consist of scaffolds alone and there is no scaffold which has not been erected to help in building up representations of facts. Let us call the representation of facts positive science or simply truth and the scaffolding the mythology of science, and we shall see that the road to truth leads everywhere through mythology. Certain facts of the surrounding world impress themselves upon a sentient being and these impressions come to represent facts. These facts are not seen at once in their causal connection, they appear unconnected among themselves, and in the attempt to formulate them, to represent them, to construct them in mental images, we fill out the gaps of our knowledge with such inventions as are supplied by analogy.

Mythology is, in religion as well as in science, the indispensable ladder to truth. We cannot build without scaffolds. So we cannot construct truth without mythology. We have to introduce allegorical expressions in order to fill out gaps with analogies.

Mythology becomes fatal to the building up of truth, as soon as we consider it as truth itself. The scaffold is erected simply as an assistance for building and if the building is finished the scaffold should be torn down. The progress of science which is so much helped by mythology has periods of purification in which the mythology is discarded. This is sometimes a difficult task, because the very terms of science are mostly both at the same time truth and mythology, building-stones and scaffold.

Take, for instance, the term atom. The chemist observes that the elements always combine in certain proportions and formulates the law of the equivalence of their atomic weights. In order to think this process, to reconstruct it in mental images, he imagines that matter consists of infinitely small particles of constant weight. This is a fiction useful for its purpose but it may be just as erroneous as the method employed in the infinitesimal calculus of thinking of a continuous curve as consisting of a broken line of infinitely small parts, or of thinking of a certain force as being composed of a parallelogram of forces. The parallelogram of forces is a scaffold helpful for representing in mental symbols the coexistence of different abstractions of the same kind (e. g. motions of a different velocity and direction). But this scaffold is not a mere scaffold, it is not erected without any purpose, its final aim is the description of facts.

The proposition to consider light as rays traveling in straight lines is a scaffold, it is mythology; but this analogy contains a truth, it contains a real building-stone which should not be torn down with the scaffold. This truth is one-sided; it represents one feature of light and disregards other features. It disregards entirely the transversal oscillations of the ether, yet it describes another feature—viz., the transmission and refraction of light for the comprehension of which we need not take into consideration the undulation theory. The physicist calculates with his formula sinα/sinβ = n the angle of refraction. There is certainly neither a sineα nor a sineβ in reality, but there are certain relations of reality which are described in these expressions and the action of the light has a definite quality which can be determined with the assistance of the formula sinα/sinβ = n.

If the scientist succeeds in determining such real qualities of things, even though it be done with the assistance of mythology, he discovers a truth. He has with the help of his scaffolds succeeded in placing a building-stone where it belongs.

Some scaffolds have to be torn down because they hinder further building; other scaffolds must remain because they assist us in modeling, and planning, and predetermining certain processes of nature. They are like staircases which enable us to reach with ease otherwise inaccessible places on towers or domes.

The idea that science is full of mythology appears strange to the non-scientific, and it is often overlooked by scientists themselves. But the idea that religious mythology in spite of its many irrational superstitions and wrong analogies beams with truth is also little heeded by the many. In fact, man’s method of reaching truth is the same in religion as in science.

The religious ideas such as God and soul are mental constructs which copy certain realities; but these very terms, such as they are used, are mythological expressions; they are still surrounded by their scaffolds. Many people know by their own experience the usefulness and indispensability of the scaffold. Without the scaffold they would never have had an inkling of the truth, for the representation of which it was built, and it is natural that they consider the scaffold as the building itself. This is the reason why the narrow-minded orthodox denounce anyone who would lay hand on or tear down any part of the scaffold, which has become a hindrance to the further development of religious ideals.

Positivism, i. e. the representation of facts without any admixture of theory or mythology, is an ideal which in its purity perhaps will never be realised. Nevertheless it is no ignis fatuus, no will-o’-the-wisp that leads us astray. Our science is constantly more and more approaching this ideal and the progress of humanity is intimately connected with it.

Science has not merely a theoretic value, its aim and purpose consist in its application to practical life. Science is throughout ethical. Thus ethics has also its mythological phase. In agreement with Professor Mach (p. 204), we should find it ridiculous if one who presumes to be an ethical teacher of mankind would say:

“Man must not be descended from monkeys,” “The earth shall not rotate,” “Matter ought not everywhere to fill space,” “Energy must be constant,” and so on.

Why is it ridiculous? Because we cannot prescribe a certain deportment to facts. It is however not ridiculous to let a precise and carefully sifted knowledge of facts determine our own deportment.

Science has to teach ethics. But here also we should distinguish between positive facts and mythology. Ethics based upon mere theories, upon our interpretations of nature which we add to facts, is mythological; positive ethics is simply that deportment which is suggested by a comprehension of the facts themselves.

Mythological ethics may be quite correct, just as much so as the application of a mythological theory of science may be within certain limits reliable as a working hypothesis. But it is desirable to understand the nature of mythological ethics in order to distinguish between truth and fiction.

When Professor Mach speaks of sensations as being the elements of the world and of things as being complexes of these elements he apparently does not use the word sensation in its usual sense. It has ceased to be an abstract term which represents one feature only of a process of nature and has become a symbol for an entire reality. And is not such a usage of terms as if they were not abstracts but the things themselves liable to lead to misconceptions?

Professor Mach’s “elements,” it seems to me, are only elements, i. e. ultimate and unanalysable materials, if considered as terms of a psychological view of the world; they are not elements in the domains of other abstractions, such as are made by physiology or physics. Moreover, although this method eliminates the duality of soul and body, mind and matter, feeling and motion, it does not explain the problem.

Professor Mach might answer that the problem as to the duality of mind and matter is a sham problem, just as much as the problem why do we see things upright when the retina picture of the eye shows the things inverted? But a problem is to him who has solved the problem always a sham problem. Every problem disappears as a problem as soon as it is solved. It is true that we see as little with the blind spot of the eye as with the skin of our back. The problem of the blind spot is not why do we not see with the blind spot, (which is simply a matter of fact,) but why do we not notice, when using only one eye, its lack of sight in a spot surrounded with sight-seeing structures? We have to employ artificial means to convince ourselves that we are really blind in that spot!

All problems are merely subjective; they are a conflict between two conceptions and as Professor Mach himself says, the solution of problems consists in the adaptation of thought to facts, i. e. to new facts or new views of facts. By an adaptation of our thought to the enlarged field of vision the problem vanishes; it has ceased to be a problem. In fact it never existed as an objective phenomenon. There are no problems in nature. There are problems only to the investigating mind. But even the formulation of problems is a problem to be solved, and perhaps the most difficult and subtle kind of problems is to discover the flaw in wrongly formulated problems.

