Volume 3 — THE MONIST. (continued 3)

The action of a mind depends upon the meaning of certain symbols. A written or spoken word has a special meaning, and this meaning becomes the determinant factor of mind action. The meaning of a word is not a piece of matter, neither is it a motion. It is something sui generis. I do not say that there is any inexplicable mystery connected with it. On the contrary, wonderful as the fact is, it is not mysterious; it does not stand in contradiction to any other fact of nature. Symbols stand for something; they indicate, denote, or signify something. This significance is called their meaning; and mind is a system of symbols in states of awareness.

Now, neither states of awareness are mechanical, nor is the meaning of words anything mechanical. How can we hope for a mechanical explanation either of the soul or the mind or of any mental action?

Suppose, for instance, a general receives a message containing a few words. He opens the paper, he reads it, and all on a sudden, his mind is in a tumult of excitement. What is it that produces the excitement? Is it any motion? Yes! In a certain sense, it is a motion: it is the reading of the paper. This is the cause. Yet not the reading as such excites his consternation. He might read other messages all the day long without any such an effect. Plainly, the causative element of the cause is not the reading, not the motions of which the reading consists, not the shape of the written characters and their combinations in groups, called words. It is something more subtle even than that. It is the significance of the writing. It is the meaning of the written characters. It is the purport that is attached to the word-symbols.

The origin of mind accordingly introduces a factor which has nothing to do with mechanics; and the simplest psychical reflexes, including those physiological reflexes which we must suppose to have originated by conscious adaptation and then been submerged into unconsciousness, cannot be explained from mechanical or physical laws alone.

SPONTANEITY.

While we thus reject the conception of the mechanical philosophy and also of materialism, we do not say that there are motions either in the brain or anywhere else which form exceptions to the laws of mechanics. The laws of mechanics hold good for all motions. The laws of mechanics are formal laws: they do not explain why bodies gravitate; but they describe how they gravitate; and the latter is much more useful to know than the former. There is (as we conceive it) no deep secret in the problem why bodies gravitate; they gravitate because they possess a quality which attracts them to each other with a force directly as their masses and inversely as the squares of their distances. In a word, gravity is the intrinsic nature of masses, it is an inalienable part of their existence. Thus whenever bodies gravitate, we are confronted with an act of spontaneity.

Attempts have been made to explain gravitation without the assumption of spontaneity, by the pressure of an atom-surrounding ether. But that only defers the question; for the spontaneity, in that case, would have to be placed in the ether. Whatever be the merits of the explanations of gravitation by a vis a tergo, we must recognise the fact that no motion can take place in the world, no pressure can be exercised, without there being somewhere some spontaneous something that moves or presses. Spontaneity is a universal feature of nature.

Mr. Peirce uses the term “spontaneity” in a different sense from ours. He identifies spontaneity with absolute chance. He means by it the irregularities that arise without cause, thus producing departures from law. We call that action spontaneous which is not due to external influence but springs from the nature of the things in action.

Spontaneous is derived from the Latin spons, “will,” which as a noun was obsolete at the classical period of Roman literature and occurred only in such forms as sponte, “of one’s own will, of one’s own accord.” If a man acts of his own will, free from and not biassed by the influence of other men, his action is spontaneous. A free man’s action is not arbitrary, unless arbitrariness⁠[15] be the character of the man; it is not an exception to law; it is, if the character of the man is known, calculable in advance, for every free action is spontaneous: it springs immediately from the character of the man; it is the direct expression of his will; it reveals the nature of his very being, thus showing the man himself, and not something beyond or outside of him.

Taking the word spontaneity in this sense, we say: Masses gravitate spontaneously; they are self-moving; their motion is due to their gravity, and gravity is their intrinsic nature.

Exactly as the laws of mechanics explain the “how” of motions but not why there is motion at all, the “why” depending upon the nature of each moving body, so the “how” of the brain-motions is explicable by mechanical laws, but the “why” depends upon the nature of the moving material. The brain-atoms are possessed of the same spontaneity as the atoms of a gravitating stone. Yet there is present an additional feature; there are present states of awareness, and these states of awareness possess meaning, both of which are items which the chemist cannot find by chemical analysis. Neither states of awareness nor their meanings can be weighed on any scales, be they ever so delicate, nor are they determinable in foot-pounds.

Yet while mechanics is not applicable to mental facts, the realm of mentality is by no means to be surrendered to indeterminism. Mr. Peirce describes the domain of mind as the absence of law and the prevalence of absolute chance, of an indetermined and indeterminable sporting. This is not so. While the fact must be recognised that the nature of the mind is not something mechanical, its action is nevertheless determined by laws—not by mechanical laws, but by psychical and mental laws. These psychical and mental laws are in one respect of exactly the same nature as mechanical laws; they describe the samenesses of certain facts of reality. And the facts of the ideal domain of thought, the facts of subjectivity, are no less real than the grosser facts of mechanical motion, which are the facts of objectivity.

The term mechanical is often used in the sense of “lacking life or spirit” (“Century Dictionary,” p. 3679). This is justifiable in so far only as when we speak of mechanical phenomena we do not mean psychical or any other phenomena. It is true that that which makes this or that idea respond to a certain stimulus is not a mechanical but a mental quality, but the action itself, in so far as it is a motion, is and remains mechanical. Thus it happens that the laws of mechanics, far from being anti-spiritual, are the means by which we learn to understand and objectively to represent the action of mental phenomena.

In this connection attention may be called to the efforts of modern logicians to construct thinking machines which will perform the work of mental operations in a purely mechanical way. You propose the problem by adjusting certain indicators; then you turn the crank, and the machine does the rest. The results will come out with unfailing exactness.

The attempt made to construct thinking machines cannot as yet be called successful. Nevertheless they are not impossibilities. Calculating machines of various constructions are in practical use and doing satisfactory work, not only in addition and subtraction but also in multiplication and division, and even in extracting roots and in raising numbers to higher powers. Calculations are undoubtedly one kind of thought, and if calculations can be performed by machines, there is no theoretical reason why we should not be able to construct logical machines, which shall perform the operations of deductive and even of inductive thought with perfect accuracy.

CONCLUSION.

Determinism does not make freedom impossible and natural laws do not suppress the spontaneity of nature.

Natural laws are not a power forcing a certain mode of action upon things; they are not an oppression of nature. Natural laws are simply a description of nature as nature is. There is no “must” in nature in the sense of compulsion, as if there were two things, (1) a master (i. e. the law) giving a command, and (2) a slave (i. e. the single facts) obeying the command. The situation is not dualistic, but monistic. There is an “is” in nature, and this “is” is constant. There is a certain sameness in nature. In spite of all changes it remains the same; and thus even the apparent irregularities preserve throughout an unvarying consistency. The facts of nature express the character of nature; they are nature herself. Briefly, the “is” of nature (if we are permitted to personify her) does not describe that which nature must do, but that which nature wills to do; it describes how she acts spontaneously, of her own free will, in conformity with her innermost being and consistently with her permanent character.

The main difference that obtains between the actions of inanimate nature so-called and rational beings is not the absence and presence of spontaneity, (for spontaneity is in both,) but the absence and presence of mind: and mind is not only the subjectivity of existence; mind is not merely sentiency, i. e. the awareness of feelings; mind is the representative symbolism of subjectivity.

There are sufficient reasons to assume that all objective existence, which appears to us as matter in motion, possesses a subjectivity, the nature of which depends upon the mode of the interaction of its elements. This subjectivity appears in organised substance as feeling and develops naturally into mind.

The essence of nature, accordingly, is not materiality, but spirituality. Materiality is the character of nature as it affects sentient beings; but its innermost self, as it were, its subjectivity, its psychical aspect is revealed in the appearance of the spirit-life of rational beings—of minds.

While we fully recognise the spirituality of nature as nature’s innermost essence and as an ineradicable feature of reality, we cannot with Mr. Peirce place mind at the beginning of the world. There is a great difference between spirituality and mind. One is the source and condition of the other. One is permanent, the other is transient. One is the abstract view of a universal quality of the world, eternal and everlasting, as much indestructible as matter and energy; the other is an individual formation that originates, grows, and develops; that can be broken and built again; that dies with the body and rises again in new generations; that decays, as the foliage of the trees falls in winter, yet reappears, as the verdure reappears in spring; for the life of nature is immortal.

Mr. Peirce, regarding determinism as that view which does not recognise the freedom of will, has an original and in our conception a wrong view on the one hand of natural laws, which are to him mere habits acquired by the world, and on the other hand of chance, or arbitrary sportiveness, (i. e. that which is not determinable by law,) which he identifies with mind and with the spontaneity of freedom. Mind is to him the beginning of all. Mind remains mind, according to his view, so long as it is irregular, producing out of its own undetermined being sporadic effects without order or consistency. As soon as mind takes to habits, it grows mechanical; by creating regularity it disappears; and the result is matter in motion according to mechanical laws. Matter, accordingly, is said to be “effete mind.” Law in our view is the divinity of nature; according to Mr. Peirce it is the termination of nature’s irregularities: it comes to suppress her freedom and to supplant her mentality by mechanicalism. An element of pure chance, however, survives, which, appears in the free will of man, in miracles, and in nature’s irregularities, and this element of pure chance will remain until in the infinitely distant future, mind becomes crystallised into an absolutely perfect, rational, and symmetrical system. Such is in brief Mr. Peirce’s view of the rôle played by mind in the world-process.

