Cljatnell Mntuetaitg Slibrarg Stiiaca, •New flnek "?V\»\o^o^V\*cak\15ev\!eW Cornell University Library arV12950 Readings ■'';„i?Sl',i!SS{?fi 3 1924 031 219 276 olin.anx Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031219276 READINGS IN PHILOSOPHY READINGS IN PHILOSOPHY COMPILED BY ALBERT EDWIN AVEY, Ph.D. Assistant Professor of Philosophy in the Ohio State University COLUMBUS, OHIO R. G. ADAMS AND COMPANY 1921 ■V. 1^5017+2. COPYRIGHT 1921 BY A. E. AVEY Printed by The F. J. Heer Printing Co ColumbuB, Ohio FOREWORD THIS volume is intended primarily as a sup- plement to Professor Leighton's "Field of Philosophy". But that work covered so com- pletely the entire territory of the subject that this volume in presenting the sources which Professor Leighton evidently had in mind becomes a fairly representative collection of the classic passages of philosophic literature, and may possibly be of in- dependfflnt interest to some readers as such a col- lection. The necessity for readings supplementary to the other text and the difficulty of providing a reference library with sufficiently numerous copies for large classes afforded the motives for such a compilation. There are, of course, standard source books in philosophy in existence ; but none of them quite met the situation. Doubtless the ideal plan would be to have the student turn to the complete works and see the passages in their proper settings, This would in many instances stimulate curiosity and lead to further reading of passages of his own selection. It would also make possible the inter- pretation of important conceptions in the light of parallel references. But this does not prove prac- ticable in actual work. Hence, this volume is offered as something of a substitute. In selecting the passages the effort has been simply to illustrate by means of sources the essential points of Professor Leighton's discussion. In many (V) vi Foreword instances other passages might have been chosen. Limitation of space and scope made impossible any attempt to present an exliaustive treatment of any topic. Professor Leighton has reviewed the work and given it his general approval. I am indebted to him for suggestions in many places. But I assume responsibility for the choice of most of the selections. I am indebted also to Professor A. R. Chandler for suggestions and assistance, especially in connec- tion with several original translations. My obligations to the publishers and hoMers of copyrights who have generously allowed me to re- produce material are very great. Specific acknowl- edgment's are made in connection with the passages printed. In making translations the student was kept in mind rather than the expert critic. For this reason a somewhat well-established vocabulary has been departed from because of its unfamiliarity to be- ginners. The translations have been undertaken partly for exercise, partly as the easiest way out of certain difficulties. Of each of them the translator would say, in the words of another and better known philosopher, "An ill-favored thing, sir, but mine own." Albert E. Avey. Ohio State University. Chapter I. A. B. D. E. Chapter II. A. B. C. Chapter III, A. B. Chapter IV. A. B. C. Chapter V. A. B. CONTENTS page Philosophy, Its Meaning and Scope The Philosopher the spectator of All Time and All Existence: Plato, Republic 1 The' Degrees of Knowledge: Plato, Re- public 4 The Relation of Philosophy to Science; Spencer, First Principles 9 The Difference Between Philosophy and Religion : Spinoza, Politico-theological Tractate 17 The Similarity Between Philosophy and Religion: Hegel, Philosophy of Religion. 18 Primitive Thought The Attributes of the Soul in Primitive Thought: Crawley, The Idea of the Soul 21 Homeopathic Magic: Frazer, Golden Bough 28 Contagious Magic : Frazer, Golden Bough 33 The Differentiation op Philosophy and Science from Religion. Native Fallacies of Human Thought: Bacon, Novum Organum 41 Early Greek Philosophy, Fragments .... 48 Atomistic Materialism Leukippus and Democritus, Fragments.. 62 Epicurus: Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the Philosophers 67 Atomism in Roman Thought: Lucretius, De Rerum Natura .• 72 Skepticism and Sophistry The Man Measure Doctrine of Protag- oras : Plato, Theaetetus 74 The Superiority of Persuasion Over Knowledge: Plato, Gorgias 84 Later Greek Skepticism: Sextus Empiri- cus, Pyrrhonic Sketches 89 (vii) viii Contents j PAGE Chapter VI. The Personality, Mission and Influ- ence OF Socrates A. Soorates's Statement of the Cause of His Indictment: Plato, Apology 96 B. The Socratic Maieutic: Plato, TAeae^ tetus 103 C. The Fundamental Value of Human Life: Plato, Republic 106 Chapter VII. Plato A. Theory of Knowledge and Love: Phae- (>) •dr^is ; Meno 113 B. Allegory of The Cave: Republic 137 C. Cosmology : Timaeus 146 D. Teleology: Phaedo 160 E. Idea of the Good: Republic 164 F. Psychology: Timaeus 168 G. The Cardinal Virtues : Republic 171 Chapter VIII. Aristotle A. Analysis of the Process of Change: Meta- physics 186 B. . Grades of Soul : Psychology 193 C. Epistemology: Psychology 195 D. The Highest Good : Ethics 199 Chapter IX. Stoic Pantheism A. Epicurean Hedonism: Diogenes Laertius Lives of the Philosophers 202 B. Stoicism : Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the Philosophers 206 Chapter X. Mysticism — Neo-Platonism A. On The One: Plotinus, Enneads 219 B. Emanation 222 C. Intellect 225 D. Soul 228 E. Matter 231 F. Sin and Salvation ; 234 Contents ix PAGE Chapter XI. Early Christian Philosophy A. Christian Ethics :. Gospel of Matthew 238 B. The Crucifixion and Resurrection: Gospel of Marie .- 242 C. The Logos Doctrine : Gospel of John 246 D. Paul's Theology: I Corinthians 247 Chapter XIl. Mediaeval Philosophy A. Augustine's Doctrine of Evil: Enchir- idion 252 B. The Relation of Faith and Understand- ing; and the Ontological Proof: Anselm, / Proslogiwm 257 iftpC. Realism: Thomas Aquinas, Summa The- ^ -ologica 261 Chapter XIII. Modern Philosophy: Its Spirit, Its Chief Problems and Standpoints A. Bibliography 267 Chapter XIV. The Problem of Reality A. Bibliography 268 Chapter XV. Dualism A. Descartes on The Nature of the Mind: ^ Meditations 269 ^ <^B. Descartes on The Existence of Material Things : Meditations 270 ^^ C. Interaction of Mind and Body: Descartes, The Passions of the Soul 272 "^ D. Locke on the Ideas of Solidity and Spirit : Essay Concerning Human Under- standing 274 "^ Chapter XVI. Materialism (QA. The Distinction Between Primary and Secondary Qualities: Locke, Essay 283^ B. The Idea of Substance: Locke, Essay... 288V C. The Interrelation of Brain and Mind: Buechner, Force and Matter ■ 292 X Contents PAGE Chapter XVII. The Philosophy of Kant A. The Problem -of the Critique of Pure Reason : Watson's Selections From Kant 302 B. The Result of the Transcendental Ana- lytic : Watson's Selections 309 C. The Postulates of Practical Reason; Watson's Selections 315 Chapter XVIII. Spiritualism or Idealism / The Existence of the Material World: Berkeley, Principles of Human Knowl- edge 323 B. Monadology: Leibniz, The Monadology . . 331 v^ C. Primacy of the Will in Philosophy: - Pichte, The Vocation of Man 339 The Objectivity of Thought: Hegel, Logic 353 Chapter XIX. The Identity or Double Aspect Theory A. The Order of Ideas the Same as of Things : Spinoza, Ethics 370 B. Ideas Things in Special Relation: James, ys in Radical Em,piricism 372 ^- Chapter XX. Singularism and Pluralism A. God as Substance : Spinoza, Ethics 378 B. The Absolute: Hegel, Phenomenology of Mind 388 C. Pluralism versus Monism: James, A Pluralistic Universe 400 Chapter XXI. The Problem of Evolution and Teleology A. The Meaning of Evolution: Bergson, Creative Evolution 417 Chapter XXII. The Self ,5() A. The Original Datum of Knowledge: Des- ^ cartes, Meditations 441 B. Skeptical Doubts About the Existence of The Self: Hume, Treatise 444 Contents xi PAGE C. The Synthetic Unity of Apperception: Kant, Critique of Pure Reason 459 D. Freedom: Kant, Metaphysics of Morality 475 Chapter XXIII. The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics A. Nature of the Categories : Kant, Critique of Pure Reason 485 B. Deduction of the Categories: Kant, Critique of Pure Reason 492 C. Causality: Hume, Enquiry Concerning the Human Under sjanding 503 D. Potentiality: Aristotle, Metaphysics. . . 521 E. Space: Kant, Critique of Pure Reason. . 524 F. Time: Kant, Critique of Pure Reason. . . 527 Chapter XXIV. Epistemology A. The Motive of Epistemology: Locke, Essay , 533 B. The Origin of Ideas : Locke, Essay 534 C. The A Priori Element in Knowledge: Kant, Critique of Pure Reason 542 f^WD. Objective Idealism: Royce, The World ^^ and the Individual 547 ChapterJCXV. The Criteria of Truth j^: A. The Copy Theory: Locke, Essay 557 jB. The Pragmatist Idea of Truth: James, Pragmatism 568 /fOG. Absolutism: Royce, William James and \Z Other Essays 575 Chapter XXVI. The Status of Values A. Supernaturalism : Exodus 580 B. Agnostic Relativism: Russell, Mysticism and Logic 582 C. The Oneness of God and Man: Royce, The World and The Individual 590 xli Contents PAGE Chapter XXVII. The Philosophy of History A. Hebrew Prophetic Interpretation of His- tory : Amos, Isaiah 621 B. Mediaeval Philosophy of History: Au- gustine, City of God 624 C. Reason in History: H'egel, Philosophy of History 632 D. The Law of Development: Comte, Pos- itive Philosophy 672 CHAPTER I PHILOSOPHY, ITS MEANING AND SCOPE A. The Philosopher the Spectator op All Time and All Existence In the following passage from Plato's Dialogues the famous Athenian philosoper, Socrates, is repre- sented in conversation with Glaucon, a young friend of his, when the discussion turns to the question of the qualifications necessary for a philosopher. The longer speeches are from Socrates; the shorter from Glarucon: The •■ genuine lover of knowledge must, from his youth up, strive intensely after all truth. Yes, he must thoroughly.' Well, but we cannot doubt that when a person's desires set strongly in one direction, they run with corresponding feebleness in every other channel, like a stream whose waters have been diverted into another bed. Undoubtedly they do. So that when the current has set towards science, and all its branches, a man's desires will, I fancy, hover around pleasures that are purely mental, abandoning those in which the body is instru- ^ Plato, Republic, Book VI, 485c-487a; translation of Davies and Vaughaii, 1916, published by The Macmillan Company; reprinted by permission. (1) 2 Readings in Philosophy mental, — provided that the man's love of wisdom is real, not artificial. It cannot be otherwise. Again, such a person will be temperate and thor- oughly uncovetous : for he is the last person in the world to value those objects, which make men anxi- ous for money at any cost. True. Once more, there is another point which you ought to take into consideration, when you are en- deavoring to distinguish a philosophic from an un- philosophic character. What is that? You must take care not to overlook any taint of meanness. For surely little-mindedness thwarts above everything the soul that is destined ever to aspire to grasp truth, both divine and human, in its integrity and universality. That is most true. And do you think that a spirit full of lofty thoughts, and privileged to contemplate all time, and all existence, can possibly attach any great im- portance to this life? No, it is impossible. Then such a person will not regard death as a formidable thing, will he? Certainly not. So that a mean and cowardly character can have no part, as it seems, in true philosophy. I think it cannot. What then? Can the man whose mind is well- regulated, and free from covetousness, meanness. Philosophy, its Meaning and Scope 3 pretentiousness, and cowardice, be by any possibility hard to deal with or unjust? No ; it is impossible. Therefore, when you are noticing the indications of a philosophical or unphilosophical temper, you must also observe in early youth whether the mind is just and gentle, or unsociable and fierce. Quite so. There is still another point, which I think you must certainly not omit. What is that? Whether the mind in question is quick or slow at learning. For you can never expect a person to take a decent delight in' an occupation which he goes through with pain, and in which he makes small progress with great exertion? No," it would be impossible. Again, if he can remember nothing of what he has learned, can he fail, being thus full of forget- fulness, to be void of knowledge? No, he cannot. Then, will not his fruitless toil, think you, com- pel him at last to hate both himself and such em- ployment ? Doubtless it will. Let us never, then, admit a forgetful mind into the ranks of those that are counted worthy of philosophy; but let us look out for a good memory as a requisite for such admission. Yes, by all means. Again, we should certainly say that the tendency of an unrefined and awkward nature is wholly to- wards disproportion. Certainly. 4 Readings in Philosophy And do you think that truth is akin to dispropor- tion, or to proportion? To proportion. In addition, then, to our other acquirements, let us search for a mind naturally well-proportioned and graceful, whose native instincts will permit it to be easily led to apprehend the Forms of things as they really are. By all means. What then? Do you think that the qualities which we have enumerated are in any way unnecessary or inconsistent with one another, provided the soul is to attain unto full and satisfactory possession of real existence? On the contrary, they are most strictly neces- sary. Then can you find any fault with an employment which requires of a man who would pursue it satis- factorily, that nature shall have given him a reten- tive memory, and made him quick at learning, lofty- minded and graceful, the friend and brother of truth, justice, fortitude, and temperance? No, he replied ; the very Genius of criticism could find no fault with such an employment. B. The Degrees of Knowledge In the following passage Plato represents Soc- rates as discussing the degrees of knowledge from the lowest, the most uncertain opinion received at second hand, up to the highest or presuppositionless knowledge : Philosophy, its Meaning and Scope 5 Suppose ^ you take a line divided into two un- equal parts, — one to represent the visible class of objects, the other the intellectual, — and divide each part again into two segments on the same scale. Then, if you make the lengths of the seg- ments represent degrees of distinctness or indis- tinctness, one of the two segments on the part which stands for the visible world will present all images: — meaning by images, first of all, shadows ; and, in the next place, reflections in water, and in close- grained, smooth, bright substances, and everything of the kind, if you understand me. Yes, I do understand. Let the other segment stand for the real objects corresponding to these images, — namely, the ani- mals about us, and the whole world of nature and of art. Very good. Would you also consent to say that, with refer- ence to this class, there is, in point of truth and un- truthfulness, the same distinction between the copy and the original, that there is between what is mat- ter of opinion and what is matter of knowledge? Certainly I should. Then let us proceed to consider how we must divide that part of the whole line which represents the intellectual world. How must we do it? Thus: one segment of it will represent what the soul is compelled to investigate by the aid of the segments of the other part, which it employs as 'Ibid., Book VI, 509e-511e. 2 6 Readings in Philosophy images, starting from hypotheses, and travelling not to a first principle, but to a conclusion. The other segment will represent the objects of the soul, as it makes its way from an hypothesis to a first princi- ple which is not hypothetical, unaided by those images which the former division " employs, and shaping its journey by the sole help of real essential forms. I have not understood your description so well as I could wish. Then we will try again. You will understand me more easily when I have made some previous ob- servations. I think you know that the students of subjects like geometry and calculation, assume by way of materials, in each investigation, all odd and even numbers, figures, three kinds of angles, and other similar data. These things they are supposed to know, and having adopted them as hypotheses, they decline to give any account of them, either to themselves or to others, on the assumption that they are self-evident ; and, making these their start- ing point, they proceed to travel through the re- mainder of the subject, and arrive at last, with perfect unanimity, at that which they have proposed as the object of investigation. I am perfectly aware of the fact, he replied. Then you also know that they summon to their aid visible forms, and discourse about them, though their thoughts are busy not with these forms, but with their originals, and though they discourse not with a view to the particular square and diameter which they draw, but with a view to the absolute Philosophy, its Meaning and Scope 7 square and the absolute diameter, and so on. For while they employ by way of images those figures and diagrams aforesaid, which again have their shadows and images in water, they are really en- deavouring to behold those abstractions which a person can only see with the eye of thought. True. This, then, was the class of things which I called intellectual; but I said that the soul is constrained to employ hypotheses while engaged in the investi- gation of them, — not travelling to a first principle, (because it is unable to step out of, and mount, above, its hypotheses,) but using, as images, just the copies that are presented by things below, — - which copies, as compared with the originals, are vulgarly esteemed distinct and valued accordinjgly. I understand you to be speaking of the subject- matter of the various branches of geometry and the kindred arts. Again, by the second segment of the intellectual world understand me to mean all that the mere reasoning process apprehends by the force of hypotheses not as first principles, but as genuine hypotheses, that is to say, as stepping-stones and impulses, whereby it may force its way up to some- thing that is not hypothetical, and arrive at thei first principle of everything, and seize it in its grasp; which done, it turns round, and takes hold of that which takes hold of this first principle, till at last it comes down to a conclusion, calling in the aid of no sensible object whatever, but simply employing abstract, selfsubsisting forms, and terminating in the same. « 8 Readings in Philosophy I do not understand you so well as I could wish, for I believe you to be describing an arduous task ; but at any rate I understand that you wish to de- clare distinctly, that the field of real existence and pure intellect, as contemplated by the science of dialectic, is more certain than the field investigated by what are called the arts, in which hypotheses constitute first principles, which the students are compelled, it is true, to contemplate with the mind and not with the senses ; but, at the same time, as they do not come back, in the course of inquiry, to a first principle, but push on from hypothetical premises, you think that they do not exercise pure reason on the questions that engage them, although taken in connection with a first principle these ques- tions come within the domain of the pure reason. And I believe you apply the term understanding, not pure reason, to the mental habit of such people as geometricians, — regarding understanding as something intermediate between opinion and pure reason. You have taken in my meaning most satisfac- torily ; and I beg you will accept these four mental states, as corresponding to the four segments, — namely pure reason corresponding to the highest, understanding to the second, belief to the third, and conjecture to the last; and pray arrange them in gradation, and believe them to partake of distinct- ness in a degree corresponding to the truth of their respective objects. I understand you, said he. I quite agree with you, and will arrange them as you desire. Philosophy, its Meaning and Scope 9 C. The Relation of Philosophy to Science A classic discussion of this topic is to be found in the following selection from the writings of the modem philosopher, Herbert Spencer: Sec. 36. Earlier ^ speculations being passed over, we see that among the Greeks, before there had arisen any notion of philosophy in general, apart from particular forms of philosophy, the particular forms of it from which the general notion was to arise, were hypotheses respecting some universal principle that constituted the essence of all concrete kinds of being. To the question, "What is that in- variable existence of which these are variable states?" there were sundry answers — water, air, fire. A class of hypotheses of this all-embracing character having been propounded it became possible for Pythagoras to conceive of philosophy in the ab- stract as knowledge the most remote from practical ends ; and to define it as "knowledge of immaterial and eternal things:" "the cause of the material ex- istence of things," being, in his view, number. Thereafter, we find continued a pursuit of Phil- osophy as some ultimate interpretation of the uni- verse, assumed to be possible, whether actually reached in any case or not. And in the course of this pursuit various such ultimate interpretations were given as that "One is the beginning of all things;" that "the one is God;" that "the one is finite;" that "the one is infinite;" that "intelligence is the governing principle of things," and so on. ^Spencer, First Principles, Section^ 36, 37; 5th London Edition; reprinted from A. L. Burt's Home Library. 10 Readings in Philosophy From all which it is plain that the knowledge sup- posed to constitute philosophy, differed from other knowledge in its transcendent exhaustive character. In the subsequent course of speculation, after the sceptics had shaken men's faith in their powers of reaching such transcendent knowledge, there grew up a much restricted conception of philosophy. Under Socrates, and still more under the stoics, philosophy became little else than the doctrine of right living. Its subject matter was practically cut down to the proper ruling of conduct, public and private. Not, indeed, that the proper ruling of con- duct, as conceived by sundry of the later Greek thinkers to constitute the subject-matter of phil- osophy, answered to what was popularly under- stood by the proper ruling of conduct. The injunc- tions of Zeno were not of the same class as those which guided men from early times downward, in their daily observances, sacrifices, customs, all hav- ing more or less of religious sanction ; but they were principles of action enunciated without reference to times, or persons, or special cases. What, then, was the constant element in these unlike ideas of philosophy held by the ancients? Clearly the character in which this last idea agrees with the first, is that within its sphere of inquiry philosophy seeks for wide and deep truths, as dis- tinguished from the multitudinous detailed truths which the surfaces of things and actions present. By comparing the conceptions of philosophy that have been current in modern times, we get a like re- sult. The disciples of Schelling, Fichte and their kindred, join the Hegelian in ridiculing the so- Philosophy, its Meaning and Scope 11 called philosophy which has usurped the title in England. Not without reason, they laugh on read- ing of "philosophical instruments ;" and would deny that any one of the papers in the "Philosophical Transactions" has the least claim to come under such a title. Retaliating on their critics, the Eng- lish may, and most of them do, reject as absurd the imagined philosophy of the German schools. As con- sciousness cannot be transcended, they hold that whether consciousness does or does not vouch for the existence of something beyond itself, it at any rate cannot comprehend that something; and that hence, in so far as any philosophy professes to be an ontology, it is false. These two views cancel one another over large parts of their areas. The Eng- lish criticism on the Germans cuts oif from phil- osophy all that is regarded as absolute knowledge. The German criticism on the En'gHsh tacitly implies that if philosophy is limited to the relative, it is at any rate not concerned with those aspects of the relative which are embodied in mathematical formula, in accounts of physical researches, in chemical analyses, or in descriptions of species and reports of physiological experiments. Now, what has the too-wide German conception in common with the conception general among Eng- lish men of science; which, narrow and crude as it is, is not so narrow and crude as their misuse of the word philosophical indicates? The two have" this in common, that neither Germans nor English apply the word to unsystematized knowledge — to knowledge quite un-coordinated with other knowl- edge. Even the most limited specialist would not 12 Readings in Philosophy describe as philosophical an essay which, dealing wholly with details, manifested no perception of the bearings of those details on wider truths. The vague idea thus raised of that in wMch the various conceptions of philosophy agree, may be rendered more definite by comparing what has been known in England as natural philosophy vdth that development of it called positive philosophy. Though, as M. Comte admits, the two consist of knowledge essentially the same in kind, yet, by having put this kind of knowledge into a more coherent form, he has given it more of that char- acter to which the term philosophical is applied. Without expressing any opinion respecting the truth of his co-ordination, it must be conceded that by the fact of its co-ordination the body of knowl- edge organized by him has a better claim to the title philosophy than has the comparatively unor- ganized body of knowledge named natural phil- osophy. If subdivisions of philosophy, ar more special forms of it, be contrasted with one another, or with the whole, the same implication comes out. Moral philosophy and political philosophy agree with phil- osophy at large in the comprehensiveness of their reasonings and conclusions. Though under the head of moral philosophy we treat of human actions as right or wrong, we do not include special direction for behavior in the nursery, at table or on the ex- change; and though political philosophy has for its topic the conduct of men in their public relations, it does not concern itself with modes of voting or de- tails of administration. Both of these, sections of Philosophy, its Meaning and Scope 13 philosophy contemplate particular instances only as Illustrating truths of wide application. Sec. 37. Thus every one of these conceptions im- plies the belief in a possible way of knowing things more completely than they are known through simple experiences, mechanically accumulated in memory or heaped up in cyclopaedias. Though in the extent of the sphere which they have supposed philosophy to fill, men have differed and still differ very widely; yet there is a real if unavowed agreement among them in signifying by this title a knowledge which transcends ordinary knowledge. That which re- mains as the coramon element in these conceptions of philosophy after the elimination of their discord- ant elements is knowledge of the highest degree of generality. We see this tacitly asserted by the sim- ultaneous inclusion of God, nature and man within its scope; or, still more distinctly, by the division of philosophy as a whole, into theological, physical, ethical, etc. For that which characterizes the genus of which these are species must be something more general than that which distinguishes any one species. What must he the shape here given to this con- ception? The range of intelligence we find to be limited to the relative. Though persistently con- scious of a power manifested to us we have aban- doned as futile the attempt to learn anything re- specting the nature of that power; and so have shut out philosophy from much of the domain supposed to belong to it. The domain left is that occupied by science. Science concerns itself with the co-exist- ences and sequences among phenomena; grouping 14 Readings m Philosophy these at first into generalizations of a simple or low order, and rising gradually to higher and more ex- tended generalizations. But, if so, where remains any subject-matter for philosophy? The reply is : philosophy may still properly be the title retained for knowledge of the highest gen- erality. Science means merely the family of the sciences — stands for nothing more than the sum of knowledge formed of their contributions; and ig- nores the knowledge constituted by the fiision of these contributions into a whole. As usage has de- fined it, science consists of truths existing more or less separated; and does not recognize these truths as entirely integrated. An illustration will make the difference clear: If we ascribe the flow of a river to the same force which causes the fall of a stone we make a statement true as far as it goes, that belongs to a certain division of science. If, in further explana- tion of a movement produced by gravitation in a direction almost horizontal, we cite the law that fluids subject to mechanical forces exert reactive forces which are equal in all directions, we formu- late a wider fact, containing the scientific interpre- tation of many gther phenomena ; as those presented by the fountain, the hydraulic press, the steam- engine, the air-pump. And when this proposition, extending only to the dynamics of fluids, is merged in a proposition of general dynamics, comprehend- ing the laws of movement of solids as well as of fluids, there is reached a yet higher truth; but still Philosophy, its Meaning and Scope 15 a truth that comes wholly within the realm of science. Again, looking around at birds and mammals, suppose we say that air-breathing animals are hot- blooded; and that then, remembering how reptiles, which also breathe air, are not much warmer than their media, we say more truly, that animals (bulks being equal) have temperatures propor- tionate to the quantities of air they breathe; and that then, calling to mind certain large fish which maintain a heat considerably above that of the water they swim in, we further correct the gen- eralization by saying that the temperature varies as the rate of oxygenation of the blood ; and that then, modifying the statement to meet other criticisms, we finally assert the relation to be between the amount of heat and the amount of molecular change — supposing we do all this, we state scien- tific truths that are successively wider and more complete, but truths which, to the last, remain purely scientific. Once more if, guided by mercantile experiences, we reach the conclusion that prices rise when the demand exceeds the supply; that commodities flow from places where they are abundant to places where they are scarce; and that the industries of different localities are determined in their kinds mainly by the facilities which the localities afford for them ; and if, studying these generalizations of political economy, we trace them all to the truth that each man seeks satisfaction for his desires in ways costing the smallest efforts — such social 16 Readings in Philosophy phenomena being resultants of individual actions so guided ; we are still dealing with the propositions of science only. And now how is philosophy constituted? It is constituted by carrying a stage farther the process indicated. So long as these truths are known only apart and regarded as independent, even the most general of them cannot without laxity of speech be called philosophical. But when, having been sev- erally reduced to a simple mechanical axiom, a principle of molecular physics, and a law of social action, they are contemplated together as corollaries of some ultimate truth, then we rise to the kind of knowledge that constitutes philosophy proper. The truths of philosophy thus bear the same re- lation to the highest scientific truths that each of these bears to lower scientific truths. As each wid- est generalization of science comprehends and con- solidates the narrower generalizations of its own division, so the generalizations of philosophy com- prehend and consolidate the widest generalizations Of science. It is, therefore, a knowledge of extreme opposite in kind to which experience first accumu- lates. It is the final product of that process which begins with a mere colligation of crude observations, goeis on establishing propositions that are broader and more separated from particular cases, and ends in universal propositions. Or, to bring the defini- tion to the simplest and clearest form, knowledge of the lowest kind is un-unified /knowledge; science is partially-unified knowledge; philosophy is com- pletely-unified knowledge. Philosophy, its Meaning and Scope , 17 D. The Difference Between Philosophy and Religion The difference between the spirit and intent of Philosophy and Religion are dwelt upon in the fol- lowing passages from the Theologico-political Trac- tate of Baruch Spinoza : We '■ said in an earlier chapter, that the purpose of Scripture is only to teach obedience. This no one can deny. Who does not see that either Testa- ment is nothing but a training in obedience, and that they intend nothing other than that men obey in the proper spirit? For, to pass over what I showed in the former chapter, Moses strove not to convince the Israelites by reason, but to bind them by a covenant, oaths, and the expectation of favors ; then he held the people subject to law through threats of punishment, and encouraged them to the same with rewards; all which measures are to the end not of knowledge but of obedience only. Evan- gelical teaching also contains nothing except simple faith; namely, to trust in God and to revere him, or — which is the same thing — to obey God. I have no need then to multiply texts of Scripture which commend obedience, a number of which are to be found in each Testament, to prove a thing which is most manifest. Scripture itself also teaches in many places with utmost clearness what one must do to please God : namely, that the whole law consists in this alone, in love toward one's ' Spinoza, B., Theologico-political Tractate, from ch. xiv; translated from the text of Van Vloten and Land, The Hague, 1914. 18 Readings in Philosophy ■ neighbor. Wherefore, no one can deny that he who in accordance with the command of God loves his neighbor as himself is really obedient and blessed according to the law, and that he who on the con- trary hates or neglects him is rebellious and ob- stinate. . The aim of philosophy is nothing but truth ; that of faith, as we have abundantly shown, nothing but obedience and piety. The foundations of philosophy are general principles, which must be sought from nature alone; that of faith, however, is history, and language, and should be sought in Scripture and revelation alone. . . . Faith therefore grants the greatest liberty to every one to study philosophy ; so that one may hold with impunity whatever view he wishes regarding anjrthing. It condemns as heretics and schismatics only those who teach views leading to arrogance, hatred, and contentiousness; and on the contrary holds as faithful only those who teach justice and charity with all the might and power of their reason. E. The Similarity Between Philosophy and Religion The similarity in spirit and aim of philosophy and religion are emphasized in the following pas- sage from Hegel's Lectures on the Philosophy of Eeligion : When ^ we say that philosophy takes religion as one of its objects of study the two seem placed in ^ Hegel, G. W. F., Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion, pp. 5-7; translated from the edition of 1832. Philosophy, its Meaning and Scope 19 a relation in which they are different from each other; they stand opposed the one to the other. In fact, however, it must be said that the content, the motive, and the interest, of philosophy are common to it and theology. The object of religion, as of philosophy, is the eternal truth in its objectivity; God, nothing but God, and the interpretation of God. Philosophy in- terprets itself only by interpreting religion ; and by interpreting itself it interprets religion. It is like religion in its interest in the same object; it is the thinking spirit which pervades this object — the truth — , the inspiration and enjoyment, the correc- tion and purification of the subjective self -con- sciousness in and through this interest. Thus philosophy and religion merge. In fact philosophy itself is worship. But each is worship in its own way. It is in this peculiarity of the man- ner of concernment with God that they differ from each other. There lie the difficulties which appear so great thait they seem to make it impossible that philosophy should be one with religion. Thence come theology's apprehensions regarding philosophy, the mutually hostile attitude of religion and phil- osophy. According to this hostile attitude (in so far as theology assumes it) philosophy appears to have a destructive, disturbing, desecrating effect upon the content of religion. This is the ancient opposition or contradiction which stands before us as generally recognized, and has more weight than the just asserted unity of religion and philosophy. The time seems now to have come when philosophy may concern itself with the consideration of re- 20 Readings in Philosophy ligion in a more unprejudiced, a happier, and more wholesome manner. The connection of philosophy and theology is not new. It occurred in the case of those theologians who are called the Church Fathers, even the most eminent of them. They had studied deeply in the neo-platonic, neo-pythagorean, and neo-aristotelian philosophy, and went over to Christianity partly because of philosophy itself; in part they applied this depth of spirit which they had gained through the study of philosophy to the doctrines of Chris- tianity. To this philosophic training the Christian Church owes the first beginnings of a content to Christian doctrine, which could not yet be called formal "dogmatics". To be sure it is often said that it has been a disadvantage for Christianity to have acquired a definite content, a "dogmatic". Later we shall have something to say about the re- lation of a system of doctrines to religious feeling, to the thrill of pure devotion. This union of theology and philosophy we see also in the middle ages. Scholastic philosophy is one and the same with theology. Philosophy is theology, and theology philosophy. So little was it believed that conceptual knowledge was detrimental to theol- ogy that it was held to be essential to theology itself. Those great men — Anselm, and Abelard — de- veloped theology farther on the basis of philosophy. CHAPTER II PRIMITIVE THOUGHT A. The Attributes op the Soul in Primitive Thought The^ soul is visible or invisible, generally the latter. As we have seen, it is invisible precisely be- cause it is seen with the brain, not with the eye. In some cases we find that spirits are not feared in the daytime because they are then invisible, but they are feared at night. Night is the time when souls are seen; they are not the "ghosts" of fancy, pro- duced by the absence of light, nor are they the images of dreams. The uncultured mind generally does its thinking when day is over. As the savage sits by the camp-fire before going to sleep, the images of his experiences move quickly through his brain ; that is to say, he sees a panorama of souls of men and things. The visual illusions arising from the contemplation of fire-light doubtless give rise to the representation of the soul as a spark or a flame ; and the shapes seen in fire-light may at times be identified with souls. The substance of the soul is attenuated reality. The visual image, which is a replica of the percept, continually takes on the characteristics of the object ^Crawley, A. E.: The Idea Of The Soul, pages 208-214; A. and C. . Black, 1909 ; reprinted by permission of the pub- lishers, and Mr. Crawley. (21) 3 22 Readings in Philosophy as they vary with circumstances. The Indians of Canada believe that sbuls bleed when stabbed with a knife. In the Middle Ages not only were bodies burned alive on earth, but souls were burned in hell. The Kafir gives his child an emetic to purge him of the Christianity he has learned at the Mission School. In China, Brazil, and Australia, mutilation of the body has a corresponding effect on the soul. If therefore a dead man is hamstrung or has" his thumbs cut off, his soul will be harmless. In savage thought acquired characteristics are inherited by the disembodied soul. Souls, as in Fiji story, are subject to decomposition. Throughout history the idea of the soul has kept more or less, even after language has made it an abstraction, to a material substantiality. The mind cannot think a pure ab- straction or an immaterial substance. The materiality of the soul, therefore, is not the result of any materialistic doctrine,-neither is its ethereality the result of idealism. Early men have no metaphysical dogmas about matter and energy, matter and spirit. To them all substance is the same, neither material nor immaterial, but neutral. Their attitude is unconsciously scientific. The attenuated substantiality of the soul is of course due to the fact that it is a memory image. This possesses volume, yet in a less degree than the percept. The filmy or vaporous quality of the soul is therefore due, not to its being the breath or the life, but to the fact that the memory image is fainter and less solid than the object. To this should be added the chief characteristic of sight in contrast to touch, since the memory-image is mainly visual. Primitive Thought 23 The eye to a great extent lacks the experience of resistance, "there being nothing to constitute a re^ sisting obstacle to the rotation of the ball, except its own very small inertia. Hence the eye with all its wide range and close-searching capabilities can- not be said to contribute to the fundamental con- sciousness of the object universe, the feeling of resistance". The same characteristic belongs to hearing. Which has the higher "reality", the body or the soul? Here again the savage does not dogmatise; all experience is real, though it may differ in de- gree. Death proves that the soul is more real, since it still exists in the memory of others when the body has passed away. It is also more real, because it tends to be more constant than the percept. The real person is uncertain in his movements and un- reliable in his acts; but the memory-image of the person is always more or less generalized by repeti- 'tion. Along this line are developed at a later stage the ideas of the formal cause of a thing and of the essence, or the thing in itself. It is of interest to note with reference to the repeating function of the brain, that repetition intensifies and confirms reality. On the other hand, the sense of touch turns the scale in favor of the body. For common sense the great test of reality is resistance; touch is the final criterion of the real presence. "Handle me and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have". We may here refer to the current doctrine that early man confused subjective and objective reality. Sensations are referred to an external obj^ect. When 24 Readings in Philosophy the object is absent, and the same nervous center is stimulated, does the mind refer the stimulus to the object? In the abnormal processes of hallucination and the projection of after images this is tem- porarily the case. The projection of memory- images is equally abnormal. Such experiences might produce the idea of the bilocation of objects, but not the idea of the soul. In any case, however, we must confine ourselves to normal experience. Is then the memory-image so intense in the primitive mind as to be mistaken for the percept? This is extremely improbable, as early man depended for his very existence on the power of discriminating mental and objective reality. Moreover, we con- tinually find C9,ses where, though he ascribes reality to mental experience and to dream images, yet the reality is particularly noted as different. Kafir boys and girls "distinguish their dreams from their wak- ing experiences, though they think the dreams were real in a certain sense". This distinction is psycho- logically sound. Other characteristics of the soul which are de^ rived from the characteristics of the memory-image are rapidity, evanescence, permanence leading to immortality, changelessness, and separability. The soul is a, light, fluttering, or gliding thing, quick to come and quick to go, hard to catch and hard to detain. Hence it is symbolized by means of birds, butterflies, moths, flies, lizards, and snakes, light or fluttering or rapidly moving creatures. These characteristics are those of the image as it glides along the stream of consciousness. Only con- centrated attention can check its movement. Primitive Thought 25 The soul of a man exists in a mental world, the brains of other men, until and even after he dies. As opposed to the changing movements of the owner, it is more or less stationary and changeless. It is a standard of reference. As has been suggested, it is automatically generalised by repetition. The germ of its immortality is the fact that it exists in the brains of others. A man dies, but his image remains. The fact of death does not neces- sarily alter the character of the memory image, though such alteration is found ; the permanence of the soul depends on the length of the memory of the survivors, on the affection the dead man inspired, or the strength of his personality. Remarkable char- acters develop into "ancestors" and "heroes". Their souls, regarded as connected with their remains, and then with their resting-places, receive artificial support in the way- of food and drink, the soul of which they absorb, visiible replicas and fetish-like symbols. In these methods of embodying a memory there is the beginning of a cult, of idols, shrines, and temples. The savage has no idea of absolute immortality. The soul itself dies; its existence, that is, depends on the memory of others. But neither has he any idea of absolute death of the organism. He avoids reflection on so disagreeable a subject, and never realizes the fact of his own annihilation. Death for him is rarely due to natural causes; if it were not for magic, as producing disease and death, and for violence, man would live for an indefinite time. There is a flavour of scientific truth about this view. 26 Readings in Philosophy The soul is, by the very fact of its origin, separ- able from the personality. Its connection with the latter is likely to be mysterious for the naive con- sciousness. In the presence of. the person it coalesces with him or disappears; it reappears in his absence, or when present, if the subject closes his eyes he sees the soul, if he opens them he sees the man. There are many results of this separability. The phenomena of sleep and dream, disease and death, constitute an Odyssey of the soul. This has often been described in its main features. Some less hackneyed details of adventure may here be noted in connection with the psychology of the ideas of separation and connection. These ideas are mainly derived from the relation of the memory-image to the percept. In the early stages it requires some effort to keep the image separate from the reality when the percept is avail- able. Accordingly peoples like the Australians cannot "distinguish between body and soul". With the Kafirs body and soul are closely connected, "if not identical". The Bantu says "my body and soul are one; my soul is myself" Early thought, again, is more apt to connect than to separate. In reference to the primitive fear of thought, the probability may be noted that the fact of the object living in the brain of the subject is itself an uncanny experience. The mind is uneasy about such duality of existence. Conversely, when there is especial reason for fearing the object, the mind is afraid lest the image should become real, lest it should bring the object into sight, or be visu- Primitive Thought 27 alised into reality, in other words, lesit it should be exchanged for the percept. The theory of omens is connected with this prin- ciple. When a man has in his mind a picture of what he is about to do, any appearance that bears an analogy to his intended action is regarded as a possibility of realisation. If it is in harmony with the intention, it is a good omen, a help to satis- factory realisation; if it is antagonistic, it is evil and may frustrate the contemplated issue. The tendency to connect is shown in language, in thought, and in a multitude of early habits. Thus fragments of a man's personality, such as hair or nail-clippings, or clothes, retain a close con- nection, due originally not to any physical theory as might be inferred from sympathetic magic, nor to any notion of a "force" or "influence" pervading such parts of the whole, but simply to the compre- hensiveness of the percept and the image. The mind is loath to divide either. Apparently, how- ever, it is also prone to divide them. When analysis of the percept once begins, it goes far, and we have to deal with what amounts to a plurality of souls. The fact is that the original comprehensive totality, though desired by the mind, is more easily referred to by parts or symbols or tags. An instructive case of misconception in such ques- tions is to be found in what is reported of the Chinese. With this people, so profoundly religious, the value of the soul as compared with the body is said to be "almost entirely ignored". The explana- tion of this is that the Chinese mind identifies soul and personality, memory-image and percept, in a 28 R&adings in Philosophy very practical and scientific way. To the Chinese the man is the soul, and the soul is the man. The conviction that the soul has the shape of the body is one which calls up the body immediately before their eyes whenever they think of the soul. They will have no more dualism than the facts of nature demand. B. Homeopathic Magic One of the most classic discussions of primitive magic is to be found in the following passages from Frazer's "Golden Bough": • Perhaps^ the most familiar application of the principle that like produces like is the attempt which has been made by many peoples in many ages to injure or destroy an enemy by injuring or destroy- ing an image of him, in the belief that, just as the image suffers, so does the man, and that when it perishes he must die. A few instances out of many may be given to prove at once the wide diffusion of the practice over the world and its remarkable per- sistence through the ages. For thousands of years ago it was known to the sorcerers of ancient India, Babylon, and Egypt, as well as of Greece and Eome, and at this day it is still resorted to by cunning and malignant savages in Australia, Africa, and Scot- land. Thus the North American Indians, we are told, believe that by drawing the figure of a person in^ sand, ashes, or clay, or by considering, any object as ' Frazer, J. G., The Golden Bough, Part I, The Magic Art, Vol. I ; pages 55-60 ; 3d edition, 1913 ; reprinted by permission of Macmillan and Company, Ltd., London. Primitive Thought 29 his body, and then pricking it with a sharp stick or doing it any other injury, they inflict a correspond- ing injury on the person represented. For example, when an Ojebway Indian desires to work evil on any one, he makes a little wooden image of his enemy and runs a needle into its head or heart, or he shoots an arrow into it, believing that wherever the needle pierces or the arrow strikes the image, his foe will the same instant be seized with a sharp pain in the corresponding part of his body ; but if he intends to kill the person outright, he bums or buries the puppet, uttering certain magic words as he does so. So when a Cora Indian of Mexico wishes to kill a man, he makes a figure of him out of burnt clay, strips of cloth, and so forth, and then, muttering incantations, runs thorns through the head or stomach of the figure to make his victim suffer correspondingly. Sometimes the Cora Indian makes a more beneficent use of this sort of homeo- pathic magic. When he wishes to multiply his flocks or herds, he models a figure of the animal he wants in wax or clay, or carves it from tuff, and deposits it in a cave of the mountains; for these Indians believe that the mountains are masters of all riches, including cattle and sheep. For every cow, deer, dog or hen he wants, the Indian has to sacrifice a corresponding image of the creature. This may help us to • understand the meaning of the figures of cattle, deer, horses, and pigs which were dedicated to Diana at Nemi. They may have been the offerings of farmers or huntsmen who hoped thereby to multiply the cattle or the game. Simi- larly when the Todas of Southern India desire to 30 Readings in Philosophy obtain more buffaloes, they offer silver images of these animals in the temples. The Peruvian Indians moulded images of fat mixed with grain to imitate the persons whom they disliked or feared, and then burned the effigy on the road where the intended victim was to pass. This they called burning his soul. But they drew a delicate distinction between the kinds of materials to be used in the manufacture of these images, according as the victim was an Indian or a Viracocha, that is, a Spaniard. To kill an Indian they employed maize and the fat of a llama, to kill a Spaniard they used wheat and the fat of a pig, because Viracochas did not eat llamas and preferred wheat to maize. A Malay charm of the same sort is as follows: Take parings of nails, hair, eyebrows, spittle, and so forth of your intended victim, enough to represent every part of his person, then make them up into his likeness with wax from a deserted bees' comb. Scorch the figure slowly by holding it over a lamp every night for seven nights, and say : "It is not waix that I am scorching, It is the liver, heart, and spleen of So-and-so that I scorch." After the seventh time bum the figure, and your vic- tim will die. This charm obviously combines the prin^ ciples of homeopathic and contagious magic; since the image which is made in the likeness of an enemy contains things which once were in contact with him, namely, his nails, hair, and spittle. Another form of the Malay charm, which resembles the Ojeb- way practice still more closely, is to make a corpse Primitive Thought 31 of wax from an empty bees' comb and of the length of a footstep ; then pierce the eye of the image, and your enemy is blind; pierce the stomach, and he is sick; pierce the head, and his head aches; pierce the breast, and his breast will suffer. If you would kill him outright, transfix the image from the head downwards; enshroud it as you would a corpse; pray over it as if you were praying over the dead ; then bury it in the middle of a path where your victim will be sure to step over it. In order that his blood may not be on your head, you should say : ''It is not I who am burying him, It is Gabriel who is burying him." Thus the guilt of the murder will be laid on the shoulders of the archangel Gabriel, who is a great deal better able to bear it than you are. In eastern Java an enemy may be killed by means of a likeness of him drawn on a piece of paper, which is then in- censed or buried in the ground. Among the Min- angkabauers of Sumatra a man who is tormented by the passion of hate or of unrequited love will call in the help of a wizard in order to cause the object of his haite or love to suffer from a dangerous ulcer known as tinggam. After giving the wizard the necessary instructions as to the name, bodily form, dwelling, and family of the person in question, he makes a puppet which is supposed to resemble his intended victim ; and repairs with it 1)0 a wood, where he hangs the image on a tree that stands quite by itself. Muttering a spell, he then drives an instrument through the navel of the puppet into the tree, till the sap of the tree oozes through the 32 Readings in Philosophy hole thus made. The instrument which inflicts the wound bears the same name (tingga/m) as the ulcer which is to be raised on the body of the victim, and the oozing sap is believed to be his or her life- spirit. Soon afterwards the person against whom the charm is directed begins to suffer from an ulcer, which grows worse and worse till he dies, unless a friend can procure a piece of the wood of the tree to which the image is attached. The sorcerers of Mabuiag or Jervis Island, in Torres Straits, kept an assortment of effigies in stock ready to be operated on at the requirement of a customer. Some of the figures were of stone; these were employed when short work was to be made of a man or woman. Others were wooden; these gave the unhappy victim a little more rope, only, however, to terminate his prolonged sufferings by a painful death. The mode of operation in the latter case was to put poison, by means of a magical implement, into a wooden image, to which the name of the intended victim had been given. Next day the person aimed at would feel chilly, then waste away and die, unless the same wizard who had wrought the charm would consent to undo it. If the sorcerer pulled off an arm or leg of the image, the human victim felt pain in the corresponding limb of his body; but if the sorcerer restored the severed arm or leg to the figure, the man recovered. Another mode of compassing a man's death in Torres Straits was to prick a wax effigy of him or her with the spine of a sting-ray; so when the man whose name had been given to the waxen image next went afishing on the reef a sting-ray would Primitive Thought 33 sting him in the exact part of his body where the waxen image had been pierced. Or the sorcerer might hang the effigy on the bough of a tree, and as it swayed to and fro in the wind the person repre- sented by it would fall sick. However, he would get well again if a friend of his could induce the magi- cian to steady the figure by sticking it firmly in the sandy bottom of the sea. When the Lerons of Borneo wish to be revenged on an enemy, they make a wooden image of him and leave it in the jungle. As it decays, he dies. More elaborate is the proceed- ing adopted by the Kenyahs of Borneo in similar circumstances. The operator retires with the image to a quiet spot on the river bank, and. when a hawk appears in a certain part of the sky, he kills a fowl, smears its blood on the image, and puts a bit of fat in the mouth of the figure, saying, "Put fat in his mouth". By that he means, "May his head be cut off, hung up in an enemy's house, and fed with fat in the usual way." Then he strikes at the breast of the image with a small wooden spear, throws it into a pool of water reddened with red earth, and after- wards takes it out and buries it in the ground. C. Contagious Magic Thus'^ far we have been considering chiefly that branch of sympathetic magic which may be called homeopathic or imitative. Its leading principle, as we have seen, is that like produces like, or, in other words, that an effect resembles its cause. The other great branch of sympathetic magic, which I have. ^Ibid., pages 174-177. 34 Readings in Philosophy called Contagious Magic, proceeds upon the notion that things which have.once been conjoined must re- main ever afterwards, even when quite dissevered from each other, in such a sympathetic relation that whatever is done to the one must similarly affect the other. Thus the logical basis of Contagious Magic, like that of Homeopathic Magic, is a mistaken as- sociation of ideas; its physical basis, if we may speak of such a thing, like the physical basis of Homeopathic Magic, is a material medium of some sort which, like the ether of modern physics, is as- sumed to unite distant objects and to convey im- pressions from one to the other. The most familiar example of Contagious Magic is the magical sym- pathy which is supposed to exist between a man and any severed portion of his person, as his hair or nails ; so that whoever gets possession of human hair or nails may work his will, at any distance, upon the person from whom they were cut. This superstition is world-wide. . . . While like other superstitions it has had its absurd and mischievous consequences, it has nevertheless in- directly done much good by furnishing savages with strong, though irrational, motives for observ- ing rules of cleanliness which they might never have adopted on rational grounds. How the superstition has produced this salutary effect will appear from a single instance, which I will give in the words of an experienced observer. Amongst the natives of the Gazelle Peninsula in New Britain "it is, as a rule, necessary for the efficiency of a charm that it should contain a part of the person who is to be enchanted (for example, his hair), or a piece of his Primitive Thought 35 clothing, or something that stands in some relation to him, such as his excrements, the refuse of his food, his spittle, his footprints, etc. All such ob- jects can be employed as panait, that is, as a medium for a papait or charm, consisting of an incantation or murmuring of a certain formula, together with the blowing into the air of some burnt lime which is held in the hand. It need hardly, therefore, be said tha;t the native removes all such objects as well as he can. Thus the cleanliness which is usual in the houses and consists in sweeping the floor carefully every day, is by no means based on a desire for cleanliness and neatness in themselves, but purely on the effort to put out of the way anything that might serve an ill-wisher as a charm." I will now illustrate the principles of Contagious Magic by examples, beginning with its application to va- rious parts of the human body. Among the Australian tribes it was a common practice to knock out one or more of a boy's front teeth at those ceremonies of initiation to which every male member had to submit before he could enjoy the rights and privileges of a full-grown man. The reason of the practice is obscure. . . . All that concerns us here is the evidence of a belief that a sympathetic relation continued to exist between the lad and his teeth after the latter had been extracted from his gums. Thus among some of the tribes about the river Darling, in New South Wales, the extracted tooth was placed under the bark of a tree near a river or water hole ; if the bark grew over the tooth, or if the tooth fell into the water, all was well; but if it were exposed and the ants ran 36 Readings in Philosophy over it, the natives believed that the boy would suffer from a disease of the mouth. Among the Murring and other tribes of New South Wales the extracted tooth was at first taken care of by an old man, and then passed from one headman to another, until it had gone all round the community, when it came back to the lad's father, and finally to the lad himself. But however it was thus conveyed from hand to hand, it might on no account be placed in a bag containing magical substances, for to do so would, they believed, put the owner of the, tooth in great danger. The late Dr. Howitt once acted as custodian of the teeth which had been extracted from some novices at a ceremony of initiation, and the old men earnestly besought him not to carry them in a bag in which they knew that he had some quartz crystals. They declared that if he did so the magic of the crystals would pass into the teeth, and so injure the boys. Nearly a year after Dr. Howitt's return from the ceremony he was visited by one of the principal men of the Murring tribe, who had travelled some two hundred and fifty miles from his home to fetch back the teeth. This man explained that he had been sent for them because one of the boys had fallen into ill health, and it was believed that the te^th had received some injury which had affected him. He was assured that the teeth had been kept in a box apart from any sub- stances, like quartz crystals, which could influence them ; and he returned home bearing the teeth with him carefully wrapt up and concealed. In the Dieri tribe of South Australia the teeth knocked out at initiation were bound up in emu feathers, and kept Primitive Thought 37 by the boy's father or his next-of-kin until the mouth had healed, and even for long afterwards. Then the father, accompanied by a few old men, per- formed a ceremony for the purpose of taking all the supposed life out of the teeth. He made a low rumbling noise without uttering any words, blew two or three times with his mouth, and jerked the teeth through his hand to some little distance. After that he buried them about eighteen inches under ground. The jerking movement was meant to show that he thereby took all the life out of the teeth. Had he failed to do so, the boy would, in the opinion of the natives, have been liable to an ulcer- ated and wry mouth, impediment in speech, and ultimately a distorted face. This ceremony is in- teresting as a rare instance of an attempt to break the sympathetic link between a man and a severed part of himself by rendering the part insensitive. A^ curious application of the doctrine of con- tagious magic is the relation commonly believed to exist between a wounded man and the agent of the wound, so that whatever is subsequently done by or to the agent must correspondingly affect the patient either for good or evil. Thus Pliny tells us that if you have wounded a man and are sorry for it, you have only to spit on the hand that gave the wound, and the pain of the sufferer will be instantly alleviated. In Melanesia, if a man's friends get possession of the arrow which wounded him, they 'Ibid., pp. 201-203. 4 38 Readings in Philosophy keep it in a damp place or in cool leaves, for then the inflammation will be trifling, and will soon sub- side. Meantime the enemy who shot the arrow is hard at work to aggravate the wound by all the means in his power. For this purpose he and his friends drink hot and burning juices and chew irri- tating leaves, for this will clearly inflame and irri- tate the wound. Further, they keep the bow near the fire to make the wound which' it has inflicted hot ; and for the same reason they put the arrowhead, if it has been recovered, into the fire. Moreover, they are careful to keep the bowstring taut and to twang it occasionally, for this will cause the wounded man to suffer from tension of the nerves and spasms of tetanus. Similarly when a Kwakiutl Indian of Brit- ish Columbia had bitten a piece out of an enemy's arm, he used to drink hot water afterwards for the purpose of thereby inflaming the wound in his foe's body. Among the Lkungen Indians of the same region it is a rule that an arrow, or any other weapon that has wounded a man, must be hidden by his friends, who have to be careful not to bring it near the fire till the wound is healed. If a knife or an arrow which is still covered with a man's blood were thrown into the fire, the wounded man would suffer very much. In the Yerkla-mining tribe of southeastern Australia it is thought that if any one but the medicine man touches the flint knife with which a boy has been subincised, the boy will thereby be made very ill. So seriously is this be- lief held that if the lad chanced thereafter to fall sick and die, the man who had touched the knife Primitive Thought 39 would be killed. "It is constantly received and avouched," says Bacon, "that the anointing of the weapon that maketh the wound will heal the wound itself. In this experiment, upon the relation of men of credit (though myself, as yet, am not fully inclined to believe it), you shall note the points following: first, the ointment wherewith this is done is made of divers ingredients, whereof the strangest and hardest to come by are the moss upon the skull of a dead man unburied, and the fats of a boar and a bear killed in the act of generation." The precious ointment compounded out of these and other ingredients was applied, as the philosopher explains, not to the wound but to the weapon, and that even though the injured man was at a great distance and knew nothing about it. The experi- ment, he tells us, had been tried of wiping the oint- ment off the weapon without the knowledge of the person hurt, with the result that he was presently in a great rage of pain until the weapon was anointed again. Moreover, "it is affirmed that if you cannot get the weapon, yet if you put an instru- ment of iron or wood resembling the weapon into the wound, whereby it bleedeth, the anointing of that instrument will serve and work the effect."' Remedies of the sort which Bacon deemed worthy of his attention are still in vogue in the eastern counties of England. Thus in Suffolk if a man cuts himself with a bill-hook or a scythe he always takes care to keep the weapon bright, and oils it to pre- vent the wound from festering. If he runs a thorn or, as he calls it, a bush into his hand, he oils or 40 Readings in Philosophy greases the extracted thorn. A man came to a doc- tor with an inflamed hand, having run a thorn into it while he was hedging. On being told that the hand was festering, he remarked, "That didn't ought to, for I greased the bush well arter I pulled it out." CHAPTER III THE DIFFERENTIATION OF PHILOSOPHY AND SCIENCE FROM RELIGION A. Native Fallacies of Human Thought There is no classic discussion of the breakdown of primitive thought and the development of the consciousness of correct principles, suitable for our present purpose, but the following classic passages from Francis Bacon point out native tendencies to error on the part of the mind, tendencies which are at the basis of the fallacies the primitive man con- stantly commits: XLV The^ human understanding is of its own nature prone to suppose the existence of more order and regularity in the world than it find's. And though there be many things in nature which are singular and unmatched, yet it devises for them parallels and conjugates aad relatives which do not exist XLVl The human understanding when it has once adopted an opinion (either as being the received opinion or as being agreeable to itself) draws all things else to support and agree with it. And though there be a greater number and weight of ' Bacon, Francis, Novum Organum; edition of 1863. (41) 42 Readings in Philosophy instances to be found on the other side, yet these it either neglects and despises, or else by some distinc- tion sets aside and rejects; in order that by this great and pernicious predetermination the authority of its former conclusions may remain inviolate. And therefore it was a good answer that was made by one who when they showed him hanging in a temple a picture of those who had paid their vows as having escaped shipwreck, and would have him say whether he did not acknowledge the- power of the gods, — "Aye," asked he again, "but where are they painted that were drowned after their vows?" And such is the way of all superstition, whether in astrology, dreams, omens, divine judgments, or the like; wherein men, having a delight in such vanities, mark the events where they are fulfilled, but where they fail, though this happen much oftener, neglect and pass them by. But with far more subtlety does this mischief insinuate itself into philosophy and the sciences; in which the first conclusion colours and brings into conformity with itself all that come after, though far sounder and better. Besides, in- dependently of that delight and vanity which I have described, it is the peculiar and perpetual error of the human intellect to be more moved and excited by affirmatives than by negatives; whereas it ought properly to hold itself indifferently disposed towards both alike. Indeed in the establishment of any true axiom, the negative instance is the more forcible of the two. XLVII The human understanding is moved by those things most which strike and enter the mind simul- Differentiation of Philosophy and Science 43 taneously and suddenly, and so fill the imagination ; and then it feigns and supposes all other things to be somehow, though it cannot see how, similar to those few things by which it is surrounded. But for that going to and fro to remote and hetero- geneous instances, by which axioms are tried as in the fire, the intellect is altogether slow and unfit, unless it be forced thereto by severe laws and over- ruling authority. • XLIX The human understanding is no dry light, but re- ceives an infusion from the will and affections; whence proceed sciences which may be called "sciences as one would." For what a man had rather were true he more readily believes. There- fore he rejects difficult things from impatience of research; sober things, because they narrow hope; the deeper things of nature, from superstition; the light of experience, from arrogance and pride, lest his mind should seem to be occupied with things mean and transitory ; things not commonly believed, out of deference to the opinion of the vulgar. Num- berless in short are the ways, and sometimes im- perceptible, in which the affections colour and infect the understanding. . L But by far the greatest hindrance and aberration of the human understanding proceeds from the dull- ness, incompetency, and deceptions of the senses ; in that things which strike the sense outweigh things which do not immediately strike it, though they be more important. Hence it is that speculation com- 44 _ Readings in Philosophy monly ceases where sight ceases; insomuch that of things invisible there is little or no observation. Hence all the working of the spirits inclosed in tan- gible bodies lies hid and unobserved of men. So also all the more subtle changes of form in the parts of coarser substances (which they commonly call alteration, though it is in truth local motion through exceedingly small spaces) is in like manner unob- served. And yet unless these two things just men- tioned be searched out and brought to light, noth- ing great can be achieved in nature, as far as the production of works is concerned. So again the essential nature of our common air, and of all bodies less dense than air (which are very many), is al- most unknown. For the sense by itself is a thing infirm and erring; neither can instruments for en- larging or sharpening the senses do much; but all the truer kind of interpretation of nature is effected by instances and experiments fit and apposite; wherein the sense decides touching the experiment only, and the experiment touching the point in na- ture and the thing itself. LI The human understanding is of its own nature prone to abstractions and gives a substance and reality to things which are fleeting LV There is one principal and as it were radical dis- tinction between different minds, in respect of philosophy and the sciences; which is this: that some minds are stronger and apter to mark the dif- Differentiation of Philosophy and. Science 45 ferences of things, others to mark their resem- blances. The steady and acute mind can fix its con- templations and dwell and fasten on the subtlest dis- tinctions : the lofty and discursive mind recognizes and puts together the finest and most general resem- blances. Both kinds however easily err in excess, by catching the one at gradations the other at shadows. LVI There are found some minds given to an extreme admiration of antiquity, others to an extreme love and appetite for novelty ; but few so duly tempered that they can hold the mean, neither carping at what is well laid down by the ancients, nor despising what is well introduced by the modems. This how- ever turns to the great injury of the sciences and philosophy ; since these affectations of antiquity and novelty are the humours of partisans rather than judgments; and truth is to be sought for not in the felicity of any age, which is an unstable thing, but in the light of nature and experience, which is eternal. These factions therefore must be abjured, and care must be taken that the intellect be not hurried by them into assent. LIX . . . For men believe that their reason governs words; but it is also true that words react on the understanding; and this it is that has rendered philosophy and the sciences sophistical and inactive. Now words, being commonly framed and applied ac- cording to the capacity of the vulgar, follow those 46 Readings in Philasophy lines of division which are most obvious to the vulgar understanding. And whenever an understanding of greater acuteness or a more diligent observation would alter those lines to suit the true divisions of nature, words stand in the way and resist the change. Whence it comes to pass that the high and formal discussions of learned men end often- times in disputes about words and names; with which (according to the use and wisdom of the mathematicians) it would be more prudent to begin, and so by means of definitions reduce them to order. Yet even definitions cannot cure this evil in dealing with natural and material things; since the defini- tions themselves consist of words, and those words beget others: so that it is necessary to recur to individual instances, and those in due series and order; as I shall say presently when I come to the method and scheme for the formation of notions and axioms. LX The idols imposed by words on the understanding are of two kinds. They are either names of things which do not exist (for as there are things left un- named through lack of observation, so likewise are there names which result from fantastic supposi- tions and to which nothing in reality corresponds) , or they are names of things which exist, but yet con- fused and ill-defined, and hastily and irregularly derived from realities. XCVIII Now for grounds of experience — since to expe- rience we must come — we have as yet had either Differentiation of Philosophy and Science 47 none or very weak ones; no search has been made to collect a store of particular observations sufficient either in number, or in kind, or in certainty, to in- form the understanding, or in any way adequate. On the contrary, men of learning, but easy withal and idle, have taken for the construction or for the confirmation of their philosophy certain rumours and vague fames or airs of experience, and allowed to these the weight of lawful evidence. And just as if some kingdom or state were to direct its coun- sels and affairs, not by letters and reports from am- bassadors and trustworthy messengers, but by the gossip of the streets ; such exactly is the system of management introduced into philosophy with rela- tion to experience. Nothing duly investigated, nothing verified, nothing counted, weighed, or meas- ured, is to be found in natural history: and what in observation is loose and vague, is in information deceptive and treacherous Good hopes may therefore be conceived of natural philosophy, when natural history, which is the basis and foundation of it, has been drawn up on a better plan; but not till then. CIV The understanding must not however be allowed to jump and fly from particulars to remote axioms and of almost the highest generality (such as the first principles, as they are called, of arts and things), and taking stand upon them as truths that cannot be shaken, proceed to prove and frame the middle axioms by reference to them ; which has been the practice hitherto; the understanding being not 48 Readings in Philosophy only carried that way by a natural impulse, but also by the use of syllogistic demonstration trained and inured to it. But then, and then only, may we hope well of the sciences, when in a just scale of ascent, and by successive steps not interrupted or broken, we rise from particulars to lesser axioms ; and then to middle axioms, one above the other; and last of all to the most general. For the lowest axioms differ but slightly from bare experience, while the highest and most gener'al (which we now have) are notional and abstract and without solidity. But the middle are the true and solid and living axioms, on which depend the affairs and fortunes of men ; and above them again, last of all, those which are indeed the most general ; such I mean as are not abstract, but of which those intermediate axioms are really limitations. * The understanding must not therefore be supplied with wings, but rather hung with weights, to keep it from leaping and flying. B. Early Greek Philosophy The following passages constitute some of the principal sources of our knowledge of the theories of the early Greek philosophers : Thales: Most^ of the very early philosophers thought the material principle of things was the only one. For that of which things are composed. ^ Translated from Diels, Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, 1. Thales. (Letters and numbers correspond to designation in that work). Differentiation of Philosophy and Science 49 out of which at first they arise, and into which they finally pass away, the Reality enduring though changing in attributes, — this they say is the sub- stance and first principle of things. And for this reason they think that nothing really either comes into being or is destroyed, since there is a substance of this kind which is always conserved, , . . For there must be some natural substance, whether one or more than one, out of which all things arise, being itself everlasting. But as to the number and the nature of such principles all do not say the same thing. Thales, the founder of this kind of philoso- phy, says it is water ; (therefore, also, he represented the earth as floating upon water), deriving this suggestion perhaps from seeing that the nourish- ment of all things is moist, that even heat is derived from and sustained by it, (and that out of which a thing comes is its first principle) . He derived the suggestion from- this and also from the fact that the seed of all living things is moist in character, and water is the first principle of what is moist. (A 12.) . Thales thought all things were full of- gods. (A 22.) Thales said the mind of the universe is God, and that everything is alive and full of divine powers. (A 23.) It appears that Thales, from the accounts given of him, supposed the soul to be a cause of motion, if indeed he said the lodestone had a soul because it moved iron. (A 22.) Thales said the stars were made of earth, but fiery hot. (A 17a) , 50 Readings in Philosophy They say that Thales first proved that the circle is bisected by the diameter. . . . He is said first to have noted and said that in every isosceles tri- angle the angles next to the base are equal. . . . He also proved this theorem : that when two straight lines intersect the vertical angles are equal. (A 20.) Anaximander : This^ man said the first principle and elemental substance was the 'boundless', not defining it as air or water or any other specific thing. The parts of it change place, but the whole is un- changeable. The earth stands in the middle of things, holding the central position and having the form of a sphere. The moon shines by reflected light and is illuminated by the sun. The sun is no smaller than the earth, and is of the purest fire (1) . Of those who spoke of one moving and boundless substance Anaximander, son of Praxiades, of Mile- tus, who had been a pupil and successor of Thales, said the first principle and elemental substance was 'the boundless', being the first one to give this name to the first principle. He says it is neither water nor any other of the so-called elements, but a differ- ent kind of substance — 'indeterminate — from which all the heavens and the worlds within them origi- nated. And into that from which things have their origin do they also return in accordance with neces- sity; for they make amends and give satisfaction for wrong to each other in the course of time ; — speaking thus in rather poetic terms. (9). ' Ibid., 2, Anaximander. Differentiation of Philosophy and Science 51 He says the earth is cylindrical in form, and that its depth is one third of its breadth. . . . Fur- ther, he says that man was produced in the begin- ning from an animal of a different form; arguing from the fact that all others quickly come to sup- port themselves, but man alone needs nursing for a long time; wherefore in the beginning if he had been of this kind he would not have survived. (10) . Anaximenes: Anaximenes,^ son of Eurystratus, of Miletus, . . . represented the fundamental principle of all things as air; for from this all things come, and into it again they are dissolved. "As our soul", says he, "which is air holds us together, so breath and air surround the whole universe". (B2). Anaximenes . . . said the boundless air was the first principle from which conie all things that are, that have been, and that will be, even gods and divinities ; and all other things are the offspring of this. The nature of the air is as follows : when it is in its ordinary condition it is invisible, but is revealed by its coldness or warmth or wetness or motion; and it is always moving, for it could not bring about the changes which it does if it did not move. . . . The stars arose out of the earth, from the moisture arising from it, which becoming rare develops into fire, and from the fire floating on high the stars were composed. (A 7). ^ Ibid., 3. Anaximenes. 52 Readings in Philosophy Anaximenes . . . , like his predecessor, says . the underlying substance is boundless, yet not — as he had said — undetermined,' but of a definite kind, namely air; and it varies in different substances through rarity and density. When it becomes rarer it is fire, denser wind, then cloud, and when still more — water, then earth, then stones. All other things are composed of these. And he also regards as eternal the motion through which change occurs. (A 5). Upon contraction of the air, he says, the earth first came into existence, being quite flat, hence it was readily borne upon the air ; and the sun and the moon and the other heavenly bodies had their source in the earth. Therefore he declares that the sun is made of earth, but because of its swift motion it has acquired its very high temperature. (A 6). Heraclitus : The^ opposed agree ; out of different tones comes the most beautiful harmony; and all things arise through strife. (B 8). War is the father of all things, and king of all; some it made gods and others men, some slave, some free. (B 53). This world, the same for all, no god or man created; but it always was, and is, and will be, an everliving fire, being kindled and quenched in cer- tain degrees. (B 30). The transformations of fire are : first sea ; of the sea one-half earth, half hurricane. . . . The sea is spread round and measured in accordance with the ' Ibid., 12. Herakleitos. Differentiation of Philosophy and Science 53 same Reason which was before the earth was. (B 31). The one, which alone is wise, will and will not be called by the name of Zeus. (B 32). The stupid, when they hear, are like the deaf; the saying fits them — 'though present they are ab- sent'. (B34). Into the same river we step and do not step, we go and do not go. (B 49a) . To those who go into the same river ever new water is flowing. (B 12). God is day, night; winter, summer; war, peace; surfeit, famine; and he changes as fire does; when it is mingled with spices it is given the name of the fragrance of each. (B 67) . -They are at variance with the Reason which dis- poses all and with which they are most constantly in converse; and the things with which they meet from day to day appear strange to them. (B 72). One ought to know that war is universal ; justice is strife; and all things occur through strife and necessity. (B 80). Those who speak with intelligence must arm themselves with that which is the common posses- sion of all, as the city with law, — and even more strongly; for human laws are sustained by the one divine law ; it has as much power as it pleases ; it suflSces for and overconres all. (B 114). Xenophanes : There^ is one God, greatest among gods and men, like mortals in neither body nor mind. (B 23). ' Ihid., 11. Xenophanes. ■ 5 54 Readings in Philosophy Homer and Hesiod have ascribed to the gods all things which among men are a reproach and shame, — stealing, adultery, and deceiving one another. (B 11). But if oxen and horses or lions had hands and could draw and produce works such as men do, horses would have depicted the forms of gods like horses, oxen like oxen, and each would have given them bodies in form such as they themselves had. (B 15). The Ethiopians say their gods are flat-nosed and black, the Thracians that theirs are blue-eyed and red-haired. (B 16). The whole of Him sees, the whole of Him thinks, and the whole of Him hears. (B 24). Without effort he controls all things by the power of his mind. (B 25). Ever in the same place He remains unmoving; nor is it fitting for Him to move now hither now thither. (B 26). Mortals think that gods are born, and have cloth- ing, voice, and body like theirs. (B 14). Not from the beginning have the gods revealed all things to mortals, but in time by seeking they learn better. (B 18). Xenophanes said that those who assert that the gods were born are as irreverent as those who say they die; for in either case at some time the gods do not exist. (A 12). Xenophanes, the first of these monists (for Par- menides is said to have been a pupil of his), said nothing clearly, nor does he seem to have seized Differentiation of Philosophy and Science 55 upon any one thing as "nature", but looking up at the whole heaven said the One is God. (A 30). Parmenides : Never^ I ween shalt thou learn that Being can be of what is not; Wherefore do thou withdraw thy mind from this path of inquiry, Neither let habit compel thee, while treading this pathway of knowledge. Still to employ a visionless eye or an ear full of ringing. Yea, or a clamorous tongue; but prove this vexed demonstration Uttered by me, by reason. And now there remains for discussion One path only: That Being both be — and on it there are tokens Many and many to show that what is is birthless and deathless, • Whole and only-begotten, and moveless and ever- enduring : Never it was or shall be; but the ALL simultane- ously now is. One continuous one ; for of it what birth shalt thou search for? How and whence it hath sprung? I shall not per- mit thee to tell me, Neither to think: 'Of what is not,' for none can say or imagine ' Translation of Thomas Davidson, Journal of Speculative Philosophy, Vol. IV, 1870, pp. 5, 6. 56 Readings in Philosophy How Not-Is becomes Is; or else what need should have stirred it, After or yet before its beginning, to issue from nothing ? Thus either wholly Being must be or wholly must not be. Never from that which is will the force of Intelli- gence suffer Aught to become beyond being itself. Thence neither production Neither destruction doth Justice permit, ne'er slackening her fetters ; But she forbids. And herein is contained the de- cision of these things; Either there is or is not; but Judgment declares, as it needs must. One of these paths to be uncomprehended and utterly nameless. No true pathway at all, but the other to be and be * real. How can that which is now be hereafter, or how can it have been? For if it hath been before, or shall be hereafter, it is not: Thus generation is quenched and decay surpasseth believing. Nor is there aught of distinct; for the ALL is self- similar alway. Nor is there anywhere more to debar it from being unbroken ; Nor is there anywhere less, for All is sated with Being; Differentiation of Philosophy and Science 57 Wherefore the All is unbroken, and Being ap- proacheth to Being. Moveless, moreover, and bounded by great chains' limits it lieth, Void of beginning, without any ceasing, since birth and destruction Both have wandered afar, driven forth by the truth of conviction. Same in the same and abiding, and self through itself it reposes. Steadfast thus it endureth, for mighty Necessity holds it — Holds it within the chains of her bounds and round doth secure it. Wherefore that that which IS should be infinite is not permitted ; For it is lacking in naught, or else it were lacking in all things. Zeno, the Eleatic : There^ are four sayings of Zeno about motion which present difficulties to those who would solve them* "First, the one to the effect that a thing can not move, because it must traverse half the distance before it traverses all. . . . The second is the so-called "Achilles". This is that the slowest runner will never be overtaken by the swiftest; for the pursuer must first come to where the one pursued set out, so that the slower must always be somewhat in advance. . . . The third is the one now styled "The Flying Arrow Rests". It results from the assumption that time is com- Diels, Op. at., 19. Zeno. S.8 Readings in Philosophy posed of instants. . . . For, he says, if every- thing is either at rest or in motion, and is not mov- ing when it is at a certain point, (and that which is moving is at a point at every instant) , then the fly- ing arrow is motionless. . . . The fourth is the one regarding the equal masses moving in a course in opposite directions side by side, some from the end of the course, and some from the middle, with equal speed ; in which case he thinks half the time is equal to double it. (A 25-28). Having presumed that if the real had no size it would not exist, he continues: but if it exists, each part of it must have some size, and thickness, and . one part be at some distance from another. And the same statement is true of the part next smaller than it. For it too will have size, and will have a next smaller part. But to say this once is as good as to .endlessly repeat it ; for no such part of it will be ultimate, nor will there ever be one which is not related to another. So if there are many things, they must be both small and large, so small as to have no size, and so large as to be infinite. (B 1) . "Tell me, Protagoras," said he, "Does one grain or a ten thousandth part of a grain make a sound when it falls ?" When he said that it does not, "But does a bushel of grain make a sound when it falls, or not?" When he said that the bushel did make a sound, "How- then!" said Zeno, "Is not the ratio of the bushel of grain to the one the same ks that of the one to the ten thousandth part?" And when he said it was, "Why, then," said Zeno, "will not the ratio of the sounds be the same to each other? For as are the sounding bodies so are the sounds ; but if I Differentiation of Philosophy and Science 59 this is so, and if the bushel of gram makes a sound the one grain will also make a sound; and likewise the ten thousandth part of a grain". (A 29). Empedocles': ,0f^ a twofold process will I speak; at one time one single substance came to be out of many, again at another several out of one. Twofold is the origin of mortal things, and twofold their cessation. In the one case the union of elements begets and de- stroys things ; in the other the product of the scatter- ing of elements is again scattered. And these things never cease alternating, at one time all things com- ing together through Love, at another again being borne apart through the hatred of Strife. Since one is accustomed to come out of many, and again many come out of one by its separation, things are always arising and their duration proves not last- ing; but since they never cease alternating contin- uously, they are forever unmoved from their cycle. . . . At one time there came to be one thing only out of many, and then again many came out of one, fire and water and earth and the boundless height of air, and destructive Strife beside them equal in weight everywhere, and Love among them, equal in length and in breadth; ... all these elements are equal and the same in birth ; each holds a differ- ent office; each has its own character; and each in turn rules as time rolls on. Nothing comes into be- ing in addition to these, nor does anything perish from them; for if they continually perished they would not exist any longer; and what could be added to the whole, and whence could it come ? And how ' Ihid., 21. Empedokles. 60 Readings in Philosophy could it perish, since there is nothing beside these? These alone exist, and as they course among each other now one thing now another arises, and the like goes on always forever. (B 17) . Anaxagoras: All^ things were together, infinite in multitude and in smallness; . . . and while all things were together nothing was manifest, — because of its smallness; for air and ether, both boundless, surrounded all things, for these are pre- ponderant in all things, both in multitude and in size. (B 1). Air and ether were generated out of the vast sur- rounding mass; and the surrounding mass is in- finite in quanity. (B 2). . . . One must believe that many things, of varied kinds, are in all worlds ; and the 'seeds' of all things, having all kinds of forms, colors and flavors. Men and all other animals which have life have been composed out of these. And the men possess in- habited cities and tilled lands as with us, and have a sun and moon and the other bodies as we ; and the earth produces many things of varied kinds, the most useful of which they gather into their abodes and*use. . . . But before these things were dif- ferentiated, while all were together no color was manifest, for the mixture of all things prevented ; — the wet and the dry, the warm and the cold, the light and the dark, with much earth therein and seeds in- finite in quantity, in no respect like one another. (B4). '^ Ibid., 46. Anaxagoras. Differentiation of Philosophy and Science 61 In everything "a portion of everything — except mind — is contained ; but in some there is mind also. (B 11). Mind is boundless, and self-determining, and mixed with nothing, but exists by itself alone. For if it were not by itself, but had been mixed with something else it would have shared in all things. . . . And that which was mixed with it would have hindered it from controlling anything so well as when it exists alone by itself. For it is the most subtle of all things, and the purest, and understands all things, and has the greatest power. All things, great and small, which have life, — mind directs them. And mind ruled all the revolution, so that it began to revolve in the beginning. (B 12) . CHAPTER IV ATOMISTIC MATERIALISM A. Leukippus and Democritus Early Greek atomism is represented by the follow- ing extracts from the works of Leukippus and Democritus, and from early writers' accounts of them: Leukippus: Nothing^ arises by chance, but all things from reason and by necessity. (B 2). Leukippus and his companion Democritus say that the elements are the plenum and the void, call- ing the one being and the other non-being, — of the two that which is full and solid is being, that which is empty and tenuous is non-ibeing, (wherefore the real exists no more than the unreal, they say, be- cause empty space exists no less than solid bodies) ; and these are the fundamental principles of things, the material of which they are made. And as those who consider the fundamental reality as One account for all other things by changes in the condition of this, positing rarefaction and condensation as the causes of these changes of condition, — in the same way these men say differences in the elements are the causes of other things. Now these differences, they say, are three, — form, order and position ; for they maintain that the real differs in shape, in ar- ' Jbid., 54. Leukippos. (62) Atomistic Materialism 63 rangement and in situation only. A differs from N in form; AN from NA in order; I from H in position. As for motion whence or how it happens to things they, as others, lightly dismiss it. (A 6) . Leukippus, the Eleatic or Milesian (he is classified under both headings), though he had been of like opinion with Parmenides in philosophy, did not hold the same view as Parmenides and Xenophanes re- garding the real, but the opposite as it seems. . . . He posited the atoms as countless and ever mov- ing elements, and the multitude of forms among them as infinite (because there was no more reason for their being of one kind than of another) , hold- ing also that origination and change are incessant among real things. Furthermore, he held that "be- ing" exists no more than "non-being", and that both principles are involved in things which change. Conceiving the essence of the atoms as compact and full, he said they were "being" and were suspended in the void, which he called "non-being". (A 8). He says the universe is infinite in extent, . . . and a part of it is solid, part empty space. These dlla the elements. And there are countless worlds aming out of these, and into them they are dis- solved. And the origin of worlds is as follows: many bodies, of various forms, becoming separated from the infinite are borne into the great void, and they having gathered together form a single vortex, in which striking against each other and circling around in all possible ways, like parts are gathered to like. When bodies of equal weight no longer are able to move about on account of their number the small ones withdraw to the outer void, darting out 64 Readings in Philosophy as it were. But the rest remain together and be- coming intertwined unite with each other and form a kind of spherical system. (A 1) . Democritus : Democritus^ thinks the nature of the eternal principles to be small units of matter, in- finite in number; and^around these he conceives a region infinite in magnitude. He describes this re- gion in the terms "empty", "nothing", and "the in- finite", and each of the units of matter as "some- thing", "solid", "real". He thinks these units are so small that they escape our perception. And they have all kinds of forms and all possible shapes and differ- ences in size. From these, then, as elements, he conceives visible and perceptible masses to be origi- nated and cQmpounded. They separate off and are carried about in the void because of their dissimi- larities and other differences mentioned. As they are carried about they strike one another, and are involved in an intricate arrangement, which causes them to draw near and come into contact with each other; but does not in fact transform them into a single nature ; for it is absolutely foolish to say that 'duality' or 'plurality' would become 'unity'. The mingling of the bodies with each other for some time brings about the interchange and exchange of particles; for some of them are irregular, some hooked, some hollow, some curved; some have in- numerable differences. He thinks they cling to each other for a time and remain together, until some more .powerful force from the surrounding region ' Ibid., 55. Demokritos. Atomistic Materialism 65 coming up disturbs them and scatters them apart. And he asserts this mode of origination and the op- posed annihilation not only of animals but also of plants and worlds and in short of all perceptible bodies. If then origination is collection of atoms and destruction their scattering, according to De- mocritus origination would be merely change. (A 37). (The soul) has appeared to some to be fire; for this is the most subtle and most nearly immaterial of the elements, and besides it moves and moves other things very readily. Democritus has adduced the most critical arguments as to why both of these facts are so. For soul is the same as mind. And this is one of the most elemental and irreducible of bodies, and mobile because of the smallness of its parts, and because of its form. And he says that the most mobile of forms is the spherical; and of this form are mind and fire. (A 101). Man must know . . . that he is remote from the truth. (B 6) . This account shows that we know nothing in truth about anything; but each one's opinion is im- pression. (B 7). And yet it will be clear that it is difficult to know how each thing really is. (B 8). We perceive nothing certainly in reality, but only as a transitory thing according to the condition of the body and the inflowing and reacting influences. (B9). There are two forms of knowledge, one legitimate, the other illegitimate; illegitimate are all the follow- 66 Readings in Philosophy ing: sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch. The gen- uine is quite distinct from these. When the illegiti- mate can no more see nor hear nor smell nor taste nor perceive by touch because of the'minuteness of its object, and it is necessary to search into the more subtle, then comes the legitimate which has a more subtle organ of knowledge. (B 11). By convention there is color ; by convention sweet- ness ; by convention bitterness ; but in reality atoms and the void. (B 125). Tranquillity comes to men through moderation in enjoyment and through symmetry of life. But de- ficiency and superfluity are prone to change into each other and cause great commotions in the soul. But those souls which are stirred by great changes are neither stable nor tranquil. One must then keep his mind upon the possible and be satisfied with what is at hand, with little regard for the things that are commonly envied and admired, not pursu- ing them in thought. One must consider the lives of the distressed, bearing clearly in mind what they suffer, in order that the present and what already belongs to one may appear great and enviable, and it may not be the lot of one's soul to suffer ill through desiring something more. For he who admires those who have possessions and those who are considered happy by men and who in mind chase after them every hour are forced continually to con- trive new schemes and to conceive the desire to com- mit some irreparable deed which the laws forbid. Wherefore one ought not to seek these things, but be satisfied with one's own possessions, comparing his life with that of those who are faring worse and Atomistic Materialism 67 consider himself happy, bearing in mind what they are suffering and how much better than they he is faring and living. Keeping to this state of mind you will ward off not a few calamities, envy, jealousy and ill will. (B 191). B. Epicurus Atomistic materialism of the fourth century B. C. is represented by the following account of the phil- osophy of Epicurus. The direct quotations are from the letter of Epicurus to Herodotus. Parentheses contain com- ments of Diogenes. "First^ of all, we must admit that nothing can come of that which does not exist ; for, were the fact otherwise, then everything would be produced from everything, and there would be no need of any seed. And if that which disappeared were so absolutely destroyed as to become non-existent, then every thing would soon perish, as the things with which they would be dissolved would have no existence. But, in truth, the universal whole always was such as it now is, and always will be such. For there is nothing into which it can change ; for there is noth- ing beyond this universal whole which can penetrate into it, and produce any change in it". (And Epicurus establishes the same principles at the beginning of the great Abridgment ; and in the first book of his treatise on Nature.) "Now the uni- ' Diogehes Laertius : The Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers, Book X,- The Life of Epicurus; pages 438-441; translated by C. D. Yonge, 1853. 68 Readings in Philosophy versal whole is a body; for our senses bear us witness in every case that bodies have a real exist- ence ; and the evidence of the senses, as I have said before, ought to be the rule of our reasoning about everything which is not directly perceived. Other- wise, if that which we call the vacuum, or space, or intangible nature, had not a real existence, there would be nothing in which the bodies could be con- tained, or across which they could move, as we see that they really do move. Let us add to this reflec- tion that one cannot conceive, either in virtue of perception, or of any analogy founded on perception, any general quality peculiar to all beings which is not either an attribute, or an accident of the body, or of the vacuum." (The same principles are laid down in the first, and fourteenth, and fifteenth book of the Treatise on Nature; and also in the Great Abridgment.) "Now, of bodies, some are combinations, and some the elements out of which these combinations are formed. These last are indivisible, and pro- tected from every kind of transformation ; otherwise everything would be resolved into non-existence. They exist by their own force, in the midst of the dissolution of the combined bodies, being absolutely full, and as such offering no handle for destruction to take hold of. It follows, therefore, as a matter of absolute necessity, that the principles of things must be corporeal, indivisible elements. "The universe is infinite. For that which is finite has an extreme, and that which has an extreme is looked at in relation to something else. Conse- quently, that which has not an extreme, has no Atomistic Materialism 69 boundary; and if it has no boundary, it must be infinite, and not terminated by any limit. The uni- verse then is infinite, both with reference to the quantity of bodies of which it is made up, and to the magnitude of the vacuum; for if the vacuum were infinite, the bodies being finite, then, the bodies would not be able to rest in any place ; they would be transported about, scattered across the infinite vacuum for want of any power to steady themselves, or to keep one another in their places by mutual repulsion. If, on the other hand, the vacuum were finite, the bodies being infinite, then the bodies clearly could never be contained in the vacuum. "Again: the atoms which form the bodies, these full elements from which the combined bodies come, and into which they resolve themselves, assume an incalculable variety of forms, for the numerous dif- ferences which the bodies present cannot possibly result from an aggregate of the same forms. Each variety of forms contains an infinity of atoms, but there is not for that reason an infinity of atoms ; it is only the number of them which is beyond cal- culation." (Epicurus adds, a little lower down, that divisi- bility, ad infinitum, As impossible; for, says he, the only things which change are the qualities ; unless, indeed, one wishes to proceed from division to divi- sion, till one arrives absolutely at infinite littleness.) "The atoms are in a continual state of motion". (He says, farther on, that they move with an equal rapidity from all eternity, since the vacuum offers no more resistance to the lightest than it does to the heaviest.) 70 Readings in Philosophy "Among the atoms, some are separated by great distances, others come very near to one another in the formation of combined bodies, or at times are enveloped by others which are combining; but in this latter case they, nevertheless, preserve their own peculiar motion, thanks to the nature of the vacuum, which separates the one from the other, and yet offers them no resistance. The solidity which they possess causes them, while knocking against one another, to react the one upon the other ; till at last the repeated shocks bring on the dissolu- tion of the combined body ; and for all this there is no external cause, the atoms and the vacuum being the only causes." (He says, farther on, that the atoms have no peculiar quality of their own, except from magni- tude and weight. As to color, he says in the twelfth book of his Principia, that it varies according to the position of the atoms. Moreover, he does not attribute to the atoms any kind of dimensions ; and, accordingly, no atom has ever been perceived by the senses; but this expression, if people only recollect what is here said, will by itself offer to the thoughts a sufficient image of the nature of things.) "But, again, the worlds also are infinite, whether they resemble this one of ours or whether they are different from it. For, as the atoms are, as to their number, infinite, as I have proved above, they neces- sarily move about at immense distances ; for besides, this infinite multitude of atoms, of which the world is formed, or by which it is produced, could not be entirely absorbed by one single world, nor even by Atomistic Materialism 71 any worlds, the number of which was limited, whether we suppose them like this world of ours, or different from it. There is, therefore, no fact inconsistent with an infinity of worlds. "Moreover, there are images resembling, as far as their form goes, the solid bodies which we see, but which differ materially from them in the thin- ness of their substance. In fact it is not impossible but that there may be in space some secretions of this kind, and an aptitude to form surfaces without depth, and of an extreme thinness ; or else that from the solids there may emanate some particles which preserve the connection, the disposition, and the motion which they had in the body. I give the name of images to these representations ; and, indeed, their movement through the vacuum taking place, with- out meeting any obstacle or hindrance, perfects all imaginable extent in an inconceivable moment of time; for it is the meeting of obstacles, or the ab- ^nce of obstacles, which produces the rapidity or slowness of their motion. At all events, a body in motion does not find itself, at any moment imagin- able, in two places at the same time; that is quite inconceivable. From whatever point of infinity it arrives at some appreciable moment, and whatever may be the spot in its course in which we perceive its motion, it has evidently quitted that spot at the moment of our thought; for this motion which, as we have admitted up to this point, encounters no obstacle to its rapidity, is wholly in the same con- dition as that the rapidity of which is diminished by the shock of some resistance. 72 Readings in Philosophy C. Atomism in Roman Thought The following is a typical passage from the fam- ous poem of Lucretius, the Latin writer of the first century B. C. : Now> seeds in downward motion must decline, Though very little from th' exactest line: For did they still move straight, they needs must fall. Like drops of rain, dissolved and scattered all; Forever tumbling through the mighty space. And never join to make one single mass. If any one believes, the heavier seed, In doAvnright motions, and from hindrance freed. May strike the lighter; and fit motions make, Whence things may rise, how great is the mistake L 'Tis true when weights descend through yielding air, Or streams ; the swiftness of the fall must bear Proportion to the weights; and reason good; Because the fleeting air, and yielding flood With equal strength resist not every course. But sooner yield unto the greater force: But now no void can stop, no space can stay The seeds; for 'tis its nature to give way; Therefore through void unequal weights must be Like swift in motion, all of like degree. Nor can the heavier bodies overtake The lighter falling seeds ; and, striking, make , The motions various, fit for nature's use, ' Titus Lucretius Carus : On the Nature of Things, Book II, lines 210-239; translated by Thomas Creech, 1793. Atomistic Materialism 73 By which all pow'rful she may things produce. 'Tis certain then and plain, that seeds decline, Though very little from th' exactest line, But not obliquely move: that fond pretense Would fight all reason, nay, ev'n common sense : For ev'ry body sees, a falling weight Makes its descent by lines direct and straight. CHAPTER V SKEPTICISM AND SOPHISTRY A. The Man Measure Doctrine of Protagoras The following statement is Plato's, given for the purpose of criticising it, but it appears to be a very lair presentation of the doctrine, and the nearest we have to Protagoras, from whom no statement has survived : Theaet.^ Now he who knows perceives what he knows, and, as far as I can see at present, knowledge is perception. Soc. Bravely said, boy ; that is the way in which you should express your opinion. And now, let us examine together this 'conception of yours, and see whether it is a true birth or a mere windegg : — You say that knowledge is perception? Theaet. Yes. Soc. Well, you have delivered yourself of a very important doctrine about knowledge ; it is indeed the opinion of Protagoras, who has another way of expressing it. Man, he says, .is the measure of all things, of the existence of things that are, and of the non-existence of things that are not : — You have read him? ^ Plato, Theaetetus, 151d-157c; from Jowett, B., The Dia- logues of Plato, translated into English, 3d edition, 1892; published by the Macmillan Company; reprinted by permis- sion. (74) Skepticism and Sophistry 75 Theat. O yes, again and again. Soe. Does he not say that things are to you such as they appear to you, and to me such as they ap- pear to me, and that you and I are men ? Theaet. Yes, he says so. Soc. A wise man is not likely to talk nonsense. Let us try to understand him: the same wind is blowing, and yet one of us may be cold and the other not, or one may be slightly and the other very cold ? Theaet. Quite true. Soc. Now is the wind, regarded not in relation to us but absolutely, cold or not; or are we to say, with Protagoras, that the wind is cold to him who is cold, and not to him who is not? Theaet. I suppose the last. Soc. Then it must appear so to each of them ? Theaet. Yes. Soc. And 'appears to him' means the same as 'he perceives'. Theaet. True. Soc. Then appearing and perceiving coincide in the case of hot and cold, and in similar instances; for things appear, or may be supposed to be, to each one such as iie perceives them ? Theaet. Yes. Soc. Then perception is always of existence, and being the same as knowledge is unerring? Theaet. Clearly. Soc. In the name of the Graces, what an al- mighty wise man Protagoras must have been ! He spoke these things in a parable to the common herd, like you and me, but told the truth, 'his Truth', in secret to his own disciples. 76 Readings in Philosophy Theaet. What do you mean, Socrates? Soc. I am about to speak of a high argument, in which all things are said to be relative; you cannot rightly call anything by any name, such as great or small, heavy or light, for the great will be small and the heavy light — there is no single thing or quality, but out of motion and change and admixture all things are becoming relatively to one another, which 'becoming' is by us incorrectly called being, but is really becoming, for nothing ever is, but all things are becoming. Summon all philosophers — Protagoras, Heraclitus, Empedocles, and the rest of them, one after another, and with the exception of Parmenides they will agree with you in this. Sum- mon the great masters of either kind of poetry — Epicharmus, the prince of Comedy, and Homer of Tragedy; when the latter sings of 'Ocean whence sprang the gods, and mother Tethys,' does he not mean that all things are the offspring of flux and motion? Theaet. I think so. Soc. And who could take up arms against such a great army having Homer for its general, and not appear ridiculous? Theaet. Who indeed, Socrates? Soc. Yes, Theaetetus; and there are plenty of other proofs which will show that motion is the source of what is called being and becoming, and inactivity of not-being and destruction ; for fire and warmth, which are supposed to be the parent and guardian of all other things, are born of movement and of friction, which is a kind of motion ; — is not this the origin of fire? Skepticism and Sophistvj/ 77 Theaet. It is. Soc. And the race of animals is generated in the same way? Theaet. Certainly. Soc. And is not the bodily habit spoiled by rest and idleness, but preserved for a long time by mo- tion and exercise? Theaet. True. Soc. And what of the mental habit? Is not the soul informed, and improved, and preserved by study and attention, which are motions; but when at rest, which in the soul only means want of at- tention and study, is uninformed, and speedily for- gets whatever she has learned? Theaet. True. Soc. Then motion is a good, and rest an evil, to the soul as well as to the body ? Theaet. Clearly. • Soc. I may add, that breathless calm, stillness and the like waste and impair, while wind and storm preserve; and the palmary argument of all, which I istrongly urge, is the golden chain in Homer, by which he means the sun, thereby indicating that so long as the sun and heavens go round in their orbits, all things human and divine are and are preserved, but if they were chained up and their motions ceased, then all things would be destroyed, and, as the saying is, turned upside down. Theaet. I believe, Socrates, that you have truly explained his meaning. Soc. Then now apply his doctrine to perception, my good friend, and first of all to vision ; that which you call white colour is not in your eyes, and is not 78 Readings in Philosophy a distinct thing which exists out of them. And you must not assign any place to it: for if it had position it would be, and be at rest, and there would be no process of becoming. Theaet. Then what is colour? Soc. Let us carry out the principle which has just been affirmed, that nothing is self -existent, and then we shall see that whiter black, and every other colour, arises out of the eye meeting the appropriate motion, and that what we call a colour is in each case neither the active nor the passive element, but something which passes between them, and is pe- culiar to each percipient ; are you quite certain that the several colours appear to a dog or to any animal whatever as they appear to you? Th&aet. Far from it. Soc. Or that anything appears the same to you as to another man? Are you so profoundly con- vinced of this? Rather would it hot be true that it never appears exactly the same to you, because you are never exactly the same ? Theaet. The latter. Soc. And if that with which I compare myself in size, or which I apprehend by touch, were great or white or hot, it could not become different by mere contact with another unless it actually changed ; nor again, if the comparing or apprehend- ing subject were great or white or hot, could this, when unchanged from within, become changed by any approximation or affection of any other thing? The fact is that in our ordinary way of speaking we allow ourselves to be driven into most ridiculous Skepticism and Sophistry 79 and wonderful contradictions, as Protagoras and all who take his line of argument would remark. Theaet. How? and of what sort do you mean? Soc. A little instance will sufficiently explain my meaning: Here are six dice, which are more by a half when compared with four, and fewer by a half than twelve — they are more and also fewer. How can you or any one maintain the contrary? Theaet. Very true. Soc. Well, then, suppose that Protagoras or some one asks whether anything can become greater or more if not by increasing, how would you answer him, Theaetetus? Theaet. I should say 'No', Socrates, if I were to speak my mind in reference to this last question, and if I were not afraid of contradicting my former answer. Soc. Capital ! excellent ! spoken like an oracle, my boy ! and if you reply 'Yes', there will be a case for Euripides ; for our tongue will be convinced, but not our mind. Theaet. Very true. Soc. The thoroughbred Sophists, who know all that can be known about the mind, and argue only out of the superfluity of their wits, would have had a regular sparring-match over this, and would have knocked their arguments together finely. But you and I, who have no professional aims, only desire to see what is the mutual relation of these principles, whether they are consistent with each other or not. Theaet. Yes, that would be my desire. 80 Readings in Philosophy Soc. And mine too. But since this is our feel- ing, and there is plenty of time, why should we not calmly and patiently review our own thoughts, and thoroughly examine and see what these appearances in us really are ? If I am not mistaken, they will be described by us as follows : — first, that nothing can become greater or less, either in number or magni- tude, while remaining equal to itself — you would agree ? Theaet. Yes. Soc. Secondly that without addition or subtrac- tion there is no increase or diminution of anything, but only equality. Theat. Quite true. Soc. Thirdly, that what was not before cannot be afterwards, without becoming and having become. Theat. Yes, truly. Soc. These three axioms, if I am not mistaken, are fighting with one another in our minds in the case of the dice, or, again, in such a case as this — if I were to say that I, who am of a certain height and taller than you, may within a year, without gaining or losing in height, be not so tall — not that I should have lost, but that you would have in- creased. In such a case, I am afterwards what I once was not, and yet I have not become ; for I could not have become without becoming, neither could I have become less without losing somewhat of my . height; and I could give you ten thousand examples of similar contradictions, if we admit them at all. I believe that you follow me, Theaetetus ; for I sus- pect that you have thought of these questions before now. Skepticism and Sophistnj 81 Theaet. Yes, Socrates, and I am amazed when I think of them; by the gods I am! and I want to know what on earth they mean ; and there are times when my head quite swims with the contemplation of them. Soc. I see, my dear Theaetetus, that Theodorus had a true insight into your nature when he said that you were a philosopher, for wonder is the feel- ing of a philosopher, and philosophy begins in won- der. He was not a bad genealogist who said that Iris (the messenger of heaven) is the child of Thaumas (wonder). But do you toegin to see what is the explanation of this perplexity on the hy- pothesis which we attribute to Protagoras? Theaet. Not as yet. Soc. Then you will be obliged to me if I help you to unearth the hidden 'truth' of a famous man or school. Theaet. To be sure, I shall be very much obliged. Soc. Take a look round, then, and see that none of the uninitiated are listening. Now by the unini- tiated I mean the people who believe in nothing but what they can grasp in their hands, and who will not allow that action or generation or anything in- visible can have real existence. Theaet. Yes, indeed, Socrates, they are very hard and impenetrable mortals. Soc. Yes, my boy, outer barbarians. Far more ingenious are the brethren whose mysteries I am about to reveal to you. Their first principle is, that all is motion, and upon this all the affections of which we were just now speaking are supposed to 82 Readings in Philosophy depend : there is nothing but motion, which has two forms, one active and the other passive, both in end- less number; and out of the union and friction of them there is generated a progeny endless in num- ber, having two forms, sense and the object of sense, which are ever breaking forth and coming to the birth at the same moment. The senses are variously- named hearing, seeing, smelling; there is the sense of heat, cold, pleasure, pain, desire, fear, and many more which have names, as well as innumerable others which are without them ; each has its kindred object, — each variety of colour has a corresponding variety of sight, and so with sound and hearing, and with the rest of the senses and the objects akin to them. Do you see, Theaetetus, the bearings of this tale on the preceding argument? Theaet. Indeed I do not. Soc. Then attend, and I will try to finish the story. The purport is that all these things are in motion, as I was saying, and that this motion is of two kinds, a slower and a quicker; and the slower elements have their motions in the same place and with reference to things near them, and so they be- get ; but what is begotten is swifter, for it is carried to and fro, and moves from place to place. Apply this to sense : — When the eye and the appropriate object meet together and give birth to whiteness and the sensation connatural with it, which could not have been given by either of them going elsewhere, then, while the sight is flowing from the eye, white- ness proceeds from the object which combines in producing the colour ; and so the eye is fulfilled with sight, and really sees, and becomes, not sight, but a Skepticism and Sophistry 83 seeing eye; and the object which combined to form the colour is fulfilled with whiteness, and becomes not whiteness but a white thing, whether wood or stone or whatever the object may be which happens to be coloured white. And this is true of all sensible objects, hard, warm, and the like, which are similarly to be regarded, as I was saying before, not as having any absolute existence, but as being all of them of whatever kind generated by motion in their inter- course with one another; for of the agent and pa- tient, as existing in separation, no trustworthy con- ception, as they say, can be formed, for the agent has no existence until united with the patient, and the patient has no existence until united with the agent; and that which by uniting with something becomes an agent, by meeting with some other thing is converted into a patient. And from all these con- siderations, as I said at first, there arises a general reflection, that there is no self-existent thing, but everything is becoming and in relation; and being must be altogether abolished, although from habit and ignorance we are compelled even in this discus- sion to retain the use of the term. But the great philosophers tell us that we are not to allow either the word 'something', or 'belonging to something', or 'to me', or 'this' or 'that' or any other detaining name to be used ; in the language of nature all things are being created and destroyed, coming into being and passing into new forms; nor can any name fix or detain them ; he who attempts to fix or detain them' is easily refuted. And this should be the way of speaking, not only of particulars but of aggregates ; 84 Headings in Philosophy such aggregates as are expressed in the word •man', or 'stone', or any name of an animal or of a class. B. The Superioeity of Persuasion over Knowledge The statement of this doctrine is also from Plato. But like that of the Protagoras it appears to be a fair one, and is the most nearly contemporary which we possess : Gor.