The problem of the duality of body and soul, matter and mind, feeling and motion, ceases to be a problem to him who has worked his way through to a monistic conception, but to those who have not as yet succeeded in establishing a unitary view of these ideas, because they take them to be separate and distinct existences, it is a problem of great importance.

XII. THE ONENESS OF SUBJECTIVITY AND OBJECTIVITY.

The world is not rigid being, but activity, not absolute existence but a system of changing relations, not an abstract Sein but a concrete Wirklichkeit—a constant working of cause and effect. There is no dualism in this, for the Wirklichkeit is one and undivided.

Yet every relation admits of two standpoints, just as the line AB, which may serve to represent a certain and definite relation, is determinable from both ends, A as well as B. Let us call A the subject and B the object. Neither A nor B is a reality, a whole complete Wirklichkeit. A thing in order to be real must be active, it must work, it must stand in relation to something else. A is a mere mathematical point, but AB representing a process does something, it performs work, it is real. A thing in itself, if it could exist at all, would be tantamount to non-existence, it would represent a Sein without being Wirklichkeit. When bearing this in mind, it appears natural that the oneness of existence, representable in such relations as is that of AB = -BA will admit of two standpoints, BA representing subjectivity, and AB representing objectivity. We can consider the relation of the world at large to one special point (which latter may in its turn stand for a whole system of relations) or vice versa the relation of this point to the world at large. The former standpoint is that of the microcosm, or the soul, the latter that of the macrocosm or the universe; the former results in awareness, the latter appears as matter in motion. The former is subjectivity, the latter objectivity.

Reality must not be conceived of as being a compound of the elements of feeling and of motion, of subjectivity and objectivity or of kinesis and metakinesis. I do not think there are atoms one-half of which contains the potentiality of sentience while the other half is freighted with energy. I conceive of reality as being one throughout, but, being throughout resolvable in relations, it will as a matter of course have two sides. What these two sides are like can be known through experience only, and experience teaches that under certain conditions the subjective side develops into feeling and consciousness, while the objective side is represented in the feeling of conscious beings as motions.

This view explains the duality of our conception of psycho-physical facts, but it is certainly not dualism. The duality belongs to the scaffold not to the facts themselves. The facts can only be thought of as being one and undivided, and no conception can stand except it be monistic.

Subjectivity and objectivity are terms that express relations and not things in themselves. There are, however, philosophers who show a great grief unless either the subjectivity of being, or the objectivity of being, or the unities in which things or personalities are gathered up, are considered as things in themselves. All those features of reality which appear to their conception unexplainable, such as the relations that obtain among things and especially the thoughts of thinking beings are supposed to be the effects of some transcendental entity, of a thing in itself. And if a philosophy denies the existence of transcendentalistic thought-entities or of any such things in themselves, which serve as cement to combine the disjecta membra of their world-conception, it is generally declared to lead straight on to nihilism—not because the world itself but because their world-system would thereby be annihilated.

All things that exist, if considered as separate things, will pass away; but if considered as parts of the all-existence of reality, they are eternal. In fact things are not separate things, in the sense of isolated, absolute, or abstract beings, although we may speak of them as such for our ephemeral purposes. All things that exist, the human soul included, are and will remain parts of the One and All.

This destroys their individuality as little as a brick ceases to be a brick because it serves its part in the building of a dome. The soul of a man if his life be well spent, is not annihilated in death, his soul has become a living stone in the temple of humanity. It continues to live and marches on in the general progress of the race.

We are parts of a great whole now, and we shall remain parts of the same great whole forever. We have never been and shall never be transcendental selfhoods or metaphysical egos, or any kind of things in themselves. Our personality is real life, it is actual being. As such it is bound up in the universal life of the One and All and no particle of it will be lost. We need not fear death, for the air we breathe is immortality.

Editor.

FOOTNOTES:

LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE

I. FRANCE.

The recent work of M. F. Paulhan, Le Nouveau Mysticisme, places us in the presence of a feature of modern life, if not extremely important, at least very curious.

We assist at the formation of a new spirit. But what is it? What is its value? A reply to this question would exact a long and minute analysis of all social facts. M. Paulhan does not flatter himself that he has exhausted it, and he offers us only portions, although excellent and instructive, of the required work. He shows us in rapid review, the dissolution of the ancient world, the intellectual and moral anarchy which has to-day reached its highest possible point; he seeks, in the ruins amidst which we tread, the constructive elements of a new order of things, and makes an effort to foresee what it will be.

“The scientific mind,” writes he, “the religious spirit, pity for suffering, the sentiment of justice, social mysticism, the attraction for mysterious perhaps dangerous facts that we begin to have a glimpse of, the kind of new power which the knowledge of them can give us, a general need of universal harmony: such are the principal characters of the spirit which is forming itself.” They are not, he himself says, all new. It is not the presence of these elements which is significant, but rather the singular combination in which they occur, and we could say, the precipitate that they give in the particular chemical solution where they find themselves thrown. In every case, the phenomenon does not affect entirely, it seems to us, the same characters, according to whether we observe it in the philosophic or scientific order, in the practical order, or in that of sentiment, which literature represents. The name of mysticism does not belong to every part of the new spirit equally; or more exactly, the spirit which is produced could well not be truly mysticism, but only a side phenomenon, and the very evident resurrection of the spirit which is disappearing.

M. Paulhan, if I do not deceive myself, sometimes allows himself to be too much influenced by a certain literature, to which I do not allow a very great value, and of which even the sincerity may be suspected. It represents at first, to my mind, individual conditions, and it evidently impeaches some authors of a morbid diathesis. Many of our prophets, as is known in the Quartier Latin, have or affect vices which exclude by themselves all generating power. Then, it is very difficult, in our age, to appreciate exactly the relations of literature to the public mind, seeing the diversity of romantic books, and the correlation of one to the other is perhaps not so strict, so profound as it has been in other junctures of history. In short, the modern romance is a document the relative value of which needs to be established by a most severe critic.

Some facts dominate the question, viewed as a whole. It is necessary to show the work of the scientific mind, which has the result of creating new mental habits. It is necessary to consider also that the disorder, the spirit of evil, so finely analysed by M. Paulhan, corresponds chiefly to the interpretations of ignorance, to the exaggerations of sentiment, and to the dreams, more or less monstrous, of inventive fantasy. It is necessary, finally, if they wish to augur of the future, to endeavor to disengage the laws of construction, still badly defined, of our political fabrics. The thought of M. Paulhan is good at bottom, and the materials with which he constructs the possible future are taken from the positive conditions of our mental and social life: in the practical order, “co-operation” is added to the social systems already existing, although disturbed, such as the family and the nation; in the ideal order, the conception, beyond that of humanity, of a “cosmical whole,” and a “universe,” which, to repeat it after Comte, will be favorable to man, in a certain sense, seeing that he causes it to exist.