Mr. Peirce’s views of chance and law seem to come to the rescue of certain theological dogmas, which represent the world-order as the product of a divine mind. We doubt very much whether Mr. Peirce’s position be tenable even from the standpoint of the scientific theologian. For the order of the world, as it appears in natural laws, must be, and is recognised even by the theist, as part and parcel of God’s eternal being. The scientist who formulates sub specie aeternitatis certain facts of nature, say the “how” of gravitating bodies, describes a certain quality of God himself; he describes something that is immutable, eternal, everlasting; it is not the whole of God, but it is certainly one feature of Jahveh, of that which is, was, and will be as it is.

In contradistinction to Mr. Peirce, we recognise, that the regularity of the whole is preserved in the specificalness of its individual particulars, that there are samenesses in this world of changes and diversities, and that if all reality is regarded as being essentially the same throughout, all the diversities and apparent irregularities can very well be explained as resulting from peculiar forms, combinations, and relations. Furthermore, we recognise that natural laws are compatible with the spontaneity of nature and that the necessity with which a free man acts according to his character, does not reverse his freedom of will.

Nature is self-acting throughout; nature is free; even inanimate nature is spontaneous. But a higher freedom rises with the appearance of mind. And there are degrees of this higher freedom which can be determined with great exactness, for they correspond to the range of the mentality of each creature. Mentality develops by the observation of samenesses, and it reaches rationality by the recognition of natural laws. The recognition of natural laws is a view of some natural phenomena in their eternal aspect, and we call them truths. So much is natural law and freedom interconnected that the recognition of natural laws widens the range of freedom; and obedience to them raises man out of his dependence upon his surroundings to a state of dominion over the creation in which he becomes the master of natural forces.

What a deep significance lies in the saying of the apostle: “The truth shall make you free!”

Editor.

FOOTNOTES:

LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE

I. RECENT EVOLUTIONARY STUDIES IN GERMANY.

Since Darwin’s death, his theory, which in Germany more than elsewhere received its development, has but few decisive steps in advance to point to, even though the circle of its adherents has been enlarged and though in many respects and in special directions it has been rendered more complete and placed upon a firmer foundation. It is a gratifying fact, that most, if not all, of the recent discoveries in zoology, palæontology, and particularly in developmental history, are easily and completely reconcilable with the principles originally established; so that the views which we have reached on this subject have lost more and more the characters of a purely hypothetical fabric.

But the accurate investigations of developmental history have unquestionably furnished the most important material in proof of the theory in question, and the principles established in this department, in the main the results of the labors of German investigators (E. von Baer, Fritz Müller, E. Haeckel), have been verified in a truly surprising manner.

It is true that Darwin himself in no way undervalued the importance of the results of the studies in question, but how little the facts known at the time of the enunciation of his theory of natural selection sufficed, is most clearly proved by the fact that E. von Baer and Louis Agassiz, who at that time were perhaps the greatest authorities in embryology, assumed a hostile attitude towards the new Darwinian theory. Agassiz’s combination of the points of agreement of palæontology and embryology, his explanation of extinct forms as “prophetic types,” proved a veritable hindrance to the perception of the truth, and Carl Vogt, who was his co-worker at that time, appears to have been the last to set up any opposition to the “fundamental biogenetic principle,” that the development of the individual repeats in an abbreviated form the history of his race. Vogt, formerly the champion of advanced views, appears to-day as the leader of the small band of the opposition.

If we compare the recently published fourth edition of Haeckel’s Anthropogeny, 1891, and the eighth edition of his History of Creation, with the early editions, we cannot help remarking, with considerable astonishment, despite the enormous increase of fresh material, the fact that little in the old plans and principles of the work needs correction. Even the bold generalisations, the inference as to the identity of form of the original beginnings of all of the middle or higher classes of animals, the “Gastræa Theory” of Haeckel, at first so violently opposed, the stress laid upon the equivalence of the blastoderms in the various orders of animals, nay, even many of the animal genealogies, really only asserted as a working hypothesis, have stood the test beyond all expectation; although Du Bois-Reymond insinuated that the pedigrees of the heroes of Homer were more worthy of credit. To appreciate the complete victory of these ideas one need but refer to the discourse On Recapitulation in Embryology with which A. Milnes Marshall opened the meeting of the Biological Section of the British Natural History Society at Leeds, September, 1890.

The very conspicuous irregularities in the formation of organised bodies, which formerly were regarded as monstrosities, or as the freaks and riddles of the formative instinct, the hare-lips, the cleft palates, cases of microcephaly, etc., or the conspicuous want of symmetry in the physical structure of the plaice and sole, formerly made use of by Mivart and Schimper as unassailable counterproofs of Darwin’s doctrines, have shaped themselves into the most decisive verifications of his theory; as in fact, generally, a number of the most splendid evidences of the correctness of the theory have, as the result of exact investigations in organic evolution, proceeded from the most obstinate of its supposed difficulties. Thus, for example, as proof that birds are far removed from the other classes of vertebrates, the circumstance had been cited that certain parts connected with the visual organs are in them situated at the side of the brain, instead of on the dorsal surface, as is the case with the other vertebrates. But a more exact observation has shown that this variation in formation is a secondary result, since in each previous period of development these same organs in the young birds lie, exactly as in the case of the other vertebrates, on the dorsal surface, and only shortly before leaving the egg do they move downward to the sides. In many cases where the development of parts preservable in fossil conditions is under consideration, as for instance portions of the skeleton, the hard integuments, and the teeth, a direct proof may, by comparison, be furnished of the truth of the fact of the correspondence of the embryological formations of living animals with the final and permanent forms of their extinct representatives, a fact which was indeed acknowledged by Agassiz and Vogt, but completely misunderstood. We need only to recall to mind the exact parallelism which Alexander Agassiz and Neumayer have demonstrated to exist in the case of echinoderms, Huxley, Marsh, and others in the formation of the wings of birds, the pelvis of birds, or the hoofs of horses, in order to stamp this view as one that cannot be refuted.

Nevertheless, those opposed to this view, as Carl Vogt, His, Heufen, and others, have not abandoned their position as a hopeless one, and in recent years have relied particularly upon those cases which Haeckel, and before him, Fritz Müller, characterised as a falsification (cenogenesis⁠[16]) or a supplementary alteration and abbreviation of the natural process of development. “Nature is no falsifier,” these opponents proclaim with emphasis, and everything it does is correct and true, and “this false heart alone brings untruth and deceit into the true heaven,” they cry with Wallenstein. People who rely on verbal sophistries merely betray thereby their want of valid counter-arguments. A mala fides on the part of nature can of course never be the subject of discussion among reasonable beings, but a deviation in the process of development of certain varieties from the typical path of the development of the remaining varieties of the species, is felt as a falsification by every investigator who has thoroughly studied the regular processes, for the reason that it has a tendency to obscure the original facts. Thus, for example, in the embryos of certain vertebrates the æsophagus is temporarily completely closed, as Balfour has observed in young sharks, Bles and Marshall in frogs; and this state of affairs may well be considered as a falsification, since an animate being with a closed æsophagus is a natural contradiction, which can never have existed and here happens as a supplementary and temporary process.

As a rule such deviations from the normal course may be classified as consequences of a prolonged residence of the animal germs in the egg or in the womb, the result of which is that owing to the presence of an abundant quantity of nourishing yolk, or through direct connection with the circulatory system of the mother, they in the early stages of their development are relieved of the necessity of acquiring nourishment through their own efforts, and therefore all the contrivances necessary to that purpose may be dispensed with. For this reason we find the primitive processes of development, as Professor Sollas has lately shown, most frequently preserved in marine animals which have never changed nor abandoned their element in the course of the history of their species, in the case of which, therefore, no occasion could ever have arisen for supplementary changes in the process of their development. Much more frequently do we meet with this change in the case of fresh-water animals, for often the rapid currents of their elements, for example a river, will not suffer these to leave the egg in any very helpless larval condition, and in addition fresh water is subject to other unfavorable changes, as the drying up of streams. Also the larvæ of carnivorous animals, which from the very beginning of independent life need more strength to acquire their means of existence, are so completely developed in the richly provisioned eggs in which they take their form, that they emerge therefrom in an almost perfected state of being, as, for example, young sharks and cephalopods. In this kind of animal life, as well as in the case of forms which are brought forth alive from the parent, although they see the light of day much later, comparatively, there takes place not only a great abbreviation of the first stages of existence in the entering upon a more direct path of development, but also changes occur in the form of the original designs because of the limitation of room due to the presence of yolk in the egg, the reason for which is easy to perceive. In many other cases the mechanical cause of the change in development can be directly recognised; for example, in the case of, the tree-toad of the Antilles (Hylodes marticinensis), which, owing to the absence of pools lasting through the dry season, is obliged of necessity to remain in the egg during its tadpole stage, that is to say, to skip this stage, as it were; for which reason the formation of external gills in its case is entirely omitted.