^ I like your way of leading us on, Socrates, and I will endeavour to reveal to you the whole nature of rhetoric. You must have heard, I think, that the docks and the walls of the Athenians and the plan of the harbour were devised in accordance with the counsels, partly of Themistocles, and partly of Pericles, and not at the suggestion of the builders. Soc. Such is the tradition, Gorgias, about Them- istocles; and I myself heard the speech of Pericles when he advised us about the middle wall. Gor. And you will observe, Socrates, that when a decision has to be given in such matters the rhetori- cians are the advisers; they are the men who win their point. Soc. I had that in my admiring mind, Gorgias, when I asked what is the nature of rhetoric, which always appears to me. When I look at the matter in this way, to be a marvel of greatness. Gor. A marvel, indeed, Socrates, if you only knew how rhetoric comprehends and holds under her sway all the inferior arts. Let me offer you a striking example of this. On several occasiions I Plato, Gorgian, 455d-459c; Jowett, Op. Cit. Skepticism and Sophistry 85 have been with my brother Herodicus or some other physician to see one of his patients, who would not allow the physician to give him medicine, or apply the knife or hot iron to him ; and I have persuaded him to do for me what he would not do for the physi- cian just by the use of rhetoric. And I say that if a rhetorician and a physician were to go to any city, and had there to argue in the Ecclesia or any other assembly as to which of them should be elected state- physician, the physician would have no chance; but he who could speak would be chosen if he wished; and in a contest with a man of any other profession the rhetorician more than any one would have the power of getting himself chosen, for he can speak more persuasively to the multitude than any of them, and on any subject. Such is the nature and power of the art of rhetoric ! And yet, Socrates, rhetoric should be used like any other competitive art, not against everybody, — the rhetorician ought not to abuse his strength any more than a pugilist or pan- cratiast or other master of fence ; — because he has powers which are more than a match either for friend or enemy, he ought not therefore to strike, stab, or slay his friends. Suppose a man to have been trained in the palestra and to be a skilful boxer, — he in the fulness of his strength 'goes and strikes his father or mother or one of his familiars or friends ; but that is n(5 reason why the trainers or fencing-masters should be held in detestation or banished from the city; — surely not. For they taught their art for a good purpose, to be used against enemies and evil-doers, in self-defence not in aggression, and others have perverted their instruc- 86 Readings in Philosophy tions, and turned to a bad use their own strength and skill. But not on this account are the teachers bad, neither is the art in fault, or bad in itself; I should rather say that those who make a bad use of the art are to blame. And the same argument holds good of rhetoric; for the rhetorician can speak against all men and upon any subject, — in short, he can persuade the multitude better than any other man of anything which he pleases, but he should not therefore seek to defraud the physician or any other artist of his reputation merely because he has the power; he ought to use rhetoric fairly, as he would also use his athletic powers. And if after having become a rhetorician he makes a bad use of his strength and skill, his instructor surely ought not on that account to be held in detestation or banished. For he was intended by his teacher to make good use of his instructions, but he abuses them. And therefore he is the person who ought to be held in detestation, banished, and put to death, and not his instructor. Soc. You, Gorgias, like myself, have had great experience of disputations, and you must have ob- served, I think, that they do not always terminate in mutual edification, or in the definition by either party ofthe subjects which they are discussing; but disagreements are apt to arise — somebody says that another has not spoken truly or clearly; and then they get into a passion and begin to quarrel, both parties conceiving that their opponents are arguing from personal feeling only and jealousy of them- selves, not from any interest in the question at is- sue. And sometimes they will go on abusing one Skepticism and Sophistiij 87 another until the company at last are quite vexed at themselves for ever listening to such fellows. Why do I say this? Why, because I cannot help feeling that you are now saying what is not quite consistent or accordant with what you were saying at first about rhetoric. And I am afraid to point this out to you, lest you should think that I have some animosity against you, and that I speak, not for the sake of discovering the truth, but from jeal- ousy of you. Now if you are one of my sort, I should like to cross-examine you, but if not I will let you alone. And what is my sort? you will ask. I am one of those who are very willing to be refuted if I say anything which is not true, and very willing to refute any one else who says what is not true, and quite as ready to be refuted as to refute; for I hold that this is the greater gain of the two, just as the gain is the greater of being cured of a very great evil than of curing another. For I imagine that there is no evil which a man can endure so -great as an eil'roneous opinion about the matters of which we are speaking; and if you claim to be one of my sort, let us have the discussion out, but if you would rather have done, no matter ; — let us make an end of it. Gor. I should say, Socrates, that I am quite the man whom you indicate; but, perhaps, we ought to consider the audience, for, before you came, I had already given a long exhibition, and if we proceed the argument may run on to great length. And therefore I think that we should consider whether we may not be detaining some part of the company when they are wanting to do something else. 88 Readings in Philosophy Chaerephon. You hear the audience cheering, Gorgias and Socrates, which shows their desire to listen to you ; and for myself, Heaven forbid that I should have any business on hand which would take me away from a discussion so interesting and so ably maintained. Callicles. By the gods, Chaerephon, although I have been present at many discussions, I doubt whether I was ever so much delighted before, and therefore if you go on discoursing all day I shall be the better pleased. Sac. I may truly say, Callicles, that I am willing, if Gorgias is. Gor. After all this, Socrates, I should be disr graced if I refused, especially as I have promised to answer all comers ; ■ in accordance with the wishes of the company, then, do you begin, and ask me any question which you like. Soc. Let me tell you then, Gorgias, what sur- prises me in your words ; though I dare say that you may be right, and I may have misunderstood your meaning. You say that you can make any man who will learn of you, a rhetorician? Gor. Yes. Soc. Do you mean that you will teach him to gain the ears of the multitude on any subject, and this not by instruction but by persuasion? Gor. Quite so. Soc. You were saying, in fact, that the rhetori- cian will have greater powers of persuasion than the physician even in a matter of health? Gor. Yes, with the multitude, — that is, Skepticism and Sophistry 89 Soe. You mean to say, with the ignorant; for with those who know he cannot be supposed to have greater powers of persuasion. Gor. Very true. Soc. But if he is to have more power of persua- sion than the physician, he will have greater power than he who knows? Gor. Certainly. Soc. Although he is not a physician — is he? Gor. No. Soc. And he who is not a physician must, ob- viously, be ignorant of what the physician knows'. Gor. Clearly. Soc. Then, when the rhetorician is more per- suasive than the physician, the ignorant is more persuasive with the ignorant than he who has knowl- edge? — is not that the inference? Gor. In the case supposed : — yes.' Soc. And the same holds of the relation of rhet- oric to all the other arts; the rhetorician need not know the truth about things ; he has only to discover some way of persuading the ignorant that he has more knowledge than those who know? Gor. Yes, Socrates, and is not this a great com- fort — not to have learned the other arts, but the art of rhetoric only, and yet to be in no way inferior to the professors of them? C. Later Greek Skepticism THE TEN TROPES The ten tropes are the ten fundamental modes of thought by which one is led to Skepticism : 90 Readings in Philosophy Theyi are these : The first is based upon the dif- ferences in animals ; the second upon the differences in men ; the third upon the difference in the constitu- tion of the organs of sense ; the fourth upon circum- stances ; the fifth upon position, distance, and place ; the sixth upon mixtures ; the seventh upon the quan- tity and constitution of objects ; the eighth upon re- lation ; the ninth upon frequency or rarity of occur- rences ; the tenth upon systems, customs, laws, myth- ical beliefs, and dogmatic opinions. We make this order ourselves. These Tropes come under three general heads: the standpoint of the judge, the standpoint of the thing judged, and the standpoint of both together. . . . It is probable therefore, that the inequalities and differences in origin cause great antipathies, in the animals, and the result is incompatibility, discord, and conflict between the sensations of the different animals. Again, the differences in the principal parts of the body, especially in those fitted by nature to judge and to perceive, may cause the greatest differences in their ideas of objects, according to the differences in the anima,ls themselves. As for ex- ample, those who have the jaundice call that yellow which appears to us white, and those who have bloodshot eyes call it blood-red. Accordingly, as some animals have yellow eyes, and others blood- shot ones, and still others whitish ones, and others eyes of other colors, it is probable, I think, that they '■ Patrick, Mary M., Sextus Empiricus and Greek Scepti- cism; pages 112, 113, 114-118; Delghton, Bell & Co., 1899; reprinted by permission. Skepticism and Sophistry 91 have a different perception of colors. Furthermore, when we look steadily at the sun for a long time, and then look down at a book, the letters seem to us gold colored, and dance around. Now some animals have by nature a lustre in their eyes, and these emit a fine and sparkling light so that they see at night, and we may reasonably suppose that external things do not appear the same to them as to us. Jugglers by lightly rubbing the wick of the lamp with metal rust, or with the dark yellow fluid of the sepia, make those who are present appear now copper colored and now black, according to the amount of the mixture used ; if this be so, it is much more reason- able to suppose that because of the mixture of differ- ent fluids in the eyes of animals, their ideas of ob- jects would be different. Furthermore, when we press the eye on the side, the figures, forms and sizes of things seen appear elongated and narrow. It is therefore probable that such animals as have the pupil oblique and long, as goats, cats, and similar animals, have ideas different from those of the animals which have a round pupil. Mirrors ac- cording to their different construction, sometimes show the external object smaller than reality, as concave ones, and sometimes long and narrow, as the convex ones do; others show the head of the one looking into it down, and the feet up. As some of the vessels around the eye fall entirely outside the eye, on account of their protuberance, while others &re more sunken, and still others are placed in an even surface, it is probable that for this reason also the ideas vary, and dogs, fishes, lions, men and grasshoppers do not see the same things, 92 Readings in Philosophy either of the same size, or of similar form, but ac- cording to the impression on the organ of sight of each animal respectively. The same thing is true in regard to the other senses; for how can it be said that shell-fish, birds of prey, animals covered with spines, those with feathers and those with scales would be affected in the same way by the sense of touch ? And how can the sense of hearing perceive alike in animals which have the narrowest auditory passages, and in those that are furnished with the widest, or in those with hairy ears and those with smooth ones? For we, even, hear dif- ferently when we partially stop up the ears, from what we - do when we use them naturally. The sense of smell also varies according to differences in animals, since even our sense of smell is affected when we have taken cold and the phlegm is too abundant, and also parts around our head are flooded with too much blood, for we then avoid odors that seem agreeable to others, and feel as if we were injured by them. Since also some of the animals are moist by nature and full of secretions, and still others have either yellow or black bile prevalent and abundant, it is reasonable because of this to think that odorous things appear different to each one of them. And it is the same in regard tovthings of taste, as some animals have the tongue rough and dry and others very moist. We too, when we have a dry tongue in fever, think that whatever we take is gritty, bad tasting, or bitter ; and this ■ we ex- perience because of the varying degrees of the humors that are said to be in us. Since, then, dif- ferent animals have different organs for taste, and Skepticism and Sophistry 93 a greater or less amount of the various humors, it can well be that they form different ideas of the same objects as regards their taste. For just as the same food on being absorbed becomes in some places veins, in other places arteries, and in other places bones, nerves, or other tissues, showing dif- ferent power according to the difference of the parts receiving it; just as the same water absorbed by the trees becomes in some places bark, in other places branches, and in other places fruit, perhaps a fig or a pomegranate, or something else; just as the breath of the musician, one and the same when blown into the flute,, becomes sometimes a high tone and sometimes .a low one, and the same pressure of the hand upon the lyre sometimes causes a deep 'tone and sometimes a high tone, so it is natural to suppose that external objects are regarded differ- ently according to the different constitution of the animals which perceive them. We may see this more clearly in the things that are sought for and avoided by animals. For example, myrrh appears very agreeable to men and intolerable to beetles and bees. Oil also, which is useful to men, de- stroys wasps and bees if sprinkled on them; and sea-watei", while it is unpleasant and poisonous to men if they drink it, is most agreeable and sweet to fishes. Swine also prefer to wash in vile filth rather than in pure clean water. Furthermore, some animals eat grass and some eat herbs; some live in the woods, others eat seeds ; some are carniv- orous, and others lactivorous; some enjoy putrefied food, and others fresh food; some raw food, and others that which is prepared by cooking; and in 94 Readings in Philosophy general that which is agreeable to some is disagree- able and fatal to others, and should be avoided by them. Thus hemlock makes the quail fat, and hen- bane the hogs, and these, as it is known, enjoy eating lizards ; deer also eat poisonous animals, and swallows, the cantharidae. Moreover, ants and fly- ing ants, when swallowed by men, cause discom- fort and colic ; but the bear, on the contrary, what- ever sickness he may have, becomes stronger by devouring them. The viper is benumbed if one twig of the oak touches it, as is also the bat by a leaf of the plane tree. The elephant flees before the ram, and the lion before the cock, and seals from the rattling of beans that are being pounded, and the tiger from the sound of the drum. Many other examples could be given, but that we may not seem to dwell longer than is necessary on this subject, we conclude by saying that since the same things are pleasant to some and unpleasant to others, and the pleasure and displeasure depend on the ideas, it must be that different animals have different ideas of objects. And since the same things ap- pear different according to the difference in the animals, it will be possible for us to say how the external object appears to us, but as to how it is in reality we shall suspend our judgment. For we cannot ourselves judge between our own ideas and those of other animals, being ourselves involved in the difference, and therefore much more in need of being judged than being ourselves able to judge. And furthermore, we cannot give the preference to our own mental representations over those of other {inimals, either without evidence or with evidence, Skepticism and Sophistry 95 for besides the fact that perhaps there is- no evi- dence, as we shall show, the evidence so called will be either manifest to us or not. If it is not mani- fest to us, then we cannot accept it with convic- tion ; if it is manifest to us, since the question is in regard to what is manifest to animals, and we use as evidence that which is manifest to us who are animals, then it is to be questioned if it is true as it is manifest to us. It is absurd, however, to try to base the questionable on the questionable, be- cause the same thing is to be believed and not to be believed, which is certainly impossible. The evi- dence is to be believed in so far as it will furnish a proof, and disbelieved in so far as it is itself to be proved. We shall therefore have no evidence according to which we can give preference to our own ideas over those of so-called irrational animals. Since therefore ideas differ according to the differ- ence in animals, and it is impossible to judge them, it is necessary to suspend the judgment in regard to external objects. CHAPTER VI THE PERSONALITY, MISSION AND INFLUENCE OP SOCRATES A. SocRATES's Statement of the Causes of His Indictment: This account is from the writings of Plato, and while viewed through his eyes it is nevertheless the statement of one whose appreciation of his master cannot be surpassed. It is accepted ,as virtually the account of an eye witness : I ^ will begin at the beginning, and ask what is the occasion which has given rise to the slander of me, and in fact has' encouraged Meletus to prefer this charge against me. Well, what do the slan- derers say? They shall be my prosecutors, and I will sum. up their words in an affidavit: "Socrates is an evil-doer, and a curious person, who searches into things under the earth and in heaven, and he makes the worse appear the better cause; and he teaches the aforesaid doctrines to others." Such is the nature of the accusation: it is just what you have yourselves seen in the cortiedy of Aristophanes, who has introduced a man whom he calls Socrates, going about and saying that he walks in air, and talking a deal of nonsense concerning matters of which I do not pretend to know either much or 'Plato, Apology, 19b-23c; Jowett, Op. Cit. C96) Personality, Mission, Influence of Socrates 97 little — not that I mean to speak disparagingly of any one who is a student of natural philosophy. I should be very sorry if Meletus could bring so grave a charge against me. But the simple truth is, Athenians, that I have nothing to do with physical speculations. Very many of those here present are witnesses to the truth of this, and to them I appeal. Speak, then, you who have heard me, and tell your neighbors whether any of you have ever known me hold forth in few words or in many upon such matters. . . . You hear their an- swer. And from what they say of this part of the charge you will be able to judge of the truth of the rest. As little foundation is there for the report that I am a teacher, and take money; this accusation has no more truth in it than the other. Although, if a man were really able to instruct mankind, to receive money for instruction wouW, in my opinion, be an honor to him. There is Gorgias of Leontium and Prodicus of Ceos, and Hippias of Elis, who go the round of the cities, and are able to persuade the young men to leave their own citizens by whom they might be taught for nothing, and come to them whom they not only pay, but are thankful if they may be allowed to pay them. There is at this time a Parian philosopher residing in Athens, of whom I have heard; and I came to hear of him in this way : — I came across a man who has spent a world of money on the Sophists, Callias, the son of Hip- ponicus, and knowing that he had sons, I asked him: 'Callias', I said, 'if your two sons were foals 98 Readings in Philosophy or calves, there would be no difficulty in finding some one to put over them ; we should hire a trainer of horses, or a farmer probably, who would im- prove and perfect them in their own proper virtue and excellence ; but as they are human beings, whom are you thinking of placing over them? Is there any one who understands human and political vir- tue? You must have thought about the matter, for you have sons; is there any one? 'There is', he said 'Who is he?' said I; 'and of what country? and what does he charge?' 'Evenus the Parian,' he replied; 'he is the man, and his charge is five minae.' Happy is Evenus, I said to myself, if he really has this wisdom, and teaches at such a mod- erate charge. Had I the same, I should have been very proud and conceited; but the truth is that I have no knowledge of the kind. I dare say, Athenians, that some one among you will reply, 'Yes, Socrates, but what is the origin of these accusations which are brought against you ; there must have been something strange which you have been doing? All these rumours and this talk about you would never have arisen if you had been like other men; tell us, then, what is the cause of them, for we should be sorry to judge hastily of you.' Now I regard this as a fair challenge, and I will endeavor to explain to you the reason why I am called wise and have such an evil fame. Please to attend then. And although some of you may think that I am joking, I declare that I will tell you the entire truth. Men of Athens, this reputation of mine has come of a certain sort of wisdom which I possess. If you ask me what kind of wisdom, I Personality, Mission, Influeyice of Socrates 99 reply, wisdom such as may perhaps be attained by man, for to that extent I am inclined to believe that I am wise; whereas the persons of whom I was speaking have a superhuman wisdom, which I may fail to describe, because I have it not myself; and he who says that I have, speaks falsely, and is tak- ing away my character. And here, men of Athens, I must beg you not to interrupt me, even if I seem to say something extravagant. For the word which I will speak is not mine. I will refer you to a witness who is worthy of credit; that wit- ness shall be the God of Delphi — he will tell you about my wisdom, if I .have any, and of what sort it is. You must have known Chaerephon; he was early a friend of mine, and also a friend of- yours, for he shared in the recent exile of the people, and returned with you. Well, Chaerephon, as you know, was very impetuous in all his doings, and he went to Delphi and boldly asked the oracle to tell him whether — as I was saying, I must beg you not to interrupt — he asked the oracle to tell him whether any one was wiser than I was, and the Pythian prophetess answered that there was no man wiser. Chaerephon is dead himself ; but his brother, who is in court, will confirm the truth of what I am saying. Why do I mention this ? Because I am going to explain to you why I have such an evil name. When I heard the answer, I said to myself, what can the god mean? and what is the interpretation of his riddle? for I know that I have no wisdom small or great. What then can he mean when he says that I am the wisest of men? And yet he is a god and cannot lie; that would be against his nature. After 100 Readings in Philosophy long consideration, I thought of a method of trying the question. I reflected that if I could only find a man wiser than myself, then I might go to the god with a refutation in my hand. I should say to him, 'Here is a man who is wiser than I am; but you said that I was the wisest.' Accordingly I went to one who had the reputation of wisdom, and observed him — his name I need not mention; he was a politician whom I selected for examinatioiT — and the result was as follows: When I began to talk with him, I could not help thinking that he wo-s not really wise, although he was thought wise by many, and still wiser by himself; and thereupon I tiied to explain to him that he thought himself wise, but was not really wise; and the consequence was that he hated me, and his enmity was shared by several who were present and heard me. So I left him, saying to myself, as I went away: Well, althougrh I do not suppose that either of us knows anything really beautiful and good, I am better off than he is, — for he knows nothing, and thinks that he knows ; I neither know nor think that I know. In this latter particular, then, I seem to have slightly the advantage of him. Then I went to another who had still higher pretensions to wisdom, and my con- clusion was exactly the same. Whereupon I made another enemy of him, and of many others besides him. Then I went to one man after another, being not unconscious of the enmity which I provoked, and I lamented and feared this: but necessity was laid upon me, — the word of God, I thought ought to be considered first. And I said to myself, Go I must Personality, Mission, Influence of Socrates 101 to all who appear to know, and find out the meaning of the oracle. And I swear to you, Athenians, by the dog I swear ! — for I must tell you the truth — the result of my mission was just this: I found that the men most in repute were all but the most foolish ; and that others less esteemed were really wiser and better. I will tell you the tale of my wanderings and of the 'Herculean' labours, as I may call them, which I endured only to find at last the oracle irre- futable. After the politicians, I went to the poets ; tragic, dithyrambic, and all sorts. And there, I said to myself, you will be instantly detected; now you will find out that you are more ignorant than they are. Accordingly, I took them some of the most elaborate passages in their own writings, and asked what was the meaning of them — thinking that they would teach me something. Will you be- lieve me? I am almost ashamed to confess the truth, but I must say that there is hardly a person present who would not have talked better about their poetry than they did themselves. Then I knew that not by wisdom do poets write poetry, but by a sort of genius and inspiration ; they are like diviners or soothsayers who also say many fine things, but do not understand the meaning of them. The poets appeared to me to be much in the same case ; and I further observed that upon the strength of their poetry they believed themselves to be the wisest of men in other things in which they were not wise. So I departed, conceiving myself to be superior to them for the same reason that I was superior to the politicians. 102 Readings in Philosophy At last I went to the artisans, for I was conscious that I knew nothing at all, as I may say, and I was sure that they knew many fine things; and here I was not mistaken, for they did know many things of which I was ignorant, and in this they certainly were wiser than I was. But I observed that even the good artisan fell into the same error as the poets ; — because they were good workmen they thought that they also knew all sorts of high mat- ters, and this defect in them overshadowed their wisdom; and therefore I asked myself on behalf of the oracle, whether I would like to be as I was, neither having their knowledge nor their ignorance, or like them in both ; and I made answer to myself and to the oracle that I was better off as I was. This inquisition has led to my having many ene- mies of the worst and most dangerous kind, and has given occasion to many calumnies. And I am called wise, for my hearers always imagine that I myself possess the wisdom which I. find wanting in others : but the truth is, men of Athens, that God only is wise; and by his answer he intends to show that the wisdom of men is worth little or nothing; he is not speaking of Socrates, he is only using my name by way of illustration, as if he said. He, men, is the wisest, who, like Socrates, knows that his wis- dom is in truth worth nothing. And so I go about the world, obedient to the god, and search and make enquiry into the wisdom of any one, whether citizen or stranger, who appears to be wise ; and if he is not wise, then in vindication of the oracle I show him that he is not wise ; and my occupation quite absarbs me, and I have no time to give either to any public Personality, Mission, Influence of Socrates 103 matter of interest or to any concern of my own, but I am in utter poverty by reason of my devotion to the god. B. The Socratic Maieutic This passage is a typical expression of the view of Socrates regarding instruction as a process of drawing out of the mind its own implicit ideas: Theaet.^ I can assure you, Socrates, that I have tried very often, when the report of questions asked by you was brought to me; but I can neither per- suade myself that I have a satisfactory answer to give, nor hear of any one who answers as you would have him; and I cannot shake off a feeling of anxiety. Soc. These are the pangs of labor, my dear Theaetetus; you have something within you which you are bringing to the birth, Theaet. I do not know, Socrates ; I only say what I feel. Soc. And have you never heard, simpleton, that I am the son of a midwife, brave and burly, whose name was Phaenarete? Theaet. Yes, I have. Soc. And that I myself practice midwifery ? Theaet. No, never. Soc.^ Well, my art of midwifery is in most re- spects like theirs ; but differs, in that I attend men and not women, and I look after their souls when they are in labour, and not after their bodies : and * Plato, Theaetetus, 148e-149a; Jowett, Op. Cit. ^Ibid. 150c-151d. ^ 104 Readings in Philosophy the triumph of my art is in thoroughly examining whether the thought which the mind of the young man brings forth is a false idol or a noble and true birth. And like the midwives, I am. barren, and the reproach which is often made against me, that I ask questions of others and have not the wit to answer them myself, is very just — the reason is, that the god compels me to be a midwife, but does not allow me to bring forth. And therefore I am not myself at all wise, nor have I anything to show which is the invention or birth of my own soul, but those who converse with me profit. Some of them appear dull enough at first, but afterwards, as our acquaintance ripens, if the god is gracious to them, they all make astonishing progress; and this is in the opinion of others as well as in their own. It is quite clear that they never learned anything from me; The many fine discoveries to which they cling are of their own making. But to me and the god they owe their delivery. And the proof of my words is, that many of them in their ignorance, either in their self-conceit despising me, or falling under the influence of others, have gone away too soon; and have not only lost the children of whom I had pre^ viously delivered them by an ill bringing up, but have stifled whatever else they had in them by evil communications, being fonder of lies and shams than of the truth; and they have at last ended by seeing themselves, as others see them, to be great fools. Aristides, the son of Lysimachus, is one of them, and there are many others. The truants often return to me, and beg that I would consort with them again — they are ready to go to me on their Personality, Mission, Influence of Socrates 105 knees — and then, if my familiar allows, which is not always the case, I receive them, and they begin to grow again. Dire are the pangs which my art is able to arouse and to allay in those who consort with me, just like the pangs of women in childbirth ; night and day they are full of perplexity and travail which is even worse than that of the women. So much for them. And there are others, Theaetetus, who come to me apparently having nothing in them ; and as I. know that they have no need of my art, I coax them into marrying some one, and by the grace of God I can generally tell who is likely to do them good. Many of them I have given away to Prodicus, and rnany to other inspired sages. I tell you this long story, friend Theaetetus, because I suspect, as indeed you seem to think yourself, that you are in labour — great with some conception. Come then to me, — who- am a midwife's son and myself a midwife, and do your best to answer the questions which I will ask you. And if I abstract and expose your first-born, because I discover upon inspection that the conception which you have formed is a vain shadow, do not quarrel with me on that account, as the manner of women is when their first children are taken from them. For I have actually known some who were ready to bite me when I deprived them of a darling folly; they did not perceive that I acted from goodwill, not know- ing that no god is the enemy of man — that was not within the range of their ideas ; neither am I their enemy in all this, but it would be wrong for me to admit falsehood, or to stifle the truth. Once more, then, Theaetetus, I repeat my old question, 'What is 106 Readings in Philosophy knowledge ?' — and do not say that you cannot tell ; but quit yourself like a man, and by the help of God you will be able to tell. Theaet. At any rate, Socrates, after such an exhortation I should be ashamed of not trying to do my best. C. The Fundamental Value of Human Life Plato here represents Socrates as discussing the central problem of ethics and setting forth what he regards as the key note to the solution : Has^ your property, Cephalus, been chiefly in- herited or acquired? Have I acquired it, do you say, Socrates ? Why, in the conduct of money matters, I stand midway be- tween my grandfather and my father. My grand- father, whose name I bear, inherited nearly as much property as I now possess, and increased it till it was many times as large ; while my father Lysanias brought it down even below what it now is. For my part, I shall be content to leave it to these my sons not less, but if anything rather larger, than it was when it came into my hands. I asked the question, I said, because you seemed to me to be not very fond of money : which is generally the case with those who have not made it themselves ; whereas those who have made it, are twice as much attached to it as other people. For just as poets love their own works, and fathers their own chil- dren, in the same way those who have created a " Plato, Republic, Book I, 330b-332 ; Davies and Vaughan, Op. Cit. I Personality, Mission, Influence of Socrates 107 fortune value their money, not merely for its uses, like other persons, but because it is their own pro- duction. This makes them moreover disagreeable companions, because they will praise nothing but riches. It is true, he replied. Indeed it is, said I. But let me ask you one more question. What do you think is the greatest advan- tage that you have derived from being wealthy ? If I mention it, he replied, I shall perhaps get few persons to agree with me. Be assured, So- crates, that when a man is nearly persuaded that he is going to die, he feels alarmed and concerned about things which never affected him before. Till then he has laughed at those stories about the de- parted, which tell us that he who has done wrong here must suffer for it in the other world ; but now his mind is tormented with a fear that these stories may possibly be true. And either owing to the in- firmity of old age, or because he is now nearer to the confines of the future state, he has clearer in- sight into those mysteries. However that may be, he becomes full of misgiving and apprehension, and sets himself to the task of calculating and reflecting whether he has done any wrong to any one. Here- upon, if he finds his life full of unjust deeds, he is apt to start out of sleep in terror, as children do, and he lives haunted by gloomy anticipations. But if his conscience reproaches him with no injustice, he enjoys the abiding presence of sweet Hope, that 'kind nurse of old age,' as Pindar calls it. For in- deed, Socrates, those are beautiful words of his, in which he says of the man who has lived a just and 108 Readings in Philosophy holy life, 'Sweet Hope is his companion, cheering his heart, the nurse of age, — Hope, which, more than aught else, steers the capricious will of mortal men'. There is really a wonderful truth in this descrip- tion. And it is this consideration, as I hold, that makes riches chiefly valuable, I do not say to every body, but at any rate to the good. For they con- tnibute greatly to our preservation from even unin- tentional deceit or falsehood, and from that alarm which would attend our departure to the other world, if we owed any sacrifices to a god, or any money to a man. They have also many other uses. But after weighing them all separately, Socrates, I am inclined to consider this service as anything but the least important which riches can render to a wise and sensible man. You have spoken admirably, Cephalus. But what are we to understand by that very quality, justice, to which you refer? Are we to define it as neither more nor less than veracity and restitution of what one man has received from another ; or is it possible for actions of this very nature to be sometimes just and sometimes unjust? For example, every one, I suppose, would admit, that, if a man, while in the possession of his senses, were to place dangerous weapons in the hands of a friend, and afterwards in a fit of madness to demand them back, such a deposit ought not to be restored, and that his friend would not be a just man if he either returned the weapons, or consented to tell the whole truth to one so circumstanced. You are right, he replied. Personality, Mission, Influence of Socrates 109 Then it is no true definition of justice to say that it consists in speaking the truth and restoring what one has received. Nay but it is, Socrates, said Polemarchus, inter- posing, at least if we are at all to believe Simonides. Very well, said Cephalus, I will just leave the discussion to you. It is time for me to attend to the sacrifices. Then Polemarchus inherits your share in it, does he not? I asked. Certainly, he replied, with a smile; and immedi- ately, withdrew to the sacrifices. Answer me then, I proceeded, you that are the heir to the discussion ; — What do you maintain to be the correct account of justice, as given by Simon- ides? That to restore to each man what is his due, is just. To me it seems that Simonides is right in giving this account of the matter. Well, certainly it is not an easy matter to disbe- lieve Simonides; for he is a wise and inspired man. But what he means by his words, you, Polemarchus, may perhaps understand, though I do not. It is clear that he does not mean what we were saying just now, namely,. that property given by one person in trust to another, is to be returned to the donor, if he asks for it in a state of insanity. And yet 1 conclude that property given in trust is due to the truster. Is it not? Yes, it is 110 Readings in Philosophy We^ are debating no trivial question, but4he man- ner in which a man ought to live. Pray consider it. I will. Tell me, do you think there is such a thing as a horse's function? I do. Would you, then, describe the function of a horse, or of anything else whatever, as that work, for the accomplishment of which it is either the sole or the best instrument? I do not understand. Look at it this way. Can you see with anything besides eyes? Certainly not. Can you hear with anything besides ears ? No. Then should we not justly say that seeing and hearing are the functions of these organs? Yes, certainly. Again, you might cut off a vine-shoot with a carv- ing knife, or chisel, or many other tools ? Undoubtedly. But with no tool, I imagine, so well as with the pruning knife made for the purpose. True. Then shall we not define pruning to be the func- tion of the pruning knife ? By all means. Now then, I think, you will better understand what I wished to learn from you just now, when I asked whether the function of a thing is not that Ibid., 352d-354. Personality, Mission, Influence of Socrates 111 work for the accomijlishment of which it is either the sole or the best instrument? I do understand, and I believe that this is in every case the function of a thing. Very well : do you not also think that everything which has an appointed function has also a proper virtue? Let us revert to the same instances ; we say that the eyes have a function? They have. Then have the eyes a virtue also? They have. And the ears: did we assign them a function? Yes. Then have they a virtue also? They have. And is it the same with all other things? The same. Attend then : Do you suppose that the eyes could discharge their own function well if they had not their own proper virtue, — that virtue being re- placed by a vice? How could they ? You mean, probably, if sight is replaced by blindness. I mean, whatever their virtue be; for I am not come to that question yet. At present I am asking whether it is through their own peculiar virtue that things perform their proper functions well, and through their own peculiar vice that they perform them ill? You cannot be wrong in that. Then if the ears lose their own virtue, will they execute their functions ill ? Certainly. 112 Readings in Philosophy May we include all other things under .the same proposition ? I think we may. Come, then, consider this point next. Has the soul any function which could not be executed by means of anything else whatsoever? For example, could we in justice assign superintendence and gov- ernment, deliberation and the like, to anything but the soul, or should we pronounce them to be peculiar to it? We could ascribe them to nothing else. Again, shall we declare life to be a functioti of the soul? Decidedly. Do we not also maintain that the- soul has a virtue? We do. Then can it ever so happen, Thrasymachus, that the soul will perform its functions well when desti- tute of its own peculiar virtue, or is that impossible? Impossible. Then a bad soul must needs exercise authority and superintendence ill, and a good soul must do all these things well. Unquestionably. Now did we not grant that justice was a virtue of the soul, and injustice a vice? We did. Consequently the just soul and the just man will live well, and the unjust man ill? Apparently, according to your argument. And you will allow that he who lives well is blessed and happy, and he who lives otherwise is the reverse. CHAPTER VII PLATO A. Theory of Knowledge and of Love The following are two classic passages giving Plato's views of some of the central aspects of his philosophy: Of^ the nature of the soul, though her true form be ever a theme of large and more than mortal dis- course, let me speak briefly, and in a figure. And let the figure be composite — a pair of winged horses and a charioteer. Now the winged horses iind the charioteers of the gods are all of them noble and of noble descent, but those of other races are mixed; the human charioteer drives his in a pair; and one of them is noble and of noble breed, and the other is ignoble and of ignoble breed; and the driving of them of necessity gives a great deal of trouble to him. I will endeavor to explain to you in what way the mortal differs from the immortal creature. The soul in her totality has the care of inanimate being everywhere, and traverses the whole heaven in divers forms appearing ; — when perfect and fully winged she soars upward, and or- ders the whole world; whereas the imperfect soul,' losing her wings and drooping in her flight at last settles on the solid ground — there, finding a home. Plato, Phaedrus, 246-256; Jowett, Op. Cit. (113) Il4 Readings in Philosophy she receives an earthly frame which appears to be self-moved, but is really moved by her power; and this composition of soul and body is called a living and mortal creature. For immortal no such union can be reasonably believed to be; although fancy, not having seen nor surely known the nature of God, may imagine an immortal creature having both a body and also a soul which are united through all time. Let that, however, be as Grod wills, and be spoken of acceptably to him. And now let us ask the reason why the soul loses her wings ! The wing is the corporeal element which is most akin to the divine, and which by nature tends to soar aloft and carry that which gravitates down- wards into the upper region, which is the habita- tion of the gods. The divine is beauty, wisdom, goodness, and the like ; and by these the wing of the soul is nourished, and grows apace; but when fed upon evil and foulness and the opposite of good, wastes and falls away. Zeus, the mighty lord, hold- ing the reins of a winged chariot, leads the way in heaven, Ordering all and taking care of all ; and there follows him the array of gods and demi-gods, mar- shalled in eleven bands ; Hestia alone abides at home in the house of heaven; of the rest they who are reckoned among the princely twelve march in their appointed order. They see many blessed sights in the inner heaven, and there are many ways to and fro, along which the blessed gods are passing, every one doing his own work; he may follow who will and can, for jealousy has no place in the celestial choir. But when they go to banquet and festival, then they move up the steep to the top of the vault Plato 115 of heaven. The chariots of the gods in even poise, obeying the rein, glide rapidly ; but the others labor, for the vicious steed goes heavily, weighing down the charioteer to the earth when his steed has not been thoroughly trained : — and this is the hour of agony and extremest conflict for the soul. For the immortals, when they are at the end of their course, go forth and stand upon the outside of heaven, and the revolution of the spheres carries them round, and they behold the things beyond. But of the heaven which is above the heavens, what earthly poet ever did or ever will sing worthily? It is such as I will describe; for I must dare to speak the truth, when truth is my theme. There abides the very being with which true knowledge is concerned ; the colour- less, formless, intangible essence, visible only to mind, who is the pilot of the soul. The divine in- telligence, being nurtured upon mind and pure knowledge, and the intelligence of every soul which is capable of receiving the food proper to it, rejoices at beholding reality, and once more gazing upon truth, is replenished and made glad, until the revolu- tion of the worlds brings her round again t(f the same place. In the revolution she beholds justice, and temperance, and knowledge absolute, not in the form of generation or of relation, which men call existence, but knowledge absolute in existence abso- lute ; and beholding the other true existences in like manner, and feasting upon them, she passes down into the interior of the heavens and returns home ; and there the charioteer putting up his horses at the stall, gives them ambrosia to eat and nectar to drink. 116 Readings in Philosophy Such is the life of the gods; but of other souls, that which follows God best and is likest to him lifts the head of the charioteer into the outer world, and is carried round in the revolution, troubled in- deed by the steeds, and with difficulty beholding true being; while another only rises and falls, and sees, and again fails to see by reason of the unruliness of the steeds. The rest of the souls are also longing after the upper world, and they all follow, but not being strong enough they are carried round below the surface, plunging, treading on one another, each striving to be first; and there is confusion and per- spiration and the extremity of effort; and many of them are lamed or have their wings broken through the ill driving of the charioteers; and all of them after a fruitless toil, not having attained to the mysteries of true being, go away, and feed upon opinion. The reason why the souls exhibit this exceeding eagerness to behold the plain of truth is. that pasturage is found there, which is suited to the highest part of the soul ; and the wing on which the soul soars is nourished with this. And there is a law of Destiny, that the soul which attains any vision of truth in company with a god is preserved from harm until the next period, and if attaining always is always unharmed. But when she is unable to fellow, and fails to behold the truth, and through some ill-hap sinks beneath the double load of for- getfulness and vice, and her wings fall from her and she drops to the ground, then the law ordains that this soul shall at her first birth pass, not into any other animal, but only into man ; and the soul which has seen most of truth shall come to the birth as a Plato 117 philosopher, or artist, or some musical and loving nature; that which has seen truth in the second degree shall be some righteous king or warrior chief ; the soul which is of the third class shall be a politi- cian, or economist, or trader; the fourth shall be a lover of gymnastic toils, or a physician; the fifth shall lead the life of a prophet or hierophant; to the sixth the character of a poet or some other imitative artist will be assigned ; to the seventh the life of an artisan or husbandman; to the eighth that of a sophist or demagogue ; to the ninth that of a tyrant ; — all these are states of probation, in which he who does righte«usly improves, and he who does un- righteously, deteriorates his lot. Ten thousand years must elapse before the soul of each one can return to the place whence she came, for she cannot grow her wings in less ; only the soul of a philosopher, guileless and true, or the soul of a lover, who is not devoid of philosophy, may acquire wings in the third of the recurring periods of a thousand years ; — these, if they choose this higher life three times in succession, have wings given them, and go away at the end of three thousand- years. But the other souls receive judgment when they have completed their first life, and after the judgment they go, some of them to the houses of correction which are under the earth, and are pun- ished; others to some place in heaven whither they are lightly borne by justice, and there they live in a manner worthy of the life which they led here when in the form of men. And at the end of the first thou- sand years the good souls and also the evil souls both come to draw lots and choose their second life, 118 Readings in Philosophy and they may take any which they please. The soul of a man may ijass into the life of a beast, or from the beast return again into the man. But the soul which has never seen the truth will not pass into the human form. For a man must have intel- ligence of universals, and be able to proceed from the many particulars of sense to one conception of reason ; — this is the recollection of those things which our soul once saw while following God, when, regardless of that which we now call being, she raised her head up towards the true being. And therefore the mind of the philosopher alone has wings ; and this is just, for he is always, according to the measure of his abilities, clinging in recollec- tion to those things in which God abides, and in which abiding He is Divine. And he who employs aright these memories is ever being initiated into perfect mysteries and alone becomes truly perfect. But, as he forgets earthly interests and is rapt in the divine, the vulgar deem him mad, and rebuke him ; they do not see that he is inspired. Thus far I have been speaking of the fourth and last kind of madness, which is imputed to him who, when he sees the beauty of earth, is transported with the recollection of the true beauty ; he would like to fly away, but he cannot; he is like a bird fluttering and looking upward and careless of the world below ; and he is therefore thought to be mad. And I have shown this of all inspirations to be the noblest and highest and the offspring of the highest to him who has or shares in it, and that he who loves the beautiful is called a lover because he par- takes of it. For, as has been already said, every Plato 119 soul of man has in the way of nature beheld true being; this was the condition of her passing into the form of man. But all souls do not easily recall the things of the other world ; they may have seen them for a short time only, or they may have been unfor- tunate in their earthly lot, and, having had their hearts turned to unrighteousness through some cor- rupting influence, they may .have lost the memory of the holy things which once they saw. Few only retain an adequate remembrance of them ; and they, when they behold here any image of that other world, are rapt in amazement; but they are igno- rant of what this rapture means, because they do not clearly perceive. For there is no light of jus- tice or temperance or any of the higher ideas which are precious to souls in the earthly copies of them : they are seen through a glass dimly ; and there are few who, going to the images, behold in them the realities, and these only with difficulty. There was a time when with the rest of the happy band they saw beauty shining in brightness, — we philosophers following in the train of Zeus, others in company with other gods; and then we beheld the beatific vision and were initiated into a mystery which may be truly called most blessed, celebrated by us in our state of innocence, before we had any experience of evils to come, when we were admitted to the sight of apparitions innocent and simple and calm and happy, which we _ beheld shining in pure light, pure ourselves and not yet enshrined in that living tomb which we carry about, now that we are im- prisoned in the body, like an oyster in his shell. Let 120 Readings in Philosophy me linger over the memory of scenes which have passed away. But of beauty, I repeat again that we saw her there shining in company with the celestial forms; and coming to earth we find her here too, shining in clearness through the clearest aperture of sense. For sight is the most piercing of our bodily senses ; though not by that is wisdom seen; her loveliness would have been transporting if there had been a visible image of Jier, and the other ideas, if they had visible counterparts, would be equally lovely. But this is the privilege of beauty, that being the loveliest she is also the most palpable to sight. Now he who is not newly initiated or who has become corrupted, does not easily rise out of this world to the sight of true beauty in the other ; he looks only at her earthly namesake, and instead of being awed at the sight of her, he is given over to pleasure, and like a brutish beast he rushes on to enjoy and beget; he consorts with wantonness, and is not afraid or ashamed of pursuing pleasure in violation of nature. But he whose initiation is recent, and who has been the spectator of many glories in the other world, is amazed when he sees any one having a godlike face or any bodily form which is the expression of divine beauty; and at first a shudder runs through him, and again the old awe steals over him ; then looking upon the face of his beloved as of a god he rever- ences him, and if he were not afraid of being thought a downright madman, he would sacrifice" to his be- loved as to the- image of a god ; then while he gazes on him there is a sort of reaction, and the shudder passes into an unusual heat and perspiration; for. Plato 121 as he receives the effluence of beauty through the eyes, the wing moistens and he warms. And as he warms, the parts out of which the wing grew, and which had been hitherto closed and rigid, and had ■prevented the wing from shooting forth, are melted, and as nourishment streams upon him, the lower end of the wing begins to swell and grow from the root upwards; and the growth extends under the whole soul — for once the whole was winged. Dur- ing this process the whole soul is in a state of ebul- lition and effervescence. And as in the cutting of teeth there is an irritation and tickling of the gums at the time of growing them, so when the soul begins to grow wings she bubbles up, and there is a feel- ing of uneasiness and tickling ; and when the beauty of the beloved meets her eye, and she receives the sensible warm motion of particles which flow to- wards her, therefore called emotion, and is refreshed and warmed by them, she ceases from her pain with joy. But when she is parted from her beloved and her moisture fails, then the orifices of the passage out of which the wing shoots dry up and close, and intercept the germ of the wing ; which being shut up with the emotion, throbbing as with the pulsations of an artery, pricks the aperture which is nearest, until at length the entire soul is pierced and mad- dened and pained, and at the recollection of beauty is again delighted. And from the mingling of the two feelings the soul is oppressed at the strangeness of her condition, and is in a great strait and excite- ment, and in her madness can neither sleep by night nor abide in her place by day. And wherever she thinks that she will behold the beautiful one, thither 122 Readings in Philosophy in her desire she runs. And when she has seen him, and bathed in the waters of desire, her con- straint is loosened, and she is refreshed, and has no more pangs and pains; and this is the sweetest of all pleasures at the time, and is the reason why the soul of the lover will never forsake his beautiful one, whom he esteems above all ; he has forgotten mother and brethren and companions, and he thinks nothing of the neglect and loss of his property ; the rules and proprieties of life, on which he formerly prided himself, he now despises, and is ready to sleep like a servant, wherever he is allowed, as near as he can j;o his desired one, who is the object of his worship, and the physician who can alone assuage the great- ness of his pain. And this state, my dear imagi- nary youth to whom I am talking, is by men called Love, and among the gods has a name at which you, in your simplicity, may be inclined to mock; there are two lines in the apocryphal writings of Homer in which the name occurs. One of them is rather out- rageous, and not altogether metrical. They are as follows : "Mortals call him fluttering love, But the immortals call him winged one, Because the growing of wings is a necessity to him." You may believe this, but not unless you like. At any rate the loves of lovers and their causes are, such as I have described. Now the lover who is taken to be the attendant of Zeus is better able to bear the winged god, and can endure a heavier burden ; but the attendants and companions of Ares, when under the influence of Plato 123 love, if they fancy that they have been at all wronged, are ready to kill and put an end to them- selves and their beloved. And he who follows in the train of any other god, while he is unspoiled and the impression lasts, honours and imitates him, as far as he is able ; and after the manner of his God he behaves in his intercourse with his beloved and with the rest of the world during the first period of his earthly existence. Every one chooses his love from the ranks of beauty according to his character, and this he makes his god, and fashions and adorns as a sort of image which he is to fall down and worship. The followers of Zeus desire that their beloved should have a soul like him; and therefore they seek out some one of a philosophical and im- perial nature, and when they have found him and loved him, they do all they can to confirm such a nature in him, and if they have no experience of such a disposition hitherto, they learn of any one who can teach them, and themselves follow in the same way. And they have the less difficulty in find- ing the nature of their own god in themselves, be- cause they have been compelled to gaze intensely on him; their recollection clings to him, and they be- come possessed of him, and receive from him their character and disposition, so far as man can par- ticipate in God. The qualities of their" god they at- tribute to the beloved, wherefore they love him all the more, and if, like the Bacchic Nymphs, they draw inspiration from Zeus, they pour out their own fountain upon him, wanting to make him as like as possible to their own god. But those who are the followers of Here seek a royal love, and when they 124 Readings in Philosophy have found him they do just the same with him; and in like manner the followers of Apollo, and of every other god walking in the ways of their god, seek a love who is to be made like him whom they serve, and when they have found him, they them- selves imitate their god, and persuade their love to do the same, and. educate him into the manner and nature of the god as far as they each can; for no feelings of envy or jealousy are entertained by them towards their beloved, but they do their utmost to create in him the greatest likeness of themselves and of the god whom they honour. Thus fair and blissful to the beloved is the desire of the inspired lover, and the initiation of which I speak into the mysteries of true love, if he be captured by the lover and their purpose is effected. Now the be- loved is taken captive in the following manner : — At the beginning of this tale, I divided each soul into three — two horses and a charioteer; and one of the horses was good and the other bad : the divi- sion may remain, but I have not yet explained in what the goodness or badness of either consists, and to that I will now proceed. The right-hand horse is upright and cleanly made; he has a lofty neck and an aquiline nose; his colour is white, and his eyes dark; he is a lover of honour and modesty and temperance, and the follower of true glory ; he needs no touch of the whip, but is guided by word and ad- monition only. The other is a crooked and lum- bering animal, put together anyhow ; he has a short thick neck; he is flat-faced and of a dark colour, with grey and blood-shot eyes ; the mate of insolence and pride, shag-eared and deaf, hardly yielding to Plato 125 whip and spur. Now when the charioteer beholds the vision of love, and has his whole soul warmed through sense, and is full of prickings and ticklings of desire, the obedient steed, then as always under the government of shame, refrains from leaping on the beloved ; but the other, heedless of the pricks and of the blows of the whip, plunges and runs away, giving all manner of trouble to his companion and the charioteer, whom he forces to approach the be- loved and to remember the joys of love. They at first indignantly oppose him and will not be urged on to do terrible and unlawful deeds; but at l3,st, when he persists in plaguing them, they yield and agree to do as he. bids them. And now they are at the spot and behold the flashing beauty of the be- loved; which when the charioteer sees, his memory is carried to the true beauty, whom he beholds in company with Modesty like an iniage placed upon a holy pedestal. He sees her, but he is afraid and falls backwards in adoration, and by his fall is compelled to pull back the reins with such violence as to bring both the steeds on their haunches, the one willing and unresisting, the unruly one very unwilling; and when they have gone back a little, the one is over- come with shame and wonder, and his whole soul is bathed in perspiration; the other, when the pain is over which the bridle and the fall had given him, having with difficulty taken breath, is full of wrath and reproaches, which he heaps upon the charioteer and his fellow-steed, for want of courage and man- hood, declaring that they have been false to their agreement and guilty of desertion. Again they refuse, and again he urges them on, and will scarce 126 Readings in Philosophy yield to their prayer that he would wait until an- other time. When the appointed hour comes, they make as if they had forgotten, and he reminds them, fighting and neighing and dragging them on, until at length he on the same thoughts intent, forces them to draw near again. And when they are near he stoops his head and puts up his tail, and takes the bit in his teeth and pulls shamelessly. Then the charioteer is worse off than ever; he falls back like a racer at the barrier, and with a still more violent wrench- drags the bit out of the teeth of the wild steed and covers his abusive tongue and jaws with blood, and forces his legs and, haunches to the ground and punishes him sorely. And when this has happened several times and the villain has ceased from his wanton way, he is tamed and humbled, and follows the will of the charioteer, and when he sees the beautiful one he is ready to die of fear. And from that time forward the soul of the lover follows the beloved in modesty and holy fear. And so the beloved who, like a god, has received every true and loyal service from his lover, not in pretence but in reality, being also himself of a nature friendly to his admirer, if in former days he has blushed to own his passion and turned away his lover, because his youthful companions or others slanderously told him that he would be disgraced, now as years advance, at the appointed age and time, is led to receive him into communion. For fate which has ordained that there shall be no friendship among the evil has also ordained that there shall ever be friendship among the good. And the beloved when he has received him into com- Plato 127 munion and intimacy, is quite amazed at the good- will of the lover; he recognises that the inspired friend is worth all other friends or kinsmen; they have nothing of friendship in them worthy to be compared with his. And when this feeling con- tinues and he is nearer to him and embraces him, in gymnastic exercises and at other times of meet- ing, then the fountain of that stream, which Zeus when he was in love with Ganymede named Desire, overflows upon the lover, and some enters into his soul, and some when he is filled flows out again ; and as a breeze or an echo rebounds from the smooth rooks and returns whence it came, so does the stream of beauty, passing through the eyes which are the windows of the soul, come back to the beautiful one; there arriving and quickening the passages of the wings, watering them and inclining them to grow, and filling the soul of the beloved also with love. And thus he loves, but he knows not what; he does not understand and cannot explain his own state; he appears to have caught the infection of blindness from another; the lover is his mirror in whom h^ is beholding himself, but he is not aware of this. When he is with the lover, both cease from their pain, but when he is- away then he longs as he is longed for, and has love's image, love for love (Anteros) lodging in his breast, which he calls and believes to be not love but friendship only, and his desire is as the desire of the other, but weaker; he wants to see him, touch him, kiss, embrace him, and probably not long afterwards his desire is accom- plished. When they meet, the wanton steed of the lover has a word to say to the charioteer; he would 128 Readings in Philosophy like to have a little pleasure in return for many pains, but the wanton steed of the beloved says not a word, for he is bursting with passion which he understands not; — he throws his arms round the- lover and embraces him as his dearest friend; and, when they are side by side, he is not in a state in which he can refuse the lover anything, if he ask him; although his fellow steed and the charioteer oppose him with the arguments of shame and reason. After this their happiness depends upon their self-control ; if the better elements of the mind which lead to order and philosophy prevail, then they pass their life here in happiness and harmony — masters of * themselves and orderly — enslaving the vicious and emancipating the virtuous elements of the soul ; and when the end comes, they are light and winged for flight, having conquered in one of the three heavenly or truly Olympian victories ; nor can human discipline or divine inspiration confer any greater blessing on man than this. If, on the other hand, they leave philosophy and lead the lower life of ambition, tiien probably, after wine or in some other careless hour, the two wanton animals take the two souls when off their guard and bring them together, and they accomplish that desire of their hearts which to the many is bliss; and this having once enjoyed they continue to enjoy, yet rarely because they have not the approval of the whole soul. They too are dear, but not so dear to one another as the others, either at the time of their love or afterwards. They consider that they have given and taken from each other the most sacred pledges, and they may not break them and fall into Plato 129 enmity. At last they pass out of the body, un- winged, but eager to soar, and thus obtain no mean reward of love and madness. For those who have once begun the heavenward pilgrimage may not go down again to darkness and the journey beneath the earth, but they live in light ■ always ; happy com- panions in their pilgrimage, and when the time comes at which they receive their wings they have the same plumage because of their love. Meno.^ . . . What do you mean by saying that we do not learn, and that what we call learning is only a process of recollection ? Can you teach me how this is? Socrates. I told you, Meno, just now that you were a rogue, and now you ask whether I can teach you, when I am saying that there is no teaching, but only recollection ; and thus you imagine that you will involve me in a contradiction. Men. Indeed, Socrates, I protest that I had no such intention. I only ask the question from habit; but if you can prove to me that what you say is true, I wisli that you would. Soc. It will be no easy matter, but I will try to please you to the utmost of my power. Suppose that you call one of your numerous attendants, that I may demonstrate on him. Men. Certainly. Come hither, boy. Soc. He is Greek, and speaks Greek, does he not? Men. Yes, indeed; he was born in the house. Plato, Meno, 81e-86a; Jo*ett, Op. Cit. 130 Readings in Philosophy Soc. Attend now to the questions which I ask him, and observe whether he learns from me or only remembers. Men. I will. Soc. Tell me, boy, do you know that a figure like this is a square? Boy. I do. Soc. And you know that a square figure has these four lines equal? Boy. Certainly. Soc. And these lines which I have drawn through the middle of the square are also equal? Boy. Yes. Soc. A square may be of any size? Boy. Certainly. Soc. And if one side of the figure be of two feet, and the other side be of two feet, how; much will the whole be? Let me explain: if in one direction the space was of two feet, and in the other direc- tion of one foot, the whole would be of two feet taken once? Boy. Yes. Soc. But since this side is also of two feet, there are twice two feet? Boy. There are. Soc. Then the square is of twice two feet? Boy. Yes. Soc. And how many are twice two feet? count and tell me. Boy. Four, Socrates. Soc. And might there not be another square twice as large as this, and having like this the lines equal ? Plato 131 Boy. Yes. Soc. And of how many feet will that be? Boy. Of eight feet. Soc. And now try and tell me the length of the line which forms the side of that double square : this is two feet — what will that be? Boy. Clearly, Socrates, it will be double. Soc. Do you observe, Meno, that I am not teach- ing the boy anything, but only asking him questions ; and now he fancies that he knows how long a line is necessary in order to produce a figure of eight square feet; does he not? Men. Yes. Soc. And does he really know? Meno. Certainly not. Soc. He only guesses that because the square is double, the line is double. Men. True. Soc. Observe him while he recalls the steps in regular order. (To the Boy.) Tell me, boy, do you assert that a double space comes from a double line? Remember that I am not speaking of an oblong, but of a figure equal every way, and twice the size of this — that is to say of eight feet ; and I wanii to know whether you still say that a double square comes from a double line? Boy.' Yes. Soc. But does not this line become doubled if we add another such line here? * Boy. Certainly. Soc. And four such lines will make a space con- taining eight feet? Boy. Yes. 132 Readings in Philosophy Soc. Let us describe such a figure: would you not say that this is the figure of eight feet? Boy. Yes. Soc. And are there not these four divisions in the figure, each of which is equal to the figure of four feet? Boy. True. Soc. And is not that four times four? Boy. Certainly, • Soc. And four times is not double? Boy. No, indeed. Soc. But how much? Boy. Four times as much. Soc. Therefore the double line, boy, has given a space, not twice, but four times as much. Boy. True. Soc. Four times four are sixteen — are they not? Boy. Yes. Soc. What line would give you a space of eight feet, as this gives one of sixteen feet; — do you see? Boy. Yes. Soc. And the space of four feet is made from this half line? Boy. Yes. Soc. Good ; and is not a space of eight feet twice the size of this, and half the size of the other? Boy. Certainly. Soc. Such a space, then, will be made out of a line greater than this one, and less than that one? Boy. Yes; I think so. Soc. Very good ; I like to hear you say what you think. And now tell me, is not this a line of two feet and that of four? Plato 133 Boy. Yes. Soc. Then the line which forms the side of eight feet ought to be more than this line of two feet, and less than the other of four feet? Boy. It ought. Soc. Try and see if you can tell me how much it will be. Boy. Three feet. Soc. Then if we add a half to this line of two, that will be the line of three. Here are two and there is one; and on the other side, here are two also and there is one : and that makes the figure of which you speak? Boy. Yes. Soc. But if there are three feet this way and three feet that vay, the whole space will be three times three feet? Boy. That is evident. Soc. And how much are three times three feet? Boy. Nine. Soc. And how much is the double of four? Boy. Eight. Soc. Then the figure of eight is not made out of a line of three? Boy. No. Soc. But from what line? — tell me exactly ; and if you would rather not reckon, try and show me the line. Boy. Indeed, Socrates, I do not know. Soc. Do you see, Meno, what advances he has made in his power of recollection? He did not know at first, and he does not know now, what, is the side of a figure of eight feet : but then he thought 10 134 Readings in Philosophy that he knew, and answered confidently as if he knew, and had no difficulty ; now he has a difficulty, and neither knows nor fancies that he knows. Men. True. Soc. Is he not better off in knowing his igno- rance? Men. I think that he is. Soc. If we have made him doubt, and given him the 'torpedo's shock', have we done him any harm? Men. I think not. Soc. We have certainly, as would seem, assisted him in some degree to the discovery of the truth; and now he will wish to remedy his ignorance, but then he would have been ready to tell all the world again and again that the double space should have a double side. Men. True. Soc. But do you suppose that he would ever have enquired into or learned what he fancied that he knew, though he was really ignorant of it, until he had fallen into perplexity under the idea that he did not know, and had desired to know? Men. I think not, Socrates. Soc. Then he was the better for the torpedo's touch? Men. I think so. Soc. Mark now the farther, development. I shall only ask him', and not teach him, and he shall share the enquiry with me: and do you watch and see if you find me telling or explaining anything to him, instead of eliciting his opinion. Tell me, boy, is not this a square of four feet which I have drawn? Boy. Yes. Plato 135 Soc. And now I add another square equal to the former one ? Boy. Yes. Soc. And a third, which is equal to either of them? Boy. Yes. Soc. Suppose that we fill up the vacant corner? Boy. Very good. Soc. Here, then, there are four equal spaces? Boy. Yes. Soc. And how many times larger is this space than this other? Boy. Four times. Soc. But it ought to have been twice only, as you will remember. Boy. True. Soc. And does not this line, reaching from cor- ner to comer, bisect each of these spaces? Boy. Yes. Soc. And are there not here four equal lines which contain this space? 'Boy. There are. Soc. Look and see how much this space is. Boy. I do not understand. Soc. Has not each interior line cut off half of the four spaces ? Boy. Yes. Soc. And how many such spaces are there in this section? Boy. Four. Soc. And how many in this? Boy. Two. Soc. And four is how many times two ? 136 Readings in Philosophy Boy. Twice. Soc. And this space is of how many feet? Boy. Of eight feet. Soc. And from what line do you get this figure? Boy. From this. Soc. That is, from the line which extends from corner to comer of the figure of four feet. Boy. Yes. Soc. And that is the line which the learned call the diagonal. And if this is the proper name, then you, Meno's slave, are prepared to affirm that the double space is the square of the diagonal? Boy. Certainly, Socrates. Soc. What do you say of him, Meno ? Were not all these answers given otit of his own head? Men. Yes, they were all his own. Soc. And yet, as we were just now saying, he did not know? Men. True. Soc. But still he had in him those notions of his — had he not? Men. Yes. Soc. Then he who does not know may still have true notions of that which he does not know? Men. He has. Soc. And at present these notions have just been stirred up in him, as in a dream; but if he were frequently asked the same questions, in different forms, he would know as well as any one at last? Men. I dare say. Soc. Without any one teaching him he will re- cover his knowledge for himself, if he is only asked questions ? Plato 137 Men. Yes. Soc. And this spontaneous recovery of knowl- edge in him is recollection? Men. True. Soc. And this knowledge which he now has must he not either have acquired or always possessed? Men. Yes. Soc. But if he always possessed this knowledge / he would always have known ; or if he has aicquired the knowledge he could not have acquired it in this life, unless he has been taught geometry; for 1^ may be made to do the same with all geometry aiid every, other branch of knowledge. Now, has any one ever taught him all this? You must know about him, if, as you say, he was bom and bred in your house. Mem And I am certain that no one ever did teach him. Soc. And yet he has the knowledge? Men. The fact, Socrates, is undeniable. Soc. But if he did not acquire the knowledge in this life, then he must have had and learned it at some other time? Men. Clearly he must. B. The Allegory of the Cave. This is another very famous passage from the Republic bearing upon Plato's theory of Knowl- edge: Now^ then, I proceeded to say, go on to compare our natural condition, so far as education and 'Plato, Republic, Book VII, 514a-519b; Davies and Vaughan, Op. Cit. 138 Readings in Philosophy ignorance are concerned, to a state of things like the following. Imagine a number of men living in an underground cavernous chamber, with an en- trance open to the light, extending along the entire length of the cavern, in which they have been con- fined, from their childhood, with their legs and necks so shackled, that they are obliged to sit still and look straight forwards, because their chains render it impossihle for them to turn their heads round : and imagine a bright fire burning some way of£, above and behind them, and an elevated road- way passing between the fire and the prisoners, with a low wall built along it, like the screens which conjurors put up in front of their audience, and above which they exhibit their wonders. I have it, he replied. Also figure to yourself a number of persons walk- ing behind this wall, and carrying with them statues of men, and images of other animals, wrought in wood and stone and all kinds of ma- terials, together with various other articles, which overtop the wall ; and, as you might expect, let some of the passers-by be talking, and others silent. You are describing a strange scene, and strange prisoners. They resemble us, I replied. For let me ask you, in the first place, whether persons so confined could have seen anything of themselves or of each other, beyond the shadows thrown by the fire upon the part of the cavern facing them ? Certainly not, if you suppose them to have been compelled all their lifetime to keep their heads un- moved. Plato 139 And is not their knowledge of the things carried past them equally limited? Unquestionably it is. And if they were able to converse with one an- other, do you not think that they would be in the habit of giving names to the objects which they' saw before them? Doubtless they would. Again; if their prison-house returned an echo from the part facing them, whenever one of the passers-by opened his lips, to what, let me ask you, could they refer the voice, if not to the shadow which was passing? Unquestionably they would refer it to that. Then surely such persons would hold the shadows of those manufactured articles to be the only reali- ties. Without a doubt they would. Now consider what would happen if the course of nature brought them a release from their fetters, and a remedy for their foolishness, in the follow- ing manner. Let us suppose that one of them has been released, and compelled suddenly to stand up, and turn his neck around and walk with open eyes towards the light; and let us suppose that he goes through all these actions with pain, and that the dazzling splendour renders him incapable of dis- cerning those objects of which he used formerly to see the shadows. What answer should you ex- pect him to make, if some one were to tell him in those days he was watching foolish phantoms; but that now he is somewhat nearer* to reality, and is turned towards things more real, and sees more 140 Readings in Philosophy correctly ; above all, if he were to point out to him the several objects that are passing by, and ques- tion him, and compel hini to answer what they are ? Should you not expect him to be puzzled, and to regard his old visions as truer than the objects now forced upon his notice? Yes, much truer. And if he were further compelled to gaze at the light itself, would not his eyes, think you, be dis- tressed, and would he not shrink and turn away to the things which he could see distinctly, and con- sider them to be really clearer than the things pointed out to him? Just so. And if some one were to drag him violently up the rough and steep ascent from the cavern, and refuse to let. him go till he had drawn him out into the light of the sun, would he not, think you, be vexed and indignant at such treatment, and on reaching the light, would he not find his eyes so dazzled by the glare as to be incapable of making out so much as one of the objects that are now called true? Yes, he would find it so at first. Hence, I suppose, habit will be necessary to en- able him to perceive objects in that upper world. At first he will be most successful in distinguishing shadows ; then he will discern the reflections of men and other things in water, and afterwards the reali- ties; and after this he will raise his eyes to en- counter the light of the moon and stars, finding it less difficult to study the heavenly bodies and the Plato 141 heaven itself by night, than the sun and the sun's light by day. Doubtless. Last of all, I imagine, he will be able to observe and contemplate the nature of the sun, not as it appears in water or on alien ground, but as it is in itself in its own territory. Of course. His next step will be to draw the conclusion, that the sun is the author of the seasons and the years, and the guardian of all things in the visible world, and in a manner the cause of all those things which he and his companions used to see. Obviously, this will be his next step. What then? When he recalls to mind his first habitation, and the wisdom of the place, and his old fellow-prisoners, do you not think he will congratu- late himself on the change, and pity them? Assuredly he will. And if it was their practice in those days to re- ceive honour and commendations one from another, and to give prizes to him who had the keenest eye for a passing object, and who remembered best all that used to precede and follow and accompany it, and from these data divined most ably what was going to come ndxt, do you fancy that he will covet these prizes, and envy those who receive honour and exercise authority among them? Do you not rather imagine that he will feel what Homer de- scribes, and wish extremely ' To drudge on the lands of a master, Under a portionless wight,' 142 Readings in Philosophy and be ready to go through anything, rather than entertain those opinions, and live in that fashion? For. my own part, he replied, I am quite of that opinion. I believe he w^ould consent to go through anything rather than live in that v^^ay. And now consider what would happen if such a man were to descend again and seat himself on his old seat? Coming so suddenly out of the sun, would he not find his eyes blinded with the gloom of the place? Certainly, he would. And if he were forced to deliver his opinion again, touching the shadows aforesaid, and to enter the lists against those who had always been prisoners, while his sight continued dim, and his eyes un- steady, — and if this process of initiation lasted a considerable time, — would he not be made a laugh- ingstock, and would it not be said of him, that he had gone up only to come back again with his eye- sight destroyed, and that it was not worth while even to attempt the ascent? Anlti if any one en- deavoured to set them free and carry them to the light, would they not go so far as to put him to death, if they could only manage to get him into their power? Yes, that they would. Now this imaginary case, my dear Glaucon, you must apply in all its parts to our former state- ments, by comparing the region which the eye re- veals, to the prison-house, and the light of the fire therein to the power of the sun : and if, by the up- ward ascent and the contemplation of the upper world, you understand the mounting of the soul into Plato 143 the intellectual region, you will hit the tendency of my own surmises, since you desire to be told what they are; though, indeed, God only knows whether they are correct. But, be that as it may, the view which I take of the subject is to the following effect. In the world of knowledge, the essential Form of Good is the limit of our inquiries, and can barely be perceived ; but, when perceived, we cannot help con- cluding that it is in every case the source of all that is bright and beautiful, — in the visible world giving birth to light and its master, and in the intellectual world dispensing, immediately and with full au- thority, truth and reason; — and that whosoever would act wisely, either in private or in public, must set this Form of Good before his eyes. To the best of my power, said he, I quite agree with you. That being the case, I continued, pray agree with me on another point, and do not be surprised, that those who have climbed so high are unwilling to take a part in the affairs of men, because their souls are ever loath to desert that upper region. For how could it be otherwise, if the preceding simile is in- deed a correct representation of their case? True, it could scarcely be otherwise. Well: do you think it a marvelous thing, that a person, who has just quitted the contemplation of divine objects for the study of human infirmities, should betray awkwardness, and appear very ridic- ulous, when with his sight still dazed, and before he has become sufficiently habituated to the darkness that reigns around, he finds himself compelled to contend in courts of law, or elsewhere, about the 144 Readings in Philosophy shadows of justice, or images which throw the shadows, and to enter the lists in questions involv- ing the arbitrary suppositions entertained by those who have never yet had a glimpse of the essential features of justice? No, it is anything but marvellous. Right: for a sensible man will recollect that the eyes may be confused in two distinct ways and from two distinct causes, — that is to say, by sudden transitions either from light to darkness, or from darkness- to light. And, believing the same idea to be applicable to the soul, whenever such a person sees a case in which the mind is perplexed and un- able to distinguish objects, he will not laugh irra- tionally, but he will examine whether it has just quitted a brighter life, and has been blinded by the novelty of darkness, or whether it has come from, the depths of ignorance into a more brilliant life, and has been dazzled by the unusual splendour; and not till then will he congratulate the one upon its life and condition, and compassionate the other; and if he chooses to laugh at it, such laughter will be less ridiculous than that which is raised at the expense of the soul that has descended from the light of a higher region. You speak with great judgment. Hence, if this be true, we cannot avoid adopting the belief, that the real nature of education is at variance with the account given of it by certain of its professors, who pretend, I believe, to infuse into the mind a knowledge of which it was destitute, just as sight might be instilled into blinded eyes. True ; such are their pretensions. Plato 145 Whereas, our present argument shews us that there is a faculty residing in the soul of each per- son, and an instrument enabling each of us to learn ; and that,, just as we might suppose it to be impos- sible to turn the eye round from darkness to light without turning the whole body, so must this fac- ulty, or this instrument, be wheeled round, in com- pany with the entire soul, from the perishing world, until it be enabled to endure the contemplation of the real world and the brightest part thereof, which, according to us, is the Form of Good. Am I not right? You are. Hence, I continued, this very process of revolu- tion must give rise to an art, teaching in what way the change will most easily and most effectually be brought about. Its object will not be to generate in the person the power of seeing. On the contrary, it assumes that he possesses it, though he is turned in a wrong direction, and does not look towards the right quarter; and its aim is to remedy this defect. So it would appear. Hence, while, on the one hand, the other so-called virtues of the soul seem to resemble those of the body, inasmuch as they really do not pre-exist in. the soul, but are formed in it in the course of time by habit and exercise ; the virtue of wisdom, on the other hand, does most certainly appertain, as it would appear, to a more divine substance, which never loses its energy, but by change of position be- comes useful and serviceable, or else remains use- less and injurious. For you must, ere this, have 146 Readings in Philosophy noticed how keen-sigbted are the puny souls of those who have the reputation of being clever but vicious, and how sharply they see through the things to which they are directed, thus proving that their powers of vision are by no means feeble, though they have been compelled to become the servants of wickedness, so that the more sharply they see, the more numerous are the evils which they work. Yes, indeed it is the case. But, I proceeded, if from earliest childhood these characters had been shorn and stripped of those leaden, earth-bom weights, which grow and cling to the pleasures of eating and gluttonous enjoy- ments of a similar nature, and keep the eye of the soul turned upon the things below ; — if, I repeat, they had been released from these snares, and turned round to look at objects that are true, then these very same souls of these very same men would have had as keen an eye for such pursuits as they actually have for those in which they are now engaged. Yes, probably it would be so. C. .Cosmology This passage sets forth Plato's view of the es- sence, and process of creation of the universe, and of the stages of existence exemplified by the forms of life upon the earth : First 1 then, in my judgment, we must make a distinction and ask. What is that which always is and has no becoming; and what is that which is ^ Plato, Timaeus, 27e-34b ; Jowett, Op. Cit. Plato 147 always becoming and never is? That which is ap- prehended by intelligence and reason is always in the same state; but that which is conceived by opinion with the help of sensation and without reason, is always in a process of becoming and perishing and never really is. Now everything that becomes or is created must of necessity be created by some cause, for without a cause nothing can be created. The work of the creator, whenever he looks to the unchangeable and fashions the form and nature of his work after an unchangeable pat- tern, must necessarily be made fair and perfect; but when he looks to the created only, and uses a created pattern, it is not fair or perfect. Was the heaven then or the world, whether called by this or by any other more appropriate name — assuming the name, I am asking a question which has to be asked at the beginning of an enquiry about any- thing — was the world, I say, always in existence and without beginning? or created, and had it a beginning? Created, I reply, being visible and tangible and having a body, and therefore sensible; and all sensible things are apprehended by opinion and sense and are in a process of creation and created. Now that which is created must, as we affirm, of necessity be created by a cause. But the father and maker of all this universe is past find- ing out; and even if we found him, to tell of him to all men would be impossible. And there is still a question to be asked about him: Which of the patterns had the artificer in view when he made the world, — the pattern of the unchangeable, or of that which is created? If the world be indeed fair 148 Readings in Philosophy and the artificer good, it is manifest that he must have looked to that which is eternal; but if what cannot be said without blasphemy is true, then to the created pattern. Every one will see that he must have looked to the eternal; for the world is the fairest of creations and he is the best of causes. And having been created in this way, the world has been framed in the likeness of that which is ap- prehended by reason and mind and is unchange- able, and must therefore of necessity, if this is ad- mitted, be a copy of something. Now it is all- important that the beginning of everything should be according to nature. And in speaking of the copy and the original we may assume that words are akin to the matter which they describe; when they relate to the lasting and permanent and in- telligible, they ought to be lasting and unalterable, and — as far as their nature allows, irrefutable and immovable — nothing less. But when they express only the copy or likeness and not the eternal things themselves, they need only be likely and analogous to the real words. As being is to becoming, so is truth to belief. If then, Socrates, amid the many opinions about the gods and the generation of the universe, we are not able to give notions which are altogether and in every respect exact and consistent with one another, do not be surprised. Enough, if we adduce probabilities as likely as any others; for we must remember that I who am the speaker, and you who are the judges, are only mortal men, and we ought to accept the tale which is probable and enquire no further. Plato 149 Soc. Excellent, Timaeus; and we will do pre- cisely as you bid us. The prelude is charming, and is already accepted by us — may we beg of you to proceed to the strain? Tim. Let me tell you then why the creator made this world of generation. He was good, and the good can never have any jealousy of anything. And being free from jealousy, he desired that all things should be as like himself as they could be. This is in the truest sense the origin of creation and of the world, as we shall do well in believing on the testi- mony of wise men : God desired that all things should be good and nothing bad, so far as this was attainable. Wherefore also finding the whole visible sphere not at rest, but moving in an irregular and disorderly fashion, out of disorder he brought order, considering that this was in every way bet- ter than the other. Now the deeds of the best could never be or have been other than the fairest; and the creator, reflecting on the things which are by nature visible, found that no unintelligent crea- ture taken as a whole was fairer than the intelligent taken as a whole ; and that intelligence could not be present in anything that was devoid of soul. For which reason, when he was framing the universe, he put intelligence in soul, and soul in body, that he might be the creator of a work which was by nature fairest and best. Wherefore, using the language of probability, we may say that the world became a living creature truly endowed with soul and intelligence by the providence of God. This being supposed, let us proceed to the next stage: in the likeness of what animal did the 150 Readings in Philosophy Creator make the world? It would be an unworthy thing to liken it to any nature which exists as a part only; for nothing can be beautiful which is like any imperfect thing; but let us suppose the world to be the very image of that whole of which all other animals both individually and in their tribes are portions. For the original of the universe contains in itself all intelligible beings, just as this world comprehends us and all other visible crea- tures. For the Deity, intending to make this world like the fairest and most perfect of intelligible beings, framed one visible animal comprehending within itself all other animals of a kindred nature. Are we right in saying that there is one world, or that they are many and infinite? There must be one only, if the created copy is to accord with the original. For that which includes all other intelligi- ble creatures cannot have a second or companion; in that case there would be need of another living being which would include both, and of which they would be parts, and the likeness would be more truly said to resemble not them, but that other which included them. In order then that the world might be solitary, like the perfect animal, the creator made not two worlds or an infinite number of them; but there is and ever will be one only be- gotten and created heaven. Now that which is created is of necessity cor- poreal, and also visible and tangible. And nothing is visible where there is no fire, or tangible which has no solidity, and nothing is solid without earth. Wherefore also God in the beginning of creation made the body of the universe to consist of fire and Plato 151 earth. But two things cannot be rightly put to- gether without a third ; there must be some bond of union between them. And the fairest bond is that which makes the most complete fusion of itself and the things which it combines; and proportion is best adapted to effect such a union. For when- ever in any three numbers, whether cube or square, there is a mean, which is to the last term what the first term is to it ; and again, when the mean is to the first term as the last term is to the mean, — then the mean becoming first and last, and the first and last both becoming means, they will all of them of necessity, come to be the same, and having become the same with one another will be all one. If the universal frame had been created a surface only and having no depth, a single mean would have sufficed to bind together itself and the other terms ; but now, as the world must be solid, and solid bodies are always compacted not by one mean but by two, God placed water and air in the mean be- tween fire and earth, and made them to have the ^ame proportion so far as was possible (as fire is to air so is air to water, and as air is to water so is water to earth) ; and thus he bound and put -to- gether a visible and tangible heaven. And for these reasons, and out of such elements which are in number four, the body of the world was created, and it was harmonized by proportion, and therefore has the spirit of friendship ; and having been recon- ciled to itself, it was indissoluble by the hand of any other than the framer. Now the creation took up the whole of each of the four elements ; for the Creator compounded the 152 Readings. in Philosophy world out of all the fire and all the water and all the air and all the earth, leaving no part of any of them nor any power of them outside. His intention was, in the first place, that the animal should be as far as possible a perfect whole and of perfect parts : secondly, that it should be one, leaving no remnants out of which another such world might be created: and also that it should be free from old age and unaffected by disease. Considering that if heat and cold and other powerful forces which unite' bodies surround and att-ack them from without when they are unprepared, they decompose them, and by bring- ing diseases and old age upon them, make them waste away — for this cause and on these grounds he made the world one whole, having every part en- tire, and being therefore perfect and liable to old age and disease. And he gave to the world the figure which was suitable and also natural. Now to the animal which was to comprehend all animals, that figure was suitable which comprehends within itself all other figures. Wherefore he made the world in the form of a globe, round as from a lathe, having its extremes in every direction equidistant from the centre, the most perfect and the most like itself of all figures ; for he considered that the like is infinitely fairer than the unlike. This he finished off, making the surface smooth. all round for many reasons ; in the first place, because the living being had no need of eyes when there was nothing re- maining outside him to be seen; nor of ears when there was nothing to -be heard ; and there was no surrounding atmosphere to be breathed; nor would there have been any use of organs by the help of Plato 153 which he might receive his food or get rid of what he had already digested, since there was nothing which went from him or came into him : for there was nothing beside him. Of design he was created thus, his own waste providing his own food, and all that he did or suffered taking place in and by himself. For the Creator conceived that a being which was self-sufficient would be far more excel- lent than one which lacked anything; and, as he had no need to take anything or defend himself against any one, the Creator did not think it neces- sary to bestow upon him hands: nor had he any need of feet, nor of the whole apparatus of walk- ing ; but the movement suited to his spherical form was assigned to him, being of all the seven that which is most appropriate to mind and intelligence ; and he was made to move in the same manner and on the same spot, within his own limits revolving in a circle. All the other six motions were taken away from him, and he was made not to partake of their deviatibns. And as this circular move- ment required no feet, the universe was created without legs and without feet. Such was the whole plan of the eternal God about the god that was to be, to whom for this reason he gave a body, smooth and even, having a surface in every, direction equidistant from the centre, a body entire and perfect, and formed out of perfect bodies. And in the centre he put the soul, which he diffused throughout the body, making it also to be the exterior environment of it; and he made the universe a circle moving in a circle, one and solitary, yet by reason of its excellence able 154 lieadings in Philosophy to converse with itself, and needing no other friend- ship or acquaintance. Having these purposes in view he created the world a blessed god. Now ^ when the Creator had framed the soul ac- cording to his will, he formed within her the cor- poreal universe, and brought the two together, and united them centre to centre. The soul, interfused everywhere from the centre to the circumference of heaven, of which also she is the external en- velopment, herself turning in herself, began a di- vine beginning of never-ceasing and rational life enduring throughout all time. The body of heaven is visible, but the soul is invisible, and partakes of reason and harmony, and being made by the best of intellectual and everlasting natures, is the best of things created. And because she is composed of the same and of the other and of the essence, the^ three, and is divided and united in due proportion, and in her revolutions returns upon herself, the soul, when touching anything which has essencfe, whether dispersed in parts or undivided, is stirred through all her powers, to declare the sameness "or diif erence of that thing and some other ; and to what individuals are related, and by what affected, and in what way and how and when, both in the world of generation and in the world of immutable being. And when reason, which works with equal truth, whether she be in the circle of the diverse or of the same — in voiceless silence holding her onward course in the sphere of the self -moved — when rea- son, I say, is hovering around the sensible world 'Ibid., 36d-38e. Plato 155 and when the circle of the diverse also moving truly imparts the intimations of sense to the whole soul, then arise opinions and beliefs sure and certain. But when reason is concerned with the rational, and the circle of the same moving smoothly declares it, then intelligence and knowledge are necessarily per- fected. And if any one affirms that in which these two are found to be other than the soul, he will say the very opposite of the truth. When the father and creator saw the creature which he had made moving and living, the created image of the eternal gods, he rejoiced, and in his joy determined to make the copy still more like the original ; and as this was eternal, he sought to make the universe eternal, so far as might be. Now the nature of the ideal being was everlasting, but to bestow this attribute in its fulness upon a creature was impossible. Wherefore he resolved to have a moving image of eternity, and when he set in order the heaven, he made this image eternal but moving accordihg to number, while eternity itself rests in unity ; and this image we call, time. For there were no days and nights and months and years before the heaven was created, but when he constructed the heaven he created them also. They are all parts of time, and the past and future are created species of time, which we unconsciously but wrongly trans- fer to the eternal essence ; for we say that he 'was', he 'is', he 'will be', but the truth is that 'is' alone is properly attributed to him, and that 'was' and 'will be' are only to be spoken of becoming in time, for they are motions, but that which is immovably the same cannot become older or younger by time. 156 Readings in Philosophy nor ever did or has become, or hereafter will be, older or younger, nor is subject at all to any of those states which affect moving and sensible things and of which generation is the cause. These are the forms of time, which imitates eternity and re- volves according to a law of number. Moreover, when we say that what has become is become and what becomes is becoming, and that what will be- come is about to become and that the non-existent is non-existent, — all these are inaccurate modes of expression. But perhaps this whole subject will be more suitably discussed on some other occasion. Time, then, and the heaven came into being at the same instant in order that, having been created together, if ever there was to be a dissolution of them, they might be dissolved together. It was framed aftei* the pattern of the eternal nature, that it might resemble this as far as was possible; for the pattern exists from eternity, and the created heaven has been, and is; and will be, in all time. Such was the mind and thought of God in the crea- tion of time. The sun and moon and five other stars, which are called the planets, were created by him in order to distinguish and preserve the num- bers of time ; and when he had made their several bodies, he placed them in the orbits in which the circle of the other was revolving, — in seven orbits seven stars. First, there was the moon in the orbit nearest the earth, and next the sun, in the second orbit above the earth; then came the morning star and the star sacred to Hermes, moving in orbits which have an equal swiftness with the sun, but in an opposite direction; and this is the reason why Plato 157 the sun and Hermes and Lucifer overtake and are overtaken by each other. To enumerate the places which he assigned to the other stars, and to give all the reasons why he assigned them, although a secondary matter, would give more trouble than the primary. These things at some future time, .when we are at leisure, may have the consideration which they deserve, but not at present. Thus 1 far and until the birth of time the created universe was made in the likeness of the original, but inasmuch as all animals were not yet compre- hended therein, it was still unlike. What remained, the creator then proceeded to fashion after the na- ture of the pattern. Now as in the ideal animal the mind perceives ideas or species of a certain na- ture and number, he thought that this created an- imal ought to have species of a like nature and number. There are four such;, one of them is the heavenly race of the gods ; another, the race of birds whose way is in the air.; the third the watery species, and the fourth, the pedestrian and land creatures. Of the heavenly and divine, he created the greater part out of fire, that they might be the brightest of all things and fairest to behold, and he fashioned them after the likeness of the uni- verse in the figure of a circle, and made them fol- low the intelligent motion of the supreme distribut- ing them over the whole circumference of heaven, which was to be a true cosmos or glorious world spangled with them all over. And he gave to each of them two movements : the first, a movement on 'Ibid., 39e-41d. 158 Readings in,Philosophy the same spot after the same manner, whereby they ever continue to think consistently the same thoughts about thef same things; the second, a for- ward movement, in which they are controlled by the revolution of the same and the like; but by the other five motions they were unaffected, in order that each of them might attain the highest per- fection. And for this reason the fixed stars were created, to be divine and eternal animals, ever- abiding and revolving after the same manner and on the same spot; and the other stars which re- verse their motion and are subject to deviations of this kind, were created in the manner already de- scribed. The earth, which is our nurse, clinging around the pole which is extended through the uni- verse, he framed to be the guardian and artificer_ of night and day, first and eldest of gods that are in the interior of heaven. Vain would be the at- tempt to tell all the figures of them circling as in dance, and their juxtapositions, and the return of them in their revolutions upon themselves, and their approximations, and to say which of these deities in their conjunctions meet, and which of them are in opposition, and in what order they get behind and before one another, and when they are severally eclipsed to our sight and again reappear, sending terrors and intimations of the future to those who cannot calculate their movements — to attempt to tell of all this without a visible representation of the heavenly system would be labor in vain. Enough on this head ; and now let what we have said about the nature of the created and visible gods have an end. Plato 159 To know or tell the origin of the other divinities is beyond us, and we must accept the traditions of the men of old time who affirm themselves to be the offspring of the gods — that is what they say — and they must surely have known their own an- cestors. How can we doubt the word of the chil- dren of the gods? Although they give no probable or certain proofs, still, as they declare that they are speaking of what took place in their own family, we must conform to custom and believe them. In this manner, then, according to them, the genealogy of these gods is to be received and set forth. Oceanus and Tethys were the children of Earth and Heaven, and from these sprang Phorcys and Cronos and Rhea, and all that generation ; and from Cronos and Ehea sprang Zeus and Here, and all those who are said to be their brethren, and others who were the children of these. Now, when all of them, both those who visibly appear in their revolutions as well as those other gods who are of a more retiring nature, had come into being, the creator of the universe addressed them in these words : 'Gods, children of gods, who are my works, and of whom I am the artificer and father, my creations are indissoluble, if so I will. All that is bound may be undone, but only an evil being would wish to undo that which is harmonious and happy. Wherefore, since ye are but creatures, ye are not altogether immortal and indissoluble, but ye shall certainly not be dissolved, nor be liable to the fate of death, having in my will a greater and mightier bond than those with which ye were bound at the time of your birth. And now listen 160 Readings in Philosophy to my instructions : — Three tribes of mortal beings remain to be created — without them the universe will be incomplete, for it will not contain every kind of animal which it ought to contain, if it is to be perfect. On the other hand, if they were created by me and received life at my hands, they would be on an equality with the gods. In order then that they may be mortal, and that this uni- verse may be truly universal, do ye, according to your natures, betake yourselves to the formation of animals, imitating the power which was shown by me in creating you. The part of them worthy of the name immortal, which is called divine and is the guiding principle of those who are willing to follow justice and you — of that divine part I will myself sow the seed, and having made a beginning, I will hand the work over to you. And do ye then interweave the mortal with the immortal, and make and beget living creatures, and give them food, and make them to grow, and receive them again in death. D. Teleology Plato states here his belief, with the reasons therefor, in an underlying purpose in the universe: Nor 1 am I any longer satisfied that I understand the reason why one or anything else is either gen- erated or destroyed or is at all, but I have in my mind some confused notion of a new method, and can never admit, the other. ' Plato, Phaedo, 97c-99d ; Jowett, Op. Cit. Plato 161 Then I heard some one reading, as he said, from a book of Anaxagoras, that mind was the disposer and cause of all, and I was delighted at this notion, which appeared quite admirable, and I said to my- self: If mind is the disposer, mind will dispose all for the best, and put each particular in the best place; and I argued that if any one desired to find out the cause of the generation or destruction or existence of anything, he must find out what state of being or doing or suffering was best for that thing, and therefore a man had only to consider the best for himself and others, and then he would also know the worse, since the same science compre- hended both. And I rejoiced to think that I had found in Anaxagoras a teacher of the causes of ex- istence , such as I desired, and I imagined that he would tell me first whether the earth is flat or round ; and whichever was true, he would proceed to ex- plain the cause and the necessity of this being so, and then he would teach me the nature of the best and show that this was best; and if he said that the earth was in the centre, he would further ex- plain that this position was the best, and I should be satisfied with the explanation given, and not want any other sort of cause. And I thought that I would then go on and ask him about the sun and moon and stars, and that he would explain to me their comparative swiftness, and their returnings and various states, active and passive, and how all of them were for the best. For. I could not imagine that when he spoke of mind as the disposer of them, he would give any other account of their being as 162 Readings in Philosophy they are, except that this was best; and I thought that when he had explained to me in detail the cause of each and the cause of all, he would go on to explain to- me what was best for each and what was good for all. These hopes I would not have sold for a large sum of money, and I seized the books and read them as fast as I could in my eager- ness to know the better and the worse. What expectations I had formed, and how griev- ously was I disappointed ! As I proceeded, I found my philosopher altogether forsaking mind or any other principle of order, but having recourse to air, and ether, and water, and other eccentricities. I might compare him to a person who began by maintaining generally that mind is the cause of the actions of Socrates, but who, when he endeavoured to explain the causes of my several actions in detail, went on to show that I sit here because my body is made up of bones and muscles; and the bones, as he would say, are hard and have joints which divide them, and the muscles are elastic, and they cover the bones, which have also a covering or environment of flesh and skin which contains them ; and as the bones are lifted at their joints by the contraction or relaxa- tion of the muscles, I am able to bend my limbs, and this is why I am sitting here in a curved pos- ture—that is what he would say; and he would have a similar explanation of my talking to you, which he would attribute to sound, and air, and hearing, and he would assign ten thousand other causes of the same sort, forgetting to mention the true cause, which is, that the Athenians have Plato 163 thought fit to condemn me, and accordingly I have thought it better and more right to remain here and undergo my sentence ; for I am inclined to think that these muscles and bones of mine would have gone off long ago to Megara or Boeotia — by the dog they would, if they had been moved only by their own idea of what was best, and if I had not chosen the better and nobler part, instead of playing truant and running away, of enduring any punish- ment which the state inflicts. There is surely a strange confusion of causes and conditions in all this. It may be said, indeed, that without bones and muscles and the other parts of the body I can- not execute my purposes. But to say that I do as I do because of them, and that is the way in which mind acts, and not from the choice of the best, is a very careless and idle mode of speaking. I won- der that they cannot distinguish the cause from the condition, which the many, feeling about in the dark, are always mistaking and misnaming. And thus one man makes a vortex all round, and steadies the earth by the heaven ; another gives the air as a sup- port to the earth, which is a sort of broad trough. Any power which in arranging them as they are arranges them for the best never enters into their minds ; and instead of finding any superior strength in it, they rather expect to discover another Atlas of the world who is stronger and more everlasting and more containing than the good ; — of the ob- ligatory and containing power of the good they think nothing; and yet this is the principle which I would fain learn if any one would teach me. 164 Readings in Philosophy " E. The Idea of the Good This is another expression of Plato's conviction that the universe is a moral order, and possessed of ethical meaning: Do ^ you suppose that any one would let you go without asking what that science is which you call the highest, and of what it treats? Certainly not, I replied ; so put the question your- self. Assuredly you have heard the answer many a time ; but at this moment either you have for- gotten it, or else you intend to find me employment by raising objections. I incline to the latter opinion ; for you have often been told that the essential Form of the Good is the highest object of science, and that this essence, by blending with just things and all other created objects, renders them useful and advantageous. And at this moment you can scarcely doubt that I am going to assert this, and to assert, besides, that we are not sufficiently ac- quainted with this essence. And if bo, — if, I say, we know everything else perfectly, without know- ing this, — you are aware that it will profit us nothing; just as it would be equally profitless to possess everything without possessing what is good.. Or do you imagine it would be a gain to possess all possessible things, with the single ex- ception of things good ; or to apprehend every con- ceivable object, without apprehending what is good, — in other words, to be destitute of every good and beautiful conception? ' Plato, Republic, Book VI, 504e-506b ; Davies and Vaughan, Op. Cit. Plato 165 Not I, believe me. Moreover, you doubtless know besides, that the chief good is supposed by the multitude to be pleas- ure, — by the more enlightened, insight? Of course I know that. And you are aware, my friend, that the advocates of this latter opinion are unable to explain what they mean by insight, and are compelled at last to explain it as insight into that which is good. Yes, they are in a ludicrous difficulty. They certainly are: since they reproach us with ignorance of that which is good, and then speak to us the next moment as if we knew what it was. For they tell us that the chief good is insight into good, assuming that we understand their meaning, as soon as they have uttered the term 'good.' It is perfectly true. Again: are not those, whose definition identifies pleasure with good, just as much infected with error as the preceding? For they are forced to admit the existence of evil pleasures, are they not? Certainly they are. From which it follows, I should suppose, that they must admit the same thing to be both good and evil. Does it not? Certainly it does. Then is it not evident that this is a subject often and severely disputed? Doubtless it is. Once more: is it not evident, that though many persons would be ready to do and seem to do, or to possess and seem to possess, what seems just and beautiful, without really being so; yet, when you 12 166 Readings in Philosophy come to things good, no one is content to acquire what only seems such; on the contrary, everybody seeks the reality, and semblances are here, if no- where else, treated* with universal contempt? Yes, that is quite evident. This good, then, which every soul pursues,. as the end of all its actions, divining its existence, but per- plexed and unable to apprehend satisfactorily its nature, or to enjoy that steady confidence in relation to it, which it does enjoy in relation to other things, and therefore doomed to forfeit any advantage which it might have derived from those same things ; — are we to maintain that, on a subject of such overwhelming importance, the blindness we have described is a desirable feature in the character of those best members of the state in whose hands everything is to be placed? Most certainly not. At any rate, if it be not known in what way just things and beautiful things come to be also good, I imagine that such things will not possess a very valuable guardian in the person of him who is igno- rant on this point. And I surmise that none will know the just and the beautiful satisfactorily till he knows the good. Now,2 this power, which supplies the objects of real knowledge with the truth that is in them, and which renders to him who knows them the faculty of knowing them, you must consider to be the essential Form of Good, and you must regard it as the origin of science, and of truth, so far as the latter comes 'Ibid., 508e-509c. Plato 167 within the range of knowledge: and though knowl- edge and truth are both very beautiful things, you will be right in looking upon good as something distinct from them, and even more beautiful. And just as, in the analogous case, it is right to regard light and vision as resembling the sun, but wrong to identify them with ■ the sun ; so, in the case of science and truth, it is right to regard both of them as resembling good, but wrong to identify either of them with good ; because, on the contrary, the qual- ity of the good ought to have a still higher value set upon it. That implies an inexpressible beauty, if it not only is the source of science and truth, but also sur- passes them in beauty; for, I presume, you do not mean by it pleasure. Hush ! I exclaimed, not a word of that. But you had better examine the illustration further, as fol- lows. Shew me how. I think you will admit that the sun ministers to visible objects, not only the faculty of being seen, but also their vitality, growth, and nutriment, though it is not itself equivalent to vitality. Of course it is not. Then admit that, in like manner, the objects of knowledge not only derive from the good the gift of being known, but are further endowed by it with a real and essential existence; though the good, far from being identical with real existence, actually transcends it in dignity and power. 168 Readings in Philosophy F. Psychology Plato's psychological theory both indicates the place of the human being in the scheme of the world and also serves as a basis for his theory of virtue : First/ then, the gods, . imitating the spherical shape of the universe, enclosed the two divine courses in a spherical body, that namely, which we now term the head, being the most divine part of us and the lord of all that is in us : to this the gods, when they put together the body,- gave all the other members to be servants, considering that it partook of every sort of motion. As^ I said at first, when all things were in dis- order God created in each thing in relation to it- self, and in all things in relation to each other, all the measures and harmonies which they could pos- sibly receive. For in those days nothing had any proportion except by accident; nor did any of the things which now have names deserve to be named at all — as, for example, fire, water, and the rest of the elements. All these the creator first set in order, and out of them he constructed the universe, which was a single animal comprehending in itself all other animals, mortal and immortal. Now of the divine, he himself was the creator, but the crea- tion of the mortal he committed to his offspring. And they, imitating him, received from him the immortal principle of the soul ; and around this they proceeded to fashion a mortal body, and made it to be the vehicle of the soul, and constructed within the body a soul of another nature which was mortal, 'Plato, Timaens, 44d; Jowett, Op. Cit. ' Ihid., 69c-71a. Plato 169 subject to terrible and irresistible affections, — first of all, pleasure, the greatest incitement to evil ; then, pain, which deters from good; also rashness and fear, two foolish counsellors, anger hard to be ap- peased, and hope easily led astray ; — these they mingled with irrational sense and with all-daring love according to necessary laws, and so framed man. Wherefore, fearing to pollute the divine any more than was absolutely unavoidable, they gave to the mortal nature a separate habitation in another part of the body, placing the neck between them to be the isthmus and boundary, which they con- structed between the head and breast, to keep them apart. And in the breast, and in what is termed the thorax, they encased the mortal soul ; and as the one part of this was superior and the other in- ferior they divided the cavity of the thoraix into two parts, as the women's and men's apartments are divided in houses, and placed the midriff to be a wall of partition between them. That part of the inferior soul which is endowed with courage and passion and loves contention they settled nearer the head, midway between the midriff and the neck, in order that it might be under the rule of reason and might join with it in controlling and restraining the desires when they are no longer willing of their own accord to obey the word of command issuing from the citadel. The heart, the knot of the veins and the fountain of the blood which races through all the limbs, was set in the place of guard, that when the might of passion was roused by reason making proclamation of any wrong assailing them from without or being 170 Readings in Philosophy perpetrated by the desires within, quickly the whole power of feeling in the body, perceiving these com- mands and threats, might obey and follow through every turn and alley, and thus allow the principle of the best to have the command in all of them. But the gods, foreknowing that the palpitation of the heart in the expectation of danger and the swell- ing and excitement of passion was caused by fire, formed and implanted as a supporter to the heart the lung, which was, in the first place, soft and bloodless, and also had within hollows like the pores of a sponge, in order that by receiving the breath and the drink, it might give coolness and the power of respiration and alleviate the heat. Wherefore they cut the air-channels leading to the lung, and placed the lung about the heart as a soft spring, that, when passion was rife within, the heart, beat- ing against a yielding body, might be cooled and suffer less, and might thus become more ready to join with passion in the service of reason. The part of the soul which desires meats and drinks £^nd the other things of which it has need by reason of the bodily nature, they placed between the midriff and the boundary of the navel, contriving in all this region a sort of manger for the food of the body; and there they bound it down like a wild animal which was chained up with man, and must be nourished if man was to exist. They appointed this lower creation his place here in order that he might be always feeding at the manger, and have his dwelling as far as might be from the council- chamber, making as little noise and disturbance as Plato 171 possible, and permitting the best part to advise quietly for the good of the whole. G. The Cardinal Virtues The theory of the cardinal virtues, which is a classic one, grows out of the psychological analysis of human life. Plato discusses the virtues in con- nection with their utility for the social order. The following passage will serve to illustrate the essen- tial points of his doctrine : To^ begin then: in the first place wisdom seems to be plainly discernible in our subject; and in con- nexion with it a paradoxical fact presents itself. What is that? The state which we have described is really wise, if I am not mistaken, inasmuch as it is prudent in counsel, is it not? It is. And this very quality, prudence in counsel, is evi- dently a kind of knowledge : for it is not ignorance, I imagine, but knowledge, that makes men deliberate prudently. Evidently. But there are many different kinds of knowledge in the state. Unquestionably there are. 1^ it then in virtue of the knowledge of its car- penters that the state is to be described as wise, or prudent in counsel? "Plato, Republic, Book IV, 428b-435c; Davies and Vaaghan, Op. Cit. 172 Readings in Philosophy Certainly not; for in virtue of such knowledge it could only be called a city of good carpentry. Then it is not the knowledge it employs in con- sidering how vessels of wood may best be made, that will justify us in calling our city wise. Certainly not. Well, is it the knowledge w'hich has to do with ves- sels of brass, or any other of this kind? No, none whatever. Neither will a knowledge of the mode of raising produce from the soil give a state the claim to the title of wise, but only to that of a successful agri- cultural state. So I think. Tell me, then, does our newly-organized state contain any kind of knowledge, residing in any sec- tion of the citizens, which takes measures, not in be- half of anything in the state, but in behalf of the state as a whole, devising in what manner its inter- nal and foreign relations may best be regulated? Certainly it does. What is this knowledge, and in whom does it re- side? It is our protective science, and it resides in that governing class whom we denominated just now perfect guardians. Then in virtue of this knowledge what do you call the state? I call it prudent in counsel and truly wise. Which do you suppose will be the more numerous class in our state, the braziers, or these genuine guardians ? The braziers will far outnumber the others. Plato 173 Then will the guardians be the smallest of all the classes possessing this or that branch of knowledge, and bearing this or that name in consequence? Yes, much the smallest. Then it is the knowledge residing in its smallest class or section, that is to say, in the predominant and ruling body, which entitles a state, organized agreeably to nature, to be called wise as a whole: and that class whose right and duty it is to partake of the knowledge which alone of all kinds of knowl- edge is properly called wisdom, is naturally, as it appears, the least numerous body in the state. Most true. Here then we have made out, in some way or other, one of the four qualities, and the part of the state in which it is seated. To my mind, said he, it has been made out satis- factorily. Again, there can assuredly be no great difficulty in discerning the quality of courage, and the class in which it resides, and which entitles the state to be called brave. How so? In pronouncing a city to be cowardly or brave, who would look to any but that portion of it which fights in its defence and takes the field in its behalf? No one would look to anything else. No ; and for this reason, I imagine, — that the cowardice or courage of the state itself is not neces- sarily implied in that of the other classes. No, it is not. Then a city is brave as well as wise, in virtue of a certain portion of itself, because it has in that por- 174 Readings in Philosophy tion a power which can without intermission keep safe the right opinion concerning things to be feared, which teaches that they are such as the legislator has declared in the prescribed education. Is not this what you call courage? I did not quite understand what you said; be so good as to repeat it. I say that courage is a kind of safe keeping. What kind of safe keeping? The safe keeping of the opinion created by law through education, which teaches what things and what kind of things are to be feared. And when I spoke of keeping- it safe without intermission, I meant that it was to be thoroughly preserved alike in moments of pain and of pleasure, of desire and of fear, and never to be cast away. And if you like, I will illustrate it by a comparison which seems to me an apt one. I should like it. Well then, you know that dyers, when they wish to dye wool so as to give it the true sea-purple, first select from the numerous colours one variety, that of white wool, and then subject it to much careful preparatory dressing, that it may take the colour as brilliantly as possible; after which they proceed to dye it. And when the wool has been dyed on this system, its colour is indelible, and no washing either with or without soap can rob it of its brilliancy. But when this course has not been pursued, you know the results, whether' this or any other colour be dyed without previous preparation. I know that the dye washes out in a ridiculous way. Plato 175 You may understand from this what we were labouring, to the best of our ability, to bring about, when we were selecting our soldiers and training them in music and gymnastic. Imagine that we were only contriving how they might be best wrought upon to take as it were the colour of the laws, in order that their opinion concerning things to be feared, and on all other subjects, might be in- delible, owing to their congenial nature and appro- priate training, and that their colour might not be washed out by such terribly efficacious detergents as jpleasure, which works more powerfully than any potash or lye, and pain, and fear, and desire, which are more potent than any other solvent in the world. This power, therefore, to hold fast continually the right and lawful opinion concerning things to be feared and things not to be feared, I define to be courage, and call it by that name, if you do not object. No, I do not : for when the right opinion on these matters is held without education, as by beasts and slaves, you would not, I think, regard it as alto- gether legitimate, and you would give it some other name than courage. Most true. Then I accept this acc6unt of courage. Do so, at least as an account of the courage of citizens, and you will be right. On a future occa- sion, if you like, we will go into this question more fully : at present it is beside our inquiry, the object of which is justice: we have done enough therefore, I imagine, for the investigation of courage. You are right. 