We recommend the reading of this book. One’s time is never lost with a thinker of the stamp of M. Paulhan; he has the merit this time of disclosing to us in a few pages a vast horizon, where some points are delineated with clearness. Logicism has caused much evil in our country. Let us now beware of mysticism!

One of the most curious episodes of this new mysticism is assuredly the Buddhist preaching, begun in France by a small group of writers. M. Augustin Chaboseau, one of the representatives of this religious tendency, publishes a work, Essai sur la philosophie boudhique,⁠[50] which it is expedient to mention. M. Chaboseau has thought it would be of interest to sum up in a volume the results of the studies on Buddhism, and to present it “such as science has proved it, that is to say very different from what Christian polemists, worldly amusers, theosophic fanatics, endeavor to disseminate.” He has had the ambition to write this volume, and for my part, I do not refuse him my curiosity.

But that Buddhism truly contains a religious formula capable of attracting to it the souls of our Occident, I have difficulty in believing. This India is very far from us, and its confused philosophy is behind us. I do not think that the nations of to-day will return to a by-gone mode; and then, this doctrine of Sakya-Muni has something against it, that I hesitate to say, as it might seem puerile: its god is too fat. Its god or its sage, as you wish. Yes, that breadth of form, that opulence of flesh, taken as a mark of goodness and power, shocks our artistic taste. Do not forget that every religion which claims our will ought to satisfy our æsthetic sentiment: it is one of the essential factors of the religious sentiment, a compound sentiment where all the emotions of a race ought to find their harmony. The opposition of India to us, so striking in the ideal of the beautiful, still continues in metaphysical speculation. We are too moderate, too sober, for the debauches of imagination in which it delights. Buddhism will be to us only a passing excrescence, and I ask myself if it lives well in the souls where it has sincerely penetrated.

I should have much to do to speak, in the briefest manner, of all the books or treatises, which in a direct or indirect manner relate either to the war of Aryanism against Semitism, and principally against the Christianism in which certain authors see the most disastrous conquest of Semitic genius; or to the reviving of mystic traditions, strange dreams, and monstrous desires; or to a religious restoration, of which the most ordinary prejudice is to assure the immortality of the soul and to reopen the beyond to man. These works are in general of slight value; they are the multiplication of decays, and we are compelled to consider them as social wastes, of which the abundance betrays unquestionably the bad health of the organism, or at least a difficult crisis of its evolution.

But let us return to the works of philosophy properly so-called. What are we to think of that of M. F. Rauh? I deceive myself much if his Essai sur le fondement métaphysique der la morale is considered of much service in his own circles. M. Rauh, who belongs to the philosophic youth, the youth of the age, can be well assured that the partisans of scientific morality will not upbraid him for “the admiration of high metaphysical thoughts” with which he does himself honor, but he can fear lest the metaphysicians accuse him of further compromising metaphysics by the denser obscurities he casts on it. One is stupefied to find again in a modern book a phraseology so made up of abstract words, of substantives with capitals, and logical shadows which affect the posture of realities. Much study, much work, without advancing one step, and still worse, in order to throw us again into the culs-de-sac from whence we have had so much difficulty to disengage ourselves. All the profit one can derive from this dialectic is to contemplate at the end the vague shadow of its own body that is perceived on the wall.

The metaphysicians of a certain school are not only reluctant to have to accept that morality is a natural formation, a social product, an historical fact; they wish further that the existence even of moral society should depend on the intelligence that they have of it, or of the explanation that they give of it. They affirm boldly, and these are the words even of M. Rauh, that “the fate of morality is united to that of metaphysics”—their metaphysics. This is a pretension as exorbitant as would be that of a naturalist who should refer the reality of the animal world to the idea he formed of zoölogical types, or that of a chemist who should subject the value of the positive results of science to a particular hypothesis as to the constitution of bodies.

There are certain difficulties of language to criticise in the work of M. Isidore Maus, barrister in the Court of Appeals at Brussels, De la justice pénale, étude philosophique sur le droit de punir. A curious spectator, he tells us, of the battle waged between the new school of anthropology and the ancient penal jurisprudence, he seeks to divine the issue of it. It will probably end, according to him, in the formation of a medium penal jurisprudence, which will accept limited responsibilities, and which, while protecting society, will do its best “to give to punishment all the advantages it can.”

It would be exaggerated no doubt, I willingly grant it, to take away from repression every mark of moral reparation, all weight of “reformative power”; but I am always shocked to hear partial responsibilities spoken of. From the social point of view, the responsibility remains perfect; it is united, indeed, to the very act of having caused injury, beyond all appreciation. From the point of view of the individual, the word responsibility has the grave inconvenience of implying that the quantity of liberty or free-will attributable to the delinquent is measured. It would be less compromising and more exact, to value simply the quality, the worth of the delinquent, according to the totality of his affective, intellectual, voluntary, and pathological character, according to the nature and the conditions of the act of which he is accused, etc. We should thus escape contradictions of words which easily become contradictions of fact; we should no more stumble at this latent difficulty of free-will, in medium cases—for serious cases are never difficult. Words exercise a tyranny which jurists would do well to distrust.

Is not this, moreover, just about what M. Maus means by his favorite formula—that justice ought “to individualise as much as possible”? It is a pity only that he does not present his conclusions with the requisite clearness. His exposition is not distinct and frank. He has mental habitudes, subtilities of reasoning, which are of value at the Palais, but which it is suitable to rid oneself of when writing a book: his would gain much by being entirely remodeled, made clear and disentangled.

M. E. de Laveleye offers to the public a fourth edition, revised and considerably augmented, of his great work, De la propriété et de ses formes primitives. We have not to recall the numerous facts which this work contains and the knowledge of which has become sufficiently general; nor to commend M. de Laveleye, who no longer expects fresh praises for it. I have only to express the regret that he should have retained the theory of property expounded in the last chapter of his book, or rather the metaphysical conception of right with which he connects it. It seems as if he wished to excuse himself from reducing property to the simple value of a fact, modifiable in its forms, by indicating as a fixed point an “order” which shall be the best, which shall be known and wished of God, sought and realised by man.

M. de Laveleye knows it as well as any one. Right is only a rule, an expression of the relations of men among themselves, in a determined geographical and historical medium. Its changes depend, in part on external conditions, in part on the characters of man himself, the state and variable equilibrium of his passions and of his mentality. If certain forms of right establish themselves proportionally, in the course of the life of nations, the fact is explained by the constancy and the universality of certain conditions, either physical or mental; the repetition of social arrangements, which produces ultimately a more stable structure and constitutes a sort of axis of development, is somewhat analogous, if we may be permitted this comparison, to the repetition of the essential elements in all architecture, or of the primitive forms in all the products of the ceramic art. What is the good of enveloping with mystery the ideal we create ourselves, and of rendering obscure a notion that we can positively explain? But let us leave here this little quarrel, for it does not touch the solid groundwork of the book.