The explanation of the origin of new organs seemed at first to afford an insuperable difficulty to the Darwinian theory, since, as Mivart objected, it was not possible to perceive how natural selection could be able to effect the formation of new organs unless they executed corresponding functions from the very beginning. This difficulty, however, has been completely overcome by the theory of altered functions (Functionswechsel) which was first proposed by Dorhn, and particularly in recent years by Kleinenberg. According to this theory, in all these cases we have simply to deal with a gradual change in form of already existing organs, which, originally being used to perform one set of functions, are modified so as to perform another. Thus the later developed organs of mastication and the feelers of insects were originally organs of locomotion, legs; and these in the still earlier stages of creeping motion performed appropriate functions as the crooked appendages of the body-rings. The wings of birds were, in their progenitors, forelegs; the tongue of air-breathing vertebrates originated from the fish-bladder, which before that was chiefly an organ of swimming.

The knowledge thus acquired of the natural connection of the processes of evolution also explains, according to Kleinenberg, why organs which are at present completely useless, must yet necessarily appear in the formation of the embryo; for example, the gill-openings in the higher classes of vertebrates, which have no functions to perform at any stage of vertebral development, and which furnished Meckel the first intimation of the fundamental biogenetic law. But as soon as it was explained that the gill-openings furnished the foundation of the development of later-appearing organs with actual functions to perform, it was rendered clear why they should continually recur; namely, because they form the indispensable links of a chain which extends from the dim past of the type in question down to the present time.

There is no doubt that profounder researches in evolutionary history will furnish still more important results: for instance, the more perfect elucidation of the pedigree of mammals; for in this province even our domestic animals are not sufficiently investigated. Every new effort in this direction, for example the recent work of Klever on the evolution of the teeth of the horse, and other investigations concerning the formation of special organs, has invariably shown that much in this field yet remains to be discovered. We have only to recall to mind the recent investigations relating to the development of the pineal gland, which in the last decennium have also led to the discovery of a rudimentary occipital eye, which seems to have actually existed and performed functions in numerous early representatives of the vertebrates, but to-day is simply a fact of history, and has given rise to an organ which Descartes considered as the seat of the soul. We may here also refer to the recent investigations concerning the earlier developmental stages of the duckbills, which have completely confirmed what the theory asserted in advance and required; namely, that they fill the vacancy between the egg-laying reptiles and the mammalia which bring forth their young alive.

Only a few years ago Carl Vogt vehemently opposed the opinion of the duckbills being transitional types, and sought to explain their inferior stage of organisation, which is also evidenced in their low blood temperature, as the results of a stunting process (degeneration, so called). They formed a degenerated branch of marsupials, nothing more. Later, the remarkable yet long anticipated fact was revealed by Haacke and Caldwell, 1884, that the duckbills are egg-laying mammals, a character which certainly could not have been acquired through degeneration, but which simply shows that they are closely related to extinct reptilian forms. In one other respect, namely, with regard to their supply of teeth, the process of degeneration must indeed be admitted. On this point, Poulton and Thomas discovered a few years ago that in their early stages they really do possess true teeth, which, however, just as in the case of certain carnivorous cetacea, later completely disappear, and are replaced by a sort of horny teeth. This, however, is really not a true degeneration, but rather a special adaptation, doubtless beneficial to the animal in some way or other; and with as little reason as we may regard birds as a degenerated race in comparison with their progenitors, because they have lost the numerous teeth which these possessed, with just as little reason can we hold that the duckbills, in their general organisation, have suffered any retrogression worth mentioning. On the contrary, the recent investigations of Marsh and Lemoine concerning the mammals of the Jurassic and Cretaceous periods point more and more distinctly to the conclusion, that there existed among these mammals a very large number which possessed the same degree of organisation as the duckbills of to-day, now represented by only a few species; a supposition which the adherents of the theory of evolution made twenty-five years ago. I do not know that the pedigrees of the heroes of Homer have been so well preserved!

In many other directions, however, speculation of late years in Germany has considerably digressed from the facts of experience and from all probability; especially with reference to the questions of propagation, variation, and heredity. Here, first of all, are to be mentioned the works of Weismann, Ueber die Continuität des Keimplasmas (1885), Die Bedeutung der sexuellen Fortpflanzung für die Selectionstheorie (1886), Der Rückschritt in der Natur (1886), Die Bedeutung der Richtungskörperchen für die Vererbungstheorie (1887), Die Hypothese der Vererbung von Verletzungen (1889), and Ueber Amphimixis (1891).

If we revert to the beginnings of this movement we shall find that it is intimately connected with the more exact study of the processes of fecundation as perfected through the researches of Strassburger, the Hertwigs, and other investigators. In connection with the ideas of Nägeli concerning the so-called idioplasm, the notion was reached that the matter determinative of heredity was contained in the nucleoli, and that by the union of the paternal and maternal nucleoli the sum-total of the parental hereditary tendencies is transmitted to the offspring. This view was to a certain degree verified by the experiments of the brothers Hertwig in removing the nucleoli of the eggs of the sea-urchin; the result being that eggs containing the nucleoli alone, furnished, through artificial impregnation, results resembling the female parent, whereas eggs from which the nucleoli had been removed, furnished germs completely corresponding to the traits of the male parent.

Other processes of fecundation, to which we shall soon recur, had since 1876 produced the impression in the minds of a number of naturalists that the germ-material led an independent life in the bodies of organisms, that it possessed only an internal development, and required from the body nothing but nourishment in order to multiply itself, and to develop its internal powers uninfluenced by the various vicissitudes of the body. In the year 1876 Gustav Jaeger in Germany, and Francis Galton, a cousin of Darwin, almost at the same time in England, called attention to the observation made some time previously, that in certain animals, particularly in insects, the development of the egg into the young offspring begins with the withdrawal of a small portion of the germ from the component substance of the embryo, which remains at first unchanged and only later multiplies. This observation was generalised and accepted. At the commencement of every sexual multiplication the germ-substance, after impregnation, is divided into two parts, according to its future purpose; an ontogenetic or personal part, out of which the body is built up, and a phylogenetic or germinal part, which at first is stored up unused in the individual, but later furnishes new germ-cells. This idea led Weismann to his view of the continuity of the germ-plasm, which forms an unbroken line of descent from the first beginnings of the species and which is simply nourished by the organisms in which it has its temporary abode. From this germ-plasm spring secondarily the cells that go to make up the body (soma); but from these soma-cells no new germ-cells can originate, and consequently none of its inherent or adscititious qualities are capable of transmission. The somatic cells make up the mortal and perishable forms of life, while the germ-cells alone insure the further existence and immortality of the race.

It is easy to perceive that these views, if they could be maintained, would completely transform the Darwinian theory. Since, if the somatic cells, that is, the body-parts of animals and plants, with all their adaptations to soil and climate, to definite modes of life, etc., are to be deprived of every power to transmit hereditary characters, then the so-called Lamarckian theory, which should really bear the name of Erasmus Darwin, would be deprived of every foundation which it possesses. Neither the increase in strength of the members of the body, acquired by use and practice, nor their weakness created by their non-use could be inherited; and in just as small a degree could changes caused by external influences, bodily injuries, sickness, entail consequences which were inheritable. This being the case, then also all those views would be untenable which seek to explain the important effects of time as the result of the accumulation and augmentation of the minute impressions of the external environment. If the variations which are generated by means of external influences are not capable of transmission, then the direct adaptation must commence at the beginning in the case of every following generation; an accumulation is impossible.

We can observe, however, in every particular case, the complete harmony in which every living being exists with its surroundings and mode of life; and observe in closely related species the most various adaptations to the elements in which they live: climate, food, nay, even to the particular companions with which they associate; with the result that many plants have shaped the structure of their flowers to conform to the physical anatomy of the insect which ordinarily effects their fertilisation, and that animals assume the figure and form of some associate who is safe from hostile assaults, or even completely adopt different modes of life where it is necessary to enter a life-partnership with a strange animal or plant. But, granting that the most widely extended capability of adaptation is a thing of daily experience, there still arises the question how we shall explain this quality, which can only be brought about by slow degrees, without taking into account the factor of heredity in the transmission of acquired qualities. The theory of Weismann attempts this, in that it takes for granted an infinite variability in the germ-formative materials, and guides the new forms and variations thus begotten into the really true path, that is, into the most successful paths, through the process of natural selection (that is, through the survival of the fittest as regards environment and all other things). According to this doctrine, external circumstances have no direct influence whatever upon the variation of species, as Erasmus Darwin, Lamarck, and the founder of the theory of natural selection and all his followers up to that time supposed, but we have to have recourse to a pure theory of natural selection, and call to our aid an, even now, rather obscure phenomenon, occurring in connection with sexual impregnation, which has been called “the expulsion of the polar bodies,” an extrusion of minute qualities of germ-plasm from the germ-cells while in union. By the processes of crossing, which continually recur, a vast number of the most manifold hereditary tendencies are united in the germ-material. Then certain of these are ejected, so that others acquire supremacy; and in this manner the way is opened for the origination of a vast number of possible combinations. In this way the path is clear to a theory of perfect mechanical variability, in which the germ-material has only to transmit the characters which spontaneously arise in it, and yet affords an investigator endowed with any imagination the possibility of understanding the origin of the great variety and final purpose of the world. It is Frohschammer’s “principle of the imagination as the creator of the world” translated into comprehensible formulæ. The simplicity thus reached by the elimination of all direct influences from the external world, has won the adherency of many investigators following in Darwin’s steps, particularly in England; but whilst Wallace, Galton, Ray Lankester, and others have expressed their full assent to it, other and not less eminent authorities, as Herbert Spencer, Haeckel, Fritz Müller, and Virchow, have emphatically rejected it.