176 Readings in Philosophy Two things, I proceeded, now remain, that we must look for in the state, temperance, and that which is the cause of all these investigations, justice, Exactly so. Well, not to trouble ourselves any further about temperance, is there any way by which we can dis- cover justice? For my part, said he, I do not know, nor do I wish justice to be brought to light first, if we are to make no further inquiry after temperance; so, if you wish to gratify me, examine into the latter, before you proceed to the former. Indeed, I do wish it, as I am an- honest man. Proceed then with the examination. I will; and from our present point of view, tem- perance has more the appearance of a concord or harmony, than the former qualities had. How so? Temperance is, I imagine, a kind of order and a mastery, as men say, over certain pleasures and desires. Thus we plainly hear people talking of a man's being master of himself, in some sense or other; and other similar expressions are used, in which we may trace a print of the thing. Is it not so? Most certainly it is. But is not the expression 'master of himself a ridiculous one? For the man who is master of him- self will also, I presume, be the slave of himself, and the slave will be the master. For the subject of all these phrases is the same person. Undoubtedly. Plato 111 Well, I continued, it appears to me that the mean- ing of the expression is, that in the man himself, that is, in his soul, there resides a good principle and a bad, and when the naturally good principle is master of the bad, this state of things is described by the term 'master of himself;' certainly it is a term of praise : — but when in consequence of evil training, or the influence of associates, the smaller force of the good principle is overpowered by the superior numbers of the bad, the person so situated is described in terms of reproach and condemnation, as a slave of self, and a dissolute person. Yes, this seems a likely account of it. Now turn your eyes towards our new state, and you will find one of these conditions realized in it: for you will allow that it may fairly be called 'master of itself,' if temperance and self-mastery may be predicated of that in which the good principle governs the bad. I am looking as you direct, and I acknowledge the truth of what you say. It will further be admitted that those desires, and pleasures, and pains, which are many and various, will be chiefly found in children, and women, and servants ; and in the vulgar mass also among nominal freemen. Precisely so. On the other hand, those simple and moderate de- sires, which go hand in hand with intellect and right opinion, under the guidance of reasoning, will be found in a small number of men, that is, in those 178 Readings in Philosophy of the best natural endowments, and the best educa- tion. True. Do you not see that the -parallel to this exists in your state; in other words, that the desires of the vulgar many are there controlled by the desires and the wisdom of the cultivated few? I do. If any state then may be described as master of itself, its pleasures and its desires, ours may be so characterized. Most certainly. May we not then also call it temperate, on all these accounts ? Surely we may. And again, if there is any city in which the gov- ernors and the governed are unanimous on the ques- tion who ought to govern, such unanimity will exist in ours. Do you not think so? Most assuredly I do. In which of the two classes of citizens will you say that temperance resides, when they are in this condition? in the rulers or in the subjects? In both I fancy. Do you see, then, that we were not bad prophets when we divined just now that temperance re- sembled a kind of harmony? Why, pray? Because it does not operate like courage and wis- dom, which, by residing in particular sections of the state, make it brave and wise respectively; but spreads throughout the whole in literal diapason, producing a unison between the weakest and the .Plato 179 strongest and the middle class, whether you measure by the standard of intelligence, or bodily strengtti, or numbers, or wealth, or anything else of the kind : so that we shall be fully justified in pronouncing temperance to be that unanimity, which we described as a concord between the naturally better element and the naturally worse, whether in a state or in a single person, as to which of the two has the right to govern. I fully agree with you. Very well, I continued : we have discerned in our state three out of the four principles ; at least such is our present impression. Now what will that re- maining principle be through which the state will further participate in virtue? — for this, we may be sure, is justice. Evidently it is. Now then, Glaucon, we must be like hunters sur- rounding a cover, and must give close attention that justice may nowhere escape us and disappear from our view: for it is manifest that she is somewhere here; so look for her, and strive to gain a sight of her, for perhaps you may discover her first, and give the alarm to me. I wish I might, replied he; but you will use me quite well enough, if, instead of that, you will treat me as one who is following your steps, and is able to see what is pointed out to him. Follow me then, after joining your prayers with mine. I will do so ; only do you lead the way. 180 Readings in Philosophy Truly, said I, the ground seems to be hard to traverse, and covered with wood : at all events it is dark and difficult to explore; but still we must on. Yes, that we must. Here I caught a glimpse, and exclaimed. Ho ! ho ! Glaucon, here is something that looks like a track, and I believe the game will not altogether escape us. That is good news. Upon my word, said I, we are in a most foolish predicament. How so? Why, my good sir, it appears that what we were looking for has been all this time rolling before our feet, and we never saw it, but did the most ridicu- lous thing. Just as people at times go about looking for something which they hold in their hands, so we, instead of fixing our eyes upon the thing itself, kept gazing at some point in the distance, and this was probably the reason why it eluded our search. What do you mean? This : that I believe we were conversing of it to- gether, without understanding that we were in a manner describing it ourselves. Your preface seems long to one who is anxious for the explanation. Well then, listen, and judge whether I am right or not. What at the commencement we laid down as a universal rule of action, when we were found- ing our state, this, if I mistake not, or some modifica- tion of it, is justice. . I think we affirmed, if you recollect, and frequently repeated, that every indi- vidual ought to have some one occupation in the Plato 181 state, which should be that to which his natural capacity was best adapted. We did say so. And again, we have often heard people say, that to mind one's own business, and not be meddlesome, is justice; and we have often said the same thing ourselves. We have said so. Then it would seem, my friend, that to do one's own business, in some shape or other, is justice. Do you know whence I infer this ? No ; be so good as to tell me. I think that the remainder left in the state, after eliminating the qualities which we have considered, I mean temperance, and courage, and wisdom, must be that which made their entrance into it possible, and which preserves them there so long as they ex- ist in it. Now we affirmed that the remaining quality, when three out of the four were found, would be justice. Yes, unquestionably it would. If, however, it were required to decide which of these qualities will have most influence in perfecting by its presence the virtue of our state, it would be difficult to determine; whether it will be the har- mony of opinion between the governors and the gov- erned, or the faithful adherence on the part of the soldiers to the lawful belief concerning the things which are, and the things which are not, to be feared ; or the existence of wisdom and watchfulness in the rulers ; or whether the virtue of the state may not be chiefly traced to the presence of that fourth principle in every child and woman, in every slave. 182 Readings in Philosophy freeman, and artisan, in the ruler and in the sub- ject, requiring each to do his own work, and not meddle with many things. It would be a difficult point to settle, unques- tionably. Thus it appears that, in promoting the virtue of a state, the power that makes each member of it dp his own work, may compete with its wisdom, and its temperance, and its courage. Decidedly it may. But if there is a principle which rivals these qual- ities in promoting the virtue of a state, will you not determine it to be justice? Most assuredly. Consider the question in another light, and see whether you will come to the same conclusion. Will you assign to the rulers of the state the adjudica- tion of law-suits? Certainly. Will not their judgments be guided, above every- thing, by the desire that no one may appropriate what belongs to others, nor be deprived of what is his own? Yes, that will be their main study. Because that is just? Yes. Thus, according to this view also, it will be granted that to have and do what belongs to us and is our own, is justice. True. Now observe whether you hold the same opinion that I do. If a carpenter should undertake to execute the work of a shoemaker, or a shoemaker Plato 183 that of a carpenter, either by interchanging their tools and distinctions, or by the same person under- taking both trades, with all the changes involved in it, do you think it would greatly damage the state ? Not very greatly. But when one whom nature has made an artisan, or a producer of any other kind, is so elated by wealth, or a large connexion, or bodily strength, or any similar advantages, as to intrude himself into the class of the warriors; or when a warrior in- trudes himself into the class of the " senators and guardians, of which he is unworthy, and when these interchange their tools and their distinctions, or when one and the same person attempts to .dis- charge all these duties at once, then, I imagine, you will agree with me, that such change and. meddling among these will be ruinous to the state. Most assuredly they will. Then any intermeddling in the three classes, or change from one to another, would inflict great dam- age on the state, and may with perfect propriety be described as in the strongest sense a doing of evil. Quite so. And will you not admit that evil-doing of the worst kind towards one's own state is injustice? Unquestionably. This then is injustice. On the other hand, let us state that, conversely, adherence to their own busi- ness on'the part of the industrious, the military, and the guardian classes, each of these doing its own work in the state, is justice, and will render the state just. I fully coincide, he said, in this view. 184 Readings in Philosophy Let us not state it yet quite positively ; but if we find, on applying this conception to the individual man, that there too it is admitted to .constitute jus- tice, we will then yield our assent — for what more can we say ? — but if not, in that case we will insti- tute a new inquiry. At present, however, let us complete the investigation which we undertook in the belief that, if we first endeavoured to contem- plate justice in some larger subject which contains it, we should find it easier to discern its nature in the individual man. Such a subject we recognized in a state, and accordingly we organized the best we could, being sure that justice must reside in a good city. The view, therefore, which presented itself to us there, let us now apply to the individual : and if it be admitted, we shall be satisfied; but if we should find something diifereht in the case of the individual, we will again go back to bur city, and put our theory to the test. And perhaps by con- sidering the two cases side by side, and rubbing them together, we may cause justice to flash out from the contact, like fire from dry bits of wood, and when it has become visible to us, may settle it firmly in our own minds. There is method in your proposal, he replied, and so let us do. I proceeded therefore to ask: When two things, a greater and a less, are called by a common name, are they, in so far as the common name applies, unlike or like? Like. Plato 185 Then a just man will not differ from a just state, so far as the idea of justice is involved, but the two will be like. They will. Well, but we resolved that a state was just, when the three classes of characters present in it were severally occupied in doing their proper work : and that it was temperate, and brave, and wise, in con- sequence of certain affections and conditions of these same classes. True. Then, my friend, we shall also adjudge, in the case of the individual man, that, supposing him to possess in his soul the same generic parts, he is . rightly entitled to the same names as the state, in virtue of affections of these parts identical with those of the classes in the state. It must inevitably be so. CHAPTER VIII ARISTOTLE A. Analysis of the Process of Change The process of change and transition which had been a puzzling problem throughout Greek thought is analyzed by Aristotle in terms of matter and form. His statement of the case is to be found in the following passages. (They are printed here in inverted order because out of their setting they read somewhat more easily thus) : viii. Everything^ which comes into .being is brought about by something, that is, by a source from which its generation comes. And it is com- posed of something. Now this latter is best de- scribed not as the absence of the thing but as the matter from which it comes. We have already de- fined what we mean by this. And it becomes a par- ticular thing, as a sphere or a circle or some other thing. Now one does not 'make' the material — as the bronze — of which a thing is composed ; so one does not make the sphere, except in a secondary sense, in so far as the bronze circle is a circle and one makes it. For the act of making a particular thing is a process of making it out of some material in general. I mean that to make the bronze round is not to make the "round' or the 'sphere', but quite a 'Aristotle, Metaphysics, Z, viii, vii; translated from the text of Christ. (186) Aristotle 187 different thing — that of putting this form into what did not have it previously. If one made the 'form', out of what different substance could one make it? There would have to be some substance underlying it, as when one makes a sphere out of bronze. This is done by making of a particular kind of substance, namely bronze, a special sort of thing, namely a sphere. And if one made this 'sphere' also in the same way, it is evident that he would make it in the same manner, and there would be an infinite regress of such processes. It is evident therefore that the form, or whatever one ought to call the shape of the perceived object is not 'made'. It does not have an origin. Nor is there any for the essential con- ception of a thing. For this is what is implanted in another entity, either by training or by nature or by force. But one does cause the 'bronze sphere' to be. For one makes it out of the bronze and the form of 'sphere'. One puts the form into this mat- ter, and it is then a bronze sphere. But if there were an origin for 'the idea of sphere in general' out of what would it come? That which is gener- ated would have to be analyzed again in turn, and each reduced to something further, then that to something else; I mean in one aspect into matter, in another into form. A sphere is a figure whose surface is everywhere equally distant from a cen- ter. One aspect of it is th*e material into which the form is to be put; the other the form which is to be. put into it. The whole is what results, namely, the bronze sphere. It is evident from what we have said that the part which is spoken of as the form or the essence ,188 Readings in Philosophy does not originate; but the combination which de- rives its name from this does; and in everything which originates there is substance; and one aspect of the thing is the matter, the other the form. Is there then a 'sphere' beside the particular spheres? Or is there a 'house' beside the houses of brick? Or would there ever be any particular things if this were so? The genus gives the general character, but is not a definite particular thing. But one makes and produces such and such a thing out of 'this' particular substance. And when it has been produced it is 'this thing of such and such a kind'. This concrete existing thing is 'Kallias' or 'Socrates', just as the other was 'this bronze sphere', but it is man and animal in general just as the other was a bronze sphere in general. It is evident then that the conception of forms, as some are accustomed to speak of forms, if they are something aside from the particulars and beside the acts of generation and the essences, is of no value. For not by virtue of them would ther^ be particular instances of them. In some cases indeed it is evident that that which causes is the same sort of thing as that which is caused, yet not identically the same, nor one numer- ically, but in form, — as in the case of the products of nature. Man begets man, (and so in other in- stances), except where something arises of different nature, as when a horse 'begets a mule. Yet these cases also are really similar to the others ; but what is common to a horse and an ass has not been given a name as a 'proximate genus' ; perhaps it would be 'mule'. Aristotle 189 So it is evident that it is not at all necessary to ■supply forms as patterns, (for they would have to be found in these cases especially, since these are certainly substances) . The begetter is adequate to the production of the effect and to the embodiment of the form in the matter. And the compound — such and such a form in this flesh and these bones, — is Kallias or Socrates. They differ because of their matter, for it is_different, but they are the same in form. For the form is indivisible. vii. Of things vi^hich come into existence some are generated by nature, some by art, some by chance. And all things which are generated are generated by something and from something and as of some kind. When I say 'as of some kind' I speak with reference to some category, such as substance, quantity, quality or place. Origination by nature occurs in the case of those things whose origin is through the processes of nature. The substance of which they are formed is matter; the source from which they arise is some thing in nature; the kind of thing which they become is 'man' or 'plant' or some of the other things which we call 'substances' in a special sense. All things which have an origin, whether by nature or by art, have a material. Each (of them might exist or not exist; and the reason for this double possibility is the material part of them. In general that out of which and in accord- ance with which they arise is some nsltural thing. For that which comes into being is of some natural kind, as a plant or an animal. And that under the influence of which it arises is a. natural object which with reference to its form may be said to be homo- 190 Readings in Philosophy geneous. And this form is found in another indi- vidual; as one man begets another man. In this way arise the things which come about by nature; but other originations are called artificial creations. Artificial creations result from acquired skill, or external power, or deliberate planning. Some of these also come about spontaneously and by chance, just as some things are generated by nature. For there some of the same kind of things arise in some instances from seed, in other instances without seed. Into these things we shall have to look later; but those things arise by art, the forms of which are in some one's mind. And by fonn I mean the es- sential conception of the thing and its fundamental essence. And indeed in a certain sense opposites have the same form. The opposed essence is that of the absence of the given thing, as health is the absence of disease. For by the a,bsence of the former disease becomes manifest. But health is the determining principle, in the soul and in knowledge. The healthy condition of one who has been ill comes about as follows: since such and such a condition is health it is necessary, if there is to be health, that some other condition exist, as uniform temperature, and if there is to be uniform temperature then warmth. And in this manner one continues one's analysis until one arrives at a certain thing which one can do as the first step. The activity which comes from this is an 'artificial productivity, in this case the production of health. So in this sense it is true that health comes from health, and a house from a house, that form which exists without matter pro- duces that which does have it. The heart of the Aristotle 191 physician's art and of the builder's art is the form of health arid the form of the house. And the essence without matter I call the essential concep- tion. One aspect of the processes of production and of action is called the intellectual contemplation, the other the practical effecting of them. The one which has to do with the principle and the form is intellectual contemplation. That which refers to the aim of the intellectual contemplation is the practical application. And each of the intermediate steps has the like phases. For instance, if one will be healthy it is necessary to have an even tem- perature. What does the maintenance of an even temperature involve? This: it will result if one is kept warm. And what will do this? The follow- ing; but this exists only as a possibility. Yet it is in one's power. So then the action and the source from which the development of the healthy state springs, if it is from an artificial source, is the 'form' in one's mind; but if from chance, still it results from something which at some time or other is the source of activity used by him who acts with conscious skill. In the case (3f medical treatment perhaps the source is in causing warmth, and one produces this by rubbing. So the warmth in the body is either a part of health or there follows it something which is a part of health, though only after some intermediate stages. And this last step is what causes the essential part and what is thus a part is to health as the stones are to a house; and likewise with other things. 192 Readings in Philosophy As we have said, nothing can arise unless some- thing pre-exists. Therefore that some part neces- sarily exists is evident. For the material part is a part. And it enters into a thing and pervades its changes. And so it is also with the things men- tioned in our statement. We tell what bronze circles are by distinguishing two phases ; saying of the material that it is bronze ; and of the form that it is this special kind of shape. And this is the genus under which it is placed first. The notion of the brazen circle includes the matter. Some things receive names from the matter out of which they come when they arise, being said, of course, to be not 'that substance' but 'of that substance', as the image of a man is said to be not 'stone' but 'of stone'. But a healthy man is not designated from that out of which he has come. The reason for this is that he has come from a condition opposite to his present one, as well as out of a substance which we call his material being. Thus it is both a man and a sick man who becomes well. But the statement is made rather with reference to the negative state ; one becomes healthy from being ill rather than from being a man. Consequently the well person is not said to be ill, but a man and a healthy man. But in those things to which there is no evident opposite, or none with a name, as of any kind of form in bronze, or the bricks or boards of a building, the process of generation is referred to these, as in the other case it was to the condition of illness. Where- fore, as in that case that from which this comes is not used in the name, so here the image of the man is not called 'wood' but is styled 'wooden', or 'brazen' Aristotle 193 not 'bronze', or 'stony' not 'stone', or a house 'of brick' not 'bricks'. Nor does the image come from wood, nor the house from bricks, if one looks at the matter exactly ; and one could not say this with- out qualification, for it is necessary that genera- tion come through the changing of a source, — through its not remaining permanent. For these reasons then we use such modes of expression. B. Grades of Soul Aristotle's theory of levels of soul is well repre- sented by the following section from his work on Psychology : Some^ organisms possess all the capacities of the soul mentioned, as we have said, others possess some only, and some possess one alone. These capacities we mentioned as the nutritive, the appetitive, the locomotive, and the intellective. The nutritive alone belongs to plants; this and the sensitive to other organisms. But if any organism has sensation it also has appetite, for desire, anger, and volition are phases of appetite; and all animals have one of the senses — touch ; but those which have any sensation know pleasure and pain, the sweet and the bitter, and whatever has these has desire also; for this is a longing for the pleasant. In addition they have the nutritive sense; for touch is the sense involved in nutrition, and all animals are nourished by what is dry or moist, warm or cold ; and touch is the sense 'Aristotle, Psychology, Book II, ch. iii; translated from the text of Biehl. 194 Readings in Philosophy t for perceiving these, and of other things incident- ally. Sound, color, and smell do not contribute any- thing to nourishment. But taste is a variety of touch. Hunger and thirst are forms of desire: hunger — for the dry and M^arm, thirst — for the cold and moist. And taste is a kind of relish to these. We shall have to go into more detail re- garding these later, but now let it suffice to say that appetite belongs to animals having the sense of touch. As to mental imagery the situation is not clear, and will have to be investigated later. To some in addition belongs the power to move from place to place, and to others also understanding and reason, — as to men, and to other species on the same level or of higher rank, if siich there be. Evidently one might formulate a single conception of soul in the same manner as of 'form'. For as in the one case there is no form beside the triangle, etc., so there is no "soul in general' beyond those mentioned. And as there would be a common defini- tion in the case of- the forms, one which would fit all, but not peculiar to any one form, so in the case of the types of soul mentioned. Wherefore it would be ridiculous both in this case and in other similar cases to seek a common conception which would be an appropriate description of no real thing nor ac- cord with anything of any particular and specific kind, but would ignore all such. There is an analogy between the properties of 'forms' and the facts regarding the soul. For the more elemental is in- volved in the derivative in the case both. of forms and of living beings, as the triangle in the square, and the nutritive capacity in the sensitive. So we Aristotle 195 must examine in each separate case what is the nature of the soul of each, as of the plant, and of man, or of an animal. We must consider why they stand in this succession. For without the nutritive the sensitive does not exist. But the nutritive is separate from the sensitive in plants. Again none of the other senses exists without that of touch, but touch does exist without the others. For many animals have neither sight nor hearing nor sense of smell. And of those which have the senses some have the ability to move from place to place, and some have not. And finally a very few have reason- ing power and understanding. Those mortal crea- tures which possess reasoning power possess also all the rest, but reasoning power does not belong to all those which have each of the others. Some have not even mental imagery, though others live by means of this alone. Concerning the theoretical reason a special account must be given. It is evi- dent therefore that this sort of account, distinct for each particular form is most fitting in the case of the soul. C. Epistemology. Aristotle's epistemological realism may be repre- sented by the following passage, also from the Psychology : With' regard to the part of the soul with which one knows and thinks, whether it is distinct in reality or only conceptually, we must ask what is its distinguishing feature, and how thinking occurs. ' Ibid., Book III, chapters iv and v. 196 Readings in Philosophy If thinking is like perceiving, it is a process of pas- sively submitting to an intelligible object, or some- thing of this sort. Then it must be without expe- rience but capable of receiving the form, and it will be potentially this form although not actually it; and as the capacity for perception is to the thing perceived, — so also will reason be to that- which is intelligible. Then since reason comprehends all things it must be unmixed with any, as Anaxagoras says, in order that it may master them; that is, in order that it may acquire knowledge. For some other kind of substance if interposed between would hinder and prevent its knowing. So no special nature belongs to it except this of 'potentiality'. The part of the soul which is called reason (I call reason that by which the soul understands and con- ceives) is not actually any of the existing things un- til it thinks them. Hence it is reasonable to believe that it is not mixed with the body, for it would take on a certain quality, like coldness or warmth; this would be true, also, if it had a kind of organ as has the faculty of sensation. But in fact it is no one of these. And they are right who say the soul is the seat of fo)*ms, except that the whole of it is not, but only the intelligent part, and the forms are there not actually but potentially. That inability to function does not occur alike in tlie case of the faculty of sense and of reason is evident from the consideration of the sense organ and the sense process. For sense can not function in consequence of too strong a stimulus, as sound in the midst of too strong sound stimulations, nor from intense colors or smells can it gain Aiistotle 197 the sense of vision or smell. But the reason when it deals with something very intelligible does not think the inferior details any the less clearly but all the better. Sense is not independent of the body, but reason is. But when it becomes identical with each thing in the way in which a knower is said to do when he is exercising his knowledge (this hap- pens when he is able to act for himself) , even then in a sense it is still a potentiality, though not indeed in the same sense as befcjre learning or discovery; but it is still capable of thinking itself. Size (in particular) is different from size (in general) and water (in particular) from water (in general) ; so it is in other cases ; though not in all, for in some cases they are one and the same. So in the case of flesh in general and in particular, one distinguishes them either by different faculties or by the same differently applied ; for flesh is not im- material, but like 'the snubnosed' is a particular form in a particular embodiment. By the per- ceptual faculty then one discriminates the warm and the cold and those things of which flesh is a certain expression. One judges the notion 'flesh' either by some other quite different faculty or by one which is to the faculty of sense as a crooked line is to a straight one. Again in the case of abstractions 'the straight' is like 'the snubnosed' ; for it occupies space ; but the essential notion, if straight in general is different from straight in particular, is judged by a different faculty. Grant the duality; then one judges by an- other faculty or one differently applied. And in 14 198 Readings in Philosophy general, then, as things are distinguishable from their matter, so also are the things relating to mind. One might raise the difficulty, if the reason is simple and nonsensuous and has nothing in common with anything, as Anaxagoras says, as to how it will think if thinking is passively submitting to some- thing. For it is in so far as there is some feature common to both that one thing acts upon another. Further, one might ask whether it itself is thinkable. For either mind will belong to other things if it is not itself intelligible by 'virtue of something else, and what is intelligible is always the same in kind, or it will have something mixed with it which makes it intelligible like other things. It was said above that passivity is due to some common feature, because the mind is potentially the objects of thought; though nothing actually before it thinks. And as is a tablet upon which nothing has been actually written so must be the nature of the mind. And it is itself thinkable as other things are. In the case of material things the thinker and the object thought merge ; for theoretical knowledge and the object of such knowledge are identical. (And we shall have to examine the reason why we do not always think.) In material things the objects of thought are potentially present. So that mind is not subject to them (for mind is potentially of- such forms independently of matter) , but the objects of thought are subject to mind. V. As in all nature there is the material factor which embodies every general 'form' (it being all forms potentially), and there is another element which constitutes the cause and the efficient factor. Aristotle 199 determining all after the manner in which theoreti- cal skill affects the matter it works upon, in the soul also there must be different phases analogous to these. And mind is in one aspect of such char- acter as to be able to identify itself with all things, in another such as to create all things, an influence like light ; for in a sense light makes potential colors become actual colors. And this reason is separate and unmixed with anything, free from the factor of sense, and in essence actual. Now the active is always of higher rank than the passive, and the first principle is superior to matter. Actual knowl- edge is identical with the thing known ; but potential is prior in time in particular cases, though not abso- lutely in time. And thought does not sometimes occur and sometimes not. But when by itself it is pure in its nature, and this alone is immortal and eternal. We do not remember it because it has no sense content; but the sensuous soul is mortal and without the other thinks nothing. D. The Highest .Good. The. key note to the ethics of Aristotle is to be found in the following passage from the Nichoma- chean Ethics: Perhaps^ it appears to be uttering a commonplace to say^that happiness is the .highest good, and what we want is a clearer statement of what happiness is. Perhaps this might be done if we could discover the characteristic activity of man. For, as for the 'Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, Book I, chap, vii, 9-16; translated from the text of Burnet. 200 Readings in Philosophy ' flUjte-player, sculptor, or any other artisan, or in general for those who have a special work or ac- tivity, goodness and excellence lie in that work, so it would seem to be with man, if there is any special activity characteristic of him. Is there a specific work and activity for a carpenter or shoemaker, but none for man as "man" ; so that he is without a specific function? Or, just as for the eye, hand, foot, or any other of the members, there appears to be some function,, may one also beside all these set down a function for "man"? What would this be? 'Life' appears to be common to man with plants; and something distinctive is what we are seeking. We must set aside then the life of mere nourishment and growth. The 'sentient' life might be considered next; but this also appears to be common to man along with the horse, the ox, and every other animal. There is left only the activity of the rational faculty. And since this is spoken of in two differ- ent ways we must set it down as that in actual operation; for this is admitted to be superior (to merely possible a,ctivity) . Now the function of man is activity of the soul in accordance with reason, — or at least not without a possible reason. We are saying that the characteristic activity of a thing and of this thing when working well are identical in kind, as in the case of a musician and of a good musician, and that this is so absolutely in the case of all things, the excess in excellence being added to the function ; for it is the function of a musician to play and of a good one to play well. If this is so, and we set down the function of man as a kind of life, an activity of the soul, and more specifically Aristotle 201 action in the light of reason, and if it is the mark of a good man to do these things rightly and well, each one being perfected in the line of his own excel- lence, then the good of man is activity of the soul according to its specific excellence; or if its excel- lences are many — in accordance with the best and completest. And furthermore — in a complete life. For one swallow, or one day, does not make spring. So neither does 'one day nor a short time make a man happy and good. CHAPTER IX STOIC PANTHEISM A. Epicurean Hedonism A suggestion of the spirit of Epicurean philos- ophy is contained in the following, passage from the writings of Diogenes Laertius: It^ is right then for a man to consider the things which produce happiness, since, if happiness is present, we have everything, and when it is absent, we do everything with a view to possess it. Now, what I have constantly recommended to you, these things I would have you do and practise, considering them to be the elements of living well. First of all, believe that God is a being incorruptible and happy, as the common opinion of the world about God dic- tates ; and attach to your idea of him nothing which is inconsistent with incorruptibility or with happi- ness ; and think that he is invested with everything which is able to preserve to him this happiness, in conjunction with incorruptibility.' For there are gods; though our knowledge of them is indistinct. But they are not of the character which people in general attribute to them; for they do not pay a respect to them which accords with the ideas that they entertain of them. And that man is not im- pious who discards the gods believed in by the many, ' Diogenes Laertius, Op. Cit., Epicurus, pp. 468-9. (202) stoic Pantheism 203 but he who applies to the gods the opinions enter- tained of them by the many. For the assertions of the many about the gods are not anticipations {TTpokrj^€ii) , but false opinions (vTroXruj/eii) . And in consequence of these, the greatest evils which befall wicked men, and the benefits which are conferred on the good, are all attributed to the gods ; for they connect all their ideas of them with a comparison of human virtues, and everything which is different from human qualities they regard as incompatible with the divine nature. Accustom yourself also to think death a matter with which we are not at all concerned, since all good and all evil is in sensation, and since death is only the privation of sensation. On which account, the correct knowledge of the fact that death is no concern of ours, makes the mortality of life pleasant to us, inasmuch as it sets forth no illimitable time, but relieves us from the longing for immortality. For there is nothing terrible in living to a man who rightly comprehends that there is nothing terrible in ceasing to live; so that he was a silly man who said that he feared death, not because it would grieve him when it was present, but because it did grieve him while it was future. For it is very absurd that that which does not distress a man when it is pres- ent, should afflict him when only expected. There- fore, the most formidable of all evils, death, is noth- ing to us, since, when we exist, death is not present to us ; and when death is present, then we have no existence. It is no concern then either of the living or of the dead; since to the one it has no existence, and the other class has no existence itself. But 204 Readings in Philosophy people in general at times flee from death as the greatest of evils, and at times wish for it as a rest from the evils in life. Nor is the not living a thing feared, since living is not connected with it; nor does the wise man think not living an evil ; but, just as he chooses food, not preferring that which is most abundant, but that which is nicest; so, too, he enjoys time, not measuring it as to whether it is of the greatest length, but as to whether it is most agree- able. . . . It^ is for the sake of this that we do every- thing, wishing to avoid grief and fear; and when once this is the case, with respect to us, then the storm of the soul is, as I may say, put an end to; since the animal is unable to go as if to something deficient, and to seek something different from that by which the good of the soul and body will be perfected. For then we have need of pleasure when we grieve, because pleasure is not present; but when we do not grieve, then we have no need of pleasure; and on this account, we affirm that pleasure is the be- ginning and end of living happily; for we have recognized this as the first good, being connate with us ; and it is with reference to it that we begin every choice and avoidance ; and to this we come as if we judged of all good by passion as the standard; and, since this is the first good and connate with us, on this account we do not choose every pleasure but at times we pass over many pleasures when any difficulty is likely to ensue from them ; and we think many pains better than pleasures. When a greater '■'Ibid., pages 470; f. Stoic Pantheism 205 pleasure follows them, if we endure the pain for a time. Every pleasure is therefore a good on account of its own nature, but it does not follow that every pleasure is worthy of being chosen; just as every pain is an evil, and yet every pain must not be avoided ; but it is right to estimate all these things by the measurement and view of what is suitable and unsuitable ; for at times we may feel the good as an evil, and at times, on the contrary, we may feel the evil as good. And we think contentment a great good, not in order that we may never have but a little, but in order that, if we have not much, we may make use of a little, being genuinely persuaded that those men enjoy luxury most completely who are the best able to do without it; and that every- thing which is natural is easily provided, and what is useless is not easily procured. And simple flavors give as much pleasure as costly fare, when every- thing that can give pain, and every feeling of want, is removed; and corn and water give the most extreme pleasure when any one in need eats them. To accustom one's self, therefore, to simple and in- expensive habits is a great ingredient in the perfect- ing of health, and makes a man free from hesitation with respect to the necessary uses of life. And when we, on certain occasions, fall in with more sumptuous fare, it makes us in a better disposition toward it, and renders us fearless with respect to fortune. When, therefore, we say that pleasure is a chief good, we are not speaking of the pleasures of the debauched man, or those which lie in sensual en- joyment, as some think who are ignorant, and who 206 Readings in Philosophy do not entertain our opinions, or else interpret them perversely; but we mean the freedom of the body from pain, and of the soul from confusion. For it is not continued drinkings and revels, or the enjoy- ment of female society, or feasts of fish and other such things as a costly table supplies, that make life pleasant, but sober contemplation, which examines into the reasons for all choice and avoidance, and which puts to flight the vain opinions from which the greater part of the confusion arises which troubles the soul. B. Stoicism. The fundamental aspects of Stoic philosophy may be briefly seen in the following passages dealing with their metaphysics, epistemology and ethics : LXVIII. They^ think that there are two general principles in the universe, the active and the passive. That the passive is matter, and existence without any distinctive quality. That the active is the rea- son which exists in the passive, that is to say, God. For that he, being eternal, and existing throughout all matter, makes everything. And Zeno, the Cit- tiaean, lays down this doctrine in his treatise on Essence, and so does Cleanthes in his essay on Atoms, Chrysippus in the first book of his Investi- gations in Natural Philosophy, towards the end, Archedemus in his work on Elements, and Posi- donius in the second book of his treatise on Natural Philosophy. But they say that principles and ele- ments differ from one another. For that the one 'Ibid., Zeno, pp. 308-311. stoic Pantheism 207 had no generation or beginning, and will have no end; but that the elements may be destroyed by the operation of fire. Also, that the elements are bodies, but principles have no bodies and no forms, and elements too have forms. Now a body, says Apollodorus in his Natural Philosophy, is extended in a threefold manner; in length, in breadth, in depth ; and then it is called a solid body ; and the surface is the limit of the body having length and breadth alone, but not depth. But Posidonius, jn the third book of his Heavenly Phen- omena, will not allow a surface either any substan- tial reality, or any intelligible existence. A line is the limit of a surface, or length without breadth, or something which has nothing but length. A point is the boundary of a line, and is the smallest'of all symbols. They also teach that God is unity, and that he is called Mind,, and Fate, and Jupiter, and by many other names besides. And that, as he was in the beginning by himself, he turned into water the whole substance which pervaded the air; and as the seed is contained in the produce, so too, he being the seminal principle of the world, remained behind in moisture, making matter fit to be employed by him- self in the production of those things which were to come after; and then, first of all, he made the four elements, fire, water, air, and earth. And Zeno speaks of these in his treatise on the Universe, and so does Chrysippus in the first book of his Physics, and so does Archedemus in some treatise on the Elements. LXIX. Now an element is that out of which at first all things which are are produced, and into 208 Readings in Philosophy which all things are resolved at last. And the four elements are all equally an essence without any dis- tinctive quality, namely, matter ; but fire is the hot, water the moist, air the cold, and earth the dry — though this last quality is also common to the air. The fire is the highest, and that is called aether, in which first of all the sphere was generated in which the fixed stars are set, then that in which the planets revolve ; after that the air, then the water ; and the sediment as it were of all is the earth, which is placed in the centre of the rest. LXX. They also speak of the world in a three- fold sense ; at one time meaning God himself, whom they call a being of a certain quality, having for his peculiar manifestation universal substance, a being imperishable, and who never had any generation, being the maker of the arrangement and order that we see; and who, after certain periods of time, ab- sorbs all substance in himself, and then reproduces it from himself. And this arrangement of the stars they call the world, and so the. third sense is one composed of both the preceding ones. And the world is a thing which is peculiarly of such and such a quality consisting of universal substance, as Posi- donius affirms in his Meteorological Elements, being a system compounded of heaven and earth, and all the creatures which exist in them ; or it may be called a system compounded of Gods and men, and of the things created on their account. And the heaven is the most remote circumference of the world, in which all the Divine Nature is situated. Again, the world is inhabited and regulated ac- cording to intellect and providence, as Chrysippus stoic Pantheism 209 says, in his works on Providence, and Posidonius in the thirteenth book of his treatise on Gods, since mind penetrates into every part of the world, just as the soul pervades us ; but it is in a greater degree in some parts, and in a less degree in others. For instance, it penetrates as a habit, as, for instance, into the bones .and sinews ; and into some it pene- trates as the mind does, for instance, into, the domi- nant principle. And thus the whole world, being a living thing, endowed with a soul and with reason, has the aether as its dominant principle, as Anti- pater, of Tyre, says in the eighth book of his treatise on thg World. But Chrysippus, in the first book of his e^say on Providence, and Posidonius in his treatise on Gods, say that the heaven is the domi- nant principle of the world ; and Cleanthes attributes this to the sun. Chrysippus, however, on this point contradicts himself; for he says in another place, that the most subtle portion of the aether, which is also called Isy the Stoics the first God, is what is infused in a sensible manner into all the beings which are in the air, and through every animal and every plant, and through the earth itself according to a certain habit. And that it is this which com- municates to them the faculty of feeling. They say, too, that the world is one and also in- finite, having a spherical form. For that such a shape is the most convenient for motion, as Posi- donius says, in the fifteenth book of his Discussions on Natural Philosophy, and so says Antipater also in his essay on the World. And on the outside there is diffused around it a boundless vacuum, which is incorporeal. And it is incorporeal inasmuch as it 210 Readings in Philosophy is capable of being contained by bodies, but is not so. And that there is no such thing as a vacuum in the world, but that it is all closely united and compact; for that this condition is necessarily brought about by the concord and harmony which exist between the heavenly bodies and those of the earth. And Chrysippus mentions a vacuum in his essay on a Vacuum, and also in the first book of his treatise on the Physical Arts, and so does Apollophanes in his Natural Philosophy, and so does ApoUodorus, and so does Posidonius in the second book of his dis- courses on Natural Philosophy. And they say that these things are all incorporeal, and all alike. More- over, that time is incorporeal, since it' is an interval of the motion of the world. And that of time, the past and the future are both illimitable, but the present is limited. And they assert that the world is perishable, inasmuch as it was produced by rea- son, and is one of the things which are perceptible by the senses ; and whatever has its parts perishable, must also be perishable in the whole. And the parts of the world are perishable, for they change into one another. Therefore, the world is perish- able. And again, if anything admits of a change for the worse it is perishable; therefore, the world is perishable, for it can be dried up, and it can be covered with water. Now the world was created when its substance was changed from fire to moisture, by the action of the air; and then. its denser parts coagulated, and so the earth was made, and the thinner portions were evaporated and became air ; and this being rarefied more and more, produced fire. And then, by the stoic Pantheism 211 combination of all these elements, were produced plants and animals, and other kinds of things. Now Zeno speaks of the creation, and of the destruction of the world, in his treatise on the Universe, and so does Cleanthes, and so does Antipater, in the tenth book of his treatise on the world. But Panaetius asserts that the world is imperishable. ' Again, that the world is an animal, and that it is endued wit^ reason, and life, and intellect, is affirmed by Chrysippus, in the first volume of his treatise on Providence, and by Apollodorus in his Natural Philosophy, and by Posidonius; and that it is an animal in this sense, as being an essence en- dued with life, and with sensation. For that which is an animal, is better than that which is not an animal. But nothing is better than the world ; there- fore the world is an animal. And it is endued with life, as is plain from the fact of our own soul being as it were a fragment broken off from it. But Boethus denies that the world is an animal. Again, that the world is one, is affirmed by Zeno, in his treatise on the Universe, and by Chrysippus, and by Apollodorus, in his Natural Philosophy, and by Posidonius, in the first book of his Discourses on Natural Philosophy. And by the term, the uni- verse, according to Apollodorus, is understood both the world itself, and also the whole of the world itself, and of the exterior vacuum taken together. The world, then, is finite, and the vacuum infinite. LII. They* say that the first inclination which an animal has is to protect itself, as nature brings 'Ibid., pages 290-292. 212 Readings in Philosophy herself to take an interest in it from the beginning, as Chrysippus affirms in the first book of his Treatise on Ends; where he says that the first and dearest object to every animal is its own existence, and its consciousness of that existence. For that it is not natural for any animal to be alienated from itself, or even to be brought into such a state as to be in- different to itself, being neither alienated from nor interested in itself. It remains, therefore, that we must assert that nature has bound the animal to it- self by the greatest unanimity and affection ; for by that means it repels all that is injurious, and at- tracts all that is akin to it and desirable. But as for what some people say, that the first inclination of animals is to pleasure, they say what is false. For the Stoics say that pleasure, if there be any such thing at all, is an accessory only, which nature, hav- ing sought it out by itself, as well as those things which are adapted to its constitution, receives in- cidentally in the same manner as animals are pleased, and plants made to flourish. Moreover, say they, nature makes no difference between animals and plants, when she regulates them so as to leave them without voluntary motion or sense; and some things too take place in our- selves in the same manner as in plants. But, as inclination in animals tends chiefly to the point of making them pursue what is appropriate t6 them, we may say that their inclinations are regulated by nature. And as reason is given to rational animals according to a more perfect principle, it follows, that to live correctly according to reason, is properly predicated of those who live according to nature. Stoic Pcmtheism 213 For nature is as it were the artist who produces the inclination. LIII. On which account Zeno was the lirst "writer who, in his Treatise on the Nature of Man, said that the chief good was confessedly to live according to nature; which is to live according to virtue, for nature leads us to this point. And in like manner Cleanthes speaks in his Treatise on Pleasure, and so do Posidonius and Hecatori in their essays on Ends and the Chief Good. And again, to live ac- cording to virtue is the same thing as living accord- ing to one's experience of those things which happen by nature; as Chrysippus explains it in the first book of his Treatise on the Chief Good. For our individual natures are all parts of universal nature ; on which account the chief good is to live in a man- ner corresponding to nature, and that means cor- responding to one's own nature and to universal nature; doing none of those things which the com- mon law of mankind is in the habit of forbidding, and that common law is identical with that right reason which pervades everything, being the same with Jupiter, who is the regulator and chief man- ager of all existing things. Again, this very thing is the virtue of the happy man and the perfect happiness of life wlien every- thing is done according to a harmony with the . genius of each individual with reference to the will of the universal governor and manager of all things. Diogenes, accordingly, says expressly that the chief good is to act according to sound reason in our selec- tion of things according to our nature. And Archidemus defines it to be living in the discharge IS 214 Readings in Philosophy of all becoming duties. Chrysippus again under- stands, that the nature, in a manner corresponding to which we ought to live, is both the common na- ture, and also human nature in particular; but Cleanthes will not admit of any other nature than the common one alone, as that to which people ought to live in a manner corresponding; and repudiates all mention of a particular nature. And he asserts that virtue is a disposition of the mind always con- sistent and harmonious; that one ought to seek it out for its own sake, without being influenced by fear or hope of any external influence. Moreover, that it is in it that happiness consists, as producing in the soul harmony of a life always consistent with itself, and that if a rational animal goes the wrong way, it is because it allows itself to, be misled by the deceitful appearances of exterior things, or per- haps by the instigation of those who surround it; for nature herself never gives us any but good in- clination. LX. But^ it seems that all goods are equal, and that every good is to be desired in the highest de- gree, and that it admits of no relaxation, and of no extension. Moreover, they divide all existing things into good,* bad, and indifferent. The good are the virtues, prudence, justice, manly courage, temper- ance, and the rest of the like qualities. The bad are the contraries, folly, injustice, and the like. Those are indifferent which are neither beneficial nor injurious, such as life, health, pleasure, beauty, strength, riches, a good reputation, nobility of birth ; 'Ibid., pages 296, f. stoic Pantheism ' 215 and their contraries, death, disease, labour, disgrace, weakness, poverty, a bad reputation, baseness of birth, and the like; as Hecaton lays it down in the seventh book of his treatise on the Chief Good ; and he is followed by ApoUodorus, in his Ethics, and by Chrysippus. For they affirm that those things are not good but indifferent, though perhaps a little more near to one species than to the other. For, as it is the property of the hot to warm and not to chill one, so it is the property of the good to benefit and not to injure one. Now, wealth and good health cannot be said to benefit any more than to injure any one: therefore, neither wealth nor good health are goods. Again, they say that that thing is not good which it is possible to use both well and ill. But it is possible to make either a good or a bad use of wealth, Or of health; therefore, wealth and good health are not goods. Posidonius, how- ever, affirms that these things do come under the head of goods. But Hecaton, in the nineteenth book of his treatise on Goods, and Chrysippus, in his treatises on Pleasure, both deny that pleasure is a good. For they say that there are disgraceful pleasures, and that nothing disgraceful is good. And that to benefit a person is to move him or to keep him according to virtue, but to injure him is to move him or to keep him according to vice. They also assert, th^t things indifferent are so spoken of in a twofold manner; firstly, those things are called so, which have no influence in producing either happiness or unhappiness ; such for instance, as riches, glory, health, strength, and the like; for it is possible for a man to be happy without any of 216 Readings in Philosophy these things; and also, it is upon the character of the use that is made of them, that happiness or un- happiness depends. In another sense, those things are called indifferent, which do not excite any in- clination or aversion, as for instance, the fact of a man's having an odd or an even number of hairs on his head, or his putting out or drawing back his finger; for it is not in this sense that the things previously mentioned are called indifferent, for they do excite inclination or aversion. On which ac- count some of them are chosen, though there is equal reason for preferring or shunning all the others. LXIV. They'^ say also that the wise man is free from perturbations because he has no strong pro- pensities. But that this freedom from propensities also exists in thfe bad man, being, however, then quite another thing, inasmuch as it proceeds in him only from hardness and unimpressibility of his na- ture. They also pronounce the wise man free from vanity, since he regards with equal eye what is glorious and what is inglorious. At the same time, they admit that there is another character devoid of vanity, who, however, is only reckoned one of the rash men, being in fact the bad man. They also say that all the virtuous men are austere, because they do never speak with reference to pleasure, nor do they listen to what is said by others with refer- ence to pleasure. At the same time, they call an- other man austere too, using the term in nearly the same sense as they do when they speak of austere 'Ibid., pages 301, ff. stoic Pantheism 217 wine, which is used in compounding medicines, but not for drinking. They also pronounce the wise to be honest-hearted' men, anxiously attending to those matters which may make them better, by means of some principle which conceals what is bad, and brings to light what is good. Nor is there any hypocrisy about them; for they cut off all pretence in their voice and ap- pearance. They also keep aloof from business; for they guard carefully against doing anything con- trary to their duty. They drink wine, but they do not get drunk ; and they never yield to frenzy. Oc- casionally, extraordinary imaginations may obtain a momentary power over them, owing to some melan- choly or trifling, arising not according to the prin- ciple of what is desirable, but contrary to nature. Nor, again, will the wise man feel grief; because grief is an irrational contraction of the soul, as Apollodorus defines it in his Ethics. They are also, as they say, godlike; for they have something in them which is as it were a God. But the bad man is an atheist. Now there are two kinds of atheists ; one who speaks in a spirit of hostility to, and the other, who utterly disregards, the divine nature; but they admit that all bad men are not atheists in this last sense. The good, on the con- trary, are pious ; for they have a thorough acquain- tance with the laws respecting the Gods. And piety is a knowledge of the proper reverence and worship due to the Gods. Moreover they sacrifice to the Gods, and keep themselves pure; for they avoid all offenses having reference to the Gods, and the Gods admire them ; for they are holy and just in 218 Readings in Philosophy all that concerns the Deity ; and the wise men are the only priests ; for they consider the matters relating to sacriiices, and the erection of temples, and puri- fications, and all other things which peculiarly con- cern the Gods. They also pronounce that men are bound to hanor their parents, and their brethren, in the second place after the Gods. They also say that parental affection for one's children is natural to them, and is a feeling which does not exist in bad men. And they lay down the position that all offenses are equal, as Chrysippus argues in the fourth book of his Ethical Questions, and so say Persaeus and Zeno. For if one thing that is true is not more true than another thing that is true, neither is one thing that is false more false than another thing that is false ; so too, one deceit is not greater than another, nor one sin than another. For the man who is a hundred furlongs from Canopus, and the man who is only one, are both equally not in Canopus ; and so too, he who commits a greater sin, and he who commits a less, are both equally not in the right path. CHAPTER X MYSTICISM — NEO-PLATONISM The system of Plotinus is contained in the En- neads which have come down to us in somewhat dis- organized form as gathered together by his pupil Porphyry, some of the leading passages of which are translated in the following : A. On the One: All^ things that exist do so by virtue of 'unity', — in so far as they exist in any ultimate sense and in so far as they may be said to be real. For what would anything be if it were not 'one'? Without the unity of which we speak things do not exist. There can be no army which is not a unit, nor a chorus, nor herd, unless each is 'one'. Neither is there a household or ship without unity; for the house is a unit and the ship is a unit, and if one took away the unity the household would no longer be a household nor the ship a ship. Continuous magnitudes would not exist if there were no unity to them. When divided, in so far as they lose unity they lose existence. So also with the bodies of plants and animals, each of which is a unit, if unity is lost — being broken up into multiplicity — they lose^the being which they had, and no longer con- ' Plotinus, Enneads, IX, 1; translated from the text of Kirchhoff. (219) 220 Readings in Philosophy tinue as they were. And they become other things even then only in so far as these have unity. Simi- larly there is health when the body is harmonized into unity, and beauty when the essence of unity controls the parts, and virtue in the soul when it is unified and brought into a single organic whole. There^ must be something prior to all, simple, and different from the things which are posterior to it, self-existent, unmingled with the things which come from it, and yet able in another way to be present with the others, being really one, not some- thing else first then secondarily one, of which it is false even that it is one ; but of this One no descrip- tion nor scientific knowledge is possible. Indeed it must be said to be beyond 'being' ; for if it were not simple, without any composition and synthesis, and really one, it would not be a first principle. And it is wholly self-sufficient since it is simple and prior to all things. What is not first needs something prior to itself, and that which is not simple demands those simple elements which are within it, that it may be composed of them. Such a One must be unique, for if there were another such both together would constitute a larger unit. For we hold that they are not two bodies nor is the Primary One a body. For no body is simple, and a body is subject to generation; it is not an ultimate principle. The ultimate principle is unoriginated, and being incor- poreal and really one it is able to stand first. Since' substances which have an origin are of some form (for no one could say anything else of -VII, 1. »76id., XXIX, 6. Mysticism — Neo-Platonism 221 what is generated from the One) , and since it is not any particular form but all, without exception, the first principle must be formless. And being form- less it is not substance ; for substance must be par- ticular and determinate. But this can not be re- garded as particular, for it would not be a principle, but merely that particular thing which you may have called it. If then all things are included among what are generated, which of them will you say is the first principle? Only what is none of them could be said to stand above the rest. But these constitute existing things and Being in gen- eral. The First Principle then is beyond Being. To say that it is beyond Being does not assert any definite attribute. It does not define it. Nor does it give it a name. It applies to it only the appella- tion "not-this". In doing so it nowhere sets limits to it. It would be absurd to seek to delimit such a boundless nature. He who wishes to do this pre- vents himself from getting upon its track in . any wise, even little by little. But just as he who wishes to see the Intelligible must abandon all imagery of the perceptible in order to contemplate what is be^ yond the perceptible, so he who wishes to contem- plate what is beyond the Intelligible will attain the contemplation of it by letting go everything intel- ligible, through this means learning that it is, aban- doning the search for what it is. To tell what it is would involve a reference to what it is not, for there is no quality in what has no particular character. But we are in painful doubt as to what we should say of it; so we speak of the ineffable and give it a name, meaning to endow it with some significance to 222 Readings in Philosophy ourselves so far as we can. Perhaps this name 'The One' implies merely opposition to plurality. . . . But if The One were given positive content, a name and signification, it would be less appro- priately designated than when one does not give any name. It may be said that description of it is carried thus far in order that he who has begun his search with that which indicates the simplest of all things may end by negating even this, on the ground that it was taken simply as the most ade- quate and the nearest description possible for him tvho used it, but not even this is adequate to the revelation of that nature, because it is inaudible, not to be understood through hearing, and if by any sense at all by vision alone. But if the eye that sees seeks to behold a form it will not descry even this. B. Emanation. If* there exists anything beside the First Prin- ciple it must be derived from it, either immediately or through connection with it by way of what is be- tween them ; and there must be a second and a third order of beings, the one dependent upon the first, the other upon the second. ... If then there be any second thing beside the First, it can not be simple ; for the one would then be many. Whence then is this latter? From the First; it does not exist by chance ; for then the First would not be the Principle of all things. How then does it come from the First? If the First is perfect, the most \Ibid., VII, 1. Mysticism — Neo-Platonism 223 perfect of all, and the primary power, it must be the most powerful of all things, and other powers must res^nble it in so far as they have power at all. Now in the case of other things we see that whatever reaches its perfection becomes creative, and does not permit itself to remain alone, but creates another. Not only is this true in the case of what has power of choice, but also those things which produce with- out choice, even lifeless things imparting their being so far as they are able; for example, fire warms, snow cools, and drugs work their effects upon other things, and so in all other such cases, working after the manner of the First Principle to their utmost capacity in duration of influence and in excellence of quality. How then could the Most Perfect and Supreme Good remain by itself as if begrudging its influence or lacking in power, — when it is the generator of all? How could it then be the First Principle? And something must be begotten of it if there is also to be any from those things which are sustained by it. For that they should come from it is unavoidable. The begetter must be of highest rank; and that which is begotten, and is second in rank to it, must be superior to the rest. The= One is all things and yet not one of them. The source of all things is not identical with all, and yet in a sense it is ; for from it things sprang forth as it were. Rather, it is not yet all, but will be. How then could all things spring from the One, when it is simple, presenting no variety nor duplicity whatever in it? It is because there was nothing in 'Ibid.,Xl, \, 2. 224 Readings in Philosophy it that all things sprang from it. And in order that the real might exist it was itself not real, but. the generator of the Real. And this was as it were the first act of generation. Being perfect in that it sought nothing, possessed nothing, and wanted noth- ing, it overflowed, and its superabundance caused the creation of another essence. This product turned back toward it, received fulness of being, began to reflect upon itself, and thus became mind. Its position in relation to the One made it real, its contemplation of itself made it mind. Since it has taken its stand so that it may contemplate itself it has become both mind and reality at once. Thus then being like the First Principle, it creates likenesses through its superabundance of power. And this is a likeness of it just as that which is prior to it produced a likeness of itself. And this develop- ment of essence became soul, arising out of the other without its being destroyed thereby. Mind also originated without affecting that which pre- ceded it. The soul however does not create without being aifected at all, but by changing it begot a likeness. Looking to the source from which it came it receives fulness of being; but going forth into another movement in the opposite direction it gen- erates an image of itself, — sensation and such life as is found in plants. But nothing is detached or cut off from that which preceded it. Wherefore the soul of man seems to extend down even to the level of plants. In a certain sense it does because a part of it is in plants. It is indeed not all in plants, but it is generated in plants so far because it descended thus low, forming another level of substance in its Mysticism — Neo-Platonism 225 process, and in eagerness for what is below. For that which is prior to this and dependent upon mind allows mind to remain by itself. So procession occurs from the first to the last, each stage being left in its own place, that which is generated receiving the next lower rank. How* must we conceive this Immovable? We must imagine a radiance proceeding from it without affecting it, like the bright light surrounding the sun, being continuously generated from it without its being affected. And all real things so long as they last give off from their substance a peculiar emanation dependent upon them, surrounding them and proceeding from their power, being a likeness as it were of the original from which it sprang. Fire gives off heat. Snow does not retain its cold- ness within itself. But especially do fragrant things illustrate this; for so long as they last there goes forth something from them into the surrounding air, an emanation which all things near enjoy. C. Intellect. Air things which have attained their perfection procreate. That which is eternally perfect eter- nally begets something, and that a thing eternal. But it begets something inferior to itself. What then shall we say about the Most Perfect? Nothing arises from it except what is next greatest after it. But the greatest and second after it is mind. For 'Ibid., X, 6. 'Ibid., X, 6, 7. 226 Readings in Philosophy mind contemplates it and feels need of nothing else. But the Most Perfect has no need of mind. That which is begotten of what is superior to mind is mind, and mind is superior to all other things; other things are posterior to it. . . . But mind contemplates its source not because it is separated from it, but because it is next after it and there is nothing between ; and this is true also in the case of soul and mind. Everything has a longing for and loves that which begot it, and especially when there are only the one that begot and the one begot- ten. And when the Supremely Good is the one who begot, the one begotten is necessarily joined to Him so intimately that it is separated only in so far as it is a second being. We say that mind is an image of the First Prin- ciple; but we must speak more clearly. First, that which is begotten must be in a sense that which begot it, and retain many features of it and be a likeness of him as the light is of the sun. But that other is not mind. How then does it generate mind ? — In that it turned back toward it and beheld it, and this contemplation is mind. Let' us understand then that intelligence existed without connection with any particular, nor acting upon anything, so that it was not a specialized in- telligence, but was like knowledge before it takes a particular form, and generic knowledge prior to any particulars under it. Knowledge in general, though no one of the particulars is the potentiality of all, and each of them is that particular in ac- 'Ibid., XXXIX, 50. Mysticism — Neo-Platonism 227 tuality, and potentially it is all things; and with intelligence in general it is so. Those forms are generic which lie potentially within the whole, and which while including what is of special form, are potentially the whole. For the whole is predicated of the part, but not the part of the whole. The latter must remain unrestricted, by itself. So in a sense mind as a whole must be said to exist prior to - the actual particulars, in a sense the particulars prior, they being pervaded by the universal, and mind in general being the source of supply for the particulars and on the other hand their potentiality, and containing them in the universal. They on the other hand which are partial contain the universal as particular sciences contain science in general. The Great Mind exists of itself ; and each particular intelligence by itself as partial; the partial are in- volved in the whole and the whole in the parts. Each exists by itself and also in the other, and the other is by itself and in them ; and all are potentially in it, which exists by itself and is actually all at once but potentially each one apart, and the particulars are actually just what they are but potentially the whole. In so far as they are what they are said to be they are actually that ; in so far as they are that genus they are potentially it. But in so far as mind is genus it is the potentiality of all the forms which are under it though actually' no one of them, but all are latent in it. In so far as it actually is what it is prior to any special form, it is not particular. But if they are to be in actuality such as they are in general form some power from it must become the cause. 228 Readings in Philosophy When' life is rational and not an imperfect ac- tuality it omits none of the things which we find to be works of reason, but it has all things in its power, holding them as real and as intelligence would. Mind holds them as in reflective thought, but not in discursive reason ; and nothing is omitted which is in any degree rational. But there is as it were one Reason, supreme, perfect, embracing all, entering into all from its own original being, or rather which has always entered into them in such a way that the process is never evident. For absolutely every- where-whatever one would find in nature as a con- sequence of deliberation this one would find existing in reason without deliberation, so that one would think a deliberating mind had created what is, as in the case of the principles which produce living things. For as the most careful reasoning would calculate as accurately as possible that things should be so are they in the principles which exist prior to deliberation. D, Soul. Soul^" is an image of intelligence. As the word uttered is the likeness of the word in the mind so also is soul the expression of intelligence, and its whole actualization, the life which it sends forth as the substance of another type of existence, just as of fire one part is the heat which remains with it the other that which it gives off. We must con- ceive it in that case not as leaving it, but as partly remaining within it, partly constituting another Ibid., XXXIX, 51. " X, 3. Mysticism — Neo-Platonism 229 existence. Being therefore originated from intel- ligence soul is intelligent, and its intelligence is shown in reasonings, and its perfection is derived from intelligence as from a father who nourishes the offspring he begot, — an imperfect thing in com- parison with himself. Its basis, then, is in intel- ligence and it is the reason expressed in actuality when intellect is contemplated by it. When it looks in upon reason it has within itself as its own that which it is thinking of and realizing. And we must say that those alone are the true activities of the soul, which are intellectual and from within. In- ferior things are from elsewhere and are accidents of such a soul. Mind then makes the soul much more divine both through being its progenitor and by its presence within it. For nothing separates them except the difference of their natures, so that they are in contact and are as the one content the other form. The matter of intelligence is beauti- ful being of intellectual form and simple. In^i the intelligible world there is true Being. Mind is the best part of it. But souls are also there; for they are there and come from there. And that world contains souls without bodies, but this one contains those which have taken on bodies and have been divided among them. There all mind is to- gether, and no separation or partition has been made; but all souls are together in the one world, without spatial separation. Mind is always un- divided and not parted. And soul is there undivided and unseparated. But it has a nature subject to "/6td., XXI. 16 230 Readings in Philosophy division. And its division is the process of descend- ing and entering into bodies. It is reasonable to say that it is divisible in connection with bodies, because thus it descends and is divided. How then is it also indivisible? It has not wholly descended, but there is a part of it which has not come down, which has not the nature to be divided. That which is indivisible and that which is divisible in connec- tion with bodies are the same through its being both above and below and being suspended from there but having extended down to this realm as a radius from a center. Having descended hither it has the power of contemplation through the very same part through which it retains the nature .of the whole. For not even here is it merely divisible, but in a sense also indivisible. For that part of it which is divided is indivisibly divided. For entering into the whole body without being divided it is divided in that it as a whole is in the whole body. When" individual souls are moved by an intel- lectual desire and turn toward the source from which they originated, but have also a power extend- ing to things below, (just as light depends upon the sun above which does not grudge to dispense it to what is below it), they remain securely with the Whole in the intelligible realm, and in heaven join with the Whole in its administration, as kings as- sociate with a universal ruler in his administration without descending from their royal places ; for they are then in the same state together. But descend- ing from the Whole to a partial and separate ex- •^ Ibid., VI, 4. Mysticism — Neo-Platonism 231 istence and as it were being weary of associating with another each withdraws into an existence of its own. But when it has done this for some time, fleeing fr&m the Whole and withdrawing by differ- entiation, and when it does not look to the Intel- ligible, becoming a particular it grows solitary and weak and troubled and looks to the individual. And through separation from the host on high, having at- tached itself to a particular body and fleeing all the rest, concentrating upon that one, which is buffeted by all things it both withdraws from the Whole and attends to the individual with circum- stantial care, being already attached to it, and at- tending extraneous things, associating with and en- tering deeply into it. Then there comes to it what may be called a molting, and it becomes entangled in the bonds of the body losing the innocence which was its own in the administration of the upper realm, in the region of the universal soul. E. Matter. Emanations" from the other levels of Eeality occur without their being disturbed, but the soul, we have said, is modified while generating the sense realm derived from it, and nature as far down as plants. It has this nature even in us, but holds it in subordination since it is only partial; but when it enters into plants it is the sole controlling factor. This then begets nothing totally distinct from it; for there is no longer any life bey'ond it; what is then begotten is lifeless. Everything which was 'Ibid., XV, 1. 232 Readings in Philosophy generated before this was generated without form, but received form by turning toward that which begot it as toward its guardian; in this case that which is begotten can not be a form of soul; for it is not alive, but is absolutely indeterminate. Though in the prior cases also there is indefiniteness, still it is within their form, not entire indeter- minateness, but as it were with reference to their perfection ; but the present indeterminateness is ab- solute. Attaining its perfection it becomes body by taking on the form which is fitting to its poten- tiality, as the receptacle of that which begot and nourished it, it being the very last feature in the body derived from on high but abiding on the low- est level below. But " we must return to the consideration of mat- ter as underlying substrate, and to the things which are said to be made of it, in order that the unreality and neutral chasacter of matter may be recognized. Now it is not a concrete body, since 'body' is deriva- tive and compound, and matter along with another factor composes body. From this it has been given the same description (as has Reality) with refer- ence to its incorporeality ; because both Being and matter are different from bodies. Being not soul neither is it mind nor life nor form nor reason nor limit ; for it is uplimited ; nor potentiality, for what can it do ? But falling outside all these it could not rightly receive the predicate of 'being'; 'non-being' one might reasonably call it, and that not in the sense in which movement or position is non-being; "XXV, 7. Mysticism — Neo^Platonism 233 but really non-being, a mere image and appearance of mass and a longing for substance; never standing still, invisible in itself, and ever escaping him who would see it, existing when one does not look at it, but seen by. no one who intently gazes at it ; always displaying contradictions in itself, being both large and small, less and more, lacking and superabound- ing, an image not abiding nor capable on the other hand of fleeing. It is not capable of doing even this because it has received no strength from intelligence, but is completely lacking in being. Wherefore it proves false to all its promise, for if it appears large it is really small, and if more it is less, and its ex- istence is in appearance, being non-existence, like a fleeting toy. Whence also the things which seem to be in it are toys, mere images within an image, as in a mirror things situated in one place appear in another and it seems full though containing noth- ing, and all are mere appearances. The likenesses and images of real things which enter into and come forth from it do so in a formless image, and becausfe of its formlessness when they are seen in it they appear to be producing something in it, but they really produce nothing, for they are powerless and weak and possessed of no firmness. And since it also has none they go through it with- out affecting it as through water or as if one were introducing forms into the so-called 'vacuum'. On the other hand if the things seen in it were of the same kind as those from which they came, perhaps one might suppose that that which takes form in them was effected by them, — attributing to them some of the power of the source which emitted-them. 234 Readings in Philosophy But now since the things which cast the reflections are of one kind and those which are seen in it are of a different sort, from these facts one can discern the falsity of its receptj-veness, that which is seen therein being false and possessing no similarity at all to the source which caused them. Being them- selves weak and false, and falling into a false sub- stance, as in a dream or in water or a mirror, they leave it necessarily unaffected. And yet in the cases mentioned the things seen therein possess a similarity to the things which see them. It^^ is possible thus also to understand the neces- sity of evil. For since the good is not alon*e ex- istent it is necessary that through departure from it, or, if one should wish thus to express it, through continual descent or withdrawal from it, the final stage (one beyond which it is not possible for any- thing further to be generated) , should be evil. That which follows the First exists of necessity; so also the last, and this is matter, and it contains nothing more of the First. This is the necessity of evil. F. Sin and Salvation. Consider^^ a soul that is deformed, intemperate, unjust, full of the utmost desires, of the greatest agitation, in fear because of its cowardice, in envy because of meanness, thinking all the thoughts of mortal and low character, distorted in every way, fond of impure pleasures, living a life of all kinds of bodily experiences, regarding its deformity as pleasant. Shall we ncit say that this very deformity ^"IMd^XLY,!: "1,5. Mysticism — Neo-Platonism 235 has come upon it as extraneous evil which has out- raged it, and made it unclean, mingled with much evil, having no longer a pure life or feelings, but through the admixture of evil living an obscure life, deeply tinged with mortality, no longer contemplat- ing what the soul ought to contemplate, no longer allowing itself to remain apart, but being attracted always toward the external, the low and the dark. Being impure, doubtless, and borne every way by the attractions of the things which appeal to the senses, heavily weighted with the body,, close linked with the material, and having even received it into itself, it has assumed a foreign form through mix- ture with what is low, like one who had enteredmud or mire and who no longer displayed the beauty he once had, but should be seen covered with this mud and mire which he had acquired ; and upon him has come ill-favor through the acquisition of a foreign substance, and it will be necessary for him, if he wishes to be beautiful again, to become what he was through washing and cleansing. We should be right in saying that, the soul be- comes ill-favored through mingling and mixing with the body and' through inclination toward it, and to- ward matter. And this is ugliness in a soul: not to be pure and unalloyed, as it is bad for gold to be mixed with soil, which if removed leaves the gold beautiful, purged of other substances, being left in its purity. In the same rnanner the soul purified of desires which it has because of the body with which it has come into too close association, being freed from other passions and purified of those which it has because of its embodiment, remaining 236 Readings in Philosophy in its purity, puts away all the baseness derived from its other nature. There" should therefore be a reascent to the good which every soul desires. If any one has seen it he knows what I mean, — how beautiful it is. It must be desired as good, and one's desire must be for this. The attainment of it is for those who rise to higher things and who have turned toward it and have put oflf the things which we put on in our de- scent, just as for those who enter the innermost recesses of the temple there are lustrations and putting off of garments until one finally goes up naked, until one in the ascent passing beyond every- thing which is alien to God, by himself alone sees only that which is unalloyed, simple, pure, upon which all things depend, to which all look, and through which all are and live and think. For it is the cause of life and mind and existence. Then if one should see this, what love would he experience, what desire, wishing to be united with it, and with what joy would he be overwhelmed! It is possible for one who does not yet behold it to desire it as the good. But it is the lot of the one who sees it to be thrilled with beauty, to be filled with wonder and pleasure, painlessly overwhelmed, and to love with a true love, pierced with longing, and to scorn other loves and despise those things which were con- sidered beautiful before. This is the sort of expe^ rience which comes to those who have met with the forms of gods or divinities ; no longer can they en- "Ibid., I, 7. Mysticism — Neo-Platonism 237 dure in the same old way the beauties of other bodies. What should we think if one should behold the very essence of beauty, in its own purity, not joined to flesh or body, not on earth, not in heaven, but where it is pure? For all these things are ex- traneous, and composite, not first principles, but de- rived from the First Principle. If then one should behold that which supplies all, and remaining by itself gives out but receives nothing into itself, con- tinuing" in the contemplation of such an object, and enjoying it, becoming like it, what further beauty could he want? For this, being the very essence of beauty and its first principle, makes its lovers beautiful, and makes them lovely. The greatest and supreme contest which presents itself to the soul is for this ; in behalf of this is every labor done, that one may not be without a share in the highest con- templation. And he who catches sight of it is blessed, having beheld the blessed vision. Unhappy is he who gains it not. For he is not unfortunate who does not meet with beautiful colors or bodies, nor power nor authority, nor he who does not gain a kingdom, but he who misses this alone for the at- tainment of which one ought to let go a kingdom, and even authority over all the earth and sea and heaven, if abandoning these things and disdaining them and turning to that Other one might attain the vision of it. CHAPTER XI EARLY CHRISTIAN PHILOSOPHY A. Christian Ethics. The spirit of early Christian ethics is typified in the following passage from the "sermon on the mount" : And^ seeing the multitudes, he went up into the mountain : and when he had sat down, his disciples came unto him : and he opened his mouth" and taught them, saying. Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness : for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called sons of God. ' Matthew V : 1-48 ; from the American Standard Edition of the Revised Bible, 1901, Thomas Nelson and Sons; used by permission. (238) Early Christian Philosophy 239 Blessed are they that have been persecuted for rig'hteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are ye when men shall reproach you, and persecute you, and say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. Rejoice, and be exceed- ing glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets that were before you. Ye are the salt of the earth : but if the salt have lost its savor, wherewith shall it be salted? it is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out and trodden under foot of men. Ye are. the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a lamp, and put it under the bushel, but on the stand ; and it shineth unto all that are in the house. Even so let your light shine before men; that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven. • Think not that I came to destroy the law or the prophets : I came not to destroy, but to fulfill. For verily -I say unto you. Till heaven and earth pass away, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass away from the law, till all things be accomplished. Who- soever therefore shall break one of these least com- mandments, and shall teach men so, shall be called least in the kingdom of heaven : but whosoever shall do and teach them, he shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I say unto you, that except your righteousness shall exceed the right- eousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven. » 240 Readings in Philosophy Ye have heard that it was said to them of old time, Thou shalt not kill; and whosoever shall kill shall be in danger of the jiidgment: but I say unto you, that every one who is angry with his brother shall be in danger of the judgment; and whosoever shall say to his brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the council; and whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of the hell of fire. If therefore thou art offering thy gift at the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath aught against thee, leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way, first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift. Agree with thine adversary quickly, while thou art with him in the way; lest 'haply the adversary deliver thee to the judge, and the judge deliver thee to the officer, and thou be east into prison. Verily I say unto thee, Thou shalt by no means come out thence, till thou have paid the last farthing. Ye have heard that it was said. Thou shalt not commit adultery: but I say unto you, that every one that looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart. And if thy right eye-causeth thee to stumble, pluck it out, and cast it from thee : for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not thy whole body be cast into hell. And if thy right hand causeth thee to stumble, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not thy whole body go into hell. It was said also, Whosoever shall put away his wife, let him give her a writing of divorce- ment : but I say unto you, that every one that pu±teth Early Christian Philosophy 241 away his wife, saving for the cause of fornication, maketh her an adulteress: and whosoever shall marry her when she is put away committeth adultery. Again, ye have heard that it was said to them of old time. Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord 'thine oaths : but I say unto you, Swear not at all; neither by the heaven, for it is the throne of God ; nor by the earth, for it is the footstool of his feet ; nor by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the Great King. Neither shalt thou swear by thy head, for thou canst not make one hair white or black. But let your speech be. Yea, yea; Nay, nay; and whatsoever is more than these is of the evil one. Ye have heard that it was said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: but I say unto you, Resist not him that is evil: but whosoever smiteth thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man would go to law with thee, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also. And whosoever shall compel thee to go one mile, go with him two. Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away. Ye have heard that it was said. Thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy : but I say unto you. Love your enemies, and pray for them that persecute you ; that ye may be sons of your Father who is in heaven : for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust. For if ye love them that love you. 242 Readings in Philosophy what reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same? And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more than others ? do not even the Gen- tiles the same? Ye therefore shall be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. B. The Crucifixion and Resurrection. What is perhaps the earliest of the gospel ac- counts of these important aspects of Christian doc- trine is contained in the followdng section of the Gospel of Mark: And^ straightway in the morning the chief priests with the. elders and scribes, and the whole council, held a consultation, and bound Jesus, and carried him away, and delivered him up to Pilate. And Pilate asked him. Art thou the king of the Jews? And he answering saith unto him, Thou sayest. And the chief priests accused him of many things. And Pilate again asked him, saying, Answerest Thou nothing? behold how; many things they ac- cuse thee of. But Jesus no more answered any- thing; insomuch that Pilate marvelled. Now at the feast he used to release unto them one prisoner, whom they asked of him. And there was one called Barabbas, lying bound with them that had made in- surrection, men who in the insurrection had com- mitted murder. And the multitude went up, and began to ask him to do as he was wont to do unto them. And Pilate answered them, saying. Will ye that I release unto you the King of the Jews? For 'Mark XV : 1-XVI : 8; American Standard Edition, cited above. Early Christian Philosophy 243 he perceived that for envy the chief priests had de- livered him up. But the chief priests stirred up the multitude, that he should rather rfelease Barab- bas unto them. And Pilate again answered and said unto them, What then shall I do unto him whom ye call the King of the Jews? And they cried out again. Crucify him. And Pilate said unto them, Why, what evil hath he done? But they cried out exceedingly, Crucify hini. And Pilate, wishing to content the multitude, released unto them Barab- bas, and delivered Jesus, when he had scourged him, to be crucified. And the soldiers led him away within the court, which is the Praetorium; and they called together the whole band. And they clothed him with purple, and platting a crown of thorns, they put it on him ; and they began to salute him, Hail, King of the Jews! And they smote his head with a reed, and spat upon him, and bowing their knees worshipped him. And when they had mocked him, they took off from him the purple, and put on him his gar- ments. And they lead him out to crucify him. And they compel one passing by, Simon of Cyrene, coming from the country, the father of Alexander and Rufus, to go with them, that he might bear his cross. And they bring him unto the place Golgotha, which is, being interpreted. The place of a skull. And they offered him wine mingled with myrrh : but he received it not. And they crucify him, and part his garments among them, casting lots upon them, what each should take. And it was the third hour, and they crucified him. And the superscription of 244 Readings in Philosophy his accusation was written over, the king of THE JEWS. And with him they crucify two rob- bers; one on "his right hand, and one on his left. And they that passed by railed on him, wagging their heads, and saying. Ha! thou that destroyest the temple, and buildest it in three days, save thy- self, and come down from the cross. In like man- ner also the chief priests mocking him among them- selves with the scribes said, He saved others ; him- self he cannot save. Let the Christ, the King of Israel, now come down from the cross, that we may see and believe. And they that were crucified with him reproached him. And when the sixth hour was come, tliei'e was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani? which is, being inter- preted. My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? And some of them that stood by, when they heard it, said, Behold he calleth Elijah. And one ran, and filling a sponge full of vinegar, put it on a reed, and gave him to drink, saying, Let be; let us see whether Elijah cometh to take him down. And Jesus uttered a loud voice, and gave up the ghost. And the veil of the temple was rent in two, from the top to the bottom. And when the cen- turion, who stood by over against him, saw that he so gave up the ghost, he said,. Truly this man was the son of God. And there were also women be- holding from afar: among whom were both Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the less and of Joses, and Salome; who, when he was in Galilee, followed him, and ministered unto him ; and Early Christian Philosophy 245 many other women that came up with him unto Jerusalem. And when even was now come, because it was the Preparation, that is, the day before the Sabbath, there came Joseph of Arimathaea, a councillor of honorable estate, who also himself was looking for the kingdom of God ; and he boldly went unto Pilate, and asked for the body of Jesus. And Pilate mar- velled if he were already dead : and calling unto him the centurion, he asked him whether he had been any while dead. And when, he learned it of the centurion, he granted the corpse to Joseph. And he bought a linen cloth, and taking him down, wound him in the linen cloth, and laid him in a tomb which had been hewn out of a rock ; and he rolled a stone against the door of the tomb. And Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses beheld where he was laid. And When the Sabbath was past Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices, that they might come and anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week, they come to the tomb when the sun was risen. And they were saying among themselves. Who shall roll us away the stone from the door of the tomb ? and looking up, they see that the stone is rolled back: for it was exceeding great. And entering into the tomb, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, arrayed in a white robe; and they were amazed. And he said unto them, Be not amazed: ye seek Jesus, the Nazarene, who hath been crucified: he is risen; he is^ not here: behold, the place where they laid him! But go, tell his disciples and Peter, He goeth before n 246 Readings in Philosophy you into Galilee: there shall ye see him, as he said unto you. And they went out, and fled from the tomb; for trembling and astonishment had come upon thenx: and they said nothing to any one; for they were afraid. C. The Logos Doctrine. The^ interpretation of Christian doctrine in terms of Greek (Alexandrian) philosophy is reflected in the opening verses of the Gospel of John : In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him; and without him was not any- thing made that hath been made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in the darkness; and the darkness appre- hended it not. There came a man, sent from God, whose name was John. The same came for wit- ness, that he might bear witness of the light, that all might believe through him. He was not the light, but came that he might bear witness of the light. There was the true light, even the light which lighteth every man, coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made through him, and the world knew him not. He caine unto his own, and they that were his own received him not. But as many as received him, to them gave he the right to become children of God, even to them that believe on his name: who were born not of blood, »nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man. ^John I : 1-14; American Standard Version, cited above. Early Christian Philosophy 247 but of God. And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us (and we beheld his glory, glory as of the only begotten from, the Father) , full of grace and truth. D. Paul's Theology. Paul's interpretation of the meaning of the death and resurrection is suinmarised in the following chapter from his first letter to the Corinthians : Now^ I make known unto you, brethren, the gospel which I preached unto you, which also ye received, wherein also ye stand, by which also ye are saved, if ye hold fast the word which I preached unto you, except ye believed in vain. For I delivered unto you first of all that which also I received : that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures; and that he was buried; and that he hath been raised on the third day according to the scriptures; and that he appeared to Cephas ; then to the twelve ; then he appeared to above five hundred brethren at once, of whom the greater part remain until now, but some are fallen asleep ; then he appeared to James ; then to all the apostles; and last of all, as to the child untimely born, he appeared to me also. For I am the least of the apostles, that am not meet to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am : and his grace which was bestowed upon me was not found vain; but I labored more abundantly than they all : yet not I, but the grace of God which was 'I Corinthians XV; American Standard Version, cited above. 248 Readings in Philosophy with me. Whether then it be I or they, so we preach, and so ye believed. Now if Christ is preached that he hath been raised from the dead, how say some among you that there is no resurrection of the dead? But if there is no resurrection of the dead, neither hath Christ been raised : and if Christ hath not been raised, then is our preaching vain, your faith also is vain. Yea, and we are found false witnesses of God; because we witnessed of God that he raised up Christ : whom he raised not up, if so be that the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, neither hath Christ been raised: and if Christ hath not been raised, your faith is vain ;^ ye are yet in your sins. Then they also that are fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If we have only hoped in Christ in this life, we are of all men most pitiable. But now hath Christ been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of them that are asleep. For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive. But each in his own order: Christ the first-fruits; then they that are Christ's, at his coming. Then cometh the end, when he shall deliver up the kingdom to God, even the Father; when he shall have abolished all rule and all authority and power. For he must reign, till he hath put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy that shall be abolished is death. For, He put all things in subjection under his feet. But when he saith. All things are put in subjection, it is evi- dent that he is excepted who did subject all things unto him. And when all things have been subjected Early Christian Philosophy 249 unto him, then shall the Son also himself be sub- jected, to him that did subject all things unto him, that God may be all in all. Else what shall they do that are baptized for the dead? If the dead are not raised at all, why then are they baptized for them? why do we also stand in jeopardy every hour? I protest by that glorying in you, brethren, which I have in Christ Jesus our Lord, I die daily. If after the manner of men I fought with beasts at Ephesus, what doth it profit me? If the dead are not raised, let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die. Be not deceived : Evil companionships corrupt good morals-. Awake to soberness righteously, and sin not ; for some have no knowledge of God : I speak this to move you to shame. But some one will say, How are the dead raised? and with what manner of body do they come? Thou foolish one, that which thou thyself sowest is not quickened except it die : and that which thou sowest, thou sowest not the body that shall be, but a bare grain, it may chance of wheat, or some other kind; but God giveth it a body even as it pleased him, and to each seed a body of its own. All flesh is not the same flesh : but there is one flesh of men, and an- other flesh of beasts, and another flesh of birds, and another of fishes. There are also celestial bodies, and bodies terrestrial : but the glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial is another. There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars; for one star differeth from another star in glory. So also 250 Readings in Philosophy is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown in cor- ruption; it is raised in incorruption : it is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory: it is sown in weak- ness; it is raised in power: it is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body. So also it is written, The first man Adam became a living soul. The last Adam became a life-giving spirit. Howbeit that is not first which is spiritual, but that which is natural ; then that which is spiritual. The first man is of the earth, earthy : the second man is of heaven. As is the earthy, such are they also that are earthy: and as is the heavenly, such are they also that are heavenly. And as we have borne the image of the earthy, we shall also bear the image of the heavenly. Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood can- not inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth cor- ruption inherit incorruption. Behold, I tell you a mystery : We all shall not sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on in- corruption, and this mortal must put on immor- tality. But when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on im- mortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written. Death is swallowed up in victory. , death, where is thy victory? death, where is thy sting? The sting of death is sin; and the power of sin is the law : but thanks ibe to God, who giveth us Early Christian Philosophy 251 the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Where- fore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, unmov- able, always abounding in the work of the Lord, for- asmuch as ye know that your labor is not vain in the Lord. CHAPTER XII MEDIAEVAL PHILOSOPHY A. Augustine's Doctrine op Evil. CHAP. 9. — WHAT^ WE ABE TO BELIEVE. IN REGARD TO NATURE IT IS NOT NECESSARY FOB THE CHRISTIAN TO KNOW MORE THAN THAT THE GOODNESS OP THE CREATOR IS THE CAUSE OP ALL THINGS. When, then, the question is asked what we are to believe in regard to religion, it is not necessary to probe into the nature of things, as was done by those whom the Greeks call pkysici; nor need we be in alarm lest the Christian should be ignorant of the force and number of the elements, — the motion, and order, and eclipses of the heavenly bodies; the form of the heavens; the species and the natures of animals, plants, stones, fountains, rivers, mountains; about chronology and distances; the sighs of coming storms ; and a thousand other things which those philosophers either have found out, or think they have found out. For even these men themselves, endowed though they are with so much genius, burning with zeal, abounding in leisure, tracking some" things by the aid of human conjecture, searching into others with the aids of history and experience, have not found out all 'Augustine, Enchiridion, Chapters 9-lS; translation of J. P. Shaw, in the Select Library of Nicene and Post Nicene Fathers; copyright 1917, by Charles Scribner's Sons; re- printed by permission of the publishers. (252) Mediaeval Philosophy / 253 things; and even their boasted discoveries are oftener mere guesses than certain knowledge. It is enough for the Christian to believe that the only- cause of all created things, whether heavenly or earthly, whether visible or invisible, is the goodness of the Creator, the one true God ; and that nothing . exists but Hiimself that does not derive its existence from Him ; and that He is the Trinity — to-wit, the Father, and the Son begotten of the Father, and the Holy Spirit proceeding from the same Father, but one and the same Spirit of Father and Son. CHAP. 10. THE SUPREMELY GOOD CREATOR MADE ALL THINGS GOOD. By the Trinity, thus supremely and equally and unchangeably good, all things were created; and these are not supremely and equally and unchange- ably good, but yet they are good, everP taken sepa- rately. Taken as a whole, however, they are very good, because their ensemble constitutes the uni- verse in all its wonderful order and beauty. CHAP. 11. WHAT IS CALLED EVIL IN THE UNIVERSE IS BUT THE ABSENCE OF GOOD. And in the universe, even that which is called evil, when it is regulated and put in its own place, only enhances our admiration of the good; for we enjoy and value the good more when we compare it with the evil. For the Almighty God, who, as even the heathen acknowledge, has supreme power over all things, being Himself supremely good, would never permit the existence of anything evil among his works, if He were not so omnipotent and good that he can bring good even out of evil. For what 254 Readings in Philosophy is that which we call evil but the absence of good? In the bodies of animals, disease and wounds mean nothing but the absence of health ; for when a cure is effected, that does not mean that the evils which were present — namely, the diseases and wounds — go away from the body and dwell elsewhere: they altogether cease to exist; for the wound or disease is not a substance, but a defect in the fleshly sub- stance, — the flesh itself being a substance, and therefore something good, of which those evils — that is, — privations of the good which we call health — are accidents. Just in the same w&y, what are called vices in the soul are nothing but priva- tions of natural good. And when they are cured, they are not transferred elsewhere: when they cease to exist in the healthy soul, they cannot exist anywhere else. CHAP. 12. ALL BEINGS WERE MADE GOOD, BUT NOT BEING MADE PERFECTLY GOOD, ARE LIABLE TO COR- RUPTION. All things that exist, therefore, seeing that the Creator of them all is supremely good, are them- selves good. But because they are not, like their Creator, supremely and unchangeably good, their good may be diminished and increased. But for good to be diminished is an evil, although, however much it may be diminished, it is necessary, if the being is to continue, that some good should remain to constitute the being. For however small or of whatever kind the being may be, the good which makes it a being cannot be destroyed without de- stroying the being itself. An uncorrupted nature is justly held in esteem. But if, still further, it be Mediaeval Philosophy 255 incorruptible, it is undoubtedly considered of still higher value. When it is corrupted, however, its corruption is an evil, because it is deprived of some sort of good. For if it be deprived of no good, it receives no injury; but it does receive injury, there- fore it is deprived of good. Therefore, so long as a being is in process- of corruption, there is in it some good of which it is being deprived; and if a part of the being should remain which cannot be corrupted, this will certainly be an incorruptible being, and accordingly the process of corruption will result in the manifestation of this great good. But if it do not cease to be corrupted, neither can it cease to possess good of which corruption may de- prive it. But if it should be thoroughly and com- pletely consumed by corruption, there will then be no good left, because there will be no being. Where- fore corruption can consume the good only by con- suming the being. Every being, therefore, is a good; a great good, if it can not be corrupted; a little good, if it can : but in any case, only the foolish or ignorant will deny that it is a good. And if it be'whoUy consumed by corruption, then the corrup- tion itself must cease to exist, as there is no being left in which it can dwell. CHAP. 13. THERE CAN BE NO EVIL WHERE THERE IS NO GOOD ; AND AN EVIL MAN IS AN EVIL GOOD. Accordingly there is nothing of what we call evil, if there be nothing good. But a good which is wholly without evil is a perfect good. A good, on the other hand, which contains evil is a faulty or imperfect good; and there can be no evil where 256 Readings in Philosophy there is no good. From all this we arrive at the curious result: that since every being, so far as it is a being, is good, when we say that a faulty being is an evil being, we just seem to say that what is good is evil, and that nothing but what is good can be evil, seeing that every being is good, and that no evil can exist except in a being. Nothing, then, can be evil except something which is good. And al- though this, when stated, seems to be a contradic- tion, yet the strictness of reasoning leaves us no escape from the conclusion. We must, however, be- ware of incurring the prophetic condemnation: "Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil: that put darkness for light, and light for darkness : that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter." And yet our Lord says: "An evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is evil". Now, what is an evil man but an evil being? for a man is a being. Now, if a man is a good thing because he is a being, what is an evil man but an evil good? Yet, when we accurately distinguish these two things, we find that it is not because he is a man that he is an evil, or because he is wicked that he is good ; but that he is a good because he is a man, and an evil because he is wicked. Whoever, then, says, "To be a man is an evil", or "To be wicked is a good", falls under the prophetic denunciation: "Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil !" For he condemns the work of God, which is the man, and praises the defect of man, which is the wickedness. Therefore every being, even if it be a defective one, in so far as it is a being is good, and in so far as it is defective is an evil. Mediaeval Philosophy 257 B. The Relations of Faith and Understand- ing; AND THE ONTOLOGICAL PROOF. Anselm here gives a classic statement, typical of the mediaeval mode of presentation^ of these im- portant doctrines, representing the view "credo ut intelligam", and the classic proof of the existence of God: Re^ it mine to look up to thy light, even from afar, even from the depths. Teach me to seek thee, and reveal thyself to me, when I seek thee, for I cannot seek thee, except thou teach me, nor find thee, except thou reveal thyself. Let me seek thee in longing, let me long for thee in seeking; let me find thee in love, and love thee in finding. Lord, I acknowledge and I thank thee, that thou hast created me in this thine image, in order that I may be mindful of thee, may conceive of thee, and love thee ; but that image has been so consumed and wasted away by vices, and obscured by the smoke of wrongdoing, that it cannot achieve that for which it was made, except thou renew it, and create it anew. I do not en- deavor, Lord, to penetrate thy sublimity, for in no wise do I compare my understanding with that; but I long to understand in some degree thy truth, which my heart believes and loves. For I do not seek to understand that I may believe, but I believe in order to understand. For this also I believe, — that unless I believed, I should not understand. ■ "Anselm, Proslogium, Chapter 1 (end) -chapter 4; trans- lated by S. N. Deane, 1903; reprinted by permission of the Open Court Publishing Co. 258 Readings in Philosophy CHAPTER II Truly there is a God, although the fool hath said in his heart, There is no God. And so, Lord, do thou, who dost give understand- ing to faith, give me, so far as thou knowest it to be profitable, to understand that thou art as we believe ; and that thou art that which we believe. And, indeed, we believe that thou art a being than which nothing greater can be conceived. Or is there no such nature, since the fool hath said in his heart, there is no God? (Psalms xiv. 1). But, at any rate, this very fool, when he hears of this being of which I speak — a being than which nothing greater can be conceived — understands what he hears, and what he understands is in his understanding; al- though he does not understand it to exist. For, it is one thing for an object to be in the understanding, and another to understand that the oibject exists. When a painter first conceives of what he will afterwards perform, he has it in his understanding, but he does not yet understand it to be, because he has not yet performed it. But after he has made the painting, he both has it in his understanding, and he understands that it exists, because he has made it. Hence, even the fool is convinced that something exists in the understanding, at least, than which nothing greater can be conceived. For, when he hears of this, he understands it. And whatever is understood, exists in the understanding. And as- suredly that, than which nothing greater can be conceived, cannot exist in the understanding alone. Mediaeval Philosophy 259 For, suppose it exists in the understanding alone: then it can be conceived to exist in reality ; which is greater. Therefore, if that, than which nothing greater can be conceived, exists in the understanding alone, the very being, than which nothing greater can be con- ceived, is one, than which a greater can be conceived. But obviously this is impossible. Hence, there is no doubt that there exists a being, than which noth- ing greater can be conceived, and it exists both in the understanding and in, reality. CHAPTER III God cannot be conceived not to exist. — God is that, than which nothing greater can be conceived. — That which can be conceived not to exist is not God. And it assuredly exists so truly, that it cannot be conceived not to exist. For, it is possible to con- ceive of a being which can not be conceived not to exist; and this is greater than one which can be conceived not to exist. Hence, if that, than which nothing greater can be conceived, can be conceived not to exist, it is not that than which nothing greater can be conceived. But this is an irreconcilable con- tradiction. There is, then, so truly a being than which nothing greater can be conceived to exist, that it cannot even be conceived not to exist; and this be- ing thou art, Lord, our God. So truly, therefore, dost thou exist, Lord, my God, that thou canst not be conceived not to exist; and rightly. For, if a mind could conceive of a being better than thee, the creature would rise aibove the Creator; and this is most absurd. And, indeed. 260 Readings in Philosophy whatever else there is, except thee alone, can be con- ceived not to exist. To thee alone, therefore, it be- longs to exist more truly than all other beings, and hence in a higher degree than all others. For, what- ever else exists does not exist so truly, and hence in a less degree it belongs to it to exist. Why, then, has the fool said in his heart, there is no God (Psalms xiv. i), since it is so evident, to a rational mind, that thou dost exist in the highest degree of all? Why, except that he is dull and a fool? CHAPTER IV How the fool has said in his heart what cannot be con- ceived. — A thing may be conceived in two ways: (1) when the word signifying it is conceived; (2) when the thing itself is understood. As far as the word goes, God can be con- ceived not to exist; in reality he cannot. But how has the fool said in his heart what he could not conceive ; or how is it that he could not con- ceive what he said in his heart? since it is the same to say in the heart and to conceive. But, if really, nay, since really, he both conceived, because he said in his heart ; and did not say in his heart, because he could not conceive; there is more than one way in which a thing is said in the heart or conceived. For, in one sense, an object is conceived, when the word signifying it is conceived; and in another, when the very entity, which the object is, is understood. In the former sense, then, God can be conceived not to exist; but in the latter, not at all. For no one who understands what fire and water are can conceive fire to be water, in accordance with the Mediaeval Philosophy 261 nature of the facts themselves, although this is pos- sible according to the words. So, then, no one who understands what God is can conceive that God does not exist ; although he says these words in his heart, either without any, or with some foreign, significa- tion. For, God is that than which a greater cannot be conceived. And he who thoroughly understands this, assuredly understands that this being so truly exists, that not even in concept can it be non- existent.. Therefore, he who understands that God so exists, cannot conceive that he does not exist. I thank thee, gracious Lord, I thank thee ; because what I formerly believed by thy bounty, I now so understand by thine illumination, that if I were unwilling to believe that thou dost exist, I should not be able not to understand this to be true. C. Realism. The following passage gives a statement of modi- fied realism from the standpoint of the Church in the twelfth century A. D. : WHETHER^ THE INTELLIGIBLE SPECIES ARE DERIVED BY THE SOUL FROM CERTAIN SEPARATE FORMS ? We proceed thits to the Fourth Article : — Objection 1. It seems that the intelligible species are derived by the soul from some separate forms. For whatever is such by participation is caused by ' Saint Thomas Aquinas, Swmma Theologica, Part I, Third Number, Question Ixxxiv, Article 4; translation of the Do- minican Fathers, 1912; reprinted by permission of Benziger Brothers, New York; and of Burns, Gates and Washboume, London. 