Still to signalise are: Premiers principes métaphysiques de la science de la nature, translated from Kant by M. M. Ch. Andler and Ed. Chavannes, who have written an interesting introduction On the philosophy of nature in Kant; and L’Année philosophique, Iʳᵉ année 1890, published under the direction of F. Pillon, former manager of La Critique philosophique. There will be found in this last volume two profound studies, one by M. Renouvier on the phenomenist method, the other by M. Pillon on the criticism of the infinite, an excellent article by M. L. Dauriac on philosophy and particularly on the æsthetics of Guyau, finally a bibliography of French works which appeared in 1890. I wish good success to this publication; it will become valuable, and it will be still more so, in my opinion, if M. Pillon, will not recoil before the fatigue, no doubt sufficiently great, of adding to the Bibliography a critical sketch of the review articles published in the course of the year.

Lucien Arréat.

FOOTNOTES:

II. RECENT GERMAN WORKS IN PSYCHOLOGY.

A well-known alienist, Professor Pelman of Bonn, in a recently published work, advanced the assertion that the literary taste of the day pointed to a considerable decline of the intellectual health of the present generation. To him who assumes with Pelman some causal foundation of this state of affairs, it is indeed an alarming sight to pass in review the show windows of our great book centres Leipsic and Berlin and to discover the great number of editions that the products of the literature of a certain class are passing through.

Among the books that are at present all the vogue, Tolstoï’s “Kreutzer Sonata” stands in the front rank. Numberless articles in the newspapers and the magazines have already made this wonderful work the subject of discussion, both from the æsthetical and from the moral point of view. Now comes a physician, who discusses the psychological aspect of the story, and discusses it in a manner which must claim our interest and to which in the main points it emphasises we cannot deny our assent.

Dr. H. Beck has published at the house of Rauert and Rocco of Leipsic, a brochure bearing the title Des Grafen Leo Tolstoï Kreutzer Sonate vom Standpunkte des Irrenarztes, and arrives on the basis of a careful analysis at the result that Tosdnischew is a decidedly neuropathical character. Now as Tolstoï, on his own express declaration in his concluding remarks, places his own views in Tosdnischew’s mouth, this judgment respecting the principal character of the story also holds good in great measure of its author. Generally, indeed, Beck is very considerate towards Tolstoï’s person, in the expression of his opinions; but he is nevertheless very plainly outspoken when he says at the conclusion of his little book: “Let us characterise this monstrous product, the ‘Kreutzer Sonata,’ as that which it appears to every person of sound sentiments—as the emanation, namely, of a diseased brain, of a degenerated Psyche.”

The Munich physician Dr. Puschmann, who in the year 1873 in a special treatise represented Richard Wagner, then still alive, as psychically diseased, has thus found, as we see, in a certain sense a successor in Dr. Beck. But while Puschmann’s pamphlet, having been occasioned by certain conditions of affairs in Munich, was written in a hostile spirit, and while the little book of Beck’s makes no secret of its author’s aversion to Tolstoï and his works, a notorious representative of unhealthy “young Germany,” the novelist Wilhelm Walloth, meets at other hands with an uncommonly tender treatment. There is indeed nothing remarkable in this, for if anyone is in need of tender treatment it is a man who is sick. But it is very remarkable that the diseased state of a nervous system should be accredited to the writer Walloth as a great poetic excellence.

G. Ludwigs, the author of the treatise Wilhelm Walloth, Leipsic, 1891, Verlag von Wilhelm Friedrich, had in so far the advantage of Puschmann and Beck, that he was not placed under the necessity of originally demonstrating what the actual state of the nervous system of his hero was, from his works. This condition had already been established by expert physicians in a much talked of trial before the District Court of Leipsic for circulating obscene publications. Ludwigs was able therefore to proceed immediately with his problem of ascertaining the extent to which a diseased state of the nervous system had effect in Walloth’s novels and poems. His discussion of this last question possesses great interest for the psychologist, although the reader will find considerable difficulty in accommodating his thoughts to Ludwigs’s occasionally very singular style. Setting aside the odd expressions of Ludwigs, we may say that there is exhibited in a pre-eminent degree in the writings of Walloth, first, what the physicians call hyperæsthesia, and by this is meant not only an excessive sensitiveness of the senses but also—a condition that is connected with the last—an extraordinary intensity of the emotional activity. Secondly, are found numberless bold associations of ideas which are much better known to the physician than to the æsthetician.

Unfortunately Walloth is not the only one of the representatives of “young Germany,” in whose works the characters of disease appear in such intensity, and the circumstance that books of this class are bought in such numbers and read in still greater, places the tastes and sentiments of a large portion of the educated German public in a questionable light.

If we turn our glance away from the sensational phenomena of literature to the phenomena of ordinary life, which are not uncommonly enacted in the halls of justice, it is in first rank the incorrigible swindlers and sharpers that excite our attention. We have received on this subject from Dr. Anton Delbrueck, a physician of a Swiss insane asylum, an interesting little work bearing the title Die pathologische Lüge und die psychisch abnormen Schwindler, Stuttgart, 1891, Verlag von Ferdinand Enke. In this book the author makes an investigation of the gradual transition of a normal psychological process into processes exhibiting pathological symptoms, and shows, in so doing, by ample material, that in every kind of intentional deception the consciousness of intention can exhibit very different degrees of intensity and can imperceptibly sink in a succession of cases to zero. As a matter of course, Delbrück’s treatise is primarily of interest to medical experts and lawyers, but it will also be of interest in a secondary degree to all circles that devote their attention to psychological studies generally, particularly so to educators who have not infrequently to do with pathological lies, as G. Stanley Hall quite recently pointed out in a very instructive article in The America Journal of Psychology on the lying of children, and as is developed in the work of Dr. Sollier, before mentioned in The Monist, entitled La psychologie de l’idiot et l’imbécile, which is also to be had in a very good German edition, translated by Paul Brie, under the title Der Idiot und der Imbecille, published by Leopold Voss of Hamburg.

In the German edition of Sollier’s book Professor Pelman, whom we have above mentioned, has written an introduction in which he speaks of the work in words of praise similar to those expressed by Lucien Arréat in The Monist. “Sollier,” says he, “has put us into the possession of a psychology of mental imbecility, in a completeness in which hitherto it was not at our disposal.” Then follows another passage which we will also quote, as it forms an important supplement to the remarks of Arréat. It is this: “Imbecility had remained the step-child of the science of psychiatry and has not by any means met with the consideration which in view of its social importance is due to it. If we go through the works, as great in number as they are in voluminousness, which have been published in the style of Lombroso on criminals and their peculiar characteristics, we shall be unable to escape the impression produced in our minds that the characteristics of imbeciles portrayed by Sollier recur point for point in the typical criminal. Here as there, the same insufficiency of all ethical development, the same frivolity, and the same incapacity for being of use in society exist. That which in Sollier’s explanation decides the whole anthropological position of the imbecile—his anti-social, society-hostile attitude—is emphasised by all writers as the characteristic trait common to all criminals, and the description of imbeciles and criminals coincides as completely in this respect as if the same individual had sat for both pictures. The conclusions that follow from this can only enlist new adherents in the ranks of the anthropological school, and this result also I should place to the profit-account of the present book.”