The reasons in favor of this assumption are, as is indeed the whole view itself, mainly of a theoretical nature; the arguments of the opposition are divided into philosophical and experiential propositions. The philosophical opposition is mainly based on the fact that, from the very beginning, there is assigned to the germ-material, as it unceasingly continues its existence, an infinite variety of capacities which the external world cannot affect, and that all progress and advancement takes place as the result of the loss of the originally endowed powers and tendencies. On this theory a family of acrobats or race-horses would not acquire their powers through the gradual augmentation by practice of their feats of skill and endurance, but because these powers were originally resident in them, and every factor incompatible with them was gradually eliminated. On the other hand, these views approach in a dangerous degree to the theories of predestination and preformation, the overthrow of which has been justly regarded as one of the greatest advances of science.

Still more important must be considered the objections of empirical science, which up to this time was completely convinced of the heredity of acquired qualities. Popular experience, as well as that of physicians, universally speaks of inherited disease-germs, and in certain cases, particularly in mental diseases, physicians are so thoroughly convinced of their inheritability that the first question put to the relatives of such sufferers usually is whether the disease has ever appeared in the parents or family of the patient. This fact is so deeply grounded in the general belief, that the modern naturalistic school of novelists, the school of Zola, Ibsen, and their associates, are wont to devote their main efforts to the problem of inherited evils. Now the inheritability of certain evil conditions, even though proved, would not by any means be an absolute disproof of Weismann’s theory; for, inclined as much as we may be to derive diseases from mistakes and sins against a natural mode of life, such as colds, drunkenness, dissipation, mental and bodily over-exertion, we yet cannot deny a priori that blastogenic diseases, or diseases originating in the germ-plasm, may exist, which without any doubt would then be transmissible. It also does not lie beyond the realms of possibility that congenital malformations, such as hare-lips, supernumerary fingers, and the defects which show a remarkable disposition to heredity, fall into this category. These blastogenic germs of disease would then, of course, have to be distinguished from the somatogenic diseases (or the diseases produced in the body by external causes), which never could be inherited.

From this point of view the question as to the hereditary consequences of external injuries has given rise to great efforts to prove experimentally the truth of this belief, which has existed for centuries. In almost every part of the globe we meet with the assertion that hornless cattle, such, for example, as are bred in South America, or the tailless cats of the Isle of Man, or other domestic animals with similar deficiencies, are descended from a progenitor which lost its horns or its tail through disease or other mishap. Since now, recently, similar assertions have again been put forward to the effect that tailless cats are found among the descendants of feline progenitors who have been robbed of their posterior ornaments by an act of violence, and these cases have been discussed in connection with the pangenesis theory of Darwin, according to which each part of the body is believed to supply material contributions to the germ-plasm, Weismann determined to institute experiments on this point. He started the breeding of white mice whose tails were regularly cut off, without finding as a result, from among 840 young ones derived from such mutilated progenitors, a single one having a malformation or missing tail. However, even this experiment cannot be regarded as an absolute proof, as it at first view might seem, and the negative result was foreseen by the writer of these lines. It is a clear conclusion that if in the case of many vertebrates, for example, salamanders and lizards, as well as in the case of most invertebrates, missing limbs and tails are renewed in the course of their lifetime, it would indeed be very remarkable if their renewal should not take place, at least in the case of the complete rejuvenation of new birth.

Darwin himself had concluded, from his own experience and that of others, that injuries and similar inflicted acts of violence are the cause of hereditary consequences only in cases where they bring about some long-continued and wasting disease, and thus produce some permanent effect on the bodily constitution. For this reason, especially injuries to main nerve-tracts in parts near the centres are readily accompanied by hereditary consequences, because they interfere with the nutrition of the members supplied by them. Brown-Séquard has observed in a great number of cases of guinea pigs whose nerve-roots he had severed, that the offspring of the animals operated upon developed diseases of the eyes, ears, and other organs which conformed regularly to the character of the operation, and could therefore be predicted; and also noted malformations and deficiencies, amounting even to the complete disappearance of the eye-balls, such as never arise or have been observed in these animals without violent interference. His positive results regarding the hereditability of the evil consequences of disturbing operations have a decided advantage in numbers and scope over the negative results of Weismann; and it is not clear how the belief in the non-hereditability of somatic conditions will accommodate itself to them.

But if conditions of the body produced by such sudden interferences have under certain circumstances entailed hereditary consequences, how much more should we expect this same result from slowly effected constitutional changes, which external influences, working uninterruptedly for hundreds of years, bring about in an organism which has been transported into a new element, into new surroundings, or into a different climate. Not at all infrequently does the coming together and union of two new organisms beget hereditary changes which can be explained only through the direct influence of the one upon the other. Thus, for example, in the case of plants in hot countries which are protected against the assaults of leaf-devouring ants by body-guards of smaller ants, and also in species of quite different families, as, for example, in Cecropia of the order Euphorbiaceæ, and in some Triplaris species among the Polygonaceæ, we find little chambers, approachable through small openings in the stems, which serve the ants protecting the plants as dwelling and breeding places. Are we to believe now, in regard to this fact, that these plants, so different in their nature, have produced through voluntary variations the stems which contain these openings, or are we to believe we have to deal here with openings acquired through inheritance which originally were bored in the stems by the ants at the most appropriate points? Surely the first conclusion, which would uphold Weismann’s theory, has but a very slight degree of probability in its favor, whilst the latter, which would overthrow his view, is very highly probable. And such examples could be cited in great numbers.

It is also to be remembered that the power of variation is not exhibited solely in sexually created individuals, as it should be according to Weismann’s theory, but frequently also in non-sexual multiplication, where no amphimixis (mingling) occurs. It is well known that the majority of the sporting varieties of our trees, for example, Fagus sanguinea, and the so-called weeping varieties, that is, abnormal varieties with pendent twigs, forms with split, spotted, or white leaves, are wont first to appear on single branches of old trees, in which the continuity of the protoplasm unquestionably existed, but no amphimixis or extrusion of the polar bodies took place. It is also the generally received opinion of naturalists that the lowest classes of animal and plant life are universally multiplied by non-sexual means. And if this is so, it is not clear how higher forms which sexually propagate can be derived from them, if the latter have originally to furnish the fundamental conditions of variation. The adherents of Neo-Darwinism will, accordingly, have to furnish many additional facts if they wish to invest their theory with any degree of probability.

Carus Sterne.

FOOTNOTES:

II. FRANCE.

The study of personality, from the point of view of pathological psychology, has already supplied us with numerous books. M. Alfred Binet, in his fine work, Les Altérations de la Personnalité, has undertaken to present systematically to us these alterations in their entirety, while restricting himself to ascertained results, and avoiding disputed points. He exhibits to us the “dismemberment of the ego” in diseased states, the frequent rupture of that “unity of consciousness” which is the principal attribute of the normal individual.

Clinical observation has established the existence in certain subjects of successive personalities, and in others that of co-existing personalities; the experiences of suggestion have at last allowed of analogous morbid phenomena being provoked, in such a manner that cases may be varied and rendered still more instructive. The simple movements provoked in normal persons in states of distraction, of which many very curious examples may be found in M. Binet’s book, are the recognised mark of a subconsciousness; but it is often possible, under the same conditions and with the same processes, to provoke in a hypnotisable hysteric individual an actual sub-personality, that is to say, to augment the phenomena which attentive observers have long since remarked in every-day life.

It cannot be doubted that, on the one hand, it is possible to produce in an insensible limb a great variety of subconscious actions, and all sorts of reactions; and when they are recorded by the graphic method, it is perceived that with the fingers of his insensible hand, the subject has made movements the form of which varies according to the receiving apparatus (the dynamograph, drum, pencil, etc.). These movements thus exhibit the truly psychological marks of adaptation, and seem to reveal the existence of an intelligence which is other than that of the ego of the subject, and which acts without his assistance and even unknown to him.