18 262 Readings in Philosophy what is such essentially; for instance, that which is on fire is reduced to fire as the cause thereof. But the intellectual soul forasmuch as it is actually un- derstanding, participates in the thing understood: for, in a way, the intellect in act is the thing under- stood in act. Therefore what in itself and in its essence is understood in act, is the cause that the intellectual soul actually understands. Now that which in its essence is actually understood is a form existing without matter. Therefore the intelligible species, by which the soul understands, are caused by some separate forms. Obj. 2. Further, the intelligible is to the intel- lect, as the sensible is to the sense. But the sensible species which are in the senses, and by which we feel, are caused by the sensible object which exists actually outside the soul. Therefore the intelligible species by which our intellect understands, are caused by some things actually intelligible, existing outside the soul. But these can be nothing else than forms separate from matter. Therefore the intel- ligible forms of our intellect are derived from some separate substances. Ohj. 3. Further, whatever is in potentiality is reduced to act by something actual. If, therefore, our intellect, previously in potentiality, actually un- derstands, this must needs be caused by some intel- lect which is always in act. But this is a separate intellect. Therefore the intelligible species, by which we actually understand, are caused by some separate substances. On the contrary, If this were true we should not need the senses in order to understand. And this Mediaeval Bhilosophy 263 is proved to be false especially from the fact that if a man be wanting in a sense, he cannot have any knowledge of the sensibles corresponding to that sense. / answer that, Some have held that the intelligible species of our intellect are derived from certain separate forms or substances. And this in two ways. For Plato, as we have said, held that the forms of sensible things subsist by themselves with- out matter; for instance, the form of a man which he called per se man, and the form or idea of a horse which he called per se horse, and so forth. He said therefore that these forms are participated both by our soul and by corporeal matter; by our soul, to the effect of knowledge thereof, and by cor- poreal matter to the effect of existence : so that, just as corporeal matter by participating the idea of a stone, becomes an individual stone, so our intellect, by participating the idea of a stone, is made to un- derstand a stone. Now participation of an idea takes place by some image of the idea in the partici- pator, just as a model is participated by a copy. So just as he held that the sensible forms, which are in corporeal matter, are derived from the ideas as cer- tain images thereof : so he held that the intelligible species of our intellect are images of the ideas, de- rived therefrom. And for this reason, as we have said above, he referred sciences and definitions to those ideas. But since it is contrary to the nature of sensible things that their forms should subsist without, mat- ter, as Aristotle proves in many ways, Avicenna setting this opinion aside, held that the intelligible 264 Readings in Philosophy species of all sensible things, instead of subsisting in themselves without matter, pre-exist immaterially in the separate intellects: from the first of which, said he, such species are derived by a second, and so on to the last separate intellect which he called the active intelligence, from which, according to him, intelligible species flow into our souls, and sensible species into corporeal matter. And so Avicenna agrees with Plato in this, that the intelligible species of our intellect are derived from certain separate forms ; but these Plato held to subsist of themselves, while Avicenna placed them in the active intelli- gence. They diifer, too, in this respect, that Avicenna held that the intelligible species do not remain in our intellect after it has ceased actually to understand, and that it needs to turn (to the ac- tive intellect) in order to receive them anew. Consequently he does not hold that the soul has in- nate knowledge, as Plato, who held that the par- ticipated ideas remain immovably in the soul. But in this opinion no sufficient reason can be assigned for the soul being united to the body. For it cannot be said that the intellectual soul is united to the body for the sake of the body : for neither Is form for the sake of matter, nor is the mover for the sake of the moved, but rather the reverse. Espe- cially does the body seem necessary to the intel- lectual soul, for the latter's proper operation which is to understand : since as to its being the soul does not depend on the body. But if the soul by its very nature had an inborn aptitude for receiving intel- ligible species through the influence of only certain separate principles, and were not to receive them Mediaeval Philosophy 265 from the senses, it would not need the body in order to understand : wherefore to no purpose would it be united to the body. But if it be said that our soul needs the senses in order to understand, through being in some way excited by them to the consideration of those things the intelligible species of which it receives from the separate principles: even this seems an insufficient explanation. For this excitation does not seem necessary to the soul, except in as far as it is over- come by sluggishness, as the Platonists expressed it, and by forgetfulness, through its union with the body. Consequently the reason of the union of the soul with the body still remains to be sought. And if it be said with Avicenna, that the senses are necessary to the soul, because by them it is roused to turn to the active intelligence from which it receives the species: neither is this a sufficient explanation. Because if it is natural for the soul to understand through species derived from the ac- tive intelligence, it follows that at times the soul of an individual wanting in one of the senses can turn to the active intelligence, either from the inclina- tion of its very nature, or through being aroused by another sense, to the effect of receiving the intel- ligible species of which the corresponding sensible species are wanting. And thus a man bom blind could have knowledge of colours; which is clearly untrue. We must therefore conclude that the intel- ligible species, by which our soul understands, are not derived from separate forms. Reply Obj. 1. The intelligible species which fall to the share of our intellect are reduced, as to their 266 Readings in Philosophy first cause, to a first pi;inciple which is by its essence intelligible — namely, God. But they proceed from that principle by means of the forms of sensible and material things, from which we gather knowledge, as Dionysius says. Reply Obj. 2. Material things, as to the being which they have outside the soul, may be actually sensible, but not actually intelligible. Wherefore there is no comparison between sense and intellect. Reply Obj. 3. Our passive intellect is reduced from potentiality to act by some being in act, that is, by the active intellect, which is a power of the soul as we have said; and not by a separate intel- ligence, as a proximate cause, although perchance as remote cause. CHAPTER XIII MODERN PHILOSOPHY: ITS SPIRIT. ITS CHIEF PROBLEMS AND STANDPOINTS A. In the nature of the case it being impossible to illustrate these except through the text of the re- maining part of the book the following bibliography- is given to indicate some of the most useful discus- sions of the whole period in sum : Thilly, F., History of Philosophy, pages 250-254. Webb, C. C. J., History of Philosophy. Windelband, W., History of Philosophy, (trans- lated by Thilly) , 2nd edition revised, pages 348-354, 37.8-9, 437-440, 529-531, 568-9, 623-527. Royce, J., The Spirit of Modem Philosophy, Lec- ture II, pages 27-41 (especially). . Hoffding, H., History of Modern Philosophy, Vol. I, pages 3-9, 161-3, 209-211. (267) CHAPTER XIV THE PROBLEM OF REALITY A. The following bibliography will suggest some of the best known elementary discussions of the problem in general: Perry, R. B., The Approach to Philosophy, Chap- ter VI. James, W., Some Problems of Philosophy, Chap- ters II, III. H'ibben, J. G., The Problems of Philosophy, Chap- ter III. Russell, B., The Problems of Philosophy, Chapters 1-4. Hoffding, H., The Problems of Philosophy, Chap- ter 3. Paulsen, F., Introduction to Philosophy, pages 53- 335. Windelband, W., History of Philosophy, pages 399-425. (268) CHAPTER XV DUALISM A. Descaktes on the Nature of the Mind. But^ what, then, am I ? A thinking thing, it has been said. But what is a thinking thing?* It is a thing that doubts, understands, conceives, affirms, denies, wills, refuses, that imagines also, and per- ceives. Assuredly it is not little, if all these proper- ties belong to my nature. But why should they not belong to it? Am I not that very being who now doubts of almost everything; who, for all that, un- derstands and conceives certain things ; who affirms one alone as true, and denies the others ; who desires to know more of them, and does not wish to be de- ceived; who imagines many things, sometimes even despite his will ; and is likewise percipient of many, as if through the medium of the senses. Is there nothing of all this as true as that I am, even al- though I should be always dreaming, and although he who gave me being employed all his ingenuity to deceive me? Is there also any one of these at- tributes that can be properly distinguished from my thought, or that can be said to be separate from my- self? For it is of itself so evident that it is I who doubt, I who understand, and I who desire, that it ^ Descartes, Meditations, II ; translated by J. Veitch, 1905 ; reprinted by permission of the Open Court Publishing Co. (269) 270 Readings in Philosophy is here unnecessary to add anything by way of ren- dering it niore clear. And I am as certainly the same being who imagines; for, although it may be (as I before supposed) that nothing I imagine is true, still the power of imagination does not cease really to exist in me and to form part of my thought. In fine, I am the same being who perceives, that is, who g,pprehends certain objects as by the organs of sense, since, in truth, I see light, hear a noise, and feel heat. But it will be said that these presenta- tions are false, and that I am dreaming. Let it be so. At all events it is certain that I seem to see light, hear a noise, and feel heat; this cannot be false, and this is what in me is properly called per- ceiving (sentire) , which is nothing else than think- ing. From this I begin to know what I am with somewhat greater clearness and distinctness than heretofore. B. Descartes on the Existence of Material Things. Having determined to doubt away everything pos- sible, and to accept nothing for which the evidence is not clear and distinct Descartes finds the existence of the material world by no means self-evident : I^ find in myself diverse faculties of thinking that have each their special mode: for example, I find I possess the faculties of imagining and perceiving, without which I can indeed clearly and distinctly conceive myself as entire, but I cannot reciprocally conceive them without conceiving myself, that is to 'Ibid., VI. Dualism 271 say, without an intelligent substance in which they reside, fpr in the notion we have of them, or to use the terms of the schools in their formal concept, they comprise some sort of intellection; whence I perceive that they are distinct from myself as modes are from things. I remark likewise certain «ther faculties, as the power of changing place, of assum- ing diverse figures, and the like, that cannot be con- ceived and cannot therefore exist, any more than the preceding, apart from a substance in which they inhere. It is very evident, however, that these faculties, if they really exist, must belong to some corporeal or extended substance, since in their clear and distinct concept there is contained some sort of extension, but no intellection at all. Farther, I can- not doubt but that there is in me a certain passive faculty of perception, that is, of receiving and tak- ing knowledge of the ideas of sensible things; but this would be useless to me if there did not also exist in me, or in some other thing, another active faculty capable of forming and producing those ideas. But this active faculty cannot be in me in as far as I am but a thinking thing, seeing that it does not presuppose thought, and also that those ideas are frequently produced in my mind without my contributing to it in any way, and even fre- quently contrary to my will. This faculty mustH therefore exist in some substance diiferent from me, / in which all the objective reality of the ideas thatj are produced by this faculty, is contained formally or eminently,, as I before remarked; and this sub- stance is either a body, that is to say, a corporeal nature in which is contained formally and in effect 272 Readings in Philosophy all that is objectively and by representation in those ideas ; or it is God himself, or some other creatr ure, of a rank superior to body, in which the same is contained eminently. But as God is no deceiver, it is manifest that he does not of himself and imme- diately communicate those ideas to me, nor even by the intervention of any creatUre in which their ob- jective reality is not formally, but only eminently, contained. For as he has given me no faculty where- fby I can discover this to be the case, but, on the i contrary, a very strong inclination to believe that those ideas arise from corporeal objects, I do not see how he could be vindicated from the charge of deceit, if in truth they proceeded from any other source, or were produced by other causes than cor- poreal things : and accordingly it must be concluded, that corporeal objects exist. Nevertheless they are not perhaps exactly such as we perceive by the senses, for their comprehension by the senses is, in many instances, very obscure and confused ; but it is at least necessary to admit that all which I clearly I and distinctly conceive as in them, that is, generally speaking, all that is comprehended in the object of , speculative geometry, really exists external to me. C. Interaction of Mind and Body. Descartes describes the interaction of soul and body as follows: Let^ us understand then that the soul has its prin- cipal seat in the small gland which is in the center ■■Descartes, Les Passions de I'Ame, XXXIV; translated- from the text of Adam and Tannery, Paris, 1909, Dualism 273 of the brain, whence its influence radiates into all the rest of the body through the intermediation of the animal spirits, nerves, and even the blood, which participating in the modifications of the spirits is able to carry them through the arteries to all the members. And recall tvhat has been said about the mechanism of our body, namely that the small nerve filaments are so distributed through all its parts, that on occasion of the various movements which are excited in them by sensible objects they open in various ways the pores of the brain and cause the animal spirits which are contained in the cavities of the brain to enter in various ways into the muscles; and by this means they are able to move the mem- bers in all the various ways in which they can be moved. All the other causes also which can affect the spirits in various ways serve to conduct them into various muscles. Add to this that the little gland which is the principal seat of the soul is so suspended among the cavities of the brain which contain these spirits, that it can be moved by them in as many different ways as there are sensible differences in the objects. But it can also be moved in various ways by the soul, which is of such nature that it receives as many different impressions from it, that is, that it has as many different perceptions, as there are different movements in this gland. Vice versa the mechanism of the body is so con- structed that this gland, from the mere fact that it is variously moved by the soul, or by whatever other cause this can occur, impels the surrounding spirits toward the pores of the brain, which conduct them 274 Readings in Philosophy by the nerves to the muscles, and by these means it causes them to move the members. D. Locke on the Ideas of Solidity and Spirit. The genesis of these ideas, which in Locke's judg- ment are the most essential, is described by him thus: IDEA OP SOLIDITY 1. We^ receive this Idea from Touch. — The idea of solidity we receive by our touch; and it arises from the resistance which we find in body to the entrance of any other body into the place it pos- sesses, till it has left it. There is no idea which we receive more constantly from sensation than solidity. Whether we move or rest, in what posture soever we are, we always feel something under us that sup- ports us, and hinders our further sinking down- wards ; and the bodies which we daily handle make us perceive, that whilst they remain 'between them, they do, by an insurmountable force, hinder the approach of the parts of our hands that press them. That which thus hinders the approach of two bodies, when they are moved one towards another, I call solidity. I will not dispute whether this acceptation of the word solid be nearer to its original significa- tion than that which mathematicians use it in; it suffices that I think the common notion of solidity will allow, if not justify, this use of it; but if any one think it better to call it impenetrability, he has my consent. Only I have thought the term solidity " Locke, Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Book II, chapter iv; edition of 1854. Ducdism 275 the more proper to express this idea, not only be- cause of its vulgar use in that sense, but also be- cause it carries something more of positive in it than impenetrability, which is negative, and is per- haps more a consequence of solidity, than solidity itself. This, of all others, seems the idea most intimately connected with and essential to body, so as nowhere else to be found or imagined, but only in matter. And though our senses take no notice of it, but in masses of matter, of a bulk sufficient to cause a sensation in us ; yet the mind, having once got this idea from such grosser sensible bodies, traces it further, and considers it, as well as figure, in the minutest particle of matter that can exist; and finds it inseparably inherent in body, wherever or however modified. 2. Solidity fills Space. — This is the idea which belongs to body, whereby we conceive it to fill space. The idea of which filling of space is, that where we imagine any space taken up by a solid substance, we conceive it so to possess it, that it excludes all other solid substances ; and will forever hinder any other two bodies, that move towards one another in a straight line, from coming to touch one another, unless it removes from between them in a line not parallel to that which they move in. This idea of it, the bodies which we ordinarily handle sufficiently furnish us with. 3. Distinct from Space. — ^This resffetance, where- by it keeps other bodies out of the space which it possesses, is so great that no force, how great so- ever, can surmount it. All the bodies in the world, pressing a drop of water on all sides, will never be 276 Readings in Philosophy able to overcome the resistance which it will make, soft as it is, to their approaching one another, till it be removed out of their way : whereby our idea of solidity is distinguished both from pure space, which is capable neither of resistance nor motion; and from the ordinary idea of hardness. For a man may conceive two bodies at a distance, so as they may approach one another, without touching or displac- ing any solid thing, till their superficies come to meet; whereby, I think, we have the clear idea of . space without solidity. For (not to go as far as annihilation of any particular body) I ask, whether a man cannot have the idea of the motion of one single body alone, without any other succeeding immediately into its place? I think it is evident he can ; the idea of motion in one body no more includ- ing the idea of motion in another, than the idea of a square figure in one body includes the idea of a square figure in another. I do not ask, whether bodies do so exist, that the motion of one body can- not really be without the motion of another. To determine this either way, is to beg the question for or against a vacuum. But my question is, whether one cannot have the idea of one body moved, whilst others are at rest? And I think this no one will deny. If so, then the place it deserted gives us the idea of pure space without solidity, wherein any other body may enter, without either resistance or 'protrusion of anything. When the sucker in a pump is drawn, the space it filled in the tube is certainly the same whether any other body follows the motion of the sucker or not : nor does it imply a contradiction that, upon the motion of one Dualism 277 body, another that is only contiguous to it should not follow it. The necessity of such a motion is built only on the supposition that the world is full; but not on the distinct ideas of space and solidity ; which are as different as resistance and not resistance, pro- trusion and not protrusion. And that men have ideas of space without a body, their very disputes about a vacuum plainly demonstrate. 5. On Solidity depend Impulse, Resistance, and Protrusion. — By this idea of solidity, is the exten- sion of body distinguished from the extension of space: the extension of body being nothing but the cohesion or continuity 6f solid, separable, mov- able parts; and the extension of space, the con- tinuity of unsolid, inseparable, and immovable parts. Upon the solidity of bodies also depend their mutual impulse, resistanpe, and protrusion. Of pure space then, and solidity, there are several (amongst which I confess myself one) who persuade themselves they have clear and distinct ideas; and that they can think on space without any thing in it that resists or is protruded by body. This is the idea of pure space, which they think they have as clear as any idea they can have of the extension of body; the idea of the distance between the opposite parts of a concave superficies being equally as clear without, as with the idea of any solid parts between ; and on the other side, they persuade themselves that they have, distinct from that of pure space, the idea of something that fills space, that can be protruded by the .impulse of other bodies, .or resist their motion. If there be others that have not these two ideas dis- tinct, but confound them, and make but one of them, 19 278 Readings in Philosophy I know not how men, who have the same idea under different names, or different ideas under the same name, can in that case talk with one another; any more than a man who, not being blind or deaf, has distinct ideas of the colour of scarlet and the sound of a trumpet, would discourse concerning scarlet col- our with the blind man I mentioned in another place, who fancied that the idea of scarlet was like the sound of a trumpet. 6. What it is. — If any one asks me. What this solidity is, I send him to his senses to inform him: let him put a flint or a football between his hands, and then endeavor to join them, and he will know. If he thinks this not a sufficient explication of solidity, what it is, and wherein it consists ; I prom- ise to tell him what it is, and wherein it consists, when he tells me what thinking is, or wherein it consists ; or explains to me what extension or motion is, which perhaps seems much easier. The simple ideas we have, are such as experience teaches them us; but if, beyond that, we endeavor by words to make them clearer in the mind, we shall succeed no better than if we went about to clear up the dark- ness of a blind man's mind by talking, and to dis- course into him the ideas of light and colours. The reason of this I shall show in another place. 5. As^ clear an Idea of Spirit as Body. — The same thing happens concerning the operations of the mind, viz., thinking, reasoning, fearing, etc., which we concluding not to subsist of themselves, nor ap- prehending how they can belong to body, or be pro- ' 76*0!., Book II, ch. xxiii. DvMlism 279 duced by it, we are apt to think these the actions of some other substance, which we call spirit ; whereby yet it is evident that, having no other idea or notion of matter, but something wherein those many sensible qualities which aif ect our senses do subsist ; by supposing a substance wherein thinking, know- ing, doubting, and a power of moving, etc., do sub- sist, we have as clear a notion of the substance of spirit, as we have of body: the one being supposed to be (without knowing what it is) the substratum to those simple ideas we have from without; and the other supposed (with a like ignorance of what it is) to be the substratum to those operations which we experiment in ourselves within. It is plain then, that the idea of corporeal substance in matter is as remote from our conceptions and apprehensions, as that of spiritual substance or spirit: and therefore, from our not having any notion of the substance of spirit, we can no more conclude its non-existence, than we can, for the same reason, deny the existence of body; it being as rational to affirm there is no body, because we have no clear and distinct idea of the substance of matter, as to say there is no spirit, because we have no clear and distinct idea of the substance of a spirit. Our' observation employed either about external sensible objects, or about the internal operations of our minds, perceived and reflected on by ourselves, is that which supplies our understandings with all the materials of thinking. These two are the foun- 'ilbid., Book II, ch. i. 280 Readings in Philosophy tains of knowledge from whence all the ideas we have or can naturally have do spring. 3. The Objects of Sensation one Source of Ideas. — First, our senses, conversant about particular sensible objects, do convey into the mind several distinct perceptions of things, according to those various ways wherein those objects do affect them: and thus we come by those ideas we have, of yellow, white, heat, cold, soft, hard, bitter, sweet, and all those which we call sensible qualities; which when I say the senses convey into the mind, I mean, they from external objects convey into the mind what produces there those perceptions. This great source of most of the ideas we have, depending wholly upon our senses, and derived by them to the understand- ing, I call SENSATION. 4. The Operations of our Minds the other Source of them. — Secondly, the other fountain, from which experience furnisheth the understanding with ideas, is the perception of the operations of our own mind within us, as it is employed about the ideas it has got ; which operations, when the soul comes to reflect on and consider, do furnish the understanding with another set of ideas, which could not be had from things without; and such are perception, thinking, doubting, believing, reasoning, knowing, willing, and all the different actings of our own minds ; which we being conscious of, and observing in ourselves, do from these receive into our understandings as dis- tinct ideas, as we do from bodies affecting our senses. This source of ideas every man has wholly in himself; and though it be not sense, as having nothing to do with external objects, yet it is very Dualism 281 like it, and might properly enough be called internal sense. But as I call the other Sensation, so I call this REFLECTION, the ideas it affords being such only as the mind gets by reflecting on its own opera- tions within itself. By reflection then, in the fol- lowing part of this discourse, I would be understood to mean that notice which the mind takes of its own operations, and the manner of them; by reason whereof there come to be ideas of these operations in the understanding. These two, I say, viz., ex- ternal material things, as the objects of sensation; and the operations of our own minds within, as the objects of reflection; are to me the only originals from whence all our ideas take their beginnings. The term operations here I use in a large sense, as comprehending not barely the actions of the mind about its ideas, but some sort of passions arising sometimes from them, such as is the satisfaction or uneasiness arising from any thought. 5. All our Ideas are of the one or the other of these. — The understanding seems to me not to have the least glimmering of any ideas which it does not receive from one of these two. External objects furnish the mind with the ideas of sensible qualities, which are all those different perceptions they pro- duce in us; and the mind furnishes the understand- ing with ideas of its own operations. These, when we have taken a full survey of them, and their several modes, combinations, and rela- tions, we shall find to contain all our whole stock of ideas ; and that we Have nothing in our minds which did not come in one of these two ways. Let any one examine his own thoughts, and thoroughly 282 Readings in Philosophy search into his understanding ; and then let him tell me, whether all the original ideas he has there, are any other than of the objects of his senses, or of the operations of his mind, considered as objects of his reflection : and how great a mass of knowledge so- ever he imagines to be lodged there, he will, upon taking a strict view, see that he has not any idea in his mind, but what one of these two have im- printed ; though, perhaps, with infinite -variety com- pounded and enlarged by the understanding, as we shall see hereafter. CHAPTER XVI MATERIALISM A. The Distinction Between Primary and Secondary Qualities. This distinction is not necessarily a part of ma- terialistic doctrine, though it is presupposed in the attempt to reduce all qualities of experience to the so-called "primary" ones. Locke's statement of t4ie case is a classic one: 7. Ideas^ in the Mind, Qualities in Bodies. — To discover the nature of our ideas the better, and to discourse of them intelligibly, it will be convenient to distinguish them as they are ideas or perceptions in our minds, and as they are modifications of mat- ter in the bodies that cause such perceptions in us, that so we may not think (as perhaps usually is done) that they are exactly the images and resem- blances of something inherent in the subject; most of those of sensation being in the mind no more the likeness of something existing without us, than the names that stand for them are the likeness of our ideas, which yet upon hearing they are apt to excite in us. 8. Whatsoever the mind perceives in itself, or is the immediate object of perception, thought, or un- derstanding, that I call idea ; and the power to pro- Locke, Essay, Book II, chapter viii. (283) 284 Readings in Philosophy duce any idea in our mind, I call quality of the sub- ject wherein that power is. Thus a snowball hav- ing the power to produce in us the ideas of white, cold, and round, the power to produce those ideas in us, as they are in the snowball, I call qualities ; and as they are sensations or perceptions in our under- standings, I call them ideas ; which ideas, if I speak of sometiines as in the things themselves, I would be understood to mean those qualities in the objects which produce them in us. 9. Primary Qualities. — Qualities thus considered in bodies are, first, such as are utterly inseparable from the body, in what state soever it be; such as in all the alterations and changes it suffers, all the force can be used upon it, it constantly keeps; and such as sense constantly finds in every particle of matter which has bulk enough to be perceived, and the mind finds inseparable from every particle of matter, though less than to make itself singly be perceived by our senses, v. g., take a grain of wheat, divide it into two parts, each part has still solidity, extension, figure, and mobility; divide it again, and it retains still the same qualities; and so divide it on till the parts become insensible, they must retain still each of them all those qualities. For division (which is all that a mill, or pestle, or any other body, does upon another, in reducing it to insensible parts) can never take away either solidity, exten- sion, figure, or mobility from any body, but only makes two or more distinct separate masses of mat- ter, of that which was but one before; all which distinct masses, reckoned as so many distinct bodies, after division, make a certain number. These I call Materialism 285 original or primary qualities of body, which I think we may observe to produce simple ideas in us, viz., solidity, extension, figure, motion or rest, and num- ber. 10. Secondary Qiuilities. — Secondly, such qual- ities which in truth are nothing in the objects themselves, but powers to produce various sensa- tions in us by their primary qualities, i. e., by the bulk, figure, texture, and motion of their insensible parts, as colours, sounds, tastes, etc., these I call secondary qualities. To these might be added a third sort, which are allowed to be barely powers, though they are as much real qualities in the sub- ject, as those which I, to comply with the common way of speaking, call qualities, but for distinction, secondary qualities. For the power in fire to pro- duce a new colour or consistency in wax or clay, by its primary qualities, is as much a quality in fire as the power it has to produce in me a new idea or sensation of warmth or burning, which I felt not before, by the same primary qualities, viz., the bulk, texture, and motion of its insensible parts. 11. How primary Qualities produce their Ideas. — The next thing to be considered is, how bodies produce ideas in us; and that is manifestly by im- pulse, the only way which we can conceive bodies to operate in. 12. If then external objects be not united to our minds when they produce ideas therein, and yet we perceive these original qualities in such of them as singly fall under our senses, it is evident that some motion must be thence continued by our nerves or animal spirits, by some parts of our bodies to the 286 Readings in Philosophy brain, or the seat of sensation, there to produce in our minds the particular ideas we have of them. And since the extension, figure, number, and motion of bodies of an observable bigness, may be perceived at a distance by the sight, it is evident some singly imperceptible bodies must come from them to the eyes, and thereby convey to the brain some motion which produces these ideas which we have of them in us. 13. How secondary. — After the same manner that the ideas of these original qualities are pro- duced in us, we may conceive that the ideas of sec- ondary qualities are also produced, viz., by the ope- rations of insensible particles on our senses. For it being manifest that there are bodies and good store of bodies, each whereof are so small, that we cannot' by any of our senses discover either their bulk, figure, or motion as is evident in the particles of the air and water, and other extremely smaller than those, perhaps as much smaller than the particles of air and water, as the particles of air and water are smaller than peas or hailstones; let us suppose at present, that the different motions and figures, bulk and number, of such particles, affecting the several organs of our senses, produce in us those different sensations which we have from the colours and smells of bodies; v. g., that a violet, by the impulse of such insensible particles of matter of peculiar figures and bulks, and in different degrees and modifications of their motions, causes the ideas of the blue color and sweet scent of that flower to be produced in our minds ; it being no more impos- sible to conceive that God should annex such ideas Materialism 287 to such motions, with which they have no similitude, than that he should annex the idea of pain to the motion of a piece of steel dividing our flesh, with which the idea hath no resemblance. 14. What I have said concerning colours and smells may be understood also of tastes and sounds, and other the like sensible qualities; which, what- ever reality we by mistake attribute to them, are in truth nothing in the objects themselves, but powers to produce various sensations in us, and depend on those primary qualities, viz., bulk, figure, texture, and motion of parts as I have said. 15. Ideas of primary Qualities are Resemblances; of secondary, not. — From whence I think it is easy to draw this observation, that the ideas of primary qualities of bodies are resemblances of them, and their patterns do really exist in the bodies them- selves; but the ideas produced in us by these sec- ondary qualities have no resemblance of them at all. There is nothing like our ideas existing in the bodies themselves. They are in the bodies we denominate from them, only a power to produce those sensa- tions in us; and what is sweet, blue, or warm in idea, is but the certain bulk, figure, and motion of the insensible parts in the bodies themselves, which we call so. 16. Flame is denominated hot and light; snow, white and cold; and manna, white and sweet, from the ideas they produce in us; which qualities are commonly thought to be the same in those bodies that those ideas are in us, the one the perfect re- semblance of the other, as they are in a mirror ; and it would by most men be judged very extravagant 288 Readings in Philosophy if one should say otherwise. And yet he that will consider that the same fire that at one distance produces in us the sensation of warmth, does at a nearer approach produce in us the far different sen- sation of pain, ought to bethink himself what reason he has to say that this idea of warmth, which was produced in him by the fire, is actually in the fire ; and his idea of pain, which the same fire produced in him the same way, is not in the fire. Why is whiteness and coldness in snow, and pain not, when it produces the one and the other idea in us; and can do neither, but by the bulk, figure, number, and motion of its solid parts? 17. The particular bulk, number, figure, and mo- tion of the parts of fire or snow are really in them-, whether any one's senses perceive them or not, and therefore they may be called real qualities, because they really exist in those bodies; but light, heat, whiteness, or coldness, are no more really in them than sickness or pain is in manna. Take away the sensation of them; let not the eyes see light or colours, nor the ears hear sounds ; let the palate not taste, nor the nose smell; and all colours, tastes, odours, and sounds, as they are such particular ideas, vanish and cease, and are reduced to their causes, i. e., bulk, figure, and motion of parts. B. The Idea of Substance. Locke's discussion of this point has been a bul- wark of opposition to materialism. It is included here because of its importance in the discussion : Materialism 289 1. Ideas^ of Substances, hotv made. — The mind being, as I have declared, furnished with a great number of the simple ideas conveyed in by the senses, as they are found in exterior things, or by reflection on its own operations, takes notice also that a certain number of these simple ideas go con- stantly together; which being presumed to belong to one thing, and words being suited to common ap- prehensions, and made use of for quick despatch, are called, so united in one subject, by one name; which, by inadvertency, we are apt afterward to talk of and consider as one simple idea, which in- deed is a complication of many ideas together: be- cause, as I have said-, not imagining how these simple ideas can subsist by themselves, we accustom our- selves to suppose some substratum wherein they do subsist, and from which they do result ; which there- fore we call substance. 2. Our Idea of Substance in general. — So that if any one will examine .himself concerning his no- tion of pure substance in general, he will find he has no other idea of it at all, but only a supposition of he knows not what support of such qualities which are capable of producing simple ideas in us; which qualities are commonly called accidents. If any one should be asked, what is the subject wherein colour or weight inheres, he would have nothing to say, but the solid extended parts, and if he were demanded what is it that solidity and extension inhere in, he would not be in a much better case than the Indian ' Locke, Essay, Book II, chapter xxiii. 290 Readings in Philosophy before mentioned, who, saying that the world was supported by a great elephant, was asked what the elephant rested on ; to which his answer was — a great tortoise. But being again pressed to know what gave support to the broad-backed tortoise, re- plied, — something, he knew not what. And thus here, as in all other cases where we use words with- out having clear and distinct ideas, we talk like children; who being questioned what such a thing is, which they know not, readily give this satisfac- tory answer, that it is something: which in truth signifies no more, when so used either by children or men, but that they know not what ; and that the thing they pretend to know and talk of, is what they have no distinct idea of at all, and so are perfectly ignorant of it, and in the dark. The idea then we have, to which we give the general name substance, being nothing but the supposed but unknown, sup- port of those qualities we find existing, which we imagine cannot subsist "sine re substante", without something to support therii, we call that support substantia; which, according to the true import of the word, is, in plain English, standing under or upholding. 3. Of the Sorts of Substances. — An obscure and relative idea of substance in general being thus made, we come to have the ideas of particular sorts of substances, by collecting such combinations of simple ideas as are, by experience and observation of men's senses, taken notice of to exist together, and are therefore supposed to flow from the par- ticular internal constitution, or unknown essence of that substance. Thus we come to have the ideas Materialism 291 of a man, horse, gold, water, etc., of which sub- stances, whether any one has any other clear idea, farther than of certain simple ideas co-existing to- gether, I appeal to every one's own experience. It is the ordinary qualities observable in iron or a diamond, put together, that make the true complex idea of those substances, which a smith or a jeweller commonly knows better than a philosopher; who, whatever substantial forms he may talk of, has no other idea of those substances than what is framed by a collection of those simple ideas which are to be found in them; only we must take notice, that our complex ideas of substances, besides all these simple ideas they are made up of, have always the con- fused idea of something to which they belong, and in which they subsist. And therefore when we speak of any sort of substance, we say it is a thing having such or such qualities; as body is a thing that is extended, figured, and capable of motion; spirit, a thing capable of thinking; and so hard- ness, friability, and power to draw iron, we say, are qualities to be found in a loadstone. These, and the like fashions of speaking, intimate that the sub- stance is supposed always something besides the ex- tension, figure, solidity, motion, thinking, or other obserA^able ideas, though we know not what it is. 4. No clear idea of Substance in general. — Hence, when we talk or think of any particular sort of cor- poreal substances, as horse, stone, etc., though the idea we have of either of them be but the complica- tion or collection of those several simple ideas of sensible qualities, which we used to find united in the thing called horse or stone ; yet, because we can- 292 Readings in Philosophy not conceive how they should subsist alone, nor one in another, we suppose them existing in and sup- ported by some common subject; which support we denote by the name substance, though it be certain we have no clear or distinct idea of that thing we suppose a support. C. The Interrelation of Brain and Mind. This has seemed to many thinkers one of the most forcible arguments of materialism. Buechner's work was very widely read during the latter part of the nineteenth century : That^ the brain — that soft organ which fills the interior of the cranium, and which, next to the liver, is of all the organs of the human body the densest and therefore comparatively the richest in blood-supply — is the organ of thought, volition and sensation, and that the latter cannot be conceived without the former, is a truth about which hardly any physician or physiologist can be in doubt. Science, daily experience, and a number of the most telling facts, of necessity force this upon their conviction. Therefore, in sketching the subjoined outline of facts, we are less actuated by the desire of imparting something new to them, than a desire to give some clearer notions of the subject to the gen- eral public, which often finds insoluble problems in the simplest and clearest truths of natural research. It is strange that in this matter people have at all ' Buechner, L., Force and Matter, pages 209-216; fourth English edition, 1913; reprinted by permission of the Peter Eckler Co., New York. Materialism - 293 times stubbornly refused to acknowledge the irre- sistible power of facts ; but this is easily accounted for, and considerations of a certain amour-propre and egotism are decidedly at the bottom of it. The brain is the seat and organ of thought; its size, its shape, its development, the manner or grade of its composition and formation, and the arrange- ment of its individual parts, stand in a definite rela- tion to the quality and quantity of the psychical and intellectual performances thereof. The important science of comparative anatomy is here of the greatest value, showing, as it does, how, through the animal kingdom, from the lowest up to the high- est animal and to man himself, there exists a definite and gradually progressing proportion between the qualitative and quantitative condition of the brain. Man who, by virtue of his intellectual faculties, is admitted to be far above the collective animal world, has also — apart from a few exceptions which shall be more closely examined by and by — the largest brain, absolutely and relatively, among all living beings. Although the bulk of brain possessed by a few animals, known as the largest now in existence, such as the whale, the elephant and the large species of dolphins, surpasses the brain of man, this ap- parent exception really arises from the greater size of those parts which do not represent either intel- ligence or capacity for thought, but serve the nervous system of the body as centers of movement and sensation, as well as of unknown nervous action, and have necessarily a greater development of mass on account of the greater number and thickness of the nervous fibres in connection with them; whilst 20 294 Readings in Philosophy the parts of the brain concerned with the function of thought are in no animal equal in size, form, and relative composition to what they are in man. There- fore, quite another result follows when the relative weight of the brain, i. e., its weight in relation to that of the body, is taken into consideration. In this respect also man (with a few insignificant ex- ceptions) surpasses the whole animal world, and so much is this the case that, whilst in man the weight of the brain amounts to from one-fiftieth to one- thirty-fifth part of the weight of the body, in the dolphin it amounts only to the hundredth part, in the elephant to the five-hundredth, and in the whale to the three-thousandth, part of the aggregate weight of their respective bodies. If this relative propor- tion is calculated upon the mass of the body, then (according to Leuret) the average weight of brain to each ten thousand parts of body-substance is : in fishes, 1:8; in reptiles, 7:6; iii birds, 42:2; in mam- mals, 53 :8 ; in man, 277 :8. These figures sufficiently show the enormous gradual increase of the mass of brain in the vertebrate sub-kingdom, corresponding to the rise in the intellectual scale. Even among the articulata — whose highest divisions in perfection of organization and intellectual endowment are far above the lowest divisions of the vertebrata though the latter stand above them as a whole — the bees and ants, as also their nearest relations, whose ex- traordinary and almost miraculous intellectual capacity has become proverbial, are distinguished by a brain highly developed in shape and composi- tion, and very large in proportion to the size of their bodies. Materialism 295 However, the intellectual value of the brain, both among men and animals, must not be computed ex- clusively by its size, that is by its size as a whole, which is a very imperfect standard of its intellectual capacity, but also and very much more so by the proportions of its shape and composition. "Not the quantity only, but also the quality of the nervous tissues," says Valentin {Textbook of Physiology) "and the consequent amount of energy, and of the reciprocal action of the individual elements, forms the measure of the proportionate value of intel- lectual activity." In this respect also comparative anatomy and physiology have shown that man stands higher than all other creatures; for instance, in man the hemi- spheres of the cerebrum, the external layer of which — the gray matter — is to be regarded as the pecu- liar seat of intellectual activity, are far more highly developed than in any other animal in comparison with the cerebellum. When the brain is looked at from above, they completely cover the cerebellum, while this is not the case with the brain of any brute. Closely connected with this development of the cere- bral hemispheres is the greater development of the famous convolutions of the brain, which cover the external surface, disposed in a regular system of winding, interceding furrows, and which have no other use than that of giving the greatest possible extension and anatomical complexity of arrange- ment to the gray matter of the brain ; this substance covering the whole surface to the depth of several lines, and the fundamental elements of the nervous system, fibres and cells (ganglionic or nervous cen- 296 Readings in Philosophy tres), being so arranged in it as to afford the greatest possible number of material points of con- tact between them. This is all the more necessary since it is the function of the fibres to convey to the brain impressions from without and from the body itself, while the ganglionic or nerve cells, having received these imiJressions, work upon them, and with the aid of the efferent and the intercommuni- cating fibres transmute them into reflective or voli- tional impulses. The fibrous tissue of the brain is dead white in color, whilst, wherever nerve-cells or ganglionic masses are found with them, the brain substance is of gray-rose color, partly because of the cells and partly from its greater vascularity; hence the distinction between the gray and the white matter of the brain. This gray matter has also been termed the brain-mantle, partly because it covers the brain like a mantle, and partly because of its peculiar disposition in folds. This arrangement in- creases the mass or extension of the gray matter, which covers all the folds of the windings to the before-mentioned depth, thus obtaining more than twelve times the superficial extent, without increas- ing the size of the head or the arch of the skull to an unnatural or excessive proportion. This brain-mantle, as we have said, is without any doubt whatever the portion of the brain to which are entrusted the higher mental or intellectual func- tions, such as thought, imagination, consciousness, sensp,tion and volition; while the underlying white or fibrous tissue only serves as an organ of conduc- tion, and the islands of gray matter in the interior of the cerebrum serve as centres for the nervous Materialism 297 action of the brain, in its capacity of superintendent of the whole nervous system. If the human brain, as shown in the foregoing, surpasses all animal brains in absolute or relative* development of mass, except in the few above-men- tioned instances, it is still more above them in the internal arrangement of its individual parts, espe- cially in the development and arrangement of the gray substance and of the convolutions, which in exteiit, depth, number, multiformity and asym- metry or irregularity of disposition are approached by no animal brain; perhaps a few exceptions to this should be made in favor of the brain of the large anthropoid apes, though these again labor under other and important defects. The lower we descend in the animal scale, the more rapidly do the num- bers of convolutions decrease. Thus, the brain- surface of fishes and amphibians is quite, and that of birds almost smooth and without convolutions. The lowest orders of mammalia have also smooth brains, or show but the merest trace of convolutions ; and it is only in apes, elephants, dolphins, dogs, carnivora and ruminants that they obtain a larger development. Oil the other hand, the brain of bees and ants is very rich in convolutions. The same differences that exist between human and animal brains are also to be noticed in compar- ing individual human brains with each other, both in regard to the convolutions and the increase of surface obtained thereby; it is easy to prove by countless examples that intellectual endowment or capacity for achievement is like a mathematical function of the development of the convolutions. 298 Readings in Philosophy and of the gray matter of the brain. This is true not only of individual races and nations, but equally of individual specimens of mankind. The subject has been treated in a remarkable work by that pains- taking scientist, Dr. Hermann Wagner, from which it clearly appears that the superficial extent of the b7-ain increases with the intellectual power. Thus, Wagner found the aggregate area of the brain of an orang-outang he measured, to amount only to a fourth of that of the average human brain, while in the case of a manual laborer the surface of the brain was some fifty square inches less than in the case of two scientists. The convolutions of the brain of Beethoven, the great musician, were, according to Dr. J. Wagner's report, "twice as deep and nu- merous as usual." On the other hand, Longet shows that in the brains of idiots, or creatures who are born imbeciles the convolutions are less deep and the gray matter is less thick. than in normal brains. A child, also, despite the large size of his brain in comparison with that of his body, has but very im- perfect convolutions, and only develops these after attaining a certain age. Prior to the ninth month of pregnancy the convolutions are not even visible; until then the human foetus has a smooth brain, like that of the lower vertebrates. We should, however, fall into a serious error if we rated the intellectual -value of a brain only by the conditions above-mentioned, by its size and thje number of its convolutions; much more depends on the details of its internal structure and its chemical composition, so that if an individual brain be defi- cient in one direction, the defect may be compen- Materialism 299 sated by advantages in other directions. Especially does it appear averred from the unanimous state- ments of brain-anatomists, that the physical density or firmness of the mass of the brain is beyond doubt of very great importance, so that the brain of an intelligent and clever person is denser and firmer than that of a stupid and weak-minded one. So also is the brain of higher races, which have ad- vanced in culture, proportionately more dense, firm and compact than that of lower or savage ones. It is well known that the brain of the child in com- parison to that of the adult is remarkable for its softness and want of density, owing to the greater percentage of water it contains. The microscopic peculiarities of the brain, the commencement of very indistinct fibres, the difference between gray and white matter, the large blood-supply, the furrows, etc., only become recognizable in the course of time and in proportion as the intellectual power increases. Conversely, as the brain grows older and the in- tellectual power declines, the gray substance ab- sorbs more water and the brain returns to a con- dition similar to that of childhood. In doing so, the brain of old people subsides as a rule into a state of atrophy and shriveling up ; gaps are formed between the convolutions which formerly were close together, and these gaps become filled with water; the substance of the brain itself becomes more tenacious, the color deeper gray, the blood-supply less, and the convolutions become smaller. The weight of the brain, having rapidly increased up to the twenty-fifth year of life, and having reached its maximum volume between the age of forty and 300 Readings in Philosophy fifty, now begins to fall off. Everybody knows that in keeping with what we have said, reason comes with years, and also departs with years. "The greatest thinker of his age," says Tuttle, "may in one hour's illness lose all his intelligence; in advanced age he enters a second childhood, as helpless and simple as the first. With the decay of the body decays also the reason, and with the last breath it expires, the same as a lamp does with- out oil, flickering feebly." This is exactly the re- verse of what would happen if, as so many think, the spirit were a thing independent of the body, and the spiritual powers increased in proportion as the body drew nearer to its dissolution. From what has already been said it may readily be inferred that the proportionate thickness of the gray matter is of the highest importance in con- nection with intellectual capacity, and this thickness varies very much among animals and men. Thus, Dr. J. Jessen perceived to his great surprise that the brain of a female idiot, called Nasmer, twenty- three years old, showed numerous well-developed convolutions on the surface, but he soon found the solution of the difficulty when, on dissecting the brain, he saw that the gray matter had become atrophied, apparently from disease contracted in early childhood, and consequently had become very thin and narrow. Jessen's researches also prove that a deficiency of superficial development of gray matter, brought about by the smallness of the cranium, may be made up for by a greater develop- ment in thickness. This in itself explains — apart from many other compensating agencies — how it Materiatism SOI is that a comparatively small brain may exceed in mental power a comparatively larger one, just as a small nose may exceed a large one in olfactory power. This also seems to explain, at least partially, the capacity for intellectual performances of some animals, such as dogs and others, which are pos- sessed of comparatively small and otherwise less perfectly developed brains. CHAPTER XVII THE THILOSOPHY OF KANT A. The Problem of the Critique of Pure Reason This^ may well be called the age of criticism, a criticism from which nothing need hope to escape. When religion seeks to shelter itself behind its sanctity, and law behind its majesty, they justly awaken suspicion against themselves, and lose all claim to the sincere respect which reason yields only to that which has been able to bear the test of its free and open scrutiny. Metaphysic has been the battlefield of endless conflicts. Dogmatism at first held despotic sway; but . . . from time to time scepticism destroyed all settled order of society; . . . and now a widespread indifferentism prevails. Never has metaphysic been so fortunate as to strike into the sure path of science, but has kept groping about, and groping, too, among mere ideas. What can be the reason of this failure ? Is a science of meta- physic impossible? Then, why should nature dis- quiet us with a restless longing after it, as if it were one of our most important concerns? Nay ' The Philosophy of Kant, as Contained in Extracts from his own Writings, selected and translated by John Watson, pages 1-7; Maclehose, Jackson and Co., 1919; reprinted by permission of the publishers. (302) The Philosophy of Kant 303 more, how can we put any faith in human reason, if in one of the very things that we most desire to know, it not merely forsakes us, but lures us on by false hopes only to cheat us in the end ? Or are there any indications that the true path has hitherto been missed, and that by starting afresh we may yet suc- ceed where others have failed? It seems to me that the intellectual revolution, by which at a bound mathematics and physics became what they now are, is so remarkable, that we are called upon to ask what was the essential feature of the change that proved so advantageous to them, and to try at least to apply to metaphysic as far as possible a method that has been successful in other sciences of reason. In mathematics I believe that, after a long period of groping, the true path was disclosed in the happy inspiration of a single man. If that man was Thales, things must suddenly have appeared to him in a new light, the moment he saw how the properties of the isosceles -triangle could be demonstrated. The true method, as he found, was not to inspect the visible figure of the triangle, or to analyze the bare conception of it, and from this, as it were, to read off its properties, but to bring out what was necessarily implied in the con- ception that he had himself formed a priori, and put into the figure, in the construction by which he presented it to himself. Physics took a much longer time than mathe- matics to enter on the highway of science, but here, too, a sudden revolution in the way of looking at things took place. When Galileo caused balls which he had carefully weighed to roll down an inclined 304 Readings in Philosophy plane, or Torricelli made the air bear up a weight which he knew beforehand to be equal to a standard column of water, a new light broke on the mind of the scientific discoverer. It was seen that reason has insight only into that which it produces after a plan of its own, and that it must itself lead the way with principles of judgment based upon fixed laws, and force nature to answer its questions. Even ex- perimental physics, therefore, owes the beneficial revolution in its point of view entirely to the idea, that, while reason can know nothing purely of itself, yet that which it has itself put into nature must be its guide to the discovery of all that it can learn from nature. In metaphysical speculations it has always been assumed that all our knowledge must conform to ob- jects; but. every attempt from this point of view to extend our knowledge of objects a priori by means of conceptions has ended in failure. The time has nowjcome to ask, whether better progress may not be made by supposing that objects must conform to our knowlege. Plainly this would better agree with the avowed aim of metaphysic, to de- termine the nature of objects a priori, or before they are actually presented. Our suggestion is simi- lar to that of Copernicus in astronomy, who, find- ing it impossible to explain the movements of the heavenly bodies on the supposition that they turned round the spectator, tried whether he might not succeed better by supposing the spectator to revolve and the stars to remain at rest. Let us make a similar experiment in metaphysic with perception. If it were really necessary for our perception to The Philosophy of Kant ,305 conform to the nature of objects, I do not see how we could know anything of it a priori; but if the sensible object must conform to the constitution of our faculty of perception, I see no difficulty in the matter. Perception, however, can become knowl- edge only if it is related in some way to the object which it determines. Now here again I may sup- pose, either that the conceptions through which I effect that determination conform to the objects, or that the objects, in other words the experience in which alone the objects are known, conform to con- ceptions. In the former case, I fall into the same perplexity as before, and fail to explain how such conceptions can be known a priori. In the latter case, the outlook is more hopeful. For, experience is itself a mode of knowledge which implies intel- ligence, and intelligence has a rule of its own, which must be an a priori condition of all knowledge of objects presented to it. To this rule, as expressed in a prion conceptions, all objects of experience must necessarily conform, and with it they must agree. Our experiment succeeds as well as we could wish, and gives promise that metaphysic may enter upon the sure course of a science, at least in its first part, where it is occupied with those a priori conceptions to which the corresponding objects can be given. The new point of view enables us to explain how there can be a priori knowledge, and what is more, to furnish satisfactory proofs of the laws that lie at the basis of nature as a totality of objects of ex- perience. But the consequences that flow from this 306 Readings in Philosophy deduction of our faculty of a priori knowledge, which constitutes the first part of our inquiry, are unexpected, and at first sight seem to be fatal to the aims of metaphysic, with which we have to deal in the second part of it. For we are brought to the conclusion that we never can transcend the limits of possible experience, and therefore never can realize the object with which metaphysic is pri- marily concerned. In truth, however, no better in- direct proof could be given that we were correct in holding, as the result of our first estimate of the a priori knowledge of reason, that such knowledge relates not at all to the thing as it exists in itself, but only to phenomena. For that which necessarily forces us to go beyond the limits of experience and of all phenomena is the unconditioned, which reason demands of things in themselves, and by right and necessity seeks in the complete series of conditions for everything conditioned. If, then, we find that we cannot think the unconditioned without contra- diction, on the supposition of our experience con- forming to objects as things in themselves; while, on the contrary, the contradiction disappears, on the supposition that our knowledge does not conform to things in themselves, but that objects as they are given to us as phenomena conform to our knowl- edge; we are entitled to conclude that what we at first assumed as an hypothesis is now established as a truth. It may seem from this that the result of our criti- cal investigation is purely negative, and merely warns us not to venture with speculative reason be- yond the limits of experience. And no doubt this The Philosophy of Kant 307 is its first use; but a positive result is obtained when it is seen that the principles with which speculative reason ventures beyond its proper limits, in reality do not extend the province of reason, but inevitably narrow it. For in seeking to go altogether beyond its true limits, the limits of sensibility, those prin- ciples threaten to supplant pure reason in its prac- tical aspect. Let us suppose that the necessary distinction which our criticism shows to exist be- tween things as objects of experience and the same things as they are in themselves, had not been made. Then the principle of causality, and with it the mechanical conception of nature as determined by it, would apply to all things in general as efficient causes. Hence I could not, without palpable con- tradiction, say of the same being, for instance the human soul, that its will is free, and yet is subject to the necessity of nature, that is, is not free. But, if our criticism is sound and the object may be taken in two distinct senses, on the one hand as a phenom- enon, and on the other hand as a thing in itself; there is no contradiction in supposing that the very same will, in its visible acts as a phenomenon, is not free, but necessarily subject to the law of na- ture, while yet, as belonging to a thing in itself, it is not subject to that law, but is free. Now, morality requires us only to be able to think freedom without self-contradiction, not to understand it; it is enough that our conception of the act as free puts no ob- stacle in the way of the conception of it as mechani- cally necessary, for the act stands in quite a dif- ferent relation to freedom from that in which it stands to the mechanism of nature. From the criti- SOS Readings in Philosophy cal point of view, therefore, the doctrine of morality and' the doctrine of nature may each be true in its own sphere; which could never have been shown had not criticism previously established our un- avoidable ignorance of things in themselves, and limited all that we can know to mere phenomena. I have, therefore, found it necessary to deny knowl- edge of God, freedom, and immortality, in order to find a place for faith. It is dogmatism, or the preconception that prog- ress in metaphysic may be made without a previous criticism of pure reason, that is responsible for that dogmatic unbelief- which is so hostile to morality. The first and most important task of philosophy is to deprive metaphysic once for all of its pernicious influence by closing up the sources of its errors. Our critique is not opposed to the dogmatic proce- dure of reason as a science of pure knowledge, which must be strictly proved a priori from well-founded principles, but only to dogmatism, that is, to the presumption that we may follow the time-honoured method of constructing a system of pure metaphysic out of principles that rest upon mere conceptions, without first asking in what way reason has come into possession of them, and by what right it em- ploys them. Dogmatism, in a word, is the dogmatic procedure of reason tvithout any previous criticism of its own powers. The critique of pure reason is not a criticism of books and systems, but of the faculty of reason in general, in so far as reason seeks for knowledge that is independent of all experience. I have evaded none of its questions, on the plea of the imbecility The Philosophy of Kant 309 of human reason. In fact, reason is so perfect a unity that, if it were in principle inadequate to the solution of even a single one of the questions which by its very nature it raises, we might at once with perfect certainty set it aside as incapable of an- swering any of the others. Fqr as it is a true or- ganic unity, in which the whole exists* for the sake of each of the parts, and each part for the sake of the whole, the slightest imperfection, whether it is due to a flaw or to a defect, will inevitably betray itself in use. B. The Result op the Transcendental Ana- lytic. We^ have seen that, whatever understanding pro- duces from itself, it holds in trust solely in the in- terest of experience. The principles of pure under- standing, whether as mathematical they are a priori constitutive principles, or as dynamical merely regu- lative principles, contain nothing but what may be called the pure schema for a posisible experience. For experience derives its unity entirely from the synthetic unity which understanding imparts, origi- nally and spontaneously, to the synthesis of imagi- nation in relation to apperception ; and phenomena, as the data for a possible knowledge, must therefore stand a priori in relation to that synthetic unity and in harmony with it. Now the proposition that understanding can never make a transcendental use, but only an empirical use, of any of its a priori principles, is seen to have ^ Ibid., pages 129-134. 21 310 Readings in Philosophy very important consequences, so soon as it is thor- oughly understood. A conception is employed transcendentally when it occurs in a proposition regarding things as such or in themselves; it is employed empirically when the proposition relates merely to phenomena, or objects of a possible expe- rience. Only the empirical use is admissible. Every conception requires, firstly, the logical form of conception or thought, and, secondly, the possibility of an object being empirically given to which it may be applied. Where no such object can be given, the conception is empty and meaningless,, containing nothing but the logical function which is necessary in order to form a conception out of any data that may be given. Now, the only way in which an object can be presented is in perception. And this perception must be empirical; for, although pure perception is possible a priori before the presenta- tion of an object, yet, as it is a mere form, it can by itself have no object to which it may apply, and therefore it can have no objective value ascribed to it. Hence all conceptions, and with them all prin- ciples, even when they are possible a priori, are none the less relative to empirical perceptions as the data for a possible experience. Apart from this relation they have no objective validity, but are a mere play of imagination or of understanding. That this limitation applies to all the categories, and to all the principles derived from them, is evi- dent, if only from this, that we cannot give a real definition of even a single one of them, or in other words, make the possibility of their object intel- ligible, without directly referring to the conditions The Philosophy of Kant 311 of sensibility, and therefore to the form of phenom- ena. The categories are thus necessarily limited to phenomena as their sole object, and, if this limita- tion is taken away, all meaning or objective relation vanishes from them, and no possible instance of an object can be adduced to make the conception comprehensible. There is therefore no way of avoiding the conclu- sion that the pure conceptions of understanding can never be employed transcendentally, but only em- pirically, and that the principles of pure under- standing can apply only to objects of sense, as con- forming to the universal conditions of a possible experience, and never to things as such, or apart from the manner in which we are capable of per- ceiving them. The Transcendental Analytic has brought us to this important conclusion, that understanding can never do more than supply by anticipation the form for a possible experience; and, as nothing but a phenomenon can be an object of experience, it has taught us that understanding cannot possibly trans- cend the limits of sensibility, beyond which no ob- jects are presented to us. The principles of pure understanding are merely exponents of phenomena, and for the proud name of Ontology, as a science that claims to supply in a systematic doctrine a priori synthetic knowledge of things as such, must be substituted the more modest claims of an Analy- tic of Pure Understanding. If from empirical knowledge is taken away all that thought contributes in its categories, there is no longer any knowledge of an object. By mere per- 312 Readings in Philosophy ception nothing whatever is thought, and the mere fact that I am conscious of an affection of my sensi- bility does not entitle me to say that I am conscious of my affeetion as related to any object. On the other hand, even if all perception is taken away, there still remains the form of thought, or the man- ner in which the various elements of a possible per- ception are capable of being combined in relation to an object. The categories have therefore in this sense a wider reach than perceptions of sense, that they think objects in general, without looking to the particular manner in which they may be presented. But although they are so far independent of sensi- bility, they do not determine a larger sphere of ob- jects; fdr we are not entitled to say that non-sensu- ous objects can be presented, unless we can show that a sort of perception is possible that is not sensu- ous. Now this we cannot possibly do. A conception which cannot be known in any way to have objective reality may be called problematic, if it is not self-contradictory, and if it is bound up with the knowledge gained through certain concep- tions the range of which it serves to limit. Now the conception of a noumenon, that is, of a thing that cannot be an obj'ect of sense, but is thought, by pure understanding alone, as a thing in itself, is certainly not self-contradictory ; for we cannot know with certainty that sensibility is the only possible mode of perception. Moreover, the conception of a noumenon is necessary to prevent sensuous percep- tion, from claiming to extend to things in themselves, and to set a limit to the objective validity of sensuous knowledge. In the end, however, we are unable to The Philosophy of Kant 313 understand how such noumena are possible at all, and the realm beyond the sphere of phenomena is for us empty. We have indeed an understanding that problematically stretches beyond the sphere of phenomena, but we have no perception in which ob- jects beyond the field of sensibility can be presented, nor can we conceive how such a perception is even possible. Hence understanding cannot be employed assertorically beyond the world of phenomena. The conception of a noumenon is, therefore, merely the conception of a limit, a conception which is only of negative use, and but serves to check the presump- tion of sensibility. But although it is unable to establish anything positive beyond the sphere of phenomena, the idea of a noumenon is not a mere arbitrary fiction, but is connected in the closest way with the limitation of the sensibility to phenomena. The positive division of objects into phenomena and noumena, and of the world into a sensible and intelligible world, is therefore quite inadmissible. Certainly, the distinction of conceptioms as sensuous and intellectual is legitimate. But, as intellectual conceptions do not determine any object for them- selves, they can have no objective validity. If ab- straction is made from sense, how shall it be made intelligible, that the categories, which are then the only means of determining noumena, have any mean- ing whatever? The mere unity of thought is not the same thing as the determination of an object; for knowledge also requires that the object to which that unity can be applied, should be capable of being presented in a perception. At tlbe same time, if the conception of a noumenon is interpreted in a prob- 314 Readings in Philosophy lematic sense, it is not only admissible but indis- pensable, serving as it does to define the limits of sensibility. In that sense, however, a noumenon is not a special kind of object for our understanding, namely, an intelligible object; on the contrary it is problematic whether there is any understanding that could have such an object actually before it. Such an understanding would not know its object discursively by means of categories, but intuitively in a non-sensuous perception; and how this is pos- sible we cannot form even the faintest conception. Still, in the conception of a noumenon our under- standing gets a sort of negative extension; for in calling things in themselves noumena, and viewing them as not objects of sense it rather limits the sensibility than is limited by sensibility. At the same time, understanding cannot limit sensibility without also setting limits to itself, for it has in- stantly to add,, that things in themselves cannot be known by means of categories, and all that remains is to think them under a name that indicates some- thing unknown. There are, therefore, no principles through which the conception of pure, merely intelligible objects could ever be applied, for we cannot imagine any way in which such objects could be presented to us. The problematic thought, which leaves a place open for intelligible objects, serves only, as a sort of empty space, to limit the empirical principles, with- out containing within it or indicating any object of knowledge that lies outside the sphere of those principles. The Philosophy of Kant 315 C. The Postulates op Practical EeasoJj. 8. Theorem 4. Autonomy of will is the sole principle of all moral laws, and of the duties which are in conformity with them. Heteronomy of will, on the other hand, not only supplies no basis for obligation, but it is con- tradictory of the principle of obligation and of the morality of the will. The single principle of moral- ity thus consists in independence of all matter of the law, that is, of every object of desire, and in the determination of the will through the mere universal form of law, of which a maxim must be capable. This independence of all matter is freedom in the negative sense, just as the self-legislation of pure practical reason is freedom in the positive sense. Hence the moral law simply expresses the autonomy of pure practical reason, that is, of freedom. Auton- omy is therefore the formal condition of all maxims, and apart from this condition there can be no harmony of the will with the supreme practical law. If the matter of volition, which is just the object of desire as connected with the law, should enter into the practical law as the condition of its possibility, there will be a heteronomy of the will; for the wiU must then follow some natural impulse or desire, and must therefore be dependent upon the law of nature. Plainly the will in that case does not give law to itself, but merely prescribes the rational course to be taken in following certain pathological laws. Our maxims cannot contain in ^Ibid., pages 270-1. 316 Readings in Philosophy themselves the form of universal law, and therefore they not only cannot be the basis of obligation, but they contradict the principle of a pure practical reason. Even, therefore, if the action which pro- ceeds from them should be in harmony with moral law, they are opposed to a truly moral disposition. The Immortality of the Soul The^ object of a will that is capable of being deter- mined by the moral law, is the production in the world of the highest good. Now, the supreme "Con- dition of the highest good is the perfect harmony of the disposition with the moral law. Such a har- mony must be possible, not less than the object of the will, for it is implied in the command to promote that object. Perfect harmony of the will with the moral law is holiness, a perfection of which no ra- tional being existing in the world of sense is capable at any moment of his life. Yet holiness is demanded as practically necessary, and it can be found only'in an infinite progress towards perfect harmony with the moral law. Pure practical reason therefore forces us to assume such a practical progress to- wards perfection as the real object of our will. Now, this infinite progress is possible only if we presuppose that the existence of a rational being is prolonged to infinity, and that he retains his per- sonality for all time. This is what we mean by the immortality of the soul. The highest good is there- fore practically possible, only if we presuppose the immortality of the soul. Thus immortality is in- ^Ibid., pages 294-300. The Philosophy of Kant 317 separably bound up with the moral law. It is a postulate of pure practical reason, that is, a propo- sition that cannot be proved theoretically, but de- pends upon an a priori practical law of uncondi- tioned validity. A finite rational being is capable only of an in- finite progress from lower to higher stages, of moral perfection. The Infinite Being, who is free from the limits of time, sees in this series, which for us has no end, a whole that is in harmony with the moral law. Holiness He demands inexorably as a duty in order to assign to everyone his exact share in the highest good ; and this holiness lies completely before Him in a single intellectual perception of rational beings. Created beings can 'hope to share in the highest good only in so far as they are con- scious of having stood the test of the moral law. If in the past they have advanced from lower to higher degrees of morality, and have thus proved the strength of their resolution, they may hope to make unbroken progress in the future as long as they live here, and even beyond the present life. They can never hope in this life, or, indeed, at any imaginable point of time in the future life, to be in perfect harmony with the will of God, but they may hope for thiis harmony in the infinite duration of their existence as it is surveyed by God alone. The Existence of God The moral law leads us to postulate not only the immortality of the soul, but the existence of God. For. it shows us how happiness in proportion to 318 Readings in Philosophy morality, which is the second element of the high- est good, is possible, and to postulate it for reasons as perfectly disinterested as in the former case. This second postulate of the existence of God rests upon the necessity of presupposing the existence of a cause adequate to the effect which has to be ex- plained. Happiness is the state of a rational being existing in the world who experiences through the whole of his life whatever he desires and wills. It, therefore, presupposes that nature is in harmony with his whole end, as well as with the essential principles by which his will is determined. Now, the moral law, being a law of free beings, commands us to act from motives that are entirely independent of na- tuKe and of the harmony of nature with our desires. But a rational agent in the world is not the cause of the world and of nature itself. There is no reason whatever, in the case of a being who is a part of the world and is dependent upon it, why the moral law should imply a necessary connection between happiness and morality proportionate to happiness. For the will of such a being is not the cause of na- ture, and therefore he has no power to bring nature into complete harmony with his principles of action. At the same time, in the practical problem of pure reason, that is, in the necessary pursuit of the high- est good, such a connection is postulated as neces- sary. He ought to seek to promote the highest good, and therefore the highest good must be pos- sible. He must therefore postulate the existence of a cause of nature as a whole, which is distinct from nature, and which is able to connect happiness and The Philosophy of Kant 319 morality in exact harmony with each other. Now, this supreme cause must be the ground of the har- mony of nature, not simply with a law of the will of a rational being, but also with the consciousness of this law insofar as it is made the supreme prin- ciple of the agent's will. That cause must therefore be in harmony not merely with the form of morality, but with morality as willed by a rational being, that is, with his moral character. The highest good is thus capable of being realized in the world, only if there exists a supreme cause of nature whose caus- ality is in harmony with the moral character of the agent. Now, a being that is capable of acting from the consciousness .of law is a rational being, an in- telligence, and the causality of that being, proceed- ing as it does from the consciousness of law, is a will. There is therefore implied, in the idea of the highest good, a being who is the supreme cause of nature, and who is the cause or author of nature through his intelligence and will, that is, God. If, therefore, we are entitled to postulate the highest derivative good, or the best world, we must also postulate the actual existence of the highest original good, that is, the existence of God. Now, it is our duty to promote the highest good, and hence it is not only allowable, but it is necessarily bound up with the very idea of duty, that we should presuppose the possibility of this highest good. And^s this pos- sibility can be established only under condition that God exists, the presupposition of the highest good is inseparably connected with duty, or, in other words, it is morally necessary to hold the existence of God. S20 Readings in Philosophy The Postulates of Pure Practical Reason, The postulates of pure practical reason are not theoretical dogmas, but presuppositions which are practically necessary. They do not enlarge our speculative knowledge, but give objective reality to the ideas of speculative reason in general, and jus- tify it in the use of conceptions which it could not otherwise venture to regard as even possible. These postulates are immortality, freedom (in the positive sense, as the causality of a being who be- longs to the intelligible world), and the existence of God. The first rests upon the practically necessary condition, that existence should continue long enough to permit of the complete realization of the moral law. The second arises from the necessary presupposition of man's independence of the world of sense, and his capability of determining his will in conformity with the law of an intelligible world, that is, the law of freedom. The third depends upon the necessity of presupposing a supreme, self-ex- istent good, that is, the existence of God, as the condition under which the highest good may be realized in such an intelligible world. Our reverence for the moral law necessarilji com- pels us to seek for the realization of the highest good, and hence the reality of the highest good must be presupposed. By means of the postulates of practical riftson, we are brought to conceptions, which speculative reason no doubt set up as prob- lems to be solved, but which it was itself unable to solve. The first conception is that of immortality. This conception involved speculative reason in para^ The Philosophy of Kant 321 logisms; for it could find no trace of the permanence required for the conversion of the psychological con- ception of an ultimate subject into the real con- sciousness of a substance. Practical reason sup- plies what is required, by the postulate of a dura- tion adequate to the complete realization of the moral' law in the highest good. It leads, secondly, to the cosmological idea of an intelligible world and the consciousness of our existence in that world. This idea involved speculative reason in an aiv- tinomy, for the solution of which it had to fall back upon a problematic conception, the objective reality of which it could not prove. But practical reason, by means of the postulate of freedom, shows that idea to have objective reality. Lastly, practical reason brings us to the conception of a Supreme Being. This conception speculative reason was able to think, but it could not show it to be more than a transcendental ideal. Practical reason, on the other hand, gives meaning to this idea, by showing that a Supreme Being is the supreme principle of the highest good in an intelligible world, and is endowed with the sovereign power of prescribing moral laws in that world. Is our knowledge, then, actually enlarged by prac- tical reason? Is that which for speculative reason is traTiscendent for practical reason immanent? Undoubtedly it is, but only in relation to action. Practical reason cannot give us a theoretical knowl- edge of our own soul, of the intelligible world, or of a Supreme Being, as these are in themselves. All that it can do is to unite the conception of them in 322 Readings in Philosophy the practical conception of the highest good, which is the object of our will, and to unite them entirely a priori through pure reason. This union is effected only through the medium of the moral law, and merely in relation to that which it commands with a view to the highest good. For we cannot under- stand how freedom is possible, or how a free cause would appear to us if it were theoretically and posi- tively known; all that we can say is, that a free cause is postulated by the moral law and for the sake of the moral law. The same remark applies to the other ideas. No human intelligence can ever understand how immortality and the existence of God are possible; but, on the other hand, no soph- istry will ever destroy the faith of even the most un- reflective man in their reality. CHAPTER XVIII SPIRITUALISM OR IDEALISM A. The Existence op the Material World. Berkeley's reasons for questioning the independ- ent existence of matter are summed up in the work from which the following selection is taken: 1. It^ is evident to any one who takes a survey of the objects of human knowledge, that they are either ideas actually imprinted on the senses ; or else such as are perceived by attending to the passions and operations of the mind ; or lastly, ideas formed by help of memory and imagination — either com- pounding, dividing, or barely representing those originally perceived in the aforesaid ways. By sight I have the ideas of light and colours, with their several degrees and variations. By touch I perceive hard and soft, heat and cold, motion and resistance, and of all these more and less either as to quantity or degree. Smelling furnishes me with odours ; the palate with tastes ; and hearing conveys sounds to the mind in all their variety of tone and composition. And as several of these are observed to accompany each other, they come to be marked by one name, and so to be reputed as one thing. Thus, for example, a certain colour, taste, smell, figure and consistence having being observed to go ' Berkeley, Principles of Human Knowledge, 2d edition, 1734. (323) 324 Readings in Philosophy together, are accounted one distinct thing, signified by the name apple; other collections of ideas consti- tute a stone, a tree, a book, and the like sensible things; which as they are pleasing or disagreeable excite the passions of love, hatred, joy, grief, and so forth. 2. But, besides all that endless variety of ideas or objects of knowledge, there is likewise something which knows or perceives them, and exercises divers operations, as willing, imagining, remembering, about them. This perceiving, active being is what I call mind, spirit, soul, or myself. By which words I do not denote any one of my ideas, but a thing entirely distinct from them, wherein they exist, or, which is the same thing, whereby they are perceived — for the existence of an idea consists in being per- ceived. 3. That neither our thoughts, nor passions, nor ideas formed by the imagination, exist without the mind, is what everybody will allow. And to me it is no less evident that the various sensations, or ideas imprinted on the sense, however blended or combined together (that is, whatever objects they compose), cannot exist otherwise than in a mind perceiving them. — I think an intuitive knowledge may be obtained of this by any one that shall attend to what is meant by the term exist, when applied to sensible things. The table I write on I say exists, that is, I see and feel it; and if I were out of my study I should say it existed — meaning thereby that if I was in my study I might perceive it, or that some other spirit actually does perceive it. There was an odour, that is, it was smelt; there was Spiritualism or Idealism 325 a sound, that is, it was heard; a colour or figure, and it was perceived by sight or touch. This is all that I can understand by these and the like expres- sions. For as to what is said of the absolute ex- istence of unthinking things without any relation to their being perceived, that is to me perfectly unin- telligible. Their esse is percipi, nor is it possible they should have any existence out of the minds or thinking things which perceive them. 4. It is indeed an opinion strangely prevailing amongst men, that houses, mountains, rivers, and in a word all sensible objects, have an existence, nat- ural or real, distinct from their being perceived by the understanding. But, with how great an assur- ance and acquiescence soever this principle may be entertained in the world, yet whoever shall find in his heart to call it in question may, if I mistake not, perceive it to involve a manifest contradiction. For, what are the fore-mentioned objects but the things we perceive by sense? and what, do we perceive be- sides our own ideas or sensations? and is it not plainly repugnant that any one of these, or any com- bination of them, should exist unperceived? 6. Some truths there are so near and dbvious to the mind that a man need only open his eyes to see them. Such I take this important one to be, viz., that all the choir of heaven and furniture of the earth, in a word all those bodies which compose the mighty frame of the world, have not any subsistence without a mind, that their being is to be perceived or known ; that consequently so long as they are not actually perceived by me, or do not exist in my mind or that of any other created spirit, they must either 22 326 Readings in Philosophy have no existence at all, or else subsist in the mind of some Eternal Spirit — it being perfectly unintel- ligible, and involving all the absurdity of abstrac- tion, to attribute to any single part of them an exist- ence independent of a spirit. To be convinced of which, the reader need only reflect, and try to sepa- rate in his own thoughts the being of a sensible thing from its being perceived. 7. From what has been said it is evident there is not any other Substance than Spirit, or that which perceives. But, for the fuller demonstration of this point, let it be considered the sensible qualities are colour, figure, motion, smell, taste, etc., i. e., the ideas perceived by sense. Now, for an idea to exist in an unperceiving thing is a manifest contradic- tion, for to have an idea is all one as to perceive; that therefore wherein colour, figure, etc., exist must perceive them; hence it is clear there can be no unthinking substance or substratum of those ideas. 8. But, say you, though the ideas themselves do not exist without the mind, yet there may be things like them, whereaf they are copies or resemblances, which things exist without the mind in an unthink- ing substance. I answer, an idea can be like nothing but an idea; a colour or figure can be like nothing but another colour or figure. If we look but never so little into our own thoughts, we shall find it impossible for us to conceive a likeness except only between our ideas. Again, I ask whether those supposed originals or' external things, of which our ideas are the pictures or representations, be them- selves perceivable or no ? If they are, then they are ideas and we have gained our point ; but if you say Sviritualism or Idealism 327 they are not, I appeal to any one whether it be sense to assert a colour is like something which is in- visible; hard or soft, like something which is in- tangible; and so of the rest. 9. Some there are who make a distinction be- twixt primary and secondary qualities. By the former they mean extension, figure, motion, rest, solidity or impenetrability, and number; by the lat- ter they denote all other sensible qualities, as col- ours, sounds, tastes, and so forth. The ideas we have of these they acknowledge not to be the re- semblances of anything existing without the mind, or unperceived, but they will have our ideas of the primary qualities to be patterns or images of things which exist without the mind, in an unthinking substance which they call Matter. By- Matter, therefore, we are to understand an inert, senseless substance, in which extension, figure, and motion do actually subsist. But it is evident, from what we have already shewn, that extension, figure, and mo- tion are only ideas existing in the mind, and that an idea can be like nothing but another idea, and that consequently neither they nor their archetypes can exist in an unperceiving substance. Hence, it is plain that the very notion of what is called Matter or corporeal substance, involves a contradiction in it. 10. They who assert that figure, motion, and the rest of the primary or original qualities do exist without the mind in unthinking substances, do at the same time acknowledge that colours, sounds, heat, cold, and such like secondary qualities, do not — which they tell us are sensations existing in the mind alone, that depend on and are occasioned by 328 Readings in Philosophy the different size, texture, and motion of the minute particles of matter. This they take for an un- doubted truth, which they can demonstrate beyond all exception. Now, if it be certain that those origi- nal qualities are inseparably united with the other sensible qualities, and not, even in thought, capable of being abstracted from them, it plainly follows that they exist only in the mind. But I desire any one to reflect and try whether he can, by any ab- straction of thought, conceive the extension and motion of a body without all other sensible qualities. For my own part, I see evidently that it is not in my power to frame an idea of a body extended and moving, but I must withal give it some colour or other sensible quality which is acknowledged to exist only in the mind. In short, extension, figure, and motion, abstracted from all other qualities, are in- conceivable. Where therefore the other sensible qualities are, there must these be also, to wit, in the mind and nowhere else. 11. Again, great and small, swift and sloiv, are allowed to exist nowhere without the mind, being entirely relative, and changing as the frame or posi- tion of the organs of sense varies. The extension therefore which exists without the mind is neither great nor small, the motion neither swift nor slow, that is, they are nothing at all. But, say you, they are extension in general, and motion in general : thus we see how much the tenet of extended movable substances existing without the mind depends on the strange doctrine of abstract ideas. And here I can- not but remark how nearly the vague and indeter- minate description of Matter or corporeal substance. Spiritualism or' Idealism 329 which the modern philosophers are run into by their own principles, resembles that antiquated and so much ridiculed notion of materia prima, to be met with in Aristotle and his followers. Without exten- sion solidity cannot be conceived ; since therefore it has been shewn that extension exists not in an un- thinking substance, the same must also be true of solidity. 12. That number is entirely the creature of the mind, even though the other qualities be allowed to exist without, will be evident to whoever considers that the same thing bears a different denomination of number as the mind views it with different re- spects. Thus, the same extension is one, or three, or thirty-six, according as the mind considers it with reference to a yard, a foot, or an inch. Number is so visibly relative, and dependent on men's under- standing, that it is strange to think how any one should give it an absolute existence without the mind. We say one book, one page, one line, etc.; all these are equally units, though some contain several of the others. And in each instance, it is plain, the unit relates to some particular combina- tion of ideas arbitrarily put together by the mind. 13. Unity I know some will have to be a simple or uncompounded idea, accompanying all other ideas into the mind. That I have any such idea answer- ing the word unity I do not find; and if I had, me- thinks I could not miss finding it : on the contrary, it should be the most familiar to my understanding, since it is said to accompany all other ideas, and to be perceived by all the ways of sensation and re- flexion. To say no more, it is an abstract idea. 330 Readings in Philosophy 14. I shall farther add, that, after the same manner as modern philosophers prove certain sen- sible qualities to have no existence in Matter, or without the mind, the same thing may be likewise proved of all other sensible qualities whatsoever. Thus, for instance, it is said that heat and cold are affections only of the mind, and not at all patterns of real beings, existing in the corporeal substances which excite them, for that the same body which appears cold to one hand seems warm to another. Now, why may we not as well argue that figure and extension are not patterns or resemblances of qual- ities existing in Matter, because to the same eye at different stations, or eyes of a different texture at the same station, they appear various, and cannot therefore be the images of anything settled and de- terminate without the mind? Again, it is proved that sweetness is not really in the sapid thing, be- cause the thing remaining unaltered the sweetness is changed into bitter, as in case of a fever or other- wise vitiated palate. Is it not as reasonable to say that motion is not without the mind, since if the succession of ideas in the mind become swifter, the motion, it is acknowledged, shall appear slower with- out any alteration in any external object? 15. In short, let any one consider those argu- ments which- are thought manifestly to prove that colours and taste exist only in the mind, and he shall find they may with equal force be brought to prove the same thing of extension, figure, and mo- tion. Though it must be confessed this method of arguing does not so much prove that there is no extension or colour in an outward object, as that SpiritiMlism or Idealism 331 we do not know by sense which is the true extension or colour of the object. But the arguments forego- ing plainly shew it to be impossible that any colour or extension at all, or other sensible quality whatso- ever, should exist in an unthinking subject without the mind, or in truth, that there should be any such thing as an outward object. B. The Monadology. The essential features of the theory of Leibniz are contained in the following from the Monadology: 1. The^ Monad, of which we shall here speak, is merely a simple substance entering into those which are compound ; simple, that is to say, without parts. 2. And there must be simple substances, since there are compounds; for the compound is only a collection or aggregate of simples. 3. Where there are no parts, neither extension, nor figure, nor divisibility is possible; and these Monads are the veritable Atoms of Nature — in one word, the Elements of things. 4. There is thus no danger of dissolution, and there is no conceivable way in which a simple sub- stance can perish naturally. 5. For the same reason, there is no way in which a simple substance can begin naturally, since it could not be formed by composition. 6. Therefore we may say that the Monads can neither begin nor end in any other way than all at once; that is to say, they cannot begin except by ' Leibniz, The Monadology; translated by F. H. Hedge, Journal of Speculative Philosophy, Vol. I, 1867. 332 Readings in Philosophy creation, nor end except by annihilation; whereas that which is compounded, begins and ends by parts. 7. There is also no intelligible way in which a Monad can be altered or changed in its interior by any other creature, since it would be impossible to transpose anything in it, or conceive in it any in- ternal movement — any movement excited, directed, augmented or diminished within, such as may take place in compound bodies, where there is change of parts. The Monads have no windows through which anything can enter or go forth. It would be im- possible for any accidents to detach themselves and go forth from the substances, as did formerly the Sensible Species of the Schoolmen. Accordingly, neither substance nor accident can enter a Monad from without. 8. Nevertheless Monads must have qualities — otherwise they would not even be entities; and if simple substances did not differ in their qualities, there would be no means by which we could. become aware of the changes of things, since all that is in compound bodies is derived from simple ingredients, and Monads, being without qualities, would be indis- tinguishable one from another, seeing also they do not differ in quantity. Consequently, a plenum be- ing supposed, each place could in any movement receive only the just equivalent of what it had had before, and one state of things would be indistin- guishable from another. 9. Moreover, each Monad must differ from every other, for there are never two beings in nature per- fectly alike, and in which it is impossible to find an Sviritualism or Idealism 333 internal difference, or one founded on some intrinsic denomination. 10. I take it for granted, furthermore, that every created being is subject to change — consequently the created Monad; and likewise that this change is continual in each. 11. It follows, from what we have now said, that the natural changes of Monads proceed from an in- ternal principle, since no external cause can influ- ence the interior. 12. But, besides the principle of change, there must also be a detail of changes, embracing, so to speak, the specification and the variety of the simple substances 13. This detail must involve multitude in unity or in simplicity; for as all natural changes proceed by degrees, something changes and something re- mains, and consequently there must be in the simple substance a plurality of affections and relations, although there are no parts. 14. This shifting state, which involves and rep- resents multitude in unity, or in the simple sub- stance, is nothing else than what we call Perception, which must be carefully distinguished from apper- ception, or consciousness, as will appear in the sequel. Here it is that the Cartesians have espe- cially failed, making no account of those perceptions of which we are not conscious. It is this that has led them to suppose that spirits are the only Monads, and that there are no souls of brutes or other Entel- echies. It is owing to this that they have vulgarly confounded protracted torpor with actual death, and have fallen in with the scholastic prejudice, which 334 Readings in Philosophy believes in souls entirely separate. Hence, also, ill- affected minds have been confirmed in the opinion that the soul is mortal. 15. The action of the internal principle which causes the change, or the passage from one percep- tion to another, may be called Appetition. It is true, the desire cannot always completely attain to every perception to which it tends, but it always attains to something thereof, and arrives at new percep- tions. 17. Besides, it must be confessed that Perception and its consequences are inexplicable by mechanical causes — that is to say, by figures and motions. If we imagine a machine so constructed as tO produce thought, sensation, perception, we may conceive it as magnified — the same proportions being pre- served — to such an extent that one might enter it like a mill. This being supposed, we should find in it on inspection only pieces which impel each other, but nothing which can explain a perception. It is in the simple substance, therefore — not in the com- pound, or in machinery — that we must look for that phenomenon; and in the simple substance we find nothing else — nothing, that is, but perceptions and their changes. Therein also, and therein only, consist all the internal actions of simple substances. 18. We might give the name of Entelechies to all simple substances or created Monads, inasmuch as there is in them a certain completeness (perfec- tion), (e'xouOT TO evTcAe's). There is a sufficiency (avTapKiia) which makes them the sources of their own internal actions, and, as it were, incorporeal automata. Sviritualism or Idealism 335 19. If we choose to give the name of soul to all that has perceptions and desires, in the general sense which I have just indicated, all simple substances or created Monads may be called souls. But as senti- ment is something more than simple perception, I am willing that the general name of Monads or Entel- echies shall suffice for those simple substances which have nothing but perceptions, and that the term souls shall be confined to those whose perceptions are more distinct, and accompanied by memory. 20. For we experience in ourselves a state in which we remember nothing, and have no distinct perception, as when we are in a swoon or in a pro- found and dreamless sleep. ' In this state the soul does not differ sensibly from a simple Monad; but since this state is not permanent, and since the soul delivers herself from it, she is something more. 21. And it does not by any means follow, in that case, that the simple substance is without percep- tion: that, indeed, is impossible, for the reasons given above ; for it cannot perish, neither can it sub- sist without affection of some kind, which is noth- ing else than its perception.. But where there is a great number of minute perceptions, and where nothing is distinct, one is stunned, as when we turn round and round in continual succession in the same direction ; whence arises a vertigo, which may cause us to faint, and which prevents us from distinguish- ing anything. And possibly death may produce this state for a time in animals. 22. And as every present condition of a simple substance is a natural consequence of its antecedent condition, so its present is big with its future. 336 Readings in Philosophy 23. Then, as on waking from a state of stupor, we become conscious of our perceptions, we must have had perceptions, although unconscious of them, immediately before awaking. For each perception can have no other natural origin but an antecedent perception, as every motion must be derived from one which preceded it. 24. Thus it appears, that if there were no dis- tinction — no relief, so to speak — no enhanced flavor in our perceptions, we should continue for- ever in a state of stupor; and this is the condition of the naked Monad. 25. And so we see that nature has given to ani- mals enhanced percep'tions, by the care which she has taken to furnish them with organs which collect many rays of light and many undulations of air, in- creasing their efficacy by their union. There is something approaching to this in odor, in taste, in touch, and perhaps in a multitude of other senses of- which we have no knowledge. I shall presently ex- plain how that which passes in the soul represents that which takes place in the organs. 26. Memory gives to the soul a kind of consecu- tive action which imitates reason, but must be dis- tinguished from it. We observe that animals, hav- ing a perception of something which strikes them, and of which they have previously had a similar per- ception, expect, through the representation of their memory, the recurrence of that which was associ- ated with it in their previous perception, and incline to the same feelings which they then had. For ex- ample, when we show dogs the cane, they remember the pain which it caused them, and whine and run, Spiritualism or Idealism 337 27. And the lively imagination, which strikes and excites them, arises from the magnitude or the mul- titude of their previous perceptions. For often a powerful impression produces suddenly the effect of long habit, or of moderate perceptions often re- peated. 28. In men as in brutes, the consecutiveness of their perceptions is due to the principle of memory — like empirics in medicine, who have only practice without theory. And we are mere empirics in three- fourths of our acts. For example, when we expect that the sun will rise to-morrow, we judge so em- pirically, because it has always risen hitherto. Only the astronomer judges by an act of reason. 29. But the cognition of necessary and eternal truths is that which distinguishes us from mere animals. It is this which gives us Reason and Science, and raises us to the knowledge of. ourselves and of God; and it is this in us which we call a reasonable soul or spirit. 30. It is also by the cognition of necessary truths, and by their abstractions, that we rise to acts of reflection, which give us the idea of that which calls itself "I," and which leads us to consider that this or that is in us. And thus, while thinking of our- selves, we think of Being, of substance, simple or cofnpound, of the immaterial, and of God himself. We conceive that that which in us is limited, is in him without limit. And these reflective acts fur- nish the principal objects of our reasonings. 38. And thus the final reason of things must be found in a necessary Substance, in which the detail 338 Readings in Philosophy of changes exists eminently as their source. And this is that which we call God. 39. Now this Substance being a sufficient reason of all this detail, which also is everywhere linked to- gether, there is but one God, and this God suffices. 40. We may also conclude that this supreme Sub- stance, which is Only, Universal, and Necessary — having nothing outside of it which is independent of it, and being a simple sequence of possible beings — must be incapable of limits, and must contain as much of reality as is possible. 41. Whence it follows that God is perfect, per- fection being nothing' but the magnitude of positive reality taken exactly, setting aside the limits or bounds in that which is limited. And there, where there are no bounds, that is to say, in God, perfec- tion is absolutely infinite. 42. It follows also that the creatures have their perfections from the influence of God, but they have their imperfections from their proper nature, in- capable of existing without bounds ; for it is by this that they are distinguished from God. 43. It is true, moreover, that God is not only the source of existences, but also of essences, so far as real, or of that which is real in the possible ; because the divine understanding is the region of eternal truths, or of the ideas on which they depend, and without Him there would be nothing real, in the pos- sibilities and not only nothing existing, but also nothing possible. 44. At the same time, if there be a reality in the essences or possibilities, or in the eternal truths, tljis reality must be founded in something existing Spiritualism or Idealism 339 and actual, consequently in the existence of the nec- essary Being, in whom essence includes existence, or with whom it is sufficient to be possible in order to be actual. 45. Thus God alone (or the necessary Being) possesses this privilege, that he must exist, if pos- sible; and since nothing can hinder the possibility of that which includes no bounds, no negation, and consequently no contradiction, that alone is suffi- cient to establish the existence of God a priori. We have likewise proved it by the reality of eternal truths. But we have also just proved it a posteriori by showing that, since contingent beings exist, they can have their ultimate and sufficient reason only in some necessary Being, who contains the reason of his existence in himself. C. Primacy of the Will in Philosophy. Ethical voluntaristic romanticism is given typical expression in the following from Fichte: This,^ then, is my whole sublime vocation, my true nature. I am a member of two orders : — the one purely spiritual, in which I rule by my "will alone; the other sensuous, in which I operate by my deed. The whole end of reason is pure activity, absolutely by itself alone, having no need of any instrument out of itself, — independence of everything which is not i-eason, — absolute freedom. The will is the living principle of reason, — is itself reason, when purely ^ Fichte, J. G., The Vocation of Man, from Sections III and IV, pages 350-361; translated by Wm. Smith, edition of 1873. 340 Readings in Philosophy and simply apprehended; that reason is active by itself alone, means, that pure will, merely as such, lives and rules. It is only the Infinite Reason that lives immediately and wholly in this purely spiritual order. The finite reason, — which does not of itself constitute the world of reason, but is only one of its members, — lives necessarily at the same time in a sensuous order ; that is to say, in one which presents to it another object, beyond a purely spiritual ac- tivity : — a material object, to be promoted by in- struments and powers which indeed stand under the immediate dominion of the will, but whose ac- tivity is also conditioned by their own natural laws. Yet as surely as reason is reason, must the will oper- ate absolutely by itself, and independently of the natural laws by which the material action is deter- mined ; — and hence the sensuous life of every finite being points towards a higher, into which the will, by itself alone, may open the way, and of which it may acquire possession, — a possession which indeed we must again sensuously conceive of as a state, and not as a mere will. These two orders, — the purely spiritual and the sensuous, the latter consisting possibly of an in- numerable series of particular lives, — have existed since the first moment of the development of an ac- tive reason within me, and still proceed parallel to each other. The latter order is only a phenomenon . for myself, and for those with whom I am associated in this life; the former alone gives it significance, purpose, and value. I am immortal, imperishable, eternal, as soon as I form the resolution to obey the laws of reason; I do not need to become so.. The Spiritualism or Idealism 341 super-sensual world is no future world; it is now present; it can at no point of finite existence be more present than at another; not more present after an existence of myriads of lives than at this moment. My sensuous existence may, in future, assume other forms, but these are just as little the true Jife, as its present form. By that resolution I lay hold on eternity, and cast off this earthly life and all other forms of sensuous life which may yet lie before me in futurity, and place myself far above them. I become the sole source of my own being and its phenomena, and, henceforth, unconditioned by anything without me, I have life in myself. My will, which is directed by no foreign agency in the order of the super-sensual world, but by myself alone, is this source of true life, and of eternity. It is my will alone which is this source of triie life, and of eternity ; — only by recognising this will as the peculiar seat of moral goodness, and by actually raising it thereto, do I obtain the assurance and the possession of that super-sensual world. Without regard to any conceivable or visible ob- ject, without inquiry as to whether my will may be followed by any result other than the mere volition, — I must will in accordance with the moral law. My will stands alone, apart from all that is not it- self, and is its own world merely by itself and for itself; not only as being itself an absolutely first, primary and original power, before which there is no preceding influence by which it may be governed, but also as being followed by no conceivable or com- prehensible second step in the series, coming after it, by which its activity may be brought under the 23 S42 Readings in Philosophy dominion of a foreign law. Did there proceed from it any second, and from this again a third result, and so forth, in any conceivable sensuous world opposed to the spiritual world, then would its strength be broken by the resistance it would encounter from the independent elements of such a world which it would set in motion ; the mode of its activity would no longer exactly- correspond to the purpose ex- pressed in the volition ; and the will would no longer remain free, but be partly limited by the peculiar laws of its heterogeneous sphere of action. And thus must I actually regard the will in the present sensuous world, the only one known to me. I am indeed compelled to believe, and consequently to act as if I thought, that by my mere volition, lAy tongue, my hand, or my foot, might be set in motion; but how a mere aspiration, an impress of intelligence upon itself, such as will is, can be the principle of motion to a heavy material mass, — this I not only find it impossible to conceive, but the mere assertion is, before the tribunal of the understanding, a pal- pable absurdity; — here the movement of matter even in myself can be explained only by the internal forces of matter itself. Such a view of my will as I have taken, can, how- ever, be attained only through an intimate convic- tion that it is not merely the highest active principle for this world, — which it certainly might be, with- out having freedom in itself, by the mere influence of the system of the universe, perchance, as we must conceive of a formative power in Nature, — but that it absolutely disregards all earthly objects, and gen- erally all objects lying out of itself, and recognises Spiritiialism or Idealism 343 itself, for its own sake, as its own ultimate end. But by such a view of my will I am at once directed to a super-sensual order of things, in which the will, by itself alone and without any instrument lying out of itself, becomes an efficient cause in a sphere which, like itself, is purely spiritual, and is thoroughly accessible to it. That moral volition is demanded' of u§ absolutely for its own sake alone, — a truth which I discover only as a fact in my inward con- sciousness, and to the knowledge of which I cannot attain in any other way : — this was the first step of my thought. That this demand is reasonable, and the source and standard of all else that is reasonable; that it is not modelled upon any other thing whatever, but that all other things must, on the contrary, model themselves upon it, — and be dependent upon it, — a conviction which also I can- not arrive at from without, but can attain only by inward experience, by means of the unhesitating and immovable assent which I freely accord to this demand : — this was the- second step of my thought. And from these two terms I have attained to faith in a super-sensual Eternal World. If I abandon the former, the latter falls to the ground. If it were true, — as many say it is, assuming it without fur- ther proof as self-evident and extolling it as the highest simimit of human wisdom, — that all human virtue must have before it a certain definite external object, and that it must first be assured of the pos- sibility of attaining this object, before it can act and before it can become virtue ; that, consequently, reason by no means contains within itself the prin- ciple and the standard of its own activity, but must 344 Readings in Philosophy receive this standard from without, through con- templation of an external world ; — if this were true, then might the ultimate end of our existence be accomplished here below; human nature might be completely developed and exhausted by our earthly vocation, and we should have no rational ground for raising our thoughts above the present life. But every thinker who has anywhere acquired those first principles even historically, moved per- haps by a mere love of the new and unusual, and who is able to prosecute a correct course of reason- ing from them, might speak and teach as I have now spoken to myself. He would then present us with the thoughts of some other being, not with his own; everything would float before him empty and without significance, because he would be without the sense whereby he might apprehend its reality. He is a blind man, who, upon certain true principles concerning colours which he has learned historically, has built a perfectly correct theory of colour, not- withstanding that there is in reality no colour exist- ing for him ; — he can tell how, under certain condi- tions, it Trmst be; but to him it is not so, because he does not stand under these conditions. The faculty by which we lay hold on Eternal Life is to be at- tained only by actually renouncing the sensuous and its objectSj and sacrificing them to that law which takes cognizance of our will only and not of our ac- tions ; — renouncing them with the firmest convic- tion that it is reasonable for us to do so, — nay, that it is the only thing reasonable for us. By this re- Spiritualism or Idealism 345 nunciation of the Earthly does faith in the Eternal first arise in our soul, and is there enshrined apart, as the only support to which we can cling after we have given up all else, — as the only animating prin- ciple that can elevate our minds and inspire our lives. We must indeed, according to the figure of a sacred doctrine, first "die unto the world and be bom again, before we can enter the kingdom of God." I see — Oh I now see clearly before me the cause of my former indifference and blindness concerning spiritual things ! Absorbed by mere earthly objects, lost in them with all our thoughts and efforts, moved and urged onward only by the notion of a result ly- ing beyond ourselves, — by the desire of such a re- sult arid of our enjoyment therein, — insensible and dead to the pure impulse of reason, which gives a law to itself, and offers to our aspirations a purely spiritual end, — the immortal Psyche remains, with fettered pinions, fastened to the earth. Our phi- losophy becomes the history of our own heart and life ; and according to what we ourselves are, do we conceive of man and his vocation. Never impelled by any other motive than the desire after what can be actually realised in this world, there, is for us no true freedom, — no freedom which holds the ground of its determination absolutely and entirely within itself. Our freedom is, at best, that of the self- forming plant; not essentially higher in its nature, but only more artistical in its results ; not producing a mere material form with roots, leaves, and blos- soms, but a mind with impulses, thoughts, and ac- 346 Readings in Philosophy tions. We cannot have the slightest conception of true freedom, because we do not ourselves possess it ; when it is spoken of, we either bring down what is said to the level of our own notions, or at once declare all such talk to be nonsense. Without the idea of freedom, we are likewise without the faculty for "another world. Everything of this kind floats past before us like words that are not addressed to us; like a pale shadow, without colour or meaning, which we know not how to lay hold of or retain. We leave it as we find it, without the least participa- tion or sympathy. Or should we ever be urged by a more active zeal to consider it seriously, we then convince ourselves to our own satisfaction that all such ideas are untenable and worthless reveries, which the man of sound understanding unhesitat- ingly rejects; and according to the premises from which we proceed, made up as they are of our in- ward experiences, we are perfectly in the right, and secure from either refutation or conversion so long as we remain what we are. The excellent doctrines which are taught amongst us with a special au- thority, concerning freedom, duty, and everlasting life, become to us romantic fables, like those of Tar- tarus and the Elysian fields; although we do not publish to the world this our secret opinion, because we find it expedient, by means of these figures, to maintain an outward decorum among the populace ; or, should we be less refiective, and ourselves bound in the chains of authority, then we sink to the level of the common mind, and believing what, thiis under- stood, would be mere foolish fables, we find in those pure spiritual symbols only the promise of continu- Spiritualism or Idealism 347 ing throughout eternity the same miserable existence which we possess here below. In one word : — only by the fundamental improve- ment of my will does a new light arise within me concerning my existence and vocation ; without this, however much I may speculate, and with what rare intellectual gifts soever I may be endowed, darkness remains ;within me and around me. The improve- ment of the heart alone leads to true wisdom. Let then my whole life be unceasingly devoted to this one purpose. IV My Moral Will merely as such, in and through it- self, shall certainly and invariably produce conse- quences; every determination of my will in accord- ance with duty, although no action should follow it, shall operate in another, to me incomprehensible, world, in which nothing but this moral determina- tion of the will shall possess efficient activity. What is it that is assumed in this conception ? Obviously a Law; a rule absolutely without excep- tion, according to which a will determined by duty must have consequences; just as in the material world which surrounds me I assume a law according to which this ball, when thrown by my hand with this particular force, in this particular direction, necessarily moves in such a direction with a certain degree of velocity, — perhaps strikes another ball with a certain amount of force, which in its turn moves on with a certain velocity, — and so on. As here, in the mere direction and motion of my hand, I already perceive and apprehend all the consequent 348 Readings in Philosophy directions and movements, with the same certainty as if they were already present before me; even so do I embrace by means of my virtuous will a series of necessary and inevitable consequences in the spiritual world, as if they were already present be- fore me; only that I cannot define them as I do those in the material world, — that is, I only know that they must be, but not how they shall bg ; — and even in doing this I conceive of a Law of the spiritual world, in which my pure will is one of the moving forces, as my hand is one of the moving forces of the material world. My own firm confidence in these results, and the conceptions of this Law of the spiritual world, are one and the same ; — they are not two thoughts, one of which arises by means of the other, but they are entirely the same thought; just as the confidence with which I calculate on a certain motion in a material body, and the concep- tion of a mechanical law of nature on which that motion depends, are one and the same. The con- ception of a Law expresses nothing more than the firm, immovable confidence of reason in a principle, and the absolute impossibility of admitting its op- posite. I assume such a law of a spiritual world, — not given by my will nor by the will of any finite being, nor by the will of all finite beings taken together, but to which my will, and the will of all finite beings, is subject. Neither I, nor any finite and therefore sensuous being, can conceive how a mere will can have consequences, nor what may be the true nature of those consequences; for herein consists the es- sential character of our finite nature, — that we are SpirittMlism or Idealism 349 unable to conceive this, — that having indeed our will, as such, wholly within our power, we are yet compelled by our sensuous nature to regard the con- sequences of that will as sensuous states : — how then can I, or any other finite being whatever, pro- pose to ourselves as objects, and thereby give reality to, that which we can neither imagine nor conceive? I cannot say that, in the material world, my hand, or any other body which belongs to that world and is subject to the universal law of gravity, brings this law into operation ; — these bodies themselves stand under this law, and are able to set another body in motion only in accordance with this law, and only in so far as that body, by virtue of this law, partakes of the universal moving power of Nature. Just as little can a finite will give a law to the super-sensual world, which no finite spirit can embrace; but all finite wills stand under the law of that world; and can produce results therein only inasmuch as that law already exists, and inasmuch as they themselves, in accordance with the form of that law which is applicable to finite wills, bring themselves under its conditions, and within the sphere of its activity by moral obedience ; — by moral obedience, I say, the only tie which unites them to that higher world, the only nerve that descends from it to them, and the only organ through which they can re-act upon it. As the universal power of attraction embraces all bodies, and holds them together in themselves and with each other, and the movement of each separate body is possible only on the supposition of this power, so does that super-sensual law unite, hold together, and embrace all finite reasonable beings. 