However profitable and necessary employment with the diseased states of the human soul may be, personally at least it is an unpleasant subject for us, and we are glad therefore that we may abandon this domain for the present letter.

The occasion of this is afforded by a valuable gift from Prof. W. Preyer, formerly of Jena, now of Berlin. Professor Preyer has presented us with a rather large volume bearing the title Wissenschaftliche Briefe von Gustav Theodor Fechner und W. Preyer. Nebst einem Briefweschsel zwischen K. von Vierordt und Fechner sewie mehreren Beilagen. Mit dem Bildnisse Fechner’s und vier Holzschnitten. Hamburg und Leipsic, 1890. Verlag von Leopold Voss. The work contains a correspondence extending from the year 1873 to the year 1883, in which the two distinguished scientists discuss (chiefly) myo-physical and psycho-physical questions, and will be of great interest to many readers of The Monist, especially as it makes its appearance simultaneously with the issuing of a new edition of Fechner’s Elemente der Psychophysik by Wilhelm Wundt.

The much fought over and much disputed province of psycho-physics has also been entered on by a younger psychologist, who has already acquired a considerable name,—by Hugo Münsterberg, docent at the university of Freiburg in Baden. In his Beiträge zur experimentellen Psychologie, which are published in parts at indefinite periods by Mohr of Freiburg in Baden—three parts have already been published—Münsterberg raises, in the first place, a vigorous protest against Wundt; repudiating on the basis of the results of independent experiment the apperception hypothesis which has been propounded by the scientist mentioned, and producing proof that all kinds of so-called apperception are reducible to associations of the representative activity. Secondly, he offers us in the third part a new foundation on which to base psycho-physics. It is, of course, impossible, in so difficult a subject, to reproduce briefly yet clearly the developments to which Münsterberg devotes one hundred and twenty-two pages. But we will at least supply a few hints with regard to what this new foundation of psycho-physics is.

In the first place, Münsterberg rejects the notion that prevails with Fechner and his school, that a powerful sensation is a multiple of a weaker one, by which the first can be measured. The stronger sensation is, says he, in comparison with the weaker one something wholly new; for, accurately considered, the intensity of a sensation is also of a qualitative nature. However, we are not by any means at liberty to infer from this that the measurement of psychical quantities is impossible. To appreciate this, it is first requisite that we should get clear ideas with respect to the psychological foundation of our physical measurements. The only foundation of these last is our muscular feeling, to this extent, that all measurement is founded on the measurement of quantities of space, time, and mass, and any estimate of the latter is only possible on the basis of the muscular feeling that enters as a factor in the conceptions involved. All physical measurement rests on the establishment, and therefore reproduction, of like muscular sensations; on exactly the same foundation rests also all measurement of psychical quantities, of intensities of sensation, and since this foundation is the same, for this very reason the same justification is due to the measurement of psychical intensity as is due to physical measurements. This is the foundation on which the psycho-physics of Münsterberg is raised, which for a fuller view must be studied in the third part of the “Beiträge” itself.

Chr. Ufer.

Altenburg, November, 1891.

DIVERSE TOPICS.

THE CLERGY’S DUTY OF ALLEGIANCE TO DOGMA AND THE STRUGGLE BETWEEN WORLD-CONCEPTIONS.

A late number of the Gegenwart of Berlin (Vol. xl, No. 30) contained an article by Mr. Eugene Schiffer, a German justice, on the subject “World-Conception and the Office of Judge,” in which attention was called to the fact that the performance of duties, not only in the pulpit but in all the professions, and preëminently in the dispensation of justice through the courts, depends upon and stands in a more or less close connection with some definite world-conception; thus showing that religion of some kind forms and must form the background of the practical life of society. He says:

“The Church demands of its disciples as an indispensable condition of serving her the confession of a certain world-conception; she requires that every one who intends to take upon himself her rights and duties, should in his inmost heart agree with her concerning the contents of her faith, especially concerning the dogmas on eschatology, on God and world, body and soul, the origin and end of things; and this is but a matter of course, for the essential part and also the foundation of her activity lie in these very doctrines and in their propagation. It is a hard and a severe demand. Although on the one hand the morally free fulfilment of her requests contains the germ of an harmonious development of life and promises an extraordinary concentration and elevation of all faculties, it leads on the other hand to serious conflicts, of which the pages of history not less than the experiences of our daily life exhibit innumerable and sad instances. We recollect the terrible spiritual struggles in the souls of those who commenced to doubt, and the outcome is generally a pitiful catastrophe, either submission and hypocrisy with the weak, or tribulation, renunciation, and ruin with those who thought higher of truth than of their worldly emoluments.

“Most of the other professions and trades know nothing of the indispensability of a certain world-conception. The merchant, the mechanic, the lawyer, the soldier, the teacher, the laborer, can upon the whole think concerning these highest problems of life as they please. An inner and ideal conflict between their views and their calling seems definitely excluded. Outer and practical conditions—such as administrative injunctions of a certain kind, the aspiration of progress, the ambition to be better off, etc.—may sometimes produce conflicts.

“Yet this character of indifference concerning a general world-conception which is found in the secular professions and trades does not bear the stamp of permanence. For ultimately the entire doing and achieving of every thinking man, so far as it rises above the mere vegetative functions, is intimately connected with that common world-conception which everywhere influences and guides him. This is unnoticeable so long as the harmony of the connection remains undisturbed, but it manifests itself in consciousness as soon as its harmony is threatened through some important change of any of its parts. Even to-day a deep-going change is preparing itself; even now the struggle about the world-conception is fought more severely and more bitterly than ever and a new doctrine goes far enough to uncover the ultimate roots of our civilisation, of our position in life, of our calling; it attacks and shakes the present world-conception.

“This implies the possibility of a conflict between the old and the new faith even outside the pale of the church, and this conflict may influence the choice of a calling. This possibility has become an imminent probability concerning the office of judge, especially the judge of a criminal court.