On the other hand, numerous experiences of very different kinds show that the subject whose anæsthetic arm, for example, is pricked, can have an idea of the stimulation, although he does not perceive it. He does not feel the prickings, but the excitation calls forth the idea of their number: he counts them as a normal individual would do; “only, in hysterical individuals, the first part of the process occurs in one consciousness, and the second in another.”⁠[17]

It can hardly be denied that these different consciousnesses are distinct; since experience proves that each can have its own perceptions, its own memory, and even a moral character. However, their relative value with respect to each other matters little. We are compelled to consider, with M. Ribot, the ego as a “coördination” of states of consciousness, admitting of infinitely variable groupings. According to the old conception of the ego, the personality, with respect to secondary consciousnesses, was compared to a coachman who had ceased to have control over his horses. This comparison is now insufficient, since it may happen that the coachman falls asleep on the box, and that one of the horses then governs the set, regulating, more or less perfectly, the pace of the others by its own gait. Spiritualists, however, will never consent to put the ego in the place of the coachman. “A stone detached from the complex structure of the personality,” M. Binet now tells us, “can become the starting point of a new structure, which rises rapidly by the side of the old. Whereupon a disaggregation of the psychological elements is produced.” This comparison is certainly more precise and more in accordance with facts.

Moreover, there remains to be explained how the mental compound which constitutes the ego has been constructed from its elements. M. Binet shows, à propos of this question, that the association of ideas is powerless to explain the genesis of personality; associations alone, as proved by the experiences of suggestion, are not sufficient to restore forgotten memories. Neither is memory the sole factor in personality; since, in certain conditions a person may, while preserving the consciousness and the memory of certain of his mental states, nevertheless repudiate these mental states and consider them as foreign to himself.

This question is still an open one. But there exist certainly some grounds for our seeking in the division of consciousness the key to certain psychological facts, like unconscious cerebration. Such a key would be the action of detached consciousnesses and detached memories, that afterwards immediately enter the current of general consciousness. Finally, “it is possible,” as M. Binet says in conclusion, “that consciousness may be the privilege of certain of our psychic acts; it is possible also that it exists everywhere in our organism, and it may be even that it accompanies every manifestation of life.”

In his new work, Agnosticisme, M. de Roberty studies with special care the position of modern doctrines with regard to the unknown, the great x of philosophic speculations—God, Idea, Matter, Noumenon or Unknowable. Although perhaps a little hastily written, and somewhat obscure, his book nevertheless enforces conviction. “Our conception of the world,” says M. de Roberty, “embraces solely the things that we know (feel, perceive, imagine, analyse, compare, etc.), and does not comprise the least jot or tittle of what we do not know. For us, therefore, there can be no question of any relations except between two classes of known elements: that which constitutes the object of scientific research, and that which is outside of science. The latter class represents our unknown, which is always relative and purely human.” Here, indeed, we have the true point of view, that which we shall all reach, though perhaps at first unknown to ourselves; and I shall be much surprised if the philosophers do not at last decide to wipe out the formidable Unknowable set up by Spencer as the ultimate entity. We shall speak no more of the fathomless universe, but of the still unexplored universe; of the unknown, not of the unknowable.

There is, however, another aspect of the question. Let us suppose the unknown got rid of; or to be more precise,—and if we regard with M. de Roberty the psychic centres as special receivers in which the cosmical energy empties itself, resolving itself into sensation and idea, and from whence it spreads itself anew as motion,—let us suppose that we have summed up all the energies received and emitted, and verified the law which reduces memory to the conservation of energy; let us suppose in fine that philosophy shall have found in the ego the synthesis of the non-ego, expressed “in symbolic abbreviations and in signs,” and shall have realised the “logical monism” which reduces things to their ideas: would the intellect—and would the sensibility—even then be completely satisfied? Can we conceive a state in which the curiosity of man as to all that concerns himself will be at rest, and when he will cease to be disquieted about the cause of suffering and of life? Kant long ago propounded this question. But, according to M. de Roberty, the thinker who is “a prey to the afflux of emotion referred to by Kant,” the man “given over to the desire for another kind of knowledge than that of experience,” are, in the category of intellectual emotions, diseased and “perverted” persons. “The sentiments, so varied in aspect and in strength, which inspire us,” writes he, “the contemplation of the unknown, determine the mental illusion which materialises, so to say, our ignorance and transforms the unknown into the unknowable.”

Would it be inconsistent, however, to preserve the emotion of the unknown without “materialising” it, without pronouncing any dangerous scientific ignorabimus? M. de Roberty does not accept this situation,—which was that of Littré. I do not know whether any one will discover the “vaccine,” as he calls it, “of the pessimist emotion which has produced agnosticism or latent religiosity.” If this constitutes a mental malady, I fear much that it will be incurable. As long as there is unhappiness in life, there will also be unsatisfied curiosity, and for a very long time to come, inquietude.

The last publication of Lombroso and Laschi, Le Crime politique et les Revolutions, par rapport au droit, à l’anthropologie criminelle et à la science du gouvernement (Political Crime and Revolutions, in their Relation to Law, Criminal Anthropology, and the Science of Government) of which we here have a French translation, is, I will not say, the worst written, but the most confused work imaginable. Its arrangement is clear, but its examples are given without any order whatever. The facts presented are abundant, but they are taken rather too much at haphazard, and often too uncritically. The worst is that its very thesis is weak, badly formulated or elusive in places. What a pity it is that so much erudition should be expended, and so many valuable data be brought together without better success in displaying to the best advantage these riches, and also, let me say, without so many times having had occasion to appear so clearly in the wrong! M. Lombroso remains unmoved, unfortunately, in his high sounding and unqualified hypothesis of “diseased genius.” He continues to develop it and to defend it in this latest book of his, which is replete with instructive details, and which is undoubtedly the first considerable attempt at an etiology of revolutions and of political crime.

The complex doctrine of Lombroso could be sufficiently summed up, if I am not mistaken, by uniting word to word—by the mathematical sign of equality—philoneism (or the love of novelties) with the revolutionary spirit, the revolutionary spirit with genius, genius with insanity, insanity with criminality, and criminality, finally, with progress. But what a detestable thing progress would then be! We should have to protect ourselves against it as we do against a pestilence. The evolution of societies does not take place without great waste and loss, as we all know. It should be carefully shown what these losses are. The study of the conditions of social progress ought to be made in greater detail than is here found. The terms of the imagined equation, which here hovers before our eyes, should in fine, if any comparison is to be effected between them, be subjected to a much more exact quantitative and qualitative analysis.

For example, let us take genius. Of what kinds of genius does Lombroso speak? It seems to be sufficient for him that a man has attracted attention, and made himself talked about, to entitle him to be called great, while perhaps he is only a blusterer, a braggart, a servile imitator, a mere homunculus. In this way the quantity of geniuses and talented individuals he has unearthed is something extraordinary. The result of this is a radical error in his tables of the distribution of geniuses. The superiority that he attributes, in this respect, to certain of our southern departments, as compared with the Norman departments, for example, would have to be reversed if we considered the relative quality and kind of the genius involved. For the same reason, the relation established between genius and republican modes of government is undoubtedly not so precise and simple as is stated. But the worst of it is that in thus augmenting the number of men of genius, it is found that we have, in consequence of the above mentioned equation, also increased the number of the demented and the degenerate!

If, moreover, it is true that the conservative mind, with less genius, insanity, and criminality, is evidence of the senility of the race, how can we accept the thesis that genius and the spirit of innovation are also absolute evidence of a neurasthenic condition? Shall we deny sound nerves to robust and vigorous youth? This, indeed, is not what Lombroso wished to assert. Yet the famous thesis always confronts us: Latet anguis in herba. The least sign of degeneracy is enough for him to brand a man, and not only are all geniuses in his eyes unbalanced, but even the insane are without any ado baptised geniuses; with the result that all is heaped together in one great mass—genius, insanity, and spirit of revolution.

I shall not dwell any longer on these criticisms. They are simply intended as an admonition to the learned M. Lombroso against the allurements of a badly founded theory, and against the dangers arising from a too hasty preparation of his books. Whatever may be its defects, he has at least brought together in his present book many ideas. I advise all to read with care what he says about women (and how many will find him misoneistic on this point!), concerning their great influence in rebellions, which are always barren of results, and their impotence in revolutions, which are always productive of good. In the second part of his work, namely, in the section entitled Juridical and Political Applications, nearly all he says is to be commended. I agree with the authors—or I do not wish to forget M. Laschi—as to what they tell us in relation particularly to pettifogging parlementarianism and public instruction. Their conclusions are perhaps not connected with the thesis in any very intimate manner. But this is not of much consequence, as they possess an independent value of their own.

In a previous communication I referred to the work of Savvas-Pacha on Musulman jurisprudence. I have now to announce a work entitled Souvenirs du Monde musulman, by M. Ch. Mismer, (published by Hachette,) the fourth and last volume of a valuable series which is greatly deserving of attention. M. Mismer, who has lived a long time in the East—at Constantinople, in Crete, and in Egypt—and was acquainted with the leading personages of the Empire, does not hesitate to return here to the theory which he set forth more than twenty years ago in his Soirées de Constantinople, his theory, namely, of the social advantages, and even the superiority, of Islamism over Christianity; subject however to the special worth of the races which belong to either of these two forms of religion. This opinion is not lightly uttered, and it will appear the more striking in view of the present crisis of social and moral decomposition which is now spreading throughout the western nations.