350 Readings in Philosophy My will, and the will of all finite beings, may be regarded from a double point of view : — partly as a mere volition, an internal act directed upon itself alone, and, in so far, the will is complete in itself, concluded in this act of volition ; — partly as some- thing beyond this, a fact. It assumes the latter form to me, as soon as I regard it as completed ; but it must also become so beyond me : — in the world of sense, as the moving principle, for instance, of my hand, from the movement of which, again, other movements follow; — in the super-sensual world, as the principle of a series of spiritual consequences of which I have no conception. In the former point of view, as a mere act of volition, it stands wholly within my own power; its assumption of the latter character, that of an active first principle, depends not upon me, but on a law to which I myself am subject; — on the law of nature in the world of sense, on a super-sensual law in the world of pure thought. What, then, is this law of the spiritual world which I conceive? This idea now stands before me, in fixed and perfect shape; I cannot and dare not add anything whatever to it ; I have only to express and interpret it distinctly. It is obviously not such as I may suppose the principle of my own, or any other possible sensuous world, to be, — a fixed, inert existence, from which, by Ihe encounter of a will, some internal power may be evolved, — something altogether different from a mere will. For, — and this is the substance of my belief, — my will, abso- lutely by itself, and without the intervention of any instrument that might weaken its expression, shall Spiritualism or Idealism 351 act in a perfectly congenial sphere, — reason upon reason, spirit upon spirit ; — in a sphere to which nevertheless it does not give the law of life, activity,' and progress, but which has that law in itself; — therefore, upon self-active reason. But self-active reason is will. The law of the super-sensual world must, therefore, be a Will, — a Will which operates purely as will ; by itself, and absolutely without any instrument or sensible material of its activity ; which is, at the same time, both act and product; with whom to will is to do, to command is to execute ; in which therefore the instinctive demand of reason for absolute freedom and independence is realised, — a Will which in itself is law; determined by no fancy or caprice, through no previous reflection, hesitation or doubt : — but eternal, unchangeable, on which we may securely and infallibly rely, as the physical man relies with certainty on the laws of his world : — A will in which- the moral will of finite beingSj and this alone, has sure and unfailing re- sults ; since for it all else is unavailing, all else is as if it were not. That sublime Will thus pursues no solitary path withdrawn from the other parts of the world of reason. There is a spiritual bond between Him and all finite rational beings; and He himself is this spiritual bond of the rational universe. Let me will, purely and decidedly, my duty; and He wills that, in the spiritual world at least, my will shall prosper. Every moral resolution of a finite being goes up before Him, and — to speak after the man- ner of mortals — moves and determines Him, not in consequence of a momentary satisfaction, but in 852 Readings in Philosophy accordance with the eternal law of His being. With surprising clearness does this thought, which hither- to was surrounded with darkness, now reveal itself to my soul ; the thought that my will, merely as such, and through itself, shall have results. It has results, because it is immediately and infallibly perceived by another Will to which it is related, which is its own accomplishment and the only living principle of the spiritual world ; in Him it has its first results, and through Him it acquires an influence on the whole spiritual world, which throughout is but a product of that Infinite Will. Thus do I approach — the mortal must speak in his own language — thus do I approach that Infinite Will ; and the voice of conscience in my soul, which teaches me in every situation of life what I have there to do, is the channel through which again His influence descends upon me.. That voice, sensualized by my environment, arid translated into my lan- guage, is the oracle of the Eternal World which an- nounces to me how I am to perform my part in the order of the spiritual universe, or in the Infinite Will who is Himself that order. I cannot, indeed, sur- vey or comprehend that spiritual order, and I need not to do so ; — I am but a link in its chain, and can no more judge of the whole, than a single tone of music can judge of the entire harmony of which it forms a part. But what I myself ought to be in this harmony of spirits I must know, for it is only I myself who can make me so, — and this is im- mediately revealed to me by a voice whose tones descend upOn me from that other world. Thus do I stand connected with the One who alone has ex- Spiritiialism or Idealism 353 istence, and thus do I participate in His being. There is nothing real, lasting, imperishable in me, but these two elements : — the voice of conscience, and my free obedience. By the first, the spiritual world bows down to me, and embraces me as one of its members ; by the second I raise myself into this world, apprehend it, and re-act upon it. ^ That In- finite Will is the mediator between it and me; for He himself is the original source both of it and me. This is the one True and Imperishable for which my soul yearns even from its inmost depths; all else is mere appearance, ever vanishing, and ever returning in a new semblance. D. The Objectivity of Thought. The following passage from one of Hegel's best known and most influential works gives a summary in his own manner of the fundamental features of his doctrine of the objectivity of thought, of his metaphysical logic, or identification of the movement of thought with that of world history : Thoughts^ may under proper conditions be called objective; and among them are to be reckoned the forms which are treated in the first instance in the traditional logic; and which are usually regarded as merely forms of conscious thought. Logic there- fore coincides with metaphysics as the science of things as grasped in thoughts adequate to the ex- pression of their essence. 'Hegel, Logic, §24; translated from the Encyclopadie der Philosophischen Wissenschaften, edition of 1832. 354 Readings in Philosophy The relation of such forms as concept, judgment, and inference, to others such as causality, etc., is to be considered when we come to it in our Logic. But it is also to be, noted in advance that inasmuch as thought seeks to form a conception of things, this conception (and therewith also its most elemental forms, judgment and inference) can not consist of forms and relations which are foreign and alien to things. Reflection, it was said above, leads to the general aspect of things ; but this itself is one phase of conception. The assertion that there is intel- ligence, — Reason — in the world signifies the same thing as does the expression "Objective Thought". This latter expression, however, is inconvenient just because 'thought' is too habitually used only for what belongs to mind, to consciousness, and 'ob- jective' used primarily for the non-mental. Note 1. When one says that thought — objective thought — is the heart and core of the world it may seem as if consciousness is being imputed to the things of nature. We feel a reluctance to regard the inner activity of things as thought, since we say : Man is distinguished from nature by his ability to think. We should then have to speak of nature as the system of unconscious thought, as of an intel- ligence which, as Schelling says, is 'petrified'. In- stead of using the expression 'thought' it is therefore better, in order to avoid misunderstanding, to say 'thought-forms'. 'The logical' in accordance with what has been said, is to be sought as a system of thought-forms in general in which the opposition of the subjective to the objective (in its usual inter- pretation) disappears. This interpretation of Spiritualism or Idealism 355 thought and of its forms is more exactly expressed when the ancients say : voii? rules the world ; or when we say there is reason in the world, whereby we mean reason is the soul of the world, dwells in it, is its indwelling principle, its inmost nature, its uni- versal aspect. 'A more exact illustration is the fact that when we speak of a particular animal we say 'it is an animal'. 'Animali in general can not be pointed out, but in every case a particular only. 'Animal' does not exist, but is the general nature of particular animals, and every existing animal is concrete, definite, particular. But to be an animal (the kind in general) belongs to the individual ani- mal and constitutes its definite essence. If we take " from a dog its being an animal it is impossible to say what it is. Things in general have a permanent, inner nature and an external existence. They live and die, arise and pass away; their essence, their universal aspect is the 'kind', and this is not to be understood merely as a 'common quality'. Thought, which determines the substance of ex- ternal things, is also the universal substance of what is mental. In all human contemplation there is thinking. Thought is the universal in all percep- tions, memories, and in absolutely every mental ac- tivity, in all volition, wishing, etc. All these are simply further specializations of thinking. When we understand thought in this way it appears in a different light from what it does when we say we have the capacity to think, among and alongside of other capacities such as sensation, perception, voli- tion, and the like. If we regard thought as the truly universal in all nature and in all mind, it extends 356 Readings in Philosophy over-all and is the basis of all. To this interpreta- tion of thought, in its objective significance (as vov^) we may add at once what thinking is in its sub- jective meaning. We say first of all, 'man thinks', — but at once we add that he perceives, wills, etc. Man is a thinker and is universal, but he is a thinker only in so far as the universal is the object of his consciousness. An anijnal is also potentially uni- versal, but the universal is as such not the ob- ject of its consciousness, but the individual only. The animal sees a single thing, for instance its food, a man, etc. But all these remain for it merely single things. Similarly sensuous feeling always has to do vpith single things (this pain, this agree- able flavor, etc.) . Nature does, not bring vom to con- ' sciousness in them. Man alone becomes so 'redupli- cated' as to be universal for the universal. This is the case in the first instance when man knows him- self as 'I'. When I say 'I' I mean myself as this abso- lutely definite person. Yet in fact I say nothing especial about myself thereby. Every one else is also an 'I', and in designating myself as 'I' I really mean myself, this individual, but I use a perfectly general expression. T signifies mere self-conscious- ness in which everything individual is negated and annulled, the ultimate, simple and pure level of con- sciousness. We may say, T and 'Thought' are the same, or more exactly: 'I' is Thought as Thinking. What I have in my consciousness is conscious object to me. 'I' am this contentless receptacle for any- thing and everything, for which all things are and which lays up everything into itself. Every man is a whole , world of ideas, which are buried in the Spiritualism or Idealism 357 'night' of the Self. So Self is the universal in which abstraction is made from everything particular, in which however everything is included. It is there- fore not mere abstract universality, but universality which contains everything in it. In general we use 'I' very carelessly; it is only philosophical reflection that makes it an object of attention. In the Self we have pure unmediated thought, an animal can- not say T ; — only man, because he is Thought. In the self is manifold internal and external content, and according as this content is constituted do we have the experience of sensation, perception, mem- ory, etc. But accompanying everything is this Self, or in everything is thought. Man is therefore always thinking, even when he is only perceiving; when he considers anything he considers it as a universal. He attends to a particular thing, isolates it, withdraws attention from everything else, takes it as abstract and universal, even if only formally universal. In the case of our ideas the twofold situation occurs: either the content is thought, but not the form, or contrariwise the form belongs to thought, but not the content. For instance, if I say 'anger', 'rose', 'hope', these are all known to me by feeling, but I express this content in a general manner, in the form of thought. I have therein omitted much that is particular, and given the content only as universal, but the content remains sensory. On the contrary when I have an idea of God the content is really a pure thought, but the form is sensuous, as I fin(i it immediately within me. In ideas then the content is not merely sensuous, as in visual sensa- 24 358 Readings in Philosophy tion, but either the content is sensuous and the form a matter of thought, or vice versa. In the former case the matter is given and the form be- longs to thought, in the latter case thought is the source of the content, but through the form the content becomes a 'given' one, that thereby comes to the mind from without. Note 2. In logic we have to do with pure thought, or pure thought-forms. In thinking (in the usual sense) we present to ourselves something which is not merely pure thought, for one means thereby a thought whose content is an empirical one. In logic thoughts are viewed as having no content other than that which belongs to thought itself and which is produced only by it. Thus the thoughts are pure thoughts. So the mind is just pure mind, and therein free. For freedom is just this : in what is other than oneself still to find oneself, to depend up- on oneself, to be self-determining. In all impulses I begin with something outside me, with something of such a kind that for me it is external. In such a situation' we speak of dependence. Freedom exists only where there is no 'other' for me, which is not myself. The natural man who is moved only by his impulses is not independent. However wilful he is, still the content of his volition and of his opinions is not his own, and his freedom is only a formal one. When I think, I give up my subjective particularity, sink myself in the thing, let thought take its own course, and I think badly when I inject anything of my own. If we, in accordance with what we have said, re- gard logic as the system of pure thought forms, the Spiritualism or- Idealism 359 other philosophical sciences, the philosophy of na- ture and philosophy of mind alike appear as applied logic ; for it is the animating soul of them. The in- terest of all other sciences then is merely to recog- nize logical forms in the products of nature and mind, products which are only special manifesta- tions of the forms of pure thought. For example, if we take the syllogism (not in the meaning of the old formal logic, but in its true one), it is the law that the particular is the mean which unites the extremes — the universal and the singular. The form of the syllogism is a general form which all things have. All things are particulars, uniting themselves as universals to singulars. The im- potence of nature carries with it the consequence that it does not express logical forms in purity. Such an impotent expression of the syllogism is, for example, the magnet, which in the middle, at its in- difference point unites its poles, which here in spite of their difference are one. In physics one also learns the universal, — essence ; the difference is simply that the philosophy of nature brings to our consciousness the real forms of the notion in the things of nature. — Logic is then the animating spirit of all sciences. The thought-forms of logic are the pure spirits. They are the heart and core, yet at the same time what we constantly talk about, and which therefore appear to be something quite familiar. But what is thus familiar is usually the most unfamiliar. Thus, for example, 'being' is a pure thought-form ; but it never occurs to us to take 'is' as the topic for our consideration. One usually believes that the Absolute must lie far away, but it ■560 Readings in Philosophy is just the most immediately present, which we cariy about with us constantly and use in thinking, even without explicit consciousness of it. In lan- guage preeminently are such thought-forms crystal- lized. And so the instruction in grammar which is imparted to children has this use: it unconsciously calls attention to distinctions in thought. It is commonly said that logic has to do only with forms, and must derive its content from some other source. Logical thoughts, nevertheless are not 'only' something as over against all other content, but all other content is 'only' something in contrast to them. They are the basis, implicit and explicit, of all. — A higher level of culture is necessary for the directing of attention to such pure forms. The consideration of them in and for themselves has the wider meaning that we derive these forms from thought itself and out of their own inner nature determine whether they are true. We do not derive them from without and then define them or show their -value and validity, judging them by the form they take in our consciousness. For if we were to set out from observation and .experience and say, for instance: we are accustomed to use the term 'force' in such and such cases, this kind of defini- tion would be correct when it coincided with the phase of the object which is presented in our ordi- nary consciousness. However, in this way, a con- cept is not determined in and for itself, but in ac- cordance with a certain presupposition, which pre- supposition is then the criterion, the standard of correctness. But we do not need to use sucK a standard; but to let the living forms themselves SpiritvAilism or Idealism 361 take their own course. The question of the truth of the forms of thought seems curious to the ordinary- consciousness. For they appear to have truth only in their application to given objects, and accordingly there would be no meaning in inquiring about their truth without such application. But this is just the question which is now at issue. In connection with it one must know just-what is to be understood as truth. Usually we call truth the agreement of an object -with our idea. We have then as a presup- position an object to which our idea of it must con- form. — In the philosophical sense, on the contrary, truth in general, abstractly expressed, means agree- ment of a content with itself. This is therefore a quite different interpretation of truth from that previously mentioned. However, the deeper (philo- sophic) meaning of truth is found in part even in customary speech. Thus one sgeiaks for instance of a true friend and understands thereby one whose ac- tions conform to the conception of friendship; so also does one speak of a true work of art. Untrue means then the same as bad, inconsistent with it- self. In this sense a bad state is an untrue state. And the bad and the false in general consist in the contradiction which exists between the form or con- cept and the existing content of an object. Of such a bad object we can form a correct idea but the con- tent of such an idea is 'untrue' internally. Of such 'truths' which are at the same time falsities we may have many in our heads. — God alone is the true agreement of concept and reality. -All finite things have a falsity about them ; they have a concept and an existing content, but a content which does not 362 Readings in Philosophy conform to its concept. Therefore they must pass away, whereby the non-conformity of their concept and their existence is rendered manifest. An ani- mal has its concept in its 'kind' and the 'kind' frees itself from singularity by death. The consideration of truth in the sense here ex- plained, agreement with oneself, constitutes the real interest of logic. In the ordinary consciousness the question of the truth of thought-forms does not occur at all. The business of logic can then be ex- pressed also as follows: the forms of thought are considered, as to how far they are capable of con- taining the truth. The question then centers about this point: which are the forms of the infinite and which the forms of the finite ? In the ordinary consciousness one raises no questions about finite thought-forms but lets them pass without challenge. But all error comes from thinking and acting in ac- cordance with finite forms. Note 3. One can know the truth in various ways and the modes of truth are to be regarded merely as forms. Certainly one can know the truth through experience; but this experience is only a form. In the case of experience all depends upon the mental endowment with which one approaches the actual. A large mind has large experiences, and sees in the varied play of phenomena what is really involved. The Idea is at hand and real, not something far off and hidden. The great mind, as that of a Goethe for example, as it looks into nature or history has great experiences, sees the rational and expresses it. It is furthermore true that one can know the truth through reflection, and one defines it by means Spiritualism or Idealism 363 of the relations of thought. The true in and for itself is, however, not 'present in its own proper form in either of these two modes. The most per- fect mode of knowledge is that in the pure form of thought. Man here acts in perfect freedom. That the form of thought is the absolute, and that the truth is manifest in it as it is in and for itself, — this is the assertion of philosophy in general. Proof of this means in the first place: that those other forms of knowing are shown to be finite forms. The lofty skepticism of the ancients achieved this when it showed of all those forms that they contained contradictions within themselves. When this skep- ticism attacks the forms of Reason, it injects some- thing finite into them first in order thereby to lay hold upon them. All the forms of finite thought will appear in the course of logical development, and, too, just as they arise in accordance with a necessary law. Here (in this introduction) they must be dealt with at first in an unscientific man- ner as something simply given. In the logical treatise proper not only the negative side of these forms but also the positive will be shown. When one compares the various forms of knowl- . edge with one another the first, that of immediate acquaintance, may easily appear the most appropri- ate, the finest and highest. Under this form falls all that in respect to moral value is called innocence, religious feeling, simple trust, love, loyalty, natural faith. The other two forms, first that of reflective knowledge, and then also the philosophical, emerge from out of that simple, natural unity. In so far as they have this in common with each other, the 364 Readings in Philosophy attitude of desiring to grasp truth through thought may easily appear a bit of arrogance on the part of man, who proposes to know the truth by means of his own powers. As the starting point of all mental disunion, this may certainly be viewed as the source of all evil and wickedness, and as the original sin. And it would seem accordingly that thinking and knowing ought to be given up, in order to achieve a return and atonement. So far as the relinquishing of this native unity is concerned this remarkable disunion of the mind within itself has from ancient times been an object of the conscious- ness of nations. In the natural state such an inner division does not occur, and natural objects do noth- ing wicked. An old idea of the origin and conse- quences of that disunion is given us in the Mosaic myth of the fall of man. The content of this story forms the basis of an essential religious doctrine, the doctrine of the natural sinfulness of man and the necessity of some help for it. It seems appropriate to consider the story of the fall of man at the begin- ning of Logic, since logic has to do with knowledge and in this story also it is a question of knowledge, its origin and meaning. Philosophy must not shrink from the presence of religion and refuse to hold its place as if it had to be satisfied if religion merely tolerated it. But on the other hand also the view must be rejected that such stories and religious representations are obsolete ; for they have the veneration of thousands of years among peoples. Now if we look more carefully into the story of the fall of man we find expressed in it as was re- marked befo.re, the universal relation of knowledge SpiritiMlism or Idealism 365 to the spiritual life. The spiritual life in its sim- plicity appears at first as innocence and simple trust. But it lies in the very nature of spirit to transcend this simple state; for the spiritual life is distin- guished from the natural, and, more precisely — from animal life, — by the fact that it does not re- main on the level of unconsciousness but becomes self-conscious. But then this state of disunion is likewise to be transcended and the spirit must of itself return to unity. This unity is then a spiritual one, and the basis of that return lies in thought it- self. What inflicts the wound also heals it. — It says in our story that Adam and Eve, the first human beings, — humanity in general — were in a garden in which were a tree of life and a tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Of God it is said that he had forbidden man's eating of the fruit of the latter tree. Of the tree of life at this point there is no further mention. Herein is expressed the thought, then, that man was not to attain to knowl- edge but was to remain in the state of innocence. Among other peoples also, of deep insight, we find the idea that the first condition of man was a condition of innocence and inner harmony. In this there is so much of truth — that at any rate in the disunion in which we find all humanity involved we cannot acquiesce. On the contrary it is not correct that the elemental natural simplicity is the right condition. Mind is not merely a simple thing; it contains essentially in it the aspect of mediation. Childlike innocence of course has something charm- ing and touching about it, but only in so far as it reminds us of that which is to be revealed through 366 Readings in Philosophy the spirit. That sort of simplicity which we see in children as a natural thing must be regained as the result of the labor and formative process of mind. — Christ says : Except ye become as children, etc. He does not thereby say that we should remain chil- dren. — In our Mosaic story we find, further, that the occasion of their losing their simplicity came to man through external solicitation (through the ser- pent.) But in fact the entrance into opposition, the awakening of consciousness, lies in man himself, and this story is repeated in the life of every man. The serpent declares divinity to, consist in knowing what is good and what is evil ; and it is this knowl- edge, in fact, which has fallen to the share of man in that he has broken with the unity of his simple existence, that he has partaken of the forbidden fruit. The first indication of awakening conscious- ness was that the persons observed that they were naked. This is a very naive and elemental touch. In the sense of shame then lies the departure of man from his natural and sensuous existence. Animals, not progressing to the point of this departure, are devoid of the sense of shame. In the human sense of shame, the mental and moral origin of clothing is to be found; the purely physical need is a mere secondary consideration. — Then follows the so- called curse which God placed upon men. The thought emphasized in it bears chiefly upon the op- position of man to nature. Man must labor in the sweat of his brow, and woman bear offspring in pain. So far as work is concerned in this connec- tion, it is at once the result of the estrangement and also the means of overcoming it. The animal Spiritualism or Idealism 367 finds immediately at hand what it needs for the satisfaction of its wants; man on the contrary in his relation to the^means of satisfying his needs is dealing with what has been wrought out and formed by himself. So in these external things man is dealing with himself. — The story is not yet closed even with the banishment from paradise. It con- tinues : God said, Behold, Adam has become as one of us, for he knows good and evil. — Knowledge is here delineated as divine, not, as before, as what should not be. Herein lies the refutation of the assertion that philosophy belongs only to the finite level of mind. Philosophy is knowledge, and through knowledge is realized the original call to man to be an image of God. And when it says further, God drove man out of the Garden of Eden that he might (not also eat of the tree of life, the thought is ex- pressed that man on the side of his natural being is indeed finite and mortal, but in knowledge infinite. It is a well-known doctrine of the church that man is by nature evil, and this evil nature is characterized as original sin. But in connection with it the super- ficial idea that original sin has its basis in a chance deed of the first man is to be abandoned. In reality it lies in the very notion of mind that man is evil by nature, and one must not imagine that this can be otherwise. So far as man is a product of nature and conducts himself as such his condition is one that ought not to be. Mind ought to be free and be what it is through its own choice. Nature is for man merely a preliminary state which he must re- construct. Opposed to the profound ecclesiastical doctrine of original sin stands the theory of modem 368 Readings in Philosophy enlightenment that man is good by nature and must remain true to this condition. The emergence of man from out of his natural state is his differentia- tion as a conscious being from the external world. This state of differentiation characteristic of the notion of mind is however not one in which man ought to remain. Into this condition of disruption all finite thought and volition fall. Man constructs his purposes from out of his own being and draws from himself the material of his own action. So long as he presses these purposes to the utmost ex- treme, takes cognizance of himself alone and formu- lates his own private volitions to the exclusion of what is general, he is evil ; and this evil is his sub- jectivity. At first glance we have here two kinds of evil ; but in reality they are one. Man, in so far as he is a spirit is not a 'natural creature'. So far as he conducts himself as such a natural creature and follows the objects of sensual desire, he wilfully tries to be one. Natural evil in man is therefore not like the natural existence of animals. 'Natural- ness' has then this more limited meaning, that the natural man is isolated as such, for nature every- where lies under the bonds of isolation. In so far as man wills a natural state, so far does he will isolation. In opposition to this type of action which is characteristic of natural isolation — from impulse and inclination — there arises, to be sure, law or general regulation. This law may be an external power or have the form of divine authority. Man is in servitude to the law so long as he remains in his natural state. Among his inclinations and feel- ings man indeed has also social, benevolent inclina- Spirititalism or Idealism 369 tions, sympathy, love, etc., which reach out beyond selfish isolation. But so long as these inclinations are unreflective what is potentially universal in them is still in form subjective; self-interest and chance have ever full play here. CHAPTER XIX THE IDENTITY OR DOUBLE ASPECT THEORY A. The Order op Ideas the Same as of Things. The theorem here given from Spinoza's Ethics is a classic expression of an older form of the doctrine, and one which has been very influential in the his- tory of thought : PROPOSITION VII The^ order and connection of ideas is the same as the order and connection of things. DEMONSTEATION This is evident from axiom 4, part 1.* For the idea of any thing that is caused depends upon the knowledge of the cause of which it is the effect. COROLLARY Hence it follows, that God's power of Thinking is equal to his power of actual doing. , That is, what- ever follows objectively from the infinite nature of God, follows in its entirety from the idea of God and in the same order and sequence in the mind of God. 'Spinoza, B., Ethics, Part II, Eroposition VII; translated from the text of Van Vloten and I^and. * The knowledge of an effect depends upon, and involves, ' a knowledge of the cause. (370) The Identity or Double Aspect Theory 371 SCHOLIUM Here, before we proceed further, we must re- call to mind what we showed- above, namely that that whatever can be perceived by the infinite intellect as constitutiiig the essence of substance be- longs wholly to one substance only, and consequently that thinking substance and extended substance are one and the same substance, which is known now under the one, now under the other attribute. Thus also the mode of extension, and the idea of that mode are one and the same thing, manifested under two modes ; which certain of the Hebrews seem to have seen Jiazily as it were, when they maintain that God, the intellect of God, and things thought by Him, are all one and the same. For example, a circle existing in nature, and the idea of a circle existing, which is also in God, are one and the same thing, being revealed through different attributes ; and for this reason if we conceive nature under the attribute of extension or under the attribute of thought, or under any other, we shall find that one and the same order, or one and the same connection of causes, — that is, the same things, — follow in turn. And I had no other reason for saying that God is the cause of an idea, for example of a circle, in so far as He is a thinking thing only, and of a circle in so far as it is an extended thing, except that the formal existence of the idea of a circle can be per- ceived only through another mode of thinking as the proximate cause, and that again through another, and so to infinity; so that so long as things are considered as modes of thought we ought to ac- count for the order of all nature, or the connection 372 Readings in Philosophy of causes, through the attribute of thought alone; and in so far as they are considered as modes of extension the order even of all nature ought to be accounted for through the attribute of extension alone ; and I hold the same view regarding the other attributes. Wherefore, of things as they are in themselves, God is the true cause, insofar as he is infinite in attributes; nor can I explain this more clearly at present. B. Ideas are Things in Special Relations, This is a form which the theory has taken in recent years and is very important in the so-called Neo-realistic doctrines : Experience,^ I believe, has no such inner duplicity; and the separation of it into coTiscioiisness and coriy tent comes, not by way of subtraction, but by may of addition — the addition, to a given concrete piece of it, of other sets of experiences, in connection with which severally its use or function may be of two different kinds. The paint will also serve here as an illustration. In a pot in a paint shop, along with other paints, it serves in its entirety as so much saleable matter. Spread on a canvas, with other paints around it, it represents, on the contrary, a feature in a picture and performs a spiritual func- tion. Just so, I maintain, does a given undivided portion of experience, taken in one context of as- ' James, W., Essays in Radical Empiricism, from the essay "Does Consciousness Exist?", pages 9-16; Longmans, Green and Company, 1912; reprinted by permission of the publish- The Identity or Double Aspect Theory 373 sociates, play the part of a knower, of a state of mind, of 'consciousness' ; while in a different context the same undivided bit of experience plays the part of a thing known, of an objective 'content'. In a word, in one group it figures as a thought, in an- other group as a thing. And, since it can figure in both groups simultaneously we have every right to speak of it as subjective and objective both at once. The dualism connoted by such double-bar- relled terms as 'experience', 'phenomenon', 'datum', 'Vorfindung' — terms which, in philosophy at any rate, tend more and more to replace the single-bar- relled terms of 'thought' and 'thing' — that dualism, I say, is still preserved in this account, but reinter- preted, so that, instead of being mysterious and elusive, it becomes verifiable and concrete. It is an affair of relations, it falls outside, not inside, the single experience considered, and can always be particularized and defined. The entering wedge for this more concrete way of understanding the dualism was fashioned by Locke when he made the word 'idea' stand indiffer- ently for thing and thought, and by Berkeley when he said that what common sense means by realities is exactly what the philosopher means by ideas. Neither Locke nor Berkeley thought his truth out into perfect clearness, but it seems to me that the conception I am defending does little more than 'consistently carry out the 'pragmatic' method which they were the first to use. If the reader will take his own experiences, he will see what I mean. Let him begin with a per- ceptual experience, the 'presentation', so called, of a 25 374 Readings in Philosophy physical object, his actual field of vision, the room he sits in, with the book he is reading as its centre ; and let him for the present treat this complex ob- ject in the common sense way as being 'really' what it seems to be, a collection of physical things cut out from an environing world of other physical things with which these physical things have ac- tual or potential relations. Now at the same time it is just those self-smfie things which his mind, as we say, perceives ; and the whole philosophy of per- ception from Democritus's time downwards has been just one long wrangle over the paradox that what is evidently one reality should be in two places at once, both in outer space and in a. person's mind. 'Representative' theories of perception avoid the logical paradox, but on the other hand they violate the reader's sense of life, which knows no interven- ing mental image but seems to see the room and the book immediately just as they physically exist. The puzzle of how the one identical room can be in two places is at bottom just the puzzle of how one identical point can be on two lines. It can, if it be situated at their intersection ; and similarly, if the 'pure experience' of the room were a place of intersection of two processes, which connected it with different groups of associates respectively, it could be counted twice over, as belonging to either group, and spoken of loosely as existing in two. places, although it would remain all the time a numerically single thing. Well, the experience is a member of diverse pro- cesses that can be followed away from it along en- tirely different lines. The one self-identical thing The Identity or Double Aspect Theory 375 has so many relations to the rest of experience that you can take it in disparate system of ■ association, and treat it as belonging with opposite contexts. In one ofthese contexts it is your 'field of con- sciousness' ; in another it is 'the room in which you sit', and it enters both contexts in its wholeness, giv- ing no pretext for being said to attach itself to con- sciousness by one of its parts or aspects, and to outer reality by another. What are the two processes, now, into which the room-experience simultaneously enters in this way? One of them is the reader's personal biography, the other is the history of the house of which the room is a part. The presentation, the experience, the that in short (for until we have decided what it is it must be a mere that) is the last term of a train of sensations, emotions, decisions, movements, classifications, expectations, etc., ending in the pres- ent, and the first term of a series of similar 'inner' operations extending into the future, on the reader's part. On the other hand, the very same that is the terminus ad quern of a lot of previous physical operations, carpentering, papering, furnishing, warming, etc., and the terminus a quo of a lot of future ones, in wiiich it will be concerned when undergoing the destiny of a physical room. The physical and the mental operations form curiously incompatible groups. As a room, the experience has occupied that spot and had that environment for thirty years. As your field of consciousness it may never have existed until now. As a room, at- tention will go on to discover endless new details in it. As your mental state merely, few new ones 376 Readings in Philosophy will emerge under attention's eye. As a room, it will take an earthquake, or a gang of men, and in any case a certain amount of time, to destroy it. As your subjective state, the closing of your eyes, or any instantaneous play of your fancy will suffice. In the real world fire will consume it. In your mind, you can let fire play over it without effect. As an outer object, you must pay so much a month to in- habit it. As an inner content, you may occupy it for any length of time rent-free. If, in short, you follow it in the mental direction, taking it along with events of personal biography solely, all sorts of things are true of it which are false, and false of it which are true if you treat it as a real thing ex- perienced, follow it in the physical direction, and relate it to associates in the outer world. Ill So far, all seems plain sailing, but my thesis will probably grow less plausible to the reader when I pass from percepts to concepts, or from the case of things presented to that of things remote. I be- lieve, nevertheless, that here also the same law holds good. If we take conceptual manifolds, or mem- ories, or fancies, they also are in their first inten- tion mere bits of pure experience, and, as such, are single thats which act in one context as objects, and in another context figure as mental states. By taking them in their first intention, I mean ignor- ing their relation to possible perceptual experiences with which they may be connected, which they may lead to and terminate in, and which then they may The Identity or Double Aspect Theory 377 be supposed to 'represent'. Taking them in this way first, we confine the problem to a world merely 'thought-of and not directly felt or seen. This world, just like the world of percepts, comes to us at first as a chaos of experiences, but lines of order soon get traced. We find that any bit of it which we may cut out as an example is connected with distinct groups of associates, just as our perceptual experiences are, that these associates link them- selves with it by different relations, and that one forms the inner history of a person, while the other acts as an impersonal 'objective' world, either spatial and temporal, or else merely logical or mathemati- cal, or otherwise 'ideal'. CHAPTER XX SINGULARISM AND PLURALISM A. God AS Substance. The first part of Spinoza's development of his thesis is to be seen in the following selection, which shows also his method of presentation : OF GOD Definitions 1. Byi caiise of itself I mean that whose essence involves existence; or, in other words, that whose nature cannot be conceived except as existing. 2. A thing is said to be finite in its kind when it can be limited by another of the same nature. For example, a body is called finite because we always conceive another still greater. In the samfe way one thought is limited by another. But a body can- not be limited by a thought, nor a thought by a body. 3. By substance I mean that which is itself, and is conceived by means of itself : that is, that the con- ception of which does not need to be formed from the conception of any other thing. « ^ G. S. FuUerton, The Philosophy of Spinoza, pages 25-34 ; Henry Holt and Company, 1894; reprinted by permission of the publishers. (378) Singularism and Pluralism 379 4. By attribute I mean that which the under- standing perceives as constituting the essence of substance. 5. By mode I mean the modifications of sub- stance : in other words, that which is in and is con- ceived by means of something else. 6. By God I mean a being absolutely infinite: that is, a substance consisting of an infinity of at- tributes, each one of which expresses an eternal and infinite essence. Explanation. — I say absolutely infinite, not in- finite in its kind; for we can deny an infinity of attributes of anything that is infinite only in its kind. But to the essence of that which is absolutely infinite belongs everything that expresses essence and involves no negation. 7. A thing will be called free that exists by the sole necessity of its nature, and is determined to action by itself alone : that, on the other hand, which is determined by something else to exist and to act in a definite and determinate way will be called necessary, or rather coerced. 8. By eternity I mean existence itself in so far as it is conceived as following necessarily from the mere definition of an eternal thing. Explanation. For such existence, like the essence of a thing, is conceived as an eternal truth; it can- not, therefore, be explained by duration or time, even though duration be conceived as without begin- ning and without end. 380 Readings in Philosophy Axioms 1. Eveiything that is, is either in itself or in something else. 2. That which cannot be conceived by means of something else must be conceived by means of it- self. 3. Granted a determinate cause, an effect neces- sarily follows ; conversely, if there be no determinate cause it is impossible for an effect to follow. 4. Knowledge of an effect depends upon and involves knowledge of its cause. 5. Things which have nothing in common can- not be comprehended by means of each other; that is, the conception of the one does not involve the conception of the other. 6. A true idea must agree with its object. 7. If a thing can be conceived as non-existent, its essence does not involve existence. Proposition 1. Substance is by nature prior to its modifications. Proof. — This is evident from definitions 3 and 5. Proposition 2. Two substances with different attributes have nothing in common. Proof. — This, too, is evident from definition 3. Each must be in itself and be conceived by means of itself; that is, the conception of the one does not involve the conception of the other. Proposition 3. When things have nothing in common, the one cannot be the cause of the other. Proof. — If they have nothing in common, then (axiom 5) they cannot be comprehended by means of one another, and, hence (axiom 4), the one can- not-be the cause of the other. Q. E. D. Singularism and Pluralism 381 Proposition 4. Two or more distinct things are distinguished from each other either by a difference in the attributes of the substances, or by a difference in their modifications. Proof. — Everything that is, is either in itself or in something else (axiom 1), that is (defs. 3 and 5), outside of the understanding there is nothing save substances and their modifications. There is, there- fore, outside of the understanding, nothing by means of which several things can be distinguished from one another, except substances, or, which is the same thing (def. 4) , their attributes and their modi- fications. Q. E. D. ; Proposition 5. There can not be in the universe two or more substances of the same nature, that is, with the same attribute. Proof. — Were there several distinct substances, they would have to be distinguished from one an- other either by a difference in attributes or by a difference in modifications {by the preceding propo- sition) . If merely by a difference in attributes, it will be admitted there can not be more than one with the same attribute. If, on the other hand, one is to be distinguished from another by a difference in modifications, then, since a substance is by nature prior to its modifications (Prop. 1), when we lay aside its modifications, and consider it in itself, that is, (def. 3 and axiom 6) , consider it as it is, we can- not conceive it as distinguished from another sub- stance. In other words (by the preceding proposi- tion) , there cannot be several substances, but only one. Q. E. D. 382 Readings in Philosophy Proposition 6. One substance cannot be pro- duced by another substance. Proof. — There cannot be in the universe two substances with the same -attribute (by the preced- ing proposition) , that is (Prop. 2), substances that have something in common. Therefore (3), the one cannot be the cause of the other, or, in other words, the one cannot be produced by the other. Q. E. D. Corollary. — Hence it follows that a -substance cannot be produced by any other thing. For there is nothing in the universe except substances and their modifications, as is evident from axiom 1 and defs. 3 and 5. But a substance cannot be produced by a substance (by the preceding proposition). Hence a substance cannot be produced by any other thing whatever. Q. E. D. Another proof. — ■ This is proved even more readily by a reductio ad absurdum. For if a sub- stance could be produced by any other thing, the knowledge of it would have to depend on a knowl- edge of its cause (axiom 4) ; hence (def. 3) it would not be a substance. Proposition 7. It belongs to the nature of a substance to exist. Proof. — A substance cannot be produced by any other thing (by the corollary to the preceding proposition) ; it must, therefore, be its own cause, that is (def. 1), its essence necessarily involves ex- istence, or, in other words, it belongs to its nature to exist. Q. E. D. Proposition 8. Every substance is necessarily infinite. Singularism mid Pluralism 383 Proof. — There does not exist more than one sub- stance with a given attribute (5) , and it belongs to the nature of that one to exist (7) . It must, there- fore, belong to its nature to exist either as finite or as infinite. But not as finite. For {def. 2) it would have to be limited by another of the same nature, and this, also, would necessarily have to exist. (7). There would, then, be two substances with the same attribute, which is absurd (5). It therefore exists as infinite. Q. E. D. Scholium 1. — Since finitude is in fact a partial negation, and infinitude an absolute affirmation of the existence of any nature, it follows from prop. 7 alone that every substance must be infinite. Scholium 2. — No doubt it is difficult for all those who judge of things confusedly and are not accus- tomed to come to a knowledge of them by means of their first causes, to comprehend the proof of prop. 7; for they make no distinction between the modifications of substances and the substances themselves, nor do they know how things are pro- duced. Hence they ascribe to substances the origin they see proper to natural objects. For those who are ignorant of the true causes of things confuse all things, and without repugnance fancy trees talking as well as men, and that men are formed from stones as well as from seed, and they imagine that any kind of thing can be changed into any other. In the same way those who confuse the divine nature with the human easily ascribe to God human emotions, especially as long as they are fur- ther ignorant how the emotions are produced in the mind. But if men would consider attentively the 384 Readings in Phitosopky nature of substance, they would never doubt the truth of prop. 7; nay, rather they would all accept this proposition as an axiom and class it among the common notions. For by substance they would mean that which is in itself and is conceived by means of itself; in other words, that the knowledge of which does not presuppose the knowledge of any other thing. By modiircation, on the other hand, they would mean that which is in something else, and whose conception is formed from the conception of the thing in which it is. For this reason we can have true ideas of non-existent modifications, since, although they do not actually exist outside of the mind, yet their essence is ihcluded in something else in such a way that they can be conceived by that. But since substances are conceived by means of themselves, their truth can have no being outside of the mind except in themselves. Hence, should anyone say that he has a clear and distinct, that is, a true idea of a substance, and yet doubts whether such a substance exists, it would be absolutely the same as saying that he has a true idea and yet is not certain that it is not false ! This will be plain to any- one who gives the matter enough attention. Or if one maintains that a substance is created, he thereby maintains that a false idea has been made true, than which really nothing more absurd can be conceived. We are, therefore, forced to confess that the exist- ence of a substance is an eternal truth, just as is its essence. Hence we are able to prove in another way that there cannot be more than one substance with a given nature, and I have thought it worth while to set forth the proof here. But to do this Singularism and Pluralism 385 in a methodical way, I must note — First, that the true definition of a thing neither involves nor ex- presses anything except the nature of the thing de- fined. Whence it follows in the second place, that no definition either involves or expresses a certain definite number of individuals, seeing that it ex- presses nothing but the nature of the thing defined. For example, the definition of the triangle ex- presses nothing but just the nature of the triangle, and not a certain definite number of triangles. I must note in the third place that every existing thing necessarily has some definite cause, by reason of which it exists. And finally in the fourth place that this cause, by reason of which any- thing exists, must either be contained in the very nature and definition of the existing thing (for the reason, of course, that it belongs to the nature of such a thing to exist), or it must be outside of it. Granted these points, it follows that if there exist in the world some definite number of individuals, there must necessarily be a cause why those individuals, and neither more nor less, exist. If, for example, there exist in the universe twenty men (I will sup- pose, to make the matter clearer, that they exist at the same time, and that no others have ever existed before), it will not be a sufficient explanation of the existence of the twenty men to show the cause of human nature in the abstract ; but it will be further necessary to show the cause why twenty exist, and not more nor less; for (by point third) there must necessarily be a cause for the existence of each one. But this cause (by point second and third) cannot 386 Readings in Philosophy be contained in human nature itself, since the true definition of man does not involve the number twenty. Hence {by point fourth) the cause why these twenty men exist, and, consequently, why each one exists, must necessarily be outside of each one. Therefore, the conclusion is unavoidable that every- thing of such a nature, that several individuals with that nature can exist, must necessarily have an external cause to bring about their existence. Now since it belongs to the nature of a substance to exist (by what I have jiASt sKown in this scholium), its definition must involve necessary existence, and hence its existence must be inferred from its mere definition. But from its definition (as has just been proved from points second and third) the ex- istence of several substances cannot be inferred. From it, therefore, it follows necessarily that but one of a given nature exists, as was maintained. Proposition 9. The more reality or being any- thing has, the greater the number of its attributes. Proof. — This is evident from def. 4. Proposition 10. Each attribute of- a substance must be conceived by means of itself. Proof. — Attribute is that which the understand- ing perceives as .constituting the essence of sub- stance {def. 4) ; therefore {def. 3) it must be con- ceived by means of itself. Q. E. D. Scholium;. — Hence it is evident that although two attributes are conceived as really distinct — that is, the one is conceived without help from the other — yet we cannot thence infer that they constitute two Singularism and Pluralism 387 beings, or, in other words, two different substances. For it is of the nature of a substance that each of its attributes is conceived by means of itself ;■ seeing that all the attributes it has have always been in it simultaneously, nor has it been possible for one to be produced by another, but each one expresses the reality, that is, the being of the substance. It is, therefore, far from absurd to ascribe several at- tributes to one substance ; nay, nothing in the world is clearer than that every being must be conceived under some attribute, and that the more reality or being it has, the more attributes has it that express both necessity, that is, eternity, and infinity. Hence nothing can be clearer than that an absolutely in- finite being must necessarily be defined {as in def. 6), as a being consisting of an infinity of attributes, each one of which expresses a definite eternal and infinite essence. Should one here ask, by what mark, then, can we distinguish different substances ? let him read the propositions that follow, which show that there exists in the. universe but a single substance, and that this is absolutely infinite. Hence such a mark would be sought in vain. Proposition 11. God, that is, a substance con- sisting of an infinity of attributes, each one of which expresses an eternal and infinite essence, necessarily exists. Proof. — If you deny it, conceive if you can that God does not exist. Then (axiom 7) his essence does not involve existence. But this (7) is absurd. Therefore God necessarily exists. Q. E. D. 388 Readings in Philosophy B. The Absolute. The following is a typical passage from Hegel's "Phenomenology of Mind" suggesting his view of the Absolute: According! to my view, which can justify itself only through the presentation of the whole system, everything depends upon grasping and describing the True not merely as Substance, but also as Sub- ject. It is to be noted at once that Substantiality includes the Universal or the Immediate of knowl- edge itself, as well as that which is Being or Im- mediacy for knowledge. If the conception of God as Substance shocked the age in which this char- acterization was expressed, the reason therefor lay partly in the instinctive feeling that self-conscious- ness was therein swallowed up, not preserved; but the contrary view which holds to thinking as mere thinking, Universality as such, in part involves the same simple or undifferentiated, unmoved Substan- tiality. And if in the third place Thought unites the being of Substance with itself and conceives im- mediacy or intuition as thought, it is a question whether this intellectual contemplation does not fall back into inert simplicity, and present Reality itself in an unreal manner. Living Substance is furthermore that Being which is Subject in Truth, or — what amounts to the same thing, — is real in Truth, only in so far as it is the movement of positing itself, or the mediation of its own changes through itself. As subject it is pure, ' Hegel, Phenomenology of Mind, pp. 14-25 ; tran^ated from the edition of 1832. Singularism and Pluralism 389 simple negativity, and thereby the sundering of the simple, or the duplication into opposites; and it is again the negation of this inert diversity and of this opposition. Only this self-reinstating identity or the reflection from another into itself — not an original unity as such, nor an immediate unity, as such, — is the Truth. It is the process of develop- ing itself, the circle which presupposes its end as its goal, takes it as its starting point, and is real only through its development and in its final comple- tion. The life of God and the divine knowledge may be said to be a disporting of love with itself. This idea indeed sinks to edification and even to silliness if the seriousness, the pain, the patience and labor of the process of negation is overlooked. - In itself that life is indeed undisturbed identity and unity with itself, in which there is no distress over differ- ence and estrangement, nor over the overcoming of this estrangement.- But this 'in itself is abstract universality in which no account is taken of its dis- position to be for itself, and thereby none whatever of the self-movement of Form. If form is described as identical with Essence then it is a misapprehen- sion to hold that knowledge can be satisfied with the thing itself or its essence but do without the form, — that the absolute principle or the absolute vision makes the completion of the first or the development of the second superfluous. Just because the form is as essential to the essence as the essence is to it, it is not to be. understood and expressed as mere essence, that is, as immediate substance, or as pure self-contemplation on the part of the Divine, but 26 390 Readings in Philosophy equally as form and with all the richness of de- veloped form. Thereby only will it be apprehended and expressed in its actuality. The True is the Whole. The whole, however, is only the Essence perfecting itself through its de- velopment. It must be said of the Absolute that it is essentially result, that only at the end is it what it is in truth.' And herein consists its real nature — in being the Actual, Subject, or Self-developing Principle. However paradoxical it may seem that the Absolute is to be conceived as essentially result a little reflection corrects this appearance of contra- diction. The origin, principle, or absolute, as it is at first and immediately expressed is only the uni- versal. Just as when I say, 'all animals', this ex- pression* cannot serve as a science of zoology, so it is evident that the words, 'God', 'Absolute', 'Eternal', etc., do not express all that 'is included under them. Such words really express only the intuition as im- mediate. What is more than such a word, even the mere transition to a sentence, contains a change to an Other which must be brought back, — is a proc- ess of mediation. This is abhorred, however, as if absolute knowledge is given up through the very fact that more is made of it than merely that it is abso- lutely nothing and does not exist in the Absolute. This horror comes, however, in fact from the lack of acquaintance with the nature of mediation and of absolute knowledge itself. For mediation is noth- ing else than living Identity, or it is reflection into itself, the process of Self's becoming object for it- self, pure negativity, or — lowered to its purely ab- stract level — simple Becoming. The Ego or Be- Singularism and Pluralism 391 coming in general, this mediation in its simplicity, is Immediacy coming into being, and is the Imme- date itself. It is therefore a misconstruction of reason to exclude reflection from the truth and not to conceive it as a positive aspect of the Absolute. It is what brings the true to its full result, and at the same time overcomes the opposition between it and its own process of becoming; for this process IS also simple and not different from the form of truth, in that in the result it appears as simple. Rather it is just this return into simplicity. Al- though the embryo is in essence a man yet it is not man perfected; in the perfected state he is the full formed reason which has brought itself to what it was potentially. This alone is its actuality. But this result is itself simple immediacy. For it is self-conscious freedom which rests in itself, has not placed its inner opposition to one side, and let' it lie there, but has become reconciled to it. What we have said can be expressed thus : reason is purposive activity. The exalting of so-called Na- ture over misunderstood thought, and above all the proscription of outer purposiveness has brought the conception of purpose into general discredit. Burt in line with Aristotle's definition of nature, as pur- posive, we assert that the goal is the immediate, re- posing, unmoved, itself the source of motion; as such it is subject. Its power to move, abstractly taken, is its self-dependent being, or pure negativity. The end is the same as the beginning only for the reason that the beginning is also goal; — or the actual is the same as its concept only for the rea- son that the immediate as goal contains the self or 392 Readings in Philosophy pure actuality in it. The perfected end or the actual real is movement and process of becoming. But just this restlessness is the nature of the self; and it is identical with that immediacy and simplicity of the beginning because it is the result, that which has returned to itself, — but that which has re- turned to itself, however, is the self, and the self is identity and simplicity. The need of representing the Absolute as subject availed itself of the assertion: God is the Eternal, or the Moral World-order, or Love, etc. In such assertions the truth is only baldly posited as subject, not presented as the movement of self-reflection. In a sentence of this kind one begins with the word 'God'. This by itself is a meaningless sound, a mere name; an added predicate is what tells what he is and constitutes its consummation and meaning; the empty beginning becomes actualized knowledge only in this ending. So far we see no reason why one does not speak merely of the eternal, the moral world-order, etc., or as the ancients did7 of pure concepts : 'being', 'the one', etc., of that which gives the meaning, without prefixing this meaningleiss sound. But by this word there is indicated just this: that not a being or essence or universal in general, but a being reflected into itself, a subject, is posited. But at the same time this is merely in- tuited. The subject is presumed as a flxed point, to which, as to their support, the predicates are attached, through a movement which belongs to him who is aware of it, but which is not viewed as be- longing to the point itself. Yet through this move- ment alone could the content be presented as subject. Singulansm and Pluralism SdS Considering the manner in which this movement is constituted it can not belong to it ; but after the pre- supposition of that point it can not be constituted otherwise, it can be only external. That presenti- ment that the Absolute is Subject is therefore not only not th^ actualization of this concept, but makes it even impossible ; for it posits Him as a stationary point, while the reality is self-movement.. Among many sorts of consequences which fol- low from what has been said this may be empha- sized, that knowledge exists and is to be pre- sented only as science or as system; that further a so-called axiom or principle of philosophy, even if it is true, is also false in so far as it exists only as axiom or principle. It is therefore easy to, refute it. The refutation consists in showing its deficiency; but it is deficient because it is only the universal or principle, the beginning. If the refutation is well, founded it is taken and developed out of the principle itself, not effected through opposed affirmations and sallies from without. It would therefore really be the agent of development and the means of sup- plying defects if it did not err in giving atten- tion only to negative effects and in not being aware of progress and result on the positive side also. On the other hand the true positive develop- ment of the starting point is at once just as much a negative procedure against it, that is against its one-sided form, when it is merely immediate or mere goal. It can therefore be taken equally well as refutation of that which constitutes the basis of the system, but more correctly is it to be viewed as a 394 Readings in Philosophy revelation that the basis or principle of the system is in fact only its beginning. That the true is actual only as system, or that Substance is essentially subject, is expressed in the view that represents the Absolute as Spirit, — in the loftiest of conceptions, and the one which bfelongs to recent time and to its religion. The spiritual alone is actual ; it is essence or self -existence, — the self-determining and definite. Otherness and Self- existence — and in this determinateness or its other- ness yet remaining- within itself; or it is in and for itself. It is this being in and for itself, however, only for us ori in itself ; it is spiritual substance. It must be this also for itself, must be knowledge of the spiritual and knowledge of itself as the spiritual, , that is, it must be object to itself, but also immedi- jately as object taken up and reflected into itself. It is explicitly revealed only for us and in so far as its spiritual content is begotten through itself; but in so far as it is explicitly revealed to itself this self- production, the pure concept, is at the same time the objective element in it, wherein it has its exists ence. And in this way in its existence for itself it is its object reflected into itself. The spirit which knows itself thus developed as spirit, is science. Science is its actuality and the realm which it builds for itself in its own element. Pure self-knowledge by way of what is absolutely 'other' — this ether as such — is the very founda- tion of science or of knowledge in general. Phi- losophy at the very beginning presupposes or de- mands that consciousness thrive in this atmosphere. But this element achieves its perfection and illumi- Singularism and Pluralism 395 nation only through its process of development. It is pure spirituality, the universal, which has the as- pect of simple immediacy ; — this Simple, in its ex- istence as such, is the Ground, the Thought, which exists only in spirit. Because this element, this immediacy of spirit, is the Substance of spirit in general, it is the transfigured essence, i. e., reflection which is aware of its own simplicity and immediacy, and it is immediate Being which consists in reflec- tion upon self. Science on its part demands of self- consciousness that it have raised itself into this ether, that it may be able to live and actually should live with it and in it. On the contrary the individual has the right to demand that science offer him at least a ladder reaching to this point, and reveal to him this same standpoint in himself. His right is based upon his absolute independence, which knows how to possess this right in every form of his knowl- edge, for in every one, be it recognized by science or not, and be the content what it will, he, the indi- vidual, is the absolute form, that is, he is the imme- diate certainty of himself, and — if this expression be preferred — thereby unconditioned Being. If the standpoint of "consciousness", which knows ob- jective things in opposition to itself, and itself in opposition to them, amounts in the eyes of science to an alien one (a standpoint in which science, in its own heart, sees itself losing the very nature of spirit) , on the other hand the atmosphere of science is to "consciousness" a remote region, in which it no longer finds itself. Each of these two parties appears to the other the reverse of truth. Natural consciousness in committing itself immediately to 396 Readings in Philosophy science is making an attempt, knowing not from what impulse, to walk on its head ; the constraint to assume this unaccustomed position and to move about therein is a violence that it is expected to do to itself for which it is unprepared and which seems unnecessary. Let science be in itself what it will, to immediate self-consciousness it presents itself as a perversion, or, since self-consciousness has cer- tainty of itself as the principle of its actuality, it regards itself as external to science, which there- fore appears to it as unreal. Science has therefore to unite this element with itself or rather to show that this element belongs to it and how. As lacking such actuality science is only content, undeveloped, the goal which is still latent, not spirit, but the potential stuff of spirit. This implicit element has to render itself explicit, and become its own object; which means nothing else than that it must establish self -consciousness as one with itself. This development of science in general, or of knowledge, is what the Phenomenology of Spirit presents. Knowledge as it is at first, or immediate spirit, is spirit-less, sensuous consciousness. In order to develop into real knowledge, or to realize the essence of science which is its pure concept itself, it has' to work its way through a long course. This development, as it will assume expression in its con- tent and the forms which appear in it, will not be what one understands in the first instance by the bringing of unscientific consciousness to scientific. It will also be something other than laying the foun- dation of science ; — as also something else than con- fident doigmatism which begins pointblank with ab- Singularism and Pluralism 397 solute knowledge, and is thereby done with other standpoints, merely explaining that it proposes to take no notice of them. The task of leading the individual from his un- developed state to the state of knowledge, was to be taken in its general sense, and the general individual, self-conscious spirit, to be observed in its develop- ment. As concerns the relation of the two every factor shows itself in the general individual as it gains concrete form and peculiar figure. The par- ticular individual is unperfected spirit, a concrete form, in whose whole existence one type of deter- minateness is sovereign, and in which others are present only in blurred outlines. In the mind which stands on the higher level the lower concrete exist- ence has sunk to a subordinate factor,' what was previously an independent thing is now only a trace ; its form has been absorbed and has become a mere bit of shading. The individual whose substance is the higher mind traverses this outgrown stage in the manner in which one who is taking up a higher science, reviews the elementary knowledge which he acquired long ago, in order to recall its content to his mind. He recalls this content without having any interest in and without lingering over it. With regard to content each finite mind has also to pass through the stages of development of the universal mind, but it traverses them as forms already laid aside by the spirit, as steps in a path that is already finished and leveled. So we see with respect to intellectual attainments that that which in earlier ages occupied the mature spirit of man has sunk down to common information, drill practice, and even 398 Readings in Philosophy games of boyhood; and we shall recognize in the stages of educatioxial progress the history of the civilization of the world as it were sketched in hasty outline. This past existence is the already ap- propriated possession of the general mind, which constitutes the substance of the individual and, as it appears externally to him, his inorganic nature. Education in this respect viewed from the position of the individual consists in mastering what is ready to hand, assimilating its inorganic nature and taking it up into full possession. This, however, from the standpoint of the general mind as substance, is noth- ing but its gaining of self-consciousness, effecting its own process, and reflection into itself. Science presents this movement of culture both in its fulness and its necessity as that which has already sunken down to the level of mere part and property of the Spirit in the course of its formation. The final goal is the insight of the Spirit into what knowledge is. Impatience demands the impossible, that is the attainment of the end without the means. On the one hand this long journey must be endured, for every factor is necessary ; — on the other hand one should linger with each stage, for each is itself an individual, total form, and is seen in its abso- luteness only in so far as its determinateness as whole or concrete, or the whole in this peculiar de- terminate form, is taken into consideration. Be- cause the substance of the individual, because even the World Spirit, has had the patience to go through these forms in the long stretch of time, and to under- take the vast labor of World History, in which it gave to each form the fullest amount of itself which Singularism and Pluralism 399 it was capable of receiving, and because through nothing less could it attain the consciousness of itself, neither can the individual really* comprehend its own substance with less effort. Still, it has at once less trouble because potentially this is accomplished; the content is an actuality now reduced to poten- tiality, its immediacy having been overcome; the formative process has been abbreviated to a simple conceptual description. As already an object of thought the content has become a possession of Substance; existence is not to be turned back into its undeveloped form ; that which is no more primi- tive, nor on the low level of mere existence, but rather now potential in memory only, is to be trans- formed into object of full consciousness. The man- ner in which this is done is to be given in more detail. What the Whole can dispense with at the point at which we here take up this movement is the transcending of mere existence; what is still left, however, and needs higher transformation, is our common ideas and familiar conceptions. Existence which has been taken up into substance is through that first negation transferred into the sphere of the Self only on the level of immediacy. This possession gained by it has therefore still the same character of uncomprehended immediacy, of calm indifference, as mere existence itself, and has thus passed over only into sense imagery. Thereupon it has become a familiar thing, such a thing as the living mind is done with, wherein its activity and consequentlji. its interest no longer lies. If the activity which does away with mere existence itself is only the 400 Readings in Philosophy movement of the particular spirit which does not comprehend itself, on the contrary knowledge is directed against the sensory image which has hereby come into existence, against this mere familiarity; it is activity of the Universal Self, and the interest of Thought. C. Pluralism versus Monism. James's contrast of the two views with preference of the pluralistic doctrine is set forth in the follow- ing well known pages: For^ monism the world is no collection, but one great all-inclusive fact outside of which is nothing — nothing is its only alternative. When the monism is idealistic, this all-enveloping fact is represented as an absolute mind that makes the partial facts by thinking them, just as we make objects in a dream by dreaming them, or personages in a story by imagining them. To be, on this scheme, is, on the part of a finite thing, to be an object for the absolute; and on the part of the absolute it is to be the thinker of that assemblage of objects. If we use the word 'content' here, we see that the absolute and the world have an identical content. The absolute is nothing but the knowledge of those objects; the objects are nothing but what the absolute knows. The world and the all-thinker thus compenetrate and soak each other uf) without residuum. They are but two names for the same identical material, considered now from 'James, W., A Pluralistic Universe, pages 36-40; Long- mans, Green and Company, 1909; reprinted by permission of the publishers. Singularism and Pluralism 401 the subjective, and now from the objective point of view — gedanke and gedachtes, as we would say if we were Germans. We philosophers naturally form part of the material, on the monistic scheme. The absolute makes us by thinking us, and if we are ourselves enlightened eiiough to be believers in the absolute, one may then say that our philosophizing is one of the ways in which the absolute is conscious of itself. This is the full pantheistic scheme, the identitdtsphilosophie, the immanence of God in his creation, a conception sublime from its tremendous unity. And yet that unity is incomplete, as closer examination will show. The absolute and the world are one fact, I said, when materially considered. Our philosophy, for example, is not numerically distinct from the abso- lute's own knowledge of itself, not a duplicate and copy of it, it is part of that very "knowledge, is numerically identical with as much of it as our thought covers. The absolute just is our philosophy, along with everything else that is known, in act of knowing which (to use the words of my gifted abso- lutist colleague Royce) it forms in its wholeness one luminously transparent conscious moment. But one as we are in this material sense with the absolute substance, that being only the whole of us, and we only the parts of it, yet in a formal sense something like a pluralism' breaks out. When we speak of the absolute we take the one universal known material collectively or integrally; when we speak of its objects, of our finite selves, etc., we take that same identical material distributively and sepa- 402 Readings in Philosophy ratdy. But what is the use of a thing's being only once if it can be taken twice over, and if being taken in different ways makes different things true of it? As the absolute takes me, for example, I appear mth everything else in its field of perfect knowledge. As I take myself, I appear without most other things in my field of relative ignorance. And practical differ- ences result from its knowledge and my ignorance. Ignorance breeds mistake, curiosity, misfortune, pain, for me; I suffer those consequences. The absolute knows of those things, of course, for it knows me and my suffering, but it doesn't itself suffer. It can't be ignorant, for simultaneous with its knowledge of each question goes its knowledge of each answer. It can't be patient, for it has to wait for nothing, having everything at once in its possession. It can't be surprised ; it can't be guilty. No attribute 'connected with succession can be ap- plied to it, for it is all at once and wholly what it is, 'with the unity of a single instant', and succes- sion is not of it but in it, for we are continually told that it is 'timeless.' Things true of the world in its finite aspects, then are not true of it in its infinite capacity. Qua, finite and plural its accounts of itself to itself are different from what its account to itself qua infinite and one must be. With this radical discrepancy between the abso- lute and the relative points of view, it seems to me that almost as great a bar to intimacy between the divine and the human breaks out in pantheism as that which we found in monarchical theism, and hoped that pantheism might not show. We humans Singularism and Pluralism 403 are incurably rooted in the temporal point of view. The eternal's ways are utterly unlike our ways. 'Let us imitate the All', said the original prospectus of that admirable Chicago quarterly called the 'Monist'. As if we could, either in thought or con- duct! We are invincibly parts, let us talk as we will, and must always apprehend the absolute as if it were a foreign being. If what I mean by this is not wholly clear to you at this point, it ought to grow clearer as my lectures proceed. It^ is curious how little countenance radical plu- ralism has ever had from philosophers. Whether materialistically or spiritualistically minded, phi- losophers have always aimed at cleaning up the litter with which the world apparently is filled. They have substituted economical and orderly con- ceptions for the first sensible tangle; and whether these were morally elevated or only intellectually neat, they were at any rate always aesthetically pure and definite, and aimed at ascribing to the world something clean and intellectual in the way of inner structure. As compared with all these rationalizing pictures, the pluralistic empiricism which I profess offers but a sorry appearance. It is a turbid, muddled, gothic sort of an affair, without a sweep- ing outline and with little pictorial nobility. Those of you who are accustomed to the classical construc- tion of reality may be excused if your first reaction upon it be absolute contempt — a shrug of the shoul- ders as if such ideas were unworthy of explicit refu- 'Ibid., pp. 45-50. 404 Readings in Philosophy tation. But one must have lived some time with a system to appreciate its merits. Perhaps a little more familiarity may mitigate your first surprise at such a programme as I offer. First, one word more than what I said last time about the relative foreignness of the divine principle in the philosophy of the absolute. Those of you who have read the last two chapters of Mr. Bradley's wonderful book, 'Appearance and reality', will re- member what an elaborately foreign aspect his absolute is finally made to assume. It is neither intelligence nor will, neither a self nor a collection of selves, neither truthful, good, nor beautiful, as we understand these terms. It is, in short, a meta- physical monster, all that we are permitted to say of it being that whatever it is, it is at any rate worth more (worth more to itself, that is) than if any eulogistic adjectives of ours applied to it. It is us, and all other appearances, but none of us as such, for in it we are all 'transmuted,' and its own as- suchness is of another denomipation altogether. Spinoza was the first great absolutist, and the im- possibility of being intimate with his God is univer- sally recognized. Quatenus infinitiis est he is other than what he is quatenus humanam mentem con- stituit. Spinoza's philosophy has been rightly said to be worked by the word quatenus. Conjunctions, prepositions, and adverbs play indeed the vital part in all philosophies; and in contemporary idealism the words 'as' and 'qua' bear the burden of recon- ciling metaphysical unity with phenomenal diversity. Qua absolute the world is one and perfect, qua rela- tive it is many and faulty, yet it is identically the Singularism and Pluralism 405 self-same world — instead of talking of it as many facts, we call it one fact in many aspects. As absolute, then, or sub specie eternitatis, or quMenu^ infinitus est, the world repels our sym- pathy because it has no history. As stcch, the abso- lute, neither acts nor suffers, nor loves nor hates ; it has no needs, desires, or aspirations, no failures or successes, friends or enemies, victories or defeats. All such things pertain to the world qua relative, in which our finite experiences lie, and whose vicissi- tudes alone have power to arouse our interest. What boots it to tell me that the absolute way is the true way, and to exhort me, as Emerson says, to lift mine eye up to its style, and manners of the sky, if the feat is impossible by definition? I am finite once for all, and all the categories of my sympathy are knit up with the finite world as such, and with things which have a history. 'Aus dieser erde quellen meine freuden, und ihre sonne scheinet meinen leiden'. I have neither eyes nor ears nor heart nor mind for anything of an opposite description, and the stagnant felicity of the absolute's own perfec- tion moves me as little as I move it. If we were readers only of the cosmic novel, things would be different: we should then share the author's point of view and recognize villains to be as essential as heroes in the plot. But we are not the readers but the very personages of the world-drama. In your own eyes each of you here is its hero, and the vil- lains are your respective friends or enemies. The tale which the absolute reader finds so perfect, we spoil for one another through our several vital 27 406 Readings in Philosophy identifications with the destinies of the particular personages involved. The doctrine on which the absolutists lay most stress is the absolute's 'timeless' character. For pluralists, on the other hand, time remains as real, as anything, and nothing in the universe is great or static or eternal enough not to have some territory. But the world that each of us feels most intimately at home with is that of beings with histories that play into our history, whom we can help in their vicissitudes even as they help us in ours. This satis- faction the absolute denies us ; we can neither help nor hinder it, for it stands outside of history. It surely is a merit in a philosophy, to make the very life we lead seem real and earnest. Pluralism, in ex- orcising the absolute, exorcises the great de^realizer of the only life we are at home in, and thus redeems the nature of reality from essential foreignness. Every end, reason, motive, object of desire or aver- sion, ground of sorrow or joy that we feel is in the world of finite multifariousness, for only in that world does anything really happen, only there do events come to pass. How^ often have I been replied to, when express- ing doubts of the logical necessity of the absolute, of flying to the opposite extreme: 'But surely, surely there must be some connection among things!' As if I must necessarily be an uncontrolled monomaniac insanely denying any connexion whatever. The whole question revolves in very truth about the word 'some'. Radical empiricism and pluralism stand out 'Ibid., pp. 78-81. Singularism and Pluralism 407 for the legitimacy of the notion of some : each part of the world is in some ways connected, in some other ways not connected with its other parts, and the ways can be discriminated, for many of them are obvious, and their differences are obvious to view. Absolutism, on its side, seems to hold that 'some' is a category ruinously infected with self-contra- dictoriness, and that the only categories inwardly consistent and therefore pertinent to reality are 'all' and 'none'. The question runs into the still more general one with which Mr. Bradley and later writers of the monistic school have made us abundantly familiar — the question, namely, whether all the relations with other things, possible to a being, are pre- included in its intrinsic nature and enter into its essence, or whether, in respect to some of these rela- tions, it can be without reference to them, and, if it ever does enter into them, do so adventitiously and as it were by an after-thought. This is the great question as to whether 'external' relations can exist. They seem to, undoubtedly. My manuscript, for example, is 'on' the desk. The relation of being 'on' doesn't seem to implicate or involve in any way the inner meaning of the manuscript or the inner struc- ture of the desk — these objects engage in it only by their outsides, it seems only a temporary acci- dent in their respective histories. Moreover, the 'on' fails to appear to our senses as one of those unintelligible 'betweens' that have to be separately hooked on the terms they pretend to connect. All this innocent sense-appearance, however, we are told, cannot pass muster in the eyes of reason. It 408 Readings in Philosophy is a tissue of self-contradiction which only the com- plete absorption of the desk and the manuscript into the higher unity of a more absolute reality can over- come. The reasoning by which this conclusion is sup- ported is too subtle and complicated to be properly dealt with in a public lecture, and you will thank me for not inviting you to consider it at all. I feel the more free to pass it by now as I think that the cursory account of the absolutistic attitude which I have already given is sufficient for our present pur- pose, and that my own verdict on the philosophy of the absolute as 'not proven' — please observe that I go no farther now — need not be backed by argu- ment at every special point. Flanking operations are less costly and in some ways more effective than frontal attacks. Possibly you will yourselves think after hearing my remaining lectures that the alter- native of an universe absolutely rational or abso- lutely irrational is forced and strained, and that a via media exists which some of you may agree with me is to be preferred. Some rationality certainly does characterize our universe; and, weighing one kind with another, we may deem that the incomplete kinds that appear are on the whole as acceptable as the through-and-through sort of rationality on which the monistic systematizers insist. This* is the philosophy of humanism in the widest sense. Our philosophies swell the current of being, add their character to it. They are part of all that we have met, of all that makes us be. As a French ^ Ibid., pp. 317-319. Singularism and Pluralism 409 philosopher says, 'Nous sommes du reel dans le reel'. Our thoughts determine our acts, and our acts re- determine the previous nature of the world. Thus does foreignness get banished from our world, and far more so when we take the system of it pluralistically than when we take it monistically. We are indeed internal parts of God and not external creations, on any possible reading of the panpsychic system. Yet because God is not the absolute, but is himself a part when the system is conceived pluralistically, his functions can be taken as not wholly dissimilar to those of the other smaller parts, — as similar to our functions consequently. Having an environment, being in time, and working out a history just like ourselves, he escapes from the for- eignness from all that is human, of the static time- less perfect absolute. Remember that one of our troubles with that was its. essential foreignness and monstrosity — there really is no other word for it than that. Its having the all-inclusive form gave to it an essentially hetero- geneous nature from ourselves. And this great dif- ference between absolutism and pluralism demands no difference in the universe's material content — it follows from a difference in the form alone. The all-form or monistic form makes the foreignness result, the each-form or pluralistic form leaves the intimacy undisturbed. No matter what the content of the universe may be, if you only allow that it is many everywhere and always, that nothing real escapes from having an environment; so far from defeating its rationality, as the absolutists so unanimously pretend, you leave 410 Readings in Philosophy it in possession of the maximum amount of ration- ality practically attainable by our minds. Your relations with it, intellectual, emotional, and active, remain fluent and congruous with your own nature's chief demands. Pragmatically^ interpreted, pluralism or the doc- trine that it is many means only that the sundry parts of reality may be externally related.' Every- thing you can think of, however vast or inclusive, has on the pluralistic view a genuinely 'external' en- vironment of some sort or amount. Things are 'with' one another in many ways, but nothing in- cludes everything, or dominates over everything. The word 'and' trails along after every sentence. Something always escapes. 'Ever not quite' has to be said of the best attempts made anywhere in the universe at attaining all-inclusiveness. The plu- ralistic world is thus more like a federal republic than like an empire or a kingdom. However much may be collected, however much may report itself as present at any effective centre of consciousness or action, something else is self -governed and absent and unreduced to unity. Monism, on the other hand, insists that when you come down to reality as such, to the reality of realities, everything is present to everything else in one vast instantaneous co-implicated complete- ness — nothing can in any sense, functional or sub- stantial, be really absent from anything else, all things interpenetrate and telescope together in the great total conflux. •Ibid., pp. 321-330. Singularism and Pluralism 411 For pluralism, all that we are required to admit as the constitution of reality is what we ourselves find empirically realized in every minimum of finite life. Briefly it is this, that nothing real is abso- lutely simple, that every smallest bit of experience is a multum in parvo plurally related, that each re- lation is one aspect, character, or function, way of its being taken, or way of its taking something else ; and that a bit of reality when actively engaged in one of these relations is not by that very fact engaged in all the other relations simultaneously. The relations are not all what the French call soli- daires with one another. Without losing its iden- tity a thing can either take up or drop another thing, like the log I spoke of, which by taking up new carriers and dropping old ones can travel any- where with a light escort. For monism, on the contrary, everything, whether we realize it or not, drags the whole universe along with itself and drops nothing. The log starts and arrives with all its carriers supporting it. If a thing were once disconnected, it could never be con- nected again, according to monism. The pragmatic difference between the two systems is thus a definite one. It is just thus, that if a is once out of sight of b or out of touch with it, or, more briefly, 'out' •of it at all, then, according to monism, it must always remain so, they can never get together; whereas pluralism admits that on another occasion they may work together, or in some way be con- nected again. Monism allows for no such things as •other occasions' in reality — in real or absolute reality, that is. 412 Readings in Philosophy The difference I try to describe amounts, you see, to nothing more than the difference between what I formerly called the each-form and the all-form of reality. Pluralism lets things really exist in the each-form or distributively. Monism thinks that the all-form or collective-unit form is the only form that is rational. The all-form allows of no taking up and dropping of connections, for in the all the parts are essentially and eternally co-implicated. In the each-form, on the contrary, a thing may be con- nected by intermediary things, with a thing with which it has no immediate or essential connexion. It is thus at all times in many possible connexions which are not necessarily actualized at the moment. They depend on which actual path of intermedia- tion it may functionally strike into: the word 'or' names a genuine reality. Thus, as I speak here, I may look ahead or to the right or to the left, and in either case the intervening space and air and ether enable me to see the faces of a different portion of this audience. My being here is independent of any one set of these faces. If the each-form be the eternal form of reality no less than it is the form of temporal appearance, we still have a coherent world, and not an incarnate incoherence, as is charged by so many absolutist^. Our 'multiverse' still makes a 'universe'; for every, part, though it may not be in actual or immediate connection, is nevertheless in some possible or medi- ated connection, with every other part however re- mote, through the fact that each part hangs together with its very next neighbors in inextricable inter- fusion. The type of union, it is true, is different Singularism and Pluralism 413 here from the monistic type of all^einheit. It is not a universal co-implication, or integration of all things durcheinander. It is what I. call the strung- along type, the type of continuity, contiguity, or con- catenation. If you prefer greek words, you may call it the synechistic type. At all events, you see that it forms a definitely conceivable alternative to the through-and-through unity of all things at once, which is the type opposed to it by monism. You see also that it stands or falls with the notion I have taken such pains to defend, of the through-and- through union of adjacent minima of experience, of the confluence of every passing moment of concretely felt experience with its immediately next neighbors. The recognition of this fact of coalescence of next with next in concrete experience, so that all the in- sulating cuts we make there are artificial products of the conceptualizing faculty, is what distinguishes the empiricism which I call 'radical', from the buga- boo empiricism of the traditional rationalist critics, which (rightly or wrongly) is accused of chopping up experience into atomistic sensations, incapable of union with one another until a purely intellectual principle has swooped down upon them from on high and folded them in its own conjunctive cate- gories. Here, then, you have the plain alternative, and the full mystery of the difference between plu- ralism and monism, as clearly as I can set it forth on this occasion. It packs up into a nutshell : — Is the manyness in oneness that indubitably char- acterizes the world we inhabit, a property only of the absolute whole of things,, so that you must postu- late that one-enormous-whole indivisibly as the 414 Readings in Philosophy prius of there being any many at all — in other words, start with the rationalistic block-universe, entire, unmitigated, and complete?* — or can the finite elements have their own aboriginal forms of manyness in oneness, and where they have no im- mediate oneness still be continued into one another by intermediary terms — each one of these terms being one with its next neighbors, and yet the total 'oneness' never getting absolutely complete? The alternative is definite. It seems to me, more- over, that the two horns of it make pragmatically different ethical appeals — at least they mat/ do so, to certain individuals. But if you consider' the pluralistic horn to be intrinsically irrational, self- contradictory, and absurd, I can now say no more in its defence. Having done what I could in my earlier lectures to break the edge of the intellectualistic reductiones ad absurdum, I must leave the issue in your hands. Whatever I may say, each of you will be sure to take pluralism or leave it, just as your own sense of rationality moves and inclines. The only thing I emphatically insist upon is that it is a fully coordinate hypothesis with monism. This world may, in the last resort, be a block universe; but on the other hand it may be a universe only strung-along, not rounded in and closed. Reality may exist distributively just as it sensibly seems to, after all. On that possibility I do insist. One's general vision of the probable usually decides such alternatives. They illustrate what I once wrote of as the 'will to believe'. In some of my lectures at Harvard I have spoken of what I call the 'faith- ladder', as something quite different from the sorites Singularism and Pluralism 415 of the logic-books, yet seeming to have an analogous form. I think you will quickly recognize in your- selves, as I describe it, the mental process to which I give this name. A conception of the world arises in you some- how, no matter how. Is it true or not? you ask. It might be true somewhere, you say, for it is not self -contradictory. It may be true, you continue, even here and now. It is fit to be true, it would be well if it were true, it ougtit to be true, you presently feel. It micst be true, something persuasive in you whis- pers next ; and then — as a final result — It shall be held for true, you decide; it shall be as if true, for you. And your acting thus may in certain special cases be a means of making it -securely true in the end. Not one step in this process is logical, yet it is the way in which moni&ts and pluralists alike espouse and hold fast to their visions. It is life exceeding logic, it is the practical reason for which the theoretic reason finds arguments after the con- clusion is oncethere. In just this way do some of us hold to the unfinished pluralistic universe; in just this way do others hold to the timeless universe eter- nally complete. Meanwhile the incompleteness of the pluralistic universe, thus assumed and held to as the most prob- ,able hypothesis, is also represented by the pluralistic philosophy as being self-reparative through us, as 4l6 Readings in Philosophy getting its disconnections remedied in part by our behavior. 'We use what we are and have, to know ; and what we know, to be and have still more'. Thus do philosophy and reality, theory and action, work in the same circle indefinitely. CHAPTER XXI THE PROBLEM OF EVOLUTION AND TELEOLOGY A. The Meaning op Evolution. The literature discussing this problem is very vast. The following passage has been selected as one of the most significant of the recent statements of philosophic interpretation of the problem: From^ this point of view, the general considera- tions we have presented concerning the evolution of life will be cleared up and completed. We will dis- tinguish more sharply what is accidental from what is essential in this evolution. The impetus of life, of which we are speaking, con- sists in a need of creation. It cannot create abso- lutely, because it is confronted with matter, that is to say with the movement that is the inverse of its own. But it seizes upon this matter, which is neces- sity itself, and strives to introduce into it the largest possible amount of indetermination and liberty. How does it go to work? An animal high in the scale may be represented in a general way, we said, as a sensori-motor nervous system imposed on digestive, respiratory, circulatory systems, etc. The function of these latter is to " Bergson, H., Creative Evolution, translated by Mitchell, pages 251-271; Henry Holt and Company, 1913; reprinted by permission of the publishers. (417) 418 Readings in Philosophy cleanse, repair and protect the nervous system, to make it as independent as possible of external cir- cumstances, but, above all, to furnish it with energy to be expended in movements. The increasing com- plexity of the organism is therefore due theoretically (in spite of innumerable exceptions due to accidents of- evolution) to the necessity of complexity in the nervous system. No doubt, each complication of any part of the organism involves many others in addition, because this part itself must live, and every change in one point of the body reverberates, as it w^ere, throughout. The complication may therefore go on to infinity in all directions ; but it is the com- plication of the nervous system vi^hich conditions the others in right, if not alvs^ays in fact. Now, in what does the progress of the nervous system itself con- sist? In a simultaneous development of automatic activity and of voluntary activity, the first furnish- ing the second with an appropriate instrument. Thus, in an organism such as ours, a considerable number of motor mechanisms are set up in the medulla and in the spinal cord, awaiting only a signal to release the corresponding act: the will is employed, in some cases, in setting up the mechan- ism itself, and in the others in choosing the mechan- isms to be released, the manner of combining them and the moment of releasing them. The will of an animal is the more eifective and the more intense, the greater the number of the mechanisms it can choose from, the more complicated the switchboard on which all the motor paths cross, or in other words, the more developed its brain. Thus, the progress of the nervous system assures to the act increasing pre- The Problem of Evolution and Teleology 419 cision, increasing variety, increasing efficiency and independence. The organism behaves more and more like a machine for action, which reconstructs itself entirely for every new act, as if it were made of india-rubber and could, at any moment, change the shape of all its parts. But, prior to the nervous system, prior even to the organism properly so called, already in the undifferentiated mass of the amoeba, this essential property of animal life is found. The amoeba deforms itself in varying direc- tions; its entire mass does what the differentiation of parts will localize in a sensori-motor system in the developed animal. Doing it only in a rudi- mentary manner, it is dispensed from the complexity of the higher organisms; there is no need here of the auxiliary elements that pass on to motor ele- ments the energy to expend; the animal moves as a whole, and, as a whole also, procures energy by means of the organic substances it assimilates. Thus, whether low or high in the animal scale, we always find that animal life consists (1) in procur- ing a provision of energy; (2) in expending it, by means of a matter as supple as possible, in directions variable and unforeseen. Now, whence comes the energy? From the in- gested food, for food is a kind of explosive, which needs only the spark to discharge the energy it stores. Who has made this explosive? The food may be the flesh of an animal nourished on animals and so on ; but, in the end it is to the vegetable we always come back. Vegetables alone gather in the solar energy, and the animals do but borrow it from them, either directly or by some passing it on to 420 Readings in Philosophy others. How then has the plant stored up this energy? Chiefly by the chlorophyllian function, a chemicism sui generis of which we do not possess the key, and which is probably unlike that of our laboratories. The process consists in using solar energy to fix the carbon of carbonic acid, and thereby to store this energy as we should store that of a water-carrier by employing him to fill an elevated reservoir: the water, once brought up, can set in motion a mill or a turbine, as we will and when we will. Each atom of carbon fixed represents some- thing like the elevation of the weight of water, or like the stretching of an elastic thread uniting the carbon to the oxygen in the carbonic acid. The elastic is relaxed, the weight falls back again, in short the energy held in reserve is restored, when, by a simple release, the carbon is permitted to rejoin its oxygen. So that all life, animal and vegetable, seems in its essence like an effort to accumulate energy and then to let it flow into flexible channels, changeable in shape, at the end of which it will accomplish infi- nitely varied kinds of work. That i^ what the vital impetus, passing through matter, would fain do all at once. It would succeed, no doubt, if its power were unlimited, or if some reinforcement could come to it from without. But the impetus is finite, and it has been given once for all. It cannot overcome all obstacles. The movement it starts is sometimes turned aside, sometimes divided, always opposed; and the evolution of the organized world is the un- rolling of this conflict. The first great scission that had to be effected was that of the two kingdoms. The Problem of Evolution and Teleology 421 vegetable and animal, which thus happen to be mu- tually complementary, without, however, any agree- ment having been made between them. It is not for the animal that the plant accumulates energy, it is for its own consumption; but its expenditure on itself is less discontinuous, and less concentrated, and therefore less efficacious, than was required by the initial impetus of life, essentially directed to- ward free actions : the same organism could not with equal force sustain the two functions at once, of gradual storage and Sudden use. Of themselves, therefore, and without any external intervention, simply by the effect of the duality of the tendency involved in the original impetus and of the resistance opposed by matter to this impetus, the organisms leaned some in the first direction, others in the sec- ond. To this scission there succeeded many others. Hence the diverging lines of evolution, at least what is essential in them. But we must take into account retrogressions, arrests, accidents of every kind. And we must remember, above all, that each species be- haves as if the general movement of life stopped at it instead of passing through it. It thinks only of itself, it lives only for itself. Hence the number- less struggles that we behold in nature. Hence a discord, striking and terrible, but for which the original -principle of life must not be held responsible. The part played by contingency in -evolution is therefore great. Contingent, generally, are the forms adopted, or rather invented. Contingent, relative to the obstacles encountered in a given place and at a given moment, is the dissociation of the primordial tendency into such and such comple- •28 422 Readings in Philosophy mentary tendencies which create divergent lines of evolution. Contingent the arrests and set-backs; contingent, in large measure, the adaptations. Two things only are necessary: (1) a gradual accumu- lation of energy; (2) an elastic canalization of this energy in variable and indeterminable directions, at the end of which are free acts. This twofold result has been obtained in a par- ticular way on our planet. But it might have been obtained by entirely different means. It was not necessary that life should fix its choice mainly upon the carbon of carbonic acid. What was essential for it was to store solar energy ; but, instead of asking the sun to separate, for instance, atoms of oxygen and carbon, it might (theoretically at least, and, apart from practical difficulties possibly insur- mountable) have put forth other chemical elements, which would then have had to be associated or dis- sociated by entirely different physical means. And if the element characteristic of the substances that supply energy to the organism had been other than carbon, the element characteristic of the plastic sub- stances would probably have been other than nitro- gen, and the chemistry of living bodies would then have been radically different from what it is. The result would have been living forms without any analogy to those we know, whose anatomy would have been different, whose physiology also would have been different. Alone, the sensori-motor func- tion would have been preserved, if not in its mechanism, at least in its effects. It is therefore probable that life goes on in other planets, in other solar systems also, under forms of which we have The Problem of Evolution and Teleology 423 no idea, in physical conditions to which it seems to us, from the point of view of our physiology, to be absolutely opposed. If its essential aim is to catch up usable energy in order to expend it in explosive actions, it probably chooses, in each solar system and on each planet, as it does on the earth, the fittest means to get this result in the circumstances with which it is confronted. That is at least what reason- ing by analogy leads to, and we use analogy the wrong way when we declare life to be impossible wherever the circumstances with which it is con- fronted are other than those on the earth. The truth is that life is possible wherever energy descends the incline indicated by Carnot's law and where a cause of inverse direction can retard the descent — that is to say, probably, in all the worlds suspended from all the stars. We go further: it is not even necessary that life should be concentrated and determined in organisms properly so called, that is,, in definite bodies presenting to the flow of energy ready-made though elastic canals. It can be conceived (although it can hardly be imagined) that energy might be saved up, and then expended on varying lines run- ning across a matter not yet solidified. Every es- sential of life would still be there, since there would still be slow accumulation of energy and sudden re- lease. There would hardly be more difference be- tween this vitality, vague and formless, and the definite vitality we know, than there is, in our psychical life, between the state of dream and the state of waking. Such may have been the condition of life in our nebula before the condensation of mat- ter was complete, if it.be true that life springs for- 424 Readings in Philosophy ward at the vary moment when, as the effect of an inverse movement, the nebular matter appears. It is therefore conceivable that life might have assumed a totally different outward appearance and designed forms very different from those we know. With another chemical substratum, in other physi- cal conditions, the impulsion would have remained the same, but it would have split up very differently in course of progress; and the whole would have traveled another road — whether shorter or longer who can tell? In any case, in the entire Series of living beings no term would have been what it now is. Now, was it necessary that there should be a series, or terms? Why should, not the unique im- petus have been impressed on a unique body, which might have gone on evolving? This question arises, no doubt, from the compari- son of life to an impetus. And it must be compared to an impetus, because no image borrowed from the physical world can give more nearly the idea of it. But it is only an image. In reality, life is of the psychological order, and it is of the essence of the psychical to enfold a confused plurality of interpene- trating terms. In space, and in space only, is dis- tinct multiplicity possible: a point is absolutely ex- ternal to another point. But pure and empty unity, also, is met with only in space ; it is that of a mathe- matical point. Abstract unity and abstract multi- plicity are determinations of space or categories of the understanding, whichever we will, spatiality and intellectuality being molded on each other. But what is of psychical nature cannot entirely . correspond with space, nor enter perfectly into the categories of The Problem of Evolution and Teleology 425 the understanding. Is my own person, at a given moment, one or manifold ? If I declare it one, inner voices arise and protest — those of the sensations, feelings, ideas, among which my individuality is distributed. But, if I make it distinctly manifold, my consciousness rebels quite as strongly ; it affirms that my sensations, my feelings, my thoughts are ab- stractions which I effect on myself, and that each of my states implies all the others. I am then (we must adopt the language of the understanding, since only the understanding has language) a unity that is multiple and a multiplicity that is one; but unity and multiplicity are only views of my personality taken by an understanding that directs its categories at me ; I enter neither into one nor into the other nor into both at once, although both, united, may give a fair imitation of the mutual interpenetration and continuity that I find at the base of my own self. Such is my inner life, and such also is life in general. While, in its contact with matter, life is comparable to an impulsion or an impetus, regarded in itself it is an immensity of potentiality, a mutual encroach- ment of thousands and thousands of tendencies which nevertheless are "thousands and thousands" only when once regarded as outside of each other, that is, when spatialized. Contact with matter is what determines this dissociation. Matter divides actually what was but potentially manifold ; and, in this sense, individuation is in part the work of matter, in part the result of life's own inclination. Thus, a poetic sentiment, which bursts into distinct verses, lines and words, may be said to have already contained this multiplicity of individuated elements. 426 Readings in Philosophy and yet, in fact, it is the materiality of language that creates it. But through the words, lines and verses' runs the simple inspiration which is the whole poem. So, among the dissociated individuals, one life goes on moving : everywhere the tendency to individualize is opposed and at the same time completed by an an- tagonistic and complementary tendency to associate, as if the manifold unity of life, drawn in the direc- tion of multiplicity, made so much the more effort to withdraw itself on to itself. A part is no sooner detached than it tends to reunite itself, if not to all the rest, at least to what is nearest to it. Hence, throughout the whole realm of life, a balancing be- tween individuation and association. Individuals join together into society; but the society, as soon as formed, tends to melt the associated individuals into a new organism, so as to become itself an ihdividual, able in its turn to be part and parcel of a new as- sociation. At the lowest degree of the scale of organ- isms we already find veritable associations, microbial colonies, and in these associations, according to a recent work, a tendency to individuate by the con- stitution of a nucleus. The same tendency is met with again at a higher stage, in the protophytes, which, once having quitted the parent cell by way of division, remain united to each other by the gel- atinous substance that surrounds them — also in those protozoa which begin by mingling their pseu- dopodia and end by welding themselves together. The "colonial" theory of the genesis of higher or- ganisms is well known. The protozoa, consisting of one single cell, are supposed to have formed, by as- The Problem of Evolution and Teleology 427 semblage, aggregates which, relating themselves to- gether in their turn, have given rise to aggregates of aggregates ; so organisms more and more compli- cated, and also more and more differentiated, are born of the association of organisms barely differ- entiated and elementary. In this extreme form, the theory is open to grave objections: more and more the idea seems to be gaining ground, that polyzoism is an exceptional - and abnormal fact. But it is none the less true that things happen CHS if every higher organism was born of an. association of cells , that have subdivided the work between them. Very probably it is not the cells that have made the individual by means of association; it is rather the individual that has made the cells by means of dissociation. But this itself reveals to us, in the genesis of the indi- vidual, a haunting of the social form, as if the indi- vidual could develop only on the condition that its substance should be split up into elements having themselves an appearance of individuality and united among themselves by an appearance of so- ciality. There are numerous cases in which nature seems to hesitate between the two forms, and to ask herself if she shall make a society or an indi- vidual. The slightest push is enough, then, to make the balance weigh on one side or the other. If we take an infusorian sufficiently large, such as the Stentor, and cut it into two halves each containing a part of the nucleus, each of the two halves will generate an independent Stentor; but if we divide it incompletely, so that a protoplasmic communica- tion is left between the two halves, we shall see them 428 Readings in Philosophy execute, each from its side, corresponding move- ments : so' that in this case it is enough that a thread should be maintained or cut in order that life should affect the social or the individual form. Thus, in rudimentary organisms consisting of a single cell, we already find that the apparent individuality of the whole is the composition of an undefined number of potential individualities potentially, associated. But, from top to bottom of the series of living beings, the same law is manifested. And it is this that we express when we say that unity and multiplicity are categories of inert matter, that the vital impetus is neither pure unity nor pure multiplicity, and that if the matter to which it communicates itself compels it to choose one of the two, its choice will never be definitive: it will leap from one to the other in- definitely. The evolution of life in the double direc- tion of individuality and association has therefore nothing accidental about it: it is due to the very nature of life. Essential also is the progress to reflexion. If our analysis is correct, it is consciousness, or rather supra-consciousness, that is at the origin of life. Consciousness, or supra-consciousness, is the name for the rocket whose extinguished fragments fall back as matter; consciousness, again, is the name for that which subsists of the rocket itself, passing through the fragments and lighting them up into organisms. But this consciousness, which is a need of creation, is made manifest to itself only where creation is possible. It lies dormant when life is condemned to automatism ; it wakens as soon as the possibility of a choice is restored. That is why, in The Problem of Evolution and Teleology 429 organisms unprovided with a nervous system, it varies according to the power of locomotion and of deformation of which the organism disposes. And in animals with a nervous system, it is proportional to the complexity of the switchboard on which the paths called sensory and the paths called motor in- tersect — that is, of the brain. How must this solidarity between the organism and consciousness be understood? We will not dwell here on a point that we have dealt with in former works. Let us merely recall that a theory such as that according to which con- sciousness is attached to certain neurons, and is thrown off from their work like a phosphorescence, may be accepted by the scientist for the detail of analysis ; it is a convenient mode of expression. But it is nothing else. In reality, a living being is a centre of action. It represents a certain sum of con- tingency entering into the world, that is to say, a certain quantity of possible action — a quantity variable with individuals and especially with species. The nervous system of an animal marks out the flexible lines on which its action will run (although the potential energy is accumulated in the muscles rather than in the nervous system itself) ; its nervous centres indicate, by their development and their configuration, the more or less extended choice it will have among more or less numerous and complicated actions. Now, since the awakening of consciousness in a living creature is the more complete, the greater the latitude of choice allowed to it and the larger the amount of action bestowed upon it, it is clear that the development of conscious- .430 Readings in Philosophy ness will appear to be dependent on that of the nervous centres. On the other hand, every state of consciousness being, in one aspect of it, a question put to the niotor activity and even the beginning of a reply, there is no psychical event that does not im- ply the entry into play of the cortical mechanisms. Everything seems, therefore, to happen as if con- sciousness sprang from the brain, and as if the de- tail of conscious activity were modeled on that of of the cerebral activity. In reality, consciousness does not spring from the brain ; but brain and con- sciousness correspond because equally they measure, the one by the complexity of its structure and the other by the intensity of its awareness, the quantity of choice that the living being has at its disposal. It is precisely because a cerebral state expresses simply what there is of nascent action in the cor- responding psychical state, that the psychical state tells us more than the cerebral state. The conscious- ness of a living being, as we have tried to prove else- where, is inseparable from its brain in the sense in which a sharp knife is inseparable from its edge: the brain is the sharp edge by which consciousness cuts into the compact tissue of events, but the brain is no more coextensive with consciousness than the edge is with the knife. Thus, from the fact that two brains, like that of the ape and that jof the man, are very much alike, we cannot conclude that the corresponding consciousnesses are comparable or commensurable. "^ But the two brains may perhaps be less alike than we suppose. How can we help being struck by the fact that, while man is capable of learning any The Problem of Evolution and Teleology 431 sort of exercise, of constructing any sort of object, in short of acquiring any kind of motor habit what- soever, the faculty of combining new movements is strictly limited in the best-endowed animal, even in the ape? The cerebral characteristic of man is there. The human brain is made, like every brain, to set up motor mechanisms and to enable us to choose among them, at any instant, the one we shall put in motion by the pull of a trigger. But it differs from other brains in this, that the number of mechanisms it can set up, and consequently the choice that it gives as to which among them shall be released, is unlimited. Now, from the limited to the unlimited there is all the distance between the closed and the open. It is not a difference of degree, but of kind. Radical therefore, also, is the difference between animal consciousness, even the most intelligent, and human consciousness. For consciousness corre- sponds exactly to the living being's power of choice ; it is co-extensive with the fringe of possible action that surrounds the real action: consciousness is synonymous with invention and with freedom. Now, in the animal, invention is never anything but a variation on the theme of routine. Shut up in the habits of the species, it succeeds, no doubt, in en- larging them by its individual initiative; but it escapes automatism) only for an instant, for just the time to create a new automatism. The gates of its prison close as soon as they are opened; by pulling at its chain it succeeds only in stretching it. With man, consciousness breaks the chain. In man, and in man alone, it sets itself free. The whole history 432 Readings in Philosophy of life until man has been that of the effort of con- sciousness to raise matter, and of the*more or less complete overwhelming of consciousness by the mat- ter which has fallen back on it. The enterprise was paradoxical, if, indeed, we may speak here otherwise than by metaphor of enterprise and of effort. It was to create with matter, which is necessity itself, an instrument of freedom, to make a machine which should triumph over mechanism, and to use the de- terminism of nature to pass through the meshes of the net which this very determinism had spread. But, everywhere excep't in man, consciousness has let itself be caught in the net whose meshes it tried to pass through : it has remained the captive of the mechanisms it has set up. Automatism, which it tries to draw in the direction of freedom, winds about it and drags it down. It has not the power to escape, because the energy it has provided for acts is almost all employed in maintaining the in- finitely subtle and essentially unstable equilibrium into which it has brought matter. But man not only maintains his machine, he succeeds in using it as he pleases. Doubtless he owes this to the su- periority of his brain, which enables him to build an unlimited number of motor mechanisms, to op- pose new habits to the old ones unceasingly, and, by dividing automatism against itself, to rule it. He owes it to his language, which furnishes conscious- ness with an immaterial body in which to incarnate itself and thus exempts it from dwelling exclusively on material bodies, whose flux would soon drag it along and finally swallow it up. He owes it to social life, which stores and preserves efforts as The Problem of Evolution and Teleology 433 language stores thought, fixes thereby a mean level to -which individuals must raise themselves at the outset, and by this initial stimulation prevents the average man from slumbering and drives the su- perior man to mount still higher. But our brain, our society, and our language are only the external and various signs of one and the same internal superiority. They tell, each after its manner, the unique, exceptional success which life has won at a given moment of its evolution. They express the difference of kind, and not only of degree, which separates man from the rest of the animal world. They let us guess that, while at the end of the vast spring-board from which life has taken its leap, all the others have stepped down, finding the cord stretched too high, man alone has cleared the ob- stacle. It is in this -quite special sense that man is the "term" and the "end" of evolution. Life, we have said, transcends finality as it transcends the other categories. It is essentially a current sent through matter, drawing from it what it can. There has not, therefore, properly speaking, been any project or plan. On the other hand, it is abundantly evi- dent that the rest of nature is not for the sake of man: we struggle like the other species, we have struggled against other species. Moreover, if the evolution of life had encountered other accidents in its course, if, thereby, the current of life had been otherwise divided, we should have been, physically and morally, far different from what we are. For these various reasons it would be wrong to regard 434 Readings in Philosophy humanity, such as we have it before our eyes, as pre- figured in the evolutionary movement. It cannot even be said to be the outcome of the whole of evolu- tion, for evolution has been accomplished on several divergent lines, and while the human species is at the end of one of them, other lines have been fol- lowed with other species at their end. It is in a quite different sense that we hold humanity to be the ground of evolution. From our point of view, life appears in its en- tirety as an immense wave which, starting from a centre, spreads outwards, and which on almost the whole of its circumference is stopped and converted into oscillation: at one single point the obstacle has been forced, the impulsion has passed freely. It is this freedom that the human form registers. Everywhere but in man, consciousness has had to come to a stand ; in man alone it has kept on its way. Man, then, continues the vital movement indefinitely, although he does not draw along with him all that life carries in itself. On other lines of evolution there have traveled other tendencies which life im- plied, and of which, since everything interpenetrates, man has, doubtless, kept something, but of which he has kept only very little. It is as if a vague and formless being, whom we may call, as we will, man or superman, had sought to realize himself, and had succeeded only by abandoning a part of himself on the way. The losses are represented by the rest of the animal world, and even by the vegetable world, at least in what these have that is positive and above the accidents of evolution. The Problem of Evolution and Teleology 435 From this point of view, the discordances of which nature offers us the spectacle are singularly weak- ened. The organized world as a whole becomes as the soil on which was to grow either man him- self or a being who morally must resemble him. The animals, however distant they may be from our species, however hostile to it, have none the less been useful traveling companions, on whom conscious- ness .has unloaded whatever encumbrances it was dragging along, and who have enabled it to rise, in man, to heights from which it sees an unlimited horizon ?)pen again before it. It is true that it has not only abandoned cumber- some baggage on the way; it has also had to give up valuable goods. Consciousness, in man, is pre- eminently intellect. It might have been, it ought, so it seems, to have been also intuition. Intuition and intellect represent two opposite directions of the work of consciousness : intuition goes in the very direction of life, intellect goes in the inverse direc- tion, and thus finds itself naturally in accordance with the movement of matter. A complete and per- fect humanity would be that in which these two forms of conscious activity should attain their full development. And, between this humanity and ours, we may conceive any number of possible stages, corresponding to all the degrees imaginable of intel- ligence and of intuition. In this lies the part of contingency in the mental structure of our species. A different evolution might have led to a humanity either more intellectual still or more intuitive. In the humanity of which we are a part, intuition is, in fact, almost completely sacrificed to intellect. It 436 Readings in Philosophy seems that to conquer matter, and to reconquer its own self, consciousness has had to exhaust the best part of its power. This conquest, in the particular conditions in which it has been accomplished, has required that consciousness should adapt itself to the habits of matter and concentrate all its atten- tion on them, in fact determine itself more espe- cially as intellect. Intuition is there, however, but vague and above all discontinuous. It is a lamp almost extinguished, which only glimmers now and then, for a few monients at most. But it glimmers wherever a vital interest is at stake. On our per- sonality, on our liberty, on the place we occupy in the whole of nature, on our origin and perhaps also on our destiny, it throws a light feeble and vacillat- ing, but which none the less pierces the darkness of the night in which the intellect leaves us. These fleeting intuitions, which light up their ob- ject only at distant intervals, philosophy ought to seize, first to sustain them, then to expand them and so unite them together. The more it advances in this work, the more will it perceive that intuition is mind itself, and, in a certain sense, life itself: the intellect has been cut out of it by a process re- sembling that which has generated matter. Thus is revealed the unity of the spiritual life. We recog- nize it only when we place ourselves in intuition in order to go from intuition to the intellect, for from the intellect we shall never pass to intuition. Philosophy introduces us thus into the spiritual life. And it shows' us at the same time the relation of the life of the spirit to that of the body. The great error of the doctrines on the spirit has been The Problem of Evolution and Teleology 437 the idea that by isolating the spiritual life from all the rest, by suspending it in space as high as pos- sible above the earth, they were placing it beyond attack, as if they were not thereby simply exposing it to be taken as an effect of mirage! Certainly they are right to listen to conscience when conscience affirms human freedom; but the intellect is there, which says that the cause determines its effect, that like conditions like, that all is repeated and that all is given. They are right to believe in the absolute reality of the person and in his independence toward matter; but science is there, which shows the inter- dependence of conscious life and cerebral activity. They are right to attribute to man a privileged place in nature, to hold that the distance is infinite be- tween the animal and man; but the history of life is there, which makes us witness the genesis of species by gradual transformation, and seems thus to reintegrate man in animality. When a strong instinct assures the probability of personal survival, they are right not to close their ears to its voice; but if there exist "souls" capable of an independent life, whence do they come? When, how and why do they enter into this body which we see arise, quite naturally, from a mixed cell derived from the bodies of its two parents? All these questions will remain unanswered, a philosophy of intuition will be a negation of science, will be sooner or later swept away by science, if it does not resolve to see the life of the body just where it really is, on the road that leads to the life of the spirit. But it will then no longer have to do with definite living beings. Life as a whole, from the initial impulsion that thrust 29 43S Readings in Philosophy it into the world, will appear as a wave which rises, and which is opposed by the descending movement of matter. On the greater part of its surface, at dif- ferent heights, the current is converted by matter into a vortex. At one point alone it passes freely, dragging with it the obstacle which will weigh on its progress but will not stop it. At this point is humanity; it is our privileged situation. On the other hand, this rising wave is consciousness, and, like all consciousness, it includes potentialities with- out number which interpenetrate and to which con- sequently neither the category of unity nor that of multiplicity is appropriate, made as they both are for inert matter. The matter that it bears along with it, and in the interstices of which it inserts it- self, alone can divide it into distinct individualities. On flows the current, running through human gen- erations, subdividing itself into individuals. This subdivision was vaguely indicated in it, but could not have been made clear without matter. Thus souls are continually being created, which, neverthe- less, in a certain sense pre-existed. They are noth- ing else than the little rills into which the great river of life divides itself, flowing through the body of humanity. The movement of the stream is distinct from the river bed, although it must adopt its wind- ing course. Consciousness is distinct from the or- ganism it animates, although it must undergo its vicissitudes. As the possible actions which a state of consciousness indicates are at every instant begin- ning to be carried out in the nervous centres, the brain underlies a;t every instant the motor indica- tions of the state of consciousness; but the inter- The Problem of Evolution and Teleology 439 dependency of consciousness and brain is limited to this; the destiny of consciousness is not bound up on that account with the destiny of cerebral matter. Finally, consciousness is essentially free; it is free- dom itself ; but it cannot pass through matter with- out settling on it, without adapting itself to it: this adaptation is what we call intellectuality; and the intellect, turning itself back toward active, that is to say free, consciousness, naturally makes it enter into the conceptual forms into which it is accus- tomed to see matter fit. It will therefore always perceive freedom in the form of necessity; it will always neglect the part of novelty or of creation in- herent in the free act; it will always substitute for action itself an imitation artificial, approximative, obtained by compounding the old with the old and the same with the same. Thus, to the eyes of a philosophy that attempts to reabsorb intellect in in- tuition, many difficulties vanish or become light. But such a doctrine does not only facilitate speculation; it gives us also more power to act and to live. For, with it, we feel ourselves no longer isolated in hu- manity, humanity no longer seems isolated in the nature that it dominates. As the smallest grain of dust is bound up with our entire solar system, drawn along with it in that undivided movement of descent which is materiality itself, so all organized beings, from the humblest to the highest, from the first origins of life to the time in which we are, and in all places as in all times, do but evidence a single im- pulsion, the inverse of the movement of matter, and in itself indivisible. All the living hold together, and all yield to the same tremendous push. The 440 Readings in Philosophy animal takes its stand on the plant, man bestrides animality, and the whole of humanity, in space and in time, is one immense army galloping beside and before and behind each of us in an overwhelming charge able to beat down every resistance and clear the most formidable obstacles, perhaps even death. CHAPTER XXII THE SELF A. The Original Datum of Knowledge. The place which Descartes assigns to the self in reality is important for his own philosophy, and his view has been very influential historically in other systems : P will make an eif ort, and try anew the same path on which I had entered yesterday, that is, proceed by casting aside all that admits of the slightest doubt, not less than if I had discovered it to be absolutely false; and I will continue always in this track until I shall find something that is certain, or at least, if I can do nothing more, until I shall know with certainty that there is nothing certain. Arch- imedes, that he might transport the entire globe from the place it occupied to another, demanded only a point that was firm and immoveable ; so also, I shall be entitled to entertain the highest expecta- tions, if I am fortunate enough to discover only one thing that is certain and indubitable. I suppose, accordingly, that all the things which I see are false (fictitious) ; I believe that none of those objects which my fallacious memory represents ever existed; I suppose that I possess no senses; I believe that body, figure, extension, motion, and place are merely fictions of my mind. What is there, then. 