“The dispensation of justice rests to a great extent upon the presupposition of guilt and the criminal law of to-day is almost throughout built upon this idea of guilt. It is true that this view has not always been taken. The Greek law and the old Germanic law interfered even in the gravest cases exclusively on account of the objective state of things without taking into consideration the criminal intent of the defendant. But this view was superseded in the former case by the Roman, in the latter by the canonical law, both requiring the conception of a moral and a subjective guilt, and at present the criminal law of every civilised nation (with the sole exception of the Chinese who threaten with capital punishment him who accidentally kills no less than the intentional murderer) rests upon the foundation of a belief in guilt.

“But there is no room for guilt in the materialistic world-conception. Everything that happens, the activity of the human soul included is to be explained according to mechanical principles and thus the view that man’s will is not free is proposed as one of its fundamental doctrines. While in this way there is no possibility left that a man might have acted differently than he actually did, this view takes away his responsibility. And this movement which either cancels or weakens the momentum of guilt, has taken hold of the minds of men far beyond the circle of decided materialists.

“The foundation of our criminal law stands or falls with the idea of guilt. With it stands and falls also the office of the judge, whose duty is the dispensation and utilisation of justice. He who does not believe in the possibility of guilt cannot without inconsistency pronounce any one guilty. He who as a matter of principle or at least within certain not well defined limits denies the freedom of the human will can no longer serve as a judge, certainly not as a criminal judge.”

Justice Eugene Schiffer is a conservative man. He demands that for the protection of the old world-conception the office of judge should be carefully guarded against such intruders as are not in sympathy with the present world-conception. He says:

“Exactly as the church, in order to preserve herself and to guard against her theology being diluted into a watery philosophy of religion, is bound not to separate the conditions of her life from a definite world-conception, so also justice, in order to deserve its name, should oblige its servants to take a definite position toward the ultimate world-problems.... He who does not accept in his conviction the moral foundations of a certain calling, must not choose it, or if he has chosen it, he must renounce it—or he must in his profession act against his conviction—unless he risks being discharged from his office on account of a neglect of duties.”

We agree with Justice Schiffer in one most important point, viz., the intimate connection of religion with practical life and of our world-conception with all our doing and achieving. But we differ from him in another no less important point, viz., in the proposition to prevent the present world-conception from undergoing a further growth and higher evolution. His proposition is nothing less than to make humanity and all its institutions stationary.

Everything that exists has a natural right to defend its existence, and so has the present world-conception. But that which grows and develops out of the conditions of the present existence has also a natural right to attain existence. The ideal world of the “is to be” is not a non-existence, as it might appear to the unknowing, but a germ existence, and if there is no room for both the actual existence of the present state and the germ existence of a new state, a struggle will ensue. There are at present and always have been many spurious world-conceptions which if they overcame the present world-conception would lead humanity backward to the beginning of civilisation. Indeed most propositions of reform are reversals which would undo the results of evolution and reduce mankind to primitive conditions. The fermenting minds of those who still hope to cure all the ills and woes of society by one stroke, have not yet outgrown the idea of the perfection, nobility, and happiness of the so-called original state of nature,

Yet among all the plans of reform there is one which is correct, answering the wants of the time; and among all the world-conceptions which struggle to exist there is also one which is the legitimate outcome of the present world-conception. It is the present world-conception enlarged through additional experience and purified of certain errors. And it is an often repeated occurrence in history that the old and the new, father and son, have to fight with each other. The heir apparent either does not know that he is the child of his antagonist, or the latter the defendant of the present state does not know that he fights with his own son. This often repeated fact has found a mythological expression in the old Teutonic song of Hildebrand meeting in combat his son Hadubrand, a legend which in similar versions appears again in other Aryan sagas, the best known of which is the tale of Rustem’s struggle with Sohrab in Firdus’s great Iranian epic.

Can the struggle between the old and the new world-conception be avoided? No, it cannot and should not, for the new has to prove its legitimacy by showing its intrinsic strength; it must show that it has the power to exist. The struggle cannot be avoided, but the bitterness, the severity, the barbarity of the struggle can be avoided. Let Hildebrand and Hadubrand measure swords in a spiritual encounter, let the vanquished ideas yield to the stronger ideas, and they will prepare the gradual change of an evolution instead of the sudden rupture of a revolution.

Freedom of thought is always the best soil for a peaceful evolution but any system that binds the consciences of men and ties their ideas down to the average level of a certain age will be as dangerous as a boiler without a valve. There are periods of instability in history when the strengthening of the conservative spirit by imposing fetters upon the consciences of men appears useful and almost a condition for the development of some kind of a civilisation. This found expression in the historic legends of Lycurgus and Solon, binding their countrymen by oath not to alter the laws of the state. But these periods are after all ephemeral, and we ought to know by this time that we cannot bid the sun stand still or check the spirit of progress and the growth of mankind. There are nations which develop slowly because they rush into innovations, but there are other nations which have gone to the wall because of over-conservatism through which they were induced to suppress the freedom of thought and to deny the right of doubting the absolute validity of the prevailing world-conception.

The proposition of Justice Schiffer to bind the conscience of the judge by an oath of allegiance to that world-conception which is at present recognised as orthodox, is actually a law in the constitution of the church, and conflicts in the consciences of clergymen are of a common occurrence. The opinion that a clergyman who has ceased to believe in certain dogmas of his church has to resign this position is very common among freethinkers as well as orthodox believers. At first sight this seems to be the only choice left to a man of honesty and a lover of truth. I held this opinion myself for a long time. There is nevertheless another view of the subject which caused me to change my opinion entirely, and I am glad to perceive that such a man as Mr. Moncure D. Conway who held himself a position in the church and having grown more and more liberal has retired from active service, declares most emphatically that a clergyman who has grown liberal should not resign but stay in the church and wait till the church forces him to leave his position. This is an honest course, a clergyman has a right to pursue it and he will thereby open the eyes of his fellow-men; he will further the interests of mankind, and people will thus be enabled to judge better whether or not it is just to impose these burdens upon the pastors of the church.

Let us consider the case more closely. First, the oath which a young clergyman gives at his ordination is a promissory oath, and like all promissory oaths it holds good on the supposition that all the main conditions remain the same. If a man promises and binds himself by an oath to start to-morrow morning on a journey he does so on the supposition that it will be possible. So far as he can foresee it is possible, but incidents may happen which will make it impossible to-morrow. A promissory oath will be a weight on the conscience if it has to be broken, but it has no legal force. Thus soldiers swear an oath of allegiance to their king, and under ordinary circumstances there will be no cause for doubt as to the propriety of remaining faithful to the oath. But many cases of great perplexity will appear when a civil war splits a nation in twain so that brother stands against brother and faithfulness to the king may be the most degrading felony toward one’s highest and holiest ideals, perhaps also toward one’s bodily parents and nearest kin. Who does not recollect the sad end of Ludwig II, king of Bavaria. When the mind of the unfortunate monarch was too much deranged to leave him in possession of his royal power, a commission of several authorised men went to the castle where he resided to place him under the care of a physician. The king refused to receive the commission and ordered his faithful guards by whom he was surrounded to seize the commission, gouge out their eyes and treat them otherwise in the most outrageous way. The commission not being protected were for a moment in great danger, but happily the guards perceiving the seriousness of the situation did not execute the king’s orders and we might say,—broke their oath.