In the work of M. Mismer will be found some of the great and striking qualities of the observing and thoughtful mind. In connection with a special problem of great importance in public instruction, that of heredity, I shall call to the attention of my readers the following statement, made with reference to the young men of the “Egyptian Mission” in France, directed by M. Mismer for ten years. “The capacity of a pupil,” says he, “was always found to be intimately connected with the cerebral culture of his ancestors and the faculties constituting the superiorities of his race.” “It was the same,” adds he, “from the moral standpoint.” Undoubtedly, if M. Mismer had taken the pains to make a note of the facts summed up in his statement, and to present the full case of the numerous pupil’s that he has had under his care, he would have been able to furnish science with data of the greatest value. Let us at least receive his lessons as he offers them to us. They are the fruit of the experience of a “man of action,” and it speaks well for an observation that it has rendered good service in practice.

Lucien Arréat.

FOOTNOTES:

CRITICISMS AND DISCUSSIONS.

COMTE AND TURGOT.

To the Editor of The Monist:

Your “note of inquiry” mentioned on p. 611 of the last Monist is answered in full by Littré in Auguste Comte et la Philosophie Positive, where Turgot’s name heads the third chapter. He shows that the latter discovered the law of the three stages, theological, metaphysical, and positive, by the following quotation from his Histoire des progrès de l’esprit humain.

“While the connection between physical effects was yet unknown, nothing was more natural than to suppose that they were produced by intelligent beings, invisible and resembling ourselves; for what else could they have resembled? Everything that happened without the intervention of man, had its god, whose worship was soon established by fear or hope, and this worship was conceived in accordance with the deference accorded powerful men; for the gods were only more powerful men and more or less perfect according as they were the product of an age more or less enlightened as to the true perfections of humanity. When philosophers had recognised the absurdity of these fables, without however having obtained true light upon natural history, they imagined an explanation of the causes of phenomena by abstract expressions, such as essences and faculties: expressions that nevertheless explained nothing and that were reasoned about as if they had been beings, new divinities substituted for the old ones. These analogies were followed out, and faculties were multiplied to account for each effect. It was only very late, in observing the mechanical action that bodies have upon one another, that other hypotheses were drawn from this mechanics, (de cette mécanique) which mathematics could develop and experience verify.”

Littré calls attention to “the great sureness of judgment” that led Turgot to cite only physical phenomena when he spoke of those that had ceased to be interpreted either theologically or metaphysically. “When he wrote this passage, positivity (I use this word, a necessary creation of M. Comte’s) was only beginning to reach chemical phenomena and had not yet attained those of biology and sociology.”

But, says Littré, “after reserving the rights of priority for this eminent thinker, there is nothing to prevent M. Comte from keeping all the part that he had made himself and that belongs to him. Three principal points mark Comte’s independence of Turgot. The latter saw in the conception nothing more than an idea to meditate upon; Comte saw in it a sociological law; Turgot did not attach to it a sketch of human development; Comte developed with the aid of this law the whole historical series; Turgot did not perceive that he held one of the necessary elements of a philosophy; Comte, in the same flight of thought, went from history become science to philosophy become positive. The sociological law, isolated in Turgot, makes part, in Comte, of a vast whole: there were therefore two independent creations. Either M. Comte had not read Turgot, or, more probably, he had read him at a time when this passage, which to-day awakens attention, had no particular significance.”

The fourth chapter in Littré’s Life of Comte has for heading the names of Kant and Condorcet. The whole of the former’s remarkable sketch of general history is given and reference is made to the letter in chap. viii, where Comte, in 1824, being twenty-six years old, says to M. d’Eichthal, his former pupil, “I have read and reread with infinite pleasure Kant’s little treatise; it is prodigious for the epoch, and if I had known it six or seven years sooner it would have saved me trouble. I am delighted that you have translated it; it can contribute very efficaciously to preparing minds for positive philosophy. Its general conception or at least its method is still metaphysical, but the details show the positive spirit at every instant. I had always regarded Kant not only as a very strong head, but as the metaphysician that approaches the nearest to positive philosophy. But this reading has greatly fortified and especially given precision to my conviction in that regard. If Condorcet had had knowledge of this writing, which I do not believe, very little merit would remain to him, since he can pretend only to that of the conception, which is almost as firm and, in some respects, even clearer in Kant. As for me, after this reading I can find in myself, up to the present time, no other value than that of having systematised and fixed the conception that had been sketched by Kant unknown to me, which I owe chiefly to a scientific education; and even the most positive and distinct step that I have taken after him, seems to me only the discovery of the law of the passage of human ideas through the three stages, theological, metaphysical, and scientific; a law that appears to me to be the foundation of the work whose execution Kant has counselled. I thank my lack of erudition to-day; for if my work, such as it is now, had been preceded by a study of Kant’s treatise, it would have lost much of its value in my eyes. I conceive now, as you said, that, for the German philosophers that are familiar with this treatise, my work will really have a great effect only with the second part.” This work was a short one reprinted in Saint-Simon’s Catéchisme des industriels and called “A System of Positive Politics.” It had been inserted two years before, under the title of “A Plan of the Work Necessary for the Reorganisation of Society,” in a pamphlet of Saint-Simon’s, without Comte’s name, and it was because the latter insisted, this time, upon an acknowledgment of his authorship that Saint-Simon broke with him. The “second part,” which was to produce the great effect upon the German philosophers, never appeared; or rather, it soon grew to be the Course of Positive Philosophy, begun on the 2d of April, 1826, before Humboldt, Blainville, and other celebrated listeners.

The term positive philosophy had long been used by Saint-Simon and his school, Comte among the rest, not in the special sense that the latter now gave it, but as a “generic name for the whole of science.” The first use of the words as we now understand them is in a letter from Comte to M. d’Eichthal, dated Aug. 5, 1824. “I cannot help recalling your judicious reflection upon the influence that social physics, once formed, will have upon scientific philosophy. I go even further than you, for I think that it will be only then that a veritable philosophy of the sciences can exist. All the philosophical ideas that are there to-day, although very precious up to that time, appear to me to have nothing more than a simply provisory (provisoire) character. I shall speak a little about this relation in the general preface that I announce to you, where I shall explain that the true title of my work would be positive philosophy, and that if I preferred politics, it is because that is the most urgent philosophical application and the one that is to found the science, but that later I or you or others will complete this system of ideas by the encyclopedic re-coinage of all our positive cognitions (connaissances), which ought really to be conceived as a single mass, although, for good culture, it is indispensable to preserve and to push even, in one sense, further than it is, the division of labor, so that each special savant can always, subsequently, conceive the relation of his branch and even of his twig to the universal trunk.”

In a letter of about this date Comte refers to his habit of never rewriting anything. His memory permitted him to look upon a volume as finished when it had been thought out and before a line had been written. But even in his letters we notice some of the disadvantages of this procedure, which, while conducive to unity, sacrifices literary form.

It is true that Comte studied under Saint-Simon; but, according to Littré, his purely philosophical dependence was very slight, while his influence upon his master was important. “What forms the distinguishing characteristic of Saint-Simon at the epoch when he lived, is the social destination that he assigns without hesitating to the ideas that preoccupy him. He has, as we have seen, only the most confused notion of what this philosophy will be; but, no matter what it is to be, he consecrates it in advance to the reorganisation of society.”

As regards Condorcet, Comte enthusiastically acknowledges his indebtedness to the “Sketch of an Historical Table of the Progress of the Human Mind,” and even goes beyond the facts, as he did in his praise of Kant.

Littré makes a fair division of credit among others as well as those already named, and concludes as follows: “Turgot had discovered that human conceptions, at first theological, afterwards become metaphysical and end by being positive. Kant had known that history is a natural phenomenon, subjected to a determinate course, and Condorcet, pushed harder than his predecessors by advancing time,” (he had been condemned to death) “had attempted to trace a table that should put in evidence the enchainment of the progresses of civilisation. These are great things, but they are still only rudiments; for neither Turgot nor his successors make use of the discovered law to found upon this general fact evolution; Kant, who perceives clearly the necessity of conceiving history as regulated by the conditions inherent to humanity, is unable to base this important notion on anything better than an à priori idea” (the metaphysical principle that nature does nothing in vain, and that as human faculties do not reach their development in the individual, who is ephemeral, they must do so in the species, which is durable) “and thus he leaves it incapable of fixing the attention of a century whose tendencies were more and more positive; lastly Condorcet has no other guide than the negative philosophy of the eighteenth century in a work to which it could bring only contradiction.”

John Stuart Mill says of Comte that “far from pretending to originality when he had really no right to do so, he was eager to attach his most original thoughts to every germ of a similar idea that he met with among his predecessors.”

Speaking for himself, Littré says of the law of the three stages, “I do not reject it, I restrain it. As long as we remain in the scientific order and consider the conception of the world first theological, then metaphysical, finally positive, the law of the three stages has its full efficacy in directing the speculations of history.... But in history all is not comprised in the scientific order. M. Comte, who has said somewhere that it is necessary to suppose, at the beginning of humanity, certain notions that were neither theological nor metaphysical, has indicated the germ, I will not say of my objection, but of my restriction. In fact this law of the three stages comprehends neither industrial, nor moral, nor æsthetic development. It has however, the excellent character of being relative to the speculations in which evolution by filiation is most manifest and consequently of giving a positive notion of the march of history.”