'Descartes, from Meditations, II; edition previously cited. (441) 442 Readings in Philosophy that can be esteemed true ? Perhaps this only, that there is absolutely nothing certain. But how do I know that there is not something different altogether from the objects I have now enumerated, of which it is impossible to entertg,in the slightest doubt? Is there not a God, or some being, by whatever name I may designate him, who causes these thoughts to arise in my mind? But why suppose such a being, for it may be I myself am capable of producing them? Am I, then, at least not something? But I before denied that I possessed senses or a body ; I hesitate, however, for what follows from that? Am I so dependent on the body and the senses that without these I cannot exist? But I had the persuasion that there was ab- solutely nothing in the world, that there was no sky and no earth, neither minds nor bodies; was I not, therefore, at the same time, persuaded that I did not exist ? Far from it ; I assuredly existed, since I was persuaded. But there is I know not what being, who is possessed at once of the highest power and the deepest cunning, who is constantly employing all his ingenuity in deceiving me. Doubtless, then, I exist, since I am deceived ; and, let him deceive me as he may, he can never bring it about that I am noth- ing, so long as I shall be conscious that I am some- thing. So that it must, in fine, be maintained, all things being maturely and carefully considered, that this proposition (pronunciatum) I am, I exist, is necessarily true each time it is expressed by me, or conceived in my mind. . . . Can I affirm that I possess any one of all those attributes of which I have lately spoken as belonging The Self 443 to the nature of body? After attentively consider- ing them in my own mind, I find none of them that can properly be said to belong 'to myself. To re- count them were idle and tedious. Let us pass, then, to the attributes of the soul. The first men- tioned were the powers of nutrition and walking; but, if it be true that I have no body, it is true like- wise that I am capable neither of walking nor of being nourished. Perception is another attribute of the soul; but perception too is impossible without the body : besides, I have frequently, during sleep, believed that I perceived objects which I afterwards observed I did not in reality perceive. Thinking is another attribute of the soul; and here I discover what properly belongs to myself. This alone is in- separable from me. I am — I exist : this is certain ; but how often ? As often as I think ; for perhaps it would even happen, if I should wholly cease to think, that I should at the same time altogether cease to be. I now admit nothing that is not necessarily true: I am therefore, precisely speaking, only a thinking thing, that is, a mind (mens sive animus), under- standing, or reason, — terms whose signification was before unknown to me. I am, however, a real thing, and really existent; but what thing? The answer was, a thinking thing. The question now arises, am I aught besides? I will stimulate my imagination with a view to discover whether I am not still more than a thinking being. Now it is plain I am not the assemblage of members called the human body ; I am not a thin and penetrating air diffused through all these members, or wind, or flame, or vapour, or breath, or any of all the things I can inmgine; for 444 Readings in Philosophy I supposed that all these were not, and, without changing the supposition, I find that I still feel as- sured of my existence. B. Skeptical Doubts About the Existence of THE Self. The classic passage in which Hume challenges the proofs of the existence of the self is the following: There^ are some philosophers, who imagine we are every moment intimately conscious of what we call our self; that we feel its existence and its continu- ance in existence; and are certain, beyond the evi- dence of a demonstration, both of its perfect identity and simplicity. The strongest sensation, the most violent passion, say they, instead of distracting us from this view, only fix it the more intensely, and make us consider their influence on self either by their pain or pleasure. To attempt a further proof of this were to weaken its evidence ; since no proof can be derived from any fact of which we are so intimately conscious ; nor is there any thing, of which we can be certain, if we doubt of this. Unluckily all these positive assertions are contrary to that very experience which is pleaded for them; nor have we any idea of self, after the manner it is here explained. For, from what impression could this idea be derived ? This question it is impossible to answer without a manifest contradiction and ab- surdity; and yet it is a question which must neces- sarily be answered, if we would have the idea of ' Hume, Treatise of Human Nature, Book I, Part IV, Sec- tion vi; edition of 1854. The Self 445 self pass for clear and intelligible. It must be some one impression that gives rise to every real idea. But self or person is not any one impression, but that to which our several impressions and ideas are supposed to have a reference. If any impression gives rise to the idea of self, that impression must continue invariably the same, through the whole course of our lives; since self is supposed to exist after that manner. But there is no impression constant and invariable. Pain and pleasure, grief and joy, passions and sensation succeed each other, and never all exist at the same time. It cannot therefore be from any of these impressions, or from any other, that the. idea of self is derived; and con- sequently there is no such idea. But further, what must become of all our particu- lar perceptions upon this hypothesis? All these are different, and distinguishable, and separable from each other, and may be separately considered, and may exist separately, and have no need of anything to support their existence. After what manner therefore do they belong to self, and how are they connected with it? For my part, when I enter most intimately into what I call myself, I always stumble on some particular perception or other, of heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, pain ori pleasure. I never can catch myself at any time without a per- ception, and never can observe any thing but the perception. When my perceptions are removed for any time, as by sound sleep, so long am I insensible of myself, and may truly be said not to exist. And were all my perceptions removed by death, and could I neither think, nor feel, nor see, nor love, nor hate, 446 Readings in Philosophy after the dissolution of my body, I should be entirely annihilated, nor^ do I conceive what is further requisite to make me a perfect nonentity. If any one, upon serious and unprejudiced reflection, thinks he has a difl^erent notion of himself, I must confess I can no longer reason with him. All I can allow him is, that he may be in the right as well as I, and that we are essentially different in this particular. He may, perhaps, perceive something simple and continued, which he calls himself; though I am cer- tain there is no such principle in me. But setting aside some metaphysicians of this kind, I may venture to affirm of the rest of mankind, that they are nothing but a bundle or collection of different perceptions, which succeed each other with an inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement. Our eyes cannot turn in their sockets without varying our perceptions. Our thought is still more variable than our sight; and all our other senses and faculties contribute to this change; nor is there any single power of the soul, which remains unalterably the same, perhaps for one moment. The mind is a kind of theatre, where several perceptions successively make their appear- ance; pass, repass, glide away, and mingle in an infinite variety of postures and situations. There is properly no simplicity in it at one time, nor identity in different, whatever natural propension we may have to imagine that simplicity and identity. The comparison of the theatre must not mislead us. They are the successive preceptions only, that con- stitute the mind; nor have we the most distant The Self 447 notion of the place where these scenes are repre- sented, or of the materials of which it is composed. What then gives us so great a propension to ascribe an identity to these successive perceptions, and to suppose ourselves possessed of an invariable and uni,nterrupted existence through the whole course of our lives? In order to answer this ques- tion, we must distinguish betwixt personal identity, as it regards our thought or imagination, and as it regards our passions or the concern we take in our- selves. The first is our present subject; and to ex- plain it perfectly we must take the matter pretty deep, and account for that identity, which we attrib- ute to plants and animals ; there being a great an- alogy betwixt it and the identity of a self or person. We have a distinct idea of an object that remains invariable and uninterrupted through a supposed variation of time ; and this idea we call that of iden- tity or swmeness. We have also a distinct idea of several different objects existing in succession, and connected together by a close relation ; and this to an accurate view affords as perfect a notion of diver- sity, as if there was no manner of relation among the objects. But though these two ideas of identity, and a succession of related objects, be in themselves perfectly distinct, and even contrary, yet it is cer- tain that, in our common way of thinking, they are generally confounded with each other. That action of the imagination, by which we consider the unin- terrupted and invariable object, and that by which we reflect on the succession of related objects, are almost the same to the feelings ; nor is there much more effort of thought required in the latter case 448 Readings in Philosophy than in the former. The relation facilitates the transition of the mind from one object to another, and renders its passage as smooth as if it contem- plated one continued object. This resemblance is the cause of the confusion and mistake, and- makes us substitute the notion of identity, instead of that of related objects. However at one instant we may consider the related succession as variable or inter- rupted, we are sure the next to ascribe to it a per- fect identity, and regard it as invariable and unin- terrupted. Our propensity to this mistake is so great from the resemblance above mentioned, that we fall into it before we are aware ; and though we incessantly correct ourselves by reflection, and re- turn to a more accurate method of thinking, yet we cannot long sustain our philosophy, or take off this bias from the imagination. Our last resource is to yield to it, and boldly assert that these different re- lated objects are in effect the same, however inter- rupted and variable. In order to justify to ourselves this absurdity, we often feign some new and unintel- ligible principle, that connects the objects together, and prevents their interruption and variation. Thus, we feign the continued existence of the per- ceptions of our senses, to remove the interruption; and run into the notion of the soul, and self, and substance, to disguise the variation. But, we may further observe, that where we do not give rise to such a fiction, our propension to confound identity with relation is so great, that we are apt to imagine something unknown and mysterious, connecting the parts, beside their relation ; and this I take to be the case with regard to the identity we ascribe to plants The Self 449 and vegetables. And even when this does not take place, we still feel a propensity to confound these ideas, though we are not able fully to satisfy our- selves in that particular, nor find anything invariable and uninterrupted to justify our notion of identity. Thus, the controversy concerning identity is not merely a dispute of words. For, when we attribute identity, in an improper sense, to variable or inter- rupted objects, our mistake is hot confined to the ex- pression, but is commonly attended with a fiction, either of something invariable and uninterrupted, or of something mysterious and inexplicable, or at least with a propensity to such fictions. What will suffice to prove this hypothesis to the satisfaction of every fair inquirer, is to show, from daily experience and observation, that the objects which are variable or interrupted, and yet are supposed to continue the same, are such only as consist of a succession of parts, connected together by resemblance, contiguity, or causation. For as such a succession answers evi- dently to our notion of diversity, it can only be by mistake we ascribe to it an identity ; and as the rela- tion of parts, which leads us into this mistake, is really but a quality, which produces an association of ideas, and an easy transition of the imagination from one to another, it can only be from the resemblance, which this act of the mind bears to that by which we contemplate one continued object, that the error arises. Our chief business, then, must be to prove, that all objects, to which we ascribe identity, without observing their invariableness and uninterrupted- ness, are such as consist of a succession of related objects. 450 Readings in Philosophy In order to this, suppose any mass of matter, of which the parts are contiguous and connected, to be placed before us ; it is plain we must attribute a perfect identity to this mass, provided all the parts continue uninterruptedly and invariably the same, whatever motion or change of place wq may observe either in the whole or in any of the parts. But sup- posing some very small inconsiderable part to be added to the mass, or subtracted from it; though this absolutely destroys the identity of the whole, strictly speaking, yet as we seldom think so accu- rately, we scruple not to pronounce a mass of matter the same, where we find so trivial an alteration. The passage of thought from the object before the change to the object after it, is so smooth and easy, that we scarce perceive the transition, and are apt to imagine that it is nothing but a continued survey of the same object. There is a very remarkable circumstance that at- tends this experiment; which is, that though the. change of any considerable part in a mass ofl matter destroys the identity of the whole, yet we must measure the greatness of the part, not absolutely, but by its proportion to the whole. The addition or diminution of a mountain would not be sufficient to produce, a diversity in a planet; though the change of a very few inches would be able to destroy the identity of some bodies. It will be impossible to ac- count for this, but by reflecting that objects operate upon the mind, and break or interrupt the continuity of its actions, not according to their real greatness, but according to their proportion to each other; and therefore, since this interruption makes an object The Self 451 cease to appear the same, it must be the interrupted progress of the thought which constitutes the imper- fect identity. This may be confirmed by another phenomenon. A change in any considerable part of a body destroys its identity; but it is remarkable, that where the change is produced gradually and insensibly, we are less apt to ascribe to it the same effect. The reason can plainly be no other, than that the mind, in fol- lowing the successive changes of the body, feels an easy passage from the surveying its condition in one moment, to the viewing of it in another, and in no particular time perceives any interruption in its ac- tions. From which continued perception, it ascribes a continued existence and identity to the object. But whatever precaution we may use in introduc- ing the changes gradually, and making them propor- tionable to the whole, it is certain, that where the changes are at last observed to become considerable, we make a scruple of ascribing identity to such dif- ferent objects. There is, however, another artifice, by which we may induce the imagination to advance a step further ; and that is, by producing a reference of the parts to each other, and a combination to some common end or purpose. A ship, of which a consid- erable part has been changed by frequent repara- tions, is still considered as the same; nor does the difference of the materials hinder us from ascribing an identity to it. The common end, in which the parts conspire, is the same under all their variations, and affords an easy transition of the imagination from one situation of the body to another. 452 Readings in Philosophy But this is still more remarkable, when we add a sympathy of parts to their common end, and suppose that they bear to each other the reciprocal relation of cause and effect in all their operations and actions. This is the case with all animals and vegetables; where not only the several parts have a reference to some general purpose, but also a mutual depend- ence on, and connection with, each other. The effect of so strong a relation is, that though every one must allow, that in a very few years both vegetables and animals endure a total change, yet we still attribute identity to them, while their form, size, and sub- stance, are entirely altered. An oak that grows from a small plant to a large tree is still the same oak, though there be not one particle of matter or figure of its parts the same. An infant becomes a man, and is sometimes fat, sometimes lean, without any change in his identity. We may also consider the two following phe- nomena, which are remarkable in their kind. The first is, that though we commonly be able to distin- guish pretty exactly betwixt numerical and specific identity, yet it sometimes happens that we confound them, and in our thinking and reasoning employ the one for the other. Thus, a man who hears a noise that is frequently interrupted and renewed, says it is still the same noise, though it is evident the sounds have only a specific identity or resemblance, and there is nothing numerically the same but the cause which produced them. In like manner it may be said, without breach of the propriety of language, that such a church, which was formerly of brick, fell to ruin, and that the parish rebuilt the same The Self 453 church of freestone, and according to modern archi- tecture. Here neither the form nor materials are the same nor is there any thing common to the two objects but their relation to the inhabitants of the parish; and yet this alone is sufficient to make us denominate them the same. But we 'must observe, that in these cases the first object is in a manner annihilated before the second comes into existence, by which means, we are never presented, in any one point of time, with the idea of difference and multi- plicity; and for that reason are less scrupulous in calling them the same. Secondly, we may remark, that though, in a suc- cession of related objects, it be in a manner requisite that the change of parts be not sudden nor entire, in order to preserve the identity, yet where the ob- jects are in their nature changeable and inconstant, we admit of a more sudden transition than would otherwise be consistent with that relation. Thus, as the nature of a river consists in the motion and change of parts, though in less than four-and-twenty hours these be totally altered, this hinders not the river from continuing the same during several ages. What is natural and essential to any thing is, in a manner, expected; and what is expected makes less impression, and appears of less moment than what is unusual and extraordinary. A considerable change of the former kind seems really less to the imagina- tion than the most trivial alteration of the latter; and by breaking less the continuity of the thought, has less influence in destroying the identity. We now proceed to explain the nature of personal identity, which has become so great a question in 30 454 Readings in Philosophy philosophy, especially of late years, in England, where all the abstruser sciences are studied with a peculiar ardor and application. And here it is evi- dent the same method of reasoning must be con- tinued which has so successfully explained the iden- tity of plants,' and animals, and ships, and houses, and of all compounded and changeable productions either of art or nature. The identity which we ascribe to the mind of man is only a fictitious one, and of a like kind with that which we ascribe to vegetable and animal bodies. It cannot therefore have a different origin, but must proceed from a like operation pf the imagination upon like objects. But lest this argument should not convince the reader, though in my opinion perfectly decisive, let him weigh the following reasoning, which is still closer and more immediate. It is evident that the identity which we attribute to the human mind, how- ever perfect we may imagine it to be, is not able to run the several different perceptions into one, and make them lose their characters of distinction and difference, which are essential to them. It is still true that every distinct perception which enters into the composition of the mind, is a distinct existence, and is diflFerent, and distinguishable, and separable from every other perception, either contemporary or successive. But as, notwithstanding this distinction and separability, we suppose the whole train of per- ceptions to be united by identity, a question nat- urally arises concerning this relation of identity, whether it be something that really binds our sev- eral perceptions together, or only associates their ideas in the imagination; that is, in other words. The Self 455 whether, in pronouncing concerning the identity of a person, we observe some real bond among his per- ceptions, or only feel one among the ideas we form of them. This question we might easily decide, if we would recollect what has been already proved at large, that the understanding never observes any real connection among objects, and that even the union of cause and effect, when strictly examined, resolves itself into a customary association of ideas. For from thence it evidently follows, that identity is nothing really belonging to these different per- ceptions, and uniting them together, but is merely a quality which we attribute to them, because of the union of their ideas in the imagination when we re- flect upon them. Now, the only qualities which can give ideas a union in the imagination, are these three above mentioned. These are the uniting principles in the ideal world, and without them every distinct object is separable by the mind, and may be sepa- rately considered, and appears not to have any more connection with another object than if disjoined by the greatest difference and remoteness. It is there- fore on some of these three relations of resemblance, contiguity, and causation, that identity depends ; and as the very essence of these relations consists in their producing an easy transition of ideas, it follows, that our notions of personal identity proceed entirely from the smooth and uninterrupted progress of the thought along a train of connected ideas, according to the principles above explained. The only question, therefore, which remains is, by what relations this uninterrupted progress of our thought is produced, when we consider the succes- 456 Readings in Philosophy sive existence of a mind or thinking person. And here it is evident we must confine ourselves to re- semblance and causation, and must drop contiguity, which has little or no influence in the present case. To begin with resemblance; suppose we could see clearly into the breast of another, and observe that succession of perceptions which constitutes his mind or thinking principle, and suppose that he always preserves the memory of a considerable part of past perceptions, it is evident that nothing could more contribute to the bestowing a relation on this suc- cession amidst all its variations. For what is the memory but a faculty, by which we raise up the images of past perceptions? And as an image necessarily resembles its object, must not the fre- quent placing of these resembling perceptions in the chain of thought, convey the imagination more easily from one link to another, and make the whole seem like the continuance of one object? In this particular, then, the memory not only discovers the identity, but also contributes to its production, by producing the relation of resemblance among the perceptions. The case is the same, whether we con- sider ourselves or others. As to causation; we may observe, that the true idea of the human mind, is to consider it as a system of different perceptions or different existences, which are linked together by the relation of cause and effect, and mutually produce, destroy, influence, and modify each other. Our impressions give rise to their correspondent ideas; and these ideas, in their turn, produce other impressions. One thought chases another, and draws after it a third, by which The Self 457 it is expelled in its turn. In this respect, I cannot compare the soul more properly to any thing than to a republic or commonwealth, in which the several members are united by the reciprocal ties of govern- ment and subordination, and give rise to other per- sons who propagate the same republic in the inces- sant changes of its parts. And as the same in- dividual republic may not only change its members, but also its laws and constitutions; in like manner the same person may vary his character and disposi- tion, as well as his impressions and ideas, without losing his identity. Whatever changes he endures, his several parts are still connected by the rela- tion of causation. And in this view our identity with regard to the passions serves to corroborate that with regard to the imagination, by the making our distant perceptions influence each other, and by giving us a present concern for our past or future pains or pleasures. As memory alone acquaints us with the continu- ance and extent of this succession of perceptions, it is to be considered, upon that account chiefly, as the source of personal identity. Had we no mem- ory, we never should have any notion of causation, nor consequently of that chain of causes and effects, which constitute our self or person. But having once acquired this notion of causation from the memory, we can extend the same chain of causes, and consequently the identity of our persons beyond our memory, and can comprehend times, and cir- cumstances, and actions, which we have entirely forgot, but suppose in general to have existed. For how few of our past actions are there, of which we 458 Readings in Philosophy have any memory? Who can tell me, for instance, what were his thoughts and actions on the first day of January, 1715, the eleventh of March, 1719, and the third of August, 1733 ? Or will he affirm, be- cause he has entirely forgot the incidents of these days, that the present self is not the same person with the self of that time; and by that means over- turn all the most established notions of personal identity? In this view, therefore, memory does not so much produce as discover personal identity, by showing us the relation of cause and effect among our different perceptions. It will be incumbent on those who affirm that memory produces entirely our personal identity, to give a reason why we can thus extend our personal identity beyond our memory. The whole of this doctrine leads us to a conclu- sion, which is of great importance in the present affair, viz. : that all the nice and subtile questions concerning personal identity can never possibly be de- cided, and are to be regarded rather as grammatical than as philosophical difficulties. Identity depends upon the relations of ideas ; and these relations pro- duce identity, by means of tha;t easy transition they occasion. But as the relations, and the easiness of the transition may diminish by insensible degrees, we have no just standard by which we can decide any dispute concerning the time when they acquire or lose a title to the name of identity. All the dis- putes concerning the identity of connected objects are merely verbal, except so far as the relation of parts gives rise to some fiction or imaginary prin- ciple of union, as we have already observed. The Self 459 What I have said concerning the first origin and uncertainty of our notion of identity, as applied to the human mind, may be extended with little or no variation to that of simplicity. An object, whose different coexistent parts are bound together by a close relation, operates upon the imagination after much the same manner as one perfectly simple and indivisible, and requires not a much greater stretch of thought in order to its conception. From this similarity of operation we attribute a simplicity to it, and feign a principle of union as the support of this simplicity, and the center of all the different parts and qualities of the object. C. The Synthetic Unity of Apperception. The unity of the self is regarded by Kant as the essential precondition to all unity of experience. He states his view in the important passages here given : It' would be quite a sufficient deduction of the cate- gories, and justification of their objective applica- tion, to show that, apart from them, no object what- ever is capable of being thought. But there are two reasons why a fuller deduction is advisable: firstly, because, in thinking an object, other faculties besides understanding, or the faculty of thought proper, come into play ; and, secondly, because it has to be explained how understanding can possibly be a condition of the knowledge of real objects. We must, therefore, begin with a consideration of the " Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, Watson's Se'lections, pages 56-71 ; edition previously cited. 460 Readings in Philosophy primary activities of the subject that are essential in the constitution of experience ; and these we must view, not in their empirical, but in their transcen- dental character. If consciousness were broken up into a number of mutually repellent states, each isolated and sepa- rated from the rest, knowledge would never arise in u^ at all, for knowledge is a whole of related and connected elements. When, therefore, I call sensible perception a synopsis, in order to mark the com- plexity of its content, it must be remembered that in this synopsis a certain synthesis is implied, and that knowledge is possible only if spontaneity is combined with receptivity. This is the reason why we must say that in all knowledge there is a three- fold synthesis: firstly, the apprehension in percep- tion of various ideas, or modifications of the mind ; secondly, their reproduction in imagination; and, thirdly, their recognition in conception. These three forms of synthesis point to three sources of knowledge, which make understanding itself pos- sible, and through it all experience as an empirical product of understanding. 1. Synthesis of Apprehension in Perception. Whatever may be the origin of our ideas, whether they are due to the influence of external things or are produced by internal causes, whether as objects they have their source a priori or in experience, as modifications of the mind they must all belong to the inner sense. All knowledge is, therefore, at bottom subject to time as the formal condition of inner sense, and in time every part of it without The Self 461 exception must be ordered, connected, and brought into relation with every other part. This is a gen- eral remark, which must be kept in mind in the whole of our subsequent inquiry. We should not be conscious of the various determi- nations that every perception contains within itself were we not, in the succession of our impressions, conscious of time. If each feeling were limited to a single moment, it would be an absolutely individual unit. In order that the various determinations of a perception, as, for instance, the parts of a line, should form a unity, it is necessary that they should be run over and held together by the mind. This act I call the synthesis of apprehension. It is ap- prehension, because it goes straight to perception; it is synthesis, because only by synthesis can the various elements of perception be united in one ob- ject of consciousness. Now, this synthesis of apprehension must be em- ployed a priori also, or in relation to determinations not given in sensible experience. Otherwise we should have no consciousness of space and time a priori, for these can be produced only by a synthesis of the various determinations that are presented by sensibility in its original receptivity. There is therefore a pure synthesis of apprehension. 2. Synthesis of Reproduction in Imagination. There is an empirical law of the association of ideas. When any two ideas have often followed, or accompanied each other, an association between them is at last formed, and they are so connected that, even when an object is not present, the mind 462 Readings in Philosophy passes from the one to the other in conformity with a fixed rule. But this law of reproduction presup- poses that phenomena are themselves actually sub- ject to such a rule, and that the various elements in these phenomena of which we are conscious should accompany or follow one another in accordance with certain rules. On any other supposition our em- pirical imagination would have nothing to reproduce in any way conforming to its own nature, and would therefore lie hidden in the depths of the mind as a dead, and to us unknown faculty. Were cinnabar, for instance, sometimes red and sometimes black, sometimes light and sometimes heavy; or were the same name given at one time to this object, and at another time to that, without the least regard to any rule implied in the nature of the phenomena them- selves, there could be no empirical synthesis of reproduction. There must, therefore, be something which makes the reproduction of phenomena possible at all, some- thing which is the a priori ground of a necessary synthetic unity. That this is so, we may at once see, if we reflect that phenomena are not things in themselves, but are merely the play of our own ideas, and therefore at bottom determinations of the inner sense. Now, if we can show that even our purest a priori perceptions can yield knowledge, only in so far as they involve such a combination as makes a thoroughgoing synthesis of reproduction possible, we may conclude that this synthesis of imagination, being prior to all experience, rests upon a priori principles. We must then assume a pure transcendental synthesis as the necessary condition The Self 463 of all experience, for experience is impossible unless phenomena are capably of being reproduced. Now, if I draw a line in thought, or think of the time from one day to another, or even think of a certain num- ber, it is plain that I must be conscious of the various determinations one after the other. But if the earlier determinations — the prior parts of the line, the antecedent moments of time, the units as they arise one after the other — were to drop out of my consciousness, and could not be reproduced when I passed on to the later determinations, I should never be conscious of a whole ; and hence not even the sim- plest and most elementary idea of space or time could arise in my consciousness. The synthesis of reproduction is therefore in- separably bound up with the synthesis of apprehen- sion. And as the synthesis of apprehension is the transcendental ground of the possibility of all knowl- edge — of pure a priori as well as empirical knowl- edge — the reproductive synthesis of imagination belongs to the transcendental functions of the mind, and may therefore be called the transcendental faculty of imagination. 3. Synthesis of Recognition in Conceptions. Were I not conscious that what I think now is identical with what I thought a moment ago, all re- production in the series of ideas would be useless. The idea reproduced at a given moment would be for me a perfectly new idea. There would be no identical consciousness bound up with the act of producing one idea after another; and" as without such consciousness there could be for me no unity. 464 Readings in Philosophy I should never be conscious of the various members of the series as forming one w^hole. If, in count- ing, I should forget that the units lying before my mind had been added by me one after the other, I should not be aware that a sum was being produced or generated in the successive addition of unit to unit ; and as the conception of the sum is simply the consciousness of this unity of synthesis, I should have no knowledge of the number. At this point it is necessary to have a clear idea of what we mean by an object of consciousness. We have seen that a phenomenon is just a sensation of which we are conscious, and that no sensation can be said to exist by itself as an object outside of con- sciousness. What, then, do we mean when we speak of an object as corresponding to our knowledge, and therefore as distinct from it? It is easy to see that this object can be thought of only as something = x, for there is nothing beyond knowledge that we can set up as contrasted with knowledge, and yet as cor- responding to it. It is plain that in knowledge we have to. do with nothing but the various determinations of our own consciousness ; hence the object = x, which cor- responds to these determinations, if it is supposed to be distinct from every object of consciousness, is for us nothing at all. The unity which the object demands can be only the formal unity of conscious- ness in the synthesis of its various determinations. In saying that we know the object, we mean that we have introduced synthetic unity into the various determinations of perception. But this is impos- sible, if the perception could not be produced by a The Self 465 function of synthesis, which, in conforming to a rule, makes the reproduction of those determinations a priori necessary, and renders possible a conception that unites them. There can be no knowledge without a conception, however indefinite or obscure it may be, and a con- ception is in form always a universal that serves as a rule. The conception of body, for instance, as a unity of the va,rious determinations thought in it, serves as a rule in our knowledge of external phenomena. Now, it is always a transcendental condition that lies at the foundation of that which is necessary. There must, therefore, be a transcen- dental ground of the unity of consciousness in the synthesis of the various determinations implied in every perception ; and this ground must be necessary to the conception of any object whatever, and there- fore to the conception of every object of experience. In no other way can there be any object for our perceptions ; for the object is nothing but that some- thing = X, the conception of which involves neces- sity of synthesis. This original and transcendental condition is just transcendental apperception. The consciousness, in internal perception, of oneself as determined to certain states, is merely empirical, and is" always changing. In the flux of inner phenomena there can be no unchanging or permanent self. This form of self-consciousness is usually called inner sense or empirical apperception. Now, from empirical data it is impossible to derive the conception of that which must necessarily be numerically identical. 466 Readings in Philosophy What we require, in explanation of such a transcen- dental presupposition, is a condition that precedes all experience, and makes it possible. No knowledge whatever, no unity and connection of objects, is possible for us, apart from that unity of consciousness which is prior to all data of per- ception, and without relation to which no conscious- ness of objects is possible. This pure, original, un- changeable consciousness I call transcendental ap- perception. That this is the proper name for it is evident, were it only that even the purest objective unity, that of the a priori conceptions of space and time, is possible only in so far as perceptions are related to it. The numerical unity of this appercep- tion is, therefore, just as much the a priori founda- tion of all conceptions as the various determinations of space and, time are the a priori foundation of the perceptions of sense. It is this transcendental unity of apperception which connects all the possible phenomena that can be gathered together in one experience, and subjects them to laws. There could be no such unity of consciousness were the mind not able to be conscious of the identity of function, by which it unites various phenomena in one knowledge. The original and necessary consciousness of the identity of oneself is at the same time the consciousness of a necessary unity in the synthesis of all phenomena according to conceptions. These conceptions are necessary rules, which not only make phenomena capable of reproduction, but determine perception as percep- tion of an object, that is, bring it under a concep- tion of something in which various determinations The Self 467 are necessarily connected together. It, would be impossible for the mind to think itself as identical in its various determinations, and indeed to think that identity a priori, if it did not hold the identity of its own act before its eyes, and if it did not, by subjecting to a transcendental unity all the synthesis of empirical apprehension, make the connection of the various determinations implied in that synthbsis possible in accordance with a priori rules. 15. Possibility of any Combination whatever. Though a perception is merely sensuous or re- ceptive, the various determinations of consciousness may be given, while the form, as simply the way in which the subject is affected, may lie a priori in the mind. But the combination (conjunctio) of those determinations can never come to us through the medium of sense, and therefore cannot be contained even in the pure form of sensible perception. Com- bination is a spontaneous act of consciousness, and, as such, it is the especial characteristic of under- standing, as distinguished from sense. All com- bination, therefore, whether we are aware of it or not, whether it is a combination of the various de- terminations of perception or of several conceptions, and whether the determinations of perception are empirical or pure, is an act of understanding. This act we call by the general name of synthesis, to draw attention to the fact that we can be conscious of nothing as combined in the object, which we have not ourselves previously combined. And as it pro- ceeds entirely from the self -activity of the subject, combination is the element, and the only element, 468 Readings in Philosophy that cannot be given by the object. It is easy to see that this act must in its origin always be of one and the same nature, no matter what may be the form of combination; and that the resolution or analysis, which seems to be its opposite, in point of fact always presupposes it. If understanding has previously combined, nothing, there is nothing for it to resolve; for without the combining activity of understanding there can be no consciousness of an object at all. By combination, however, must be understood not merely the synthesis of the various determinations of sense, but alsb their unity. Combination is con- sciousness of the synthetic unity of various determi- nations. The consciousness of this unity cannot be the result of. the combination, for were we not, in being conscious of various determinations, also con- scious of their unity, we should have no conception of combination at all. Nor must this unity, which precedes any conception of combination, be confused with the category of unity; for all categories rest upon logical functions of judgment, and, in these, combination, or the unity of given concep- tions, is already implied. For an explanation of the unity in question, which is qualitative, we must go further back, and seek it in that which, as the ground of the unity of various conceptions in judg- ment, is implied in the possibility even of the logical use of understanding. 16. The original Synthetic unity of Apperception. The "/ think" must be capable of accompanying all my ideas; for, otherwise, I should be conscious The Self 469 of something that could not be thought; which is the same as saying, that I should not be conscious at all, or at least should be conscious only of that which for me was nothing. Now, that form of conscious- ness which is prior to all thought, is perception. Hence, all the manifold determinations of percep- tion have a necessary relation to the "I think" in the subject that is conscious of them. The "I think," however, is an act of spontaneity, which cannot pos- sibly be due to sense. I call it pure apperception, to distinguish it from empirical apperception. I call it also the original apperception, because it is the self-consciousness which produces the "/ think." Now, the "/ think" must be capable of accompany- ing all other ideas, and it is one and the same in all consciousness ; but there is no other idea beyond the "I think," to which self-consciousness is bound in a similar way. The unity of apperception I call also the transcendental unity of self-consciousness, to indicate that upon it depends the possibility of a priori knowledge. For, the various determinations given in a certain perception would not all be in my consciousness, if they did not all belong to one self- consciousness. True, I may not be aware of this, but yet as they are determinations of my conscious- ness, they must necessarily conform to the condition, without which they are not capable of standing to- gether in one universal self-consciousness. In no other way would they all without exception be mine. From this original combination important^ conse- quences follow. The absolute identity of apperception in relation to all the determinations given in perception, in- 31 470 Readings in Philosophy volves a synthesis of those determinations, and is possible only through consciousness of the synthesis. For, the empirical consciousness, which accompanies each determination as it arises, is in itself broken up into units, and is unrelated to the one identical subject. Relation to a single subject does not take place when I accompany each determination with consciousness, but only when I add one determina- tion to the other, and am conscious of this act of synthesis. It is only because I am capable of com- bining in one consciousness the various determina- tions presented to me, that I can become aware that in every one of them the consciousness is the same. The analytic unity of apperception is, therefore, possible only under presupposition of a certain syn- thetic unity. The thought, that the determinations given in a perception all belong to me, is the same as the thought, that I unite them, or at least that I am capable of uniting them in one self-conscious- ness. This does not of itself involve a consciousness of the synthesis of determinations, but it presup- poses the possibility of that consciousness. It is only because I am capable of grasping the various determinations in one consciousness, that I can call them all mine ; were it not so, I should have a self as many-coloured and various as the separate deter- minations of which I am conscious. Synthetic unity of the various determinations of perception as given a priori, is therefore the ground of that identity of apperception itself, which precedes a priori every definite act of thought. Now, objects cannot com- bine themselves, nor can understanding learn that they are combined by observing their combination. ~ The Self 471 All combination is the work of understanding, and in fact understanding is itself nothing but the faculty of combining a priori, and bringing under the unity of apperception, the various determina- tions given in perception. The unity of appercep- tion is, therefore, the supreme principle of all our knowledge. This principle of the necessary unity of apper- ception, is no doubt in itself an identical and there- fore an analytic proposition ; but it also reveals the necessity for a synthesis of the various determina- tions given in perception, because without such synthesis the thoroughgoing identity of self-con- sciousness is inconceivable. In the simple conscious- ness of self, no variety of determination is given; such variety of determination can be given only in the perception which is distinguished from the consciousness of self, and can be thought only by being combined in one consciousness. An under- standing in which the consciousness of self should at the same time be a consciousness of all the com- plex determinations of qbjects, would be perceptive; but our understanding can only think, and must go to sense for perception. I am conscious of my self as identical in the various determinations presented to me in a perception, because all determinations that constitute one perception I call mine. But this is the same as saying, that I am conscious of a necessary synthesis of them a priori, or that they rest upon the original synthetic unity of apperception, under which all the determinations given to me must stand, but under which they can be brought only by nieans of a synthesis. 472 Readings in Philosophy 17. The synthetic unity of Apperception is the supreme principle of Understanding. In the Transcendental Esthetic, we have seen that the supreme principle, without which perception in its relation to sensibility is impossible, is, that all the determinations of perception should stand under the formal conditions of space and time. Now, the supreme principle, without which perception, in its relation to understanding is impossible, is, that all determinations of perception should stand under conditions of the oHginal synthetic unity of apper- ception. Under the former stand all determinations of perception, in so far as they are given to us; under the latter, in so far as they must be capable of being combined in one consciousness. Apart from the synthetic unity of apperception, nothing can be thought or known, because the determinations given in perception, not having the act of apperception, "I think," in common, would not be comprehended in one self-consciousness. Speaking quite generally, understanding is the faculty of knoivledge. Knowledge consists in the consciousness of certain given determinations as re- lated to an object. An object, again, is that, in the conception of which the various determinations of a given perception are united. Now, all unification of determinations requires unity of consciousness in the synthesis of determinations. Hence, the unity of consciousness is absolutely necessary, to constitute the relation of determinations to an ob- ject, give them objective validity, and make them The Self 473 objects of knowledge; and on that unity therefore "l-ests the very possibility of understanding. The principle of the original synthetic unity of apperception, as being completely- independent of all conditions of sensuous perception, is the first pure cognition of the understanding, upon which all its further use depends. Space, as the mere form of external sensuous perception, does not of itself yield any knowledge : it but supplies the various elements of a priori perception that are capable of becoming knowledge. To know anything spatial, as, for in- stance a line, I must draw it, and so produce by syn- thesis a definite combination of the given elements. Thus, the unity of the act of combination is at the same time the unity of the consciousness in which the line is thought, and only in this unity of con- sciousness is a determinate space known as an ob- ject. The synthetic unity of consciousness is, there- fore, an objective condition of all knowledge. It is not merely a condition which I must observe in knowing an object, but it is a condition under whjch every perception must stand, before it can become an object for me at all. Without this synthesis, the various determinations would not be united in one consciousness. Although it is thus proved, that the synthetic unity of consciousness is the condition of all thought, the unity of consciousness, as has been already said, is in itself an analytic proposition. For, it says only, that all the determinations of which / am con- scious in a given perception must stand under the condition, which enables me to regard them as mine, or as related to my identical self, and so to compre- 474 Readings in Philosophy hend them as synthetically combined in one apper- ception, through the "I think" expressed in all alike. But this is not the principle of every possible un- derstanding, but onjy of an understanding, through the pure apperception of which, in the conscious- ness "I am," no determinations are given. If we had an understanding, which, by its mere self-con- sciousness, presented to itself the manifold determi- nations of perception; an understanding, which, by its very consciousness of objects, should give rise to the existence of these objects; such an understand- ing would not require, for the unity of consciousness, a special act of synthesis of manifold determina- tions. But this act of synthesis is essential to human understanding, which thinks, but does not perceive. It is, indeed, the supreme principle of human understanding. Nor can we form the least conception of any other possible understanding, whether of one that itself perceives, or of one that is dependent upon sensibility for its perception, but not upon a sensibility that stands under the con- ditions of space and time. 18. Objective unity of Self-conscioiisness. The transcendental unity of apperception is that unity through which all the determinations given in a perception are united in a conception of the object. It is, accordingly, called objective, and must be distinguished from the subjective unity of con- sciousness, which is a determination of the inner sense, through which the complex of perception is given empirically to be combined into an object. Whether I shall be empirically conscious of certain The Self 475 determinations as simultaneous, or as successive, depends upon circumstances, or empirical condi- tions. Hence, the empirical unity of consciousness, through the association of the elements of percep- tion, is itself a phenomenon, and is perfectly con- tingent. But the pure form of perception in time, as merely perception in general, stands under the original unity of consciousness just because the va- rious determinations given in it are necessarily re- lated to an *7 think." It therefore stands under that original unity by means of the pure synthesis of understanding, which is the a priori ground of the empirical synthesis. . Only the original unity of apperception is objective; the empirical unity, with which we are not here concerned, and which besides is only derived from the other, under given condi- tions in concreto, is merely subjective. To one man, for instance, a certain word suggests one thing, to another a different thing. In what is empirical, the unity of consciousness does not hold necessarily and universally of that which is given. D. Freedom. The following is one of most significant argu- ments for freedom in the history of philosophy. It is one of Kant's best statements of any of his views : The Idea of Freedom as the Key to the Autonomy of the Will The^ will is the causality of living beings in so far as they are rational. Freedom is that causality in ' Kant, Metaphysie of Morality; Watson's Selections, pages 250-258; edition cited above. 476 Readings in Philosophy so far as it can be regarded as efficient without be- ing determined to activity by any cause other than itself. Natural necessity is the property of all non- rational beings to be determined to activity by some cause external to themselves. The definition of freedom just given is negative, and therefore it does not tell us what freedom is in itself; but it prepares the way for a positive con- ception of a more specific and more fruitful char- acter. The conception of causality carries with it the conception of determination by law (Gesetz), for the effect is conceived as determined (gesetzt) by the cause. Hence freedom must not be regarded as lawless (gesetzlos), but simply as independent of laws of nature. A free cause does conform to un- changeable laws, but these laws are peculiar to it- self; and, indeed, apart from law a free will has no meaning whatever. A necessary law of nature, as we have seen, implies the heteronomy of efficient causes; for no effect is possible at all, unless its cause is itself determined to activity by something else. What, therefore, can freedom possibly be but autonomy, that is, the property of the will to be a law to itself? Now, to say that the will in all its actions is a law to itself, is simply to say that its principle is, to act from no other maxim than that the object of which is itself as a universal law. But this is just the formula of the categorical im- perative and the principle of morality. Hence a free will is the same thing as a will that conforms to moral laws. If, then, we start from the presupposition of free- dom of the will, we can derive morality and the The Self 477 principle of morality simply from an analysis of the conception of freedom. Yet the principle of mor- ality, namely, that an absolutely good will is a will the maxim of which can always be taken as itself a universal law, is a synthetic proposition. For by no possibility can we derive this property of the maxim from an analysis of the conception of an absolutely good will. The transition from the con- ception of freedom to the conception of morality can be made only if there is a third proposition which connects the other two in a synthetic unity. The positive conception of freedom yields this third proposition, and not the conception of nature, in which a thing is related causally only to something else. What this third proposition is to which free- dom points, and of which we have an a priori idea, can be made clear only after some preliminary in- vestigation. Freedom is a property of all Rational Beings It cannot in any way be proved that the will of man is free, unless it can be shown that the will of all rational beings is free. For morality is a law for us only in so far as we are rational beings, and therefore it must apply to all rational beings. But morality is possible only, for a free being, and hence it must be proved that freedom also belongs to the will of all rational beings. Now I say, that a being who cannot act except under the idea of freedom, must for that very reason be regarded as free so far as his actions are concerned. In other words, even if it cannot be proved by speculative reason that his will is free, all the laws that are inseparably 478 Readings in Philosophy bound up with freedom must be viewed by him as laws of his will. And I say, further, that we must necessarily attribute to evei-y rational being that has a will the idea of freedom, because every such being always acts under that idea. A rational be- ing we must' conceive as having a reason that is practical, that is, a reason that has causality with regard to its objects. Now, it is impossible to con- ceive of a reason which should be consciously biassed in its judgments by some influence from without, for the subject would in that case regard its judg- ments as determined, not by reason, but by a natural impulse. Reason must therefore regard itself as the author of its principles of action, and as independent of all external influences. Hence, as practical rea- son, or as the will of a rational being, it must be re- garded by itself as free. The will of a rational be- ing, in other words, can be his own will only if he acts under the idea of freedom, and therefore this idea must in the practical sphere be ascribed to all rational beings. The Interest connected with Moral Ideas We have at last succeeded in reducing the true conception of morality to the idea of freedom. This, however, does not prove that man actually is free, but only that, without presupposing freedom, we cannot conceive of ourselves as rational beings, who are conscious of causality with respect to our ac- tions, that is, as endowed with will. We have also found that on the same ground all beings endowed with reason and will must determine themselves to action under the idea of their freedom. The Self 479 From the presupposition of the idea of freedom there also followed the consciousness of a law of action, the law that our subjective principles of action, or maxims, must always be of such a char- acter that they have the validity of objective or uni- versal principles, and can be taken as universal laws imposed upon our will by ourselves. But why, it may be asked, should I subject myself to this prin- ciple simply as a rational being, and why, therefore, should all other beings who are endowed with reason come under the same principle? Admitting that I am not forced to do so by interest — which indeed would make a categorical imperative impossible — yet I must take an interest in that principle and see how I come to subject myself to it. It looks as if we had, strictly speaking, shown merely that in the idea of freedom the moral law must be presupposed in order to explain the prin- ciple of the autonomy of the will, without being able to prove the reality and objectivity of the moral law itself. It must be frankly admitted, that there is here a sort of circle from which it seems impossible to escape. We assume that as efficient causes we are free, in order to explain how in the kingdom of ends we can be under moral laws ; and then we think of ourselves as subject to moral laws, because we have ascribed to ourselves freedom of will. Freedom of will and self-legislation of will are both autonomy, and, therefore, they are conceptions which imply each other ; but, for that very reason, the one cannot be employed to explain or to account for the other. 480 Readings in Philosophy How is a Categorical Imperative possible? As an intelligence, a rational being views himself as a member of the intelligible world, and it is only as an efficient cause belonging to this world that he speaks of his own causality as will. On the other hand, he is conscious of himself as also a part of the world of sense, and m this connection his actions appear as mere phenomena which that causality un- derlies. Yet he cannot trace back his actions as phenomena to the causality of his will, because of that causality he has no knowledge ; and he is thus forced to view them as if they were determined merely by other phenomena, that is, by natural de- sires and inclinations. Were a man a member only of the intelligible world, all his actions would be in perfect agreement with the autonomy of the will ; were he merely a part of the world of sense, they would have to be regarded as completely subject to the natural law of desire and inclination, and to the heteronomy of nature. The former would rest upon the supreme principle of morality, the latter upon that of happiness. But it must be observed that the intelligible world is the condition of the world of sense, and, therefore, of the.laws of that world. And as the will belongs altogether to the intelligible world, it is the intelligible world that prescribes the laws which the will directly obeys. As an intel- ligence, I am therefore subject to the law of the intelligible world, that is, to reason, notwithstanding the fact that I belong on the other side of my nature to the world of sense. Now, as subject to reason, which in the idea of freedom contains the law of The Self 481 the intelligible world, I am conscious of being sub- ject to the autonomy of the will. The laws of the intelligible world I must therefore regard as im- peratives, and the actions conformable to this prin- ciple as duties. The explanation of the possibility of categorical imperatives, then, is, that the idea of freedom makes me a member of the intelligible world. Were I a member of no other world, all my actions would as a matter of fact always conform to the autonomy of the will. But as I perceive myself to be also a member of the world of sense, I can say only, that my actions ought to conform to the autonomy of the will. The categorical ought is thus an a priori synthetic proposition. To my will as affected by sensuous desires, there is added synthetically the idea of my will as belonging to the intelligible world, and therefore as pure and self-determining. The will as rational is therefore the supreme condition of the will as sensuous. The method of explana- tion here employed is similar to that by which the categories were deduced. For the a priori synthetic propositions, which make all knowledge of nature possible, depend, as we have seen, upon the addition to perceptions of sense of the pure conceptions of understanding, which, in themselves, are nothing but the form of law in general. Limits of Practical Philosophy Freedom is only an idea of reason, and therefore its objective reality is doubtful. Thus there arises a dialectic of practical reason. The freedom as- 482 Readings in Philosophy cribed to the will seems to stand in contradiction with the necessity of nature. It is, therefore, in- cumbent upon speculative philosophy at least to show that we think of man in one sense and relation when we call him free, and in another sense and relation when we view him as a part of nature, and as subject to its laws. But this duty is incum- bent upon speculative philosophy only in so far as it has to clear the way for practical philosophy. In thinking itself into the intelligible world, prac- tical reason does not transcend its proper limits, as it would do if it tried to know itself directly by means of perception. In so thinking itself, reason merely conceives of itself negatively as not belong- ing to the world of sense, without giving any laws to itself in determination of the will. There is but a single point in which it is positive, namely, in the thought that freedom, though it is a negative de- termination, is yet bound up with a positive faculty, and, indeed, with a causality of reason which is called will. In other words, will is the faculty of so acting that the principle of action should conform to the essential nature of a rational motive, that is, to the condition that the maxim of action should have the universal validity of a law. Were reason, however, to derive an object of will, that is, a motive, from the intelligible world, it would transcend its proper limits, and would make a pretence of know- ing something of which it knew nothing. The con- ception of an intelligible world is therefore merely a point of view beyond the world of sense, at which reason sees itself compelled to take its stand in order to think itself as practical. This conception would The Self 483 not be possible at all if the sensuous desires were sufficient to determine the action of man. It is necessary, because otherwise man would not be con- scious of himself as an intelligence, and, therefore, not as a rational cause acting through reason or operating freely. This thought undoubtedly involves the idea of an order and a system of laws other than the order and laws of nature, which concern only the world of sense. Hence it makes necessary the conception of an intelligible world, a world which comprehends the totality of rational beings as things in themselves. Yet it in no way entitles us to think of that world otherwise than in its formal condi- tion, that is, to conceive of the maxims of the will as conformable to universal laws. Reason would, therefore, completely transcend its proper limits, if it should undertake to explain how pure reason can be practical, or, what is the same thing, to explain hoiv freedom is possible. We can explain nothing but that which we can reduce to laws, the object of which can be presented in a possible experience. - Freedom, however, is a mere idea, the objective reality of which can in no way be presented in accordance with laws of nature, and, therefore, not in any possible experience. It has merely the necessity of a presupposition of rea- son, made by a being who believes himself to be conscious of a will, that is, of a faculty distinct from mere desire. The most that we can do is to defend freedom by removing the objections of those who claim to have a deeper insight into the nature of things than we can pretend to have, and who there- fore, declare that freedom is impossible. It would no 484 Readings in Philosophy doubt be a contradiction to say that in its causality the will is entirely separated from all the laws of the sensible world. But the contradiction disappears, if we say, that behind phenomena there are things in themselves, which, though they are hidden from us, are the condition of phenomena; and that the laws of action of things in themselves naturally are not the same as the laws under which their phe- nomenal manifestations stand. While, therefore, it% true that we cannot compre- hend the practical unconditioned necessity of the moral imperative, it is also true that we can com- prehend its incomprehensibility; and this is all that can fairly be demanded of a philosophy which seeks to reach the principles which determine the limits of human reason. CHAPTER XXIII THE FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTS OF METAPHYSICS Space does not allow the illustration of all of these important conceptions. The following have been selected because of the importance they have had in the course of the history of thought : A. Nature of the Categories: By^ synthesis, in its most general sense, is meant the act of putting various ideas together, and grasp- ing their multiplicity in one consciousness. Such synthesis is pure, if the multiplicity is given, not empirically, but a priori, as in the case of space and time. Now, before we can analyze any idea, we must first have the idea, and hence the content of a conception cannot originally come into consciousness by analysis. It is by synthesis of various elements, whether those elements are given empirically or a priori, that we first get knowledge. No doubt the synthesis may at first be crude and confused, and it may stand in need of analysis, but yet it is by syn- thesis that the various elements are gathered to- gether and united in the knowledge of a certain con- crete object. It is to synthesis, therefore, that we must first direct our attention, if we would learn the true origin of our knowledge. ' Kant, Critigue of Pure Reason; Watson's Selections, pages 49-55; edition previously cited. (485) 32 486 Readings in Philosophy Synthesis in general, as we shall afterwards see, is due solely to the operation of imagination, a blind but indispensable function of the soul, without which we should have no knowledge whatever, but of which we are seldom even conscious. To bring this syn- thesis to conceptions is the function of understand- ing, and it is only by this operation of understanding that we obtain what can properly be called knowl- edge. Pure synthesis, viewed in its most general aspect, is the pure conception of understanding. By this pure synthesis I understand that which rests upon a basis of a priori synthetic unity. Thus in arith- metical addition, as is readily seen in the case of large numbers, the synthesis conforms to a concep- tion, because it proceeds on a common basis of unity, as, for instance, the decade. By this conception the unity in the synthesis of a complex is made neces- sary. By analysis varigus ideas are brought under a single conception, as is shown in general logic. But it belongs to transcendental logic to tell us how the pure synthesis of ideas is brought to conceptions. The first element that enters into the knowledge of all objects a priori is the complex content of pure perception. The second element is the synthesis of this content by imagination. But as even this is not enough to constitute knowledge, a third element is supplied by understanding, in the conceptions which give unity to this pure synthesis, and which consist solely in the consciousness of this necessary synthetic unity. The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 487 The same function which gives unity to various ideas in a judgment also gives unity to the mere synthesis of various ideas in a perception; and this synthesis, in its most general expression, is the pure conception of understanding. Understanding at once gives analytic unity to conceptions, and syn- thetic unity to the complex content of perception; and indeed the logical form of judgment presup- poses and rests upon the very same acts of thought as those by vsrhich a transcendental content is given to the various determinations of our consciousness. Hence it is that the pure conceptions of understand- ing, as they are fitly called, apply to objects a priori, and therefore do not fall within the view of general logic. In this way there arises exactly the same number of pure conceptions of understanding, applying a priori to all objects of perception, as there are logical functions of judgments . . . ; for those func- tions completely specify understanding, and give a perfect measure of its powers. We shall call the pure conceptions categories, after Aristotle, be- cause our object is the same as his, although our method and results are widely different. Table op Categories 1. Quantity. Unity. Plurality. Totality. 488 Readings in Philosophy 2. Quality. Reality. Negation. 3. Relation Inherence and Subsistence (substantia et accidens.) Causality and Dependence (cause and effect). Limitation. Community (reciprocity between the active and the passive) . 4. Possibility Existence Necessity Modality Impossibility. Non-existence. Contingency. This, then, is a list of all the primary pure con- ceptions of synthesis that understanding contains within itself a priori. Because it contains these pure conceptions, it is called pure understanding, and only by them can it understand anything in the complex content of perception, that is, think an ob- ject. The table has not been left to the uncertain suggestions of empirical induction, but has been drawn up systematically, on the basis of a single principle, namely, the faculty of judgment, or, what is the same thing, the faculty of thought. II. The table of categories suggests some nice points, which, perhaps, might be found to have an im- portant bearing on the scientific form of all knowl- edge of reason. (1) The four classes of categories naturally fall into two groups; those in the first ^he Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 489 group being concerned with objects of perception, pure as well as empirical, while those in the second group are concerned with the existence of those ob- jects, as related either to one another or to under- standing. The first may be called the mathem,atical, the second the dynamical categories. The former, as is obvious, have no correlates, the latter have correlates. This distinction must have some ground in the nature of understanding. (2) It is also suggestive that the number of categories in each class is three, because usually all a priori division must be by dichotomy. To this it must be added that the third category in each class arises from the union of the second category with the first. Thus totality or allness is just plurality regarded as unity, limitation is reality combined with negation, com- munity is causality in which two substances mutually determine one another, and lastly, necessity is just existence given by mere possibility itself. 13. Principles of a Transcendental Deduction There is a distinction in law between the ques- tion of right (quid juris) and the question of fact (quid facti). Both must be proved, but proof of a right or claim is called its deduction. Now, among the variety of conceptions that make up the very mixed web of human knowledge, there are certain conceptions that put in a claim for use entirely a priori, and this claim of course stands in need of deduction. It is useless to refer to the fact of expe- rience in justification of such a claim, but at the same time we must know how conceptions can pos- sibly refer to objects which yet they do not derive 490 Readings in Philosophy from experience. An explanation of the manner in which conceptions can relate a priori to objects, I call a transcendental deduction; and fr6m it I dis- tinguish an^ empirical deduction, which simply tells us how a conception has been acquired by experience and reflection on experience. The former proves our right to the use of a certain conception, the latter merely points out that as a matter of fact it has come into our possession in a certain way. We had no diflSculty in explaining how space and time, although they are themselves known a priori, are yet necessarily related to objects, and make possible a synthetic knowledge of objects which is independent of all experience. For, as it is only by means of these pure forms of sense that we can be conscious of an object in empirical perception, space and time are pure perceptions, which con- tain a priori the condition of the possibility of ob- jects as phenomena, and therefore synthesis in them has objective validity. The categories of understanding, on the other hand, are not conditions under which objects are given in perception; hence objects might certainly be presented to us, even if they were not necessarily related to functions of understanding, as their a priori condition. Here, therefore, a difficulty arises that we did not meet with in the field of sensibility. The difficulty is, how subjective conditions of thought should have objective validity, or, in other words, how they should be conditions without which no knowledge of objects would Tbe possible. Take, for instance, the conception of cause. Here we have The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 491 a peculiar sort of synthesis, in which something B is conceived as following upon something else quite different A, in conformity with a rule. It is hard to see why phenomena should be subject to such' an a priori conception. Why should not the con- ception be perfectly empty, and without any phe- nomenal object corresponding to it? We cannot avoid the toil of such investigations by saying that experience is perpetually giving us ex- amples of such conformity to law on the part of phenomena, and that we are thus enabled to form an abstract conception of cause, and to be certain of its objective validity. The conception of cause cannot possibly originate in that way ; and hence we must either show that it rests completely a priori upon understanding, or we must discard it altogether as a mere fiction of the brain. For the conception demands that something A should be of such a nature that something else B follows from it necessarily, and in conformity with an absolutely universal rule. No pure conception of the understanding can be the product of empirical induction without a complete reversal of its nature and use. The transcendental deduction of all a priori con- ceptions must therefore be guided by the principle, that these conceptions must be the a priori condi- tions of all possible experience. Conceptions which make experience possible are for that very reason necessary. An analysis of the experience in which they occur would not furnish a deduction of them, but merely an illustration of their use. Were they not the primary conditions of all the experience in 492 Readings in Philosophy which objects are known as phenomena, their rela- tion to even a single object would be utterly incom- prehensible. B. Deduction of the Categories. The "deduction" of the categories as Kant uses the term is the statement of the justification of the use by human beings of the forms of human thought in dealing with "objective" reality : Alp- Se7isvA}us Perceptions stand under the Cate- gories as conditions under which alone their various determinations can come together in one Conscious- ness. The various determinations given in a sensuous perception stand under the original synthetic unity of apperception, because in no other way could there possibly be any unity of apperception. But that act of understandng, by which the determinations given in consciousness, whether these are perceptions or conceptions, are brought under a single appercep- tion, is the logical function of the judgment. Hence, all the elements given in an empirical perception are determined by one of the logical functions of judg- ment, and thus brought into one consciousness. But the categories are just the functions of judgment, in so far as these are applied in determination of the various elements of a given perception. There- fore, the various determinations in a given percep- tion necessarily stand under the categories. ' Kant, Critique of Pure Reason; Watson's Selections, pages 72-83 ; edition cited above. The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 493 The Category has no other application in Knowledge than to Objects of Experience. To think an object is not the same thing as to know it. Knowledge involyes two elements : firstly, the conception or category, by which an object in general is thought; secondly, the perception by which it is given. If no perception could be given, cor- responding to the conception, I should no doubt be able to think an object so far as its form was con- cerned, but as there would be no object in which that form was realized, I could not possibly have knowl- edge of any actual thing. So far as I could know, there would be nothing, and could be nothing, to which my thought might be applied. Now, the Esthetic has shown to us that all the perception that we can have is sensuous ; hence the thought of an object in general, by means of a pure conception of understanding, can become knowledge, only by being brought into relation with objects of sense. Sensuous perception is either the pure perception of space and time, or the empirical perception of that which is directly presented through sensation as actually in space and time. By the determination of space and time themselves, we can obtain that a priori knowledge of objects which mathematics sup- plies. But this knowledge is only of the form of phenomena, and it is still doubtful if actual things must be perceived in this form. Mathematical con- ceptions, therefore, can be called knowledge, only if it is presupposed that there are actual things which cannot be presented to us except under the form of that pure sensuous perception. Now, things in 494 Readings in Philosophy space and time are given to us only through em- pirical, observation, that is, in perceptions that are accompanied by sensation. Hence, the pure concep- tions of understanding, even if they are applied to a priori perceptions, as in mathematics, do not yield a knowledge of things. Before there can be any knowledge, the pure perceptions, and the concep- tions of understanding through the medium of pure perceptions, must be applied to empirical percep- tions. The categories, therefore, give us no knowl- edge of actual things, even with the aid of percep- tion, except in so far as they are capable of being applied to empirical perception. In other words, they are merely conditions of the possibility of em- pirical knowledge. Now, such knowledge is called experience. Hence the categories have a share in the knowledge of those things only that are objects of possible experience. The above proposition is of the greatest impor- tance, for it marks out the limits of the pure concep- tions of understanding in their application to ob- jects, just as Transcendental u^sthetic marked out the limits of the pure forms of sensuous perception. Space and time are but the conditions under which objects that are relative to our senses are capable of being presented to us, and therefor^ they apply only within the limits of experience. Beyond those limits they have no meaning whatever, for they are only in the senses, and have no reality apart from them. The pure conceptions of understanding are free from this limitation, and extend to objects of per- ception of any kind, whether that perception is like or unlike ours, if only it is sensuous, and not Intel- The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 495 lectual. But this extension of conception beyond our sensuous perception does not help us in the least. For, the conceptions are in that case quite empty, and we are therefore unable even to say that there are any objects corresponding to them. They are mere forms of thought without objective reality, for we have no perception at hand, and therefore no object, to which the synthetic unity of apperception, which is the sole content of those forms of thought, could be applied. Only our sensuous and empirical perception can give to them meaning and reality. If I suppose an object of a non-sensuotcs percep- tion to be given, I can, no doubt, think of it as hav- ing all the predicates implied in my presupposition. I can say that the object has none of the determina- tions proper to sensuous perception : that it is not extended or in space, that its duration is not time, that there is in it no change or succession of states in time, etc. But no real knowledge of an object is gained by merely indicating how it is not perceived, so long as I cannot tell what is the content of its perception. I cannot in that way understand even the possibility of an object to which my pure con- ception could apply, for I am unable to bring for- ward a perception corresponding to such an object, and can say only that my perception can never bring me into contact with it. But what most concerns us here, is, that to a thing of that nature, not even a single category could be applied. I could not say, for instance, that such a thing is a substance, that is, a thing that can exist as subject, but never as mere predicate. For, how could I apply the conception of substance, when, in the absence of all empirical 496 Readings in Philosophy perception, I should not even know that ansrthing corresponding to my idea could exist at all ? The application of the Categories to objects of sense. Understanding is capable of applying its pure con- ceptions to any object of perception, whether the perception is the same as ours or not, if only it is sensuous. But what this shows is that those con- ceptions are but mere forms of thought, which in themselves yield no knowledge of a determinate object. As we have seen, the synthesis, or com- bination of various elements implied in these forms of thought, is relative merely to the unity of apper- ception, and only in relation to that unity does it make possible any a priori knowledge, or rather that knowledge which rests upon understanding. It is, therefore, not only transcendental, but also purely intellectual. But there lies in us a certain form of a priori sensuous perception, which is bound up with our sensibility, or the receptive side of our conscious- ness. Hence understanding, by its spontaneity, is capable of determining the inner sense, by bringing the various elements given in pure perception into conformity with the synthetic unity of apperception. Thus it can think synthetic unity of the apperception of the elements implied in a priori sen^vx>us percep- tion as the condition under which all objects of human perception must necessarily stand. In this way the categories, which in themselves are mere forms of thought, obtain objective reality, or ap- plication to objects that can be given to us in per- ception. These objects, however, are merely phe- The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 497 nomena, for only to phenomena do the a priori forms of perceptioh apply. This synthesis of the units of sensuous percep- tion, which is possible and necessary a priori, may be called figural synthesis (synthesis speciosa), to distinguish it from that intellectual synthesis (syn- thesis intellectvMis) , which is thought in the mere category as applicable to all the determinations of a perception. Both are transcendental, not merely because they precede a priori other knowledge, but because they make other a priori knowledge possible. But the figural synthesis, when it is considered merely in relation to the original synthetic unity of apperception, that is, to the transcendental unity which is thought in the categories, must be called, in distinction from the purely intellectual combination, the transcendental synthesis of imagination. Im- agination is the faculty of setting before the mind in perception an object that is not itself present. Now, all our perception is sensuous, and hence imagination can give a perception corresponding to the concep- tions of understanding, only under the subjective condition of time. Imagination therefore pertains to sensibility. At the same time its synthesis is the expression of spontaneous activity; for, unlike sense, imagination is not simply capable of being deter- mined, but it is itself determining; and hence it can a priori determine sense in its form, in accordance with the unity of apperception. Imagination, then, is in one point of view the faculty of determining the sensibility a priori; and its synthesis of the ele- ments of pure perception, conforming as it does to 498 Readings in Philosophy the categories, must, be called the transcendental synthesis of imagination. This synthesis is the re- sult of an action of understanding on the sensibility, or it is the first application, and so the condition of all other applications, of understanding to objects that we are capable of perceiving. The figural syn- thesis is distinguished from ,the intellectual synthe- sis simply in this, that the latter is due purely to understanding in isolation from imagination. In so far as imagination is a spontaneous activity, I sometimes call it productive imagination, to distin- tinguish it from reproductive imagination, the syn- thesis of which is entirely dependent upon empirical laws of association. As this latter synthesis in no way helps to explain how a priori knowledge is pos- sible, it belongs to psychology, not to transcendental philosophy. Transcendental Deduction of the Categories as employed in Experience. In the metaphysical deduction it has been proved that the categories have their origin a priori, be- cause they perfectly agree with the universal logical functions of thought. In the transcendental de- duction, we have seen how the categories make possible the a priori knowledge of objects of per- ception in general. We have now to explain how, by means of the categories, we are capable of know- ing a priori objects of which we are conscious only when our senses are actually affected. What we propose to explain is not how there can be an a priori knowledge of sensible objects as regards the form of perception, but how there can be an a priori The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 499 knowledge of the laws by which the combination of objects is effected, or, as we may say, what are the laws imposed upon nature, without which there would be no nature at all. The( first thing to be observed is that by synthesis of apprehension is meant the putting together of various determinations in an empirical perception, an act without which there could be no observation or empirical consciousness of a phenomenal object. In space and time we have a priori forms of outer as well as inner perception; and to these the syn- thesis of apprehension must always conform, be- cause in no other way can apprehension take place at all. But space and time are more than mere forms of sensuous perception : they are themselves percep- tions that contain a complex of elements, and these elements are conceived a priori to be determined to unity. Along with these perceptions (not in them) there is presupposed a priori, as condition of all syn- thesis of apprehension, a unity of synthesis of the various determinations of inner and outer perception ; and this, again, implies that whatever can be perceived as in space and time must submit to combination. This synthetic unity can only be the combination, in conformity with the categories, of the various ele- ments of any given perception in an original con- sciousness, in so far as the combination is applied to our sensuous perception. Hence, all synthesis, in- cluding even that through which sensible observa- tion is possible, stands under the categories. And, as experience is knowledge by means of connected observations, the categories are conditions of the 500 Readings in Philosophy possibility of experience, and therefore hold a priori of all objects of experience. I observe a house, for instance, by the apprehen- sion of various determinations given in empirical perception. The necessary unity of space, and of external sensuous perception in general, is presup- posed, and I draw as it were an outline of the house, in conformity with this synthetic unity of its deter- minations in space. But, if I abstract from the form of space, the very same synthetic unity has its seat in understanding, and is the category of qvMn- tity, or the category of the synthesis of the homo- geneous in any perception whatever. To this cate- gory, therefore, the synthesis of apprehension — that is, the observation — must completely conform. Categories are conceptions which a priori pre- scribe laws to phenomena, and therefore to nature as the sum total of all phenomena (natura mater- ialiter spectata). Now, the categories are not de- rived from nature, nor do they adapt themselves to nature as their model, for in that case they would be merely empirical. How, then, one asks, can it be shown that nature must adapt itself to them? How can the categories determine a priori the combina- tion of the complex phenomena of nature, instead of going to nature to find out how phenomena are com- bined? Here is the solution of the problem. It is no more wonderful that the laws of phe- nomena in nature must agree with understanding and its a priori form, or faculty of combining any complex given to it, than that phenomena themselves must agree with the form of a priori sensuous per- ception. Just as phenomena have no existence at all, The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 501 apart from a subject that has sense, so there exist no laws in phenomena, apart from a subject that has understanding. Things in themselves would of course have laws of their own, even if they did not come within the knowledge of the subject through his understanding. But phenomena are merely the manner in which things appear in consciousness, and give no knowledge of what things may be in them- selves. As mere appearances they are subject to no law of connection but that which is imposed by the connective faculty. Now, it is imagination that connects the various units of sensuous perception, and imagination is dependent upon understanding for the unity of its intellectual synthesis, and upon sensi- bility for the complexity of apprehension. But nothing can come under observation without a syn- thesis of apprehension, and this empirical synthesis is dependent upon the transcendental synthesis, and therefore upon the categories. Hence, all that can be observed, or can come to empirical consciousness, that is, all phenomena of nature, must depend for combination upon the categories. In the categories, therefore, nature as a system of necessary laws (natura formaliter spectata) has its ground and origin. Pure understanding, however, cannot by mere categories prescribe a priori any laws to phe- nomena other than those' universal laws of nature that apply to all objects in space and time. Special laws, as relating only to what is empirically deter- mined, cannot he .completely derived from the cate- gories, although they must all, without exception, stand under the categories. To learn what are the special laws of nature, we must go to experience; 502 Readings in Philosophy but it is none the less true that only the a priori laws imposed by understanding tell us what is necessary for any experience whatever, and what is capable of being known as an object of experience. Result of the Deduction of the Categories. We cannot think an object without categories; we cannot know an object so thought without per- ceptions that correspond to categories. Now, all our perceptions are sensuous, and therefore all our knowledge of objects that are presented in percep- tion is empirical. But empirical knowledge is ex- perience. Hence there can be no a priori knowl- edge, except of objects that are capable of entering into experience. But although such knowledge is limited to objects of experience, it is not therefore altogether derived from experience. For pure perceptions as well as pure conceptions are elements in knowledge, and both are found in us a priori. There are only two ways in which we can account for a necessary coin- cidence of the data of experience with the concep- tions which we form of its objects: either that ex- perience must make the conceptions possible, or the conceptions must make experience possible. The former supposition is inconsistent with the nature of the categories, not to speak of pure sensuous per- ception ; for the categories, as a priori conceptions, are independent of experience, and to derive them from experience would be a sort of generatio aequi- voca. The alternative supposition, which involves what may be called an epigenesis of pure reason, must therefore be adopted, and we must hold that The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 503 the categories, as proceeding from understanding, contain the grounds of the possibility of any expe- rience whatever. Short Statement of the Deduction. What has been shown in the deduction of the cate- gories is that the pure conceptions of understand- ing, on which all theoretical a priori knowledge is based, are principles that make experience possible. In other words, they are principles for the general determination of phenomena in space and time, a determination that ultimately flows from the prin- ciple of the original synthetic unity of apperception as the form of understanding in relation to space and time, the original forms of sensibility. C. Causality. Hume's treatment of this topic has been one of the most discussed passages in philosophic litera- ture: There^ are no ideas, which occur in metaphysics, more obscure and uncertain, than those of power, force, energy or necessary connexion, of which it is every moment necessary for us to treat in all our disquisitions. We shall, therefore, endeavour, in this section, to fix, if possible, the precise meaning of these terms, and thereby remove some part of that obscurity, which is so much complained of in this species of philosophy. ' Hume, David, Enquiry Concerning the Human Under- standing ; from Section VII ; edition cited above. 504 Readings in Philosophy It seems a proposition, which will not admit of much dispute, that all our ideas are nothing but copies of our impressions, or, in other words, that it is impossible for us to think of any thing, which we have not antecedently felt, either by our external or internal senses. I have endeavoured to explain and prove this proposition, and have expressed my hopes, that, by a proper application of it, men may reach a greater clearness and precision in philo- sophical reasonings, than what they have hitherto been able to attain. Complex ideas may, perhaps, be well known by definition, which is nothing but an enumeration of those parts or simple ideas, that compose them. But when we have pushed up definitions to the most simple ideas, and find still some ambiguity and obscurity; what resource are we then possessed of? By what invention can we throw light upon these ideas, and render them al- together precise and determinate to our intellectual view? Produce the impressions or original senti- ments, from which the ideas are copied. These im- pressions are all strong and sensible. They admit not of ambiguity. They are not only placed in a full light themselves, but may throw light on their cor- respondent ideas, which lie in obscurity. And by this means, we may, perhaps, attain a new micro- scope or species of optics, by which, in the moral sciences, the most minute and most simple ideas may be so enlarged as to fall readily under our ap- prehension, and be equally known with the grossest and most sensible ideas, that can be the object of our enquiry. The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 505 To be fully acquainted, therefore, with the idea of power or necessary connexion, let us examine its impression ; and in order to find the impression with greater certainty, let us search for it in all the sources, from which it may possibly be derived. When we look about us towards external objects, and consider the operation of causes, we are never able, in a single instance, to discover any power or necessary connexion; any quality, which binds the effect to the cause, and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. We only find, that the one does actually, in fact, follow the other. The impulse of one billiard-ball is attended with motion in the second. This is the whole that appears to the outward senses. The mind feels no sentiment or inward impression from this succession of ob- jests : consequently there is not, in any single, par- ticular instance of cause and effect, any thing which can suggest the idea of power or necessary con- nexion. From the first appearance of an object, we never can conjecture what effect will result from it. But were the power of energy of any cause discoverable by the mind, we could foresee the effect, even without experience; and might, at first, pronounce with cer- tainty concerning it, by mere dint of thought and reasoning. In reality, there is no part of matter, that does ever, by its sensible qualities, discover any power or energy, or give us ground to imagine, that it could produce any thing, or be followed by any other ob- ject, which we could denominate its effect. Solidity, extension, motion ; these qualities are all complete in 506 Readings in Philosophy themselves, and never point out any other event which may result from them. The scenes of the universe are continually shifting, and one object follows another in an uninterrupted succession ; but the power of force, which actuates the whole ma- chine, is entirely concealed from us, and never dis- covers itself in any of the sensible qualities of body. We know, that, in fact, heat is a constant attendant of flame; but what is the connexion between them, we have no room so much as to conjecture or im- agine. It is impossible, therefore, that the idea of power can be derived from the contemplation of bodies, in single instances of their operation; be- cause no bodies ever discover any power, which can be the original of this idea. Since, therefore, external objects as they appear to the senses, give us no idea of power or necessary connexion, by their operation in particular instances^ let us see, whether this idea be derived from reflec- tion on the operations of our own minds, and be copied from any internal impression. It may be said, that we are every moment conscious of inter- nal power; while we feel, that, by the simple com- mand of our will, we can move the organs . of our body, or direct the faculties of our mind. An act of volition produces motion in our limbs, o.r raises a new idea in our imagination. This influence of the will we know by consciousness. Hence we ac- quire the idea of power or energy; and are certain, that we ourselves and all other intelligent beings are possessed of power. This idea, then, is an idea of reflection, since it arises from reflecting on the operations of our own mind, and on the command The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 507 which is exercised by will, both over the organs of the body and faculties of the soul. We shall proceed to examine this pretension ; and first with regard to the influence of volition over the organs of the body. This influence, we may observe, is a fact, which, like all other natural events, can be known only by experience, and can never be fore- seen from any apparent energy or power in the cause, which connects it with the effect, and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. The motion- of our body follows upon the command of our will. Of this we are every moment conscious. But the means, by which this is effected ; the energy, by which the will performs so extraordinary an operation ; of this we are so far from being imme- diately conscious, that it must for ever escape our most diligent enquiry. For first, Is there any principle in all nature more mysterious than the union of soul with body; by which a supposed spiritual substance acquires such an influence over a material one, that the most re- fined thought is able to actuate the grossest. matter? Were we empowered, by a secret wish, to remove mountains, or control the planets in their orbit; this extensive authority would not be more extraordi- nary, nor more beyond our comprehension. But if by consciousness we perceived any power or energy in the will, we must know this power; we must know its connexion with the effect; we must know the secret union of soul and body, and the nature of both thesB substances ; by which the one is able to operate, in so many instances, upon the other. 508 Readings in Philosophy Secondly, We are not able to move all the organs of the body with a like authority ; though we cannot assign any reason besides experience, for so remarks- able a difference between one and the other. Why has the will an influence over the tongue and fingers, not over the heart and liver? This quesition would never embarrass us, were we conscious of a power in the former case, not in the latter. We should then perceive, independent of experience, why the authority of will over the organs of the body is cir- cumscribed within such particular limits. Being in that case fully acquainted with the power or force, by which it operates, we should also know, why its influence reaches precisely to such boundaries, and no farther. A man, suddenly struck with palsy in the leg or arm, or who has newly lost those members, fre- quently endeavours, at first, to move them, and em- ploy them in their usual offices. Here he is as much conscious of power to command such limbs, as a man in perfect health is conscious of power to actuate any member which remains in its natural state and condition. But consciousness never deceives. Con- sequently, neither in the one case nor in the other, are we ever conscious of any power. We learn the influence of our will from experience alone. And experience only teaches us, how one event constantly follows another ; without instructing us in the secret connexion, which binds them together, and renders them inseparable. Thirdly, We learn from anatomy, that the imme- diate object of power in voluntary motion, is not the member itself which is moved, but certain The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 509 muscles, and nerves, and animal spirits, and, per- haps, something still more minute and more un- known, through which the motion is successfully propagated, ere it reach the member itself whose motion is the immediate object of volition. Csin there be a more certain proof that the power, by which this whole operation is performed, so far from being directly and fully known by an inward senti- ment or consciousness, is, to the last degree, mys- terious and unintelligible? Here the mind wills a certain event; immediately another event, unknown to ourselves, and totally different from the one in- tended, is produced. This event produces another, equally unknown: till at last, through a long suc- cession, the desired event is produced. But if the original power were felt, it must be known ; were it known, its effect also must be known ; since all power is relative to its effect. And vice versa, if the effect be not known, the power cannot be known nor felt. How indeed can we be conscious of a power to move our limbs, when we have no such power; but only that to move certain animal spirits, which, though they produce at last the motion of our limbs, yet operate in such a manner as is wholly beyond our comprehension ? We may, therefore, conclude from the whole, I hope, without any temerity, though with assurance ; that our idea of power is not copied from any senti- ment or consciousness of power within ourselves, when we give rise to animal motion, or apply our limbs, to their proper use and office. That their motion follows the command of the will is a matter of common experience, like other natural events ; but 510 Readings in Philosophy the power or energy by which this is effected, like that in other natural events, is unknown and incon- ceivable. Shall we then assert, that we are conscious of a power or energy in our own minds, when, by an act or command of our will, we raise up a new idea, fix the mind to the contemplation of it, turn it on all sides, and at last dismiss it for some other idea, when we think that we have surveyed it with suffi- cient accuracy ? I believe the same arguments will prove, that even this command of the will gives us no real idea of force or energy. First, It must be allowed, that, when we know a power, we know that very circumstance in the cause, by which it is enabled to produce the effect: for these are supposed to be synonymous. We must, therefore, know both the cause and effect, and the relation between them. But do we pretend to be acquainted with the nature of the human soul and the nature of an idea, or the aptitude of the one to produce the other? This is a real creation; a pro- duction of something out of nothing; which implies a power so great, that it may seem, at first sight, beyond the reach of any being, less than infinite. At least it must be owned, that such a power is not felt, nor known, nor even conceivable by the mind. We only feel the event, namely, the existence of an idea, consequent to a command of the will ; but the manner, in which this operation is performed, the power by which it is produced, is entirely beyond our comprehension. Secondly, The command of the mind over itself is limited, as well as its command over the body; The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 511 and these limits are not known by reason, or any acquaintance with the nature of cause and effect; but only by experience and observation, as in all other natural events and in the operation of external objects. Our authority over our sentiments and pas- sions is much weaker than that over our ideas; and even the latter authority is circumscribed within very narrow boundaries. Will any one pretend to assign the ultimate reason of these boundaries, or show why the power is deficient in one case, not in another ? Thirdly, This self-command is very different at different times. A man in health possesses more of it than one languishing with sickness. We are more master of our thoughts in the morning than in the evening; fasting, than after a full meal. Can we give any reason for these variations, except expe- rience ? Where then is the power, of which we pre- tend to be conscious? Is there not here, either in a spiritual or material substance, or both, some secret mechanism or structure of parts, upon which the effect depends, and which, being entirely un- known to us, renders the power or energy of the will equally unknown and incomprehensible? Volition is surely an act of the mind, with which we are sufficiently acquainted. Reflect upon it. Consider it on all sides. Do you find anything in it like this creative power, by which it raises from nothing a new idea, and with a kind of Fiat, imitates the omnipotence of its Maker, if I may be allowed so to speak, who called forth into existence all the various scenes of nature? So far from being con- scious of this energy in the will, it requires as cer- 51-2 Readings in Philosophy tain experience as that of which we are possessed, to convince us that such extraordinary effects do ever result from a simple act of volition. The generality of mankind never find any diffi- culty in accounting for the more common and familiar operations of nature — such as the descent of heavy bodies, the growth of plants, the genera- tion of animals, or the nourishment of bodies by food. But suppose, that, in all these cases, they perceive the very force or energy of the cause, by which it is connected with its effect, and is for ever infallible in its operation. They acquire, by long habit, such a turn of mind, that, upon the appear- ance of the cause, they immediately expect with as- surance its usual attendant, and hardly conceive it possible that any other event could result from it. It is only on the discovery of extraordinary phae- nomena, such as earthquakes, pestilence, and prod- igies of any kind, that they find themselves at a loss to assign a proper cause, and to explain the manner in which the effect is produced by it. It is usual for men, in such difficulties, to have recourse to some invisible intelligent principle as the immediate cause of that event which surprises them ; and which, they think, cannot be accounted for from the com- mon powers of nature. But philosophers, who carry their scrutiny a little farther, immediately perceive that, even in the most familiar events, the energy of the cause is as unintelligible as in the most unusual, and that we only learn by experience the frequent Conjunction of objects, without being ever able to comprehend anything like Connexion between them. Here, then, many philosophers think them- The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 513 selves obliged by reason to have recourse, on all oc- casions, to the same principle, which the vulgar never appeal to but in cases that appear miraculous and supernatural. They acknowledge mind and in- telligence to be, not only the ultimate and original cause of all things, but the immediate and sole cause of every event which appears in nature. They pre- tend that those objects which are commonly de- nominated causes, are in reality nothing but occa- sions; and that the true and direct principle of every effect is not any power of force in nature, but a voli- tion of the Supreme Being, who wills that such par- ticular objects should for ever be conjoined with each other. Instead of saying that one billiard-ball moves another by a force which it has derived from the author of nature, it is the Deity himself, they say, who, by a particular volition, moves the second ball, being determined to this operation by the im- pulse of the first ball, in consequence of those gen- eral laws which he has laid down to himself in the government of the universe. But philosophers ad- vancing still in their inquiries, discover that, as we are totally ignorant of the power on which depends the mutual operation of bodies, we are no less igno- rant of that power on which depends the operation of mind on body, or of body on mind; nor are we able, either from our senses or consciousness, to as- sign the ultimate principle in one case more than in the other. The same ignorance, therefore, re- duces them to the same conclusion. They assert that the Deity is the immediate cause of the union between soul and body; and that they are not the 514 Readings in Philosophy org'ans of sense, which, being agitated by external objects, produce sensations in the mind; but that it is a particular volition of our omnipotent Maker, which excites such a sensation, in consequence of such a motion in the organ. In like manner, it is not any energy in the will that produces local mo- tion in our members : it is God himself, who is pleased to second our will, in itself impotent, and to command that motion which we erroneously at- tribute to our own power and efficacy. Nor do phi- losophers stop at' this conclusion. They sometimes extend the same inference to the mind itself, in its internal operations. Our mental vision or concep- tion of ideas is nothing but a revelation made to us by our Maker. When we voluntarily turn our thoughts to any object, and raise up its image in the fancy ; it is not the will which creates that idea ; it is the universal Creator, who discovers it to the mind, and renders it present to us. Thus, according to these philosophers, every thing is full of God. Not content with the principle, that nothing exists but by his will, that nothing possesses any power but by his concession, they rob nature, and all created beings, of every power, in order to render their dependence on the Deity still more sensible and immediate. They consider not that, by this theory, they diminish, instead of magnifying, the grandeur of those attributes, which they affect so much to celebrate. It argues surely more power in the Deity to delegate a certain degree of power to inferior creatures, than to produce everything by his own immediate volition. It argues more wisdom to contrive at first the fabric of the world with such The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 515 perfect foresight, that, of itself, and by its proper operation, it may serve all the purposes of provi- dence, than if the great Creator were obliged every moment to adjust its parts, and animate by his breath all the wheels of that stupendous machine. But if we would have a more philosophical con- futation of this theory, perhaps the two following reflections may suffice. First, It seems to me, that this theory of the uni- versal energy and operation of the Supreme Being, is too bold ever to carry conviction with it to a man, sufficiently apprized of the weakness of human rea- son, and the narrow limits to which it is confined in all its operations. Though the chain of argu- ments which conduct to it were ever so logical, there must arise a strong suspicion, if not an absolute as- surance, that it has carried us quite beyond the reach of our faculties, when it leads to conclusions so ex- traordinary, and so remote from common life and^ experience. We are got into fairy land, long ere we have reached the last steps of our theory; and there we have no reason to trust our common methods of argument, or to think that our usual analogies and probabilities have any authority. Our line is too short to fathom such immense abysses. And however we may flatter ourselves that we are guided, in every step which we take, by a kind of verisimilitude and experience; we may be assured that this fancied experience has no authority when we thus apply it to subjects that lie entirely out of the sphere of experience. But on this we shall have occasion to touch afterwards. 