Did they really break their oath? No, they did not, for when they were sworn to obey their sovereign master and lord, it was supposed that the king was and would remain in his right mind. He became insane and this changed the situation entirely.

The oath of allegiance which the ministers of a church swear at their ordination is made in the bona fide conviction on both sides,—the church on the one side and the man that takes orders on the other side,—that the dogmas to which he pledges his troth are the truth. The oath holds good so long as a minister believes that the dogmas of the church are the truth; it still holds good so long as he considers it possible that they may be true. But the oath to believe them ceases to bind in the sense in which it was demanded as soon as a minister sees clearly that they are not true and that their truth is an actual impossibility. It ranks in the same category as the oath of allegiance to a sovereign who has become insane.

But the case is more complex still. If promissory oaths have no legal force because in certain cases a man would have to act against the letter of the oath, have these oaths no binding power whatever, as soon as a minister recognises the incongruity of the church belief with truth? I should say that they have a binding power, yet this binding power must be sought not in the letter but in the spirit of the oath.

One of the most prominent of juridical authorities, Prof. Rudolf von Jhering, has written a book entitled “Der Zweck im Recht.” He finds that all laws, all wills, all decrees have a purpose, and this purpose is their spirit. There are laws worded so badly that obedience to the letter of the law would under certain and unforeseen circumstances enforce exactly the contrary of that which the law was made for. Instances of this kind are of not an uncommon occurrence especially with regard to wills; testators and their legal advisors being often unable to formulate their intentions in a logical shape. Jhering maintains that a judge in construing a will, a decree, or a law has to find out the intention and purpose of the testator, the magistrate that gave the decree, or the legislator, and it is this intention or purpose with which his decisions have to agree. Supposing however that this purpose of a will or a law is wrong in itself or nonsensical, a judge has to construe it so that it will have sense. If the purpose is criminal the whole transaction is illegal, if it is irrational or illogical, it has to be interpreted so as to make it rational and logical. If it has reference to antiquated views, customs or institutions it has to be adapted to the corresponding modern views and to existing conditions.

An instance from practical life will explain the last point. There are many institutions in Northern Germany which were founded as cloisters or monasteries. The nuns and monks have been engaged partly in teaching, partly in attending to the sick, and in other useful purposes. The funds of these institutions exist still, and serve now those purposes directly which they have served formerly indirectly through the service of nuns and monks. Most of them are employed for the maintenance of schools, some of them as hospitals, others as homes for unmarried daughters of government officials or for homeless aristocratic ladies without means, etc. These changes have been wrought by history as the natural consequence of new conditions. Many of them were made in actual violation of the letter of the testators’ will; yet they were made bona fide with the intention to remain faithful to its spirit? The question is not what a testator intended his will to be half a millennium ago, but what he would intend it to be in the living present, knowing all the changes which the progress of the times have wrought and having progressed with the times.

Before we answer the question, What is the purpose of the minister’s oath? we should first see clearly, what is the purpose of the church. Is the purpose of the church really to be sought in the propaganda of some absurd dogmas? Or does not rather the preaching of these dogmas itself serve a purpose?

The dogmas of Christianity were some time ago supposed to be the indispensable instruments of ethical instruction. All the churches are educational institutions to inculcate the moral ought on the basis of a popular world-conception. The church of England for instance is a national institute and it is not true that one church party has the right to impose its religious conception upon the rest of the nation. When the church was founded some crude notions were taken to be absolute truths and no man can at the present time be required to believe these crudities. All institutions are conservative but most conservative are the courts of justice and the church. The conservatism of jurisprudence is characterised in the saying which appears to be its leading principle fiat justicia et pereat mundus. Jurisprudence too often forgets that the dispensation of justice serves the purpose of sustaining life, of promoting the general welfare and enhancing the prosperity of the community; it overlooks the spirit and clings to the letter.

Our justices are inclined to believe that if a new world-conception arises, (which by the bye will as we believe not be materialistic nor will it destroy the idea of moral responsibility, although it may change our views about guilt,) their whole system of jurisprudence will break down. They are afraid of a pereat justicia et vivat mundus. Justice Schiffer is not at all anxious to prove the truth of the old world-conception, he is satisfied with proving that the new world-conception is incompatible with the old view of justice. Criminal law means punishment and punishment presupposes the idea of guilt. He argues:

“The question remains whether the conflict between the new and the old world-conception could be avoided by adapting our views of justice to the new world-conception; yet this question is to be denied, for the notions of guilt and punishment belong to each other according to logical, ethical, and moral principles. To punish without assuming guilt is as nonsensical as it is immoral.”

It would lead us too far here to show that moral responsibility still subsists on the supposition of a strict determinism and that the criminal law with its punishments will not be abolished in the future. Yet there is no doubt that our views of punishment will have to be changed; indeed they have changed and how much they have changed, can be learned by a comparison of an execution of to-day with one of a few hundred years ago. The idea of punishment in the sense of inflicting pain as a retribution has gone and it has gone forever. There is no more burning of the criminal with hot irons, or twitching with hot tongs, or tearing out his tongue, or stretching on the wheel. The criminal is executed with as little pain to him as possible. Why this change? Because a new world-conception has entirely altered our views of punishment and it is going to alter them still more. Penology is not to be based upon sentimentality as some so-called philanthropists intend to do; nevertheless it is to and it will become humane because we have abandoned the old conception of guilt which as Justice Schiffer correctly states was a fundamental idea in the old jurisprudence, and this antiquated conception of guilt has partly but not as yet entirely been overcome.

The church is in a position similar to that of the criminal law courts. A change of our world-conception has set in and the church is not as yet adapted to the change. The church having found it necessary for its purpose of preaching ethics to insist on the belief in a world-conception which demonstrates a moral world order, now attempts to perpetuate certain errors of our ancestors’ conception of this moral world-order.

The oath of a clergyman having been asked and given bona fide on the supposition that the dogmas of the church were the truth, holds good still, but it must be construed as in similar cases a judge would have to construe a faulty will or an ill-worded law. It has to be construed in the spirit and not in the letter.

Clergymen who have grown liberal should not leave the church. It is their duty to stay in the church and to make their influence felt to broaden the spirit of the church. If the church removes them from their position, they yield to the authority at present in power, but they should not yield without a struggle, to be conducted on their part modestly but firmly, with reverence toward their authorities, with tact and decency, but fearlessly and bravely, for they are fighting not only for their personal interests but for the progress of mankind, they are fighting for the holiest treasures of the church—for truth.