Is it true, as stated on p. 565 of The Monist for July, that Stuart Mill adopted Hume’s “erroneous conception of causality” to the extent implied in the following passage? “This idea of ‘sequence’ however was exactly Hume’s mistake, adopted by Mr. Mill, and through Mr. Mill popularised among English thinkers. If the nature of cause and effect were really constituted by invariable sequence, then the night might be called the effect of the day because night is invariably consequent upon day.”

The only authority at hand on the island from which I write is Clemenceau’s translation of Mill’s “Auguste Comte and Positivism,” where, on p. 61, I read as follows, “The succession of day and night is just as much an invariable succession as the alternate exposition of the earth’s two opposite sides to the sun. Yet day and night are not the cause of each other; why? Because their succession, although invariable, according to our experience, is not so unconditionally: these phenomena succeed each other only upon the condition that the presence and the absence of the sun succeed each other; and if this alternation were to cease, day and night would not follow each other. There are thus two kinds of uniformities of succession, one without conditions, the other dependent on the former: laws of causation, and other successions which depend on these laws.”

In a note Mill refers to his System of Deductive and Inductive Logic.

Louis Belrose, Jr.

SOME REMARKS UPON PROFESSOR JAMES’S DISCUSSION OF ATTENTION.

In his recent treatise on psychology Professor James discusses in an interesting and suggestive way the relation of ideation to attention, maintaining that “ideational preparation ... is concerned in all attentive acts.” Attention is “anticipatory imagination” or “preperception” which prepares the mind for what it is to experience. Thus the schoolboy, listening for the clock to strike twelve, anticipates in imagination and is prepared to hear perfectly the very first sound of the striking.

It is undoubtedly true that in the form of attention we term expectant, where we are awaiting some given impression, there is a representing, antedating experience, which may be a preparatory preperception. But with a wrong imaging of what is to be experienced there is hindrance, as when in a dark quiet room we are led to expect sensation of light but actually receive sensation of sound. Very often, indeed, our anticipations make us unprepared for experience. Further, the experiments adduced by Professor James from Wundt and Helmholtz are in the single form of expectant attention, and we must remark that in these experiments the reagent is also experimenter, and this introduces a new attention, consciousness of consciousness, and that of a peculiar kind, which complicates an already complex consciousness. In general we may say that experimentally incited consciousness is artificial, at least as far as it feels itself as such, and for certain points like simple attention this tends to vitiate results. Self-experimentation or experiment on those conscious of it as such may mislead in certain cases, and must, so far as this element of consciousness of experiment is not allowed for. In physical science things always act naturally whether with observation or experiment, but in psychology observation, other things being equal, is more trustworthy than experiment.

In all cases of expectant or experimentally expectant attention, the attention does not, however, lie in the expectancy or in the imaging as such, but it is merely the will effort concerned in these operations. Yet as we may expect without effort, and preconceive without volition, attention is necessarily involved in neither. A perception or a preperception is an attention only as accomplished by will with effort, but only an unattention when purely involuntary. Professor James’s use of attention as preperception brings us back to the common idea of attention, as any consciousness which cognises something. This is so inbred in thought and language that it is most difficult to avoid using the term in this sense. Many psychologists like Mr. James and Mr. Sully frequently mention attention as a will phenomenon but they do not treat it under will, and they constantly return to the cognition meaning. Höffding, however, treats attention under psychology of will. Attention as the exercise of will in building up and maintaining cognitive activity, is naturally treated under cognition; but it is on the whole safer and better to discuss attention under will so as to keep it sharply distinguished from the presentation form which it vitalises. I have endeavored to hold the term strictly to this sense, yet it is not unlikely I may sometimes unwittingly countenance the common confusion, but trust the instances will be few.

When we have, then, a case of expectant attention we must distinguish the attention in the imaging from the attention in the actual cognising. It is, indeed, true for us almost invariably that cognitive strain without immediate realisation is incentive to ideating. In listening in the night in vain for a sound we hear in imagination many sounds, and we form preparatory ideas of what we are to hear. Sense-adjustments call up a train of sensations in ideal form. But it is obvious that low intelligences which have no power of expectancy or ideation do yet really attend. The very first cognitions and all early cognitions by their very newness and difficulty were attentions long before ideation was evolved. With low organisms, as cognitive power extends only to the present in time and space, immediacy of reaction is imperatively demanded, and every tension of cognitive apparatus is immediately directive of motor apparatus so that suitable motion is at once accomplished. The cognition, though dim and evanescent factor, is yet powerfully energised, and so a true attention. Always with lowest sentiencies, and often with higher, pain is suddenly realised without anticipation, followed quickly by attention as strong effort to cognise the nature and quality of the pain-giver and so to effectually get rid of pain-giver and pain.

Preliminary idea, then, cannot occur in early attentions and in late attentions it is by no means necessary. It is said that we see only what we look for, but it must be answered that seeing commonly happens without any looking for. The kindergarten child, Professor James to the contrary notwithstanding, is not confined in his seeing to merely those things which he has been told to see and whose names have been given him. A child continually asks, What is that? and is quick to discern the absolutely new and strange. He accomplishes a wide variety of attentions without ideas and gives himself almost entirely to immediate presentations.

To be sure, every one sees only what he is prepared to see, only what is made possible for him by his mental constitution as determined by his own pre-experience and the experience of his ancestors, but this does not signify ideation. Every cognising is conditioned by the past, but this does not call for a reawakening and projecting in ideal form at every instance of cognitive effort, before any real cognition is reached.

In fact, many, if not the most of our attentions, are merely intensifyings of some present cognition, of some cognitive psychosis which has simply come or happened. Take the instance of attention to marginal retinal images, this certainly does not always imply preperception, the forming of an idea of what we are to see, though in the cases mentioned by Professor James it may. For example, I was writing the above seated with my profile to the window when I became suddenly aware, through the physiological agency of a marginal image, of a moving object to my right. This perception of bare undefined object was spontaneous, a pure given; I exercised no will in attaining it, and so the state of cognition was not an attention. However, by attending, by intensifying the cognition by will effort, I perceive that the indefinite object is a man walking on the sidewalk, who is of a certain height, clothed in a certain way, etc. I do not trace the least ideation in the whole process, the slight attending as act of will did not imply any anterior or posterior idea or representation. The reason for the will act was the intrinsic interest of movement, and this intrinsic interest arises in the fact that moving objects have had for all life a special pleasure-pain significance, the moving object is the most dangerous, and so motion perceived has become ingrained in mind as a special stimulant of attention. This habit of attentiveness to things in motion survives and continues for cases where it is of no use and even of harm; thus, in the present instance, it diverts me from my work. It is obvious that attention often occurs in the same way for other senses without preliminary idea.

On the whole we must conclude that attention is a much abused term, and it is to be hoped that psychologists will for the future keep to the definite and best use of the term; namely, to denote cognitive effort in all its degrees and modes.

Hiram M. Stanley.

IS MONISM ARBITRARY?

In Vol. II, No. 3, of The Monist, a very kind criticism appeared from the pen of Mr. Francis C. Russell of the doctrine of a double-faced unity of mind and matter. It was said that this doctrine is very far from inducing that final satisfaction which we rightly expect of a competent theory, and the critic propounded as a possible explanation of mental phenomena the postulate of a conservation of spirit. He calls spirit the elementary basis of consciousness considered as a quality. Spirit would be the subjectivity of nature, the elements of feeling, or as Professor Morgan calls it metakinesis; and consciousness would originate in the same way as electricity, i. e., by rending spirit asunder into positive and negative spirit so as to produce a tension. This would account for the appearance and disappearance of consciousness in that spiritual “dynamo” which is called the nervous system.

This proposition seems to be highly acceptable because it stands upon the principle of a conservation of substance and attempts to represent the phenomenon of consciousness as due to a transformation. But does it for that reason remove the difficulties of the doctrine of a double-faced unity of nature, which, as Mr. Russell says, “is open to the charge of being arbitrary and brings no access of insight”? Is not perhaps the term double-faced unity (which is none of my invention, and which I have been careful to avoid) a misleading and unsatisfactory term? Why should nature be double-faced? Why are feeling and motion the only two attributes of natural phenomena? Is this not arbitrary? Could nature not be just as well a treble or quadruple-faced unity. Nature might possess, as Spinoza actually declares, infinite attributes of which these two only, viz. extension and thought, i. e. motion and feeling, happen to be known to us.

It is this apparent arbitrariness which bars our insight and deprives us of the satisfaction that ought to attend the real solution of a problem. But let us avoid the term double-faced unity; let us speak of the subjectivity and the objectivity of nature, and the clouds will disappear.

The doctrine of a double-faced unity has been criticised as dualism, and the proposition that nature consists of two radically different attributes—exactly of two, not more and not less—must most decidedly appear as dualism. But is it dualistic to say that every subject appears to its objects not as a subject but as an object among other objects? Certainly not.