516 Readings in Philosophy Secondly, I cannot perceive any force in the argu- ments on which this theory is founded. We are ignorant, it is true, of the manner in which bodies operate on each other: their force or energy is en- tirely incomprehensible ; but are we not equally igno- rant of the manner or force by which a mind, even the supreme mind, operates either on itself or on body? Whence, I beseech you, do we acquire any idea of it? We have no sentiment or consciousness of this power in, ourselves. We have no idea of the Supreme Being but what we learn from reflection on our own faculties. Were our ignorance, therefore, a good reason for rejecting any thing, we should be led into that principle of denying all energy in the Supreme Being as much as in the grossest matter. We surely comprehend as little the operations of one as of the other. Is it more difficult to conceive that motion may arise from impulse than that it may arise from volition? All we know is our profound ignorance in both cases. Part II But to hasten to a conclusion of this argument, which is already drawn out to too great a length: we have sought in vain for an idea of power or necessary connexion in all the sources from which we could suppose it to be derived. It appears that, in single instances of the operation of bodies, we never can, by our utmost scrutiny, discover any thing but one event following another, without being able to comprehend any force or power by which the cause operates, or any connexion between it and its supposed effect. The same difficulty occurs in The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 517 contemplating the operations of mind on body; where we observe the motion of the latter to follow upon the volition of the former, but are not able to observe or conceive the tie which binds together the motion and volition, or the energy by which the mind produces this effect. The authority of the will over its own faculties and ideas is not a whit more comprehensible: So that, upon the whole, there ap- pears not, throughout all nature, any one instance of connexion which is conceivable by us. All events seem entirely loose and separate. One event follows another; but we never can observe any tie between them. They seem conjoined, but never connected. And as we can have no idea of any thing which never appeared to our outward sense or inward sen- timent, the necessary conclusion seems to be, that we have no idea of connexion or power at all, and that these words are absolutely without any mean- ing, when employed either in philosophical reason- ings or common life. But there still remains one method of avoiding this conclusion, and one source which we have not yet examined. When any natural object or event is presented, it is impossible for us, by any sagacity or penetration, to discover, or even conjecture, with- out experience, what event will result from it, or to carry our foresight beyond that object which is im- mediately present to the memory and senses. Even after one instance or experiment, where we have observed a particular event to follow upon another, we are not entitled to form a general rule, or fore- tell what will happen in like cases; it being justly esteemed an unpardonable temerity to judge of the 34 518 Readings in Philosophy whole course of nature from one single experiment, however accurate or certain. But when one par- ticular species of event has always, in all instances, been conjoined with another, we make no longer any scruple of foretelling one upon the appearance of the other, and of employing that reasoning which can alone assure us of any matter of fact or exist- ence. We then call the one object, Cwuse; the other, Effect. We suppose that there is some connexion between them; some power in the one, by which it infallibly produces the other, and operates with the greatest certainty and strongest necessity. It appears, then, that this idea of a necessary con- nexion among events arises from a number of simi- lar instances, which occur, of the constant conjunc- tion of these events ; nor can that idea ever be sug- gested by any one of these instances, surveyed in all possible lights and positions. But there is nothing in a number of instances, different from every single instance, which is supposed to be exactly similar; except only, that after a repetition of similar in- stances, the mind is carried by habit, upon the ap- pearance of one event, to expect its usual attendant, and to believe that it will exist. This connexion, therefore, which we feel in the mind, this customary transition of the imagination from one object to its usual attendant, is the sentiment or impression from which we form the idea of power or necessary con- nexion. Nothing farther is in the case. Contem- plate the subject on all sides; you will never find any other origin of that idea. This is the sole dif- ference between one instance, from which we can never receive the idea of connexion, and a number The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 519 of similar instances, by which it is suggested. The first time a man saw the communication of motion by impulse, as by the shock of two billiard-balls, he could not pronounce that the one event was con- nected: but only that it was conjoined with the other. After he has observed several instances of this nature, he then pronounces them to be con- nected. What alteration has happened to give rise to this new idea of connexion? Nothing but that he now feels these events to be connected in his imagi- nation, and can readily foretell the existence of one from the appearance of the other. When we say, therefore, that one object is connected with another, we mean only that they have acquired a connexion in our thought, and give rise to this inference, by which they become proofs of each other's existence : a conclusion which is somewhat extraordinary, but which seems founded on sufficient evidence. Nor will its evidence be weakened by any general diffi- dence of the understanding, or sceptical suspicion concerning every conclusion which is new and ex- traordinary. No conclusions can be more agreeable to scepticism than such as make discoveries con- cerning the weakness and narrow limits of human reason and capacity. And what stronger instance can be produced of the surprising ignorance and weakness of the un- derstanding than the present? For surely, if there be any relation among objects which it imports to us to know perfectly, it is that of cause and effect. On this are founded all our reasonings concerning matter of fact or existence. By means of it alone we attain any assurance concerning objects which 520 Readings in Philosophy are removed from the present testimony of our memory and senses. The only immediate utility of all sciences, is to teach us, how to control and regu- late future events by their causes. Our thoughts and enquiries are, therefore, every moment, em- ployed about this relation ; yet so imperfect are the ideas which we form concerning it, that it is im- possible to give any just definition of cause, except what is drawn from something extraneous and for- eign to it. Similar objects are always conjoined with similar. Of this we have experience. Suitably to this experience, therefore, we may define a cause to be an object, followed by another, and where all the objects, similar to the first, are followed by ob- jects similar to the second. Or in other words where, if the ^ first object had not been, the second never had existed. The appearance of a cause al- ways conveys the mind, by a customary transition, to the idea of the effect. Of this also we have expe- rience. We may, therefore, suitably to this expe^ rience, form another definition of cause, and call it, an object followed by another, and whose appearance always conveys the thought to that other. But though both these definitions be drawn from circum- stances foreign to the cause, we cannot remedy this inconvenience, or attain any more perfect definition, which may point out that circumstance in the cause, which gives it a connexion with its effect. We have no idea of this connexion ; nor even any distinct no- tion yvla.s.t it is we desire to know, when we en- deavour at a conception of it. We say, for instance, that the vibration of this string is the cause of this particular sound. But what do we mean by that The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 521 affirmation? We either mean, that this vibration is followed by this sound, and that all similar vibra- tions have been followed by similar sounds; or, that this vibration is folloived by this sound, and that upon the appearance of one the mind anticipates the senses, and forms immediately an idea of the other. We may consider the relation of cause and effect in either of these two lights; but beyond these, we have no idea of it. D. Potentiality. The earliest classical discussion of the concep- tions of potentiality and actuality is to be found in the following passage from Aristotle's Metaphysics : Power^ is the term applied to the source of move- ment or change, lying in something other than the thing moved, or in it conceived as other than its present condition. For example, ability to build a house is a capacity which resides not in the thing built. On the other hand the capacity to heal does lie in the one who is healed, but not in so far as lie is one who is being healed. The fundamental prin- ciple of change or movement in general, then, is a power residing either in another or in oneself so far as one is potentially other than at the moment. The one occurs at the hand of some one else, the other inasmuch as one is in a sense 'other'. In so far as a thing suffers sometimes we say it is capable of suffering that, no matter what it is. ' Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book A. ch. xii ; translated from the text of Christ. 522 Readings in Philosophy But sometimes we refer not to all forms of suffer- ing', but only to change into something better. Again we mean by it the capacity for performing something well, or with delibera,te intention. For sometimes we say that those who merely walk or speak, but not well or not as they would have wished, cannot speak or walk. So it is also with suffering something. Then again all conditions in which things are wholly insensitive or not changeable or not easily degraded into an inferior state are called potentialities. For a thing is broken or crushed or bent or destroyed in any way not because of its power but through its lack of power, and through deficiency in something. Things insusceptible of these processes are modifiable with difficulty and only to a slight degree because of their power and potentiality and because of their being in their con- dition. Potentiality is used, then, with these several meanings; and in one sense the potential signifies that which has the power to cause movement or change in another or in itself as 'other'. And even that which brings things to rest is possessed of power. In another sense it means that something other than it has some such power over it. Again it signifies the power to change into something else, whether better or worse, (for even that which is de- stroyed se&ms to have the power to be destroyed ; for if this were not possible it would not be destroyed; but now it has a kind of disposition for or a cause or principle of this experience) . Sometimes it seems to be due to possessing sometimes to lacking something. Unless a lack of something is a kind of condition, — when all cases would be due to the possession of The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 523 something, the existence being spoken of in a double sense, so that a thing possesses capability both through possessing a certain condition, and prin- ciple, and through having a lack of these, if it 13 possible to 'have' a 'lack'. In another sense it refers to the fact that nothing els«, nor itself as 'other', has the capacity to destroy it. Furthermore all these are true either merely because the thing might happen to occur or not occur or it might do either well. And in inanimate things there is the same kind of power, — as, for instance, in musical in- struments; for they say one lyre can give forth a proper sound, but another not at all if it be not pos- sessed of good tone. Incapacity is a lack of capacity and of such a principle as has been mentioned, either in general or in something which naturally would have it or at a time when it is customary for it to have it. For we should not in the same sense say that a boy and a man and a eunuch can not beget. Furthermore to every capacity there is an opposed incapacity, in one ;form inability to act at all, in another inability to do the thing well. And some things are said to be impossible in the one sense, others possible and impossible in the other sense. That is impossible the opposite of which is necessarily true; e. g., that the diameter of a circle should be commensurate with the circumference is impossible, for such a thing is false, and its opposite is not merely untrue; they are necessarily incommensurable. The incommen- surability is not only false but necessarily false. The opposite of this, the possible, exists when it is not necessary that the opposite be false, as the pos- 524 Readings in Philosophy sibility of a man's sitting down; for his not sitting down is not necessarily false. The possible, then, has as one meaning, as has been said, that which is not necessarily false, as another that which is true, still another that which can be true. The term is used metaphorically in geometry. Things possible here are not so with reference to power. The things which are called possible with reference to power are all so called with reference to the primary meaning: that is, a principle of change in another or in oneself in so far as 'other*. Other things are said to possess power through the fact that something else has such a power over them; others through not having such ; others through hav- ing it in a certain sense. Similarly with the impos- sible. So that the master conception of primary potentiality is: the principle of change in another or in oneself in so far as 'other'. E. Space. Kant's discussion of Space as a form of human experience is a classic one. Space is not a "con- cept" in Kant's view, but it is to perceptual expe- rience what the concepts are to thought: Metaphysical Exposition of Space In^ external sense we are conscious of objects as outside of ourselves, and as all without exception in space. In space their shape, size, and relative position are marked out, or are capable of being "Kant, Critique of Pure Reason; Watson's Selections, pages 23-26; edition previously cited! The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 525 marked out. Inner sense, in which we are con- scious of ourselves, or rather of our own state, gives us, it is true, no direct perception of the soul itself as an object; but it nevertheless is the one single form in which our own state comes before us as a definite object of perception; and hence all inner determinations appear to us as related to one an- other in time. We cannot be conscious of time as external, any more than we can be conscious of space as something within us. What, then, are space and time? Are they in themselves real things? Are they only determinations, or perhaps merely rela- tions of things, which yet would belong to things in themselves even if those things were not perceived by us? Or, finally, have space and time no mean- ing except as forms of perception, belonging to the subjective constitution of our own mind, apart from which they cannot be predicated of anything what- ever? To answer these questions I shall begin with a metaphysical exposition of space. An exposition I call it, because it gives a distinct although not a detailed, statement of what is implied in the idea of space; and the exposition is metaphysical, because it brings forward the reasons we have for regarding space as given a priori. (1) Space is not an empirical conception, which has been derived from external experiences. For I could not be conscious that certain of my sensa- tions are relative to something outside of me, that is, to something in a different part of space from that in which I myself am ; nor could I be conscious of them as outside of and beside one another, were I not at the same time conscious that they not only 526 Readings in Philosophy are different in content, but are in different places. The consciousness of space is, therefore, necessarily presupposed in external perception. No experience of the external relations of sensible things could yield the idea of space, because without the con- sciousness of space there would be no external' expe- rience whatever. (2) Space is a necessary a priori idea, which is presupposed in all external perceptions. By no effort can we think space to be away, although we can quite readily think of space as empty of objects. Space we therefore regard as a condition of the pos- sibility of phenomena, and not as a determination de- pendent on phenomena. It is thus a priori, and is necessarily presupposed in external phenomena. (3) Space is not a discursive or general con- ception of the relations of things, but a pure per- ception. For we can be conscious only of a single space. It is true that we speak as if there were many spaces, but we really mean only parts of one and the same identical space. Nor can we say that these parts exist before the one all-embracing space, and are put together to form a whole ; but we think of them only as in it. Space is essentially single; by the plurality of spaces, we merely mean that be- cause space can be limited in many ways, the general conception of spaces presupposes such limitations as its foundation. From this it follows, that an a priori perception, and not an empirical perception, underlies all conceptions of pure space. Accord- ingly, no geometrical proposition, as, for instance, that any two sides of a triangle are greater than the third side, can ever be derived from the general The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 527 conceptions of line and triangle, but only from per- ception. From the perception, however, it can be derived a priori, and with demonstrative certainty. (4) Space is presented before our consciousness as an infinite magnitude. Now, in every conception we c^ainly think of a certain attribute as common to an infinite number of possible objects, which are subsumed under the conception ; but, from its very nature-, no conception can possibly be supposed to contain an infinite number of determinations within it. But it is just in this way that space is thought of, all its parts being conceived to co-exist ad in- finitum. Hence the original consciousness of space is an a priori perception, not a conception. F. Time. This also is a classic passage from Kant's work : Metaphysical Exposition of Time (1) Time^ is not an empirical conception, which has been derived from any experience. For we should not observe things to co-exist or to follow one another, did we not possess the idea of time a priori. It is, therefore, only under the presupposition of time, that we can be conscious of certain things as existing at the same time (simultaneously), or at diifel-ent times (successively). (2) Time is a necessary idea, which is presup- posed in all perceptions. We cannot be conscious of phenomena if time is taken away, although we ^ Kant, Critique of Pure Reason; Watson, Op. Cit., pages 29-34. 528 Readings in Philosophy can quite readily suppose phenomena to be absent from time. Time is, therefore, given a priori. No phenomenon can exist at all that is not in time. While, therefore, phenomena may be supposed to vanish completely out of time, time itself, as the uni- versal condition of their possibility, cannot be ,sup- posed away. (3) Time is not a discursive, or general concep- tion, but a pure form of sensible perception. Dif- ferent times are but parts of the very same time. Now, the consciousness of that which is presented as one single object, is perception. Moreover, the proposition, that no two moments of time can co- exist, cannot be derived from a general conception. The proposition is synthetic, and cannot originate in mere conceptions. It therefore rests upon the direct perception and idea of time. (4) The infinity of time simply means, that every definite quantity of time is possible only as a limitation of one single time. There must, there- fore, be originally a consciousness of time as un- limited. Now, if an object presents itself as a whole, so that its parts and every quantity of it can be represented only by limiting that whole, such an object cannot be given in conception, for conceptions contain only partial determinations of a thing. A direct perception must therefore be the foundation of the idea of time. Transcendental Exposition of Time Apodictic principles which determine relations in time, or axioms of time in general, are possible only because time is the necessary a priori condition of all The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 529 phenomena. Time has but one dimension ; different times do not co-exist but follow one another, just as different spaces do not follow one another but co- exist. Such propositions cannot be derived from experience, which never yields strict universality or demonstrative certainty. If they were based upon experience, we could say only, that it has ordinarily been observed to be so, not that it must be so. Prin- ciples like these have the force of rules, that lay down the conditions without which no experience whatever is possible : they are not learned from ex- perience, but anticipate what experience must be. Let me add here that change, including motion or change of place, is conceivable only in and through the idea of time. Were time not an inner a priori perception, we could not form the least idea how there should be any such thing as change. Take away time, and change combines in itself- absolutely contradictory predicates. Motion, or change of place, for instance, must then be thought of as at once the existence and the non-existence of one and the same thing in the same place. The contradiction disap- pears, only when it is seen that the thing has those opposite determinations one after the other. Our conception of time as an a priori form of perception, therefore explains the possibility of the whole body of a priori synthetic propositions in regard to mo- tion that are contained in the pure part of physics, and hence it is not a little fruitful in results. Inferences (a) Time is not an independent substance nor an objective determination of things, and hence it 530 Readings in Philosophy does not survive when abstraction has been made from all the subjective conditions of perception. Were it an independent thing,- it would be real with- out being a real object of consciousness. Were it a determination or order of things as they are in them- selves, it could not precede our perception of those things as its necessary condition, nor could it be known by means of synthetic judgments. But the possibility of such judgments becomes at once intel- ligible if time is nothing but the subjective condi- tion, without which we can have no perception what- ever. For in that case we may be conscious of this form of inner perception before we are conscious of objects, and therefore a priori. ( b ) Time is nothing but the form of inner sense, that is, of the perception of ourselves and our own inner state. As it has no influence on the shape or position of- an object, time cannot be a determina- tion of outer phenomena as such; what it does de- termine is the relation of ideas in our own inner state. And just because this inner perception has no shape of its own, we seek to make up for this want by analogies drawn from space. Thus, we figure the series of time as a line that proceeds to infinity, the parts of which form a series; and we reason from the properties of this line to all the properties of time, taking care to allow for the one point of difference, that the parts of the spatial line all exist at once, while the parts of the temporal line all fol- low one after the other. Even from this fact alone, that all the relations of time may thus be presented in an external perception, it would be evident that time is itself a perception. The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics 531 (c) Time is the formal a priori condition of all phenomena without exception. Space, as the pure form of all external phenomena, is the a priori con- dition only of external phenomena. But all objects of perception, external as well as internal, are de- terminations of the mind, and, from that point of view, belong to our inner s-tate. And as this inner state comes under time, which is the formal condi- tion of inner perception, time is an a priori condition of all phenomena: it is the immediate condition of inner phenomena, and so the mediate condition of outer phenomena. Just as I can say, a priori, that all external phenomena are in space, and are de- termined a priori in conformity with the relations of space, so, from the principle of inner sense, I can say quite generally that all phenomena are in time, and stand necessarily in relations of time. If we abstract from the manner in which we im- mediately perceive our own inner state, and medi- ately all external phenomena, and think of objects in themselves, we find that in relation to them time is nothing at all. It is objectively true in relation to phenomena, because we are conscious of phe- nomena as objects of our senses; but it is no longer objective, if we abstract from our sensibility, and therefore from the form proper to our perceptive consciousness, and speak of things a^ such. Time is therefore a purely subjective condition of human perception, and in itself, or apart from the sub- ject, it is nothing at all. Nevertheless, it is -nec- essarily objective in relation to all phenomena, and therefore also to everything that can possibly enter into our experience. We cannot say that all things 532 Readings in Philosophy are in time, because when we speak of things in this unqualified way, we are thinking of things in abstraction from the manner in which we perceive them, and therefore in abstraction from the con- dition under which alone we can say that they are in time. But, if we qualify our assertion by adding that condition, and say that all things as phenomena, or objects of sensible perception, are in time, the proposition is, in the strictest sense of the word, objective, and is universally true a priori. We see, then, that time is empirically real, or is objectively true in relation to all objects that are capable of being presented to our senses. And as our perception always is sensuous, no object can ever be presented to us in experience, which does not conform to time as its condition. On the other hand, we deny to time all claim to absolute reality, because such a claim, in paying no heed to the form of sensible perception, assumes time to be an ab- solute condition or property of things. Such prop- erties, as supposed to belong to things in them- selves, can never be presented to us in sense. From this we infer the transcendental ideality of time ; by which we mean that, in abstraction from the sub- jective conditions of sensible perception, time is simply nothing, and cannot be said either to subsist by itself, or to inhere in things that do so subsist. CHAPTER XXIV EPISTEMOLOGY A. The Motive of Epistemology. Locke's statement of the way in which he was led to undertake the Essay has always been of interest. It is given here : Were^ it fit to trouble thee with the history of this essay, I should tell thee, that five or six friends, meeting at my chamber, and discoursing on a subject very remote from this, found themselves quickly at a stand, by the difficulties that rose on every side. After we had awhile puzzled ourselves, without com- ing any nearer a resolution of those doubts which perplexed us, it came into my thoughts that we took a wrong course; and that before we set our- selves upon inquiries of that nature, it was necessary to examine our own abilities, and see what objects our understandings were, or were not, fitted to deal with. This I proposed >,to the company, who all readily assented ; and thereupon it was agreed that this should be our first inquiry. Some hasty and undigested thoughts on a subject I had never before considered, which I set down against our next meet- ing, gave the first entrance into this discourse ; which having been thus begun by chance, was continued by intreaty; written by incoherent parcels; and after lonj^ intervals of neglect, resumed again, as my ' Locke, Essay; Introduction. (53.3) 35 534 Readings in Philosophy humour or occasions permitted ; and at last, in a re- tirement, where an attendance on my health gave me leisure, it was brought into that order thou now seest it. B. The Origin op Ideas. Locke's argument that all ideas have their origin in experience is one of the. important documents of the "empirical" school: 1. The^ way shown how we come by any Knowl- edge, sufficient to prove it not innate. — It is an es- tablished opinion amongst some men, that there are in the understanding certain innate principles ; some primary notions, Koival ewoiai, characters, as it were, stamped upon the mind of man, which the soul re- ceives in its very first being, and brings into the world with it. It would be sufficient to convince unprejudiced readers of the falseness of this suppo- sition, if I should only show (as I hope I shall in the following parts of this discourse) how men, barely by the use of their natural faculties, may attain to all the knowledge they have, without the help of any innate impressions, and may arrive ait certainty, without any such original notions or prin- ciples. For I imagine any one will easily grant that it would be impertinent to suppose the ideas of colours innate in a creature to whom God hath given sight, and a power to receive them, by the eyes from external objects: and no less unreasonable would it be to attribute several truths to the impres- sions of nature and innate characters, when we may ' Locke, Essay, Book I, Chapter ii, 1-9 ; Chapter iii. Epistemology 535 observe in ourselves faculties fit to attain as easy and certain knowledge of them, as if they were origi- nally imprinted on the mind. But because a man is not permitted without cen- sure to follow his own thoughts in the search of truth, when they lead him ever so little out of the common road, I shall set down the reasons that made me doubt of the truth of that opinion, as an excuse for my mistake, if I be in one ; which I leave to be considered by those who, with me, dispose them- selves to embrace truth wherever they find it. 2. General Assent the great Argument. — There IS nothing more cbmmonly taken for granted than tha/t there are certain principles, both speculative and practical (for they speak of both) , universally agreed upon by all mankind, which therefore, they argue, must needs be constant impressions, which the souls of men receive in their first beings, and which they bring into the world with them, as nec- essarily and really as they do any of their inherent faculties. 3. Universal Consent proves nothing innate. — This argument, drawn from universal consent, has this misfortune in it, that if it were true in matter of fact, that there were certain truths wherein all mankind agreed, it would not prove them innate, if there can be any other way shown how men may come to that universal agreement in the things they do consent in, which I presume may be done. 4. "What is, is," and "it is impossible for the same Thing to be and not to be,'\ not universally assented to. — But, which is worse, this argument of universal consent, which is made use of to prove 536 Readings in Philosophy innate principles, seems to me a demonstration that there are none such ; because there are none to which all mankind give an universal assent. I shall begin with the speculative, and instance in those magnified principles of demonstration, "whatsoever is, is," and "it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be;" which, of all others, I think have the most allowed title to innate. These have so settled a repu- tation of maxims universally received, that it will no doubt be thought strange if any one should seem to question it. But yet I take liberty to say, that these propositions are so far from having an universal assent, that there are a great part of mankind to whom they are not so much as known. 5. Not on the Mind naturally imprinted, because not known to Children, Idiots, etc. — For, first, it is evident that all children and idiots have not the least apprehension or thought of them ; and the want of that is enough to destroy that universal assent which must needs be the necessary concomitant of all in- nate truths: it seeming to me near a contradiction to say that there are truths imprinted on the soul which it perceives or understands not; imprinting, if it signify anything, being nothing else but the making certain truths to be perceived. For to im- print anything on the mind without the mind's per- ceiving it, seems to me hardly intelligible. If there- fore children and idiots have souls, have minds, with those impressions upon them, they must unavoidably perceive them, and necessarily know and assent to these truths ; which since they do not, it is evident that there are no such impressions. For if they are not notions naturally imprinted, how can they be Epistemology 537 innate? and if they are notions imprinted, how can they be unknown? To say a notion is imprinted on the mind, and yet at the same time to say that the mind is ignorant of it, and never yet took notice of it, is to make this impression nothing. No proposition can be said to be in the mind which it never yet knew, which it was never yet conscious of. For if any one may, then, by the same reason, all propo- 'X sitions that are true, and the. mind is capable of ever assenting to, may be said to be in the mind, and to be imprinted : since, if any one can be said to be in the mind, which it never yet knew, it must be only because it is capable of knowing it, and so the mind is of all truths it ever shall know. Nay, thus truths may be imprinted on the mind which it never did nor ever shall know; for a man may live long, and die at last in ignorance of many truths which his mind was capable of knowing, and that with certainty. So that if the capacity of knowing be the natural im- pression contended for, all the truths a man ever comes to know will, by this account, iBe every one of them innate; and this great point will amount to no more, but only to a very improper way of speaking; which, whilst it pretends to assert the con- trary, says nothing different from those who deny innate principles. For nobody, I think, ever denied that the mind was capable of knowing several truths. The capacity, they say, is innate, the knowledge acquired. But then to what end such contest for certain innate maxims ? If truths can be imprinted on the understanding without bein^ perceived, I can see. no difference there can be between any truths the mind is capable of knowing in respect of their 538 - Readings in Philosophy original : they must all be innate or all adventitious ; in vain shall a man, go about to distinguish them. He therefore that talks of innate notions in the understanding, cannot (if he intend thereby any distinct sort of truths) mean such truths to be in the understanding as it never perceived, and is yet wholly ignorant of. For if these words (to be in the understanding) have any propriety, they signify to be understood ; so that to be in the understanding ^ and not to be understood, to be in the mind and never to be perceived, is all one as to say anything is and is not in the mind or understanding. If there- fore these two propositions, "Whatsoever is, is," and "it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be," are by nature imprinted, children cannot be ignorant of them ; infants, and all that have souls, must necessarily have them in their understandings, know the truth of them, and assent to it. 6. That Men know them when they come to the Use of Reason, answered. — To avoid this, it is usually answered, that all men know and assent to them, when they come to the use of reason, and this is enough to prove them innate. I answer : — 7. Doubtful expressions, that have scarce any signification, go for clear reasons to those who, being prepossessed, take not the pains to examine even what they themselves say. For, to apply this answer with any tolerable sense to our present purpose, it must signify one of these two things; either that as soon as men come to the use of reason these sup- posed native inscriptions come to be known and observed by them, or else that the use and exercise of men's reason assists them in the discovery of Epistemology 539 these principles, and certainly makes them known to them. 8. //_ Reason discovered them, that would not prove them innate. — If they mean, that by the use of reason men may discover these principles, and that -this is sufficient to prove them innate ; their way of arguing will stand thus, viz., that whatever truths reason can certainly discover to us, and make us firmly assent to, those are all naturally imprinted on the mind; since that universal assent, which is made the mark of them, amounts to no more but this, that by the use of reason we are capable to come to a certain knowledge of and assent to them ; and, by this means, there will be no difference be- tween the maxims of the mathematicians, and theorems they deduce from them : all must be equally allowed innate, they being all discoveries made by the use of reason, and truths that a rational crea- ture may certainly come to know, if he apply his thoughts rightly that way. 9. It is false that Reason discovers them. — But how can these men think the use of reason necessary to discover principles that are supposed innate, when reason (if we may believe them) is nothing else but the faculty of deducing unknown truths from prin- ciples or propositions that are already known ? That certainly can never be thought innate which we have need of reason to discover; unless, as I have said, we will have all the certain truths that reason ever teaches us, to be innate. We may as well think the use of reason necessary to make our eyes discover visible objects, as that there should be need of rea- son, or the exercise thereof, to make the understand- 540 Readings in Philosophy ing see what is originally engraven on it, and cannot be in the understanding before it be perceived by it. So that to make reason discover those truths thus imprinted, is to say that the use of reason discovers to a man what he knew before: and if men have those innate impressed truths originally, and before the use of reason, and yet are always ignorant of them till they come to the use of reason, it is in effect to say, that men know and know them not at the same time. CHAPTER III. NO INNATE PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES 1. No moral Principles so clear and so generally received as the forementioned speculative Maxims. — If those speculative maxims, whereof we dis- coursed in the foregoing chapter, have not an' actual universal assent from all mankind, as we there proved, it is much more visible concerning practical principles, that they come short of an universal re- ception ; and I think it will be hard to instance any one moral rule which can pretend to so general and ready an assent as, "What is, is ;" or to be so mani- fest a truth as this, "That it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be." Whereby it is evi- dent that they are further removed from a title to be innate ; and the doubt of their being native im- pressions on the mind is stronger against those moral principles than the other. Not that it brings their truth at all in question. They are equally true, though not equally evident. Those speculative maxims carry their own evidence with them; but moral principles require reasoning and discourse, and some exercise of the mind, to discover the cer- Epistemology 541 tainty of their truth. They lie not open as natural characters engraven on the mind; which, if any such were, they must needs be visible by themselves, and by their own light be certain and known to everybody. But this is no derogation to their truth and certainty, no more than it is to the truth or certainty of the three angles of a triangle being equal to two right ones ; because it is not so evident as "the whole is bigger than a part," nor so apt to be assented to at first hearing. It may sufSce that these moral rules are capable of demonstration; and therefore it is our own fault if we come not to a certain knowledge of them. But the ignorance wherein many men are of them, and the slowness of assent wherewith others receive them, are mani- fest proofs that they are not innate, and such as offer themselves to their view without searching. 2. Faith and JtisUce not owned as Principles by all Men. — Whether there be any such moral prin- ciples wherein all men do agree, I appeal to any who have been but moderately conversant in the history of mankind, and looked abroad beyond the smoke of their own chimneys. Where is that practical truth that is universally received without doubt or question, as it must be if innate? Justice, and keep- ing of contracts, is that which most men seem to agree in. This is a principle which is thought to (extend itself to the dens of thieves, and the confed- eracies pf the greatest villains; and they who have gone furthest towards the putting off of hu- manity itself, keep faith and rules of justice one with another. I grant that outlaws themselves do this one amongst another; but it is without receiving 542 Readings in Philosophy these as the innate laws of nature. They practice them as rules of convenience within their own com- munities: but it is impossible to conceive that he embraces justice "as a practical principle, who acts fairly with his fellow-highwayman, and at the same time plunders or kills the next honest m^n he meets with. Justice and truth are the common ties of society; and therefore even outlaws and robbers, who break with all the world besides, must keep faith and rules of equity amongst themselves, or else they cannot hold together. But will any one say, that those that live by fraud or rapine have innate principles of truth and justice which they allow and assent to? C. The a Priori Element in- Knowledge. Kant contends, in opposition to the empirical school that there is an element in experience and knowledge whose origin can not be traced to ex- perience. Its existence is presupposed by expe- rience : There^ can be no doubt whatever that all our knowledge begins with experience. By what means should the faculty of knowledge be aroused to ac- tivity but by objects, which, acting upon our senses, partly of themselves produce ideas in us, and partly set our understanding at work to compare these ideas with one another, and, by combining or sepa- rating them, to convert the raw material of our sensible impressions into that knowledge of objects ' Kant, Critique of Pure Reason; Watson, Op. Cit., pages 7-10. Epistemology 543 which is called experience? In the order of time, therefore, we have no knowledge prior to experience, and wlthr experience all our knowledge begins. But, although all our knowledge begins with ex- perience, it by no means follows that it all originates from experience. For it may well be that experience is itself made up of two elements, one received through impressions of sense, and the other supplied from itself by our faculty of knowledge on occasion of those impressions. If that^be so, it may take long practice before our attention is drawn to the element added by the mind, and we learn to distin- guish and separate it from the material to which it is applied. It is, therefore, a question which cannot be lightly put aside, but can be answered only after careful investigation, whether there is any knowledge that is independent of experience, and even of all impres- sions of sense. Such knowledge is said to be a priori, to distinguish it from empirical knowledge, which has its sources a posteriori, or in experience. The term a priori must, however, be defined more precisely, in order that the full meaning of our ques- tion may be understood. We say of a man who undermines the foundations of his house, that he might have known a priori that it would fall; by which we mean, that he might have known it would fall, without waiting for the event to take place in his experience. But he could not know it com- pletely a priori; for it is only from experience that he could learn that bodies are heavy, and must fall by their own weight when there is nothing to sup- port them. 544 Readings in Philosophy By a priori knowledge we shall, therefore, in what follows understand, not such knowledge as is inde- pendent of this or that experience, but sucfi as is absolutely independent of all experience. Opposed to it is empirical knowledge, or that which is pos- sible only a posteriori, that is, by experience. A priori knowledge is pure, when it is unmixed with anything empirical. The proposition, for instance, that each change has its own cause is a priori, but it is not pure, because change is an idea that can be derived only from experience. Science and Common Sense contain a priori Knowledge Evidently what we need is a criterion by which to distinguish with certainty between pure and em- pirical knowledge. Now, experience can tell us that a thing is so and so, but not that it cannot be otherwise. Firstly, then, if we find a proposition that, in being thought, is thought as necessary, it is an a priori judgment; and if, further, it is not de- rived from any proposition except which is itself nec- essary, it is absolutely a priori. Secondly, experience never bestows on its judgments true or strict uni- versality, but only the assumed or comparative uni- versality of induction ; so that, properly speaking, it merely says, that so far as our observation has gone, there is no, exception to this or that rule. If, there- fore, a judgment is thought with strict universality, so that there can be no possible exception to it, it is not derived from experience, but is absolutely a priori. Necessity and strict universality are, there- Epistemology 545 fore, sure criteria of a priori knowledge, and are also inseparably connected with each other. Now, it is easy to show that in human knowledge there actually are judgments, that in the strictest sense are universal, and therefore pure a priori. If an example from the sciences is desired, we have but to think of any proposition in mathematics ; if an instance from common sense is preferred, it is enough to cite the proposition, that there can be no change without a cause. To take the latter case, the very idea of cause so manifestly implies the idea of necessary connection ■\^ith an effect, that it would be completely lost, were we to derive it, with Hume, from the repeated association of oiie event with another that precedes it, and were we to reduce it to the subjective necessity arising from the habit of passing from one idea to another. Even without appealing to such examples to show that as a matter of fact there are in our knowledge pure a priori p^rinciples, we might prove a priori that without such principles there could be no experience what- ever. For, whence could experience derive the cer- tainty it has, if all the rules that it follows were merely empirical and therefore contingent? Surely such rules could not be dignified with the name of first principles. There^ are two ultimate sources from which knowledge comes to us: either we receive ideas in the form of impressions, or, by our spontaneous faculty of conception, we know an object by means ' Ibid., pages 40, 41. 546 Readings in Philosophy of those ideas. In the former case, the object is given to us ; in the latter case, it is thought in rela- tion to the impressions that arise-in our conscious- ness. Perception and conception, therefore, are the two elements that enter into all our knowledge. To every conception some form of perception corre- sponds, and no perception yields knowledge without conception. Both may be either pure or empirical; empiriccd, if sensation, which occurs only in the ac- tual presence of an object, is implied; pure, if there is no intermixture of sensation. We may call sensa- tion the matter of sensuous knowledge. Hence pure perception contains only the form under which a something is perceived, and pure conception the form in which an object in general is thought. Pure perceptions or pure conceptions alone are possible a priori, while empirical perceptions' or empirical con- ceptions are possible only a posteriori. If sensibility is the receptivity of the mind in the actual apprehension of some impression, under- standing is the spontaneity of knowledge, or the faculty that of itself produces ideas. We are so constituted that our perception always is sensuous ; or it shows merely the manner in which we are af- fected by objects. But, we have also' understand- ing, or the faculty of thinking the object of sensuous perception. Neither of these is to be regarded as superior to the other. Without sensibility no object would be given to us, without understanding none would be thought. Thoughts without content are empty, perceptions without conceptions are blind. It is therefore just as necessary to make our con- ceptions sensuous, that is, to add the object to them Epistemology 547 in perceptions, as it is to make our perceptions in- telligible, that is, to bring them under conceptions. Neither of these faculties or capacities can do the work of the other. Understanding can perceive nothing, the senses can think nothing. Knowledge arises only from their united action. But this is no reason for confusing the function of either with that of the other; it is rather a strong reason for carefully separating and distinguishing the one from the other. D. Objective Idealism. Royce is one of the most influential of the recent advocates of Objective Idealism. The World and the Individual is a typical expression of his own philosophy and of the Idealistic school of recent years : Idea' and Reality must, then, possess elements that are common to both of them. On the other hand, as we saw, this mere community is wholly inadequate to the tasks of defining what makes the object belong, as object, to a given idea. For, if you view any idea and its supposed object, merely as one might be imagined viewing them from with- out, it is wholly impossible to determine what degree of correspondence between thera is required either to make the reality that precise object sought by the idea, or to render the idea the true representative of the object to which it is said to refer. A true ' Royce, Josiah ; The World and The Individual, Vol. I, pages 350-359; published by the Macmillan Company, 1901; reprinted by permission of the publishers, and of Mrs. Royce. 548 Readings in Philosophy idea, as Spinoza said, must indeed resemble its ideate. But on the other hand, a mere resemblance of idea and ideate is not enough. Nor does the ab- sence of any specific degree of resemblance neces- sarily involve an error. It is intended resemblance which counts in estimating the truth of ideas. If in fact you suppose, as an ideal case, two human beings, say' twins, absolutely to resemble each other, not only in body, but in experience and in thought, so that every idea which one of these beings at any moment had was precisely duplicated by a thought which at the same instant, and in the same fashion, arose in the other being's life, — if, I say, you sup- pose this perfect resemblance in the twin minds, you could still, without inconsistency, suppose these twins separated from infancy, living apart, although of course under perfectly similar physical condi- tions, and in our human sense what we men call absolute strangers to each other, so that neither of them, viewed merely as this human being, ever consciously thought of the other, or conceived of the other's existence. In that case, the mere resem- blance would not so far constitute the one of these twin minds the object of which the other mind thought, or the being concerning whom the ideas of the other were true. The resemblance of idea and object, viewed as a mere fact for an external observer, is, therefore, never by itself enough to constitute the truth of the idea. Nor is the absence of any externally prede- termined resemblances, such as you from without may choose to demand of the idea, enough to con- stitute any specific sort of error. Moreover, when Epistemology 549 you merely assert that in the world of Being there is to be found an object which resembles your idea, you have so far only mentioned two beings, namely, your idea and its object, and have asserted their resem- blance. But you have not yet in the least defined wherein the Being of either of these objects con- sists. This, then, is the outcome so long as you view idea and object as sundered facts agreeing or disagreeing with each other. Neither truth nor Being is thus to be defined. The result so far is conclusive against the adequacy, not only of Realism, and of Mysticism, but also, as we saw, of even the Third Conception of Being. For if one asserts, as his second account of the nature of Being, that certain ideas of possibilities of experience are valid, he is so far left with a world of objects upon his hands whose only character, so far as he yet defines the Being of these objects, is that these objects are in agreement with his ideas. Such defiijition of Being constituted the whole out- come of the Third Conception. The mathemati- cian's ideas, as present to himself, take the form of observed symbols and diagrams. These, so far as they are observed, are contents of experience ful- filling purpose. They so far conform to our defini- tion of what constitutes an ic^ea, for they have in- ternal meaning. But the existent objects concern- ing which the mathematician endeavors to teach us, are, by hypothesis, not the symbols, and not the diagrams, but valid truths to which these diagrams and symbols — these mathematician's ideas — cor- respond. The existences of the mathematician's rdalm are other than his mere finite ideas. Now 36 550 Readings in Philosovhy that such objects have their place in reality, I my- self thoroughly believe. But I point out that their reality, the true Being of these objects, is in no wise defined when you merely speak of the ideas as noth- ing but valid, because the assertion of validity is so far merely the assertion of a correspondence be- tween a presupposed idea and its assumed object, without any account as yet either of the object, or of the truth of the idea. And bare correspondence, the mere possession of common characters in idea and in object not only fails to define, but, as we now see, can never lead us to define, the Being of either idea or object, and in no sense shows or ex- plains to us the relation whereby the idea means, selects, and is in just this way true of just this one object. The relation of correspondence between idea and object is, therefore, wholly subordinate to another and far deeper relation ; and so to say, "My idea has reference to a real Being," is to say, "My idea im- perfectly expresses, in my present consciousness, an intention, a meaning, a purpose ; and just this spe- cific meaning is carried out, is fulfilled, is expressed, by my object." For correspondence to its object, and intentional selection of both the object and the sort of correspondence, constitute the two possible relations of idea and object. If the bare corre- spondence determines neither Being nor truth, the intention must determine both Being and truth. In other words, the Being to whom any idea refers is simply the will of the idea more determinately, and also more completely, expressed. Once admit this definition of the nature of Being, and you will ac- Epistemology 551 complish the end which all the various prior defini- tions of Being actually sought. For, first, with the realist, you will now assert that the object is not only Other than the finite idea, but is something that is authoritative over against the finite idea. The realist gave an abstract expres- sion to this authority of the object when he said that the object is independent of the idea. The abstrac- tion was false; but it was already a suggestion of the true meaning. The finite idea does seek its own Other. It consciously means this Other. And it can seek only what it consciously means to seek. But it consciously means to seek precisely that determi- nation of its own will to singleness and finality of expression which shall leave it no Other yet beyond, and still to seek. To its own plan, to its own not here fully determined purpose, the idea at this in- stant must needs submit. Its very present con- scious will is its submission. Yet the idea submits to no external meaning that is not the development of its own internal meaning. Moreover, the finite idea is a merely general idea. But what it means, its object, is an Individual. So you will all agree with the realist that whether or no the idea just now embodies its own object of search as nearly with present truth as the narrow limits of our con- sciousness permit, it must still seek other fulfilment than is now present, and must submissively accept this fulfilment as its own authoritative truth. But you will reject the realistic isolation of the idea from the object, and of the object from the idea. If one attempts in some way to modify his Realism by declaring the object not wholly, but only par- 552 Readings in Philosophy tially, independent of the ideas which, refer to it, still such a modified realist would only the more have to face, as we ourselves have been trying to face, the problem as to how the idea and its object are positively related. And if idea and object are left in the end in any way as two separate existent facts, isolated from each other, then one can find no further relation between the isolated idea and object except the relation of greater or less corre- spondence, and by this relation of mere external correspondence, taken alone, one would be able to define neither the Being of any object, nor the truth of any idea. Or, in other words, a world where ideas and objects merely correspond, as isolated facts, and where no other and deeper relation links knowledge and Being, is a world where there is so far neither any knowledge nor any Being at all. But secondly, if you accept our Fourth Conception, you will also agree with Mysticism in so far as, identifying Being with fulfilment of purpose, the mystic says, of the object of any of your ideas: That art thou. For the mystic means this asser- tion not of the imperfect self of the merely finite idea. He does not mean that this passing thrill of longing is already fully identical with the Other that this very longing seeks. For the mystic, as for the realist. Being is indeed something Other than our mere search for Being. The mystical identification of the world and the Self is meant to be true of the completed, of the fulfilled and final, or Absolute Self. Now, starting with any idea, we shall henceforth say to this idea, regarding its own object, precisely what the mystic says of the Self Epistemology 553 and the World: That art thou. Namely, the ob- ject is for us simply the completely embodied will of the idea. It is nothing else. But we shall hence- forth differ from the mystic precisely at t4ie point where the mystic takes refuge in mere negations.- We, too, of course, shall also confess our finite igno- rance. But the Neti, Neti of Yajnavalkya, the nescio, nescio of the mediaeval mystic, will express for us, not the essential nature of true Being, as the mystic declared, but merely the present inadequacy of your passing idea to its own present and con- scious purpose, — a purpose known precisely so far as it is embodied at this instant. We shall say if we follow to its conclusion this our Fourth Conception, "We know in part, and we prophesy in part; but when the object meant, namely, precisely when that which is perfect is truly said to be, it fulfils, and in so far by supplementing but not otherwise, it takes away that which is in part." Our final object, the urhs Sion unica, mansio mystica, is for us, as for the mystic, the unique Being wherein this our finite will is fulfilled. But this one object meant, this fulfilment of our will, is not merely "founded in heaven". Its will is done on earth, not yet in this temporal instant wholly as it is in heaven, but is still really, done, in these ideas that already con- sciously attain a fragment of their own meaning. They are ideas precisely because they do this. The sadness of the mystical longing is now for us lighted by glimpses of the genuine and eternally present truth of the one real world. It is not merely in the mystic trance, but in every rational idea, in so far as it is already a partially embodied purpose, that 554 Readings in Philosophy we now shall in our own way and measure come upon that which is, and catch the deep pulsations of the world. Our instant is not yet the whole of eternity; but the eternal light, the lux eterna, shineth in our every reasonable moment, and lighteth every idea that cometh into the world. And, thirdly, if you follow our Fourth CJoncep- tion, you will now agree with thei critical rationalist when he asserts that Being essentially involves what gives the validity to ideas. But you will have dis- covered what conditions are necessary to constitute validity. The valid finite idea is first, for whoever possess it, an observed and empirical fulfilment of purpose. But this fulfilment is also observed in this instant as something incomplete. Therefore it is that a finite idea seeks beyond itself for its own validity. And it is perfectly true to say that if the idea is valid, certain further experience of the fulfilment of the idea is 'possible. Leave this fur- ther experience,^ however, as something merely pos- sible, and your definition of Being would so far remain fast bound in its own fatal circle. Is the idea valid or not? If it is valid, then, by hypothe- sis, further experience that would confirm the idea is possible. This further experience, like any ob- ject existent in the mathematician's realm, is both known to be something Other than the idea that refers to it, and is also viewed as a fact precisely corresponding to what the idea means to define. Now so long as you call this Other, this possible ex- perience, merely such a bare possibility, you define, as we have said, only those characters of this object which the object has in common with your merely Epistemology 555 present idea of the object. The object is so far defined as an experience, and as having this or that type or form. That is what you say when you talk of any being in Kant's realm of Mogliche Erfahrung, or of any mathematical fact. All that is thus de- fined about the object is its mere what, the char- acters that it shares with your present ideas and experiences at the moment when you define it. What therefore you have not thus defined is pre- cisely the Being of the Object as Other than the very finite idea which is to regard it as an Other. If you have once observed this defect of any assertion of a bare possibility of experience, you will have seen why the mere definition of universal types can never reach the expression of the whole nature of real Beings, and why, for that very reason, the realm of Validity is nothing unless it is more than merely valid, nothing too unless it takes an indi- vidual form as an -unique fulfilment of purpose in a completed life. But all the three former conceptions are now to be brought into synthesis in this Fourth Conception. What is, is authoritative over against finite ideas, as Realism asserted, is one with the true meaning of the idea, as Mysticism insisted, and is valid as Critical Rationalism demanded. What is, presents the fulfilment of the whole purpose of the very idea that now seeks this Being. And when I announce this as our Fourth Conception of Being, I do not mean to be understood as asserting a mere validity, but as reporting facts. I do not any longer merely say, as we said at the outset of our discussion, Be- ing is that which, if present, would end your finite 556 Readings in Philosophy search, would answer your doubts, would fulfil your purpose. All that was the language of vialidity. It was a mere preliminary. Since validity has no meaning unless its general types of truth take on individual form, and unless the what turns into the thMt, I now say, without any reserve. What is does in itself fulfil your meaning, does express, in the completest logically possible measure, the accom- plishment and embodiment of the very will now fragmentarily embodied in your finite ideas. And I say, that this embodiment means in itself precisely what your present embodiment of purpose in your rational experience means, just in so far as your purposes are not mere fragments, but are also, even in their transiency, results known as, relatively speaking, won, as possessed, as accomplished. The accomplishment gf your purpose now means that your experience is viewed by you as the present and conscious expression of a plan. Well; what is, pre- cisely in so far as it is, is in the same way a whole experience finally expressing and consciously ful- filling a plan. And the Being of the real object of which you now think means a life that expresses the fulfilment of just your present plan, in the greatest measure in which your plan itself is logically capable of fulfilment. CHAPTER XXV THE CRITERIA OF TRUTH A. The Copy Theory. This theory which has been strongly criticised by the Pragmatists has its classic expression in the following passage from Locke's Essay : OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE 1. Knowledge,' as has been said, lying in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of any ^pf our ideas, it follows from hence that, 1. No further than we have Ideas. — First, We can have knowledge no further than we have ideas. 2. II. No further than ive can perceive their Agreement or Disagreement. — Secondly, That we have no knowledge further than we can have per- ception of their agreement or disagreement. Which perception being: 1. Either by intuition, or the im- mediate comparing any two ideas ; or, 2. By reason, examining the agreement or disagreement of two ideas, by the intervention of some others ; or, 3. By sensation, perceiving the existence of particular things ; hence it also follows : 3. III. Intuitive Knowledge extends itself not to all the Relations of all our Ideas. — Thirdly, That we cannot have an intuitive knowledge that shall ' Locke, Essay, Book IV, Ch. iii. (557) 658 Readings in Philosophy extend itself to all our ideas, and all that we would know about them; because we cannot examine and perceive all the relations they have one to another by juxtaposition, or an immediate comparison one with another. Thus, having the ideas of an obtuse and an acute-angled triangle, both drawn from equal bases, and between parallels, I can, by intuitive knowledge, perceive the one not to be the other, but cannot that way know whether they be equal or no; because their agreement or disagreement in equality can never be perceived by an immediate comparing them : the difference of figure makes their parts in- capable of an exact immediate application, and therefore there is need of some intervening qualities to measure them by, which is demonstration or ra-, tional knowledge. 4. IV. Nor demonstrative Knowledge. — Fourthly, It follows, also, from what is above ob- served, that our rational knowledge cannot reach to the whole extent of our ideas; because between two different ideas we would examine, we cannot always find such mediums as we can connect one to another with an intuitive knowledge in all the parts of the deduction; and wherever that fails, we come short of knowledge and demonstration. 5. V. Sensitive Knowledge narrower than either. — Fifthly, Sensitive knowledge, reaching no further than the existence of things actually present to our senses, is yet much narrower than either of the former. 6. VI. Oiir Knowledge, therefore, narrower than our Ideas. — From all which it is evident, that the extent of our knowledge comes not only short of The Criteria of Truth 559 the reality of things, but euen of the extent of our own ideas. Though our knowledge be limited to our ideas, and cannot exceed them either in extent or perfection; and though these be very narrow bounds, in respect of the extent of all being, and far short of what we may justly imagine to be in some even created understandings, not tied down to the dull and narrow information that is to be received from some few, and not very acute ways_of percep- tion, such as are our senses ; yet it would be well with us if our knowledge were but as large as our ideas, and there were not many doubts and inquiries con- cerning the ideas we have, whereof we are not, nor I believe ever shall be in this world, resolved. Nevertheless, I do not question but that human knowledge, under the present circumstances of our beings and constitutions, may be carried much far- ther than it hitherto has been, if men would sin- cerely, and with freedom of mind, employ all that industry and labour of thought in improving the means of discovering truth, which they do for the colouring or support of falsehood, to maintain a system, interest, or party they are once engaged in. 7. How far our Knowledge reaches. — The af- firmations or negations we make concerning the ideas we have, may, as I have before intimated in general, be reduced to these four sorts, viz., identity, co-existence, relation, and real existence. I shall examine how far our knowledge extends in each of these : — ■ 8. I. Our Knowledge of Identity and Diversity, as far as our Ideas. — First, as to identity and di- 560 Readings in Philosophy versity, in this way of agreement or disagreement of ideas, our intuitive knowledge is as far extended as our ideas themselves; and there can be no idea in the mind, which it does not presently, by an in- tuitive knowledge, perceive to be what it is, and to be different from any other. 9. II. Of Co-existence, a very little Way. — Secondly, as to the second sort, which is the agree- ment or disagreement of our ideas in co-existence, in this our knowledge is very short, though in this consists the greatest and most material part of our knowledge concerning substances. For our ideas of the species of substances being, as I have showed, nothing but certain collections of simple ideas united in one subject, and so co-existing together; — v. g., our idea of flame is a body hot, luminous, and mov- ing upward ; of gold, a body heavy to a certain de- gree, yellow., malleable, and "fusible; these, or some such complex ideas as these, in men's minds, do these two names of the different substances, flame^ and gold, stand for. When we would know any thing further concerning these, or any other sort of sub- stances, what do we inquire, but what other qualities or powers these substances have or have not? Which is nothing else but to know what other simple ideas do or do not co-exist with those that make up that complex idea. . . . 18. III. Of other Relations it is not easy to say how far. — Thirdly, as to the third sort of our knowledge, viz., the agreement or disagreement of any of our ideas in any other relation : this, as it is the largest field of our knowledge, so it is hard to determine how far it may extend; because the ad- The Criteria of Truth 561 vances that are made in this part of knowledge depending on our sagacity in finding intermediate ideas, that may show the relations and habitudes of ideas, whose co-existence is not considered, it is a hard matter to tell when we are at an end of such discoveries; and when reason has all the helps it is capable of, for the finding of proofs, or examining the agreenient or disagreement of remote ideas. They that are ignorant of algebra, cannot imagine the wonders in this kind to be done by it : and what further improvements and helps, advantageous to other parts of knowledge, the sagacious mind of man may yet find out, it is not easy to determine. This at least I believe, that the ideas of quantity are not those alone that are capable of demonstration and knowledge; and that other, and perhaps more useful parts' of contemplation would afford us cer- tainty, if vices, passions, and domineering interest did not oppose or menace such endeavours. . . . 21. Fourthly. Of real Existence : we have an in- tuitive Knowledge of our own — demonstrative of God's, — sensitive, of some few other things. — As to the fourth sort of our knowledge, viz., of the real actual existence of things, we have an intuitive knowledge of our own existence, and a demonstrative knowledge of the existence of a God ; of the existence of anything else, we have no other but a sensitive knowledge, which extends not beyond the objects present to our senses. CHAPTER IV. OP THE REALITY OF KNOWLEDGE 1. Objection. Knowledge placed in Ideas may be all bare Vision, — I doubt not but my reader, by 562 Readings in Philosophy this time, may be apt to think that IJiave been all this while only building a castle in the air; and be ready to say to me, "To what purpose all this stir? Knowledge, say you, is only the perception of the agreement or disagreement of our own ideas; but who knows what those ideas may be? Is there any thing so extravagant as the imaginations of men's brains? Where is the head that has no chimeras in it? Or if there be a sober and a wise* man, what difference will there be, by your rules, between his knowledge and that of the most extravagant fancy in the world ? They both have their ideas, and per- ceive their agreement and disagreement one with another. If there be any difference Jaetween them, the advantage will be on the warm-headed man's side, as having the more ideas, and the more lively ; and so, by your rules, he will be the more knowing. If it be true, that all knowledge lies only in the percep- tion of the agreement or disagreement of our own ideas, the visions of an enthusiast and the reason- ings of a sober man will be equally certain. It is no matter how things are ; so a man observe but the agreement of his own imaginations, and talk con- formably, it is all truth, all certainty. Such castles in the air will be as strongholds of truth, as the demonstrations of Euclid. That an harpy is not ia centaur is by this way as certain knowledge, and as much a truth, as that a square is not a circle. "But of what use is all this fine knowledge of men's own imaginations, to a man that inquires after the reality of things? It matters not what men's fancies are, it is the knowledge of things that is only to be prized; it is this alone gives a value The Criteria of Truth 563 to our reasonings, and preference to one man's knowledge over another's, that it is of things as they really are, and not of dreams and fancies." 2. Answer. Not so, Where Ideas agree with Things. — To which I answer, that if our knowledge of our ideas terminate in them, and reach no fur- ther," where there is something further intended, our most serious thoughts will be of little more use than the reveries of a crazy brain; and the truths built thereon of no more weight than the discourses of a man, who sees things clearly in a dream, and with great assurance utters them. But I hope, be- fore I have done, to make it evident that this way of certainty, by the knowledge of our own ideas, goes a little further than bare imagination; and I believe it will appear that all the certainty of general truths a man has lies in nothing else. 3. It is evident the mind knows not things im-| mediately, but only by the intervention of the ideas/ it has of them. Our knowledge therefore is real only so far as there is a conformity between our ideas and the reality of things. But what shall Jbe here the criterion? How shall the mind, when it perceives nothing but its own ideas, know that they agree with things themselves ? This, though it seems not to want difficulty, yet I think there be two sorts of ideas that we may be assured agree with things. 4. As, I. All simple Ideas do. — First, the first are simple ideas, which since the mind, as has been showed, can by no means make to itself, must neces- sarily be the product of things operating on the mind in a natural way, and producing therein those per- ceptions which by the wisdom and will of our Maker 564 Readings in Philosophy they are ordained and adapted to. From whence it follows, that simple ideas are not fictions of our fancies, but the natural and regular productions of things without us, really operating upon us, and so carry with them all the conformity whicTi is in- tended, or which our state requires ; for they repre- sent to us things under those appearances which they are fitted to produce in us, whereby we are enabled to distinguish the sorts of particular sub- stances, to discern the states they are in, and so to take them for our necessities, and apply them to our uses. Thus the idea of whiteaess or bitterness, as it is in the mind, exactly answering that power which is in any body to produce it there, has all the real conformity it can or ought to have, with things without us. And this conformity between our simple ideas and the existence of things, is sufficient for real knowledge. 5. II. All complex Ideas except of Substances. — Secondly, all our complex ideas, except those of substances, being archetypes of the mind's own mak- ing, not intended to be the copies of any thing, nor referred to the existence of any thing, as to their originals, cannot want any conformity necessary to real knowledge. For that which is not designed to represent any thing but itself, can never be capable of a wrong representation, nor mislead us from the true apprehension of any thing by its dislikeness to it; and such, excepting those of substances, are all our complex ideas, which, as I have showed in an- other place, are combinations of ideas which the mind, by its free choice, puts together, without con- sidering any connexion they have in nature. And The Criteria of Truth 565 hence it is, 'that in all these sorts the ideas themselves are considered as the archetypes, and things no otherwise regarded, but as they are conformable to them. • So that we cannot but be infallibly certain, that all the knowledge we attain concerning these ideas "is real, and reaches things themselves; be- cause in all our thoughts, reasonings, and discourses of this kind, we intend things no further than as they are conformable to our ideas. So that in these we cannot miss of a certain and undoubted reality. 6. Hence the Reality of Mathematical Knowl- edge. — I doubt not but it will be easily granted, that the knowledge we have of mathematical truths is not only certain, but real knowledge; and not the bare empty vision of vain, insignificant chimeras of the brain ; and yet, if we will consider, we shall find that it is only of our own ideas. The mathemati- cian considers the truth and properties belonging to a rectangle or circle, only as they are in idea in his own mind. For it is possible he never found either of them existing mathematically, i. e., precisely true, in his life. But yet the knowledge he has of any truths or properties belonging to a circle, or any mathematical figure, are nevertheless true and cer- tain, even of real things existing; because real things are no further concerned, nor intended to be meant by any such propositions, than as things really agree to those archetypes in his mind. Is it true of the idea of a triangle, that its three angles are equal to two right ones? It is true also of a triangle, wherever it really exists. Whatever other figure exists, that is not exactly answerable to that idea of a triangle in his mind, is not at all con- 37 566 Readings in Philosophy cerned in that proposition ; and therefore he is cer- tain all his knowledge concerning such ideas is real knowledge; because, intending things no further than they agree with those his ideas, he is sure what he knows concerning those figures, when they have (barely an ideal existence in his mind, will hold true of them also when they have a real existence in matter; his consideration being barely of those figures which are the same, wherever or however they exist. 7. And of Moral. — And hence it follows that moral knowledge is as capable of real certainty as mathematics ; for certainty being but the perception of the agreement or disagreement of our ideas, and demonstration nothing but the perception -of such agreement, by the intervention of other ideas or mediums ; our moral ideas, as well as mathematical, being archetypes themselves, and so adequate and complete ideas, all the agreement or disagreement which we shall find in them will produce real knowl- edge, as well as in mathematical figures. . . . 11. Ideas of Substances have their Archetypes without us. — Thirdly, there is a^nother sort of complex ideas, which, being referred to archetypes without us, may differ from them, and so our knowl- edge about them may come short of being real. Such are our ideas of substances, which, consisting of a collection of simple ideas, supposed taken from the works of nature, may yet vary from them, by having more or different ideas united in them, than are to be found united in the things themselves. From whence it comes to pass, that they may, and often do fail of being exactly conformable to things themselves. The Criteria of Truth 567 12. So far as they agree with those, so far our Knowledge concerning them is real. — I say, then, that to have ideas of substances which, by being conformable to things, may afford us real knowledge, it is hot enough, as in modes, to put together such ideas as have no inconsistence, though they did never before so exist ; v. g., the ideas of sacrilege or perjury, etc., were as real and true ideas before, as after the existence of any such fact. But our ideas of^substances being supposed copies, and referred to archetypes without us, must still be taken from something that does or has existed; they must not consist of ideas put together at the pleasure of our thoughts, without any real pattern they were taken from, though we can perceive no inconsistence in such a combination. The reason whereof is, because we, knowing not what real constitution it is of substances whereon our simple ideas depend, and which really is the cause of the strict union, of some of them one with another, and the exclusion of others; there are very few of them that we can be sure are or are not inconsistent in nature, any fur- ther than experience and sensible observation reach. Herein, therefore, is founded the reality of our knowledge concerning substances, that all our com- plex ideas of them must be such, and such only, as are made up of such simple ones as have been dis- covered to co-exist in nature. And our ideas being thus true, though not, perhaps, very exact copies, ai^ yet the subject of real (as far as we have any) knowledge of them; which (as has been already shown) will not be found to reach very far; but so far as it does, it will still be real knowledge. What- 568 Readings in Philosophy ever ideas we have, the agreement we find they have with others will still be knowledge. If those ideas be abstract, it will be general knowledge. But to make it real concerning substances, the ideas must be taken from the real existence of things. What- ever simple ideas have been found to co-exist in any substance, these we may with confidence join to- gether again, and so make abstract ideas of sub- stances. For whatever have once had an union in nature, may be united again. B. The Pragmatist Idea of Truth. One of the best known statements of this position is the following of Professor James : Truth', as any dictionary will tell you, is a prop- erty of certain of our ideas. It means their 'agree- ment,' as falsity means their disagreement, with 'reality'. Pragmatists and intellectualists both ac- cept this definition as a matter of course. They (be- gin to quarrel only after the question is raised as to what may precisely be meant by the term 'agree- ment,' and what by the term 'reality', when reality is taken as something for our ideas to agree with. In answering these questions the pragmatists are more analytic and painstaking, the intellectualists more offhand and irreflective. The popular notion is that a true idea must copy its reality. Like other popular views, this one follows the analogy of the most usual experience. Our true ideas of sensible 'James, William, Pragmatism, pages 198-205; Longmans, Green and Company, 1907; reprinted by permission of the pufilishers. The Criteria of Truth 569 things do indeed copy them. Shut your eyes and think of yonder clock on the wall, and you get just such a true picture or copy of its dial. But your idea of its 'works' (unless you are a clockmaker) is much l6ss of a copy, yet it passes muster, for it in no way clashes with the reality. Even though it should shrink to the mere word 'works', that word still serves you truly; and when you speak of the 'time-keeping function' of the clock, or of its spring's 'elasticity', it is hard to see exactly what your ideas can copy. You perceive that there is a problem here. Where our ideas cannot copy definitely their object, what does agreement with that object mean? Some idealists seem to say that they are true whenever they are what God means that we ought to think about that object. Others hold the copy- view all through, and speak as if our ideas possessed truth just in proportion as they approach to being copies of the Absolute's eternal way of thinking. These views, you see, invite pragmatistic discus- sion. But the great ^assumptif>n of the intellectual- ists is that truth means essentially an inert static relation. When you've got your true idea of any- thing, there's an end of the matter. You're in pos- session; you know; you have fulfilled your think- ing destiny. You are where you ought to be men- tally ; you have obeyed your categorical imperative ; and nothing more need follow on that climax of your rational destiny. Epistemologically you are in stable equilibrium. Pragmatism, on the other hand, asks its usual question. "Grant an idea or belief to be true", it 570 Readings in Philosophy says, "what concrete difference will its being true make in any one's actual life? How will the truth be realized? What experiences will be different from those which would obtain if the belief were false? What, in short, is the truth's cash-value in experiential terms ?" The moment pragmatism asks tljis question, it sees the answer: Tnie ideas are those that we can- assimilate, validate, corroborate and verify. False ideas are those that we can not. That is the prac- tical difference it makes to us to have true ideas; that, therefore, is the meaning of truth, for it is all that truth is known as. This thesis is what I have to defend. The truth of an idea is not a stagnant property inherent in it. Truth happens to an idea. It becomes true, is made . true by events. Its verity is in fact an event, a process: the process namely of its verifying itself, its veri-fication. Its validity is the process of its valid-ation. But what do the words verification and validation themselves pragmatically mean? They again sig- nify certain practical consequences of the verified and validated idea. It is hard to find any one phrase that characterizes these consequences better than the ordinary agreement-formula — just such consequences being what we have in mind when- ever we say that our ideas 'agree' with reality. They lead us, namely, through the acts and other ideas which they instigate, into or up to, or towards, other parts of experience with which we feel all the while — such feeling being among our potentialities — that the original ideas remain in agreement. The The Criteria of Truth 571 connexions and transitions come to us from point to point as being progressive, harmonious, satisfac- tory. This function of agreeable leading is what we mean by an idea's verification. Such an account is vague and it sounds at first quite trivial, but it has results which it will take the rest of my hour to explain. Let me begin by reminding you of the fact that the possession of true thoughts means everywhere the possession of invaluable instruments of action; and that our duty to gain truth, so far from being a blank command from out of the blue, or a 'stunt' self-imposed by our intellect, can account for itself by excellent practical reasons. The importance to human life of having true be- liefs about matters of fact is a thing too notorious. We live in a world of realities that can be infinitely useful or infinitely harmful. Ideas that tell us which of them to expect count as the true ideas in all this primary sphere of verification, and the pursuit of such ideas is a primary human duty. The posses- sion of truth, so far from being here an end in itself, is only a preliminary means toward other vital satis- factions. If I am lost in the woods and starved, and find what looks like a cow path, it is of the ut- most importance that I should think of a human habitation at the end of it, for if I do so and fol- low it, I save myself. The true thought is useful here because the house which is its object is useful. The practical value of true ideas is thus primarily derived from the practical importance of their ob- jects to us. Their objects are, indeed, not im- 572 Readings in Philosophy portant at all times. I may on another occasion have no use for the house; and then my idea of it, however verifiable, vs^ill be practically irrelevant, and had better remain latent. Yet since almost any object may some day become temporarily important, the advantage of having a general stock of extra truths, of ideas that shall be true of merely possible situations, is obvious. We store such extra truths away in our memories, and with the overflow we fill our books of reference. Whenever such an extra truth becomes practically relevant to one of our emergencies, it passes from cold storage to do work in the world and our belief in it grows active. You can say of it then either that 'it is useful because it is true' or that 'it is true because it is useful'. Both these phrases mean exactly the same thing, namely that here is an idea that gets fulfilled and can be verified. True is the name for whatever » idea starts the verification process, useful is the name for its completed function in experience. True ideas would never have been singled out as such, would never have acquired a class-name, least of all a name suggesting value, unless they had been useful from the outset in this way. From this simple cue pragmatism gets her general notion of truth as something essentially bound up with the way in which one moment in our experience may lead us towards other moments which it will be worth while to have been led to. Primarily, and on the conimon sense level, the truth of a state of mind means this function of a leading that is worth while. When a moment in our experience, of any kind whatever, inspires us with a thought that is The Criteria of Truth 573 true, that means that sooner or later we dip by that thought's guidance into the particulars of ex- perience again and make advantageous connexion with them. This is a vague enough statement, but I beg you to retain it, for it is essential. 'The'' true', to put it very briefly, is only the ex- pedient in the way of our thinking, just as 'the right' is only the expedient in the way of our behaving. Expedient in almost any fashion; and expedient in the long run and on the whole of course; for what meets expediently all the experience in sight won't necessarily meet all farther experiences equally sat- isfactorily. Experience, as we know, has ways of boiling over, and making us correct our present formulas. The 'absolutely' true, meaning what no farther 'experience will ever alter, is that ideal vanishing- point towards which we imagine that all our tem- porary truths will some day converge. It runs on all fours with the perfectly wise man, and with the absolutely complete experience; and, if these ideals are ever realized, they will all be realized together. Meanwhile we have to live today by what truth we can get today, and be ready tomorrow to call it falsehood. Ptolemaic astronomy, euclidean space, aristotelian logic, scholastic metaphysics, were ex- pedient for centuries, but human experience has boiled- over those limits, and we now call these things only relatively true, or true within those borders of -experience. 'Absolutely' they are false ; for we know = Ibid., pp. 222-226. 574 Readings in Philosophy that those. limits were casual, and might have been transcended by past theorists just as they are by present thinkers. When new experiences lead to retrospective judg- ments, using the past tense, what these judgments utter was irue, even tho no past thinker had been led there. We live forwards, a Danish thinker has said, but we understand backwards. The present sheds a backward light on the world's previous processes. They may have been truth-processes for the actors in them. They are not so for one who knows the later revelations of the story. This regulative notion of a potential better truth to be estaiblished later, possibly to be established some day absolutely, and having powers of retro- active legislation, turns its face, like all pragmatist notions, towards concreteness of fact, and towards the future. Like the half-truths, the absolute truth will have to be made, made as a relation incidental to the growth of a mass of verification-experience, to wJiich the half true ideas are all along contributing their quota. I have already insisted on the fact that truth is made largely out of previous truths. . Men's beliefs at any time are so much experience funded. But the beliefs are themselves parts of the sum total of the world'^ experience, and become matter, therefore, for the next day's funding operations. So far as reality means experienceable reality, both it and the truths men gain about it are everlastingly in process of mutation — mutation towards a definite goal — it may be — but still mutation. The Criteria of Truth 575 Mathematicians can solve problems with->two va- riables. On the Newtonian theory, for instance, acceleration varies with distance, but distance also varies with acceleration. In the realm of truth- processes facts come independently and determine our beliefs provisionally. But these beliefs make us act, and as fast as they do so> they bring into sight or into existence new facts which re-determine the beliefs accordingly. So the whole coil and ball of truth, as it rolls up, is the product lof-a double influence. Truths emerge from facts; but they dip forward into facts again and add to them; which facts again create or reveal new truth (the word is indifferent) and so on indefinitely. The 'facts' themselves meanwhile are not true. They simply are. Truth is the function of the beliefs that start and terminate among them. The case is like a snowball's growth, due as it is to the distribution of the snow on the one hand, and to the successive pushes of the boys on the other, with these factors co-determining each other incessantly. C. Absolutism. The conviction that recent work in logic and mathematics leads to an absolutist philosophy", is formulated in the essay from which the following is taken: In' any case, the new logic, and the new mathe- matics, are making us acquainted with absolute ' Royce, William James and Other Essays, pages 2A9::2-5i; the Macmillan Company, 1911; used by permission of the publishers, and Mrs. Royce. 576 Readings in Philosophy truth, and are giving to our knowledge of this truth a clearness never before accessible to human think- ing. And yet the new logic is doing all this in a way that to my mind is in no wise a justification of the intellectualism which modem instrumentalists condemn. For what we thereby learn is that all truth is indeed relative to the expression of our will, but that the will inevitably determines for itself forms of activity which are objectively valid and ab- solute, just because to attempt to inhibit these forms is once more to act, and is to act in accordance with them. These forms are the categories both of our thought and of our action. We recognize them equally whether we consider, as in ethics, the nature of reasonable conduct, or, as in logic, the forms of conceptual construction, or, as in mathematics, the ideal types of objects that we can define by con- structing, as freely as possible, in conformity with these forms. When we turn back to the world of experience, we inevitably conceive the objects of experience in terms of our categories. Hence the unity and the transilidividual character which rightly we assign to the objects of experience. What we know about these objects is always relative to our human needs and activities. But all of this rela- tive knowledge is — however provisionally — de- fined in terms of absolute principles. And that is why the scientific spirit and the scientific conscience are. indeed the expression of motives, which you can never reduce to mere instrumentalism, and can never express in terms of any individualism. And that is why, wherever two or three are gathered The Criteria of Truth bll together in any serious moral or scientific enter- prise, they believe in a truth which is far more than the mere working of any man's ephemeral asser- tions. In sum, an absolute truth is one whose denial implies the reassertion of that same truth. To us men, such truths are accessible only in the realm of our knowledge of the forms that predetermine all of our concrete activities. Such knowledge we can obtain regarding the categories of pure logic and also regarding the constructions of pure mathe- matics. In dealing, on the other hand, with the concrete objects of experience, we are what the in- strumentalists suppose us to be, namely, seekers for a successful control over this experience. And as the voluntarists also correctly emphasize, in all our empirical constructions, scientific and practical, we express our own individual wills and seek such suc- cess as we can get. But there remains the fact that in all these constructions we are expressing a will which, as logic and pure mathematics teach us, has an universal absolute nature, — the same in all of us. And it is for -the sake of winning some adequate expression of this our absolute nature, that we are constantly striving in our empirical world for a success which we never can obtain at any in- stant, and can never adequately define in any merely relative terms. The result appears in our ethical search for absolute standards, and in our meta- physical thirst for an absolute interpretation of the universe, — a thirst as unquenchable as the over- individual will that expresses itself through all our 578 Readings in Philosophy individual activities is itself world-wide, active, and in its essence absolute. In recognizing that all truth is relative to the will, the three motives of the modem theories of truth are at one. To my mind they, therefore, need not remain opposed motives. Let us observe their deeper harmony, and bring them into synthesis. And then what I have called the trivialities of mere instrumentalism will appear as what they are, — fragmentary hints, and transient expressions, of that will whose life is universal, whose form is ab- solute, and whose laws are at once those of logic, of ethics, of the unity of experience, and of whatever gives sense to life. Tennyson, in a well-known passage of his "In Memoriam", cries: "Oh living Will that shalt endure When all that seems shall suffer shock, Rise in the spiritual rock, Flow through our deeds and make them pure." That cry of the poet was an expression of moral and religious sentiment and aspiration ; but he might have said essentially the same thing if he had chosen the form of praying : Make our deeds logical. Give our thoughts sense and unity. Give our Instru- mentalism some serious unity of eternal purpose. Make our Pragmatism more than the mere passing froth of waves that break upon the beach of triv- iality. In any case, the po'et's cry is an expression of that Absolute Pragmatism, of that Voluntarism, The Criteria of Truth 579 which recognizes all truth as the essentially eternal creation of the Will. What the poet utters is that form of Idealism which seems to me to be indicated as the common outcome of all the three motives that underlie the modem theory of truth. CHAPTER XXVI. 'THE STATUS OF VALUES A. SUPERNATURALISM. Supematuralism represents standards of value as given to man from a source and authority higher than he, by an external donation, as in the following classic instance: In^ the third month after the children of Israel were gone forth out of the land of Egypt, the same day came they into the wilderness of Sinai. And when they were departed from Rephidim, and were come to the wilderness of Sinai, they encamped in the wilderness; and there Israel encamped before the mount. And Moses went up unto God, and Jehovah called unto him out of the mountain, saying, Thus shalt thou say to the house of Jacob, and tell the chil- dren of Israel: Ye have seen what I did unto the Egyptians, and how I bare you on eagles' wings, and brought you unto myself. Now therefore, if ye will obey my voice indeed, and keep my covenant, then ye shall be mine own possession from among all peoples: for all the earth is mine: and ye shall be unto me a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation. These are the words which thou shalt speak unto the children of Israel. And Moses came and called for the elders of the '^ Exodus, Chapter XIX; American Standard Edition, previously cited. (580) The Status of Values 581 people, and set before them all these words which Jehovah commanded him. And all the people an- swered together, and said, All that Jehovah hath spoken we will do. And Moses reported the words of the people unto Jehovah. And Jehovah said unto Moses, Lo, I come unto thee in a thick cloud, that the people may hear when I speak with thee, and may also believe thee forever. And Moses told the words of the people unto Jehovah. And Jehovah said unto Moses, Go unto the people, and sanctify them today and tomorrow, and let them wash their garments, and be ready against the third day; for the third day Jehovah will come down in the sight of all the people upon mount Sinai. And thou shalt set bounds unto the people round about, saying, Take heed to yout-selves, that ye go not up into the mount, or touch- the border of it : whosoever toucheth the mount shall be surely put tb death: no hand shall touch him, but he shall surely be stoned, or shot through; whether it be beast or man, he shall not live: when the trumpet soundeth long, they shall come up to the mount. And Moses went down from the mour^t unto the fieople, and sanctified the people ; and they washed their garments. And he said unto the people. Be ye ready against the third day : come not near a woman. And it came to pass on the third day, when it was morning, that there were thunders and lightnings, and a thick cloud upon the mqunt, and the voice of a trumpet exceeding loud; and all the people that were in the camp trembled. And Moses brought forth the people out of the camp to meet God; and they stood at the nether part of the mount. And 582 Readings in Philosophy mount Sinai, the whole of it, smoked, because Jehovah descended upon it in fire; and the smoke thereof ascended as the smoke of a furnace, and the whole mount quaked greatly. And when the voice of the trumpet waxed louder and louder, Moses spake, and God answered him by a voice. And Jehovah came down upon mount Sinai, to the top of the mount; and Jehovah called Moses to the top of the mount; and Moses went up. And Jehovah said unto Moses, Go down, charge the people, lest they break through unto Jehovah to gaze, and many of them perish. And let the priests also, that come near to Jehovah, sanctify themselves, lest, Jehovah break forth upon them. And Moses said unto Jehovah, The people cannot come up to mount Sinai : for thou didst charge us, saying. Set bounds about the mount, and sanctify it. And Jehovah said unto him. Go, and get thee down ; and thou shalt come up, thou, and Aaron with thee: but let not the priests and the people break through to come up unto Jehovah, lest he break forth upon them. So Moses went down unto the people, and told them. B. Agnostic Relativism. Russell, from whose essays the following passage is taken, is usually classed as a New Realist. But the selection given here is a good expression of the spirit of Agnostic Relativism : When^ first the oppositiofi of fact and ideal grows fully visible, a spirit of fiery revolt, of fierce hatred ' Russell, B. A. W.; Mysticism, and Logic, essay entitled "A Free Man's Worship", pages 51-57; Longman's, Green and Co., 1918; used by permission of the publishers. The Status of Values 583 of the gods, seems necessary to the assertion of freedom. To defy with Promethean constancy a hostile universe, to keep its evil always in view, always actively hated, to refuse no pain that the malice of Power can invent, appears to be the duty of all who will not bow before the inevitable. But indignation is still a bondage, for it compels our thoughts to be occupied with an evil world; and in the fierceness of desire from which rebellion springs, there is a kind of self-assertion which it is neces- sary for the wise to overcome. Indignation is a submission of our thoughts, but not of our desires ; the Stoic freedom in which wisdom consists is found in the submission of our desires, but not our thoughts. From the submission of our desires springs the virtue of resignation ; from the freedom of our thoughts springs the whole world of art and philosophy, and the vision of beauty by which, at last, we half reconquer the reluctant world. But the vision of beauty is possible only to unfetter-ed contemplation, to thoughts not weighted by the load of eager wishes; and thus Freedom comes only to those who no longer ask of life that it shall yield them any of those personal goods that are subject to the mutations of Time. Although the necessity of renunciation is evidence of the existence of evil, yet Christianity, in preach- ing it, has shown a wisdom exceeding that of the PromeiiJiean philosophy of rebellion. It must be admitted that, of the things we desire, some, though they prove impossible, are yet real goods; others, however, as ardently longed for, do not form part of a fully purified ideal. The belief that what must 584 Readings in Philosophy be renounced is bad, though sometimes false, is far less often false than untamed passion supposes ; and the creed of religion, by providing a reason for proving that it is never false, has been the means of purifying our hopes by the discovery of many aus- tere truths. But there is in resignation a further good ele- ment: even real goods, when they are unattainable, ought not to be fretfully desired. To every man comes, sooner or later, the great renunciation. For the young, there is nothing unattainable; a good thing desired with the whole force of a passionate will, and yet impossible, is to them not credible. Yet, by death, by illness, by poverty, or by the voice of duty, we must learn, each one ^of us, that the world was not made for us, and that, however beautiful may be the things we crave, Fate may nevertheless forbid them. It is the part of courage, when misfortune comes, to bear without repining the ruin of our hopes, to turn away our thoughts from vain regrets. This degree of submission to Power is not only just and right; it is the very gate of wisdom. But a passive renunciation is not the whole of wisdom ; for not by renunciation alone can we build a temple for the worship of our own ideals. Haunt- ing foreshadowings of the temple appear in the realm of imagination, in music, in architecture, in the untroubled kingdom of reason, and in the golden sunset magic of lyrics, where beauty shines and glows, remote from the touch of sorrow, remote from the fear of change, remote from the failures and disenchantments of the world of fact. In the The Status of Values 585 contemplation of these things the vision of heaven will shape itself in our hearts, giving at once a touch- stone to judge the world about us, and an inspiis^- tion by which to fashion to our needs whatever is not incapable of serving as a stone in the sacred temple. Except for those rare spirits that are bom with- out sin, there is a cavern of darkness to be traversed before that temple can be entered. The gate of the cavern is despair, and its floor is paved with the gravestones of abandoned hopes. There Self must die ; there the eagerness, the greed of untamed desire must be slain, for only so can the soul be freed from the empire of Fate. But out of the cavern the Gate of Renunciation leads again to the daylight of wis- dom, by whose radiance a new insight, a new joy, a new tenderness, shine forth to gladden the pilgrim's heart. When, without the bitterness of impotent rebel- lion, we have learnt both to resign ourselves to the outward rule of Fate and to recognize that the non- human world is unworthy of our worship, it becomes' possible at last so to transform and refashion the unconscious universe, so to transmute it in the crucible of imagination, that a new image of shining gold replaces the old idol of clay. In all the multi- form 'facts of the world — in the visual shapes of trees and mountains and clouds, in the events of the life of man, even in the very omnipotence of Death — the insight of creative idealism can find the. re- flection of a beauty which its own thoughts first made. ' In this way mind asserts its subtle mastery over the thoughtless forces of Nature. The more 586 Readings in Philosophy evil the material with which it deals, the more thwarting to untrained desire, the greater is its achievement in inducing the reluctant rock to yield up its hidden treasures, the prouder its victory in compelling the opposing forces to swell the pageant of its triumph. Of all the arts, Tragedy is the proudest, the most triumphant ; for it builds its shin- ing citadel in the very center of the enemy's country, on the very summit of his highest mountain; from its impregnable watchtowers, his camps and ar- senals, his columns and forts, are all revealed ; with- in its walls the free life continues, while the legions of Death and Pain and Despair, and all the servile captains of tyrant Fate, afford the burghers of the dauntless city new spectacles of beauty. Happy those sacred ramparts, thrice happy the dwellers on that all-seeing eminence. Honour to those brave warriors who, through countless ages of warfare, have preserved for us the priceless heritage of lib- erty, and have kept undefiled by sacrilegious in- vaders the home of the unsubdued. But the Beauty of Tragedy does but make visible a quality which, in more or less obvious shapes, is present always and everywhere in life. In the spectacle of Death, in the endurance of intolerable pain, and in the irrevocableness of a vanished past, there is a sacredness, an overpowering awe, a feel- ing of the vastness, the depth, the inexhaustible mystery of existence, in which, as by some strange marriage of pain, the sufferer is bound to the world by bonds of sorrow. In these moments of insight; we lose all eagerness of temporary desire, all strug- gling and striving for petty ends, all care for the The Statiis of Values 587 little trivial things that, to a superficial view, make up the common life of day by day; we see, sur- rounding the narrow raft illumined by the flickering light of human comradeship, the dark ocean on whose rolling waves we toss for a brief hour; from the great night without, a chill blast breaks in upon our refuge ; all the loneliness of humanity amid hos- tile forces is concentrated upon the individual soul, which must struggle alone, with what of courage it can command, against the whole weight of a uni- verse that cares nothing for its hopes and fears. Victory, in this struggle with the powers of dark- ness, is the true baptism into the glorious company of heroes, the true initiation into the overmastering beauty of human existence. From that awful en- counter of the soul with the outer world, enuncia- tion, wisdom, and charity are born; and with their birth a new life begins. To take into the inmost shrine of the soul the irresistible forces whose pup- pets we seem to be — Death and change, the irrev- oeableness of the past, and the powerlessness of man before the blind hurry of the universe from vanity to vanity — to feel these things and know them is to conquer them. This is the reason why the Past has such magical power. The beauty of its motionless and silent pic- tures is like the enchanted purity of late autumn, when the leaves, though one breath would make them fall, still glow against the sky in golden glory. The Past does not change or strive; like Duncan, after life's fitful fever it sleeps well ; what was eager and grasping, what was petty and transitory, has faded away, the things that were beautiful and 588 Readings in Philosophy eternal shine out; in it like stars in the night. Its beauty, to a soul not worthy of it, is unendurable; but to a soul which has conquered Fate it is the key of religion. The life of man, viewed outwardly, is but a small thing in comparison with the forces of Nature. The slave is doomed to worship Time and Fate and Death, because they are greater than anything he finds in himself, and because all his thoughts are of things which they devour. But, great as they are, to' think of them greatly, to feel their passionless splendor, is greater still. And such thought makes us free men ; wS' no longer bow before the inevitable in Oriental subjection, but we absorb it, and make it a part of ourselves. To abandon the struggle for private happiness, to expel all eagerness of tem- porary desire, to burn with passion for eternal things — this is emancipation, and this is the free man's worship. And this liberation is effected by a contemplation of Fate; for Fate itself is subdued by the mind which leaves nothing to be purged by the purifying fire of Time. United with his fellow-men by the strongest of all ties, the tie of common doom, the free man finds that a new vision' is with him always, shedding over every daily task the light of love. The life of man is a long march through the night,^ surrounded by invisible foes, tortured by weariness and pain, to- wards a goal that few can hope to reach, and where none may tarry long. One by one, as they march, our comrades vanish from our sight, seized by the silent orders of omnipotent Death. Very brief is the time in which we can help them, in which their The Status of Values 589 happiness or misery is decided. Be it ours to shed sunshine on their path, to lighten their sorrows by the balm of sympathy, to give them the pure joy of a never-tiring affection, to strengthen failing courage, to instil faith in hours of despair. Let us not weigh in grudging scales their merits and demerits, but let us think only of their need — of the sorrows, the difficulties, perhaps the blindnesses, that make the misery of their lives ; let us remember that they are fellow-sufferers in the same darkness, actors in the same tragedy with ourselves. And so, when their day is over, when their good and their evil have be- come eternal by the immortality of the past, be it ours to feel that, where they suffered, where they failed, no deed of ours was the cause ; but wherever a spark of the divine fire kindled in their hearts, we were ready with encouragement, with sympathy, with brave words in which high courage glowed. Brief and powerless is man's life; on him and all his race the slow sure doom falls pitiless and dark. Blind to good and evil, reckless of destruction, om- nipotent matter rolls on its relentless way ; for Man, condemned today to, lose his dearest, tomorrow him- self to pass through the gate of darkness, it remains only to cherish, ere yet the blow falls, the lofty thoughts that ennoble his little day ; disdaining the coward terrors of the slave of Fate, to worship at the shrine that his own hands have built; undis- mayed by the empire of chance, to preserve a mind free from the wanton tyranny that rules his out- ward life; proudly defiant of the irresistible forces that tolerate,l f or a moment, his knowledge and his condemnation, to sustain alone, a weary but unyield- 590 Readings in Philosophy ing Atlas, the world that his own ideals have fash- ioned despite the trampling march of unconscious power. C. Oneness of God and Man. Professor Royce here presents his interpretation of the place of human interests in the interests of a Supreme Mind: There^ is a sense in which man is a product of Nature, and in which his life is but one incident in a vast process of Evolution, — a process whose inner meaning in great part escapes us. We have tried to see the extent to which just this is true. There is also a sense in which man's life as a Self appears to be a mere series of relatively accidental expe- riences, and of shifting social contrast-effects. We have attempted to show how far this also is the case. There is a philosophical truth in saying, as tradition and common sense long ago said, that man is a prey of fortune, — that his life is a shadow, that all his essence seems insubstantial, transient, and uncer- tain, and that, so far as you find law governing his life, it appears to the external observer to be a merely natural law, indifferent to the meanings and ideals that man himself most prizes. And to such truth also we have endeavored to be just. But when we were led to emphasize all these limitations of human nature, our interpretation of them was from the outset determined by the inevitable corise- ' Royce, The World and the Individual, Vol. II, pages 415- 445; the Macmillan Company, 1904; used by permission of the publishers and Mrs. Royce. The Status of Values 591 quences of our general theory of Being. None of these aspects of man's existence could appear to us startling or strange, or even disappointing, because we had long since learned in what sense, and in what sense only, these very, facts could possess any Being whatever. For in thinking of this world, where his natural place in the temporal order is so significant, man finds that the very link which binds the whole universe to this instant's knowledge is a link that predetermines what meaning the whole must itself possess, and consequently what meaning man's life, despite its apparent pettiness, must illustrate. To the individual man we have accordingly said : Conceive yourself, in the light of your science, as this seeming plaything of natural destiny. Know your frame. Remember not only that you are dust, in the ancient sense of that word, but also that you are in your inner life, in the way that psychological analysis has now rendered familiar, — an insub- stantial series of psychical conditions, physically and socially determined, precisely in so far as such de- termination is possible, — a being whose nature has only such permanence as may prove to be involved in the permanent meaning of those fleeting condi- tions themselves, in case they indeed may possess any such meaning. View yourself as an incident, or at best an episode, in the world-embracing process of evolution. And then, when you have done all this, ask afresh this one question : How can I know all these things? And how can all these facts themselves possess any Being? You will find that the only possible answer to your questions will take the form of asserting, in the end, that you can know all this. 592 Readings in Philosophy and that all this can be real, only by reason of an ontological relation that, when rightly viewed, is seen to link yourself, even in all your weakness, to the very life of God, and the whole universe to the meaning of every Individual. In God you possess your individuality. Your very dependence is the condition of your freedom, and of your unique sig- nificance. The one lesson of your entire course has thus been the lesson of the unity of finite and of infinite, of temporal dependence, and of eternal sig- nificance, of the World and all its Individuals, of the One and the Many, of God and Man. Not only in spite, then, of our finite bondage, but because of what it means and implies, we are full of the pres- ence and freedom of God. But now, emphasizing the especially human as- pect of our ontology, and the especially ethical sig- nificance of our theoretical results, we must expound a little more fully some of these our characteristic theses. And the particular further task of this closing lecture must be to bring together the various threads of our argument, in so far as they bear upon the doctrine of the individual Self, and of the more practical aspects of this its union with God. We have laid our basis. Let us indicate some of the consequences of our theory. II And next, as to our whole definition of the nature of the Divine Life. If our foregoing argument has been sound, our Idealism especially undertakes to give a theory of the general place and of the signifi- cance of Personality in the Universe. Personality, The Status of Values 593 to our view, is an essentially ethical category. A Person is a conscious being, whose life, temporally viewed, seeks its completion through deeds, while the same life, eternally viewed, consciously attains its perfection by means of the present knowledge of the whole of its temporal strivings. Now from our point of view, God is a Person. Temporally viewed, his life is that of the entire realm of con- sciousness in so far as, in its temporal efforts to- wards perfection, this consciousness of the universe passes from instant to instant of the temporal order, from act to act, from experience to experience, from stage to stage. Eternally viewed, however, God's life is the infinite whole that includes this endless temporal process, and that consciously surveys it as one life, God's own life. God is thus a Person, be- cause, for our view, he is self-conscious, and because the Self of which he is conscious is a Self whose eternal perfection is attained through the totality of these ethically significant temporal strivings, these processes of evolution, these linked activities of finite Selves. We have long since ceased, indeed, to suppose that this theory means to view God's per- fection, or his self-consciousness as the temporal result of any process of evolution, or as an event occurring at the end of time, or at the end of any one process, however extended, that occurs in time. The melody does not come into existence contempo- raneously with its own last note. Nor does the sym- phony come into full existence only when its last chord sounds. On the contrary, the melody is the whole, whereof the notes are but abstracted frag- 594 Readings in Philosophy ments ; the symphony is the totality, to which the last chord contributes no more than does the first bar. And precisely so it is, as we have seen, with the re- lation between the temporal and the eternal order. God in his totality as the Absolute Being is con- scious, not in time, but of time, and of all that in- finite time contains. In time there follow, in their sequence, the chords of his endless symphony. For him is this whole symphony of life at once. More- over there is indeed, for our doctrine, no temporal conclusion of the world's successive processes, — no one temporal goal of evolution, — no single temporal event to which the whole creation moves. For as, even in the finite symphony, every chord restlessly strives after a musical perfection that in itself it only hints, and that it does not yet finally contain, but as nevertheless this very perfection is in the whole symphony itself, viewed as a whole, — so, in the universe, every temporal instant contains a seek- ing after God's perfection. Yet never, at any in- stant of time, is this perfection attained. It is present only to the consciousness that views the in- finite totality of this, very^seeking. Such has been our doctrine concerning the divine life, when taken in its character as the life of the Absolute. That a conception of an endless temporal process which nevertheless constitutes one whole, present to one consciousness, is a possible concep- tion, and that this conception is free from the self- contradictions which have usually been ascribed to the idea of the Infinite, — all this I have endeavored to show at length. But in consequence of this end- lessness which I ascribe to the temporal order, and The Status of Values 595. in consequence of the fact that no last event, no final occurrence in the sequence of the world's life, is to my mind possible, and in consequence of the wholeness of meaning which I nevertheless attribute to the divine consciousness itself, I am led to add here a word as to the general significance of his- torical progress, and of the evolutionary processes of the universe, — a word that will prove necessary fojr the purposes of this our concluding lecture. At every instant, in the temporal order, God's, will is in process of expressing itself. Now since this is true of every instant of time, it follows that every stage- of the world-process, viewed as God views it, stands in an immediate relation to God's whole purpose. Hence there is, indeed, always progress in the universe in so far as at any instant some specific finite end is nearing or is winning its temporal attainment. Yet those are wrong who lay such stress upon the conception of progress as to assert that, in order for the world to attain a divine meaning at all, it is necessary to suppose whatever comes later in time to be in all respects better, or to be in every way nearer to God's perfection, than is what comes earlier in time. To make this assertion is to declare that in the divine order of the universe there is a Law of Universal Progress in time, so that all temporal things grow, by God's will, in all respects better as the world goes on. But our view does not make this assertion. Unquestionably, in the temporal order, if this is indeed, as we have asserted, a Moral Order, there is always in some respects Progress, because there is always a seeking of some new form and partial expression of Being, 596 Readings in Philosophy and a passing on towards such new forms and ex- pressions. Moreover, as we have seen, there are new Ethical Individuals originating in time, and thenceforth adding their significance to the world's process. But if the temporal world thus always contains progress, it none the less obviously always involves, for any temporally limited conscious view, decay. Temporal progress, then, is only one aspect of the temporal order. For, as we pass on into our own future, we lose closer conscious touch with our own past. The growth of the man involves the death of his own childhood, with its special sugges- tions of divine beauty. The maturity of age means the loss of youth. For us mortals, every new tem- poral possession includes the irrevocable loss of former conscious possessions. Now this same ten- dency, as, we have earlier seen, seems to hold true of all the irreversible process of universal Nature. For in Nature, too, nothing recurs. The broken china will not mend. The withered flowers bloom no more. The sun parts forever with its heat. Tidal friction irrevocably retards the revolution of the earth. And all these things, while they include the very conditions of progress, also involve decay., In brief, it is, with the occurrences of the succes- sive movements, of time, or with the stages of life, precisely as it is with whatever else in the universe you learn to conceive as an individual fact. One finite individual, taken as such, never possesses the precise and unique perfections of its fellow, i. e., of any other individual. Hence whenever you have to pass, in your finite experience, from a partial view of one individual fact to a similar view of an- The Statiis of Values 597 other individual fact, you lose something as well as gain something; and of this truth you become more clearly aware the nearer you come to an in- sight into the true natures of the objects concerned. Nothing can really be spared from the whole, i. e., from the universe. Hence every transition, such as we make in our finite experience, is a loss as well as a gain. No progress therefore is mere progress. Every growth is also a decay. Every attainment of temporal good is also the suffering of a temporal ill. And just that is what every mother observes when she learns to mourn because her children win the very maturity that she has all the while longed and striven to help them Win. Just such is our expe- rience too when we listen to music. In hearing the Heroic Symphony of Beethoven, how easily, during the Funeral March, — yes, even during the trium- phant glories of the closing movement, — how easily, I say, may not the hearer wish himself back again in the midst of the striving life that the opening theme of the first movement introduces. Finite gain is also finite loss. This is the axiom of the temporal world, in so far as you view its events under the con- ditions of any finite span of conscious survey. Hence mere progress, — Progress without any admixture of temporal decay and loss, — is not the law of the sequent events of the world. On the other hand, in so far as any finite con- sciousness seeks, in its own future, a temporal goal that it has not yet won, and then approaches that goal, — for just this consciousness, in view of just this goal, there is indeed Progress. Now from our point of view, the general rationality of the world's 39 598 Readings in Philosophi/ temporal processes assures us that at all times there is, on the whole, and despite countless hindrances and evils, precisely this sort of attainment of sig- nificant goals occurring in the world. Hence Prog- ress is, in one sense, but by no means in every sense, a fact always present in time. It is always present in the sense that at every moment of time some new and significant goal, that never before was attained, is approached by the finite agents whose will is just now in question. They seek new good, and, despite all evil, they always tend to win good, and always have some measure of success in striving intelli- gently for such good. On the other hand. Progress is not universal, if by universal Progress you mean a condition in which the temporal should be in all essential respects better at any one moment than it ever was before. On the contrary, you can always say that in some respects the finite universe of any one temporal instant is worse than it ever was before, since it has irrevocably lost all those perfections that the past contained, and that now are sought for in vain, while with every new temporal instant of the world more and still more of such perfections become lost beyond recall in the past. For instance. Prog- ress for mankind here on earth is not universal ; for, remember, we have lost, beyond earthly human re- call, the Greeks, and the constructive genius of a Shakespeare or of a Goethe; and these are, indeed, for us mortals, simply irreparable losses. Yet, on the other hand. Progress in a sense is universal for mankind ; for daily civilization, retaining some of its ancient treasures, adds new ones; and, aiming at goods never yet won, attains them. The Status of Values 599 The one most essentially progressive aspect of the temporal order is that which is due to the appear- ance of new Ethical Individuals. For their perfec- tions are additions to the world's stock of ideal goods ; and they, as we shall see, do not pass away. Yet it has to be remembered that a new Ethical Individual, considered in any one temporal stage of his life, is not merely an added perfection, that the world never possessed before. He is also an added problem, — a new source of conflict and of painful endeavor. Only from the eternal point of view is he finally viewed as a perfection. In time he may appear, for a long while, as a new evil. Now, it is worth while to recall such consider- ations, simple as they are, whenever we are con- cerned to conceive the relation of Progress, or of that still more generally conceived realm of proc- esses- called Evolution, to the divine life. As a fact, all ages are present at once as elements in an infinite significant process to the divine insight. Every age therefore has, as the historian Ranke once said of the ages of human history, its "unmittelbare Bezie- hung auf die Gottheit". All things always work to- gether for good from the divine point of view ; and whoever can make this divine point of view in any sense his own, just in so far sees that they do so, despite the inevitable losses and sorrows of the tem- poral order. Ill So much, then, for some results of our general view of the divine Personality, and of the relation between the temporal and eternal aspects of its life. And now, in the next place, for our view of the 600 Readings in Philosophy human Person. Man, too, in our view, is a Person. He is not, indeed, an Absolute Person ; for he needs his conscious contrast with his fellows, and with the whole of the rest of the universe, to constitute him what he is. He is,, however, a conscious being whose life, temporally viewed, seeks its completion through deeds. That from the eternal point of view this same life of the individual man, viewed as inten- tionally contrasted with the life of all the rest of the world, consciously attains its perfection by means of the knowledge of the whole of its temporal striv- ings, — this is, indeed, a corollary of our foregoing doctrine, a corollary which we have yet more pre- cisely to develop. It is just this corollary which constitutes the basis of the philosophical theory of Immortality, — a theory we have here briefly to char- acterize and to explain. The human Self, as we earlier saw, is not a Thing, nor yet a Substance, but a Life with a Meaning. I, the individual, am what I am by virtue of the fact that my intention, my meaning, my task, my desire, my hope, my life, stand in contrast to those of any other individual. If I am any Reality whatever, then I am doing something that nobody else can do, and meaning something that nobody else can mean ; and I have my relatively free will that nobody else can possess. The uniqueness of my meaning is the one essential fact about me. But when with this consideration in mind we turn to ask about the relation of the human Self to Time, our first impression is that our doctrine gives no positive decision as to how long a temporal proc- ess is needed for the complete expression of the The Statics of Values 601 whole life and the entire meaning of any one human Self. And as a fact, if we take the term "Self" with reference to those varieties of meaning that before engaged our attention when we discussed the em- pirical Ego, we see at once that there is a sense in which what can be called a particular finite Ego gets its temporal expression, in so far as you view that expression apart from the rest of the universe, only within some very limited portion of time. The Self, as we said, can be arbitrarily limited, if you will, to this instant's passing selfhood, taken as in contrast to all the rest of the universe of Being. The Self of this finite idea, of this passing thrill of In- ternal Meaning, is, indeed, if you choose so to regard it, something that, from God's point of view, and in its relation to God, is seen as a genuine Self, — an Individual. For, as we have from the outset ob- served, the Self of this instant's longing has its true and conscious relations to all the rest of the infinite realm of Being. We men are, indeed, just now not wholly conscious of the true individual meaning of even this passing moment. But in God this meaning becomes conscious. For this instant has its twofold aspect, the tem- poral and the eternal. Viewed temporally, it is just something that now occurs, and that, seen as God sees it, has its own unique contrast with every, other event in the universe, and that also is in so far no other event, and no other Self. Nowhere else in time will its precise contents recur. Viewed eternally, it finds the complete and individual expression of its whole meaning in God's entire life. In so far as it is conscious of its true relations to the divine, it is 602 Readings in Philosophy this unique prayer for the coming of the kingdom of heaven. And in the eternal wholeness of the divine life, this prayer is answered. Browning's wonderful little poem, The Boy and the Angel, well expresses this aspect of the twofold meaning of every instant of finite individuality. Here and now, and not merely elsewhere and in the far-off future, this instant's song of praise, this moment's search after God, is the temporal expression of a value that is unique, and that would be missed as a lost perfection of the eternal world if it were not known to God as just this finite striving. The temporal brevity of the instant is here no barrier to its eternal significance. And in so far, the lesson of our whole theory is that, when you are viewed as just this momentary Self, working here in the darkness of your finitude upon the task of your earthly life, you have not to endure temporally, for a long time, in order to be linked to God. In Him you are even now at home. For you here mean, by every least act of service, infinitely more than you find presented to your human form of consciousness; and in God this meaning of yours, just as the true meaning of this temporal instant's deed, wins its eternal and self-conscious expression. But now, of course, as we have long since seen, the