The abolition of these burdens on the consciences of the clergy would be a natural consequence of repeated struggles. Let a pastor be bound to respect his church authorities, to obey them in all matters of administration, let him be bound to revere the ecclesiastical traditions of which he should never speak lightly, but do not prescribe to him a belief of any kind. Pledge him to serve the truth, to speak the truth and to live the truth; and that simple pledge will have more weight than the requirement to believe dogmas which, his superiors know but too well can no longer be believed literally but must be taken cum grano salis.

Christ says concerning the observances insisted upon by the Scribes and Pharisees: “They bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne: and lay them upon men’s shoulders.” This passage is applicable also to the present system of ordination. Christ’s saying is read in the churches and it is, as most of his words are, as new to-day as it was at his time, but who thinks of its application to our present system of burdening the consciences of men?

P. C.

A COMMENT BY PROF. F. MAX MÜLLER CONCERNING THE DISCUSSION ON EVOLUTION AND LANGUAGE.

To the Editor of The Monist:

I must thank you and Professor Romanes for the frank and searching criticism to which you have both subjected my article on “Thought and Language,” published in The Monist. You have shown that you care for truth and not for victory, and you have carefully abstained from any personal remarks which are so apt to embitter scientific controversy and in consequence to render its chief object, the discovery of more truth, illusory. We all have the same object, we all want to know what is true—why then should we not all work together, listen to friendly criticism, accept useful advice, confess our mistakes, and work as hard as we can in the special field allotted to each of us.

As soon as I find a little more leisure, I shall not fail to reply fully to both your articles. At present I only write to you to defend myself against an undeserved charge brought against me by Professor Romanes. I had said that Professor Romanes had no right to speak of men like Noiré, Huxley, Herbert Spencer, to say nothing of Hobbes, with an air of superiority. Professor Romanes replies that he never mentioned Mr. Herbert Spencer at all, that it would have been well for me, if, before condemning his supposed treatment of Herbert Spencer, Huxley, and Noiré, I had looked at his Index. This is a serious charge. It would show a want of accuracy unpardonable in a scholar. It is true, Mr. Herbert Spencer’s name does not occur in the Index. But on p. 230 we read: “So here again we meet with additional proof, were any required, of the folly of regarding the copula as an essential ingredient of a proposition.” Now it is well known that it is Mr. Herbert Spencer who regards the copula as an essential ingredient of a proposition. I have shown that the facts of language are against Mr. Herbert Spencer, but I should not therefore think it right to charge him with folly. This will show that if I wrote without Index, I did not write without book.

Yours truly,

F. Max Müller.

Oxford, Oct. 28, 1891.

BOOK REVIEWS.

Synoptiker. Apostelgeschichte. Bearbeitet von Professor H. J. Holzmann. Zweite verbesserte und vermehrte Auflage. Freiburg, i. B.: Akademische Verlagsbuchhandlung von J. C. B. Mohr. 1892.

This book is the first volume of the “Hand-Commentar zum Neuen Testament” edited by the Professors H. Holtzmann, R. A. Lipsius, P. W. Schmiedel, and H. v. Soden.

No better man could have been selected for the first part of this great work than Prof. H. J. Holtzmann, who is not only a theologian of most comprehensive scholarship but also has devoted his energies to this special subject. He has lectured regularly for a number of years at the university of Strassburg six or eight times weekly on the synoptic gospels and three times weekly on the Acts. The principle of his method has been laid down in a former work of his, viz. “Lehrbuch der historisch-kritischen Einleitung in das Neue Testament.” The present book contains an enormously voluminous material condensed into a comparatively small space of 448 pp. large octavo. The author being a theologian his attitude toward his subject is naturally reverent, paying an unreserved homage to the greatness of Jesus. Yet at the same time his investigations are strictly scientific and in accordance with the rules of criticism as employed in any historical investigation. It is no exaggeration to consider Professor Holtzmann’s work as representative in the highest degree; it embraces the most complete knowledge at present attainable and that too in a most concise form as a practical handbook with parallel tables and indexes of reference for students of the New Testament.

The author first formulates “the synoptic problem,” which has been solved after innumerable vain attempts by the so-called “Marcus-Hypothesis,” which is at present considered as satisfactory, because it alone fulfils every condition and explains all the difficulties. Holtzmann regards the figure of Christ as historical. The impression of his powerful personality was a living presence in the first congregation at Jerusalem. But all the interest centred in his words. The words of their Lord were faithfully preserved by oral tradition. Sentences so short and yet so pregnant with meaning as “Blessed are the peacemakers,” or “Ye are the salt of the earth,” “But let your communication be, Yea, yea: Nay, nay, etc.,” are so impressive that whoever has heard them once, will never forget them. The interest in the word was soon complemented by an interest in facts and events which was much later followed by an interest in dogma. The first differences among the Christians originated through the mission among the heathens. The gentile Christian became indifferent concerning the Jewish traditions and clung with all his religious enthusiasm to the Christ as his saviour. Christianity became a cosmic religion while the Jewish Christians still looked upon Christ as the Messiah of the people of Israel. The Jewish view of Christianity is represented by Matthew, the gentile view by Luke. Mark however does not show any development of dogma. According to Papias, the Apostle St. Peter had whenever it became necessary for an explanation of the words of Christ, occasionally told certain events of the life of Jesus; which were afterwards written down by Mark. We find in Mark, Matthew, and Luke the same building stones, but how differently arranged! Mark shows evidence of relating real facts of history, he begins with John the Baptist, tells us how Jesus became baptised, how he preached the kingdom of God; according to Mark, Jesus does not declare himself as the Messiah from the beginning. His activity grows by degrees, his disciples increase, he heals the sick, and it is from the mouth of these that he was first proclaimed as the Messiah. He becomes a power among the people and makes himself offensive to the authorities who consider him as dangerous and attempt to take his life. Jesus forbids those whom he heals to proclaim that he is the Messiah. He sends out his disciples not to preach him as the Messiah, but to proclaim the kingdom. At last in Peter the idea dawns that prompts him to declare: “Thou art the Christ.” Yielding before the persecution of his enemies, Jesus travels North and East and here he accustoms himself to the idea of a suffering son of man. His self-confidence increases and he travels courageously to Jerusalem where, as he could foresee, he would meet his fate. The drama of his life culminates in his word “ἐγώ εἰμι” (1462) in which he reveals his self-consciousness as being the Messiah. Being triumphantly hailed in Jerusalem by people of Galilee and such as believed in him he hastened his doom. It is not likely that Jesus could have publicly been held to be the Messiah for any length of time, for the Roman police was wont to suppress such movements without discrimination. They did not stop to investigate the case as to the character or motive of the movement whether or not it was purely religious or political. They never tolerated any “son of David” or “king of Israel” who held any influence over large masses of the people.