The relativity of the terms subject and object affords us the key to a comprehension of the situation. This world of ours is a world of relations. The phenomena of nature exhibit an unceasing activity; they consist of constant changes, and every change, every motion, has a whence and a whither. Every transformation is a series of events among which any prior one is called cause and any subsequent one effect.

If we regard feeling and motion as two attributes of nature, we are actually on the brink of dualism, and we shall understand how Spinoza, in order to escape from dualism and arrive at a monistic view, assumed without any plausible argument the existence of an infinite number of attributes. This assumption however is of no avail, for the problem would arise: How is it that we know only two of all these infinite attributes? Why do we not know any other? and why are we unable to form even a dim notion of any other? If they exist why do they exhibit no effects upon us? Perhaps because we ourselves and this world of ours consist only of two! And if they exhibit no effects upon us and upon our world, can they be said to exist at all? Might we not, in that case, consider them as non-existent and count the two known attributes alone as actual realities? Thus the dualism would remain; and Spinoza’s monism is only apparent.

The same objection cannot be made if we remain conscious of the fact that feelings are as much abstracts as motions. Subjectivity and objectivity are correlative terms. There is as little a duality in the idea, that subjects presuppose objects as that effects presuppose causes. There are not causes in the world which are nothing but causes, nor are there effects which are nothing but effects. Take for instance an historical event. Was Cæsar’s death a cause or an effect? Plainly, this depends upon the view we take. As the sequence of the wounds which Cæsar received from his assassins it was an effect; as the beginning of the civil war consequent thereupon it was a cause. If I look at you, you are the object and I am the subject. If you look at me, it is the reverse. Thus the relation of a certain thing to its surroundings makes of it a subject, while the surroundings are its objects.

Subject and object being correlatives, we can very well understand why there are no “subjects in themselves”; every subject is at the same time an object in the objective world. We can further understand, why every subjectivity except our own withdraws itself from direct observation. We can observe the movements of organisms like ourselves and judge by way of analogy that they feel pain or enjoy pleasure. We see their motions which betray certain feelings, but we can never see the feelings themselves; and even supposing that we could enter into the brain of a man and that the whole mechanism of brain-action were laid open to our inspection in its minutest details, we should see motions, combinations and separations, integrations and disintegrations, we should see the oxydation of the gray substance, which would appear as a great turmoil and excitement, but we should see (as Leibnitz says) no thoughts, no perceptions, no feelings. That it cannot be otherwise is obvious when we consider that our objects will always present to us the character of objectivity.

But suppose We were an atom of oxygen and entered into the process of brain-action as an active factor, our subjectivity would soon become absorbed and welded into a higher unity with the subjectivity of the other atoms. We should then, as a part of that brain’s consciousness, feel these feelings, perceptions, and thoughts; we should, then, be the subject which we could not see and which we were searching for in vain in the world of objectivity.

This conception of the correlation of subjectivity and objectivity does not only convincingly explain the unity of feeling and motion, it does not only establish a satisfactory monism, it throws light also on some other of the questions that puzzle us. How is it that we do not feel our brain-motions to be brain-motions? We feel our feelings only; and when feeling our feelings we do not so much feel that we feel as what we feel. In other words, we feel the contents of our feelings; we feel their import, their meaning; we are aware of their significance; our consciousness is conscious of the object, the presence of which is indicated by this special feeling. Our attention is concentrated upon the messages conveyed by and contained in the different feelings.

These messages of certain feelings are the interpretations given either to certain sense-impressions or they are the thought-symbols representing some abstracts, representing certain features of sense-impressions.

How little we feel our brain-motions when we think, can be learned from the fact that some nations place the seat of thinking in the heart, others in the stomach or even the bowels, while even so great a naturalist as Aristotle regarded the brain as cold and insensible; he made the observation that man is in possession of the relatively largest brain, but he understood its function so little that he thought it served to cool the warmth rising from the heart.

It is strange that every subjective feeling so long as it remains within itself can neither be localised nor determined. We know nothing whatever of the brain-motion that thinks a certain idea. We can fairly assume that every idea is in its objective existence a peculiar kind of brain motion taking place in a particular part of the brain, but we are not conscious of the brain-motion as a special and localised motion. We are quite unable to tell the difference that we must suppose to exist between the forms of the brain-structures or combinations of brain-structures and their motions when we think say for instances of virtue and of vice. We are conscious only of the idea and not of their objective correlates.

Whatever we know of our body, we know only through sensation; i. e., by the same means by which we know of other things. Our body is to us, and is represented with the assistance of the senses, as an object in the objective world. As such it is localised and all its relations and activities are determined. Whatever subjective feeling we have concerning any state of ourselves, remains indistinct until with the help of the senses it is made an object to our observation. Who has not as yet made the experience that he was unable to localise a toothache. The pain itself gives no information either as to its nature and cause or as to the seat of the suffering. The pain itself is purely subjective. All the objective facts have to be localised with the assistance of the senses. The suspected regions must be made the object of experiments and if any irritation of a certain spot increases the ache, it will be assumed to be the seat of the pain. And even then how often is a patient mistaken not only almost always as to the nature but often also as to the seat of the pain.

These facts appear strange, but they cease to be strange, when we consider that the nature of subjectivity is feeling. Subjectivity can as little become directly conscious of its own objectivity as an eye can look at itself. However, an eye can look at its image in the mirror. So the complex of subjective existence, which is through the interaction of an organism united in what we call a soul, can and does turn the channels of its own senses back upon itself and thus forms an opinion concerning its own objectivity. Man’s knowledge of his own objective existence is not due to any internal and direct perception of self, but solely to the same experience through which he receives information concerning the rest of the world.

P. C.

A REPLY TO A CRITIC. WITH A DISCUSSION OF NECESSARY TRUTHS.

To the Editor of The Monist:

I hope it is not a breach of etiquette to ask you to forward to your reviewer the following remarks in reply to his criticism of my work (The Foundations of Geometry, reviewed in Vol. II, No. 1, of The Monist). If he is good enough to review my second book also, I think they will clear up some misunderstandings.

Your reviewer commences with some general remarks, against which I have nothing to say. He then proceeds to consider my “requirements for a logical definition.” Here he seems to find a difficulty—which may be due to my not having expressed myself clearly. If so I hope he will read what I say on the same subject in my Essay on Reasoning, which I cannot believe he will find “indefinite” or not well “issuable.” But indeed I cannot see where his difficulty comes in with my old statement of the case. I state perfectly clearly that requirements (3) and (4) are not logically necessary for a definition, but are only required if that definition is intended to give a particular meaning to the word. He tries to reduce my argument ad absurdum by giving a definition of “troft.” But so far from being absurd his definition is perfectly good. According to it “troft” would include in its denotation all our percepts and concepts. When however he goes on to say “... These significant names must be so used that the intellectual sensibility shall be excited to perceive that which is intended to be defined,” I differ from him entirely. This is only required for a description, not for a definition (see Essay on Reasoning, p. 53).

Your reviewer’s only solid objection to my “requirements” seems to be that the fourth includes all the rest. This is only true if the term proposed for definition has an import which has already been determined; but even in such a case it is better to consider the requirements separately, as I have given them. For the force of objections under the different headings varies enormously. An objection under heading (1), if established, would be fatal to any definition whatever. One under heading (2) so far from being fatal would only be a suggestion for the improvement of the definition. Objections under either of the headings (3) and (4) would only be to the effect that the term as defined meant something different from what it was desired that it should mean. It is however convenient to consider (3) and (4) separately as it would generally be possible to decide (3) at once, whereas if a doubt were raised under heading (4) it might lead to a prolonged discussion before it could be laid. I do not however pretend that the “requirements” are laid down in my Foundations of Geometry in the best possible form. Indeed I have altered the form in my second essay. There is moreover one requirement for a logical definition which is not included in my heading (1) in the Foundations of Geometry, though it is included in (4). This defect is remedied in the Essay on Reasoning (p. 55). It is curious that your reviewer should have missed this point, as it is the very one on which he attacks my definition of “direction.” It is that the assertions in a definition must not be independent of the meaning of the term defined. If they were, the assertion would be equally true (or false) whatever meaning the term might have. The import of the term would therefore be unlimited. In the case of explicit definitions a similar error is called circulus in definiendo.

When your reviewer goes on to attack my definition of “direction” why does he change his front all at once, and disregard all the considerations he has just been discussing? Why does he not apply my, or his own, requirements for a definition to the case in point? The criticism he actually does put forward will not bear a moment’s investigation. If my definition is “circular,” the assertion must be equally true whatever meaning is ascribed to the term. Well, then, let us try the effect of giving to it the meaning we ordinarily ascribe to “cheese.” Is it equally true that “a cheese may be conceived to be indicated by naming two points, as the cheese from one to the other”? Clearly not. But not only does this one assertion out of my definition exclude the import of “cheese” from the meaning of “direction,” but, more particularly, it distinguishes between the “three distinct but closely associated notions” which your reviewer quite rightly says “become confused in thought and expression unless the most solicitous care is taken to distinguish them.” This is exactly the care which I have taken, by framing my definition.