Self of the single temporal instant is far from being the whole human Self as we rightly come to rontrast that Self of the Individual with all the rest of the world. The whole human self, as we have seen, is the Self of the unique life-plan. And this Self needs a temporally extended expression, which no single instant of our human experience contains. The Self thus viewed has a meaning that seeks unity The Status of Values 603 with God only through the temporal attainments of goals in a series of successive deeds. And of course the Self, taken in this sense, is a far truer expres- sion of what we mean by our individuality than is the Self of any one temporal instant. Yet here again the length of temporal • expression that is required for the embodiment of any one type of finite individ- uality varies with the temporal significance of the ideal that may be in question in defining the Self. A life plan, in so far as if is conscious only of brief temporal purposes, needs only a brief life to accom- plish its little task. The Self that merely reads this lecture to you, on the present occasion, is indeed, from the eternal point of view, an individual. But it is so far an individual of limited finite duration. The Self of the mere reader of this lecture has no endurance beyond today. It is defined by a contrast with the rest of the universe that is especially deter- mined by the conditions of just this temporal aca- demic appointment. Its particular social contrast is with your present Selfhood as hearers. Its work is done when the hour closes. Nowhere else, in time, has just that individuality its task, its duty, its deed, or its expression. On the other hand, the ethical continuity of just this selfhood with the selfhood of other tasks, of former lectures, of the writing of these lectures, and of my personal obligations to you and to the University, is so essential a fact in my life, as I ought to view life, that here the sundering of one fragment of temporal processes from other processes seems especially arbitrary and useless. Yet, whenever we undertake any task, however tran- sient its temporal expression, that view of the union 604 Readings in Philosophy of God and Man, of the Eternal and the Temporal, upon which our whole teaching here depends, re- quires us steadfastly to bear in mind that every frag- ment of life, however arbitrarily it may be selected, has indeed its twofold aspect. It is what it tem- porally is, in so far as it is this linked series of events, present in experience, and somehow con- trasted with all other events in the universe. It is what it eternally is, by virtue of those relations which appear not now, in our human form of con- sciousness, but which do appear, from the divine point of view, as precisely the means of giving their whole meaning to -these transient deeds of ours. To view even the selfhood that passes away, even the deeds of the hour, as a service of God, and to regard the life of our most fragmentary selfhood as the divine life taking on human form, — this is of the deepest essence of religion. From this point of view it is indeed true that now, even through these pass- ing deeds, we are expressing what has at once its eternal and its uniquely individual Being. Here God's will shall be done as elsewhere in the temporal universe it can never again be done, and has never yet been done : — so to resolve is to view our daily duty as our duty, and this passing selfhood, even in its transiency, as possessing eternal meaning. Yet not thus do we discover the adequate view of the Human Self to time. For the Ethical Self, as we have already seen, has its meaning defined in terms of an activity to which no temporal limits can be set without confession of failure. When I aim to do my duty I aim to accomplish, not merely the unique, but such a service that I could never say, at any one tem- The Status of Values 605 poral instant : "There is no more for me to accom- plish ; my work is done. I may rest forever". For that is of the very essence of Ethical Selfhood, namely, to press on to new tasks, to demand new opportunity for service, and to accept a new respon- sibility with every instant. It follows that the same considerations which imply the intimate union of every temporal instant's passing striving with the whole life of God, equally imply that an individual task which is ideal, which is unique, and which means the service of God in a series of deeds such as can never end without an essential failure of the task, can only be linked with God's life, and can only find its completion in this union with God, in an individual life which is the life of a conscious Self, and which is a deathless life. And thus at length we are led to the first formulation of our conception of human Immortality. IV As a fact, the sense in which the human Indi- vidual, taken in bis wholeness, as one ethical Person amongst other Persons, is to be viewed as Immortal, may be more precisely defined, at the present stage of our inquiry, by means of three distinct yet closely linked considerations. The first is a consideration founded upon our whole theory of the nature of Individuality, as we set forth that theory in definmg the doctrine of Being. We know Being from three sides. Whatever is, is something that in one aspect forms a content of .experience. Nothing has a place in the realm of 606 Readings in Philosophy Reality which is not, in one aspect, something pre- sented, found, verified, as a fact known to God, and given as a datum of the Absolute Experience. This is the first aspect of Reality. But secondly, nothing is real which is not also, in another aspect, an object conforming to a type, — an object posses.sing defin- able general characters, and embodying Thought, — an object expressive of the ideas that the Divine Wisdom contemplates. ' These two aspects of Being we studied at length in our foregoing series of lec- tures. But we found that these two aspects of Being are not the only ones. A third is not less essential, and is in fact the most significant of the three. What is real is not only a content of experience, and not only the embodiment of a type, but it is an indi- vidual content of experience, and the unique embodi- ment of a type. And we found, as the most essen- tial result of our whole analysis of Being, that neither in terms of mere experience which contains only contents immediately given, nor yet in terms of mere abstract thinking, which defines only gen- eral types, can the true nature of this third aspect of Being, viz., of the individuality of any given fact, be expressed or discovered. Individuality is a cate- gory of the satisfied Will. This fact is an individual fact only in so far as no other fact than this could meet the purpose that the world as a whole, and consequently every fact in tJie world, expresses. I can then never merely experience that this fact is unique, or that this individual is unique. Nor can I ever merely, by abstract thinking, define what there is about the type of this fact which demands that it should be unique, or should be an individual at all.. The Status of Values 607 In so far then as I merely feel the presence of con- tents of experience, I can postulate that they stand for or hint the existence of individuals. But as mere observer I never empirically find that this is so. In so far as, once having thus felt the presence of facts of experience, I proceed, as for instance in my study of science, to describe the types and the laws of these contents of my experience, I can once more postulate that I am indeed thinking about realities which, in themselves, are individual. But I can never discover, by my thinking process taken as such, what consti- tutes their individuality. When I become aware of the presence of one of my fellow-beings, I never either feel or abstractly conceive why this being is such that no other can take his place in Being. For if I observe how he looks and acts, I so far do not observe in him any reason why another might not' look and act precisely as he does. And if I proceed abstractly to conceive the fashions and laws of his behavioi', I expressly define only general types. It is precisely the no other character, the uniqueness, of this individual, the character whereby he is this man and nobody else, which neither my observation nor my description of my fellow can compass. Hence, as we long since saw, for us, creatures of fragmentary consciousness, and of dissatisfied will, as we here in the temporal order are, the individ- uality of all things remains a postulate, constitutes for us the central mystery of Being, and is rather the object that our exclusive affections seek, that our ethical consciousness demands, that love presup- poses, than any object which we in our finitude ever attain. Now this, our relation to the true Individ- 608 Readings in Philosophy uality of the beings of our whole world, holds as well in case of the Self of each one of us, as of the re- motest star or of God Himself. The individual is real; but under our finite conditions of dissatisfied longing, the individual is never found. Just here, however, lies the first of the three con- siderations whereby our general theory of Being has a bearing upon the doctrine of Immortality. The Self, however you take it, '■ — whether as the Self of this instant's longing, or the Self of any temporal series of deeds and of experiences, is in itself real. It possesses individuality. And it possesses this in- dividuality, as we have seen, in God and for God. In its relation, namely, to the whole universe of experiences and of deeds, this Self occupies its real and unique place as such that no other can take that ' place, or can accomplish that task, or can fulfil that aim. Now the consciousness which faces the true individuality of this Self is, by our whole hypothesis, continuous with, and directly one with, the finite and fragmentary consciousness that the Self possesses of its own present life. The Self can say : "As human Self, here and -now in time, I know not consciously what my own individuality is, or what I really am. But God knows. And now God knows this not in so far as he is another than myself, i. e. another indi- vidual than the Self that I am. He knows me in so far as, in the eternal world, in my final union with him, I know myself as real. In him, namely, and as sharing in his perfect Will, my will comes con- sciously to find wherein lies precisely what satisfies my will, and so makes my life, this unique life, dis- tinct from all other lives. Here, now, in the human The Statics of Values 609 form, my life ^o imperfectly expresses for my pres- ent consciousness, my will, that I indeed intend to stand in contrast to all other individuals, and to be •unique ; but still find, in my finite dissatisfaction, that I am not here aware kotv my will wins its unique expression. But in God's will, and as united to him, my will does win this unique expression. What is, however, in the idealistic world, is somewhere known. The knowing, however, that my will wins unique expression in my life, and in my life as dis- tinct from all other individual lives, is, ipso facto, my individual and conscious knowing. Hence in God, in the eternal world, and in unity, yet in con- trast with all other individual lives, my own Self, whose consciousness is here so flickering, attains an insight into my own reality and uniqueness". The inevitable consequence is that every Self, in the eternal world, wins a consciousness of its own in- dividual meaning, by virtue of the very fact that it sees itself as this unique individual, at one with God's whole life, and fulfilling his Will through its own unique share in that Will. However mysterious our individuality is here, in our temporally present consciousness, we, in the eternal world, are aware of what our individuality is. We ourselves, and not merely other individuals, become, in God, conscious of what we are, because, in God, we become aware of how our wills are fulfilled through our union with him, and of how his Will wins its satisfaction only by virtue of our unique share in the whole. "I shall be satisfied," the finite and dissatisfied will may in- deed say, "when I awake in thy likeness". And in 610 Readings in Philosophy our union with God, we are, in the eternal world, awake. So far, however, we make a statement of the con-^ scious aspect of our union with God, — a statement that, in its reference to the temporal endurance of the Self, appears still ambiguous. What we so far assert is that, in God, every individual Self, however insignificant its temporal endurance may seem, eter- nally possesses a form of consciousness that is wholly other than this our present flickering form of mortal consciousness. And now, precisely such an assertion is indeed the beginning of a philosophical conception of Immortality. In brief, so far, we assert that indi- viduality is real, and belongs to all our life, but that individuality does not appear to us as real individ- uality in our present huinan form of consciousness. We accordingly assert that our life, as hid from us now, in the life of God, .has another form of con- sciousness than the one which we now possess; so that while we now see through a glass darkly, in God we know even as we are known. This doctrine, as we shall soon find, implies far more regarding the temporal endurance of the Self than we have yet made wholly manifest. V But now this first consideration may be supple- mented by a second. By the arbitrary selection, and isolation, of any one finite Internal Meaning, you can, as we have said, regard any temporally brief series of conscious finite ideas as a Self. And so regarded, this arbitrarily selected Self appears as implying, so far, no long continuance. It dies with The Statvs of Values 611 its own moment, or hour, or year, or age, of the world's history. We have indeed just seen that in order to be at all, however transiently, such a Self has to be an individual fact in the realm of Being, and that, a-s an individual, it is inevitably linked in God with a form of self-consciousness in which its own life and meaning and place in the universe be- come manifest to it as its own. Even such a Self, then, possesses, in the eternal world, a form of con- sciousness far transcending that of our present human type of momentary insight. In your eternal union with God you see what even your present life and purposes mean ; and they mean, even as they are, infinitely more than your human type of conscious- ness makes manifest to yourself. But there is, in- deed, another aspect of even your most transient life as a changing and apparently passmg Self. And this aspect comes to light when you ask in what way, and in what sense, any finite Self can come to a tem- poral end, can die, can cease to be. A very neglected problem of applied metaphysics here awaits our treatment. In our seventh lecture of the present series we touched upon it briefly in speaking of the selective process in nature and in conscious life. It recurs here in another form. This problem is the one of the very possibility of Death. The statement of the problem in these terms may surprise. Yet what is our whole metaphysical inquiry but a seeking to comprehend the possibility of even the most commonplace facts? That death occurs, we know. What death is, common sense can- not tell us. I propose to take up the question here in its most general form, and as a question of meta- 612 Readings in Philosophy pnysics. The physical death of a man is but a spe- cial case of the law of the universal transiency of all temporal facts. We have studied that law, in for- mer lectures, in several aspects. The most universal law of Nature we found to be that of the constant occurrence of events that, once past, are irrevocable. We found that the most general reasonior this irrev- ocableness of every temporal event is simply the individual character of that event as a real fact. What once has occurred can never occur again, simply because whatever is real is individual, is unique, and therefore, in its individuality, is in- capable of repetition elsewhere in the world than precisely where it occurs. The very reason that makes us often regard the past as dead beyond recall is then the fact, presupposed, but never experienced by us in our finite capacity, namely, the fact that the past is a realm where unique and individual occur- rences have found their place. Because all tem- poral happenings, or real events, are incapable of being twice present in the world, therefore new times must always bring new happenings ; and what has once taken place returns not. In this sense, in the temporal world, individuality and transiency are intimately linked aspects of the universe. -In dealing with the problem of time, we have therefore already dealt, in a sense, with the general problem that underlies this whole question about death. But here we indeed undertake this problem in a more concrete form. In a sense, indeed, the life of every temporal instant dies with that in- stant, yet what interests us at present is the fact of the temporal termination, not of any and every The Statvs of Values 613 instant's life, but of certain significant series of life- processes, whose continuance from moment to mo- ment, from year to year, from age to age, we in- deed often desire, or regard even as necessary, if our human world is to win for us any adequate meaning, while nevertheless, as a fact, these processes prove to be, from our human point of view, of limited duration. Thus springtime dies, youth passes away, love loses its own ; evolution, as we have just seen, goes hand in hand with decay; and above all, the lives of human individuals meet with a termination in physical death, — a termina- tion which is, from our point of view, so meaning- less and irrational that it stands as the one classic instance of the might of fate, and of the apparently hopeless bondage of our human form of existence. And now, taking these concrete instances of death in our temporal world, and viewing them as pecu- liarly impressive and pathetic examples of temporal transiency, I once more ask. How, from our idealistic point of view, is such death possible at all as a real event? Here is a finite fragment of life, — I care not what it is, so long as it shall possess, for our present human purposes, some deep internal mean- ing. It may be the life of a mother's love for her infant ; it may be the life of two lovers, dreaming of a supernatural happiness ; it may be the enthusiasm that inspires a soldier's devotion for his flag, or an artist's longing for his ideal; or finally, it may be the whole personal human life of a hero, of a states- man, or of a saint. Now the law of our human realm of experience is that any such life some day, so far as we can see, comes to an end, and is lost 40 614 Readings in Philosophy beyond human recall. The mother's love for the present infant becomes a dear memory, while the infant, perhaps, grows into an evil and pain-inspir- ing maturity. The lovers part, or perhaps forget. Fate of all sorts cuts short, sooner or later, the sol- dier's, the artist's, the hero's, the saint's activities. Now in all such cases, whether or no what we call physical death intervenes, ' the same essential prob- lem appears. This is the problem of death in a concrete, but still generalized form. Something with a meaning comes to an end before that mean- ing is worked out to its completion, or is expressed with its intended individual wholeness. The prob- lem presented by such cases is not to be answered by the purely general statement, already made, — the statement that everything temporal is transient, and that only the eternal whole passes not away. That most general statement, by virtue of our theory of the temporal order, does indeed point out that the eternal perfection of the world of the divine Will can only be expressed in a realm of temporal deeds, each one of which, as temporal, is transient, and, as an individual deed, is irrevocable. But what now is our problem is furnished by those series of events in which something individual is attempted, but is, within our ken, never finished at all. We ask about the death which does not apparently result from the mere nature of the time process, from the mere necessity that every finite and individual event should occupy its one place in the temporal realm. No, the death which here concerns us is the ending that seems to defeat all the higher types of indi- vidual striving known to us. And now, we state The Status of Values 615 this problem, as idealists, thus, How can such death as this have any place at all in Being? Our clew to the answer is, however, furnished to us by our whole theory of Being. A realist would not venture to raise our question, if once he recog- nized the fact of death as a real fact at all. For him, death would be an independently real fact ; and of no such fact could he consistently ask the reason. A mystic would indeed not leave unanswered our problem. He would reply, "Death is an illusion." But then, for the mystic, all is illusion. A critical rationalist would simply say; "It is the valid law of Being. All finite things pass away." But we, as idealists, have another task whenever we at- tribute Being to any object. For us, to be means to fulfil a purpose. If death is real at all it is real only in so far as it fulfils a purpose. But now, what purpose can be fulfilled by the ending of a life whose purpose is so far unfulfilled ? I answer at once, the purpose that can be fulfilled by the ending of such a life is necessarily a purpose that, in the eternal world, is conscioTisly known and seen as continuous with, yes, as inclusive of, the very purpose whose fulfilment the temporal death seems to cut short. This larger purpose may indeed involve, as we have long since seen, the relative inhibition and defeat of the lesser purpose. But in our idealistic world it cannot involve the mere ignoring of that lesser purpose. The thwarting of the lesser purpose is always included within the fulfilment of the larger and more integral purpose. The possibility of death depends upon the transcending of death through a life that is richer and more conscious than is the 616 Readings in Philosophy life which death cuts short, and the richer life in question is, in meaning, if not in temporal sequence, continuous with the very life that death interrupts. Or, to put the case otherwise: A conscious process, with a meaning, but with a meaning still imperfectly expressed, is cut short, and left with its purpose still disembodied. So far we have a fact, namely, the fact of death, but so characterized that its Being is stated in merely negative terms. We, as idealists, ask. What is this death? If real, it is a positive fact; it is not something merely negative. But what positive fact? For us, all facts are known facts, are facts of consciousness and ultimately of the consciousness of the Absolute. The defeated purpose is such only in so far as it is known, and • then is known as terminated. But is known, I in- sist, by whom? In terms of what individual con- scious life does even the Absolute know of the finite life that has ended? I answer, the defeated pur- pose is known by some conscious being who can say : "This was my purpose, but temporally I no longer seek its embodiment. I have abandoned it. It is no longer a- purpose of my life." The life that is ended is thus viewed by the Absolute as followed, at sonde period of time, by another life that in its meaning is continuous with the first. This new life it is which says, "No longer is that terminated purpose pursued by me." But now, in our world, where only the fulfilment of purpose has any Being whatever, the new consciousness, in and for which the old life is terminated, must say, "That ceasing of my former purpose, that ending of hiy past life, has its meaning; and this meaning is continuous The Status of Values 617 with my own larger meaning. My former Self is dead, only in so far as my new Self sees the meaning of that death." Or in other words, the new Self is really inclusive of and able to transcend the meaning of the old Self ; or, in fact, the two Selves really form stages in the development of one Individual. Thus from our point of view, even the selective process which we before studied in Nature is a process in- volving survival as well as death. Not otherwise, in our idealistic world, is death possible. I can temporally die; but I myself, as larger individual, in the eternal world, see why I die; and thus, in essence, my whole individuality is continuous in true meaning with the individuality that dies. The lovers may part, but in the eternal world, individuality that is temporally sequent to theirs, and continuous in meaning with theirs, is found as consciously knowing why they parted. Was it faithlessness ? Then it was sin ; and in the eternal world, this larger individuality is found viewing the parting as their fault, for which, as for all sin, aton- ing deeds are needed. Was it wisdom that they should part? Then, in the eternal world the sorrow of their parting is continuous with a willing bearing of this parting, as one of time's sorrows. It is so with the mother's loss of the infant, or with the hero's or artist's pursuit of his ideal. It is so too with physical death. How, and in what way, the deathless individuality sees itself as including and fulfilling the selfhood whose struggles death tertni- nates, we do not in any detail at present know. That this larger selfhood is in the end in unity with the divine Selfhood we know; but we know too that it 618 Readings in Pl^ilosophy is not as something lost in God, that the dead Self of our human life wins its unity with the divine. For our theory implies that when I die, my death is possible as a real fact only in so far as, in the eternal world, at some time after death, an indi- vidual lives who consciously says: "It was my life that there temporally terminated unfinished, its meaning not embodied in its experience. But I now, in my higher Self-expression, see why and how this was so ; and in God I attain, otherwise, my ful- filment and my peace." The Possibility of Death, as a metaphysical fact, in a world where all facts are facts of conscious- ness, and where even the worst sorrows and defeats exist only as partial expressions of a divine mean- ing, depends, then, upon the deeper fact that who- ever dies with his meanings unexpressed, lives, as individual, to see, in the eternal world, just his unique meaning finally expressed, in a life sequent to, although not necessarily temporally continuous with, the life that death terminated. I shall finally die, in time, only when I come to say of myself, "My work is consciously and absolutely accomplished." VI ■ But this brings us to our third consideration, which, in fact, has been already expressed in our former words, both in this and in foregoing lectures. An ethical task is essentially one of which I can never say, "My work is finished." Special tasks come to an end. The work of off'ering my unique service, as this Individual,- to God and to my fellows, can never be finished in any time, however great. The Status of Values 619 For always, at any future momeht, if I know my union with God, I shall know, whatever my form of consciousness, that there are my fellows beyond me, different from myself, and yet linked by the ties of the divine unity to my life and my destiny. I shall know then that I have not yet accomplished all of the relations to them which my ethical tasks involve. To be an ethical individual is to live a life with one goal, but contrasted with all other lives. Every deed emphasizes the contrast, and so gives op- portunity for new deeds. A consciously last moral task is a contradiction in terms. For whenever I act, I create a new situation in the world's life, a situation that never before was, and that never can recur. It is of the essence of the moral law to demand, however, that whenever a new deed of service is possible, I should undertake to do it. But a new deed is possible whenever my world is in a new situation. My moral tasks spring afresh into life whenever I seek to terminate it. To serve God is to create new opportunities for service. My human form of consciousness is indeed doubtless a transient incident of my immortal life. Not thus haltingly, not thus blindly, not thus darkly and igno- rantly, shall I always labor. But the service of the eternal is an essentially endless service. There can be no last moral deed. And thus, in three ways, our union with God im- plies an immortal and individual life. For first, in God, we are real individuals, and really conscious Selves, — a fact which neither human thought nor human experience, nor yet any aspect of our present form of consciousness, can make present and obvious 620 Readings in Philosophy to our consciousness, as now ft is. But since this very fact of our eternal and individual Selfhood is real as a conscious fact, in God, we too, in him, are conscious of our individuality in a form higher than that now accessible to us. And secondly, the death of an individual is a possible fad, in an idealistic world, only in case such death occurs as an incident in the life of a larger individual, whose existence as this Self and no other, in its individual contrast with the rest of the world, is continuous in meaning with the individuality that death cuts short. No Self, then, can end until itself consciously declares, "My work is done, here I cease." But, thirdly, no ethical Self, in its union with God, can ever view its task as accomplished, or its work as done, or its individ- uality as ceasing to seek, in God, a temporal future. In Eternity all is done, and we too rest from our labors. In Time there is no end to the individual ethical task. CHAPTER XXVII THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY A. Hebrew Prophetic Interpretation of His- tory. Typical passages from among the many in the Old Testament are the following: 'Are^ ye not as "the Cushites to me, Israel?' is the oracle of Jehovah. 'Did I not bring up Israel out of the land of Egypt, And the Philistines from Caphtor, and Aram from Kir? Behold the eyes of the Lord Jehovah are upon the sinful kingdom, And I will destroy it from the face of the earth.' Who^ hath measured in the hollow of his hand the waters. And ruled off the heavens with a span, Or enclosed the dust of the earth in a measure, Or weighed the mountains in scales. And the hills in a balance? ' Kent, C. F. : The Sermons, Epistles and Apocalypses of Israel's Prophets; page 81; Amos IX, 7, 8; copyright, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1910; reprinted by permission of the publishers. ' Ihid., pp. 337-339; Isaiah XL: 12-31; XLI: 6, 7. (621) 622 Readings in Philosophy Who hath determined the spirit of Jehovah, And as his counsellor advised him? With whom hath he consulted for enlighten- ment, And to be instructed in the right, And to be shown the way of discernment? Lo the nations ! as a drop from a bucket. And as dust on a balance are they reckoned. Lo the isles! as a mote he uplifteth. And Lebanon is not eilough for fuel, And its wild beasts for a burnt offering. All the nations are as nothing before him, They are reckoned by him as void and noth- ingness. To whom then will ye liken God, And what likeness place beside him? An image! a craftsman cast it. And a smelter overlays it with gold. 41:6 Each one helps the other. And says to his fellow. Be courageous ! 7 So the craftsman encourages the smelter, The smoother with the hammer him who smites the anvil. Saying of the plating. It is good; And he fastens it securely with nails. 40 :20 He who is too poor to do this Chooses a tree that is not decayed. Seeks for himself a skilled craftsman, To set up an image that shall not totter. The Philosophy of History 623 Do ye not know? Do ye not hear? Hath it not been told you from the beginning ? Have ye not been aware from the founding of the earth? It is he who is enthroned above the vault of the earth, And its inhabitants are as locusts; Who stretcheth out the heavens as a thin veil, And spreadeth them out like a habitable tent. It is he who bringeth princes to naught, The rulers of the earth he maketh as waste. Scarcely have they been planted, scarcely have they been sown. Scarcely hath the stock taken root in the earth. But he bloweth upon them and they wither. And a whirlwind carries them away like stubble. To whom then will ye liken me. That I should equal him? saith the Holy One. Lift up your eyes on high and see: Who hath created these? He who bringeth forth their host by number. And calleth each by his name; Of the many mighty and strong. Not one is missing. Why sayest thou, Jacob, and speakest, Israel : My way is hid from Jehovah And my right is unnoticed by my God? 624 Readings in Philosophy Hast thou not known ? Hast thou not heard ? An everlasting God is Jehovah. The creator of the ends of the earth. He fainteth not, neither is he weary, His wisdom is unfathomable, He giveth vigor to the fainting, And upon the powerless he lavisheth strength. Young men may faint and grow weary. And the strongest youths may stumble. But they who trust in Jehovah renew their vigor, They mount on pinions like eagles, They run but are never weary. They walk but never faint. B. Mediaeval Philosophy of History. Saint Augustine's view of the place of human his- tory in the universal plan of God is suggested in the following : Of^ the two contrary courses taken by the human race from the beginning. Of the place and felicity of the local Paradise, to- gether with man's life and fall therein, there are many opinions, many assertions, and many books, as several men thought, spoke and wrote. What we held hereof, or could gather out of Holy Scriptures, correspondent unto their truth and authority, we related in some of the foregoing books: if they be ' Augustine, City of God, Book Xlll, 1 ; translated by John Healey; Temple edition; reprinted by permission of J. M. Dent & Co. The Philosophy of History 625 farther looked into, they will give birth to more questions, and longer disputations than we now have room for : our time is not so large as to permit us to argue scrupulously upon every question that may be asked by busy heads that are more curious of inquiry than capable of understanding. I think we have sufficiently discussed the doubts concerning the beginning of the world, the soul, and mankind: which last is divided into two sorts: such as live according to- man, and such as live according to God. These, we mystically call, "two cities" or societies, the one predestined to reign eternally with God : the other condemned to perpetual torment with the devil. This is their end: of which hereafter. Now seeing we have said sufficient concerning their original, both in the angels whose number we know not, and in the two first parents of mankind : I think it fit to pass on to their career, from man's first off- spring until he cease to beget any more. Between which two points all the time included, wherein the livers succeed the diers, is the career of these two "cities." Cain therefore was the first begotten of those two that were mankind's parents: and he be- longs to the city of man : Abel was the later, and he belongs to the city of God. For as we see that in that one man (as the apostle says) that which is spiritual was not first, but that which is natural first, and then the spiritual (whereupon all that comes from Adam's corrupted nature must needs be evil and carnal at first,, and then if he be regenerate by Christ, becomes good and spiritual afterward) : so in the first propagation of man, and course 626 Readings in Philosophy of the "two cities" of which we dispute, the car- nal citizen was born first, and the pilgrim on earth, or| heavenly citizen, afterwards, being by grace pre- destinated, and by grace elected, by grace a pilgrim upon earth, and by grace a citizen in heaven. For as for his birth, it was out of the same corrupted n^ass that was condemned from the beginning: but God like a potter (for this simile the apostle him- self uses) out of the same lump, made "one vessel to honour and another to reproach." The vessel of reproach was made first, and the vessel of honour afterwards. For in that one man, as I said, first was reprobation, whence we must needs begin (and wherein we need not, remain), and afterwards, goodness, to which we come by profiting, and com- ing thither, and therein making our abode. Where- upon it follows that no one can be good that has rot first been evil, though all that be evil become not good : but the sooner a man betters himself the quicker does this name follow him, abolishing the memory of the other. Therefore it is recorded of Cain that he built a city, but Abel was a pilgrim, and built none. For the city of the saints is above, though it have citizens here upon earth, wherein it lives as a pilgrim until the time of the kingdom come, and thep it gathers all the citizens together in the resurrection of the body and gives them a kingdom to reign in with their King, for ever and ever. Of^ the origin of two states. Thus the two cities are described to be seated: the one in worldly possession, the other in heavenly '■ Ibid., ch. 6, The Philosophy of History 627 hope, both coming out at the common gate of mor- tality, which was opened in Adam, out of whose condemned race, as out of a putrefied lump, God elected some vessels of mercy and some of wrath: giving due pains unto the one, and undue grace unto the other, that the citizens of God upon earth may take this lesson from those vessels of wrath, never to rely on their own election but hope to call upon the name of the Lord : because the natural will which God made (but yet here the Unchangeable made it not changeless) may both decline from Him that is good, and from all good, to do evil, and that by freedom of will ; and from evil also to do good, but that not without God's assistance. The^ grounds of the concord and discord between the cities of heaven and earth. But they that live not according to faith, angle for all their peace in the sea of temporal profits.: whereas the righteous live in full expectation of the glories to come, usii\g the occurrences of this world, but as pilgrims, not to abandon their course towards God for mortal respects, but thereby to assist the infirmity of the corruptible flesh, and make it more able to encounter with toil and trouble. Wherefore the necessaries of this life are common, both to the faithful and the infidel, and to both their families : but the ends of their two usages thereof are far different. The faithless, "worldly city" aims at earthly peace, and settles the self therein, only to have an uniformity of the citizens' wills in matters only per- 'Ibid., Book XV, J 7. 628 Readings in Philosophy taining to mortality. And the "Heavenly City", or rather that part thereof, which is as yet a pil- grim on earth and lives by faith, uses this peace also : as it should, it leaves this mortal life, wherein such a peace is requisite, and therefore lives (while it is here on earth) as if it were in captivity, and having received the promise of redemption, and divers spiritual gifts as seals thereof, it willingly obeys such laws of the "temporal city" as order the things pertaining to the sustenance of this mortal life, to the end that both the cities might observe a peace in such things as are pertinent hereunto. But because that the "earthly city" has some mem- bers whom the Holy Scriptures utterly disallow, and who standing either too well affected to the devils, or being deluded by them, believed that each thing had a peculiar deity over it, and belonged to the charge of a several god : as the body to one, the soul to an- other, and in the body itself the head to one, the neck to another, and so of every member: as like- wise of the soul, one had the wit;, another the learn- ing, a third the wrath, a fourth the desire: as also ■in other necessaries or accidents belonging to man's life, the cattle, the corn, the wine, the oil, the woods, the monies, the navigation, the wars, the marriages, the generations, each being a several charge unto a particular power, whereas the citizens of the "heavenly State" acknowledged but one only God, to whom that worship, which is called Xarpda was peculiarly and solely due; hence came it that the "two hierarchies"' could not be combined in one reli- gion, but must needs dissent herein, so 'ttiat the good part was fain to bear the pride and persecution The Philosophy of History 629 of the bad, had not their own multitude sometimes, and the providence of God continually stood for their protection. This "celestial society" while it is here on earth, increases itself out of all languages, never respect- ing the temporal laws that are made against so good and religious a practice: yet not breaking, but ob- serving their diversity in divers nations, all which do tend unto the preservation of earthly peace, if they oppose not the adoration of one only God. So that you see, the "Heavenly City" observes and re- spects this temporal peace here on earth, and the - coherence of men's wills in honest morality, as far as it may with a safe conscience; yea, and so far desires it, making use of it for the attainment of the peace eternal: which is so truly worthy of that name, as that the orderly and uniform combination of men in the fruition of God, and of one another in God, is to be accounted the reasonable creature's only peace, which being once attained, mortality is banished, and life then is the true life indeed, nor is the carnal body any more an encumbrance to the soul, by corruptibility, but is now become spiritual perfected and entirely subject unto the sovereignty of the will. This peace is that unto which the pilgrim in faith refers the other which he has here in his pil- grimage, and then lives he according to faith, when all that he does for the obtaining hereof is by him- self referred unto God, and his neighbor withal, be- cause being a citizen, he must not be all for himself, but sociable in his life and actions. 41 630 Readings in Philosophy Why* the punishment of the condemned is here disputed of before the happiness of the saints. Seeing that by the assistance of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, "the Judge of the quick and the dead," we have brought both the cities (the one whereof is God's and the other the devil's), unto their intended consummation, we are now to proceed (by the, help of God) in this book, with the declara- tion of the punishment due unto the devil and all his confederacy. And this I choose to do before I handle the glories of the blessed, because both these and the wicked are to undergo their sentences in body and soul, and it may seem more incredible for an earthly body to endure undissolved in eternal pains, than without all pain, in everlasting happiness. So that when I have shown the possibility of the first, it may be a great motive unto the confirmation of the latter. Nor does this method want a precedent from the Scriptures themselves, which sometimes relate the beatitudes of the saints foremost,, as here, "They that have done good, unto the resurrection of life, but they that have done evil, unto the resur- rection of condemnation," and sometimes afterward, as here, "The Son of Man shall send forth his angels, and they shall gather out of His kingdom all things that offend, and them which do iniquity, and shall cast them into a furnace of fire ; there shall be wail- ing and gnashing of teeth : then shall the just shine like the sun, in the kingdom, of the Father," and again, "And these shall go into everlasting pain; but the righteous into life eternal." Besides, he 'Ibid., Book XVII, 1. The Philosophy of History 631 that will look into the prophets shall find this order often observed: it were too much for me to recite all : my reason why I observe it here, I have set down already. Whether^^ an earthly body may possibly be incor- ruptible by fire. What then shall I say unto the unbelievers, to prove that a body carnal and living, may endure undissolved both against death and the force of eternal fire? They will not allow us to ascribe this unto the power of God, but urge us to produce it to them by some example. If we shall answer them that there are some creatures that are indeed cor- ruptible, because mortal, and yet do live untouched in the midst of the fire : and likewise, that there are la kind of worms that live without being hurt in the fervent springs of the hot baths, whose heat some- times is such ^ as none can endure; and yet those worms do so love to live in it, that they cannot live without it; this, either they will not believe unless they see it, or if they do see it, or hear it affirmed by sufficient authority, then they cavil at it as an in- sufficient proof for the proposed question; for that these creatures are not eternal howsoever, and liv- ing thus in this heat, nature has made it the means of their growth and nutriment, not of their torment. As though it were not more incredible that fire should nourish anything rather than not consume it. It is strange for anything to be tormented by the fire, and yet to live ; but it is stranger to live in the ■ Ibid., ch. 2. 632 Readings in Philosophy fire and not to be tormented. If then this latter be credible, why is not the first so also ? C. Reason in History. Hegel's interpretation of the movement of his- tory in terms of his own philosophy has been his- torically important both as a part of absolute ideal- istic philosophy and for the contribution it made to the interest in the study of history : The^ inquiry into the essential destiny of Reason — as far as it is considered in reference to the World — is identical with the question, what is the ultimate design of the world? And the expression implies that that design is destined to be realized.- Two points of consideration suggest themselves: first, the import of this design — its abstract defini- tion ; and secondly, its realization. It must be observed at the outset, that the phenomenon we investigate — Universal History — belongs to the realm of Spirit. The term "World", includes both physical and psychical Nature. Physi- cal Nature also plays its part in the World's History, and attention will have to be paid to the fundamental natural relations thus involved. But Spirit, and the course of its development, is our substantial object. Our task does not require us to contemplate Nature as a Rational System in itself — though in its own proper domain it proves itself such — but simply in ' Hegel, The Philosophy of History, translated by J. Slbree • from the Introduction, pp. 17-44; edition of 1900; used by permission of J. B. Lippincott, and Wm. Blackwood and Sons. The Philosophy of History 633 its relations to Spirit. On the stage on which we are observing it — Universal History — Spirit displays itself in its most concrete reality. Notwithstanding this (or rather for the very purpose of comprehend- ing the general principles which this, its form of concrete reality, embodies) we must premise some abstract characteristics of the nature of Spirit. Such an explanation, however, cannot be given here under any other form than that of bare assertion. The present is not the occasion for unfolding the idea of Spirit speculatively; for whatever has a place in an Introduction, must, as already observed, be taken as simply historical; something assumed as having been explained and proved elsewhere; or whose demonstration awaits the sequel of the Science of History itself. We have therefore to mention here: (1) The abstract characteristics of the nature of Spirit. (2) What means Spirit uses in order to realize its Idea. (3) Lastly, we must consider the shape which the perfect embodiment of Spirit assumes — the State. (1) The nature of Spirit may be understood by a glance at its direct opposite — Matter. As the essence of Matter is Gravity, so, on the other hand, we may affirm that the substance, the essence of Spirit is Freedom. All will readily assent to the doctrine that Spirit, among other properties, is also endowed with Freedom ; but philosophy teaches that all the qualities of Spirit exist only through Free- 634 Readings in Philosophy dom ; that all are but means for attaining freedom ; that all seek and produce this and this alone. It is a result of speculative Philosophy, that Freedom is the sole truth of Spirit. Matter possesses gravity in virtue of its tendency toward a central point. It is essentially composite ; consisting -of parts that ex- clude each other. It seeks its Unity ; and therefore exhibits itself as self-destructive, as verging toward its opposite [an indivisible point]. If it could at- tain this, it would be Matter no longer, it would have perished. It strives after the realization of its Idea; for in Unity it exists ideally. Spirit, on the contrary, may be defined as that which has its center in itself. It has not a unity outside itself, but has already found it ; it exists in and with itself. Matter has its essence out of itself; Spirit is self-contained existence. Now this is Freedom, exactly. For if I am dependent, my being is referred to something else which I am not; I cannot exist independently of something external. I am free, on the contrary, when my existence depends upon myself. This self-con- tained existence of Spirit is none other than self -con- sciousness — consciousness of one's own being. Two things must be distinguished in consciousness ; first, the fact that I know; secondly, what I know. In self consciousness these are merged in one ; for Spirit knows itself. It involves an appreciation of its own nature, as also an energy enabling it to realize it- self; to make itself actiMlly that which it is poten- tially. According to this abstract definition it may be said of Universal History, that it is the exhibi- tion of Spirit in the process of working out the knowledge of that which it is potentially. And as The Philosophy of Histoy^y 635 the germ bears in itself the whole nature of the tree, and the taste and form of its fruits, so do the first traces of Spirit virtually contain the whole of that History. The Orientals have not attained the knowl- edge that Spirit — Man as such — is free; and be- cause they do not know this, they are not free. They only know that one is free. But on this very ac- count, the freedom of that one is only caprice; ferocity — ^brutal recklessness of passion, or a mild- ness and tameness of the desires, which is itself only an accident of Nature — mere caprice like the former. — That one is therefore only a despot ; not a free man. The consciousness of Freedom first arose among the Greeks, and therefore they were free ; but they, and the Romans likewise, knew only that some are free — not man as such. Even Plato and Aristotle did not know this. The Greeks, there- fore, had slaves ; and their whole life and the mainte- nance of their splendid liberty, was implicated with the institution of slavery: a fact, moreover, which made that liberty on the one hand only an acci- dental, transient and limited growth; on the other hand, constituted it a rigorous thraldom of our com- mon nature — of the Human. The German nations, under the influence of Christianity, were the first to attain the consciousness, that man, as man, is free: that it is the freedom of Spirit which constitutes its essence. This consciousness arose first in religion, the inmost region of Spirit; but to introduce the principle into the various relations of the actual world, involves a more extensive problem than its simple implantation; a problem whose solution and application require a severe and lengthened process 636 Readings in Philosophy of culture. In proof of this, we may note that slavery did not cease immediately on the reception of Christianity. Still less did liberty predominate in States; or Governments and Constitutions adopt a rational organization, or recognize freedom as their basis. That application of the principle to political relations; the thorough molding and inter- penetration of the constitution of society by it, is a process identical with history itself. I have already directed attention to the distinction here involved, between a principle as such, and its application; i. e., its introduction and carrying out in the actual phenomena of Spirit and Life. This is a point of fundamental importance in our science, and one which must be constantly respected as essential. And in the same way as this distinction has at- tracted attention in view of the Christian principle of self-consciousness — Freedom ; it also shows it- self as an essential one, in view of the principle of Freedom generally. The History of the world is none other than the progress of the consciousness of Freedom; a progress whose development according to the necessity of its nature it is our business to investigate. The general statement given above, of the various grades in the consciousness of Freedom — and which we applied in the first instance to the fact that the Eastern nations knew only that one is free; the Greek and the Roman world only that some are free ; while we know that all men absolutely (man as man) are free — supplies us with the natural divi- sion of Universal History, and suggests the mode of its discussion. This is remarked, however, only in- The Philosophy of Histpnj 637 cidentally and anticipatively ; some other ideas must be first explained. The destiny of the spiritual World, and — since this is the substantial World, while the physical remains subordinate to it, or, in the language of speculation, has no truth as against the spiritual — the final cause of the World at large, we allege to be the consciousness of its own freedom on the part of Spirit, and ipso facto, the reality of that freedom. But that this term "Freedom", with- out further qualification, is an indefinite, and incal- culable ambiguous term ; and that while that which it represents is the ne plvs ultra of attainment, it is liable to an infinity of misundersandings, confu- sions and errors, and to become the occasion for all imaginable excesses — has never been more clearly known and felt than in modem times. Yet, for the present, we must content ourselves with the term itself without further definition. Attention was also directed to the importance of the infinite differ- ence between a principle in the abstract, and its realization in the concrete. In the process before us, the essential nature of freedom — which involves in it absolute necessity — is to be displayed as coming to a consciousness of itself (for it is in its very nature self-consciousness) and thereby realizing its existence. Itself is its own object of attainment, and the sole aim of Spirit. This result it is, at which the process of the World's History has been continually aiming ; and to which the sacrifices that have ever and anon been laid on the vast altar of the earth, through the long lapse of ages, have been offered. This is the only aim that s,^s itself irealized and fulfilled ; the only pole of rep^e amid the cease~ ■638 Readings in Philosophy less change of events and conditions, and the sole efficient principle that pervades them. This final aim is God's purpose with the world ; but God is the Absolutely perfect Being, and can, therefore, will nothing other than himself — his own Will. The Nature of His Will — that is, His Nature itself — is what we here call the Idea of Freedom ; translat- ing the language of Religion into that of Thought. The question, then, which we may next put, is: What means does this principle of Freedom use for its realization ? This is the second point we have to consider. (2) The question of the means by which Free- dom develops itself to a World, conducts us to the phenomenon of History itself. Although Freedom is, primarily, an undeveloped idea, the means it uses are external and phenomenal ; presenting themselves in History to our sensuous vision. The first glance at History convinces us that the actions of men proceed from their needs, their passions, their char- acters and talents ; and impresses us with the belief that such needs, passions and interests are the sole springs of action — the efficient agents in this scene of activity. Among these may, perhaps, be found aims of a liberal or universal kind — benevolence it may be or noble patriotism; but such virtues and general views are but insignificant as compared with the World and its doings. We may perhaps see the Ideal of Reason actualized in those who adopt such aims, and within the sphere of their influence; but they bear only a trifling proportion to the mass of the human race ; and the extent of that influence is limited accordingly. Passions, private aims, and The Philosophy of History 639 the satisfaction of selfish desires, are, on the other hand, most effective springs of action. Their power lies in the fact that they respect none of the limita- tions which justice and morality would impose on them ; and that these natural impulses have a more direct influence over man than the artificial and tedious discipline that tends to order and self- restraint, law and morality. When we look at this display of passions, and the consequences of their violence; the Unreason which is associated not only with them, but even (rather we might say espe- cially) with good designs and righteous aims; when we see the evil, the vice, the ruin that has befallen the most flourishing kingdoms which the mind of man ever created; we can scarce avoid being filled with sorrow at this universal taint of corruption; and, since this decay is not the work of mere Nature, but of the Human Will — a moral imbitterment — a revolt of the Good Spirit (if it have a place within us) may well be the result of our reflections. With- out rhetorical exaggeration, a simply truthful com- bination of the miseries that have overwhelmed the noblest of nations and polities, and the finest ex- emplars of private virtue — forms a picture of most fearful aspect, and excites emotions of the pro- foundest and most hopeless sadness, counterbalanced by no consolatory result. We endure in beholding it a mental torture, allowing no defence or escape but the consideration that what has happened could not be otherwise; that it is a fatality which no in- tervention could alter. And at last we draw back from the intolerable disgust with which these sor- rowful reflections threaten us into the more agree- 640 Readings in Philosophy able environment of our individual life — the Pres- ent formed by our private aims and interests. In short we retreat into the selfishness that stands on the quiet shore, and thence enjoys in safety the dis- tant spectacle of "wrecks confusedly hurled". But even regarding History as the slaughter-bench at which the happiness of peoples, the wisdom of States, and the virtue of individuals have been vic- timized : — the question involuntarily arises — to what principle, to what final aim these enormous sacrifices have been offered. From this point the investigation usually proceeds to that which we have made the general commencement of our inquiry. Starting from this we pointed out those phenomena which made up a picture so suggestive of gloomy emotions and thoughtful reflections — as the very field which we, for our part, regard as exhibiting only the means for realizing what we assert to be the essential destiny — the absolute aim — or, which comes to the same thing — the true result of the World's History. We have all along purposely eschewed "moral reflections" as a method of rising from the scene of historical specialties to the general principles which they embody. Besides, it is not the interest of such sentimentalities really to rise above those depressing emotions ; and to solve the enigmas of Providence which the considerations that oc- casioned them present. It is essential to their character to find a gloomy satisfaction in the empty and fruitless sublimities of that negative result. We return then to the point of view which we have adopted; observing that the successive steps of the analysis to which it will lead us, will also evolve the The Philosophy of History 641 conditions requisite for answering the inquiries sug- gested by the panorama of sin and suffering that history unfolds. The first remark we have to make, and which — though already presented more than once — cannot be too often repeated when the occasion seems to call for it — is that what we call principle, aim, destiny, or the nature and idea of Spirit, is some- thing merely general and abstract. Principle — Plan of Existence — Law — is a hidden, undeveloped essence, wtiich as such — - however true in itself — is not completely real. Aims, principles, etc., have a place in our thoughts, in our subjective design only; but not yet in the sphere of reality. That which exists for itself only, is a possibility, a poten- tiality; but has not yet emerged into Existence. A second element must be introduced in order to pro- duce actuality — viz., actuation, realization; and whose motive power is the Will — the activity of man in the widest sense. It is only by this activity that that Idea as well as abstract characteristics generally, are realized, actualized ; for of themselves they are powerless. The motive power that puts them in operation, and gives them determinate existence, is the need, instinct, inclination, and pas- sion of man. That some conception of mine should be developed into act and existence is my earnest desire : I wish to assert my personality in connection with it: I wish to be satisfied by its execution. If I am to exert myself for any object, it must in some way or other be my object. In the accomplishment of such or such designs I must at the same time find 642 Readings in Philosophy my satisfaction; although the purpose for which I exert myself includes a complication of results, many of which have no interest for me. This is the abso- lute right of personal existence — ; to find itself satis- fied in its activity and labor. If men are to interest themselves for anything, they must (so to speak) have part of their existence involved in it ; find their individuality gratified by its attainment. Here a mistake must be avoided. We intend blame, and justly impute it as a fault, when we say of an individual, that he is "interested" (in taking part in such or such transactions), that is, seeks only his private advantage. In reprehending this we find fault with him for furthering his personal aims without any regard to a more compre- hensive design; of which he takes advantage to promote his own interest, or which he even sacri- fices with this view. But he who is active in pro- moting an object, is not simply "interested", but interested in that object itself. Language faith- fully expresses this distinction. — Nothing therefore happens, nothing is accomplished, unless the indi- viduals concerned seek their own satisfaction in the issue. They are particular units of society ; 'i. e., they have special needs, instincts, and interests gen- erally, peculiar to themselves. Among these needs are not only such as we usually call necessities — the stimuli of individual desire and volition — but also those connected with individual views and con- victions ; or — to use a term expressing less decision — leanings of opinion; supposing the impulses of reflection, understanding, and reason, to have been awakened. In these cases people demand, if they The Philosophy of History 643 are to exert themselves in any direction, that the object should commend itself to them ; that in point of opinion — whether as to its goodness, justice, ad- vantage, profit — they should be able to "enter into it." This is a consideration of especial importance in our age, when people are less than formerly in- fluenced by reliance on others.^nd by authority; -when, on the contrary, they devote their activities to a cause on the ground of their own understanding, their independent conviction and opinion. We assert then that nothing has been accomplished without interest on the part of the actors; and — if interest be called passion, inasmuch as the whole individuality, to the neglect of all other actual or possible interests and claims, is devoted to an object with every fibre of volition, concentrating all its desires and powers upon it — we may affirm abso- lutely that nothing great in the World has been ac- complished without passion. Two elements, there- fore, enter into the object of our investigation; the first the Idea, the second the complex of human pas- sions; the one the warp, the other the woof of tiie vast arras-web of Universal History. The concrete mean and union of the two is Liberty, under the conditions of morality in a State. We have spoken of the Idea of Freedom as the nature of Spirit, and the absolute goal of History. Passion is regarded as a thing of sinister aspect, as more or less immoral. Man is required to have no passions. Passion, it is true, is not quite the suitable word for what I wish to express. I mean here nothing more than human activity as resulting from private interests — special, or if you will, self-seeking designs — with this qua!- 644 Readings in Philosophy ification, that the whole energy of will and character is devoted to their attainment; that other interests (which would in themselves constitute attractive aims), or rather all things else, are sacrificed to them. The object in question is so bound up with the man's will, that it entirely and alone determines the ''hue of resolution", and is inseparable from it. It has become the very essence of his volition. For a person is a specific existence; not man in general (a term to which no real existence corresponds) , but a particular human being. The term "character" likewise expresses this idiosyncrasy of Will and In- telligence. But Character comprehends all peculiar- ities whatever; the way in which a person conducts himself in private relations, etc., and is not limited to his idiosyncrasy in its practical and active phase. I shall, therefore, use the term "passion"; under- standing thereby the particular bent of character, as far aa the peculiarities of volition are not limited to private interest, but supply the impelling and actu- ating force for accomplishing deeds shared in by the community at large. Passion is in the first instance the subjective, and therefore the formal side of energy, will, and activity — leaving the object or aim still undetermined. And there is a similar relation of formality to reality in merely individual convic- tions, individual views, individual conscience. It is always a question of essential importance, what is the purport of my conviction, what is the object of my passion, in deciding whether the one or the other is of a true and substantial nature. Conversely, if it is so, it will inevitably attain actual existence — be realized. The Philosophy of History 645 From this comment on the second essential element in the historical embodiment of an aim, we infer — glancing at the institution of the State in passing — that a State is then well constituted and internally powerful, when the private interest of its citizens is one with the common interest of the State ; when the one finds its gratification and realization in the other — a proposition in itself very important. But in a State many institutions must be adopted, much polit- ical machinery invented, accompanied by appro- priate political arrangements — necessitating long struggles of the understanding before what is really appropriate can be discovered — involving, more- over, contentions with private interest and passions, and a tedious discipline of these latter, in order to bring about the desired harmony. The epoch, when a State attains this harmonious condition, marks the period of its bloom, its virtue, its vigor, and its pros- perity. But the history of mankind does not begin with a consciovs aim of any kind, as it is the case with the -- particular circles into which men form themselves of set purpose. The mere social instinct implies conscious purpose of security for life and property; and when society has been constituted, this purpose becomes more comprehensive. The His- tory of the World begins with general aim — the realization of the Idea of Spirit — only in an implicit form that is, as Nature ; a hidden, most profoundly hidden, unconscious instinct; and the whole process of History (as already observed) is directed to ren- dering this unconscious impulse a conscious one. Thus appearing in the form of merely natural exist- ence, natural will — that which has been called the 42 646 Readings in Philosophy subjective side — physical craving, instinct, passion, private interest, as also opinion and subjective con- ception — spontaneously present themseLves at the very commencement. This vast congeries of voli- tions, interests and activities constitute the instru- ments and means of the World-Spirit for attaining its object; bringing it to consciousness, and re it. And this aim is none other than finding coming to itself — and contemplating itself in con- crete actuality. But that those manifestation &^ f vitality on the part of individuals and peoples^^ which they seek and satisfy tj^eir own purposes, are, at the same time, the means and instruments of a higher and broader purpose of which they know nothing — which they realize unconsciously — might be made a matter of question ; rather has been ques- tioned, and in every variety of form negatived, de- cried and contemned as a mere dreaming and "Phi- losophy". But on this point I announced my view at the very outset, and asserted our hypothesis — which, however, will appear in the sequel, in the form of a legitimate inference — and our belief, that Reason governs the world, and has consequently governed its history. In relation to this^ independently uni- versal and substantial existence — all else is subor- dinate, subservient to it, and the means for its devel- opment. — The Union of Universal Abstract Exist- ence generally with the Individual — the Subjective — that this alone is Truth, belongs to the department of speculation, and is treated in this general form in Logic. — But in the process of the World's History itself — as still incomplete — the abstract final aim of history is not yet made the distinct object of de- The Philosophy of History 647 sire and interest. While these limited sentiments are still unconscious of the purpose they are fulfill- ing, the universal principle is implicit in them, and is realizing itself through them. The question also assumes the form of the Union of Freedom and Necessity; the latent abstract process of Spirit being regarded as Necessity, while that which exhibits itself in the conscious will of men, as their interest, belongs to the domain of Freedom. As the meta- physical connection (z. e. the connection in the Idea) of these forms of thought belongs to Logic, it would be out of place to analyze it here. The chief and cardinal points only shall be mentioned. Philosophy shows that the Idea advances to an infinite antithesis ; that, viz., between the Idea in its free, universal form — in which it exists for itself - — and the contrasted form of abstract introversion, re- flection on itself, which is formal existence — for self, personality, formal freedom, such as belongs to Spirit only. The universal Idea exists thus as the substantial totality of things on the one side, and as the abstract essence of free volition on the other side. This reflection of the mind on itself is individual self-consciousness — the polar opposite of the Idea in its general form, and therefore existing in absolute Limitation. This polar opposite is consequently lim- itation, particularization, for the universal absolute being; it is the side of its definite existence; the sphere of its formal reality, the sphere of the rever- ence paid to God. — To comprehend the absolute con- nection of the antithesis, is the profound task of metaphysics. This Limitation originates all forms of particularity of whatever kind. The formal voli- 648 Readings in Philosophy tion [of which we have spoken] wills itself; desires to make its own personality valid in all that it pur- poses and does : even the pious individual wishes to be saved and happy. This pole of the antithesis, existing for itself is — in contrast with the Absolute Universal Being — a special separate existence, tak- ing congnizance of speciality only, and willing that alone. In short, it plays its part in the region of mere phenomena. This is the sphere of particular pur- poses, in effecting which individuals exert them- selves on behalf of their individuality — give it full play and objective realization. This is also the sphere of happiness and its opposite. He is happy who finds his condition suited to his special charac- ter, will, fancy, and so enjoys himself in that con- dition. The History of the World is not the theatre of happiness. Periods of happiness are blank pages in it, for they are periods of harmony — periods when the antithesis is in abeyance. Reflection on Self — the Freedom above described — is abstractly defined as the formal element of the activity of the absolute Idea. The realizing activity of which we have spoken is the middle term of the Syllogism, one of whose extremes is the Universal essence, the Idea, which reposes in the penetralia of Spirit; and the other, the complex of external things — objective matter. That activity is the medium by which the universal latent principle is translated into the domain of objectivity. I will endeavor to make what has been said more vivid and clear by examples. The building of a house is, in the first instance, a subjective aim and design. On the other hand we The Philosophy of History 649 haye, as means, the several substances required for the work — Iron, Wood, Stones. The elements are made use of in working up this material : fire to melt the iron, wind to blow the fire, water to set wheels in motion, in order to cut the wood, etc. The result is, that the wind, which has helped to build the house, is shut out by the house ; so also are the violence of rains and floods, and the destructive powers of fire, so far as the. house is made fireproof. The stones and beams obey the law of gravity — press down- ward — and so high walls are carried up. Thus the elements are made use of in accordance with their nature, and yet to cooperate for a product, by which their operation is limited. Thus the passions of men are gratified ; they develop themselves and their aims in accordance with their natural tendencies, and build up the edifice of human society ; thus fortifying a position for Right and Order against themselves. The connection of events above indicated involves also the fact, that in history an additional result is commonly produced by human actions beyond that which they aim at and obtain — that which' they immediately recognize and desire. They gratify their own interest; but something further is thereby ac- complished, latent in the actions in question, though not present to their consciousness, and not included in their design. An analogous example is offered in the case of a man who, from a feeling of revenge — perhaps not an unjust one, but produced by injury on the other's part — bums that other man's house. A connection is immediately established between the deed itself and a train of circumstances not directly included in it, taken abstractedly. In itself it con- 650 Readings in Philosophy sisits in merely presenting a small flame to a sm^ll portion of a beam. Events not involved in that sim- ple act follow of themselves. The part of the beam which was set fire to is connected with its remote portions; the beam itself is united with the wood- work of the house generally, and this with other houses ; so that a wide conflagration ensues, which destroys the goods and chattels of many other per- sons besides his against whom the act of revenge was first directed ; perhaps even costs not a few men their lives. This lay neither in the deed abstract- edly, nor in the design of the man who committed it. But the action has a further general bearing. In the design of the doer it was only revenge executed against an individual in the destruction of his prop- erty, but it is moreover a crime, and that involves punishment also. This may not have been present to the mind of the perpetrator, still less in his inten- tion ; but his deed itself, the general principles it calls into play, its substantial content entails it. By this example- 1 wish only to impress on you the consider- ation that in a simple act, something further may be implicated than lies in the intention and conscious- ness of the agent. The example before us involves, however, this additional consideration, that the sub- stance of the act, consequently we may say the act itself, recoils upon the perpetrator — reacts upon him with destructive tendency. This union of the two extremes — the embodiment of a general idea in the form of direct reality, and the elevation of a speciality into connection with universal truth — is brought to pass, at first sight, under the conditions of an utter diversity of nature between the two, and The Philosophy of History ■ 651 an indifference of the one extreme toward the other. The aims which the agents set before them are lim- ited and special; but it must be remarked that the agents themselves are intelligent thinking beings. The purport of their desires is interwoven with gen- eral, essential considerations of justice, good, duty, etc. ; for mere desire — volition in its rough and sav- age forms — falls not within the scene and sphere of Universal History. Those general considerations, which form at the same time a norm for directing aims and actions, have a determinate purport; for such an abstraction as "good for its own sake", has no place in living reality. If men are to act, they must not only intend the Good, but must have de- cided for themselves whether this or that particular thing is a Good. What special course of action, how- ever, is good or not, is determined, as regards the or- dinary contingencies of private life^by the laws and customs of a State; and here no great difficulty is presented. Each individual has his position; he knows on the whole what a just, honorable course of conduct is. As to ordinary, private relations, the assertion that it is difficult to choose the right and good — the regarding it as the mark of an exalted morality to find difficulties and raise scruples on that score — may be set down to an evil or perverse will, which seeks to evade duties not in themselves of a perplexing nature ; or at any rate, to an idly reflective habit of mind — where a feeble will affords no suffi- cient exercise to the faculties — leaving them there- fore to find occupation within themselves, and to ex- pend themselves on moral self-adulation. 652 Readings in Philosophy It is quite otherwise with the comprehensive rela- tions that History has to do with. In this sphere are presented those momentous collisions between existing, acknowledged duties, laws, rights, and those contingencies which are adverse to this fixed system; which assail and even destroy its founda- tions and existence; whose tenor may nevertheless seem good — on the large scale advantageous — yes, even indispensable and necessary. These contingen- cies realize themselves in History: they involve a general principle of a different order from that on which depends the permanence of a people or a State. This principle is an essential phase in the develop- ment of the creating Idea, of Truth, striving and urging toward [consciousness of] itself. Historical men — World-Historical Individv/ds — are those in whose aim such a general principle lies. Csesar, in danger of losing a position, not perhaps at that time of superiority, yet at least of equality with the others who were at the head of the State, and of succumbing to those who were just on the point of becoming his enemies — belongs essentially to this category. These enemies — who were at the same time pursuing their personal aims — had the form of the constitution, and the power conferred by an appearance of justice, on their side. Csesar was contending for the maintenance of his position, honor, and safety ; and, since the power of his oppo- nents included the sovereignty over the provinces of the Roman Empire, his victory secured for him the conquest of that entire Empire ; and he thus became (though leaving the form of the constitution) the Autocrat of the State. That which secured for him The Philosophy of History 653 the execution of a design, which in the first instance was of negative import — the Autocracy of Rome — was, however, at the same time an independently necessary feature in the history of Rome and of the world. It was not then his private gain merely, but an unconscious impulse that occasioned the accom- plishment of that for which the time was ripe. Such are all great historical men — whose own particular aims involve those large issues which are the will, of the World-Spirit. They may be called Heroes, in- asmuch as they have derived their purposes and their vocation, not from the calm, regular course of things, sanctioned by the existing order ; but from a ■ concealed fount — one which has not attained to phenomenal, present existence — from that inner Spirit, still hidden beneath the surface, which, im- pinging on the outer world as on a shell, bursts it in pieces, because it is another kernel than that which belonged to the shell in question. They are men, therefore, who appear to draw the impulse of their life from themselves; and whose deeds have pro- duced a condition of things and a complex of his- torical relations which appear to be only their in- terest, and their work. Such individuals had no consciousness of the gen- eral Idea they were unfolding, while prosecuting those aims of theirs; on the contrary, they were practical, political men. But at the same time they were thinking men, who had an insight into the requirements of the time — what was ripe for devel- opment. This was the very Truth for their age, for their world ; the species next in order, so to speak, and which was already formed in the womb of time. 654 Readings in Philosophy It was theirs to know this nascent principle; the necessary, directly sequent step in progress, which their world was to take; to make this their aim, and to expend their energy in promoting it. World-his- torical men — the Heroes of an epoch — must, there- fore, be recognized as its clear-sighted ones; their deeds, their words are the. best of that time. Great men have formed purposes to satisfy themselves, not others. Whatever prudent designs and counsels they might have learned from others, would be the more limited and inconsistent features in their career; for it was they who best understood affairs; from whom others learned, and approved, or at least ac- quiesced in — their policy. For that Spirit which had taken this fresh step in history is the inmost soul of all individuals ; but in a state of unconscious- ness which the great men in question aroused. Their fellows, therefore, follow these soul-leaders ; for they feel the irresistible power of their own inner Spirit thus embodied. If we go on to cast a look at the fate of these World-Historical persons, whose voca- tion it was to be the agents of the World-Spirit — we shall find it to have been no happy one. They at- tained no calm enjoyment; their whole life was labor and trouble ; their whole nature was naught else but their master-passion. When their object is attained they fall off like empty hulls from the kernel. They die early, like Alexander; they are murdered, like Caesar; transported to St. Helena, like Napoleon. This fearful consolation — that historical men have not enjoyed what is called happiness, and of which only private life (and this may be passed under very various external circumstances) is capable — this The Philosophy of History 655 consolation those may draw from history, who stand in need of it ; and it is craved by Envy — vexed at what is great and transcendent — striving, there- fore, to depreciate it, and to find some flaw in it. Thus in modern times it has been demonstrated ad nauseam that princes are generally unhappy on their thrones ; in consideration of which the possession of a throne is tolerated, and men acquiesce in the fact that not themselves but the personages in question are its occupants. The Free Man, we may observe, is not envious, but gladly recognizes what is great and exalted, and rejoices that it exists. It is in the light of those common elements which constitute the interest and therefore the passions of individuals, that these historical men are to be re- garded. They are great men, because they willed and accomplished something great; not a mere fancy, a mere intention, but that which met the case and fell in with the needs of the age. This mode of considering them also excludes the so-called "psychological" view, which — serving the purpose of envy most effectually — contrives to refer all actions to the heart — to bring them under such a subjective aspect — as that their authors appear to have done everything under the impulse of some passion, mean or grand — some morbid craving — and on account of these passions and cravings to have been not moral men. Alexander of Macedon partly subdued Greece, and then Asia; therefore he was possessed by a morbid craving for conquest. He is alleged to have acted from a craving for fame, for conquest; and the proof that these were the impel- ling motives is that he did that which resulted in 656 Readings in Philosophy fame. What pedagogue has not demonstrated of Alexander the Great — of Julius Caesar — that they were instigated by such passions, and were conse- quently immoral men ? — whence the conclusion im- mediately follows that he, the pedagogue is a better man than they, because he has not such passions; a proof of which lies in the fact that he does not conquer Asia — vanquish Darius and Porus — but while he enjoys life himself, lets others enjoy it too. These psychologists are particularly fond of con- templating those peculiarities of great historical figures which appertain to them as private persons. Man must eat and drink; he sustains relations to friends and acquaintances ; he has passing impulses and ebullitions of temper. "No man is a hero to his valet-de-chambre," is a well-known proverb; I have added — and Goethe repeated it ten years later — "but not because the former is no hero, but be- cause the latter is a valet." He takes off the hero's boots, assists him to bed, knows that he prefers champagne, etc. Historical personages waiited upon in historical literature by such psychological valets, come poorly off; they are brought down by thesfe their attendants to a level with — or rather to a few degrees below the level of — the morality of such exquisite discerners of spirits. The Thersites of Homer who abuses the kings is a standing figure for all times. Blows — that is, beating with a solid cudgel — he does not get in every age, as in the Homeric one ; but his envy, his egotism, is the thorn which he has to carry in his flesh ; and the undying worm that gnaws him is the tormenting considera- tion that his excellent views and vituperations re- The Philosophy of History 657 main absolutely without result in the world. But our satisfaction at the fate of Thersitism also, may have its sinister side. A World-historical individual is not so unwise as to indulge a variety of wishes to divide his regards. He is devoted/ to the One Aim, regardless of all else. It is even possible that such men may treat other great, even sacred interests, inconsiderately ; conduct which is indeed obnoxious to moral reprehension. But so mighty a form must trample down many an innocent flower — crush to pieces many an object in its path. The special interest of passion is thu^ inseparable from the active development of a general principle; for it is from the special and determinate and from its negation that the Universal results. Particu- larity contends with its like, and some loss is in- volved in the issue. It is not the general idea that is implicated in opposition and combat, and that is exposed to danger. It remains in the background, untouched and uninjured. This may be .called the cunning of reason — that it sets the passions to work for itself, while that which develops its existence through such impulsion pays the penalty, and suf- fers loss. For it is phenomenal being that is so treated, and of this, part is of no value, part is positive and real. The particular is for the most part of too trifling value as compared with the gen- eral: the individuals are sacrificed and abandoned. The Idea pays the penalty of determinate existence and of corruptibility, not from itself, but from the passions of individuals. 658 Readings in Philosophy But though we might tolerate the idea that indi- viduals, their desires and the gratification of them; are thus sacrificed, and their happiness given up to the empire of chance, to which it belongs ; and thiat, as a general rule, individuals come under the cate- gory of means to an ulterior end — there is one aspect of human individuality which we should hesi- tate to regard in that subordinate light, even in relation to the highest; since it is aibsolutely no subordinate element, but exists in those individuals as inherently eternal and divine. I mean morality, ethics, religion. Even when speaking of the realiza- tion of the great ideal aim by means of individuals, the subjective element in them — their interest and that of their cravings and impulses, their views and judgments, though exhibited as the merely formal side of their existence — was spoken of as having an infinite right to be consulted. The first idea that presents itself in speaking of means is that of some- thing external to the object, and having no share in the object itself. But merely natural things — even the commonest lifeless objects — used as means, must be of such a kind as adapts them to their pur- pose ; they must possess something in common with it. Human beings least of all sustain the bare relation of mere means to the great ideal aim. Not only do they, in the very act of realizing it, make it the occasion of satisfying personal desires, whose purport is diverse from that aim — but they share in that ideal aim itself ; and are for that very reason objects of their own existence; not formally merely as the world of living beings generally is — whose individual life is essentially subordinate to that of The Philosophy of History 659 man, and is properly used wp as an instrument. Men, on the contrary, are objects of existence to themselves, as regards the intrinsic import of the aim in question. To this order belongs that in them which we would exclude from the category of mere means — Morality, Ethics, -Religion. That is to say, man is an object of existence in himself only in virtue of the Divine that is in him — that which was designated at the outset as Reason; which, in view of its activity and power of self-determination, was called Freedom. And we affirm — without en- tering at present on the proof of the assertion — that Religion, Morality, etc., have their foundation and source in that principle, and so are essentially elevated above all alien necessity and chance. And here we must remark that individuals, to the extent of their freedom, are responsible for the depravation and the enfeeblement of morals and religion. This is the seal of the absolute and sublime destiny of man — that he knows what is good and what is evil ; that his destiny is his very ability to will either good or evil — in one word, that he is the subject of moral imputation, imputation not only of evil, but of good; and not only concerning this or that par- ticular matter, and all that happens ah extra, but also the good and evil attaching to his individual freedom. The brute alone is simply innocent. It would, however, demand an extensive explanation — as extensive as the analysis of moral freedom itself — to preclude or obviate all. the misunderstandings which the statement that what is called innocence imports the entire unconsciousness of evil — is wont to occasion. 660 Readings in Philosophy In contemplating the fate which virtue, morality, even piety experience in history, we must not fall into the Litany of Lamentations, that the good and pious often — or for the most part — fare ill in the world, while the evil-disposed and wicked prosper. The term prosperity is used in a variety of meanings — riches, outward honor, and the like. But in speaking of something which in and for itself con- stitutes an aim of existence, that so-called well or ill-faring of these or those isolated individuals can- not be regarded as an essential element in the ra- tional order of the universe. With more justice than happiness — or a fortunate environment for indi- viduals — it is demanded of the grand aim of the world's existence, that it should foster, nay involve the execution and ratification of good, moral, right- eous purposes. What makes men morally discon- tented (a discontent, by the by, on which they some- what pride themselves), is that they do not find the present adapted to the realization of aims which they hold to be right and just (more especially in modern times, ideals of political constitutions) ; they contrast unfavorable things as they are, with their idea of things as they ought to be. In this case it is not private interest nor passion that desires gratification, but Reason, Justice, Liberty; and equipped with this title, the demand in question as- sumes a lofty bearing, and readily adopts a position not merely of discontent, but of open revolt against the actual condition of the world. To estimate such a feeling and such views aright, the demands in- sisted upon, and the very dogmatic opinions asserted, must be examined. At no time so much as in our The Philosophy of History 661 own, have such general principles and notions been advanced, or with greater assurance. If in days gone by, history seems to present itself as a struggle of passions; in our time — though displays of pas- sion are not wanting — it exhibits partly a pre- dominance of the struggle of notions assuming the authority of principles ; partly that of passions and interests essentially subjective, but under the mask of such higher sanctions. The pretensions thus contended for as legitimate in the name of that which has been stated as the ultimate aim of Reason, pass accordingly, for absolute aims — to the same extent as Religion, Morals, Ethics. Nothing, as before remarked, is now more common than the complaint that the ideals which imagination sets up are not realized — that these glorious dreams are destroyed by cold actuality. These Ideals — which in the voyage of life founder on the hard rocks of reality — may be in the first instance only subjec- tive, and belong to the idiosyncrasy of the indi- vidual, imagining himself the highest and wisest. Such do not properly belong to this category. For the fancies which the individual in his isolation in- dulges, cannot be the model for universal reality; just as universal law is not designed for the units of the mass. These as such may, in fact, find their interests decidedly thrust into the back-ground. Rut by the term "Ideal", we also understand the ideal of Reason, of the Good, of the True. Poets, as e. g. Schiller, have painted such ideals touchingly and with strong emotion, and with the deeply melancholy conviction that they could not be realized. In af- firming, on the contrary, that the Universal Reason 43 662 Readings in Philosophy does realize itself, we have indeed nothing to do with the individual empirically regarded. That ad- mits of degrees of better and worse, since here chance and speciality have received authority from the Idea to exercise their monstrous power. Much, therefore, in particular aspects of the grand phe- nomenon might be found fault with. This subjective fault-finding — which, however, only keeps in view the individual and its deficiency, without taking note of Reason pervading the whole — is easy ; and inas- much as it asserts an excellent intention with regard to the good of the whole, and seems to result from a kindly heart, it feels authorized to give itself airs and assume great consequence. It is easier to dis- cover a deficiency in individuals, in states, and in Providence, than to. see their real import and value. For in this merely negative fault-finding a proud position is taken — one which overlooks the object, without having entered into it — without having comprehended its positive aspect. Age generally makes men more tolerant; youth is always discon- tented. The tolerance of age is the result of the ripeness of a judgment which, not merely as the result of indifi'erence, is satisfied even with what is inferior; but, more deeply taught by the grave ex- perience of life, has been led to perceive the sub- stantial, solid worth of the object in question. The insight then to which — in contradistinction from those ideals — philosophy is to lead us, is, that the real world is as it ought to be — that the truly good — the universal divine reason — is not 'a mere ab- straction, but a vital principle capable of realizing itself. This Good, this Reason, in its most concrete The Philosophy of History 663 form, is God. God governs the world; the actual working of his government — the carrying out of his plan — is the History of the World. This plan philosophy strives to comprehend; for only that which has been developed as the result of it, pos- sesses bona fide reality. That which does not ac- cord with it, is negative, worthless existence. Be- fore the pure light of this divine Idea — which is no mere Ideal — the phantom of a world whose events are an incoherent concourse of fortuitous cir- cumstances, utterly vanishes. Philosophy wishes to discover the substantial purport, the real side of the divine idea, and to justify the so much despised Reality of things; for Reason is the comprehension of the Divine work. But as to what concerns the perversion, corruption, and ruin of religious, ethical and moral purposes, and states of society generally, it must be affirmed, that in their essence these are infinite and eternal ; but that the forms they assume may be of a limited order, and consequently belong to the domain of mere nature, and be subject to the sway of chance. They are therefore perishable, and exposed to decay and corruption. Rfeligion and morality — in the same way as inherently universal essences — have the peculiarity of -i^eing present in the individual soul, in the full extent of their Idea, and therefore truly and really; although they may not manifest themselves in it in extenso, and are not applied to fully developed relations. The religion, the morality of a limited sphere of life — that of a shepherd or a peasant, e. g. — in its intensive con- centration and limitation to a few perfectly simple relations of life — has infinite worth; the same 664 Readings in Philosophy worth as the religion and morality of extensive knowledge, and of an existence rich in the compass of its relations and actions. This inner focus — this simple region of the claims of subjective free- dom — the home of volition, resolution and action — the abstract sphere of conscience — that which com- prises the responsibility and moral value of the in- dividual, remains untouched; and is quite shut out from the noisy din of the World's History — includ- ing not merely external and temporal changes, but also those entailed by the absolute necessity insepa- rable from the realization of the Idea of Freedom itself. But as a general truth this must be regarded as settled, that whatever in the world possesses claims as noble and glorious has nevertheless a higher existence above it. The claim of the World Spirit rises above all special claims. These observations may suffice in reference to the means which the World Spirit uses for realizing its Idea. Stated simply and abstractly, this mediation involves the activity of personal existences in whom Reason is present as their absolute, substantial be- ing; but a basis, in the first instance, still obscure and unknown to them. But the subject becomes more complicated and difficult when we regard in- dividuals not merely in their aspect of activity, but more concretely, in conjunction with a particular manifestation of that activity in their religion and morality — forms of existence which are intimately connected with Reason, and share in its absolute claims. Here the relation of mere means to an end disappears, and the chief bearings of this seeming The Philosophy of History 665 difficulty, in reference to the absolute aim of Spirit, have been briefly considered. (3) The third point to be analyzed is, therefore — what is the object to be realized by these means ; i. e., what is the form it assumes in the realm of reality. We have spoken of means; but in the carry- ing out of a subjective, limited aim, we have also to take into consideration the element of a material, either already present or which has to be procured. Thus the question would arise : What is the material in which the Ideal of Reason is wrought out? The primary answer would be — Personality itself — human desires — Subjectivity generally. In human knowledge and volition, as its material element. Reason attains positive existence. We have con- sidered subjective volition where it has an object which is the truth and essence of a reality; viz., where it constitutes a great world-historical passion. As a subjective will, occupied with limited passions, it is dependent, and can gratify its desires only within the limits of this dependence. But the sub- jective will has also a substantial life — a reality — in which it moves in the region of essential being, and has the essential itself as the object of its existence. This essential being is the union of the subjective with the rational Will: it is the moral Whole, the State, which is that form of reality in which the individual has and enjoys his freedom; but on the condition of his recognizing, believing in and willing that which is common to the Whole. And this must not be understood as if the sub- j.ective will of the social unit attained its gratifica- tion and enjoyment through that common Will ; as if 666 Readings in Philosophy this were a means provided for its benefit ; as if the individual, in his relations to other individuals, thus limited his freedom, in order that this universal limitation — the mutual constraint of all — might secure a small space of liberty for each. Rather, we affirm, are Law, Morality, Government, and they alone, the positive reality and completion of Free- dom. Freedom of a low and limited order is mere caprice, which finds its exercise in the sphere of particular and limited desires. Subjective volition — Passion — is that which sets men in activity, that which effects "practical" real- ization. The Idea is the inner spring of action ; the State is the actually existing, realized nioral life. For it is the Unity of the universal, essential Will, with that of the individual ; and this is "Morality". The Individual living in this unity has a moral life; possesses a value that consists in this substantiality alone. Sophocles in his Antigone, says, "The divine commands are not of yesterday, nor of today; no, they have an infinite existence, and no one could say whence they came." The laws of morality are not accidental, but are essentially Rational. It is the very abject of the State that what is essential in the practical activity of men, and in their dis- positions, should be duly recognized; that it should have a manifest existence, and maintain its posi- tion. It is the! absolute interest of Reason that this moral Whole should exist: and herein lies the justi- fication and merit of heroes who have founded states — however rude these may have been. In the his- tory of the World, only those peoples can come un- der our notice which form a state. For it must The Philosophy of History 667 be understood that this latter is the realization of Freedom, i. e. of the absolute final aim, and that it exists for its own sake. It must further be under- stood that all the worth which the human being pos- sesses — all spiritual reality, he possesses only through the State. For his spiritual reality con- sists in this, that his own essence — Reason — is objectively present to him, that it possesses ob- jective immediate existence for him. Thus only is he fully conscious; thus only is he a partaker of morality — of a just and moral social and political life. For Truth is the Unity of the universal and subjective Will; and the Universal is to be found in the State, in its laws, its universal and rational arrangements. The State is the Divine Idea as it exists on Earth. We have in it, therefore, the ob- ject of History in a more definite shape than be- fore; that in which Freedom obtains oibjectivity, and lives in the enjoyment of this objectivity. For Law is the objectivity of Spirit; volition in its true form. Only that will which obeys law, is free ; for it obeys itself — it is independent and so free. When the State or our country constitutes a community of existence; when the subjective will of man submits to laws — the contradiction between Liberty and Necessity vanishes. The Rational has. necessary existence, as being the reality and substance of things, and we are free in recognizing it as law, and following it as the substance of our own being. The objective and the subjective will are then reconciled, and present one identical homogeneous whole. For the morality (Sittlichkeit) of the State is not of that ethical (moralische) reflective kind, in which one's 668 Readings in Philosophy own conviction bears sway ; this latter is rather the peculiarity of the modern time, while the true an- tique morality is based on the principle of abiding by one's duty [to the state at large]. An Athenian citizen did what was required of him, as it were from instinct: but if I reflect on the object of my activity, I must have the consciousness that my will has been called into exercise. But morality is Duty — sub- stantial Right — a "second nature" as it has been justly called; for the first nature of man is his primary merely animal existence. The development in extenso^ of the Idea of the State belongs to the Philosophy of Jurisprudence; but it must be observed that in the theories of our time various errors are current respecting it, which pass for established truths, and have become fixed prejudices. We will mention only a few of them, giving prominence to such as have a reference to the object of our history. The error which first meets us is the direct con- tradictory of our principle that the state presents the realization of Freedom; the opinion, viz., that man is free by nature, but that in society, in the State — to which nevertheless he is irresistibly impelled — he must limit his natural freedom. That man is free by Nature is quite correct in one sense; viz., that he is' so according to the Idea of Humanity; but we imply thereby that he is such only in virtue of his destiny — that he has an undeveloped power to become such; for the "Nature" of >an object is exactly synonymous with its "Idea". But the view in question imports more than this. When man is spoken of as "free by Nature", the mode of his The Philosophy of History 669 existence as well as his destiny is implied. His merely natural and primary condition is intended. In this sense a "state of Nature" is assumed in which man- kind at large are in the possession of their natural rights with the unconstrained exercise and enjoy- ment of their freedom. This assumption is not indeed raised to the dignity of the historical fact; it would indeed be difficult, were the attempt seriously made, to point out any such condition as actually existing, or as having ever occurred. Ex- amples of a savage state of life can be pointed out, but they are marked by brutal passions and deeds of violence; while, however rude and simple their conditions, they involve social arrangements which (to use the common phrase) restrain freedom. That assumption is one of those nebulous images which theory produces; arj idea which it can not avoid originating, but which it fathers upon real existence, without sufficient historical justification. What we find such a state of Nature to be in actual experience, answers exactly to the Idea of a merely natural condition. Freedom as the ideal of that which is original and natural, does not exist as original and natural. Rather must it be first sought out and won; and that by an incalculable medial discipline of the intellectual and moral powers. The state of Nature is, therefore, predomi- nantly that of injustice and violence,, of untamed natural impulses, of inhuman deeds arid feelings. Limitation is certainly produced by Society and the State, but it is a limitation of the mere brute emotions and rude instincts; as also, in a more ad- vanced stage of culture, of the premeditated self- 670 Readings in Philosophy will of caprice and passion. This kind of restraint is part of the instrumentality by which only the consciousness of Freedom and the desire for its at- tainment, in its true — that is Rational and Ideal — form can be obtained. To the Ideal of Freedom, Law and Morality are indispensably requisite; and they are in and for themselves, universal existences, objects and aims ; which are discovered only by the activity of thought, separating itself from the merely sensuous, and developing itself, in opposition there- to ; and which must, on the other hand, be introduced into and incorporated with the originally sensuous will, and that contrarily to its natural inclination. The perpetually recurring misapprehension of Free- dom consists in regarding that term only in its formal, subjective sense, abstracted from its essen- tial objects and aims; thus a constraint put upon impulse, desire, passion — pertaining to the par- ticular individual as such — a limitation of caprice and self-will is regarded as a fettering of Freedom. We should on' the contrary look upon such limitation as the indispensable proviso of emancipation. So- ciety and the State are the very conditions in which Freedom is realized. We must notice a second view, contravening the principle of the development of moral relations into a legal form. The patriarchal condition is regarded — either in reference to the entire race of man, or to some branches of it — as exclusively that condi- tion of things, in which the legal element is com- bined with a due recognition of the moral and emo- tional part of our nature; and in which justice, as united with these, truly and really influences the in- The Philosophy of History 671 tercourse of the social units. The basis of the patri- archal condition is the family relation; which de- velops the primary form of conscious morality, suc- ceeded by that of the State as its second phase. The patriarchal condition is one of transition, in which the family has already advanced to the position of a race or people; where the union, therefore, has already ceased to be simply a bond of love and con- fidence, and has become one of plighted service. We must first examine the ethical principle of the Family. The Family may be reckoned as virtually a single person ; since its members have either mu- tually surrendered their individual personality (and consequently their legal position toward each other, with the rest of their particular interests and de- sires), as in the case of Parents; or have not yet attained such an independent personality — (the Children — who are primarily in that merely nat- ural condition already mentioned) . They live, there- fore, in a unity of feeling, love, confidence, and faith in each other. And in a relation of mutual love, the one individual has the consciousness of himself in the consciousness of the other; he lives out of self; and in this mutual self-renunciation each re- gains the life that had been virtually transferred to the other; gains, in fact, that other's existence and his own, as involved with that other. The further interests connected with the necessities and external concerns of life, as well as the development that has to take place within their circle, i. e., of the chil- dren, constitute a common object for the members of the Family. The Spirit of the Family — ^the Penates — form one substantial being, as much as the Spirit 672 Readings in Philosophy of a People in the State ; and morality in both cases consists in a feeling, a consciousness, and a will, not - limited to individual personality and interest, but embracing the common interests of the members generally. But this unity is in the case of the Family essentially one of feeling; not advancing be- yond the limits of the merely natural.. The piety of the Family relation should be respected in the highest degree by the State ; by its means the State obtains as its members individuals who are already moral (for as mere persons they are not) , and who in uniting to form a state bring with them that sound basis of a political edifice — the capacity of feeling one with a Whole. But the expansion of the Family to a patriarchal unity carries us beyond the ties of blood-relationship — the simply natural elements of that basis; and outside of these limits the inembers of the community must enter upon the position of independent personality. A review of the patriarchal condition, in extenso, would lead us to give special attention to the Theocratical Consti- tution. The head of the patriarchal clan is also its priest. If the Family in its general relations is not yet separated from civic society and the state, the separation of religion from it has also not yet taken place; and so much the less since the piety of the hearth is itself a profoundly subjective state of feeling. D. The Law of Development. Comte's formulation of such a law has been of widespread interest, and is one of the well known features of his positivistic philosophy: The Philosophy of History 673 From' the study of the development of human intelligence, in all directions, and through all times, the discovery arises of a great fundamental law, to which it is necessarily subject, and which has a solid foundation of proof, both in the facts of our organization and in our historical experience. The law is this : — that each of our leading conceptions, — each branch of our knowledge, — passes succes- sively through three different theoretical conditions : the Theological, or fictitious; the Metaphysical, or abstract; and the Scientific, or positive. In other words, the human mind, by its nature, employs in its progress three methods of philosophizing, the character of which is essentially different, and even radically opposed: viz., the theological method, the metaphysical, and the positive. Hence arise three philosophies, or general systems of conceptions on the aggregate of phenomena, each of which excludes the others. The first is the necessary point of de- parture of the human understanding ; and the third is its fixed and definitive state. The second is merely a state of transition. In the theological state, the human mind, seeking the essential nature of beings, the first and final causes (the origin and purpose) of all effects, — in short, Absolute knowledge, — supposes all phe- nomena to be produced by the immediate action of :supernatural beings. "■ Comte, Auguste : Positive Philosophy, Vol. I, ch. 1, pp. 1-4, 12, 13; translated and condensed by Harriet Martineau, 1853. 674 Readings in Philosophy In the metaphysical state, which is only a modi- fication of the first, the mind supposes, instead of supernatural beings, abstract forces, veritable en- tities (that is, personified abstractions) inherent in all beings, and capable of producing all phenomena. What is called the explanation of phenomena is, in this stage, a mere reference of each to its proper entity. In the final, the positive state, the mind has given over the vain search after Absolute notions, the origin and destination of the universe, and the causes of phenomena, and applied itself to the study of their laws, — that is, their invariable relations of succes- sion and resemblance. Reasoning and observation, duly combined, are the means of this knowledge. What is now understood when we speak of an ex- planation of facts is simply the establishment of a connection between single phenomena and some general facts, the number of which continually diminishes with the progress of science. The Theological system arrived at the highest per- fection of which it is capable when it substituted the providential action of a single Being for the varied operations of the numerous divinities which had been before imagined. In the same way, in the last stage of the Metaphysical system, men substitute one great entity (Nature) as the cause of all phenomena, instead of the multitude of entities at first supposed. In the same way, again, the ultimate perfection of the Positive system would be (if such perfection could be hoped for) to represent all phenomena as particular aspects of a single general fact ; — such as Gravitation, for instance. The Philosophy of History 675 The importance of the working of this general law will be established hereafter. At present, it must suffice to point out some of the grounds of it. There is no science which, having attained the positive stage, does not bear marks of having passed through the others. Some time since it was (what- ever it might be) composed, as we can now perceive, of metaphysical abstractions; and, further back in the course of time, it took its form from theological conceptions. We shall have only too much occasion to see, as we proceed, that our most advanced sciences still bear very evident marks of the two earlier periods through which they have passed. The progress of the individual mind is not only an illustration, but an indirect evidence of that of the general mind. The point of departure of the in- dividual and of the race being the same, the phases of the mind of a man correspond to the epochs of the mind of the race. Now, each of us is aware, if he looks back upon his own history, that he was a theo- logian in his childhood, a metaphysician in his youth, and a natural philosopher in his manhood. All men who are up to their age can verify this for them- selves. Besides the observation of facts, we have theoreti- cal reasons in support of this law. The most important of these reasons arises from the necessity that always exists for some theory to which to refer our facts, combined with the clear impossibility that, at the outset of human knowledge, men could have formed theories out of the observa- tion of facts. All good intellects have repeated, since Bacon's time, that there can be no real knowl- 676 Readings in Philosophy edge but that which is based on observed facts. This is incontestable, in our present advanced stage ; but, if we look back to the primitive stage of human knowledge, we shall see that it must have been other- wise then. If it is true that every theory must be based upon observed facts, it is equally true that facts cannot be observed without the guidance of some theory. Without such guidance, our facts would be desultory and fruitless; we could not re- tain them : for the most part we could not even per- ceive them. Thus, between the necessity of observing facts in order to form a theory, and having a theory in order to observe facts, the human mind would have been entangled in a vicious circle, but for the natural opening afforded by Theological conceptions. This is the fundamental reason for the theological char- acter of the primitive philosophy. This necessity is confirmed by the perfect suitability of the theo- logical philosophy to the earliest researches of the human mind. It is remarkable that the most inac- cessible questions, — those of the nature of beings, and the origin and purpose of phenomena, — should be the first to ocCur in a primitive state, while those which are really within our reach are regarded as almost unworthy, of serious study. The reason is evident enough : — that experience alone can teach us the measure of our powers ; and if men had not begun by an exaggerated estimate of what they can do, they would never have done all that they are capable of. Our organization requires this. At such a period there could have been no reception of a positive philosophy, whose function is to discover The Philosophy of History 677 the laws of phenomena, and whose leading char- acteristic it is to regard as interdicted to human reason those sublime mysteries which theology ex- plains, even to their minutest details, with the most attractive facility. It is just so under a practical view of the nature of the researches with which men first occupied themselves. Such inquiries offered the powerful charm, of unlimited empire over the ex- ternal world, — a world destined wholly for our use, and involved in every way with our existence. The theological philosophy, presenting this view, admin- istered exactly the stimulus necessary to incite the human mind to the irksome labour without which it could make no progress. We can now scarcely con- ceive of such a state of things, our reason having become sufficiently mature to enter upon laborious scientific researches, without needing any such stimulus as wrought upon the imaginations of as- trologers and alchemists. We have motive enough in the hope of discovering the laws of phenomena, with a view to the confirmation or rejection of a theory. But it could not be so in the earliest days ; and it is to the chimeras of astrology and alchemy that we owe the long series of observations and ex- periments on which our positive science is based. Kepler felt this on behalf of astronomy, and Berthol- let on behalf of chemistry. Thus was a spon- taneous philosophy,' the theological, the only possible beginning, method, and provisional system, out of which the Positive philosophy could grow. It is easy, after this, to perceive how Metaphysical methods and doctrines must have afforded the means of transition from the one to the other. 678 Readings in Philosophy The human understanding, slow in its advance, could not step at once from the theological into the positive philosophy. The two are so radically op- posed, that an intermediate system of conceptions has been necessary to render the transition possible. It is only in doing this, that Metaphysical concep- tions have any utility whatever. In contemplating phenomena, men substitute for supernatural direc- tion a corresponding entity. This entity may have been supposed to be derived from the supernatural action : but it is more easily lost sight of, leaving at- tention free for the facts themselves, till, at length, metaphysical agents have ceased to be anything more than the abstract names of phenomena. It is not easy to say by what other process than this our minds could have passed from supernatural con- siderations to natural; from the theological system to the positive. . . . It cannot be necessary to prove to anybody who reads this work that Ideas govern the world, or throw it into chaos; in other words, that all social mechanism rests upon Opinions. The great political and moral crisis that societies are now undergoing is shown by a rigid analysis to arise out of intel- lectual anarchy. While stability in fundamental maxims is the first condition of genuine social order, we are suffering under an utter, disagreement which may be called universal. Till a certain number of general ideas can be acknowledged as a rallying- point of social doctrine, the nations will remain in a revolutionary state, whatever palliatives may be de- vised ; and their institutions can be only provisional. But whenever the necessary agreement on. first prin- The Philosophy of History 679 ciples can be obtained, appropriate institutions will issue from them, without shock or resistance; for the causes of disorder will have been arrested by the mere fact of the agreement. It is in this direction that those must look who desire a natural and regu- lar, a normal state of society. Now, the existing disorder is abundantly ac- counted for by the existence, all at once, of three in- compatible philosophies, — the theological, the meta- physical, and the positive. Any one of these might alone secure some sort of social order; but while the three co-exist, it is impossible for us to understand one another upon any essential point whatever. If this is true, we have only to ascertain which of the philosophies must, in the nature of things, prevail; and, this ascertained, every man, whatever may have been his former views, cannot but concur in its tri- umph. The problem once recognized cannot remain long unsolved ; for all considerations whatever point to the Positive Philosophy as the one destined to prevail. It alone has been advancing during a course of centuries, throughout which the others have been declining. The fact is incontestable. Some may deplore it, but none can destroy it, nor therefore neglect it but under, penalty of being be- trayed by illusory speculations. This general revo- lution of the human mind is nearly accomplished. We have only to complete the Positive Philosophy by bringing Social phenomena within its comprehen- sion, and afterwards consolidating the whole into one body of homogeneous doctrine. The marked preference which almost all minds, from the highest to the commonest, accord to positive knowledge over 680 Readings in Philosophy vague and mystical conceptions, is a pledge of what the reception of this philosophy will be when it has acquired the only quality that it now wants — a character of due generality. When it has become complete, its supremacy will take place sponta- neously, and will re-establish order throughout so- ciety. There is, at present, no conflict but between the theological and the metaphysical philosophies. They are contending for the task of reorganizing society; but it is a work too mighty for either of them. The positive philosophy has hitherto inter- vened only to examine both, and both are abundantly discredited by the process. It is time now to be doing something more effective, without wasting our forces in needless controversy. It is time to complete the vast intellectual operation begun by Bacon, Descartes, and Galileo, by constructing the system of general ideas which must henceforth pre- vail among the human race. This is the way to put an end to the revolutionary crisis which is torment- ing the civilized nations of the world. INDEX Absolute, 6, 7, S3, 359, 388, 392, 400, 6o2, 569, 573, 576 ff., 575, 594, 648. 'Achilles', 57. .Vgnostic Relativism, 582 ff. .\naxagoras, 60, 161, 196, 198. Anselm, 20, 267 ff. Apology, 96 ff. A priori, 304, 309, 461 ff., 470, 481, 485, 525, 527, 642 ff. Aristotle, 186 ff., 263, 391, 487, 521, 635. Association of Ideas, 34, 449. Atheism, 217. Atoms, 62, 64, 67, 68, 70, 72, 331. Augustine, 252 ff., 624. Bacon, 39, 41, 675, 680. Beatitudes, 238. Beauty, 11-1, 120, 586. Belief, 8, 574. Bergson, 417 ff. Berkeley, 323 ff., 373. Brain and Mind, 272, 292 ff., 430, 438, 507, 510, 517. Buechner, 292. Categorical Imperative, 480 ff. Categories, 310, 459, 485 ff., 492 ff. Causation, 456, 503 ff., 520. Change, 52 ff., 186 ff., 432 ff., 595. Charm, 30, SI, 33, 35, 37. Chinese, 27. Christianity, 20, 238 ff., 252, 583, 636. Comte, 12, 073 ff. Consciousness, 428, 438. Conservatism, 45. Contingency, 421. Contradigtion, 80. Copy Theory, 287, 563 ff., 568 ff. Correspondence, 550. Cosmology, 48 ff., 62 ff., 146 ff., 206 ff., 222 ff., 252 ff., 331 ff. Criticism, 308. Critique of Pure Reason, 302, 309, 315, 459, 486, 492, 624, 627, 542. Crucifixion, 242 ff. Death, 25, 203, 260, 336, 440, 585 ff., 611 ff. Deception, of Senses, 43, 90 ff. Democritus, 62, 374. Descartes, 269 ff., 272, 441, 680. Develoi)ment, Law of, 673. Dialectic, 8. Divisibility, Infinite, 69. Dreams, 24, 26. Dualism, 269, 272 ff. Element, 62, 207. Emanation, 222, 225, 230. Empedocles, 59, 76. Entelecliy, 333, 334. Epicurus, 67 ff., 202 ff. Evil, 234, 252 ff., 367, 598. Evolution, 417, 590 ff. Faith, 257. 'Faith Ladder', 414. Family, 6.71. Fichte, 10, 339. 'Flying Arrow*, 57. Force, 27. Form, 187 ff., 190, 192, 198, 263, 389. Freedom, 307, 316, 339, 346, 368, 379, 417, 431, 439, 476 ff., 583, 633, 643, 655, 668. Genesis of Things, 51, 63, 61, 65, 146 ff., 206 ff., 219 ff., 428. Geometry, 6 ff., 50. God, 9, 49, 53, 54, 116, 147, 149, 202, 207, 208, 219, 253, 267 ff., 266, 272, 317, 338, 351, 357, 378, 387, 388, 513, 624, 661, 680 ff., 592, 601, 619, 623, 663. Good, 143, 145, 164 ff., 199, 213 ff., 223, 253 ff., 584, 661, 662. (681) 682 Index Gorgias, 97. Corgias, 84. Happiness, 60, 312, 199, 202, 213, 237, 238, 318. Hasty Generalization, 41 ff., 47. Hegel, 10, 18, 353, 389, 632. Heraclitlis, 52 ff., 76. History, Philosophy of, 621 ff., 624 ff., 632 ff. Homer, 54, 76, 77, 141. Hume, 444 ff., 503 ff. Hypothesis, 6, 7, 9. Idealism, 113 ff., 323 ff., 547 "ff. Idea, 120, 281, 283, 323, 372, 501, 531 ff., 547, 641, 678. Identity, 447 ff., 453 ff., 460, 466, 468. Immortality, 25, 199, 203, 316, 340, 605 ff., 618. Individuality, 425, 605 ff., 652. Infinity of the Universe, 68. Innate Ideas, 534, 540. Intelligence, IS, 53, 147, 149. 225. 362, 264, 266, 435. Interaction, 273. Intuition, 435. James, 268, 372, 400, 568. Jesus, 242, 247 ff. Justice, 108 ff., 115, 179, 641, 660. Kant, 302 ff., 459, 475, 485, 492, 521, 527, 642, 555. Knowledge, 4 ff., 11 ff., 65, 74, 84, 102 ff., 113 ff., 118, 129 ff., 137 ff., 145, 148, 167, 171, 220 ff., 261, 27], 279, 280, 285 ff., 289, 304 ff., 309, 323 ff., 333, 372, 393, 396, 441, 460 ff., 466, 472, 485, 493, 502, 504, 537 ff., 642, 548 ff., 557 ff., 568. Law of Contradiction, 55, 535. Law of Development, 673. Law of Identity, 55, 535. Leibniz, 331 ff. Life, 417 ff., 423, 434. Locke, 274, 283, 288, 373, 533 ff., 657. Logos, 246. Love, 59, 113 ff.,, 122, 125 ff, Magic, 27 ff., 33 ff. Maieutic, 103 ff., 129. Man, 118, 168 ff., 200, 255, 3S8, 680 ff., 600 ff., 604, 656. Man Measure Doctrine, 74. Materialism, 02, 68, 292 ff. Mathematics, 303, 493 ff., 639, 019, 565, 576. Matter, 187 ff., 192, 231 ff., 263, 270, 274 ff., 327, 340, 633. Mechanism, 64 ff., 162, 419, 132, 588 ff. Meletus, 96, 97. Memory, 26, 27, 336. Meno, 129. Middle Ages, 20. Mind, 61, 161, 198, 199, 224, 225, 227, 269, 272, 292, 324, 365, 443, 446. Monad, 331. Morality, 12, 111, 112, 318, 347, 476 ff., 540, 566, 619, 668, 666, 668. Motion, 69, SI, 82. Mysticism, 114 ff., 219 ff., 549, 652. 616. Negative Instance, 42. Neo-Realism, 372.- Observation, 46, 47. Omens, 27. 'One', 219, 223. Ontological Proof, 257 ff. Opinion, 8. Organism, 417 ff., 427. Origination, 189 ff., 192, 428 ff. Parallelism, 370 ff. Parmenides, 55 ff., 03. Passivity, 198. Paul, 247. Perception, 71, 333, 334, 160, 495. Personality, 26, 27, 692 ff., 600 ff., 665. Persuasion, S4. Phaedo, 160 ff. Phaedrus, 113 ff. Philosophy, 1 ff., 9 ff., 16 ff„ 117, 119, 436. Index 683 Physics, 303. Plato, 1 ff., 4, 74 ff., 84 ff., 96 ff., 106 ff., 113 ff., 129 ff., 13V ff., 146 ff., 160 ff., 263, 635, 663. Pleasure, 177, 204, 20fi. Plenum, 62, 332. Political Philosophy, 12, 645, 665. Positivism, 673 ff. Postulates of Practical Reason, 315 ff., 320. Potentiality, 196, 198, 262, 521 ff. Pragmatism, 410, 668, 578. Primary Qualities, 284, 287, 327. Principle, 6 ff., 47^ 48, 50, 221, 222, 224. Progress, 595 ff. Protagoras, 58, 74, 76 ff. 'Pure Experience*, 374, Qualities, 283. Radicalism, 45. Realism, 261, 551. Reality, 23, 49 ff., 55, 58 ff., 64, 224. 388, 547, 554, 591, 606. Reason, 8, 53, 147, 196, 340, 391, 632, 660, 661. Reflection, 281, 337, 428, 506. Relativity of Knowledge, 13, 76 ff. Religion, 17 ff., 658. Reminiscence. 118 ff., 137, 145. Republic, 1, 4, 106, 137 ff., 164 ff., 171 ff. Resurrection, 2t5, 247 ff. Rhetoric, 84 ff. Royce, 2fi7. 401, .547, .575, .590. Russell, 582. Salvation, 236. Scholasticism, 20, 2.j7, 261. Science, 9. VA ff., 39.3, 398, 344, 073, 675. Secondary Qualities, 285, 287, 327. Self, 269 ff., 324, 388, 425, 442, 444 ff., 465 ff., 474, 5.52, 585, 590, 601 ff., 604. Sextus Erapiricns, 89. Sin, 234. .Skepticism, 74 ff., 444 ff. Socrates, 96 ff., 103 ff., 106 ff. Solidity, 274 ff. Sophists, 74, 79, 84. Sorcerers, 32. Soul, 21 ff., 30, 49, 65, 113, 116, 168, 177, 193 ff., 524, 228, 262, 264, 278 ff., 336, 437, 448. Space, 275 ff., 424, 499, 524 ff. Spencer, 9. Spinoza, 17, 370, 378, 404, 648. Spirit, 274, 324, 326, 340, 3-18, 395, 632, 646, 654. Spirits, 21, 44. Stoicism, 206 ff., 683. Substance, 22, 187, 271, 289, 338, 378, 380 ff., 388, 394, 564. Supernaturalism, 580. Teleology, 160, 164, 425 ff., 434. Thales, 48 ff. Tlieaetetus, 74 ff., 103 ff. Thinking, 269, 271. Thomas Aquinas, 261 ff. Thought, 353 ff. Timaeus, 146, 168 ff. Time, 155 ff., 402, 499, 527 ff., 583, 593, 601, 612. Transmigration, 118. Tropes, 89. Truth, 5, 118, 361, 390, 548, 557, 568, 570, 573, 576 ff., 663, 667. Understanding, 8, 267, 472, 546. Unity, 219, 329, 400 ff. Values, 580 ff. Virtue, 111 ff., 171 ff., 212 ff., 2.3S ff., 541. \'oid, 62, 63, 69, 209. Voluntarism, 339 ff., 3.50, 57S, 606. Wise Xian, 216. Words, 45, 46. Xenophanes, 63 ff., 63. Zcno, Eleatic, 57 ff. Zeno, Stoic, 10, 20r,, 207, 211.